Retrospect is a dandy word because it implies a common sense picture of the past. It's the ultimate coulda, shouda, wouda, or in some cases, I told you so. That being said, to me it often implies a mistake made (hence the I told you so), "...in retrospect, those last 4 rums were a tad much..." or, in retrospect ,General Custer should have called in sick. Retrospect is a magic elixir that can imbue positive or negative feelings, depending on your outlook. Take, for example, an adventure.
A real adventure needs the unexpected, otherwise it isn't really an adventure, it ends up like a drive to the gas station to get your oil changed, maybe have a Slurpy if you're feeling wild and crazy. It's hard to have an adventure doing the laundry. No, a real adventure needs some grit. Some elevated heartbeat. Fear should somehow play a part. It should take you out of the familiar and, even if you are with others,should have a sense of solitude. It's also a good idea to have extra underwear around when things get really scary.
Some of the Gypsy Wind's problems became more apparent to us. The generator that Alan had doctored gave up the fight, so no refrigerator- it ran on 115V that the generator provided. The radar went down(Radar! We don't need no stinking radar!). Captain Tony told us the boats motor would charge the batteries and give us hot water for showers. The batteries powered essential things- like lights. Navigation lights! The satellite phone that was to be used for emergencies didn't seem to like the Caribbean. Then, the motor, like a union garbageman in Paris, decided to work only when it felt like it
Oh, and the rudder. I told you the Gypsy Wind was a good sized boat- 58,000 lbs. or so. It had a full keel and a large rudder that was hydraulically aided. It would be impossible to steer the boat without the hydraulics, something akin to driving a '50 Buick with no power steering (and yes, I do know what that's like). Something was messed up with the hydraulics so the helm had to be turned either very quickly or very far to steer the boat. You'd think it would be much scarier having a great deal of 'play' in the steering wheel of a car on a road, but it's just as daunting when you have big seas and tons of water trying to wash over your stern or wherever the hell it wanted.
All this stuff would have been fine, even without the coffee,if the weather had held, but the wind began picking up and the seas got bigger and more erratic.Tony had taken Alan off the watch schedule so he could work exclusively on the motor- we were in the shipping lanes for the Panama Canal and needed the navigation lights at night. My watch shifted- 8 to 12. The longer watch was tiring because, without auto steering- common on many boats this size- you had to remain standing behind the helm all the time. Standing in one place for more than a hour is one thing, standing on a deck with a boat rolling side to side and pitching up and down for 4 hours sucks.
There, I said it. This was beginning to feel more like an ordeal than an adventure. My second long night watch began with me struggling to get topside from my berth. Both Tony and Alan were on deck. They had furled the jib . The main was reefed all the way down.We were still doing 7 knots. The wind was doing that whistling thing you hear in movies when a boats are in storms. The swells were about 12' or so, higher than I'd ever sailed in. I put my safety harness on over my rain jacket and clipped onto the jack line that ran the length of the deck. That was so, if you were washed over the side, instead of drowning alone in the ocean, you'd be drowned by being dragged behind the boat for as many miles as said boat was wont to go or a shark decided you looked good enough to eat.
The Gypsy Wind was pounding through the waves. The stern would be lifted way up, then you'd start surfing down the swell, the boat slowly turning until the flabby rudder caught. Captain Tony and Alan stayed up on deck for a while after I took the wheel. Then Tony looked at me and said " I was trained for this kind of stuff in the Coast Guard. I know it's a little rough, but keep on 240 degrees and you should be good", then he and Alan clamored down the companionway, pulled the hatch shut and left me and Sister Ida (who had stopped being seasick earlier that day) to stand our watch.Tom (Ida) literally had my back, watching for boats and rouge waves
I was hanging onto the wheel to stay upright, but every now and again a big wave would come out of nowhere and try to rip me off. I felt like I was doing squats in a steam room. About an hour and a half into the watch my legs felt like cement and I was getting real tired. I was not getting more confident as time went on- I was getting scared. I was getting scared and mad at the same time- what the fuck was I doing out here? The compass started looking like the face of a tiger, the red light burning into my eyes. Where was that coming from? I'd force myself to look off , but not wanting to drift off course, would quickly stare back. My thoughts turned inward and I started praying.
There are a few things I want to clear up right now, before things could appear melodramatic. First off, boats, and, to a greater degree, airplanes, can take much more of a beating than we might generally think, certainly more than mere mortal beings. The Gypsy Wind was doing just fine, even though I didn't know it at the time. I'm sure that some of you reading this are chuckling at the thought of 12' seas and 40 knot winds, but it's all about context. To me, I was in "The Perfect Storm". Chumley, Alan, and Tony were just having a rough nights sleep. This is not to say that it wasn't a storm, only it was more a storm to me that night, out in the wind with my imagination raging.
Secondly; prayer. I have come to believe in a power much greater than myself or others. I call it God. Though many do, I cannot put a face or place or words to describe it. Is it a he, she, it? Do you have to say certain things in certain ways, or face certain directions to communicate with this power? For me, prayer is talking with God, plain and simple. I usually get my questions answered or thoughts acknowledged, though rarely exactly the way I'd expect. Lately my talks have been less frequent and seemingly unanswered, but that night, on the Gypsy Wind, I was talking for all I was worth, not thinking in the least about being answered. I was right there, right then, and that was all the world as I knew it.
