Then, by chance, a Coast Guard search-and-rescue plane spotted a ship drifting 260 miles east of Johnston Island atoll. As the plane moved closer, the pilot spotted a little white dog running frantically back and forth across the deck of the bridge wing. The crew collected pizza and granola bars from their box lunches, placed them in an empty sonar buoy and, with some careful maneuvering, managed to drop the food onto the deck.
Aerial images of the excited little dog running across the deck of the burned-out tanker were broadcast worldwide. A week later, a tugboat called American Quest reached the Insiko. The tugboat had been called on to keep the Insiko from drifting onto a nearby ecological preserve, where it threatened to run aground and spill more than 60,000 gallons of diesel fuel. The rescue crew found Hok-Get, starved and frightened from her twenty-five-day odyssey at sea, hiding under a pile of tires near the bow of the ship. The lonely and fearful chapter of her life aboard the Insiko had finally come to an end.
When the American Quest, with Insiko in tow, finally docked at Pier 24 of Honolulu Harbor, Hok-Get emerged in the arms of a rescuer to a red-carpet welcome of supporters and media from around the world. Her tail wagging and a bright red flower lei around her neck, Hok-Get was the picture of happiness, blessings and good fortune that captain Chin-Po had foretold. The little dog had brought out the generosity and compassion of the world with her resilience and spirit, proving that every life, no matter how small, deserves to be cherished.
Jon L. Rishi
What Do You See?
Gary loved his job at the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, California. He was an onstage presenter and narrated the wondrous exhibits in some of the largest and most interesting habitats in the aquarium. One day in July, he was speaking to a large group of guests about the Tropical Pacific exhibit. The exhibit, made to look like an exotic lagoon, was home to thousands of brilliantly colored fish from the coral shores of the islands of Palau. Gary’s voice, as always, was soothing and pleasant. He welcomed visitors to a habitat that contained, “. . . three hundred and fifty thooouuusand gallons of real sea water. The water this afternoon is a balmy seventy-eight degrees . . . just as these magnificent creatures like it.”
With poetic detail, he described the beautiful swimming patterns of the zebra sharks and the black-tipped reef sharks. He pointed out a male and female Napoleon wrasse and noted, “Just look at him with those gorgeous big ol’ blue lips and her with the fiery peachy-yellow ones. What a lovely couple!” He talked about the porcupine fish and the strange defensive habits of the puffer family to which it belonged, then segued into a description of the trigger family of fishes and the humu humu nuku nuku apuaa of Hawaii.
A pretty young lady in her twenties had been standing next to Gary. She seemed to be hanging on his every word. Midway through the presentation, the woman leaned over and said to Gary, “I love listening to your voice. When you talk, I can picture the animals swimming around and moving through the coral.” Gary usually asked guests to hold comments until the end of the show, but the haunting manner of the woman seemed to catch him off guard. She was pretty, intelligent and seemed exceptionally interested in marine life. “I could listen to you forever,” the woman said. Gary was flattered. He thanked the woman for such a nice compliment, then went back to work.
After the presentation, Gary was answering questions about the exhibit when a man approached him. The man was full of compliments, too. He thanked Gary for such a beautiful presentation and asked him a couple of questions regarding the fish. Then he asked if Gary noticed anything unusual about the young lady who was talking with him a few moments ago. Gary said he did not. “That’s okay,” the man said. “A lot of people don’t notice. She’s my granddaughter—and she’s blind.”
Gary Riedel
Dolphin Seas
Original painting by Wyland © 2003.
4
OCEAN
WISDOM
All is born of water; all is sustained by water.
Goethe
A Lesson from the Sea
Until I was fourteen I had never been far from my father’s farm. And because the only water close by was in ponds, the river and a small lake, I could scarcely imagine what a vast sea must be like. People said that sometimes when the wind came from the west, the fields of young wheat looked like waves, but I don’t think anyone where I lived knew what an ocean wave looked like.
Then my Aunt Harriet and Uncle Ted invited me to spend two weeks with them in Spring Lake, New Jersey. They had taken a house there for the summer and thought I would enjoy the shore.
I guess I’d become something of a trial at home because I had more attitude adjustments from my dad that year than you’d believe—maybe one of the reasons my parents so readily agreed to let me go away.
Before I knew it, I was standing on a wide beach looking at the great Atlantic Ocean for the first time in my life. I’d been so eager to see it that I talked my uncle into walking the short block to the beach before I was even unpacked.
It was not what I expected. The waves were easy and gentle, more like a lake, I thought. But the horizon seemed very far away and the air sure didn’t smell like Indiana. Just breathing made me feel a little light-headed and happy. “It’s just like a big lake,” I said.
“It’s quiet today,” my uncle said. “The ocean has many moods, though. This is just one of them.” I heard an odd kind of respect in his voice that I did not understand.
I waded into the water up to the limits of my rolled-up jeans and picked up a bright blue piece of glass. It was frosted and very smooth. My uncle told me that the sea and sand did that. “Powerful forces,” he said. “I don’t want you in the water without one of us with you.”
