Starred Review Foreword MagazineA series of serendipitous events, a generous mentor, and lots of hard work made it possible for young Liz Clark to fulfill her childhood dream of sailing and surfing around the world. But sailing Swell out of San Diego and watching her loved ones blur into the hazy winter skyline, she questioned the wisdom of undertaking a journey that would test her on all levels, and maybe even break her.
On dark nights alone at sea, Clark was often saved from a descent into depression by the beauty and sacredness of the life around her―in the poor fishermen who shared their catches with her, or a group of dolphins trailing phosphorescence in their wake. Physical, mental, emotional, financial, and relationship difficulties would bring her near collapse, but then her spirits would be lifted by the sea’s vast horizon, the amazing rush of surfing, the smile of a friend, or the belief that she could somehow make a difference. She who used to panic at the thought of spending a Saturday night alone came to find solitude delightful, satisfying deep hungers.
There were violent storms with wind, waves, and lightning that rocked her to her core; she cooked at a 65- degree angle while stuck on a sandbar; she survived a scary, abusive relationship; she struggled with boat repairs; she panicked at the end of her sponsorship agreement; and she had a near run-in with Colombian drug runners in Panama. Material poverty was everywhere, as was pollution amidst the beauty; she pondered the ability of humans to destroy that which sustains them.
In mastering the discipline needed for a journey where “one lazy decision can mean losing everything,” Clark came to love herself just as she was, and to know that, in choosing love, she would never feel lack.
"Readers -- surfer, sailor or not -- will be hooked." -- Honolulu Star Advertiser
“Swell is a beautiful ode to [Clark’s] time on the open sea, the people she met, the cultures she embedded herself within, the surf she scored, being vegan, living sustainably, the companionship of her late cat Amelia, the health of the planet and so much more. Simply put, it is the collection of more than a decade of sailing around the world by oneself.” ―Adventure Sports Network
“[Clark’s] story is one of the most entertaining and affecting in the genre of extreme sojourning . . . refreshingly candid.” ―Honolulu Magazine
“Liz carries us along, on a voyage that is about much more than sailing and surfing and exploring. The threads that are woven through are based on relationships, significantly with her mentor, her mother, her father, friends, lovers, and most significantly, herself. By the end she and the reader understand that its these relationships, good and bad, that allow everything else to matter at all.” ―Good Old Boat Magazine
“I can wholeheartedly recommend this book to everyone ― not sailors, not women, not young people, everyone. I loved it.” ―Michael Robertson, Good Old Boat magazine
“Swell is a book for the senses. It will invite you to breathe the breeze, feel the water, and witness the beauty of the water world from a sailor-surfer perspective. . . . [It] ticks all aspects of the modern surf book. It fuels the desire to explore the planet, and it encourages us to become better persons. . . . A diary of the unexpected; a highly detailed log file of life out at sea. . . . an inspiring surf travel testimony that may question the course of your life. You will be invited to appreciate the rare opportunity to live and discover our world.” ―Surfer Today
“Patagonia is on its way to becoming one of the most exciting surf publishers on the planet.” ―Surfer Today
“On paper, Clark’s adventure seems like one of those badass trips you daydream of at your cubicle every Monday morning. But in Swell, Clark paints a much more realistic picture of what a 12-year, transoceanic swell chase really looks like. From the high points (scoring remote reef breaks with no one out) to the low (almost getting struck by lightning, having to repair a broken engine, getting a rare fungal infection, etc.), the experiences laid out in Clark’s autobiography are worth the read.” ―Surfer
World Oceans Day is Friday, June 8, and purchasing this beautifully illustrated, wonderfully inspiring book at patagonia.com/shop/books-by-patagonia would be a fine way to celebrate. Better still, get two and give one to your favorite young sailor or surfer! -- WindCheck.com
"Clark tells her voyage in great depth, with gripping details about the constant challenges of such an adventure. Moreover, you'll find a unique take on the power of exploration, from someone who has done a lot of it." --Business Insider
Review
Liz has excelled as a surfer, sailor, and explorer, but these descriptions do not truly impart the spirit, courage and humility of her life. She is one of those rare people who has chosen to journey far from the comfort and security of the shore, to risk all and follow her heart’s calling. -- Wayne Lynch, Legendary Surfer
About the Author
When Liz Clark was nine, her family spent seven months sailing down Mexico’s Pacific coast. After returning to land life in San Diego, she dreamed of one day seeing the world by sailboat. While earning her BA in Environmental Studies from UC Santa Barbara, she fell in love with surfing. After college, she turned her voyaging dream into reality, sailing south from Southern California through Central America and the Pacific Islands. For more than a decade, she has kept her nomadic ocean lifestyle going through writing, blogging, photography, representing conscious brands, and earning recognition as a surf adventurer, environmental activist, and captain. She hopes to inspire people to live their passions and reconnect with nature and our inherent oneness. She was featured in the film Dear and Yonder> (2009), and nominated for National Geographic Adventurer of the Year in 2015.
