Powered Down

Sitting in the sweltering heat, I lay on my bed typing furiously. One of my roommates looks up and asks:

“What’s the hurry? Running out of battery?”

I wish it was a case that I was running out of battery. What had happened was I had run out of, not just one battery, but out of 4 batteries. Today, I had gone to Rottness Island, off the coast of Perth, Australia, to bike and snorkel for the day. The night before, I had packed my bag, being sure to check all my recording devices - Camera, GoPro, Phone, and iPod had all been charged and ready to go. Rockin playlist to book it around the island with, video camera to take footage of fish for my nephews, camera to take pictures of the neat things I saw, and a phone to keep me safe, incase I missed my boat.

That night, my roommates had come home roaring drunk, and as a result I did not sleep for a 3rd night in a row. Stumbling out of my room at 7 in the morning, I made my way to the dock to catch my boat. Punctual but zombie like, I boarded and promptly fell into a power nap, until I was awoken by the need for the row of seats that was presently occupied by my body.

In an attempt to keep myself awake, I decided to spare some time with my camera, and took it out to sort some pictures. The screen flickered into life, just long enough to show me the “no dice, no battery” message. Frustrated, I pulled out my GoPro to clean it and set it for video. Same message. I pulled out my iPod to drown my frustration with music. Once again, no power. Finally, I pulled out my phone to check the time, to find it deader than all the rest, not even gracing me with a “Sorry Dude”.

The frustration took over only for a moment, until my personal battery also died, and I fell into an uncomfortable sitting sleep.

I awoke to the smell of tea - a substance I haven’t had since leaving Canada, and decided to shell out the $2.50 for the small, poor quality tea. The hot liquid steadily increased my awareness, until I was finally at a stage to process life.

No camera, no music, no phone to complain to. I had no means to record this day. I glanced around the boat, looking at people with their headphones in, their thumbs furiously mashing go on their touch screens, all in their own worlds. A part of me felt the need to escape into something, anything, but then the thought hit me.

I’m going to have a screenless day.

I felt my eyelid twitch, not at the thought of being without my technology, but with fatigue. I hadn’t shaved for about a week, and had not showered this morning, leaving me very very aware of my appearance.

It was now that I noticed the number of eyes that were on me.

Paranoid, I tried to pretend like I hadn’t noticed the people staring me down, until the old man sitting across from me let out a frustrated:

“GET THAT WICKETT!”

As one of my middle names is Wickett, I feared for my life, unsure of how he had pegged me. No one here knew me. Was I to be beaten senseless on this boat, just for looking like a feral man? Other heads bobbed in agreement, and my eyes grew wide.

If you have ever found yourself sleep deprived to the point of paranoia, you can understand the terror having a situation like this arise. You may also have noticed how fast your brain can function, and it was this adrenalin rush that brought to my attention the static that was holding my hair to the television screen behind my head, on which was a game of Cricket.

My shoulders dropped, breath released, and everything proceeded without beatings. I asked for another cup of tea, and found a seat away from the screen.

Now that I was no longer under the television, I could see just how many people were glued to this boring game. Old people, young people, even children, watching one of the most boring games I know. Glancing out the window, I saw kayakers, swimmers, beautiful houses, stunning boats, and countless other “where is Waldo” style things.

Why were they watching this garbage when there was all this wonderful life happening just outside the window?

Getting to the island, we all lined up to receive our rented bikes. The sun was hot, and my black backpack began to heat up like a small stove. I was pleased that my hair was being blown back by a steady breeze, which would prove to be a saving grace on this day, predicted to be +43. They found a bike big enough for me, handed me a set of snorkeling gear and set me on my way.

I had forgotten the liberation of being on a bike. The speed you can get coasting down a hill. A part of me wished I could take my Ukulele back and trade it in for a collapsable bike. The thought is quickly shaken away, as I realize that such thoughts are stupid. I love my Uke. She is my Australian girlfriend.

