7. Relationality and care: encountering and learning from nonhumans

Walking the timeline of her local beach, Rachel Carson writes that by “walking the beach, we become aware.”<fnref n="144" /> What do we become aware of? Do we become aware of the elements moving across our bodies? Do we become aware of the life that resides in the intertidal zone? Or do we become aware of something more intricate? Of our own interconnectedness with nonhuman nature? Although Carson refers to shore life adapting to human activity (i.e., barnacles on a pier), this awareness can also be thought of more generally as being aware of the ways in which we encounter nonhuman life and how it is an actor in our daily lives.

Nonhuman nature has traditionally been used as a concept through which humans can think of themselves as separate from nature. Kate Soper distinguishes three concepts of nature, of which there is the “metaphysical,” the “realist,” and the “lay.”<fnref n="145" /> While the “realist” and the “lay” respectively refer to the forces of nature that inform our daily lives (i.e., a hurricane), and the manmade aesthetic experience of nature (155–6), the “metaphysical” points to the ways in which nonhuman nature is constructed as Other. As Soper argues, it is “the concept through which humanity thinks its difference and specificity” (155). That is, through the figure of the nonhuman, nature as a concept allows humans to think of themselves as unique and separate from nature, thus establishing and categorizing nonhuman nature as a subordinate Other.<fnref n="146" /> However, this idea of thinking of ourselves as different and separate from nature is only a concept and thought that can, nevertheless, lead to an unhealthy separation from nature: while insisting on an inherent divide, it could lead to a lack of awareness of the ways in which humans and nonhumans are relational beings while being a part of the same community. Despite mankind claiming its unique qualities based on its ability to reason, many ecofeminists and scholars of the blue humanities point to how, by recognizing that we dwell with nonhuman nature, the interrelatedness of life becomes a healthy source of diversity.

In her 1979 publication, *Woman and Nature: The Roaring Inside Her*, the ecofeminist Susan Griffin posits that separateness is not innate but that instead, relationality informs our daily lives. She argues how “[s]unlight pouring into plants, ingested into the bodies of fish, into the red-winged blackbird, into the bacteria, into the fungi, into the earth itself, because we know

<footnote n="144">¹⁴⁴ Carson, Rachel. *The Edge. Op. cit.*, 179.</footnote>

<footnote n="145">¹⁴⁵ Soper, Kate. “Nature and ‘Nature.’” *What Is Nature?* 1st ed., Wiley-Blackwell, Hoboken, 1995, pp. 149–179, 155–6.</footnote>

<footnote n="146">¹⁴⁶ Bate, Jonathan. *The Song of the Earth. Op. cit.*, 35.</footnote>
ourselves to be made of this earth, because we know sunlight moves through us, water moves
through us, everything moves, everything changes,”<fnref n="147" /> ultimately points to an ecofeminist
understanding of how human and nonhuman nature are interconnected and not separate from
one another, all whilst showing a mutual awareness from one to the other. Her description of
the interconnectedness of nature thus disregards the concept of nature as a way to think
difference but proposes an alternative where humans and nonhuman nature are presented as
always changing through their ever-evolving interactions: the turning of the tide engenders
different relationships, for instance, the rough periwinkle has been found to have the tide’s
movements deeply entrenched in its behavioral patterns so that, when removed from its
environment, it still responds to them (Carson, *The Edge* 58). Much like Carson, Griffin then
presents natural elements, such as sunlight and water, as impressing themselves upon life and
connecting one to another on a global scale. Furthermore, through Griffin’s use and repetition
of the word “into,” she generates movement within her description, thus revealing how humans
are not separate from nonhumans but are instead co-constitutive and influence one another. Her
text hints at an inherent relationality that we share with nonhuman nature: a movement with
and towards others. As natural elements are never static, this movement ultimately points to the
co-constitutive and relational power of an ecofeminist understanding of nature that sees one
body as always influencing another. Griffin’s relationality is further reminiscent of Haraway’s
companion species, but further establishes a person as emerging out of relationships.<fnref n="148" />
Companion species then, influence us as we do them: we become co-constitutive. To Haraway’s
point, Karen Warren explains that to recognize nonhuman nature as being co-productive, an
individual must first extend care towards them as

having an attitude of respect for nature as morally considerable is like loving one's child. It expresses a
groundless attitude – a willingness on our part to see nonhuman animals and nature as subjects, as active
participants in our worlds, as not mere things ..., as deserving of our care and attention.<fnref n="149" />

Recognizing the other as morally considerable enables the other to become an active agent with
their own will and character traits. According to Warren, it is only by recognizing that the other
has feelings of their own and holding them in esteem that they can be regarded as shaping agents
in the world around us. It is then through their situatedness that nonhumans shape and influence
others around them. Moreover, this attitude towards nonhuman nature must originate in care,
which implies that a certain level of attention and interest must be held towards the other. It is

<footnote n="147">¹⁴⁷ Griffin, Susan. *Women and Nature*. Op. cit., 224.</footnote>

<footnote n="148">¹⁴⁸ Haraway, Donna J. "When Species Meet." *Op. cit.*, 4.</footnote>

<footnote n="149">¹⁴⁹ Warren, Karen J. *Ecofeminist Philosophy*. Op. cit., 76.</footnote>
also interesting to note how this attitude is “groundless:” it is not grounded and not based on
any clear approach. Instead, because it is groundless, interaction with a nonhuman can change
and evolve and is not static, much like the sea, which is itself groundless. Melody Jue remarks
how humans have a terrestrial bias: situated on land, humans are bound by gravity and have
developed and evolved according to the specific milieu they live in;<fnref n="150" /> land, as the milieu in
which we have grown, orients our ways of being and thinking. For instance, Jue explains how
we often use the word “grounded” to indicate stability or evidence (11), and she thereby
presents the body as a “precondition for knowledge” (46). However, when going to a watery
milieu, thinking and being are not grounded but change, transform and evolve, and essentially
become more fluid. Being removed from their original milieu, an individual becomes more
aware of their surrounding environment, which they must then learn to navigate. If the body is
the precondition for knowledge, it is through a watery embodiment and contact with others that
an individual learns to navigate a foreign environment. A groundless attitude of care towards
nonhuman sea life would then be in accordance with the specificity of this watery milieu and,
I would suggest, further buoy, if not heighten, the care that an individual may have for them.
Nonetheless, Patrick D. Murphy reveals that understanding ourselves as another may also be
key for conceiving nonhuman nature as agents:

> [T]o understand the world and to have knowledge of interrelationships, reciprocities, and interdependence requires the development of self-consciousness founded on dialogical debate and self/other interaction oriented toward the productive tension of continuously resolving and reforming difference. Ecofeminism provides women with a different conception of self as another.<fnref n="151" />

To know how one body influences and is influenced by another, an individual must be aware
of their own self as emerging out of a dialogical relation with another. Recognizing the way in
which an individual is informed by relations, then allows them to understand nonhuman nature
as an actor in life. Furthermore, the exchange that takes place between an individual and a
nonhuman is one based on volitional interdependence, which thereby requires diversity.
Murphy proposes that we must first learn to be another for others—that is, to develop, change
and learn from mutually influencing one another. Murphy points to relationality as informing
an individual's being, while advancing that relations require diversity and difference that,
through interaction, are continuously expanding. The difference Murphy refers to is one that is
always changing and evolving; much like Warren's groundless attitude, difference engenders

