Rip Tide

An urgent message summoned Mike Talbot to search for his missing relative, Albert, on an isolated island in the Pacific NW. There Agatha, a life long resident, has been knitting the mysteries, problems, and sensitive secrets of the island into a code, incredible stories that few could believe until they ended. Occasionally she leaned back and patted her favorite dog, Bruno. This remarkable dog had helped solve these mysteries, mysteries that he understood, but had to reveal in his unique ways. Agatha closed her eyes and flashed back to messages stored in these events. Eyes still closed, she continued knitting until the end of the stories were reached, then dropped the knitting on her lap. Finally the tales had been told.

Daniel stood up and extended a hand. “I’ve been expecting you, Mike. Glad you could fly down. We have a mystery to solve, one I don’t like. As I said, Albert has vanished from his cabin over there.”

“Daniel, this is my friend, Jim Port.” He looked across a mile of water to the Island of Droncia and appeared pensive. “Looks like a challenging mile of water. We’re here to try to solve the mystery. I’m sure the island has hidden answers.”

“Take Big Bertha. She’s the only kayak that can cut through the rip tide and navigate the churning water between the islands. Bigger boats have problems with the rocks and reefs that surround the island. “ Daniel pointed across the strait toward the island. “Droncia is one of the most beautiful islands in the San Juans. The wild water isolates it. Even the weekly mail boat fights with the problem.”

Jim frowned at a standing wave of water that frothed by the island. “It looks like a waterfall. What causes it?”

Mike dropped two duffel bags on the pier and started to stuff them into waterproof sacks. “The incoming tide clashes with the outgoing tide, one pushing over the other to form a standing wave. The rip peaks every midtide, but around Droncia, ocean swells surge through the strait and make it last longer.”

Jim frowned. “That water looks dangerous. Is there another way there?”

Daniel stared at the current, racing to the Pacific Ocean like a river in flood. “The mail boat goes next week, but don’t worry, Big Bertha will take care of you, and your timing is perfect. She will scoot with the outgoing tide. Just watch out for the whirlpool near the blow hole.” He looked at the kayak. “She’s fat, long, and yellow so boats can see her before she gets run over, but avoid all ships. They aren’t looking for kayaks.”

“I’ve never seen currents like this.” Jim studied the passage. “It looks as if it’s boiling.”

“From my beach, I’ve watched it for years. It’s fascinating, hypnotic like staring at a fire.” Daniel paused. “The Strait of Georgia joins Puget Sound here to drain into the ocean through the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Being narrow, it can get turbulent. Storms and currents in the ocean shove the water back. It seems like nature’s game to toss ocean and sky together--blending until they bleed water. All these forces focus on Droncia.”

Jim asked, “Why are they called the San Juan Islands?”

Mike explained. “Spanish explorers first named the islands, a hundred and seventy two of them. I’ll tell you more later.”

Daniel studied the currents. “A local story tells how Chinese labor was smuggled in a hundred years ago to build the railroad. Smugglers tied weights on their ankles and tied them to the outside of their boats. They waited until the currents of the incoming tide peaked, then ran their boats to Deception Pass, hoping to outrun Federal Agents.” He pointed east toward the mainland. “Whirlpools in the narrow pass threatened to suck boats under or tip them over. If the Coast Guard approached, the smugglers cut the Chinese loose.”

Jim winced as Mike glanced at Daniel and said, “Easy with your stories. It’s challenging enough to crack through the rip. Tell us about Albert’s disappearance.”

Daniel scratched leathery skin on the back of his neck. “Albert lived such an independent life that nothing surprised me. For long stretches he lived like a hermit in his cabin. When his mood changed, he’d kayak over here to help me around the place or work on my boat. Often stayed for weeks.” His chin quivered. “We were the best of buddies. I doubt if anyone knew him better than me. He didn’t mix much with the islanders though he was often doing quiet things to help them. I miss him now more than ever.” He frowned. “Ya know, it’s often too late to tell someone you care about them. Men are bad about that. We seem to come in a package insulated against emotions. Dumb, but we have them and need to let them out.”

He shook his head and then pointed at a thirty-seven foot sailboat that rocked by the pier, a wooden boat with teak trim and special fittings. “She wrecked on that reef out there, drifted to shore, and was abandoned as unsalvagable, but Albert and I worked on her until she looked like new. Folks here call her the classiest one in the islands. With the hours he put in, I thought of Albert as part owner and brother.” Again he shook his head as if trying to settle his thoughts.

Jim ran his hand over smooth teak, warmed by the sun.

“Albert and I sailed all the islands--except Droncia. The reefs and sudden shifts in currents made it too risky for the brittle wood in her hull. That’s the advantage of fiberglass, but it’s noisy and bounces off waves more than wood.” He scratched an ear. “A lot of Spanish ships crashed on the reefs and rocks, but the currents are too strong to dive for the treasure. Spanish coins still wash up on the beaches. The mail boat has a steel hull. At times it gets batted around.”

Daniel gazed at the sleek sailboat while Mike and Jim strained to catch words between gusts of wind and crashing breakers. “Always liked to have Albert around. We could work for hours without a word or banter ideas into the wee hours.” Daniel looked away and sighed. “Then he vanished. Just vanished.”

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