Hypothetical questions: If you had to flee your burning home and only had time to collect a few items, what would they be? If you were shipwrecked in the South Pacific, what would be five things you’d like to have with you?
Have you ever actually had to act upon the crunch of time and panic of emergency? It’s an interesting moment of clarity and confidence, since the choices made in that moment will carry through and define each moment that follows.
After we had made the decision to leave the rattling and frightening beached Kayak at sunrise and low tide, I prepared for the dawn escape. I threw my most valuable possessions in a waterproof stuff sack and a pelican case, a bon voyage gift from my lovely and wise friend Dana to protect what I had worked so hard for : my passport, wallet, telephone, computer and journals. “Brian, when we leave the boat, these must come with us,” I requested, as a back up plan. It’s interesting how your brain works in an emergency: lucid yet crazy, forgetful yet clear.
Cushions from the benches in the galley had flown to the low side of the boat in the impact, so I fashioned a place to sit against the cupboards and stove, held in place by gravity due to the pitch of the boat, knees drawn in, comfortably and cradled. Although my body wasn’t moving, my mind was racing and alert, thinking thinking thinking of our options, of what daybreak would look like, of the past week ‘s crossing, of my family. I prioritized our safety, more for the sake of people who loved me, in order to curb any suffering they would feel if I didn’t make it back. I made a list in my mind of who to call when we could, and schemed a plan to make it back to familiar soil as soon as possible.
Brian followed my lead and sat close to me, although this time I didn’t mind because any comfort was welcoming in our predicament. We talked and lamented our situation and the events that led to it, regretted the immediate causes and dug deeper to the roots of this pickle. I recited lyrics to ALO’s BBQ, using the power that music holds over me to describe and assess a situation.
“The road is long and windy like a good mystery unfolding
It twists and turns in colorful subplots and sunburns and fake out endings
And sometimes my patience in the whole process starts bending
As I attempt to unravel the web by traversing and rehearsing and perversing along the doubt-laden extension chord thread of my life
And in this life we’re free to dream whatever we want to
But that doesn’t mean that your dreams are gonna come true
Instead as a way of getting us to move
Life dangles your dreams in front of you
And unable to resist the temptation, we continue
And it’s clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities that keep turning in and turning out
Yes it’s clear to me that this life is gonna be
All about the dangling possibilities
The road is long and windy
Full of twists and turns
But before you can rise from the ashes
You’ve got to burn baby burn
Welcome to your barbeque
Where we roast all the dreams
That never came true
Welcome to your barbeque
Pig out and dream a new
“
The crew of Kayak also forgave and felt as low as ever, felt faivre, felt crushed dreams…day dreams that we had lived and shaped for years prior to this conversation on the atoll.
Still shaking like a wind-up toy, I pulled out medicine to calm my nerves : tequila. Alcohol became the medicament of choice over the next few days. Just a few swigs brought me back to equilibrium, in mind, not in boat. B indulged more than I, most likely because his state of mind, body, and consciousness needed it to even survive the amount of strain that he was experiencing.
B tried to sleep for 3-4 hours, until sunrise and low tide, our escape from the wreck and into the unknown, which seemed a better choice than inside a trecherous tin can. Sleep was impossible for me, with the sound of the ocean, a relentless reminder, with the stress, unlike any other I had felt before. Experiencing its physical effects, cortisol and adrenaline stronger than any espresso drink, I continued to read, an autobiography of a life in stark contrast to my own. I finished Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Aliin just 2 days of our crossing between the Marquises and the Tuamotos. Brought into the suffering, hope and solutions of many other women who suffer because of geography and religion, sharing their sentiment and learning of their plight, I attempted to ignore my own as I was contorted in the doorway to the hatch to remain in place and upright in a tilted, unnatural environment.
Once the book was complete, the immediate danger mitigated and my hormone levels returning to normal, I felt the need to lightly sleep. Daylight was a couple of hours away, so I laid on the galley cushions kitty-corner to where I had been knocked awake violently just a few hours previously. My feet were against the armrest so that I didn’t slide down with gravity and I kept my knees locked and legs straight to remain sleeping at the angle of the bench. In my wearisome state, my knees would relax and I’d slip a few inches down with gravity. Awaking with a start, the waves again were a constant reminder of the predicament that I was in.
First light gratefully came at 5am. I pulled myself along and climbed the cabin uphill to take a look at our surroundings. Propping my ass comfortably at the edge of the hatch, usually 90 degrees but now an angle for a Kelly-cradle, my jaw gaped : Coral shelf extended for about half a kilometre wide, from the ‘large’ and open ocean to the lagoon. Low tide exposed the massive and gradual curve of the atoll’s edge, creating a perfect circle in both directions yet fading in the distance beyond eyesight. Large waves broke in curl and wash traveled along the atoll’s surface until its power was spent. Some small motus, or land masses, small islands, measuring only 1-200 metres long were about a kilometer away, perfect shipwreck sandy banks with characteristic palms and turquoise waters surrounding them. The lagoon to starboard side stretched as a calm lake surface further than my mind could conceive. The colours of sunrise were amazing, as ocean surface and open sky a pink to match the rock shelf that we were perched upon. Natural beauty contradicted our grave situation, and fear and uncertainty arose again. If we had been floating, sailing, sleeping, in Canada or on the moon, this beauty would still occur, still exist, despite any awake or present human eyes to view, grasp or appreciate. There is beauty in despair, beauty regardless of conception, beauty for the sake of the earth spinning, for scrutiny and for security.
