Pity The Fool. This Man Has No Island

In our house April Fools Day is the holies of all high holidays. Each year it gets harder and harder to sneak it up on the kids. They are ready, prepared, perhaps with an attack of their own.

Gotca PicThere was the time we were coming back from a Florida on the night of March 31st. I remember sitting on the plane planning the strategy. We got in after midnite. The sacred day was upon us, but luckily they were too sleepy to realize it. We picked up the car from the airport and on the drive back to Boulder there was a strange hesitation with the engine, sort of a jerking motion. I grew more concerned and let them know that it wasn’t running right. We started heading up the canyon, and the jerking got worse. Hopefully we make it home. It was cold, snowy, at 3am, and wasn’t looking good. Just as we pulled in to head up Magnolia it died, and wouldn’t start. What to do. The best idea that I could come up with was for them to get all dressed up, and stand outside hitchhiking while I put the headlights on them as the next car came by. The coats and gloves were on, they were headed out, April Fools.

Elia PicThe tricky part now is how to get them when they are not close by. Last year I wrote a long email to young Malcolm in New Zealand talking about my boating plans and how it was looking like the best option available was to pick a sailboat in Australia, and wondering if he might be willing to sail it back for me. He reported back that he was reading it aloud to some friends and got more and more excited until he got to the line at the end saying that maybe he should look over at the calendar and see what day it is. Got cha. First email back he was ticked, then the respect grew.

Last year Ethan knew it was coming but wasn’t sure from what direction it would arrive. I woke him up at 1:30 am to take his morning shower. It was dark like usual, and he stumbled in to get ready for school. I heard the water running and hovered around the corner. He came out of the bathroom, and I just started laughing. Score another one for dad.

They do retaliate. There is the stamp taped on to the bottom of the computer mouse. Why won’t it work? The saran wrap across the toilet seat. Slowly they are maturing.

All of this to say that the recent post about Elia and I buying an island perhaps needs to be understood from the background of the fool. The hints were there. Come back on April 1st of next year to see how it all plays out. I hope this wasn’t a foolish move. But word came back of true excitement and admiration for our bold new move.  Ah well, not this year folks.

At this point we are in the Bahamas, heading back towards Florida. Lots of long sails behind us, a few ahead. Switches in the brain are slowly being turned back on to Colorado time and reality. Trying to plan the next phase. Not sure how work will look.

Do I sell my snow business and start something else? What will have changed internally to bring to the game. Thinking it would be fun to play bass in an old guy band. Play the rock and roll but no gigs after 9.

Then there is the changed world of Mr Carrot top in charge. How to plug in to the ridiculousness of that. Looking forward to the drive up Magnolia, and back to the old homestead. What will be the same, what different. These are the thoughts that fill a portion of the brain as the miles drift by under the keel.

The Cruiser

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The Captain’s New Look

Everywhere we go there are other sailors. Very rarely are we on our own. These are our people, the cruising community. Who are they?

In general cruisers are people that  have been able to carve out a chunk of time away from the responsibilities of land and have made the effort to figure out how to live on their sailboat. They are all into sailing, and just by having made it this far into the Caribbean, have proven that both they and their boat are at least adequate for the task.

Most are couples and in many cases the men were the driving force behind the decision to take off. Perhaps they had been sailing forever, it was their dream, and many of the women have come around to either loving it, or tolerating it. There is always some talk of the men doing the long passages, and the women flying down to meet them there. The guys get together and talk about solar panels and power loads. The women cooking, and books they’ve been reading. Many guys call their partner, “The Admiral”, i.e. if you ask them on the VHF about plans for the day they say they will check with The Admiral, and let you know.

Some are in their 50’s, most in their 60’s, with a very few on either side of that. They are quite varied in their pasts, and their plans. Some have been on the water for years and are ready to head home. These are more jaded, with less of the the enthusiastic glow, and a little slower to jump into the conversations about how many amps your battery bank holds. There are newbies, quite wide eyed and open. There are a few single handers out there, almost always men. They are an interesting lot, with crusty beards, a slightly crazed look and an endless need to talk. So far everybody we have met has been white.

