Life on an ocean rowing boat is incredibly simple, a 2,700 mile or so microcosm of life itself. It is a life away from traffic, away from the influence of coworkers and friends, away from the pleasures of anything clean, away from the luxury of uninterrupted sleep, away from the distractions of media and politics and deadlines and agendas and jealousy and pride and the millions of things that detract us from how simple life can be. All of the extraneous matters in life are stripped away and the bare necessities of life – water and energy – are all that we really need at the end of the day. Anything above and beyond those two precious entities on an ocean rowing boat are luxuries. When life is stripped down to that simplicity, the human mind does several things. With the newfound lack of distractions, it becomes free to explore ideas that before were tucked safely away for such occasions. Childhood memories are recalled, forgotten goals are reintroduced, the people in one’s life are studied in detail, values are examined, past failures and successes are brought to the forefront, and one can really evaluate their past, present, and future. These thoughts generally got us through silent night shifts and peaceful hours slipped by without saying a word as we got to figure out who we were and who we wanted to be. At other times, our minds drifted to the other side of the spectrum and went kind of crazy, harboring on one insignificant thought for a full three hours, or maybe focusing our entire attention on a pink cloud as it changed colors in the morning light, or dreaming of a cheeseburger until the shift change, or obsessing about the murderer that we were sure was going to jump out at us from the bow, or hallucinating about green rabbits, or worst of all, thinking about nothing at all and watching the minutes slowly, excruciatingly tick by on the indiglo of our digital watches. For better or worse, these long silent shifts weren’t the norm for at least the Yankees onboard the mighty UFB. It was not an uncommon occurance for us to get scolded by the bear in the stern cabin for singing or laughing or talking too loudly while she was trying to hibernate. Most of the time, Kohl and I kept each other pretty entertained, but sometimes we rowed along together in a peaceful silence, each of us deep within our own thoughts.
During these silent shifts, I thought a lot about my heroes and what they mean to me. Our heroes define us. They are the ones that we look up to, the people we aspire to be. I have had dozens of heroes throughout the years, but these change the more I learn what it truly means to be a hero. When I started the trip, Rob Hamill was one of my heroes. Rob was an Olympic rower for New Zealand and one-half of the Kiwi team to win the first ever Atlantic Rowing Race in 1997. I had read his book, talked with him regarding various aspects of ocean rowing, and raced him to the top of the hills in Gomera in 2005. As an athlete and adventurer, I had a lot of respect for what he had accomplished in his life. But… I only knew half of the story. Some athletes can be selfish due to their pride and the individual nature of their work, but while I was on the ocean, I learned how Rob was more so than the rest. In addition to his own adventures, Rob also “helped” and “coached” several additional Kiwi ocean rowing campaigns including Tara’s Sun Latte. Without regard to humility or others’ needs or even the truth, Rob made himself look like a hero to the outside world while burning bridges all over his island home and stealing thousands of dollars from the teams and communities he had claimed to assist. Hearing stories from Tara made my stomach turn, thinking of how much I had admired what I thought were Rob’s hero-like qualities. Those traits turned out to be only a weak facade covering up his own selfish flaws. Where I lost a hero in Rob, though, I gained even more respect for another hero of mine. Even with the limited access to the outside world, our friends and families did send us the most important morsels of news to keep us up to date with current events. It was a sad day for us, New Zealand, and the rest of the world when Tara’s partner, Rachael, informed us that Sir Edmund Hilary had passed away. His quotes adorned our cabin walls, inspiring us to press on even when we were thousands of miles from our goal. Two years before on Christmas day, Hilary had called his fellow Kiwis on Sun Latte to wish them the best in their endeavor. His spirit of adventure was with us throughout our quest. The night after we heard the news of his death was a quiet one for me, a silent, moonless sky filled with 360 degrees of stars. Hilary was an adventurer in the truest sense of the word. From humble beginnings as a shy beekeeper, he learned to love the pure, unadulterated wilderness that the mountains offered and went on to climb dozens of peaks around the