Homeward bound
15 July 06 15.23
I have said it before, but every departing group leaves a vacuum. It’s as if all that departing energy takes some of the boat with it, as if she has been winded with a blow to the ribs, so she now has to inhale before starting away again. There are token reminders left behind; a bundle of food left on my chair with an apple perched on top, bits of frayed string from cut knots, a handful of thermos flasks needed a wash.
I liked some more than others (I would be less than human if my feelings for twelve people didn’t span the gamut from dislike to affection) but that is to miss the point: the individuals at some point fuse so that I see an amalgam, a collection that takes on an identity every bit as characteristic as each of the personalities from which it is composed. It is that chimera that I have to pin down, steer and then answer to. I am never sure how to treat it: is it a democracy? The lowest common denominator? The one the shouts the loudest? The one that writes the cheque? I think all have to be appeased but without diluting the sense of purpose and the dynamic and the direction needs to be steered. It makes for a lumbering beast but the last fortnight has seem one that I have grown very fond of.
I think sometimes people do not know what they ask for before they ask: the debilitation caused through seasickness is horrible to witness, let alone experience, but in many ways comes with the territory. The danger of exposure that comes with the remoteness of the places that the boat is able to get to can only be imagined before it will bite one day. Yet I guess they ask because they know it is here that the rewards are. Today I put money and a mobile phone in my pocket for the first time in a fortnight and something seemed to have died as I did it. Not to see other boats, other people, other signs of the effects of people seems to be at the grist of what the trips are about, but there again, that may just be me.
There are a couple left behind but with only five left on the boat each can find a space and we may as well be alone. So I am sat in the wheelhouse trying to gather my thoughts on the last two weeks before I have to start thinking next week.
Two weeks was a long time and exhausting, especially being so far away from home. When the ground is new and unfamiliar everything has to be learned for the first time, it adds to the work load. But with that comes the thrill of finding something fresh and novel. The south end of Harris was spectacular and a thrill to be among the rugged barren coastline. We found some areas densely populated with seabirds, others disappointingly empty. I demonstrated that I may not need to achieve some of the goals the group have set whist being central to others: a sixty foot boat to get to the Shiants is overkill, but par for the course for the Flannans.
So what am I trying to say?
I think I see the perception that folk have of me that I am living the life of Reilly, flitting form holiday to holiday. Yet to me this jars with the reality I feel. I am typing now with red rimmed eyelids weighed down with 36hrs of pitiful sleep, ,the edge of madness knowing away at my thoughts and wondering when the pleasure is. It will be 73 miles to Cape Wrath and another 70 round the corner and I am tired already. I rarely enjoy the moment: there is always too much at stake, too much to do and think of to be dwelling on the pleasure of the moment, but at the end of a week, when the responsibilities have evaporated, then I can relax in a quiet contemplation and revel in the memory.
I also enjoy looking at the world through other peoples’ eyes. One is looking at the trip through the eyepiece of a video camera, another with ringing pliers in their pocket. I went a walk with one who is tickled by moths and saw what has flitted past my feet unnoticed previously. These are not passions for me, ringing birds puts me neither up nor down but I enjoy the enthusiasm and passion that rubs off from those for who it is the case. The role I play in this is irrelevant: I put them there, they get on with it.
There have been moments of anger and frustration in the week: these things are never a bed of roses, but the things that people have seem are not those that have caused the most worry. It is a fragile existence and sometimes it feels as if the ice can crack at any time. A safety valve goes off noisily every now and then but at least the pressure is dissipated harmlessly. When you have to fix the genny to fix the loo to fix the next thing, tensions mount and those closest to the explosion are not necessarily those to blame.
Well, I didn’t get to my point but I guess that some time in the next few weeks I will start to enjoy the last two weeks. It was cracking trip for me. If the others enjoyed it, all the better. If not, then at least they can take succour from the fact that the rose survived.
