The Long and Short Of It
5. I Give the Boat a Toss
I'm not sure, but that statement might be the stupidest I've ever made. Surely I have never felt as hot and damp and discouraged and dejected as at that moment - at “the end of the deadest of dead ends in a thick part of a woods near Pennant Point, close to the Atlantic Ocean” - and if there'd been a prize awarded that day for the saddest of sad sacks lost in the woods I would have won. And, quite honestly, the day had not started out badly at all.
Just a few hours earlier I’d packed the boat upon my bike and it had only weighed about 20 pounds. Because it had been a cool morning I dressed warmly for the ride to the Atlantic Coast. I exitted Halifax without a hitch (a busy and confusing traffic circle at Quinpool Street could have caused a major delay) and enjoyed pleasant scenery along the way.
Closer to my goal, however, I needed help with directions, and asked a cashier at a variety store in Sambro the way to Pennant Point. I believe now she inadvertently gave me directions to West Pennant or Pennant Bay, and I got myself into a real mess and explored a few dirt roads that took me to dead ends and bits of shoreline that can only be recalled with the help of photographs.
Eventually, however, I found my way back to Sambro and discovered the road I needed to help me arrive safely - though much later than expected - at East Pennant and some walking trails to Pennant Point.
Eventually, however, I found my way back to Sambro and discovered the road I needed to help me arrive safely - though much later than expected - at East Pennant and some walking trails to Pennant Point.
I parked the bike, stowed my motorcycle jacket, unpacked the boat and placed it in two or three sturdy plastic bags, added two books to the weight (they contained passages I would read once I reached my destination), listened attentively to a few tips from a hiker returning to his car and made my way to a trail that seemed to go in the right direction. I felt I was beginning the most important leg of my 2,300 kilometer-long journey and the promise to my father would soon be fulfilled. I just had to find a quiet, private spot on the Atlantic coast.
I soon learned that locating a private spot was easier said than done and the hiker I'd met back in the parking lot had forgotten to mention a couple of significant items. He didn't mention how popular Pennant Point was and that privacy along the shore was hard to find. I spotted people with fishing poles or cameras in hand, couples sharing blankets and some in tight embrace. He also forgot to tell me the clear trail ended at a rugged part of the coast and various poorly-managed trails led inland and would take hikers - new to the area, like me - off in all directions. I was soon thinking I'd picked the wrong place, or the right place on the wrong day, and I was soon making my way inland to escape the possibility of stumbling upon lovers' trysts.
I soon learned that locating a private spot was easier said than done and the hiker I'd met back in the parking lot had forgotten to mention a couple of significant items. He didn't mention how popular Pennant Point was and that privacy along the shore was hard to find. I spotted people with fishing poles or cameras in hand, couples sharing blankets and some in tight embrace. He also forgot to tell me the clear trail ended at a rugged part of the coast and various poorly-managed trails led inland and would take hikers - new to the area, like me - off in all directions. I was soon thinking I'd picked the wrong place, or the right place on the wrong day, and I was soon making my way inland to escape the possibility of stumbling upon lovers' trysts.
I hiked slowly on rocky shores; "various poorly-managed trails led inland"
At about the same time the temperature seemed to reach the high 30s, the package I carried reached 100 pounds and the trail disappeared before my eyes. I stopped long enough to remove my sweater and wrap it around my waist but the heat only seemed to get worse. When I stumbled down a ledge and found myself in a dark corner with no path ahead - only more thick brush - I felt I'd reached the end of the line. And I made a stupid comment as I prepared to toss the boat into a dark corner where no one would find it.
“No one will ever know.”
How badly I must have wanted the day to end. A few seconds later, however, I knew how wrong my comment was. I shook my head. My father would know, and I would know and forever kick myself. But what could I do?
“No one will ever know.”
How badly I must have wanted the day to end. A few seconds later, however, I knew how wrong my comment was. I shook my head. My father would know, and I would know and forever kick myself. But what could I do?
The answer came to me from the many lessons I’d learned while running 13 marathons during a past decade (my first was in Toronto in 1995; the last was in Boston in 2005). The marathon distance (26.2 miles or 42.2 kilometres) is daunting to say the least, and whenever I’d felt liking quitting and stepping off the course and disappearing into a crowd a few miles short of the goal (admittedly, those thoughts plagued me more than once), I would remind myself to take one more step, then one more, then one more, and in so doing start the slow march again toward the distant, but inevitable, finish line.
“Turn around. Take one step up that ledge,” I said. “Take one more step.”
Then I told myself to take three or four more steps. And I thought, look at that, you're out of the hole. You still have good legs. Come on, take three or four more steps. Good work, I said. One more short walk to that small trail ahead. The ocean is likely beyond that ridge there. Go take one last look for a quiet spot. You’re almost at the finish line.
I ultimately arrived at a high point of land within fairly easy reach of the shore and after climbing down a few rocky ledges I found, what I call today, my spot. A refreshing breeze from the Atlantic revived me. I’d made it - with dad's boat, some lines to read from a book, and some fresh wild flowers in my free hand.
“Turn around. Take one step up that ledge,” I said. “Take one more step.”
Then I told myself to take three or four more steps. And I thought, look at that, you're out of the hole. You still have good legs. Come on, take three or four more steps. Good work, I said. One more short walk to that small trail ahead. The ocean is likely beyond that ridge there. Go take one last look for a quiet spot. You’re almost at the finish line.
I ultimately arrived at a high point of land within fairly easy reach of the shore and after climbing down a few rocky ledges I found, what I call today, my spot. A refreshing breeze from the Atlantic revived me. I’d made it - with dad's boat, some lines to read from a book, and some fresh wild flowers in my free hand.
I've crossed a lot of finish lines in my life. None felt better than that mighty toss, let me tell you.
"I gave her a darn good toss"