world, including numerous first ascents of several over 20,000 feet, and his famous, unprecedented climb of the world’s tallest mountain with Tenzing Norgay in 1953. He was a leader and pioneer in his field, climbing mountains all over the world, exploring the Antarctic, and leading expeditions through some of the wildest places on earth, but yet he did not see these as his greatest accomplishments. After summiting Everest, Hilary went on to help the people of Nepal by building schools, hospitals, and a more stable economy in the struggling country. After all of the unparalleled adventures and incredible feats that he was a part of, he still considered his humanitarian work his most important contributions to the world. He taught us about the importance of humility, courage, perseverance, and the true spirit of adventure. In so many ways, he is a true hero of mine: one that will truly be missed and one that I aspire to emulate in my own life. Twelve days after Hilary’ death, we rowed into English Harbour to complete our own dream, but I hope that twelve years down the road I, too will be remembered not necessarily for my accomplishments, but for my character, humility, and the positive difference that I make in people’s lives.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Complete Happiness, Complete Freedom
In general, I am a pretty happy person. I am of the attitude that despite the hardships that life can sometimes bring, life is generally good, and that the good in life usually prevails. But right now, I am REALLY happy. Overwhelmingly happy. Happier than I have been in over two years. It truly is amazing what accomplishing a dream can do for you.
The ocean really puts things in perspective for you, and finishing my most ambitious dream to date puts things in the most amazing light. I really do feel like a new person. The more I think about it, the more things actually set in and I realize what we have accomplished. Being back in Arizona really makes it hit home. Every step I have taken in Arizona has been post-capsize, and thus, up until 7:05 p.m. on Sunday night, every step I took, every mountain I climbed, every hike, every bike ride, every sunrise, every sunset had been burdened with the heavy weight of an unfinished dream. My friends in AZ had never known me pre-capsize, and therefore could not have known the true impact of the monstorous monkey on my back, but it was always there, always on my mind, haunting my every move, mocking my attempts at every other endeavour that was not pushing me to right the upturned hull of my very soul. And now, I see Arizona in a whole new light. Standing outside of the fifth floor of LSE with some of my labmates, waving at my mentor who was waving back at us from atop A-Mountain, I could see the wet winter green peaks of Camelback and Phoenix Mountain Preserve behind them, the setting sun off to the west, and the limitless horizon of my future stretching out beyond the last rays in every direction. My weight is lifted and the world is such a beautiful place again. Freedom and complete happiness in this beautiful world. Freedom to pursue anything to which I put my mind. Complete happiness that only comes with the completion of a dream.
I promise that I’ll start writing real posts here shortly, I’ve got a million stories, I just have to let it all sink in first…
The ocean really puts things in perspective for you, and finishing my most ambitious dream to date puts things in the most amazing light. I really do feel like a new person. The more I think about it, the more things actually set in and I realize what we have accomplished. Being back in Arizona really makes it hit home. Every step I have taken in Arizona has been post-capsize, and thus, up until 7:05 p.m. on Sunday night, every step I took, every mountain I climbed, every hike, every bike ride, every sunrise, every sunset had been burdened with the heavy weight of an unfinished dream. My friends in AZ had never known me pre-capsize, and therefore could not have known the true impact of the monstorous monkey on my back, but it was always there, always on my mind, haunting my every move, mocking my attempts at every other endeavour that was not pushing me to right the upturned hull of my very soul. And now, I see Arizona in a whole new light. Standing outside of the fifth floor of LSE with some of my labmates, waving at my mentor who was waving back at us from atop A-Mountain, I could see the wet winter green peaks of Camelback and Phoenix Mountain Preserve behind them, the setting sun off to the west, and the limitless horizon of my future stretching out beyond the last rays in every direction. My weight is lifted and the world is such a beautiful place again. Freedom and complete happiness in this beautiful world. Freedom to pursue anything to which I put my mind. Complete happiness that only comes with the completion of a dream.