As the night progressed I realized that I had no choice about where I was. Scotty wasn't going to beam me up and bring me back to the Enterprise. I was there, 37 miles off the coast of Venezuela, in rough seas and high winds- steering a boat with 6 other souls aboard (o.k., counting the cat, 7, if you want to go there). I was totally present in the moment . Un-noticed my fear and anger faded, it was all compass and helm, the tiger gone to haunt some one else.
Just before midnight Chum came up through the hatch to take his watch. He said something about how nasty it was. I gave him an update on the conditions, that we hadn't sighted any other boats, gave the course I was following then turned over the helm to him. I un-clipped my harness, climbed down the companionway, and using the interior grab rails, made my way to my berth, stripped off the rain jacket and harness and lay down.
Sleep came in intervals, the boat was pitching and rolling way too much for a deep slumber and something else crept up on me, a feeling like one I'd rarely felt before. I felt genuine!
It was ego-less and had no pretense, no facade and I think that, perhaps, was the answer to my prayer. I was authentic- a blue water sailor.
Several days later, when we reached Panama, we met other sailors with other stories and I felt no hesitation in joining in, but you'll have to wait for some of those till next time.
There, I said it. This was beginning to feel more like an ordeal than an adventure. My second long night watch began with me struggling to get topside from my berth. Both Tony and Alan were on deck. They had furled the jib . The main was reefed all the way down.We were still doing 7 knots. The wind was doing that whistling thing you hear in movies when a boats are in storms. The swells were about 12' or so, higher than I'd ever sailed in. I put my safety harness on over my rain jacket and clipped onto the jack line that ran the length of the deck. That was so, if you were washed over the side, instead of drowning alone in the ocean, you'd be drowned by being dragged behind the boat for as many miles as said boat was wont to go or a shark decided you looked good enough to eat.
The Gypsy Wind was pounding through the waves. The stern would be lifted way up, then you'd start surfing down the swell, the boat slowly turning until the flabby rudder caught. Captain Tony and Alan stayed up on deck for a while after I took the wheel. Then Tony looked at me and said " I was trained for this kind of stuff in the Coast Guard. I know it's a little rough, but keep on 240 degrees and you should be good", then he and Alan clamored down the companionway, pulled the hatch shut and left me and Sister Ida (who had stopped being seasick earlier that day) to stand our watch.Tom (Ida) literally had my back, watching for boats and rouge waves
I was hanging onto the wheel to stay upright, but every now and again a big wave would come out of nowhere and try to rip me off. I felt like I was doing squats in a steam room. About an hour and a half into the watch my legs felt like cement and I was getting real tired. I was not getting more confident as time went on- I was getting scared. I was getting scared and mad at the same time- what the fuck was I doing out here? The compass started looking like the face of a tiger, the red light burning into my eyes. Where was that coming from? I'd force myself to look off , but not wanting to drift off course, would quickly stare back. My thoughts turned inward and I started praying.
There are a few things I want to clear up right now, before things could appear melodramatic. First off, boats, and, to a greater degree, airplanes, can take much more of a beating than we might generally think, certainly more than mere mortal beings. The Gypsy Wind was doing just fine, even though I didn't know it at the time. I'm sure that some of you reading this are chuckling at the thought of 12' seas and 40 knot winds, but it's all about context. To me, I was in "The Perfect Storm". Chumley, Alan, and Tony were just having a rough nights sleep. This is not to say that it wasn't a storm, only it was more a storm to me that night, out in the wind with my imagination raging.
Secondly; prayer. I have come to believe in a power much greater than myself or others. I call it God. Though many do, I cannot put a face or place or words to describe it. Is it a he, she, it? Do you have to say certain things in certain ways, or face certain directions to communicate with this power? For me, prayer is talking with God, plain and simple. I usually get my questions answered or thoughts acknowledged, though rarely exactly the way I'd expect. Lately my talks have been less frequent and seemingly unanswered, but that night, on the Gypsy Wind, I was talking for all I was worth, not thinking in the least about being answered. I was right there, right then, and that was all the world as I knew it.
As the night progressed I realized that I had no choice about where I was. Scotty wasn't going to beam me up and bring me back to the Enterprise. I was there, 37 miles off the coast of Venezuela, in rough seas and high winds- steering a boat with 6 other souls aboard (o.k., counting the cat, 7, if you want to go there). I was totally present in the moment . Un-noticed my fear and anger faded, it was all compass and helm, the tiger gone to haunt some one else.
Just before midnight Chum came up through the hatch to take his watch. He said something about how nasty it was. I gave him an update on the conditions, that we hadn't sighted any other boats, gave the course I was following then turned over the helm to him. I un-clipped my harness, climbed down the companionway, and using the interior grab rails, made my way to my berth, stripped off the rain jacket and harness and lay down.
Sleep came in intervals, the boat was pitching and rolling way too much for a deep slumber and something else crept up on me, a feeling like one I'd rarely felt before. I felt genuine!
It was ego-less and had no pretense, no facade and I think that, perhaps, was the answer to my prayer. I was authentic- a blue water sailor.
Several days later, when we reached Panama, we met other sailors with other stories and I felt no hesitation in joining in, but you'll have to wait for some of those till next time.
