Zand Martin

There are not many public computers in Havelock. The green-lipped mussel capital of the world has more boats in the harbor than people on the streets- even if you count the tourists. I had just finished the first fifty days of the semester course I was teaching, and with time to kill before we drove away for the hiking component, I signed on in the common room of a musty downtown hostel and began to read comments from friends shocked and amazed that my blue eyes had somehow found their way into the holiest of holies- Outside Magazine. It was not until five weeks later that I actually saw the article itself in a newsstand at LAX, pointing out to the handsome Sikh reading Wired next to me that I looked rather similar to the damn-fool paddler in the article.

The press is nice. An 182-day solo off-season expedition is inherently a sufferfest, so despite being a bit embarrassed by the title ‘Adventurer of the Year’ (read the article– I’m in there with real adventurers!), it is a nice ego boost to be put on the same pages as people like Eric Larsen and Andrew Skurka. Don’t worry- my parents still think I’m crazy and the girl I was talking to at the pub last night forgot my name three times. Ego? Checked.