Tag / Canoa

by earlybird1953

Baited

My buddies and I went Marlin fishing yesterday. I had never embarked on a fishing trip quite like this, and my excitement of landing one of these blue beauties kept me, the night before, from a deep sleep where I might have dreamt of glorious battles won between me and beast.

I will admit when the Marlin struck the lure, thrashing out of the water, his head contorting, fighting the hook as his V-shaped tail splashed the surface of the sea in a desperate attempt to break the line free, I was spellbound. And even though it was not my turn at the rod, where I longed to feel the vibration of the fight between life and death, my blood ran hot with excitement. The backspin of the reel meant GAME ON!!!

I grabbed my camera to capture the moment, and I was every bit as engaged in the situation as the person feverishly cranking on the reel as he slowly lowered the rod then smoothly raised it again. The exhilaration in me as I snapped the shutter, freezing in time this magnificent animal’s fate as it threw itself into the air, twisting and contorting, was palpable.

(Before I continue, I believe it honest and important for me to state that I do not believe killing animals in order to survive or even to expand one’s menu beyond vegetables is morally wrong. I do begin to waver though when hurting and then killing another creature for sport is the primary purpose. I understand many individuals believe the killing of animals to be morally wrong and many fine people do not. I even see value in both positions. I wish I could be as confident as those who so mightily have cast their unbreakable line in support of one side or the other, for then I would be unhooked from my moral dilemma.)

At long last, the marlin was overcome by the boat’s engines, the strength of the line and the endurance of the fisherman. For the first time, I was able to view him personally, mere inches from the boat, exhausted, stilled, the sleek finned hunter cowed.

And then I watched in disbelief as the deckhands clubbed this beautiful, sky hued creature over and over until it succumbed.

My heart, soul, mind and instincts began a bitter clash. The hunt had aroused and exposed a part of me to myself. A part that somehow found excitement and pleasure in the kill. But my euphoria was gutted in that moment. Instead of feeling victorious, I was confronted by that side of me that desires to be kind and gentle, to do no harm, and I felt gaffed by the unpleasant view of another side of me and it made my heart bleed.

How should I feel about myself when my dream realized is another creature’s nightmare actualized?

Am I experiencing an awakening, a threshold at a doorway that leads to personal change? Or, am I simply playing “pretend piety”, so I might feel better about myself thus avoiding honest, self-examination that could lead me, if needed, to change?

I can hear the back-spinning of the reel within my mind. GAME ON!!!

by earlybird1953

Soul-Soaring with Ecuadorian Turkey Vultures

Let me just start out by saying that I suspect my title doesn’t quite summon up the majestic imagery I had hoped to portray. You know – like the mental picture created when one reads something like “My soul soars with the angels”. Pretty sure my title won’t inspire any Rembrandts.

Nonetheless, having just enough personal insight to know that I am more at ease in the company of buzzards than angels, it seems more fitting to wear the wings that suit me best. Thus, here on the playas of Canoa, Ecuador, I allow my heart and mind to soar with scavengers rather than angels.

Turkey vultures are magnificent creatures. (I say that despite the perception of many that turkey vultures are nothing more than harbingers of death.) Prior to my part-time residence on the beaches here (which has afforded me daily interactions with these redheads) I thought of them as they were depicted in the 1950’s westerns. You know the scene – where the thirst-starved, horseless cowboy is dragging himself beneath the lifeless skeleton tree, leafed with 13 ravenous vultures. Great for movie cinematographers, but bad for the reputations of my innocent feathered friends. I’ll just say that intermingling with them has assisted me in forgoing my prejudices.

My eyes have been opened, and I have become mindful and appreciative of their gracefulness, their imperative purpose and even the beauty in those wrinkled, blood-red or black crowns.

(Yes, I think they are beautiful.) As I witness their command of ascending flight as well as their gentle, somewhat sideways drift as their stretched-out talons prepare for touchdown, my spirit ascends as well.

I confess. I’ve spent far too many hours squatting or lying on Ecuador’s playas, camera perched on my left palm with my right pointer finger poised, patiently waiting for that illusive moment when a vulture spreads its 4 to 5 foot wing-span and lifts smoothly upon the ocean’s thermals away from the carnage.

In fact, I often can be seen by my fellow condo owners (who I am sure are shaking their heads in puzzlement) supine, gravity-weighted on the damp sand with buzzards effortlessly circling me, hoping I am carrion for the tasting. Crazy though my neighbors may think I am, I can tell you this: It is breath-taking, and I am in awe!

Well, that is, I am if I ignore the eyeless, shredded carcass left below. But that visual? (Or should I say victual?) Well, that is for my next post.

by earlybird1953

I Surfed Like I’ve Never Surfed Before

I’ve waited a long 2 years to return to the condo Jan and I own, built on the Pacific sands of Canoa, Ecuador, situated nearly smack dab on the equator in South America. Yes, I wanted to see our lovely home again, but the truth is, I was desperate to snatch up my surfboard and rip on the shoulders of Canoa’s waves. And today, my first time back in the waves in nearly a year, I surfed like I’ve never surfed before.

I mean this literally. I surfed like I‘ve “never” surfed before, and it is hard not to be completely discouraged.

 I went from surfing, as seen on the top pic, a year ago, to surfing as depicted on the second pic.

I know, I know – I guess after a major shoulder injury and the subsequent surgery and physical therapy, it’s to be expected that I’d have lost “some” strength and a little skill while gaining a pound or two. But I wasn’t at all prepared to find I barely had the strength to paddle, let alone pop up and stay on my feet. I’m sure the belly fat didn’t help one bit either.

And then, as if that wasn’t depressing enough, my feet couldn’t find my stick’s center gravity point, and I looked and felt about as graceful as a pirouetting elephant on a beach ball.

While walking back onto the shore, I realized that I needed to accept where I am currently, not where I was a year ago, and decide: “Do I love this sport deeply enough to start as if I’ve never surfed before?” An easy choice.

It is time to drown my pride (what little is left after today’s exhibition), and in the morning, pick up  my surfboard, tuck it under my arm, walk into the shallows while sliding my feet to spook off stingrays and as the water deepens, confidently get back on my board, duck-dive my way to the outside and remind myself as I paddle for my next wave that I must rethink so I might rebuild, to regain what a year ago, I took for granted.