No matter where we went or what we felt or observed, no matter how new to us our experiences were, no matter how solitary the voyage seemed, we were never alone. Wherever we arrived hosts of others had already or always been. Echoes abounded everywhere in and on both water and land.
As we cruised up the narrow winding ribbon of Jervis Inlet, the sea seemed to part the mountains for us. They lifted directly from the sea, forested, with sheer cliffs mossed in bronze. Across their glittering snow peaks travelled dark shapes of cloud shadows. Nearer peaks merged with higher neighbors beyond, but the face they presented to us was complete. Sharp spires reached into the clouds and from the heights our eyes could follow one long sweeping line to the Pacific.
Never until then had I seen a mountain whole.
As we went further lofty mountains took more complete possession. We stared back at a reach behind us and the way by which we had come was hidden. The peaks had closed in.
“This-this-“ I tried to find words.
“After a summer of it”, Robert said, “you’ll get peeved when I call you from the galley to have a look. We’re only beginning.”
Citation from Kathrene Pinkerton, Three’s A Crew (1940), about a voyage undertaken in 1924. Reprinted by Horsdal and Schubart in Vancouver in 1991.