Back in the Tent

I finally let go of the sea and head to the tent.  There, I change into something warmer.  The VHF radio is to my right but I stop myself from reaching for it.  Why do I have to know what the reported conditions are a this moment?  Let it go.  I lie down inside the tent and close my eyes.  Thoughts of what I’ve been witnessing as to the rising tide infiltrate my mind.  I see sailing vessels of all shapes and sizes hightailing it to the nearest haven of safety.  They aren’t running from the tide.  It’s the wind, which is offshore as usual during this time of day.  My, my, it is in a hurry expanding its strength, becoming highly focused and more intense with each passing moment.  What is fueling it?  I reach for the radio once more and stop myself. . .   Let it go.

It is easier to close my eyes this time and even more so to stop thinking, wanting to know what’s going on in detail.  There ya go.  Breathe.  Be gentle.  A few moments pass or maybe more than that.  I don’t know nor do I care.  It’s just how it feels to me and that’s important.  I hear the waves tumble and see white foam exploding against the dark blue and greenish liquid upon which they ride.

I want to go out and play, like I’ve done so many times.   Oh, how I love the water.  I love everything about it.  I like being in it, immersed in its reality.  I have a healthy respect for all bodies of water but I am not afraid.   My favorite game is to wait for the action and the bigger the better and then put on a life jacket and swim away from shore.   It’s hard work reaching a special place out in such mayhem.  One so far out that everything on land looks very, very, small (As a youngster, the “far” for me frightened many an adult.).  I always smile when the time comes to fold my arms across my chest and lean back, allowing the force of nature to carry me back to shore.

Right now, I’m on an island surrounded by an excited sea.  I paddled here inside a craft that sits so low in the water that my lower half is beneath its surface.  The rest of me barely reaches above the height of buoys that mark lobster traps.  I sense how small I am and how big the world is through a lens far different of that of a hiker humbled by the wind on a mountain or cycling against some pretty nifty headwind for miles and miles on very flat land, or in a canoe not far from where the wind dropped to the ground in the form of a tornado.

More tomorrow for now I must rest among memories about the wind rather than water.  I’ll share where I wander upon my return.

Protected Cove

The Cove when I arrived

The Same Cove Today

The Same Cove Today

 

 

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About Just Jude

I grew up on a small farm in Michigan but have always felt the urge to wander and began doing so as a teenager. Since that time, I've hiked, biked and paddled in every season; not for sport, but for the journey.

Posted on February 10, 2015, in Casco Bay, Jewell Island, Maine, Kayaking, Maine Coast, Memorable Moments, Solo Journeys, Twenty One Days at Sea, Weather, Wind and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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