I am laughing at myself at the moment as I think about how I imagined transcribing this story of my journey on the Sea Dragon through the Pacific Ocean. I had visions of a romantic tale filled with words as beautiful as the images that would be engraved in my mind from the adventure. But the story is really about epic battles that raged inside me for sixteen days and I can’t think of a better way to share that than relating it to Hemmingway’s main character in The Old Man and the Sea. I am most certainly going to be reaching here; Newmo is no Santiago, but there was a real fight for survival that consumed me sailing for 3000+ miles at sea through the Great Pacific Garbage Patch (GPGP) from Oahu to Victoria. I hope you will read the full text as there is a silver lining in this struggle: the fact that I would most likely do it all over again because the experience was so incredible. This is a chronicle of a man’s battle against the natural world, or more accurately, the story of man’s place within nature.
Santiago’s insistence that he would sail out farther than ever before to catch the greatest fish foreshadows his destruction. I knew in advance I was sailing way beyond my comfort zone. I desperately wanted to see the GPGP for myself and share that experience with my students, knowing full well that I suffer from motion sickness. My research led me to believe or help convince myself that I would most likely suffer from sea sickness for 4-5 days. Little did I know I would be that 1% who never fully get over it. I believe "chance favors the prepared mind", so I not only brought ginger flavored, non-drowsy Dramamine and wrist bands, but the most serious of medications as well: the prescription Scopolamine patch. I started with Dramamine, but I was throwing up just three hours into our five hour orientation sail on day one. Our skipper tied a home depot style orange bucket to my hammock, a common practice on board once a crew member is declared “sick”. I put my first patch on the next day as we set sail for the high seas. It definitely helped, but being below deck, using the head (bathroom), cooking in the galley, walking the corridors while the boat pitched constantly from zero to 30 degrees in 5-6’ foot swells? The experience made my body tense up for the entire trip as I tried to maintain an internal balance. Combined with the fact that Scopalamine is constipating, you can imagine what else tightened up. I never had a full bowel movement after day two. My eating habits changed dramatically as I tried to fight the urge to throw up as we ate all meals together on deck at sunset. The sunsets were amazing. The food was amazing. My appetite, not so amazing. In the end I lost 15 pounds.
But here is the beauty of the story in relation to Santiago’s struggle. I refused to let any of this change my mindset. I was determined to make the most of my time on board and in the GPGP. Similar to how Santiago's positive attitude comes into play in forgoing his own personal comfort for as long as necessary in order to catch the marlin, I acknowledged the discomfort in the situation and found slight adjustments in my routine and physical positions to be considerable improvement each and every hour. I removed the bucket from my bed after two days as it was a constant reminder of what I could not do.
My marlin was my determination to go out and have an amazing experience and engage in conversation with new-found friends who were equally curious and passionate about the issue of plastics in the ocean gyre(s). There was no turning back. I was in for the long-haul. I was too proud to shirk any of my responsibilities as one of only eight crew members. I kept reeling in that fish, determined to enjoy seeing the Milky Way and all those stars in the sky on a clear moonless night.
I wanted to be on deck as soon as a crew member called out “dolphins!” or “whales!" or "rainbow!”. I saw what my fellow crew members where cooking in the galley and I wanted to get creative and explore our vegetarian options. Trimming the sails is no easy task and I wanted to use the crank and be in the snake pit as much as the other crew members. We were all on a constant rotation of four hours "on", navigating the boat, cooking and cleaning and six hours "off" when we needed to sleep. While I found peace lying horizontal in my bunk, that was no place to spend the entire journey.
Santiago was inspired by the famous baseball player Joe DiMaggio, who despite a painful bone spur that would have crippled others, showed strength and commitment and played serious baseball throughout his career. His epic tale of perseverance would be my inspiration as I reeled in my marlin. I remained hopeful, optimistic and kept smiling, laughing, singing and dancing, always with camera in hand.
My sharks however circled quickly and tore me apart in the end. It was a battle fighting to stay balanced physically and mentally. And as chance or dumb-luck would have it, as we approached the Juan De Fuca Strait and I was helping shake out a reef on the mainsail on one of my last watches at the helm, I slipped ever so slightly in the pit on deck. I didn't think anything of it, but woke up the the morning, fought to remain standing at the helm and just couldn't do it. I feared the worse that the trauma of that slip had rattled my sciatic nerve which now had a fierce grip on my L5-S1. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but this was bordering an eight on that scale of smiley to no smiley face of pain. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get into a position to ease the spasm seizing my buttocks and shooting down my right leg. I started a dose of Prednisone I had for just this situation and it brought me enough relief to climb on deck to view the amazing site of a dense fog lifting and seeing land for the first time in sixteen days.
The sail of Santiago's boat represents “the flag of permanent defeat”. As soon as our boat cleared Customs I was headed for a six hour visit at the ER of Victoria's Royal Jubilee Hospital. I'd say our mainsail pretty much did me in on our last night. I am currently undergoing physical therapy to deal with my gluteus maximus. In other words, my ass got rocked on this adventure.
Pride is said to be a classic heroes fatal flaw. I'd like to think there was honor in my struggle, defeat and symbolic death in this adventure, one in which pride can be seen as the source of greatness and determination. The process gave me great respect for the natural world and helped give me a new perspective on my place within nature. I have great respect for my opponent and while I have no immediate need to go head to head anytime soon, I have a feeling I have at least one more trip out to sea in me. I'm really not that old!
Ok, enough drama in my life. Time to write about all that plastic in the ocean. Next blog post coming very soon......
Wow, Andy! You are an intrepid sailor. I'm impressed that you weathered all of those swells, and envious of the beauty you encountered. Thanks for sharing your journey with us.