Carrabelle, Florida – January 16, 2013
Land disappeared a hundred yards off shore, evaporated into a fog, transformed my world into a faded circle of water and a compass.
North-northeast. Five miles to land.
It feels like you aren’t moving, like you paddle and nothing changes. Land doesn’t fade or rise, boats don’t cross in the distance, the sun doesn’t arc overhead. You just paddle, holding that compass steady, staring into a fog, wondering if the world still exists.
A line of pelicans fades in, gliding a foot off the water like dark shadows in the white fog. You hear their wings beating the thick air as they disappear, leaving you with nothing, no motorboats, no fish, no dolphins, not a hint of life.
You have to go on faith, on a spinning piece of metal and a map, waiting for the white sand to rise out of the water like a ghost and be real.