A Whale of a Tale

I woke up in Somerville, MA after a surprisingly good night's sleep on a futon in a room with no A/C. My hosts, Jon and Dan, milled about the kitchen, the former spooning out yogurt for us while the latter blended himself up a killer-looking smoothie. Jon was preparing for a workday, so I ate quickly and got out of their hair to take away that Guest Vibe.

Google Maps led me on a winding path out of the city and I missed a turn or two along the way. While I'd enjoyed my time in the area so far, it is a tight city for CJ to navigate and I was happy to get her back on the highway. Only about an hour later, I pulled into the low-profile, relaxed city of Gloucester. I found the Seven Seas Whale Watch office and parked in a big open lot beside it. The bay peeked through the scattered buildings and played host to actual fishing boats, while a thick, briny smell washed back over the docks and into town. It struck me as a mixture of Cobh and Stone Harbor, especially once I'd collected my ticket and walked further into town to find hobby shops, used bookstores, and a coffee shop called The Lone Gull that the whale watch receptionist had recommended.

It was about 10 am and I had until 1, so I spent a few good hours in the coffee shop reading Jon's book and people-watching.

Finally, the time neared to set off on the expedition. I returned to the lot, doused myself with sunscreen, unpacked and repacked my bag, and joined the growing line of whale watchers at the dock. I kept to myself in line, feeling a simmering glee that I wanted to preserve. When they let us on, however, I grinned at each crew member before bolting to the empty bowsprit. It was about four feet wide, larger than I expected, but even as the line filed into the boat, I had it to myself except for an older photographer.

I missed the opening announcements due to a call from my new healthcare system (Huzzah!) but tapped back in to hear that we'd potentially be going 26 miles out to sea to look for the whales. It dawned on me that I would actually lose sight of the land for the first time ever. Then, a kind older woman on the crew came up and asked me to briefly step back while she cast off the bow. Despite seeming like someone who, if she worked in an office, would have a candy dish on her cube, her smile turned serious and when the call came, she whipped the thick rope off the dock with just a flick of her wrists and then wound it around two posts before I could tell what had happened. She then smiled again and retreated into the cabin to sell snacks. Baller.

The ride out of Gloucester Harbor was bracing, with the water slashed by the bow and the wind picking up. Our guide Jodi pointed out landmarks on the shore, but I had my eyes set beyond the the Dog Bar Breakwater, waiting to get out onto the unbridled sea for the first time.

As we continued, people began meandering forward, unsurprisingly. The attraction of the bow lies in the open ocean before you, the ability to blank out the world behind, and the feeling of being on the sharpest point of this motorized blade cutting through the water. Leo said it best, I'm King of the World. Hear that, five to ten people who quoted that line that day? LEO SAID IT BEST.

After a significant ride out, perhaps 45 minutes, we had our first sightings. Two Minke whales, one on each side, were spotting swimming quite a ways away from our path. Jodi told us we'd continue on, as the Minkes would avoid the ship and didn't really breach or otherwise surface that often. Still, it was an exhilarating sight to catch such a large wild animal making its way along.

We then settled in for a fairly long period of inactivity. A mother and daughter pair who had spotted the Minkes manned the front of the bowsprit while a tall, pudgy teenager and I split either side. There was no discussion of the division of duty, but it arranged itself silently, as though we'd all received our orders when handed our tickets. By this point, we were far out of sight of land, which turned out to be less of an overwhelming feeling than I expected. There was simply ocean in all directions with only the wake of our boat and the specks of others to break up the natural surface of the water.

Jodi pointed out that another whale watch boat in the distance had found a few whales and said we'd follow up with them later if we couldn't find anything else. Shortly after, we happened upon two whales who were drifting on the surface of the water, their backs like black islands bobbing in the waves. Jodi informed us that they were doing what is called "logging," a form of resting where whales rest half of their brains at a time. These two had formed a temporary association for the purpose as, to my surprise, baleen whales do not actually swim in pods.

We watched the whales, identified as Perseid and Storm, bob and spout for a while before they dove and resurfaced on the other side of the boat. We could see their fins underwater, their tails when they dove, and once one stirred enough to tip his lip up into the air beside us, but never a full breach to get a sense of the full length of them. The size was still very impressive, however, easily the largest animals I've ever seen.

After those two, we switched with the other whale tour and caught up with some much more active whales. Three of them swam through the water, diving deep for fish and returning to the surface. We all ooh'd and aah'd with the spouts and flukes and waited impatiently during each dive until the whales popped up several dozen yards away. It was truly a thrill.

