Don't Take Life for Granted

Life happens so fast, whether it is the days that pass us by or the final breaths before death.  Today, there was much excitement over a young eaglet, which was to come to the center and begin his second chance at life, after a steep drop from his nest that afternoon.  Upon opening the box, which he was delivered in by the retired Coast Guard officers, bright, alert eyes were staring up at his many onlookers, who gazed back in awe at his small, downy covered body and adult-like feet and talons.  There was life in that box.  There was strength, a spark, a will to live and fight, which suggested a promise of recovery and survival. 

Once back at the center, he was lifted from his makeshift nest and placed on the examination table to assess his physical condition.  The veterinarian discovered multiple breaks in both wings.  As quickly as this life had come into this world and into ours at the center, it would just as soon exit, since birds need to be physically perfect, in order to survive in the wild.  It was as if his life had slipped away right then, while he was still squirming and crying on the table top.  The mask was placed over his beak, and as the gas gradually passed into him, he succumbed to sleep, so that the transition into death would be less painful and traumatic.  And so, we are finally left with a body, a former shell of an eaglet, to reunite with the life from whence he came. 

On the other hand, I watch the young starlings, crows, pigeon, finch, and geese, seemingly so helpless and dependent upon assistance to remain nourished, safe, and warm.  Just last weekend, all of them, except for the goslings and finch, were being fed essentially a protein smoothie through a tube stuck down each one’s throat and into the crop.  Now, many of the starlings have learned to eat solid food and meal worms from their dishes and to bathe in and drink from their water bowl.  Although, they will still nip at the hand that feeds, demanding service, while I attempt to feed the two slower learners. 

But even these slower, smaller starlings learn quickly, as just today, one was being tube fed in morning and had figured out how to feed himself by evening!  Their maturation time and capacity for learning is incredible!  Perhaps, in another week, they will be in an outdoor cage, and in yet another week, foraging for their own food wherever their wings may take them.  The finch is two days away from the next move towards greater independence himself.  The crows are demanding larger portions of protein smoothie and are beginning to eat solid food and meal worms.  The goslings have graduated from their playpen in the isolation room to an outdoor enclosure behind the clinic about two days ago.  Soon enough, they will all be fully grown and gone, to be replaced by a slew of new patients. 

I suppose that the lesson here is to not take life for granted, as every moment is precious, every moment important.  To live as you want to live, do as you want to do, throw caution to the wind.  Well, sort of.  To appreciate the little things, the simple things in life, because those are what hold our whole existence together and make life worthwhile.  It is much easier to recognize this in species with life spans so much shorter than our own and that are outside of our bubble of a world.

Island Life and Exploring the Seashore

It is strange to be on an island that is surrounded by so much land and activity on the sea with a rather severed, indirect connection to the ocean.  It seems to defy the concept that has been molded into my mind as to what an island really is.  There seem to be various types of islands, based on their formations over the course of geologic time, the climatic conditions that they experience, the natural resources covering the land, the size of human populations and the intensity of their development, the nearness to land, and the closeness of exposure to the raging temptress of the oceanic depths.

Although, I am technically on an island, it is still a whole new culture shock.  I was expecting to and given the impression that I would “get away from it all” here.  To a certain extent I have, particularly since home is at the opposite side of the continent, but civilization is only a fifteen minute drive away, where I am over-stimulated and still quite confused by the hustle and bustle of town life, which is complete with traffic, constant chatter, and thriving commercialism.  In the summer, during the peak of tourist season, the island population is supposed to double to something like ten thousand people.  The center of town, every tourist trap, and the island’s natural beauty attractions will be crawling.  I anticipate spending much of the summer hiding away in the woodland haven of the wildlife center. 

Yet, for now, I can immerse myself in the beauty of the island and give in to the allure of the seashore.  I still find it to be quite exciting and magical, as I cautiously step from rock to rock, unsure of my footing on slippery seaweed, and having become unaccustomed to such a balancing act, while simultaneously being distracted by familiar and new seashore treasures alike.  I imagine that there are at least creatures of the same genus as those found along the Irish coastline, as they are at a similar latitudes and experience similar climatic conditions. 

