Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Call me Ishmael
Some years ago---never mind how long precisely---I decided that I was completely enthralled by the ocean. The Ocean, as a title, compels no further explanation; yet at the same time could never be satisfied by one. The depth and abysmal nature of the ocean is only mirrored by our quest for an understanding of it. The ocean is in fact a boundless wilderness.
Annoyingly enough, the retail clothing company Patagonia comes to mind when the ocean mentioned, due to their movement to save it. They advocate for the protection of the 'oceans as wilderness', as if saving the Patagonia region of Argentina wasn't enough. Other things happening in our daily lives bring the ocean back into conscious consideration.
People are always chirping about the massive floating pile of plastic trash in the ocean, as if it was some kind of breaking news only very environmentally minded people are privy to. Yet, no one seems to have a solution for it. I suppose Ahab wouldn't either. Being land locked in Montana really displaces most peoples consideration for the ocean. I was born into a cold mountainous state, spending my first 6 years of life in Park City, Utah. Most importantly, I learned to ski before my 3rd birthday, I now only have a few vague memories that actually connect me to the West.
I think my first real interaction with salt water other than in the Great Salt Lake, was during the many trips I took to Florida, where my grandparents were developing those annoying old people condominiums with the decrepit shuffleboard courts. You know the kind of place. Anyway, even though I was just a baby and have no way of remembering this, I have seen photos of me splashing around in the shallows on the coast of Clearwater, FL.
My next point of infatuation came when I made a cross country move with my family. My parents packed my 5 year old life up into a moving truck and bought a house on the coast of Maine, Cape Elizabeth to be exact. I was suddenly on the Atlantic ocean for the first time in my life. This wasn't the Gulf of Mexico, no that was amateur status. I was now able to ride my tiny bike several minutes to the world's most famous lighthouse.
I began kindergarten and everything was great. I checked out the ocean on the daily, it was as if I had never been without it. There were a few concerns I had. About a mile off shore, was an object called 'the stone house', a pseudonym for a stone lighthouse that had burned sometime during the turn of the century. For lack of a better sentiment, that light house scared the shit out of me. (More on this later)
It, like an ominous white whale, was the bain of my existence. It just gave me the creeps to look at, and even worse I had nightmares about it from time to time. A year or so passed and I moved north up the shore to the town of Falmouth, Maine.
I grew up riding my tiny white Schwinn bicycle to the town landing. I was part of the generation where people didn't have many issues. Everyone seemed to be doing well economically, there weren't that many rules then, people weren't suing people all the time. (read: the 1990's) There was no 'clock' on the wall during this period in my life, a concept I believe is important when analyzing any relationship, particularly in the case of the ocean. (More on the concept of time suspension as it relates to the ocean, to come)
I would spend long days unsupervised on a sandy beach cove, jumping off town owned piers and docks. Braving ice cold Atlantic ocean for lack of knowing better. I remember my first interaction with a boat, when I first moved to Maine. My uncle Richard had a 40 foot sailboat moored in Rockland, ME. I was roughly 7 years old, my brother Elias only 6. I still hadn't come to understand the serious effects of the ocean, the possibilities that it could present anyone seeking passage on it. Our ride was tame for the most part, practically a floating picnic to me, though my brother had an issue with seasickness that keep him in the head below deck for most of the cruise.
Not until I had begun my infatuation with the sinking of the HMS Titanic, did I understand just how barren and vast the ocean can be. It started one day when I was about 8 year old. I was at the Falmouth Memorial Library and I saw a VHS made by National Geographic about the wreckage of Titanic. I borrowed it, and was hooked ever since. Even the title 'secrets of the titanic' speaks to the hidden glory of it all. The huge ship is lost forever in the darkness of 12,460 ft. beneath the surface of the ocean, exactly 1000 miles east of Boston.
Or is it? I feel like the Titanic to me, is like Ismael's perception of the mysterious and inaccessible depths of the ocean. According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette from November 13, 1986 some students might have something to say about the Titanic's final resting place. Trashing Ismael's concept of understanding only the surface of distant, untouchable things, these students have designed a robot that can retrieve the sunken ship. Unfortunately Melville's work is devoid of GPS and heat sensing abilities.