Daniella Manini is a Peruvian-born, Southern California-based artist and graphic artist. In her 20 years in the industry, she has had the pleasure of working with a number of pre-eminent brands, including, Patagonia, Spiritual Gangster, Amuse Society, Onzie, Stance, Volcom, Reef, Threat 4 Thought, Aaron Chang, Billabong, DC shoes, Prana, Dusters.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Ripple Effect On my own again, I lean back comfortably against the trunk of a slanted palm, and watch the waves still funneling through. “If it all ended now,” I think, “that would be okay.” I made it through this afternoon’s session without a reef cut. A crew of good vibes Tahitian guys was out, sharing waves and cheering each other’s rides. I’m relaxed and content after the thrill, camaraderie, and exercise. Pink hues begin to flash across a thick swab of clouds overhead and color the water’s slick surface. A moment later, it begins to rain. When the fat, widely spaced raindrops hit the lagoon, circular ripples undulate from each drop. Suddenly thousands of raindrops fall before me. The movement of the expanding rings through the rosy water triggers some kind of trance. I watch the droplets transform into mini-swells of energy―varying wave amplitudes crossing over each other from all directions. Dynamic, chaotic, brilliant. Both infinite and finite at once. Time freezes and it feels as if my consciousness is floating. I am the raindrop, and the cloud, and the sky, and the setting sun. On this unusual frequency, I feel the connectedness of all things, a sensation of deep belonging. All one and simultaneously separate. Feeling becomes understanding―the great dichotomy dissolved. In this strange, brief moment, I am expansive like the Milky Way, minute like plankton, powerful like the tides, as solid as the volcanic crater, fragile like a spider’s web, patient like the trees, and empty as cloudless sky. Times and events flash through my mind like a sudden wind: Joining my kindergarten circle. My auntie spreading fairy dust for my sixth birthday. Capsizing in the bay in my little sailing dinghy. Taking a taxi to gymnastics practice when I was grounded. Beaten to the shore by the whitewater. Sneaking out my bedroom window. Pranking the lifeguards with my high school girlfriends. Rolling in the hot sand. Knocking on my first boyfriend’s door, there’s another girl inside. Accidentally eating a pot brownie before my classes at UCSB. My first wave at a point break. Dancing with my mother and curled up on the soft blessed spot on my father’s chest. They are sad and joyful, painful and surprising. But they all brought me to this mystic moment. All my knowing is unimportant. The facts and data have no relevance to this feeling of deep integration; oneness. There is no escape, but I don’t want one. In another breath I am back under the palm: the rainfall has lightened to an effervescent hum, the pinks are fading to grays, and the mosquito biting my toe reminds me that I am back in my skin. I slowly rise to my feet and wade out to the dinghy, to maneuver home through the coral heads before dark. Conversations with the Clouds I’m ready for big skies, open horizons, and wild islands after all those months in the boatyard. It’s time to put some miles under the hull. My dad’s reassurance helps me feel more confident about setting out on an extended solo passage again. I’m feeling strong and proud to see how my enhanced self-awareness and inner healing have eased my personal suffering. I haven’t had feelings of depression in more than two years. The more I feel connected to the world and beyond―through my expanded compassion, my mystical experience by the lagoon, and the growing group of conscious people I’ve connected with through my blog―the more potential I see for myself and humanity. But a new question burns in me: how does Melanie’s wisdom and the idea of oneness fit into my passion for protecting nature? Everywhere I look, I see Western ideas of separation, unlimited economic growth, immediacy, and greed compromising the Earth’s clean air and water, healthy soils and oceans, and the stability of our climate. I’m sad to see the changes even here in Polynesia, where native culture has been