CO-MINGLING
CO-MINGLING
Elias and Drew donned the life jackets they’d selected from the wide assortment found in the barn and scurried out onto the line of rocks and ledges that constitute a little jetty at the head of the rapids. Twelve year old Elias had been coming to Vinalhaven from Illinois and staying here at the Sparrow Barn with his folks for twelve summers but his friend Drew, also twelve, was enjoying his first trip. For that matter it was Drew’s first solo trip, of any consequence, outside Chicago where he lived with his folks and went to school.
Elias’ family always rented this saltwater farm and its seven gently rolling and magnificent acres that front on the southeast shore of Vinal Cove. This big comfortable farmhouse and barn sit naturally together and overlook the Cove. Once an active saltwater farm, it’s now a pastoral retreat enjoyed not only by the appreciative seasonal owners and their guests but also by the islanders to whom those owners have graciously extended permission for such things as a fall carnival, musical events, auctions, fundraisers and artist’s retreats.
For years, too, the picturesque farm has been the first choice of many a celebrant, newlyweds in particular. Photos of brides and grooms gazing adoringly at one another under an arbor facing west toward the cove or north over the rolling little meadows or in the big timber frame barn after an indoor ceremony are scattered far and wide around the country.
The boys shared a bedroom on the second floor of the farmhouse and the enchanting scent that salt waterways dispense now and then breathed wakefulness into them one early morning after another, fueling their enthusiasm for what each new day might offer. Sounds of competing gulls amplified the anticipation, particularly if the tide was out and the flats exposed.
If the tide was not fully out, but on its way, the gulls and terns would be diving in and out up at the rapids, at the north end of the property where Vinal Cove quenches its thirst twice a day with each incoming tide, having expelled an identical quantity just a few hours earlier. At this restricted waterway between the cove and Winter Harbor, its patron estuary, the outgoing tide creates substantial rapids—fairly clear of rocks and obstacles—extending downstream for a hundred yards or so.
The boys, during this vacation, had been converging at this juncture to ride the rapids nearly every day, about two hours after high tide had turned. Then, for several exciting hours, the water was moving at full force but afforded enough depth to allow them to avoid the rocks beneath.
Of course, the outgoing tide was simultaneously rolling seaward in Winter Harbor, and its water level was dropping too, so riding the rapids too long after the tide had turned would not have provided enough depth for the safe passage of two boys hurtling gleefully downstream.
On one of those days the boys headed for the rapids at about noon, with Elias’ watchful and anxious mom, as always, attending from shore. Their arrival coincided with a carnal frenzy of some tiny critters, maybe herring, out in the harbor just beyond the rapids. Whatever those critters were, their activity attracted a handful of predators not far from the rapids but far from the trio’s attention.
While mom, less urgently with each passing day since there’d been no mishaps or injuries, urged caution from the sidelines, the boys scrambled toward their chosen launching spot. This was routine now—no lingering apprehension—and Elias flung himself confidently into the rushing water.
As soon as the current jerked him around so he faced downstream, he sensed an extraordinary, startling, and unexpected warmth underwater right next to his right side. Glancing down he could easily make out a large shadow, much larger than himself, nearly touching—and then touching—his leg.
His first thought—not surprisingly for a twelve-year-old boy—was that it was a shark or some other underwater monster, but just as quickly—showing truly remarkable composure for a twelve year old boy—he deduced, given the distance from deep water and the shark’s customary habitat, that was unlikely.
In the next instant a big Harbor Seal popped up right in front of him, a steely black head, much bigger than his own, with white stripes extending from the center of its forehead down and off to the right and left either side of its ‘V’ shaped nostrils. These were contracting and expanding, the latter effort enveloping Elias’ face with a pungent odor, not altogether unpleasant but unmistakably digestive.
The big creature’s eyes looked inquiringly into Elias’ own as the duo hurtled down the rapids—Elias facing downstream and the seal facing upstream—their heads about a foot apart, perfectly choreographed. The ride seemed to go on forever, Elias at the mercy of the current—exercising no control whatever—and the seal entirely otherwise, effortlessly making whatever adjustments were necessary to keep it facing backwards.
This business of keeping its bulk a foot away from and facing the boy for the duration of the tumultuous ride, presented no challenge to the playful Pinniped. Watching from shore, aghast at first, his mom watched the astonishment and wonder on Elias’ face as this miraculous adventure unfolded, and she began running parallel, along the shore, the better to rendezvous with him the instant the ride was over.
The thrill lasted nearly a minute, one that will certainly linger, and for the duration the seal never took its inquiring eyes off Elias’ own. As the current slowed and settled into not much more than a little eddy, Elias’ feet touched bottom and the seal was gone. Elias splashed toward shore, toward his mom, eager to give voice to this extraordinary experience.
Of course, she had seen it all and was no less eager herself.
Breathlessly, they blurted out the details simultaneously and as they did Drew, who had also seen everything, shouted out his intention to launch his own ride. Elias and his mom looked up at the head of the rapids as Drew signaled his readiness and jumped into the current.
The seal, having scurried, during the intervening seconds, effortlessly back upstream for a repeat of the thrill it seemed to have enjoyed coming down with Elias, popped up as before right in front of Drew and gave him the same companionably breath-taking ride downstream.
This time, though, when it was over and Drew’s feet touched bottom, the seal lingered. It looked at Drew and then at the others, onshore. It paddled around Drew, at times bumping him gently until he tentatively reached out a hand and stroked its back as it drifted back and forth. After a few minutes it submerged and disappeared.
Drew splashed ashore to join Elias and his mom. Each blurting out his own frenzied version of events, the two boys suddenly thought this adventure might not be over and raced up to the top of the rapids for another dance.
Alas—the seal had apparently enough excitement for one day and had moved on out into Winter Harbor—presumably to find its own family and relate its own version of this fun encounter with another species.
Published by the Island Institute’s Island Journal 2015
Permission granted for free use with credit to The Island Journal
Phil Crossman