The Island

Chapter 3

It was all coming back more clearly now.

I've been sitting here by this stream getting refreshed. The waters are flowing around my body in a small moat. It's all starting to make sense.

We left Sydney on Air Canada flight 1107 at 0945 bound for Vancouver on February 3; that was a Wednesday. Our flight path took us over New Caledonia, I know that because I remember seeing it on the display screen. Other than that, I paid very little attention to the flight. I had gotten up early that morning to get a good start at arriving at the airport to deal with any cross-border issues; so once we were airborne, I decided to doze off. What can I say, I sleep soundly on airplanes.

I think it was after crossing New Caledonia the pilot notified us. So we must have landed somewhere northeast of New Caledonia. But how far? I don't have a map, and South Pacific geography was never my strong point.

I've had a lot of time to think in the last few days. There's no smartphone I can immerse myself in. Here I am, all alone on what I think is a tropical island. Where are the rest of the passengers of flight 1107? I saw most of them get off on life rafts. Why are they not here? Or are they on a different part of the island?

I remember now when the plane dropped, and I awoke to the oxygen masks dropping; and all us passengers scurrying to strap them on, the plane continued to fall out of the sky. I remember praying, "Dear God, help us all!".

Thing is, I've kind of forgotten about God.

I grew up in a Christian home in Strathmore, Alberta Canada; a trucker town bedroom community to Calgary. My folks and us three kids; Drake, Me, and Jen, all went to this little Pentecostal church in town. Pastor Tom presided over the congregation; a big, loud, somewhat obnoxious Scandinavian redhead; with a bellowing voice, but a very big heart. He was the kind of tell-it-like-it-is preacher my folks liked. He made use of theatrics, being rather entertaining, or a turn-off depending on your point of view.

Pastor Tom called himself a man's man and a trucker of truckers. That made him relate on good footing with the locals. He also had a small trucking business hauling feed. Many were daunted by his forthright style, but he was always clear what he wanted, and so easy to follow. My folks followed and became one of his leaders. I grew up with him; seeing him and his wife Jill more as Uncle and Aunt, so I was never intimidated. Truth be known, they were also a very loving generous couple.

Pastor Tom always challenged his congregation, with an in-your-face style. At the same time, he had rare compassion, much like a fireman who would run headfirst into flames to rescue anyone. He treated me differently, and as I got older I found out quickly, this man of God didn't know everything; he couldn't see what I was always up to; he couldn't read my inner thoughts that were drifting away from God.

Once I left home, heading off to college at the University of Montana at Bozeman; everything changed. It was then I realized I had a sheltered life; taking exception to that, I decided to make up for what I took as lost time.

Take a bunch of young people, take them away from their daily routine, their relative ease of life; the parental safety over them, and solid guidance of their homes and communities and then drop them down in an environment where alcohol is easily available coupled with difficult assignments and stressful deadlines and throw in hormones for good measure. Not a good mix for a good ol' small-town kid raised in the Bible Belt.

Needless to say, I had a different life at UM; I was smart enough to act one way around my parents and church community, and devious enough to fit in at the college scene. The college scene was my reality. My co-students and peers were my friends and confidants. The college scene had little use for faith, even in Montana.