Pu'uhonua

We were shopping for a house this past year and had found something that we thought would work for us. It was going to give us more room than the current place, and it had a floorplan that we liked. Kris was ready to sign off on it because it had a retreat off of the master bedroom, which she imagined as her safe haven from a hectic world of me and two little girls. Also, it was new construction. If you know her, you know she's a particular girl and likes things just so. She spent the afternoon today (a Sunday) blowing the pine needles and leaves out of the driveway and vacuuming her roadster's interior. The latter task gave her the chance to use the shop vac; possibly the gift I've given her that she has enjoyed more than any other, with the exception of her extra-large red Coach purse.

We named the house we are in now the Hale Nani Mino'aka, which is Hawaiian for House of the Beautiful Smile and describes how I felt about Kris and our new home together when we moved in to this place 2 1/2 years ago. Although it looks small from the angle in this picture, especially dwarfed by the McMansions we are trapped between, it has a 100 ft. driveway and plenty of room inside.

However, like I said, momma likes new stuff, so we began our search for a new retreat, which when we found it, we were leaning toward naming Pu'uhonua, Hawaiian for Place of Sanctuary. So, there we were, all set up to make the move to the new retreat when the builder filed for bankruptcy protection.

We had made an offer and they had accepted, but we'd given ourselves extra time, planning on closing in 45-60 days. Kris had a bit of a breakdown and cried it out on a Friday night and we spent the weekend hashing out our options and deciding how and what to do. I called on Monday and told the realtor we were going to withdraw the offer. We were able to back out of the deal, since the situation had changed with the builder, and that was the point we started asking ourselves what we really wanted to do with our future.

A couple of the places we looked at were very nice, lots of room, great neighborhoods, and the sort of houses where you end up for the rest of your life. That's where I get stuck. It would be great to move into some place, live on a hill, hoity-toit with neighbors and friends and live the good life, but then what do you do after a year or two has gone by? You're still there, god willing, and a long life ahead of you. That is where the dream of the s/v Clarity starts.

We have talked about looking for a resort in the South Pacific that we could run as a couple, or possibly moving back to Hawaii and living working there, but, still, there you are and the rest of your life is coming at you down that same one-lane road. I want to sail away. I love Portland, I love Hanalei, and I love my friends and kids, but I also know that there is a world out there that I belong too and I want to go be part of it.

Now more than any time it's possible to stay connected to family and friends with email, blogs, etc. Why not take advantage of that and go live our life traveling? That's where this adventure began. The first thing we worried about was leaving family and friends. We aren't leaving, we will just be living in another home. Now, rather than live our life on that one-lane road, waiting out time, we are sailing away and we expect you all to plan the occasional trip to share in our life. We'll supply the accommodations.

What do you know?

I've been surfing for a few years now, most of that time spent bobbing around on the surface of the sea, eyes cast offshore analyzing the swells moving toward me. I know the image that most of society has about surfing is more like what you see in the latest videos: a young, bleached, tanned kid dropping in, carving a cutback, and slashing off the lip; or maybe a long-bodied, baggy-shorted Wingnut (look him up; the heir of Robert August and one of the funnest [yeah?] guys ever), smilingly, soulfully-arched and cruising through a deep green barrel.

Those things happen and they look great on film and they stick best in memory, but the bulk of time spent in search of waves is a lot more pedestrian (amphibian?). Most of my time has been spent paddling around, working into position, especially on windy days, and a lot of staring into the distance. Rather than a frenetic music-video experience, I find myself drifting, floating and reflecting on my life. I've spent a lot of time studying the way water moves around near shore, the rips, currents, swells, and waves that eventually form up and break as that ocean energy pushes into shallower water.

The wind is a large part of the equation, and can quickly turn a session into something fun, when it shifts and blows offshore, holding up wave faces as they try to pitch over themselves. Alternatively, a fun session can quickly get messy and blown out when an onshore breeze kicks up and starts blowing the tops off the waves before they can form.

I've learned to spot a rip current and use it to get myself out into the lineup quickly. A spot I surf in Baja sits inside a little bay with a rocky cliff projecting out into the ocean on the North end. The waves pump into the little bay and the water that builds up in the bight has to move back out and, with the right swell, it will push along the beach to the North and then right out along the base of that cliff.

The first time I paddled out there I was nervous about how exactly it would play out, but I had scoped it pretty well and, although it was a very narrow little rip, it looked like the water was moving swift and true, right out to the back of the lineup, without exposing me to any breaking waves and the potential to get pushed onto the rough volcanic rocks. With a dozen other surfers surveying the spot, I was the first to test it out and after a half-dozen waves, followed by the express lift back out, I was quickly joined by a handful of surfers boldly riding my wake.

I know a few things about the near-shore seafloor, too. And can easily spot waves breaking over sandy bottoms, versus the more powerful and consistent reef breaks, which I love. When a surfer has surfed a spot long enough, he begins to know where to go, and when to be there. He knows what the wind and swell reports mean to his spot and he's always in the right spot out there in the water. He's got it wired.

It's pretty clear that some of my surfing skills and knowledge will fit with my sailing needs. I also have a pretty good base of experience with ships' systems, having run an engineroom on a Navy oiler. I even have some book knowledge specific to sailing, having read volumes of marine-related material including sailing blogs, novels, circumnavigation reports, maps and charts, technical manuals, ad infinitum. However, what really appeals to me about this adventure that Kris and I are embarking on is the things I don't know. And that's a lot.

I could spend every day of the rest of my life sailing and studying sailing and I'll never learn all there it to know, nor will I go all the places there are to go. I may get one or two things wired, but all I have to do is pull up the anchor, make sail, and I'm on a new course to something I don't know.

So, here's to not knowing. I hope I know enough to stay safe. I think I know enough to take risks that I can afford to take. I want to know enough to challenge myself to learn more. Most importantly, I know that I'll never know it all and that makes life look more interesting.

Here's somebody who is certain that she knows a lot more than me and you, including what's best for us.