It is now 0600 on Monday, the 13th day of July in the year 1998. I am up very late, or am I up very early? My watch for the past week has ended at 0400, and I was usually fast asleep by 0420 or so, as 3hrs+ of uninterrupted sleep was about all a "Hell Watch" member could hope for if he/she also wanted breakfast before starting in on Bosun's chores at 0830 and then going back on watch at 1200.
I dressed an hour ago in absolutely, totally, unquestionably clean clothes after a shower of sinful length. But the clothing was strange: jockies, undershirt, dress shirt, tie, trousers (long pants, for all love!) Then socks, shoes of an odd hue, cut and color. A strangely cut coat. I still felt naked and incomplete. Where was my rigging knife? How could I get through the next watch without my Leatherman on my belt (more on Leatherman envy and who has one that is longer in a later post.) My God! I couldn't find my drinking mug and it had been last washed only a day and a half ago. Without it I wouldn't be able to tell which meal was which. 'Twas a simple rule—If it was lemonade flavored coffee it had to be breakfast, whereas it was coffee flavored lemonade it was usually lunch. On that wonderful morning when it was beer flavored coffee it somehow made the memory of the dockside pubs a bit more vivid.
Driving into the office at speeds of 30 and 35MPH a few minutes ago seemed tame and dull when just two days ago I was hurtling down Long Island Sound at the wheel of a Frigate at an exhilarating 9 knots or so, under all sorts of sail—square, triangular and trapezoidal. I cannot remember when I had last gone so fast. It was all I could do to restrain from screaming out from the sheer joy of it, but under the watchful eye of the captain, the mate of the watch, my own AB mentor and hundreds of curious boaters, sail and motor alike (all edging dangerously close to get a better look a that intrepid helmsman) I dared not. Instead, I made it look like an everyday, normal affair. For 90+ glorious seconds I even managed to get the rudder, the sails, the keel, the strong wind and my ego all in proper (nay, perfect!) balance, and took my hands off the wheel and let all 500 tons of that magnificent, glorious, backbreaking 18th century technology continue proudly ahead in such a straight line that Jack Aubrey would have turned to Stephen and said "Yes, she is surely good on a bowline, better than any ship I know!" (You can bet, however, that I was certainly ready to get my hands back on that wheel in a split nanosecond had the Captain turned around. As it was my permanent crew mentor saw what I was doing, gave a big wink, gave a thumbs-up sign, and said not a word.)
I have already performed triage on the pile of mail that awaited me and I have listened to the telephone messages left despite my warning that I wouldn't be able to respond for various reasons until today. (Query? Should I call them back right now at 0600? After all, I am awake, alert and there is not a moment to be lost. On the other hand, I would probably just get their machines or voice mail.) I am about to peek—just peek, mind you—at the Gunroom and Searoom traffic which managed to go zipping about without me for the past week. I shall resist temptation to weigh right in, and shall instead just look for Emails concerning clients and business and other mundane matters. Perhaps tonight when I am off watch I shall make sure they are arranged in proper chronological order (in this the computer is usually -only usually mind you - better than wonderful, beautiful, but illogical Sophia) find my bit of personal, private space on deck, and read them. I did call the skipper who is desperate for crew for a long distance race that starts Saturday, and told him that with luck I might be able to make it. After all, I can hand, reef, splice and steer and thinking of not just one but many high speed, powerful winches instead of 4 Ibuprofen and/or Tylenol for dessert is almost equivalent to contemplating prize money. It will be strange, however, to be on just 30 feet of plastic.
I have so many thoughts about this past week they overpower the mind. I am going to try to sort them out and put them in some logical, readable order, but that certainly shall not be done today. My guess is that I will be making a series of posts to both the Gunroom and Searoom-L, and thereby committing what is a bit of the sin of double posting. (I found out that many friends frequent only one or the other, and I am incapable of trying to find two different ways of saying essentially the same thing. It is easy to tell that I am still more the sailor afloat than the lawyer ashore just yet.) I'm not too worried about the penance I might have to pay for said sin, as one of the things I did while aboard the Rose was tattoo the Catholic priest! Surely he will at least remember me in his prayers, and ask a small dispensation for "Young Jack Donohue." After Warren and John of the Other Watch I was undoubtedly the most senior in age amongst trainees and crew, and like many another sailors probably bored the younkers with tales of perfect grandchildren, etc.
Like many voyages whether by ox-cart, camel, airplane or ship, it is the happy return that makes them so special. It would be impossible to do proper justice to the sensations of ending that magical trip on The Rose, but let me give just a hint.
I experienced the sailor's dream. I was greeted in the flesh by the List Greeter Himself, met at dockside by Two Amiable Sluts, spent the night with them, and then flew home to a loving wife and children.
God—it was perfect.
Thus far this morning I have managed to forget my wallet, lock myself out of the house, struggle to remember the procedure for taking the top down on the car, and found myself thinking I was the overtaking vessel on the boulevard. I damn near got killed when I knew I had the right of way over a converging Buick. I am awash in a sea of anachronisms. Last week I was an anachronism asea in a beautiful ocean. It is going to take me awhile to straighten things out—assuming I really want to.
John Donohue
Evanston, IL - where the water has no salt in it, and the salt pours freely from the shaker. Miraculous!