The Mis- & Un-Adventures of my So-Called Adventurous Life

Staying calm around bears & capsizing kayaks near Port Nellie Juan

We were anchored in a long narrow inlet yesterday.

The morning was cloudy and wet, the perfect excuse for staying cozy inside (the boat) and working on all sorts of boring things that benefit from the focus cloud cover gives me.

I needed to add all those crazy Costco goodies, like Bitch’n sauce and Tzaziki that I got on our whirlwind trip to Anchorage to the next expedition’s menu plan and research this new “Instant Pot” we bought from friends there after a few cocktails made it seem like a good idea. Now it seems both big for our little galley and quite techno-complicated for my rather primitive/intuitive cooking style.

All the while as I compulsively compared NYT recipes to Endeavour’s own cookbook and other remarkably unimportant things I thought about the irony that my life is so often called adventurous by others; that I am out on yet another one of my “adventures”.

The truth is so very different. When we are in between expeditions like now — life here on Endeavour can be remarkably small and simple. There are no social events to schedule, or even socializing at all. It’s just the two of us, and Bella, the boat dog. There are no errands to run or places to run them. There’s no shopping opportunity, retail therapy or fashion statements to be made; no conflicting commitments, or “honey-do”s. My to-do list that drives my life at home starts seems to dwindle as soon as I step on board. Not that they all get done, they just seem less important out here.

What gains in priority here is noticing the slow quiet rhythm of the rain starting up, learning the peeping sound of otter pups as they swim along with their mother’s chest; learning that I can whip up lunch from leftovers without dipping into the provisions otherwise earmarked. I wonder at my easy contentment with these little things. I wonder if it seems too good to be true. Or if I’ll get bored? Or reach nirvana? Maybe I already have.

There is no high drama. There is just sitting here, wrapped and reading with tea — like I would at home, but with less temptation and distractions. I get high enough with every quiet cove we anchor in, glacier, or harbor seal we pass.

I pondered this simplicity until the afternoon skies lifted. I asked the captain if he might like to go kayaking — to check out the end of the inlet we’d overnighted in. He went below to get ready, I decided to get even more ready and get into the kayak tied off of our stern. I noticed the kayak’s narrow opening was narrower than I was used to, from the get-go. So it wasn’t surprising that I had to shift and squirm around to finally get all the way in. But — I’m not sure I ever did though.

In the snuggling-in attempt, the tipping got worse, until like a film in slow motion, there I went — into the water. Covered in rain gear, jackets, boots, and whatever else was supposed to come with me — like — of course, my iPhone. But I wasn’t thinking about it right then. I was thinking first of all the water wasn’t as shockingly cold as I’d assumed. The cold wasn’t going to kill me.

I swam to the stern, but sadly these two replaced shoulders of mine don’t have the strength to heave the rest of our body up and out. Now what? Captain Bill has no idea I’m getting into a boat, so he’s in no rush. Can he hear me when I yell? ….No. How about louder? ….Nope. And it’s not worth trying to get back in the capsized culprit of a kayak. So there’s little I can do but hang on and laugh at myself. Laughing seems better than panic.

It feels good to at least move around — like it might keep me warm longer. In my kicking a bit my foot hit the boat. The thud it makes on the hull is perfect. I start to pound on it. Captain will notice that. And eventually, he does. Eventually — probably four minutes from initial dunking, my captain comes out to see what the racket is, with the perfectly ridiculous question — “What are you doing?” Maybe it’s a good question…what was I doing? — besides trying to get out, dry, warm, and live?

Once I was all of those things, Captain was surprised that I wanted to go out again. He seemed impressed — either by my clumsiness, or my ability to laugh it off. Luckily my phone seemed as unphased as I was. So off we went into even tinier, even quieter coves off of ours. Eagles flew over us to check us out. The water was dead calm and clear enough that we could see the fish we were paddling over. It was then I spotted the bear in the meadow straight ahead. Like my earlier baptism, no need to panic. Let’s just assess the situation. First, it’s only a black bear. And yes, they swim, but why would he want to? He’s surrounded by fish and I have nothing that smells good with me. I’ll just hang here and enjoy this perfect moment. 

But I know full well that one person’s perfect adventure can be merely a preface for the next guy. Bill wanted to paddle up for a closer look/deeper connection/little talk with the bear. I have no such need, but was delighted to stay back and watch. I am in my heaven with just this much adventure— one not-even-near-death and a couple of wild-beast-not-close encounters are just fine enough for me.

And, on a deeper level, I know these aren’t the scary things. These aren’t what makes my life adventurous — or not. Not these and not the storms, or dealing with mechanical failures. Dating for a year, that took courage, that was an adventure. Using it as a journey of self-discovery and growth — that took some guts. To drill down in the process to own what you are looking for; what you and your soul need, versus what your ego craves. To come out swinging, still optimistic and laughing, willing to go on, that part is pretty adventurous, whether we’re 68 or 28.

The real adventures for me are about looking close up — not at a bear, but honestly at my life, my fears and insecurities, joys and dreams, and the habits I’ve formed around them all. Learning what it is I want and why — in life, and love. Learning to trust myself and others well enough to let go — of expectations, and fears of judgment or rejection. To learn to laugh at least most of it off…. Now we’re talking adventure.

I’m hoping to be adventurous enough to dive deep enough into those waters and write about all that, but for now, I’m happy to be dry — and living this sweet, sometimes quiet life.