Encore accroupie et devant mon écran, loin d’être confortable, j’étais prête à écrire mais rien de très profond ne me venait à l’esprit. Du moment que mes doigts reposaient sur le clavier, je me sentais en train d’effectuer l’une des nombreuses tâches inscrites, celle-ci en gros caractères, sur les innombrables post-its répandus sur le papier bulle argenté qui capitonne l’intérieur de ma cabine. « ÉCRIRE MON BLOG »
À chaque essai, je restais souvent pensive devant mon ordinateur, comme si je me sentais connectée à la toile le temps d’un moment. Comme si les petits icônes colorés de mon bureau pouvaient vraiment me faire naviguer sur le web tel que c’est le cas sur la terre ferme où on peut surfer presqu’instantanément ou à la vitesse numérique super pack pro accéléré pour la modique somme de 39,95$ par mois. Non ici, à 8 micro bits la minute pour quelques dollars à peine, je reste immobile devant ces icones dispendieux.
Devant ma page blanche, ne me venait que des données techniques à l’esprit, rien d’esthétique; que des numéros, des nombres et des chiffres, des vitesses de vents, des heures ou des temps, des longueurs de cordes, largeur d’ancre, des phrases descriptives de moments, d’instants. Du factuel; rien de profond, rien d’essoufflant. Aucun texte n’était digne de traverser la ligne minuscule qui relie mon téléphone satellite à sa délicate antenne pour ensuite être propulsé jusqu’aux Iridiums dans le ciel et excuser la dépense de quelques précieuses minutes de communications téléphonique transformé en data. Ici, on fonctionne encore au modem, comme au temps où on devait choisir entre faire un appel téléphonique ou aller sur Netscape et où on entendait le son un VHF mal ajusté en décrochant le combiné si un voyage sur la toile était déjà initié.
Après un mois de navigation et surtout cette dernière semaine de frustrations intenses, je comprends pourquoi. De rester coite devant ma page blanche sans n’envoyer l’ombre d’un blogue me permettait de ne pas me pencher officiellement sur la question qui vous occupe vraiment l’esprit à savoir… « Comment je me sens? » J’esquivais donc d’écrire et me partager pour ne pas avoir à m’y pencher vraiment.
Au cours de ma grande secousse en début de semaine, j’ai eu bien du temps pour méditer, attachée sur ma couchette lundi et par mes réflexions depuis. À l’annonce de rien de très alléchant pour me faire progresser au cours de la semaine, j’ai fais le bilan de mes insatisfactions. Je me sens impuissante face à ces éléments qui ne cessent de s’opposer à ma progression depuis le 6 juillet dernier. Rien dans la littérature météorologique ne m’avait préparée à affronter des dépressions aussi souvent. J’avais imaginé que ma traversée ressemblerait à celle de mes rares prédécesseurs sur le même parcours. Selon les statistiques, j’avais des chances de retrouver les mêmes conditions. Rien ici, ne ressemble à ce que j’avais lu, trouvé, appris ou connu. Où d’autres rameurs n’ont sortis leurs ancres parachutes à peine à quelques reprises entre les deux continents, j’aurai sorti la mienne plus de 18 fois sur le cinquième de la même distance.
Je suis enragé contre la mer qui m’a trop défié, collé sur place, ralenti et immobilisé. Je me suis questionné face aux décisions prises depuis le tout début du trajet, j’ai beaucoup douté de moi, de mes capacités et de mes choix. Pourquoi cette année, pourquoi sur moi, toutes ces conditions climatiques difficiles? Sans vouloir le prendre trop personnel, j’ai été déçue l’océan, de moi et surtout de mon projet. Après avoir ramé quelques heures et avoir avancé à peine, j’étais au comble du découragement. Je suis impatiente de connaitre un bon vent pour quelques jours de rame et voire espérer une progression normale. Est-ce que c’est justement ce que je venais apprendre ici; être patiente?
