If you take a summer stroll along the swaths of Agate Beach, Oregon, you’ll most likely get a glimpse of the diversity of bird life. You might see white gulls effortlessly split the wind in search of prey, Rock Sandpipers dart in and out of frothy swash, and the occasional dark slender neck of a Cormorant before it dives below the waves.
The species of Cormorant that call Oregon home can dive to depths of more than 200 ft in search of fish and small shellfish1. Once they surface, they’ll soar to a nearby tree branch at a selectively windy prominence and spread their wings to dry off. The Cormorant species have relatively less preen oil than most birds, which means their feathers soak in, rather than repel water2. The thought is that the insufficiency of preen oil allows the cormorant to maintain agility underwater while shedding buoyancy, allowing it to spend more time sub-surface in search of prey. What might be thought of as a hindrance to the Cormorant, enables it to be a much more efficient hunter.
There are at least two lessons to be learned from this particular bird. One, we all need rest. In a culture infatuated with the idea that “go go go” will lead to a satisfying and meaningful life, rest continually gets pushed off. Over the long term, you begin to realize you can’t truly live without a little downtime. Two, what might seem a weakness on the outside, can be a strength on the inside. If you are vulnerable with others you trust, for one example (among many), showing your scars, fears, and doubts, this can exemplify the inner strength of being comfortable enough around others and yourself to share who you really are.
What are lessons you can learn from the surrounding nature that you may have taken for granted in the past?
I’ve always been a risk taker. Growing up I relished every chance to fill my personal “jar” of adrenaline complementary to dangerous experiences. Some jars were large, and some small, but by my early college days I had accrued quite a collection.
It began when I was a wee lad. On the many family camping trips during childhood, for example, my parents would fruitlessly attempt to stop me from pinpointing the largest behemoth of a tree and poking my head above the highest (rather thin) branch. Nature called and I simply had to answer.
But, if my risky mentality was a roller coaster ride, it would come clanking to a halt one warm February day in 2019. This story begins with the very thing I’m dedicating my career to now: The ocean.
Where I’m from warm days don’t exist in February, so let me explain. Two years ago a small crew and I were sent to the lush island of Puerto Rico to assist local engineers with restoration efforts in the wake of hurricanes Irma and Maria. A rather exquisite perk of the job, outside of the wonderful people, fried pork, and cheap beer, was the opportunity to stay at AirBnBs during our operation.
One such abode was a quaint two bedroom house nestled against a thick leafy forest. This specific AirBnB happened to be situated mere seconds from a sandy beach, sprinkled with shy fish and the occasional hazardous sea urchin (warning: do not pet the animals). If you take a careless 5 minute meander along this beach, you will come to an abrupt halt, your way barred by an outcrop of limestone, like a larger than life hedgehog permanently keeping the sea at bay.
It was on this hedgehog’s back I scrambled as I made my way to a view of the watercolor blue horizon beyond. Have I sold you on Puerto Rico yet? So there I was, the bottoms of my shoes cut from razor sharp limestone, running up this rock to catch a glimpse of the oceanic expanse. As I summited and looked down, I noticed a rather large finger of rock jutting from the outcrop. This particularly bowl shaped cusp happened to be situated mere feet above a gaping sinkhole. The frothy chasm was the size of a large trampoline, but rather than bounce you back to safety, you would most likely get swallowed only to become quick friends with the ocean floor. The endless waves lapped at the edges of the overlying buttress as I made my way down. Oddly enough, if you sat in the bowl atop this horn, as I promptly did, not even the slightest salty mist would reach your outstretched hand. It’s like you’re on a stationary roller coaster, everything moving below you while you stay put. Soon I felt like that chick in Titanic, except without DiCaprio, of course.
Me to the right of the coaster. Thanks to Gabe Pelletier for taking the shot.
After several minutes of bliss I decided to take the 5 minute jog back to the house and tell my coworker Gabe about the experience. Intrigued, he donned his flip flops and we ambled back to the site. He mainly took pictures of the limestone (see snapshots above and below) while we swapped turns on the “unmoving coaster”. After my rather large daily bottle of adrenaline reached the point of overflowing, we sauntered back to the house and switched on Netflix over plantains and chicken.
