The Frustrating And The Awesome, in Glaucester Bay and Beyond

I love the ocean.

It's such a funny thing, trying to analyze just what it is I feel when I'm out on the water, but I'm far from alone in both feeling that soup of emotions as well as being unable to describe it fully in any coherent way.  I love how simply smelling the air makes my muscles relax and makes breathing come easier.  I love that taking off on fast-moving boat seems to bring a surge of electrically charged excitement, like every molecule is vibrating.  I can be standing at the railing of a whale-watching boat, peer down the side at the surging white wash as the prow cuts through the water, and become hypnotized by it. 

And I love how the creatures that live beneath the waves are still a complete mystery. 

I was fortunate enough today to 1) be a part of a NESS SEA Americorps crew that is so active, social, and close-knit that after only knowing each other for 5 days managed to plan and successfully implement a two-and-a-half hour road trip to another state to go whale watching; and 2) get to go whale watching.

The name of the company was called Cape Ann Whale Watching, by the way.  Based out of Glaucester, MA (this is pronounced "Glauster"), it's a pretty cool business.

One of the cooler aspects, at least for me, was of course the conversations with Lead Naturalist, Chris.  I had to take a bite of my pride knowing that he was younger than I am, but nevertheless he was a great dude and super knowledgeable.  Both being ocean geeks, and him vastly more knowledgeable than I, allowed for stimulating conversation.  For example,  I told him about the Sea Otter research I'd been a part of in Moss Landing, and he pulled their giant binder of whale genealogy, records and identifications (brought back good memories of working in Canada) and showed me the fluke of a whale they had named "Lutris" because of the small splotch on it's right fluke that looked exactly like a floating Sea Otter. 

He also talked about matriarchal behavior of Humpbacks, of which I had no idea and found completely fascinating.  We got to witness this behavior first-hand with one of the local matriarchs named Cajun (born in '88, represent!). As she was leading her entourage of "associates", a fourth female came into the mix, apparently trying to join the gang.  Chris helped us all notice the aggressive behavior that Cajun started displaying, from making "trumpet blows" to quicker, more erratic and aggressive movement.  Supposedly Cajun is picky with who she allows to join her crew, and  who can blame her?  The behaviors that are known to be used in feeding seem like a very complex coordinated dance, and when you realize these animals have to consume quite literally a ton of fish a day, it's "easy" to see that feeding is serious business for them.


I think what I'll remember most from my conversation with Chris wasn't any term or statistic or description of a behavior.  It had more to do with the subject in general and the way it can reflect life in general.  He told me about a talk he sat in on from one of the worlds leading Whale Song Researchers.  And he told me that at the end of this research presentation, the researchers final slide was a big question mark.  Despite all of the research and study and popularity surrounding Megaptera novaengliae, one of it's most endearing behaviors is still a complete mystery. 

When Chris told me this story, I just shook my head and mused about how exciting and amazing it is that we still have so much to learn about the oceans and the life in it. 

He said, "yeah, it's like this mix between frustrating and awesome".
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If there is still so much we don't know about one of most popular sea creatures alive today, imagine what we don't know about less charismatic sea creatures? Imagine what we may still learn, and what we may never get a chance to learn? 
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On a slightly more whimsical note, the Whale Watching trip wasn't the only stop we made on this trip, thank goodness.  We got to the area a little early, and managed to get up even further, to a little tourist attraction known as Rock Port.  There we found some cool art shops, clothes shops, and what good ol' Google had brought up as the best Austrian Bakery in New England.  I had looked it up because we have not one, but TWO Americorps members this year who are fluent in German and have spent considerable time in Germany or Austria.  I have to say, the raspberry cheese strudel I got from Helmut's Strudel was one of the best pastries I've consumed in a long time.  Unsurprisingly, the two German-speakers weren't as impressed ;-)

.... but I think it's safe to say we still all had a boat-load of fun.


Happy trails, smooth sailing, don't forget your snacks and your bathroom breaks, enjoy the little things as much as the great big things, embrace the frustrating AND the awesome...and if everyone remembers their raincoats, it won't rain.

Sea Names, Fornicating Snails, And Other Such Silliness On The Shores Of New London

It's fitting that 0345 in the morning on the third day of my east-coast, year-long "service project", the second straight sleepless night, and just about four and a half YEARS since my last post on this blog, is the moment I decide to pick up the proverbial pen again.  Considering what the last 9 months have brought in terms of experiences, struggles, and challenges....I can only say that first: I'm proud as hell of myself for doing this, and second: it's about damn time.  It's certainly a nostalgic feeling, like blowing dust off an old award, or some other old souvenir that perhaps others see and perhaps even enjoy, but it doesn't mean quite as much to anyone else.

