What was I thinking

Greetings, Gentle Reader,

Many might wonder, “Mr. Frei, what do you think about during a trip like this? I mean, sixty hours in the same seat over eight days gives you a lot of time to…you know… kinda’ mull things over. Wanna share?”

Ah, Gentle Reader, a great question, and a natural one. My skull has at various times been described as “thick” or “empty,” to be sure, but sometimes the neurons are clicking, and your thoughtful question gives me a chance to think about what I was thinking. Let’s see. What was I thinking? Other than rowing, how did I pass the time?

Most of the time I was content to listen to the water and wind, watch the birds, waves, and shoreline receding behind me (however slowly), monitor my own breathing (however labored), and just let my mind wander. It’s astounding how ambient sound on the water can serve as a kind of cerebral anesthesia; at one minute one can be deeply in thought about a relationship, the past, the future, or a book, and then just…drift. For example, I mused that Subway’s Five Dollar Foot-Long would, if offered by the mile, cost $26,400. When you row a mile against the prevailing winds and currents, Gentle Reader, you might consider this to be a pretty good deal. And let me save you a trip to the calculator: The Five Dollar Foot Long, extended over the length of my trip, would run you $6,336,000.00. Now it’s sounding a little pricy, nes pah? “Please put some extra cheese on that” could have budget-busting implications.

I did bring a transistor radio - the same cheesy unit that accompanied me on the Erie Canal - but its tinny sound precluded listening to music. It also eats heavy “C” batteries like popcorn, so I listened primarily to Public Radio, relying on their early drive-time news and late commentaries to keep me abreast of last week’s demise of Michael Jackson, Ed McMahon, and Farrah Fawcett (every teen’s favorite Angel, except, of course, for Jacquelyn Smith). I missed a newspaper.

The conspicuous presence of military facilities over the course of my row prompted me to think a lot about military history and, more expansively, public policy. The Naval Academy, Pax River, Quantico, the Dahlgren Range…and earlier trips past West Point and the miles of shoreline restricted by the Aberdeen Proving Grounds on the Upper Chesapeake demonstrate the enormous expanses of land and influence these sites have on their surrounding communities. I reminded myself to check to see if there is by chance a navigable tributary past the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs, thinking it would be fun to chalk up a trifecta of rowing past each of our service academies. Alas, there’s not.

I thought a lot about friends…family…my students…and even though I‘m not an especially spiritual person (except for a few moments under the tent/lightening rod at Quantico), the meaning of it all. I frequently marveled at my good fortune in being able to do exactly what I was doing at that moment, recognizing that my health and freedom and the quality of my relationships were the relief against which all of this was taking place…and enabled it to take place. Maybe it takes a big sky and a big ocean to slow down to appreciate that my moments – truly, most of our present moments –are moments of happiness, security, and tranquility that have been experienced by so very few in the pantheon of human history. I had just finished reading A Long Way Gone; Memoirs of a Boy Soldier by Ishmael Beah, a sobering first-person account of his experiences as both a refugee and, later, as a combatant in Sierra Leone’s civil war. It’s a raw read, not eloquent, but the window it offers to the straits of others is unforgettable, and its eloquence in putting the blessings of my own life in perspective– and those of my students, who are contemporaries of Beah - is moving indeed. Some books are well-timed for the occasion.

The idea of sustainability probably occupied my mind as much as anything else, an idea that teased me on many levels. Of course, there was the tangible evidence of a troubled environment around me (see the “Plastics” entry). I rowed past mile after mile of Mc Mansions sporting perfect (highly fertilized) lawns and artificially reconfigured shorelines…and would rarely see a person in sight. Literally hundreds of miles of fish and crab pots – thousands upon thousands of them – convinced me that were I an aquatic creature anywhere along my route, I could only hope to have time to procreate before meeting my fate on a plate or in a fryer. One need only read John Smith’s observations of these same waters – the thriving populations of fish, shellfish, and shoreline flora and fauna – to ask, “When is it over?” I often found myself wishing I could have been born in an earlier time to see these wonders only to recognize that had I been so, I – like people of an earlier era – could never have contemplated man’s mastery and depletion of his environment. Today, of course, our leading scientists are telling us what is coming - that unless we act soon and decisively, even these will be the good old days - yet our creature comforts, conveniences, and amusements are now our societal necessities, and public policy will lag behind the window of opportunity. I’ll just tell you that from the vantage point of a 15’ Adirondack Guideboat, the jury is still out, and it doesn’t look good.

Yeah, the sustainability issue was on my mind a lot…and they were not my happiest thoughts. Sorry to bring you down.

I very often wondered why I didn’t see others plying the waters in simple boats. Sure, not everyone enjoys my schedule; time in the summer is certainly at the heart of a teacher’s compensation system, and I suspect more than a few people would trade their cubicles, offices, or trucks to be out on the water. Yet other than a couple of folks out in rental kayaks, I passed not one kindred paddle man (or woman): jet skis, cruisers, and workboats galore…but no one proceeding under their own power. Steve and David up at Adirondack Guideboat preach the gospel all the time, and periodicals such as “Messing Around in Boats” and “The Small Craft Advisor” are filled with inspirational stories of those who strike out without the aid of fossil fuels. Folks, a child could do this…and the best part is, it brings out the kid in me. It would in you, too.
I just wish I had more company out there. But not too much, if you get my drift. Just you. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you.

So there you have it, Gentle Reader, the musings of a wannabe adventurer. Let me tell you, being off the grid for an extended time is a very healthy thing. The blather of Fox News and proselytizing of pundits – the inadequate, superficial sound bites, the obfuscation of fact for opinion – crowd out progressive dialogue and even, I think, meaningful internal monologues.

Each year I teach a short course to my 8th graders on what it means to be a discriminating consumer of media; getting away on an adventure like this teaches me how important it is that I practice what I teach.

Friends, family, the environment, our culture. Wind, waves, blisters, and fluids. I ask you, isn’t that enough fodder for eight days of quiet time?

Latah!

Mr. Frei