Afloat

Each waterfront has a distinct feel. Sitting here in the pilothouse looking out at the shoreline their differences became palpable. I conjure up the smell of a walk along the beach, a trek out to the end of a pier or a stroll through the harbor. It is the result of a lifetime of experience.

When I was a kid my father took me to Chicago’s lakefront. We looked at the boats and due to dad’s disarming charm, immediately entered into conversations with the captains. These are some of my fondest memories of him. Life was not as sophisticated back then. No electronic gadget kept people glued to a screen. Everyone was on the dock puttering around, doing this or that. They were ripe for a distraction, which my talkative father provided.

These excursions usually took place on warm summer afternoons except during smelting season. Then we would roam the harbor’s edge on cold spring nights. The fisherman kept warm by burning scraps of wood in 55-gallon drums. It was a colorful scene complete with nets, lanterns, and bundled up men huddled around fires drinking, smoking and gossiping.

When I got myself a big bike the first place I headed was the lakefront. I spent most of my summers there. I still do. Eventually I got off the shoreline and onto the water; this lead to my first encounters with seasickness. Every year I would go out sailing, get deadly ill and throw my guts up for a few hours. After that the rest of the season would usually be okay. I realized the sooner I got it over with the better.

Seasickness is a class of malady for which there is no definitive cure. Therefore there are millions of them. Well, I exaggerate; there are hundreds of thousands. None of which are very effective. Please believe me, I have tried them all: ginger, eating prior to sailing, eating afterwards, pretzels, electronic wrist bands, acupressure, Dramamine, meclizine, scopolamine, herbal oils, beer, looking at the horizon, never going below deck and in the most dire circumstances, prayer.

Thankfully with the passing decades my semi-circular canals have calmed down, so being afloat entails much less gastrointestinal drama. Now I have time to ponder other things like the feel of the wind blowing across the deck; sunrise and sunset; the gentle rocking that lulls me to sleep; the pride of a well executed passage. Separation from land provides space for inspiration and reflection.

These are the secret pleasures of the watery world. They are in plain sight and because of this difficult to comprehend. When someone walks to the edge and looks out on the water they sense it. It is the reason why pastel colored condos line every harbor. People instinctively want to be part of it, but it is illusive unless you are afloat. That is truth as I see, feel and know it.

Water is a tuff taskmaster. It is not forgiving. Flying of course is worse but boating is not far behind. I try to find the balance between finishing projects and still having the time to be on the water. Some years are a wash. I never catch up. But even in those years I am afloat and there is value in that.

My fellow harbor mates come and go to their preordained schedules. If I am around I wish them fair winds at their departure and provide them a hearty welcome when they return. We chitchat a bit and then go our way. Except for the few obligatory stories of hair-raising events or breakdowns, being afloat is a private matter.

There are a few great writers able to convey the experience. Some that come to mind are Hal Roth, William F. Buckley, Melville, Conrad, Lynn and Larry Pardey and Joshua Slocum; the first man to sail alone around the world. Download any of them to your Kindle and enjoy the journey.

Of course, they have been to many different shorelines and thus all have unique tales to tell. As I sit here their stories are also palpable. I can see the books lining my bookshelves, just begging to be cast off into another young impressionable mind.