我是干枯的胡杨^_^
一些文字与几张图片Email: dream_land_there@yahoo.comWeChat: sunsetset
The Graveyard of the Pacific ▲ The Aborted Final Voyage
"The world is vast, and I want to see it." Yet, societal responsibilities demand that I hold a job to survive, which inevitably means I can’t wander far or for long. Moreover, to the external world—unchanged for thousands, millions, even billions of years—whether I see it or not makes no difference. So, whether I travel or not, whether I explore the outside world, is nothing more than the self-indulgence of an insignificant human, a fleeting sense of self-satisfaction.
Once I understood this, why should I insist on outward journeys? Why not turn inward, seeking through dialogue with my own soul to perceive and experience the boundless universe? Like "inferring the whole leopard from a single spot" or "seeing autumn in a single leaf," perhaps I can grasp the vast world through the microcosm within.
To truly know and discover oneself, one effective method is moderate adventure in nature. Through risk, we confront our instincts, see ourselves clearly, and converse with nature—listening to her breath, feeling her pulse, merging with her. The depth and breadth of such an experience far surpass the simplistic notion of "the world is big, I want to see it."
There’s an even deeper layer: using endless exhaustion and unpredictable danger to cleanse the soul, much like ascetics who purify themselves through suffering. Thus, after completing the unpowered kayak race from Washington to Alaska (R2AK) in 2024, I decided that in 2025, I would embark on another unpowered kayak journey—from Neah Bay, the northwestern tip of Washington, all the way to San Francisco, California—an 800-mile voyage.
If last year’s R2AK was mostly about joining the excitement, proving myself, and chasing glory, this year’s journey is purely a solitary endeavor. Eight hundred miles of open sea—unnoticed, uncared for, with no one to rely on, life and death entirely in my own hands—the epitome of loneliness.
I remember reading a comic about the Apollo moon landing fifty years ago. When two astronauts descended to the surface while the third orbited alone in the command module, a line etched itself into my memory, unforgettable even after half a century: "He was the loneliest man in the world."
A shiver ran through me, like a sudden Buddhist enlightenment, awakening something deep within. Imagining that astronaut drifting alone in the vast cosmos, I felt both longing and reverence, touched by a solemn, almost sacred emotion.
From Neah Bay to San Francisco, a lone kayak traversing the sea—this journey carries a similar sense of human solitude and grandeur. For this perilous and lonely voyage, I prepared for an entire year, packing countless supplies: multiple compasses, a DJI drone, an Insta360 panoramic camera, ample water and food, a solar panel with batteries, over a dozen spare batteries, three phones, dozens of charging cables, two VHF radios, a satellite emergency beacon (InReach), a PLB (Personal Locator Beacon), and countless other miscellaneous items. Better to overpack than to find myself missing something critical at sea. Before departure, I also left a will in my office desk drawer—just in case.
The name "Graveyard of the Pacific" is no exaggeration. Weather forecasts here are vague; conditions in small areas can shift unpredictably—calm one moment, a tempest the next. A sailor friend once told me how, in just five minutes, winds surged from 5 mph to over 50 mph, shredding her mainsail before she could reef it. Beyond gales, there are rogue waves, whales, great white sharks, and the icy currents from the Arctic.
Along this 800-mile coastline lie nearly 10,000 shipwrecks. Some stretches are especially treacherous—like the mouth of the Pacific at Neah Bay (2,000 wrecks) and the Columbia River mouth (3,000 wrecks). The shoreline alternates between sheer cliffs and violent surf, offering few safe landing spots for a kayak. My plan was to eat and sleep aboard, never stopping, averaging 50 miles a day to complete the journey in 16 days.
Nature demands reverence, especially in this deadly stretch. Arriving at Neah Bay at midnight, I assembled my kayak and, following Chinese tradition, lit incense and candles, burned paper offerings, and poured liquor onto the ground in three ceremonial libations, praying for a safe journey. But in the dark, I grabbed the wrong bottle—pouring oil instead of liquor.
