There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures.
William Shakespeare
Life continues to amaze me. This tide we are riding is constantly moving, shifting; sometimes seeming to be going in a good direction. Then, without warning, a storm will blow through and we are cast in a new direction. William Shakespeare must have been an amazing human being. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sit down with him and gain his insights into life. He seemed to know that life is a voyage and we need to ride whatever current is taking us at the moment and use its direction to the best of our advantage.
I sometimes feel as if I am never on steady sands. For instance, Dan and I finally agreed on our top choice for a boat, our new home for the next ten years. We have gone back and forth many times regarding boat features. We visited and walked aboard hundreds of boats, carefully examining each feature and analyzing what qualities would meet both our needs. After our sailing excursion with John Kretschmer, our ideas and priorities were solidified having spent extended time on the ocean. Per John’s list of top blue water sailboats, we set our sights on the Taswell 43. She is a gorgeous boat and the first one that both of us feel we could truly call home.
Since making the decision to pursue the Taswell, those shifting sands have surely given us a run for our money. For instance, 2 Taswells were available in California this spring. Since the Oakland Boat Show fit into the time frame of when we wanted to go look at the boats, we booked our tickets. We would visit the Taswell in Oakland while at the sailboat show, then fly down to Long Beach to look at the second Taswell. A day or two before our departure, Dan hit me with the news that both boats had been sold. Ouch! We still could enjoy the boat show and we would go to Long Beach and look at a Norseman, one of the other boats on our short list. As a backup plan, there was a more expensive Taswell available in Annapolis that we could look at when we got home from our trip. Even though it was out of our price range, we could still have the chance to go aboard and the opportunity to solidify our decision.
The Norseman we visited in Long Beach was an older boat. Dan loved many of its features, but I did not get a warm fuzzy feeling this boat was “home”. I was glad to arrive back in NJ and be able to look at the Taswell in Annapolis. As soon as he was able, Dan called the agent to book an appointment. Bad news again, the last Taswell for sale in the US had just been sold. Dan had one last lead for a Taswell in our price range, the bad news was that it was outside the US, located in Martinique. She had been for sale for over a year and was only one island away from where we were on our February sailing trip. Had we only known! The problem with going to look at a boat in Martinique is that the airfare is around $1000 and you can’t get there in one day. You have to fly into Miami the prior evening and then take the one early morning flight that goes to Martinique. This requires a minimum of 4 days of travel. Between our Feb. sailing trip and the Oakland trip, Dan was getting short on vacation days.
I always try to make connections regarding the direction life is taking me and if my path is the right one to follow. I’m a strong believer that even though those tides shift and change; there is a destiny in store for us. I know we have to persevere to achieve our goals and the struggle makes the completion of the journey that more sweet. I look for signs that I’m doing the right thing and I like to believe everything I have done in the past is a stepping stone to where I want to be in the future. My 20 years dedication to the sport of equestrian vaulting, was now playing a part in my plans for the future. Having decided that getting to Martinique any time soon was out of the question, and the last Taswell in our price range was there (only about 50 Taswell 43’s were built) I called on my vaulting connections. The mother of one of my students from many years ago was born on the island of Martinique. We had been good friends and have kept in touch over the years. I sent her an email asking, if by chance, she had any relatives still living in Martinique that might be able to look at a sailboat for us. I figured a person living on an island in the Caribbean surely had to have some knowledge of boats! Sure enough, she responded in a few hours telling me she had a son living there and his good buddy was a sailor. She felt sure he wouldn’t mind taking a look at our elusive Taswell. Dan and I were thrilled.
Our hopes soared. We looked into financing the boat and pending a good review from our buddies in Martinique, Dan would fly out and make an offer on the boat. I felt in my heart that we finally found our boat. After all, what were the chances that all these connections would come together in our favor? Two weeks went by and I was getting anxious to hear from our contacts. I sent another email off to my friend inquiring if her son had any news for us. She replied a day later that she was furious with her son for not acting sooner. She made him promise to schedule an appointment the following weekend. The week seemed to drag by. I checked my email about 10 times a day waiting for news. Finally, the message arrived with news about the boat. My fingers trembled as I got ready to click on the message. I clicked, I read, I cried. The boat had been sold. Dan and I both figured that since the boat had been for sale for over a year, there wouldn’t be anyone pounding on the door to buy it any time soon. We were dead wrong.