People take to the lifestyle in different ways. Some have become quite sedentary and rarely leave their boat. Others embrace exploring land whenever possible and go on long hikes. At times people rent cars, hire taxi’s, or ride busses. Many of these choices seem to be determined by how much money is available, but also by peoples levels of comfort. One woman told Elia that she would never consider riding on the local buses. We, on the other hand, choose that whenever possible, as much for the local experience as for the transportation.

There is lots of alcohol involved. The standard greeting is delivered by dinghy in the afternoon, come on over for drinks around 5:30. Painkillers, sundowners, black and tans, rum punches. Island drinks. As would be expected the conversations get sloppier and more animated as the evening progresses. From my non drinking perspective it all gets a little old and tiresome.

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Cathy and her crew

There are dogs, cats, even a bird on board. We’ve heard tell of a monkey but haven’t seen it. The dog owners tend to be slaves to their pets. They modify their plans around which countries can take them easily, which beaches are safe. In most countries they need to have a vet sign off that it is healthy. Fears of going ashore and having their dog attacked by local dogs, or possibly shot, because they haven’t checked in are real. The cats curl up safely in a cubby below, except for the rare marina stop when they saunter down the docks.

One of the joys in this lifestyle is the ability to move on whenever you want to, or stay as long as things are good. Everybody is moving, transient. You get used to lots of goodbyes, then often unexpected friends turn up in another anchorage. We are all on a similar groove, with a limited number of places that cruisers tend to stop. Many people will be seen again, but you never know who or where.

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The Oyster

The boats vary like the people. One of the big differences is the amount of money spent to pull off this dream. There are many that cost well over a million dollars new. They tend to be shiny, larger, newer, with more gadgets. The people on them, come from backgrounds that generated large sums of money. Investment banker, sold their business, sold their house in Nantucket. Women wearing nice jewelry, white polo shirts, gleaming teeth with a real estate smile. The Oyster, Hylas, Outbound, Halsberg Ralsey. Truly beautiful blue water boats.

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Cantana Catamaran

There are the catamarans either bought as high level sailing machines, or bought from the charter industry, that needed some TLC (read MONEY) to get them in cruising shape. Much more room than a monohull, don’t roll in the anchorage, great for entertaining, and gives a feeling like a condo on the water with sliding glass doors and a large back deck. and lots of space for guests. Fast, but expensive to own with 2 engines, and much more cost to haul out and to dock.

Many smaller solid monohulls made to cruise around the world. These tend to be funkier, older, the people a little crustier and willing to have more of a camping experience. As the people on the less expensive boats tend to tell each other, when talking about the larger, shinier ones, “We all have the same view”.

And what are our plans? As I write this we are in Les Saintes, just south of Guadaloupe.  Our turn around point was last week in Dominica. We are headed back. But back means  2 and a half months of slowly working our way to the left coast of Florida where we will leave her for the summer and a good portion of the fall. Back to Colorado to make a garden, to invite a cat into our lives, to hang out with Ethan while he gets back into high school in America. (Check out his blog on tumblr at Under_Brazilian_Skies if you get a chance)

And our future on Orion? Still to be determined. I kind of like mustached Mike’s version. 4 months on the boat, 8 months on land. Or then again does it make more sense to do 6 weeks on, with a big space between. Right now going around the world and living on her full time doesn’t look like the plan. But then, who really knows. We would love to go to Europe, sail around Britain, up to Norway, the canals of France, the Med. There is the western side of the Caribbean with Belize, and down to Panama. Cuba is opening up to sailors. And then a whole world in the Pacific. So many places to see, and nice to feel like we have the illusion of unlimited time. Our plans remain flexible.

My New Mistress

It started out as infatuation. We had been introduced through the internet, She wasn’t the most beautiful to look at. Hadn’t been taken care of recently. Hadn’t felt loving hands for quite some time. I had a chance to do some research. Her family tree was strong. She came from a long and respected lineage. Somewhere she had gone wrong, was a little off. Couldn’t be sure just how far she had strayed by looking at her pictures online. The only way to really know was to meet her in person.