As I first stepped upon the stony shore of Ruckle Park, I caught, out of the corner of my eye, the scattered movement of several tiny critters.  Crabs covered the shore, racing for cover below rocks, between crevices, and underneath patches of fucoids.  I must watch where my feet fall, in order to preserve these precious lives, though it is quite challenging to determine exactly where they are hiding.  I descended upon another stretch of shore and was struck by the size of what I believe to be a Porphyra species, which is a papery, yet tough, reddish-pink seaweed with a glint of iridescence.  I found it to be double, maybe even triple the size of any plant that I had come across in Ireland.  From the grassy edge above the sea, I noticed a stretch of feathery looking seaweed, billowing in the current.  I could not be sure exactly what these plants were from such a distance and I felt the urge to find out.  I managed to navigate my way down and much to my dismay, as I approached the water’s edge, I became certain that the invasive Sargassum muticum has also found its way to the shores of British Columbia.

Finding My Passion

Ever since I arrived on the coast and caught my first whiff of that salty air, my immediate desire was to scope out the shore life.  I’ve anxiously been awaiting an opportunity and finding a location to do so on Salt Spring Island, as publicly accessible coast seems to be limited.  I jumped at the opportunity to examine the short strip of shore by Centennial Park (in the center of town) on the first day of my arrival here and was disappointed by the lack of biodiversity with really only barnacles about.  Yesterday, I walked over to the closest stretch of beach, and upon arrival immediately set to work attempting to identify the seaweeds scattered along the shore.  I had to remind myself that it is a different coast with different conditions, and that species may not quite be the same and that many need microscopic identification, in order to keep myself from becoming too frustrated by what knowledge I’ve lost, since last year. 

I certainly enjoyed my time on Sherkin and every day was a new adventure, in spite of the repetitive nature of the work.  There was always a different location, a new species, a challenge to overcome, a different season, something to set apart each site or month from the next.  I am easily immersed in research, particularly when I get to the writing bit and I’ve been involved in the entire process up to that point, which makes the work far more meaningful and interesting.  I miss the work and the location, but I didn’t much care for the management.  Yet, in watching the seals below day after day, I also longed to work more closely with the animals and to be an advocate for them and their well-being. 

I am certainly overwhelmed here now, knowing little about what I’m doing and that these lives are in my hands.  Perhaps, this is also why I am missing Sherkin Island, as I am more certain of my abilities there.  Though, that is not how I started off.  I was just as unsure.  It will take time, but I will learn and catch on, especially with so many experienced individuals to question.  I’ll see how rehabilitation goes.  I can’t yet decide if it’s a field that I want to continue to pursue.  I feel like it will offer adventure, similar to surveying.  Yet, I also can’t ignore the fact that last year’s internship was the first that I could see myself doing again.  I just have to take things as they come and enjoy the present moment.

Arriving on Salt Spring Island

Just getting here was an experience.  I utilized nearly every form of motorized transportation to get to Salt Spring Island.  I took a bus out of Springfield to Logan Airport.  I could feel my body quivering in anticipation, a combination of nervousness and excitement.  Yet, I felt confident, even moreso than during my travels to Sherkin Island last year.  I may not know where I’m going or what to expect, but I’m fairly certain that I can handle it.  Though, I did get a bit nervous at the transfer point when the bus didn’t show for ten minutes.  I couldn’t have missed it and I wasn’t sure if there were other terminals for pick-up.  I asked around, but I wasn’t about to start feeling okay with this until the bus showed.  There was plenty of time before I needed to be at the airport, but I don’t seem to do well when there are glitches in my plans, especially when there’s something significant depending on it, like the non-refundable plane ticket.  I don’t recall what time the bus finally arrived but apparently its route begins in Providence and there was lots of traffic on the way to the airport, causing delays.

