A Three Hour Tour

Sometimes putting things back into perspective is a much needed thing. One should appreciate being able to breathe in and out without difficulty, to be able to call on a friend or loved one, to be able to realize that hey- maybe life is pretty good after all. Today, unexpectedly, I gained a lot of perspective. I realized that it is okay that I am young and do not have a fulltime job. That for today, it's ok to not have one true calling in life. That I have a loving network of family and friends. And also, most importantly, that I did not drown trapped underneath a flimsy capsized boat in 9-foot swells and fifty-degree wate.

The latter part is mainly what gave me that perspective. Any day henceforth that also manages to avoid such a situation is going to be viewed as successful in my book.

When I woke up this morning and recognized that today was Wednesday, I was excited. I got to work at the aquarium! And play with sea creatures! And also, because my boss is super cool, I knew that I would be going on a collecting trip to some local islands off Boston Harbour, where we would grab some new animals for exhibits. Some starfish, sea urchins, seaweed, and hermit crabs were on the list, along with decorated rocks and various other wonders from the sea. I was both excited and nervous, as I hadn't been snorkeling since my Bahamas winter study last year, where the aquamarine water and lack of current came together for a leisurely snorkle-fest. While I knew that today, being November in the Northeast, would not hold quite the same balmy conditions for me, I was still very much looking forward to the trip. I was well equipped with a borrowed 7mm wetsuit, fins, snorkle, mask, and a healthy appetite for adventure. Me and a team of four, all skilled scuba divers (which I am most definitely not), would be driving the Aquarium's 20some-odd foot boat maybe a couple of miles out of the harbor to do some collecting. Have you ever heard the Gilligan's Island theme song, Three Hour Tour? It was kind of like that.

However, it appears that no weather reports were checked before our departure. As I am still just a lowly intern, I sincerely hope the blame does not fall on me. Pete, our fearless captain, had a burrito in one hand and a heavy lead foot. He also apparently has a complete aversion to conservative boating, as was made apparent when we charged the waves head on (though there was most definitely a small-craft advisory due to the ludicrously high wind speeds and ginormous waves. Adjectives mine).

According to proper boating technique, hitting waves head on with the bow of the boat is the most effective way to avoid capsizing. It is also an extremely effective way to give fellow crewmembers (especially new lowly interns) giant massive coronaries every time that you hit a swell. My position on the boat was rather ineffective, as I just kind of hung from the ceiling hand-holds and tried (unsuccessfully) to not get slammed into the side of the boat with every wave we hit. I also was shrieking inside my head every time our boat dropped down a swell, but as that was on the inside the other crew members probably had no idea. I'm hoping.

I discovered that my adrenal glands are wonderfully efficient. Each time we crashed down my system was flooded with fight or flight responses. Unfortunately for me, I was torn between both, and therefore unable to do anymore than hang from the ceiling. Maybe I'm not the person you should seek out in an emergency, but at least I know the system works. Also, as the four-by-four cabin was relatively safe, though it lacked a wall between the back of the boat and the foot and a half boat wall which separated us from the water, this was the only place I could really go. So I may be bruised and battered, and I may have done very little to help with the actual boating, but I am terribly alive. And that's ok by me.

In retrospect, we all acknowledged that we should not have gone out that day. I acknowledged this as we hit the first wave, but Captain Pete conceded this point well after we had docked safely and I had already thrown myself onto the ground. Better late than never, I suppose.

The entire trip was a battle, you could say, between our twenty-foot boat versus nature's nine-foot swells. And we lost that battle. If you think nine-feet is not that big, you have clearly never been sailing before. I cannot tell you how many different prayers I rattled through as we hit the crest of one wave and my stomach jumped into my throat as we sailed through the air to the bottom of the next. When we hit a wave "right" (and I use the term "right here," loosely) we rode that baby all the way up and then had the exhilarating and absolutely mind-boggling of dropping, boat and all, all the way down. For over an hour to get out there, and over an hour to get back. To think that there are adrenaline junkies who enjoy such a thing? No thank you, sir- I am tapping out.

There hit a point in the trip when I desperately searched for any religious mantra to distract me from falling off and maybe to give God a little heads-up that I might need some help, and soon. Actually, there hit many points when this came up, but sadly, the only song that I found was a song I learned in church school when I was ten. It was called "All God's Creatures Have a Place in the Choir." The running dialogue in my head went more or less, "All God's creatures have a place in the choir F?@&#*** **@!#*, some sing low, and some sing S*** higher, some sing out on a telephone wire and ******* **&&@#* **?@^#^ ,some just clap their hands... or paws... or anything at all, AHHH&#**@($@# noow." The asterisks are vividly interspersed swear words, and the new ones I made up on the spot. If I had been in a better frame of mind, I might have remembered them, but as it was I am just happy to walk on good ol' solid earth and not remember them (for the time being). It's all in the perspective. (But I do remember noting that some of the amalgamated swear words were pretty catchy. Before we dropped the next wave, anyway.)

At the end of the trip, we had a cooler full of mussels, hermit crabs, and the like, one broken plexiglass window from wave impact, and one dismantled ungodly expensive GPS/Depthfinder computer system that had loosened itself from four bolts in the ceiling in one of the most terrifying of waves we hit. I'm pretty sure I shed at least one tear. (Just one though- even if I was going to die, I was not going to be the intern that fussed about it. No, I was going to go down proudly, even stoicly. Like the captain of the Titanic, minus the title. And the beard.)

So after that trip, everything seems kinda cool now. I've re-discovered my love of walking on the stationary ground. My arms are sore from the death-grip I had on the ceiling hand-holds, and my left knee maybe hurts a little from repeatedly slamming into the wall of the boat, but I'll take gladly these any day. Because after it was over, it made a good story. And now a few more people at the Aquarium know my name. And because I dreamed of waves last night, and am very much looking forward to the promised future boat ride from my boss. A boat ride on a day without any waves. And in the very distant future. It's perspective.