Tuesday, September 5, 2017
A cormorant rests on a mooring ball. Another flies deliberately, just off the water with rapid steady wing beats.
Nature is so close but we have done a magnificent job of isolating ourselves. A vast paper trail — little understood — protects us from it.
Carrie Rose will support us for a month if we are frugal: Fuel, water, waste, diesel, propane, electrons, and food. If it all functions, we are like a duck in the water, up with the sun and down not much after twilight.
Solar panels, a generator, a small refrigerator, and 200 gallons of diesel; an old radio and books for entertainment; a flute, art supplies, pen and paper for artistic pursuits. Cameras help preserve the moment but I am not sure for who.
The sun passes behind the trees. On the horizon, the sky clears for the first time today. Orange rays light up the remaining cloudbank. The wind dies so we float with the current, flipping 180 degrees every 6 hours.
There is not a sound other than the clock ticking. A duck floats by leaving a surprisingly large wake. A pair of porpoises reveals their presence by punctuating the water’s surface with their dorsal fins as a flock of storm petrels flies out.
Though the sun is long gone, its image is reflected in the clouds and from there, the water. Carrie Rose gently sways on her last night of floating.