Hudson Bay Expedition – Away We Go
It's time to go.
All the same, I keep finding small excuses to stay. I need more fuel.
Have to edit that video. Might need some more groceries. Facebook
beckons. It's time for lunch/coffee/a nap.
With the wind and fog, I had an excuse. But the easterlies have gone and
the fog is only an inconvenience, not a hazard in the absence of other
boat traffic.
I treat for a final pizza party at the lodge, and for my last night
Cathy= has made not one but two pies. I take a slice of blueberry, and
she sneaks me some lemon meringue on my way out the door.
I've stowed all 106 gallons of fuel, the water tank's filled, and
500 dollars Canadian fresh from the ATM bulge in my wallet. Page walks
me to the dock, she hands me a ziplock bag full of bear bangers as a
going-away present. The zodiac hasn't drifted off on the tide, the
outboard fires up and I motor slowly out to the C-Dory.
With everything stowed, I pull up the anchor and feel a pang of loss
waving goodbye to my friends on the dock, cutting the last strings to
the world I know.
It all comes back to me quickly. The outboard's rumble, the slap of
water on hull, reading the gps chart and depth sounder to avoid trouble.
I only go two miles before stopping for the night at Thomson Island. If
I didn't leave tonight, late as it was, they might as well start
forwarding my mail.
The fog settles in with the overnight stillness, and by dawn it's
curdled all around. I can barely see a hundred yards. I tell myself that
one of these days I might actually have to go take some pictures, but
it's not an auspicious start.
I motor slowly under a gray sky, upon a gray sea, no horizon, no
landmarks. I try to steer by the compass, but that requires constant
attention. When my mind drifts, the boat steers to an altogether new and
random course to follow. This goes on for hours and my course looks like
a distracted child's doodling.
After midday the fog finally lifts, revealing blue skies, warm sun and
the glowing rocks of Marble Island, 25 miles from Rankin Inlet. I'm
hoping to get lucky and find a polar bear here, but I'm quickly
reminded that every rock and boulder on this white and cream colored
island looks distinctly bear-like. I motor slowly the length of the
seven-mile island, scanning with the binoculars.
No bears.
It doesn't mean they aren't there, it just means none are standing
on top of a rock waving a semaphore flag to get my attention. Last
year's final day on the boat could have been my final day, period.
Distracted while struggling to photograph a submerged beluga whale
carcass, a young polar bear walk up to the spot where the whale has jst
been butchered. I turned around and he was no more than fifty feet away,
slurping up the bloody strips of fat like a dog stealing Easter ham off
the dinner table.
I vow to pay a little more attention this year.
The only pictures I make are some aerials with the Phantom, flying over
the winding channel that leads in the best harbor I've ever found in
the north, an oval inlet called Knight Harbour on my charts. From
overhead, it looks like a lake, protected from all sides from anything
the Bay might throw at you.
Two whaling ships overwintered here late in the 19th century. It was a
long hard winter, and matters didn't improve when one of the boats
sank. They say you can still make her out on the ocean floor on the
lowest tides. Whaler's graves line the gravel barrier called
Deadman's Island. Watching the moon rise in the endless summer
half-dusk, I raise a toast to absent friends, and pay my respects to the
memories of this place.

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 30th, 2015 at 10:32 am. It is filed under On the Road and tagged with Boating, Canada, Expedition, Hudson Bay.
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