<footnote n="150">¹⁵⁰ Jue, Melody. *Wild Blue Media. Op. cit.*, 11.</footnote>

<footnote n="151">¹⁵¹ Murphy, Patrick D. *Literature. Op. cit.*, 141.</footnote>
being and is understood as a co-productive process. Another significant aspect to consider is
how Astrida Neimanis reveals water as a connective element that flows from one body to
another. According to Neimanis, "we learn to feel and move by drawing on the echoes of other
animals in our own flesh ... we ebb and flow with the rhythms and speeds of animal movements,
which in turn initiate our own movements."<fnref n="152" /> That is, through water, humans are connected to
nonhumans, from whom they learn to be another. The process of learning from another
acknowledges that the relational movement toward nonhuman nature that Neimanis describes
informs our being and embodiment in the world. From thereon, we may gain awareness of
others, which in turn expands our senses and modes of expression in this watery milieu.
However, their interaction may go beyond the shore. The nonhuman tidal movement between
bodies that Neimanis argues as informing our relationship to them brings to mind the rough
periwinkle: despite being away from the shore, an individual's movements may still be
influenced by the lives that reside in that place, by the relations they established there. How
might one learn to be from a rough periwinkle? As explained by Jue, when entering the sea, our
perception changes and becomes groundless. When going to the sea, an individual has to learn
how to move and be in this watery milieu. To do so, they may, as suggested by Neimanis, learn
from nonhumans. Accordingly, watery connections to nonhuman nature resist a divide, as an
ebb and flow movement instills the idea of one between bodies that is fluid: a person whose
being and movements are, for instance, informed by their relation to a periwinkle and the sea,
but also how that person's own being impresses itself on others. In a similar vein, Luci Attala
discloses how life "is ruthlessly and inexorably emergent and centred on the simultaneous
unpredictable recycling of each other together. Moreover, this approach helps one to realize
that behaviours are triggered because of relationships."<fnref n="153" /> Attala demonstrates how relations
are essential and inherent to our being and that they involve a co-creative process that informs
our movements in the world. Furthermore, her use of the word "recycle" is revelatory, as it
holds the word "cycle" within it, which in turn indicates a circular movement between bodies
that can also be paralleled to water that itself moves in a circular manner (34). The blue
humanities and ecofeminism would thus point to the co-constitutive power of humans and
nonhuman nature, which sees one body as ebbing and flowing between and towards others. The
relationships developed in *Swell* and *Saltwater in the Blood* are in this way circular, as they are
inherent to the sea, where Liz Clark and Easkey Britton respectively encounter nonhuman
nature. Growing aware of the intricacies of nonhuman sea life, they resist separating themselves

<footnote n="152">¹⁵² Neimanis, Astrida. *Bodies of Water*. Op. cit., 138.</footnote>

<footnote n="153">¹⁵³ Attala, Luci. *How Water Makes Us Human*. Op. cit., 59.</footnote>
from this ecosystem but consider the other as an actor, agent, and source of knowledge. From thereon, a perpetual influencing of one body on another takes place as embodiment, thinking, and being evolve together.

When going to the sea, Liz Clark and Easkey Britton encounter nonhuman nature. In their narratives, Clark and Britton's lives are intricately connected to those of these organic life forms, who are shown attention, care, and respect. Caught out while surfing during a storm, Clark waits it out underneath her board bag. Afterwards, when rowing her dinghy back towards *Swell*, she notices that the storm had widened the river mouth and caused it to pour itself into the sea. There, she begins to pick up the detritus:

> As I pluck out bottles, bags, and wrappers, I notice movement among the flotsam. Creatures are everywhere. The geckos, lizards, grasshoppers, beetles, snails, and bugs must have been caught in the flash flood. They cling to logs, trash, and clumps of leaves. One by one, I catch them or offer my oar, and load them aboard. (233)

In this passage, being in water allows Clark to become aware of the animals and insects that are floating in the lagoon around her. Reminiscent of Jue, Clark is both grounded by being in her dingy, but also afloat. Her being afloat, or groundless, allows her to become aware of her surroundings, and thanks to her terrestrial bias, she recognizes that the drifting animals need the stability of the dinghy to survive. The sea then alters her perspective and orients her thinking to allow a fluid exchange of knowledge and being to be established between two milieus: merging the land and sea together, Clark is at once able to extend care towards the sea, as she picks up detritus, but also towards nonhumans by offering them stability. Furthermore, Clark distances herself from the “metaphysical” conception of nature that Soper explains as indicating difference. By intercepting the animals and insects, picking them up from the water, and placing them on her dinghy, the dinghy in turn becomes a groundless microcosm that fosters care and diversity. On this raft, there is no separation between herself and the others, as they are all crew on the same boat: they are all castaways of the storm, floating among the flotsam. In a similar way, Easkey Britton extends care towards nonhuman nature, and more specifically, a shark, whilst swimming in the sea:

> I looked down and spotted figure, maybe her sister, casually resting on the seabed. She had a more purple-blue colouring and pattern. I quietly dropped beneath the surface head first, barely moving my body, allowing the weight of my body to carry me down, slowly sinking until I hovered just above her, almost close enough to touch. Still she didn't move, inviting me to linger as long as my one breath allowed. I drank in the beauty of her form and quiet power, how completely at home she was in this underwater world. I envied her deeply in that moment. (*Saltwater* 158)
During her first encounter with the shark's sister, Britton presents herself as being "not as graceful" as the shark, thus hinting at her clumsiness scaring the shark away (157). When she then spots another shark, she makes sure not to frighten it away and, learning from her past experience, allows the water to quietly carry her down to it. Subsequently, Britton becomes companion species with the shark that influences her perception of her watery environment and she adapts her behavior to it. Accordingly, Britton here develops a groundless attitude of care that recognizes the shark as morally considerable but also further acknowledges its individuality and agency by being aware of how its "electro-sensory system" can sense "pressure changes" (157). From thereon, Britton's groundless attitude is one that is changing and evolving alongside the shark, as she recognizes that her previous clumsy land movements may not be appropriate in this fluid milieu: now she approaches the shark calmly and slowly, so as to not startle it. As previously indicated, Jue proposes that immersion allows the body to be in contact with others, which then sees the immersed individual as being influenced by a watery contact with others. A watery contact with the shark sees Britton emerge from her first encounter aware of her movements in the water and then adapt her embodiment to better suit the shark and its aquatic milieu. The shark as her companion species then informs her being as her body "barely" moves and becomes almost silent underwater. Furthermore, the shark here has agency, as it is shown to be letting Britton linger by its side, which in turn allows Britton to drink in her beauty. It then informs her being, as it is seen to be an energizing and life-giving force that needs to be approached carefully. This image of the shark as energizing hints at its instilling in Britton a rebirth in a new aquatic milieu and a cleansing as her perspective is altered. Accordingly, after receiving this life-giving energy from the shark, Britton's bias becomes watery as she "deeply" envies the shark. Drawing from Timothy Morton, Sidney I. Dobrin argues how "the place from which one writes affects how the writer writes" and points to an *ecomimesis*, that acknowledge the environment and surroundings of a text.<fnref n="154" /> Deeply here is then significant, as it not only indicates the depth of her feelings towards the fish but also that of her milieu: she is near the sea floor, and her thinking and writing, in turn, become more fluid. Going to the sea and coming into contact with its nonhuman life allows both Clark and Britton to alter their perspective and demonstrate how separation is diluted in water to become relations of difference and diversity that inform their being.

Aspiration, a "thoughtful suspension," as Neimanis discloses, is a "kind of care, and extension of care (attentive, in-between) for that which calls us to respond" (Bodies 149).

