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Thursday, August 24, 2006
The Stalking
Back for more?
Gentle Reader, I can understand my own penchant for wanting to write about my trip; it's a way of depressurizing, reflecting, and savoring the experience for a second time. But you? Surely you have better use for your time than to keep revisiting this fractured prose.
It's nice that several friends (and my mom) were quoted in today's piece in The Messenger(see link). I am blessed with good friends - people who have zest for life and caring, unconditional spirits. I know they are unconditional because I do so little for them. The only stretch in the article is my mom's statement that she thought I would just "row around the dock" in my gift; if she'd 'a thunk that, she would have selected a pram. What a kidder.
The checks keep coming in...many over their pledge amount...and you are making the post-row fundraising a very painless - even joyous - affair. To one and all, thanks; I'll have to come up with an appropriate way to express my gratitude.
Gentle Reader, May I tell you about my Barnegat Bay day? The Bay is an enormous body of water inside the Intercoastal in New Jersey, the setting for what I'll refer to as The Stalking.
It was about noon on Saturday, the 12th...one week and a day into my journey.
I was just abreast of Barnegat Light, where the a significant outlet to the ocean feeds the bay. The water was moderately calm, the sun high, and I had a nice breeze from astern. I was in a rhythm, a kind of zone, and the strokes were coming easily. I was grateful for the prospect of reaching the lower, more sheltered stretch of the Intercoastal that afternoon with relative ease. That's when I saw it: a large dark shape, maybe 20 feet directly behind the boat, coming on slowly. No fin broke the water, but that didn't stop my imagination from instantaneously kicking into high gear. Jaws, Jaws 2, Jaws 3, Shark Week, Stay Out of the Water Week...all of the vivid Discovery Channel and Animal Planet shark footage I had ever seen came roaring to life in Technicolor / Surround Sound as if I were dragging a Big Screen behind the boat.
Unfortunately, I also immediately recalled experiments performed by marine biologists off of the Faralon Islands in California. They tested the attractiveness of various shapes to the Great White population which thrives there, concluding that surfers are especially interesting to sharks because the shapes of their boards evoke the shape of seals, their favorite dish. Any child can see that my boat, when viewed from below, carries a stunningly similar shilouette. I didn't need a child in the boat to remind me of this unhappy corellation; my Inner Child was perfectly capable of raising the point, and I couldn't quiet him down.
To compound my concerns, I had been chewing on Slim Jims at this point of the row. For those of you unfamiliar with this popular yet mysterious meat snack, here's how it goes: You bite off a piece, chew it with determination, and after you have absorbed the nutritive chemicals and ersatz meat products contained therein, you are left with a wad of pulp that cannot be chewed further - and should most definitely not be swallowed. So...I'd been spitting wads of masticated Slim Jims over the side for some time, which my Inner Child immediately translated into...yes...chum.
So I had the shape...I was trailing the scent...and now I had some mysterious and unwelcome company.
The shape weaved from left to right behind the boat, then approached to within ten feet or so, then it would disappear for a moment and reappear further astern again. It soon became more curious, accelerating close to the stern and veering off to one side or another.(While things may appear closer in a rear view mirror, I was already facing backwards, and whatever it was needed no magnification; had I been in a kayak, I might have remained blissfully unaware of its presence.)
I was praying that it would break the surface for air; I'd have gleefully thrown my last Slim Jim to a Flipper, and my wallet, too. Yet the shadow didn't broach the surface...nor did I see the dreaded fin. But whatever it was was was there, and it was large, and I learned that a simple shape in the water can convey a most unsettling primal malevolence.
Then...after maybe five or six more passes past the beam of the boat, it was gone.
Only then did I begin to feel the effects of the drama. An immediate threat tends to galvanize you; you focus on the here and now, which in my case was the maintainence of a steady rhythm and doing everything possible to mimic the movements of a healthy, formidable, unpanicked creature...anything other than the hapless, thrashing seals off the Faralons. My "shadow" - whatever it was - had apparently lost interest, but for the next hour the adrenalin was flowing freely...and I tucked the remaining Slim Jims under the seat for more confined waters.
Gentle Reader, I can't tell you that I saw a shark. Whatever it was never revealed itself. When I recounted this tale to my dear friend Brian, he sounded skeptical. "Are you sure it wasn't the shadow of your own boat? Maybe a shadow created by passing clouds, or water variations?"
Brian, I don't have to see the car to hear it coming. I don't have to taste the coffee to smell it perking. I don't have to hear the siren to know that I should soon grope for my license and registration. And, believe me, I didn't have to see a fin to feel a presence. I can only say that I wish you'd been with me. Oh, how I wish that you'd been with me. There, and on the Delaware. I love you that much.
In retrospect, I feel a bit silly that I felt such post-encounter anxiety from something just a click above an apparition. Perhaps this is indeed a testament to the power of the cocktail of a vivid imagination stirred with graphic media images. Yet I've always subscribed to Woody Allen's line, "Whenever I'm in the water, I feel like I'm on the menu."