I promise that I’ll start writing real posts here shortly, I’ve got a million stories, I just have to let it all sink in first…
"Do You Realize - that you have the most beautiful face
Do You Realize - we're floating in space
Do You Realize - that happiness makes you cry
Do You Realize - that everyone you know someday will die
And instead of saying all of your goodbyes
Let them know
You realize that life goes fast
It's hard to make the good things last
You realize the sun doesn't go down
It's just an illusion caused by the world spinning round"
- The Flaming Lips
(one of my favs on the ocean and everywhere else)
Monday, January 28, 2008
And now for something completely different...
So it ends up that we didn't listen to Monty Python at all while we were out on the ocean, but that's still one of my favorite quotes from Flying Circus. I'll be posting a ton on here about the race and all sorts of fun things, but for now, here's a post that I threw together a few days ago. I'm back. Enjoy :).
As I write this, I am sitting next to the women’s restroom (because it’s one of the few places I can find a plug for the depleted battery in my laptop) outside of Gate B81 in Houston’s Bush International waiting for my flight to Phoenix. It is 2:26 p.m. local time, and 20:26 GMT. Less than a week ago, I was happily rowing along at this time, enjoying the cooler temperatures that the setting sun brought to the ocean on the 8-10 shift. In a matter of 5 days, my life has been completely transformed from that of dreaming of nothing but cheeseburgers and white sheets to being thrust back in the land of fresh beef and bedclothes and wishing like hell to be back out on that ocean wave. In those last fleeting days, the ocean reminded us that nature always wins, whipping the waves into splashy piles of foam and turning the cabin and morale onboard into a soggy, crabby mess. Being on land does not diminish those feelings of discomfort any, but the land has discomforts of its own: no less, only different - than those on the water.
I know that for the next few weeks, as I watch the rest of the fleet come into Antigua, I will be wishing that I was back out there, away from the discomforts that life on land always brings. Just as it was on the Atlantic, I’ll need to keep my morale high to get me through these coming weeks as I adjust to solid ground and concrete agendas. On the ocean, the easiest way to boost morale was to break up the monotony and find something different. The same subtle swell, the same meals, the same greetings of “How you doing, dude?” every shift could get monotonous if – and only if – you let it. The simple pleasure of watching dorada flit in and out of the boat’s shadow, switching a Clif Bar for a pack of Oreo’s, or dressing up as Indians was enough to keep life fresh and interesting. A big part of what I will take back from this trip is just that: to keep life different and interesting. Of course I have long term goals of finishing my PhD, but while I am finishing it I plan to keep on adventuring, and afterwards, the sky is the limit. Interlaced with the overall goal of finishing my PhD within the next few years are additional priorities of maintaining a close relationship with my family, competing in adventure races, exploring all of the natural beauty that the western part of the U.S. has to offer, and finding a guy out there that shares my passions and can keep up with my next adventure (my friends – thanks Kel! - say that the only guy that’s suited for me anymore is Indiana Jones, so if anyone has his number, please feel free to pass it on and let him know I’m interested). No matter what happens in the next couple of years before I start to pursue the next major adventure, I plan to keep it interesting.