Again I tried to radio PANPANPAN, explaining our predicament in English and in French, this time loud and with urgency, as opposed to the wavering and fearful voice from six hours ago. No answer. Not sure what we were expecting.
I began to pack again, this time with more time to think and process, for a trip to the village that was ”due north” of our current coordinate. We decided that paddling through the atoll was the most ideal next step, of taking initiative to deal with our naufrage. Pulling our PLB, personal location beacon, makes an emergency call to any nearby ships or radio receivers, without a message to shape the response. Since we were complete and sound of health and relative sanity, we decided against it, and to make our way to a place with a confirmed population. Brian had a friend who visited Raraka a few years ago, and this reference was the reason that we were heading towards the village and pass in the first place.
Unsure of the distance or the outcome after reaching the village, or if I would return to Kayak ever, I forced myself to choose the most important items for my backpack, besides, of course, the immediate and emergency response upon first impact. With my technique of Throw Shit in a Bag, I packed up half of my clothes, first aid supplies, toiletries for one…two…three…how many nights? I bundled up my French books, from studying in Quebec and the dictionary, lights, lighters, my jewelry, which all had life long sentimental meaning and gifts that I had received from my lovely friends on Ua Pou, Rudla and Kohu (flowering rock, carved bone pendant). Feeling the intensity of sunrise and knowing that our low tide window would be short, I frantically packed a container with foody snacks : crackers, nuts, fruit, chocolate. I filled any bottle, canteen, urn or container that I could with water for the voyage. There was a lot of flotilla in the water as I pumped it from one of the two tanks, most likely due to the major slosh that they had received, churning up any sediment that had rest over the years since the tanks were flushed last.
Thinking along this pattern for the first time, we overlooked some essentials. We packed flares, but in haste forgot the more intense flare gun. Packing the GPS we left the epirb (PLB) and extra batteries. We forgot binocs. Rookie mistakes. I donned my compass like bling around my neck, purchased for the first week of Outdoor Recreation Management. I packed my small knife and B forget his newly acquired coconut slicing machete.
Now, what to wear for saving self from shipwreck? I didn’t bother changing my tshirt and shorts from my slumber while we were still afloat, but I learned during our crossing, due to the novels consumed, that shoes were important! I ensured that Brian and I were both wearing our sneakers for best sole protection on the atoll, a network of jagged rocks, urchins, coral and other nasties that would cut our perpetually bare sailing feet on first contact, rendering us useless and immobile. Thank you Thor Heyerdahl, for your tip and wreck from Kon Tiki! Maybe you proved nothing but the fact that it’s possible to sail a balsa wood raft across the pacific, that flying fish are edible and will make you delusional (https://greenintheblue.net/2011/06/07/day-25-flying-may-28/) and that your feet are important!
As I was assembling and collecting essentials for our journey, Brian was on deck attempting to launch the dingy by himself. Perhaps he was attempting to mend or fix our predicament by working alone, but a smashed apart dingy or captain swept under the boat in a strong wave would not be a beneficial occurrence to our already shitty situation. I came to help him drop the dingy on the rocky shelf, closer than any other surface we’d launched it on to. The row boat hung at a 45 degree angle from the mast, attached to the whisker pole halyard, over the reef and the wash, of less significance due to low tide. Before the boat was lowered and placed on land, and knowing the communication issues that B and I had in the past, I asked, and at the same time tied our survival to each other: “Please be clear with directions so we do this smoothly and safely. If something happens, I can’t do this without you.”
Just as the ocean rises and falls, so did my fear and uncertainty. Given a task or an idea to execute, I could focus and the emotions would fade away or become suppressed. In an idle moment, however, fear and uncertainty would arise again, coursing through my veins. Urgency grew as time ticked and tide turned, beginning to rise. There was a great gap of an unknown outcome to our next few steps. I began to rush, perhaps inflicting that sense upon Brian as well. I wanted to leave Kayak ASAP but I forced myself to breath deeply and take time to think clearly, which was hard with the waterfall of thoughts, ideas, what ifs, regrets, hopes, if onlys, song lyrics a melange in my head. (at this moment it was John Butler Trio’s Better Than…”Don’t let it get the better of the you…”)
I began to haphazardly haul our essentials for the “trip to town” from the V berth in the belly of the beast to the galley, then through the workshop, up the stairs to the cockpit and passed them overboard to Brian who had already jumped ship and was on the atoll. This was incredibly challenging as the boat was tilted over in such a way that walking was more like sliding or slithering along the downward side of the boat, and with two hands full of gear, each step was awkward and frustrating. When Brian had received each armload, he ferried them to the waiting dingy, about 20 feet from Kayak as to not be washed or tipped over by the small waves that continued to lap the edge of the atoll and smear themselves under the boat.
Once our essentials were off board, we closed the hatches yet left the main hatch open. At time of writing, I can’t remember the reasoning for this, besides perhaps if someone came along and needed something, or if we weren’t able to be around to explain the lock, the cabin would still be able to be accessible. By this time of the morning’s events, I still hadn’t stepped down on to my first atoll. Apprehensively and between unseen large waves that were cresting and breaking on the port side of Kayak, I jumped from the low side of the tilted wreck and hoped that a rising tide rogue wave wouldn’t wash me out without warning. The sea swirled around my ankles and my nerves calmed slightly, finally, once I was off of the steel thunder looking like an alien on the land.
Green in the Blue 
