The Cook Strait Crossing

Walking the Walk:  Revisiting This Idea On the Cook Strait

Disability and danger meet head on in the middle of the roaring forties
Disability and danger meet head on in the middle of the roaring forties

It’s been more than six months since the Cook Strait crossing, and I’m just now starting to figure out what to think about it.

Let me tell you about Dennis. He went to sleep one night and woke up visually impaired the next morning. A viral infection did the deed, and he tells me that his local ophthalmologist basically told him there was nothing that could  be done and gave him a card for a regional rehabilitation service on the way out. “well, there were a few days of a very depressed Dennis,” he told me when I met  him in person. I still have trouble buying that, but I do buy what he’s selling – that the only way to deal with a setback is to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and keep moving.

Let me tell you about Samuel. He has a condition called Brittle Bone Syndrome. He’s also what is called a little person. If he trips on a curbside, it can mean weeks or months of recovering from fractures. You can usually find him in a wheelchair, because that’s just a safer way to live. Sam often carries something warm to drink because in this part of the world, closer to Antarctica than most other continents besides Australia, it gets cold quite a bit, and with his lighter bone density and smaller stature, core temperature is a very big deal.

Let me tell you about Otis. He has Spina Bifida. He’s been in a wheelchair since he was a year old. He’s just turned eighteen and knows that the best case scenario for the rest of his life is never feeling anything below the waist.

And let me tell you about Katy. She’s spent most of her life around people with disabilities, and she knows a little something about prejudice and preconceptions. She trains disabled men and women to accomplish extraordinary goals. Her motto, which I heard so many times I can recite it by heart is “Disability is no limit to adventure.”

Well.

Now I want to tell you about the Cook Strait. This is the channel of water that separates the north and south islands of New Zealand. If you have ever heard the phrase “the roaring forties,” this is the pocket of the globe where it comes from. It describes the wind conditions through the channel, along the fortieth parallel, not the wind speeds themselves, which can indeed be forty knots but this would  be a low number on a good day. There are gusts up to 120. It’s such a dangerous body of water, rental car companies on the north island prohibit you from using the interisland ferry services to shuttle their vehicles across to the south island, and vice versa. Because there accidents, you see. Ferries as large as an office building are routinely benched. Oh, you can cross, but they would prefer you leave their cars behind.

When my sailing coach in San Francisco told me that his buddy Dennis in New Zealand was going to be crossing the Cook Strait in an eleven foot dinghy, my first thought was that we had to add this to our shot sheet. When Dennis told me that Samuel, Otis and Katy were also part of the crossing, it became what we in television news used to call a “must cover.” In news, “must cover” usually meant a story dictated from the general manager’s office… his wife getting a community service award, for example.

Here, though, “must cover” became a more meaningful idea. Disabled sailors crossing the most dangerous body of water in the world? Sign me up.

That was me talking the talk.

What’s taken me six months to figure out are the feelings behind what was going on. Because there’s no way around the fact that if I had anything to say about it, I would have grounded this crew before they ever came within sight of the strait, and that is me decidedly not walking the walk. This is, let’s be clear, a visually impaired filmmaker trying to do something that conventional wisdom says should obviously be left to better qualified people. Hypocrisy, anyone? However, as I watched the preparations for the crossing, and the combination of what I thought was systematic planning mixed with a  bit of Iowa ice cream social, I wondered. A lot. What happens when Dennis can’t find the rescue boat in the roaring winds? What happens when Samuel’s core temperature drops or a bone breaks? What happens when Otis gets tossed by a churning swell? What happens when disability and adventure meet head on?

What I am is a storyteller, but what I am more of is a reporter. And a reporter’s job is to observe. Participation and intervention are off the table. This is usually an easy rule to follow, especially when sharing the stories of the people we meet. The people who are questioning perceptions, raising expectations and making a difference.

