The story of the lost woman of San Nicolas Island is well known to Californians and to those who have read Scott O’Dell’s John Newbery Award winning, Island of the Blue Dolphins. When I lived in Pasadena, California fifteen years ago, I had not heard of O’Dell’s book (I wish I had read it as a child), but I found a book about the woman in a local library. There is nothing unique about my fascination with her story – everyone who hears about it is deeply moved, disturbed, or both.

The native people of the channel islands had been under siege for a long time from Russian hunters who slaughtered the otters. The people of San Nicolas had been decimated by disease and hunger when the last of them were “rescued” and taken to the mainland. The lost woman was a young mother, and in the chaos of trying to get everyone on board the ship before a major storm broke, the woman’s child was left behind. When she realized it, she dove into the water and swam back to the island. The ship’s captain made the decision to leave without her.

The native people of San Nicolas kept dogs and as their culture declined, the dogs became feral and extremely dangerous. When the woman swam back to the island, her child had been killed by dogs.

A brief (yet thorough) version of the story can be found at: http://www.sbnature.org/research/anthro/chumash/lowom.htm

I was a young mother myself when I read about the lost woman, and like many young mothers, I was fearful of losing my children. The woman’s story seems more like myth than reality. It echoes Demeter’s cries for her daughter, Persephone, and the cries of every parent who has ever lost a beloved child. A few years later I wrote a poem inspired by the woman of San Nicolas.

The Last Mother

I heard of a woman
who walked through waves
to find her lost child.

She used islands
as stepping stones.                                                                                                                                               

The sea spray of storms
became her tears.

When she stopped she became an island
in a dark sea,
darker than night.

She is waiting
for her lost child
to wash up
on her shore.

(This poem was previously published as “One Mother” in Where Dragonflies Go, Sisters’ Ink, Saskatoon, October 2005)