Return to Smith's Cove

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” Such was the thought of le Commandant Cousteau, lover and friend of the Ocean. Jacques Cousteau saw the ocean for what it is: A giver of life. It’s no wonder that the glory and power, and yet the peace and tranquility, of this great body of water can excite the notions of God within people. Perhaps the Great Creator designed the ocean to represent His passive-aggressive attributes. Or on the other hand, perhaps the ocean shifts simply according to gravity and the rotation of the earth. Regardless, the ocean has an uncanny ability to draw individuals and groups of peoples to its edges for life’s most celebrated and contemplative moments.

Both mountain and sea have successfully cast their spell on me. As my current state is on an island to the ocean I go. Two weeks ago I returned to the twofaced shores of Smith’s Cove of which I described in my last blog entry. Clouds roamed the sky that day but allowed the sun to shine through from time to time. A soft breeze accompanied the warm air and undulating ocean. Kids and adults laughed and played both in and out of the water. Such a picturesque day was to be the setting of a series of small but memorable events.

I made myself comfortable on the beach and quickly found myself immersed in the saga of Jason Bourne via The Bourne Legacy. My concentration was interrupted as I noticed a stranger videotaping me. This stranger laughed and said she was going to show all the girls at work. I soon realized the stranger was a girl that worked in one of the neighboring stores. Once again back in the misfortune that surrounds Jason Bourne I was once again interrupted; this time the interruption came via a little wet puppy desiring my attention and warmth. Unwilling to go back in the ocean as its child owner insisted it stayed by my side only to leave for a short time and quickly return. Fortunately, the dog brought further interruption in the form of attractive European girls that found the young pup adorable.

The biggest interruption-for the lack of a better word-came as a small congregation, of what I deemed as Baptists, came singing and praising Jesus. With no intentions of being stereotypical, this group reminded me of Black Southern Baptists. Man, woman, and child were dressed in their Sunday best. With rolled up pant legs the pastor stood on the beach feet in the sand where the tide would drift up and drift away. Following suit, the men in the congregation were shoeless and their pant legs were rolled up. The women wore colorful dresses accessorized with beautiful Victorian and Edwardian hats. The music sung was boisterous, hearty, and jubilant. “Can I get a testimony,” shouted the preacher between songs. “Praise Jesus,” cried the heavy set lady in the front. And of course the occasional “AMEN” was bellowed out.

Shirtless, and certainly underdressed, I watched for fifteen odd minutes as the small congregation sung and testified. I also watched with envy as fellow onlookers, also underdressed in swim shorts and bikinis, videotaped and photographed the affair, wishing I had a camera to capture the moment.



Eventually the preacher led a young girl, seemingly in her twenties, dressed with the traditional white baptism garb, into the water. Prior to doing so the congregation prayed. The prayer giver prayed for the currents to not sweep the preacher and girl away into its depths. Fortunately it did not. God must have heard the prayer. More rejoicing and praise unto God continued as the preacher baptized the young girl “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”



The congregation dispersed, singing as they did so. Beach goers returned to their play and to their relaxing. I returned to my Jason Bourne saga unaware I would return to Smith’s Cove the next week for another celebration of life.



Evolutionists would have us believe that life started in the ocean; at least that’s what I get from the poster depicting evolution. The Bible would have us believe that God gathered the waters in one place on the third day. Afterwards He filled the seas and the skies with life. Regardless of the explanation people are drawn to the ocean for life. Baptism represents a new life, a new birth, as does marriage. One week later I would end up on the same beach, almost as if it were holy ground, surrounded by friends, dressed in my Sunday best, including khakis with rolled up pant legs and bare feet, to witness the beginning of a new life for Bruce and Rosa.



Le Commandant Cousteau so keenly observed that “The sea, the great unifier, is man's only hope. Now, as never before, the old phrase has a literal meaning: we are all in the same boat.” And so it is the Hawaiian proverb that we must heed and “never turn [our] back[s] on the ocean.”

A Long Winded Jog

I took a jog earlier this evening. It wasn't planned. I didn't know where I would go or by what path I would get there. I just ran. The jog was more about the opportunity to ruminate on things than it being about the fitness. The combination of the humid air, blood rushing through my body, music blasting in my ears through the ear buds, and the deathly narrow road lacking sidewalks helped open my mind up to an array of topics. As I passed The Sunset House I recalled and could taste the delicious Mahi Mahi and scallop potatoes that graced my palate as we sat oceanside accompanied by a breeze wishing to blow away our cups and napkins. From that point on in my jog the topic of conversation in my head seem to stick to what I have seen here, where I have gone in the past, and what I intend to do in the future.

