The ocean is a wondrous thing, at least to me. Is it just a thing? It could be a being since it seems alive. Certainly, it's the home of many living creatures. I love that salty, pungent, fishy smell of the ocean air that greets you before you can see the water itself. I don't know what it is about the ocean but being near it always makes me feel better. It can be cold and dark and forbidding or warm and light and inviting. It assaults all the senses.You can smell it, taste it, hear it, feel it and see it. Near it can be the most relaxing place to be as you sit on a sunny day in the sand, by the water's edge, watching the froth and the foam run up to greet you. Or it can be frightening and destructive as wind and waves pound and rip at the shoreline, destroying homes and roads and beach front property.
I never suffered from motion sickness, on land, on sea, or in the air. I didn't know what it was like for many, many years and couldn't understand what it was that others suffered. One day that all changed. I don't remember the day as starting remarkably. We wanted to go out deep sea fishing, as people who don't get seasick like to do. I had been out deep sea fishing before, and it was an exhilarating experience. Out in the ocean with lots of men, lots of chum, big fish flopping around on the deck of the boat. Fish guts everywhere. I've never been a sissy. So we set out early for the docks since the boats depart at 7:00 am.
In restrospect, maybe the day was a little overcast, a little cloudy, but other people were there and the captain was taking his vessel out. So our group, my friend Jan, her husband Bill and their two children, embarked.
Maybe I should have noticed that there were no other women or any young children heading up the gangway but I didn't. The captain and crew got busy, starting engines, throwing ropes and casting off and we were underway. We waved to those (smart folks) on shore and left the lighthouse in our wake. The air was sharp and chilly, downright cold even, standing on the deck watching the shoreline disappear.
When we left the bay and made headway into the ocean, the rough water assaulted us with a roar, as we were headed windward. All passengers went inside the cabin but me. I couldn't. I stood at the fore and watched the surf. I watched the bow rise out of the water and crash back down again. I hoped it wouldn't rise out so far as to capsize us. I felt the salty, stingy spray on my face. I felt the bouncing of my hipbone against the grab rail and knew it would be bruised. But still I watched the ocean, the pounding, crashing ocean.
Eventually, being cold and rather wet, I thought, "maybe I should go inside with the others." But when I neared the door to the cabin, where it was dark and sticky warm and filled with people who, from the odor that met me, were getting seasick, I decided to stay outside. I sat down on the bench that ran along the cabin and watched as we continued to head out to sea.
I thought that when we stopped to fish all would be well--another mistaken notion on my part. When we finally arrived at what the captain must have determined was the designated fishing spot, because by this time everything is pretty much looking the same to me, the engines were cut.
Once again there was hustle and bustle, as the captain barked orders, passengers moved around, the crew distributed rods and reels and lowered the anchor. Imagine my surprise that the boat didn't actually stop! Although we weren't moving forward, we were moving sideways, in nautical terms-leeway. We were rolling and pitching, with waves slapping and crashing against the hull.
I sat frozen in my seat. I couldn't move. My mind was willing but my body refused to cooperate. I felt worse than before! It couldn't be! Others were moving about, why couldn't I? There were fishermen on my left, fishermen on my right and all of them were throwing up over the gunwale. I couldn't believe it. I had never seen anything so gross in my life. This was awful. How was I going to survive this?
I forced myself to stand and slowly, painfully, and deliberately walked towards the cabin, seeking a familiar face. I braved my way in, through the stench, searching for someone I knew. I found her face down on a bench in a Dramamine induced coma. She roused long enough to look at me and croak, " I was worried you might get thrown overboard. Are you all right?"
"Of course not!" I said, "I've never felt so sick. But at least I'm not heaving over the side."
"Well, you're supposed to take these before you leave shore," she said, "but maybe they'll help." She handed me the bubble pack of Dramamine. "Everyone in here was throwing up," she said, "I couldn't take it, I had to go to dream world." She laid back down on the bench.
I inched away, heading back to the outside air, which at least was fesh, Dramamine in hand. I did take it and, of course, it didn't help and for awhile, if it were possible, I felt worse.
Still the boat is rocking and pitching, rolling to and fro, waves slapping and pounding, making it hard to walk around. I returned to my spot. I sat frozen in place, praying and willing myself not to vomit. I wanted to fish, I wanted to feel better but it was impossible. I prayed that I wouldn't get hysterical and go screaming overboard.
The hours crept by while I sat frozen in place, my back against the cabin, as we rocked and pitched leeway.
Finally, the engines started again, the crew raised the anchor, the fishermen returned to the cabin, and we headed back to shore. Still I sat like a cadaver on my bench. Now heading in, the ride was a little smoother as we were traveling leeward now, or away from the wind. I watched again as the craft rode with the waves. I felt no elation but still some awe and wonder mixed with a generous amount of relief. Soon, the shoreline was in sight and all on board showed signs of life and cheer. There ahead on the horizon I could see the lighthouse and safe harbor.
I was never so happy to see land as we disembarked. Unfortunately for all of us, it took another day to recover. Later that evening, when talking about our experience, an experienced island dweller said, "You should never go out on a boat in a Nor'easter. Only take a boat out to sea when there's a westerly wind." Words I've never forgotten.
Since that day, I spend my time in a beach chair on the sand, under the sun, admiring the ocean waves from a short distance. I'll venture down to the ocean's edge, get my feet wet, and search for shells but I've learned to approach the ocean with caution and respect.
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