by Linda Hawley
Aside from his near worship of the boat’s designer, Armond loved the weekend pocket cruiser’s qualities as well. It had all the features of larger boats, with the additional bonus of single-handling capability. What Armond loved most, though, was her speed. The Ranger 26 had won the North American IOR half-ton race in 1970, which Armond could never stop talking about, and the boat was still competitive in races now. What I liked best about the Ranger was that there was a dedicated space for the enclosed toilet, which even had a genuine teak privacy door. I also liked the wide eight-and-a-half-foot beam, which made the cabin roomy enough for various activities below deck.
Preparing the Woohoo for this century required money, time, and sweat equity. We were fortunate that my uncle was willing to help us. He said he was retired and bored. Our alternative energy on board included a three-hundred-watt marine wind turbine, which worked perfectly when Woohoo was being sailed to windward, but the output would drop off a lot when she sailed downwind. We installed a towed water generator, powered through a rotor on the end of a ten-foot line. It produced nine to eleven amps constantly when sailing downwind at eight to nine knots, and this solved our power issue. After we finished all the major work, which took the entire winter and spring, we named and christened her. The day we re-launched Woohoo, we were thirty thousand dollars poorer, but we were gleeful with our accomplishment and her beauty.
With our Aunt and Uncle and all our friends there to record the event from the Squalicum Harbor boat launch, we all screamed Woohoo! in unison as she launched after the christening. Armond, Elinor, and I set sail for the San Juan Islands from Bellingham the morning of July tenth. Our first destination was Sucia Island, part of the Northern Boundary Islands, so called because they are the northwestern most islands in the continental United States.
The San Juan Archipelago is a cluster of seven hundred and forty-three large and small rocky islands in the northwest corner of the continental United States. The cluster spreads north of the Strait of Juan de Fuca and south of the Boundary Pass in Canada. We motored across Bellingham Bay, past Lummi Island, then hoisted our mainsail up for the scenic Hale Passage, about twenty nautical miles south of the Canadian border, with a southwesterly prevailing wind.
As we approached Matia Island, we saw seals sunning themselves on the rocks of Puffin Island, and the three of us enjoyed watching them for as long as we could. Past Matia was Sucia Island. We arrived at Sucia in the afternoon and picked up a mooring ball in Fossil Bay. Elinor and I went below deck to prepare dinner, while Armond battened things down up top. I first pulled out the paper solar lanterns from their storage space, expanded them, and gave them to Elinor to carry up to her dad to hang on the boom for ambient light. We all took our life jackets off. We had a family rule that we all had to wear them any time we were under sail or motoring, just in case one of us was knocked into the water unexpectedly. They didn’t seem necessary when we were docked.
Thirty minutes later, we ate our dinner of assorted cheese and crackers, a tossed salad, and warm apple cider in the cockpit under the boom lanterns, as we talked about our day of sailing. After dinner, we cleaned up and played Scrabble together, giving Elinor some help, although she did quite well without it. A couple of hours later, the three of us stargazed in the cool, clear night, while lying on the cockpit cushions. Armond was a gifted storyteller, and he had been planning to tell us the history of Sucia Island. With warm apple cider in our hands, we were ready.
“The main island of Sucia measures over five hundred acres,” he began.
“Wow, that’s big,” commented Elinor.
“You’re right, lovey,” he responded.
“There are only four residents of the island, though. Sucia Island is actually designated as a park within the Washington State Marine Park system, so there’s no community here; its just nature. If you’re on the north shore of the island, there are steep cliffs that drop straight into the water. The rest of the island shore has coves and caves. You know about the Lummi Indians, right Elinor?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“There are shell middens around the island that prove that the Lummi Indians used this island.”
“I forget what middens are,” Elinor said.
“It’s a mound of mussel shells that is very old. Finding middens here proves that native people used the island for thousands of years before other people ever found it. Also–the Lummi’s used to hunt seals here once a year.”
“They didn’t eat them, did they? ‘Cause that’s kinda gross.”
Armond and I laughed.
“Yes, lovey, I think they did. But I’m sure they used every part of the seals and didn’t waste any of it.”
“Well, I guess they could’ve thrown the guts and other gross stuff overboard from their canoes, and that would feed the fish,” Elinor reasoned.
“I do know that they made pouches made from seal fur, and they would put salmon eggs in there.”
“Cool.”
“In the nineteen hundreds, a thousand workers came here to mine the stone to pave the streets of Seattle. They finally realized that sandstone was too soft for streets, and abandoned the mining. Sometimes you can find fossils in the sandstone here while exploring rock formations, because the rock is soft.”
“Oh that’s really cool. I want to find a fossil,” Elinor yearned.
“Tomorrow we’ll go ashore in our dinghy to go hiking. You can look for fossils. Sucia has great trails that go through evergreen forests and wetlands. We can go beachcombing, which your mom loves.”
“Oh, it’s gonna be so fun.”
“You’re right, it’ll be great fun, sweetie,” I agreed, smiling.
Armond continued telling stories long into the night.
