Looking forward

I may go back offshore this week. I haven't been since the drilling moratorium began and I wonder what will have changed. Most likely a lot will have changed, just nothing that I would or could notice. I'm looking forward to my helicopter ride over the Gulf. The first time - on my way to my first rotation offshore - I was petrified. Afraid that I wouldn't remember where precisely one needs to press on the window for it to pop out and allow for escape in the inevitable helicopter crash which was about to occur. But as soon as we took off, I was out, rocked to sleep by the helicopter's pulsating sound and shaky departure. I awoke when we got there. Most of my subsequent helicopter rides went the same way, and I'm sure the half dozen men sitting around me were always envious of my talent for falling asleep aboard anything that moves. This time though, I will force myself to stay awake, so I can see it. The Gulf of Mexico.

My last time on a helicopter I willed myself not to drift off because I was too curious as to what I might see. The oil spill dominated all forms of media, and while I was sick of hearing about it, I had to see It. The rig I was on was only a few miles away from the Deepwater Horizon, so I was sure I would see something on the 1-2 hour long flight. All I could see was blue at first - the surprisingly beautiful Gulf of Mexico. Then I saw it. What looked like a single red ribbon heading towards where we had came from. The ribbon was a wave, and within minutes it was followed by a few more. And a few more. And a few clusters of some oil balls. And then they were gone, replaced by the pristine and relatively unblemished sea I'd grown to love. Wow, I thought, that was kind of lame.

Then my heart sank. The beautiful body of water that had made being offshore for 21 days straight seem worthwhile at sunrise at the end of a 12-hour shift, changed. It went from bright blue to an opaque reddish-brown color that Crayola calls "Burnt Sienna." It looked thicker than water, like clay, and I craned my head around to try and find the blue Gulf again. I noticed that many of the men in the helicopter were doing the same. They looked worried. Maybe they were thinking about their jobs and their families, but I think it was something more visceral. It pained me to see the Gulf like that. It's hard to articulate, but something about seeing nature corrupted in such a way so that it's completely unrecognizable for miles...It was red and it was thick; it was wrong and utterly heartbreaking.

And that's how I left it. I'm not sure where in the Gulf I'm flying to, but I hope I pass over a sea that's dark blue, almost navy. That's how I like to remember it.