So, what about those next adventures? I know my family is probably reading this blog with bated breath, but fear not, I don’t have any MAJOR ones in the works just yet. The ocean was incredible this year – so much fun, a great new experience with three amazing teammates, a finish to a dream, millions of memories, and a new world record. But already, I am thinking ahead to the new adventures that I want to accomplish. Someday I may eat my words, but for this segment of my life, I am done with rowing oceans. I would happily and eagerly recommend the experience to anyone, but I have too many new and different adventures that I want to get started on to continue rowing the oceans in the next few years. The ocean rowing community is a tight knit group that I now feel fully indoctrinated into having rowed the full thing unsupported this time, but I think that one of the things that makes us special is not the fact that we row oceans, but the fact that we are all a very special breed of adventurers. One cannot row an ocean and not come back with a full respect for nature, God, and the world around us, and that childlike acceptance of the beauty and freedom of the ocean has us yearning for more. Some of us go on to row additional oceans, and others of us continue on to mountains, the North Pole, charity work in Costa Rica, or as many different adventures as there are ocean rowers. For me, life has to be ever changing to be exciting. A stagnant, stable life holds about as much excitement for me as a stagnant pool filled with pond scum. I need the changing tides and crashing waves, the ups, the downs, and the brilliant sunsets beckoning me to unknown horizons. Not to say that ocean rowing is EVER boring, but I am ready for something new, and I want to know that when my time on this planet is through, I have learned and grown and loved and lived all that I can in as many walks of life as I can. I think my sister put it best. As we were sitting down to dinner on my return, there was a segment on the news about the recent avalanches that have taken the lives of several people within the past few weeks. She commented that avalanches were one of the reasons she was apprehensive of mountains. I had first assumed that she was talking in reference to an upcoming snowboarding trip, but she then corrected me saying that she was concerned because she figured that mountain climbing adventures were next on my list. My sister knows me as well as I know myself and I’ve always been fascinated with mountains…
A lot of people have problems finding a passion to pursue in life. My problem is quite the opposite, my problem is trying to find a way to fit all of those passions into some sort of plan that allows me to accomplish as much as I can in the limited time that I have here on this planet. A million things and different lifestyles interest me. I love what I do in the lab – helping to find a vaccine to a disease that is ravaging the developing world. But I am just as happy sitting two feet off of a two story wave in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I would also be just as happy building medical centers in Africa. Or cruising the Pacific on a 40’ sailboat. Or raising a family. Or working ski lifts in New Zealand. Or teaching schoolchildren in Antigua. Or becoming a sponsored adventure racer. Or freelancing around the world. Or a lot of things.
When I got back from Antigua, I looked up at the walls of my room at home in Indiana, thinking back to memories from my childhood. Trophies from my basketball and cross country days to pictures of my friends in Israel to posters of Purdue Crew adorn my dressers and walls. It makes me feel truly blessed to have been a part of so many different adventures thus far in my 24 years on this planet, and I can’t help but wonder where life will take me in the coming years. I have a feeling that no matter what it is, though, it will be something completely different.
Stay tuned for lots of stories, pictures, and insights into life on an ocean rowing boat and what it's like to be back on terra firma.
As I write this, I am sitting next to the women’s restroom (because it’s one of the few places I can find a plug for the depleted battery in my laptop) outside of Gate B81 in Houston’s Bush International waiting for my flight to Phoenix. It is 2:26 p.m. local time, and 20:26 GMT. Less than a week ago, I was happily rowing along at this time, enjoying the cooler temperatures that the setting sun brought to the ocean on the 8-10 shift. In a matter of 5 days, my life has been completely transformed from that of dreaming of nothing but cheeseburgers and white sheets to being thrust back in the land of fresh beef and bedclothes and wishing like hell to be back out on that ocean wave. In those last fleeting days, the ocean reminded us that nature always wins, whipping the waves into splashy piles of foam and turning the cabin and morale onboard into a soggy, crabby mess. Being on land does not diminish those feelings of discomfort any, but the land has discomforts of its own: no less, only different - than those on the water.
