T minus One

My last “training” row took place yesterday. A strong northeast wind had built up by early afternoon, but I was able to find some flat water in the lea of the east shore. Believing that listening to the January 6th hearings ought to be a kind qualifier for responsible citizenship, I donned my Black and Decker radio headset and headed out into the blow, grateful that I had a couple of nine foot cherry oars through which to vent my frustration, worry, and incredulity as I listened to how close we’d come. 

But since this is a rowing blog, not a political column, I’d better get back to the metaphorical shore, eh?

I head west tomorrow. Today is a day of decision-making. Packing a 15’ boat for a couple of weeks of residency calls for hard choices, especially when the boat and gear will ride on - or on top of - a 13’ Mini Cooper. 

Some choices are easy: dry pack pouch tuna will be lighter than cans, for example. A spork will do for cutlery. My old-timey Moleskin journal will substitute for this anchor-weight laptop, and wash-and-wear stuff, not Herringbone, will compress best into my sea bag. But there will be no skimping on the Dinty Moore Beef Stew. Like Popeye and his spinach, Dinty Moore has pulled me through some very tough patches and while some might opine that the 20 oz. can is more than any man should eat (alone), it’s madness to find one’s self in peril with only the 15 oz. can. (Shudder)

I sure wish I’d planned my final training row for this morning. It doesn’t get any calmer than this.

Those of you receiving this final pre-departure blog post through an e mail push may have an interest in following me when I get on the water on Friday. Peg, my life partner and technology maven, has not found a way to turn a blog post into an automatic e mail (perhaps the preferred pattern for many of you), so you, Gentle Reader, will have to place this blog address in your “favorites” or, as some might, apply the address to your toothbrush as a reminder each morning to catch the latest. It should be easier to tune in this year, morally speaking, because I’m not looking to raise money this time, unless you want to give to your favorite non-profit.  This time around I’m just looking to learn: to learn about environmental stewardship, best practices, and policy. To learn about the people who do this work, who take hard stands in advocacy, and who listen to and translate the science for the rest of us. And maybe to better appreciate the gifts that I’ve been given and to invite others to do the same. 

Be warned that if you are inclined to stay in the boat with me over the next few weeks, this is not an Instagram/Twitter kind of operation. It’s more like Pony Express circa 1860. Each night - perhaps between spork-fulls of Dinty Moore raised by my gnarled hands against the raging storm outside the tent- I’ll write of my day’s experience in my paper journal. Then, after dabbing away any Dinty Moore that may have fallen on the page, I’ll take a picture and send the image to Peg who, being an able translator of Authentic Septuagenarian Scrawl, will transcribe my narrative to the blog. And you, Gentle Reader, in reaching for your toothbrush the next morning, will be reminded that hey! I don’t have to take my coffee alone this morning! Al is with me, or out there somewhere, and badda-bing, badda- boom, the cycle is complete.

And I won’t be alone, either. I’ve got conversations planned with six lake association people, a land conservancy expert, two natural resource scientists, and any number of knowledgeable Finger Lakes curmudgeons whose lives are inextricably entwined with their lakes, as mine is with Lake George. The list may grow. I hope it does. And I hope I have the patience and wit to listen closely enough to what they say to describe it in these pages. 

So here we go.

Peace, love, and happiness-

Al