Re: [Paddlewise] Queen Charlottes Return

Melissa said:
<<<
Eek...I feel one of my weather rants coming on...

I propose that we eliminate the terms "bad", "miserable", etc. from our
weather description vocabulary, and instead look at how our ownwishes
and expectations might cause us to overlook the joys and wonders that
each different weather scenario offers us.
>>>

While the following doesn't directly address your point, it does reflect
the sentimate. From my log:

Stormbound

Winds were predicted at gale force today, from the southeast. Doug and
Tom were keen to try and make a few nautical miles through the unstable
air mass. Anything would be better than holding up in the boring little
bay we were trapped in, though it was out of the wind. I came to the sea
to find space – sweeping vistas that disappear into the horizon; space
where my soul can thrive; space where I’m not cramped by confining
corridors of concrete; space where I can sense viscerally the ocean
expanse that stretches around the globe. It took two hours to break
camp, another 30 minutes to rig our gear for extra heavy-weather
paddling. I was never so happy to leave a spot.

As we rounded the point, the full furry of the gale spending itself upon
the coast became evident. No matter how experienced one is, it is always
so easy to under-anticipate and estimate the extent of the sea state
when departing from a sheltered location. Each of us gritted teethe,
tearing into the tempestuous seas with similar fury. Realistically, the
waves weren’t atrocious. In the lee of the land, the wind wasn’t able to
grip enough fetch to pose an absolute menace. But what the sea lacked in
amplitude, it made up for it in sheer unobstructed wind velocity.
Without any swell or breaking waves to hide behind, every gust, every
sustained burst blew us backward at the slightest slackness of paddling
effort due to a valley running in a direct line with the southeasterly
coming over the landmass jutting out into the sea. I was truly humbled.
After an hour or two, we had made little more that one nautical mile of
actual forward progress. The signal was given and shore was sought.

Recriminations and accusations were bantered about -- all that effort,
wasted energy, and misplaced exuberance. Settling down to survival
basics and an obviously needed restoration of camaraderie, we hacked a
pocket out of the forest shrubbery, apparently ensconcing ourselves for
the duration. By noon, uneasy with the cruel litigation, which resumed
once dampness and coldness had sullied the undulating alliance, I
removed all fleece and heavy protective garb. Wearing only Tevas, quick
dry shorts, polypro T-shirt and light paddling jacket, I set off on a
shoreline walkabout.

The rain stung as it pelted my unprotected legs. I was cold, but was
sure I’d heat up with sufficient movement. The sea lashed intensely at
the shoreline once around the point. I was again humbled -- standing
sternly to face the full onslaught of the gale – in the company of the
ocean. It was a vast, brooding realm, and I, a small man, standing at
the edge of an atmosphere both arresting and strangely serene. I moved
further along the rocky shore, moving lightly and carefully from wet
ledge to wet ledge -- one solitary figure alone, but not lonely.

Though I would have rather been on the water -- sun glistening off the
tips of northwesterly whitecaps, making progress toward Brooks Peninsula
-- I was more at peace with the circumstances after the long walk. I
returned to my companions, less inclined to worry about our itinerary or
what the implications would be from our "decision by consensus" in the
morning. I was happy to simply exist in the moment, enjoy the moment,
and make the best of each moment. It was all like water off a ducks back
by that point. By walking in the storm, by enjoying the context of what
nature had provided for the day, I had learned to relax and just be in
the moment.

DL




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