Pacific Northwest fall kicking in

In the last few days I had the opportunity to be reminded of how beautiful the fall season can be here. After having tried to stretch the summer season as long as I could, I am now embracing the coming fall. The first signs are well in now: Ghostly fog in the mornings on the river, the first ducks arriving, maple trees turning gold and red, the last berries, the dampness settling in, the rains hammering the roof of our boat at night, best lullaby ever. It is good that we're having seasons, and that our bodies and minds adjust to them. Cycles, the circle of Life.

jumping fish

Tonite as I was sitting on the deck of our boat I was startled by a fish jumping, a trout it seems. It was of a transluscent silvery grey. I took that as a gift. :)

Vroum-Vroum Run

Today as I was relaxing on the dock playing lizzard, my peace was quite disturbed by a double racket. The first one was brought about by the Oyster Run, a local motorbike rallye. I didn't know you could catch oysters with a Harley... Those guys were raising hell even here on Fir Island. Well, kids need to play, right? As my mum used to say, "Those Americans are all big kids". The only thing is, most of these bikers are in fact in their 50's, the Harley obviously a substitute for a receeding sexual life. The older they get, the bigger the toy. Since when do you need a big, expensive toy to have fun? So these modern days cow boys hang around in our little towns, clad in leather from head to toe, (I wonder if the underwear is leather too?), not to speak of the obligatory bandana. That looks so cool, huh? Of course all that heavy accoutrement, together with the "image de marque", gives them a particular gait, somewhere between John Wayne and the Bad Boy. All of them. It's a tribe, you know, one of those modern tribes that come to substitute for an identity and sense of belonging. The unwritten code of conduct, of the Vroum-Vroum tribe, that is, is Let's make as much noise as we can, Vroum-Vroum,VROUM! and the hell with who doesn't enjoy it, look at us, folks, we're cool, we're the real thing. Vroum. The other thing I noticed is they take an evil pleasure taking their time gathering and taking off, just to let you enjoy the Vroum! a little longer. Who needs a sonotone earplug, come to the Oyster run, it'll be much cheaper than consulting a physician, and in no time, the miracle will occur, your hearing is restaured!
Now nuisance number 2 today was the Pan-Pan tribe. Hunting season is kicking in, so there was also all these Pan!Pan-pan-pan! shots. They're on the loose! I wonder what they're targeting, as there are no feathered animals around lately. However, believe it or not, me the French woman, came to adopt a much more understanding attitude with that other tribe. Number one, some are my neighbors, so, diplomatie oblige, you get to look at their hobby in a different way. The only thing about this that actually disturbs me is those guys, when the season hits, come by our boats way before dawn with their motor boats, and the wake, and the noise, wake me up. I still remember when I moved here, the first fall season, when I saw these groups of guys with their rifles, I'd pass by them as if I were walking on a landmine. The mere idea of having all those guns close made me nervous. Had to force a commercial smile when addressing them, ah, you catch anything today? Oh good! I guess after four years here something happenned as I do not have to force the smile anymore. Of course I'm a perfect hypocrite, since I couldn't do what they do, but I'm always glad to eat the meat.

Beyond the quackshacks, the prize of a 45 mns walk

If you continue to follow the dike after the quackshacks, you get into the wildlife area. A sanctuary that starts with a woodsy path bordered by swamps, dense berry thickets, immense trees, Firs, Cedars, cottonwoods, red elderberries, I can't recall them all. The path itself is shaded, grassy and soft under the feet. You'd better not be on a mission when you go there, for you'll get distracted by all sorts of things on the way: Skunk cabbage - what an incredible plant- a couple of little wooden bridges on the right over a slough, overlooking fields. If you go on the bridge you discover that the still water of the slough is mostly covered with a thick coat of green, sometimes reddish, mossy substance, and bordered with giant grasses. Insects. Organic matter in all its splendor. Life.

As you walk further away, the trees start to change and rarefy, the air circulates better, and you can start smelling the iodine, a faint smell at first. Then as you approach the bay the swamps turn into small lagunas, cluttered with logs and driftwood. Nature's sculpture. The iodine smell gets stronger: just follow it.

