Alaska 8 - Heading Back South
We are slowing making our way south back to WA. I had best intentions of blogging often while in Alaska but that is not what happened. I started to recap our time after arriving in Juneau where Dido and Chuck departed and thought to myself that I have one of two options in writing that up. The first is to keep it short, which isn't my forte. The second is to do it live or in person which I would love to do at any point, as often as needed. And the the second is to write a book -- that may come some day but that moment is not now.
Suffice it to say that our time with Ardentnauts 3 (Monique, Randy, and Mary), 4 (Erica and Bob), 5 (Dayna and Thomas), and 6 (Sonja and Rob) was really, really fun. Sharing our tiny water home with other people isn't without challenges but the rich relational experience is as valuable as having the peace and quite of having the boat to ourselves. We invite friends on board and then realize we get to live with them for a week, finding out all kinds of things we did not know about each other and in that process deepening our relationship🙂 The other bonus is that it provided a great opportunity to practice acceptance, sharing, and building community -- all part of the Tlingit culture that I wanted to experience and learn about while in Alaska. I expected that education to come in the form of books and museums. Instead it came packaged in the time we spent with our guests.
The scenery and wildlife in Alaska is spectacular. But the true memories of this trip will be the people we shared them with. That also includes the three boats we have been bungee boating with (Tuuli, Solstice, and Salish Dream) as well as people we have met along the way.
After Ardentnauts 6 (my sister Sonja and her partner Rob) left us in Ketchikan we prepared for what we hoped to be slow journey south, stopping in many of the places we had rushed by on our way north in April-May.
Then ...
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I drove Ardent into a rock doing 3-4 knots....
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and it started a whole different kind of adventure.
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Read on if you want to learn about our (ok, mostly my version) emotional trauma and experience from that rock hit. It covers much more than boating.
We had left Ketchikan the previous night and grabbed a buoy in Ice House Cove, about 7 miles south of Ketchikan. On the way out, I said to Laura "there is a rock on the chart that covers and uncovers with the tide. Currently it is covered and we need to make sure we avoid it." 2-3 minutes later I needed to turn to avoid the rock and waited a little too long to avoid a rock I could see on the other side. The currents had also pulled us off course 20-30 feet in what seemed like a much bigger area. So off course a little and turning a bit late I smacked dead on into the rock I had been consciously avoiding. Target fixation is a thing!
We hit the rock with the bottom of the keel. Fortunately we weren't at full speed yet, only doing 3-4 knots. It still sounded like a cannon going off. I repeatedly yelled expletives beginning with F%^&. Once peeled off the rock we immediately checked the bilge and felt fortunate that with no visible water pouring in, we were not sinking.
Fully traumatized at this point we headed back to Ketchikan thinking we needed major repairs. Once on the dock we lifted up all the floor boards and noticed a series of cracks on either side of the keel in ALL the bilge baffles. We also had a diver take videos that showed where we hit on the bottom of the keel and the damage done to the keel-hull joint. There is serious damage.
We focused our attention on sorting out options for where to do repairs. It turns out to be near impossible to get hauled out in Ketchikan during peak season. Furthermore the one shipyard wasn't really interested in hauling out a sailboat -- considered a lower life form relative to fishing boats in these parts -- and several surveyors said they would be suspect of any work that got done there anyway. Not interested in poorly done keel repairs -- that's how they fall off and those are game over scenarios.
We checked into Prince Rupert because that was on our way south but their next available haul out date was mid-September. Not an option.
The best option seemed to be getting the worked done in Wrangle, 90-100 miles north. They had available haul out dates and vendors that could do the work. The estimates we got said the work was going to take months so we also started investigating options for lodging.
Before doing a 90 mile trek I wanted a professional opinion that the boat could handle it given the damage. We called several surveyors (one of whom had referred us to the diver) and while they were very helpful they weren't available for at least a couple more days.
We are clients of Sailing Totem (Jamie and Behan Gifford https://www.sailingtotem.com/) so I wrote Jamie what had happened, sent him the diver videos and pictures of the keel from the bilge. They are cruising in the south pacific and I was so appreciative that he got back to me so quickly (Starlink is amazing, despite Musk's political leanings. Neither uploading or watching videos would have been possible without it). His opinion was that not only could we make it back to Wrangle, but that we could make it back to Washington for the repairs. The caveats to that assessment were:
Monitor changes to water ingress and cracks.
