Acadia

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Sean (co-instructor), Jake, and Conway got up for the sunrise climb back at Otter Cliffs. I heard their footsteps crunching by my tarp and thought a lot about getting up to go with them. I was awake enough but hadn't heard the plans the night before. Are they coming back, bringing gear for the day? Decided I'd take a pass. Got up at 6 for an 8 a.m. start. The cert schedule has changed and will start Wednesday rather than Thursday. Sounds like a double booking on the examiner's part. He'll come back again on Friday to wrap up.

Went out to the Canyons to set up and climb. A smallish area, as was Otter Cliffs. Our threesome didn't get far and had to wait for inspection longer 'cause the cert folks need instructor time and help more than we. I was going to belay Katy O but the wait took so long that I think she lost confidence in me. Sarah L showed more confidence though, when it came down to it, needed help as well. Sarah Maney was able to check things out and show us what needed doing. I took pictures again. Katy was belayed down and then climbed back up. By then it was time to pack-up and head    down the one-way Park Loop Road to Sand Beach.                                 (Pix is Otter but Canyon won't load)

We were all ready to get to the water and cool off. Most of us ran in--the water was cold but not as cold as I expected. Still made us numb though even numbness seems relative. The cold felt great as we had been in the sun all day, sweat mixing with sunscreen. Coquette, the diver, was having nothing to do with it. Caribbean
warmth or nothing at all.

 T-shirts in early May in Maine! Slept in short sleeves last night and didn't even wrap up in the bag.

After Sand Beach some go back to Otter Cliff. Mike and both Sarahs drive back to camp with me for more water and we fill some bottles and bring them back to some of the climbers. Stopped in town for coffee, pens, and a lighter since I forgot my matches. I wanted to go to the cliffs that I heard are beyond the camp trees but had to get settled. Wish it didn't take me so long. Then it started to sprinkle. Heating water in my stove sucks. The stove keeps going out. Felt chilled from the beach and from my quick-dry clothes that weren't quick enough. Put on layers to warm up hoping I'll feel dry and warm soon.

In and out of the trailer getting my stuff. . . it never ends. Can't leave the door open because the squirrels are running around and would love nothing more than to check it out. The trailer is another reminder of what it means not to be familiar with something. What have we been exposed to or not? I never used a trailer until the White Mountains trip. Now, I get to open the trailer door and see how the handle works. . . simple things to appreciate. Now in my solitude at camp when everyone is away, I get to start a stove and appreciate the experience, even if it isn't working well. On the sea kayaking trip the stove worked well and I felt self sufficient. The novelty reminds me of the SAT questions that "minorities" don't know because they've not had that experience in their lives. . . my consequences pale. Yeah, I was shown at assessments in December how to take apart a stove and try to fix it but apparently I'd rather keep lighting than get into the guts and mess.

I head down the wooded service road to check out the cliffs nearby before people get back. Oooooh. Wonderfully rocky cliffs. Tops are mottled gray-green but primarily have a soft orange or peach color. Sides of striated rocks are darker. If I think back to the timing of the sea kayaking tides last week, high tide is coming in. The green water pushes over rocks, fills in cutaways, holes, and covers rocks with white ribbons and spider webs. Coastal rocks--the bane of boats and ships. "We're gonna run aground--break up on the rocks!" Rocks buried for 6 hours until the tide next ebbs. Flood and ebb, flood and ebb twice a day. The flood seems to weaken, making me doubt the timing I thought I learned in my "Tides and Currents" research. Then the tide pours, swirls, and crashes with authority and I realize it was a momentary rest, bathing and swallowing the ledges, renewing the life there in its rhythm. One stand of rock stops the water and it sprays white along it's small coast.

Metaphors of battle and aggression are in my mind as I sit high above, observing. But I feel so soothed and healed, cleansing and feeding metaphors should substitute. I want to sleep out here in my bivy. This is where to come to watch the sunrise. No need to drive to Otter Cliffs. We'll have no sunset in the clouds tonight. Mainly conifers line the cliff ridges on this island, Mt. Desert, and distant islands. Not sure the type but at least I'm not calling them pines. Wish I had the tree book with me.

Black and white birds float below and offshore, diving and fishing. Here is my retreat--mesmerized in beauty and power and rhythm. Miles out on the horizon, the gray sky gradually lightens to a blue-white, fades into a still lighter gray, offsetting the edge of dark blue horizon melting into the gray-blue sea, undulating toward this interruption of its movement.

The conversation rages between sea and rocks. The blue sea slides and rocks toward the land and they greet each other loudly; hugs and slaps on the back, the conversation escalating as the sea envelopes and surrounds in the familiar. Tide pools once again are wet with life.