“I can swim,” I said, more to ease his concern than to brag. “Mom says I loved the water from the day I was born.”
“Most people who drown can swim and love the water,” he said. “Let’s go to the house, get you unpacked, have some lunch, and then we can come down to the beach in the afternoon and get you initiated.”
We did that. I don’t think many things in my life have been as much fun as swimming in the Atlantic summer surf. Day after day, the sky was clear, the waves easy, the water just warm enough. I was at the beach as soon as I could get an adult to go with me and stayed long after they were ready to go back to the house. Before long I met three guys my own age, and we began to hang out almost every day to body surf.
In the evenings I sat on the porch with my aunt and uncle and drank iced tea or lemonade. Sometimes we sang the kind of old songs you sing in summer camp. Sometimes we took a drive to Atlantic City to see the boardwalk. But mostly it was the ocean that had my attention. My uncle had rented a small star-class skiff and began to teach me how to sail it.
I was a natural, he soon said. “You have a real feel for it. And you learn fast. I only have to tell you once and you’ve got it.” After a day at the beach, on or in the water, I went to sleep every night listening to the steady, reassuring sound of the surf. I thought of the ocean as my friend and the source of more fun than I’d ever known.
Then one morning I awoke to a dull, gray sky and a noise I’d never heard before. I walked to the end of our street as soon as I got up. The sea was just beyond a low retaining wall, and it looked much more exciting than I’d ever seen it. The waves were big and dark, and the whitecaps were dazzling. I could see three boys I’d met on the town beach already in the water. They were laughing and screaming when a large wave overtook them. They body surfed all the way into the shore. It looked like it was going to be a great day.
At breakfast I asked, first thing, when we could go to the beach. My uncle had some things to do and said we would go in about an hour. I asked if I could go ahead because my friends were already in the water.
“You better wait for me this time,” my uncle said. “I won’t be long. The sea is a little high today. You’ll have to be careful.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll go down and get some sun
and wait for you.”
“Lots of screen,” he said. “You can burn even under those clouds. And do not—I repeat—do not go in the water.”
Of course, the ocean was irresistible. I knew it as my friend. I’d had the best time of my life sailing on it, swimming in it, dodging its waves, feeling the strength of it lift my body high on the swell. I tried to wait for my uncle, but the pull of the sea was too much for me and I went in to join my friends.
We were all excited and constantly looking for the seventh wave, which we all imagined to be bigger than the rest. The trouble, of course, was where did you begin to count? So we picked the largest wave in a course and counted from there. In about a half an hour we got it right and waded on wave six as far out as we dared go to catch wave seven.
And then it came. It seemed larger than anything I’d ever seen, rolling at us from across the great expanse of ocean. It rolled and threatened to cap and then just kept coming on. We all pointed at it, shouted at each other and got ready to either ride or duck it. I think I was still thinking about which to do when it hit.
I had turned broadside to it, and the great wave picked me up and tossed me on its crest like a cork. I bounced for what seemed a very long time, and then it threw me into its trough and pulled me under the water. I hit the sand bottom with my back, was rolled over and over, turned this way and that. Even though I had to get some air in the next few seconds, I could not tell which way was up. I forced my body toward the light. I broached the surface, gulped air and was once again pulled under and pounded down into the sand. The green water roiled around me, rolling and tossing me as though I were a pebble. I believed I was about to take the last breath I’d ever take.
My life did not flash before me, as people say it does, but my feelings did. I remembered countless joys at home that were more intense than I knew they were at the time. How I felt rolling in a raked pile of leaves, how the warm water of our pond felt on my skin, how my mother looked at me when she put a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table, how my father could not suppress his pride when I won a horse show. Small, ordinary things of great joy filled my mind, and I tried to turn my head once again toward the light.
But the sea seemed determined to keep me pinned to the sand like a wrestler trying for a win. I didn’t have strength left to fight it, and the moment I gave up, the sea picked me up once more and spit me out in shallow water.
My friends came and helped drag me out onto the sand. I sat dazed and sputtering, trying to catch my breath while they all talked about what a great ride it had been. Not for me. I finally began to breathe a little easier when I opened my eyes and saw the legs of a man in white twill pants. I followed them to the man’s face and immediately lowered my head, waiting for the lecture. It did not come.
And it never did. My uncle walked me home. We had lunch and went sailing in the afternoon after the sea had quieted. He never once mentioned my having disobeyed him.
Some years later, after my college commencement ceremony, my family had the usual send-the-kid-out-into-the-world dinner. At one point we began to talk about the most important lessons we each had managed to learn. I remembered that day at the beach when my uncle stood over me on the sand as I tried to get my breath and said nothing. I asked him why he had done that, and he said, “I didn’t know whether to hug you or kick you in the butt, so silence seemed to be the best option. Besides, the sea is the finest teacher there is. I could see that you had learned what you needed to know.”
