Chapter 3; Storm on the Ocean & Humphrey Swims

The storm was brutal. Enormous, thundering waves churned up the seafloor, dislodging seaweed, shellfish, crabs, snails and even some limpets.  Under a full silvery moon, the waves slammed onto the beach pushing further and further ashore as the tide rose. The waves were like the stretching tentacles of a giant octopus trying to grasp the forest while the trees fought to escape their grasp, leaning in upon their like. The odour of salt, seaweed and rotting sea creatures inundated the fierce, deafening northerly winds.  Columbine could feel that wind piercing through her clothing, right to her core, as she hung on to her hat with one hand and a sapling with the other.  She was tall for her Clan; a little over two inches tall. But she didn’t pack on the weight that most had and that might have helped her now, anchoring her against the storm. The turbulent waves would push their way up the mouth of the Skeena as well and she found herself worrying about the traders who must be on their way home by now. She hoped nobody was out in those raging waters tonight.

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Tomorrow, if the wind let up, all of the Limpet Clan who were able would be out beachcombing the detritus left by the sea. Precious seaweeds for food and floats, shellfish, baby crabs and squids to help see them through the winter.  Even small driftwood of useful size would be gathered by the carpenters and toolmakers.  Sometimes cedar netting would float in made by the Giant Wise Ones and it was highly prized.

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In four days’ time, many folk from other inland Clans would come and join them at the autumn Gathering to trade, revive old friendships and begin new ones.  A Council of Elders would be held to try disputes between Clans, families, or individuals, make new laws and reaffirm existing ones. Guest huts were being readied for the visiting Elders.  Most would stay with relatives, or in the large Clan Lodge.

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Right now, all she could feel was the dampness and the cold right to the bone.  Her cheeks were rosy red and numbed by the storm.  Time to go back inside the Great Lodge with the more sensible folk.

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Humphrey has an Unfortunate Swim

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Humphrey had never liked boats and how Douglas had talked him into going for a gathering trip in his skiff, he would never know, but he had, and Humphrey did.  To what Humphrey later called ‘a life threatening experience’, Douglas called ‘an uncomfortable day.’  Humphrey had left his Bog Clan early for the Gathering.  He had made arrangements to visit with his old friend and fellow Elder Douglas of the Skeena Clan before heading to the coast. 

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It had been between Humphrey, a round ‘comfortably plump’ fellow, a Skeena River tributary and a skiff. That day, they had set out together on the calm back eddies of a small stream, paddling toward a bed of rushes that Douglas needed for fresh floor covering. Doug pulled up to a nice sturdy, weathered piece of driftwood and tied up the skiff securely, slipped out of the boat and scrambled to the bank, razor clam scythe in hand.  This was not an option for Humphrey as he was not like most folk.  Short, yet rotund, in place of a waist he had what seemed like several stomachs.  He had a ruddy, cheerful face, all waddles and jowls with more chins than had ever been seen on one man, and dimples in places that, until he had come along, were not known as places dimples existed. Climbing ashore for Humphrey was not an option, so he sat back, made himself comfortable and began to doze off, dreaming of Douglas soaring through the sky on his Gull, Gus.

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He woke to the feeling of wet in his face. Plink, plonk, faster & harder, nailing his hat and cloak with rain.  As the rain continued, large drops splashing in on top of one another, the skiff; already low with Humphrey’s bulk, began to fill with water.  And it was sinking lower and lower. He called out to Douglas but heard no reply. He could find nothing with which to bale and the likely reality of his sinking loomed high in his imagination. Panic set in as, muttering to himself, his arms churning up and down as fast as he could. he tried to bale the water out with his chubby cupped hands, He was not making much progress.

