This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 1882)
As I enter the last 6(ish) weeks before my launch, time is a matter much on my mind. On the one hand, I want to be 100% productive - to get the boat fitted, the book written, the website updated - but on the other hand, I want to have some special memories of dry land, good friends and good food to look back on as I cross the Pacific. Only a relaxed attitude to time allows those occasions to ripen into something memorable.
Today I came across two contrasting views of "time" in the 21st century...
Here is the first - from the New York Times (the irony of "Times" not being lost on me)...
Click here
And here is the second, sent to me by e-mail...
"Living the Dash (as in, the dash between life and death: 1967 - ?)
Too many people put off the things that bring them joy just because they haven't thought about it, don't have it on their schedule, didn't know it was coming, or are too rigid to depart from their routine.
I got to thinking one day about all those people on the Titanic who passed up dessert at dinner that fateful night in an effort to cut back. From then on, I've tried to be a little more flexible.
How many women out there will eat at home because their husband didn't suggest going out to dinner until after something had been thawed? Does the word "refrigeration" mean nothing to you?
How often have your kids dropped in to talk and sat in silence while you watched 'Law and Order' on television?
I cannot count the times I called my sister and said, "How about going to lunch in a half hour?" She would stammer, "I can't. I have clothes in the washer. My hair is dirty. I wish I had known yesterday, I had a late breakfast," And my personal favorite: "It's Monday." She died a few years
ago. We never did have lunch together.
Because Americans cram so much into their lives, we tend to schedule our headaches.. We live on a sparse diet of promises we make to ourselves when all the conditions are perfect!
We'll go back and visit the grandparents when we get Steve toilet-trained.
We'll entertain when we replace the living-room carpet. We'll go on a second honeymoon when we get two more kids out of college.
Life has a way of accelerating as we get older. The days get shorter, and the list of promises to ourselves gets longer. One morning, we awaken, and all we have to show for our lives is a litany of "I'm going to," "I plan on," and "Someday, when things are settled down a bit."
When anyone calls my 'seize the moment' friend, she is open to adventure and available for trips. She keeps an open mind on new ideas. Her enthusiasm for life is contagious. You talk with her for five minutes, and you're ready to trade your bad feet for a pair of Rollerblades and skip an elevator for
a bungee cord.
My lips have not touched ice cream in 10 years. I love ice cream. It's just that I might as well apply it directly to my stomach with a spatula and eliminate the digestive process. The other day, I stopped the car and bought a triple-decker. If my car had hit an ice-berg on the way home, I would have died happy.
Now...go on and have a nice day. Do something you WANT to...not something on your SHOULD DO list. If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?
Have you ever watched kids playing on a merry go round or listened to the rain lapping on the ground? Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight or gazed at the sun into the fading night? Do you run through each day on the fly? When you ask "How are you?" Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in your bed with the next hundred chores running through your head? Ever told your child, "We'll do it tomorrow." And in your haste, not see his sorrow? Ever lost touch? Let a good friendship die? Just call to say "Hi"?
When you worry and hurry through your day, it is like an unopened gift....Thrown away.... Life is not a race. Take it slower. Hear the music before the song is over."
It's clearly a matter of balance - being purposeful, without being so driven that there is no room for serendipity and spontaneity. But balance is a tricky thing to find. I constantly struggle to tiptoe along that tightrope, weighing a sensible attitude towards the future on one side, against a child-like immediacy on the other. If you ever find the answer, let me know....
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If you are in the US, try to get hold of a copy of of today's New York Times (available in most branches of Starbucks - but don't feel obliged to buy the coffee) - and look in the Play Magazine.
If you are not in the US, you can read the online article here.
This is the photo that I (plus photographer Jason Madara and his three assistants) got near-hypothermia for, on a rainy Saturday night in April - click here for the blog. And the writer, Dimity McDowell, is the sister of my initial contact at LaraBar, now one of my sponsors. Thank you to both for a job well done.
And here's an insider's nugget of information - you see the little red and white object lying on the deck next to my rowing seat? That is a Lightship, a solar-powered light produced by Eric's company Sollight (also a sponsor). We had to use it to give Jason the photographer something to focus on, because the night was so pitch dark his camera's autofocus couldn't function while the flashes weren't flashing. And somehow it snuck into the photo - so there's another happy sponsor.