After the rituals, I slept in my car for two hours, only to wake at dawn shivering uncontrollably. Returning to the dock, I found my kayak dangling mid-air at low tide. Though it seemed unharmed, the sight unsettled me—an ill omen.
Lowering the kayak, I set off slowly, paddling through the Juan de Fuca Strait toward the open Pacific before turning south toward my distant goal.
The day was thick with fog—calm but windless, forcing me to rely on sheer paddling strength. Without landmarks, navigation was a struggle, requiring constant checks of the compass. Safety came first, so I endured.
In the stillness, I launched the drone to capture the scene: a lone kayak adrift in a white, silent void—a hauntingly beautiful image. But the drone malfunctioned, plunging into the sea before I could recover it.
By afternoon, a breeze picked up, speeding my progress. By dusk, I’d covered 30+ miles. Though short of my 50-mile target, I trusted night paddling would close the gap. Confident, I cooked dinner and layered up against the biting cold.
Nightfall brought thicker fog—utter darkness. Wind and waves rose and fell unpredictably. The "whoosh" of breaching whales and the metallic "clang" of my kayak’s AKA joints kept me on edge. Then—impact.
In the blackness, my kayak’s outrigger (AMA) struck something solid—likely a whale’s back. A soft "thud", and the AMA swung violently toward the hull. Had I not reinforced it earlier, the kayak would have capsized.
Instinct took over. I released the sail’s black line, yanked the red retrieval rope, and furled the sail in seconds—a lifesaving reflex. By headlamp, I found a broken plastic pin securing the AKA. I had spares, but replacing it in pitching waves was a nightmare. The first replacement slipped from my grip; the second snapped during installation. Though barely functional now, it could fail anytime.
Stunned, I realized I’d botched it. Could I continue? Maybe—by jury-rigging the pin with a screwdriver and tape. But another collision might damage the kayak itself. Reluctantly, I chose to abort. A heartbreaking decision, but better than regret—or a Coast Guard rescue.
