Skipping Art for Sea Turtles, and Other Nautical Tales

sailor dan in perhaps his truest form, with fellow wayfarer joe mulligan

Hello Bloggerfolk!

I'm back again, fresh from the airport, a bit more tan, a lot more tired, and very glad to be home, or at least some semblance of it. My nomadic summer continues, having spent the most recent stint of it in the bays around the island of St. John! Inspired by our previous trip to the southern seas, my dad and I decided again to go sailing. Only this time, the boat was significantly bigger, the bathrooms were slightly less scary, and the crew was made of old high school friends (both my dad's and one of my own!)  It was my big hurrah to celebrate having finished four years of college and being 99% graduated (I shake my fist angrily at my remaining summer credits). And before you get too jealous, I'll have you know that I was covered in sunscreen most of the time (icky), had a major case of sea legs (wobbly), and got stranded at least once (more on that below). But I'm not gonna lie - it was a great trip and a major blessing. Getting to swim in blue water under jungle hills dotted with pirate-era ruins is pretty much how I’d want to spend any summer ever. Sailing is a lot like camping, in that there's danger and uncomfort which is then traded to experience a beautiful place about as closely as you can. Unless you have a 5-mil+ yacht. But I don't think that will be happening for me anytime soon.

I promised art in my last post, and did my best to deliver. But it wasn't as straightforward as I had hoped. Drawing while on this trip was surprisingly difficult, as my drawing process typically includes two things: lots of reference, and lots of time. And I didn't have much of either on this trip. With limited cell service, I was cut off from the illustrations and art styles I often reference while drawing. All I was left with was the scenery, my natural instincts, and what I could remember. Which perhaps is a good look into where I'm actually at artistically, when I'm not borrowing tools from and measuring myself against other illustrators. But the perfectionist side of me was never really happy with how the pictures were turning out, which made me even more disappointed in the amount of time it was taking to draw them.

me and the pad

Drawing is fairly isolating - working on my iPad meant I was out of the sun and away from the fun for extended periods of time, and I began to feel like I was missing out on the trip in the same way that a tourist misses out on his when he's too focused on taking photos. In fact, drawing often fills that same desire for me as photos do for the tourist: the desire to take some part of the place you're visiting back with you. But in doing so, you miss out on actually experiencing the place firsthand. There was a distinct point on the trip when I was struggling to draw some dang shoreline because I didn't have the time or reference to really nail it, while my friends were out swimming with freaking sea turtles and I thought what am I doing??? is having a nice picture really worth missing out on that?  So I ditched art for the rest of the trip, swam with two sea turtles, and it was wonderful. 

Before I had that "screw it" moment, I did get in two pictures that I liked, both done in a polygonal style based on my memories of Laura Bifano's work, which I recently discovered and really like. It's a novel, very digital approach to landscape painting, but for some reason, it was the only style that really felt natural at the time. I'm also including the shoreline that caused the epiphany because if I can't feel comfortable sharing bad art here, then I won't anywhere. 

golden hour at leinster point and tortola

i just love clouds so. freaking. much.

ugh

Drawing issues aside, the trip was great. The main island we sailed around, St. John, is mostly national park, meaning that the views are relatively unspoiled and it truly felt more wild. I'm not the biggest fan of resort vacations or overdeveloped places... give me ancient ruins and trees any day! This trip had them in spades - we even discovered ruins of a resort house on this quiet beach! 

That tower up behind me is, you guessed it, MORE ruins (pirate-era dutch windmill tower). And while it wasn't on the itinerary, we also got to snorkel over a shipwreck (checks that one off the bucket list) Pardon me while I geek out about ruins for a moment... how have I never talked about this on the blog before??? 

We had a few close shaves, mostly due to the assumption that “we wouldn’t ever run out of gas for the dinghy boat.” (small boat that gets you from the bigger boat to the shore) And that assumption was put most strongly to the test one night when we decided to dinghy 20 minutes across the bay with a more than full passenger load just in the hopes of a seafood dinner. Instead of a seafood dinner, we were greeted with no easy place to park (and for some reason we settled on the smelliest part of the whole harbor to disembark), no seafood (the only place nearby was a hamburger place where we waited literally two hours for food), and barely any gas (as this was the only harbor that had no gas station). By the time we were leaving, the sun had more than set, we were pretty much out of gas, and we still had a 20 minute drive back, against current, in the dark. Dad and I were pounded by the oncoming swells as we pondered what to do in the very real possibility of running out of gas, wrecking on shore, or any number of unsavory outcomes. Thankfully, those outcomes remained hypothetical and were able to make it back. But when the dinghy ran out of gas the next day, stranding us on an entirely different island, we realized just how close we had been to a legitimately dangerous situation. (shoutout to the Alabama guys who got us off that other island). 

And while those dinghy trips made me never want to step foot off of the boat again (for fear of being stranded on yet another island), eventually we did and headed back to the states. It's quite nice to be on the mainland again, and I'm ready to settle into my new place where I'll spend the next couple weeks (this one has a pool! yay!) Hopefully it won't distract me too much from the mountain of Bearpuncher work that needs to be completed but... we'll see ;)

wishing you a great summer of ruin-exploring adventures!