Fast forward to the next morning. After a quick breakfast I started packing food for the day, stuffing processed lunchmeat into my old backpack. As I washed my hands I suddenly realized one thing: It’s high tide. With a bolt I ran to the living room and asked if my compadre wanted to take one last ride. Through at least two full eggs worth of scramble I received a muffled, “Nah”. So off I went.
Now here’s what I did not realize:
One: Waves are loud. I could have screamed a slur of profanities at the top of my lungs and no one (save God) would have been blessed with my remarks.
Two: As I scuttled down to the cusp I don’t have the foresight to realize that a soaking wet horn of rock meant something more than rain the night before (which it hadn’t).
Three: Not a soul is there.
I’m sitting in the bowl as the waves surge and break underneath me. My adrenaline meter is off the charts. I’m on the moon. And then, just after I had settled into a divine euphoria, it hit.
In a split second I glanced up and saw a foaming wall of white. I hate to say I can now to some extent relate to the many poor souls caught in an avalanche. When it’s right in front of you there is nothing you can do but brace and hope for the best. My hands grabbed the slippery rock to my side as the impact hit me with full force. For what seemed like an eternity I was at war with the ocean, it’s watery claws successfully starting to drag me from my perch. Slipping. Soaking. Clinging on for dear life. And then…. It’s over. In that split second the ocean funneled back into the sinkhole’s greedy mouth. Like a tossed salad, I was utterly shaken and drenched. You know when people tell you they have an out of body experience? I used to snort, laugh, ask for further explanation. Now I’m quiet.
I sat there too shocked to laugh or cry as the next wave merely sent a gentle mist in my direction. Snapping too, I launched myself from the perch, and from a safe distance above, turned back to look at what may have been my doom. My emotions kicked in and I started crying like those kids who got their candy stolen on Jimmy Kimmel. Crying and thanking the Lord I am alive.
My perception of risk changed that day. As I looked down one last time to that sinkhole I saw a version of myself fighting, trying to escape as the waves crushed my frame against the sharp limestone. Would I have made it? Only God knows.
Next time you think about taking a risk, try looking around, assessing your situation, and knowing what you’re getting into. You may just look down in time to find that your seat belt is unbuckled before takeoff.
I recently returned from a two-week road trip with my good pal Seth Newby. Near the end of our journey we had the opportunity to bike past Fisherman’s Wharf and check out the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. This structure is spectacular to behold, reaching a maximum height of nearly 750 feet. Two main supporting cables are each composed of 27,572 intertwining wires that if stretched out to one continuous distance could wrap around the earth… three times. The main towers pose as sentinels that require the submission of each passing freight intending to enter the bay. From a distance this is a quite a spectacle, but when you’re actually on the bridge, vertigo kicks in and you realize how big it really is.
Seth looking up at one of the gigantic main pillars of the Golden Gate Bridge.
Being on the bridge gave me a whole new perspective on the bay as well as downtown San Francisco, and as we were cycling across, the two pillars obscured much of the surrounding view. This made me realize that life is really molded by perspective. The closer in proximity you allow something to be in your life, the more of your outlook it influences. As with the Golden Gate Bridge, if you let something or someone become close enough to you, it will essentially begin to “tint” the lens through which you view the world.
Takeaway. What perspective, for better or worse, are the influences in your life bringing you?
God controls everything. From the moment we are born to the final breath we take, we have been given the opportunity to make choices to follow his lead, or turn from that path to pursue our own satisfaction.
I had a talk with my roommate this morning about what brings true satisfaction to life. We agreed that the stories we choose to write can be full of easy and comfortable decisions in the moment, but further down the road these choices stack up to a weak foundation of what we’ve become.
This telephone pole has seen bits and pieces of many stories. Countless staples remind me of all the people that put them there.
Almost all good stories involve conflict. Some obstacle in the hero’s way. Without this conflict, the reader is not drawn into the story, and the protagonist becomes a mere shadow of his or her true character. The same is true with our own lives. Sometimes we must make the hard decision to pursue what is right though it may mean a hit to our reputation or pride. In retrospect we begin to see that these conflicts, “stick it to the man” decisions, add a unique meaning to our story. We grow because of it.
In lieu of finals week and graduation, I encourage you to take a moment and reflect on the story you’ve written, as well as the story you want to write.
Azure Adventure 