Out of nature

why drugs from plants matter to the future of humanity

peeking out from the starboard side of the jib, I could see another 5 foot wave rolling toward us. I shifted my weight out, leaning back over the water to level the heel we took on as a nearly 30 knot gust filled the sails and began to push the boat over. I braced myself for the cold spray that would come shooting up from the bow. Glancing toward the stern, I saw my husband, Jeremy, extend his body way out over the water too. After a moment, the gust broke and the boat leveled. Then the wave came, and the spray hit. The water chilled me to the bone.

The sun had long ago disappeared behind a never-ending stream of gray clouds. Cool gusts of air had turned sailing conditions from swift and sure to unruly and foaming. We flew down the backside of the wave. I shifted my weight to level the hull as the wind steadied again. It was blowing somewhere around 20 or 22 knots now. As we dipped down into the trough, I prepared myself for the next wave. The water looked rough and as though it stretched endlessly beneath the turbulent, clouding sky. It rolled and chopped along. In some places, it looked green, in others black, effects of the light and cloud shadows cast down from above and the dilution of color from the upswell of sand below. The water never looked the same. From moment to moment and day to day its appearance was always changing. We rode up and over another wave.