<footnote n="154">¹⁵⁴ Dobrin, Sidney I. "Unearthing Ecocriticism." *Op. cit.*, 13.</footnote>
Through aspiration, holding one's breath, we can suspend and open ourselves up to others, which in turn extends not only our perception of others but our also care for them. After spending five months in remote atolls and experiencing a hard time with her then-partner, Clark goes to the shore to meditate:

> I try to meditate ... sitting silently on a beach beside the lagoon or reef, watching the creature around me: hermit crab, bees, ants, circling terns, fish along the shoreline, flies, mosquitos, crabs, spiders, trees, vines, long-legged sandpipers. I realize that they all have a message for me – patience, hard work, perseverance, slowing down, relaxation, letting go, being still, or getting a higher perspective. They remind me that mine is one among the millions of life dramas going on all over Earth. Near them, I feel less alone. (275)

By the shore, quietly meditating and thus extending her aspiration, Clark further opens her awareness to others, who welcome her into their biotic community. Aspiration allows her to see the interrelatedness of shore life: it flows around her in a single sentence, in her aspiration. As Murphy explains, this interrelatedness is seen to influence her behavior as she learns to be another for others in a myriad of ways. That is, she learns how to be from them as they offer her life lessons that also flow toward her as an aspiration. Furthermore, Clark describes herself as sitting but otherwise watches, realizes, and feels actions that all happen on an inner level, thereby demonstrating how nonhuman others are shown to inform her being. Her opening herself up to others and them sharing their knowledge happens on what could be imagined as Clark's aspiration, that is, her extension to the biotic community. This could be linked to Neimanis' idea of a relational movement being an ebb and flow, where aspiration could be likened to a slack tide (i.e., the moment the tide turns), which indicates that the shore would then favor relations to develop between its inhabitants. Accordingly, Clark's inner movements parallel that of the tide, which allows her to grow aware of shore life and then open herself up to others. Her inner tidal movements then grant her the ability to resist divides and here she illustrates a more fluid transmission of knowledge from one body to the next. Furthermore, in accordance with Griffin, a natural milieu connects one being to the other, and Clark in the end feels "less alone," as if she were welcomed to the shore by its inhabitants. In like manner, after a rough wipeout whilst surfing, Britton describes the sensation of falling off of her surfboard and of then being tossed around underwater by the churning wave, before explaining how she finds balance there by learning from others:

> The kelp appears supple, fluid, its movement is effortless and yet it holds fast to the reef and isn't ripped away. I let my body get pushed down a little deeper without pushing against the force this time. Down deeper it is quiet and calmer. The turbulence rips through my hair as I grip a stalk of slippery kelp and
allow my body to be moved like seaweed. Instead of feeling exhausted and beat-up, I feel charged by the water, feeling the wave action pulse through me. (Saltwater 228)

This passage of *Saltwater in the Blood* is significant because instead of being panicked by being underwater for an indefinite amount of time, Britton notices the lifeforms around her and how they move in response to the wave. Immersion allows her to grow aware of her surroundings and thus change her thinking and perspective by adopting that of the kelp (Jue 10). Britton notices the kelp, interacts with it through observation, and recognizes its agency by adopting its movements. According to Murphy, by being another for the kelp, where in her own description of being like the seaweed, her hair can be reminiscent of the flowing strands of kelp, while her hand that is gripping kelp, in turn, becoming her holdfast, Britton develops and changes form by being with others. This relational interaction between the two companion species informs Britton's being into being like kelp, which allows her to feel energized by the waves moving overhead and erases divides between human and nonhuman. Britton and the kelp become one and the same, as a fluid transmission of knowledge of both embodiment and thinking is shared between them both.

Kate Soper explained how a “metaphysical” conception of nature created the category of the nonhuman in separation from that of the human and instilled a divide between the two.<fnref n="155" /> However, Clark and Britton’s texts demonstrate how an awareness of nonhuman life, which is essentially found through immersion in an environment, can lead to a relation of care being established between the two that sees nonhuman and human influencing one another. Furthermore, as watery companion species this movement and exchange of care and knowledge is even more so unique as it can be seen to parallel the tides, offering in turn a more fluid embodiment and relational ebb, slack, and flow between the members of a biotic community.

<footnote n="155">¹⁵⁵ Soper, Kate. “Nature and ‘Nature.’” *Op. cit.*, 155.</footnote>
8. Channeling watery sisterhoods

In conclusion to her short film *A Lunar Cycle*, Easkey Britton reveals how “life flows through life.”<fnref n="156" /> What Britton means by this closing line is that life does not exist in isolation but in relation: water is a connective property that brings together two or more elements, nonhumans or humans, and puts them in relation with one another. The connection granted by water then allows them to become beings in relation due to their materiality as bodies of water. Being connected by water instills a fluid exchange, or channel, between two or more bodies of water, thus pointing to the ever-shifting nature of relationships and of water.

When talking of a seascape epistemology, that is, how being ocean literate enables a person's movements, thinking, and being to be generated by the specific forms of knowledge produced by the materiality of the sea and its relations (i.e., the sea and sky, the sea and limpet, the sea and kelp, etc.),<fnref n="157" /> Karin Amimoto Ingersoll reveals how “[n]o part of this liquid body is ever stable. Yet something does endure within this space and time: relationships that draw together the sea's collective components through an engagement such as he‘e nalu” (20). Ingersoll presents the sea as a place that is not fixed and that resists grounding; its very instability allows the sea to extend itself to all parts of its watery body. From limpets to women, those who, as bodies of water themselves, engage with the sea also resist grounding and, through a seascape epistemology, posit a more fluid embodiment of the sea's movements. However, Ingersoll reveals how relationships are the only part of the sea that retains a sense of permanence as they endure within the shifting margins of the sea. Thus reminiscent of Britton, they remain because of their dialogic nature, which sees two bodies of water, or more, engaging with one another through water. Ingersoll uses the example of he‘e nalu, that is, surfing, to demonstrate how play in the sea can bring two or more elements or people together. Furthermore, surfing itself is a sport that is not grounded, as it relies on the ever-shifting and changing sea and wind to generate waves. Surfing is then an impermanent activity that, in turn, gives rise to relationships that last. However, “endure” does not signify that these relationships are stable; instead, they remain and last, but can themselves be unstable, shift, and evolve, thus taking different forms. While shore weather changes, the surfer will always return to the sea, establishing a lifelong connection. Accordingly, the sea brings people together and establishes

<footnote n="156">¹⁵⁶ *A Lunar Cycle*. Directed by Matt Smith and Easkey Britton, 2019. YouTube, uploaded by Finisterre, 27 Nov. 2019, www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9piqc9bJFg. Accessed 5 Jan. 2022, 4:52.</footnote>

