Well, it’s been one year to the day since I first started this blog and I gotta say what a strange and beautiful trip it’s been. When I began this endeavor last October, my intentions were simple: use it as a tool to promote and facilitate my dream of making an open ocean sailing voyage somewhere around Australia, New Zealand and the South Pacific. My hope at the time was that if people found what I had to say and what I wanted to do interesting, they would forward the site onward to their friends and family, who would in turn forward it on to their friends and family, and so on and so on until it eventually reached somebody who was in a position to make the journey possible (i.e. a boat, the time, the wherewithal). And while this may seem like a crazy long shot of an idea, it was a jumping off point that served to make things real.

So where is fasterbarnacle now, and even more importantly, how is my journey progressing? Well, before I answer those questions I want to first acknowledge that neither would be anywhere without you; my readers, my friends, my family. Your support over the past year — in all manners — has been overwhelming and humbling to say the least. Your e-mails, comments and suggestions have been valuable and every one has been taken to heart. Thank you a thousand times over for being part of my world and taking the time to participate.

Now, to the above question. As I said, fasterbarnacle was originally envisioned as a jumping off point, but looking at it now it’s so much more than that, it’s a spark that not only ignited and fuels a dream, but change in my life as well. Perhaps above all else, it got me writing again — something I’d put aside for years in order to pursue other interests (though I’m not opposed to calling it procrastination or outright avoidance) — and this has been an unexpected pleasure. I’ve found writing in this format (a blog) — sharing whatever I like from the sentimental to the ridiculous — to be both challenging and rewarding, and something I can see myself doing well into the unforeseeable future.

Also, as some of you may already know, exercise has been another byproduct of this endeavor. And while on the surface it might seem as though it has little to do with the construction of this site, it actually has everything to do with it. For me, fasterbarnacle represents consistency and action, and physical fitness isn’t possible without either of these. The great thing about consistency is that it’s habit-forming and these days if I go any extended period of time without exercising, I start getting a serious jones on for endorphins. The downside to all this, of course, is that I’ve become somewhat of a zealot and if you’re one of my friends and I notice that you’re spending a little too much time sitting on your ass with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a remote in the other, you’re going to get called out.

Bottom line; there are things about this dream of mine that are beyond my control (i.e. the boat) and there are things that aren’t, and consistent writing and exercise are two that are.

Okay, so now on to the meat of the matter, my journey’s progression. About two weeks ago I sent out a second round of letters to 25 yacht and sailing clubs in New Zealand, Australia, Tasmania and Fiji, and as with the first round, I’m hoping they’ll eventually reach the right people. It’s important to note, however, that while a response from that part of the world hasn’t found its way back to me yet, it hasn’t dampened my spirits or dream in any way; it’s a cold call longshot from the get go and I’m wise enough to understand what that means. There are a very specific set of circumstances that need to line up for all this to come together and that might take a little time. That said, I’m also wise enough to understand the fluidity of life and to roll with any changes as they come and recalibrate where necessary. I have no idea if the trip will manifest itself in the way I originally conceived, but one way or another a grand adventure will ensue. I love the unknown and what will be will be.

To be sure, this last year has been one of the most interesting, successful and wildly exciting years of my life; I’m skiing again, surfing, sailing, writing, in best shape I’ve been in since my early 20s and I’ve got my eyes on a very big prize. In this and many other ways, fasterbarnacle has already taken me way beyond where I ever imagined my dream would and I feel eternally blessed to understand this.

A final word

Before I wrap this post up I want to leave you with a couple of cool examples that further illustrate the kind of impact you’ve had on my life from your forwarding of this site. First, I’ve had the opportunity to meet and sail with someone here in the Bay Area who’s provided me with some incredible, eye-opening and educational trips out onto the San Francisco Bay which have proven invaluable in shaping my understanding of sailing and the things I’ll need for a longer, more challenging voyage. And second, I’ve had the great joy to get reconnected with some old friends from my past — something I never would have expected in a million years, but arguably has been one of the coolest things about this whole endeavor.

