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November 23
(Position -- Lat: North 17 Degrees 20 Minutes Long: West 56 Degrees 10
Minutes)
It was a very pretty day. I had a good deal of sun and tied the sea anchor
off at different points of the boat to keep the stern solar panels turned
toward the best exposure. As a result, I now have a nearly full water tank
and the batteries are at about 80% capacity. The wind continues out of the
southwest at about 15 knots. The swells continue to decrease and are
better organized now.
The wind is just strong enough that rowing against it is not a temptation.
Were I still going after that fastest solo crossing record (that I
pretended not to be interested in), I might have spent the day at the oars.
Thankfully, the hurricane put that record out of mind and out of reach.
Now, I will row only when it makes sense to row. There is no worry that
indolence will set in, I would like very much to be home. It is merely
that there is no need to battle the wind.
I did not come out here to battle nature. Nor did I run away in some
symbolic escape from civilization. When I reach the end of life, I want to
look back and know that I asked enough of myself. Many of us live lives
that are too small, too constricted, too confined. I do not wish to do
this. It is a grand thing to voyage in this great blue
sanctuary that is both serious and deep.
Until I returned to the ocean, I had no understanding of how much my
encounter with the remnants of hurricane Danielle last summer had maimed my
spirit. I worked so hard to hide this injury from the world that I managed
to hide it even from myself. Lenny was not one-tenth the storm that
Danielle was. The waves were 1/3 to 1/2 as tall. The wind blew hard enough to
vibrate the boat for only seconds at a time, not for hours as with
Danielle. The rain drummed the roof; it did not hammer it. Much of my
anxiety, on Saturday night, was based on the fear of a ghost. Sunday and
today, I've had time to sign out the pain that was Danielle. What crossed
my path with Lenny was a much weakened strain of the hurricane virus. Like
a vaccine designed by Jonas Salk, it was an inoculation against overblown
alarm.
Does this mean that in the future I will go to sea in a rowboat and not be
afraid of hurricanes? No, I still have a brain with several neurons in
working order. There are few humans arrogant enough to feel truly safe on
the open ocean, and fewer still who would feel at ease in the path of an
approaching hurricane. In a way, when it reached me, Lenny was a
rowboat-sized storm. Did it give me a rough night? Yes. Would I want to
go through it again? No. But, it wasn't all that bad.
There are only a handful of people on the planet who know what it feels
like to pitch-pole (capsize end-over-end; or, bow over stern) in a rowboat
a thousand miles from shore. I pitch-poled twice in Danielle. It is not a
feeling one can easily dismiss from one's memory. I tried to banish the memory of last summer's pitch-poles to the suburbs of my thinking, but they just came slithering
back. I no longer need to bury these memories. They are what they are,
and just because boats flipping end-over-end are a part of my history, does
not mean they will be a part of my future.
November 24
Someone's eaten Stella! Over the course of the last several weeks, two
dolphins (fish not mammals) have taken up residence under the American
Pearl. They are shaped almost like the blade of an old-fashioned canoe
paddle. They are broad at the head and taper down to a sharply forked tail. One long dorsal fin stretches the length of their backs. The larger of the two dolphins has a
lumpy crest on its forehead. I take this one to be the male and I've named him
"Stanley," the smaller of the two I've named "Stella" after the Tennessee
Williams play "A Streetcar Named Desire." I should know better than to
name anything after a Tennessee Williams' work. They were doomed from the
start.
Anyway, there was a huge fracas yesterday evening as I was having dinner.
The two dolphins began swimming around the boat at great speed. I've not
noted Stella and Stanley as being particularly animated before. They
leaped out of the water, crashed into the boat and looked a bit like I did
a few days ago. Soon, I saw the shadow of a large predator about ten feet
long. Stanley is about four feet long and Stella is /was about a foot
shorter. Whatever chased them was after a genuine meal. I don't know what it was
that pursued the dolphin. It was about the size of a shark, but did not
move like a shark. I've not seen Stella since.
Many other fish hang around the boat, but my "Audubon Society Field Guide
to North American Fishes, Whales and Dolphins" has not offered much help in
identifying these fish of the open ocean. There is a school of blue-gray
fish that are between 8and 10 inches long. They have an oval shape a
little pointed at the snout. Their dorsal and anal fins are very long, pointed, and placed very near the tail-which is square in shape. They seem to maneuver with their dorsal and
anal fins, which they flap almost like the wings of a butterfly. Another
school of fish is much smaller, 3-4 inches in length. These are shaped like
snappers. They are reddish orange and have a blue stripe down their sides.
I've seen fish shaped like groupers (brown with white spots) and bass
(black and gray), but again what I see in the water matches no pictures in the book. I must find a better book when I go home.
Periodically I row through an alga bloom, at first I thought they were
interesting. Now they just make me sneeze and clog the intake on my desalinator.
Thanksgiving Message:
Before the wind stalled and then stopped me a few weeks ago, I planned to
be on land before Thanksgiving. Had I arrived in the Caribbean when I was
expected, Lenny would have still been a hurricane when it crossed me. So,
I'm not sorry the wind stranded me out here. In fact, I am THANKFUL I
couldn't make any progress west. I do not think Lenny was meant for me
anymore than the sunrise is intended for me. However, I learned much from
the storm and I dearly loved the sunrise that followed it.
I am thankful for all the friends and others who prayed for my safety and
sent me their thoughts and their energy. I am grateful for the sponsors
who gave me the opportunity to return to the ocean. I still hope for and plan
for a successful landing. It will just be a little later than I charted a
few weeks ago.
Tomorrow, I will watch the sunrise. I will wash my shirt. I will eat
a good freeze-dried meal and drink many cups of desalinated water. It will
be a good day. Perhaps the wind will change and I will spend the day
rowing toward home. This would make it an even better day.
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