<footnote n="157">¹⁵⁷ Ingersoll, Karin Amimoto. *Waves of Knowing*. Op. cit., 5–6.</footnote>
a bond that is not specifically grounded itself but fluid and shifting between the two in the same
way that the tides work in presenting an exchange and flux of different energies: a rising tide is
restless, while an ebbing tide is more peaceful (Carson, *The Edge* 1). Luci Attala, by further
recognizing the sea's materiality, points out how it is a place that connects bodies of water
together: "[W]e are all 'in this together' as a shifting set of materials without privilege over
each other" (5). Similar to Ingersoll's seascape epistemology, recognizing the sea as a place
that is embodied gives rise to the understanding that all parts of the sea are connected to one
another. The materials that inform a body of water are revealed to be shifting and changing,
thus further linking back to Ingersoll's idea that no part of the sea is stable. In a similar vein,
Attala posits relationships as enduring within this space but further explains how it is our own
materiality as a body of water that connects us to one another. Being a body of water then
facilitates a connectedness with and to other bodies of water. These relations are like the sea:
they are unstable and posit a fluid exchange that recognizes bodies as being mutually influential
upon one another. Furthermore, being a body of water also acknowledges that the relationships
an individual is not in are also influential, as they themselves may give rise to relationships that
are enabling of another. In a similar manner, Karen J. Warren points to relations as being
influential on a person by stating that "[a]s both individuals and members of social and
ecological communities, a human is who she or he is in large part by virtue of the relationships
she or he is in" (186). Accordingly, relationships inform a person's being. Warren points out
here that a person is both an individual and a part of a larger ecological community that informs
their being. In this case, water is the larger community that connects. Relationships, that are not
necessarily limited to humans, inform a person's being, which is reminiscent of Ingersoll's
seascape epistemology: it requires an embodied intellectual knowing of the sea in relation to
the land, the sky, the birds, etc., that enables a person to move, know, and be in their day-to-
day life (5-6). This seascape epistemology is one that is relational, and accordingly, the sea is
facilitative of relations as it is itself comprised of many of them. By recognizing that a person
is both an individual and a being in relation, Warren then reveals how an individual's identity
is intricately bound to who and what they engage with, which is also linked to a person's own
materiality as a body of water, as explained by Attala. Be that as it may, while ecofeminism
values interconnectedness and relationality, the relationships formed by women of the sea are
unique as they become sisterhoods that extend to other humans and nonhuman nature. During
an interview with the professional surfer Lauren Hill, freesurfer Leah Dawson presents the sea
as a place of safety and empowerment for what she calls sisterhoods: a place where anyone can
feel safe and empowered, as they are to her, “a space that is channeling each other.”<fnref n="158" /> Dawson’s choice of the word “channeling” is interesting, as a channel is a length of water that joins two large areas of water together.<fnref n="159" /> Channels also separate land masses and, in that way, resist grounding, but instead of being a dividing force, they are a unifying one, as they facilitate a fluid exchange not only between two bodies of water but also between the two land masses on which the tides fluctuate. Fostering an exchange and a dialogue between two or more bodies of water, “channeling” could then be understood as the ebb and flow of ideas, knowledge, care, love, and so on, between them, which is reminiscent of Britton and Ingersoll’s relationships as not grounded but fluid. Accordingly, the channel that brings two women together could be the sea or surfing, through which a dialogue is then established. Channeling then also requires a seascape epistemology, as watery sisterhoods would be infused with the knowledge that the sea provides a place that fosters relationships that are never stable but lasting. Furthermore, by drawing upon Warren, channels become relations, whereupon they instill an intimate link between two bodies of water, pointing to how identity is intrinsically linked to another body of water. A sisterhood that channels two or more women thus resists grounding and would see a fluid exchange between them of knowledge, gifts, love, and so on, as the sea imparts knowledge to them too. It is important to remember, as Attala posits, that we are all bodies of water and that not only do channels facilitate an exchange between two or more bodies of water, but that water itself infuses and participates in this channeling. Accordingly, these sisterhoods would not be limited to just women but extend themselves to all sea life. To this point, Astrida Neimanis reveals how

[w]e must come to understand bodies of difference as also bodies that flow into and through one another.

... On an amniotic understanding, this interpermeation of bodies and their necessary difference is no longer a contradiction. Water both connects us and makes us different. As water we are connected, we are different. Our difference is not undetermined but in fact engendered by the water that we also always carry with us, that we relinquish, share, exchange, gift, and receive. (Bodies 99–100)

Reminiscent of Britton, Neimanis suggests that bodies “flow into and through one another,” that is, that they flow in two ways: they first move into another but also move into and out of the same body. A watery relation between two individuals can then take two shapes: a pouring into that can be understood as a gift and generative force, while the other can be seen as Dawson’s channeling that facilitates connectedness. Water then facilitates connectedness, as it

<footnote n="158">¹⁵⁸ Dawson, Leah. “Discovering Femininity.” *Op. cit.*, 11:01.</footnote>

<footnote n="159">¹⁵⁹ “Channel, n.1.” *OED Online*, Oxford UP, March 2023, www.oed.com/view/Entry/30491. Accessed 14 Apr. 2023.</footnote>
is an ever-shifting channel between two or more bodies of water that share the same water. Accordingly, when Neimanis explains that we carry, relinquish, share, exchange, gift, and receive water, she points to relationships as also being tidal: on a high tide, an individual welcomes new water, while on a low tide it is moved and given away, and when it is turning, the water is exchanged and shared. Thus reminiscent of Ingersoll, watery relationships are like the sea: they are never stable and are always moving between bodies as they endure through time. Relationships, as tidal movements or as a channel, encourage the interpermeation of watery bodies and suggest that they are always exchanging and flowing from one to another. Nonetheless, much like Dawson, Neimanis explains how bodies are connected by water, which at the same time instills differences in them. Water is a gestating force that, by generating life, also creates difference. As Neimanis herself explains, the womb is just a contraction of a larger ocean, whereupon the latter can also be seen to be gestating difference while also encouraging connectedness (Bodies 86). Difference is then found in water, as is the channel or flow between bodies. Watery sisterhoods, due to their being founded in the sea, posit a fluid tidal exchange between bodies that further recognizes that the sea is not just a backdrop to their sisterhoods but, as a channel, is an active participant in the exchange that occurs between them. Liz Clark's *Swell* and Easkey Britton's *Saltwater in the Blood* demonstrate how the bonds that they form with other women are channeled by the sea, and posit a watery sisterhood that presents an active exchange between two or more bodies of water.

After spending some time at the Hen House, a place where women who surf come through all the time, on the North Shore of O'ahu,<fnref n="160" /> Clark remarks, in a subchapter entitled “Sisterhoods” (*Swell* 296), on the many ways in which the women that she has met during her years at sea, but more specifically the women of the Hen House, have inspired her:

> They are fearless, confident women who want the best for others, and consider themselves part of a great, unlimited sisterhood. They are honest and direct and too busy bettering themselves to gossip. They feel more, think less, and are not afraid to seek their own truth – and manifest big dreams. They know their power and use it wisely. While they don’t settle, they do compromise. They are stewards for Mother Earth, ready to make sacrifices for her, and explore new ways to love her. They can pee in the bushes, and often prefer to. They embrace their femininity however it feels right. They focus on loving others better, more than how to be loved more. (297)

Following Neimanis’ understanding of watery relations, the ones that Clark has made along the way have proven to be a generative force in her life, as these women’s ways of being in the

<footnote n="160">¹⁶⁰ Dawson, Leah. “Discovering Femininity.” *Op. cit.*, 9:33.</footnote>
world have poured themselves into her. As such, these relations have informed her as she herself becomes a part of a larger community, a watery sisterhood that she defines as “great” and “unlimited” (297), thus aligning her definition with the sea: these sisterhoods are unlimited in the myriad of shapes and forms they can take while positing that they are wide-ranging. Clark’s use of the anaphora “they” not only creates emphasis on how these women are a generative force that inspired her, but it further establishes a rhythm that can be paralleled to the movement of ocean waves: traveling in sets with intervals and periods of lull, waves have a rhythm of their own, as do sisterhoods, a point established by the anaphora that recurs as different intervals and has a period of lull. Similar to Attala, paralleling the sea to sisterhoods further gives rise to an embodied understanding of sisterhoods that sees them as traveling in various directions. They are vast and connect a myriad of humans and nonhumans together in a way that posits a fluid exchange between bodies of water that can also be understood as a channeling. Furthermore, watery sisterhoods endure. Ingersoll noted how relations endure within the sea, and Clark illustrates that point by using “they,” indicating that these women do not exist in isolation but are connected through their shared bond and love for the sea. Accordingly, the impermanence of the sea, of surfing, has given rise to watery sisterhoods and an embodiment of sisterhoods that, thereby adding to ecofeminist interconnectedness, focus on intuition and both physical and emotional senses, whilst also establishing a care for human and nonhuman life. Their relationship is fluid, as they learn from one another and from the sea as they “explore new ways to love her” and how to love “others better.” But their being is also fluid, as femininity is “however it feels right,” thus indicating that sisterhoods can give rise to different ways of being and of embodying one’s identity. As Warren explained, identity is intrinsically linked to who someone interacts with (186). Despite Warren’s claim, a person does not necessarily have to interact with someone to be influenced by them. Being a body of water facilitates connectedness to other bodies of water, with whom someone does not necessarily have to know personally or have met. Britton explains how, for her, Rell Kapolioka’ehukai Sunn, a pioneer surfer and waterwoman also known as the “Queen of Makaha” (Saltwater 11), was

