Thoughts on an Adventurous Final Semester

     I have a split personality.  Not in  A Beautiful Mind kind of way, but a split one nonetheless   For all of what my mother likes to call my "hippie tendencies" (Read: A lack of appropriate outfits/etiquette for family get- togethers at my fancy aunt's house), I have decidedly Type-A tendencies.  Those less concerned about my self-esteem would probably call me bossy.  I like to be in charge.  I have had an almost life-long struggle with authority figures.  So Saturday was an adventure in more ways than one.
     I didn't go on AA, mostly because I hate group  bonding activities, but also because I had to work.  So Saturday was the first time I had seen a canoe, other than in Pocahontas.  My lack of outdoor experience is pretty much common knowledge at this point, as is my semi-codependent friendship with Rachel, and so I'm sure it's no surprise that we ended up in the same canoe, with Rachel in charge of steering.  Here's where the adventure really begins; as I mentioned before, I hate being told what to do, particularly when it does not go well. We ran into the banks, into bushes, and at one point into what I told myself was a fishing line, but was probably a spiderweb.  Rachel yelled directions at me, and at first I resented it, but then we began to get the hang of paddling (Sort of. We're still us).  It was then I began to realize what I can only really articulate now: this semester has been about me giving up the need for control.  No matter what activity I have engaged in in this class, whether it be jumping off a ledge in the climbing gym, wearing shoes worn by others (still gross), or paddling a boat I am not in charge of, I have had to loosen the reigns a bit.  In the second chapter of Rowing to Latitude, Jill Fredston writes of how falling in love with Doug forced her to give up control, a shift reflected in the meandering style of the narrative.  So while I would still be gun-shy about providing a universal definition  I would say that for me, adventure is, in the spirit of my last few weeks in the Hamilton bubble, about being pushed out of my comfort zone.

Fulfillment

I've always had a particularly fond place in my heart and on my bookshelf for Henry David Thoreau's Walden. I often find myself coming back to it year after year -- I even considered choosing it for my final paper -- because I love the simplicity and purpose that Thoreau finds through his sojourn at Walden pond. I was reminded quite strongly of Thoreau's tenets of limiting material possessions,  prioritizing nature, and self-reflection in Rowing to Latitude, and I was glad to see that Fredston quoted my favorite passage from Walden in the opening to chapter three. The quote reads: "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

Fredston's outlook on her journeys correlates perfectly to Thoreau's quest to strip his life down to the bare necessities in order to truly think and live. He argues that this simplicity is necessary for a meaningful life, which Fredston's experiences affirm. Fredston went on her trips in order to find herself through nature. Thus there are parallel journeys in this narrative: besides the original journey towards a chosen destination, there is also the equally, if not more important, journey towards self-discovery. Rowing is thus both an emotional and physical experience requiring intense focus and separation from modern-day amenities. Rowing also serves as a spiritual medium to achieve fulfillment. Fredston describes rowing as a "union between body and soul" (28), and says that her "boats [didn't] allow much insulation from the environment; they force[d] [them] to be absorbed by it" (21). This connection between her and the environment allowed her to both discover things about herself by being removed from distractions, while also strengthening her relationship with Doug. She learned life lessons through rowing, such to measure time "not so much in miles as in moments" (69).

Fredston beautifully answers the "why climb/adventure/journey" question we have brought up again and again throughout this semester. In the preface she says: "People question why we undertake these trips at all. They might as well ask us why we breathe or eat. Our journeys are food for our spirits, clean air for our souls. We don't care if they are firsts or farthests; we don't seek sponsors. They are neither a vacation nor an escape, they are a way of life" (xv). Fredston and her husband seem so genuinely happy rowing and kayaking, and one reason I find Rowing to Latitude to be refreshing is because of Fredston's constant commitment to the joy of rowing.

