Pistol and Ball
“Some years ago – never mind how long precisely – having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off – then, I account it high time to get to the sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.”
Hey, Herm: I couldn’t have said it better myself.
I first discovered the watery part of the world in 1987, and on boats ranging from 30 to 70 feet, sailed back and forth a number of times from Los Angeles to the Baja peninsula and mainland Mexico. And in 1990 with two others, I sailed this 35 foot sloop from San Diego to Tahiti, via the Marquesas and the Tuamotus.
Here we are somewhere in the Pacific (on the left) and being pirated by a gang of gleeful Polynesian kids on Takaroa, an atoll in the Tuamotus.
One meets all sorts of people at anchor, on islands, and even in one’s own boat. And, apparently, it’s always been that way. Almost 300 years ago, Jonathan Swift described crew as:
“…fellows of desperate fortunes, forced to fly from the places of their birth, on account of their poverty or their crimes. Some were undone by lawsuits; others spent all they had in drinking, whoring, and gaming; others fled for treason; many for murder, theft, poisoning, robbery, perjury, forgery, coining false money, for committing rapes or sodomy, for flying from their colors, or deserting to the enemy, and most of them had broken prison; none of these durst return to their native countries for fear of being hanged, or of starving in a jail; and therefore were under a necessity of seeking a livelihood in other places.”
My own sins and shortcomings are modest compared to those of the crew Lemuel Gulliver was forced to sail with. (I have never coined false money or fled from my colors.) But at least a little bad karma must be floating around in my soul, or I somehow offended great King Neptune, because the last two times I set out to sea were marked by misadventure, mishap, and misery.
Fiasco 1 – in the Virgin Islands (NOT!)
Fiasco 2 – aground and clueless and barely afloat in the Bahamas, with teeth-gobbling conches