We crossed Caamaño Sound to Aristazabal Island beneath thick
fog and rising winds that would hit 25 knots before day's end. Landing in the
lee of Baker Point before things got too sporty, we scouted for a campsite and
found a small forest clearing—coated in eagle poop and barely big enough for
one, maybe two tents. None of us fancied sleeping in that mess, so we opted for
the logs instead. The weather radio warned of sustained northwesterly winds at
25 to 35 knots for the next couple of days.
It howled through the night.
Around 3:30 AM I got up to pee and assess the weather. Crawling out of my tent I stepped towards the
beach and on to something soft and alive.
Looking down, my headlight illuminated more toads than I had ever seen
before. The ground was covered with them
feasting on insects that had come out of the beach detritus. Stepping carefully, I walked forward towards
the water until I was in a no toad zone.
I stood there and did my business while looking the four miles across Laredo Channel to where the mountains of Princess Royal Island were backlit with the dark rose promise of sunrise. The sound of the wind in the trees and the chattering of the whitecapped seas provided the soundtrack as I looked straight up at black sky that was jampacked with stars. Suddenly a large yellow/orange meteor came into my vision from behind the trees on a NE heading. It was colorful and shedding fiery debris, seemingly slow-moving and just before reaching the horizon, it faded and disappeared.
After that I couldn't sleep so I fired up my Jet Boil to
make coffee. At the sound of my stove
Greg crawled from his tent as he can never pass up the possibility of a cup
coffee.
Perched on a log, coffee in hand, we spoke of wind and water
and toads and meteors while watching the sunrise paint the morning sky.
