THE THUNDER HOLE
by John Pitcher
The Thunder Hole was a well-known place to all Merasheen fisherman, especially fishermen who named it as they often passed it on their way from the Merasheen Banks rounding Margaret's Cove on the Western side of the Island. The Thunder Hole was so named for its thunderous, roaring sound as water washed into a partially submerged underwater cave at the bottom of a cliff. It so happened that nature also provided another spectacular phenomenon at this place. From the shoreline, fishermen were astounded at the natural construction of two high, wind-carved pillar-like rocks in the form of a man and woman facing one another. The man was bareheaded and the woman looked as though she were wearing a bonnet. When the hole was particularly thunderous on a rough day, fishermen said that the man and woman were having a spiff. Still others speculated that the Hole was a place where the devil made thunder and on really rough days he was beating his mother. As children, we were fascinated by this wondrous place and reserved some feeling of sacred respect or fear for its uniqueness. Even to children this myth was hard to believe, but it instilled an unavoidable attraction to this place we called The Thunder Hole.
One bright, sunlight day in July, my older brother Ernie, myself, and two of our close cousins had finished hauling our lobster pots which we had flung off a pointed "sunker" at the mouth of Margaret's
Cove Point. Prior to that, we had scaled the Cove's brow for hot overly ripe bakeapples and had secured a breaking Margaret's Cove Pond dam we had handily constructed to flood the Pond for skating during the winter. We made our way around the shoreline, combing the lush berry heath hills for those big juicy blackberries that were numerous that time of year. Occasionally, we would descend into the beaches and coves to check out the likelihood of treasure or valuables that might have washed up after storms and ship wrecks.
By noon, we had reached the crest of a wind-swept ridge where old patches of spruce clung low to the lichened ground. This was the place that sheltered the Island's south western coves from the onslaught of the southerly storms that were given women's names. I remember old fisherman spinning yarns about the ship disasters and feats of heroism as we sat around the kerosene lamps and warm coal burning stoves. Here we could hear the thunder of the Hole, not a loud thunderous roar but, a quieter than usual grabble with the man and the woman structures huddled closely to the cliff as though they had already finished talking and were now resting majestically in the hot summer sun.
As we sat there and talked about the mystical wonders of the cave below, Ernie speculated that it could be possible that the cave may actually extend into the Island where it housed a race of underground people who may very well be unknown to humans living above the earth. Or, he went on to envision that the devil could be living there in the cave. This very thought added a new dimension of fear to an already distorted vision of the Thunder Hole. The idea that we may be living on the edge of reality and the supernatural intrigued us. To cross over from one to the other would require that we, at best, not be afraid that such realities could exist. We should be tough and ready without fear. ‘We should,’ as Ernie put it, ‘not be afraid to separate fact from fiction.’ All eyes were focused on Ernie's one assuring eye, while the other squinted from the sun. He said, with confidence and clear judgement, charismatically jumping to his feet, ‘We will knock the head off that man and woman.’ In jubilation, we all raised our arms into the air. Yes, it was unanimous, just, and fitting to score a victory against our fears and discover truth at the same time. If the devil were in the cave, then let him try to stop us. We were not afraid. If the man and woman fought, then surely they would have something to say to us while we beheaded them.
Off to the beach we went and retrieved a sturdy ‘flake longer‘ which was entangled in kelp, net, and seashells from the last storm. With the basic justification now more fuzzy, we nevertheless proceeded to dislodge the woman's bonneted head from her hunched shoulders. After about an hour of digging and prying, we had worked off a great deal of enthusiasm. Our intention of having to work so hard was underestimated but replaced with determination not to fail. Then suddenly with one more pry, all leaning on the longer, the bonnet spun, tipped, and slid crashing into the sea floor below. In jubilation, all arms were raised as we closed our eyes to feel the silent victory that any conqueror would feel after victory. Here we had faced our fears and separated ourselves from the foolish myths and supernatural beliefs that surrounded our everyday lives.
As we left to finish our journey over Pigeon Cliff and around the ‘Western Head,’ we could not help but look back. I believe we left more than a headless rock structure that day. We left, forever more, our innocence and our attraction to the ‘Thunder Hole.’ We so carelessly misjudged how to off load our baggage of fears. In fact, as we all discovered later in life, we take our fears and mistakes with us. No matter how fast I ran that day, I could not escape the guilt of what I had done. For shame, I could not tell a single soul. This is my suffering and sentence for the desecration of that sacred place and the beauty of the legend of the Thunder Hole. I have, however, since found love, appreciation, respect, and responsibility for nature, beauty, and my beloved tradition. I also discovered that harmony and peace will not be achieved through external means, but from within each of us.
During a storm that ensued that night, I huddled under my heavy blankets in my little iron bed as I listened to the graveled beach get hauled and pushed by the Out Wind. As I twisted and turned, our old two storey box-shaped house shook and quivered. Glints of rain violently hit the thin glazed window of our little room facing the beach. I could hear the fearful rumbling of the Thunder Hole in my head which burdened an already troubled mind. With each clap of thunder I had thoughts of the devil laughing, knowing it was he who had won a victory over our souls. For one uncontrollable moment, I wanted to wake Ernie and ask him how he was feeling and to perhaps somehow make sense of what we had done and to explain it all one more time to comfort me perhaps or was it that I wanted to comfort him. I quietly cried that night before I fell into a deep sleep. I vividly remember having visions of the man whose head was bent and howling in the onslaught of the heavy summer rain.