Parfois, la mer est comme une vielle amie qui vous fait des excuses avec une boite de chocolat à qui vous pardonnez, bien sûr, pas pour le chocolat mais bien pour la face qu’elle vous fait. Même si la mer m’aura fait sortir de mes gons et exaspéré, même si elle se moque bien de ma position, de ma direction et de ma volonté, même si elle me nargue souvent, aujourd’hui je l’aime et je la trouve belle dans tous ces états de vents d’ouest soufflant pour moi.
par Mylène Paquette le 11 août 2013
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Still crouched down and in front of my screen, far from being comfortable, I was ready to write, but nothing profound was coming to mind. From the moment I put my fingers on the keyboard, I felt as if I was in the middle of doing just one more of the many tasks I have listed on post-its stuck all over my cabin, in capital letters, “WRITE YOUR BLOG”!
Each try, I sat there in deep thought in front of my computer, as if I were actually connected to the net at that moment. It was as if the desktop icons could really let me surf the web, just like at home where we can navigate the net at incredible speeds, for just 39.95$ a month. Not quite the same deal here…at 8 micro bits a minute, not cheap, I froze in front of those expensive icons!
In front of my white page, the only things coming to mind were technical details, nothing of beauty; just numbers : the wind speed, the time, the length of the ropes, the size of the anchor, short descriptive phrases. Just facts, nothing profound, nothing to take the reader’s breath away! Not a line of text worth sending through the tiny wire connecting my telephone to its satellite among the stars in the sky, nothing worth using up precious telephone time with data. Here on the boat, things still work the old-fashioned way, via modem…just like the good old days when we had to choose between making a phone call or going onto Netscape, and where we used to hear the sound of a badly adjusted radio if we were already online.
After one month of navigation and especially this week full of its major frustrations, I understand why. By sitting in front of my blank page, and not sending my blog off into cyberspace allowed me to not answer the question that you are all wondering about: “How do I feel?” I’ve been dodging the question in order to not have to really weigh in on it.
In the middle of the big shake-up at the beginning of the week, I had lots of time to meditate, attached to my little bed Monday and I’ve time to reflect ever since. With the news that nothing very good was coming my way to help me make progress, I thought about all my dissatisfactions. I feel powerless in face of the weather, which seems to have done everything it can to work against my progress across the ocean since last July 6. Nothing in the meteorological literature prepared me to confront these weather depressions as often as I have. I imagined that my crossing would be somewhat like those of my rare predecessors who had taken a similar path. According to the statistics, I was likely to have similar conditions. Yet nothing that I have experienced here so far resembles what I read, found, learned or understood. While other rowers only put out their parachute anchors a few times between the two continents, I’ve used mine at least 18 times over one-fifth of the distance!
I’m angry with the sea that has defied me, left me stuck in one spot, slowed me down, and immobilized me. I have doubted myself regarding the decisions that I’ve made since the beginning of the crossing, doubted myself in terms of my capacities and my choices. Why this year, why me, all these incredibly different climactic conditions? Without wanting to take it too personally, I’ve been disappointed in the ocean, myself, and especially my project.
After having rowed for hours and having only advanced a bit, I was at the height of my discouragement. I’m impatient to experience a good wind that lasts for a few days so that I can row and hope for a normal progression. Is that what I have just been learning? How to be patient?
Sometimes, the ocean is like an old friend who says sorry with a box of chocolates, and you forgive that friend, not for the chocolate, but for what he shows you. Even if the ocean has exasperated me, made fun of my position, my direction and my will, even if the ocean mocks me, today I love the ocean and think that it’s beautiful in every way, as the west wind blows for me.
Still hunkered down and in front of my screen, far from being comfortable, I was ready to write, but nothing profound was coming to mind. From the moment I put my fingers on the keyboard, I felt as if I was in the middle of doing just one more of the many tasks I have listed on post-its stuck all over my cabin, in capital letters, “WRITE YOUR BLOG”!
