Showing posts with label ocean. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ocean. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Home again

Humpacks off of Provincetown, May, 2012


After a lovely weekend in Hyannis, back home to the same old grind.  The weekend was well-needed, after the  chaos of Anthony's accident, and our poor Big Mac passing away.  The two days in Cape Cod would be a moment to catch my breath, see the beauty of the Atlantic, and just generally clear my mind.  We had to leave at around 6:30 am if we wanted to get to Yarmouth before 3 pm, and still stop for lunch, giving an allowance for random traffic, etc.  I laid down around 11 pm, and began to do a little pre-bed reading, when Anthony burst in to the room, feeling terribly sick from the medication the physicians prescribed for pain.  Apparently, it didn't agree with him, and he was very ill, and frightened as to what was happening to him.  After an hour or so of sitting with him and helping him, and trying to sort out whether he would need a medical intervention or not, he finally seemed to be settled and feeling a bit better, at around 1:30 am. And, me?  After that agitation at bedtime, I feel asleep at around 3 am, for a good night's rest of about 3 hours.  Yay.

The first day was mostly driving, but I love driving and a good road trip.  It is extremely cathartic for me, so the 7 plus hours to get there were no trouble at all.  It was an easy ride, no traffic, and GPS basically gets you door-to-door.  After a slight mishap at check-in, (wrong room), it was off to the beach for a nice long walk and some good, clean, briny sea air to clear the mind and lungs.  Then, a long dip in the heated indoor pool and jacuzzi, and a delicious surf and turf dinner at the swanky Yarmouth House restaurant.  All very nice...until time for sleep.  Then, old man Insomnia comes a-knocking...and then, the midnight phone call from Noelle telling me she is sick...then, more insomnia.  Sigh. Night number two, no sleep.

Next morning, groggy but optimistic, we set out for Provincetown to go wandering, looking for inspiration and some quick sketches for bigger artworks, to hit up all of the lighthouses on the Outer Cape, and later after lunch, a whale watching expedition.  I had never seen a whale except in the aquarium, so this was very exciting for me.  We were told that there were whales in the area, so it might be a success.  The day was bright, sunny, and warm, and really lifted my spirits. So, off we went, on the Dolphin IX, out into the calm, blue Atlantic to look for our beautiful friends of the deep.

Pulling out of port, the sun was on the other side of the ship, and the wind whipped frigidly around everyone.  Initially, the excitement of the journey had everyone on deck to see the Cape from sea, but after about ten minutes of bitingly cold wind, most were driven back into the cabin to warm up.  I persisted on deck (armed with three layers of sweatshirts including a windbreaker, hat, sunglasses, and my camera) along with a few other braver souls, and we were immediately rewarded with the appearance of a Minke whale.  The Asian man beside me hollered out the alert, and all hands were immediately on deck clamoring with excitement and craning to see the now disappeared whale...some were disappointed at missing it, but all on board were now on high alert, and optimistic to see some more whales.

We pressed on, full throttle, out to sea, and as the minutes and then an hour ticked by, we began to feel a little hesitant, thinking maybe that might be the only whale we get to see today, ironically nearly in port. Just then, miles in the distance, a woman with binoculars spots a spray far on the horizon line.  It is so far away, it looks like a hologram or a moving picture from old...I see it with my naked eyes, but the distance makes it surreal.  We are encountering a whale pod.  Everywhere, the spouts begin to surface, coming closer and closer.  We see the majestic animals leaping from the water in the distance.  The disbelief at what I am seeing is acute.  Can there possibly be that many of them?

The boat engines slow to a crawl, and for the next several of hours, we delight in a pod of over 30 humpback whales that stay with us, coming up close to peer at us with deep, black, glossy eyes.  They come so close, we get damp with their spray.  Mothers and their calves in pairs rise and submerge seamlessly and and gracefully through the water, the babies cavorting and frolicking near the water's surface.  Within several yards of the ship, the whales break the surface, mouths agape, for minutes at a time, peering at us, while the seagulls land on their massive heads, resting their wings for the minute or two the whales are above water.  Other small groups of 4 to 5 humpbacks appear to be engaged in a synchronized dance of rising and diving beneath the surface as they hunt and feed on small fish.  It was truly breathtaking.

As for me, my wonder and excitement at this natural spectacle brought me back to a state of childhood.  In many years I had not felt such deep feelings of happiness and amazement when I saw this beautiful and awe inspiring group of creatures.  I was moved to tears by them, their gentle beauty, and how lovely and mysterious they are, and for the privilege of being close to them for that moment in time.