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It didn’t look as if Douglas was going to make it back anytime soon. He had probably taken cover somewhere and assumed Humphrey would do the same.   It was then that it occurred to Humphrey, with no lack of alarm that he had never learned to swim.  It had never seemed necessary.  You see as a youngster, still too young to have wings, Humphrey could float.  Very, very well.  In fact, if you tried to push him under, as some of his fellow ‘friends’ had done in play, he’d pop right up again.   And so it had never seemed necessary to learn the strokes.  He could just relax and float.

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But at this point in time, Humphrey was not relaxed.  In fact, his furious baling movements were making the skiff rock more and more, this way and that.  After one particularly enthusiastic bale, the boat rocked sideways and into the drink Humphrey fell, arms flailing in a hopeless attempt to save himself. The ice cold glacial water hit him like a hailstone, albeit slower than it would most folk, and he found himself sinking.  The boots, he thought in alarm, they’re weighing me down and he shook his pudgy legs to shake them off, as the skiff and he parted ways.  Then came the soaked tunic, followed by his trousers.  And ‘pop!’ up he bobbed.  What a site it must have been to see this near naked butterball of a creature, bobbing & floating with the mild current of the tributary stream, clad only in his undergarments, heading towards its mouth, to the Mighty Skeena River.

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Luckily for him, it was fall and the river water was low, exposing many sandbars, one of which Humphrey was fortunate enough to roll onto.  He pushed off the sandbar and bobbed his way to shore.  He made a grab for the mainland underbrush and was surprised to find a piece of tightly woven cedar tarp in his hand.  Clan made, most certainly. He was happy to find any kind of covering in his near naked condition. He floated, struggled and flailed, eventually floundered onto shore. 

 

And so, in the pouring rain, using this small hank of weaving as a small cloak, he stumbled back to the Skeena Village.  His luck was almost with him again, as most all of the folk were hunkered down inside their huts and homes, and did not see this magnificent site. Fir and Pansy, however, were out cleaning their latest catch and there was no end to the giggles that ensued as Humphrey made his was to Douglas’ hut. And tongues do wag!

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 Douglas arrived back later.  Having retrieved his boat and filled it with the bundled rushes, he had made a search for his friend.  Alarmed to find Humphreys’ tunic floating in the river followed by his trousers, he had returning homeward to organize a search party.  This would include an aerial search on Gus.  Instead, and with vast relief, he had found his dear friend huddled by the fire, a fur blanket covering most of him, shivering and looking at the cloth he had found.

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“You’re safe!” Douglas exclaimed.  Humphrey looked miserable

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Humphrey looked miserable. “Yes, I made it back, but I am never, ever, ever going in a boat again!”

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Doug nodded, smiling in spite of himself, the smile curved up into a wide grin as he turned and hung up Humphrey’s tunic and trousers to dry.  Then looking more closely at the piece of cedar cloth in Humphrey’s hands he asked “Where did you find this?”

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“On some shore shrubbery just west of the Skeena Village,  It looks ripped recently too, by the look of the edges.”

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“Hmmm” mused Douglas, with a serious expression unusual on his face,  He took hold of it and observed the weaving pattern.  “This looks like Rhys work. Bog Clan design, certainly. We had better bring it with us to the Gathering. Might be Rhys made it for her son Cranberry whose out on the trade expedition.  They should have made their way home by now.  His brow wrinkled as he more  closely examined the torn piece of tarp.  “This worries me since they’re not back yet.  I’ll have to take Gus with me to the Gathering in case a search is necessary”

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“Fine” said Humphrey.  “But I walk to the Gathering!  You can fly with that gull friend of yours if you want, but I walk!” 

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Douglas was somewhat relieved about this pronouncement because he was not only sure Gus could not carry them both, but he was worried that Gus might think his dear chubby friend was a potential snack.  A gull was just a gull after all and to Gus, Humphrey probably looked delicious.

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A large number of the Clan would be going on foot, and Humphrey could join them.  He most certainly wouldn’t want to go with those who rowed in their skiffs or paddled in their canoes.  He had made that clear.  Humphrey and boast were over!