Learning to Navigate
Bliss and terror reside so easily in the nebulous element of water. In the past six months my immersion into this has taken me to both of these states and many others in between. The unknown depths, the ever shifting rippling waterscape, the changes that descend, swirl, roar, curl and wane. The horizon and the points at which to aim.
At the beginning of summer I embarked with two experienced female sailors to bring a yacht from Carlingford Lough back down to Kinsale. This involved heading into South Westerly winds and swung from satin smooth dawn motoring to heaving jet black troughs in the early hours of the morning 10kms off the coast of Rosslare in a force 6 blustery gale. For a novice like me I went into a state of non-functionality. Actually let me clarify, I didn’t expect to be curled up fetus-like, clasping my glasses and a head-torch in soggy gloved hands in the bowels of the boat praying for respite. It wasn’t the plan. Originally it had seemed like a little adventure that would usher in summer with a delightful gesture. But my inexperience was clear after hours of a churning sea and the nights’ dark descent. I was no use, I couldn’t take the helm without supervision or read charts or even make hot tea as the swells were too high and everything was being flung around. The boat owner/ skipper brought us in to port at dawn to Dunmore East so we could recover and rest before heading south once again and if the journey had been curtailed there I may have well decided to never set foot on a sailing vessel again. Luckily for me there was no escaping this journey and by the time we sallied through the breakers out of the harbor the next morning I was thrilled to be alive and delighted to have clambered through my swampy chasm of fear.
Fast forward a few months and I have just returned from three days of canoeing and camping. The weather report beamed sunshine, myself and a friend took the plunge to leap out and avail of this window of summer. I scurried off to the bus station clutching my sleeping bag and life jacket and very little else. Even in the optimal space of lake water and islands in a remote place there were some moments of doubt. The wake of motor cruisers and water skiers, the buzzing intrusiveness of an overhead drone and the plummeting depths of silky lake water and rocks that lie close to the surface. The fragile skin of the old fiberglass canoe, all our bedding and bits of technology lightly wrapped in a thin plastic layer. This was easily leavened by easy swimming, starry skies, delicious campfire dinners and quiet. Exquisite moments of stillness, gliding through the peaty-coloured water with water lilies peeking through, elegant swans, tiny shoals of busy fish and a curious mink who popped up repeatedly to inspect our progress as we paddled along. Exploring islands with ruined castles, ivy clad trees and stories of love, land, greed and prayer.
There is something otherworldly when you are immersed in this world of water and avoid combustion engines on the water. Slowly moving towards a point but under your own power. The quietude, breath, being and decisions.
Perhaps true navigation encompasses all of the above; looking for places to land, acknowledging fear and vulnerability, striving for movement but knowing when to rest and when to move with focus. These journeys on water and in water, have been teaching me how to be present and keep learning. I am still the inexperienced wader, clinger and occasional whinger but each time a watery adventure beckons I am adding to my personal chart, expanding my boundaries within and without and seeking flow. Taking the helm from henceforth may involve less grappling with fear and more keen observation for me to become a better navigator.
Like one of those floating seeds or feathers gently gliding along the surface. Carried by the unseen current until they come to rest upon a new home to take root or meld into the sumptuous edge of the larger whole.
Deciding to surrender and immerse keeps us all afloat.