Last weekend found us in a familiar setting. We were in Bowleys Quarters visiting the Dove, getting her ready for her upcoming sailing season. Setting upon her spindly land legs, Dan was refinishing her bottom, making it pristine with a new coat of paint. I lovingly lavished every wood surface in her interior with lemon oil, making the wood gleam. I scrubbed her topside, dreary and yellowed after spending a winter under trees that dropped their leaves and pollen on her deck. I left Dan to his painting and set out on a contemplative walk down the pier to visit our empty slip and look for sailboats already out on the windy bay. I needed a lift. My heart ached as I was polishing the wood, my tears mixing with the lemon oil, knowing that soon we would be trading in the Dove for another love. This was the boat Dan had sailed on before we even met. It represented his past and time with his family. Dan proposed to me aboard this boat. It represented our shared love for one another and our love for the sea. Our children’s first taste of sailing was aboard the Dove. Each holiday we visited his parents, our kids couldn’t wait to take our evening cruise. They would laugh and ride the rails as she coursed through the Pamlico Sound, wind in their faces, the sound of their laughter mixing with the tune of the wind and the clinking of halyards. It is one of my favorite memories of our time together with our young family. The Dove continues to be our link to our future, allowing us time on the water, gaining experience sailing. It allows us to share our passion with friends and family. As I walked down the dock, I started questioning our path. Maybe the decision to leave all we have behind and take to the sea is a false hope. Maybe our dreams are pipe dreams and not getting the boat in Martinique was a sign. I was so sure that boat was meant to be ours.
I arrived after a long walk, at the end of the pier. I stared out at the glistening water. The surface of the bay was agitated and there was a strong wind blowing in from the East. I could only see one lone sailboat, struggling upwind. She bobbed uncertainly and was not making much progress. I knew at that moment just how she felt. The strong winds and currents sometimes make life very difficult. As I watched, she continued to fight, eventually tacked, and came about in a better direction to sail. Slowly, she adjusted her sails and began to pick up speed. I could see the waterline smooth out around her and instead of bobbing unsteadily she began working in a steady rhythm with the waves and began to course forward. I smiled, as I shielded my eyes from the blinding sun, watching her gain confidence and speed in the heavy wind. I sighed, and started to walk back down the pier. It was a long walk and I had time to think. My main concern with leaving my current life behind is that I have always felt as if my purpose has been to help others. I have been a teacher, a mother, a friend, and mostly, I have spent my time and energy helping dozens of kids learn confidence, physical and emotional skills through my horse program. Everyone involved in the program I have spent the past 20 years developing, tells me I can’t leave. “Don’t leave us”, they plead with me. My love for our Dove and guilt for leaving my life behind tugged on my heartstrings. Tears coursed down my face for the second time that day. Being early in the season, the docks were virtually deserted and only a few boats were tethered in their slips. I continued my walk, not caring I was crying publicly. There was no one to see me anyway. In my mind, I was trying to justify our decision to head out to sea for the next ten years. Were we just being selfish following our own dreams? Do my children still need me? What about everyone else in my life that I help on a constant basis? Then, the thought occurred to me. Maybe there is someone out there, in other parts of the world that needs the kindness of a stranger in some unforeseen circumstance. Maybe, like the sailboat I had just watched, I am just finding a new tack, a new direction, and that there are things planned for me I cannot yet see? I have read stories of people helping others out at sea, saving them from peril or assisting at a much needed moment. The concept was rumbling around in head when I heard a shout. An elderly gentleman was on the bow of his sailboat, nested in its slip. He was clearly in distress. I was the only soul around. I sprinted down the dock toward his waving arms, instantly dousing my own fears. He pointed to the water next to his boat and I could see a quickly sinking metal platform. He and his large Labrador retriever were alone on the boat, and the bridge that allowed them to walk between his boat and the dock, was quickly disappearing. The strong winds had evidently caused his boat to rock in its berth. When he went forward to tighten the lines and still the rocking, his only way back to the dock tipped into the water. He was frightened. I dropped to my belly reaching down as far as I could, but I couldn’t reach the platform. Its tenuous floating capacity was quickly diminishing and it threatened to sink or float away in seconds.
“Do you have a boat hook?” I yelled to the stranger. The dog barked, seeming to understand my request. The elderly man hurried back to the cockpit. In an agonizingly slow effort, he dug into the bench seat and pulled out a boat hook. Every second the platform drifted father away and a little deeper under the surface. Finally, he handed the hook off to me and I sprang into action. Lying on my belly on the dock, extending the boat hook to its full length, I was able to catch the corner of the platform and drag it back toward the boat. The waves and current fought me every inch, but soon I had the platform in reach of the boat. I knew I couldn’t hoist it up on my own, it was heavy and water laden. I held it steady and prayed the man had another boat hook on board. I asked him, and in a few moments he produced a second hook. Together, we fought waves and gravity. We rescued the rebellious platform and brought it dripping back to its place between the boat and dock.
Looking around at a deserted marina, the man simply stated, “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done had you not come along.”
I smiled at him, and said, “No, thank you,” and walked away.
I didn’t look back at him as I walked away. I bet if I had turned around, I would have seen him staring at me with a puzzled expression on his face, his retriever at his side smiling his doggy smile. He had solved the dilemma weighing heavily on my mind. Sailing away and following our dreams is not selfish. It is a change of course, a new adventure and there will always be human interaction and opportunities to provide help and assistant to others. It is the way I like to live my life, and that doesn’t have to change. William, in his infinite wisdom knew…”on such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures”. I may not be able to have a conversation with Mr. Shakespeare, but I will take to heart the wisdom of his words.