The air was cold when we got there and as the sun withdrew its warmth the temperature dropped perceptibly as we paddled. The water was just as cold and the kayaks from the school are sit-on-tops, so I ended up with very cold and wet feet. In spite of the cold, the evening was perfect.
The trees have (rather worryingly) failed to change colours in significant numbers. I fear I have brought some of Ireland back with me. (One would think that bringing Ireland home would be good, but I really like mid-atlantic fall!) But here and there along the coasts a few trees stood out in flames, all the more intense for the orange light of the low sun. As it disappeared behind Eastern Neck Island, the trees turned into silhouettes. The eastern horizon was a reflected pale rainbow with the full moon going from an off-white communion wafer to a pure white spotlight as the sun at last vanished behind the horizon.
The occasional skein of geese soared across the moon, perhaps seeking a shelter for the night or switching to night-navigation. The insects that had swarmed in summer were gone and no herons put in an appearance, though there was a sighting of some kind of large bird of prey. It was, for the most part, a quiet night for wildlife. We are fortunate here on the eastern shore to be on the migratory routes of numerous species and being home to a seemingly infinite variety of birds. Dan, the treasurer for the SEA, was complaining on the drive down of his birding class test coming up; he had to memorize the Latin names of 225 birds, including genus and species and basic information for each.
Exercise beyond walking downtown has not been a regular enough part of my lifestyle of late, so it was good to put my arms to use again in a real way. There is something about travelling because of your own physical movements that is so much more satisfying than driving or flying. I pull the paddle through the water and the boat moves forward, pushing against the wind and the rippled water in obedience to my unspoken command. Sometimes I pause and immediately the wind and current tugs me off-course. I remember the relative stillness of the creek we explored in the summer and of the white water I have paddled with my father.
Every time on a river is something new. But I would not think to go out on the river at all if my parents had not tucked my brother and I into the center of our canoe and taken us out on the Potomac when we were small. Sometime in childhood I learned to love travelling on the water and I learned what a blue heron looked like and I learned about water striders and about frog eggs. When we went canoeing there was no sense of having to get somewhere; we were out to have fun and to play a kind of I-Spy game with nature. Lunches were taken when hungry at convenient sandbars or rocks. We do not have to take out our kayaks and canoes to hunt and trade, so the time on the water becomes a time out of time where nothing matters except the next stroke and the movement of the fish. In that every river and even the mention of a kayak reminds me of my father and my childhood, every river trip makes feel closer to home. The music for this journey comes from my parents as well: John McCutcheon and Tom Chapin's "River Gonna Carry Me".
When the sun goes down (when the sun goes down)
And the moon is high (and the moon is high)
And the northern star
Mounts the midnight sky
When the sun goes down and the moon is high
And the norther star mounts the midnight sky,
Gonna get me a boat and I'ma gonna fly
And the river gonna carry me away.
Carry me river to my home
Carry me river back to my home
To the one I love and the family
And the old home place gonna set me free
And the river gonna carry me away
We pause at the beach at the end of the Duck Inn trail and a few of us gather on shore. Once everyone was in the cove, our guide pointed out another inlet and another cove available for a 10-minute or so exploration. I remained on shore, warming up my feet for the return journey and watching the moon. It shone on the water, making a white runway across the river.
As the others returned, they had started to turn on their flashlights strapped to their kayaks. They appeared one by one from the mouth of the inlet and turned to point their bows toward the dock several inlets away. My own thoughts have been on home for a while, but for a moment I imagine that these lighted crafts are carrying the souls of the dead. It is an early celebration of Dia de los Meurtos or All Hallow's Eve; the spirit boats have been sent out in memory of the loved ones gone.
And all will turn,
to silver glass
A light on the water
All souls pass
We return to the dock under the light of the moon. It is more than enough to light the night. The last turn into the cove puts us on the moon path. It leads us west. We pull our boats onto the shore and load them. The ride home is warm. Each cornfield we pass brings me closer to the homework that awaits, the noisy dorm, and every other stress of college life. Somewhere on the ride I have to drop the wish that I could return to childhood and my spot in the middle of the canoe.
What can you see,
On the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
A pale moon rises.
The ships have come to carry you home.
Hope fades,
Into the world of night.
Through shadows falling,
Out of memory and time.
And all will turn
To silver glass.
A light on the water.
Grey ships pass
Into the West.
(Annie Lennox, Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King soundtrack)
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