Today, while diving in Grand Cayman, my thoughts were turned to Alaska. Crazy, right? There is a woman who is earning her instructor license with Mac, and she just happens to be from Canada. We were talking about the untouched wilderness that exists in so much of Canada and Alaska, and our conversation turned to what else, but bears. Yep, both Grizzly and Black. She asked why I had been there, and I was able to share a bit of a trip I took there probably ten years ago.
I went on a small boat with National Geographic. I think there were maybe 40 passengers total. About half of the people were these "older" folks (I laugh now, because I'm probably not too far off their age), and the other half were their adventure-loving, young adult, single children obviously living on the parental dole. I can't judge because I was there on my mother's dime.
Each day was a pretty legit adventure. There were some days made for tourist stuff, and we visited actual Indian reservations, watching Native American dances, and learning about the culture. Native American Spirits and folklore were standard lectures. It was the fare for people who didn't want to do much but sit and listen. *snore* to a certain point for me.
Other days though were not for the faint of heart. Our tiny boat could pull up to any one of several uninhabited islands, and with our hiking boots strapped to our feet and a water bottle in our backpacks, we just set off into the wilderness. It was difficult to say the least. There were times when we couldn't go around a large hole of water, so we just walked through it and hoped that when we pulled our foot out of the life-sucking mud, there would still be a boot attached. There were no trails or groomed wilderness. It was just exploring places that hadn't been explored. I hadn't ever done anything quite so raw, so I headed out each day with a bit of trepidation. However, I didn't die, and I saw things that I imagine I won't ever see again.
Another day, we were encouraged to head out in kayaks to explore a small inlet in which our boat had set anchor. Again, there was no port. No people. Just "Oh look, this is interesting. Let's stop and see what we see...and put these people in the water alone." I had never been in a kayak before, so when we were getting our briefing, I used my rule-keeping personality and listened with all ears forward. I was told that these kayaks were the Cadillacs of kayaks, and that for those of us who were novices, there should be no problem. We were also told that there was a pedal at the foot of the kayak which would help us steer, and after a certain time, we should turn back to make sure we boarded the boat again on time.
Crazy that I can still remember those rules, eh? Yep, I'm a listener.
So, I headed out in a single kayak since, of course, my mother wasn't coming out with me. (Spoiler alert--things don't get better over the next ten years.). I knew absolutely nothing about water at this point except that I can swim pretty well in it. I didn't know about tides, or currents, or anything. So when I was pushed out into the water, my biggest concern was making sure my "apron" kept my clothing dry :-). I flew away from the shore in just a few short minutes. In fact, I couldn't believe the distance I had covered in such a short time. I just kept going.
Everything was so beautiful. It was a sunny, cool day in some random inlet in Alaska. I mean really, who does this kind of thing? Plus, it was just so quiet. Just me and the water.
And when that magic hour of "half" time came close (I'm always early so I had a few minutes to spare), I went to turn the kayak around back toward the shore. But I discovered something very interesting: all the water wanted to do was send my kayak further out into the ocean...and away from shore. I knew absolutely nothing about "tacking".
Wikipedia defines tacking as "Tacking or coming about is a sailing maneuver by which a sailing vessel, whose desired course is into the wind, turns its bow toward the wind so that the direction from which the wind blows changes from one side to the other, allowing progress in the desired direction."
Right. In other words, I needed to sail in a zigzag pattern back to the shore, sometimes working with the water and sometimes working against it, all to prevent exhaustion.
But all of my instincts told me that I needed to head straight towards the quickly growing line of returning kayaks on the sandy beach. And that's exactly what I did. For the longest period of time, I channeled my inner beast and just powered my way back. It was insane to not even be able to stop for a second to rest, because when I did, I would lose a least a minute of progress and end up going the wrong way again. There were moments of sheer panic when I thought that I wouldn't actually be able to make it back. I wondered if the boat would have to sail out to rescue me. Or would I receive a scolding for not returning on time (probably a worse outcome in my mind).
When I finally did make it back to the shore, my arms were out-right, no-hiding-it SHAKING. I was breathing hard, and my stomach core and legs were tied in tense knots. I had given everything to getting that stupid kayak back. But of course, when everyone asked how it was, I put on a smile and said, "GREAT!" "Did you have any problems, they asked?" "Oh no. None at all," I proudly answered as I stumbled into the woods.
I looked back at that experience as something really awful, because it was just darn scary. However, after recounting the story to Nicole today, she had the most priceless reaction. She said,
"WHAT AN EMPOWERING MOMENT FOR YOU! YOU MUST HAVE BEEN SO PROUD AFTERWARDS!"
And sitting on our boat today, waiting for our hour-long surface interval because we had dived to 135' at Dragon Hole, I began to think of so many of the empowering things I've done in my life. I haven't overcome all fears, but gosh I sure have powered through a LOT of scary things! SCUBA diving alone. I can count on one hand the number of women I have dived with, and those few are usually single, young and rich. No women my age dive, and all their husbands dive alone or with their fellow dive widower friends :-). John told me this trip how grateful he is that I'm willing to do something so crazy as diving.
And running marathons? Even though I can't do them anymore, I'm so happy to say that I did, at some point, have the courage to run (and cry through) 26.2 miles.
