I backed into deeper water, pulled out my
chart and flicked on my headlamp. Te chart showed an anchorage a few miles downwind, but no headland, bay or cove to provide obvi- ous shelter. Tere must be a channel through the reef, I reasoned, and a calm lagoon inside. I needed to find that channel. I paddled west- ward, parallel to shore, as close to the surf as I dared, listening. After a few miles, the sound of surf lessened. I inched inward and the swell felt more rounded. Tis must be the channel. I felt a tingle of exhilaration, took a deep breath, tightened my grip on the paddle and prepared to head boldly toward shore. What if I were hallucinating in the darkness,
acting on hope, rather than reason? I marked this point on my GPS and then backed out into deeper water, turned parallel to the beach, and continued paddling westward, downwind. In a few moments, the surf sounded louder again and the waves were more asymmetrical. Ten I turned upwind and followed my senses back to what I believed to be the channel opening. I tuned on the GPS and learned that I was only few hundred feet from the place I had marked previously. I felt reassured because my senses led me to the same place twice in a row. Tis is the ultimate joy and focus of an
adventurer’s life. Make a decision based on a sensual contact with the environment—a de- cision based more on intuition than on linear logic—and then trust your life to it.
If I felt alone in the ocean during daylight, I felt even more alone as an invisible speck in the inky blackness of night.
I turned toward land, took a few strokes and
paddled into the channel entrance. Surf was breaking to my right and left and I could hear the waves rise, curl, expel air with a woomph and smack hard onto the coral. I stopped, surrounded by chaos and danger
reverberating in the night. Te danger was ab- stract, like a metaphor or a myth, because the waves were merely beating against coral, as they always have, and I was cradled by a gloriously gentle South Pacific swell. Te rich aroma of tropical forest had already replaced the smell of the sea. With my emotions drained, I paddled shoreward until I entered the lagoon. Ten I turned east until I was in mirror calm, shel- tered water. I paddled shoreward again until my bow crunched gently against the sand.
JON TURK didn’t complete the long passages to the north, for fear of being blown off course, but he plans to return to the South Pacific. His new book is The Raven’s Gift: A Scientist, a Shaman, and their Remarkable Journey through the Siberian Wilder- ness, from St. Martin’s Press. He can be reached at
www.jonturk.net.
OntarioGreenlandCamp.com Featuring Cheri Perry &Turner Wilson Sept 10-12, 2010
LTK
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mind, body and soul. It’s a chance to get away from deadlines,
construction noise, and cell phones. Paddling is bliss. — Ashley
Paddling is invigorating. It feeds my spirit. It renews my
Ashley - kayaker, snowboarder and photographer, exploring rock formations off the Oregon Coast. ©Mike Hood/NRS
What does paddling mean to you? Share your thoughts at
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