Mystic, Times When Answers Are Beyond My Reach

<a href=””>Mystical</a&gt;

Many years ago I’d driven from Oregon’s Willamette Valley to Waldport on the Oregon Coast, bent on catching some flounders. Flounders spook quickly. At the first movement of the tide they head back out to sea. I wanted to be ready. My tide book didn’t give a precise time for when the tide would start. I had to guess. I launched my boat, into Alsea Bay the moment I could see.

Everything was absolutely still. It was slack high tide and the bay was glassy smooth. A vale of fog hung low over the bay, giving me the sensation I was the Omega man. Rowing out to about the center of the channel I shipped my oars, cast out, and waited.

Minutes passed and then I heard a gurgle at the waterline. The moon was fetching the tide. It was like someone had pulled the plug from a bathtub and the water began its journey out to sea.

I was spellbound, mystified by the intricate harmony of nature at work.

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