I've managed to pass a full month without posting anything to this site.
Dad says I should include more personal experiences, specifically romantic ones. While I am sure it would increase subscriptions to this site I have a feeling it may impact future endeavours. Then again who knows? Reminds me of a friend that asked that I write about them and then, never spoke to me again after I did. Yeesh.
Well Dad, I am still considering your suggestion. In the meantime look up last month and read between the lines.
The wind blows like a man possessed lashing out at the slightest provocation, wreaking havoc with dust and eyes, running head first into all oncomers.
A barrage of manic force, unsteady in reason yet sure of its task.
Intention is quick to seek shelter, reason not far behind. I wonder what will be the first to go.
There is something special about the smell of neoprene. Regardless of my physical location and proximity to the ocean the smell of wetsuit material whisks me right to the waters edge. Fortunately this comes without the urge to pee until I am actually immersed.
As it happens however there are more than one of these Pavlovian conditions installed in my operating system. The other is the smell of saltwater which, after a few sweet deep breaths, invariably induces the need to poo.
For years I wondered exactly what might have caused this particular association. Perhaps something to do with the high-fiber peanut butter sandwiches I used to make for my dawn patrol surf sessions each morning? Or was it in anticipation of the enormous Bustamante's breakfast to come, our apres surf tradition in Pacific Beach. (For years the name Bustamante became part of bodily function vernacular, as in "oooooooh I have to Bust a mante!)
After much speculation, consideration and general parlor room banter I decided on the theory that the smell of saltwater causes a total state of relaxation in my body. There are few things in this world that match the nurturing awe, love and compassion of Mother Ocean's greeting. As a result the stress and tensions simply fall away and with them their hold on the residues of yesterday.
I have learned to get up earlier, hopefully making time to vacate the premises before leaving however the pavlovian conditioning I have come to accept remains well ingrained. As a result some long days at sea are much longer than others but in the end it all washes away with the outgoing tides.
It dumped a good six inches here last night. The kind of long in the shovel, heavy, wet snow that muffles the city like a maw full of peanut butter. And so today's hunt will in fact be more of a mush as we set out for that most treasured and magical secret spot known as Bill's Lobsters.
Though the going may be tough the good news is that, thanks to the miracle of air travel, Bill is sure to have fresh stocks of iced down pelagics, crustations and various freshwater delicacies.
And so with shekels for spearguns we now set out on mission and promise to return home victorious and belly full.
Caribbean storms come in fast. Ten to twelve inches of rain in as many minutes formed miniature lakes across low-lying roadways and parking lots in the coastal town of Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela. All of a sudden the driving across town went from an exercise in machismo to an adventure in watersports. Watching the urban swells lap up onto plaza shores I almost wished I had a wakeboard with me.
That was yesterday afternoon. Today its back to hot and sunny, perfect weather in anticipation of Carlos Coste and Stig Severinsen's freediving world record attempts in Variable Weight and Constant No Fins tomorow morning. Both Athletes have achieved their depth prerequisites and are in good spirits.
The lines are stretched and measured. Safety briefings have been held and all that remains are final athlete and organizer meetings to go over the schedule and proceedures one more time.
I can't wait.
Perry
So far I have sold, thown or given away boxes of old files, clothes, shoes, electronics, toys and sports equipment. Its purging time again. As I sit with Dad at lunch today I can't help but notice how alike we are. And yet I constantly fool myself into thinking otherwise.
His stuff, or junk as we affectionately call it, is the usual topic of conversation. He likes to collect it and I can't stand having it around. Of course I don't have to live with his crap but my fear of the day when I will is enough to make me give him a hard time just the same.
Meanwhile I merrily go about collecting my own junk. Albeit less in quantity its probably the same affliction and I am no less sensative about it than he is. SO what's my point? None really just reminding myself to pay attention to how I treat him.
The sun illuminates and the earth sustains. Within this relationship all life is intricately intertwined; the physical world, plants, animals and finally ourselves. And yet how often, in my urban existence, I am able to ignore my earthly compatriots, their goodwill and participation, blinded by consumption, achievement and its promises.
Waking up to the sound of garbage trucks out my front window marks the final stage in my journey home. Starting with an overnight drive from jungle to city, the last 24 hours have seen a steady progression, or perhaps re-gression, during which I have traded fresh air for airports and hammock for hustle.
