Some Days Stay With You

Twenty-six miles down an excellent gravel road north of Masset lies the environmentally protected wilderness of North Graham Island—about as far north as you can travel without bumping into Japan. As usual, we were the only vehicle on the road, and our speed slowed to a crawl as we entered the most striking rainforest we have ever seen. Words cannot begin to describe its density, its lushness, or the wild extravagance of nature as it unfolds in layer upon layer, each generation growing, decaying, and giving life to the one that follows. The moss on the trees was beyond description. It hung so heavily from the branches that it formed fanciful shapes and figures high overhead. Monkey moss. Halloween trees wearing ballgowns. Upside-down sloths. Creatures with furry tails. More than once I was certain I had spotted a bear in a tree, only to realize it was a massive cloak of moss creeping along the branches and draping itself into perfect paws. It was a Hobbit forest, full of magic and imagination, and I know I will never forget it. Not far beyond, we found the trailhead to Tow Hill and the Blow Hole. The trail, although a bit daunting with hundreds of stairs to reach the summit, was a meticulous example of forest management. Elevated boardwalks carried us over the sensitive bog areas, protecting the fragile ecosystem while still allowing us to experience it up close. With my quadriceps reminding me at every stair that my seventy-first birthday was only days away, I paused often to breathe the clear ocean air, refill my lungs, and carry on. The view from the summit was worth every step. We took a long pause to bank it in memory. The day had already become one I knew I would remember, and the descent was surprisingly easy. Agate Beach offered a different kind of wonder. The waves rolled ashore with a gentle rush, but it was their retreat that captured my heart. As each wave slipped back into the Pacific, thousands of smooth pebbles chattered together, tumbling over one another before being drawn once again into the sea. The sound was rhythmic, primal, and utterly enchanting. I could have stood there for hours, listening. The beach was scattered with treasures. Honey-coloured agates, red jasper, beautifully veined stones, weathered shells—and, hidden among them, my favourites of all: wish rocks. I have always loved wish rocks. The best ones wear a single white band that circles them completely, as if the sea itself had tied a ribbon around them.

There were so many wish rocks hidden among the agates and the red jasper that I had to pause frequently and lock a special wish in my heart for every one of my loved ones. I hold each one tightly, think of someone I love or a hope I cannot carry alone, then turn my back to the Pacific and throw it over my left shoulder. Whether the wish is granted seems almost beside the point. The real gift is learning to release it.