Reflections
by Ally Nobles – Guest aboard Sea Dragon.
When I was a kid, I remember sitting in the backseat of my parents’ car looking out the window to the moon, blank, following me home – or so I’d exclaim excitedly. Some things don’t change. Still as I helm westward in the night, I can look over my shoulder to it rising in the east, eerily aglow and lingering quietly behind me. Demanding nothing more than the chance to illuminate the deck. Before my night watches, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt the moon’s presence pressing on my back.
On my third outing with Sea Dragon since I first come aboard in the spring of 2015, first everything seemed about status quo to what I remembered. Meet new faces, ready the plans, embark. As life goes normally, I arrived exhausted, bloated, anchored down by the influx of events in my recent history. So much overstimulation that I was never able to take a breath before something else came up. The first week on board, going through the Panama Canal was exciting, fitting for my fidgety mood as I transitioned.
As we set up to leave Panama City, however, the distractions began to fade. The wakings and sleepings and duties and simplicity first couldn’t save me from my own head. The first few days at sea slugged by, drowning in my own thoughts: recent break ups, deaths, family trouble, finishing a master’s program. It all overtook me. On my watches, I sat stewing through everything, allowing myself to look back instead of feeling the pang of anxiety about the future. It is rare for us to get this space for reflection. More often than not, I find myself itching about the future. Alas, none of it matters at sea. We can’t change the past; and at sea, it’s nearly impossible to predict, nonetheless control, the future in any capacity. All at once here you are: the present.
photo by Ally Nobles
Jen and I spoke earlier on about our dreams, and the immediacy of correlations our brains were making. At sea, she said, we are no longer putting our brains in overdrive trying to process every thought, and instead the dreams are comprehensible, quieting, sometimes answering, sometimes asking.
Despite the seeming mundanity of not having much wind for sailing, our trip managed to remain stimulating in retrospect. We had many wild visitors, a rescue at sea, engine trouble, unimaginably good weather, sunsets, sights. I have to catch my breath thinking of it all. It doesn’t hurt that the crew on this journey couldn’t have been more fitting for the tone. Everyone is calm. We are all comfortable with each other. The days and watches ebb and meld into each other. Most days, I find myself joining the crew early for watch, or lingering long after I’ve finished my four hours just to sit and talk with the crew I don’t get to hang out with as much since we never overlap.
photo by Ally Nobles
Time has a way, distilled of society, in ceasing while away. We miss days. We might miss friends and family. We confuse dates. Next thing you know, you blink and the journey is over. And the world never stopped turning while you were away. No one more than paused in a breath and thought of you. That’s something. To be nothing for a time. I’m not sure how the country’s foreign affairs are going along. The major natural disasters. The movies and albums that have come out. I stopped finding the reason to wrap myself in it. And transitioning back into society gets harder and harder each time. The necessity of clothes and gadgets get tucked into a back pocket. The conversations about boys and pop culture and “she-said-what” become more and more pointless and suddenly there I am looking at the moon again and wondering where the rest of the crew is then. Each time I get on board it gets harder to get off. Sea Dragon has a way of beckoning and nurturing, but giving you what you need too.
photo by Ally Nobles
It’s wild to think that the hardest part of my time spent on there was not in any of the tasks or tracking or helming or dynamics aboard, but with my own head needed to turn off. My own head to stop spinning. The earth won’t stop spinning sure, and neither will my head I suppose. But the most clarity I’ve ever found was in those silent watches, looking out at something aglow. Finding a constellation and wondering just how small I really am. It’s crazy what you’ll see when you use your eyes. And I mean only your eyes.
The simpler moments of giggles and comradery with taking up the sail, putting it down, making each other tea, working together on celestial navigation, reflecting on similarities in our pasts, contemplating what far off future could be fathomable. When everything is endless, so the preciseness of our being is able to absolve.
photo by Ally Nobles
I’m not sure the next time I’ll get back aboard, though I hope it’s sooner than later. Each time I leave, I’m not only learning more about sailing, knots, lines, helming, and the other numerous ins and outs of life at sea, but I’m learning so much more about myself currently and who I want to become. I get to meet driven, passionate, kind, beautiful, interesting people. The happiest times in recent years have been with my hair slapping my face and wind rushing in my ears. I can’t wait to return.
