to summer in this sunny, warm, albeit lumpy harbor. The waves and black sand beach seemed to call to Captain Bob, and after breakfast he decided to head ashore for some exploring. I declined the invitation to explore with him as for some reason the surf noise made me nervous, or perhaps I was distrustful of the dingy. The Shadow, with Captain Bob rowing, headed for the beach and as they reached their destination a rogue wave overtook the stern end of the little craft. Normally the Shadow would have bobbed like a cork, but after the treatment at the hands of Captain Bob, it was time to get even. The Shadow welcomed the wave, even twisted her stern to catch as much salt water as possible in order to flip Captain Bob out, rolling both of them in the surf, losing a VERY expensive pair of sunglasses in the process. The upside down Shadow ended up triumphantly on top of its victim as he flailed in the water. A chastened, dripping wet, fuming, virtually blind Captain Bob collected the oars, bailed out the dingy and rowed back, vowing to return to the beach and reclaim the sunglasses at a future point in time. After waiting for the tide to go
out we both returned to the scene of the crime to look for the $300 pair of glasses. Captain Bob felt sure he knew where they might have landed, but I wasn’t so sure as his vision, without glasses, is so very poor it was amazing he was able to find the oars, let alone Shadow or Shadowfax after his accident. Shadow repeated its journey to the shore with two aboard, this time skimming effortlessly over the waves with nary a tip or dip. We scoured the beach, Captain Bob looking where he thought the glasses should be, and I looked knowing the glasses could be ANYWHERE on this half-mile long stretch of sand. Finding things has always been my expertise, I have even managed to find water with the witching wands of two coat hangers, so how hard would it be to find a pair of eyeglasses buried in a sandy beach? I sharpened my vision and focused on clearing my mind, therefore allowing my eyes to truly see, and there, with one tiny arm waving at me from a sandy rivulet on the far side of the beach were the glasses. Mission accomplished, day saved, Shadow forgiven.
Another day’s travel brought us
to the harbor of Hydaburg. The dirt streets and yards of Hydaburg town were framed with lush yellow and red salmonberries; all in rich profusion, tempting us to steal a berry or two as we wandered the town admiring totem poles and canoes on display. Our saunter came to an abrupt end when a rustling in the bushes on a hillside suggested a furry bear diner. At my exclamation of “BEAR!” a slight figure bounded out of the berry patch with an answering “WHERE?” and we realized that our animal fear was unfounded. The “bear” turned out to be a delightfully garrulous lady that was kind enough to educate us on the berry and honey recipes of the vicinity. She even hand copied the recipes and delivered some jam and honey samples to the Shadowfax at it’s mooring on the town dock. The Fireweed Honey recipe calls for 60 white clover blossoms, 36 red clover blossoms and 36 fireweed blossoms and an unimaginable time collecting these. With that kind of labor involved, what a treat it was for her to share this with us. Captain Bob had wanted to visit
the town because his carving teacher Ralph Bennett, a Haida, came from the area, and we understood the totem poles were worth seeing. They were, grouped together in a cluster in front of the school; they kept watch in splendor, despite a few straggly huckleberry growths jauntily adorning hats, heads and noses. Their stately presence must remind the schoolchildren of their heritage when at recess, or when gazing out a window during a long school session, perhaps wishing a return to the old days. A few totems were set in grandeur
in front yards and it didn’t take long for our obvious admiration (and an offer of Shadowfax Ginger Cookies) to allow us to meet the owners. We were introduced to one owner, a grand old gentleman, reputed to be the oldest living Haida elder, and paid our respects. He was surrounded in his cozy little house with Native American carvings, art, pictures and the support of a large and loving family. No wonder he has reached the wonderful age of 95, he is his family’s pride and joy. I took my ukulele along with Captain Bob and the cookies and
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48° NORTH, NOVEMBER 2011 PAGE 33
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