Dennis, Samuel, Otis and Katy are those people, and my cinematographer and I found ourselves in a very uncomfortable place as they set out on their crossing. We thought it was possible, perhaps even likely, that they were going to die. That our footage, and the footage of the New Zealand network crew we were coordinating with for additional coverage, were going to have some very terrible footage on our hands. Two rescue boats, years of training and the Coast Guard on standby seemed like cold comforts in the roaring forties.

And the reason it’s taken six months to write about this is because on The Cook Strait, I found myself asking whether I really believed the logical conclusion to the chain of events I have been following for more than a year. I believe that anyone with any handicap has the same ability, the same freedom, the same right to do whatever he or she wants as any other adult human being. The right to film a documentary. The right to climb a mountain. The right to serve a cup of coffee and bus your table. Let me tell you, in the United States, where the unemployment rate for men and women who are visually impaired is seventy percent, especially the right to serve you coffee and bus your table.

What I’m wrapping my head around is this: does it include the right to risk your life?

Next: What happened on the Cook Strait.

ebags backpack
Hitting the road the minimalist way

Travel Minimalism: Podcast Recommendation

Travel packs
The eBags packs are becoming more popular with digital nomads

Travel minimalism is a big thing, and every now and then, I like to recommend sites and podcasts that shed some light on what makes for a good travel experience. The Travel Freedom Podcast by Tommo and Megsy has been a great resource for me, and it should be on your list also.

This week’s podcast is right up my alley, and if you travel frequently, it should be on your list of favorite alleys, too. The subject this week is all about essentials for traveling with the absolute minimum amount of gear and accessories. Be warned… the discussion and the list is of particular interest to digital nomads and travelers who are focused more  on the journey than the luxury of it al, but I love how they strip it down and explain how to get the most out of your 10-12 kilos (roughly 27 pounds) , the limit today for most carry-on baggage.

Here’s the link to subscribe to the podcast.

In the meantime, news coming up from the tail end of the New Zealand leg of our filming, along with footage from the road, so stay tuned, plus putting some travel advice to the test when it’s a mixture of business and pleasure.

Onwards!

Palette Project: Extended Preview Clip

The Palette Project is in preproduction on the Yellow and Green legs of the film. Our original goal… to shoot in Tunisia or Morocco… has proven to be a tall order, and current State Department advisories strongly encourage American film crews to avoid these areas right now. However, we are working on alternate plans in an unusual location, but one that lets us take the film in an interesting direction. Our plans call for us to shoot in Israel, and we are researching some of the cutting edge medical advances in genetic and stem cell therapies at the Hadassah Medical Center, not to mention the encouraging cooperation between Israelis and Palestinians when it comes to both medical research and treatment. I’d like for The Palette Project to be a politics-free zone, and although we plan to be working in a, putting it mildly, troubled region, the goal is to continue to show examples of accomplishment and achievement… even in this region.
As for Green, we’re running up against the change in seasons when it comes to the planning for a 200K trek around the Ring of Kerry in southwestern Ireland. Training continues… you don’t hit this rugged peninsula without a gameplan and dedicated training, visually impaired or otherwise is essential. I expect this leg of production to show off a critical aspect of what visualy impaired men and women deal with to accomadate the needs of acceptance in everyday life off the trail… mastering navigation and mobility skills, and making these acts part of the background noise of day to day life.
So I want to show, at this point, what part of the story is all about.
Below is an extended preview clip from The Palette Project. This is lifted from the Blue segment of the film, and I think it highlights what the conversation is all about. I would encourage you to please share this excerpt and extend the conversation. This film aims to speak frankly about uncomfortable topics, and there are tastes of this here, but there are also examples of what happens when we open the door to high expectations.
Onwards!

Hey, as long as you’re here, why not click on the Amazon link? No matter what you buy after clicking it (even if it’s not the subject of the link), a percentage of the sale goes to The Palette Project.