Stay under 10Kts and 1 meter waves upwind
Stay under 20Kts and 2 meter waves downwind.
We pondered a bit and decided that was our best option and left Ketchikan the next day for the 600 miles journey back to Bellingham. We have been following the above guidelines for about 200 miles so far, laying low when weather is forecasted. The boat seems to handle normally and there have been no changes to water ingress or cracks. We check every day before and after we moor.
But the emotional roller coaster of this event has a long tail and even some silver linings.
Both Laura and I were shellshocked after hitting the rock -- for several days. Exhausted, depressed, we could barely move. There was a huge cloud hanging over both of us. We didn't know if our boat safe anymore and even with Jamie's assurances and being as careful as we are going back, there is always a bit of emotional worry underlying this voyage home.
There was the initial, deep sadness that our slow trip home was over. We had been so looking forward to being able to take our time and sail 10-15 kts, have lay over days where we don't move, enjoy the Broughton Islands north of Desolation Sound which I have never explored, and arrive back in Washington sometime in mid October. The fact that the trip was over and it was self imposed, by a momentary lapse of attention and a big mistake made it all the harder.
As Jamie said, "Shit happens." Fair enough. The irony is that as much as I have tried to give up perfectionist tendencies, that is what is required out here. We were fine for 120 days and then in an instant not at all. So as humans -- and imperfect by definition -- if one boats for any extended amount of time, the odds are that mistakes will be made. Hopefully those mistakes (as in our case) only cause boat damage and not bodily harm to anyone. Then the real learning happens in terms of how one processes those events.
What have we learned so far? One thing is that what appears really bad at first may not be so dire after all. At this point at least we have been able to sail a bit, see a few places we skipped on the way up, had amazing displays of whales breaching right in front of us, and a hot springs all to ourselves for a day to name a few. So we are managing to enjoy the trip home. Now, when we get back there will probably be $30,000-50,000 in damage and or they may total the total the boat. But we are insured with a relatively small deductible and we'll cross that bridge when we get back. For now we are enjoying ourselves a bit.
Another thing is being forced to trim our sails far earlier than I was accustomed to. Already with Bob on board earlier on the trip, I learned a few more signs about when to reef and what sail to reef first. Two examples are looking at the rudder for lee (reef the jib first) or weather (reef the main first) helm to balance the sails. The second is looking at the forestay for any lateral bow that would say the it is under too much pressure and the headsail should be reefed. The net is that we haven't been going appreciably slower while reefing both earlier and often yet we have been so much more comfortable. So we are better sailors for all this.
The biggest learning -- by a long shot -- has been allowing myself to experience how painful this is. It was and is traumatic. I made a mistake pure and simple. The charts are accurate, my plotter was working fine, steerage and engine were all behaving normally, there were no distractions or other people on board, etc. Experiencing the pain of that mistake without having anyone or anything to point the blame at is hard. With something as obvious and external as this, it started to dawn on me how much of a pattern that has been in my life. To be explicit I mean blaming and accusing other people for pain that I am experiencing. Or at least I should be experiencing it, sitting with it for a bit, and then moving on. But blaming and accusing -- sometimes with anger, often with rage -- are ways of avoiding that experience all together. So while I agree with "Shit happens" and that wallowing in self-pity serves no purpose, experiencing pain in my case is a huge milestone.
Those that know me casually think of me as a patient, kind, intelligent person. At least some people tell me that. Family and friends that have known me longer have witnessed what I'm taking about in terms of emotional outbursts. In many cases those closest to me have been the victims of those attacks and it has damaged relationships both at home and work. It contributed greatly in my divorce, ending my relationship in Eugene, my son being estranged (time will tell but hopefully is still repairable), loss of friendships, and countless job changes. Laura too has been the subject of some outbursts. I do not know and will never find out how differently those engagements would have turned out if I had behaved differently. Often what I was upset about was an accurate assessment of the situation. It is that way I expressed it that was toxic, prevented any kind of discussion on the topic at hand, and was painful to everyone involved. For that I have great remorse.
My writing about this is not only an apology to all those I have wronged, but it is a genuine effort to not create more toxic moments and instead behave in a way that generates joyful, fulfilling, and loving experiences. I cannot change the past, but I can learn from it and affect the next moment.
