10/30/2012

I have found that in moments of crisis I look at things in a very unrealistic way. Let’s take right now for an example, I am sitting at the kitchen table looking out the window thinking how cool it must be to live in Venice, realizing that there is something so inviting (and chic)about stairs that lead directly into the water. I imagine guests pulling up in their little boats gracefully stepping on to your step to make their entrance to your gala, your annual mascaraed, or your spouse’s birthday. What would I wear? The thumping sound of the Black hawk helicopter in the background flying just above the water looking for people in need, bodies or whatever else is out there is only slightly injecting my senses with sobriety or maybe it was that last sip of yesterday’s cold coffee that’s trying to give me that final call to reality. Without a doubt I am in shock, we all are in shock and with that what will this day unfold? Stuck in the house which is now its own island, looking at steps that use to lead to docks or land fade into the water.  

I keep getting asked what it is like to take a direct hit from a hurricane. A huge crash of wind and rain comes hammering down and flattening everything in its way… well that is how I have always thought it would be but in truth it’s a slow thing and almost unbelievable thing. To see water slowly rise higher and higher soon filling the garage, soccer balls, boxes and once valuable items instantly ruined to trash, floating everywhere. It starts with a small puddle appearing and in a few minutes there is an inch of water in the room, then a foot, you step in it its cold, your cold, but what do you do? Your house that was once on the water is now a part of the water.  Oh sure it is loud, the wind violent, the rain hitting the house like 100 drummers randomly beating their sticks on the wall, weird creaks, the sound of things ramming the house indicated by some distant thud two walls over that after a while goes unnoticed. In the end everything you own is now trash. But mainly what gets you is you. Your own fears your own fatigue. You have to really fight the urge to not entertain the thought of tsunami waves, the wind ripping the roof off or worse….After all, fear doesn’t lead to good decision or situational awareness. The aftermath is actually worse. I and everyone around me is constantly fighting off depression. Interestingly I have no self-motivation, no one does, just the motivation to help others, where in we all find the power to start the cleanup.

 It’s interesting to see devastation 2nd hand, on a tv, the internet or by word of mouth and as an outsider it is really hard to absorb what’s really happening since the concepts of what is happening cannot be linked to anything in most of our minds. I think my response to Katrina was…waaaoooo… that suuucks, looks like I won’t be going to Mardi Gras this year. ---Pause, now break. ---and I kept going with my day to day. But when the world all-around you is crumbling, suddenly things like the World Series, Cartier and your lovers quarrels seem pointless leaving me with a level of guilt for every time I celebrated or mindlessly took everything for granted  while others  suffered. I know that one cannot and should not take on to much of the world’s problems, but it is healthy to sit and reflect about what’s important, what you are thankful for and to not take things like Haiti,  the conflicts in the middle east, drug wars, starvation, human rights violations or any other of man’s unnecessary quests for power and control as something that has nothing to do with you.  After all if we lived in the Gaza Strip our houses would have a hurricane called a tractor tearing them down.

Mantoloking NJ

Moving a boat out of the street so we can get by.

A wind is a blowing

Some people simply know how to live. Rich or poor they will always carve out lifestyle. I have always admired these peoples artistic ability and their sense and uncanny ability to always select the right foods, music and mood. This last week has finds me on land still at the Goldenberg’s soaking in that lifestyle, with my world class hosts and catching up on laundry, writing, working on the boat and resting, Mainly I am still here to wait out the epidemic hurricane that is fast approaching.

Relaxing while on a troll

It’s been an interesting week experiencing the Jersey culture which is more redneck and tough guy than I thought. I have always felt that one should be a bit suspect of a culture where no one uses their real name and everyone uses an alias which is reflective of whom they really are. My week has been filled with characters like puffy, who smokes too much, Fatter than me, who is, well, fatter than me or Jewie Soprano, lovingly given to the tough guy from somewhere others than here. Naturally I was given a nickname day one which has stuck and is ironically dead on; Hemmingway. “Yos! Hemmingways” screams Moose from across the docks,” yous wansta go fishin, haw Hemmingway?” Apparently I broke a curse that had been on the boat and am seen as having a lot of Moxie (aka balls). Which has now gone as far as someone wanting me “ with all my luck to lay their roulette chips for them in Atlantic City. Making no jokes this is Jersey and I am aware that if I was lucky with his finances I would get a cut and never leave but if I were unlucky…well there are places for people like me. Just ask Jimmy Hoffa or Vincent Mangano.

The sun was just right this morning, the air felt so soft  as we sat on the back patio overlooking the water sipping bittersweet espresso and feeding on poached eggs, polenta and sausage. As we sat talked and laughed an interesting feeling struck me leaving me knowing that destruction was coming but continuing to live in harmony somewhat naive like the Parisian aristocrats had who popped champagne and continued to throw parties as the Germans marched in. Ultimately what can you do, you can’t run from nature and at a certain point after preparation all you can do accept it and pray.  We are predicted to take a direct hit.