At the airport, I made it to my gate in plenty of time to sit and wait for a couple of hours, after which I flew to Chicago to wait some more.  I made the mistake of getting a hamburger and fries from McDonald’s, which I later regretted with a queasy stomach, as I can only recall three times that I’ve had chain fast food stuff in the past year, and it's been years since I consumed McDonald's food.  My body was definitely protesting that decision.  It got a bit better once I got to Seattle, but I was also incredibly jet lagged.  I seem to do well enough when I lose time transferring between time zones, but not so much going forward in time, which is quite strange.  I also started to realize exactly how heavy my pack was, while trekking to the Link Light Rail, wondering when I would ever get there, as one sign after another passed by overhead.  By the time I got to the train, I could have fallen asleep propped up against my pack, but I refrained from this, as I didn’t fancy missing my stop and riding around on the train for the remainder of the evening. 

I hefted up my pack once again to walk the few blocks to the Green Tortoise Hostel, which I found to be quite busy.  Everyone was friendly and welcoming, and I was fortunate enough to show up on free dinner night.  I was certainly thankful for some real food after the fast food episode.  The hostel is going for a hip, new age kind of look, really geared towards the 20-somethings, though everyone is welcome.  After dinner I set out to map my route to the Clipper ferry the next morning, deliberating with myself if I could manage the distance carrying my pack.  Being cheap and not trusting public transportation, I decided to just get up extra early, so that I’d have plenty of time for breaks on my walk over. 

Sleep seemed to elude me that night, as I woke up at least once every hour, even after my roommates stopped coming in from their night out on the town.  So I just got up even earlier, helped myself to free breakfast and headed out, but not before checking where my ferry would land in respect to the ferry to the island.  I had foolishly thought that the ferries would make berth in the same harbor.  Of course, they were an hour bus ride away from each other.  I figured I’d deal with that when I came to it. 

It took me about double the time to walk to the ferry with my pack, but I still had time to check-in, which I completely neglected to factor into the equation.  It was a full house and as I was scoping out the available seats, I started to remember that I haven’t always done well on boats, as I usually get nauseous.  But then I recalled the successful experiences with ferries and RIBs on Sherkin and the dizziness/nausea tolerance that I built up over the past six months of contra dancing and figured that I’d be fine.  I tried to get into the motion of the boat as it bobbed in the calm water.  As we got going, I just focused on my music and tried as best I could to watch the passing scenery from an aisle seat.  It was breathtaking to see snow-capped mountains again.  Since winter wasn’t very long before, the snow extended much further down the mountain slopes than when I visited two Septembers ago.  It was invigorating to stand on the deck outside with the wind whipping past and the sea spraying up behind the boat, leaving a white, foamy trail and a ripple of waves that gradually died away with the increasing distance. 

After three hours on the ferry, we arrived in Victoria and everyone rushed out to wait in line to claim luggage and go through customs.  I had no problems, as there were no computer system failures to deal with this time.  The next bus to Schwartz Bay was forty-five minutes from the ferry’s arrival time, so I was cutting it close after the time spent waiting in line.  I had studied the map on the ferry and the bus depot seemed to be in an easy to find location, so I hustled over there to inquire about the bus, and then, hiked further up the street until I found a bus stop with signs indicating that the correct bus stopped there with only minutes to spare.  The bus arrived on time and I enjoyed my quick, yet amazing tour of Victoria.  I’ve seen plenty of trees, hills, fields, and such at home, but it’s so much more thrilling seeing these in a completely new environment.  I appreciate the little things so much more and everything feels like a new adventure. 

I had e-mailed the rehabilitation center with my anticipated arrival time, but thought it would be a good idea still to call and confirm with actually being at the ferry terminal.  I tried dialing the number a multitude of ways on the pay phone, and finally gave up to try Skype, because of course there would be wi-fi, but the program was having issues.  The ferry was huge!  It accommodated three lanes of eight to ten cars plus passengers, and that was the small ferry, as I later learned!  I opted to withstand the chilly breeze, so that I could fully enjoy the ride and the view. 

Thirty-five minutes later, the ferry crawled into Fulford Harbor and I attempted the pay phone game again.  Of course, it wouldn’t work, which seems to be pretty typical, as the same thing happened last year.  I even talked to 411, but they confirmed that I had the right number and couldn’t do much else.  I was skeptical of the pay phones, so I inquired at a little cafe at the port about the wildlife center and I was able to use the phone, which actually connected to the facility.  I was told the manager, who I had been in contact with was on her way, so I stood out on the corner with my pack, waiting and watching for her vehicle.