Before long, I come to a beach, swarming with people. The heat has already caused me to sweat through my shirt, and I decide this would be a good time to swim. The changing rooms have no mirrors, which was to my benefit, as I did not want to see my disheveled look, or my world map of tan lines from my last beach trip.

I ask a family who is sitting on the sand if they would mind keeping an eye on my bag, and then walk into the water. Once I’m floating, I pull on my fins. I watch as a group of men try to do a butterfly stroke for the crowd of women standing on the sandstone ledge above them. Though I can’t do this powerful stroke, I do possess swimming of worth. My challenge is that most of it occurs underwater.

Ever since I started to enjoy swimming, I’ve spent most of my time on the bottom of the pool, and now, on the sea floor. I used to find rings and pocket change all the time, but now I turned my attention to the fish.

I think in a past life, I must have been an otter, because the way I bob up and down is very remenicant of this animal.

Before long I have found a school of fish and am trying my best to keep up. Every now and then, I return to the surface to exchange my air before heading back down and joining the ranks of silver scales.

I let myself float to the surface, where I see a very round 12 year old girl swimming over to me.

“You shouldn’t chase the fish, it’s mean” she tells me off.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, as some of them have drained out of my ears with the water.

“If I were chasing them, they’d have been long gone” I tell her, hiding my real reasons behind mature pseudo-logic.

/I swim with them because I want to be one of them/ I think to myself.

A few dolphin kicks later, I’m out of her reach, and hope she leaves me alone. If anyone wishes to be social with me, they are more than welcome to, but if the first thing you choose to say condemns my actions, I’m not apt to continue that conversation unless sense says otherwise.

I kick my way to the shore, where I pull off the fins with a comical *sluck*, and thank the family for watching my backpack. The number of people has doubled since I first got in, and I take this as a sign that I should bike on.

Biking with flipflops is not ideal, but there are no showers to remove the sand from my feet and I’d rather not fill my sneakers with the coarse grains. The 7 speed bike I arrived on is waiting for me, leaned against a tree away from its friends so I cant mistake it.

I bike through a community of beach houses, each one looking just like the other. It must be a resort of some sort, as they all back onto a long beach. I run into a few dead ends, but finally make my way to the edge of the buildings.

A sign beside a tap reads:

“There is no water beyond this settlement. Please do not feed the animals, and watch out for venomous snakes”

A crooked smile creeps across my face.

Filling my water bottle, I scope out the horizon as far as I can see. It’s a very hilly place, with lots of low-lying plants I begin to think what life on this island would be like if there wasn't anyone here. What I imagine is a bushed desert, the sun beating down on every square inch, with little to no fresh water anywhere to be found.

The breeze is in my face, and I am very thankful for this fact. Though it makes it hard to go up hill, it will keep me from sweating off the layers of sunscreen I have applied. I have already accepted that I will burn today, but the more I can avoid that, the better.

I find a small beach with three bikes beside it. Pulling in, I am met by two of the bikes owners, a lovely couple who are getting ready to make their way to another beach. They give me directions to a small cave that is currently in the shade. I decide that this shade is where I should head, and run across the scalding hot sand in the direction described.

When I get there, the cave is not empty. It is not occupied by any person, though, but by a lizard. He stares me down, but quickly scampers off as I progress forward. Pulling out my lunch, I enjoy the shade and the solitude for 20 minutes before heading back to my bike. The cave was lovely, but there’s still more to see.

Biking along, I start to write stories in my head. The thought of a plague, and an isolated island formulate and I start talking as if it was actually happening. I close my mouth any time I see anyone else, quickly jumping out of character to say hello, then snapping back as I discuss the logistics with the invisible bike rider beside me.

The sun starts to make me feel like I’m in an oven, and I decide to find another beach. Off to my right, there is a set of wooden stairs leading down to the water, and I decide to set up camp.

Applying another layer of sunscreen, I wait for it to set before jumping in the water. It is now that a shadow catches the corner of my eye.

