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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3635 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention In Search of Sea-Wolves Vienna (Carole Barley) 'Isla de Lobos' shimmers under morning sun, white painted, straining at her tether in the harbour. The June sun is too bright for my eyes, a man boards with a wheelbarrow full of bread, a young couple kiss at the prow. This old ferry knows her way through the reefs and in case she is not sure, dolphins guide or maybe are just there to playfully confuse. Isla de Lobos heads sunwards, a German feels uncomfortable with the swell, I have forgotten a clasp to tie back my hair. The captain's threadbare T shirt says 'Hard Rock Cafe' somewhere or other; kitesurf sails litter these shallows, we are over the surf and into deep blue. The air begs itself to be grasped and embraced. I gasp it all in, rail hanging. Difficulty dismbarking, stone steps and rolling boat need strong, dark hands to grasp wrists. Someone will not get off, sits with a face like a pricked balloon. I am off and away. No one follows this path, here is where seagulls laugh amongst themselves and beautifull plants grow from nothing. In the valley there is no wind, I sit and struggle with my fairness, gulp water from my stone heavy rucksack, notice my shoulders are burning. The stony hummocks here were formed when underground water was heated by volcanicity. I pass green lagoons, tall strands of sizal, ammonites lay scattered on a fossilised beach, the silence here has lasted centuries, heat heavy, ancient dust coats my ankles. The lighthouse is abandoned, there is no one to look for, just a few broken longboards on the shore. I have walked 7 miles and the innersoles of my sandals have worn through. I open a tin of mackerel and sweat. Shell beach is a perfect lagoon. It is impossible to tell where green becomes blue and never did a stretch of water glitter so invitingly. I fly with rays underwater, float under an African sun. I am alone and everything is mine. It is a long walk back to the ferry. Seven people board, I am behind a man with an empty wheelbarrow, ask him to snap me all windblown, 'press halfway down then all the way'. I had to think about how to say that But the photo came out fine. There were no sea-wolves though, perhaps they were just a legend all along. |
