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November 13
Last night when I turned in I was pleased because despite the wind from the
southeast most of the day, I'd managed with great effort to push the boat
ten miles to the south and had logged decent progress to the west. I
planned to sleep late this morning, to rest. However, when I checked my
position several hours before dawn, I recognized that the wind had turned
again and was now coming from due south and even a little southwest.
During the night, I lost every bit of the ten miles I gained yesterday.
I took up the oars at once. The rain returned. I've struggled for ten
hours and barely managed to regain a mile to the south and two miles to the
west. I tried the sea anchor, but I have the dual misfortune of being in a
current that is moving north. I lose less rowing. So, I'll keep rowing.
The wind shifts each hour, but is always from the south or a little from
the southwest. I dare not describe my mood. I am well beyond screaming at
the wind. I do not think I will make any progress today. I'll be content
if I do not lose miles. There is a passage in Homer's Odyssey, where
Odysseus (who wants desperately to go home and is foiled by the gods and by
the winds) sits and weeps. I guess you could say 3000 years later, "I feel
his pain." I'm not sure I ever really understood it before.
This reminds me of a trip late last spring. I went to give a speech for
the Baylor School during their senior retreat. I arrived a day early and
needing something to occupy my time. I accompanied several Baylor seniors on
their day of "service." I spent the day with twenty young men building a
trail through the woods. We were with two forest rangers, an older fellow
who'd seen it all, and a young guy who was only just learning his trade.
Much to my dismay, one of the things the young ranger was still learning was
how to use a chainsaw to drop a tree where he wanted it to go. He dropped
trees in every possible direction except where we needed them to brace the
trail or bridge a stream. We passed a good part of the day hauling logs
out of creek beds and rhododendron thickets. At one point, I was covered
with mud struggling up a step embankment with fifteen students hefting a
large tree with me at the lead. The older ranger caught my eye. Standing
above on the trail, looking cool and self-possessed, he smiled down at me
and said, "I feel your pain." I laughed so hard I nearly lost my footing.
The thought still makes me smile.
As long as I can still smile, I guess I am okay.
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