Sailing solo around Britain would be quite the feat for most of us, I suspect. Sailing solo when you can't move your body certainly turns it up a notch--or a hundred.

Hilary Lister from Dunkirk, Kent in Great Britain is not letting the trifles of her life stop her. She's been paralyzed from the neck down for seven years, but has kept setting sail by blowing into a device that controls the sail and the tiller. Her method has taken her already around the Isle of Wight and across the English Channel. She is the first quadriplegic female to ever do these trips.

According to this BBC News story, Lister's journey around Britain will not happen in a non-stop endeavor, but will be broken into segments, and the segments broken into parts. That seems sensible. She must have a powerful set of lungs. She also has land-based crew that can offer support as needed. Her determination is astounding, but so is the support she must get from family and friends who know how important it is for people to reach their dreams no matter what the dreams are and what obstacles can get in the way.

Several years ago, when I stayed with a lovely family in Vinita, Oklahoma, there was one family member who had been paralyzed from the neck down in a horseback riding accident. He was able to do all sorts of things using just his breath because of the way gadgets had been built to help him do so. His family also made sure that he determined what he wanted to do and left him to his own devices.

We cooked dinner one night, although, he really was the brains behind the endeavor. All I did was do what he said. Dinner was delicious, and honestly, I had little to do with it. If Hilary Lister has half the determination he did, she'll make it around Great Britain for sure.

As for me, maybe I'll call up the friend I know who has a sail boat to see if we can take it on a spin on the Scioto River. She knows what to do and instructs me. Suddenly, I have the urge.

 

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Read part 1 of this story first.A couple weeks later, with a little more confidence under our belt and a little more knowledge in our heads, we come back to the boathouse to race against some of the other freshmen. After a short motivational group meeting, the coach hands us over to the coxswain, who leads us to the "garage" where the racing shells are housed. Like a general surveying his regatta of warships, I try to absorb the sight of racks after racks of gleaming, slick long shells made of ultra-light, high-tech carbon polyurethane."Hands on," Alfred commands us to grab onto the shell."Ready to lift ... Ready! ... Lift! Shoulders and walk it out." Working in unison, the eight of us manage to move the unwieldy, shell down to the water. Without the cooperation of the entire team, this "ultra-light" shell would easily crush a single rower."Weigh-enough ... Up and over heads ... Ready! Lift! Roll to waists ... Ready! Roll! And out and in together!"The shell effortlessly slides into the river without even a splash and we nimbly strap in. "All eight sit ready! ... Ready! Row!" I forget about the problem sets due tomorrow or the Yale Daily News article I have to write this weekend. The serene, gliding river becomes my world, stretching on forever. The sun casts a warm glow over the water. Then boom! Our shell charges off the starting line as Alfred explodes in our ears. "Give me three short strokes ... half ... full! Good, keep it there. Lengthen and stretch." 1500 meters left. No time for stray thoughts. Instead, all I can concentrate on is the rough feeling of the oar rubbing against my calloused hands and the water splashing on me from the rower ahead. My legs already burn as I gasp for air between each measured stroke. The sweat pours from my face, blurring my sight as Alfred continues yelling. 1000 meters. "Harder! We're five strokes to six. And push with those legs ... and push." The eight oars slice the water at exactly the same instant. I begin to feel the rhythm, the splashing and roughness of the oar no longer on my mind. Yes, this is what rowing was all about. We finally see the payoff to our grueling workouts on the tanks in the dungeons of the Payne Whitney Gym. Like one eight-legged beast, we ram through the water, each one of us rowing as part of the unit. Our bodies slide in synchrony, and all I hear above the din of the cries to push harder, row faster, is the grinding of eight oarlocks, which gives off an almost musical and most definitely even beat. Eight have become one. 500 meters. The final stretch, the sprint that would make or break us. At this point, our slow-twitch muscle fibers have been flooded with lactic acid buildup for several minutes. The same muscles that power some people through 26.4 miles now struggle to keep our blades driving through the molasses; the lactic acid has quickly depleted our blood sugar supply so our lung cells desperately crave oxygen. With all the fancy hi-tech improvements like the aerodynamic racing shell and sliding seats, the race still remains about man versus man, pitting the collective strength and mental endurance of our boat against the others. We are indeed contemporary Vikings, waging a continuous battle against the limits of our own body and lactic acid build-up! We have no strength left. Yet somehow from mysterious reserves, we force ourselves to push harder, row faster. My heart beats as fast as a hummingbird's while my head pounds with blood. Just when I feel like collapsing from sheer exhaustion, we glide through the finish line, two boat lengths behind.

