Windshield Time

Taking on fuel in Southwest Harbor, MDI

Sunset in Seal Bay, Vinalhaven, ME

Sir Tugley Blue in twilight blue

J.O. Brown, North Haven, ME

I practiced chiropractic in Mt. Prospect, IL during the 1980’s. One of my patients was a fortyish male who resembled Falstaff as portrayed by Orson Wells. He was a Bell Telephone technician. His back suffered from poor physical conditioning and from long bouts of what he called “windshield time”.

It was the coveted time spent driving from one assignment to the next. He would fondly describe listening to the radio while snacking on the junk food of the day. Though it didn’t help his back, he was content to erred towards the sedentary aspects of the job.

Out on the water, chugging along at seven or eight knots with no obstructions for miles ahead makes me think of my windshield time. And though the distances covered are trivial in terms of ocean sailing, I ask myself if I covet the passages or not.

In the Great Lakes, it was common to cruise for 50 to 90 nautical miles at a time, and to have no land in sight for much of the trip. Most of the time there was only the occasional 1000 foot freighter to contend with, and they stuck close to the shipping lanes.

Once out on the lake and away from the shore with its gaggle of fishing boats, the autopilot would be set, and the feet would be kicked up. An occasional glance out the window and at the radar was enough to assure a safe passage.

Piloting Carrie Rose up and down the east coast of Canada and the USA requires a bit more concentration. Here in Canada and Maine there is the constant presence of lobster buoys, and variations in tidal currents and sea levels. It calls for an odd combination of alertness, and for the loss of a better description, spacing out.

It is difficult to maintain constant awareness. Even when focused, other tasks need to be attended to. Before altering my attention, I scan the horizon, review the chart and course, note the engine gauges, and make sure the autopilot is engaged. It sounds like a lot to do but it only takes a few seconds.

Despite these precautions, more times then not, something will require an immediate response. Of course, it helps to have Charlotte’s eagle eye stationed in the pilothouse.

I wonder about the inevitable story after every accident involving a behemoth ship’s crash of there being no one at watch. These stories seem to me to be disingenuous. It may be that the crew and its leadership is incompetent, but it is difficult to imagine leaving a hundred million dollar vessel to fend for itself.

My original intent was to write about how windshield time plays with the mind. How hours and hours of starring out the window, no matter how concentrated, allows the mind to catch up with itself. To sort out, in all the neuronal crevasses, the connections, past and present, that needs to be eliminated or filed.

When on Carrie Rose for a while it is usual for distant faux pas to appear out of nowhere. I have accustomed myself to disregard them for there is no resident psychotherapist on board. Happier moments also via for time in the mind’s eye, and occasionally there is a struggle between the light and dark side. May the best memory win out!

I in the meantime will keep my eyes pealed for the slightest hint of trouble out the windshield . . . no matter the time.

North Haven, Maine