Belle Islet Lady

By John D. Carter

Dr. Randal Reilly is an aging psychotherapist from Vancouver. Kayaking off the British Columbia coast off the Southern Gulf Islands he finds a naked lady in a lifeboat. She is in an amnesic fugue. Harjit Singh is an Appeals Court Judge. Jeff Kroberts is an applied artificial intelligence engineer from Seattle who developed language nanobots and del

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Carter
• Release date: Apr 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9780994034618

John D. Carter

Dr. John D. Carter has published a variety of articles on the integration of psychology and theology, and serves as a contributing editor to the Journal of Psychology and Theology.

Book preview

PART ONE

THE NAKED LADY

2015

It’s a lifeboat! It’s not a dinghy! I patiently, but persistently tried to explain to the telephone 911 emergency operator. Really, I know the difference between the two, and the difference matters. A dinghy is a small boat, shallow draught, and propelled with oars. It’s not a dory, but a lifeboat, which is used to rescue people from a sinking ship. "It looks just like the reddish orangey Costa Concordia’s lifeboats. You know the cruise ship that sank off the western coast of Italy two years ago."

Yes, sir, said the quasi-condescending operator. What is your present location? What is your name?

Okay, all right, maybe it was me, who knows these dispatch operators get lots of dumb calls all the time? Last month some dodo telephoned to report they were stuck in the Burnaby Metrotown Mall parkade traffic jam. Really. That was not an emergency, this is.

Again, listen, please, coordinate-wise, I do not know exactly where I am. I am in a kayak off the Belle Chain Islets near Mayne Island, Georgia Strait, in the Salish Sea. There is a naked lady in a lifeboat floating by me and she needs help! My name is Dr. Randal Reilly from Vancouver.

Yes, sir, she repeated again with a robot-like voice, we have dispatched Victoria Coastguard Search and Rescue. Are you in Canadian or American water?

I don’t know, I said, desperately looking around trying to get some landmark bearing. I am some distance from shore now and could be in either Canadian or USA water. I set off from Bennett Bay on Mayne Island. Everything looks the same when you are in the middle of nowhere in a kayak.

Yes, sir, she repeated for yet another time, We will notify the American authorities as well. Please stay where you are, she commanded with an almost authoritative voice.

Madame, I have no intention of going anywhere. I have hooked my kayak towrope to the lifeboat, but we are now just drifting with the current. Send some help, please. Sooner rather than later, eh.

From a self-evaluative perspective, I am a moderately competent kayaker. Only had one moderate to minor mishap a few years ago. After which I took a few lessons and learned to read tide and currents nautical charts. Nevertheless, here I am in the middle of Georgia Strait trying to help some lady in a red lifeboat. None of my kayak lessons are proving helpful here. Of course, again, there are many who suggest my type of solo kayaking is not such a good idea in the first place. And all I am doing is providing further fodder for their files.

Let me back track a bit. Earlier today, setting off from Bennett Bay, it was a sunny, bright, February mid-morning - after my previous unfortunate mishap I never set off mid-afternoon in the winter when the light leaves way too early getting dark by four in the afternoon. As a creature of habit I followed the same route and routine travelling along the inside protected passage of Georgeson Island to emerge in the rougher waters where I plow along to the Belle Islets to visit the sea lions that emit mantras from the rocks. It is quite safe providing it is not mating season. Stay away during that time.

After the Belle Islets I usually make my way over to Grainger Point and travel through to Curlew Island, around to Horton Bay and then homeward bound. However, today I could see some red blob floating in the distance. And I thought it worth checking it out. It looked interesting. As I got closer no way did I think the red blob would turn out to be a lifeboat?

Of course, one problem (and you know there is never really just one problem, but isn’t that the way, eh) the ocean’s current was pushing my kayak towards the red blob but also pushing the blob further away, too. That’s just how Mother Nature works.

Maybe I am not a moderate ability kayaker, most likely mediocre. I don’t know why I inflate my ability level. Confidence can push you farther than timidity. At any rate, most intermediate kayakers can paddle around three knots. If the tide changes in the other direction and the current’s velocity is say five knots, the paddler is screwed. Five knots minus three knots equals two knots in the wrong way. It is simple arithmetic. I learned that the hard way once and vowed never to repeat. Sometimes it seems I learn the hard way every time. Theory and real life are not always copacetic.

Paddling a little harder and as I closed in on the red blob the reality of the situation started to become clearer. It was a lifeboat. It looked like a weird red igloo floating in the water. I paddled alongside and flipped the flap of the lifeboat with my paddle to look inside. To my surprise, or some horror, there was a naked woman sprawled on the floor inside!

