I’ve been going out to my cabin for 25 years. It’s located on the island between the tides.
There, the tides are everything, even more important than the wind, because, although it’s well-protected, you can’t really get anywhere without a boat.
It would take me two days to paddle there and two days back. Occasionally I would charter a plane. It is not the place to go if you don’t know the area. The first time I went there I paddled right past the bay without realizing it was there.
The second time I saw a small handful of cabins, some in states of decay, but didn’t stay.
The third time, I stayed and got to know one of the last of the residents; he has since moved to town.
Another old hand taught me a few things about cabins and wood stoves, and encouraged me to fix up this tiny old shack.
It was really small, but it had a peaked shake roof, which turned out to be perfect for me, owing to my height.
Half the cabin consists of a bed that stretches from one wall to the other. The other half is divided into an “open concept” wood shed and kitchen.
Sitting in my armchair (one of the more recent additions), I can grab a quarter round from under the bed, split it into 16 pieces and shove them into the ridiculously small stove that needs to be fed constantly in order to keep the fire going, all without getting up from the chair. That’s how small the cabin is.
I used to always kayak out every year, but this year I’ve switched to charter because I’m just getting too old.
Speaking of age, the whole place with it’s mossy forest and quiet shoreline, the moss and lichen living on the shake roof, the cabins in various stages of decay (even my very functional cabin has an air of decrepitness), the fallen and decayed trees that slowly go back to the forest, it all keeps reminding me of my age!
So this was the first year I’ve officially abandoned solo kayak crossings in favour of modern transportation systems.
In spite of that, my vacation did not go at all smoothly due to the brutal weather this May, and to human error, i.e., mine, for forgetting my heart pills and not keeping a sharp eye out for the tide when I was transferring supplies.
As I encountered the worst of the storms, I was socked into my cabin for three days, where I spent the vast majority of the time splitting wood and keeping the stove fire going.
But the thing was, in spite of the unseasonably cold weather I loved being out there. The birds, the wildlife, the changing tides. It is a world apart, but inevitably when I get back to town, unlike in the movie Island Between the Tides, nothing has changed outwardly, only my attitude.
I feel humble and love nature all the more.