Other omens weighed on me: the oil-for-liquor mistake, the unexplained chills, the dangling kayak, the lost drone, the whale strike, the broken pins—all in one day. The universe seemed to scream: "Turn back."
Timing was another factor. This sea grants only narrow safe windows. Too fast or slow, and I’d face storms. With compromised gear, pushing on risked disaster. Respecting nature’s power, I yielded. Perhaps these signs did save my life.
This retreat may haunt me forever. Aging means I’ll likely never attempt this again. But then—what’s life without regrets?
With my choice made, I navigated to the nearest port—an obscure dock six miles away. After a grueling paddle, I landed in darkness. Total distance: 45 miles—just 1/18th of the planned journey.
A friend drove 18 hours from the Bay Area to retrieve me. Over four days, they logged 4,000 miles and 72 hours behind the wheel. Without them, I’d still be stranded at that desolate pier.
======太平洋坟场▲腰折的最后航行 ========
“世界很大，我想去看看”，然社会责任要我有份工作以求生存，这注定我走不久，也走不远。而且对外部世界来说，几千几万甚至几亿年来，它一直在那，我去看还是不去看，对它又有何意义呢。所以，走不走，去不去看外面的世界，完全是渺小人类的自我享受，自我良好感觉而已。
想清这点，那么我为何非得要远行，而不向内探索，向内寻求，通过同自己心灵的对话，来认识，来感受外部无穷无尽的世界呢? 如同一斑窥豹 ，一叶知秋，通过我内心的小世界来感知外面的大世界呢。
要真正认识自己，发现自己，向内挖掘的一个有效方法，就是在自然界里适度的冒险。通过冒险，直面本性，看清自己，同时也同大自然对话，倾听她的呼吸，感觉她的脉搏，并与她融为一体。这样一个行为的深度与广度，同单纯的“世界很大，我想去看看”，有过之而无不及。
还有更深一层，就是用无尽的疲劳与不可预测的危险，来洗涤自己的灵魂，就像苦行僧，用痛苦来清洗灵魂一样。于是，于去年，2024年，在完成无动力Kayak从华盛顿州到阿拉斯斯加的比赛后(R2AK)，我决定，在今年的2025年，再用无动力Kayak从华成盛顿州的顶点Neah Bay出发，一直到加州的旧金山，全程八百英里。
如果说去年参加 R2AK 的大部分原因是为了赶热闹，为了证明自己，也为了荣誉，那么今年的这个行程，完全是个孤独者的旅行。八百英里海路，无人注意，无人关心，无人可依靠，生死全凭自己，极致的孤独。记得五十年前看阿波罗登月飞船的连环画，当看到两宇航员下去月球，一宇航员驾飞船环行月球等他们回来时，书中有句话刻印进了我的记忆里，穿越半个世纪，一直忘不掉，这句话就是：他是世界上最孤独的人了。
当时浑身一颤，如同佛的顿悟，唤醒了心灵的某一处，想像着当时那宇航员一人在茫茫宇宙中孤独飞行的情景，我既憧憬又向往，此外，还被一丝丝的崇高与壮严所感动。
从华成盛顿州的顶点 Neah Bay 到加州的旧金山，孤舟独行，多多少少也有生而为人的那种崇高与孤独的沧凉感。为了这个危险又孤独的航行，我准备了整整一年，备的东西无数，如：几个指南钟，一架大疆无人机，一个Insta-360全景摄像机，足够的水，食物，一个太阳能板和充电池，十几块备用电池，三个手机，几十条手机充电线，二个VHF，一个卫星求救InReach，一个卫星求救PLB，还有其它零零碎碎的东西数不胜数。宁愿多带点，也不要在海上发现要用的东西没带。走之前，也在公司办公桌的抽屉里，留了封遗书，以防万一。
称之为太平洋坟场，是有原因的，这儿的天气预报只能预测个大概，具体细小区域的天气不可预测，说变就变，刚刚还风和日丽，几分钟后就狂风呼啸，乌云密布。听我一航海的朋友提起，有天她驾大帆船南下，就五分钟，风速从五英里每小时突然飙到五十多英里每小时，主帆来不及收起，被撕成几片。除了狂风，还有毫无症兆的疯狗巨浪，鲸鱼，大白鲨，从北冰洋极流过来的冰水。。。。。。
所以，在这条八百英里的海岸线上，有近万条沉船。有几段最凶险，如我行程开始的Neah Bay进太平洋的入海口，有二千条沉船，在哥伦比亚河口，有三千条沉船。
