essays by shé

bookshelf

Tag: Pacific

  • Meditations

    “What the fuck are you doing in Mexico?” scathed a thought during meditation. A beat… two… then, “I AM HEALING,” roared my inner Capitana, much to my surprise and delight. Usually I am cowed by these raging judgments and scornful doubts, and tuck my head in like a turtle resisting attack. But not this time. I…

  • Reflection

    “Don’t want no short dick man.” The singer is adamant, and I am shocked by the explicit English words emanating from the bus speakers. Loudly. Repetitively. Blatantly stating what she does not want.  I am sitting next to another sailing woman, on our way to a store with maritime supplies. There are six of us…

  • Hauling Out

    I’ve been over the edge for a while, and wondering why. Did the math and realized that I left Kaua’i 15 months ago. Seems to be my limit, as I wrote a book about an earlier excursion, also 15 months. Crashed in Florida in 2018. Now I’ve crashed in Mazatlán. Too much time doing hard…

  • Swimming the Gulf

    “Is that your mother?” A woman on a nearby towel at a Mississippi beach asks me this as I carry the beach umbrella and other paraphernalia back to the parking lot. The Gulf of Mexico is choppy with wind waves. It is June 2018. I nod. “Enjoy her,” she says, smiling. “I do,” I say,…

  • Priorities

    Her face is suffused with bliss as the whitewater carries her all the way to shore. She’s pushed up, beaming, holding onto the boogie board. When it scrapes bottom, she rolls off onto wet sand laughing, then carefully rises to her feet, turns around, and wades back out. Short auburn hair plasters her scalp, and…

  • Drive Like a Duchess

    Drive like a Duchess with an entourage. The words appear in my brain as I’m taking the inaugural trip with my Tiny House on Wheels. I’ve had one lesson in towing from a kind employee of the RV seller, and now I’m on my own. Cannot speed with a travel trailer, even a cute silver-and-yellow one.…

  • Surf ‘n’ Shop

    You can’t carry groceries on a surfboard, I used to say. Surfing is just for fun.  Well, turns out that I can carry groceries on a surfboard — in a backpack as I paddle prone on Torq, the funboard. Webbed gloves bought for swimming years ago are now quite handy. Drenched on the way in, though, when…

  • Maps

    “Yes, you can do it alone, now that you have the map,” a friend reassures mountain climber Louise Heinemann (from “Out and About in Baltistan,” in the 1992 Seal Press anthology, Leading Out). I have at least three maps, or charts, of this marine area: Habibi’s navigation system; a boating app on the phone; and Captain…

  • The Jib is Up

    … or out, as the case may be. (Habibi’s headsail, or jib, is on a vertical furler at the bow, with lines to control it running back to the helm. The sail unfurls horizontally; well, triangularly.)  Exactly thirty-nine weeks after I moved onboard, almost a year after my first sailing course, I sail solo. No…

  • No Trouble

    Trouble’s gone. After a week anchored nearby, the blue-striped sailboat was gone when I got up this morning. Huzzah! (Boat names are sometimes quite direct. Best to pay attention.) I contacted another instructor when Anxiety refused to let me sail solo. “Knowing you can sail is different from hoping you can,” she pointed out in the wee…