The furrowed sea was lit blue by the sun. Twinkling, winking, tempting, seductive. But with the wind at its back it remained a deadly barrier, a prison wall. We had gone five days without a boat to the island. No visitors nor any chance to leave. Stuck as we were with the same faces, same views, same boundaries. Given time any beautiful view will fade. It becomes broken down into its constituent parts; a sheer cliff, turbulent waters. Beauty in modern eyes was dangerous territory to past inhabitants of this land.
I was learning about freedom. The physical barrier of Jack Sound has grown into a mental one. The lack of boats means a lack of freedom of opportunity. You can't go shopping, go to the pub, go for a curry, go for a walk somewhere new, go and see old friends. When the boats run daily you can do these things. You normally don't but the opportunity exists in physical form. Having that escape route created a delicious freedom of thought in my mind that prevented it from being starved due to island life. But now there was no boat.
Despite the wind our island cage was often warmed by the sun. Walking round the empty paths even felt liberating at times. I belted out songs I was listening to on my iphone, something I'd never subject other people to. I had time to explore hidden crags and peer over cliffs I'd not approached before. I ran too, burning off frustrated energy, captivation, isolation and dulled motivation.
Finally the wind ceased. The boat nudged its way past the far headland out into the sound, its blue hull slowly slapping the waves out of its course. It rolled and bent with the tidal floes and eddies, calmly steering into the haven and approaching the landing in a relaxed manner, unrealising that she was the key to unlocking my caged mind. That she was Pandora. That she was a spectre of freedom.
With more bad weather forecast I took the opportunity to leave for the night. I had plans to go out for dinner, go to the supermarket and enjoy those little slices of normal life. But first I had a score to settle with the sea.
After a short drive I found myself skipping down a dusty grass path to the cove, my longboard squeezed under my right arm, my eyes squinting hopefully at lines in the water. I bounced over the slippery rocks to the sand, pausing briefly to zip up my wetsuit and quickly stretch my back. Three of four surfers were struggling with a consistent but weak wave at the south side of the cove. But at the north end a rip current was helping form a shapely wave breaking close to the rusty ruins of a collapsed sandstone cliff. I paddled north, through the litter of the storm; broken bladderwrack, strips of laver and a brown sludge of seaweed that had been torn from the rocks.
A set of waves approached, catching my attention as they lurched over an outer sand bank. They moved towards me, steep silver shapes in the glare of the evening sun. I picked a wave and caught it, my board gliding with more and more speed. The wave lined up small and steep in front of me. One step forward, then another. Toes shuffling to the edge of the board. In a moment the board disappeared entirely from the experience and I was flying weightless and free, just me and the sea. I fell in love with the sea, my captor, once again. I was dancing atop my prison's walls.
With a satisfied fatigue I climbed the slow path to the car park. I realised I was completely relaxed, having released all that pressure that had built in my mind. After a cosy sleep in the back of the car, I crept outside to meet an autumn chill at half past five the next morning. Smaller waves broke in the bay, whilst my wetsuit dripped cold after the nights rain. I crawled back into my sleeping bag smiling. Although I'd decided not to surf that morning, the point was that I'd decided. I finally had the freedom to choose. I could have gone surfing right then and there. I could have.
No comments:
Post a Comment