The Lock Keeper
I was halfway down the big, sandy hill that leads to the dinghy launch when my pager went off. I wasn’t on call, so I didn’t think too much about it. Besides, it was at the bottom of a waterproof bag in the hull of the small, plastic boat I was pulling behind me.
As I got to the water’s edge it went off again. I was just getting ready to row out to the Mermaid, when it started its beep, beep, beeping. I put down the oars and picked up my bag. I started fishing around and, after making my way past my scuba booties and mask, a bottle of water, my keys, and $3.75 in cash and coins, I found it, at the very bottom, tucked deep inside one of my boat shoes.
Mildly put off, I flipped up the screen and pressed the requisite buttons to check my messages. The screen glowed a pale blue as I waded through the menus. After a couple of deft button pushes I was greeted by two messages, both garbled beyond usefulness. There was no signal in the harbor. I tossed the beeper back into the bag, set up the oars and seat, and rowed my way out into the channel.
This is an apt metaphor for the boat in general. Once I cross the boundary between the sand and the surf, I am not longer defined by my every day life – I am the Captain. I am freed, at least a couple of hours, from my stable, pedestrian existence. In a moment I can raise the sails and set off on an adventure, or just lie on deck and have a beer. I can even take my life in my hands, challenging the capabilities of my boat and myself, if the notion strikes me.
The Mermaid is mine. My own private, floating island of Jim that no one else has a claim to. I am isolated, except for the occasional visit from my neighbo - what I believe to be a black egret - and the odd person waving from a passing boat.
I have no connection to the land, no phone reception, no pager service, and my only company is the steady, hypnotic drone of the marine radio - in and of itself a a mysterious symphony of nautical jargon and the occasional distress call. I don’t have to deal with anything, or anyone, unless I want to.
You can’t get to or visit the Island of Jim unless I invite you, and that makes the invitation so much more meaningful. I guess that is why the second voyage of the Maggie Mermaid meant more to me then the first.
I put he boat in the water about two weeks ago, over the course of a long weekend. It was a little bit of a fiasco, as I have never launched a boat before, or, for that matter, driven a pickup truck. I rented a big F250 from the local Ford dealer and Matt and I hooked up the trailer. Fortified with bagels and coffee we headed to the harbor, tracing our way through a winding maze of hills, blind turns, and hidden driveways. I have never towed anything before, much less a 20 foot boat, and I came very close to flipping it about 500 feet from my house.
Despite this inauspicious start I managed to get the boat to the ramp in once piece. It took literally 30 tries to back it into the water, during which time I garnered the ire of Mount Sinai’s entire commercial fishing fleet. The kid who worked at the docks assured me that they are generally pissed off at the world, but they looked enough like pirates for me to breathe a sigh of relief when the boat was safely tied to the dock and the truck parked.
I sent much of the next two day getting to know the boat in the water, an entirely more satisfying experience that simply sitting in the driveway. After my ignoble defeat the week before, I was becoming increasingly convinced that I wouldn’t live to see the day I actually got the Mermaid afloat. We even started to look at powerboats, at my wife’s encouragement.
The first voyage was a short one, under power, to the mouth of the harbor. The sails were raised, but there as an issue with the mainsail, so as soon as I cleared the jetty I turned around and headed back to my mooring. It seemed important to me that I make it into the Sound. I was underway for approximately half an hour, and the boat handled great. I was hoping for a little more speed from the engine, but I got a steady 7 knots, which is respectable. I learned a couple of weeks ago that a knot is 1.6 miles, so I got about 10 – 11 MPH.
The second voyage occurred about a week later, last Sunday, with my wife, daughter, and my son. My wife and daughter were busy all weekend, they had a bridal shower and dress fitting, and I spent most of two days watching my 4-month-old son. It was nice, and we really bonded, but at the same time I was lonely and bored. I spent all of Saturday playing the Godfather on X-box (I am an Under Boss of the Corleone Family now, so don’t screw with me), but I really wanted to be on the water and more then that I really wanted to hang out with my family.
Sunday started off miserable, both psychologically and weather-wise, and I ended up spending another lonely morning watching TV and dozing off. It was raining and the local news station was predicting thunderstorms. We had planned to go fishing that afternoon, but I wasn’t holding out much hope. My wife and daughter were late getting back from the dress fitting, and isn't exactly stellar parenting to take an infant out on a small boat in a storm. I was pretty bummed.
My wife got home around 1:30 and we hung around for an hour or so. We decided to try to go out, as much from a desire to not straighten up the house as any real enthusiasm.