Each try, I sat there in deep thought in front of my computer, as if I were actually connected to the net at that moment. It was as if the desktop icons could really let me surf the web, just like at home where we can navigate the net at incredible speeds, for just 39.95$ a month. Not quite the same deal here…at 8 micro bits a minute, and not cheap, I froze in front of those expensive icons!
In front of my white page, the only thing coming to mind were technical details, nothing of beauty; just numbers : the wind speed, the time, the length of the ropes, the size of the anchor, short descriptive phrases. Just facts, nothing profound, nothing to take the reader’s breath away! Not a line of text worth sending through the tiny wire connecting my telephone to its satellite among the stars in the sky, nothing worth using up precious telephone time with data. Here on the boat, things still work the old-fashioned way, via modem…just like the good old days when we had to choose between making a phone call or going onto Netscape, and where we used to hear the sound of a badly adjusted radio if we had already dialed.
After one month of navigation and especially this week full of its major frustrations, I understand why. By sitting in front of my blank page, and not sending my blog off into cyberspace allowed me to not answer the question that you are all wondering about: “How do I feel?” I’ve been dodging the question in order to not have to really weigh in on it.
In the middle of the big shake-up at the beginning of the week, I had lots of time to meditate, attached to my little bed Monday and I’ve time to reflect ever since. With the news that nothing very good was coming my way to help me make progress, I thought about all my dissatisfactions. I feel powerless in face of the weather, that seems to have done everything it can to work against my progress across the ocean since last July 6. Nothing in the meteorological literature prepared me to confront these weather depressions as often as I have. I imagined that my crossing would be somewhat like those of my rare predecessors who had taken a similar path. According to the statistics, I was likely to have similar conditions. Yet nothing that I have experienced here so far resembles what I read, found, learned or understood. While other rowers only put out their parachute anchors a few times between the two continents, I’ve used mine at least 18 times over one-fifth the distance!
I’m angry with the sea that has defied me, left me stuck in one spot, slowed me down, and immobilized me. I have doubted myself regarding the decisions that I’ve made since the beginning of the crossing, doubted myself in terms of my capacities and my choices. Why this year, why me, all these incredibly different climactic conditions? Without wanting to take it too personally, I’ve been disappointed in the ocean, myself, and especially my project.
After having rowed for hours and having only advanced a bit, I was at the height of my discouragement. I’m impatient to experience a good wind that lasts for a few days so that I can row and hope for a normal progression. Is that what I have just been learning? How to be patient?
Sometimes, the ocean is like an old friend who says sorry with a box of chocolates, and you forgive that friend, not for the chocolate, but for the look on their face. Even if the ocean has exasperated me, made fun of my position, my direction and my will, even if the ocean mocks me, today I love the ocean and think that it’s beautiful in every way, as the west wind blows for me.
by Mylène Paquette on August 12, 2013
Railblaza
me une rivière au milieu de l’océan. Il s’agit d’un courant océanique majeur et chaud de de l’océan Atlantique. Il prend naissance dans le Golfe du Mexique, et remonte le long de la côte Est des États-Unis et du Canada pour ensuite bifurquer vers l’Est, et longer les côtes européennes. La partie sud du Gulf Stream s’appelle le courant de Floride qui écoule au-dessus du plateau continental entre la Floride et les Bahamas. Le courant de Floride longe la côte des USA puis bifurque vers le nord-est au Cap Hatteras (au large de la Caroline du Nord) et quitte alors le plateau continental pour devenir le Gulf Stream à proprement parler. Il s’écoule dans l’Atlantique vers le nord-est jusqu’aux Grands Bancs de Terre-Neuve, après quoi il vire à l’est et devient le courant Nord-Atlantique. Le débit du Gulf Stream est très fort avec plusieurs variations, et atteint un maximum à la hauteur des Grands Bancs. La circulation thermohaline et le fameux tapis roulant océanique sont une conséquence de la circulation océanique forcée par l’atmosphère dont fait partie le Gulf Stream.
