The Importance of Going Nowhere

Musical accompaniment: Joni Mitchell’s “Refuge of the Roads.”

I was at a holiday event this past weekend, and chatted with someone I hadn’t seen since last year. “I heard you bought a sailboat,” she said. “Where do you go?”

“Wherever the wind takes me.” It has become a pretty reflexive answer. For all the hours I spent on the lake this year, there were only a few where I was seeking a specific destination: leaving from and returning to the boatyard for the change of season, and my trip to St. Joseph, Michigan. Otherwise, I planned my trip based on the wind and sometimes the waves.

For some, sailing with the wind represents a limitation, but for me it is freedom. So often the need to achieve a specific destination is stifling, a form of suppression that mutes our ability to reach beyond arbitrary limits placed on us for the sake of maintaining formation. Knowing where you will finish your journey before it begins provides a sense of comfort but very little opportunity for discovery. Not knowing ensures little beyond your freedom to wander according to your desires.

I would be lying if I told you that this attitude hasn’t guided much of my life. While I’m certainly not a wanderer or vagabond, I’ve never been one to plan much beyond the horizon. I prefer to respond to the world around me, and that has led me down many different paths, both good and not so good. It has kept me from becoming an expert in a narrow field or obtaining a powerful title at a corporation, but allowed me to enjoy many different projects and discover passions that I previously might have overlooked. Indeed, one such path led me to Chicago and introduced me to a love of sailing.

We have a strong tendency to view events on a linear, progressive curve. We look back at an arc of history and see a natural sequence of actions from point A to point X. Things makes sense; serendipity and discovery seem logically embedded in our past. Of course, it doesn’t really work that way, our memory is a marvelous filter that exists to create coherence. Our destinations are not defined by our starting points, they arise from the choices we make along the way. Looking forward, no trajectory exists. Looking backward, we see what we created.

Instead of asking the question 'where will I go?', I'm trying very hard to reframe it as 'how can I… Click To Tweet

Often we fix our goals early and judge success by their attainment. In and of itself, there is nothing wrong with that. But, to return to sailing, sometimes the wind shifts and staying on the same course is the least desirable option. For those who are unfamiliar, you cannot sail directly into the wind, and beating upwind (sailing close to the wind’s direction) can be physically demanding and hard on the ship — the boat is hitting waves head-on and the skipper is struggling to resist weather helm. While it’s often an invigorating tack, beating upwind requires an added amount of diligence and effort. Turning to a broad reach not only keeps your cocktail in the glass it allows you to go below and pee.

Instead of asking the question, “where will I go?” I’m trying very hard to reframe it as “how can I go?” After all, it’s not the destination, but the journey, right? It makes little sense (to me, at least) to work towards a goal that I chose for myself decades ago when I possessed little wisdom and much less discipline. I’m trying to allow exploration and discovery to influence my direction and expose me to many pursuits that might otherwise pass by me. Sailing has not only become one of those passions but also a great analogy for the process itself. I’m excited to see where next season takes me.

 

Three Books On The Great Lakes

Before the season ends I am sailing solo from Chicago to St. Joseph, Michigan. It’s about a ten-hour trip (if all goes well) and I want to devote some of the time to talking about three books I have read that address an important theme: stewardship of the Great Lakes. Western Europeans have actively shaped the region for four centuries, and the current pace and magnitude of that change demands a sober assessment of ongoing strategies.

Dan Egan‘s new book, The Death and Life of the Great Lakes, is an engaging biography of the lakes that looks at the structural, biological, and political forces that have altered and threatened one of the largest and most secluded freshwater ecosystems in the world. Since the 1634 voyage of French explorer Jean Nicolet, Egan notes that “we are still treating the lakes the same way, as liquid highways that promise a shortcut to unimaginable fortune.” Our desire to mine these resources led to the construction of the Erie Canal and the development of the St. Lawrence Seaway, two pathways that opened the heretofore isolated ecosystem to the global community. Not only were commodities brought out of the Great Lakes, but as we now know all too well, many invasive species were brought in. Egan does an excellent job describing the effort being made to control creatures like the sea lamprey, the zebra mussel, and the less known but more destructive quagga mussel. This development has provided opportunity — if somewhat unbalanced — but there have been unplanned costs: while the lakes are a substantial part of the North American economy, the effort to keep the ecosystem from collapsing negates much of the extracted wealth.

Reading Egan’s book took me back to an environmental history classic, William Cronon’s Nature’s Metropolis. I first read this history of Chicago in graduate school, and returning to it did not disappoint me. Cronon, a professor at University of Wisconsin – Madison and MacArthur fellow, asserts that Chicago surpassed other competitors in the region (like my hometown of St. Louis) by extracting from and serving the hinterlands of the Great Plains. In almost mercantile fashion, resources were brought into the metropolis where they were processed and pushed back to the frontier. Value often pre-existed in the old-growth forests, the fertile prairies, and the aquatic life of the lakes. Mining these resources created tremendous wealth for those in the metropole, but only transient income to those in the hinterland. No better example of this is the logging of the white pine forests in Wisconsin and Michigan, which created fortunes for mill owners and commodity traders, but were quickly exhausted and left local economies to collapse.  Cronon’s story of Chicago is a nineteenth-century tale but it resonates in the current age.