More, Gentle Reader?
xxoo
Mr. Frei
Gentle Reader, I can understand my own penchant for wanting to write about my trip; it's a way of depressurizing, reflecting, and savoring the experience for a second time. But you? Surely you have better use for your time than to keep revisiting this fractured prose.
It's nice that several friends (and my mom) were quoted in today's piece in The Messenger(see link). I am blessed with good friends - people who have zest for life and caring, unconditional spirits. I know they are unconditional because I do so little for them. The only stretch in the article is my mom's statement that she thought I would just "row around the dock" in my gift; if she'd 'a thunk that, she would have selected a pram. What a kidder.
The checks keep coming in...many over their pledge amount...and you are making the post-row fundraising a very painless - even joyous - affair. To one and all, thanks; I'll have to come up with an appropriate way to express my gratitude.
Gentle Reader, May I tell you about my Barnegat Bay day? The Bay is an enormous body of water inside the Intercoastal in New Jersey, the setting for what I'll refer to as The Stalking.
It was about noon on Saturday, the 12th...one week and a day into my journey.
I was just abreast of Barnegat Light, where the a significant outlet to the ocean feeds the bay. The water was moderately calm, the sun high, and I had a nice breeze from astern. I was in a rhythm, a kind of zone, and the strokes were coming easily. I was grateful for the prospect of reaching the lower, more sheltered stretch of the Intercoastal that afternoon with relative ease. That's when I saw it: a large dark shape, maybe 20 feet directly behind the boat, coming on slowly. No fin broke the water, but that didn't stop my imagination from instantaneously kicking into high gear. Jaws, Jaws 2, Jaws 3, Shark Week, Stay Out of the Water Week...all of the vivid Discovery Channel and Animal Planet shark footage I had ever seen came roaring to life in Technicolor / Surround Sound as if I were dragging a Big Screen behind the boat.
Unfortunately, I also immediately recalled experiments performed by marine biologists off of the Faralon Islands in California. They tested the attractiveness of various shapes to the Great White population which thrives there, concluding that surfers are especially interesting to sharks because the shapes of their boards evoke the shape of seals, their favorite dish. Any child can see that my boat, when viewed from below, carries a stunningly similar shilouette. I didn't need a child in the boat to remind me of this unhappy corellation; my Inner Child was perfectly capable of raising the point, and I couldn't quiet him down.
To compound my concerns, I had been chewing on Slim Jims at this point of the row. For those of you unfamiliar with this popular yet mysterious meat snack, here's how it goes: You bite off a piece, chew it with determination, and after you have absorbed the nutritive chemicals and ersatz meat products contained therein, you are left with a wad of pulp that cannot be chewed further - and should most definitely not be swallowed. So...I'd been spitting wads of masticated Slim Jims over the side for some time, which my Inner Child immediately translated into...yes...chum.
So I had the shape...I was trailing the scent...and now I had some mysterious and unwelcome company.
The shape weaved from left to right behind the boat, then approached to within ten feet or so, then it would disappear for a moment and reappear further astern again. It soon became more curious, accelerating close to the stern and veering off to one side or another.(While things may appear closer in a rear view mirror, I was already facing backwards, and whatever it was needed no magnification; had I been in a kayak, I might have remained blissfully unaware of its presence.)
I was praying that it would break the surface for air; I'd have gleefully thrown my last Slim Jim to a Flipper, and my wallet, too. Yet the shadow didn't broach the surface...nor did I see the dreaded fin. But whatever it was was was there, and it was large, and I learned that a simple shape in the water can convey a most unsettling primal malevolence.
Then...after maybe five or six more passes past the beam of the boat, it was gone.
Only then did I begin to feel the effects of the drama. An immediate threat tends to galvanize you; you focus on the here and now, which in my case was the maintainence of a steady rhythm and doing everything possible to mimic the movements of a healthy, formidable, unpanicked creature...anything other than the hapless, thrashing seals off the Faralons. My "shadow" - whatever it was - had apparently lost interest, but for the next hour the adrenalin was flowing freely...and I tucked the remaining Slim Jims under the seat for more confined waters.
Gentle Reader, I can't tell you that I saw a shark. Whatever it was never revealed itself. When I recounted this tale to my dear friend Brian, he sounded skeptical. "Are you sure it wasn't the shadow of your own boat? Maybe a shadow created by passing clouds, or water variations?"
Brian, I don't have to see the car to hear it coming. I don't have to taste the coffee to smell it perking. I don't have to hear the siren to know that I should soon grope for my license and registration. And, believe me, I didn't have to see a fin to feel a presence. I can only say that I wish you'd been with me. Oh, how I wish that you'd been with me. There, and on the Delaware. I love you that much.
In retrospect, I feel a bit silly that I felt such post-encounter anxiety from something just a click above an apparition. Perhaps this is indeed a testament to the power of the cocktail of a vivid imagination stirred with graphic media images. Yet I've always subscribed to Woody Allen's line, "Whenever I'm in the water, I feel like I'm on the menu."
More, Gentle Reader?
xxoo
Mr. Frei
