Coming to the defense of the unfairly maligned. The rain

Paddlers' Place
#1

Last night, all night, the wind was very active, as it often is here in Iceland, and some horizontal rain flew through the night as well. It was lovely. Every once in a while, I find myself coming to the defense of what some would call “gloomy” weather. Or “bad” weather. Often enough, they’re complaining about the rain. I grew up in the rain. In Seattle–famous for its liquid sunshine, so perhaps I’m a bit biased in its favor.

As I was thinking about this today, I remembered that a few years ago, I was involved in some online discussion, and the topic of “gloomy weather” came up. It might have been on a paddling forum (perhaps even here?), or on some other, but I do remember coming to the defense of the liquid wonder. So I had a look in my old documents archive, and found one such thing I wrote, apparently, just five years ago. Thought I’d share it with you tonight.

And by the way, I’ve spent countless days paddling in the rain. Soft rain, hard rain, rain over the ocean, lakes, and rivers. Can’t ever remember a bad day on the water. Or in the water, for that matter.

Don’t worry, it’s one of the shorter things I’ve written…

Have you never danced in the rain?

Celebrate the rain, for it is the opposite of gloom. It is the source of
nearly all we call good and beautiful. The water we drink, the food we eat,
and the clean air we breathe. The blue of our excruciatingly beautiful blue
planet. The wonder of rainbows. The life and wonder giving streams, rivers,
and oceans.

For the trees of the great rainforests, and for the palms and white sand
beaches of tropical islands, thank the rain. And the wind. Celebrate the
thunderstorm. And the hurricane.

Celebrate the gentle rain that falls on the roof, making the great book
you’re reading even better. Celebrate rain’s cousins, the hail and snow,
for they too shape the endless wonders that lend immeasurable awe to our
lives.

Cower not from the rain, for even you are mostly made of rain. How do you
even exist without the rain, after all?

Give thanks, and every chance you get, dance in the rain.

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#2

Love rain (and snow)! :smiling_face_with_three_hearts: No surf without it.

Mahalo!

-sing

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#3

I don’t like to start in the rain, or finish up in the rain, but I do like paddling in the rain. Though I dislike paddling in 40deg weather, cold rain and cold breeze.
Interesting to paddle in a very heavy rain - less visibility than fog or night (compass or gps necessary).

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#4

I get the sentiment, and rain is necessary and often beautiful, but there are many victims of Helene in North Carolina and Virginia who would find it hard to … “Celebrate …the hurricane.”

As an example, there’s a great little town, Damascus, VA that is still fighting to recover and get back on its feet. The town is dependent on tourism and is a trail town for the AT and Virginia Creeper Trail both of which sustained extensive damage that will take months if not years to repair. So if you get a chance, enjoy the rain, but remember those who have been devastated by TOO MUCH rain, and help if you can.

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#5

Conversely, if you enjoy the hot summer sun, do so while remembering to support those impacted by drought and wildfires, such of those who went through the recent LA fires.

-sing

#6

Rain, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanoes, fires, and on and on.

Every one of the above phenomena have provided us with what we consider unfathomable beauty and wonder as well as seemingly unbearable tragedy.

The next time you’re lounging on that “perfect” tropical beach, being served cool drinks by attentive luxury resort staff, think about the “terrible forces” necessary to make that “paradise” exactly what it is so that you can enjoy it as a break from your “dreary” Winter weather somewhere else. Somewhere in that mix–“hopefully” when you’re not there–there are tropical cyclones, perhaps a volcano or three, perhaps even a very deadly Tsunami in not-too-distant memory. And the cycles continue.

We find ourselves living on this orb spinning through space, always in motion, always changing, and in some ways, even influenced by our own puny selves, perhaps too often as an “idiot collective”. There are the choices we make, and the ones others make for us, and the ones where we feel we have no choice (when/where and/or whether or not we do is another can of worms to examine). And on and on.

The questions are endless, as are the apparent possibilities. As one of many species on this beautiful and volatile orb, we do what we can, and we do what we will. We help each other when we can and when we will, and we hurt each other when can and when we will. And not just “each other” as a specific species. We, as a particular species, have found that we can and will influence the life and death experiences of countless other species. Up to and including total extinction.