A young woman spreads out a towel not 8 feet away from me. Our eyes meet for a moment, and she says hello. I don’t have time to respond, as her mother steps in front of her and puts down her blanket in between her and I. Now her eyes meet mine, and a frown creeps across her face. I decide it’s best that I jump in the water and escape this woman. As I get up, I hear them talk rapidly in some european dialect. An older woman joins the other two, and the glance over my shoulder is met by matching frowns.

The water is cool, and it takes a moment for me to allow my head to go under. I scan my eyes up and down the beach, but there is no one but the frowning family and me.

I start to think about what life on the beach would be like. Waking up every morning to the ocean, learning to deal with the sand, setting up tarps to hide from the mid day sun. I thought about the beaches in Canada, and how different they are. Before long, I’m thinking of home, of the mountains, of the people I wish were here.

I’m pulled out of my daydream by when I hear a loud splash. The european woman has jumped in and has begun to swim around. Not two steps behind her is who I assume is her mother. This dynamic fascinates me, and I keep one ear out of the water to at least catch some of their tones.

She never swims over to me, even though our eyes meet a few times. I think of taking the initiative, but I notice that her mother has positioned herself in the way.

Recently, I have been reading The Hunger Games, and very much enjoy doing this on the beach. I swim to shore, and walk to my backpack. I flip over my sandals to sit on (as the other side was piping hot), and begin to read.

I hear footsteps behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to find two men, talking quickly in what registers as irish. My mind flashes back to my roommates, storming in in the wee hours of the morning, and the hair on the back of my neck bristles. If they had noticed, they didn’t show it, as they set up camp right behind the european family.

I watch as the grandmother repositions her blanket in front of them, creating a right angle between herself and her daughter and granddaughter. I chuckle to myself and continue reading.

I am distracted for a moment by the thought of traveling with others. The next week will usher in a long series of tours, in which I will make many friends, but my thought goes to my friends back in Canada. I tend to spend a lot of time on my own, as shown by my long solo backpacking expedition, and the comfort of arriving in Australia with very little plan, not because I don’t like people, but because it’s easier for me to do so alone. But my mind now goes to the fun I’m having, and what it would be like to share that.

The European family stand as a unit and begin to pack up. I cant help but watch out of the corner of my eye. The youngest woman drags her feet and takes her time, being ushered along by the other two, and they begin to climb the stairs. I turn around to see if I can catch her eye one last time, but what I find is not the romance novel style last look at the stranger on the beach.

She stares longingly at the ocean.

I silently thank my family for giving me my space and understanding my need to be elsewhere for a while, as well as their willingness to let me be me without external control.

The Irish leave shortly after. I glance at my watch. 2:00. Just enough time to bike to the other side of the island and make it back with a little time to spare before my boat leave. I brush off as much sand as I can, but my attempts are fruitless. At this point, I can already see the rub marks the rubber and sand are starting to form on my feet, and accept that I will be wearing sneakers for the next few days.

I feel like an ant under a magnifying glass, and I ponder putting my shirt back on. I look at my shoulders, but decide against it as the damage is not as bad as I feared. I make it all the way to the lighthouse before looking at my watch again. 2:50.

I drain whats left of my water, knowing that my blood pressure is already very low, and put my tires to the road. I take a few wrong turns, but I am able to make it to the boat just as they are sounding the last boarding horn.

Once again, I fall asleep, the exertion of the day hitting my sleep deprived, dehydrated heart. I can feel the entire day flowing through my veins.

The ride passes silently, all eyes trained on the tv once again. All except for mine, which are trained on the inside of my eyelids, trying to remember every detail of the day. The feeling of the water, the european family, the fish, and so much more. These are the sort of days that dreams are made of.

“But how are you going to remember all that if you didn’t have a camera?” my roommate asks.

Pressing enter, I save this document, and with it, all the pictures in my mind.

We spend so much time in front of our screens, looking through viewfinders, and sending messages to people elsewhere that we forget to use our own viewfinders and memory to save our experiences.

Some memories are better saved within us than within our hard drives.