In a younger America, Reid Stowe might have been a national hero. His name might have been a household one. He might have been the subject of casual talk. He might have met the president.
At age 55, in April of 2007, Stowe set sail on a 70-foot boat he called Anne. For over three years he floated on it, as the world went on without him. It was the longest continuous voyage at sea and the longest recorded trip ever made by a human being. He could have made a round-trip voyage to Mars in the time he was at sea. For the last two years and three months of his journey, he was alone.
A New York Magazine feature by Adam Sternbergh is a vivid depiction of the strange and timeless life of the adventurer. Titled “The Man Who Fell to Shore,” it is interspersed with poetic quotations from French circumnavigator Bernard Moitessier’s account of his own voyage. The feature is a commendable example of the kind of long-form journalism that should be more common than it is. It is also a reminder of our former adventurousness.
Adventurers have a special place in American lore. From Lewis and Clark to NASA and Neil Armstrong, there have always been Americans willing to explore and reach for something not everyone could see.
It seems we have lost our taste for adventure. Stowe’s story received national press, but he will never be a national figure. The New York Magazine feature poignantly revealed the extent of the change in the welcome returning travelers receive. Stowe thought that the mayor of New York might meet him on his return. He dared to think the president might even be there. Instead, he was allowed only one day to moor his boat in Manhattan before he had to move it. In the crowd of 300 who met him, there were no national leaders or proud patrons.
Certainly, adventurers are not uniquely deserving of our attention. There are many things vying for it now, many more than when Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart flew. We are a distracted people, and maybe we have better things to do than watch the sky or the horizon for an adventurer’s return.
Perhaps there are no new frontiers. The world of Google Earth is a small one, and there are no more undiscovered countries. There is no sense of wonder when someone does something new. Kids don’t spend summers finding a Guinness World Record to break.
Perhaps we know so much more of the toll adventure can take. Certainly, the bellicose adventurism of old has no place in today’s world.
Stowe, like most adventurers, suffered for his vision. His trip was dangerous. He missed the births of both a child and grandchild while he floated on. He toiled, hallucinated and nearly gave up. And he was one of the adventurers lucky enough to succeed. Not all do. An American balloon team was recently lost at 10,000 feet over the Adriatic Sea while competing in a 2,000-kilometer race.
But it is comforting, somehow, to know that there are still Reid Stowes straining at the impossible for no other reason than to say they did.
Reach Will at wmunsil@asu.edu
