For nearly fifty years I’ve been hiking to Skookumchuck Narrows to look at the rapids. The word Skookumchuck means Strong Waters in the Chinook Wawa, or trading language, that once stitched the Pacific Northwest together like a textile of intricate and unexpected fibres. For nearly fifty years I’ve looked at the wild boil as tides surge through a narrow strait and wondered at the power of water. Yesterday for the first time I was able to take most of my family (Sorry, Angie and Karna!) on a boat trip to the rapids, using part of the advance I received for my latest book, The Art of Looking Back. What better way to spend money earned from writing?
We had the best time. Our skipper Danny provided rules (necessary for the very energetic grandsons, including the one who’d already lost a sandal into the water as we waited to board the boat and was lucky his uncle Forrest was willing to shed his shirt and swim to the rescue) and lots of technical and stray information about the water, its speed (16 knots), the backeddies where a kayaker could wait out the turn of the tide, and also a beautiful visit to the seals at Canoe Pass.
We “surfed” through the rapids, the water undulated and boiling like a living creature, swirling around us, and it was as exciting as anything I’ve ever experienced. We all whooped and hollered!
This morning I was remembering the water as I came down to the kitchen to make coffee before Brendan and Cristen’s early departure. The little weaving on the wall by the dining room caught my eye. It was made by Lesley Cuming and the tag on it when I bought it offered its name: The Ocean is Sleeping. We saw all those colours as we raced through the water at Skookumchuck Narrows yesterday: dark blue, the azure of glacial till, the froth of white, iron brown kelp, bladderwrack clinging to the rocks as tightly as we clung to the edges of the deck. Some of the people I loved best on earth, three generations, hope, the taste of salt on my face. I wish I could load some of the videos I took so you could share the excitement of that strong water but for some reason I can’t. You’ll have to believe me.
As your boat draws in closer, the roar and the mist come out to meet you.” (Capi Blanchet)
Bring it on, I thought (but didn’t yell).
Lovely tale, thank you for sharing it with us. I smiled at the sadal story – I’ve a younger cousin who, if there was even the most remote chance of getting into mischief or trouble, would find it. Your grandson reminded me of us as kids. Also, why didn’t you yell it out? xx
I remember my brother flicking his shoe onto a roof of a gas station in Quebec as we waited in the heat for our family car to be repaired. My dad made him climb…
I imagine, had they met, he and Malc would have been firm friends.
!!