Ultimately, I do still believe that when it comes to making certain value judgments, it makes more sense for us to “judge ourselves” rather than to assign ideas of “good” or “bad” to something like the rain, the wind, and so forth. Such is life on Earth, and if anyone has and exercises truly consequential choices for ourselves and for others, it’s us.

All that said, paddle on.

5 Likes
#7

We live and play somewhere between the extremes and can’t change nature. All we can do is figure out how far outside of the comfort zone we’re willing to go. Adapt, be prepared, pick up the pieces, then go on or give up.

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#8

This is exhilarating (with right skills and equipment) as a “fast dance” (downwind) with rain, wind and waves.

-sing

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#9

Perspectives are both subjective and personal. They may also have a biological component like color perception and taste. I was born just within the edge of the subtopics in south Florida. We had two coconut trees in our yard. I was exposed to lots of rain but no snow, no mountains or rocks other than limestone and chert. Those things fascinated me. I did have clear ocean water and sandy beaches, swamps, blackwater rivers, clear spring runs and almost endless summer. I don’t do well with short winter days and long nights and that’s not a choice I made.

I love a thunderstorm but dread a tornado. Central Florida gets the most lighting strikes of anywhere else in the US. For that matter only somewhere in Africa gets more. In a thunderstorm’s aftermath on a hot summer day the extreme humidity is breath taking. Been in several hurricanes and both love and fear their fury. I have backpacked during winter in the high peaks of the Smoky Mountains and in the summer and fall above 10,000’ in the Colorado Rockies. I agree that an all-day rain just above freezing is miserable. Backpacked in the Grand Canyon and the Big Bend Texas dessert and been rained on in both places as well.

I think the important thing is experiencing the astounding complexity of the world we inhabit. I feel the most complete out in the natural world and it fills me. I do enjoy but also reserve the right to complain. It’s the yin and yang thang!

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#10

I must admit that watching a thunderstorm’s lightning show and listening to the thunder at night across the lake we lived on never failed to impress and entertain.

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#11

Fear is exillerating. As much as I fear the danger and destructive force of a tornado, the sighting of one is mesmerizing. The trill of witnessing an approaching storm in no way means we wish harm on others.

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#13

Posted a reply to the wrong thread, see Observations on paddling in the wind.

#14

I have lived in some wet places like Seattle and spent a lot of time in the woods and worked in SE Alaska with 150 inches of rain. I got tired of it. Even in summer it can be wet.

Now I live in Nevada where we get 9 inches a year. Rain and snow like today April 26 are a cause for celebration. The Pacific Crest Trail is about 40 minutes away and up in the much wetter mixed conifer forest with more like 25 inches or more.

Going camping in the woods tomorrow.

I will never forget one of my excellent female range management grad students I had a on a crew. She always said “I hope we have a thunderstorm so we can take off our clothes and run around.”

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#15

So you prayed for rain?

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#16

Pangea partitioned
great puddles rushed in
for millions of annum
round sun in a spin

rock upon water
water runs on rock
and calm sky above all
often spins into shock

forming winds with fury
to rocks they would sculpt
as millennia of thirst
in great oceans would gulp

and fires deep within
flowed to liquid erupt
ages passed to but second
so-called “life” there was pupped

and be it Devine or by magic
or of some natural selection
now I here but a moment
am small part all’s connection

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#17

The rain is not to be maligned,
though drops in drops are oft assigned,
from lifted single digit to inches fallen logged,
or is it sprinkled in terms unleashing cats and dogs?

Some memories of my favored weatherman of yesteryear:

Scoutmaster Ken Hunter, 6:30 am outside my leaky canvas tent - “GOOOOD MORNIN’ WILHELMINA! Come get some of this liquid sunshine!”

Monsignor Tom Phillips, greeting on the way out of mass, on a somewhat calm, grey and drizzly day (an ole Irish say’n) - “‘Tis a fine day the Lord has made! A soft day.”

Dave P., on a cold, sleeting December Duckhead Armada day on the Susquehanna - “Mannnn, if a passing flock of pelicans were to piss vinegar on me it couldn’t make me more bitter.”

Oh well, I’ll leave y’all to ponder Tanita’s words in song:

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