14 Crossing the Strait

 

Hecate Strait. Jul 15^th. 2033

54°05'28.5"N 130°41'10.3"W

 

“You sure you’ve got everything? How about your Cowichan—you’ll want a jumper once you’re in those deep woods.” Marta rummaged through the bags one more time. “Did Chanáa give you his knife? I told him to… he probably forgot.” Dot took hold of Marta’s sleeve and showed her the blade in its sheath that hung from her belt. She put her hands on Marta’s shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Oh, daughter—I’m just not ready for this.” Marta blinked back her tears.

Kai and Adili walked over to the little sailboat, Adili eyed the mast as Kai asked Dot, “Are you ready for us to load your passenger? He’s on his way down with Doc and Oolie.” Dot nodded and pointed out a stack of blankets and pillows in the cockpit. She handed Kai several plastic bags to cover the cushions. “Oh yeah, good on ya, cuz,” Kai replied. “Things are bound to get nautical once we’re out of this bay.”

“Kai, you’ll keep a close watch over her, promise me?”

“No worries, ay. But hell, with the westerly blowin’ 20 knots hard out, Dot’s little waka will gap it sweet as—she’ll reach Principe Channel way before we do.” Then, noticing the look of concern on Marta’s face, he added, “You know I’ll keep an eye on her, I swear I will.”

The moon was well past its apex as the fetchers lugged the last of the supplies down to the boats. They’d saved the perishables to load the following morning but with news of the trackers, they’d hastened their plans; deciding to leave for the Greenwood at once. Their recent practice-run to secure the scientist and his wheelchair had yielded more problems than solutions, and now they had to act quickly. Ooligan, Pasha and Adili doubted that the injured man would survive the 12-hour journey inside the tlúu. It was Táan who suggested using Dot’s sailboat to ferry their passenger to the Greenwood. “She’s got lots of experience sailing in these waters and she’ll go a heckuva lot faster than we can paddle… Besides, Kim will be more comfortable in Dot’s boat than crammed into these canoes with all of our gear.”

 

Kai and Oolie had presented Táan’s idea to Marta. Dot resisted the temptation to run straight home and throw her gear into a bag. Instead, she gave Marta time to come to terms with their plan. However, once they’d returned to the house, Dot quickly gathered her belongings and ran into Ol’ Pa’s room to say goodbye.

Ol’ Pa had grumbled as he reached for the light switch. “Whath all dith—whath going on?” He’d slipped his dentures into his mouth and continued. “What’s that you’re saying? You’re going with the fetchers to the Greenwood—tonight? Dot beamed, nodding enthusiastically.

Marta stood in the corner of Ol’ Pa’s room and leaned against his closet door. “You heard right, they need our little girl to take the scientist—what a mess.”

“Oh, pish posh, worrisome old woman!” Ol’ Pa stumbled to his feet, reached for his robe and headed for the kitchen as Marta and Dot trailed behind. “This will be a great adventure, Dottie. A great adventure for sure.”

“Honest to Pete, Chanáa, she’s not ready for such a trip—and in the pitch black of night, no less!” Dot noted the fear written on Marta’s face and for a moment wondered, Am I really up for this trip? I have to be—it will be OK.

Ol’ Pa ignored his daughter. “Psshaw, our girl can handle it, I have no doubts. And when she returns, she’ll have some exciting tales to share with us—I could do with some good stories… I’ve heard nothing but the same old rubbish for months now. We need some action ‘round these parts.”

Marta shook her head and silently walked out the back door to fetch the wheelbarrow.

Once she’d left the kitchen, Ol’ Pa motioned Dot over to his chair. “You better be careful out there, little lady,” he whispered. “No taking any risks—and keep a wary eye on your stern, it’s easy to get pooped by one of those westerlies when you’re runnin downwind in Dixon.” Dot nodded her agreement and gave Ol’ Pa a kiss. “Now, run into my room and grab my knife out of the top dresser drawer. You’ll need a sturdy blade if a line needs to be cut fast.”

By 2 AM, Dot had piled her bags into the family’s rusty wheelbarrow. Ol’ Pa stood on the front porch in his bathrobe and waved goodbye. “You make it safe and sound over there, Dottie Rose—I want a full report when you get home!” Dot blew a kiss with one hand as she pushed her cart down the dirt lane.

