The "companionship" of nature...

I have a great deal of company in the house,

especially in the morning when nobody calls.

- Henry David Thoreau

Sunrise at Maple Bay - the "companionship" of the changing morning sky.

Despite the need to be somewhat gregarious and convivial in the practice of my chosen vocation, I am very content to have the "companionship" of the natural world. An introvert (and really quite very thankful for that as I would not have the energy to be otherwise), I find respite in being alone...outside. Perhaps that is why the darkness of the early morning hours is so very special.

In our small corner of the world, when we step outside, we are usually greeted by the resident deer and the rabbits - neither of whom ever seem to need to sleep. In the darker shadows of the deep woods that surround our home, I always imagine there is at least one bear and one cougar eyeing our every movement - the slight feeling of apprehension that this thought brings is rather delicious after all. (Much better that this be a "delicious thought" to me than to them.)

On the water, as we launch and paddle out into the warm glimmer that promises the coming sunrise, we hear (first) and see (second) the ever-present seals and the sea otters. Tiny pulsing "disks", the tiny and virtually transparent jellyfish, hover beneath us, somehow visible in the dark sea. Sea birds are already stretching their wings and preparing for their day. I imagine the giant octopus and the other such sea creatures that inhabit the deep waters of the narrows, and feel a slight shiver. That strange amalgam, the feeling of both vulnerability and cosiness in the confined but comfortable cockpit of our narrow craft...again, it's delicious.

As do many of you, who find meaning and value in self-propelled activities such as kayaking, running, hill-walking, and hiking, we have discovered that there is a wonderful experience of companionship in nature. I will confess that an hour in a busy pub, filled with loud noises and frenetic movement, leaves me feeling overwhelmed and rattled. Perhaps that is why I show reluctance, when invited, to join with much loved and appreciated friends. The promised and anticipated ambiance and companionship with others would be broken by the chaotic miasma (perhaps a rather strong word) of disconnected voices, conversations, and clattering of cutlery, glasses and dishes. I would yearn for that gentleness in nature that, surprisingly, can even be felt on the days when gales rage and our heavy Vancouver Island rains are blown sideways.

Skies lightening over Burgoyne Bay on Saltspring Island.

The sound of the bow of my boat, gliding through the water, delivers a "voice" that I can hear. It is the same voice that was heard a thousand years ago by an indigenous paddler on these same waters. This familiar voice, speaks the same universal language today as it did in the countless millennia before recorded time began. The waves that caress, and sometimes crash upon, the sandstone shores feel like they are moving right along with us, enjoying our company as much as we are enjoying theirs. They are never far away. The creatures of land, sea, and air offer their companionship - sometimes even calling out to us. We call back, and maybe their "grin" is as wide as ours? Sometimes I feel we are sharing laughter together, we most certainly share curiosity and perhaps even delight.

Watching the sun rise through the "notch" at Burgoyne Bay, we feel as though we are fellow travellers "on the way". We know where the sun is going and when it will return to our familiar horizon.

In all of this there is "companionship".

It is a context where one can be alone...but rarely lonely.

Perhaps this is how Henry David enjoyed such good "company", in those quiet early morning hours, alone in his tiny cabin and around his lovely Walden Pond.

Pax,

Duncan.