Sailors and Wanabees

There are sailors and those that live the eternal dream of actually leaving the dock and not coming back. These dreamers are what is known as the 5 year plan, get the boat ready, get their personal affairs handled and leave. Of course almost all of these future cruisers are into the 8th year or even the 14th year of their five year plan. It is far more important to have the dream and work towards it as a goal than to not have a dream at all. In my years of living aboard I have found there are certain characteristics that are common among people who have been at sea in storms and it can be found in their boats, their lifeboats of sanity, but more importantly their homes. I found on my extended visits to the States that I really missed my home and was always happy to return to her.
In judging a sailing craft it's not how young she is or how big she is, every sailor knows it is how well she is maintained that is a measure of the skipper aboard her. This is especially true of docklines, and painters on your tender. Sailors see past the lipstick and judge a boat by her lines and how well she can perform and at what angle they can do it at. Every person who has owned a sea going craft develop a real sense of affection for their boat that many famous people have tried to explain. I felt it the strongest when she was showing me what she could do and that she could do it well, sails up and making 6.5 knots. She was like a dancer, doing her ballet on the water the rythym of nature's music playing in her ears.
Even now, crossing an empty bay in my dinghy to my boat, anchored and completely alone off a uninhabited island, and having that island to roam about freely is a dream I lived and I sometimes think my reality on things has taken a whole new meaning. It is impossible to not be changed by the experience. It is sobering to make a long passage on a boat you essentially did all the maintenance work on, including replacing all the rigging yourself and to know the whole while that even the smallest failure could lead to disaster. You think about that and a whole host of other possibilities that could befall you, but as scared as I was, I left and sailed to Florida. Any sailor that isn't scared is either inexperienced or lacks imagination. What is amazing is the worse part is the departure, once finally underway it subsides. Even in foul weather, except for the rare sudden rush of sdrenaline, you really are too busy to think about it and prove only too true.
I arranged for her haul out in a Florida boatyard where I buffed her big, wide, flat bottom and gave my attentions to some small blemishes here and there. It was foul, dirty work and seemed to go on forever. I am sure, without the least doubt that hell resembles a boatyard. 2 weeks later she was ready for the water, newly buffed and painted bottom, shiny topsides and new boot strip.

My Evening at the Lord Mayor's Banquet

I went to a banquet at the Lord Mayor of London's Mansion House as a guest of my dear friend Tony George who I traveled with through England, Sctland, Spain, Morocco and Gibraltar. When I entered the dining room a gentleman in a 17th Century frock, wig, silk stockings and tails, stamped the floor with a large standard and announced me, Mr Melvin Benoit. It seems my friend Douglas, a retired British Army Major, former commander of the Ghurka Rifles, a man on whom I had pinned his military ribbons to the lapel of his Tuxedo, with whom I became acquainted in St Thomas, USVI's, and with whom I had enjoyed a great evening of conversation in a very nice restaurant over a wonderful meal, got my name wrong so now all my mementos of that evening are under the name of Melvin.
We began the evening with cocktails at the Savoy, then, leaving their wives to fend for themselves at the Savoy, next to the theater district, we went our separate ways as this was a men's only function. I shared a cab with 3 retired British Army Majors for our trip to a small church next to the Tower of London that was first erected in 1100 AD and celebrated a mass given by the Archbishop of Canterbury. After the service we got on a private bus to Mansion House. The evening began with a Champagne reception, at which I was introduced to the Lord Major and several gentlemen who were all keen to ask me on my political opinions, I was obviously the first Republican from California they had ever met, I was amazed how many came up to me and said "here, here", I thought that stuff only happened in movies. As each course was served our wine glasses were taken away and the glass next to it refilled with the next pairing. I was seated next to a retired Professor of genetics and the London University. When he found out I was a Californian, we entered into what could be described as a very lively discussion. Across from me was a Irishman who owned a castle on a small island in the middle of a lake, but who lived in New Jersey and was involved with waste disposal. After the meal we did a "passing of the loving cup ceremony at which we would take the large silver chalice from the man facing us, take a sip , carefully wipe the rim, turn around and hand it to the man behind me who had turned to face me. Later that evening Douglas taught me how to drink good Scotch Malt and that is all I remember of the evening, awaking the next morning in his son's bed (who was out of town for christsakes!) with one of the worst hangovers of my life. Douglas had cooked a wonderful English breakfast and all I could handle was some hot coffee. I would suffer a far worse hangover anytime to share an evening in the company of so many fine men, even the retired professor about whom I could safely say doesn't care for Yanks too much anyway so my mocking his opinions, and using my best arrogant Yankee ways sarcastically laughed in his face all of which probably only reinforced his bias, especially for Republicans from California.