Clocks slay time… time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. William Faulkner
You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by. James Matthew Barrie
Who forces time is pushed back by time; who yields to time finds time on his side. The Talmud
Time is a mystifying substance. I find it difficult to know just what an hour is. I know it is 60 minutes, of course, but beyond that everything about the notion of an hour seems rather fluid unless pressured by constraint.
A few days ago I drove to Port Bickerton to follow up on information provided to me many months ago. I couldn’t find the directions I was given or the original emails but figured I could get myself in the vicinity and improvise from there. Part of getting to Port Bickerton from my house involved crossing Country Harbour by ferry. Said ferry departs on the hour. The clock in the car read 11:17 as I backed out the driveway.
I calculated needing 35 minutes on slushy roads. As I crossed a small bridge in New Harbour I liked the look of the frozen river and snapped a few shots. I figured I had plenty of time.
By the time I’d gone a little further my mental calculator was giving me minute by minute updates telling me I had no margin to spare. I glimpsed some beautiful scenes but didn’t stop. More minutes clicked by. Time, in this case, was amplified, every minute mattered, and it was all I could think about. Missing the ferry would mean another set of plans going out the window.
The turn off to the ferry had me down to the wire, three minutes to twelve with several kilometers of rough road to travel. I could see water when my car clock read twelve. One more kilometer. I know you know I made it but it was only by a hair. I drove onto the boat and within thirty seconds we were underway. Phew!
Now I want to compare this experience of living minute to minute and being caught up in time which makes an hour (or less) go by in slow motion to my usual experience when hiking.
Unless I’m very cold or experiencing pain (i.e. a blister) time melts away. It’s not like pressing a button or something that can be consciously invoked, it’s just something that seems to happen. I become absorbed by the surroundings and I concentrate on looking for photo opportunities, other worries wilt away.
During this hike I parked where I thought I should park and walked along what I considered to be the most obvious route to the ocean (Wharf Rocks). It turned out that I didn’t find anything that looked like a flat shelf of rocks extending into the water. I ended up on a rather ordinary beach which was difficult to walk on due to the size of the rocks and the slippery coating of snow covering them. I explored far enough along it to confirm I was not in the ‘right’ place. On the way back I explored a few other off-shoots but found no Wharf Rocks. As I approached the car I tried to guess the time. Usually I’ll be close. This time, however, I was off by half an hour. I was really surprised. Where did that time go?
Looked at after the fact I didn’t walk all that far, 4-5 kms, nor did I take a stunning number of photos. I didn’t stop moving except to plant my tripod here and there. The time evaporated, seemed like a blip. Compared to the drive to the ferry it didn’t really seem like any time at all.
Normally I wouldn’t be worried about this but there was still the return ferry ride in the back of my mind. I had to catch it at 3:30 in order to be on time to pick Carol up after work at 4:30. My afternoon suddenly condensed into blocks. I had ‘less’ time now than I had imagined. I wanted to check another spot. I wanted to walk through the village. I wanted to return to the lighthouse area and get to the beach over there. Time was now the enemy. I felt rushed. I felt dictated to.
The remainder of the day was more business-like and less pleasant as a result. Time barked it’s commands and I had to jam in what I could to be ‘productive’.
By the time I made my way around the community and was driving out to the lighthouse(s) I was in a real crunch. I was back to mental math, always allowing fifteen minutes to get to the ferry. I parked at 2:52. I actually jogged half the time while I was here and did not lose track of the exact point at which I would have to leave. Everything was hectic and accelerated. There was no opportunity to enjoy my surroundings. Time no longer possessed any of the fluidity I had experienced earlier in the day.
I returned to the car disappointed not to have had the chance to hike on the beach. Should I have gone there first? Oh well, next time, it would be great for skiing around here so maybe I’ll get back before too long. I made the ferry with at least four minutes to spare, enough time to brew up a mug of tea before we set sail and I pulled into Carol’s parking lot at 4:28: oodles.
When told the reason for Daylight Saving time the old Indian said, “Only a white man would believe that you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket and sew it to the bottom of a blanket and have a longer blanket.” Author Unknown
great pictures Derek and remember the the sayng,the older we get the quicker time goes by
Excellent photos, thanks for the upload.
thank-you.
Great pictures. However, you need to give yourself a bit more time and head to Sonora to find the Wharf Rocks 🙂
Love the winter pics….always my fav. It looks like we have the same amount of snow,tried sledding yeasterday but too scratchy.David is off to the Highlands today but I have to work. Keep up the good work. Auntie W.