By Jordan Hanssen
I have been in a deep dark hole lately. Actually it’s the office/bedroom in my attic and with the four large skylights it’s really pretty bright. For two months I have, with the exception of experiences I can count on one hand, not been more than one mile from my house. Depression? No. Agoraphobia, certainly not. I’m on the last legs of writing my book about the first ocean row and my deadline is coming up in about a month. I needed to get out of the house.
When Greg ask me if I wanted to go pick up some kayaks from his sister and brother in law and take them across the Puget Sound from Bainbridge to Seattle I initially balked. Concerned this would cut into writing I felt I could not afford to take the time. Thankfully in a moment of clarity I realized my sanity itself might hinge on this mini adventure.
The sunny afternoon began with a sighting of a 20 ft grey whale ambling in the shallow waters from the bluff of Greg’s parents house above Rolling Bay where we were about to depart. Unfortunately we still had to grab the kayaks and the whale would not likely be around by the time we put them in.
A few hours later Saturday’s calm had slowly built to a southwest wind and the days changing sky settled on overcast as we entered the water. I am comfortable on the water in many craft, but I am not a kayaker. The balance is foreign to me and I wished this were a rowboat as the wake of a passing ship nearly upset the craft seconds from pushing from shore. I expressed these concerns to Greg and after some good quality molly coddling I was on my way.
I have been writing and learning about close calls with freighters on the North Atlantic for the past two weeks and it was refreshing to actually be living it again. A relatively small 500 ft ship began its departure from Elliot Bay just as we arrived at the yellow midpoint buoy of the shipping lane. His starboard side faced us from downtown Seattle as he made his exit. A false move could put us in his path as the ship would cover the few miles between us in minutes and we were not about to play chicken with a ship. It was not a hard decision and we headed south, waiting for the bow to turn far enough around to reveal its port side and to pass us unmolested. Minutes after it passed and our tiny hulls ran over the wake without incident. I am always amazed at the relatively small wake of these ships, due in large part to its bulbous bow that was visible on two of the empty tanker ships at anchor as we passed the entrance into the bay.
As the sun dipped beneath the clouds it lit up the world around us in soft fire turning the water a
deeper blue and the bottom of the clouds purple. Unlike rowing our destination was always in front of us. It was refreshing, and some how made the journey slower as each pull of the paddle updated our proximity in real time as opposed to glances every minute or so. It took just under two hours to reach shore on the beach next to the marina. I stood up stiffly, unused to not using my legs on a sliding seat and turn to watched the sun light up the back of the Olympic Mountains as it began its trip across the Pacific to Japan.