 

Marta walked with Dot down the wooded pathway to where Táan waited at the edge of the woods. His hands were shoved into his pockets, giving him a slightly stooped appearance. He took the wheelbarrow from Dot, saying, “This is it—You ready, Kij’?” Dot’s eyes lit up as she nodded. They walked side by side toward the shore. “My gear’s already packed away in the tlúu,” he said. “Oh, and my mom packed us both some saltfish. Here ya go.” Táan handed Dot a small package and she smiled.

Marta patted Táan’s shoulder. “That reminds me, Bear—I put a big bag of candied salmon in Dot’s pack—the one right on top. Grab a handful and take some with you. You’ll work up an appetite, paddling all night.”

As they stood near the sailboat watching Marta pack and then repack Dot’s belongings, Táan leaned over and whispered, “You owe me big time for this—you know that, right?”

Dot nodded sheepishly and felt a twinge of guilt about the way she’d treated him earlier that day. Archer ran out of the surf towards the two of them, his tongue hung out of his mouth. He stopped several feet away and squared his legs. “Look out! He’s going to sha…” Before Táan could finish, Archer shook his shaggy frame and saltwater droplets flew everywhere. “Aw—that’s just great Archer! That’s really great—I wanted to smell like wet dog for the entire ride—you stupid mutt.”

Marta straightened from inventorying the cockpit’s contents and looked down at the dog. “Is your mom taking care of him for you, Táan?”

“Yeah, but she’s not pleased about it, I sorta’ sprung it on her about an hour ago.”

“Well, if she needs anybody to watch him while she’s working at the mill, Ol’ Pa and I can take him now and then.”

“Thanks a lot, Marta.” Táan smiled and gave her a hug. The sound of scratching gravel announced the arrival of Ooligan pushing Kim in his wheelchair. Doc walked alongside carrying the briefcase.

Kai and Adili met them and prepared to lift Kim from the chair. “Ready?”

Kim tried to speak as the chair bumped along the path, “I-I th-think so. Y-y-yes, I-I-I am-m-m—but-t-t be careful, please.”

“OK. One, two…three!” Kai directed as they heaved him over the deck and set him on top of the plastic-covered cushions. Kai collapsed the wheelchair and mentioned, “I threw an extra garbage bag in there for you to keep your cast dry. It’s gonna get rough out there at times.” Kim nodded stoically and gave Kai a two-thumbs up gesture. The misgivings he felt about returning to the ocean began to sink in as he recalled his last boat trip.

Dot stepped into the cockpit and bolstered Kim’s head then handed him a blanket and small bucket. “What should I do with this?” Kim asked.

Táan chuckled, saying, “When you need it, you’ll figure that out pretty fast.”

Pasha slapped his hands together for warmth. “We should move out now. We need to put distance between us and shore before daylight.”

Marta reached across the deck and hugged Dot, whispering in her ear to be careful. Táan looked up at the sailboat’s mast, “Kij’—you ready to raise your sail?” he asked. “It’s time we got you guys out of here.” The fetchers pushed Dot’s boat into the surf and it bobbed in the swells. Dot waved farewell to Marta, leaned over the side and rapped her knuckles on the hull, then hauled up the main halyard. The wind pushed the boat away from shore.

“We’ll see you at Pitt Island, Kijii!” Táan shouted.

 

The westerly remained steady through the rest of the night. Dot’s sailboat had voyaged far into the strait before the sun began to rise. For the first several hours, the fetchers managed to keep pace behind the sailboat, but once Dot trimmed her sails, she out-distanced them exactly as Kai predicted she would.

The ocean swells came every twelve seconds and rose as high as six feet. Dot was unfazed by the motion, but Kim soon came to understand what Táan meant about the bucket. He held the bucket close to his face, wretching with every large wave. Dot slipped a line over the tiller and emptied Kim’s pail overboard, handing him a towel.

They had been underway for six hours when Dot spotted Monk circling above the sail. She reached into her bag and unwrapped the saltfish. Dot put a piece of herring in her outstretched hand and the raven dove toward her. Kim watched the raven dance about the deck, keeping his balance as the boat pitched. “How long has this bird been with you?” he asked. Dot considered for a few seconds and held up all ten fingers, then closed her fist, holding up only her index finger. She tapped the deck near Monk’s feet and the bird stepped onto her arm, allowing her to lower him onto her lap.