For many years it seemed to me that my responses seemed to be a trigger from some kind of trauma. But my knowledge of trauma was limited to those experiencing PTSD from traumatic events of war, violence, abuse, etc. Nothing like that ever happened to me. We were raised in an educated, middle class family in Tucson, AZ and had all our physical needs met. My parents were not perfect, had their share of squabble, distractions, and gave us less guidance than I would have like or needed. But their hearts were in the right place, they did the best they could and they exposed us to the fact that in the U.S. we are not the center of universe. There was never any violence in our family and I can never remember either my dad or mom yelling at me or raising their voice -- not once. I am so thankful for my upbringing and being fortunate to have been born into the time and place I came into this earth. But there were some things missing.
In 2021 I read a book called The Body Keeps Score -- Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel Van Der Kolk. In the early chapters I was having the familiar experience that "yes my outbursts are indicative of trauma and nothing like that ever happened to me." Then I read a section that described a different kind of trauma, one from abandonment and neglect, and that this kind of trauma is much harder to deal with. That hit me like a ton of bricks and once that damn broke, I started reading about this kind of trauma in multiple different sources, the best of which is a book called I Don't Want To Talk About It by Terrence Real. His work on male depression and grandiosity is seminal.
I do not wish the events that happen to PTSD victims on any body, and as previously stated I have never experienced anything close to those kinds of events. However, in treating those patients, there is a previous, known, healthy state that one can revert back to and that is the goal of treatment. I'm over simplifying and I'm not a psychologist but please bear with me here.
Trauma from abandonment and neglect is different. There is no known healthy, joyful, nurturing habit or behaviour pattern to revert back to. The cure is learning the skills of self nurture and those are hard skills to acquire in our culture, particularly for boys. They aren't mentored, taught, or emphasized. I know the whole focus of my upbringing was one of math, science, and career.
With this new found knowledge over the past few years my expectations were that learning how to self nurture would come naturally and that life would expand in fulfilling, fluid, and beautiful ways. To some extent it has and yet the outbursts have continued.
The recent events tell me I may have been looking at trauma as a single faceted term. Yes it can refer to an event that one keeps reliving as if it is still happening in the case of PTSD victims. But the trauma that happens from abandonment and neglect is a non-event, and it is not about what happened or did not happen, but more about what one did not learn.
And in my case I did not learn how to feel pain. Real explains the problem with that. Not developing the skill to experience pain is that it gets replaced with creating the perception of invulnerability and grandiosity. Those behaviours lead to a life of disconnection.
It is what I was specifically taught by my dad. If I had a bad feeling he told me many times "Do another math or science problem" or go to sleep thinking about an intellectual problem. The message was that your feelings and emotional upset are not important. Yes they will pass and acting on them in the heat of the moment is not wise but to imply they are unimportant is a form of abuse.
For my dad that method of dealing with difficult emotions was a relic of Jewish persecution during WWII growing up in Paris and spending time in a Nazi Concentration Camp in Bergen Belsen. At the time it served him well and allowed him to survive. Later in life he realized some of these patterns and had an author do some voice recordings that were eventually transcribed into a French book detailing his emotional experiences called Les Guerres Sont Loin by Alexhandra Kroh. The literal translation is "The Wars are Far Away." My translation is that the wars don't end when the fighting stops. Later it was translated into English and retitled Lucien's Story. Both books are out of print but once in a while you can find a used copy somewhere if it interests you.
Two things led him to write this book in the late 1990s. The first was realizing that racism in parts of France was alive and well. Books were being banned and history professors at universities were teaching that the holocaust never happened. He passed in 2015 and I'm pretty sure he has been tossing and turning in his grave since 2016 when Trump got elected. But what pushed him over the edge was the startling revelation that without talking about these things he transmitted these emotional habits to his offspring much like an architect hands a blue print to a construction crew -- this is how you build it, this is what it should look like, this is how you behave.
But for me and my siblings that method of dealing with emotions was no longer contemporary or useful. On the contrary, never learning the skill to feel pain and express it appropriately has been akin to building a time bomb that goes off at inexplicable times when the pressure builds beyond a certain threshold. Like anything that does not get properly maintained, it breaks down sooner than it should and at inappropriate times. I'm speaking for myself there and how my brother and sister incorporated those learnings in their life is a story for them to tell.
