We rounded the corner from the deep blue ocean of the South Pacific through the narrow entrance into the atoll surrounding a beautiful French Polynesian island. I had gotten used to reciting my duties in my head—making sure the switches were turned on, monitoring the navigation system, and preparing the ropes for entry—but would sneak quick glances at the view as much as I could. I had never seen anything like it, but navigating through the shallow water to find a safe anchorage for the night was no easy task and I needed to stay focused. After the anchor was lowered into the pristine blue water, as a member of the crew, it was my duty to dive off the boat and check to make sure the anchor had been set. The importance of this task seemed …show more content…
I suppose it was the adventurous side of me, but I have to admit that it was also nice to move around in more than a cramped space with seven other people. Trees from both sides of the canal drooped down over us as we motored through in search of signs of civilization. Down the way, we came across an unkempt, middle-aged, local man wearing nothing but a pair of shorts who was paddling along the canal in a crimson red canoe. “Bonjour!” he shouted. I attempted to converse with him in broken French and he signaled for us to follow him. After learning his name, we accompanied James onto shore. He introduced us to the friendly local people who welcomed us like some of their own. They familiarized us to new exotic fruits to test and take back to our boat. The aroma of fresh vanilla and mangos, staples of the island, overwhelmed my senses as I walked down the dirt path. When I entered the village, James introduced us to his friends, Claude and Karrne. They taught me how best to skin the mango and how they dried the Tahitian vanilla plants and used them in their cooking, their fragrances, and their teas. We rapidly became acquainted as they were just as excited to learn about my life as I was about theirs. I wanted to absorb their beautiful traditions of dance and learn some of the French and Polynesian
Rain and windy conditions were setting us up to savor the good weather when and if it came. In keeping with Dad’s why-start-early program, we made it three-for-three on afternoon starts. We had another pair of locks at Beauharnois. Like the Eisenhower Locks, this is another austere setting with towers and high voltage wires adding to the forbidding atmosphere. It took us more than three hours to get back on our way after waiting for a tanker to come through in the opposite direction. We shared the second lock with a lightly loaded ship named Christine. It was like having a pointed four-story, floating college dormitory behind us. When we left the lock the ship passed us like they were the pleasure boat and we were the freighter. I recall Deb saying, “Grab the loose dishes. We’re going to get pitched around.” A ship of that size throws an enormous wake when going faster than ten-to-twelve knots.
We were a crowd of trouble, or maybe it was just me who was trouble. My Aunt did nickname me Hurricane Haley when I was younger since I was a bundle of energy no one could stop…and it was my first time rafting. Great, what could go wrong?
Stephen Crane’s short story “The Open Boat” is a story of conflict with nature and the human will and fight to survive. Four men find themselves clinging to life on a small boat amidst a raging sea after being shipwrecked. The four men, the oiler (Billie), the injured captain, the cook, and the correspondent are each in their own way battling the sea as each wave crest threatens to topple the dinghy. “The Open Boat” reflects human nature’s incredible ability to persevere under life-and-death situations, but it also shares a story of tragedy with the death of the oiler. It is human nature to form a brotherhood with fellow sufferers in times of life threatening situations to aid in survival. Weak from hunger and fatigue, the stranded men work together as a community against nature to survive their plight and the merciless waves threatening to overtake the boat. The brotherhood bond shared between the men in “The Open Boat” is evident through the narrator’s perspective, “It would be difficult to describe the subtle brotherhood of men that was here established on the seas. No one said that it was so. No one mentioned it. But it dwelt in the boat, and each man felt it warm him” (Crane 993). Crane understood first-hand the struggle and the reliance on others having survived the real life shipwreck of the S.S. Commodore off the coast of Florida in 1897. “The Open Boat” is an intriguing read due to Crane’s personal experience and though it is a fictional piece it shares insight into the human mind. Crain did not simply retell a story, but by sharing the struggles with each character he sought to portray the theme of an inner struggle with nature by using the literary devices of personification of nature, symbolism of the boat, and iron...