I may not feel like much on a daily basis, but gosh, I'm kind of proud of those moments when I've taken some kind of physical risk to see something beautiful, or to prove something to myself, or to be with somebody I love.
It IS empowering! I can do some of those hard things, and when I do, I need to feel so PROUD! And I will!
I went on a small boat with National Geographic. I think there were maybe 40 passengers total. About half of the people were these "older" folks (I laugh now, because I'm probably not too far off their age), and the other half were their adventure-loving, young adult, single children obviously living on the parental dole. I can't judge because I was there on my mother's dime.
Each day was a pretty legit adventure. There were some days made for tourist stuff, and we visited actual Indian reservations, watching Native American dances, and learning about the culture. Native American Spirits and folklore were standard lectures. It was the fare for people who didn't want to do much but sit and listen. *snore* to a certain point for me.
Other days though were not for the faint of heart. Our tiny boat could pull up to any one of several uninhabited islands, and with our hiking boots strapped to our feet and a water bottle in our backpacks, we just set off into the wilderness. It was difficult to say the least. There were times when we couldn't go around a large hole of water, so we just walked through it and hoped that when we pulled our foot out of the life-sucking mud, there would still be a boot attached. There were no trails or groomed wilderness. It was just exploring places that hadn't been explored. I hadn't ever done anything quite so raw, so I headed out each day with a bit of trepidation. However, I didn't die, and I saw things that I imagine I won't ever see again.
Another day, we were encouraged to head out in kayaks to explore a small inlet in which our boat had set anchor. Again, there was no port. No people. Just "Oh look, this is interesting. Let's stop and see what we see...and put these people in the water alone." I had never been in a kayak before, so when we were getting our briefing, I used my rule-keeping personality and listened with all ears forward. I was told that these kayaks were the Cadillacs of kayaks, and that for those of us who were novices, there should be no problem. We were also told that there was a pedal at the foot of the kayak which would help us steer, and after a certain time, we should turn back to make sure we boarded the boat again on time.
Crazy that I can still remember those rules, eh? Yep, I'm a listener.
So, I headed out in a single kayak since, of course, my mother wasn't coming out with me. (Spoiler alert--things don't get better over the next ten years.). I knew absolutely nothing about water at this point except that I can swim pretty well in it. I didn't know about tides, or currents, or anything. So when I was pushed out into the water, my biggest concern was making sure my "apron" kept my clothing dry :-). I flew away from the shore in just a few short minutes. In fact, I couldn't believe the distance I had covered in such a short time. I just kept going.
Everything was so beautiful. It was a sunny, cool day in some random inlet in Alaska. I mean really, who does this kind of thing? Plus, it was just so quiet. Just me and the water.
And when that magic hour of "half" time came close (I'm always early so I had a few minutes to spare), I went to turn the kayak around back toward the shore. But I discovered something very interesting: all the water wanted to do was send my kayak further out into the ocean...and away from shore. I knew absolutely nothing about "tacking".
Wikipedia defines tacking as "Tacking or coming about is a sailing maneuver by which a sailing vessel, whose desired course is into the wind, turns its bow toward the wind so that the direction from which the wind blows changes from one side to the other, allowing progress in the desired direction."
Right. In other words, I needed to sail in a zigzag pattern back to the shore, sometimes working with the water and sometimes working against it, all to prevent exhaustion.
But all of my instincts told me that I needed to head straight towards the quickly growing line of returning kayaks on the sandy beach. And that's exactly what I did. For the longest period of time, I channeled my inner beast and just powered my way back. It was insane to not even be able to stop for a second to rest, because when I did, I would lose a least a minute of progress and end up going the wrong way again. There were moments of sheer panic when I thought that I wouldn't actually be able to make it back. I wondered if the boat would have to sail out to rescue me. Or would I receive a scolding for not returning on time (probably a worse outcome in my mind).
When I finally did make it back to the shore, my arms were out-right, no-hiding-it SHAKING. I was breathing hard, and my stomach core and legs were tied in tense knots. I had given everything to getting that stupid kayak back. But of course, when everyone asked how it was, I put on a smile and said, "GREAT!" "Did you have any problems, they asked?" "Oh no. None at all," I proudly answered as I stumbled into the woods.
I looked back at that experience as something really awful, because it was just darn scary. However, after recounting the story to Nicole today, she had the most priceless reaction. She said,
"WHAT AN EMPOWERING MOMENT FOR YOU! YOU MUST HAVE BEEN SO PROUD AFTERWARDS!"
And sitting on our boat today, waiting for our hour-long surface interval because we had dived to 135' at Dragon Hole, I began to think of so many of the empowering things I've done in my life. I haven't overcome all fears, but gosh I sure have powered through a LOT of scary things! SCUBA diving alone. I can count on one hand the number of women I have dived with, and those few are usually single, young and rich. No women my age dive, and all their husbands dive alone or with their fellow dive widower friends :-). John told me this trip how grateful he is that I'm willing to do something so crazy as diving.
And running marathons? Even though I can't do them anymore, I'm so happy to say that I did, at some point, have the courage to run (and cry through) 26.2 miles.
I may not feel like much on a daily basis, but gosh, I'm kind of proud of those moments when I've taken some kind of physical risk to see something beautiful, or to prove something to myself, or to be with somebody I love.
It IS empowering! I can do some of those hard things, and when I do, I need to feel so PROUD! And I will!
Comments
Post a Comment