At the helicopter terminal, they met some fellow travelers—the Dalrymples, a well-to-do retired couple from the local area, and Jason Abernathy, a professional photographer working on a book about Nova Scotia islands.
As they all became acquainted, Oliver leaned close to whisper in Joanna’s ear. “Don’t tell anyone who I am. I don’t want to talk about theBelvedere.”
She understood and nodded.
They were scheduled to depart at 9:00 a.m. and arrive back at the terminal by 7:oo p.m. The flight across the water would take approximately an hour and fifteen minutes, which seemed remarkable to Joanna—to reach a place that, in her imagination, seemed like the farthest corner of the world.
During the flight across sparkling blue water, Joanna sat beside her grandfather and Jason, and faced their guide, Bill, and the Dalrymples. They all wore headsets to reduce the noise from the engine andpropeller, and to speak to each other through a microphone communication system.
When at last they approached Sable Island, the chopper banked left to fly over South Beach. Joanna touched her forehead to the window to peer down at the narrow crescent-shaped island, where she spotted a few horses, like tiny dots, grazing in the green interior. She sucked in a breath of excitement.
As they descended toward the landing pad, she saw more horses lingering around a large pond and couldn’t wait to get her feet on the ground and explore the place her grandfather had described with such reverence.
At last, the chopper touched down, the pilots shut off the engines, and the propeller blades slowed. Both pilots, Darren and Denise, got out and opened the doors, and everyone removed their headsets and unbuckled their seat belts. Joanna was first to hop out and was struck instantly by the unfamiliar fragrance of the island. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before—a singular mixture of the salty ocean, the unique vegetation, and horsehair and manure, all of it floating on the unpolluted breezes of the North Atlantic.
When she turned her head, she saw her grandfather standing tall with his head tilted back, his eyes closed, doing the same thing. Just breathing.
Their eyes met, and he smiled, and she was overcome with happiness, knowing that he was pleased to return to the island that had changed him for the better.
She had come to understand that this was the place where he had discovered his soul.
There was no dirt on Sable Island, just sand, which made walking a challenge for their small group as they ventured through the interior toward Main Station. Bill, their guide, warned them to always keep atleast twenty meters away from the horses, so when the group encountered their first small band, walking toward them on a narrow path, Bill waved everyone into the low junipers to make way.
Joanna glanced at her grandfather, who stood mesmerized, staring. “Emma and I never got this close,” he said to her privately. “We were lucky to see any at all.”
“From what I’ve read,” Joanna replied, “the population has grown since they stopped shipping them away for sale. And they’re probably more comfortable around humans who never touch or threaten them. It’s no wonder they made themselves scarce when you were here last.”
“The island felt untouched before,” he said, “but clearly it wasn’t.”
They continued on, trudging along the narrow path.
Main Station was a cluster of white buildings used for accommodations, office, and research facilities, as well as communication towers, fuel storage tanks, and a few essential motorized vehicles. Bill gathered everyone to explain how important it was to keep to the concrete sidewalks to avoid tramping on an endangered species of beetle. He then led the group into the big white house in the center of the station yard, where they could use the loo, refill their water bottles, and leave any unnecessary belongings behind for the day.
While Joanna was bent over her backpack, searching for UV protective lip balm, the door opened, and a man walked in. Joanna heard him before she saw him.
“Hi, everyone. Welcome to Sable.”
As the group said hello, she straightened and turned.
“I’m Garrett Jones,” he said, “the chief meteorologist. It looks like the universe smiled on you today, because the weather couldn’t be better. The last group of visitors weren’t so lucky—fog rolled in at dawn, and there was a zero-meter visibility. They never even made it here.”
Everyone groaned in sympathy. “I guess we’re pretty lucky, then,” Jason said.
“Maybe we should buy lottery tickets when we get home,” Mrs. Dalrymple added, and the others laughed.
Joanna took a good look at Garrett Jones. He wore a black T-shirt, khaki trousers, and well-worn hiking boots. He looked to be the sort of person who knew how to light a fire without matches and could predict the weather simply by sniffing the air.
“I’m Joanna,” she said, stepping forward to shake his hand. “This is my grandfather, Oliver.” They shook hands as well, which started the ball rolling. Everyone else introduced themselves.
“Will you be coming with us on the tour?” Mrs. Dalrymple asked.
Garrett backed up a few steps. “No, I’ve got some work to do at the weather station. I just wanted to say hello because we don’t get many visitors here.”
“Well, hello, then,” Mr. Dalrymple said affably.
Bill, their guide, gathered everyone’s attention. “Remember what I said about keeping at least twenty meters away from the horses, and don’t forget to stay hydrated. We’ll be doing a lot of walking. Any questions before we head out?”
With a raised eyebrow, Joanna glanced at her grandfather. He quickly shook his head because he wanted to remain anonymous, so she raised her hand on his behalf. “I’ve been reading about the history here—that there was a rose garden at the old main station. Does that still exist?”