So I'm in Connecticut now...no big deal.  In case you couldn't hear it through the computer, re-read the last sentence and imagine thick sarcasm surrounding the last three words.  Because for me (and for a few others close to me that have chose to or otherwise deal with me - Hi Mom and Dad) this HAS been a VERY big deal.  Six weeks ago I was only vaguely aware of the opportunity that later would take me more than 3,000 miles from home.  It only became a possible opportunity 4 weeks ago Wednesday, and until I was on that plane, 30,000 feet in the air with Mt. Hood only the closest feature on the board game-sized state of Oregon, I wasn't sure I would actually take it.  In fact a few times I was pretty certain I wouldn't take it. 

And yet, amidst all the failed efforts at packing, ridiculous non-sensical frustrations, constantly feeling that only certain demise awaited me....I made it here.  I made it this far.  I live, I'm relatively comfortable, I have a roof over my head, a cool room mate, awesome co-members, and as of 8 hours or so ago, I have Wi-Fi for crying out loud.

I'm going to cut this short.  Leave some tales left untold, at least for now.  But in a fleeting moment of clarity and motivation worth remembering, where ideas, emotions, and actions seem to flow and dance together, fitting into place, I'll conclude with this...fitting (haha) pledge.  As the kids these days put it, I'm hashtag justgonnaleavethishere:

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I will get things done for America - to make our people safer, smarter, and healther;
I will bring Americans together to strengthen our communities;
Faced with apathy, I will take action;
Faced with conflict, I will seek common ground;
Faced with adversity, I will persevere;
I will carry this commitment with me this year and beyond;

I am an AmeriCorps Member, and I will get things done.

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Lets dust this off too....

Happy trails, smooth sailing, namaste; be bold, listen to Dueling Ninjas by Trace Bundy; Crepidula fornicata; happy 4:20; if it's two am and I say I'm in a meeting, don't ask why.  See you in a hot sec. good morning? good night.

The Flight of the Anchor (March 8th, 2012)

Twelve days left in Belize. We’re currently in Placencia, and will be for at least the next four or five days while I get my SCUBA cert. I’m starting my first day of diving today. Yesterday was all bookwork. I should have had the book read backwards and forwards by now, having it for the past nine months.  I always was a phenomenal procrastinator.  In any case, it didn’t matter; I aced all the quizzes the first and only time through.  I will say that watching the video for EVERY. SINGLE. SECTION…. back to back to back….well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been through longer spans of time in a class room, but I felt like I was missing out.  And I was.  For all five sections, there is a video, and each video is geared to be watched before a confined water swim.  PADI obviously expects five confined water dives prior to going out and taking on the open ocean…I get a make-shift “confined water dive” in the shallows off of Laughing Bird Caye.  It would be nice to have more time to get comfortable with the equipment, but is that COMPLAINING I hear? What’s that, Addison? I’m learning to dive in the tropics, with golden sun, blue sky and miles of reef a mere conch call away, instead of a 12 foot man-made pool? That’s right. Thanks for the reminder.

Here’s another. This particular gem that I’m about to share is one I know already will be a favorite when I recall this trip to parents, family, friends, grandchildren…or the lady with the pretty white shoes sitting next to me at the bus stop… (pause for recognition of the Forrest Gump reference).  I was woken up yesterday morning at who knows which wee hour of the morning, to my Uncle Fred gently knocking on my ceiling hatch. “Addison”, he yelled ever so sweetly to jar me out of my slumber, “come up and help, we dragged anchor.”

Forgive the necessary tangent, it won’t take long.  This is a perfect example of my uncle’s personality.  He stresses, he frets, I KNOW he must, but he never ever shows it.  In fact, you’d think he was downright bored with the fact that his 43 foot, several ton twin hull capable of crushing man and palm tree had just drug 100 yards down the anchorage. 

I, on the other hand, have not and likely never will master such a skill.  Because when those words crept their way into my dreamy ear canals, they may just have well been buckets of ice.  I was up, out on deck, and looking for the anchor chain before I realized I was still only in my boxer briefs.  Gotta love my polyester Hanes, they never chafe…. TMI? Sorry, moving on.