Hey, are you okay! I said somewhat softly, but received no response. I followed speaking with a louder voice saying, Hello, hello, bonjour, sats ri akal, hola, namaste, nee-how, hey-you in there. It was no use, she did not respond. I really could not determine whether she was alive or not.

It was the middle of February; many just celebrated Valentine’s Day. In the summer there is a lot of marine traffic passing through this area: sailboats, motorboats, and even stupid jet skiers venture out this far. Today, mid-February, this area is deafeningly quiet with no sign of pleasure craft, commercial fishermen, or whale watching tour boats passing through.

Sure, yes, of course, if I was in a canoe, rowboat, or something other than a kayak I could easily board the lifeboat and test her pulse, check vital signs, and whatnot. Although I am only a psychotherapist in my day job, I have enough first aid training from my swimming pool lifeguard days to complete basic first aid.

It was a bit of a struggle to retrieve and get out my yellow floating kayak rope to secure the lifeboat to my kayak. When we were tied together I thought about releasing the waterproof black spray skirt that keeps the kayak watertight and prevents waves from flooding the cockpit. I can do an Inuit (nee Eskimo) kayak roll, but only with the spray skirt attached. Take the spray skirt off and I can get swamped by a wave – been there before.

All things considered, I was still quite calm, but my concerns were mounting. In particular the tide, current, and impending darkness were becoming issues. I pulled out my iPhone and it worked. Cell phone signal coverage in the Gulf Islands can be sporadic. But bingo I was in business and quickly called the 911 emergency operators.

Waiting for help to arrive was taking a lot longer than I wanted. Hence the decision to release the kayak’s safety spray skirt and attempt to board the lifeboat developed. It was way harder and way more awkward than I wanted. Normally, the kayak and I usually set off and return to a beach landing – some are sandy; some are gravelly, or rocky. I never launch or disembark in the open ocean. Maybe I am merely a novice kayaker. At any rate, with some trouble I was finally able to wiggle out of the kayak cockpit and successfully flail myself into the lifeboat.

I quickly crawled over to the woman to check out her condition. She was alive. She definitely had a pulse and was certainly breathing, but barely. She was cold and her skin clammy. Eyes closed, sprawled out on the lifeboat’s floor she looked pale, dehydrated, and in relatively rough shape. Guesstimating a woman’s age is not my forte. No good has ever come from the endeavour, as I am usually wrong. Having said that, there I was telling the emergency dispatch operator, I think she is early-thirty, forty, or so. I don’t know. Where is this help you said you were sending?

The naked woman had long auburn hair, slight build, expensive looking jewelry, and I could not tell how tall because of her sprawl on the floor. I tried talking to her with no avail. I lifted her eyelid to see a dilated pupil. It is not as though I knew what her pupils were telling me other than a blank look. Her breathing was shallow, but she was breathing, and that was important.

The ocean’s current was pushing us farther out into the middle of the strait. Likely we were now in American water. The international borderline is not a straight-line in this area it bends at odd angles due to ownership of Gulf and San Juan Islands. All these things get negotiated at some point or another. I could not see any land and could not hear anything either. Where were the authorities? We were drifting out farther, no cell phone reception now, and darkness fast approaching. I was not in a panic, but getting pretty concerned about this situation.

I had peeled off some of my clothing layers and wrapped the woman in my kayak anorak, sweater, and kayak paddle mitts, trying to warm her up. Hypothermia had to be an issue for her and now it was overtaking me, too. I hate hypothermia. I had no idea how long she had been in the lifeboat. I had no idea what she was doing lying naked in the middle of the ocean.

Finally, overhead I heard a helicopter approaching. It was a good thing; my cellphone’s battery had died. Now that we had been located I knew water level help would arrive soon, and, of course, the sooner the better. The first vessel that approached us was a large really noisy red and white hovercraft with a Canadian flag on the side.

Next a smaller outboard zodiac-type vessel approached and tied up to our flotilla now consisting of my yellow kayak, the red lifeboat, and now the Coast Guard Search and Rescue powerboat. A woman and a man both dressed in orange jumpsuits boarded the lifeboat and took over. The woman started first aid on the naked lady and the man peppered me with questions.

We were towed to Bennett Bay on Mayne Island where an ambulance was waiting to take the woman to the Mayne Island Medical Clinic with sirens at full blare. From there she was then airlifted by medevac to Vancouver General Hospital (VGH). This was all explained to me by the RCMP officer who was also waiting for our arrival to Bennett Bay Beach as the authorities needed to debrief me. Elbows up with this stuff.

I had to get back to Vancouver anyway as I had some appointments scheduled for Monday. Loaded up the kayak, packed away the gear, ate two of Farmgate Shanti’s muffins, and caught the last ferry to Vancouver.

