A yearning for freedom

So often in life, things go against our will. Against the way we had hoped, or even the way we had planned. Yet frequently, buried in the mystery of a new unknown, awaits a gift. A piece of magic likely not considered, given our hopes and expectations were already moulded to a predefined reality.

Due to American covid regulations, I needed to be outside of Europe for two weeks before they would let me in. So I flew to Peru. A desire for adventure, mixed with a yearning to reconnect with the land, its culture, and its medicine. After only two and a half weeks, I was done. Smoked. Wrung out. She had her way with me and energetically and physically rinsed me. 

I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to integrate, than to spend it with 50+ men on a mountain. I had been looking forward to this retreat for months. To connect, to be seen, to be held, and to experience the power of true, conscious, masculine leadership. After limping into LA, I soon boarded another flight, ready to begin the retreat the next day. As the plane descended into Reno, the messages came through. Due to covid… the retreat had been canceled. 

I wanted to be angry, frustrated, disappointed... Yet beneath that which I somehow thought I should be feeling, was an excitement. A knowing, that this was an opening for something greater. Something more powerful. Something that I may or may not ever discover. All my plans, my desires, my structure, burned to the ground, and space had been created for something unknown to rise out of the ashes. 

The team put together an ‘unofficial’ event for those that ended up coming to Mt. Shasta. For the men that stayed, friendships were made and brotherhood was formed. And in the process of the following days, the magic of the unknown became clearer.

30 years ago, my parents moved us half way across the world to live in Alaska. I was only 8, but I was old enough to remember it clearly. To remember wild moose walking through our yard. Bears out the train window. The northern lights from our front door. Ice fishing. Dog sled racing. Becoming an expert skier and terrible at ice hockey. Some of the most majestic nature one could fathom, and a deep yearning to one day return.

As we were packing up the van after the last hike of the ‘unofficial’ retreat, one of the men mentioned that he was taking his fishing boat from Alaska down to Washington on an adventure that would take about seven days. He continued speaking, but my mind was already working out the logistics of how I could make that happen. Delay my flight. Cancel some work. Postpone some calls. All I had to do was be ready at the drop of a hat to fly to Alaska.

I found myself back in LA, treading water waiting for the call. Bad weather had already delayed the boating trip by almost a week with no potential departure date insight. Which meant I was back in surrender mode. Considering an impromptu little sojourn down to Mexico to spend some time before the next ‘Sacred Sons’ men’s retreat at the end of the month, or even heading off somewhere else all together. Then, the call came. 

‘There is a break in the weather. Can you be in Alaska by tomorrow afternoon?’ 

Four hours later I flew out of sunny LA, and the next morning, I arrived in cold, wet, Yakutat.

A tiny little town on the south-east of Alaska, with a population of 649 people. So remote in fact, my taxi driver hadn’t had a fare in two months. He was also part of the local Search and Rescue department, and excitedly told me about the two men they found last week after they flipped their boat up river. One of them had been chewed on by a bear. 

‘Oh there are a fuckin’ lot of bears here guy. Brown bears. There’s a big one that isn’t scared of anythin’. Moose season just finished, so a lot of folk have moose hangin’ up to dry, so the bears go sniffin’ around for the fresh meat.’

I had a few hours to spare, so he dropped me off at the only place open in town that served food.

‘How do I get to the harbour?’

‘Oh just walk about 20 minutes down that road.’

‘... What about the bears?’

‘Haha you’ll be right.’

He winked at me, and drove away. 

Burning brightly, deep within the chasms of every man's heart is a yearning for freedom. For adventure. To cast off the shackles of society, and the burden of responsibility. To throw away the safety and comfort of which we have become accustomed. To stretch ourselves physically, emotionally and mentally, and venture out beyond our capacity, deep into the wild frontier. 

Later that afternoon, with no sighting of bears to mention, I stepped foot on to the Renaissance. A 58’ vessel that metamorphoses from a fishing boat into a crabbing boat, depending on the season.  Our sole mission was to drive it 1600kms down the coast to Bellingham, Washington. And to have a good time whilst doing it. 

Five men, in a relatively small space, on a wild and unpredictable ocean, with nowhere else to go. Taking turns to drive continuously, for up to 80 hours at a time.

Yet these weren’t just regular men. All but one, were old alumni of John Wineland’s Embodied Masculine Leadership Training. My retreat that had just been canceled. Open, conscious, aware, connected to their hearts, and their balls. The conversations went deep. The embodiment practices were regular, and their immediate influence on my life was visceral. 

The days and nights on the ‘Renaissance’ became one long and strong men’s circle. Iron constantly sharpening iron. Practice. Reflection. Feedback. Enrolling. Releasing charge. Accountability. Ceremony. Rites of passage. Initiation. Tears. Heart break. Laughter. So much laughter. 

All the while, on a small boat. Cruising down the coast of Alaska and Canada. Humpback whales breaching in front of us, the northern lights shimmering above us, and the icy waves pounding us from the side. 

I never imagined the immensity of how truly life changing this trip would be. How fundamentally crucial it is to have solid men in your life. White hairs, grey hairs, young bucks and boys. A totem pole of life experience and wisdom. Older men to learn from, and younger men to pass the torch onto. 

Seven days in and I was getting a proper lesson in how to surrender to the Great Feminine. I learned very quickly that life on a boat becomes a game of uncertainty. 

‘How long will it take?’ 

‘As long as it needs to.’ 

Weather, waves, current, wind, you become a slave to her mood. Slowing our progress down so that our seven day trip would be closer to 13. We often barely crawled along the coast, hiding behind islands and stopping long enough that we remained safe. As the ‘largest storm ever off the north-west coast of the United States’, just happened to be building up ahead, bang in-line of our trajectory.  

With less than 24 hours to go, somewhere on the Strait of Georgia, after nearly two weeks of patience and allowing the storm to ebb and flow ahead of us, we witnessed a very small glimpse of her dwindling power. The forecast was for easily manageable 4 ft waves with 20 kt winds. However, the meteorologist smoked way too much crack that day, and waves were actually an average of 12 ft with 35-40 kt winds. Shit got hectic. The boat itself was fine. A veteran of the seas where crabbing season makes those conditions mildly uncomfortable at best. However the Renaissance happened to be transporting a 2,5 tonne skiff, strapped on her back, that would create all kinds of havoc if it came loose. That, and the fact that only one of our crew was actually qualified, made for an exciting afternoon. 

Five hours later,  after some stress for the captain, and some excitement, fear and regurgitated porridge for the crew, she settled. 

Almost as a peace offering, once the seas returned to calm, a rainbow appeared as a pair of humpback whales began to swim ahead of us. Their greatness, their presence, their beauty, almost instantaneously cultivating a sense of awe within.

The next morning, after 13 days of adventure, we finally docked in Bellingham, Washington. The end of an adventure that became one of life’s bookmark experiences. One of those pivotal moments where you are no longer like the person you were before. The beauty of it all, being that if things had gone the way that I wanted them to. If the men’s retreat had gone ahead like it was supposed to, I would have missed the boat. I would have caught my plane home as scheduled, and returned to life as it was. 

Just another beautiful reminder. To let the mystery of the unknown wash over you. Without a need to control, without a need to know. For it is in these moments that we experience the magic of life. It is in these moments, that we are reminded of the beauty and power of surrender.