Horizon at Sandy Point

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Washed by wind and wave in Tobago

The roar of the sea sings you to sleep at night. And in the day, it’s a comfort to watch the surf, line after line, rising and running to a white crest tumbling to shore.

Morning on the south point of Tobago

The first time we came back to the timeshare after my father died, we were surprised to find that he had upgraded from the one bedroom studio apartment in the garden to the newly constructed beach villa. We felt like we had inherited a mansion when we were shown the convenient three-bedroom apartment that is so near to the beach that any nearer and we could be rocking on the waves with the pelicans.

For two weeks every year, the Sandy Point beach villa becomes our home in Tobago. From Trinidad, we step off the “air bridge” at Crown Point and a ten-minute walk takes us here.

In the ten years since we have occupied the beach villa, we are familiar with the sea off the south end of Tobago in two seasons. In the heart of the hurricane months, the sea is warm and calm, sometimes still as the blue of the sky. In the later months, when the northern hemisphere feels the chill of winter, winds from the west drive swells to Tobago’s sunlit shores. The sea rises in restless waves running in a straight line from Sandy Point to Store Bay pounding to shore in ceaseless rhythm.

Rolling surf crashes to shore

We are here in Tobago for an early December reprieve before the coming seasonal obligations. We sleep, eat and watch the sea and sky. Our time here is unhurried, meditative, an oasis of calm. Above the waves, pelicans wheel and soar and dive, folding to rest upon the heaving breast of water. We are thrilled to see dorsal fins of tarpon cleave the water, swimming round the fishermen on the jetty. Clouds mass on the western horizon, with or without rain, change from rose to grey to flame. And the unceasing sea rolls on. It is not hard to conclude that the suck and pull of these waters have their echo in living blood.

What keeps this sandy spit at the very southernmost edge of the island from melting into the ocean. Is there a balance already established between sea and shore, a truce for the millennia of human occupation?

This edge of ocean and sky feels like some kind of dynamic suspended state: this coast, this sky, these pelicans. Days like these we must believe are intimations of Eden. 

View from the Sandy Point beach villa

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