“Damn it, man, can’t you pull with your back. Use your body not just your pinky. We haven’t left the harbor yet and you’re proving yourself worthless.
“What’s gotten into you? You lost the will to live, son? Why, I’ve seen overweight Midwestern children with more heart. You’re not going to last long on this ship.
Captain Nordo barks orders at us, his lackeys. The intensity of his gaze makes up for the bone chilling breeze on this March day on the Salish Seas. We have come far, beyond the San Juans and after a couple days of hard sailing we near the warmer waters of Desolation Sound. Here, where the tidal waters of Puget Sound and the Stait of Georgia collect and become trapped amongst the numerous inland islands we hope to find the answer of all our questions. Captain Nordo drives us in his need to know. He’s heard the rumors of a place Jacques Cousteau called one of the best places on planet Earth to dive and explore the wonders of the underwater world. It’s known as God’s Pocket.
God's Pocket hides within the reaches of Desolation Sound. How appropriate is this? Is there a clearer example of poetic justice? How do we create such obvious examples of our human condition? I digress into idle threads of thought, but the air is so clear and the waters so endless how can I not let my thoughts reach for an ending, a shore that demarks the end of a grand journey?
“Stop your worthless daydreams and pay attention.”
Will he ever relent?
“Bring her about and into the wind. Get ready to jibe. We’re setting course for that small rock of an island as a place to anchor.”
A frigid spray off the waves soaks the clothing upon my back. We bound up and through and slap down in the troughs with such force that we all nearly topple over. The sea has turned turbulent as we’ve neared our destination. As our captain frets and pounds the deck with the soles of his boots, cursing our incompetence and the weather in a single breath, he seems to have asked for a challenge from the invisible forces that surround us. And he would like it no other way. Without a challenge can there be a victory? Without a falling though time and space can there be a dream? Without the specter of an ocean system strangled under our hands can there be joy in finding a truly pristine seas?
“This is the spot. Heave to.”
The ropes are pulled and coiled. The sails are reefed. The tiller tied taught.
Why can’t we spend our lives searching for the best food on the planet? Why not spend our energies on finding the best ways in which to eat and therefore live?
The breeze passes by kissing our checks with lips of ice. I shiver but there’s no discomfort that could ruin this moment. The sun fights to break through the clouds.
“For god’s sake will do something besides staring up at the sky like a damn idiot? We’ve got work to do. You think these people can eat daydreams?”
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