Furry Wombat

I only notice as it slips beneath the surface.  Bull kelp?  I look through the water for a kelp crab to show off.  Turning around, I catch dark eyes and nostrils just above the surface.  It slips below, chin up, nostrils last.

The light was softening toward dusk when ferocious splashing overcomes the quiet.  Feeding time.  Black bodies break the surface, arcing, racing  one after another.   Silence.  Swirling emergence, a fish arches from the water.  An open, whiskered mouth follows.  Gulls begin to circle. Waiting.  The whiskered mouth re-emerges and shakes its head with a salmon chew toy.    Gulls and a single wombat squeal with glee.  The whiskered mouth returns to the surface as the tail of a salmon slides down its gullet.

It takes a while to break camp.  And the sky stayed gray in the morning, inviting us to doze a bit longer.  The clouds hang low; they won’t burn off today.  Without sun, the wind won’t kick up.  No wind, no wind waves to interrupt the surface of the water.  This is the weather I had prepared for,  a bit too warm on the sunny days.  The low clouds gave way to a constant drizzle, the water hanging in the air, damping all sound.   Pausing my stroke, the swash of the paddle and rustle of Goretex are absorbed by the heavy air; I hold my breath.  Wincing, my next stroke bruises the silence.