-dh

Music Recommendation: The two songs that were pretty much always in my head the whole trip were Calypso by John Denver and the Pokemon Ruby and Sapphire dive theme. Which are very likely NOT the first two songs that come to most people's minds when it comes to seafaring, but are both incredibly nostalgic for me. (sorry not sorry, beach country music)

The Moment the Smoky Mountains Broke Me

As a man with one foot in Tennessee and one foot in North Carolina, I'm happily obliged to traverse through the Smoky Mountains as I move from place to place. I've visited them dozens of times, but I've never been as immersed in them, or as moved by them as I was while hiking this past week. Perhaps it's because the wildflowers were just really pretty this year. Or perhaps it's because I saw them while BACKPACKING! Yes, after years of avoiding it, I finally donned a pack on my last spring break ever. And while the smart kids headed out to the beach to get tan, I headed out to the mountains to get thoroughly exhausted (and kinda tan?? but just on my arms). 

This trip was probably the most difficult physical feat I've completed. Although we avoided rain, sickness, and many of the common backpacking troubles, backpacking on the best of days is still really hard, especially for a first-timer. Hiking largely uphill with a huge pack, meager meals (by my indulgent American standards), sleeping on a board next to strangers - are definitely not on my usual itinerary. I was extra thankful for the small things I had already been doing during the ordinary time of life to prepare, like running and fasting. I don't think I could have done this kind of trip during most times of my life, but I was glad that I had been building endurance and capability over the past three months which was put to the test in these three extraordinary days. You gotta be ready for adventure when it comes!

Yet despite the difficulties, backpacking really is the way to camp. Rarely have I felt the amount of independence that comes with having everything you need on your back. And rarely have I ever felt so deep in the mountains before. It was exciting to think that the nearest road was a day's walk away, and to see a view of the mountains that only a fraction of visitors get to experience. I found myself thinking much on Edward Abbey and the satisfaction of having to earn these vistas rather than have them delivered to me after a brief car ride. Backpacking demanded a respect for the terrain and a partnership with nature - I sure didn't feel like its master while out there. 

Also I got to drink a TON of creek water which made my creek-obsessed, 12-old-self very happy.

I DRANK THIS CREEK (the water is clear don't worry)

While on the trail I spent much of my time birdwatching. An ornithology class I took this semester to pad my schedule has given me a surprising interest in this hobby and has even more rapidly accelerated my ascension in Old Man Daniel, but I'm cool with it. As birds go deeper and deeper into my heart it gets more and more rewarding to spot them, and to actually hear their individual voices as they sing. Unfortunately the birds were fairly spread out compared to Radnor Lake, but when I could afford to take my eyes off the trail my head was on a swivel to find the warblers, which stayed (frustratingly) hidden. 

looking for those warblers

Oh and yes the people were great too ;) No really - it was a great group to go with. Good conversations, excellent trip planning, and history facts abounded, making it a perfect group for a first backpacking trip. My outdoorsman knowledge was put to shame by the first night, providing a needed dose of humility to my inflated former-boy-scout ego. 

I hadn't met most of them before and was anxious to make a good impression (we would be spending a lot of time together, after all). So I decided that a good baseline would be to take everything in gratitude without complaining. I quickly found that the crew was friendly and welcoming, with no need for imposed maxims, but I figured I would stick to it anyways. This was easy enough for the most part, but heavily put to test on the second day - the uphill day.

i wore those shorts for the whole trip

appalachian trail junction with emily, long time bloggerfolk

Although one would expect the route to the Rocky Top summit to be a continuous climb, it is delightfully punctuated by a small summit between the mountaintop and the Spence Field shelter where we were based. And it was this small hill that finally got me. We had spent the afternoon on top of Rocky Top, in a grassy patch of clear field perfect for napping and taking in the view. The sun had set, and we were descending down the downhill trail back to the shelter. Mostly downhill that is, except for trek over the in-between summit. 

As expected, the trail turned steep again. And this final tiny incline, this insult to injury after a day of uphill hiking finally broke me. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I'm pretty sure it was something with the sentiment of "this dang hill." 

This comment was met with shared understanding (it was a dang hill, after all). The horizon simmered with burnt pastel shades, and the forest fell silent again. But I knew in my heart that I had goofed up. After nine uphill miles, the Smokies had finally cracked me with their tiniest slope. AND I WASN'T EVEN WEARING A PACK. We had previously dropped all our stuff off at the shelter. I thought it laughable that after several miles uphill with a pack that was who-knows-how-heavy, it was a tiny deviation in an unencumbered, downhill route that finally got under my skin. Just goes to show ya.

Despite this momentary frustration the trip was definitely a great experience and it would be awesome to go again sometime... once my joints stop hurting and I have had much Baja Burrito. I don't think I could have lasted another day, but strangely I do miss the mountains and the feeling of being a small wandering hobbit in the wilds. But now it is time for queso, a shower, and pajama pants - all the good things of home and hearth. Until next time, bloggerfolk!

-dh

Music Recommendation: The song that was stuck in my head pretty much the whole trip (thanks Kenzie) but I didn't mind