The manager is a pleasant, friendly woman and quite chatty.  There was too much information to retain on the drive over, particularly as exhaustion and hunger were overtaking my body.  I heard tidbits about the island and got a tour of town, including the places that would be visited most frequently and the best coffee shops and restaurants.  I was blown away by how populated and bustling the island was, since after my time on Sherkin, I expected islands to generally be rather remote.  It is about a fifteen minute drive from town to the wildlife center, where it’s more removed, tucked away in the woods with cages hiding amongst the towering conifers.  All of the buildings are wooden and rather quaint looking, but the interiors are pretty modern. 

There’s not much happening yet, since the rehabilitation season seems to hit this area later than those nearby, but there should be more patients to care for within the next two weeks.  For now, it’s just prepping and cleaning, learning the ropes and where to find things, and getting settled.  I certainly appreciate the down time after all of that traveling.  I’ll write more as things start happening and I get myself out to explore this island life.

Salt Water

As soon as you step over the threshold from the cabin to the upper deck, the wind hits you with a strength and intensity that could whisk you overboard.  As long as you can hold your ground, it’s quite invigorating to feel such power.  The wind’s force presses me up against the deck railing and below I see two steady streams of sea spray flying up from underneath the vessel as it cuts effortlessly through the calm water.  Bits of spray spike upwards into my face, as the rest trails behind in a seemingly endless stream of white foam.  I’m reminded of the RIB (rigid-hulled inflatable boat) rides back on Sherkin with that feeling of exhilaration, while speeding across open water, crashing over crests, spraying a salty mist in my face, and I can’t help but smile.

On the Road Again

This still feels so surreal.  How could I possibly be anywhere different than I am right now, having been here at home for such a long time?  I feel more confident in where I’m going, what I’m doing, though it also feels as if I just haven't woken from a dream. Yet, reality is slowly sinking in, as I can see my hands visibly shaking out of nervousness, though perhaps, a twinge of excitement.  I’ll be fine, just let go and do what I can.  It’s all planned.  I can’t do much more than follow through.

Individual Exploration

Early Wednesday morning, before the sun even rose, the love of my life boarded a bus to New York City, en route to the suburbs of Washington, D.C.  He’s off to get a fresh start, get back on his feet, explore a world outside of his comfort zone, and develop a relationship with his biological father, with whom he will be living.  I knew he was going to leave and I witnessed it with my own eyes.  Yet, after spending the past six months with him and being only an hour’s drive away, it’s hard to believe that he could be anywhere else.  We both have things that we want to do, individual lives to lead, and goals and dreams to pursue, so the time is not right for us to be together; at least not in convenient proximity to each other.  We just need to believe that our love is strong enough to withstand the test of time, and that one day, our paths may cross once again.

As for me, I finally get to begin a new adventure, and will be hopping on a plane bound for Seattle on May 12.  From there, I will be ferrying up to Salt Spring Island, which is located north of Victoria and southwest of Vancouver, British Colombia.  I have been accepted for an internship position at a wildlife rehabilitation center there, where I will delve deeper into this field.  I am hoping that a full-time position will provide me with adequate exposure to all aspects of the work, so that I can determine if it is something that I would like to pursue as a career.  I decided several months ago that instead of jumping about between a variety of different types of internships, as interesting as that would be, I should focus on a particular area of interest, so that I can get a better sense of the field and develop and refine skills to make myself a more appealing job candidate.

I have kept coming back to animal care positions over the course of my life, and I actually could see myself doing wildlife rehabilitation for the long-term, having spent a portion of the past two years volunteering for such work; at least this is the feeling for now.  It still aggravates me how everything is so incredibly subject to change.  I do worry about going over to Canada and discovering, as I go through the internship, that I could not make this my life’s work, forcing me to go back to the drawing board, and potentially spending another long break at home.  I am trying not to think too much about that and just enjoy the internship for what it is and deal with this issue if it even arises.  I hope to keep traveling for awhile, and I need to get myself in gear for that, after spending the past six months hanging about at home in my comfort zone.