And red jacket by Patagonia, a supporter.
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The top 3 fears for an ocean rower are probably:
1. capsizing
2. watermaker breaking
3. running out of food.
So having taken measures to address (1), I then turned my attention to (2) and (3).
Spectra Watermakers, who are conveniently located in the Bay Area, have kindly agreed to check over my Ventura 150 before I embark. The peace of mind of having the professionals do the job is immense.
As for (3), I was really pleased with the nutrition strategy I had on the Atlantic, but unfortunately the same foods are not available here in the US, and import restrictions mean that the companies cannot ship them here. So I've had to change from my Norwegian-made Real Meals (blissfully free of additives and nasties) to Natural High freeze-dried dinners, which are not quite so pure but do look quite tasty. I'll supplement these again with extra veggies from Commercial Freeze Dry.
And I'll have my LaraBars, and sprouted beans (I am currently testing some beans from Whole Foods Market, as those I bought from a local shop failed to sprout and went mouldy).
I'll be taking plenty of food - enough for 4 or 5 months - just in case I miss Hawaii...
[photo: I nearly ran out of fuel on the salt flats of Bonneville, Utah, last week. I don't want to do the same in mid-Pacific]
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In La Gomera last year the girls of American Fire, Sarah Kessans and Emily Kohl, became famous for their smiles. No matter what was going on, they were always grinning.
(I have no idea how the photographer of the sultry shot above managed to get them to turn off their usual canteloupe grins.)
But they probably weren't grinning on the night of January 14th, 2006, when their boat capsized and failed to self-right, and they spent 16 hours waiting for help. (Click here to read the story in May's Reader's Digest.)
I saw the footage of their dramatic rescue for the first time when I was at Mountainfilm last weekend. Later that night I woke up in the wee small hours, my mind full of images of myself clinging to Sedna's upturned hull in the middle of the Pacific, while sharks circled...
In the morning my thoughts had taken a more practical turn - I'm determined to avoid the need for rescue. So as I enter the final stage of preparations for the Pacific, ocean safety is top of my list of priorities.
P.S. I emailed Sarah and Emily to get the definitive version of what happened, as reports at the time mistakenly implied that they had left their main hatches open. Here are their comments:
"NONE of our hatches were open! The water came in through our two ventilating fans. We had a total of three of them onboard: two on our front bulkhead and one inserted into our aft hatch (the one near the rudder). We had rubber inserts that fit into them and locked when we wanted them to be completely watertight. Since we had been in the cabin for about 18 hours, we needed some ventilation, and took the rubber inserts out of the two bulkhead vents to let some air in. If a wave hit them, it was not problem as their design kept the water out, but inverted was another story, and water rushed in them and the rest is history :(.
Our ventilating fans did not initally have the rubber inserts, but Tom and John (who had the boat before us) suggested that we buy rubber PVC pipe stops. The stops fit exactly in a piece of PVC that they had fixed to the inside of our vents. They kept the water completely out of the cabin when they were in (we had lots of waves over the stern of the boat, and we never had any problems whatsoever with the back fan). Since the PVC pipe/rubber stop was sort of a homemade thing and didn't help us in the end (since we didn't have a lanyard on the stops, they simply became part of the soup in the cabin when we capsized), I would suggest getting fans that have stops built into them.
As far as our liferaft... that's a story in itself as well. We got sponsorship from a company and for the most part they were great, letting us use a liferaft for free. The only problem was that the one they gave us was in a hard case instead of a valise. The hard case took up the majority of our footwell, and was basically a pain in the backside the entire time. We had thoughts of throwing it overboard, but kept it onboard since we knew that if there came a time that we needed it, we'd be happy to have it. So it stayed in the footwell, tied on by a rope, some velcro, and its painter line. When we capsized, the wave was so violent that basically anything that was not in a hatch or in the cabin was washed away, whether it was tethered or not. (Fortunately, our lifejackets and harnesses got tangled up in our emergency grab line and stayed with the boat. So, as we were waiting for the cabin to fill up so we could open a hatch, I watched the liferaft float away. By the time we got out, the raft was long gone (but of course, an untethered bucket and a Santa hat stayed close to us the entire 16 hours). My suggestion is to NEVER go out to sea with a hard case liferaft. They're hard to tie up (as opposed to a valise), big, and don't help you when you need it the most.
Sarah and Emily
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