I jumped and looked around for the source of the eery sound. That’s when I saw It. The door. I hadn’t seen It before. The door wasn’t there last night. Cautiously, I turned the handle.
Their little argument reminded me of my brother being somewhere in front of my boat so I looked around trying to find him, but I only saw white water and a blue boat without a person inside steering it off to its next adventure. After a few seconds of trying to get a better look at who was in the boat I gave up and decided to enjoy the bright green trees surrounding me in the raging sloshing river. All around me was peace and nothing was better than that feeling of having no worries other than relaxing on a soft inflatable boat that was rocking to the waves around me. A flock of small birds were flying overhead and chirping to each other and distracted me from what was upcoming in the river. As I was looking up at the beautiful area around me, I got pulled back to reality when I went over the first drop and almost fell into the cold water. Thinking that I was about to die I grabbed the boat with all my strength trying to stay in it without touching the water below me. After I was over the shock, I was shaking and making sure that I was still in one piece, confirming that I was in one piece I began to paddle forward attempting to catch up back to the group. I was paddling as quickly as I could with all my might trying not to get left behind and have to wander around trying to find the guides. Somehow me trying to push myself forward only ended up
After a few hours of exploring the boat was departing from the island back over to the city. I handed the guy my ticket and took my seat. after waiting ten minutes for everyone to load and take there seats the boat went tut tut and started it way back to the dock. Thank god the waves were a lot smaller then they were on the way there. It was a very fun time on the Island i would love to go back again. Maybe one day we could go together, and adventure the beautiful island
It was a breezy and cloudy June morning as I made my way through Door County traffic. My best memory was driving up here was when I was about 10 head dangling out the window as the wind blew in my face. As I drove through the small towns I saw the rustic houses, cute cafes, and pedestrians enjoying their day. I drove a little farther and suddenly saw the great and sparkling blue Lake Michigan and the ferry dock where I would soon be boarding. This would be my 100th time on this boat going to Washington Island, but I knew would still get the same sick feeling. I slowly approached the ticket booth, purchased my two-way ticket, and pulled onto the boat. It was a windy day and the waves were splashing high on the side of the ferry. I got out of
“Jackson!” my cousin Zac blurted out worriedly. I turned around trying to find out where my cousin went. I went down the the shore as the sunlight is beaming in my eyes and it is extremely hard to see.
One of the requirements of the class was to read the book entitled Wisdom from a Rainforest: The Spiritual Journey of an Anthropologist by Stuart A Schlegel. The book was first published in 1999, and it was about the author’s experiences and his own personal transformation while staying with the Teduray society. Through reading the book, the professor wanted to expose his students to anthropological studies and reflect on how different concepts and theories that were previously discussed could be related to the material. “This book is a love story”. As the opening line of the book, it tells a lot of how the author is still in admiration with the now extinct tribe in Mindanao.
Blake bored his eyes to the clock and counted the seconds before lunch while impatiently tapping his pencil on his vandalized desk.
So, once he had permission to visit the area, he left home and took the water head first. What we found him was very nervous, and inevitably love. Among rockets and fireworks, a beautiful boat bobbed between songs and laughter. Within it, a lot of sailors celebrating the birthday of a young very beautiful.
The night was as clear as the day, darkness never fell on Blessed Island. I peek out my window and look at the never ending fields of orchids. The sun was blazing down in the distance, and it blinded me but I didn’t mind. The tall wild grasses were swaying in the light breeze and it was calm; outside and inside my mind.
“Okay Max, it’s your turn. Climb on in,” the captain said as he broke the silence on the boat. It was clear that my turn was at that moment, but I didn’t respond. “Max!” he shouted abruptly.
Le Gleo and I chuckled. We escaped the rats and were safe. We anchored the vessel and paddled to land.
I understood their reluctance, as well as others’ excitement. I found myself torn. On one hand, the journey through the slew, to the bay was sure to be exciting, to say the least, and I loved the water. However, while I was sure of my physical capabilities, I’d never been on a canoe ride as long as the one we would soon begin, and I certainly hadn’t carried a canoe for the mile we were expected to trek.