I’ve done something awful. I’ve become involved in a creative endeavor that I now must complete. No, it’s not a deadline for one of my editor’s–it’s a creation from the depths of my soul, which I never intended for it to be.
When I first launched my boat and was charging to weather with a half rotten backstay, whispering to my boat “please don’t break,” I came up with a question. When I experienced malfunction after malfunction, hands bloodied and bruised, hours spent crawling in bilges and lockers, hands caked in paint and chemicals, I asked the question again.
Why do I do this shit for fun?
It kept coming up, my query. My boat was decommissioned for weeks. I bought and sold a succession of three engines before finding the right one. I fixed my rigging just in time for a gale. I rebuilt hatches. I took off hardware. I put it back on. I sewed tears in my sails. I took measurements. I ordered parts. And I’m not even done. Not even close.
I met other people in the same situation. Long, hot, arduous days spent working on boats. Sometimes for weeks, months, years. With their help I set out to answer what had been gnawing at me. Why go to sea?
I quickly realized, however, the question could not be answered here in my home port. I must find out. I must keep probing other sailors. I must not give up. I must go to sea.
My intended voyage from Lake Champlain to Cuba seems impossible. Thousands of miles through the Champlain Canal, Hudson River, Inter Coastal Waterway and Atlantic Ocean is the most ambitious thing I’ve ever thought of. My window of opportunity grows narrower each day as the season quickly passes.
If you enjoy my musings here on Dinghy Dreams, or you enjoy my film–please share it. If you feel compelled to forgo one more pint of brew to donate five bucks to my mission, I will send you a post card from Cuba and a copy of the film once complete.
In the meantime I’ll be selling my car, doing odd jobs and writing articles for local newspapers to fund this endeavor. I could probably spare a kidney, too, so no worries.