Chapter 35
Chapter 35
It was a six-hour direct flight from London to Halifax, after which Joanna and her grandfather deplaned, collected their luggage at the carousel, and took a taxi into the city, where she’d made reservations at a luxury hotel on the historic Halifax waterfront. After they checked in, they spent an hour in their separate adjoining rooms to relax and freshen up before dining at the Five Fishermen, a seafood restaurant that came highly recommended by the hotel manager. Then they returned to the hotel and collapsed for the night.
Fortunately, the change in time zones granted them four extra hours, so they woke early, feeling refreshed and energetic. The weather was fine—sunny with a pleasant breeze off the water—and they spent the morning exploring the downtown sector and the Maritime Museum of the Atlantic, where they immersed themselves for three hours in the world of seafaring. They learned about the sinking of the Titanic and the Halifax Explosion, but it was the Sable Island displays that captured their interest.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing,” Oliver said, walking purposefully toward a wooden white-painted service boat. Joanna hurried to keep up with him.
He climbed steps to a viewing platform. “This is exactly what they used to rescue us,” he said, awestruck. “This might even be the very same boat. I can’t believe it survived all these years.”
Joanna climbed the steps and stood beside him. “It’s just like I imagined it.”
Later, when they exited the museum, it was time for lunch, so they ate at a pub called The Lower Deck, where they ordered two bowls of seafood chowder with crusty bread, paired with a local craft beer.
Sated and full to bursting from the meal, they boarded a tour boat that took them past the Canadian naval base to the site of the Halifax Explosion, where two ships had collided during the First World War. Then they cruised toward Point Pleasant Park and rounded the point into the Northwest Arm, where they learned about the Atlantic School of Theology and the Royal Nova Scotia Yacht Squadron.
At the end of a full day on the Halifax peninsula, they returned to the hotel for dinner and to pack for their trip to Sable Island the following morning.
That night, Joanna dreamed of wild horses.
The following morning at breakfast, Joanna dug in to her fruit-and-yogurt plate. “How are you feeling about this?”
Grandad sipped his coffee. “I’m not sure.”
“You were quiet at dinner last night,” she said tentatively. “Do you regret coming?”
He poked at his omelet. “The museum yesterday brought back some memories. Not all of them are good. I didn’t sleep well.”
She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I saw how it affected you, especially the service boat. You must have some PTSD from that, and from hitting the mine. Did you ever get counseling?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t common in those days. Emma was the only person I ever talked to about it. I suppose she was the closest thing I had to a therapist.” He leaned back in his chair. “But no, I don’t regret coming. I’m looking forward to seeing Sable Island again. Sometimes it feels like it was just a dream.” He sat forward and sliced into his omelet. “I hope we’ll see some horses. That would be nice.”
Joanna watched him take the first bite and hoped she hadn’t pressured him too heavily about accompanying her on this journey.
A short while later, she checked her watch. “We should probably get going. We don’t want to be late.”
He checked his watch as well. “Good Lord. I’m a navy man. Lateness is not an option.”
They stood up and went to the lobby entrance to summon a cab to the airport.
At the helicopter terminal, they met some fellow travelers—the Dalrymples, a well-to-do retired couple from the local area, and Jason Abernathy, a professional photographer working on a book about Nova Scotia islands.
As they all became acquainted, Oliver leaned close to whisper in Joanna’s ear. “Don’t tell anyone who I am. I don’t want to talk about the Belvedere .”
She understood and nodded.
They were scheduled to depart at 9:00 a.m. and arrive back at the terminal by 7:oo p.m. The flight across the water would take approximately an hour and fifteen minutes, which seemed remarkable to Joanna—to reach a place that, in her imagination, seemed like the farthest corner of the world.
During the flight across sparkling blue water, Joanna sat beside her grandfather and Jason, and faced their guide, Bill, and the Dalrymples. They all wore headsets to reduce the noise from the engine and propeller, and to speak to each other through a microphone communication system.