Nevertheless I am glad to be back mainly so I can get down to business and work out my plans for an extended return this winter.
Mexico City has a busy, busy airport. Actually in a lot of ways its more like a mall in perpetual Christmas rush. Add to that the awake-to-long travel stupor I am in and the whole thing takes on a kind of surreal reality that has me temporarily confused as to what I am actually supposed to be doing here.
A glass of juice snaps me out of it and I find my way to a brightly lit internet closet stuffed between a phone card shop and taco vendor.
Thank goodness for airport-malls and 24 hour internet cafe's. Sitting here high on orange juice I am elated to find an email from the organizer of the event I am attending tomorrow morning in Venezuela. She has finally sent the flight information for my final leg of the trip which, if it were not for this closet I would be missing.
Two flights and twelve more hours to go. I still have time to do some window shopping.
Perry
Why does it seem that you have to wash everything just to pack some of it?
Leaving first thing tomorrow for Venezuela where I will be officiating several Freediving World Record attempts and then back tracking my way to El Ultimo Refugio, a favorite little hideaway in Costa Rica.
Should be a great trip, looking forward to some new discoveries and getting back to mother Ocean. Bringing my most buoyant wetsuit....
Perry
According to friends the equipment utilized for my bronchoscopy last week is the same used to explore from the 'other end' so I was somewhat relieved to wake up from the procedure with only a sore throat...
Fortunately my follow up with the Respirologist yesterday revealed no signs of lung damage, disease or danger. Great news, but on the other hand it does little to explain why my lung capillaries are now even more susceptible to rupturing underwater. Oh well, perhaps leaving this as an unknown will help me to avoid risking re-injury.
In the meantime I have enjoyed a first-hand look at post-SARS hospital procedures. Starting with a questionnaire and ending with a free mask the whole thing reminded me somewhat of going to the dentist only I think the free toothbrush is a better deal.
The questonnaire too, with its all-to-obviousness, was reminiscent of something. Perhaps the ridiculously literal career tests we used to do in high school, which posed questions like 'Would you rather solve challenging math problems or study rare bugs in a swamp?'
Surveys like that always make me want to throw my answers. How good would it be to sit across the desk from Mr. Green the Guidance Councillor as he does his best to extol the virtues of worm farming?
Of course in this case I am compelled to answer honestly otherwise I might find myself quarantined and forced to watch fox news for ten days straight after which I would inevitably end up trading in all my CD's for the complete Springsteen collection.
So I make it though the SARS check and, bypassing the registration counter, arrive at the sixth floor of the newly renovated ex-ICU wing at 7:40AM. I am the only one there. After a few random turns I surprise three nurses taking their first break of the morning. Apparently this is opening day of the new wing and I am the first customer.
I spent the better part of the next hour in a shiny new waiting room (with that new car smell) nodding off to kids cartoons and being startled awake by recurring visions of a small woman in enormous pants.
On her forth visit the little woman makes a final pass with her AS-SEEN-ON-TV carpet cleaner and skims just inches over the unused tables and counter tops lest her fluffer leave any dust on their virgin surfaces.
It was about then that the attending doctor happened to wander though the room catching us both by surprise. An hour and a half later I wake up connected to a sophisticated looking computer wondering when we are going to start.
Ironically the absence of any memory of the bronchoscopy is identical to blacking out underwater. In both cases I have to rely on someone else's account of what happened. You can see now why only a sore throat is a good thing.
Perry Gladstone
Former National Freedive Team Member
This coming Tuesday I will be checking myself in for a Bronchoscopy, a fairly invasive procedure which allows, among other things, a miniature camera to be inserted through the mouth or nasal passage and down into the lungs and bronchial passageways to look for trauma.
Needless to say I am less than thrilled by the idea of this however the sharp pain in my chest every time I sneeze or cough seems to be reason enough to get it done.
The whole thing started in Ottawa around this time last year. Just weeks before the Pacific Cup of Freediving (breath-hold diving) in Kona, Hawaii I severely injured my thoracic airway and as a result was forced to give up my place on the Canadian national team. Not only was I supposed to give up the team, I was told that because of my physiology any further deep diving would likely have fatal consequences.
