In 2017, I worked on Sable for the Met Service as an Aerological Observer. A favorite experience was a radiosonde balloon launch in relatively high winds when there was a storm ripping up the east coast.
The Ipswich Sparrow, Sable Island’s endemic songbird, named for the place where it was first discovered in Ipswich, Massachusetts, just a few miles from where I first saw my first, but a century before.
I lived on Sable Island for three months, working for the Meteorological Service. I’d never had a desire to visit the island, as so many people do, but fell in love with the place during my time there.
I was a Met Tech on Sable Island in 1978-79—a 13-month stint, then one month off, and then another 11 months on the island. I had arrived, green as grass and wide-eyed, thinking, “What have I done?”
My dream came true when I shared an incredible day on the island with my sister and five dear friends. Long after, the emotions of being so wonderfully overwhelmed by the experience still brings tears.
Over 50 years ago, I was in Grade 7 or 8 when I found a story on Sable in a school textbook, an Ontario Primary School Reader. I could not have imagined the impact this short story would have on my life.
My family’s connection to Sable Island began almost fifty years ago when we lived at the West Light while my father was employed there as an electrician. In 2008 I returned to the island for a brief visit.
As a child I was fascinated by my godmother’s painting of Sable Island and the story she told of the dunes and shipwrecks. A family friend, Barbara Christie, engaged me with stories of the island’s horses.
From the awesome power of the late-night lightning, to the confused and lost Myrtle Warbler that hopped onto my boot while absorbed in his search for food, my memories of the island hold a hint of magic.
I remember vividly how the seals would swim inside the crest of a breaking wave, moving silhouettes that seemed to roll as they swam, faster than human swimmers, in their bright tunnel of water.