When at last they approached Sable Island, the chopper banked left to fly over South Beach. Joanna touched her forehead to the window to peer down at the narrow crescent-shaped island, where she spotted a few horses, like tiny dots, grazing in the green interior. She sucked in a breath of excitement.
As they descended toward the landing pad, she saw more horses lingering around a large pond and couldn’t wait to get her feet on the ground and explore the place her grandfather had described with such reverence.
At last, the chopper touched down, the pilots shut off the engines, and the propeller blades slowed. Both pilots, Darren and Denise, got out and opened the doors, and everyone removed their headsets and unbuckled their seat belts. Joanna was first to hop out and was struck instantly by the unfamiliar fragrance of the island. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before—a singular mixture of the salty ocean, the unique vegetation, and horsehair and manure, all of it floating on the unpolluted breezes of the North Atlantic.
When she turned her head, she saw her grandfather standing tall with his head tilted back, his eyes closed, doing the same thing. Just breathing.
Their eyes met, and he smiled, and she was overcome with happiness, knowing that he was pleased to return to the island that had changed him for the better.
She had come to understand that this was the place where he had discovered his soul.
There was no dirt on Sable Island, just sand, which made walking a challenge for their small group as they ventured through the interior toward Main Station. Bill, their guide, warned them to always keep at least twenty meters away from the horses, so when the group encountered their first small band, walking toward them on a narrow path, Bill waved everyone into the low junipers to make way.
Joanna glanced at her grandfather, who stood mesmerized, staring. “Emma and I never got this close,” he said to her privately. “We were lucky to see any at all.”
“From what I’ve read,” Joanna replied, “the population has grown since they stopped shipping them away for sale. And they’re probably more comfortable around humans who never touch or threaten them. It’s no wonder they made themselves scarce when you were here last.”
“The island felt untouched before,” he said, “but clearly it wasn’t.”
They continued on, trudging along the narrow path.
Main Station was a cluster of white buildings used for accommodations, office, and research facilities, as well as communication towers, fuel storage tanks, and a few essential motorized vehicles. Bill gathered everyone to explain how important it was to keep to the concrete sidewalks to avoid tramping on an endangered species of beetle. He then led the group into the big white house in the center of the station yard, where they could use the loo, refill their water bottles, and leave any unnecessary belongings behind for the day.
While Joanna was bent over her backpack, searching for UV protective lip balm, the door opened, and a man walked in. Joanna heard him before she saw him.
“Hi, everyone. Welcome to Sable.”
As the group said hello, she straightened and turned.
“I’m Garrett Jones,” he said, “the chief meteorologist. It looks like the universe smiled on you today, because the weather couldn’t be better. The last group of visitors weren’t so lucky—fog rolled in at dawn, and there was a zero-meter visibility. They never even made it here.”
Everyone groaned in sympathy. “I guess we’re pretty lucky, then,” Jason said.
“Maybe we should buy lottery tickets when we get home,” Mrs. Dalrymple added, and the others laughed.
Joanna took a good look at Garrett Jones. He wore a black T-shirt, khaki trousers, and well-worn hiking boots. He looked to be the sort of person who knew how to light a fire without matches and could predict the weather simply by sniffing the air.
“I’m Joanna,” she said, stepping forward to shake his hand. “This is my grandfather, Oliver.” They shook hands as well, which started the ball rolling. Everyone else introduced themselves.
“Will you be coming with us on the tour?” Mrs. Dalrymple asked.
Garrett backed up a few steps. “No, I’ve got some work to do at the weather station. I just wanted to say hello because we don’t get many visitors here.”
“Well, hello, then,” Mr. Dalrymple said affably.
Bill, their guide, gathered everyone’s attention. “Remember what I said about keeping at least twenty meters away from the horses, and don’t forget to stay hydrated. We’ll be doing a lot of walking. Any questions before we head out?”
With a raised eyebrow, Joanna glanced at her grandfather. He quickly shook his head because he wanted to remain anonymous, so she raised her hand on his behalf. “I’ve been reading about the history here—that there was a rose garden at the old main station. Does that still exist?”