He was right about that. I’ve loved the sea all my life and have spent many days sailing or walking beaches. But since that amazing day when the sea became my teacher I’ve respected it even more than loved it. It is, indeed, a powerful teacher. I looked at my family seated around that table and thought how good it was to be alive, to be with them and to have had once in my youth such an unforgettable and forgiving teacher.
Walker Meade
A Prayer for the Ocean
To stand at the edge of the sea . . . is to have knowledge of things that are as eternal as any earthly life can be.
Rachel Carson
Under the Sea-Wind
My life’s passion for knowing and feeling the peace of God led me to live on Maui. Somehow, the sacredness of this vast expanse of blue inspires me more here than any other place on Earth. In awe, I contemplate the creator’s hand each day in the immense waters surrounding me; in the whales and their babies, with their mystical songs; in the dolphins and their gentle playfulness; in the magnificent, changing kaleidoscope of reef fish, starfish and turtles; in the infinite canvas of creativity beneath this water. My heart expands when I contemplate the mystery, continuity and tranquility I’m offered by the sea.
Its lessons are eternal.
The ocean reminds me to be fluid and flow with life. It helps me to remember that everything has a rhythm and to respect those cycles. It inspires me to shine like the sunlight that dances across the water and to reflect as the moon and stars do on a quiet night. To remember that life is as the ocean itself, ever-changing, and to understand that I cannot control everything. It reminds me to deeply breathe in the new and exhale the old with love, much as the tides ebb and flow. To appreciate beauty, even in a storm, and to rise above the turbulence.
The ocean has been my greatest teacher, and daily I give thanks for the insights and serenity it has provided. Daily I pray that the world will protect and respect this sacred, God-given resource so it may continue to inspire, heal and bless those who come after us on this beautiful planet.
Wyland
The Perfect Shell
I seem to have been like a child playing on the seashore, finding now and then a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay undiscovered before me.
Isaac Newton
When I was three years old, my parents took me to the beach for the first time. I remember how quickly I fell in love with the smell of the salty air, the roar of the crashing waves on the shore and the feeling of wet sand between my toes. I was fascinated by all of the different shells, pebbles and stones embedded in the sand. It was then that I began my hobby of collecting seashells, always on the lookout for something new and strange, always amazed at how unique each one was.
After three years, my collection was quite impressive. I had clamshells, some mussels, a scallop shell here and there—all equally amazing to a six-year-old. One day, I was standing at the beach feeling the cool water run over my feet when the biggest, most beautiful conch shell I had ever seen rolled in with the tide. It was one of those shells that held the sound of the ocean, and the reflection from the sun made it glow bright shades of pink and ivory. The shell was perfect. I reached down and, for an instant, felt the smooth exterior brush against my fingertips. My heart pounded in awe at such a discovery. Suddenly, the tide crashed in, tore the shell from my grasp and sent it hurtling back into the sea. I stood there, stunned, confused over what had just happened. I couldn’t bear to move. Maybe it will come back, I thought. Maybe if I just wait a while, if I am patient, it will return. I sat down in the wet sand, letting the tide rush over me, barely noticing the salty water through my tears.
The shell never did return, and I have now spent my life searching for it. It seems to be a theme in my life, I have always thought, this shell escaping. Always coming so close to perfection and having the object of my desire snatched away from me at the last second. The parallel between my lost shell and so many events in my life has been an unsettling mystery. I have spent years looking for what might have been. Hundreds of hours staring into the ocean waiting for the answers to rush over me in the salttinged wind. Searching with nothing to show for it but a long, depressing string of broken relationships, missed opportunities and lost loved ones. Isn’t that the story of all of our lives, though? We are always looking for that perfect mate, the perfect job or the perfect situation to grace us with its presence, but it never does. Does it really exist, after all?
I am almost thirty years old now
, and I still collect seashells. My husband and I take our children to the beach as often as possible, and I have tried to share my love of the ocean with them. My daughter has developed an affinity for collecting shells and stones. When she was six years old, she made an amazing discovery, too. I saw her running toward me, sand flying in all directions, hands waving in the air, smiling the brightest smile imaginable.
In her right hand was a small, dull and raggedy, ivory-colored and rather ordinary-looking clamshell. Slightly out of breath, she stopped before me and declared in a loud, excited voice, “Mommy, I have found the most beautiful shell in the world for you! It’s perfect!” I felt the tears begin to well in my eyes as I looked at her and realized that this was the perfect shell. It was the one I had spent my entire life looking for because it was given with perfect love. The perfection I sought had been there all the time. I just needed to know where to look.
Jennifer Zambri-Dickerson
The Day at the Beach
After a visit to the beach, it’s hard to believe that we live in a material world.
Pam Shaw
Not long ago, I came to one of those bleak periods that many of us encounter from time to time, a sudden drastic dip in the graph of living when everything goes stale and flat, energy wanes, enthusiasm dies. The effect on my work was frightening. Every morning I clenched my teeth and muttered: “Today life will take on some of its old meaning. You’ve got to break through this thing. You’ve got to.”
But the barren days dragged on, and the paralysis grew worse. The time came when I knew I needed help.