We slept peacefully in the V-berth in Woohoo’s bow, snuggled together in our double sleeping bag, while Elinor slept on the long cushion on the starboard side of the main cabin. The boat rocked gently with the tide.
That night I dreamed of skiing with Armond and Elinor at Mount Baker near Bellingham, and in the dream I couldn’t find Armond. Elinor and I were looking for him everywhere. There was a storm–a whiteout–and Elinor and I took shelter in the lodge, but Armond was not with us. We were both crying and afraid, and I didn’t understand why I couldn’t find him. I awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in the V-berth, hitting my head in the process.
“Are you okay?” Armond asked sleepily.
“I had a horrible dream. We were skiing on Mount Baker, and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“Oh, come here, it’s okay, babe,” he said, pulling me close.
“I think this was a warning dream,” I said in his ear, remembering the eerie dream. “I need to get you an emergency beacon before we go skiing again,” I whispered to him.
“Okay–we’ll get it then,” he agreed.
“It was horrible. Elinor and I were so sad and afraid,” I said to him, near tears.
“It’s gonna be okay, Ann. It’s gonna be okay,” he reassured me, holding me firm.
It took me half the next day before I could shake the terrible feeling I had.
We spent the next two days hiking and beachcombing Sucia, and Elinor was elated to find three fossils. Each night, we stayed on the island long enough to witness the sunsets, which started with pinks, then purples, then ended in bright orange colors. Just before it all left, we would get into the dingy and motor back to the Woohoo, seeing the colors reflecting off the calm sea like a mirror.
We left Sucia to make our way to North Pender Island in British Columbia, about eleven nautical miles west of Sucia. Because of the winds and currents, we ended up doing a lot of tacking and sail adjustments. The going was slow, so Armond pulled up the dinghy, and Elinor and I climbed down the transom ladder into it, while Armond clipped himself into the cockpit for safety. He steered Woohoo, while Elinor and I had a two-hour ride together in the dinghy. It was wonderful on a day of slow sailing. Late in the afternoon, we entered Otter Bay Marina from the Sw
anson channel.
Elinor and I set to showering on shore, and then we washed clothes while Armond settled our moorage, topped off our water storage tank, and looked over the Woohoo. We had dinner at the marina after we had all showered. During the meal we decided that the next day we’d hire someone to help us explore North Pender Island’s coastline in kayaks.
Ned Hawkins was an expert kayak guide who’s recommendation preceded him. Ned insisted that Elinor kayak with him, while Armond and I took the second vessel together. We were not disappointed when we discovered seals, herons, and five separate sightings of bald eagles. Our trip turned to pure joy, however, when we were joined by harbor porpoises, and then a little later by Dall’s porpoises. After Ned explained the difference between the two, it was easy to identify the Dall’s porpoises because of their uniquely thick bodies and small heads, as well as the white markings on their flanks. Their coloring resembled that of Orcas. The peak of our expedition came, though, when we spotted a pod of Orcas from our kayaks.
“Orcas!” Ned shouted like he suddenly had a bullhorn. “Kayak paddles up,” he instructed sharply.
We all lifted our paddles, then froze as he’d shown us before we started.
The killer whales seemed huge from our low vantage point. Ned reached forward and gave Elinor’s shoulder a squeeze and said something to her; I immediately was appreciative that he had insisted that Elinor kayak with him. As we drifted together silently, the pod of seven came very close, within about ten feet of us. I couldn’t believe how straight and tall their dorsal fins were. Ned pointed out a very large male. It was about twenty-five feet long, with a dorsal fin that must have reached over five feet high. I watched in awe as it smoothly swam past us, both breathtaking and frightening at the same time. The black and white of its shiny skin, the way the salt water slid from its sides…I knew this was something I would always remember.
I glanced toward Elinor, and I could tell she felt the same way. In all the years that Armond and I had kayaked the islands, we had never seen an Orca from the water. Armond reached to me and took my hand in his, linking us forever in this snapshot of time. For the few minutes that the pod swam near us, I marveled at the adventure I’d never expected to have. As the Orcas moved away, Ned explained that the core Orca habitat is the entire Georgia Basin, which included the South Puget Sound, the Strait of Juan de Fuca, Rosario Strait, Georgia Strait, and the entire San Juan Islands. The whales travel in large groups, chasing salmon in the summer months.
Later, I asked Elinor what Ned had said to her when he squeezed her shoulder. He said, “Prepare yourself for the most beautiful sight you’ll ever see.”
He was right.
We were high after that experience; none of us could stop smiling. We spent the next two days exploring North Pender Island, swimming in the heated pool at the marina, and eating.
On the third day, we headed out.
We were fortunate to catch a tide on our route back to Bellingham harbor. Woohoo’s theoretical hull speed was six knots, but we were able to hit nine knots when we sailed in the current. It was a wild, fun, exhilarating, and fast sail back to Bellingham.
Chapter 22
BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON
The Year 2015
Remembering those perfect days was a balm to me. When Armond was alive, I was cocooned in his trust and protection. I felt that nothing could harm me when I was with him. But even remembering those perfect days in the San Juan Islands, I could now see that my dreams were warning me even then.
