Phosphorescence

For someone whose blog references a body of water in its title, I spend an awful lot of time on dry land. (Trips on the Queen of Surrey don't really count.) Being a landlubber is fine in a lot of places, but here it seems inappropriate. I live in a town built around the water, one that began from its wharf and spread out from there. There's nowhere in Gibsons - or on the whole Sunshine Coast - that's more than an hour's walk from either Howe Sound or the Strait of Georgia. The place is built for people who spend time in boats, but I'm more likely to be in my vegetable garden than bouncing over waves at any given time. So it felt good to spend a bit of time afloat last Saturday night, thanks to the fine people at Sunshine Kayaking.


Around dinnertime (for all creatures - we watched from a few feet away as an otter devoured a fish on the Sunshine Kayaking float) six of us got in boats and paddled across the channel to the beach on Keats Island near Salmon Rock. We lit a fire, cooked smokies, and let the warm evening pass by. It passed by quickly, as good times do. By the time we set off homeward, it was completely dark, with only a sliver of moon in the sky.

You'll have to take my word for the next part, because I don't have a shred of photographic evidence. We paddled home that night atop the most dramatic phosphorescence I've ever seen. The instant you put your paddle blade in the water, it stirred up a glowing, swirling blue cloud of sparks. It was indescribable (but, obviously, I'm giving it a go).

We set off from Keats at a meandering pace, scooping up handfuls of stars with our hands and throwing waves of blue electricity with our paddles. Gradually we rounded the point into the next bay over, and somebody called out in surprise. Underneath us a school of fish was darting around, leaving meteor trails behind them. It was beautiful, and also dizzying. Normally in a boat you have the impression of being on the surface of something. Water is like the ground, but wet and wavy - but here was something totally different. Instead of floating on the surface of the water, we were flying far above the rocks and fish underneath us. As we paddled past the fish, our boats rode on bow waves that seemed to be made of blue light.

So strange to paddle back into the marina that night, with its sodium lamps humming and the town right above it. Walking home up Gibsons Way, we had that feeling you have when you return from a place so foreign that you can't explain it to people who haven't been there. All you can do is look forward to going back.

For those who don't have the chance to paddle Shoal Channel, my friend Jon Hird's gorgeous videos can take you there while you kill time at your office job.