After docking, we jump out of the boat, elated at completing our first race. We gave it our all, and so we congratulated each other. The other freshmen came over, brimming with excitement at our performance and gushing about the successful season we will have. Like Yale in 1852, we lost by two boat lengths, but like the Vikings, the war was meant to be won another day.

Over the past century and even millennia, rowing surprisingly hasn't changed; the races still came down to slow-twitch fibers and Viking aggression, and of course, we still despised Harvard Crew. I turn around to admire the sparkling sunset one last time and walk off to the locker room.

 

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Against the backdrop of a crispy clear afternoon in early September, I eagerly wait to see the historic Yale boathouse at the head of the Housatonic River in Derby, Connecticut, the training grounds for over 150 years of athletes, scholars, and gentlemen. As I ride the big yellow school bus to Gilder Boathouse in Derby with the other rowers, the pure energy and anticipation of catching a glimpse of this mystic place reached a crescendo.Taking a deep breath and snapping out of a daydream of gliding across the finish line two lengths ahead of Harvard, I take my first step off the bus and raise my head. In front of me looms a sprawling wooden complex that resembles a canoe tipped over. I immediately likened the awe-inspiring boathouse to a huge Viking ceremonial hall. I easily imagine the walls carved from the undisturbed beauty of Scandinavian forests, the hanging tapestry exotic treasures from raids across the sea. We were contemporary Vikings marching towards the battle against the unforgiving currents of the Housatonic. Along the way, I hear a few grunts and wild yells, perhaps paralleling the Viking stereotype too well. We step through a wide open entryway as a group, bordered on each side by a row of metal oars that were melded together into a majestic gate. The entrance cuts through the body of the boathouse and takes us onto an endless deck out back with a panoramic view of the river. The river morphs into a silver expanse that continuously laps at the boat deck below and pours off into the horizon. The still green hills behind the river bring out the light reflecting off the rippling water and gentle waves. A few jet skis flutter around, creating miniature whirlpools and a whirling buzz that disturbs the otherwise tranquil scene. I cross the deck and peer into a vast common room with vaulted ceilings and a towering fireplace. Long wooden tables line the room, again conjuring up images of Viking gatherings, and I'm sure if they were still around, they would have used the audiovisual equipment there to recount their various heroic conquests. The Vikings were rough, but disciplined and determined people who had the ingenuity to build grand halls. The architect had aspired to recreate the grandeur of Viking design and function, to shock and awe while providing a close-knit community meeting place. Even with all the hi-tech shells, oars, and ergometers (rowing machines) around, nothing much has really changed in rowing since then. One side of the room caught my eye. Lined from wall to wall and floor to ceiling are a century of glittering trophies, the contemporary rower's way of recounting various heroic conquests; and there is only room for the most memorable races. "Final Round, Head of the Charles - 2004" "2005 Lightweight Crew National Champions" "EARC Sprints Winner, Freshmen Team" "Harvard Wins Inaugural Regatta against Yale," read the 1852 headline from a local newspaper clipping immortalized on the wall. The Crimson Cantabs got lucky that day, or at least that's the story passed down the countless generations of Yale crew teams. Just nine years earlier, a few Yale rowing fanatics had formed the first college athletic team in the country, with the Whitewall, a rickety, scrawny boat that occasionally kept the river water out; it had no sliding seats and came with oars cut from the rough oaks of Connecticut hills. On that historic Saturday morning, the Yale crew team had no idea they were about to row their way into a sport now steeped in tradition, and of course, herald in the most storied intercollegiate rivalry. But the battle was lost that day for the Bulldogs as Harvard sped away at the finish of the two-mile course on Lake Winnepesaukee, New Hampshire, winning by more than two boat lengths. Of course, Yale stormed back in the next few years with spectacular performances a fan described as, "the best memory of my college experience."

The overwhelming achievements of past rowers who have already set the bar as high as the vaulted ceiling rattled my nerves and undermined my hopes in finding a home here. We enter the sprawling locker room to change into spandex shorts and a crew t-shirt. I sure didn't feel like a heroic Viking at this moment, but rather a dazed freshman feeling very exposed in stretchy spandex, stumbling down to the deck by way of the sweeping stairs that spills to the river. We spent that afternoon on the training barge practicing fundamentals like turning, rowing straight, and stroking.

Stay tune for part 2 of this story tomorrow.