Even as I put the dinghy on the roof of the car, no mean feat in and of itself, it was starting to drizzle. Our original plan was to head to West Marine and pick up a new radio, some fishing poles, and a new shackle for the boom vang. The boom vang is a bunch of rope and pulleys that attaches to the underside of the boom and the base of the mast. It is used to hold the boom down when the sail fills and provide to the proper twist to maximize lift. It is attached by two shackles, one of which Matt dropped overboard.
It was obvious that the weather was not going to hold, so we scrapped the fishing idea and decided to just cruise around. Gina took the kids to pick up drinks while I rowed out to the boat. As I was heading across the channel it started to pour.
By the time I reached to boat it had calmed down, and I saw Gina waiting on the dock. I started the engine and cruised over. Everyone hoped on board and we motored east toward the jetties at the mouth of the harbor. As we making our way to open water the clouds parted and the sun came out. It was the first time all weekend that the weather had cleared.
My daughter took the tiller and piloted us out of the channel as I raised the mainsail. We cruised around for about an hour and then put the bow up on a small beach. I set the anchor up on the dunes and my wife put down a blanket. She fed the baby while my daughter went swimming.
All it all it was a great afternoon on Jim Island. As I sailed back to my mooring, having dropped my family safely back on the shore, it occurred to me how lucky I was to have people to invite onto my little oasis. The option of simply sailing away, with no ties to the land, gives me a greater appreciation of what keeps me tethered to it. I heard a song once, by Stan Rogers, called Lock Keeper, I think the lyrics speak more eloquently then I can…
As I got to the water’s edge it went off again. I was just getting ready to row out to the Mermaid, when it started its beep, beep, beeping. I put down the oars and picked up my bag. I started fishing around and, after making my way past my scuba booties and mask, a bottle of water, my keys, and $3.75 in cash and coins, I found it, at the very bottom, tucked deep inside one of my boat shoes.
Mildly put off, I flipped up the screen and pressed the requisite buttons to check my messages. The screen glowed a pale blue as I waded through the menus. After a couple of deft button pushes I was greeted by two messages, both garbled beyond usefulness. There was no signal in the harbor. I tossed the beeper back into the bag, set up the oars and seat, and rowed my way out into the channel.
This is an apt metaphor for the boat in general. Once I cross the boundary between the sand and the surf, I am not longer defined by my every day life – I am the Captain. I am freed, at least a couple of hours, from my stable, pedestrian existence. In a moment I can raise the sails and set off on an adventure, or just lie on deck and have a beer. I can even take my life in my hands, challenging the capabilities of my boat and myself, if the notion strikes me.
The Mermaid is mine. My own private, floating island of Jim that no one else has a claim to. I am isolated, except for the occasional visit from my neighbo - what I believe to be a black egret - and the odd person waving from a passing boat.
I have no connection to the land, no phone reception, no pager service, and my only company is the steady, hypnotic drone of the marine radio - in and of itself a a mysterious symphony of nautical jargon and the occasional distress call. I don’t have to deal with anything, or anyone, unless I want to.
You can’t get to or visit the Island of Jim unless I invite you, and that makes the invitation so much more meaningful. I guess that is why the second voyage of the Maggie Mermaid meant more to me then the first.
I put he boat in the water about two weeks ago, over the course of a long weekend. It was a little bit of a fiasco, as I have never launched a boat before, or, for that matter, driven a pickup truck. I rented a big F250 from the local Ford dealer and Matt and I hooked up the trailer. Fortified with bagels and coffee we headed to the harbor, tracing our way through a winding maze of hills, blind turns, and hidden driveways. I have never towed anything before, much less a 20 foot boat, and I came very close to flipping it about 500 feet from my house.
Despite this inauspicious start I managed to get the boat to the ramp in once piece. It took literally 30 tries to back it into the water, during which time I garnered the ire of Mount Sinai’s entire commercial fishing fleet. The kid who worked at the docks assured me that they are generally pissed off at the world, but they looked enough like pirates for me to breathe a sigh of relief when the boat was safely tied to the dock and the truck parked.
I sent much of the next two day getting to know the boat in the water, an entirely more satisfying experience that simply sitting in the driveway. After my ignoble defeat the week before, I was becoming increasingly convinced that I wouldn’t live to see the day I actually got the Mermaid afloat. We even started to look at powerboats, at my wife’s encouragement.
The first voyage was a short one, under power, to the mouth of the harbor. The sails were raised, but there as an issue with the mainsail, so as soon as I cleared the jetty I turned around and headed back to my mooring. It seemed important to me that I make it into the Sound. I was underway for approximately half an hour, and the boat handled great. I was hoping for a little more speed from the engine, but I got a steady 7 knots, which is respectable. I learned a couple of weeks ago that a knot is 1.6 miles, so I got about 10 – 11 MPH.
