Meteors

(Image: Plumper Cove looking toward the Strait of Georgia)

The park attendant who came to collect our Plumper Cove Marine Park buoy fee two days ago asked if we'd heard about the meteor shower. We hadn't. He said it peaked the night before, but that night should provide a show as well.

We don't usually stay up until dark, thought it has gotten easier in the past couple of weeks as the days shorten.

That night as I crawled into the v-berth to bed, I opened the hatch wide above my head. This we don't usually do, on account of a dew-sodden bed in the morning in an already constantly damp boat. But this was special.

Slowly the light of day faded, revealing the stars that had been there all the time, hidden by the sunlight they now showed the reflection of. Since we were pretty close to Vancouver, I wasn't expecting very vivid stars, but I was hoping a few meteors would pass by our little opening to the sky.

Plumper Cove isn't really much of a "cove." At low tide, maybe, but at high tide it is a bay, protected only from the weather and swells of the Strait of Georgia by a couple of small islands. The wind had calmed completely, and with no tension on the line connecting us to the buoy, every tiny swell or wake rolled us side to side and we thump, thump, thumped against the buoy. With every roll the halyards inside the mast clanked from side to side, reverberating noisily into the cabin. Every time the boat calmed again, another motorized dinghy would pass close by, and we'd start over again.

Proximity to the city also brings other kinds of boater, not cruisers, but also pleasure boaters out for a few-day holiday. As the sky darkened and the rest of the world quieted, the party within another boat in the bay became more apparent. It was the first time I'd heard music come from another boat in quite a long time. As the minutes passed, and the sky darkened, they slowly became quieter and quieter as well. A heron screeched its ghastly call from a nearby dock.

Still we waited. The wakes stopped and the swells died and even the halyards quieted. Scott rolled over to go to sleep, and of course, shortly after he did, a huge, bright meteor streaked directly overhead, burning itself out just before passing from view. A few more small streaks followed.

When a flock of geese began honking I noticed that the party boat had become silent at some point, and that our boat too was silent. Another sizable meteor passed, seeming to leave its trail for longer than the first one. But perhaps it just showed more in the darker night. Then more small ones, and finally one last bright streak before I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.