Walking at Beaver Point 2. Wind storm.

For the past 24 hours we have been warned of a gale approaching our coast. “ Up to and even over 100 k.” the radio warns, and we prepare for ferry cancellations and worry about some of our big trees smashing down on our roofs. I deliver Heather to the morning ferry for her day tending little Clara just as the south-eater begins to build. Back home, I complete a computer task quickly and shut it down just before the power fails. Full daylight now, and I can see the trees bending and swaying in the gusts. Bits of branches fly downwind. I listen for the nasty crash of falling trees.

I feel trapped inside the house with nothing to do but wait. This is not my best scenario and I begin to imagine what it must be like down at Beaver Point, - the wind, the waves, the rushing clouds and slashing squalls of rain. Oh boy! The wind drops. Blue sky. Quick, time to get down to the sea before the expected shift of wind to the west! It begins again with greater fury even as I walk down the road toward the point. I am acutely aware that I have no hard hat on as I walk warily through the trees with my eyes cast upward to catch the first sight of a flying branch. I`ve been hit before by even small branches and taken surprisingly hard knocks! The roar of the wind in the trees in all pervading.

I duck under the recently fallen trunk of a good sized fir tree and step out onto the great stony finger of the Point itself. Free from trees, out in the open, just the solid strength of the gale pressing against me. Leaning into it, I carry the camera protectively to keep the raindrops off that zip by sideways from the line of low wet clouds. The new set of waves are busy cancelling out the first wave pattern and slop and crash onto the rocks. Rain, sunshine, clouds, all in rapid succession. A splendid rainbow. Dark wet shores, brilliant greens. White surf and mottled white backwash. I could take photos faster if I didn`t have to wipe raindrops off the protective glass filter on the lens so often.

I retrace my steps of a week ago in reverse this time. Along the shore, around the corner and deeper into the bay . I am back into trees that top the cliffs and face into the teeth of the wind. By the time I am back under the big trees at the head of the bay there is another massive rain-squall; dark grey sky, black bending trees and the groans and crashes of pressured trunks and falling branches scarce heard above the roar of the wind. I scurry along, snapping as I go until I reach the farm buildings and sunshine again . The back of the squall cloud rushes across the fields, over the hills and out of sight. Oh boy oh boy, have I got some great photos this time. Well worth the risk!