eroded by the new god forced upon them since colonization―money. Vast knowledge of and reverence for their ecosystems is disappearing because it’s no longer valued in the same way. Every day, I fish plastic out of the lagoons en route to and from Swell. Massive containerships arrive daily to offload fossil fuels, processed foods and sugary drinks, and cheap plastic imports that quickly end up in the landfills. The coral is dying off around Tahiti and fish populations are clearly declining. People eat more and more imported meats and packaged food, contributing to high rates of obesity and rampant diabetes. The stores sell harsh pesticides to kill bugs and chemical soaps and wash our dishes, clothes, and selves―all of it ends up in the waterways and oceans. Diesel generators run day and night, releasing carbon into the atmosphere and leaving behind barrels of used oil that’s rarely disposed of safely. Our fossil fuel–based economy means virtually everything we do releases carbon one way or another. Climate change impacts will be devastating here--the melting poles causing rising seas that may swallow the low-lying atolls and islets altogether. In the meantime, cruisers drop anchor on live coral, and our hulls release heavy metals from anti-fouling paint into the pristine waters. As much as I try to live lightly, I’m still a part of the problem. It’s overwhelming, really. I want to dedicate myself to an environmental cause, but it’s hard to pick just one. They’re all so interconnected and complex, and I know I’m up against huge forces of greed. All that’s in my power right now is to change myself. I can further simplify, keep educating myself on the issues, buy less stuff I don’t need, and use my dollars as my voice when I do make purchases. On this trip through the outer islands, I want to try to eat more from the local environments, instead of relying on imported foods with their high carbon footprint. After hearing about my idea, Barry writes back: Your observations are pertinent. …. The latest studies show that a rapid shift away from fossil fuels is inevitable for life to continue as we know it on this planet. Try not to be discouraged, though, Lizzy. What you’re doing out there is important. I imagine you are much looking forward to sailing again; I’m looking forward to your stories. As greedy as humans can be, I have hope that we can create the technology to meet modern living standards while staying in harmony with nature. But I do wince to think of what may be lost in the meantime. Did I mention that a gas station up the street from the harbor sells biodiesel now? We used some in Freya’s tanks. Every small step forward is exciting. Courage, my girl. Don’t give up the ship! Swell is ready: dinghy on deck, gear stashed and stowed. My new leafy companions―basil, aloe, mint, lemongrass, and oregano plants―are wedged securely around the cabin. The night is eerily calm; the Milky Way explodes across the sky. Swell gently strains against the dock as I top off the water tanks. I make my preparations as if each knot and gear placement is part of a sacred routine―one lazy decision can mean losing everything. I pull Swell away from the dock and head slowly toward the pass. I’m off. I motor most of the night to make some solid miles of easting. The bright moonlight and slack winds ease me gently back into the rhythm of an overnight passage. The next morning, the sea is a regal sheet of blue silk billowing out in all directions. The calm weather has eased my pre-passage nerves. By midday a puff of east wind ripples the surface, so I put up all the sails and fall into a slow but steady reach. With the engine off, the sounds of the sea come alive. The high and low notes of waves lapping against the hull, the whispering wind, the stretching of the sails and lines, the churning of the wake, and the cry of a passing seabird harmonize into an ocean symphony. I tell the sea of my sufferings in the boatyard and my loneliness since parting with Rainui. Last time I spoke to him, he sounded disappointed. The army had deemed him too heavy to be a parachutist, and he had been shipped off to the freezing-cold northeast corner of France to become a regular infantryman with new, much younger