 

 

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sailing_nz_001
Not an Oxymoron
These Grand Men

Walking the Walk, Sailing the Sail

I sometimes give short shrift to the idea that one of the key factors in determining a person’s success in life is the impact of seeing the successes of others who are like them. Let’s not disregard the power of personal initiative, of talent… both by nature and by nurture… and the random events that turn a dream denied into a dream delivered. However, I want to acknowledge the idea that when the weight of low expectations seems a bit much, it helps to look at someone who has felt that same weight and realized that, yes, what you’re looking for can be found, even if… or especially if you didn’t know you were looking for it.
I found what I was looking for on a boat in New Zealand.

Sailing of the coast of New Zealand
Sailing off the coast of New Zealand on the Higher Ground

On its face, the idea of a blind sailor seems as unfathomable and counterintuitive as… well, OK, a blind filmmaker. Spade, I call you spade. Learning to read the water by the feel of the wind has been the ongoing challenge of my 5 to 9 life as much as learning how to communicate my vision with a considerable lack of same has been in my 9 to 5 life. I’m not quite sure what it is about the hard way that appeals to me, but sailing fits the mold perfectly.
I should note that, as I write this, I’m on a United flight from San Francisco to Chicago. I’m heading there to compete in an international sail racing championship, a competition for blind and visually impaired sailors. Learning to do this – to helm a boat with the same proficiency and skill as a fully sighted skipper, has been a consuming effort since last summer, back when navigating my way from the Mission to Union Square was still a major challenge.
the bigger challenge, though, was far more internal. I was still very much in the “don’t stick me in with the blind… insert activity here” category. Hikers, bloggers, Monopoly players, whatever activity you care to mention. If it involved palling around with other blind or visually impaired folk,I was so not interested. My catchphrase at the time was a variant of the following: “I don’t want to be in a blind hiking group. I want to be in a hiking group. Period.”
And while I am still stoked about being in a hiking group of any kind, sighted or otherwise, it’s taken since last year to get over that feeling of shame that first wraps itself around most visually impaired people when they’re invited along with others who are like them. It seems to be a forcible shove to a lower rung on the ladder. An implicit assumption that since “normal” activities with “normal” people are no longer possible… well, at least you can enjoy a special day out.
How amazingly conceited of me.
I have been on a quest to find blind people who don’t act like other blind people. This is not uncommon among the visually impaired, especially those new to the game. There is a startling lack of solidarity. It’s not that there aren’t blind people who hang out together, and it’s not that there aren’t advocacy groups (big hugs, NFB and AFB, not to mention the Lions Centers and Lighthouse organizations, which do the yeoman’s work of advocating and support, as well as being patient with people like me). However, there is a lack of what, in my film, I call “blind culture,” the way a phrase like “deaf culture” is a recognized phrase. We have heard the stories of deaf and hearing impaired individuals who turn down treatments that would return significant amounts of their hearing. I have yet to learn of a single blind person who, given the opportunity to see again, has said “Nah, I’m good.”
And here I’ve been, in San Francisco, learning to regain old skills and acquire new ones, in the face of a tug of war. On one side is the group of people, and there are a lot of them, who just want to be left alone with their handicap. On the other side are the passionate advocates who fight the good fight.
Enter blind sailing, which sits pretty squarely in the middle.

 

Blind sailing
Blind sailing is a combination of teamwork and independence not often seen on shore