Manhattan Transfer                                                                                                                              

Like a little frog leaping onto a leaf and riding it down stream, spinning its way through the currents, rips and eddies was my ride down the east river. After two days of storms the weather broke allowing me to pull the anchor at 10:30 pm in order to make the midnight tide at Hell Gate. As I entered the river I was greeted by barges, tugs and ships moving in all directions. Panic stuck me as I closely passed between two moving barges, I would have turned back but had no choice the fast moving current had its teeth in me, like it or not, I was committed, headed toward Harlem, the east river had me now. Soon I found myself alone being careful to avoid the hundreds of years of sunken ship, barges, the rocks sticking up from nowhere, and the shallows outside of the channel.  As I rounded the bend at the Triborough Bridge I was grabbed by the surge from the Harlem River pulling the boat with such force I almost went over the side, watching my speed double I was headed toward the gate, fog moving in and wind beginning to blow. I kept thinking please don’t be any ships in the gate I can’t fight the tide; I can’t stop, or control the flow. And like that I found myself making the turn, the boat slipping sideways in the current, I couldn’t steer, I couldn’t see the fog was too thick. I was now being pushed to the head of Roosevelt Island. Hitting the power the boat sputtering forward into the mist, in the distance I could see a slight reflection of from the cars racing down FDR drive, I could now overwhelmingly  feel one of the strongest currents in the worlds, one of the best currents; the pulse of Manhattan. Mesmerized by the mystique of the fog smoking city now broken by an ocean going tug breaking through the clouds, waves tumbling from its bow, coming right at me, I pushing on the tiller hard to starboard, I once again was on the leaf.

From Roosevelt Island to the tip of Manhattan I felt like I was living history, a movie and seeing something in a way rarely seen. Bridge after magnificent bridge and 3 ½ hours at the helm I now slipped past the battery clearing Manhattan knowing that I was living a moment I would never forget. High from the ride, my legs started to shake the Statue of Liberty fading from my vision fast in the fog and by the time I cleared Governors Island I could no longer see 100ft, the light or lady liberty; Manhattan a distant memory. I took this trip for the adventure, I took this trip to really feel life and now I found myself in the middle of New York Harbor, alone, in the thickest soup, blind, racing in the outbound tide, in one of the busiest harbors in the world a little frog among one million pound iron goliaths moving all around. In the distance I could hear their giant motors rattling the water, their house size propellers churning at the water. I kept waiting for a freighter bow to break through the clouds, gasping my last breath, breaking my little leaf. I hugged as close to shore as I thought I could get in the dark to get out of their paths.

Soon I found myself approaching the Verrazano Bridge one of the largest expansion bridges in the world which marks the entrance of NY harbor at the narrows. A pillar seen from NJ to NY and within less than a quarter mile I couldn’t see it. Carefully lining myself up in the channel to miss its bases, I made my run for Sandy Hook NJ the sky turning clear and in an instant I could see. In the channel in front of me were ships of all sizes impatiently waiting for the harbor to become clear before entering. As I moved forward the fog kept pace behind me, never pulling away, never getting closer. Once again fear sleazed a hold as the fog horn poured from deep within the bowls of a rusty freighter hiding behind the cloak of fog behind me. Its sound rattling my spleen, I could feel the blood start to pump, I knew that in any minute he would be on me. Setting a course between a reef and the channel I safely moved to the side and watched him appear from the mist. Out of the way and now being tossed in a horrifically rough ocean, unable to even stand at the helm, broken now, I refused to stop I was going another 18 miles to the Jersey Shore.  Four hours later I found myself at the breaking inlet to let me into the protected water beyond, I surfing my way into the inlet, I was now safe. That afternoon after tying up to the Goldenberg’s dock, I stood on the ground for the first time in days still feeling the ocean rolling under me. The only thing missing: Theme Music.

People keep asking me how I can do this alone and all I can say is, “I can’t!” In our modern world we are taught and at times believe that we really rule our worlds, can do it alone and are immortal. I want to thank Earl, for sitting up most of the night as my co-pilot on the river, until my phone died in Manhattan. Without him walking me through the gate with his firsthand knowledge it would have been tough. Thanks to Adam for guiding through the breaking inlet into New Jersey and all the countless emails, text message and face book encouragement from all my family and friends. It reminds me of something I heard my uncle say recently. “If you want to see how you will turn out in life, look at your friends”. Pick them wisely, take care of them…no one is an island.

