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Beyond the Sight of Land
A perspective gained from time and tide
Raymond H. Eckles, D.D.S. *
We were heading west on the Gulf of Mexico as these thoughts came to me. The sun is rising behind us, and you can barely catch the tops of the tall, feathery Australian pines disappearing in the distance. A few minutes longer and they will vanish. Then we will be beyond the sight of land.
There is a feeling that overtakes me as we move farther and farther away from the shore that is difficult to explain to those who are afraid of going out to sea this far. I understand
their apprehensions. Although I have done this a hundred times before, there is a certain element of danger to it. It is a feeling of making yourself vulnerable to the forces of nature. Putting yourself in a place where you have to be careful, in harmÕs way. Where you have to be attentive to the sea, the cadence of it, a nature that makes sense.
This 30-foot boat has served me well before, and as the three of us pound out some 28 additional miles to the west, I listen attentively to the hum of the engines. I concentrate briefly, but intensely, on the mechanical song of the gears and pistons, knowing that if something is wrong with either engine, I must hear it now, before we move too much farther out into the Gulf.
I have thought long and often as to why I chose to do this. It isnÕt for the catch. With the money spent on this boat and its accompanying gear, I could easily purchase the fish. ItÕs something larger than that. ItÕs for the privilege of seeing this deep, blue, untouched realm. For the pleasure of experiencing firsthand this last untainted kingdom left on earth, the open ocean.
Perhaps it is more than that. Perhaps Òbeyond the sight of landÓ is Òbeyond the sight of man.Ó Beyond the machetes of the Congo and the suicide bombings of Saudi Arabia. Out here beyond the realm of man is a realm which seems to have assumed its natural rhythms. A world that makes sense.
Beyond sight of land is a consciousness. It is seeing the purity of a huge school of barracuda over the wrecks and in that sighting somehow forgetting the barracuda on Wall Street. Or the lobbying sharks at the tax-fed feeding frenzy in Washington, or our petty crimes committed in a state legislature meeting, every calculated white-collar handshake.
For a brief few hours, I can be a child again debating the shape of the clouds and hear nothing more than the delicate chorus of the fishing lines singing in the breeze. To breathe the salt air and enjoy this faraway place where only the sea and the sky build their pure horizons.
It is more of an illusion, this vast unbroken tableland of the ocean, than it is a reality. Of this fact I am painfully aware. But what harm is there in my self-illusion? Is it not the stuff of poetry as well?
As I back off of the throttle and ease the boat down off plane, I understand full well that we all carry our burdens, our impurities, and our pasts with us. That who we are, this ignoble human race, can never really be left ashore. It is only an intermission. A few hours when I can avoid the endless imperatives of life. A brief and passing escape.
The small talk starts as we ready our rods and break open the boxes of frozen squid. ÒI hope the grouper are hitting today,Ó I think as I bait a hefty rod.
But then again, does it really matter?
* Dr. Eckles is a retired Minnesota dentist living in Punta Gorda, Florida
Copyright 2004 Minnesota Dental Association
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