Just a random ass book. Though it made me think of not only the political implications of offshore drilling, but also the exposure felt in the situation. Here, the crews are analogous.
Annoyingly enough, the retail clothing company Patagonia comes to mind when the ocean mentioned, due to their movement to save it. They advocate for the protection of the 'oceans as wilderness', as if saving the Patagonia region of Argentina wasn't enough. Other things happening in our daily lives bring the ocean back into conscious consideration.
This is a photograph of an adult Albatross (Coleridge reference)
found with tons of plastic in its stomach.
Looking to Salt Lake City from Snowbird (my own photo)
I think my first real interaction with salt water other than in the Great Salt Lake, was during the many trips I took to Florida, where my grandparents were developing those annoying old people condominiums with the decrepit shuffleboard courts. You know the kind of place. Anyway, even though I was just a baby and have no way of remembering this, I have seen photos of me splashing around in the shallows on the coast of Clearwater, FL.
My next point of infatuation came when I made a cross country move with my family. My parents packed my 5 year old life up into a moving truck and bought a house on the coast of Maine, Cape Elizabeth to be exact. I was suddenly on the Atlantic ocean for the first time in my life. This wasn't the Gulf of Mexico, no that was amateur status. I was now able to ride my tiny bike several minutes to the world's most famous lighthouse.
Looking at Portland Head from the ship channel (also my own photo)
I began kindergarten and everything was great. I checked out the ocean on the daily, it was as if I had never been without it. There were a few concerns I had. About a mile off shore, was an object called 'the stone house', a pseudonym for a stone lighthouse that had burned sometime during the turn of the century. For lack of a better sentiment, that light house scared the shit out of me. (More on this later)
It, like an ominous white whale, was the bain of my existence. It just gave me the creeps to look at, and even worse I had nightmares about it from time to time. A year or so passed and I moved north up the shore to the town of Falmouth, Maine.
This is the place I consider the foundation for my relationship with the ocean.
I grew up riding my tiny white Schwinn bicycle to the town landing. I was part of the generation where people didn't have many issues. Everyone seemed to be doing well economically, there weren't that many rules then, people weren't suing people all the time. (read: the 1990's) There was no 'clock' on the wall during this period in my life, a concept I believe is important when analyzing any relationship, particularly in the case of the ocean. (More on the concept of time suspension as it relates to the ocean, to come)
Just on the other side of this island, is the creepy white stone tower (my photo)
I would spend long days unsupervised on a sandy beach cove, jumping off town owned piers and docks. Braving ice cold Atlantic ocean for lack of knowing better. I remember my first interaction with a boat, when I first moved to Maine. My uncle Richard had a 40 foot sailboat moored in Rockland, ME. I was roughly 7 years old, my brother Elias only 6. I still hadn't come to understand the serious effects of the ocean, the possibilities that it could present anyone seeking passage on it. Our ride was tame for the most part, practically a floating picnic to me, though my brother had an issue with seasickness that keep him in the head below deck for most of the cruise.
Not until I had begun my infatuation with the sinking of the HMS Titanic, did I understand just how barren and vast the ocean can be. It started one day when I was about 8 year old. I was at the Falmouth Memorial Library and I saw a VHS made by National Geographic about the wreckage of Titanic. I borrowed it, and was hooked ever since. Even the title 'secrets of the titanic' speaks to the hidden glory of it all. The huge ship is lost forever in the darkness of 12,460 ft. beneath the surface of the ocean, exactly 1000 miles east of Boston.
Or is it? I feel like the Titanic to me, is like Ismael's perception of the mysterious and inaccessible depths of the ocean. According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette from November 13, 1986 some students might have something to say about the Titanic's final resting place. Trashing Ismael's concept of understanding only the surface of distant, untouchable things, these students have designed a robot that can retrieve the sunken ship. Unfortunately Melville's work is devoid of GPS and heat sensing abilities.
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