On my Monday lunch break I went to VGH to check on the lifeboat lady. The old Punjabi saying: Easy to say, hard to do, was invoked. VGH is not an easy place to access or navigate. Talk about bureaucracy and a photo of VGH looms large.

Vancouver General Hospital is old. British Columbia joined the Canadian Federation in 1871 under the railway condition. Hence, fifteen years later, the Canadian Pacific Railway opened the first hospital in 1886 to treat injured and sick railway workers. Two years later the fledgling City of Vancouver took over the hospital on the edge of the original Gastown settlement. Logging was beginning as an industry, and a new hospital was needed. Finally, in 1906 the current VGH was built on the Fairview Ridge overlooking False Creek.

Paying a visit to the oldest and largest British Columbia hospital seemed like the right thing to do. Good manners are important in my family. I knew the lifeboat woman was in there somewhere and if I could not visit at least I should garner an update on her condition. How is she doing?

Of course I understood privacy issues and their implications, but I did not even know the woman’s name and the VGH receptionist did not either. We were at a stalemate. Visiting her or getting an update on her condition was completely out of the question.

I have a friend who works for Vancouver Victim Services, but she was no help either. However, in my wallet I still had the business card and telephone number of the RCMP officer who met us at the Bennett Bay Beach, but he was no help either. He knew no more than me. And he was not all that interested, either. He had other fish to fry. It was a stalemate.

FIDO – forget it drive on

RAM DASS

1973

At the really ripe age of twenty-two I packed up my black British Ford Consul Cortina to the gunnels and drove away from Pullman for the last time. Just like Dustin Hoffman’s Benjamin, I was a graduate. Who knew what you could do with a social psychology degree, but it was time to find out. I had enjoyed my time at college, however, as the great Mick Jagger sang, Its all over now.

It took all day to drive to Vancouver.

The Sanfords and I had rented a grand old not-yet-dilapidated house down the road from where Timothy Leary lived. I never personally met Dr. Leary the LSD cerebral vitamin advocate, but I did meet his Harvard colleague, Dr. Richard Alpert. However, Alpert was now going by the name Ram Dass.

It was my girlfriend Peggi’s sister Carol who knew Ernesto Feldman from UBC. Dr. Feldman often had his class over to his Point Grey waterfront home to parlay and soiree. The one and only time I went, as a friend of a friend, Ram Dass (nee Dr. Richard Alpert) had been invited and was giving a speech, séance, or something. And although I was not really there for the spirituality aspects, I certainly enjoyed the food and imbibed in sundry other offerings. Chai or juice for you?

WoW, how does a mid-level UBC Prof get a waterfront house like this? I asked Peggi.

Old money, was her curt reply.

Old money, eh, I said, with a smirk. Guess I am old money too. Got a five-dollar bill Gramps gave me years ago. I keep it tucked in the back of my wallet for good luck, superstition, and emergencies. I’m old money.

Idiot, Peggi snorted while shuffling off to chat up someone more interesting than me. And, as such, this was not a problem for me. My identity, self-esteem, and raison d` etre are well intact standing strong enough for this stuff."

Peggi often went one way and I another. That was how we worked, or not, as the case may be. We travelled in different circles. Idealism is more malleable than day-to-day comings and goings. And her accusations of my superficiality were unfounded. Shakespeare said, Still waters run deep.

Peggi pushed on towards the fireplace discussion zone while I gravitated to the kitchen. Instincts I guess, but the kitchen crew are always more my compadres than the pedantics in the drawing room. Mum, the sisters, and kitchen cousins always had a good conversation cooking. It was on a different level or plane, not so highfalutin either.

Gestalt-wise, the whole vegan and vegetarian stripes type brandings meant not too much to me. As long as the food was tasty, not too bland. I was content to imbibe, ingest, and at times devour. I was at that age and stage where large quantities of food of all types were consumed all the time. And still I was a human swizzle stick, six feet small (two metres in Canadian metric sizing). My weight never changed, fluctuated, or represented an issue. Peggi was way different. Food was always an issue. Who counts calories? Where will that get you?

Peggi was attracted to the hoity-toity fireplace crew. Historically, I connect best with the kitchen crowd. And that is where Ram Dass and I crossed paths. Ram Dass, an ardent vegetarian was standing by the gas-fired stove making gestures and soliloquies to somebody.

These things were way easier for me compared to Peggi. She had her struggles as joining the fireplace conversation would require an erudite interjection or she would just need to lurk in the margins waiting for an opportunity. All I had to do was walk into the kitchen and ask, "Hi, is there anything I can do