沿途上的海岸线，不是悬崖绝壁，就是海浪汹涌的沙滩，很难找到 Kayak 停靠点，所以我准备一路吃睡在Kayak上，不靠岸一直南下，平均一天五十英里，用十六天时间完成全程。
对大自然得有敬畏之心，对这片特殊的区域更要有敬畏之心。所以，在半夜到达Neah Bay并组装好Kayak后，以华人的传统，点上香与烛，烧点纸钱，然后拿出酒，洒向地面，酒过三巡，再拜拜，祝自已一路顺利。酒瓶与油瓶外表一样，颜色也一样，拿错了，最后洒向地面的是油而不是酒。
拜完天地诸神，回去车内睡了两小时，当天亮时被一阵阵无法抑制的冷颤惊醒，回到码头时，发现因退潮，Kayak 被吊在了半空中。幸亏外表看起来没有什么损伤，但心里咯噔了一下，这不是个好兆头。
放下 Kayak，慢慢地离开码头，顺着 Juan De Fuca 海峡向太平洋深处而去，在离岸几英里时掉头南下，朝八百英里外的目的地驶去也不用多说。
当天是浓雾天气，这样的天气好处是风不大，安全，坏处是风小，不能用帆借风行驶，主要得凭人力驱动 Kayak，非常辛苦，另一坏处是被浓雾包围，没有参照物，分不清东南西北，极易迷失方向，要么走了反方向，要么在原地打转，得几秒钟就转头瞄一眼旁边的指南针，非常地费脖子。但安全胜过一切，也就忍了。
无风时，正好用无人机来录当时的情景。一条孤舟静静地漂在白雾茫茫的寂静的大海上，光想像一下，就美得令人疯狂。但是，放出去的无人机飞不回来，最后掉落海面，赶过去时早不见踪影。
下午惭惭起风，借助风力，航行快了许多，到了傍晚，已经航行三十多英里了，虽然离每天五十英里的目标还有段距离，但晚上还长着呢，半夜时到达五十英里应该是不成问题的。这么一想，就放下心来，生火煮晚饭，再在防水服下添几件御寒的衣服。这儿的夜晚是彻骨的寒冷。
入夜，雾还很浓，伸手不见五指，眼前漆黑一片。风时大时小，白头海浪哗哗地打过来，时急时慢。周围传来鲸鱼阵阵的“噗噗”喷水声，外加 Kayak 的 AKA 同主体连接处发出来的“哐档哐档”金属碰撞声，实在搞得人有些提心吊胆，怕“哐档”一声过后什么东西断了。
担心什么就来什么，只觉在黑暗中Kayak的AMA实实在在地碰到一个黑乎乎的东西，应该是鲸鱼背，然后听到轻轻的"朴"的一声，没等我反应过来，那个黑乎乎的东西已沉入水下，被碰的 AMA 已折过来往Kayak主体靠，如果不是事先安装的加固装备，这 AMA 已完全折过来，我的 Kayak 就翻了。
说时迟那时快，我快速地松开张帆的黑绳子，再一把抓住收帆的红绳子，拚命地拉，把帆以最快的速度收起来。这下意识的救命动作，不用脑袋去思考，全凭肌肉记忆，一气呵成。然后打开头灯去检查发生了什么，只见一个固定 AKA 的塑料插销断了。这个插销有备用的，左右 AKA 各备有一个，马上拿一个下来，在上下左右摇晃的Kayak上，一个没对准，掉了，再去拿另一个下来，这次小心翼地装上去，在风浪中实在不好控制力道，需要拧紧时，一个浪打过来，把最后这个弄断了。虽然勉强能用，但随时可掉出来。
我呆住了，就这么一瞬间的事，我把事情搞砸了，怎么办？如果硬要坚持下去，也不是没办法，那就是用螺丝刀插入那销孔，然后再用胶带捆住，这样也能行，只是如果再发生这种碰撞的事，伤的不会是这插销，而会是 Kayak 主体，这就麻烦了。思来想去，我决定放弃这行程。这是个痛心又艰难的决定，但总比发生意外了后悔强，总比被海洋卫队从水里捞起来强。
决定放弃这行程的另一个原因，是这一天来，有诸多不顺，先是拿错瓶子，以油代酒敬天地，后来在车里睡觉时被一阵阵停不下来的莫名其妙的冷颤惊醒，Kayak又被吊在半空中，无人机坠毁，后被鲸鱼撞，最后销子不是断就是掉失，这一切发生在同一天，叠加在一起，都不是好兆头，似乎都向我发出强烈讯号：不要往前走了。
还有其它一个原因是，我每天都有严格的行程安排，太快太慢都会碰上狂风，这片海域可让我顺利通过的时间窗口非常狭窄，装备的隐患或多或少会影响我的速度，与其在狂风中挣扎，与其在这太平洋坟场里多个坟头，不如事先退出。得敬畏自然，人很强大，也很脆弱。也许这种种的提示，真救了我一命也未可知。
退出，这也许是我此生无法弥补的遗憾，随着时间的流逝，身体逐渐衰弱，我也许再没有机会来一次这样的旅行了，然而，没有遗憾的人生，叫啥人生啊！
决定已下，剩下的就是执行。在 GPS上找最近的港口，巧好有个不知名的小港口才六英里远，于是慢慢地行驶过去，经一番挣扎，摸黑进港上岸，在此无需多提。今天总共行驶了四十五英里，是计划中的总行程的十八分之一。
再次请朋友帮忙，从湾区开十八小时的车过来接我回家，四天里我这朋友来回开了两趟，总行程四千英里，开车72小时。如果没有我朋友的帮忙，我应该还困在那个偏僻的码头，不知如何是好。
The 800-Mile Journey Map
Each dot marks a daily checkpoint. This schedule must be followed strictly—neither faster nor slower—or else I’d face raging storms and monstrous waves, with unpredictable consequences.
