360 degree spit
the cortes ferry, looking surprisingly like a boat due to the fact most smaller ferries look like barges, bobs in the opposite direction of the quadra terminal it seeks due to the crazy gusty winds. these winds are a direct contradiction to the dead calm seas of a week ago. the mountains in the distance are layer upon layer of slate grey tones, all islands i see are a deep green, covered in a fuzzy pelt of douglas fur. the waves crashing upon the shore are regular and big enough to surf, a rarity in the inland sea i live on. breaking against the beach with such ferocity the noise of the surf combined with the grinding of stones on the beach is hard to talk over. the beach spreads before me in a big circular basin of a bay. the high tide line is littered with a thirty foot swathe of the oranges, reds, and browns of arbutus, fir, cedar, alder, and spruce trees and a line of twisted bark and seaweed lays below it all. the small strip of land that is the spit sticks up prominently showing off its large trees, bent and twisted from years of storms, dead branches a resting spot for many an eagle. the clouds are high and fast moving , thick enough to keep the sun from shining but not too think to make the world gloomy. with a pillowy softness much like the surface of a duvet. the three colours that stand out in this world are the blue grey of the water and mountains and beach rock, the green of the ever present trees, and the reddish browns of the logs littering the beach. the lack of a multitude of colour makes this scene no less dramatic but in fact serves to make it more so.