So again, big mahalos for all your support and efforts thus far. I suspect this coming year will bring many more surprises and successes with some of them coming from another part of the world.

Aloha.

This post was originally intended to go up the last week in March, but life — being what it is — had other plans.

Every time I sail I discover something new about this sport I’ve quickly fallen in love with and how it’ll all play out in this dream of mine. Last Thursday evening I went out again with B and my friend S on B’s J35, and while it was pretty cold (San Francisco definitely ain’t Fiji) — especially on our way back into the harbor with the wind and the setting sun chasing us down — it was the best time I’ve had sailing yet.

It’s interesting, but I’ve noticed that if it’s the least bit chilly Bay Area sailors don’t seem to want any part of it. Don’t get me wrong, as a quadriplegic I don’t dig the cold either — my lack of circulation is not adept at keeping me warm. But it was a spectacularly clear evening with the wind blowing stiffly at around 12 kn, and so cold or no cold as far as I was concerned there was no better place to be.

The weather, however, being what it was brought up some valuable questions about my comfort. Not just in regards to the temperature, but what that means for me as a disabled passenger on a boat. As I’ve mentioned before, how comfortable I am is largely determined by how I’m sitting. This really can’t be overstated. Proper seating is the central preoccupation of my disabled life. It needs solving in my wheelchair and now it needs solving when I sail. It all springs from there. If this problem can’t be solved a long-distance sail is out of the question.

Try and try again

The last time I sailed in this J I stayed in my acoustic chair which in this particular boat fits perfectly in the cockpit. Again, this worked great and was rather comfortable while the boat was level, but if the boat was to heel for any extended period of time (which is normal over a long distance tack) the lack of upper back support of this chair would lend to some pretty severe neck pain. Not cool.

My idea this time was to ditch the chair altogether and put my cushion on the floor of the cockpit and use the side of the boat as back support. Because I was sitting so low my back was supported up to the top of my shoulders and this was perfect for keeping me comfortable and secure. For added safety we tied down the cushions so they wouldn’t slide and fashioned me a chest strap to keep me from falling over when we heeled.

While this method is better than sitting in the wheelchair if the boat is steeply heeling, it’s not the answer for any trip over an hour and a half. The main issue with this J is the width of the cockpit. I’m 6′2″ and the only way for me to fit properly in this space is to keep my legs bent at about a 45° angle. Sitting like this puts a lot of pressure on my butt (in particular my problematic left ischial bone) and makes it impossible for me to do any weight shifts. These shifts are absolutely crucial if I want to avoid pressure sores. Going too much beyond an hour without doing any can create lasting problems, and I want to spend time sailing not recovering from pressure sores.

It’s obvious that with my disability my mobility on a boat is limited; I’m not going to be able to move around like the rest of the crew and I can accept this. On a boat large enough, however, I imagine my mobility would be freed up dramatically and that’s certainly something to keep in mind where the trip is concerned.

I’m all about being flexible and adapting myself to a world where things aren’t designed with my particular needs in mind — this is something one must do when they want to push themselves beyond the ordinary. But what I don’t want to sacrifice, though, is my comfort as that’s directly related to my enjoyment of both the process and the outcome of a voyage. I expect my butt will take some hits and there will be significant recovery time to follow, but that’s always been part of the game and the collateral damage I’m willing to accept if it gets me something greater.

That said, I do believe in workarounds and that’s what all this sailing is about — discovering what works and doesn’t work and developing solutions to those that don’t. It’s also about having a great time, but as far as I can tell that seems to be a given and not much work to be done there.

Thanks to the efforts of all of you, things are beginning to happen. After fasterbarnacle was forwarded to a friend, they forwarded it to one of their friends, who in turn forwarded to one of theirs who turned out to be a sailor. A couple of weeks ago that person contacted me and on Monday I went to see his boat, a J 35 racer named “the red dress”.

This isn’t the boat that will get me from New Zealand to Australia or Australia to Fiji, but it’s a very important first step. The owner is a great guy who began thinking outside the box the moment after we spoke on the phone; brainstorming as to what would make the vessel quad friendly and thus suitable for some blue water sails. He also offered to fix up the dreess’ remote controlso that I could work the tiller and do some sailing myself. Pretty cool and entirely unexpected.