Let me make it clear, if it wasn’t already, that dragging anchor is NOT a fun experience.  Because more than likely it’s dark, and you’re still dazed and shaking the sleep off, trying to center yourself in the bay or harbor or wherever you anchored. For the first few minutes, your eyes adjust and you don’t know if you’ve run aground, hit a boat, etc.  Millions of synapses are firing, neurons flashing and dashing like Space Mountain.  BUT….but, we were fortunate enough to have none of the above horrors strike my heightened senses.  And when I realized that we were perfectly safe despite our boat’s late night stroll, my excited fear turned to excited laughter.  Ahh, that familiar one-two punch of body releasing adrenaline and endorphins (yes, you know what feeling I’m talking about, and yes, I see you smirking). 

So… while it took us another forty minutes of idling around the mile wide harbor to find a solid hold again and fall with a crash back into my cabin, I couldn’t be bothered.  I mean hell, I was standing there at the bow of the boat, anchor chain fading into the dark calm water, learning an integral part of sailing life.  I was doing exactly what I came to do, AND I was doing it mostly naked.  You put yourself in that kind of situation and tell me you don’t feel free. 

…Maybe I won’t be quite so descriptive when I tell my grandkids that story. 

Happy Trails, smooth sailing, smile big, hang loose, bridle up and motor back.  

Every-day People, part 1: Mi Familia de Catamaran

Cruisers are a different breed of person.

I knew it to be true before I even left. Let's face it, you start to get an idea after a few family get-together's Still, my understanding of the concept was not only validated but renewed with vigor not 24 hours after arrival. It is the romance of the landscape that inspires you to go sail, the success and excitement that inspire you to keep sailing, but it really is the people you meet that inspire you to make it a lifestyle. With that in mind, I have decided to dedicate a series of my travel updates to the people I have met as a way of better telling my story, since they have either contributed to or have been the drivers of all the things I've seen, done, and enjoyed since coming to the Caribbean.

It really has to start with the people I got to know over the first week and a half at the marina. I already mentioned getting invited for drinks with the four with the million-dollar sailboat/yacht/lounge/cinema.

There was another from our tennis crew who stood at about 6'6” and I couldn't help but nickname Woodstock. He kept his pony-tail hair under a ball cap that had more holes in it than my tennis racket. It fit on top of his care-free head perfectly, though I think if I'd touched it it would have turned to dust.

The couple from Canada who rounded out the tennis group had mad skills on the court and if they were playing at the same Texas Hold-em table would rob you blind before turning on each other. Being cruisers and therefore minimalists by default, they catch most of their diet when they're underway. But regular fishing isn't they're style. They catch their food by spear-fishing with Hawaiian slings.

One of the constants at the marina was the guy everyone's probably seen in a movie somewhere, typical if you even call it that, the one with the slightly southern accent who might be at the bar, might be watching t.v. in the lounge, might be coming out of the bano or just walking around aimlessly, but always has a knack for popping up wherever and whenever you are, and always with a lesson or a story to tell. Who can't love a guy who's flown choppers over Vietnam, ran intelligence from East Germany, married a Brazilian and still offers to take you in his dinghy up to a local hotspot to meet the owner's beautiful daughter?

The night before we headed out, the yacht next to ours was having a little party, which of course we were invited on board for after getting back from dinner. While my aunt and uncle decided to pack it in, I was more than willing to step over to the dark side. Here I met a whole new parade of wonders, not least of which was the captain. This man was such a genius in the DIY category that he had designed a hard roof for their boat, took pure pleasure in the red carpet he had installed in his engine room, and most importantly of all, built a self-dispensing beer cooler above their freezer. Woodstock was in attendance with his wife who was nearly as tall as him. An anesthesiologist who was quite inebriated was able to (multiple times) pinball herself seemingly on accident off of at least two people and safely into a chair. The captain told us each seat was thus strategically placed since they have so many parties on board. Lastly was a spitting image of Captain Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean, who insisted on standing on the very stern of the ship and threatening to fall backward multiple times. Like any proper sailor, he never lost his footing no matter how much he teetered and swayed, and I realized later that his proximity to the rear of the boat was directly related to a slightly impaired bladder control. This was the man who was apparently responsible for the Dr. Pepper advertisement of the 1970's that propelled the soda to national popularity.

