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.
...held him in the sea that swirled him out and safely over the boat to water in which he could touch. The surviving men were thankful to have survived, but learned that they really had no control over their lives. One of the most important lessons the correspondent took from the experience was, “… that “in the ignorance of the grave-edge” every man is in the same boat, which is not much more substantial than the ten-foot open dinghy on a rough sea” (Buitenhuis, web). Having survived the experience the cook, the correspondent, and the captain each believed that they could be interpreters for the sea. Crane gave each man a voice in “The Open Boat” that is uniquely theirs, but at the same time shared a common bond and struggle with nature for survival. It is up to each man (mankind) to find our own place in the universe and be open to the lessons that life can teach us.
I grew up around here. The Nantahala Outdoor Center (NOC) was a second home and I was well known and well looked after by all the NOC workers since both my parents were expert guides there: my mother, a raft/kayak instructor, my father, one of the top canoe instructors in the country. This was where they met, fell in love, and later raised me—their wild child.
“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.
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
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.
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.
“If only it was as simple as planned,” thought Thomas. Reminiscing on past conversations he recalled the specific words, “Let’s keep this simple, shall we? I don’t the slightest bit of suspicion towards me. When we walk in I will give you the supplies, all you need to do is finish the deal.” After that said, the tall man wearing a trench coat walked away leaving a trail of questions to be answered, but none were asked.
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.
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.
As I slowly strolled toward the old, rickety looking ladder, my heart literally began to beat out of my chest. The ocean was settled that day, but my body mind, and heart, were not so settled. The rest of the people on board began to get impatient with me. I was truly terrified, but it was time to conquer my biggest fear.
The weather couldn't have been better. as we shot out of the no wake zone playing the radio so loud the fish could hear our adventure began. Cruising the lake we traded off riding the tube. For lunch we pulled into a small cove shaded by two oaks the cove nestled in between, the branches reaching out towards one another. With the radio off we rocked gently with the rhythm of the currents and enjoyed nature.
The scorching temperature was made bearable by the cool mist rising from the waters below. I had been placed on a boat with a close friend Nick, and we were instructed to meet the counselor in the middle of the lake for our task. As we floated across the water, anxiously awaiting our final test. We sat quietly with only the rhythmic sounds of the lapping of the waves clashing against the bow to ease our racing hearts. We approached our instructor as she smiled mischievously. We knew this task was made to challenge us beyond what we have been taught. She informed us that our objective was to sail towards the last boat docked in the marina before the sun goes down. Nick and I made eye contact, perplexed by the seemingly simple and straightforward