> a woman I never met, and yet she taught me the importance of sharing your passion. For me, she embodied grace and grit, as well as the ability to move through challenges with a powerful acceptance combined with fierce determination. She was always more than a surfer; she was an all-round water woman, who immersed herself in every aspect of the sea. (12)

Britton has never met Sunn, yet she still imparted important life lessons to her and proved to be a great influence in her life. As such, Sunn’s passion for the sea flowed to Britton, illustrating
what she previously explained in her short film *A Lunar Cycle*: “life flows through life,”<fnref n="161" /> thus demonstrating the power of water as a connective force that enables relations to overcome distance. However, it is not only their shared bond for water that connects them across oceans, but also their materiality as bodies of water: enacting a channel, water is a connective property that develops channels across the globe to connect one woman to another. Surfing and the sea facilitate Britton’s learning of Sunn and her life lessons as a waterwoman. Furthermore, as Ingersoll explained, surfing gives rise to relationships that bring humans and nonhumans together through their watery engagement. Accordingly, her seascape epistemology here would demonstrate that all parts of the sea and all of those who engage with it are connected through their shared bond for it. Even though Sunn never knew Britton, this example points out how water adds to ecofeminist relationships as it further enables sharing to take place over time and space. Through water, Sunn was able to share her passion for the sea, inspire many people to care for the ocean and engage with it through surfing, and in some way, connect with her through an element she herself deeply loved and cared for.

The relationships that Clark and Britton first establish in the sea—the sisterhoods they become a part of—enable them to then extend these sisterhoods to other humans and nonhumans. Accordingly, a channeling occurs between various bodies of water that sees an exchange and flow of ideas, care, passion, etc. While freediving with Léa Brassy, the French waterwoman helps Clark see a female whale:

> As we swim across the surface of the translucent blue, the sun's rays shoot light pillars into the depths of the dropoff. I peer down in excitement, but see nothing unusual. Then Léa squeezes tighter, pointing. To our left a female humpback whale is watching us only a few meters below the surface.

> Her pectoral fins hang softly by her sides. She hovers in stillness as if evaluating us. Léa and I both instinctively relax, breathe slowly through our snorkels. (298)

Through the act of swimming and holding each other’s hands, Dawson’s channeling becomes an embodied act that fluidly connects Clark to Brassy, but also to the whale. Clark describes the sea as translucent, indicating that it is difficult to see in this watery milieu; she herself explains how she has difficulty discerning shapes and forms among the blue, but Brassy enables her to see the whale as she is more accustomed to this milieu as a freediver. Brassy can also be understood to be inviting Clark into a sisterhood between herself and the whale here, as Clark notices that the whale is already “watching us.” The latter implication implies that the whale

<footnote n="161">¹⁶¹ *A Lunar Cycle. Op. cit.*, 4:52.</footnote>
has been looking at her attentively for a short while;<fnref n="162" /> the whale has already perceived Clark
before she has the whale. Reminiscent of Neimanis' idea of bodies flowing through one another,
Clark, Brassy, and the whale posit an exchange that takes place between them that disregards
whether they are human or nonhuman but considers them as bodies of water. Water facilitates
their coming together. Furthermore, the channeling that takes place between them requires
Ingersoll's seascape epistemology, as Clark and Brassy's exchange with the whale imparts new
watery knowledge to them. The exchange that takes place between them is visual, which then
leads to an embodied learning of being in the water that is taught by the whale. As the whale is
still, Clark and Brassy, in turn, naturally relax as if invited to do so by the whale. Additionally,
by breathing out of their snorkels, their relationship takes on a material aspect as their breathing
parallels that of a whale breathing through its blowhole. Their watery sisterhood, their relation,
instills a bond between them that will endure as their exchange can then be described as a
pouring into, as it is gifting them with and generating in them a new embodied knowledge that
is specific to the whale and the sea. Whereas Brassy helps Clark see the whale, which in turn
allows them to learn a new embodied way of being in the sea, Sunn taught Britton the
importance of sharing her passion, and so she in turn shares her passion for the sea, thus
extending watery sisterhoods to other women. During a surf trip to Iran in 2010 to discover new
coastlines and cultures, Britton is led to surf in a hijab, covered from head to toe, and in turn
inspires other women in Iran from the sport scene to try out surfing (Saltwater 87). Later in
2013, helped by the professional snowboarder Mona Seraji and the professional swimmer and
diver Shahla Yasini, Britton returns to Iran to introduce women from the Baluch community to
water and surfing:

Holding hands and entering the breaking surf together, we felt the pull and swirl of the currents around us as a wave approached; taking a deep breath in, we softened our stance and spine, imagining our bodies becoming like water, moving with the force of the wave instead of resisting and allowing ourselves to be carried, tumbled and tossed. We resurfaced, carried up the beach, sand everywhere, our hijabs all awry, completely sodden, salty and disheveled and roaring with laughter, a belly aching laughter, all nervousness gone. (92)

By going into the sea holding hands, not only do these women do so to find courage in each
other, but they further establish the sea as a place of connectedness that fosters relations as they
go there to establish one with it. Holding hands further reinforces Britton's idea that "life flows
through life," as they do not go into the sea alone but with each other; they are brought together

<footnote n="162">¹⁶² “Watch, v.” *OED Online*, Oxford UP, March 2023, www.oed.com/view/Entry/226076. Accessed 14 Apr. 2023.</footnote>
by their passion for or curiosity about water. Reminiscent of Attala, they mutually influence each other to gain courage, as after coming out of the sea, they share laughter and have helped wash each other's nervousness away. Their movement in the sea is tidal and channels a connectedness to the sea that becomes an active agent in their sisterhood as it participates by teaching them how to move like water; they learn to embody it by softening their stance, moving with the wave, and letting the water carry them. Their first tidal exchange of receiving the knowledge imparted by the sea is a generative force that gestates a new perspective within them, as, in the second tidal movement, they are described as sharing laughter and joy for a new passion and bond that has been born in the sea. Resurfacing, the sea leaves its imprint on them and they on each other as they share laughter and a new bond found in the sea. Accordingly, an exchange takes place between them and the sea as the water pours through them, facilitating this exchange. Their channeling posits an intimate link between them all as they confront fears and anxieties surrounding the sea. After this encounter with the Baluch women in Iran, Britton was inspired to create the seasuit in collaboration with the brand Finisterre and the triathlete Shirin Gemari. Designed to "stay put in the surf," it is a "calf-length tunic of sorts with a hood" that would enable not only Muslim women but anybody who may desire more coverage in the sea (Saltwater 205). Creating the seasuit illustrates the power of sisterhoods to connect to others and enact positive change for others. It allows others to enter the sea and share in the passion that drove Britton to first introduce the sport to other women, a passion instilled in her by Sunn, who shared her passion. Britton then demonstrates how sisterhoods are about the sharing of a passion that is enabling of great change, positivity, and inclusivity. Both Clark and Britton go into the sea and become members of sisterhoods, inviting others to join them by holding hands with other women. Holding hands establishes an intimate channeling between them; as bodies of water, they are enacting a channeling between them all that presents a fluid exchange of knowledge, trust, and courage.

