Rain Drops and Whale Souls

Rain drops throw up deep green fountains on an opalescent, shimmering sea. Concentric circles seem a tidepool of sea anenomes amongst shimmering fronds of kelp. Every splash of a drop a new story, erasing the last, a new unfrozen frame of time. Little pearls of water skitter across the scene - it's all so alive and fresh.





Landed on a beach, nestled amongst tidepools, in a forest of rock formations, gardens of stone spilling from their flanks. Marked on my chart, a special place, my place, for today.



It's a wonderful paddle today, my stroke feels strong, and precise, and entirely natural. In all it's subtle, and not so subtle variations. I speed across the water, a wake behind me bigger than I've ever made. Persephone's bow slices the water like a sharp knife. This is what paddling a baidarka is about.



A spiritual experience...



There is a spirit at Seal Rock, I felt it roar, shreik and scream. Seal Rock is a monument of an island, visible many miles away, standing upright with steep cliffs on all sides. It's the outermost of a chain of reefs that curve far out into the bay, bisecting it. Across, and closer in, is it's sister, Sail Rock. I paddle towards it in the misty light, a spatter of fine rain on my face. Back-lit by the whiteness of the Strait it's outline is stark, ominous, towering. As I approach, it just keeps getting bigger, and bigger, until I realize the sheer scale of it. Sail Rock is covered in Cormorants and Gulls, squawking and squabbling. Oddly there are none but a single solitary shadow of ?a bird? sitting motionless high on it's flat top. I tap my eyebrow in acknowledgement of it.



As I pass between the two sisters, I bump bottom, a glimpse of eel-grass sliding under me as I pass. Waves suddenly start coming up, big and sharp and the wind starts to blow harsh and bitter, and the skies burst open, pelting me with intense rain... obliterating rain... raindrops so close together they meld into the sea surface, blurring the hard line between sea and sky... tearing everything open.



I become aware... the hair on the back of my neck bristles... there is something here... something powerful... incredibly angry and sorrowful...



At first it feels like I'm being warned. "Don't get too close". I speak back, "My name is Daniel, I'm passing through, please forgive me, I wish your blessings to continue my voyage in safety". Things stay intense and the sea crashes around me... I repeatedly kiss my hand and touch it to the wave crests and apologize... for what I have no idea but I feel the need to...



A Sea Lion surfaces between myself and the Rock, less than twenty feet away and watches me, unmoving, unflinching. A guardian or sentinel? Again I kiss my hand and touch a wave crest and start paddling away. Gives me shivers even now.



Three days later I meet two Makah men who I talk with about the life here, I asked them about Seal Island, "Is there a spririt there? Some kind of legend?"



The answer was brief... "That's where they shot that whale. All kinds of bad stuff there."



You can't make this shit up, and I didn't, and wouldn't dare. First Nation's culture means more to me than my own, they know about life and nature - more than I could ever. Something happened to me out there that day, and I wept as I paddled away from that place... not knowing why.



Now I know...