 

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If you are in the midst of planning a beach vacation, this is bad timing. I was just about to tell you about the World's Most Dangerous Beaches, as compiled by Forbes.

In 2006 alone, American households apparently took nearly 55 million trips to the beach. Most of those trips were totally safe and pleasant. The rest of them....not so much.

Here are the World's Most Dangerous Beaches by Forbes:

• Shark Attacks/Bites: New Smyrna Beach, Volusia County, Fla., Runner Up: Hawaii
• Pollution: Hacks Point Beach, Kent County, Md./Beachwood Beach West, Ocean County, N.J.
• Jellyfish Attacks: Northern Australia
• Rip Current Drowning: Brevard County, Fla., Runner Up: Volusia County, Fla.
• Boating Accidents: Florida, Runner Up: California
• Lightning: Florida, Runner up: Colorado

Umm, Colorado? They have beaches in Colorado?

P.S. Is it just me or is this list a little US-centric?

 

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If you are an outdoor aficionado, you may already be familiar with Wend. The outdoor magazine based out of Portland, Oregon fills its pages with stories from around the globe that peak the interest of not only outdoor enthusiasts, but anyone with a wanderlust. The latest issue covers a trip through Iceland, volunteering in Indonesia, trekking Afghanistan and surfing the Great Lakes; that's what I call good reading material.

Being the eco-friendly souls that they are, the Wend crew finally put the magazine online, making all of the articles accessible via your computer. You can still buy the print version, but if you are out traveling -- or just want to save on paper consumption -- the new online version is just as satisfying. And it's free.

Check out the virtual version of the latest issue here. And if you are feeling truly inspired, shoot them an email and pitch a story.

 

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Washington, DC -- Today is a historic turning point for the Penobscot River and its communities. It is exciting to enter the next phase of this project one of the most important river restoration efforts our country has ever seen.

Rivers are remarkably resilient, and the Penobscot is no exception. Even after years of abuse they can come back to life. By removing the Penobscot’s outdated dams, we will launch a river renaissance from mountains to sea that will be celebrated for generations to come.

On the Penobscot we are witnessing the future of river conservation. Thanks to a ground-breaking collaboration, the river will soon be a model for what we hope to achieve on other major rivers across the country improved health, restored fish and wildlife, balanced energy production, and communities revitalized by new recreation and economic opportunities.

Across the country, over 700 dams have been removed for environmental, economic and public safety reasons. Removing the Penobscot’s two lowermost dams and installing fish passage on a third will restore access to roughly 1,000 miles of habitat for the river’s fish, making this project one of the most significant dam removal efforts ever.

In the future, healthy rivers and clean water will be more valuable than we ever imagined. With climate change bringing more intense storms, floods and droughts, a healthy river must be the keystone of a community’s plan for safety, economic well-being and quality of life.

We must protect and restore our rivers so that they can continue to serve as the lifelines and lifeblood for the people, fish and wildlife that depend on them. This effort on the Penobscot shows us the way forward.

American Rivers named the Penobscot, New England’s second largest river, as one of America’s Most Endangered Rivers(TM) every year from 1989 to 1996 because of existing or proposed dams. We look forward to the day when we can declare the Penobscot “Most Improved”.

The Penobscot River restoration is truly a collaborative effort. We would not be where we are today without the strong and diverse partnership involving the Penobscot Indian Nation, federal, state and local levels of government, corporations, conservation organizations, private foundations and individual donors. 

Dam Removal Nationwide

• More than 714 dams have been removed in the United States Roughly 48 dams are projected for removal in 2008.
• In 2007, 54 dams were removed.

Dams Removed in Maine 

Over 465 miles of rivers in Maine have been restored by dam removal 15 dams have been removed in Maine: 

• East Machias River (East Machias Dam)
• Kennebec River (Edwards Dam)
• Machias River (Canaan Lake Outlet Dam)
• Penobscot River (Bangor Dam)
• Pleasant River (Columbia Falls Dam)
• Pleasant River (Brownville Dam)
• Presumpscot River (Smelt Hill)
• St. George River (Sennebec Dam)
• Sandy River (Madison Electric Dam)
• Sebasticook River (Main Street Dam)
• Sebasticook River (Fort Halifax Dam)
• Souadabscook Stream (Grist Mill Dam)
• Souadabscook Stream (Hampden Recreation Area Dam)
• Souadabscook Stream (Souadabscook Falls Dam)
• Stetson Stream (Archer's Mill Dam)

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