Simplicity and romance metaphors

Our last blog post! After 14 weeks of adventure narrative reading and writing, I truly can’t believe we’ve made it this far. Not to sound cliché. I guess I’m feeling a bit nostalgic.

Although I’m only about 2/3 the way through Fredston’s Rowing to Latitude, 200 pages have given me a pretty solid grasp of the text. First off, I’d like to know what qualifies a book for the “National Outdoor Book Award”; I can’t deny the quality of Fredston’s writing, but I often find her anecdotes and stories of her Arctic travels a bit repetitive. Perhaps the warm weather has begun to fry my attention span. Each trip seems to contain the same elements: wildlife sightings (bears, whales, sharks), crippling winds, impenetrable ice sheets, seemingly endless miles covered, and rather tacky love metaphors. After the first few chapters, my attention began to waver.

Back to the romance metaphors—an example:  “I fell in love with Doug the same way I learned about avalanches: in small increments, by observation, by discovery, by a series of small surprises” (43). Not to digress. But again, “Our intimate collaboration feels a lot like sculling. To keep the boat moving in a reasonably straight line, we must stroke separate oars as one” (47). I could go on.

While I easily criticize a variety of aspects of Fredston’s storytelling style, she incorporates messages and implications in her writing I find quite thought provoking. For instance, when reflecting on the introspective aspects of rowing, she writes, “How can I explain that I treasure these trips for the focus that comes with simplicity?” (62). Her comment reminded me of the time in my life when I feel I lived the simplest—my semester abroad in East Africa. Devoid of most modern conveniences of technology, my simple existence immensely heightened my sense of awareness and focus of in-the-moment living. Her reflection, along with my own application of the sentiment to my own life, enabled me to better relate to her emotions while rowing.

Something I forgot to mention—my high school experiences as a coxswain for my school’s crew team slightly alter my perceptions of Fredston’s narrative. I very strongly disliked being a coxswain. Perhaps my numerous memories of long hours on the water in the freezing cold subconsciously taint my view of Fredston’s stories.

The end of my last blog post! To say I am feeling sentimental is an understatement.

Most, if not all, of the books that we have read this semester focus almost exclusively on the human stories generated by moving through or adventuring into the wilderness.  Even Norgay's Touching my Father's Soul, which examined the impact, both positive and negative, of European climbing in the Himalayas on the Sherpa community was primarily anthropocentric.  Although Norgay approached Everest in a more respectful way because, as a man rediscovering his Buddhist roots, he believed that the mountain was a goddess, he rarely, if ever, mentioned the environmental impact that climbing has had on Everest.  There was no mention of trash or the need to remove it.  Rowing to Latitude, however, with its eloquent and lengthy passages describing the wilderness and signs of human habitation that Fredston and Dave pass through stands in sharp contrast to the other books we have read.  Unlike the other authors we have read, Fredston makes it a central purpose of her book to describe the environments that she and Doug have rowed through and the insights that those journeys have given them into the impact of anthropocentrism and human expansion have had not only on the indigenous peoples they meet but on the environment at large.  In doing so, she recognizes and attempts to show her reader that virgin wilderness no longer exists.  Even the preserves, where human contact technically should not have occurred, are littered with the refuse of human activity.