Even our captain was sad when we had to leave them after several hours.  He said that this activity was unusual, and this was a rare trip in terms of sighting so many, so rare, he couldn't remember the last time he had been in the midst of such a large pod, and that they had stayed as they did.  We left them, and not vice versa.  He stated with a laugh that at this time in May, we would be lucky to spot a few, and usually, the weather is gray and water choppy, so if you do get to spot some, it comes at a price of physical discomfort for a lot of people on board.  Many times in the early season, people go back to port cold, sea-sick, and disappointed.  But not today.

That beautiful experience made my entire trip to the Cape.  It was the moment of a lifetime, to be with all of those majestic creatures, in their midst.  I was so happy, I was on cloud 9 for the entire evening.  And, old man Insomnia couldn't touch me that night.  I slept like a baby.






Sunday, September 6, 2009

New Painting



"Perkin's Cove" Oil on Canvas, 12" by 16"

This painting I posted yesterday...it sold in under a half an hour. Amazing!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Slo Mo Confusion




The rain has been relentless...it lulls you into a sort of aimless mindset...a lethargy that becomes deeper with each passing raindrop...it's hard to get motivated when every day is soggier than the next.

I've gotten alot done, considering the fact I'm working two businesses, and taking care of kids that are home for the summer! Not too shabby...

I finished up my third painting in the series of seven last night--so now we have:

"Sea birds on a gray day" (SEE PAINTING ABOVE)
"Immortal beloved (flowers for the dead)"
"Lone fisherman on the jetty"

Starting painting number four hopefully tomorrow--I have a figure drawing session tonight, and also a very good high school friend coming in tonight to stay with us for the next two days, and also a wedding party coming in this weekend, plus we need to get the new drapes up in several guestrooms, not to mention installing a few new antiques...so I'm spread a little thin now--we'll see how it goes...

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Sick and Subdued

I've got a whopper of a cold coming on, I can feel it. Who gets sick in the Spring? Too strange.

I went to the shore the other day, and of course, it rained the entire time. That's ok, cuz I just put on my rain slicker and windbreaker, and went down to the beach anyway...rain wasn't going to stop me.

The wind had whipped the ocean into a frenzy, the rain was steady against my face, and I felt a call in my soul to get to the water's edge, to where the huge breakers were crashing against the rocks. I walked gingerly out onto the jetty, as far as I could go without getting swept away...M was there too, looking a bit fearful and hesitant, but I told him to stop being so cautious--it was ok. (famous last words :-D )

The ocean was so majestic, the waves in a perfect and somewhat threatening rhythm...I was awed by their power. I had to resist the urge to fling myself into the maelstrom...I envisioned what it would be like to be plunged into the valley of the mountains of water...the cold green world, the thousands of pounds of crushing water battering you, until you were finally dashed again and again against the barnacle covered, unyielding rocks. Pretty intense.

The next morning, I was determined to get to the beach again, and actually do what I set out to do, which was to commune with my "Mother." The day was misty and foggy, but the surf was calm.

We walked down onto the nearly empty beach, which was peacefully shrouded in fog, and set up our chairs...I watched two lone surfers appear out of the mist--mere shadows against the veil of white...in their wetsuits, they appeared like stick figures against the dreamlike, billowing backdrop and the soft grey pulse of the surf.

In the distance, a lone fisherman worked on the jetty--standing stock still for so long, I wondered if he was real. A single man appeared suddenly from the greyness, and ran quietly into the surf; I watched him jump in, jump out, and shake himself off. He donned a strange little terrycloth outfit, and then went through his yoga poses. He left as quietly as he came...

Along the beach, about 100 yards away, I noticed a man scattering the remains of native roses into the surf...I tried not to look at his pain directly. It was a private moment for him, and I felt I shouldn't intrude on him with my stares as he honored his lost beloved.

The different sea birds went about their business as I sat. I watched pleasant little sandpipers running to and fro, while larger gulls hovered and landed softly, their intentions known only to themselves.

M went for a long walk, and I was able to quietly reflect and communicate with the sea. I told it all of my hurt and sorrow, and it quietly acknowledged me...I know that God is in the ocean--and could feel His presence sitting with me, his arm around my shoulder.

The day was wonderfully peaceful, and I felt very refreshed. I allowed myself to think of nothing but the sea, and the moments I spent with it. I got some beautiful references for a series of paintings I've already begun, and I'm entranced with them...

After we left, I found myself sporting a pretty good burn on my face. Hat, blankets and all, my freaky mixed blood doesn't like the sun, and it always finds a way to get that burn in...

I came home to find how happy I was to see everyone--Anthony was quiet in his room, Noelle was playing outside, Gab and Iz were gone though, taking both babies with them...only the remnants of Miss Maddies's great flour disaster remained behind, lol. But, that's another story!

Crow in the Mist New oil painting

“Crow in the mist” by Hilary J. England, 12” x 16” oil on canvas  I was out walking along in the cold damp fog the day before the big snow, ...