Ghosts of James Bay Read Online Free Page B
chilled in the damp air.
It was a common misconception that people only got hypothermia in really cold weather. In fact, more people got it in the summer than the winter. It took them by surprise. They went out on the water in T-shirts and shorts and were surprised by how much colder it was on the water than on the shore. Then the weather changed: it clouded over, the wind rose, it began to rain. Next their outboard motors broke down, and they were in real trouble. They were a long way from shore. They hadnât brought any food because they werenât going out for long. Perhaps it was evening and theyâd had a couple of beers. They started rowing and built up a sweat. After a few hours of that, they began shivering uncontrollably and got confused, and their hands wouldnât obey them properly. Their core body temperatures dropped below the level of control. They needed external sources of heat in order to warm up. But they didnât have any. They were in the early stages of hypothermiaâand it was only August.
I knew the danger I was in. I knew the mistakes I had made: not paying enough attention to the weather, not wearing long pants, not bringing something to eat. But I wasnât too worried. Hypothermia wouldnât be a problem for five or six hours, longer if I didnât overdo it or fall overboard. Surely the sun would burn off this unusual fog long before then. I focused on steady, regular paddling, gazing straight ahead even though I could see nothing but grey beyond the prow. For half an hour I kept this up, hoping I was heading for shore.
Then the fog parted. It didnât roll back in a process reversing the one that had engulfed me, but rather it withdrew all at once. The view shocked me deeply. Wherever I looked, the surface of the bay was dotted with patches of white. They were so unexpected that it took me a minute to realize what they were. Ice floes at the beginning of September, especially after the hot summer weâd had, wereimpossible. Yet there they were. I stopped paddling. As I did, my eye was drawn from the ice floes to an even weirder view. The fog was still thinning, but now it seemed to draw in on itself at a point in front of the canoe. As it did, it gave the impression that it was thickening and solidifying into the shape of a ship.
It had to be a trick of the light. I closed my eyes and shook my head to dispel the illusion. But when I opened my eyes, there was the ship, solid now, sitting on the calm water about a hundred metres in front of me. It was perhaps twenty-five metres from bow to stern, high at the front and back and with three masts from which sails hung, billowed only slightly in the light breeze.
I could just make out the gold lettering on the sternâ
Discovery
. Beside the ship and tied to it was a low rowboat with a single, short mast. Both vessels had a grey, washed-out look.
My first reaction was fear at the almost ghostly appearance of the scene, and a shiver ran down my spine. I looked around. The fog had withdrawn and lay like a curtain around me. Within the circle of fog the air was clear and the sun shone in a blue sky. The sea was calm, and the ice glinted at me mischievously in the sunlight.
I returned my gaze to the ship. Oddly, although the breeze was catching the shipâs sails and must be moving it along, and I had ceased to paddle so was only drifting, the distance between the canoe and the ship hadnât altered.
Was the scene real? The vessel certainly wasnât one I expected to encounter here. This was no fishing boat or a late-season tourist boat. But then boaters were sometimes an eccentric lot. Irrationally my mind jumped back to my trip out to the West Coast with Mom. In Nanaimoâs harbour we had seen all manner of strangely rigged craft, from 1920srum runners and lovingly polished, sleek wooden yachts to a complete replica of a Chinese junk. Some had been all over the Pacific, and one had even sailed through
It was a common misconception that people only got hypothermia in really cold weather. In fact, more people got it in the summer than the winter. It took them by surprise. They went out on the water in T-shirts and shorts and were surprised by how much colder it was on the water than on the shore. Then the weather changed: it clouded over, the wind rose, it began to rain. Next their outboard motors broke down, and they were in real trouble. They were a long way from shore. They hadnât brought any food because they werenât going out for long. Perhaps it was evening and theyâd had a couple of beers. They started rowing and built up a sweat. After a few hours of that, they began shivering uncontrollably and got confused, and their hands wouldnât obey them properly. Their core body temperatures dropped below the level of control. They needed external sources of heat in order to warm up. But they didnât have any. They were in the early stages of hypothermiaâand it was only August.
I knew the danger I was in. I knew the mistakes I had made: not paying enough attention to the weather, not wearing long pants, not bringing something to eat. But I wasnât too worried. Hypothermia wouldnât be a problem for five or six hours, longer if I didnât overdo it or fall overboard. Surely the sun would burn off this unusual fog long before then. I focused on steady, regular paddling, gazing straight ahead even though I could see nothing but grey beyond the prow. For half an hour I kept this up, hoping I was heading for shore.
Then the fog parted. It didnât roll back in a process reversing the one that had engulfed me, but rather it withdrew all at once. The view shocked me deeply. Wherever I looked, the surface of the bay was dotted with patches of white. They were so unexpected that it took me a minute to realize what they were. Ice floes at the beginning of September, especially after the hot summer weâd had, wereimpossible. Yet there they were. I stopped paddling. As I did, my eye was drawn from the ice floes to an even weirder view. The fog was still thinning, but now it seemed to draw in on itself at a point in front of the canoe. As it did, it gave the impression that it was thickening and solidifying into the shape of a ship.
It had to be a trick of the light. I closed my eyes and shook my head to dispel the illusion. But when I opened my eyes, there was the ship, solid now, sitting on the calm water about a hundred metres in front of me. It was perhaps twenty-five metres from bow to stern, high at the front and back and with three masts from which sails hung, billowed only slightly in the light breeze.
I could just make out the gold lettering on the sternâ
Discovery
. Beside the ship and tied to it was a low rowboat with a single, short mast. Both vessels had a grey, washed-out look.
My first reaction was fear at the almost ghostly appearance of the scene, and a shiver ran down my spine. I looked around. The fog had withdrawn and lay like a curtain around me. Within the circle of fog the air was clear and the sun shone in a blue sky. The sea was calm, and the ice glinted at me mischievously in the sunlight.
I returned my gaze to the ship. Oddly, although the breeze was catching the shipâs sails and must be moving it along, and I had ceased to paddle so was only drifting, the distance between the canoe and the ship hadnât altered.
Was the scene real? The vessel certainly wasnât one I expected to encounter here. This was no fishing boat or a late-season tourist boat. But then boaters were sometimes an eccentric lot. Irrationally my mind jumped back to my trip out to the West Coast with Mom. In Nanaimoâs harbour we had seen all manner of strangely rigged craft, from 1920srum runners and lovingly polished, sleek wooden yachts to a complete replica of a Chinese junk. Some had been all over the Pacific, and one had even sailed through
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