As you reach the bay area there's a viewpoint with benches, you can sit, rest, and have a first sight of the estuary. Then if you really want to be there, you have to engage in a dense, thick thicket and elbow your way through. You may think this leads nowhere, but it does. And then your efforts are rewarded, you are there. Suddenly, you're in the open, no trees, except from those huge logs, the driftwood, and the vast expanse of water, sky, grasses, pools, and mud. For the estuary is VERY muddy. If you don't like the sensation of your feet slighly sinking in, and the ploc-ploc noise with each step, turn back. For if you want to be by the bay, that's what you have to do, walk in the mud, climb gigantic logs, but when you're there, it's the edge of the world. It's as good as a trip to Patagonia. When I go I like to walk, climb, explore, touch, for a while, and then just sit, breathe, smell, and watch. Drink it in, by truckloads. No risk of intoxication, so fill your lungs, your nostrils, your ears, rinse your eyes. Who needs to take a relaxation class? Just step outside. It's there.

The Quackshack tribe

No it's not one of the local Native tribes. Just a peculiarity of Mann Rd on Fir Island. At the very end of the dike bordering the South Fork of the Skagit, there is an alignment of a few quack shacks, that is, small wood cabins that I always have pleasure to look at, due to their weather beaten aspect, some kind of askew, the angles not quite right, and all of different colors. Most of them are the cutest things. In spite of their funky appearance, some display pompous names, such as "The River Ritz". All have in common the incredible imagination, love, and humour that has been put in keeping them up and imprinting the owners' personality on them. Most occupants are fishermen or hunters. Some use their cabin seasonally, some are local people, some end up living there permanently.

Now a recent phenomenon started taking place, that I'd call the gentrification of the shacks. One after the other, the occupants started not only putting on the yearly coat of fresh paint, but also started enlarging or remodelling their cabins. They're starting to look really nice, but also more uniform. In their endeavour to preserve their little paradise, the cabins owners are starting to uniformize the paint colors, more of that (nice) bluish grey. The cabins are getting almost too cute. Now I'm not pontifying here on what should or should not be done, I'm just observing the changes. While it is perfectly understandable to be willing to keep those cabins in good shape, or to improve the comfort if you turn it into a permanent home, I just hope they're not gonna end up looking like suburban condos, with the assorted rent increases, which may eventually make a whole local culture disappear.

The French liveaboard who should mind her own business.

Fall ride

Fall colors are starting to kick in. I took my bike at the end of the day, followed the dike to the wildlife area, and came back through Wiley road, and back into Mann.
On the dike, I met my neighbor Bob, also riding his bike. Then by Allan's quack shack, I smelled wood burning. At the end of the dike, I saw some quack shacks completing their gentrification remodelling. Bob's neighbor carved a totem pole in front of his cabin. Once in the wildlife area, I could smell the iodine from the Bay. Hunting season's gonna start soon, so I want to enjoy the last quiet days. Past the Wildlife area headquarters, I admired the fields, the silos, and then into Mann the tall grasses bording the sloughs. A neighbor walking her dog, some sheep. It felt SO good. Back on the river I sat on the dock to watch the fall colors on the trees: tangerine. Many leaves have already fallen, piercing the screen on the opposite bank of the river with a few patches of sky. The river was very quiet, deep green and golden. Last show, the flaming colors setting on Beck's canoe on the other side.
What is really important?

The patience of the Great Blue Heron

I often wondered what made the same blue heron regularly land on the same logs by our boat. The cartesian thinkers and environmentalists alike are gonna tell you that he comes there to feed himself. Well yes, but there are many feeding places on the Skagit, and some probably even more sheltered from human activity than our spot. So what makes him come back, and once gracefully landed, wait there, immobile, for hours? I watched, and listened. He's waiting, waiting for something. He can remain motionless for long moments, only every now and then imperceptibly, gracefully turn his neck, or stretch it forward occasionally to look for food. But what is he waiting for?
I fancied he may be coming from another world, a world of ashes and chaos, and that being the sole survivor of all species of that world, he landed here because he thought he could survive. I also fancied that what he's tirelessly waiting for is a female from his species that could have survived the chaos too and found her way to here. If only all humans could have the faith, patience and determination of the Great Blue heron. We should look at him attentively, look at that ash colored robe, the last witness of an untold, unheard of chaos. Look at that beautiful and sad robe, and remember, remember to preserve this world from turning into ashes.

The Friend

If you have a friend who shares laughter and tears with you,
If you have a friend who comes to you in times of sorrow,
Looking for consolation,
If you have a friend who opens her house to you
And makes you a hot beverage
And tries to distract you
And hugs you,
Bless her, and cherish her, like you would for your own child.
If you have a friend,
Who hasn't got much,
But unfolds everything he has for you,
And even more than he has,
And makes you a hot beverage,
And listens, and never judges you,
If you have a friend who lays a cot for you to rest and forget your sorrow,
And covers you with a blanket,
Without asking anything in return,
If you have such a friend,
Cherish him, for life is short.
Blessed be the friend.