When we finally cut loose from our mooring at Marina Catamaran in the morning of Saturday the third, there were many goodbyes and promises of staying in touch. One thing about cruisers is that they all have boat cards which they pass around, and they all seem to run into each other quite frequently (apparently the seven seas are still part of a small world). But we had at least five other cruisers there at our dock, helping us push off, like there was nothing in the world they'd rather be doing than helping their friends off, and it became quite a momentous occasion.

I got the feeling that they had all been in that same position before. After all, with any large heavy moving object, it's easy to hit something, so the more eyes and hands, the better. Still, I was amazed at the ease of it all. How easy these people come to aid one another, how easy they smile, how easy they party; how easy they share the fantastic stories of how they came to be where they are, which were often not so easy. These people are and were hard workers, integral parts of society, game-makers and game-changers. Not one of them were idle in their lives; if they had been, they wouldn't have been able to afford their seemingly idle lives now. But of course, even these lives are far from idle, for they are filled with taming waters, constantly fixing things, meeting new people, and making it fun. I expected to meet people who were running away, who lived on their boats because they disagreed with the politics or culture or common life they had left behind. Not so. These people are the A-type personalities, the ones who get stuff done and got stuff done, who knew what they wanted and knew how to get it: they knew how to succeed. And here I find them all bunched together in one place? And in a tropical place? What a ride.

Happy trails, smooth sailing, smile big, buy someone a drink, do what you love and make it look easy, especially when it isn't.

On your mark....get set.....

Not much time to get the word out, but we're setting sail this morning! Aunt Barbara took a ferry to Livingston, the port town at the mouth of the Rio Dulce and got us all checked out of Guatemala. So today, with any wind in our favor, we'll be able to head straight out and north for Belize...otherwise we'll camp out another night at a place further down-river. But regardless, we'll be out of this marina and out of internet contact until further notice. I'll keep the updates coming as regularly as I can, but hopefully the next time you'll hear from me will be from Placencia, Belize, midway through my SCUBA course!

Smooth sailing, happy trails, take a deep breath, and GO!

Caffeinated Calm

My Grandfather was the kind of man people admire. He was one of my heroes. Even his oldest daughter reminisces about how he knew everyone and everyone knew him. But in the short time I knew him, I didn't know many people that HE admired. But this little tale is about one of the few. Ted.

Ted is a pilot, like my grandfather was, and he owns a motorized glider that he takes out from time to time. He's also madly in love with his wife, and I think it is for this reason more than anything else that my Grampa thought so highly of Ted.

Ted and his wife, I don't know her name, just that he calls her "Corky", have been married a long time. And with all couples who are madly in love and have spent so much time together, they have their little quirks, their routines, their traditions. Ted and Corky's tradition is coffee. They buy raw coffee beans, and each morning they'll peel and roast them in a giant cast-iron skillet, and grind them up by hand before brewing their morning cup. Needless to say, they do their coffee right.

Now, Corky has had Multiple Sclerosis for forty years of their marriage. She is now confined to a wheel chair and has many more health problems, but still they go through this ritual each day. Recently, Corky had to have surgery on her throat, which prevented her from being able to eat or swallow for a couple of weeks, her source of sustenance needing to come from a tube to her stomach. You can imagine this putting a damper on their daily coffee activity, but for crafty old Ted, this didn't stop him.

While Corky would be unable to taste their magnificent brew, Ted decided to engage her other senses of sight, smell and feel. He brought a selection of beans with him to the hospital, and by her bed, he was able to brew their daily coffee, though not quite as traditionally as normal. She was able to smell the beans, picked which ones she wanted, and after the coffee was made, Ted would put 20 cc's of it into a syringe and deliver that to her feeding tube. She would have her sip, then he would take a sip, and repeat.

Every so often, there are things that happen in our lives that, as petty as they seem when we look back on them, can really upset our ebb and flow at the time. We'll get flustered, frustrated, downright angry, and life stops being what it should be. Even being down here in the warm and welcoming tropics, I've had moments of the day where the stupidest little thing pisses me off, and then EVERYTHING goes wrong. But the first time this happened to me on this trip, my aunt told me this story, and I realized just how infinitesimal my plight was and how comical my frustration was.

Life can be a very harsh and unfair place where very bad things happen to people who don't deserve it. That's why it's important to make the best of every blessing we get, and toss out the rest. Emotions like anger, resentment, fear, and apathy are the only kinds of garbage that I don't feel bad throwing away.

When I get up every morning, I'm going to think of Ted as I sip on my morning coffee, and know that I'm going to have a good day.

Cheers.

