In a future blog that I will title: Bow ties and those
chasing the debutant dream, I will explore Charleston in more depth. A
fantastic city and my Santa Barbara of the East, which was tough for me to
leave but I knew I had to before the mayor resigned and handed me his keys to
the “holy city”. With keys to those gates I would have been stuck there
forever. First off the combined good bye lunches, dinners and parties seemed to
be a week long thanks to my new BFF and fellow Charleston transient Amanda who
sailed in from Bar Harbor Maine, had spent a few weeks and was jumping on a
plane to Bangkok sometime in the same week. The city rolled it all out for us
in ways I have never seen. Everyone said it was southern hospitality…well ok
then, you talked me into it, I will come back again someday and stay forever.
The reality is I have to coe back since I don’t have my Bill Murray story yet.
What? Yep I spent a month and don’t have a Bill story. All self-respecting
Charlestonians have a Bill Murray story. Apparently he lives south of Broad,
can be found most days standing in his drive way smoking cigarettes while on
the phone or as the maniac parent at any of his kids soccer games. (He
surprisingly seems to hold even more status with the locals than Steven
Colbert. I met a college professor who just moved to the neighborhood, was
having a bad morning, got pissed at a clueless driver and when the car pulled
into a nearby drive way he stopped rolled down his window gave the driver a
“few pointers”. To his surprise Bill Murray got out of the car and has been
trying to get my friend to go to anger management classes ever since. Its been
two years the professor says, “even if I
run into Bill while walking my dog, Bill will remind me of my hidden anger
issues while crossing the street to get away.” Or there was the story of the
guy who came out of a restaurant to find that his brand new Mercedes had been
involved in a hit and run, standing in despair the man heard a voice from
behind say “I just witnessed a bus hit your car”. The man turned around to find
Bill Murray standing there. I won’t get into the whole story but they ended up
on a wild goose chase down town in order to track down the bus that hit the
guys car. When they finally caught up to the bus the driver who was unaware
that he hit the car hesitant to stop because he thought it was a joke that Bill
Murray jumped in front of oncoming traffic in Market Street to try to stop his bus.
Somewhere between
King st and East Bay I caught that nasty east coast flu epidemic which forced
me for days to stay in bed, only getting up once a night to go to Salty Mikes
for my “last cheeseburger and tots” before I left because I was bound and
determined to leave the next day….in the morning I would awake cough up a lung
and go back to sleep. As Sunday approached I knew that I would be in spirits to
leave, the weather was looking right and said my final, final, final good byes.
That morning I woke to a thick fog, rolled my eyes and went back to bed, waking
3 hours later to find that it had not lifted and fell again back to
sleep…suddenly I heard a banging on the hull “ James get up the fog has lifted
you need to go before you miss the tide” Thanks Ted (another Torontonian whom I
have mutual friends with…such a small world) I fired up the motor, Ted helped
me with the lines and I headed down the river to exit the harbor only to find
the harbor entrance fogged in by a wall of smoke. As I drew near a Coast Guard turned
and stared coming at me at ramming speed, lights blaring…”Jeeezzz what is with
this town, first they weren’t going to let me in and now they are not going to
let me out.” Nearly T-bone-ing me the cutter made a hard stop, the deck officer
stepped out looked down at me and sternly asked me to wait before I squeezed
through the narrow channel as there were 4 1000ft ships blindly coming in back
to back. A man standing behind a 50 cal machine gun can be very persuasive as
well as my AIS alarm was going off like a midnight slot in the middle of some
cheap lonely casino in Pahrump Nevada. It was really cool waiting in the clear
sunshine watching the wall of fog then suddenly seeing the bow of a freighter
break through like an angry bird into the clear, patches of cloud still stuck
to its face, like mustaches and eye brows. Finally as the last ship rolled in,
the fog was lifting slightly and I could see why the coast guard was so
uptight. A cargo ship had run aground on the other side of the channel. Sailing
out was a deeply sweet feeling as I was ready for the voyage, which is
important, sailing 1600 miles alone is not something to be taken lightly and
something that was thoroughly tested 2 days later when a front rolled through
bringing in a rough 24 hrs. I was cooking lunch when I got the initial report,
40 kts of wind which I was ok with, 20 ft seas not my fav but ok. Then NOAA followed up stating that 20 ft was the average and that some
waves would be 2x that size, 40 ft…now that’s a game changer. I spent about an
hour or so thinking about my storm tactic made all my prep and moves early and
when it came impossible out, I sat in the cockpit feeling like I was sitting in the back of a truck going
through a Buffalo car wash, waves breaking over the bow, lashed in, wearing only
my swim trunks and harness. Slowly I counted to 3 and coolly brought the boat
up into the wind to face the monsters in front of me, jumped on deck and back
filled the jib, set the main( I actually had to shake out a reef to get the
sail area to hold the boat) and laid hard on the tiller. Like Jesus raising his
hands to the sea, Chappy went to a dead stop, perfectly cradled up to the waves