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At first glance my heart started to tingle. She was lying still in the morning mist. Wisps of dew clinging to her lines. From the outside she looked as expected. A little tired, needing a little love. But what about when she opened her hatches to let me inside. There the truth would be much more obvious.

Her clasp was opened, her door slid back, and I eased myself down her ladder. Her open inner spaces were full, to the brim, with the treasures, of another man. I could see through the mess that she felt dirty inside, soiled, and it was out of her control. She needed to feel special, clean, proud, and I knew right away that this had been taken from her. I instinctively knew that I could bring the touch that would bring her inner light back out.

She wanted to shine, to fly free. It felt like a plea. Help me to be me. Help bring me back.

I heard her cries, but needed to be sure I could trust my instincts. I called in others to assist in my evaluation. There was agreement. She once was a thorough bred. and could be again. With some love, some patience.

lehman
She purrs, and keeps running till I push her button.

We needed time together. I slept in her that 1st night. In the forepeak, another night in the aft cabin, in the salon. It all felt so right. I opened her drawers. I looked through her most private places, read her history between the lines. She opened up to me fully. She needed no coaxing.

I decided that I would make her mine.

Since that fateful day I’ve always treated her like she deserves. I lavish money on her, and swell with pride when she shines in her sparkling, new, digs. She has needs, I know that. And as her needs get met, she is more appreciative and it shows. In how she reaches down wind, in how she holds her charge through the night. Of course she has moments when she struggles with her old ways. She will break down, sometimes covered in salty tears, and at those times it takes patience to listen, to feel, and finally to help to find the answer to her distress.

I pull out of the marina, my hand firmly on her wheel, and can feel the stares, the envy of those that I pass. They wonder who was I to  have tamed such an enchantress. What must I have to entice her to give herself so fully into my care.

And for me, it’s not about the envy of others. It’s about bringing her back to her true self. Letting her see and feel her youthful exuberance for life once again. I am merely along for the ride.

The 1 Percent

I sit writing the day before new years. Bitter End Yacht club. Virgin Gorda. The British Virgin Islands. Playground of the rich and beautiful. We get to park our little Orion for next to nothing and wander in and mingle. Truly phenomenal displays of wealth. The white plastic gleams. The stainless is always shiny. The toys come out. The inflatable slide from the top deck. 3 jet ski’s on the back. Yacht pulling powerboat, pulling dinghy. Money pouring down the drains and away. Inconsequential it seems.

our-neighbors
Our neighbors

And why do I rant. There is a part of me that admires people that have done well in their lives, taken the money to do extravagant things with their families. Introduce their children to new countries. What is money for really anyways?

But here, today, something feels different about the extreme decadence and the seeming ignorance of anyone else around. Drive that dinghy full speed through the harbor. Don’t give a thought to the boats bouncing around in your wake. Let the nice man in the clean white shirt bring you your orange juice. Life is as it should be. There are masters, there are servants. The world has always been this way. Some own the plantations, and then there are slaves to do the ahem, work. In so very many cases there is no connection between the two. The rulers rule, the laborers sweat. Why question your place in the grand scheme when it’s on top. Off to the vacation where the water is blue, the toys many. Rub elbows with your people. Life is beautiful.

Today I’m surrounded by the 1 percent. I’m not impressed.  For the 1st time in my life I am truly scared and sickened by our government and the people that are about to start running it. To me it’s always seemed relatively benign. I haven’t felt threatened. Me, personally, my world. White guy doing ok. And it seemed like things were essentially beyond my control anyways. Head down in the sand. My world was fine. Me, mine, me. No need for real worry. For Me.

I don’t feel that way today. At a deep down level, I feel like we are heading into a dark and frightening place. Maybe it’s gotten to the point where me and mine feel threatened. Is it the possibility of economic collapse? Or of my kids having to fight in a war because of an idiot pushing a button? My money, my security, my family. Too damn close to home. Me has expanded to my country. Took me long enough. And as I look inside at my barometer and take a reading my sense is that I am not alone. I feel a revolution coming on.

paradise
The hood…