The word is out on this place: it’s unknown.
I put a sign at the end of the dock that read -“Please Tresspass.”
There were no takers.
I further attempted to draw attention to my spot along Blind Channel by driving the Big Boat over to town, a considerable trip, where I purchased a great deal of this reflective Mylar ribbon material some people in the area tie to fruit tree branches to ward off unwanted birds.
Before I drove the Big Boat back, I stopped in at O’Neil’s, one of the few watering holes in this part of the area, to have a few beers. Along the bar were two guys I’d not before seen and they seemed fine enough, as we said, “hello” in a reciprocal fashion.
Katherine was working. She asked me what I was doing in town. I told her I was keen on becoming more noticed.
“For what?” she wanted to know.
This took me aback, for while I knew I wanted to see a few folks over on my side of the water every so often, I hadn’t really considered exactly why.
“Oh, I don’t know, you know,” I said.
“No, I don’t actually know,” she said, “that’s why I’m asking you.”
“Well, it’s quiet and it would not be something I’d oppose if someone dropped by here and there to maybe look at a boat, or chat.”
“I see,” she said. “I think you need to go down to Vancouver for a bit.”
“Why do you want people to stop by up Blind Channel?”
“Right,” I said.
I drove the Big Boat back across, stashed the reflective ribbon in the shop, made plans to drop the dogs off in town, went back over and booked passage on the ferry the next day.