The Tsunami Ranger Retreat – August 2012

The retreat began for me by running down Eric’s recommended kayak camping list at Jim’s request. After some digging, I found it and emailed it to the Rangers and guests. Packing commenced. I went through all Eric’s camping gear, some of the bags still containing sand from last year’s Mendocino trip. I put up the tent and tried out the Century stove on the garage floor. Everything worked. I ran down the list laying everything out in little piles so I could take a good look at all the crap I had to stuff in my boat. So much gear; so little room.

I’ve only gone on two retreats with Eric. I could have gone on every one – he would’ve been happy to have me along. But when Eric and I were first together I made a choice to leave the Rangering to him. I was mom to a 9-year old, I had a job, and martial arts took up most of my extra time and energy. I was happy to learn to kayak and accompany Eric on sea adventures. But the TR retreat was the one time I usually stayed home.

This year I went to scatter Eric’s ashes as he had requested. I could have given them to the guys to scatter, but I wanted to do it myself for several reasons. For one thing, this is turning out to be the Year of the Pilgrimage for me, the year of journeys assisting healing and spiritual growth. For another, I wanted to paddle my kayak and collect material for the blog. Most importantly, my companions in this endeavor are also my friends, people I don’t see often but who are dear to my heart. I wanted to do this with them.

I packed my gear and took off on Sunday, August 12^th. I met Jim and Tess at the arranged meeting place. Some nice redneck fisherman offered us blue and black snapper for our dinner. One by one the Rangers arrived: Michael Powers, Scott Becklund, Gordon Brown, Don Kiesling, Deb Volturno, plus guests Paula Reynouf and Rebekah Kakuk. But where was Dave Whalen? The sautéed snapper was eaten over brown rice with Italian truffle salt offered by Deb. Deb also brought Tsunami Stout from her favorite local brewery. There was much rejoicing.

The Perseid meteor shower was due to arrive, so we kept an eye out but saw nothing. The next day we launched very late. Tess, used to 8:00 am starts in Australia, relaxed and went with the Tsunami flow which runs sluggishly first thing in the morning. It wouldn’t have done any good to fret. We discovered Dave at the put-in. He was upset to find that an entire case of stout had disappeared without his participation.

We launched. The swells were rolling in from the south, 2 feet at 18 seconds. We had an additional northern swell, 6 feet at 8 to 10 seconds. Occasionally a set of 15 to 18 foot faces, tickling at the top, would plow through (a 19-foot swell had been in effect the day before and these were the remnants). There was a tremendous amount of refraction off the headwalls as well making for a bumpy ride. I was often out of sight of my companions as I plunged into a trough.

The confused seas mirrored my inward condition. This would be the fourth and last time I intended to scatter Eric’s ashes. The other times were all important and moving, but this time was the kicker. As I drove my heavily laden kayak, pitching and yawing, through the jumbled ocean it was hard to keep from crying. My friends unobtrusively flanked my boat, keeping an eye on me. I was grateful. As I plugged away I remembered recently reading Paul Caffyn’s book Dreamtime Voyage about his circumnavigation of Australia and Hannes Lindemann’s story about crossing the Atlantic in an inflatable kayak, and I remembered how both voyagers had used song to keep themselves going. So I sang to give myself heart:

Step to the edge; face your fears
Let the blessed winds of change dry your tears.
Step into the sun; your love’s undying
You’ll overcome your fear of flying.

(From Phoenix and After Buffalo’s “Fear of Flying”)

Every fourth verse I’d substitute “You’ve overcome” for “You’ll overcome”. This calmed me, made the time go faster, and helped me keep a smooth rhythm in breath and stroke.

We looked for a suitable place to camp. We explored some beaches familiar to the others, but they had changed as beaches do and no longer served. Finally we found a large beach with soft sand above the tideline. This beach was clean of driftwood, not a good sign, and high tide was impending. But we were tired and heartsick, so we landed and made camp.