At last, it was time to return, but not before checking one final spot, where we found two more whales. By that point, my brain felt stuffed with the experience and I wanted to be back on shore, so I tucked myself up on a bench on the starboard side, shaded from the now-blaring sun, and read a bit before calling my friend Sophie to finalize plans for the next day's brunch.





Once back in the harbor, we filed off the boat, where I thanked all of the crew for the excellent experience, specifically appreciating the bow crew member who had shown such aplomb in her duties.

The road back to Boston found me a little tired, but I still managed to stop for some dinner at Kelly's Roast Beef, a quick spot with a robust menu. Back in the city, I also grabbed some beers for Jon and I to have that night.

As we had the night before, we spent Tuesday night chatting about life, writing, relationships, and everything else we could think off, this time with cigars and beers in the backyard under a broad-branched tree that protected us from an evening shower.

"I went Skyyyyyydiving"

I decided to include this entry I wrote on a private journal about my first time jumping out of a perfectly good airplane...I was just planning to include it for the experience, but it was fun finding some of the earliest trickles of the raging personal river I find myself on now.

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December 14, 2014

Today I went skydiving.

It was a long drive down to Thomaston, but music took me down the road well. In fact, with my Maui Jim shades on, Scythian on Pandora, and a date with the sky up ahead, it was one of the more restorative drives I’ve had in a while. 

I got to Skydive Atlanta about half an hour early and, after patiently waiting while a new registration girl learned the ropes, I was ushered into the hangar to wait. The building was buzzing with activity: a muscly dude repacked chutes with occasional grunts along a broad mat stretched across the floor; two jumpers lay on little trolleys discussing formation technique; there were even two or three dogs wandering around snuffling at palms and nudging at helmeted heads. The scattered staff appeared to carry the joie de vivre I'd expected, all adrenaline and “dude” and complicated handshakes.

I watched quietly as a young girl and guy get suited up and have an opening shot to the video of their impending jump. Then they and about half the hangar cleared out to the tarmac, where they filled the small but formidable-looking plane just beyond the open hangar doors. 

When the time came for my training, I expected it to be me and a bunch of others, but my tandem instructor, Noah, simply grabbed me into the preparation room and started giving me the basics one-on-one.

I should say that at no point in the process was I ever truly afraid or doubtful. I hope it doesn’t speak to some deep-seated death wish that I didn’t worry at all about the prospect of disaster. On the contrary, I felt like I spent the training trying with every expression to convince Noah I didn’t need him to reassure me. But still, I listened carefully and when Noah told me the few things I’d have to do (kneel at the airplane door, arch my back when we left, hold my hands up as we fell, and lift my knees as we landed), those responsibilities became the only things I actually felt some stress about. Not "would I die?" but "would I get it wrong?" Noah himself was a delightful skydiving elf, about a foot shorter than me with a surfer’s blonde hair and a great attitude. If I HAD been freaked out, I think he’d have dispelled it rather quickly.

Once geared up, I have to say I felt like quite the bad ass. Whether it’s the full-body jumpsuit or the tightened harnesses (no comment), it just feels like some badass shit is going down. Noah checked the chute and then, quick as you please, led me out to be the first to climb into the now returned and empty plane. The rest of our flight filled out behind me, all single jumpers. The ones near me were particularly kind and reassuring about my first trip and matched my enthusiasm when I told them how excited I was. 

Then, in a surprise thrill I hadn’t considered, we took off while facing backwards, only nominally belted to the plane. I watched as the airfield disappeared below and smiled back at Noah whenever he shouted forward facts and encouragement. 

The first of our fellow jumpers got off super early in an effort to qualify for a certain higher level of certification. Noah said he essentially had enough time to right himself and rip. That was a little terrifying to think about, and I was thankful when he soon afterward clipped himself to me and cinched us together. 

We climbed and climbed until, at last, the door opened again. At this moment, I got to be a part of something cool. Each of the jumpers in front of me turned to each other and started giving a quick handshake, a slip and pound, before turning to another person to do the same. And shortly after I realized what was happening, the four jumpers nearest me offered a hand to do the same. I’m sure it’s all commonplace for them, but it felt like a true bonding gesture, whether it’s meant to convey a shared sense of awesomeness or a tacit recognition that, in a rare, rare instance, we could be the last people someone sees. I don’t mean to be a worrier with the latter…I actually find that explanation more comforting. 

Of course, my pulse did climb as the others started dropping out and Noah pushed us closer to the open door. After everyone else had left, I knelt with him behind me, my knees at the lip of the opening, with only open air beneath us. Then, as he told me he would, Noah rocked me back, forward, back, and then out. I arched back as instructed, while my brain tried to take in the fact that we were flipping through the air at 14,000 feet and looking up at the plane we’d just left. 