Finally, Peter Annin’s The Great Lakes Water Wars was published in between the two others, and it addresses probably the most valuable resource in the Great Lakes basin: fresh water. Annin gives us a geological summary of the basin before diving into climate issues, politics, and engineering. As the title suggests, he asserts that water will become an economic and possibly geopolitical flash point in the [near] future, and there is no greater freshwater cache on the planet than the Great Lakes basin. Although agreements have been signed to regulate water usage in the basin, their legal status is questionable and they remain in place by the good graces of the signatories (and not all the time at that.) The threat stems from a growing population and uneven distribution of freshwater across the globe. Large sections of Africa and Asia have lower water reserves per capita, while the United States obscenely wastes and mismanages its water. Add to that a capitalist desire to privatize the distribution of drinking water and you have the makings of a resource catastrophe (Annin’s chapter on the Aral Sea provides a stark warning.)

From the days of Nicolet, the Great Lakes have been viewed as wealth to be extracted. Click To Tweet

Although these books were written with different perspectives, one theme that weaves through them is the embrace of resource colonialism. Cronon acknowledges this in the title of his book, and his thesis that Chicago acts as a metropole to the surrounding hinterland. Value is added late in the supply chain, which means wealth never accumulates at the point of extraction. This has held true with logging and mining, and now the threat is to water. Lending credence to these fears is a recent comment by Senator Ron Johnson of Wisconsin — a Great Lakes state — who told a constituent that essentials like food, shelter, and health care were privileges, not rights. This list certainly includes water. The fundamental shift of removing water from the commonwealth and placing it in the hands of Nestlé, Coca-Cola, and Pepsi perpetuates the practice of removing wealth from the hinterland. That these products are then sold back to the people they were removed from echoes mercantilism.

The early decades of the 21st century will surely be a crucible for the lakes. Having nearly destroyed the ecosystem in the previous century, it is still not clear if the lessons learned will be enough incentive to protect one of the greatest resources on the globe. Threats from sulfide mining, water mismanagement, agricultural waste, and invasive species could quickly render the ecosystem “dead” once again. Hubris and greed are powerful forces that often overwhelm good sense. The history and analysis presented in each of these books cannot foretell the path we will take, but they do describe a detailed image of the game board, and warn us of probable consequences. The past attitude of treating the Great Lakes as a treasure trove is simply incompatible with maintaining an environment that can support the lives of millions of people in the region. Whether reading one or all three, I believe you will gain much knowledge that transcends the local region and speaks to humanity’s ecological, economic, and political future. Enjoy.

Today’s Lesson: Jacklines

As I continue to gain experience sailing solo and prepare Ikaros for the endeavor, I have decided to install jacklines this winter while she’s in storage. This short post from BoatUS Magazine raises some good issues echoed in previous readings:

Many sailors like to use stainless-steel wire for jacklines, which, although undeniably strong, can roll underfoot, potentially throwing the sailor off balance.

Instead, try using 1-inch-wide nylon webbing. It’s plenty strong enough, won’t roll underfoot, and best of all won’t make a noise or scratch your deck like stainless-steel wire can.

One drawback is durability from UV exposure. Plastimo, one manufacturer of nylon webbing jacklines, recommends replacing them after a cumulated period of two years of outdoor exposure.

While I knew nylon webbing deteriorates in the sunlight, I didn’t know that the recommended replacement period was two years of accumulated UV exposure (in Chicago that is approximately four years.)

Happy sailing!

The Nevers

I’m beginning to plan an overnight trip from Chicago to Benton Harbor/St. Joseph, Michigan. It is a trip across Lake Michigan that addresses some of my nevers. The thing about the nevers is that we all have them; they always exist. I’ve never had a child, I’ve never been from Tucson to Tucumcari, and I’ve never been to heaven (but I’ve been to Oklahoma.) In my boat Ikaros I’ve never sailed so far, never sailed away from shore, and never spent the night on it.

Everyone has to face the nevers. For a relative novice such as myself, sailing for ten hours across open water is a big step forward, but one that I must take in order to walk down the street. And my ultimate goal is to not just walk down the street, but leave town.

By leaving the shore I will not be able to rely on coastal navigation techniques, I cannot dismiss weather forecasts, and I will have to prepare for the unlikely event that I will ditch twenty-five miles offshore. I’m cautious each time I leave the harbor — especially when I’m sailing solo — but this trip will require an extra bit of deliberation. It’s a great opportunity to practice skills I will use in difficult situations on the Great Lakes and eventually in blue water.

Toward Benton Harbor

My destination is significant for a couple of reasons. First, it can be reached from Chicago in a single day. With a bit of luck I will arrive under sail before sunset. Second, St. Joseph is the site of Fort Miami, established by Robert de La Salle in order to explore what is now southern Michigan and northern Indiana. It is believed that La Salle built canoes there to continue his journey. While nearly 340 years ago, I shall make a point of toasting him with my evening martini.

The Great Lakes will help me overcome many nevers. I have not sailed overnight. I have not sailed in difficult weather. While I consider myself a cruiser, I want to solo sail on a multi-day trip, perhaps to Mackinac Island. Still called the Mediterranean Sea of North America, the Great Lakes are beautiful, formidable, and challenging. The more nevers I can face on them the better prepared I will be to explore the rest of the world.