*Swell* and *Saltwater in the Blood* bring to light how sisterhoods are about creating connections to one another and to the sea, for which they share a common passion and love. Both Clark and Britton were introduced to them by other women. They received this passion and inspiration like a rising tide, which they in turn exchanged with those women before gifting it to others like an ebb. Furthermore, watery sisterhoods go beyond an ecofeminist interconnectedness, as the water they engage with allows them to connect to a larger community where everyone is not necessarily directly in contact but nevertheless helps each other dive deeper into themselves and gives rise to new ways of embodying the sea while fostering care
for others. Most importantly, sisterhoods are about sharing a common passion for the sea, which is a powerful force for positive change in the world.
9. Woman and wave: blurring identities

When describing acoustic waves, Susan Griffin, in her book *Woman and Nature: The Roaring Inside Her*, writes of how waves envelop a body until there is no distinction between that body and the wave: “Water washes against sand. . . We stand in the way. The wave surrounds us. Presses at our arms, our breasts. Enters our mouths, our ears. . . The wave catches us. We are part of the wave.”<fnref n="163" /> Despite talking about acoustic waves, Griffin’s description can be applied to sea waves. Griffin’s wave first starts by washing against the sand, thereby depicting an ebb and flow motion, whereupon the land is seen as static and receiving the washing motion, much like the succeeding “we,” who is standing in the way. She then offers a parallel between the land and “we,” suggesting that bodies are immovable and steadfast. However, the wave “surrounds,” “presses,” and “enters” before “catching” a body, thus revealing how water encircles, applies pressure so that it may become formless, fills its senses, and then intercepts it. The wave is thereby a shaping agent that molds bodies that are exposed to it, thereby initiating motion and fluidity within a static body that points to a becoming water that is both physical and imaginative. As seen through the word “catch,” which can operate on a physical and psychological level (i.e., engaging a person’s imagination), becoming like water then operates on two levels: fluidity permeates a person’s movements but also their minds, their way of being, thinking, and behaving, which leads them to enact their inner wateriness. In a similar way, Melody Jue writes that “to feel what the fish scales know is to become partially fish” (46). That is, the body becomes the precondition for knowledge (45–46), where an individual grows aware of another being’s embodiment through their senses. Feeling water rush against one’s body temporarily shifts someone’s perception to that of a fish, so that they become only part fish. In turn, becoming partially fish allows someone to then know what the fish knows: it is not just sensing sea water against skin; it is the currents, air, movements, temperature shifts, sensing of other marine animals, and so on, that make a fish a fish. Accordingly, to feel what water feels is to become partially water. That is, its fluidity would enable someone to know what the sea knows. Nonetheless, Jue points to the limits of ever being a fish, as she highlights that an individual may only become “partially” fish, that is, they cannot fully be a fish. Watery embodiment then has limits. Nevertheless, it is interesting to see how

<footnote n="163">¹⁶³ Griffin, Susan. *Women and Nature*. Op. cit., 200.</footnote>
Karin Amimoto Ingersoll describes watery embodiment, and how it changes an individual's perspective. On land

the body can only lie prone or stand upright and turn left or right. When surfing, diving, or navigating, however, the body breaks through these limitations. Surfers glide and float on water, sliding on a fluid floor, expanding the realm of gravity by vertically flowing up and then down, and sometimes racing through a stationary tunnel of pitching water. (82)

Ingersoll illustrates Griffin's becoming wave as the body moves fluidly within a watery milieu, but she also points out how, like Jue, the body is the precondition for knowledge. That is, the body here expands fluidly, breaking the limitations set by land and thus initiating a new kind of movement that is not bound by gravity but is continuous with the sea. Nevertheless, being a surfer, diver, and/or navigator requires a certain amount of knowledge of the sea (i.e., oceanic literacy) that is based on a sensibility towards it (Ingersoll 81–82). Accordingly, feeling the sea and the wave leads to a partial knowledge of the seascape that enables the surfer, diver, and/or navigator to partially become watery through their movements, thereby blurring the boundaries between two bodies of water. Be that as it may, the sea manifests itself not only through a body's movements but also within that body on a biological level. Stacy Alaimo reveals how “The sea surges through the bodies of all terrestrial animals, including humans – in our blood, skeletons, and cellular protoplasm.”<fnref n="164" /> Reminiscent of Carson’s point that all life originates in the sea and that we carry a part of it within us,<fnref n="165" /> Alaimo explains how the sea also moves within us on a biological level, thereby disregarding the limitations set by land and gravity. This movement is described as a “surge,” which is a sudden and strong upward movement,<fnref n="166" /> thereby hinting at the fact that, as Carson said, we are all from the sea. A surge is often followed by a lull, thus pointing to how our own bodies undergo an ebb and flow movement where we may sometimes feel this connection to the sea more viscerally than at others. Furthermore, this surge happens to “terrestrial animals,” thus hinting at how this ebb and flow motion happens on land, thereby disregarding gravity: the sea extends itself on land through bodies that enact its wateriness. Accordingly, the sea goes beyond the limitations of its milieu, whereupon traces of the sea can be biologically found in our bodies, and is thus further seen as a shaping agent on a biological level, a point that Ingersoll (72) and Luci Attala (44) both bring up. Attala adds to Alaimo’s point, highlighting how “[n]one of us can be (even just in terms of attitude) separate from the materials that we use because they are fundamentally a part of us – both physically

<footnote n="164">¹⁶⁴ Alaimo, Stacy. “States of Suspension.” *Op. cit.*, 482.</footnote>

<footnote n="165">¹⁶⁵ Carson, Rachel. *The Sea. Op. cit.*, 13.</footnote>

<footnote n="166">¹⁶⁶ “Surge, v.” *OED Online*, Oxford UP, March 2023, www.oed.com/view/Entry/194919. Accessed 14 Apr. 2023.</footnote>
and imaginatively.” (7). The materials we use, that is, matter (i.e., the physical items that occupy space), flow together and shape us (ix, 3). These materials can be water but also our cells, the latter of which still contains traces of the sea,<fnref n="167" /> and because they make us who we are, we are never truly separate from the sea. Furthermore, Attala explains how the sea not only constitutes us biologically but also entails a more embodied presence that translates itself into an “attitude.” An attitude is a way of thinking about something or someone that manifests itself in an individual’s behavior.<fnref n="168" /> Accordingly, because we are part water, thinking water would point to a more fluid expression of one’s bodily movements and being, thereby pointing to a blurring between an individual and the water that constitutes them. In her thesis, *The Landscape of Western Women’s Memoir*, Sarah Hulme Hill discloses how “for contemporary women memoirists, their physical bodies and landscape often blend and blur until they no longer think of their experience as separate from the experience of the earth.”<fnref n="169" /> For women who then explore their relationship with and experience with a particular landscape, they feel a blurring between themselves and the sea, where they are no longer distinct but one. Accordingly, their experience, that is, their being, thinking, sensing, and behaving, will be the same as the landscape they themselves write of. However, this view could be restrictive for the land, which no longer retains any subjectivity, as women memoirists exert control over what the earth experiences through their writing of their own experiences. Accordingly, Hulme Hill’s view could be constraining not only for the land but also for the seascape, which is essentially fluid and resists containment. What the sea does, as seen through Griffin’s text, is that it allows an individual to extend themselves both physically and imaginatively. Water is the shaping agent that initiates movement, after which the individual experiences a more fluid embodiment. Watery experiences posit a fluid exchange between water and an individual who does not see one exerting control over the other. In the same way, Astrida Neimanis explains how “our own embodied limits in relation to living in/with water point to limits of ever knowing, or mastering water” (*Bodies* 112). We are only temporarily allowed in the sea and cannot enter it fully. Accordingly, as explained by Jue, we can only ever be partially water. We can only know water for a short period of time in a specific setting, such as the surfer engaging with the surfed wave. It is interesting to note that both Jue and Neimanis point to the limits of ever knowing the sea, a point that Kate Soper herself disclosed when saying that nature can only ever be partly

