“I am haunted by waters”
-Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It
BLUF: Between some phenomenally good things happening at work and some very bad family health stuff, I will have to push my second around Ireland attempt to next summer (2025).
I’m planning to use the time to step up my training and build my endurance to go as fast as possible next year, with a goal of not just finishing but getting around in a competitive time.
I have lots of shorter trips and micro adventures planned this summer, I will be supporting others taking their laps and joining some of them on the water, and I’ll be writing about all that here. But, unfortunately, I won’t be able to go off the grid for the six to eight weeks I need to get around Ireland.
Like any amphibian, I head for the water when things on land aren’t going well.
When I was a kid, my dad had a small stroke while he was on a business trip in Africa and the rest of our family was on vacation on the Gulf Coast of Florida. Even though I knew this day would come——he was in his 60s when I was born——it still felt like a sucker punch of too much reality.
I ran down to the beach and hit the surf. I swam out until I thought I saw a shark, then sprinted back into the surf zone, where I let the waves thrash me for a while. There was refuge in the salty vastness and the indifference. Being held down by a wave has always felt strangely soothing.
A few years later, at a rock-bottom moment in my 20s, a mentor got through to me by likening powerlessness to trying to stop a wave.
My father crossed the Atlantic as an immigrant and the Pacific as a U.S. Marine.
His self-medication for the mental and physical wounds of war mostly took the form of sea-going hobbies. He modified his swim stroke to work with one good arm. Taking small, open boats a long way offshore, he would find a peace and quiet that eluded him pretty much everywhere else.
His father, also a partially disabled veteran who developed MS later in life, retired to Jamaica, where he would drag himself across the sand for his morning swim. The sea gave him back the mobility and strength that had been taken from him on land.
My mom learned to sail at Community Boating on the Charles River in Boston, a program that teaches inner-city kids to sail for the price of printing and laminating their membership card. She mastered a single-handed Daysailer at a time when taking a swim in the Charles meant a trip to Mass General Hospital to get your stomach pumped. That’s the “Dirty Water” the Standells sang about.
Her father, a child of The Depression, joined the Navy so he would always have hot meals and a bed.
Mom signed me up for my first kayaking lessons, in the Charles, when I started grade school and needed an outlet for a severe case of ADHD that had me climbing anything that would hold my weight and doing parkour between the desks in the classroom.
When she was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, I had a chance to thank her for introducing me to a sport that would change my life by using my dream trip to raise money for a cure.
A recent short documentary, Wild Sea, about the sea kayaker Jeff Allen, captures the healing power of the ocean beautifully. Speaking of his expedition around Japan, Allen says,
“I would paddle as hard as I could. I can remember so much anger venting itself. But what I found was no matter how hard I would stab the ocean with that blade, it would yield. It would accept all of my energy.”
Over the past few weeks, I’ve brought all the feels out on the water with me.
Anger at being powerless over my parents’ health caused me to P.R a 5K time trial.
As my carreer takes a positive turn, I’ve brought my imposter syndrome offshore, where I’m constantly reminded of my hard-won competence and comfort in a dangerous environment—a skill that transfers into many areas of life. Traveling a long way from safe landing in a tiny vessel is a powerful reminder of how small your life and your problems are. The sea does not care, and that’s a good thing.
As I process the tough decision to postpone the trip, our “Great Green Mother” keeps offering reminders that there’s so much more to the life of a waterman than ambitious journeys.
The other day, a 7-nautical mile crossing turned into a whale watch as a minke whale swam alongside my boat for a while.
Last weekend, Dominique and I paddled a short distance for dinner around a campfire and a feral overnight with friends. When we got back to the harbor, some tourists watching us unload the boats asked us how far we’d paddled.
“About 10k,” we told them.
They didn’t know kayaks could go that far…
Aloha,
- Charlie
P.S. When I’m not having adventures, I’m helping other people write about theirs. If you or someone in your circle has an amazing story to tell, I'd love to hear it. I have some availability for new ghostwriting and editing projects.
Kokatat is the official gear sponsor of The Lap.
The lap will be fueled by Resilient Nutrition’s Long Range Fuel and bars.
Expedition coffee by 3fe.
CH Marine will be providing a VHF radio and other safety equipment.
Camp kit and cooking gas provided by Paddle & Pitch. Trolley by KCS.
REAL Field Meals at a discount from Adventure.ie.
Thanks for your updates, reflections, and the whale moment. We've got you in our hearts.
Keeping your family in my thoughts!