Jim and Tess with help from Rebekah cooked shrimp and chicken paella for the group. It was excellent. But something was missing. Although Eric had missed a couple of retreats because of his surgeries this would be the first time we knew he would never come again. As Rebekah said, the atmosphere was dark and subdued. We made no fire, and it was hard to see faces in the dusk. As Jim said, there was a changed mood, a drop in the energy. As Michael said, Eric was larger than life; his laughter and visual impact, his love and humor left a big gap to fill. As Don said, everyone was quieter, more reflective. As Dave said, the atmosphere was muted. We were all processing, missing that crazy guy who used to run around yelling and cracking jokes and making us all feel fine. As Gordon said, it was quiet and not in a good way. That we are all getting long in the tooth and not as vigorous was sharply evident to him especially as he hadn’t seen us in a while. There was a missing element that couldn’t be dismissed. Without a fire, we looked at the stars after dinner. Scorpius was visible, and the Big Dipper, but it was hazy. We did see some Perseids and oohed and ahhed like spectators watching fireworks. But there was little laughter and that was muted.

Tuesday morning we were up late and slow to organize. Rebekah and I stayed on the beach while Gordon messed with his camera equipment. Everyone else went exploring. It was hot. Rebekah and I swam, then figured what the hell, might as well get in our boats. The cold water was invigorating. Ocean called. We hooked up with the others in the caves. It was enchanting to see the rainbow of Tsunami X-15’s shining in the sun. It was a beautiful, calm day. The swell had diminished considerably, and we wove and darted around rocks, arches, and sea stacks. That night there was much laughter around the fire as Scott described the nocturnal invasion of a wood rat which had attacked his stores and used his tent as a trampoline and taunted him unmercifully until he was forced to batter its brains out with his helmet. Everyone contributed a story about the day’s adventures, and we went to bed much lighter of heart.

The surf came up in the night. We heard thumpers on the beach. Would we make it till morning without getting wet? The next day was chaotic. There was a move to switch to another beach. We packed up to leave. I was in tears on Dave’s arm. I didn’t want to leave. I hadn’t accomplished my goal and I felt like things were falling apart. Plus I was bearing an overwhelming burden of grief that was crushing my spirit. But we pulled it together and made a plan.

Kayaks were launched. Words were said. Ashes were scattered. Everyone brought their A game. There was comedy as Dave got swallowed in the surge and Scott had to seize and assist. Though the day had begun brusquely the sun came out and the swell diminished some. Rebekah and I went back to the beach while the others paddled off to explore the caves and rock gardens in their more active state. Rebekah and I swam and then lay in the sun and drank Irish whiskey and smoked cigars. I felt happy and grateful that everything had come together so well.

When the paddlers returned we all moved our tents, and it was a good thing. There were boomers in the night, and the ocean came within a foot of some of the tents. But there were stories around the fire and a sense of relief as we bonded in our new formation without Eric. There was a feeling of accomplishment and winding down. Once again, the Tsunami Rangers had smoothly performed an intricate act of teamwork. Eric taught us well. He would have been proud.

During the trip, each night I awoke at the same time. I would switch my sleeping bag around and lie on my back with my head outside the tent looking at the stars, Cassiopeia on my left and Delphinus on my right. Then I would fall asleep again. The last night, Delphinus was invisible in the haze, but I knew its location. As I lay there looking up I thanked Eric in my heart for bringing us all together, the best of friends, in this most beautiful place on earth. Then I saw a bright meteor streak toward Delphinus. Moments later another smaller meteor, still bright, followed it across the sky. I thanked Eric once more and went back into the tent with a smile on my face and in my heart.

On the last day, we woke to a soft gray morning. A light mist was falling, but the fog was high and visibility was good. The seas were easy. Deb, Paula, and Don headed back to Washington. The tide was set to wash out the beach and we had thought to move to another beach for one more night but in the end, we all paddled back to the put-in. At the landing site just before Rebekah and I made a run through the rocks to the beach we saw a pod of dolphins. I thought of Delphinus and smiled. We both took the dolphins as a good omen, and even though some larger sets were stacking up we timed it well and landed easily. A little later with all accounted for we drove away, still a bit subdued but calm and happy. It was a good trip.

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