Lluvias

I was still pretty young the first time I drove to Arizona with my dad. In fact I think it was the only time I've road tripped to Arizona. I'm completely guessing here, I'm going to say somewhere around ten. There isn't a lot I remember about it, but one memory takes hold above anything else that came from it. It was pretty soon after entering the Arizona border, when it started raining. The landscape was fairly arid, but I recall a long line of the giant telephone poles and some red mountains off in the distance. My dad pulled over suddenly, told me to climb out and smell the rain. I was perplexed, but I did what he asked. It was the most amazing thing that had ever permeated into my nostrils. Warm and sweet, like I was standing in a green house full of some magical flower. I was speechless as I looked half excited/half inquiring at my Dad, who only said, "Arizona Rain". I haven't smelled anything like it since, but it has caused a fascination and somewhat of a romantic relationship between myself and the water that falls out of the sky.

The people from Oregon reading this I'm sure are rolling their eyes, or should be, since rain is such a frequent occurrence back home, and it certainly doesn't have any kind of smell that would make up for the general dreariness that it causes. Nevertheless, I'm generally a rain fan. Remember this and smile as I recite my new line of trouble, just as I had to do... multiple times.

Last night was my first big rain down here in Guatemala. It has continued off and on for most of the day, and this evening was our first consistent break from it. I hadn't been expecting to see much but a few drops while I was down here...I was proven very wrong. It dumped. and dumped and dumped. During one particular stint, I am awakened by drops falling on my hand, and I jolt up with the thought of leaking pounding in my skull. It's nothing really, but drops coming from a hatch which is supposed to be sealed shut still causes a minor annoyance. Grumbling, I wrack my mind for a simple, creative, and quick fix which will allow me to maintain what dry patches of sheet I have left and get back to sleep as soon as possible. My raincoat. Perfect. The things meant to get wet, it can act as a shield. But what will hold it down? I'd never forgive myself if I let the wind blow it away. But the continual water drops falling on what is now my head has more pull than it should, and I go outside with the coat, hoping to find something heavy to hold it in place as I go. I see the towels. Coincidentally, they were left hanging on the life-lines so they would dry. It wasn't much, but they were soaked and heavy. I was too tired to think of a better alternative. i threw my coat over the hatch, threw the towel over it around the edges of the hatch, and that was that. The rain was coming down so hard that while I had not even been out from under the leaky Bimini while outside, I still came back into my cabin wet and shaking like my dog after a bath. In any case, I slept dry through the rest of the night and more of the morning than I would prefer.

The day was pretty slow, compared to my previous...jeez, is it Monday night already?...six days prior, since it was the first day of frequent rain. Stayed on the island all day, reading, caught up in this book The Hunger Games. Either that or putting a layer of water-proofing paint on some bracket for some place. When the sun broke, Fred and I would scramble out, him to the engine compartment, me to the hatches and windows, putting on silicone sealant and covering the windows in Gorilla Tape.

I think the most charming part of the day was in the late morning during a break we thought would last longer than it did, and we unfurled the Spinnaker sail (oddly, it had gotten wet from being out on deck last night). While we only let half of it out of it's bag, it was already spreading across the whole boat when the wind picked up. Seeing that multicolored sea of nylon dance around like that gave me just enough time for a brief sigh of contentment, before I noticed the rain clouds inching closer behind it. The first wave hit was relatively weak, and we let the sail be, cleverly forecasting that the forecast would call an end to the west wind's mid-day cry session.

But you can guess that the forecast did follow our direct instructions. Rather, the west wind had been cheered up by our silly shenanigans, stopped crying, and decided to piss on us instead. Sooo my uncle and I sheepishly bowed our heads, took our licks like men. And when the second and third and fourth humiliating yet awe-inspiring downpour had run it's course, we took down the majestic sail to be "dried out" another day, hopefully soon when we're out in the middle of open ocean with nothing to run into. And, publicly admitting our defeat, the weather rewarded us with the first sunset I was able to capture with my GoPro. Of course, the standard remedy to a long day's suffering was required, as per any proper celebration (see prior blogs, keyword: cervesa).



With the short moments of cloud break and with sunshine fading fast, I hit the pool and snapped a few test pictures under water with toy.



I think I've spilled enough (pardon the pun) for one day. Smooth sailing, happy trails, don't fly your spinnaker in 20 knot winds, don't EVER take an un-potty trained dog on a sail boat... and when there's so much rain falling that it looks like the sea's upside down, just smile and think about how cool it is that you can breath under water.