At the very least, the boat will be suitable for some sails out on the San Francisco Bay and beyond the Golden Gate. After that, if it seems as though it would work for something longer and more adventurous then he’s offered to sail with us to Hawaii in June. Such a voyage would be a great introduction into what open ocean sailing would be all about. The experience my buddy T and I would gain would be invaluable. We’d learn not only what it would take to do this from the disability perspective (my personal needs, etc.), but how we could participate as a functioning unit in the sailing process itself.

If you asked me to script a better beginning to this whole dream of mine I don’t think I could. It’s a beautiful way to start and it’s awesome to see it taking shape. Big mahalos to all of you for your continuing support and help.

Why New Zealand? This is a question I often get when people visit this site or I tell them about my trip and aside from my general fondness for sheep and hobbits, the answer — like so many things — has its roots back in the days when I was still surfing.

When it made its early appearances in Surfer or Surfing magazine back in the 70’s, New Zealand had this otherworldly allure — a lush, green place with perfect, hollow waves kissed by offshore winds and empty lineups. Invariably the shots were of a break called Raglan and I’m guessing it gets epic like the photos we were drooling over maybe four or five times a year. Whether this is true or not is hardly important as it represented an idea and a point of reference by which we could compare those rare classic days at El Morro, the River Jetties, and Big Corona. Days when all the elements came together — swell, tide, wind and crowd.

Describing such days to those who weren’t there was almost as important as being there. More often than not superlatives — even surf lingo superlatives — wouldn’t do such a session justice. For us, those mysto breaks of New Zealand had caught our imaginations and if you wanted to really sell your story say it looked like one of those breaks.

“Talking Story”, as the Hawaiians call it, is an art form and because surfing seems especially vulnerable to the “Rashomon effect” (more so for those surfing inconsistent or mediocre breaks), most story talkers rely on comparisons rather than superlatives to describe what went down. Compare your session to Pipeline, Burleigh Heads or Raglan and everybody knew exactly what you were talking about. No ambiguity, no room for subjective interpretation — the pictures were in the mags.

But New Zealand also represented adventure and for us — more specifically — the surf adventure. It was on the other side of the world and we didn’t know anybody who had been there yet. The waves we imagined — aside from a few locals — were probably pretty empty (or at least that’s how the mags made it seem) and if you surfed in a Newport lineup every day that was enough to get you dreaming of airplane flights.

Keep in mind also this is before surf travel as we know it today. There were no chartered boats to the Maldives or the Mentawais and the idea of surf resorts in the South Pacific or El Salvador would’ve seemed preposterous and maybe even a little wrong. In the mid 70’s places like Uluwatu and Nias, for all intents and purposes, had only a few years earlier been discovered and ridden. The world in terms of surf travel discoveries was pretty much wide open and we, with our grom imaginations, wanted to be part of this new frontier.

So we began by fantasizing how it would go down and then by loosely planning our route. It would be a year long trip between graduating from high school and starting college. We’d start in NZ, head over to Oz and then finish things off in Bali and the North Shore of Oahu. We were 16 at the time and so anything could happen (ultimately it did), but for me it was pretty much a done deal. I began putting the money I made from life guarding into a savings account and started plastering my walls with pictures of Raglan, G-land, and Pipe.

Life, however, in its miraculous unfolding, isn’t concerned with plans. Things change. Breaking my neck when I did is a perfect example. The trip, at least for me, was off, and while my friends could’ve gone on without me, for whatever reason, they never did. That said, the trip has never left my heart.

In the hospital, it was a motivating force that helped me move through a physically painful and difficult rehabilitation. Friends and strangers alike, who knew of the trip, in a show of support surrounded me with pictures and artifacts from the places we were going to go. My hospital room started looking like the U.S. wing of the Australian and New Zealand tourist bureaus. If you needed info on either of these places, I was your man.

So that’s why NZ; it’s beautiful, on the other side of the world and in a weird way, a part of who I am.