While Fredston and Doug saw hints of human activity even in the most remote parts of Canada and Alaska, they were largely able to avoid it.  The abundance of wildlife helped to create the illusion that they were traveling through a virgin wilderness, even as they encountered stone tools, dilapidated cabins, and rusted barrels.  Norway, however, shatters this illusion completely.  Whereas Fredston and Doug were often able to pretend that they were the first to see the landscape they traveled through in Norway, as Doug writes, "we always have the feeling that everything has been discovered once, twice, hundreds, maybe thousands of times before.  We need a few more secrets" (216).  The frequent presence of sheep and other domesticated animals, apart from driving Fredston bonkers when they camp, further emphasizes that Norway has no unadulterated nature left to offer them.  As such, Dough ironically writes, "Mostly we see sheep (even in nature preserves!) and cows and salmon farms, though on a good day, we might come across a land otter or mink, a seal, and a couple of deer" (216).  This domesticated wilderness could not be more different from their trips along the Canadian and Alaskan coasts, where they were often discovered and examined by bears in the middle of the night.  Although their journey through Norway disheartens them in many ways, it teaches them a valuable lesson: "It made us realize that, like the perpetually grazing sheep, centuries of human habitation have nibbled away not only at the earth but at our perception of what constitutes nature.  When we do not miss what is asent because we have never known it to be there, we will have lost our baseline for recognizing what is truly wild.  In its domestication nature will have become just another human fabrication" (217). Norway illustrates the dangers posed by continual human expansion; however, Fredston goes beyond a simple environmental message.  She powerfully suggests that human expansion will pose not only a danger to the wilderness and wildlife, but to humans as well.  The development of Alaska, she shows, not only diminishes the habitat and quality of life of wild animals, but it also does so for humans by shrinking the amount of wilderness available for human exploration.  This, in turn, irrevocably alters how people interact with one another in the wilderness: "In Alaska, meeting another group of paddlers used to be an occasion to socialize.  But now it is not uncommon for two groups of paddlers camped on opposite ends of a beach to adopt the same avoidance behavior.  As development shrinks the open spaces and technology makes the remaining spaces more accessible, this may become a standard coping mechanism.  We will have replaced the privilege of solitude with isolation" (220).  Thus, Rowing to Latitude becomes a chronicle of the changes wrought by humans on the natural world and the dangers that this poses to nature and to humans as well.  In destroying or minimizing wilderness, people are destroying or minimizing their abilities to escape from everyday life and to explore not only the wilderness but themselves and the people they are with.

First post on Rowing To Latitude, wahooo!

“Our journeys are food for our spirits, clean air for our souls. We don’t care if they are firsts or farthests; we don’t seek sponsors. They are neither a vacation nor an escape, they are a way of life.” (Fredston, XV) Why adventure? Well this is clearly why. Fredston’s account is, clearly, the best relief we have gotten from the goal/summit oriented way of life. We have talked a fair amount about whether or not these adventures are a sort of second world; an escape. Janelle always cautions us something along the lines of- if we view adventure as an escape, then is the rest of “real life” something that inherently needs escaping?” On the other hand, is a vacation just a necessary escape, or is it an outlet for fun, or do vacations actually add a different kind of meaning to our lives. I honestly think that every setting we are in is a new way for us to learn about ourselves, and the accumulation of all these settings, along with the frequency which we are placed in them, accounts for our general outlook on life, our general personality and attitude. For Fredston, what she has experienced whilst rowing is not a side adventure, but a huge defining factor of who she is and what she values. If we talk about adventure as an escape, then is it contradictory that we learn more about ourselves the farther we are away from society? Fredston states, “With hours to think, it is also a little harder to escape from ourselves.” (Fredston, XIV). So is an adventure an anti-escape, a confrontation of our true selves, without the distraction of the rest of society? Yet this is again problematic because it means separating nature and wilderness adventures from how we define society.

            Fredston looks to the oceans not as an unknown land she wants to conquer but as a part of this world that “seem(s) even bigger and more compelling because I know I can never explore them.” (Fredston, 100) The world is fun to explore precisely because we can never see it all, can never figure out all its mysteries. On a similar note, Fredston believes that, “The finiteness of a lifetime adds intensity to our search for truth, for beauty, for happiness, for love, for ourselves” (Fredston, 99/100). I can relate to Jill much more than I’ve been able to relate to any of the other authors thus far. For me, conquering something takes all the magic out of it. We have to learn to appreciate what we cannot obtain, and therefore love the world because we get to stand amongst its mysteries and wonders. For these reasons I really enjoyed what I have read so far of “Rowing to Latitude”, and am looking forward to reading the rest in hopes to find a definition of adventure more like my own.

