Watershed

I have been gifted with this magical life. It is not that I have not worked for it, or struggled, or waded through dark confusion and felt the pain of loss and emptiness. Perhaps it is because of those things, and that I have not shied away from them that I find myself steeped in gratitude and magic now in this moment. I have traversed the steep slope of it and have found myself everywhere, not just in the resting places. I have stayed put, and looked up to see that I have gathered a storm of light around me.

A few days ago on the tail end of my last 'work' trip of the summer season (the word work does not do justice to the ease and flow of this past week), we were short on water. A couple of leaky droms* early on ensured a tight supply on that last night, morning coffee becoming a fading possibility. It was no emergency but I knew finding water, if possible in this oceanic archipelago, would be a bonus. We landed at our last campsite, a white shelled midden isthmus connecting two small islands, unloaded the kayaks and moved in. I scanned my chart for possible water sources in proximity to this rocky island group and found a few dark lines winding their way down from the steep slopes of Guilford Island. Not far. A nautical mile or two. A small thing to paddle alone and unladen, an empty drom tossed into the cockpit of my boat. 

For me it has been a summer of dry creekbeds. Even in late May it was a struggle to siphon enough brackish water from a normally copious source. I had followed similar dark watery lines on charts and maps all season to places devoid of moisture. So I was not expecting much, or anything from my chosen drainage. And either way, all would be well, water rationing on this last night and morning a small inconvenience or discomfort rather than a dire matter. Though I felt the drive to smooth this wrinkle from our last night in the islands. 

Getting back into my boat I felt it's buoyancy, newly emptied of it's homemaking burdens, hammock and sleeping bag, no small amounts of gear left at the beach with the rest of the group. It felt light and responsive as I paddled away, unburdened and unaccompanied for a time. A small act, but no small thing, and I became aware of a pressure; the desire to provide juxtaposed with the near certainty that I would return empty handed. Paddling on towards the sloped shoreline across the channel I left the shelter of the campsite islands, out in the open, exposed and temporarily alone. I became aware of a feeling of insignificance, the knowledge of my own smallness pushed up against mountain and ocean and wind. A risk, though small and not new to me, to travel solo in this way. 

I pushed on towards the steep rocky shoreline, making a beeline for the creek I had chosen, discerning it's location based on chart and topography, for now invisible and inaudible against the slow lap of waves on ungiving stone. I doubted the existence of the creek even more, or at least it's productiveness, and had accepted the possibility that my mission would be fruitless. But at least I tried, and could say I had explored this shoreline, deepened my understanding and knowledge of this place. Something of value. I had let go of the idea of adding the weight of fresh water to my return trip, satisfied myself with the effort for the most part when I saw it, the jumble of dead branches and  broken rock cutting through the steep cliff shoreline. A moment later the sound that had been made of wind and lapping salt water against rock gave way to the lush gurgle of falling fresh. 

I had a physiological response. It was as if I had been wandering a desert and dehydrated for days, those in my charge about to fade into oblivion due to a lack of water. My gratitude for this creek was palpable, hell-bent, tear-jerking. What a gift. I felt it in my bones, this wonder of nature emptying it's unsalted life generously into the undrinkable sea infinitely. I took my time, tied my boat off and walked carefully on slippery river rock, filled the water bag slowly with this boon of drinkable water. It was a beautiful thing. Not for the sake of the morning coffee or less stretched cooking water needed for the next 12 hours of this trip, but because of this moment of joy and purest celebration of the simplest of things.  

In this I have found the elusive...the 'what is this life about' question answered, resoundingly and in a simple moment of focus and mystery and unbridled gratitude. To experience all of it, or as much as we can, as if it was an oasis in an endless expanse of desert. And then to look around and realize that the desert itself is rich and full of life. 

* A "drom" or dromedary is a water bag designed for carrying in areas where there is no water supply.