The daily commute

The boat ride home is fast becoming one of my favourite times of the day. The feeling of walking down from the hill and heaving my aching body onto the boat is cleansing. I love to sit hanging off the back and listen to the engines pulse and the wind hiss as we cut it for home. The boat is a remarkable thing, sleek and powerful with two large turbocharged engines providing forwards motion at an alarming rate. It has the same value as a small country and inhales fuel at a fantastic speed. None of us are ever likely to own anything as valuable or magnificent or needy but we take it for granted every day.

It is not the superb transport which makes me so appreciative of my daily commute, however. The trip has turned into a sublime time to unwind. It’s the longest possible time before I have to battle the steep terrain and its awkward quirks as we try to punch a ride-able trail into the thing. I can sit on the back of the boat, turn my music up loud, feel the wind in my face and take in a special part of a ruggedly beautiful country.

And it is remarkable country. The inlet is the perfect size. It’s huge but it doesn’t feel like it. In shape it is long and thin and bent slightly. The mountains loom above you on either side, thickly covered by Canadian rainforest at their lower reaches. Cedars, Douglas Firs and Hemlocks thickly coat the hillside. Some are many hundreds of years old and truly enormous. In many places the hills are almost sheer and there are waterfalls which begin suddenly and spill in thin wispy streams into the sea.  From up in the hills it is easy to mistake the inlet for a large lake. It’s just that flat and still all the time, and when the weather is good its surface hosts the most beautiful clear reflections of the surrounding hills.

By late afternoon the thick fog of the morning has usually cleared away. The air is crisp and cool. Strands of mist hang to the trees in streaky patches. It looks like the hillside is breathing from hundreds of openings on a cold day, but the steaming exhalation has sunk and settled tranquil over clumps of thick coniferous growth. Higher up there is snow on the peaks, draped over the mountaintops in thick sheets. Trees are painted white by the snow as they resolutely wait for the brief summer to come. Everything is white or grey or green. It should appear dull but somehow it manages to be exquisite. I like the days like this the best.

As I look around it is easy to see wildlife everywhere. There are seabirds, mostly. The seagulls sit on the water, unfazed by the raw call of the boat’s engines as it rips past. A strange small type of duck flocks together and flees in raggedy v’s as we near them.  Seals submerge or surface effortlessly, thriving in the cold salty water. Sometimes a bald eagle is visible, running some mysterious errand in the sky. Closer to the shore, large orange starfish can be seen blooming on the rocks in the shallows.

The job has a lot of downsides. But I guess jobs do. At least with this situation, all of the negatives wash away at times. Especially when the air is clear and the scent of the sea spray is strong. It is cause for happiness, at least temporary. It’s enough.