As I have tried to fix my week aboard The Rose by writing this series of rather impressionistic essays on occasion I have made reference to other sailing experiences, fellow crew and skippers. Reading my tale of the abundance of electricity aboard The Rose, and the reasons for my awe thereof, my wife looked up and said, "Why, you are talking about XXX YYYY!" As usual, she was right. While the incidents described were true, (or perhaps only slightly altered either to protect the guilty or to emphasize a point) they do not give a full and fair picture of any of the individuals involved. Before I go any further in the saga I must set the record straight, and lay the groundwork for future reading.
I came to sailing comparatively late in life, and did not grow up with tiller and sheet in hand. While we all may make slightly scornful remarks about fiberglass, it is that miraculous material (along with dacron sails) which made sailing accessible to the vast majority of the populace—definitely including me. Yes, I had read CS Forester and his pale imitators since I was almost able to read, and yes, I would slow down whenever driving by even moored sailboats. But with the exception of one rather hilarious/disastrous attempt in Okinawa, where tide, wind and incompetence were rapidly taking me straight to Red China aboard a Sailfish, I had never really sailed a boat.
A week at our YMCA's family camp session when I was in my 30's turned my life around vis-a-vis sailing, as well as many other things. Starting with the bearded and pony-tailed college freshman who patiently drew diagrams in the sand, explained terms and concepts, and who casually remarked "try not to jibe, because it could give you bad Karma for the whole day," a long line of outstanding men and women have enriched my life by helping me grow out of successive skins of ignorance. I can truly say, and indeed did so again just the other night after a bit of a fiasco - to which I had made my own contribution - that I have never sailed on any boat, or with any skipper, without learning something new. Each voyage, for whatever length or purpose and with sailors young or old, reveals a new or different way of doing something aboard.
Some of those sailors have, of course, been of far greater influence. A very select few, by varying combinations of competence, seamanship (well, lakemanship anyway,) patience, leadership and teaching abilities stand especially tall. In their individual ways they set high standards of sportsmanship, maintenance, boat handling and general sailing philosophies which not only guide my own observations and reactions whenever I board a new or familiar boat, but which also at times have made me—usually—bite my tongue just before saying aloud "We did it a different (and better) way aboard BBBBBBB." But even these exemplars had chinks in their armor, or were, like the rest of us, subject to the foibles and imperfections of humanity. If someone reading these essays thinks they recognize the hero or goat of a tale of my prior experiences, they are probably correct. But they should keep in mind that I cite the incident because of its humor or contrast, and that I shall always recognize that I really owe the person gently skewered a debt I can never repay.
Since I cannot pay back in full, particularly in a coin or realm in which those persons are more generously endowed than I, a different way of doing so must be found. One way is to try to pass on the same joy, love and respect for sailing to the kids and adults I now teach up at that same Y Camp that others gave to me.
Tomorrow I'll get back to The Rose and my experiences aboard her. After reading Doug Faunt's analysis of the battery power voltage aboard The Rose I am sure glad that I didn't find a 12v fan! I can also testify to the location of the berthing compartments right above the bilges, as when I reported aboard and went to stow my gear my feet got wet in "A" compartment! They were still pumping out from the infamous Bermuda Return.