NIGHT KAYAK
Seated on drift wood
we story tell waiting for night.
Dodd Island is covered in mist
there are no stars or moon tonight.
Suddenly at ten
we become Cyclops
with blue headlamps we tread softly
beneath cedar trees
crunching sea shells
lifting kayaks into liquid night.
An oyster catcher calls
we paddle silent in darkness
absorbing night's magic we enter
the world of bio-luminescence
a shoal of fish flash beneath us
passing light.
The sound of Mama Jo's paddle
guides us to Walsh Island
lighting torches across the bay
we're greeted by a screech
of teeth-like rocks looming in our face
barnacles and seaweed
winking in the glare.
Gordie aged six,
sits like a trooper,
centre in the triple kayak.
Listening to a portpoise breathe,
we hear a sea lion's bark
penetrating invisible distance
as we scan sea shapes
for the island that might be home.
Beaching at midnight
exuberent and cold
watched by many eyes
we search for our tents.
Suddenly,
from behind
a voice booms QUIET!,
piercing the forest night.
Hours later
three wolves howl
in unison.
Dodd Island, British Columbia 2002
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