The free fall once we righted was thrilling, but also a little intense. It's nothing that would deter me from doing it again, but I definitely felt the air ripping past my neck. All the more reason to shed some pounds perhaps. 

Soon, though, Noah pulled our chute and we came to a slow glide above the world. It was gorgeous beneath us, all green fields and water, blue sky and sun. It was a strange delight to be drifting so high above the world and to be having a conversation with another person.

Noah spun us a few times around, then circled us over the airstrip. My friend Amber had told me to prepare for some deep thinking, and sure enough, I thought, "If I'm not scared of jumping out of a plane, then why the hell should I be afraid of any of the other choices I want to make in life?" I will figure everything out in time. If anything, the drive today made me think about spending my sabbatical out on the road, traveling the highways for days at a time, staying with friends, just making my way through this country. I’m thrilled to try it. 

We came in for an exciting landing back at the airfield, drifting over the plane that had taken us up. As we were climbing, Noah and the others had discussed the fact that I could no longer say I landed in every airplane I ever took off in. That thought charmed me and I almost wanted to stick my tongue out at it as it taxied in…as though it hadn’t intended to release me out the side. 

A few clips and de-gearing later and Noah presented me with my jump certificate…even now I have no idea where it is. I didn’t get a video either. I just waved at him as I left the hangar and got in my car. The purpose of jumping today wasn’t to document it, to prove it to anyone, or to do something with friends. The point was for me to go out into my world and experience it myself. To show myself I could do something. If I learned anything today, it’s that I don’t have a lot of fear in my heart. And that is truly something interesting to find out.

Thanks to Noah Slagle and everyone at Skydive Atlanta!

A Familiar Road

A week and a day after leaving my job of eight years, I pointed my packed up Hyundai Azera (named CJ) northward to make my way to Havre de Grace, where my mother has lived for nearly ten years.

I've been driving between the Mid-Atlantic and Atlanta for a decade, since I spent my sophomore year Spring Break carving a long arc through my friends' schools in the Southeast. That trip was broken up into six hour chunks, so nothing too heinous to do in a day, but it was then that I began to notice my indifference to long car rides. I think I spend enough time mulling things over in my head that having uninterrupted miles before me is like designating the time for thinking, all the while closing the distance between me and people I love.

As I tested my love of the road, those six-hour chunks became a two-day drive to Atlanta after graduation, which then became a one-day drive with my roommate Tom to keep me company, until ultimately I was getting up in Washington and going to bed in Atlanta all by myself. In fact, I even added two extra hours to some trips by cruising out I-66 in the dark hours of the morning to drive along Skyline Drive at sunrise. In summer and in winter, that tradition made for some stunning experiences.

This time, Tuesday, July 14, I got a later start than I have in the past, thanks to some last-minute packing to fill out every inch of the interior besides my seat. The sun was up, if a little shy, and I hit a decent chunk of traffic making my way around Atlanta to I-85N. Soon, though, I was coasting along towards South Carolina with podcasts, my Loaded Questions cards, and a barrage of Diplomacy-related e-mails to keep me company.

As before, the thrumming of the road beneath me sparked my thoughts and, for the first time since I'd left work, I was able to contemplate the notion of being done with a job I'd had for nearly eight years. The vacant space in my mind yawned and echoed; what would I put in the place of daily task lists and interest rate movement? Would I be stress-free or would the open-ended plan of mine keep me up at night?

Thankfully, the blue sky and cottony clouds pulled me back into the present and I took in the trees whipping by with a contented sigh. Regardless of what comes next, I am done with that stage of my life for now and the scenery that had often soothed me from the troubles of work now created a Zen-like calm. 

I had planned to camp overnight shortly after crossing into Virginia to break up the ride into its former six-hour chunks, but reaching that area at 1:30 in the afternoon, I still felt invincible and so decided to soldier on to make it all in one go. I-81 through Virginia can be a bit of a gauntlet, but the weather was gorgeous and one would have to be pretty hardened not to enjoy the farmland and hillsides backed by the strains of Carbon Leaf (which I always load up for these drives).

The last few hours between DC and Havre de Grace proved the toughest, but thankfully the Nerdist podcast got me through, so at about 8pm, I backed up my mother's driveway and pushed down the parking break. I smiled as her garage door opened for her to come out and greet me. On the verge of this big American adventure, it's nice to know that I can still crush 734 miles in a day and add six hours on a whim. This is going to be a fun few months.