The Marin Sailing School and its sailing program for the blind and visually impaired has been, at least metaphorically, a lifeline because it starts with the assumption that on a boat, there is no such thing as a handicap. That there’s the water, the boat and the wind, and that picking up the skills behind racing a boat is right there for the taking. That’s why I’m on this plane…because the boat is a unique… or at least a rare place. It’s a place where low expectations are left on shore.
When the Palette Project hit New Zealand, our first shooting goal was to meet the Kiwi equivalent of what I had immersed myself in back in California. Auckland is one of the places where blind sailing really took off. Local sailing classes started in the 1990’s and thanks to the work of men like Don Mason and Dick Lancaster, and now continued by Vicky Sheen in the UK, the sport has gradually grown into a worldwide and organized endeavor in locations as varied as Japan, Italy and Texas. I would be directing the Blue segment in Auckland and Picton, on the North and South islands, respectively, but I still wasn’t sure what I was going to encounter. My cinematographer and I were enjoying a royal breakfast alongside the docks at the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron, awaiting the arrival of the six sailors – four of them visually impaired – who would be taking me on the water today.
“Hey, are you the blindey?” came an inquiry from behind me.
That’s how I met Davey Parker, lifelong Kiwi, B2 sailor (about which more anon), and someone who was utterly comfortable with his visual impairment.
Meeting someone who was just as comfortable joking about his handicap as I am. It was like having a baseball cap two sizes too small which I didn’t know I was wearing yanked off my head. I didn’t even know I was looking for the kind of easygoing equanimity, And here’s the thing: they were all like that. It was the first time I had spent time with a group of blind people who did not, as a group, act like what I thought a group of blind people acted like.
Freeze frame for a moment. Truth in advertising again requires me to admit that these are my own misguided perceptions and lowered expectations building a brick wall in front of reality. As one man we interviewed in Adelaide said, “I didn’t know what a blind person was supposed to look like. I just didn’t want to look like one.” Again, kettle, this is the pot. You’re black.
Okay, roll tape.
What I want to say is that being with these sailors, taking Lou Gehrig to heart and unashamedly cribbing from his speech… spending just one day with these grand men… on a 35 foot keelboat in the middle of Auckland Harbour, watching them jibe around the mark, hearing them trim the sails to perfection and gauge the dead patches of water by the feel of the wind on their faces. It made me see just how far I have to go. Not just in honing my own skills on the water, but in overcoming my own prejudices about what is possible, and it reminded me if I… who am living a life which is dedicated to convincing the rest of the sighted world to change perceptions, raise expectations… and for goodness sake hire a blind dude or dudette to pour your coffee or sell you an iPhone, I better do some internal maintenance first. The frustration I feel when I do something as simple as cross a busy street or find the dino kale at the Safeway and someone says that’s “amazing” or something similar? I better remember easing the mainsail by 25 degrees is not amazing or inspiring. It’s just the result of hard work.

[xyz-ihs snippet=”Palette-Post-Subscription”]
However, I am maintaining my right to be inspired. I think the only people who have the right, or at least the duty to be inspired by the achievements of others are the ones who are like them. I believe I have a duty to be inspired by a champion blind sail racer even if a sighted person shouldn’t be, because it helps to know there are other people like me who just want to do fun… not inspiring, but fun activities. I also have a duty to be inspired by a blind Fortune 500 CEO, a blind welder and a blind barista… if only I could find them, or the people who hire them.
Here’s what I… at long last… am trying to say. Just to get on this plane, I encountered four people… a pretty normal number… who wanted to offer me a seat, guide me onto an escalator or walk me down a jetway, when all I wanted was to know if the correct direction was at 11 o’clock or 10 o’clock on a virtual clock face. When I walk down any street in Chicago, San Francisco or Auckland, there will be wonderful, friendly and very well meaning people who want to help, because watching me find the correct route by finding the obstacles with my cane is not pretty and it’snot fun to watch.
However, the minute I step on the dock, along with fifteen other visually impaired racing teams from around the world, it’s out of my head. It’s out of my head because sailors, for whatever reason, seem to get it. Sighted sailors, as a group, seem to know the water is a rare place, where expectations start high. I’m competing with a bunch of blind and sighted sailors, but I’ve sailed in mainstream races too, and I sail to win. My opponents give me no quarter and none is expected.

Lou Gehrig had it right, whether it's baseball or not.
Lou Gehrig had it right, whether it’s baseball or not.

I came to New Zealand to film Blue for the Palette Project. As this segment of the story continues, I want to tell you what Blue is all about.
Spoiler alert… it ain’t sadness.