Bill’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s the first time I’ve had that question. And the answer is yes, and no. Sections of the old concrete wall are still there, and there are some roses, but it’s quite diminished. Any other questions?”
“What about the old main station in general?” Joanna asked. “I saw pictures of a house buried in sand. Will we see that today?”
“It’s westward, I’m afraid, and this tour takes us east. Besides, the structures aren’t safe.”
“Of course,” she replied.
Bill turned to the others. “If that’s it, let’s get going.”
Joanna turned to her grandfather and whispered, “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
“It was worth a try.”
Three hours later, after climbing grassy dunes to breezy heights and descending steep slopes into warm, sunbaked hollows in the interior, Joanna knew that she was experiencing something very special, perhaps even miraculous. Sable Island was a place like no other. It owed its existence to the perfect meeting of ocean currents that swirled around the edge of the continental shelf and stirred up the ocean floor. It relied on strong, deep roots of marram grass and vegetation to hold its fragile existence together as it was eroded, then newly sculpted by the wind and water. It seemed impossible that it could even exist, yet here it was—dynamic, durable, and resistant, but malleable enough to change and adapt after every storm. It had been doing so for centuries.
As Joanna stood on the beach looking out at the vast Atlantic Ocean, she began to fully appreciate the wonder of the entire planet—the enduring and renewing of life, in all its forms. Everything about this trip was inspiring her to get out more, to travel more, and to experience as much of this miraculous world as she possibly could.
Joanna turned away from the water and rejoined the group as they made their way toward Bald Dune.
Toward the end of the day, rain clouds smothered the horizon and turned the ocean to a foreboding gunmetal gray. The temperature, however, remained comfortable and warm.
Bill led the group onto North Beach, where a herd of gray seals—startled by the sudden appearance of humans—scattered into the foaming surf and dove deep. They surfaced farther out beyond the breakers.
“We have some time before we need to be back at Main Station,” Bill said. “So if you want to take your shoes off and dip your feet in the water, feel free.”
Joanna met her grandfather’s eyes, and they smiled at each other. They removed their hiking boots, rolled their jeans up to their knees, and moseyed down the sloping beach.
“It’s so cold!” Joanna laughed as the first wave washed over her feet, halfway up her calves. She took a few seconds to catch her breath, then moved in a little deeper, where she watched a curious young seal swim up close, then cruise back and forth, in front of her.
“I don’t know about that sky,” her grandfather said with a frown.
She examined the murky horizon. “It looks like rain.”
He nodded, barely conscious of the waves dampening his rolled-up jeans.
A short time later, Bill strode to the water’s edge. “I hate to break up the party, but we should head back.”
Joanna glanced at her grandfather, who was quick to leave the water and reach for his boots.
By the time they returned to Main Station, the wind had picked up, and dark clouds were rolling in from the southeast. A few raindrops pelted their faces as they entered the building.
Joanna watched her grandfather walk to the wide bank of windows and observe the sky. Hesitantly, she approached him. “What do you think?”
He shook his head. “If you really want to know, I’ve seen skies like this before. It doesn’t look good.”
She studied the angry horizon and felt a shiver of unease. The last thing she wanted was to fly into a raging thunderstorm and risk her life when she’d just begun to fully appreciate it.
All at once, raindrops hit the window like bullets, and the marram grass around Main Station began to whip wildly in high winds that assaulted the island like a fast-moving train.
The door flew open, and Garrett, the meteorologist, walked in. “How’s everyone doing? Did you have a good day?”
“It was incredible,” Mrs. Dalrymple replied, unfazed by the sudden gale outside the window. Her husband, however, was quiet and solemn.
Garrett slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Bill, can I talk to you for a second?”
Joanna and Oliver exchanged a knowing look while Bill and Garrett moved into the sitting room and spoke with the pilots. A few minutes later, they returned.
“I have good news and bad news,” Bill said. “Which would you like first?”
There was an overall silence.
“I guess you can start with the good news,” Mr. Dalrymple replied.
