Dear family and friends,
I’m sitting here in my bunk drinking hot coffee from my special yellow mug. I awoke early, about 0555. I keep it dark in my bunk with a cloth over the overhead hatch because the sun rises so early here in the summer. I noticed an absence of light poking around the corners this morning which could mean that it was still night and my watch was off or more likely that I was immersed in fog.
I crawled from my warm bed to see and it was the latter, but thicker than I’ve maybe ever seen in that I couldn’t see the bow from the companionway. I thought to myself “ what if it stays that way for days, can I survive?”
Self answered, not out loud “ you have diesel, propane and food to last up to a three months, so should you worry?”
Still not satisfied I thought “ but I’m all alone here, miles from any other humans!”
“ Isn’t that why you came here?” I consoled myself.
A lot of selves taking with each other and even before my coffee. “ How about a cup of coffee and see how you feel?” Which seemed the best question so far of the early morning.
Now, being adequately caffeinated, I notice the fog burning off. The forecast from NOAA is for ten knots of westerly wind for the next four days, which can mean anything from no wind to the eighteen knots and lumpy seas I had getting here, on the same forecast.
I plan on moving to an even more remote anchorage today, only about 28 miles away. Outside this sheltered bay there could be thick fog, big winds or nothing, so I need to prepare my mind and boat for either. I guess that keeps me living in the present but being ready for anything.
This morning’s Stoic reading was about Seneca having life challenges and responding “ I knew it”. Which meant that he thought through ahead of time all the possibilities and prepared himself mentally ( and otherwise if on a boat for instance) for any possibility under the circumstances.
Ok, that’s what I’ll do, be ready for any possibilities within the range of small boat cruising in August in Southeast Alaska. Right after my hot oatmeal breakfast.
I’m not really that remote. I’m all of about 60 miles from Wrangell and have a Garmin Explorer that can text message anyone. But when I look out and see no sign of humans it is both wonderful to behold and gives me reason to be thoughtful about what I do.
When solo I love the rawness of my thinking in that there is no excuse to fill my time with email, Facebook, YouTube, or conversation. I can face my thoughts directly. One thought at a time can linger and be examined. “ What are you feeling now big boy?” and spend as much time as needed dissecting it.
Today I’m exploring whether ( for me) feelings are physical or psychological/mental constructs.
I suppose they are chemicals created by my mind and body, but where and how are they felt?
Imagine my thoughts if I were fogged in for three months!
I’m in a safe anchorage on a cozy boat with lots of hot food and comfort. I ran the heater this morning to bring the cabin temp from 58 F to a warm and dry 68F. Not exactly roughing it!
Simone biles having the “twisties” in Japan during the Olympics.
Here I can feel a version of that with two differences:
- If I get mentally frozen I’m still here
- I can do everything in very slow motion, one little thing at a time
No triple spins for me, just turn on engine, raise anchor, point the boat…
And, when I feel that uneasiness, I capture it so I can share it with you. It probably won’t help my image of being the intrepid adventurer, but by now I figure all of you readers know better about me. It’s the INSIDE part of my OUTSIDE and INSIDE exploring.
Last night as I was preparing my pressure cooker beans and rice for dinner I was jolted to attention by a very close and very loud whooshing sound. An engine right next door?
I ran to the window to see a smallish humpback whale surface and blow about fifty feet from my anchored boat. I turned off the stove and grabbed the camera to watch this single whale swim deeper into this channel into water less than 25 feet deep. My intuition was that it was a female averse to pictures, so I returned the camera to its case which prompted ( I am pretty sure😊) her to swim in front of and around the boat before heading off to deeper water.
Could she have thought that since we were about the same size and with her black bottom paint, that Hongvi could have been a playmate? Since Hongvi appeared to give this beautiful creature the cold shoulder ( can either a boat or whale have a shoulder?) she gave up and left. Now we are all alone. Me and Hongvi.
Enough for one day.
Sending love,
Charley
Conquering fear makes us strong. I particularly enjoyed your tale today. I’m also reminded of a country western song by Chris Ledoux entitled “Enjoy the Ride”. If you haven’t then I hope that you listen to it sometime.
Great read Charlie. Thanks
Enjoying your blog posts, Charlie. Keep em comin’
A lot of internal thinking when really alone. It reminds me of living in WV, not entirely remote, but somewhat. One winter my car went off the road in snow, I was alone, and luckily unhurt. I sat there for a little while waiting, and suddenly realized no one was coming to save me because there was hardly any traffic on the gravel road. So I got our and started walking. Eventually I would probably come to a house. Somewhat the same feeling of being on your own and having to deal with things.
Yeah, you do have to be careful and thoughtful when on your own and remote. I’m not into that anymore. So, Charley, glad you are always aware of that.