I know that for the next few weeks, as I watch the rest of the fleet come into Antigua, I will be wishing that I was back out there, away from the discomforts that life on land always brings. Just as it was on the Atlantic, I’ll need to keep my morale high to get me through these coming weeks as I adjust to solid ground and concrete agendas. On the ocean, the easiest way to boost morale was to break up the monotony and find something different. The same subtle swell, the same meals, the same greetings of “How you doing, dude?” every shift could get monotonous if – and only if – you let it. The simple pleasure of watching dorada flit in and out of the boat’s shadow, switching a Clif Bar for a pack of Oreo’s, or dressing up as Indians was enough to keep life fresh and interesting. A big part of what I will take back from this trip is just that: to keep life different and interesting. Of course I have long term goals of finishing my PhD, but while I am finishing it I plan to keep on adventuring, and afterwards, the sky is the limit. Interlaced with the overall goal of finishing my PhD within the next few years are additional priorities of maintaining a close relationship with my family, competing in adventure races, exploring all of the natural beauty that the western part of the U.S. has to offer, and finding a guy out there that shares my passions and can keep up with my next adventure (my friends – thanks Kel! - say that the only guy that’s suited for me anymore is Indiana Jones, so if anyone has his number, please feel free to pass it on and let him know I’m interested). No matter what happens in the next couple of years before I start to pursue the next major adventure, I plan to keep it interesting.
So, what about those next adventures? I know my family is probably reading this blog with bated breath, but fear not, I don’t have any MAJOR ones in the works just yet. The ocean was incredible this year – so much fun, a great new experience with three amazing teammates, a finish to a dream, millions of memories, and a new world record. But already, I am thinking ahead to the new adventures that I want to accomplish. Someday I may eat my words, but for this segment of my life, I am done with rowing oceans. I would happily and eagerly recommend the experience to anyone, but I have too many new and different adventures that I want to get started on to continue rowing the oceans in the next few years. The ocean rowing community is a tight knit group that I now feel fully indoctrinated into having rowed the full thing unsupported this time, but I think that one of the things that makes us special is not the fact that we row oceans, but the fact that we are all a very special breed of adventurers. One cannot row an ocean and not come back with a full respect for nature, God, and the world around us, and that childlike acceptance of the beauty and freedom of the ocean has us yearning for more. Some of us go on to row additional oceans, and others of us continue on to mountains, the North Pole, charity work in Costa Rica, or as many different adventures as there are ocean rowers. For me, life has to be ever changing to be exciting. A stagnant, stable life holds about as much excitement for me as a stagnant pool filled with pond scum. I need the changing tides and crashing waves, the ups, the downs, and the brilliant sunsets beckoning me to unknown horizons. Not to say that ocean rowing is EVER boring, but I am ready for something new, and I want to know that when my time on this planet is through, I have learned and grown and loved and lived all that I can in as many walks of life as I can. I think my sister put it best. As we were sitting down to dinner on my return, there was a segment on the news about the recent avalanches that have taken the lives of several people within the past few weeks. She commented that avalanches were one of the reasons she was apprehensive of mountains. I had first assumed that she was talking in reference to an upcoming snowboarding trip, but she then corrected me saying that she was concerned because she figured that mountain climbing adventures were next on my list. My sister knows me as well as I know myself and I’ve always been fascinated with mountains…
A lot of people have problems finding a passion to pursue in life. My problem is quite the opposite, my problem is trying to find a way to fit all of those passions into some sort of plan that allows me to accomplish as much as I can in the limited time that I have here on this planet. A million things and different lifestyles interest me. I love what I do in the lab – helping to find a vaccine to a disease that is ravaging the developing world. But I am just as happy sitting two feet off of a two story wave in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I would also be just as happy building medical centers in Africa. Or cruising the Pacific on a 40’ sailboat. Or raising a family. Or working ski lifts in New Zealand. Or teaching schoolchildren in Antigua. Or becoming a sponsored adventure racer. Or freelancing around the world. Or a lot of things.
When I got back from Antigua, I looked up at the walls of my room at home in Indiana, thinking back to memories from my childhood. Trophies from my basketball and cross country days to pictures of my friends in Israel to posters of Purdue Crew adorn my dressers and walls. It makes me feel truly blessed to have been a part of so many different adventures thus far in my 24 years on this planet, and I can’t help but wonder where life will take me in the coming years. I have a feeling that no matter what it is, though, it will be something completely different.
Stay tuned for lots of stories, pictures, and insights into life on an ocean rowing boat and what it's like to be back on terra firma.
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