八百英里的行程图。每一个点表示每天要到达的地方。要严格地执行这行程计划，不能快也不能慢，否则会碰到狂风，要在巨浪中挣扎，后果难料。
This area is the infamous Graveyard of the Pacific, where nearly 10,000 ships lie wrecked beneath the waves or scattered along the shore.
这片区域是恶名远扬的太平洋坟场，近万的船沉在水底下，倒在岸边。
At the mouth of the Columbia River alone, almost 3,000 ships have sunk, claiming countless lives.
光是哥伦比亚河的入海口处，就沉了近三千条船，死伤无数。
Some enthusiasts have even made documentaries about this maritime graveyard.
有好事者，做了个介绍太平洋坟场的视频。
These few lines about the Pacific coastline filled me with boundless determination and strength.
太平洋边这短短的几句，给了我无尽的信念与力量。
With a friend, I drove 1,000 miles from Silicon Valley, California, arriving at Neah Bay, Washington, in the dead of night. After I launched, my friend turned back and drove home.
同朋友一起，驱车一千英里，从加州的硅谷，于半夜时分，来到华盛顿州的 Neah bay。待我下水后，朋友再开车回去
Ready to go.
The fishing rod at the kayak’s stern is mostly for show. Most seafarers have little interest in fishing. My own belief: we are all passing guests of the ocean, and we should respect one another. Unless absolutely necessary, why kill? Another reason: avoiding harm brings good fortune, ensuring a safer journey.
安装完毕。
Kayak 尾部插着的是钓鱼杆，然而，这基本上只是装装样子。海上航行的人，是不大有兴趣钓鱼的。我自己的体会是，大家都是海洋中的过客，都相互尊重，非不得已，何必要残杀。另一个原因是，不杀生，会带来好运的，会在海中安稳地渡过。
Kayak left hanging mid-air at low tide.
因退潮，吊在半空中的 Kayak
Launching into the water.
下水
Leaving Neah Bay behind.
驶离 Neah Bay
Calm seas.
平静的海面
The sail catches the wind.
风帆
By afternoon, the wind picks up.
下午，风渐起
Lost the drone—no aerial shots, but the Insta360 still captures a decent panorama.
无人机丢了，没有全景图，用 Insta360 来个全景图也不错
This must be a sunfish (Mola mola).
这应该是翻车鱼
With the flashlight on, the night ocean reveals nothing but darkness.
闪光灯下，夜晚的海洋，什么也看不清
Sticking to the planned route is crucial—too early or too late, and the storms will strike.
After the midnight accident at sea, the schedule was inevitably disrupted, so I decided to abandon the original plan and head ashore early.
要严格地按照事先规划好的行程走，太早太晚，都会碰上狂风。因半夜在海上出了事故，多多少少会影响到行程，所以决定放弃原先计划，提早上岸
The dock at low tide the next morning.
第二天早晨，退潮时码头的样子
Real-time tracking of Day 1’s route.
第一天的实时路线图
This is where I struggled ashore in the dark—the harbor tucked at the mountain’s base (right).
It took every ounce of effort just to make it in.
这就是前一个晚上摸黑进港上岸的地方，港口在右边的山脚处。当时费的九牛二虎之力才进的港
Sleeping in the kayak, waiting for my friend to drive over and take me home.
睡在 kayak 上，等朋友开车过来载我回家
The harbor at dusk, bathed in twilight.
晚霞里的海港
By noon the next day, my friend arrived to bring me home.
第二天中午，朋友过来接我回家
Goodbye, beautiful nameless harbor.
In the limited river of my time, I will always remember you.
再见了，这个美丽的无名小港，在我有限的时间长河里，我会一直记得你
《As Long as There's You》
《只要有你》