<footnote n="167">¹⁶⁷ Alaimo, Stacy. "States of Suspension." *Op. cit.*, 482.</footnote>

<footnote n="168">¹⁶⁸ “Attitude, n.” *OED Online*, Oxford UP, March 2023, www.oed.com/view/Entry/12876. Accessed 14 Apr. 2023.</footnote>

<footnote n="169">¹⁶⁹ Hulme Hill, Sarah. "The Landscape of Western Women's Memoir." *Op. cit.*, 13.</footnote>
known.<fnref n="170" /> While I agree with them that we can never fully know the sea, a limit is essentially a
point beyond which nothing can pass. However, Alaimo demonstrates how the sea pervades the
land by biologically being a part of all terrestrial life.<fnref n="171" /> Accordingly, the sea knows no barriers
due to its fluid nature and extends itself beyond its milieu. What I then believe they mean by
“limits,” is the sheer number of possibilities the sea generates due to its ever-shifting and
changing nature and the improbability of ever knowing all of the ways in which it then expresses
itself. The limit then becomes the one that is set by believing that the sea can be known or
mastered. Ingersoll then offers a parallel between the sea’s impermanence and that of an
individual’s, stating that “identity is constructed anew each time the body is affected by the
organic and unpredictable sea” (126). Ingersoll posits that the sea is relational and that its very
fluid nature influences an individual’s being. The sea’s impermanence is then similar to a
person’s identity, which is always shifting and changing according to their relations,
environment, and so on. If the sea is always changing and evolving, and so is an individual,
they then experience a blurring that is unique to their own embodied presence in that specific
moment. We can only be partially water, not because it constitutes a part of us, but because we
can only be in water and thereby be with water for a short amount of time. Reminiscent of
Attala’s explanation of how the sea cannot be separated from us physically or imaginatively,
this shared time affects a person’s identity, insinuating that they remain partly sea even when
they leave the shore. A watery embodiment does not have to be restricted to being in the water
and thus illustrates how the sea extends itself beyond its milieu. Being in water, though, would
reveal a blurring that would constantly renew itself, as does the sea in the same way. Neimanis
then echoes Ingersoll, explaining how “embodied knowledge of our bodies is always becoming,
moving, changing” (*Bodies* 57). The body is the precondition for knowledge, and Neimanis
points out how embodiment is always changing and shifting like water, where our knowledge
of our own bodies is constantly evolving through and emerging from the seascape. While
women who write the sea blur with the latter, they do not become the sea but only partly,
emerging out of it with a new understanding of themselves and their bodies that is essentially
more fluid. The sea initiates movement both physically and imaginatively and is thus seen as a
shaping agent. However, like the sea, which is impermanent, so too do they become
impermanent, and it is there that the blurring takes place. Liz Clark and Easkey Britton both

<footnote n="170">¹⁷⁰ Soper, Kate. “Introduction.” *Op. cit.*, 1.</footnote>

<footnote n="171">¹⁷¹ Alaimo, Stacy. “States of Suspension.” *Op. cit.*, 482.</footnote>
write of themselves as being partly watery and blurring with the sea that they temporarily immerse themselves in.

In parallel to how Alaimo demonstrated that we all have a part of the sea in us, Liz Clark and Easkey Britton both write of the sea as being a part of their own bodies, influencing and shaping them, body and mind, until the distinctions between them dissolve. In a chapter entitled “Selkie Skin,” Britton explores her connection to the sea and explains how

[i]sotopic analysis of human bones can reveal the geographical origin of an individual, where they lived throughout their adult life, if they travelled and whether their dietary choices were coastal or inland. . . . Ten thousand years from now my bones will still tell the story of my belonging, how much I was drawn to the sea. (152)

In this passage, Britton reveals how she is drawn to the sea because of the way it calls to her and echoes itself in her bones. She begins by explaining how a person's “geographical origin” can be scientifically read in their bones. Subsequently, the point from where she exists and arises is inscribed into her very being, and she infers that this “geographical origin” for her is the sea: it is her point of beginning. Thus reminiscent of Attala, the sea then extends itself to her, its presence in her life thereby becoming material and biological as it can be scientifically read in her bones. Immersion then leads to a blurring between the sea and the immersed body, whereupon the sea extends itself biologically into Britton, seeping into her bones, hinting at a blurring between the sea and her body. Moreover, as suggested by Alaimo, part of the sea remains with her forever, thus breaking the bounds of its milieu so that their connection may last. By being with the sea, the latter then seeps into her bones through exposure, molds her, and actively shapes her biologically. Furthermore, as Attala explained, materials flow together and shape us, and Britton's body here actively merges with the saltwater that then permeates her own bones, thus pointing to a biologically embodied echo of the sea. Her bones are then partly watery, thus pointing out how a part of her biologically belongs to the sea, as indicated by her choosing this place as her “geographical origin.” Even though we all carry a part of the sea in our bodies, Britton's choice of going to the sea reveals itself through her own body. In a similar way, Clark writes of an experience of connectedness with her environment that saw her expand like the water she watches:

> 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 – this great dichotomy dissolves. (259–60)
Although not explicitly biological, Clark demonstrates how the sea surges through her
consciousness, which in turn allows her to connect to her surroundings. The raindrops falling
on the sea's surface transform into "mini-swells of energy" and cross with others, thereby
influencing other swell movements. The mini-swells can then be understood to cross with Clark
herself and engender a blurring highlighted by the sentence: "Both infinite and finite at once."
It is unclear what Clark is referring to here. Maybe it is the sea, herself, time, or the mini-swells'
energy. Nevertheless, it engenders a blurring that is reminiscent of Neimanis, as it points to the
infinite possibilities that the sea engenders due to its ever-changing nature. Accordingly, as the
droplets transform, so too does she dissolve in water, as she describes her consciousness as
"floating." In accordance with Griffin, water then initiates movement within her consciousness
and shapes it to become more fluid, thereby leading her to feel connected and belonging,
breaking down any barriers that would exist between herself and her surroundings.
Subsequently, when Jue explains that to feel is to partly become, so too does Clark feel water
and partly become water. As the water is described as "crossing over each other from all
directions," so too does the water cross with her and lead her to cross with the "cloud," "sky,"
and "setting sun." Accordingly, her consciousness parallels the water's movements and is thus
presented as continuous with the "mini-swells of energy" that initiate movement within her.
Due to feeling what the water feels, she then gains the knowledge that all life is interconnected,
and the "great dichotomy dissolves." Water is continuous with and through her, with
distinctions between them both fading away. While Britton presents a blurring that happens on
a biological level, Clark demonstrates how it can also occur within a person's consciousness
and instigate feelings of belonging and connectedness, thereby illustrating how water molds
bodies both physically and imaginatively.