Start Here

Traveling by boat can be difficult. It’s a fine balance of daylight, tides, currents, wave direction, wave height, the distance you are able to travel in a set period of time and of course that thing called wind. Unlike a car you can’t just stop it where ever you want and rest, which can make it difficult at times to get where you are going, but there within lies the challenge of sailing. This last week of sailing has been very challenging as I have been traveling some difficult waters with gale force winds and very strong currents. This week the ocean has punished me, pushing me, to see what I am made of. I have had some crazy experiences, nights without sleep, extreme weather and in the end for every blow and beating I have been dealt, I have been given an equal reward.

   As I crossed past Cuttyhunk Island (google) I was now exposed to the open North Atlantic in a full gale, the wave heights were well over my height as I stood in the cockpit, strapped in to keep from washing off the boat, I battled the waves off my rear quarter rolling the boat all the way onto its side before righting itself. I could have changed course and ran into Newport RI (a much easier sea motion) but I wanted Block Island, I needed to shake out my land legs, test the boat and sharpen my sea skills before heading out in to the open Atlantic 1200 miles to PR. As I got closer to the island the water got more turbulent, the wind stronger, spray sprayed like bullets from a machine gun and I just screamed. I wanted Block and I was going to get there. My screaming was soon silenced by a dropping in the sky, rain poured down on me like gravel. Down it came, down it came, I couldn’t see anything and like that it stopped, the clouds pulling away like a changing of a theatrical set, the sun came out. Although the swells were still mountains they were now smooth and the ocean was like glass, the rain with all its might flattened the sea. In the short distance I could see the green rolling hills of Block Island, its sandy shores and the harbor.  Like an Irish afternoon I ghosted in, waving at people fishing on the shore who waved me hello. The felling of inner strength, of accomplishment and joy filled my body. I was no longer tired, no longer in the sea; I was home for the night.

I couldn’t be happier with the performance the boat.

The harbor in Block is a pond in the center of the island, with good protection from the waves but its bottom is poor for holding on anchor. When I lay my head down that night it was soft and beautiful but I knew that the winds were coming. Out like a light and 2 seconds later awoke to the rigging whistling a high tune in the wind, I felt the boat moving my powerful anchor having no effect on the bottom in these high winds, I was skating across the harbor, heading towards the shore. I dashed on deck needing to pull up the anchor and move to a better position, I ran to the bow but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t pull in the anchor. In the blackness of the night I could just make out the advancing shore. I grabbed the anchor line and ran with it to the cockpit throwing it around one of the big winches, started the motor and moved forward steering with my legs and pulling with both hands as the boat advanced. Wham I was hit by a wall of wind like a truck nocking me down and tearing the anchor line out of my hands with so much force it peeled the skin off my thumb, finding myself once again heading to the shore.  I grabbed the line again deafly cursing at the wind “ You mother ……” and repeated the process until I felt the anchor break free and I started pulling as fast as I could, my arms burning, still screaming I got it in. I kept thinking “cross fit has nothing on me”. Two hours later I got the boat safely bedded down again with good holding. I awoke to the most perfect morning and day of sailing imaginable. I earned my sleep that night.

Pulling into Mystic gave me a childlike feeling of newness with its little homes along a tight channel, surreal sunlight, calm water. It was a place I knew I could stay forever. That day I rode my bike around town, went to the market, carefully selected my produce, cheese and bread. As I rode back to the boat along the railroad tracks, hundreds of birds sitting above me on a wire, the cloudy sky, it hit me. I now live where ever I am.

Today I find myself tied up to a dock in front of someone’s home in Westport, CT.  Last night I pulled into Westport, an unplanned stop but much needed since I ran out of favorable winds, current and day light. A gale would becoming sometime in the night and I needed a safe place to be. I motored up the little channel passing working tugs, small row boats and a fleet of sail boats second to none. By the time I got to the bridge at the top of the channel I had seen nothing, no places to anchor, no empty slips, nowhere to hang my hat. In defeat turned the boat around and said “you are just going to have to deal with the sea until you can make the next harbor.” A feeling of tiredness came over me, I was vulnerable as I mentally tried to gear myself up for the next 6 hours to Bridgeport when a man yelled from a dock in front of a little house “hey do you need a place to stay for the night?”….he helped me tie up, said this was his “boat house” and his boats had been pulled for the season. “Stay as long as you need, there is a storm coming, the place is unlocked, there is beer in the fridge, feel free to use the shower, maybe I will see you tomorrow”. I had few words, thank you really, that was about it, I didn’t know what to say. “My name is Tom, you are doing something that I have always wanted to do, I am glad I could help.” and he pulled away in a little boat.  I stood on the dock with just my thoughts for a while. In life, we build a protection around ourselves to the point where we no longer need or allow the opportunity for blessings. On a trip like this I have no such protections…I have been blessed more times in the last week than in the last 10 years. I went inside my boat, closed it tight from the cold night, lit a few candles, turned on some good jazz, sipped some wine and made a great dinner. The food never tasted so good.