As I continued to contemplate, the road I was travelling eventually led me to Smith's Cove. I had previously been to this beach with my friends and found it quite appealing. The spot is accurately called a cove. The entrance from the road leads the visitor to a grainy brown-sand beach. On either side of the sandy main entrance, a stretch of ironshore-limestone that has been eroded and weathered containing marine fossils-that creates sort-of a ominous yet serene atmosphere. The rock on both sides of the beach extends past the sandy beach slightly toward the opposing side into the ocean creating a narrow entrance to the cove in which the waters are mostly calm and swim-able.

As I walked toward the ocean, removing my ear buds, I noticed two couples sitting on the ironshore admiring the sights and sounds. They sat on the ironshore to my right; I headed left. Most of the remaining light from the day had disappeared during my jog to the beach. Very little light remained. I made my way across the ironshore and thought I had found a suitable place to sit and take the mighty ocean in. Little did I know that soon I would literally take the ocean in. Along came a substantial wave that pounded against the rock only to throw it in my face. Lucky for me it didn't drench me.

Not ready to leave I looked for a more suitable place to sit and contemplate. A similar cove to the main part, or main cove, lay just south with a smaller but comparable beach. Wet from both the sweat from my jog and the from the ocean spraying me I sat on the sandy beach of my new hideaway. Those that know me understand the sort of trancelike euphoria I can get just by the sounds of water in nature. It is powerful yet calming. Sitting up my line of sight was framed by a narrow opening of ironshore-maybe 8 feet wide-giving me a view of the ocean beating heavily on more ironshore off in the distance. Lying down the sky was open with a countless number of stars. Light pollution was limited in the area allowing for a view, when combined with the sounds and smells of the ocean, perfect for tranquil meditation.



My thoughts remained on the travels I have made, the travels I am making, and the travels that await to be made. It could be true that I have been struck by the travel bug. The term "travel bug" often gets thrown around lightly, with good nature, as it should. I am learning, however, that I shouldn't take this bug so lightly. It is similar to being tickled: It's not painful, per se, but neither is it entirely pleasant. The conundrum in itself makes me weary. And whether it is a the travel bug or the travel itch I have, I can't be certain without a professional diagnosis. Either way it's cure has evaded me on WebMD but from what I understand treatment only causes the bug/itch to intensify.

This travel bug has filled me with strong desires and intentions to see the world. It is a compulsion that has caused me to step outside of familiar territory, filled with a wide range of comforts, on a number of occasions in order to fulfill its needs. At home I can't wait for the next adventure; while away I tend to yearn for simple pleasures not afforded to me. I leave family and friends only to miss the small laughs and easy conversations. But when I am with them I think endlessly of these lands I have yet to step foot on. I imagine myself in the shoes of Anthony Bourdain, Andrew Zimmern, Samantha Brown, and Pico Iyer, in moments when delusions of grandeur take over me. I long to go where they have gone and experience what they have experienced. I long not to simply visit a place but to experience a place involving every imaginable human sense. An experience such as this requires time away from the things I hold most dear in my life: Family and friends. Notwithstanding, I remain compelled.

At times I feel as if I am a hypocrite for I am a student and preacher of the religion of travel; and yet, my passport contains merely two stamps. Furthermore, I believe in sustainable travel that inspires and creates; however, the means to travel, transportation, in it's very nature is unsustainable and degrading. As an example, a cruise ship is not my preferred method of travel. Nevertheless, a cruise may allow me an opportunity to see most of the islands for relatively cheap on a giant boat designed for fun. Hard to say no to! Travel is full of paradoxes such as this. Travelers, if not careful, can easily destroy that thing they love most.

Questions and concerns certainly do not end there. I constantly question the type of traveler I want to be. Should I be a poor backpacker going from job to job washing dishes? Do I even have the knack for that? Or do I go home and work my ass off for the next 40 years so I can travel when I'm 70 as much as I want? How can I travel while I'm still young? Where will the money come from? Why didn't study abroad? Should I join the Peace Corps? Can I get a job with an airline? How about working on a cruise ship? Should I teach English in some foreign place? Will I be able to make friends in these place? How do I share my travels? Am I a good photographer? Videographer? Will I have enough money to really experience a place? And the questions go on and on...

In the end, I know my desires to travel extensively will continue. How these desires will actually play out remains to be seen. For now, I will retreat back to my little hideaway at Smith's Cove as often as possible. There I will dream of Mom and Dad's cooking, laughing with friends, mountains in every direction, the queen size bed I left behind, Little Cesar's pizza, drinking and goofing off with some of the best people in the world, concerts, movies, Sportscenter, Jazz games, board games with the family, and not walking everywhere. As I dream of these things I will appreciate the sand between my toes, the warm February weather, the starry night sky (and the lack of Salt Lake's inversion), my new friends, the fresh-and sometimes different-foods, walking everywhere, and the experiencing I am gaining. And when I am done dreaming and done appreciating I will do as I have always done: carry-on.

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”
-John Steinbeck