As much as my father was aware of these habits, I don't think he ever really got to the point of learning how to feel pain. If awareness is a step of acknowledging heat, experience is walking through the fire. I asked him one time if I could ever listen the voice recordings that were translated into the book. His response was "Never. The voices on that tape are demonic, so full of anger and hate. No one will ever listen to those." I get it. As I uncork various bottles and let the genie out, I'm always shocked at what spews out under pressure. It was a huge thing that he cracked open the door. Now I'm trying to walk through it and break some of this emotional legacy.
Yes, there have been acts of self care that help relieve that pressure. For the most part cruising on a sailboat has been an extreme version of self-care and enjoyment. There is a lot of time to process feelings out here. I still push myself too hard at times but for the most part I rest when I'm tired -- ask Laura about my naps. I used to over exercise and then use that as an excuse to over eat. My first instinct when we decided to head back to Washington was do get back there are quickly as possible, conduct some kind of forced march which again would have been an effort to not appropriately sit with sadness and grief. Now we are taking our time.
Those are examples of activities I used to engage in an effort not to experience pain. While more socially acceptable than other forms of addiction like alcoholism, drugs, gambling, etc. they are still forms of addiction and undealt with can and have wreaked havoc in the lives of those exposed to it. I should say I engage is those "non-healthy" behaviours less as all this is still very much a work in progress. But until recent events I really wasn't aware that not engaging in those behaviour just allowed space for feeling pain and not necessarily the skill of actually experiencing it when it arises. When painful events arose, I still had very little skill at not reacting in explosive ways, seemingly making the learnings on all the other fronts meaningless.
Perhaps the latitude gained was a little awareness that all this was going on, and has allowed for the seeming breakthroughs happening now. Doing this trip with Laura has also been a godsend because she doesn't react when I turn into the Hulk. That reflection provides a sort of foothold for awareness and change. It allows me to be imperfect and vulnerable.
I typed out an excerpt from the preface of I Don't Want to Talk About It, Terrence Real's book mentioned above. I consider reading this book a gift beyond measure. I was first exposed to his work by Bettina Jensen, a friend in Portland, OR. I also read about his work in a book by Peter Attia called Outlive:
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What I haven't mentioned so far is that I Don't Want to Talk About It is largely autobiographical. In these pages, I speak of my own journey, my own struggles with depression, my own violent past. Depression dogged me throughout my life. Today, I am free of it. And if I can do it, so can you. I am the son of a depressed, angry father. He was the son of a depressed, angry father. I have two boys, thirty-three and thirty-six, and neither of them say that. And that, dear reader, is the greatest achievement of my life.
When you're a writer like I am, you hole up in your little study at odd hours, your family asleep, and try to put your disordered thoughts into a form some reasonable person might be able to follow. You send your brainchild out into the world and hope for the best. if you're lucky, once a while you a get a message back.
A few years ago I received a letter. I told my wife, Belinda, that when I die, if I find myself standing before Saint Pete, I intend to bring that letter with me. Maybe it could help.
Here's what the man told me. He'd been a rager and an unrepentant alcoholic for decades. He read this book, realized he'd been self-medicating a covert depression all these years, took himself to AA, got on some real medications, and turned his life around.
But here's the kicker. He then sent this book, along with a letter, to his own father, who was also a raging, untreated alcoholic and who had been so for fifty-odd years. His father, who he'd not spoken to in decades, also read the book, got himself to AA and into treatment for his depression, sobered up, cleaned up, and made amends to his son. The two of them had a beautiful five years together before the father passed on.
It is never too late.
And so, dear reader, I end with this. If you are reading these words, for whatever it's worth, I hold you in my heart. And I have a prayer for you:
May today be the day that your decide -- not alone but with help, and, Lord knows, not perfectly but doing your sincere best -- that you will be that person. The person with the courage to face the flames and make the change for those who follow.
I am well of aware of the carnage these habits have wreaked resulting in severed relationships. Some of those relationships are beyond repair and others not. Of the ones that I dream about rekindling, it is the one with my son Julian, that I have the biggest hope for. My father's book cracked open a door to breaking a legacy and providing an opening for me to take a next step. This post is a next step and one of my deepest desires is that it provides an opportunity for Julian to take one as well, in an effort to continue dismantling these patterns lest they continue to be passed on to future generations.