Narcissus At Sea? Diving Like A Duck?

The myth of Narcissus: fatuous overly-self-absorbed fool looking into a body of water and being pulled under by a water-nymph--as I'm recalling from memory, for it's been a while since I've read my Ovid . . . .  (How long can I really go without checking whether I've remembered correctly or not?  I may have to time this one.)  Wait.  Am I confused by the tale of Hylas and that sexy Pre-Raphaelite painting with all those water-nymphs I've got posted in the garage next to the posters of the famous Pre-Raphaelite mermaid, of Xena, and of Scully lifting weights?  What about N's metamorphosis into a flower?  (Tick, tick, tick.)

Or, to take the myth more seriously: looking deeply for self in any reflective pool, body of water, mirror, lens of the camera . . . .   Note the consequences, the dangers, of paying the wrong kind of attention, of distracting yourself, of inattention . . . .  I'm not trying to revise away the cautionary value of the original tale, but what can you see if you never look?

Unmythologically, these last few years I've been watching the signs of age--the lines, the gray and white hair amidst the brown--with something like fascination.  (I compare the gray in my hair to that in my father's hair, at different ages, in different photographs.)  Sometimes I fight the feeling of aging, working out harder, pushing myself physically and mentally, taking greater risks, and so forth.  

With my recent and 51st birthday--those three seventeens--I've been working to get back into shape, working to do the things that make me feel alive, no matter the years or the lines or the aching muscles.  Today, I put in two useful, playful hours in the kayak, paddling fairly steadily, reacquainting myself with North Coast kayaking, attuning myself to the light swell amidst rock gardens, practicing my surf landings on a mellow day, tasting the salt.  (I'm more anxious about sharky conditions, though I'm not sure if that's a measure of foolishness or wisdom finally kicking in.)

I'm a bit of a fool, whichever way you replay the tale, the myth, but that's all part of life, isn't it?  I'd far rather be a bit foolish than so many other things a person could be without any tincture of Puck in their veins.  

Dive like a duck, and keep on paddling.  My current foolish motto.

Kayaking off the Sonoma Coast.

Racking up the boat after a good workout.   Blind Beach, Goat Rock State Park, Sonoma County, CA.

(The marks on my face are from a recent visit to the dermatologist, who burned off the developing skin cancer spots on my temples and my cheeks again.  A life in the sun has joys and consequences too; don't forget to use that sunscreen!  I slathered three or four times today and wore a hat . . . most of the time.)

Posing as Myself

At the risk of revealing my intense narcissicism, I am posting four photos of myself from this summer's adventures.

The top photo: Drake's Bay, Ca; foggy, overcast midday. We are cruising at the mouth of the Estero, getting ready to play in the waves on the sandbars there. There's a squid-lid on my head for warmth. Also, I'm wearing my Rocket Fins just in case I'm capsized for speedy recovery. Capsizing will happen: solid practice for rougher days up north in quest of abalone.

The second-from-top photo: Tomales Bay, Ca; foggy morning. Self-portrait. (I hate how my neck bunches up from the wetsuit and the way I'm holding my head. I like this shot because I can see how much older I really am than how old I tend to think I am. Plenty of gray hair and those lines from so much sun and wind, from so many half-thoughts and full smiles.)

The third-from-top photo: Tomales Bay, Ca; different day, cruising back to base. Sofia, my Ocean Kayak Scrambler, is a lovely diving platform and surf-creature, but she's at best a sturdy cruiser and so demands muscle to gain any speed or distance. Here, I'm feeling very relaxed from the efforts and experiences of the day. (This is one of my favorite photos.)

The fourth or bottom photo: Del Monte Beach, Monterey, Ca; ready for a kelp forest jaunt. (And yet, despite such anticipation, I obviously am not comfortable trying to smile for the camera. Why not wait until we are in the water for a photo? Hey, am I too skinny? too fat? What am I worrying about? Take the picture, so we can go and have fun. I know that I asked for a picture. So what, let's go.) Many otters--mommas & babies--that day.

Note: Recently, I received an email reporting that someone else may be presenting himself as "mattduckworthunderwater," as the blogger of this site, as myself (as odd and humorous as that sounds), so these few photos may make such a masquerade slightly more difficult.