Sound Pollution

You know you live on an Island when...

Have you ever slept in a cheap hotel near a busy freeway? How about tent camping near a bustling train track? Those sounds. Those vibrations. You never forget them.

Sometimes living in the middle of Puget Sound surrounded by a dense blanket of fog is like that. You feel it. You remember it. You might never sleep.

Some people think the sound is lovely and romantic. Some find it haunting and lonely. Some people think that warp and two woofs make magical music. I think they must not live a mile from the ferry dock.

When I was twelve my family went on our first luxury cruise up the St. Lawrence River, docking in Quebec for a day and then on around Cape Cod and into New York. It was a splendid experience. I remember my oldest brother, Matt, break dancing 'til dawn and I remember amazing midnight buffets. Yet one memory stands out from the rest: the day of the fog.

My brother, Alex, and I--tired of being cooped up--decided to go up on the top-most deck and attempt a game of tennis. It was so foggy that I couldn't see Alex on the other side of the net nor could I have any indication as to where the ball would suddenly appear for me to chase. It was so windy that often when the ball did appear it would suddenly veer away or even blow over board. We couldn't hear each other and had great fun even trying to hit the ball at all in the wind. Often, we couldn't even see the end of our own racket.

I was standing with my back to the middle of the ship and Alex was standing with his back to the stern when suddenly the ship's fog horn sounded. Jolted, I discovered I was standing directly in front of the horn -- the bell of it open like a great white shark's jaws surrounding my five-foot, two-inch frame.

The blast of the horn literally propelled me to the deck. My ears rang for hours. Every cell in my body still retains the memory of the sound and sensation. Never had sound been such a physical, tangible force.

Picture now this Emerald Isle where I live filled with conifers and lush with life. From above you look down and see only the very tops of the trees as the mist and fog engulf the land. Above you are a million stars in the velvet night. Somewhere on that misty Isle I am sleeping. Softly sleeping in the Sound until -- the warp blares long and the woofs bleat again and again. The ferry has docked and I am awake. http://www.historylink.org/video/ferry_whistle/whistles.htm