April 18, 1976 a weekend
trip from Copenhagen to a deserted island.
Where Gar Beckstead found himself
on April 18, 1976 was on the nearly deserted island of Useppa.
Not the island you'd easily recognize today, although beneath
the surface it was that and much more. What was evident on the
surface was worn and twisted. Weathered windows and salt-grey
timbers, bleached by the sun and battered by time and wind and
tides and the most ravaging force of all, neglect. And from where
he sat, all of that neglect was laced with vines, pricker bushes,
pokeweeds and telltale signs left behind by an already occupying
army of crawling creatures. That was what he knew. Yet, at that
moment there was much he did not know. He did not know that nearly
thirty years hence he would be at the very same spot, brooding
over a sight not unlike the twisted remains that lay before him
now. He also did not know the heritage buried beneath the ground
that seasonally, for an astounding six to ten thousand years,
brought people to this place with the same dreams - at first
for what they saw but later for the vision of what could be.
Nor did he realize that for at least two years to come, he would
still be fetching fresh water by boat from nearby Pine Island
in an Igloo cooler.
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