Who is Alfred Lansing anyways?

Sorry this is a bit late... 

I just wanted to start out by saying that this is probably my favorite narrative that we've read so far this semester.  It is much better written than most of the other texts, and Alfred Lansing manages to present a gripping story without resorting to melodrama.

That being said, Lansing's approach to recording Shackleton's journey is much different from that of most of the other authors.  Though Krakauer, Tabor, and Harrer were not present for any or some of the events they describe, the authors' duties as reporters play a central role in their texts.  They often describe their interviews with survivors, the research process, and their reasoning behind their conclusions drawn from various pieces of evidence.  In a sense, the authors' search for the "truth" becomes the primary focus of the text, and the expedition members become secondary, cast as characters.  

Lansing, on the other hand, does not refer to himself or write in first-person except in the one page preface.  He briefly explains the research process, and tells the reader that his information comes from diary entries and interviews with survivors.  He begins the preface by boldly stating that "The story that follows is true," and he describes his efforts to "record as accurately as possible the reactions of the men who lived them."  Of course, these two statements are problematic since he at once makes a claim of "truth" and admits that he can only portray the story "as accurately as possible," suggesting that complete truth is an impossibility.  Contradictions aside, Lansing's opening statements reveal an attitude very different from that of Tabor and Harrer, who refer to the "men who lived" the tragedies as "characters" and construct a buffer between the real-life events and their narratives by employing language such as final act, stage, and tragedy (in the theatrical sense).  Lansing, though, tries to emphasize the reality of the men's struggles from his opening sentence.  Then, he is essentially absent for the rest of the narrative.  He never interjects personal reactions, opinions, or anecdotes.  And, when he does feel that an explanation of his reasoning/research methods is necessary, he includes such information in the footnotes (see page 120 for an example).  This distances the author from the text and allows the reader to become absorbed in the story of the expedition rather than the author's detective process.  Interestingly, I found that this approach made the narrative read more like a novel, even though Lansing makes his claim of "truth" clear, writes about men instead of characters, and avoids language that characterizes the men's struggles as a play.

 

Food stress

Food is such a unifying component of our culture, and I thought it was effective how Lansing incorporated food into the narrative because for me it was easier to understand how the group was coming together under such conditions and I could more easily relate to how quickly the group came together. Meals are a time for groups to come together and share a common experience. So even though people may be in a different state in one way or another, meal time is when everyone is at least on some level of an equal playing field. That constancy of something familiar - eating dinner - helps build the bonds that create a form of group identity. The constant reminders that the rations were getting smaller and the contrasting descriptions of Christmas dinners helped emphasize not only the severity of their situation (I have to remind myself that they're in Antarctica and temperatures are below freezing while I'm reading in the sunshine). The fact that there is only one instance in the narrative in which people complain about a decision Shackleton makes regarding hunting seals despite such meager rations helps emphasize the solidarity within the group. When Shackleton decides to leave the seals behind and not hunt for a while. Greenstreet writes that he considered the decision to be "'rather foolish.'" I thought it was interesting that Lansing choses this particular incident, when disagreement arises over food, to be the moment where he analyzes Shackleton's leadership in a bit more detail. It seems odd to me that there is not more disagreement about when and if rations are cut in other instances when Shackleton limits the food supply, although now that I think about it, adding more to a supply differs greatly from taking away food.

Also, I was amused by the conversations that Lansing depicted regarding the thoughts of food from back home. The conversations about "good bread and butter, Munich beer, Coromandel rock oysters, apple pie and Devonshire cream are pleasant reminiscences rather than longings” (103) reminded me of times on trail when my thoughts traveled back to foods that I did not have on trail but that I was looking forward to upon arriving back home. At points in my journals I've written lists of food that I couldn't get on trail but I was so bored with trail food that I started thinking about alternatives.