recruits. “Just give it a little time,” I had told him. “Maybe it will get better.” But I do miss him. The clouds coax me back to the present. They tell me to stop thinking about what isn’t and appreciate what is. A sticky pang of emptiness clings to my chest. I tell the clouds I don’t need to sail alone anymore, that I have proven to myself what needed proving. I want a lover to share the exploration, the workload, the sunsets, the meals, and the wild surprises with me. The clouds just keep morphing and moving―not resisting the winds that mold them. I get it, but it’s not always easy. After dozing off, I wake to the setting sun shooting a cluster of brilliant rays skyward. Scattered clouds above bathe in reds, pinks, and oranges. The colors grow brighter still, almost neon, then fade slowly back to grays. I watch until the day is only a glowing two-finger strip above the horizon. A thin layer of neon blue fends off the imminent darkness. Deep purple settles over the rest of the sky. Scattered planets appear. And then, like galactic candles being lit, the stars begin to glow one by one. I can’t remember the last time I watched a day’s full transition to night. How have we become so busy that we don’t have time to celebrate Earth’s daily miracles? Compensation for Courage “Skree, skreee, skree!” The birds’ cries wake me from a dead sleep. I crack open my eyes and squint up at the flapping wings churning above me. “Where am I?” “Skree, skree, skree!” I sit up and wrap my sheet around me in the cool dawn air. I’m relieved that I made it to a safe anchorage after two days of upwind slogging when the trades set in that culminated in a sketchy sunset run through the pass. A flock of hungry terns circles and dives around Swell. The baitfish hiding below are under full attack. A school of jacks and a lone needlefish dart at the school from below, sending them fleeing in all directions and erupting at the surface in frenzied leaps. This is exactly what I came for: Nature’s drama on full display right here on my turquoise doorstep. “I MADE IT! I’m here!” I shout to the terns. They are more excited about the baitfish, but I continue bouncing up and down on the cockpit cushion. After cleaning up Swell and emailing my parents and Barry to let them know I’ve arrived safely, I hop on my bike and set off with the trades now at my back. My lungs tingle and legs thrill to push my weight after the passage. To my right, the ocean tosses itself dramatically upon the fringe of bare coral; I wonder how long before the rising seas cover this atoll road. I pedal past an airstrip, a hotel, a school, and a few stores. Not a soul stirs; it’s Sunday. I take my time, winding on through the empty town, and out toward the pass, stopping to chat with a group of curious teens on their way back from a surf. “Right up there,” they point. I come around the corner and nearly fall off my bike. Light offshores groom a set wave as it peels across the reef in the golden afternoon light. I smile in awe of the magical scene and then head over to say hello to some locals standing under a tree. They offer me some ‘uto’―the spongy interior part of a sprouted coconut. “You want to surf?” a guy asks, pointing to his yellowed, beat-up board. “Really? Yeah! Thank you so much!” I say, jumping at the offer. I grab the heavy old board, strip off my hat and sunnies with glee, and skip up the point in my clothes. A kid getting out of the water shows me through the maze of coral heads, then I paddle up the point like a wild animal. Before I reach the lineup, a wave swings too wide for everyone else, and I turn, drop in, and accelerate down the line of warping golds and pinks. The crowd under the tree raises their arms in celebration. I relish a few more waves while the sun melts into a tuft of clouds in the west. One young kid is still out with me. “Regarde, (Look)” he says, pointing. Through the palms at the top of the point, the voluptuous full moon glows rusty orange. I’m suspended in the bliss of connection, spontaneity, kindness of strangers, and nature’s raw beauty. I let out a howl, and the kid howls too. I ride home that evening between moonshadows, grateful I’d navigated through my fears of heading off into the unknown again.
