Archive for the 'Blog' Category

There has been a lot of hubbub about the murderous killer whale. Orca morality is an interesting question. A bigger one is if humans are moral in any general sense. They are one of the few animals that kills for pleasure and hunts effectively in packs. So a killer whale has lived up to its name and gone "King Kong." One cannot pretend a murderous predator like the Orca is anyone's friend unless the Orca thinks that it is so. The "culprit" has rather given away the whole game–the entertainment industry ruthlessly exploits these animals–no one should be surprised when they bite back.

Finally watched "Inglorious Basterds" and found myself liking it more than I expected. It's absurd, but not as violent as the tedious and repugnant "Kill Bill." It's a movie about movies, like all of QT's work, but done very cleverly and the characters more or less work in their own terms–stereotypes of course, but sort of alive. Of course, as with all QT's work, some scenes are too long and boring with endless chatter about nothing. Ultimately, evil but charming Nazi Christoph Waltz is worth the price of admission.

Some potentially rare good news–the lower frequency pitch of the blue whale songs indicates the huge mammals are slowly rebuilding their nearly decimated population. Basically, the blues don't have to sing as loud as they once did when they were the vanishing victims of commercial whaling during the first 72 years of the last century.

I once saw a blue whale on the St. Lawrence river, while riding in a zodiac with my companion and a very nice guide, near Tadoussac. The plume of its spout must have risen 2o feet or so, demonstrating the size of the great gentle beast. I'd never seen a whale spout so high. Naturally, because it is wondrous, mankind had made it a special project to destroy the animal for dog food or explosives and other high priority commodities. In any case, this is nice news–although I tend  mistrust nice news.

For those faithful few curious–I was unable for various reasons to paddle across Massachusetts Bay this season. It was due primarily through bad weather and a shrinking window of opportunity. But….There is next year. And this is mountain climbing and cross country skiing season.

Unlike many  other Bay Staters, I love snow. The more the better.

Stay tuned…..

Well, the kayaking  season is growing shorter and my life is not getting longer.  Building on last year's trip from Marshfield to Provincetown, this year it looks like we'll be moving from South Boston to Provincetown with the usual cast of characters. Can't wait. Next year, Gloucester to Provincetown. Patience is a virtue–I think. With luck, we'll just come under the belly of Stellwagen Bank–maybe even see a whale or two–wouldn't that be lovely?

So it appears the Bush administration appointee to the International Whaling Commission is trying to legitimize the least legitimate commercial harvesting enterprise in the world. According to the Sidney Herald, the commission's chairman William Hogarth was recently trying “to craft a pact that would permit a new type of ‘coastal whaling’ in exchange for a commitment by Japan to scale back its ‘scientific’ whale hunts.” Given Hogarth is a Bush holdover, there are no surprises there. But with Obama in, we should view it as a new game completely. The world needs to ban whaling and most commercial fishing. And that’s what the discussion should be about.

WETHERSFIELD, CONN.–I recently visited Wethersfield, Conn., where the hero and heroine of my book lay together in a family plot.

I met a number of the Williams descendants, which was a great honor for me.  The town itself is gently charming, with a main street that is quintessential New England, with a fine tavern and inn, and federalist and Georgian houses dotting either side of the road. Further down the leafy street is an intersection with a highway that is lined with malls, parking lots, and bars and is as ugly as any other part of America. A few miles down, and you're in Hartford, and decide you want to go back.

It was odd, to me at least, that a man who spent most of his life on the open ocean had grown up in a landlocked town. Perhaps that was what drew home to the whaling life. I saw the church Eliza Griswold became Eliza Williams; the swimming hole on the Connecticut River where I believe Thomas learned to swim, and other small landmarks. In any case, it was sobering to look at the grave of Thomas W. Williams. In his day an accomplished mariner, whaler, trader, father, and husband. His thousands of miles traveled ended in this one solitary place. It seemed odd for me–I had spent so much time studying his adventures, and then seeing his grave.  I had caught up with him after his travels have finished, and he is stationary forever, or close to forever.

Also, death has a conspiratorial quality to me–it's as if those that have passed and left have someone betrayed life and us and we can no longer reach them. I wasn't sure everything about this experience was adding up to me.  It was haunting: to see where someone has come from, in a sense, gives you an intimation of that person, of the surroundings that created him. It gives you a glimpse of destiny, that same series of seen and unseen causes and effects that is living through you, as well. But somewhere between the documents, the photos, and the landmarks, I was hoping to find a person, an essence. I'm not sure I did.

It was as if someone had laid out a suit that perfectly outlined the shape of the person who was to wear it, but lacked that person's presence. It was very empty. In any case, for a moment, I knew I had at least become close to that ever-receding past that we all become part of, eventually.

Finally, our trip from Marshfield to Provincetown via kayak is done, as of Sunday, September 21.  We picked a perfect day with an outgoing tide and a westerly wind.  We arrived in Marshfield at about 5 a.m. and it was hard to see where we were going and then assemble the kayak in the dark. It was also cold, and the prospect of paddling 24 or so miles wasn't too appealing.

Nevertheless, this had required a commitment of time and money and there were other people depending on us, so sure enough we got the kayak inflated. As the sun rose, with pleasure boats one after the other being dropped off and launched at the dock, we managed to get in the floated kayak and start paddling.

There is nothing quite like being on the ocean early in the morning at sunrise. It is like entering a new life. As we came out of Green Harbor, one of the chase boat party noted we looked like the Union warship Monitor. A kayak puts you right on or under the surface of the water. The two of us in were in skirts making us appear to be attached permanently to the kayak, and evoking the ironclad's low waterline and turrets.

Navigation was simple. We just kept paddling directly into the blinding sun, which left a shimmering reflective bar of white light for us as a guide. The outgoing tide and lack of an easterly wind worked strongly in our favor. A few times we were picked up in two foot waves, but that just served to help us along.

A two man kayak is a Siamese twin. We divide the functions: Ed, the Portuguese navigator, can see what's ahead and perform checks with the compass. I stay in the back and check for landmarks, assess the wind and waves and monitor progress. You must have complete harmony with the partner or there are going to be problems fast.

We flew along at first, doing perhaps five to seven  knots with the tide. I presume we also had a favorable current. Once we sighted the thin needle of the Pilgrim monument on the horizon, I knew the destination would be ours. I won't say it didn't hurt, because it did. We were tired, sore, and cramped, but the taste of the finish was in our mouths. Regrettably, we saw no whales, as we had hoped. The chase boat also saw no fish, either.

By 2:30 p.m., we pulled up on the beach south of Race Point and got out to celebrate our trip. It was time to head into town for the victory round.

Incidentally, we had passed a few boats out in the deep 200 feet water in the middle of Massachusetts Bay. I've heard the lobstermen, from Marshfield, had seen an orange kayak passing them and were a bit incredulous. The fishermen didn't have a high opinion of our intelligence, but that's okay. Nobody trusts a visionary until they are proved right.

Special kudos to Captain Leo, who kept his crew ship shape and made it from Marina Bay, Quincy, to Green Harbor, in the dark. The voyage completely ended when we were in the blue lights on the windows of the ritzy apartments on Marina Bay.

Now it's time to plan to sail from Cape Anne to Provincetown.