Another Day, another Wonderful Mystery

Another Day, Another Wonderful Mystery

September 4, 2007

Yesterday was another fabulous sunset over the Pamlico Sound here on Hatteras Island. The sun could be seen as a big red ball as it began its rapid descent into the water to the west. Through the old oaks we could see the shimmering trail of orange and pink on the dimpled water.

Slightly to the south the water was still, almost glassy, then: What was that?- something jumped. Something disturbed the surface of the water, then again, and again. There were no birds flying - no ducks or seagulls on the surface of the water. But the water was alive with ripples and splashes. We had to investigate. We walked over to the bulkhead of our rental house, Sound Mind and Body. We stood near the edge and watched. Forty feet out for the length of the bulkhead and extending to the water in front of either neighbor’s house the water was alive with random splashes and ripples. Generally, it was a quick little movement and set of ripples, as if a fish had come to the surface, turned on its side, and plunged back into the water. Once or twice we heard the slap of what we thought was something bigger, only to turn to see a large rippling disturbance of water where we had not been looking.

The sun had set; but the horizon was still light in horizontal bands of gray and orange and darkening blue. You could see the silver look of the water to the horizon, shimmering. There were a few paths of still water through that shimmering dimpled water that cut diagonally to the horizon. I could see the curve of the earth on the horizon and lines shooting diagonally to meet it. It looked like a giant exercise in illustrating the vanishing point.

All the while the water was disturbed in front of us. It was quiet except for the random plop from whatever was moving under the surface of the water. The jet skis and the birds had called it a day. Every minute or so a disturbance would emanate from a spot and there would be trails shooting in four or six directions; often in a narrow field, as if a bottle rocket had been set off and exploded just under the surface hurtling its flames in the same general direction. Were we watching one group of fish being chased by some bigger ones? Did a big fish move into a group of little ones and did the little ones all jump at once?

We didn’t know. But in the quiet and the cool of the evening it was quite a show and one that had no doubt been repeated for years and years before. Every sunset is different. Every morning brings new surprises. When I was younger I didn’t realize this. I didn’t appreciate it. Now, thank goodness, I do.

Rick Kinnaird