“Eleven years? He’s a very old bird then, isn’t he?”

Monk stared at the scientist, as if to say, how stupid can you possibly be? He tilted his head at Dot, confirming whether there would be any more saltfish offerings, and then hopped across the bench seat. He tucked his beak underneath one wing and began to smooth out his shiny feathers. Dot hung her arm over the side and repeated her taps on the hull. “Why do you keep hitting your boat?” Kim asked her as he raised his head high enough to look over the cockpit. Dot raised her eyebrows, smiled and held up a finger—the symbol for “just be patient.”

Kim nodded, “Wait and see—is that what you are asking of me?” He thought to himself, I’ve been doing a great deal of that lately. Lying back on the cushions, Kim closed his eyes. His apprehension of the water subsided as they chatted, yet every so often a large swell sent the boat rocking and he clutched at the combing. His heart pounded as he imagined himself flailing in the darkness, fighting to breathe between waves. At those times, Dot would reach over and pat his shoulder.

For the next two hours, Kim fell in and out of a troubled sleep. Images of fires and storms and sinking ships haunted his dreams. He tossed around on the blankets, moaning softly. Monk grew tired of the monotony and took to the air; gliding toward the promise of land. Dot closed her eyes sporadically while holding course and keeping the sails full. At last, the midday sun brought its warmth to the Salish Sea, causing the wind to ease slightly. A sudden thud on the starboard side of the boat shook Dot from her drowsy state. She sat upright to look for the cause and saw a large black shape about ten feet underneath the boat. She slapped the water with her hand and the whale rose toward the surface. Kim awoke as Saka’s dorsal fin emerged three feet from his face. “Aiyeee!” Despite his injuries, Kim scrambled to the opposite end of the cockpit. “O, wǒ de tiān na!”

Dot stifled a laugh and reached over to Saka’s fin, giving it a few strokes to show the scientist he had nothing to fear. Kim stared wide-eyed at the fin coursing alongside their hull. Holding his broken ribs, he panted. “What…? Is that a—a nì jǐ jīnɡ? …a killer whale?”

Nodding, Dot reached for his hand. She spelled the letters “s, a, k, and a” onto Kim’s palm. He watched her make the shapes and repeated each letter as she wrote it. “Saka—is the name of this animal?” Kim shook his head in disbelief. The fin submerged and Kim moved with difficulty toward the starboard side to observe the whale underwater. Dot saw Saka’s fin resurface and patted Kim’s shoulder, pointing to where the whale was rising. She positioned her forearms in front of her face and urged Kim to do the same. At that moment, the orca breached, drenching them with spray. Receiving the brunt of Saka’s shower, Kim cackled loudly as he ducked away from the fishy smelling mist. “Zhēn niú!”

 

The banks of Porcher and McCauley Islands loomed ahead and as they approached the shallow water, Saka veered toward the south. Kim leaned against the deck and watched Saka’s fin rise and fall in the distance until it merged with the watery horizon. Dot shifted the tiller and sheeted in the sails; the boat glided in to a shallow inlet. Kim watched for any sign of people, his anxiety returned as they edged toward land. Dot leaned forward and removed the main halyard from its pin—the sail spilled into the cockpit. She gathered the canvas into a bundle and fastened it around the boom. As the boat neared the beach, Dot lowered her jib and the boat slipped across the pebbly bottom. She jumped out of the cockpit and secured her bowline around the trunk. Returning to the boat, she pulled a small anchor on a coil from the cockpit. She tossed the hook onto shore, yanked until it snagged against a heap of fallen logs and made the end fast around a cleat. Kim watched with fascination. “You are a young woman of many surprises.”

Dot shielded her eyes and looked across the strait, hoping to see the far-off tlúus. The horizon was empty save for the pale shape of Haida Gwaii. She turned her head southward, something moved along the waterline: a dark shape, advancing quickly. Dot nudged the back of Kim’s head with her knee and pointed. “I see, yes… I can see it,” Kim murmured, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. His mouth felt suddenly dry and he whispered, “Is it—do you think it might be HighTower?”

Frowning, Dot shrugged. At this distance, she couldn’t tell whether the vessel was one of the trackers or just a fish boat heading north. She settled back in the cockpit and continued to stare across the strait. Where are Táan and the fetchers?