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By Mitch Traphagen
traphagen@observernews.net
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| Sunsets such as this one made the cold, pain and expense worthwhile. Sailing Vessel Shadow Marie at anchor in Manhasset Bay, New York.
Mitch Traphagen Photos |
BLOCK ISLAND, RI -- I’m cold and exhausted. I’ve worked for the past 12 hours fueled entirely by desire, a stale donut and Diet Coke. The small parts of my hands that aren’t bloody are filthy. It is dark outside the boat and the wind is howling through the rigging -- made worse by the fact that the boat is on stands in a boatyard -- it can’t point to the wind, I have to suffer it from whatever direction it blows. I can hear the gusts coming seconds before they hit. The last thing I want to do is leave the sheltered confines of my cabin, climb down a ladder and make my way to a less-than-well-heated marina shower. But I have to -- I am disgusting even myself and I will need to clean up some before heading out to find dinner -- hopefully something will still be open.
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| Mitch and Michelle Traphagen at Block Island, RI. |
By most definitions of the word, I am miserable. The rub is, I paid good money to be here. And I am continuing to spend money daily at a staggering pace. Welcome to what some would call, “The Yachting Life.” My dream, if I can claim to have one, is to bring this boat back to a semblance of her former glory and then sail away from the bone-chilling wind of New England back to Florida. And then, hopefully, someday beyond.
My wife Michelle and I spent the first eight years of our lives together living aboard our 32-foot boat docked in Ruskin. From the deck of that boat we landed in new countries and met lifelong friends. Every day -- whether at the dock, on the hook, or at sea -- was an adventure. Eventually that boat turned into a bigger boat which turned into a horribly mistaken life on land. Over time, that house on land became another house that was as far from the ocean as could be imagined. Oh sure, you can get to the ocean from Iowa, but it isn’t necessarily easy.
Once I tasted the simple and wonderful life on board my own small boat, however, there was no going back. Yes, we had a house but I still needed my connection to whatever it is that lies over the horizon. Late last year, I made that connection with a small wad of cash and a neglected boat sitting on the north coast of Cape Cod. I bought the boat and then promptly left it in the boatyard for the winter.
Before I left I made up a list of the things I would absolutely need -- it was fairly long, due to the past neglect, but manageable. I would have five months to ensure I had the necessary funds.
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| Sunsets such as this one made the cold, pain and expense worthwhile. Sailing Vessel Shadow Marie at anchor in Manhasset Bay, New York. |
What I failed to calculate, however, was the cost of all the little things that make the bigger items possible. Hundreds of dollars were spent for electrical supplies, hundreds more for a new exhaust elbow and all of the parts that went with it. That list grew to be as long and expensive as my original list -- thus effectively doubling the budget.
By the time the boat was ready to launch I was so tired of spending money that I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it anymore. A new safety tether for $75? No way -- a good six-foot piece of line will work just as well. That attitude, of course, made me realize that safety gear should be the first thing purchased -- not the last. It should all be in place before spending fatigue sets in.
The to-do list continued to grow. In the process of fixing one thing, some other problem was invariably discovered. I was getting nowhere fast and running against the clock. In a short time my wife would be flying out to, theoretically, help sail the boat to the Chesapeake Bay. I was worried that I wouldn’t even be in the water by the time she landed – but I just made it with less than 20 hours to spare. I scrubbed my hands as best I could and tried to be presentable as I waited for her in the Providence, RI airport. After a month of living alone in the boatyard, it was great to see her – but I knew full well our plans of sailing anytime soon were in jeopardy.
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| Sailing Vessel Shadow Marie, finally afloat after more than a month of work in a Cape Cod boatyard. Marina employees said it was the first time they had ever seen the boat leave the marina. |
New and previously undiscovered problems continued to mount – the depth sounder didn’t work and then the transducer on the bottom of the hull appeared to be bad, the fresh water pump and then the water heater definitely were bad, the seawater pump on the engine was bad. Time – and Michelle’s two-week vacation – was slipping away. Finally, almost by surprise, the engine was running with no horrible signs of problems and there were people on the dock helping with our lines. We were underway at last.
Early spring weather is unstable in this land seemingly so close to the arctic. Cold, fog, steel-gray skies and heavy wind were the norm. Just as we landed at Block Island, RI, the realization sunk in that we would run out of time. Michelle would return home from here and I would continue on alone.
I have spent all of my money. When I ran out of my own money, I spent money owned by a bank somewhere. To a practical person, what I have just done is roughly equivalent to standing on the end of a pier tearing up $100 bills and throwing them into the water. I don’t believe, however, that I can be called a fool. I have never in my life laid claim to being practical. I have spent my money and am out here not so much for adventure, although surely that plays a role, but more importantly to get back on speaking terms with my soul.More often than not I have, like so many others, done what I needed to do rather than what I thought I should do. I took the path of convenience, ignoring the path of my heart. I mortgaged my soul in exchange for the accumulated junk that bears no signature whatsoever to my existence.
Waiting for Michelle’s ferry off the island and leading towards an intricate plan that would take her back to our home in Iowa, we chatted in the cold wind at an outdoor tourists café. Suddenly, too soon, she was on the ferry. I stood on the jetty and waved until it disappeared into the fog. I was almost afraid to turn around, fearing the emptiness I would see. I made the long walk back to the boat and returned to the now-unaccustomed quiet.
It echoed. The boat was so quiet it echoed. Memories of the commonplace of just a few hours ago were still there. The energy, the life was still there but now painfully out of reach. There was no one to talk to – no one to ask, “Hey what do you want to do now?”
Apparently, my soul, assuming it still exists, is not yet ready to talk. I am alone.
Coming up next week
Nothing cures loneliness like an engine fire. Also, sail along for a cruise along the skyscrapers of Manhattan.
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