Bill shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stalling. “All right, then. You’re all going to experience something most visitors don’t when they come to Sable Island, and you’ll get a few free meals out of it too.”
His announcement was met with further silence.
“The bad news?” Oliver asked.
“The weather, as you can see,” Garrett said to the whole group, “came out of nowhere, so it’s not safe to fly back to Halifax. I’m afraid you’re all stuck here for the night.”
While the others groaned and panicked and scrambled to figure out how to manage this unexpected change in plans, Joanna turned to her grandfather. He simply shrugged and smiled, seeming amused by the swerving vehicle that was the universe.
The island visitors were spread out, billeted in two buildings at Main Station. Jason and the Dalrymples were welcomed in the home of a naturalist who had been living on Sable Island, on and off, for more than thirty years, while Joanna, Oliver, and the two pilots took rooms upstairs at the main building for accommodations.
Everyone had only just gotten settled when the storm reached its peak, like a raging beast. The marram grass whipped in near-hurricane-force winds, and the house creaked and groaned as if it were about to be carried off like Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz and spin wildly out to sea.
Thankfully, by dinnertime, the house was still standing when Garrett and Bill served up a spaghetti dinner in the spacious common area.
“Do visitors get stranded often when the weather’s dodgy?” Joanna asked Garrett, who sat across from her at the long table.
“Almost never,” he replied. “It’s more likely that trips get canceled, but no one saw this little flare-up coming until a few hours before.”
“Lucky us.” Joanna smiled at him as she twirled her spaghetti noodles around her fork. “Seriously, I’m not sorry to be spending the night here.”
“I hope the rest of your group feels the same,” he said.
In the spirit of making polite conversation, Garrett addressed Oliver, who sat next to Joanna. “You two are from England?”
“What gave us away?” Oliver replied in a friendly manner.
Denise, one of the pilots, laughed. “It’s those gorgeous accents. Are you just visiting Canada, or do you live here?”
“Just visiting,” Joanna told her.
“And what do you both do?” Denise asked.
Joanna poked at her pasta. “I’m a veterinarian in London.”
“She looks after horses at the Royal Mews,” Oliver added, not shy about boasting.
Garrett and the pilots swung their gazes to her at once.
“You mean Buckingham Palace?” Denise asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
Denise dropped her fork onto her plate. “How in the world did you get that job?”
Joanna dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Your guess is as good as mine, but I’ve loved horses since I was young, so I always knew that’s how I wanted to spend my life, working with them in some way. By the time I was twenty, I had a mountain of volunteer experience, and they just happened to be hiring when I graduated from vet college.”
“Sounds like fate,” Garrett said.
“Maybe so,” Joanna replied.
“And what do you do, Oliver?”
All eyes turned to him, and Joanna was about to intervene protectively when he responded.
“I’m retired,” he said flatly.
There was an awkward silence at the table. Then he surprised Joanna by spilling the tea. “I was a lieutenant colonel in the British navy during the war. Then I worked in commercial shipping.”
Joanna could have added that he had seen combat in World War II, had survived two shipwrecks in his later career—including one on these very shores—and had gone on to consult for a global shipbuilding enterprise, where he worked with engineers and designers to improve safety features in every aspect of marine travel.
Bill reached for a second roll and buttered it. “I had a feeling you knew something about the clouds,” he said. “You knew what was coming.”
Oliver was too humble to say yes, so Joanna answered for him. “He did. So I wasn’t shocked when you said we couldn’t leave tonight.”
Denise sat back in her chair. “Mrs. Dalrymple looked like she was going to pass out.”
Everyone at the table chuckled.
Joanna took the last bite of her spaghetti, then glanced across the table at Garrett. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze and smiled.
Oliver raised his glass. “Let’s make a toast. Thanks to our pilots for putting safety first, and to our hosts, for providing this delicious meal.”
“Cheers to that,” Denise said.
They all clinked glasses.
“Let’s also drink to clear skies in the morning,” Darren added. “And hope the universe is listening.”
Joanna and her grandfather shared a look of amusement.