For the next nine months I stayed out of the water hoping that I would heal sufficiently to be able to at least participate recreationally. In the meantime, in an effort to remain involved in the sport at a high level without the risk of actually hurting myself, I began the process of establishing my candidature to become a judge for the International Association for the Development of Freediving (AIDA).
By May of this year I felt terrific and returned to Ottawa to help coach a freediving clinic where I experimented with some very modest and careful descents. It went great.
In June I attended the Canadian Nationals as a new AIDA judge and, with some trepidation, accepted an additional role as back-up safety diver.
On the second day of competition an organizational error led to a severe blackout at depth. A very dramatic and successful deep water rescue by our primary safety diver was flawlessly executed however, as the back-up safety I was compelled to descend beyond what I was ready for. As a result I suffered re-injury and quite possibly further damage to what I believe to be the tracheal area of my windpipe.
Of course it was ridiculous of me to put myself in that position in the first place but I had not accepted the fact that my ability to freedive was gone for good. As it stands I still want to believe that I will be able to spend time underwater, even if it is at the most modest depths.
Now it occurs to me (after being told a hundred times by my friends and family) that the prudent thing to do here is just let the whole underwater thing go and move on to something less threatening. But I have just received my first AIDA assignment to attend two World Record attempts in beautiful Venezuela at the end of this month. Tell me you wouldn't go...
So here's the plan. I'm a cork. Happy, floating cork-boy in his nice buoyant wetsuit bobbing about the beautiful Caribbean sea. Now doesn't that sound lovely?
Wednesday May 21, 2003
Home and sleepy. Thank you to the many of you who have shared your thoughts and comments on my recent notes.
I would like to add one last thing to this thread.
Israel is land of many peoples and while much of my recent accounts refer to the largely Jewish communities please understand that I fully appreciate the diversity, contradictions and resilient culture of all whom have chosen to make Israel their home.
As for religion and politics I am a humanist first and believe very much in the need for a Palestinian state, prefaced by a commitment to peace from both sides of the conflict.
Until the next adventure,
Perry Gladstone
Tuesday night, May 20, 2003-05-20
Cruising altitude 30,000 ft., ground speed, 504 mph, outside air temperature 47 Fahrenheit, estimated time until destination, 9.5 hours. A quick accounting of our week in Israel recalls a dozen government ministers and representatives, 20+ television network executives, 6 suicide bombers, 15 innocent deaths, and 60+ injured.
It was simultaneously, an extremely successful and horrific week. Had the devastating events of the last three days taken place at home we never would have nor had the opportunity to continue on with our business but, being here (actually 'here' at this moment is several miles off the coast of Istanbul over the Black Sea), is about living life now.
To truly understand the incredible resilience of the Israeli people one has to experience it first hand. This is a nation that responds, remembers and then reacts in such a way as to ensure their culturally rich and vital society remains on-course.
My morning with Shimon Perez served to further enforce this understanding. He spoke of the building of the state of Israel- the miracle of dispersed millions returning to their homeland to create one of the world's most effective democracies in only fifty years. He talked about a society whose children still play in the ancient language of their forefathers. He shared stories from two books he had just completed and we discussed the role of science and technology, in particular nanotechnology as constructive force rather than destructive, and its effect on modern ideology. It was illuminating and inspirational.
Over the steady hum of jet engines I contemplate this resilient land and its incredible diversity, it's many peoples, contradictions and contemporary society, the deserts, shining beaches and beautiful women and the most ancient of history still alive in all of it.
One week in Israel has introduced me to new realities that will affect the paths I choose for the rest of my life.
Perry Gladstone
Friday morning, May 16th
I'm beginning to understand the passion this country instils in its people. It's more of a feeling really, an underlying current of energy that somehow permeates everyday reality. This is not romanticism on my part, it's an awareness, a growing realization of an energy that manifests itself in two completely opposite realities.
At home I feel this energy above me. High overhead its runs across the sky, like a protective shield just out of reach. When I'm 'on' I am immersed in it, travelling at light speed, able to achieve anything. Other times overcast skies hides it from me and I wallow in a slow, soupy fog, all too aware of my incapacitation.
Here however it's much closer. The streets hum with it and from the 24th floor of my hotel I can feel the pulse of the Mediterranean Sea. I can just imagine how being so close to the source would make one crazy.
