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I'm at Cameron's Beach, NS, a place where I spent many of my teenaged years. It's a rock beach, covered with huge sandstone boulders and barnacle-encrusted rocks. The tide is high, and I'm standing on the shore. There is a sudden sucking noise, and the water rushes away from the shore revealing startled flopping fish. Children rush out to gather the seashells and poke at the fish.
I know a tsunami is on the way, despite Prince Edward Island separating the beach from the ocean proper. I climb the cliff to my grandmother's cabin, calling out to everyone to leave the beach. No one listens. I grab a wok lid and hold it over my head, then, using the magical properties of the lid, fly to the top of my neighbour's cabin. It's the tallest one in the area, because it has a peaked roof.
While seated on the roof, I stare intently at the vast expanse of sand and rocks. It extends most of the way to Prince Edward Island. As I watch, I can see a roiling wave rushing toward me. It grows larger and larger, the closer it gets. By this point, a couple of people have joined me on the cabin roof. "Let's fly down and look at the wave close up!" says one.
"No," I say. "There's no way I'm flying close to the wave. The wind up close must be unpredictable, and I don't want to risk crashing into the water and drowning."
"Oh, come on! How many opportunities will you have to do check out a tsunami close up?"
With trepidation, I agreed to fly up to the approaching tsunami. I hold my wok lid over my head, and the wind blows me, kite-like, toward the wave. The wave keeps growing in size, and I can see children, animals, and debris in its crest. I try to reach down to pluck some of the kids out of the water, but I can't get a hand free without losing control of the wok lid. So instead, I zoom close enough so someone could possibly grab my legs and I can haul them out. No one does.
The great wave smashes against the cliff, and a surge breaks over the top, shooting toward the cabins. It's only a shallow flood, though, so none of the cabins are damaged.
I know a tsunami is on the way, despite Prince Edward Island separating the beach from the ocean proper. I climb the cliff to my grandmother's cabin, calling out to everyone to leave the beach. No one listens. I grab a wok lid and hold it over my head, then, using the magical properties of the lid, fly to the top of my neighbour's cabin. It's the tallest one in the area, because it has a peaked roof.
While seated on the roof, I stare intently at the vast expanse of sand and rocks. It extends most of the way to Prince Edward Island. As I watch, I can see a roiling wave rushing toward me. It grows larger and larger, the closer it gets. By this point, a couple of people have joined me on the cabin roof. "Let's fly down and look at the wave close up!" says one.
"No," I say. "There's no way I'm flying close to the wave. The wind up close must be unpredictable, and I don't want to risk crashing into the water and drowning."
"Oh, come on! How many opportunities will you have to do check out a tsunami close up?"
With trepidation, I agreed to fly up to the approaching tsunami. I hold my wok lid over my head, and the wind blows me, kite-like, toward the wave. The wave keeps growing in size, and I can see children, animals, and debris in its crest. I try to reach down to pluck some of the kids out of the water, but I can't get a hand free without losing control of the wok lid. So instead, I zoom close enough so someone could possibly grab my legs and I can haul them out. No one does.
The great wave smashes against the cliff, and a surge breaks over the top, shooting toward the cabins. It's only a shallow flood, though, so none of the cabins are damaged.
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