The ocean has a power that can be felt all around
The ocean has been calling recently. I walk with the Folly Beach Turtle Patrol, and the last few mornings I’ve been on the beach at sunrise. The water has been glassy calm, an unending liquid seamlessly morphing into a grey sky. The opportunities are endless when you’re looking into the distance.
The first time I went “offshore” was in a too-small boat, trying to make it past some shoals in St. Helena Sound to get back to Edisto Beach. There was a white buoy Dad insisted we go around that was nearly impossible to see when waves got rough (most of the time when we were out there). It was exhilarating.
Ten-ish years ago, a friend needed a hand moving his 30-foot sailboat to the Bahamas, and I climbed aboard ready for a relaxing three or four-day trip watching dolphins in the sunset. Boy was that wrong!
It was February, and the cold North wind settled in before we were out of the Charleston jetties. I didn’t know how to sail, and it was trial by fire. Waking up the first morning and realizing we were so far offshore was unsettling. The third night there was a storm while I was on watch. It was pitch-black and impossible to tell how big the waves were until streaks of lightning revealed small mountains ahead. Perfect conditions for learning alone on deck at 4 a.m. By the time we arrived, I had sworn off sailing and vowed to never leave the estuary again.
But it’s funny how the mind works. Three months later, I was on a plane so I could sail the same boat back. It was a much nicer trip going with the Gulf Stream, and the weather was just about perfect. Good thing, since the engine quit soon after departure and we had the honor of truly sailing most of the way.
The Fish Gods were good to us. We caught a nice mahi on a hand line and made fish jerky since the stove had also bit the dust (as far as one can remember). By the end of that trip, the ocean and I were friends again. It’s a fickle friend!
(Note: As an extremely seasick person, I can confirm it “goes away” after a few days. It will return as soon as you go into a small bathroom on land. Good luck making it out the door.)
My longest sailing trip was nine days out of sight of land. It’s the most humbling experience to be that far away from another person. From shore, the horizon means possibility. From a small boat actually out there, it represents scale. You’re tiny. The ocean is in control. The daily routine of life is sleeping, eating, keeping watch, monitoring weather, and staring into the distance for anything that breaks up the view. The power of the water is all around, and the ocean can change from perfect to terrifying at the drop of a hat.
The ocean has a pull on us. For all of time, people have stood on the shore and wondered what was across the water. Curiosity, necessity, and the desire to explore have pushed people into their boats in search of the unknown. Next time you’re on the beach take a few minutes to sit and stare into the horizon. Let your mind wander where it will. Funny what walking the beach at sunrise will make you think of.
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