Perry Gladstone
Thursday night, May 15th
As Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's advisor said at dinner tonight, "You have burst through an open door!"
I am in Israel with John Textor and Brad Yonover, two other founding principals of the Israel Global Television Network (IGTN). The dinner, put together by Moshe Cohen, Treasurer of Israel's Labour party and our advisor, concluded the first day of a week-long series of meetings with Israeli Ministers and television industry leaders to garner support for the launch of our new network.
Already it has been nothing short of amazing. The level of acceptance and enthusiasm for IGTN from some of the most significant players and politicians in the country is beyond our expectations. The heads of networks are eager to share their resources and the politicians their support. With this kind of reception its hard not appreciate this place where people live so passionately, embracing life to the fullest.
From my hotel room I watch the sun set over the Mediterranean sea. A panoramic view that also overlooks the bombed-out nightclub where 21 kids were killed two summers ago. Just up the street renovations are already underway at Mike's place, a small bar where three people died in a homicide bombing less than three weeks ago.
Vices are a youth's right
First thing they are in control of, have domain over, is their body.
Desperate to exert their own control they see it as a resource, defined by our socitey as a consumable, and therefore something they are free to abuse/experiment with.
Two thoughts:
Our cultural values regarding relationships (commitment, perseverance and sacrifice) do not mesh with the consumer culture (commoditization, instant gratification and consumption of all things) endorsed by our society.
In the name of profit (a.k.a. progress and/or civilization) older generations make every effort to homogenize and sanitize experiences for everyone everywhere, including their own at home, leaving young people nothing left to exploit but themselves.
Perry Gladstone
I feel I am beginning to fully appreciate the gift of family I have been given but please, no more turkey.
I have begun to look back at my own contributions for an indication of what my message to the world has been. What I see are various efforts to reveal truths, whether they are personal, about other persons, events or a given situation. It is my intent to make that theme central to my future efforts.
Something has changed for many trying to settle back into their old routines. Old assumptions are simply not enough to resume business as usual. It seems appropriate then, in this time of reflection, that the North American economy should also suffer challenging us to examine our assumptions regarding it as well.
Unfazed by horror, tragedy and the threat of war the Salmon are running. Thankful for the distraction, this morning Ben Higgins, Catherine Nomura and I drove an hour northeast to Bowmanville to witness these transplanted Chinook who, oblivious to the fact that they are in fact saltwater fish, force their way up stream only to be thwarted by manmade dams and narrow fish ladders. Of course we brought our rods.
Progress is suspended, life interrupted. The networks have new war logos but they aren't as good as the ones from the Gulf war. It's too soon for humor.
The best time of year in Halifax Nova Scotia is now. A week of surfing, skating, swimming and sipping in the company of Greg Baller and friends has been good for the soul. Luckily I was able to participate in the infamous Booze Cruise this past Monday night along with 30 to 40 other long-boarders.
Been up for 38 hours. The Pariahs headline the Horseshoe tonight at midnight and I am not going to miss Pariahmike's blood pressure rising performance, he's too good to go to bed now.
Journal Entry - 8/20/01
No mice
no cats,
no
scurrying
chewing
scratching
of any kind.
It's the last day of free reign at 58 Palmerston Square. I brought in a pest control operation and the cat from next door has sat vigilantly beside the fridge for days hoping one of the once resident rodents might take a chance and come back to cross the kitchen floor to the far cupboards.
Once a year my grandfather Dave comes up from Florida for our annual fishing trip. After years of having to drive as many hours as you'd find fish, we discovered, last year, a fly-in operation just two hours from the city that drops you into no-road access lakes in Muskoka. Bass-a-plenty was the result and last night I drove back up to meet Dave, his wife Vivian and my folks who left early yesterday. One spinner, one tired wrist and ten pounds of fresh fish.
When the universe sings everything vibrates. Today I sold my house (no agents-no commissions), found a development partner for my comic book, sold the G4 desktop (totally mobile now), found inspiration for Kelly Slattery's upcoming music video, and shared a wonderfully revelatory conversation with Stephanie and my roommate Tiina.