The second voyage occurred about a week later, last Sunday, with my wife, daughter, and my son. My wife and daughter were busy all weekend, they had a bridal shower and dress fitting, and I spent most of two days watching my 4-month-old son. It was nice, and we really bonded, but at the same time I was lonely and bored. I spent all of Saturday playing the Godfather on X-box (I am an Under Boss of the Corleone Family now, so don’t screw with me), but I really wanted to be on the water and more then that I really wanted to hang out with my family.
Sunday started off miserable, both psychologically and weather-wise, and I ended up spending another lonely morning watching TV and dozing off. It was raining and the local news station was predicting thunderstorms. We had planned to go fishing that afternoon, but I wasn’t holding out much hope. My wife and daughter were late getting back from the dress fitting, and isn't exactly stellar parenting to take an infant out on a small boat in a storm. I was pretty bummed.
My wife got home around 1:30 and we hung around for an hour or so. We decided to try to go out, as much from a desire to not straighten up the house as any real enthusiasm.
Even as I put the dinghy on the roof of the car, no mean feat in and of itself, it was starting to drizzle. Our original plan was to head to West Marine and pick up a new radio, some fishing poles, and a new shackle for the boom vang. The boom vang is a bunch of rope and pulleys that attaches to the underside of the boom and the base of the mast. It is used to hold the boom down when the sail fills and provide to the proper twist to maximize lift. It is attached by two shackles, one of which Matt dropped overboard.
It was obvious that the weather was not going to hold, so we scrapped the fishing idea and decided to just cruise around. Gina took the kids to pick up drinks while I rowed out to the boat. As I was heading across the channel it started to pour.
By the time I reached to boat it had calmed down, and I saw Gina waiting on the dock. I started the engine and cruised over. Everyone hoped on board and we motored east toward the jetties at the mouth of the harbor. As we making our way to open water the clouds parted and the sun came out. It was the first time all weekend that the weather had cleared.
My daughter took the tiller and piloted us out of the channel as I raised the mainsail. We cruised around for about an hour and then put the bow up on a small beach. I set the anchor up on the dunes and my wife put down a blanket. She fed the baby while my daughter went swimming.
All it all it was a great afternoon on Jim Island. As I sailed back to my mooring, having dropped my family safely back on the shore, it occurred to me how lucky I was to have people to invite onto my little oasis. The option of simply sailing away, with no ties to the land, gives me a greater appreciation of what keeps me tethered to it. I heard a song once, by Stan Rogers, called Lock Keeper, I think the lyrics speak more eloquently then I can…
You say, "Well-met again, Lock-keeper!
We're laden even deeper that the time before, Oriental oils and tea brought down from Singapore."
As we wait for my lock to cycleI say, "My wife has given me a son."
"A son!" you cry,
"Is that all that you've done?"
-
She wears bougainvilla blossoms.
You pluck 'em from her hair and toss 'em in the tide,
Sweep her in your arms and carry her inside.
Her sighs catch on your shoulder; Her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser through her tears
And I say, "How could you stand to leave her for a year?"
-
"Then come with me" you say, "to where the Southern CrossRides high upon your shoulder."
"Come with me!" you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older,
While your blood runs colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetterAnd with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.
-
Sure I'm stuck here on the Seaway, While you compensate for leeway through the Trades;
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made.
And you laugh at hearts you've riven,
But which of these has given us more love of life?
You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife?
-
"Then come with me" you say, "to where the Southern Cross rides high upon your shoulder."
"Ah come with me!" you cry,
"Each day you tend this lock, you're one day older,
While your blood runs colder."
But that anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your life for one hour of home.
Ah your anchor chain's a fetter
And with it you are tethered to the foam,
And I wouldn't trade your whole life for just one hour of home.
I know this entry was a little long, mea culpa; there was a lot to tell…
PS: When I finally checked my pager again, it had twelve messages. I didn’t hear any of them, the bag was in the cabin and the wind and the waves are loud…
posted by PirateDad at 9:58 PM
4 Comments:
Very pretty site! Keep working. thnx!
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I really enjoyed looking at your site, I found it very helpful indeed, keep up the good work.
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stone fireplace - is my site and i'm trying to get newer ideas on layout and i'm thinking of going to blog alone and not a 'normal' site. Bookmark added for future reference, thanks.
Argument from morality
Determinists argue that this is a fallacious appeal to consequences, that the factual or logical truth of the matter is entirely independent of whether that truth is perceived as beneficial. The presumed social utility of ideas of crime and justice should not be permitted, they argue, to override questions of truth.
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