Grog

7:16 AM 9/13/2005
I wanted to write in my log last night,but couldn't bring myself to do it. I'd been lying in bed listening to podcasts (including Mugglenet's podcast) for about an hour and a half... The whole time the boat is violently pitching back and forth in a fairly good imitation of that very first night at sea. Actually, it was miserable. Other than sticking my head up into the wheelhouse earlier, I never even got a look at Semi. At the time, the mountain was pretty socked in, so there wasn't all that much to see.

After that visit, I headed to bed, and rolled around there 'till the motion finally started to get to me. I headed up to the wheelhouse at 19:00 hoping to get my mitts on some chewable (fast acting, hopefully) Dramamine as well as get a good look at the horizonline. Noone on the boat was having much fun... When it was all over, and we were back in harbor, Jessica had this unbelieving look on her face, and could pretty much only bring herself to say one small word repeatedly while slowly moving her head from side to side.

I should make point to explain the effects of rough sea travel. You can't get anything done. You can't read. You can't write. You can't stand. You can't really think. You're afraid to get out of bed, 'cause you're pretty sure you'll be flung into a wall, or pole, or ceiling, or collapse on the floor. The best place to be is somewhere in the center of the boat, but that's on deck, and that's being pounded repeatedly by waves.

Once the abuse is over, you're thouroghly exhausted. You're not really in the mood to talk much and now you're too beat up to read/work/whatever. And if you've drugged yourself up with seasick meds, you're doubly so. I managed to just grab some food (I was starved, we got in to anchorage back at Constantine at 22:00) and come back to collapse in bed. Didn't close the door. Didn't turn off the light. Didn't undress. Somewhere around midnight I awoke to the inevitable flash of a camera and sill, I couldn't do anything. Next, I awoke at 3am, in the same state, but with the door closed.

Strange dreams swam through my brain last night, putting me a bit off this morning. Some involved past relationships, while others involved moving and appraisals, or native locations where I was until recently unwelcome, or movie houses with some sort movie playing... and pretty much any word spoken or story told in the wheelhouse incorporated itself into my dreams last night. Right now, I'm writing this and still trying to shake it all off.

Yestermorn, I came across a book of Robert Service poems. Wow. Despite being a bit long-winded, he's damn good. Some of them felt like they fit a little too well, though in the end, most turned somewhat sour. "The man who didn't fit in" was one that hit pretty close to the mark.

Anyway, back to describing the day... As soon as we set anchor, we sent a skiff out to retrieve Tina and Michelle - both were lucky enough to fly past our boat as it was struggling to return to Amchitka and both were very happy not to be on the boat. As the helicopter passed us, the captain radioed them "Wish you were here". Bill, the pilot, radioed back "I don't".

Guess I'm about ready for breakfast now, though I'm still groggy...