Brady Gilchrist and I have been pitching some exciting concepts of late but, although a great place to live, work and play, Canada can be a little slow on the development side. Glad I don't have to hold my breath but if I wanted to...
http://www.perrygladstone.com/freediving.html
Perry
Hey all,
I just returned home from a quick winter-blues escape to a friends place in Costa Rica. I had a great trip and spent lots of time in the water, but very little under. Here's why:
I made the decision to go rather quickly and so didn't have a lot of the anticipation that usually precedes a vacation. Even so I had a number of dark thoughts cross my mind about hunting on this trip. Writing them off as nervousness etc., I tried to put as little energy as possible towards them but I still couldn't shake them off completely.
Since I was equally as stoked to surf I spent the first few of days enjoying the 80 degree water and plentiful beach breaks from Domical, south to Playa Tortuga. In the meantime I asked around the tiny village of Ojochal where I was based but there was no one into spearfishing and the local dive-tour operators wouldn't have anything to do with it as they only went to protected reserves.
Heeding recent (strong) advise from a new acquaintance not to dive alone [thanks Patricia] I limited myself to exploring the sandy beach bottoms close to shore where my friends could keep an eye on me but the tides were moving too much sand to see much of anything.
We had made friends with four young lifeguard-surfers from NJ and NC that had rented the house next to us for the month. Out drinking beers with them on Sat. night I met a local Tico (Costa Rican) named Johan who offered to take me out in his panga for $15. He was quite excited about the prospect of watching me fish and his anxiousness put me off a little. I told him I'd let him know tomorrow for the following day.
Sunday came and went. Feeling uneasy about the panga I blew off Johan and spent the day at the beach. Later that evening I found the boys gathered around a pot of beans talking with a woman named MaryJoe who had arranged a snorkling/fishing expedition for the next day at $35 a head. I immediately got a sense of foreboding as MaryJoe went over the following days itinerary and declined the opportunity to join them in what she described as a 17 foot boat that could take all of us and more if we wanted.
At 6:00AM I heard the boys leaving their cabina for their days excursion. At 9:00 AM they were back, with this story and without most of the gear they left with...
The eight foot panga launched from just inside the river mouth. On board were the four surfers; Steve, Sean, Carson and Jess, as well as MaryJoe and Johan the boats captain. Scattered about the boat were various loose fishing lures, line, the snorkeling gear they had brought with as well as a cooler and surfboards. There were no lifejackets or PFD's of any kind.
Instead of following the channel created by the rivermouth, the captain swung the boat directly towards the swells rolling in from the open ocean. The first one to hit the boat sent the cooler flying into the air as the boat overturned dumping all of its contents into the water.
After removing two hooks from body parts, Jess and Carson scrambled to save whatever gear they could salvage, swam 200 yards to shore, dumped their cargo and returned to the boat. Meanwhile MaryJoe and the captain, both whom could not swim, were making things difficult. MaryJoe refused to give up her heavy hiking boots and the captain insisted on trying to save the gas tank. In his attempt to do so he was pulling on fishing line which had wrapped itself around one of Steve's fingers. His finger black from loss of circulation Steve screamed at the captain to let go of the line. Finally Jess and Carson coaxed the captain and MaryJoe onto surfboards and began to push them to shore. Steve untangled himself and took turns paddling the remaining surfboard with Sean who throughout the whole ordeal somehow managed to keep his camera bag out of the water the entire time.
After some minor finger repair (I always keep a tube of crazy glue in my first aid kit) and a long debriefing everyone settled down enough to surf that afternoon and enjoy a hearty dinner at a local Tico restaurant.
The boys are absolutely convinced that at least one of MaryJoe or the captain if not both would have drowned if not for the surfboards.
In retrospect I think the messages not to go diving on this trip were pretty clear however until the time of that disaster they were more impulses than feelings. Needless to say that feeling solidified immediately after the boys returned from their adventure.
As a result I decided to not dive for the remainder of the trip and enjoyed fun playful waves and beautiful deserted beaches until my departure yesterday.
--
Some thoughts I'd like to share.
There are those that believe negative situations are created by dwelling on negative thoughts and impulses, and for the most part I would agree. In this case however I see the awe-some potential of learning to listen to and feel the energy around oneself or a particular situation.
Not trying to get preachy with you all- I think we all exercise this to a degree, especially those of us who love to participate in high risk activities like driving cars and spearfishing.
I'm sure many of you have stories to prove this the case.
Perry Gladstone
Surfed out and back home in Toronto, Canada