Just around the corner from our anchorage at Clarke Island was lovely Benson Island. Threading the needle of time between two of Jason's work meetings, we paddled around Clark Island against wind and waves to Benson. Just up from the beach was an old First Nations village site and, according to legend, the birthplace of the tribe that inhabited the Broken Group. Still visible, ancient standing posts and long logs on the ground, marked where a long house had once stood. After reading about the history of the tribe we followed a path into, what turned out to be, utterly magical woods. We wandered through widely-spaced trees over soft ground carpeted with moss and low-growing grass. When we reached the other side of the island we found the blow-hole we had come to see. Poor Jason walked around the rocky shore searching for a cell signal so he could take his meeting while the boys and I explored and watched the blow-hole grow bigger as the tide rose. While Jason was in his meeting, the boys and I scrambled to the top of the highest point on the shore where we were surprised by deer. I almost had a heart attack. Thankful that they weren't mountain lions, we watched them bound away as we laughed at ourselves. When Jason's meeting was done, we reunited, watched the blow-hole a while longer and then walked back through the mystical woods to our kayaks.
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