Saturday, February 12, 2011

The Raven and the River...

Recently while driving north into Curlew, crossing the Kettle River highway, bridge I encountered a raven flying a parallel course. Slowing my vehicle to match the flight of the bird I noted it was flying about 28 mph. It was a large raven and only about fifty feet west of my truck as we approached the bridge. So close I could clearly see the bird, the fluctuations of it's feathers in flight, and noted it’s mouth moving, possibly cawing, but it is a cold winter’s morning and my windows are up, I cannot hear if it is indeed making sound.


In flight toward the river the raven stayed at the same elevation above the western field, keeping it clearly in my view and with no other traffic I matched speeds with the bird and watched it fly alongside my vehicle. We both approached and then began to cross the river together. I, within my truck and in the structure of the overhead trussed bridge, the raven in the free, clear, cold air of a winter’s morning. Side by side the raven and I crossed the river less than fifty feet apart and nearly the same elevation above the water. As we reached the northern shore I realized what strange a thing had just happened. I had recently been reading a historical account of traveling in this northwest country 200 years ago. Rivers were not so casually crossed, nevertheless at 28 miles per hour in the company of a bird, which figures so prominently in the indigenous peoples ancient tales of creation. As we cleared the bridge the raven veered course and flew right over the top of my truck less than 20 feet above me. At that time it vanished from my sight, but not from mind…

Friday, February 11, 2011

Who's Got Cabin Fever?

Cabin Fever?

Wikipedia’s got it wrong. They say, “Cabin fever is an idiomatic term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in, in a small space, with nothing to do, for an extended period”... Not.


As a northern sailor I know cabin fever. Get it every year about this time. It’s a reaction that takes place when I’m isolated from my boat for over three months with another two months of winter weather to go. I know the symptoms really well. That pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, which has already consumed far too much firewood. The tired eyes from rereading my favorite sailing books, TREKKA, MAIDEN VOYAGE, WORLD CRUISING ROUTES. Some years I reread all 21 books of the Jack Aubrey adventures by Patrick O’Brian. And then the anticipation, oft near desperate, while awaiting the next issue of Cruising World to sate my fevered hunger. Yep, I got it ~ bad…


Sometimes the only cure is for Catherine to tuck me into our loft berth and whilst I recover sipping medicinal rum she will read me excerpts from our cruising logbook...

“We dropped the hook in the small cove between Hellsgate Island and the towering cliffs of basalt forming the northern wall of the anchorage. The water was calm and taking on a hint of golden from the setting sun. After a long day passage it is most always refreshing to bring the vessel to a stop. Secure the hook in good holding sand, let out a hundred feet of chain, and take a deep breath in the cockpit. Not another boat in sight. No roads. No houses. Just a crescent, sandy beach bordered to the north by the tall dark cliffs and a small, steep walled, uninhabited island between us and the body of Roosevelt Lake and the main channel of the Columbia River. As the vessel and crew settle to quiet we spy a mother whitetail doe with a near grown fawn moving quietly from their browse under the bitterbrush and into the shadows of a lone copse of ponderosa pines. Canadian geese call in their flight overhead, vanishing into the dark but colorful western sky. As Catherine and I touch glasses in a toast to another evening aboard I note the sky and the merlot are of the same color and a smile crosses my lips thinking to myself, “we are drinking the sky”.

With that I’ll drift into a pleasant sleep, dreaming of bright sails and warm breezes, a good old boat and well found mate. Secure in the knowledge winter will pass…


Here's to your health...
Foster