We dropped our anchor in Watson Cove, a secluded spot about three hours north-by-northwest of Minstrel Island, British Columbia. We anchored as close as possible to the shore where a waterfall cascades down the bank. The high sides of the cove, combined with the narrow entrance, created a feeling of aloneness ... of being away from it all.
The waterfall, while unseen from our location, could be heard clearly when we shut down the engine. The loons, meadowlarks, and green-necked whipperwills filled the air with their orchestrated accompaniment to the waterfall.
"Ah," I thought to myself, "at last we are at peace with nature."
"Click, clack, peck," broke into my reverie.
"What in the name of heaven is that?" I asked myself.
"A typewriter!" I exclaimed. My wife was typing newsy tidbits for our next issue.
"Could you hold the typing?" I querried. "Perhaps a nice, quiet fountain pen would do," I suggested.
I settled back in my chair, ready once again to enjoy the sounds of nature.
"Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm," entered the scenario.
"What is the hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm?" I asked my wife.
"The refrigerator just turned on," she replied.
I shut it off. I took away it's supply of life blood from the battery. I knew that the ice cubes would melt, but it gave me a sort of "there ... take that you ... refrigerator" feeling.
I re-assumed my listening position.
"Whirr .... splash, shirr ... splash," sounded the automatic bilge pump.
"Well, at least we won't sink overnight," I thought.
"Beep, beep, beep," broke the silence that followed the last of the pump's "whirr ... splashes." The anchor alarm on the depth sounder needed adjusting. I shut the fool thing off.
The wind began a slight whistling sound in the trees. It blended well with the sounds of the waterfall and the birds.
"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," said the electric head as my first mate flushed it.
I stepped over to the electric panel. I started throwing switches without regard to their labels. I turned off everything.
"Now," I muttered, "I defy anything to interrupt my listening."
"Putt, putt, putt, putt," I heard from a distant outboard motor.
"Puff, puff ... splat, splat," could be heard from a nearby yacht at anchor. Someone had started an onboard power plant.
"Probably wants to watch his T.V.," I grumbled.
The sounds of nature are so wonderful. Where can one enjoy them more than on a boat, anchored in a lonely, deserted bay?
The Editor