After initiating movement within their bodies, Clark and Britton describe their
movements as more fluid until distinctions between them dissolve. In a subchapter entitled "The
Belly of Hell," Clark is caught in the middle of a storm, and after five nights at sea with hardly
any sleep, upon nearing Bora Bora

[s]omething in me grows fierce. ... I roll out the entire headsail and crank it as flat as my strength will allow. With a slight shift of the wind in our favor, our course is now just ten to fifteen degrees off the island! *Swell* is overpowered, but it's the only way I can make significant headway. (194)

The stormy seas have been described by Clark as being "fierce" (191–93), "hellish" (193), and
"churning" (194), leaving no time for respite and contrasting greatly with the sea as a place of
belonging. Nonetheless, Clark does belong in the stormy seas. Upon nearing the end of her
passage, something in her “grows fierce.” Similar to how Griffin describes water as molding
movements, so too do the stormy seas shape her: like the storm, she grows in intensity and
becomes fierce like them. That is, she gains an intense determination and aggressiveness in her
sailing, whereupon she “roll[s] out the entire headsail” and “crank[s]” it flat so as to gain speed,
thus taking matters into her own hands to reach Bora Bora. Similar to Attala’s “attitude,” where
a way of thinking reflects itself in bodily behavior, “crank” can also indicate an increase in
intensity, thus pointing to Clark’s determination that is similar to the storm that was cranked up
a level during her passage. Accordingly, thinking with water allows her to move forward,
whereupon *Swell* becomes overpowered, revealing how both Clark and the stormy seas
overwhelm the boat. Clark herself then becomes stormy, blurring the lines between herself and
the sea. Nonetheless, this demonstrates how, as posited by Jue, identity is constructed anew
through every interaction with the ever-changing seas, pointing to the impermanence of the sea
and of a person’s identity. Her interaction with the sea here allows her to grow more determined
and persevere, learning new sailing skills while also learning about her own willpower. Similar
to Clark, Britton’s movements become watery when she is submerged. In a passage where
Britton is freediving off the west coast of Ireland, she writes of how

[w]eaving my body through the kelp fronds, dropping down into the crevasses, flipping over on my back to look up at the surface of the sea and the light dancing on the gently moving surface, I was experiencing the childlike wonder of being immersed in a whole other world, the magic of it all because it is so fleeting, knowing I can't stay there for long. (Saltwater 178)

Britton's movements here are reminiscent of how Ingersoll explains how water allows a person
to break the limitations of gravity. Britton weaves, drops down, and flips over, thereby allowing
her body and movements to expand fluidly, thus presenting a blurring as they are continuous
with the sea she is immersed in. Furthermore, she is rediscovering herself in the sea as she
“look[s] up” at the surface from below and not above, thus noticing how the light dances on it
and engendering in her a feeling of wonder. As Jue explained, the body is the precondition for
knowledge, and she acquires a new one whilst freediving: the sea shares its way of knowing
with her, which in turn becomes “magic,” which can be understood as awakening feelings of
excitement and delight. However, “magic” can be read quite literally, whereupon Attala’s
thinking with water grants her a more fluid embodiment as the sea is seen to transform Britton
into a selkie, “a sea creature from Gaelic mythology, often depicted as a shape-shifting ‘seal
woman’” (Saltwater 147). When freediving, Britton is wearing a “wetsuit, fins, mask and
weight belt” (177), which grants her the appearance of a seal, thereby allowing her to stay
underwater for longer and dive deeper than usual. Accordingly, the sea grants her body the
ability to expand fluidly as her movements parallel those of a seal, as she weaves herself through
the kelp and explores crevasses where crustaceans and mollusks can be found, all of which are
food that seals eat. Britton then blurs with the sea, becoming partly water, and in that moment,
her identity becomes that of a seal for a short amount of time. Nonetheless, being a selkie allows
Britton to retain her watery identity when out of the water, thereby demonstrating how water
goes beyond its milieu. Britton further offers a blurring between land and sea, as selkies belong
to both milieus; her body then becomes the point of blurring, whereupon the water transforms
her into a seal and the land transforms her back into a woman. Clark and Britton illustrate how
the sea influences their movements until there is no distinction between them and the sea, while
also explaining how water imprints on their identity, which itself becomes watery.

When Griffin wrote that “[w]e are part of the wave,”<fnref n="172" /> she demonstrated how water
molds and shapes people both physically and imaginatively, points which Clark and Britton
both bring up in their narratives. However, before blurring with the sea, they start by feeling its
movements, which in turn grants them access to the milieu and how water thinks and is. They
discover how the sea is part of them biologically and consciously, demonstrating how the sea
goes beyond its milieu but is also an ever-active participant in the formation of their identity.
Despite their blurring with the sea being temporary, when they do, it allows them to expand
fluidly, their movements continuous with the sea, from which they are always discovering new
ways of moving, being, and thinking with water as it is itself ever-changing and impermanent.

<footnote n="172">¹⁷² Griffin, Susan. *Women and Nature*. Op. cit., 200.</footnote>
## Conclusion

As third-wave ecocriticism aims to bring a new material understanding of the environment, the merging of ecofeminism and the blue humanities adds to ecocriticism by recognizing nonhuman nature's subjectivity, thereby giving rise to a dynamic, watery knowledge that favors interconnectedness and creativity. Moreover, as surfers, the sea surges through Liz Clark's *Swell* and Easkey Britton's *Saltwater in the Blood* in a myriad of ways that thereby recognize the latter's fluid nature as always changing and never static: the shore is no longer just a place of encounter between various ecosystems but is a world from which new forms of knowledge and creativity may arise. Their surfing narratives are then unique, as the sea permeates their sense of self and writing, thereby dissolving binaries and favoring the creation of a literature that is unique to their shore interactions. They go beyond the bounds of travel writing by depicting the sea as the place where they go to and where they fashion their identity as surfers, further enabling the creation of their own form of surfing: water-dancing. They also go beyond the bounds of ecofeminism by bringing to light how the sea's nonhuman environment is influential in the formation of the world and how water is the true agent in their narratives that brings them to its shores and connects them to others. In turn, the sea offers new centers for both femininity and surfing: Clark and Britton are able to rediscover themselves as watery while also entering into a dialogue with water when they surf, which then enables them to discover different forms of watery embodiment (i.e., swimming, diving). The potential of their work as merging ecofeminism and the blue humanities then lies in how, as surfers, they interact intimately with the sea, thereby pointing to how water permeates their lives and how it allows the dissolution of harmful associations that have been made between women and nature. Furthermore, their narratives reveal the importance and centrality of the sea in their lives as it takes on an active role in their narratives: by being given a voice, the sea thereby facilitates connectedness and relationality with the latter and nonhumans alike, until it permeates their own sense of self and their identities in turn become watery.

Nonetheless, a surfer's embodiment and perception of the sea are also limited. While they engage intimately with the moving environment, residing on the edge or surface of the sea, they are, however, staying precisely at the edge of the sea, never fully entering it for long periods of time and never truly exploring its depths. It would be interesting to delve into the open sea and its depths to discover what longer periods of immersion may reveal about a person, the sea, and writing: how watery depth may in turn influence and shape a person's writing, and
how it may add to the growing field of environmental literature. Accordingly, as humans cannot
fully enter the sea for long periods of time, and if they do, their immersion is only mediated by
diving gear, for instance, how may we acquire a better understanding of the sea? Interactions
with nonhumans could help us further understand the sea: the sea is an environment they know
and move in intimately, and while a human's perception is altered by immersion, a nonhuman's
is not. Subsequently, how they communicate, move, experience, and know the sea, would be
their own form of storytelling. Writing the sea with nonhumans would then favor
interconnectedness by merging two watery perspectives: a surface perspective and a depth
perspective, with the surface being the contact zone between the two that thereby allows, as
Singer argues, two subjects to deconstruct each other and generate new understandings of the
sea and surface,<fnref n="173" /> while also distilling differences between the two. Accordingly, including a
nonhuman perspective of the sea in a narrative would lead to a process of co-creation that would
give rise to creativity. Translating, watching, and listening to marine animals' own form of
writing water with sounds and movements would then add another perspective to environmental
literature.

<footnote n="173">¹⁷³ Singer, Christoph. “Transformative Shores.” *Op. cit.*, 11.</footnote>
# Appendix

## Annexe 1. Déclaration sur l'honneur plagiat CA du 9 juillet 2010.

Document sous droits non diffusable
Annexe 2. Attestation d'emploi

Document sous droits non diffusable
Appendix 3. Water holds

<figure><img src="image_2.png" /></figure>

Source: Britton, Easkey. *Water Holds. Saltwater in the Blood: Surfing, Natural Cycles and the Sea's Power to Heal*. Edited Belle Mundy, 1st ed., Watkins Publishing, London, 2021, 181.
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