The next day we cross the Sound to reach Roscoe Bay on West Redonda Island. Again we are stunned by the huge expanse of icy blue water surrounded by majestic peaks. They tower before us, some rocky pinnacles still topped with snow, others rounded forest clad humps, shades of green & grey as they recede into the distance. It is a stunning panorama & we are lucky enough to have another vivid blue sky above us with a few small fluffy white clouds floating over the peaks. This is definitely ‘God’s country’ filling us with peace & serenity, & as Ron says ‘making us want to live for one more day’. Parsifal is glistening white in the morning sun, with last night’s dew slowly drying on the varnished wood. Her teak & brass glowing under the sun’s rays, she seems to be enjoying this journey as much as we are. Stripping off layers once again as the sun does her work, we enter Roscoe Bay, cliffs narrowing as we cross the shallow entrance only navigable at high tide. A sparkling waterfall cascades down into a small bay protected by forested hills & cliffs, we anchor & stern tie near the narrow entrance with a glimpse of Waddington channel & the forested bluffs beyond.

After securing the boat we take the short path to Black Lake, & explore the trail above the shores. In some places giant trees soar above us, our neck’s aching just trying to see the tops, with graceful green ferns & mosses lining the path on the forest floor. We climb & dip through these majestic glades only to find ourselves in thickly wooded sections where the path seems so narrow. Sunlight fights through the trees to light small vignettes, other areas are lost in the shade. Huge trees have fallen across the path in places, forcing us to clamber over or under them. Streams cross our way, at times taking over the path, before tumbling off once more over rocks or under logs, hidden by the thick undergrowth so that all we can hear is the burbling of the water. Remembering the orchard from Roscoe Bay we are alternately clapping & whistling to warn the wildlife of our progress. We are quietly plodding along the path, when suddenly Ron jerks & yells as a group of fiery yellow jackets attacks his arm. We beat a hasty retreat, retracing our steps all the way back to a grassy bank by the lake, where Ron is able to strip off his shirt to examine the bites on his arm. We lie down to bask in the late afternoon sun while we listen to the chipmunks rustling in the bushes & the insects buzzing past over our heads, feeling so lucky to be together in such a beautiful tranquil place.