Bob called me on my cell phone just after I arrived in Bellingham from the Washington D.C. conference.
“Ann?”
“Hi, Bob. Good timing, I just got in.”
“Everything go okay on the flight?”
“You mean besides the fact that the TSA is completely out of their mind?” I exclaimed.
“Did something happen?”
“I got shuffled into the see-through-your-clothes x-ray machine at the airport…”
“Oh, is that all?”
“Nope, that’s not all. You gotta hear this.”
“Okay.”
“I get through the obnoxious machine, and I’m standing next to the conveyer, putting all my electronics away, and I hear these TSA guys talking. I look over, and these two dweebs are hitting the color and enhance button whenever women pass through the machine. A couple of perverts. Then, as I keep watching, I see one guy look at his boss, who is standing just behind them, and he turns to him and says ‘two.’ The boss looks over at the next person in line, who is a huge Tongan-looking man, and the boss says, ‘three and you’re on.’”
“What?” Bob asked.
“Listen. So the first guy says, ‘twenty bills.’ The boss nods yes. When the Tongan comes into the scanner, the two TSA guys and their boss lean forward, looking at the screen closely. The boss says, ‘one…two.’ He’s counting. One TSA guy tells the Tongan to raise his arms above his head. The boss again says, ‘one…two…three.’ And the TSA guy dejectedly passes his boss a twenty. Then I realize what they’re betting on, Bob. It was the fat rolls on the guy,” I exclaimed.
“Oh, brother. The TSA have never been the brightest bulbs in the pack; you know that, Ann.”
“I couldn’t believe it…and these are the guys that are supposed to be protecting us from another 9-11.”
“The TSA are babysitters, nothing more,” Bob replied sarcastically.
“Anyway, enough about our national voyeur security. Did you find out anything about my pursuers?”
“Yes, I did learn a few things.”
“Yeah, what?”
“First, the project is still live.”
“What? Did you know about that, Bob?” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. I had no idea. It was moved to another agency, like I told you in D.C. And I think you know which agency it went to, Ann.”
“The only one that cared about it.”
“Yes.”
“Are they who’s been asking my friends why I was in that other place we spoke about?”
“Well, kind of. They sent private contractors. So it’s not them, but it is them.”
“Oh, great.”
“Ann, I think I’ve persuaded them that the information they received was faulty and that you weren’t there. So none of your friends should be hearing from them anymore.”
I sighed in relief. “One thing I remembered that I didn’t tell you before was that I thought I saw a man.”
“Where?”
“In my dream, right after I found the crystal.”
“Explain it to me.”
“Well, I picked up the Herkimer, realized what it was to me, then I thought I saw a man out of the corner of my eye, and when I turned that way to get a look at him, he wasn’t there. It felt strange.”
There was no response from Bob.
“Bob?”
“I’m here.”
“Well?”
“It was someone live, Ann.”
“Looking at me?”
“Yes.”
A remote viewer was watching me dream?
“We need to be careful with this part, Ann,” Bob said, discretely warning me about discussing classified information on an unsecured line.
“Okay.”
“Do you remember your first day going live?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the coordinates?”
“I think I can recall them.”
“Remember those skills we taught you; they will help you now.”
“Okay.”
“When you do so, Ann, take the information and compare it to the recent earthquake. Do that. You might come up with something interesting.”
“All right,” I agreed.
“Be careful,” he warned me.
“Of what?”
“Sweet dreams. Remember that. Do you have people you can trust there?” he asked, sounding worried.
“I have one, maybe two here.”
“Find
out. Confirm it. If not, remember you’ve got me, but I’m pretty far away.”
“Well I hope I won’t need anyone’s help.”
He paused.
“I hope so too, Ann.”
After hanging up, I thought about the phone call for a while. I first tried to reason through what I knew so far. The remote viewing project was still live–but at another government agency. If another group had Project Stargate, it meant that it was being used, because we’d already proven that it worked. So they were likely using it on active targets. They were using it knowing that it would kill most of the viewers.
They’d had a viewer active while I was dreaming of being in Shanghai. Of everything, that probably scared me the most. I had just discovered the now non-existent boundary between my conscious and subconscious minds. The new remote viewing group, it seemed, had found the connection much earlier, and I was reaching to understand the implications. The new viewers could see my dreams as if they were with me, as if they were viewing the same location at the same time I was dreaming.
I’ve lost my anonymity. I felt sick. I barely made it to the toilet in time, before everything inside my guts turned inside out. Sitting on the bathroom rug, I thought. I’ve worked for so long to maintain my privacy. I deserve it. Now, every time I dream, they could be watching me. I was starting to get angry.
Getting up, I washed my face and brushed my teeth, then went in my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and crawled into bed. Emotionally exhausted and deeply drained, I fell asleep.
I woke up soon after, fear spearing through me. My face felt sweaty, and I looked around the room for the threat, but then I remembered: the threat was in my mind. Had I dreamed? I looked at the clock and saw that I had only dozed off for a little over a half-hour. I didn’t remember dreaming.