(Sailor note: about a .4 nmile drift)(Non-sailor note: laying a hull is kind of
like putting a boat into whats called irons. In this case, by conflicting the
wind direction with the forward sail and the main sail in combination with the
tiller to offset to the wave direction, the opposing forces counter act each
other stopping the boat. This action DRAMATICLY calms the boat down and is very
safe) . After laying a hull I sipped tea from my bunk, played mindless games on
my Ipad and listened to the boat get hammered by the surf like a kid stuffed in
a metal trash can by bullies, rolled down a rocky hill, while they run along
smashing the shit out of it with baseball bats. The boat shook so hard after
being hit by two conflicting waves that it knocked my bow lights out of the
socket. But all night Chappy held fast and strong. Although small and lacking
in some creature comforts there is one thing I can count on…Chappy is one of
the toughest boats out here, whom, theoretically I knew could take it with no
issues but doing it is another thing.Like most of life peace of mind at sea is
way more important than the novelties, besides the boat wasn’t the issue and maybe
I should rewrite and say, I was concerned whether or not I could take it? Could
I stay awake, clear in whit and have the burst of energy to handle whatever
when it all goes wrong? Because there is always a time when it does and it
takes everything you got. Anyone who has been here knows that the trash can is
a really good analogy, you can’t sleep, you can’t stop the noise, the feeling
of the boat falling off the waves all in the darkness, water finding its way
into every corner (even opening the hatch, which you have to do, for just long
enough to step out coats everything in salt). Around 3 am the AIS alarm went
off due to an approaching ship on a collision course, calling him up I let him
know that I was not underway and wanted to know what the current wind speed was
as I had no way of knowing; everything and I mean everything on top of the mast
blew or shook off ,lights, windex, antenas…etc (which doubly sucks because I
just replaced it after Hurricane Sandy). I am glad I installed a second antenna
for the AIS/VHF. The wind was now sustained over 50mph with gusts. As official
and captain-ish as I tried to sound over the radio I know the captain knew I
was a bit freaked out. When the front passed a day later there was some damage,
some things missing, but all really small stuff, I got the boat fixed up and
sailed on in the most brilliant weather you will ever find. Sometime in the
following night I woke and went on deck seeing something I have never seen
before; Stars thickly sprinkled from the edge of the water to the other edge of
the water, true horizon to horizon. I was suddenly standing in space. With a
rebel yell I pulled her in close to the wind, grabbed the jack lines like
reigns, bounding over the water I rode the boat into the nights sky like Alan
Sheppard on Apollo 14.
Its approaching noon, the sun is windlessly hot. Not like the warming South Carolina sun, its
piercing like the tropics. Apparently I have crossed a line somewhere. I toss a
canvas bucket over the side into the azul-ish~blanca water, the kind you only
find in the middle of an ocean. It looks so nice that I have to fight a deep urge
to not climb onto the cabin top to do a back flip in…..3-2-1 and I see myself
now in the water, the boat drifting away from me faster than I can swim….1-2-3.
We will put that one on top of my dumbest ideas list, although still not
topping my decision to ride my bike down Suicide Hill when I was 7 with no
brakes. That one still tops the list because I actually did it, still have the
bump in my bone where it broke and a few scars for road stories. Instead I settle for the bucket, dumping it
over my head, the 79*f water is amazing,
dumping bucket after bucket, over and over again finding myself yelling with
happiness every time the water hits me, like a kid playing in sprinklers.
Grabbing some soap I start to scrub myself clean staring out into the vast
blueness. I have the best shower in the world, the purest water and a warm sky.
When I am done I dry my face, put on only my sunglasses and stand on the foredeck
sipping the first coffee I have had in over 2 weeks letting myself dry in the
sun. I feel really, really good. Suddenly something startles my brain and I
turn around to see if a cruise ship has snuck up on me in the last 5 min.,
envisioning its passengers standing on the side watching me hang out, waving “”C’est
bon” voyage” for sure, throwing streamers at me like if they were on some sort
of liberty ship home from Europe. Don’t get me wrong if a ship got the drop on
me it wasn’t like I would go run and hide. I just wanted to make sure that if
it did happen I was showing my best side. This is a great example of how
this much solitude can make ones brain go sideways; knowingly aware that this
would happen and amused in how it has happened. Some days I just have to laugh
at my thoughts and the words that come out of my mouth wondering where the root
of it all is coming from. The cool thing is that with all this time you are also
able look at all your sane thoughts and previous actions the same way……alone
with no distractions the ocean pushes you to your roots. These miles have become
very much a personal journey with so much time to read, reflect, think forward,
and think backward. There are no distractions or competing priorities. My
mornings are not crammed with a quick coffee and maybe some toast. I get to
cook my breakfast, sip my tea, listen to music, lay my day out in my head,
close out the day before. Afternoons I stand on deck for hours looking into the
vastness, the cloud filled sky. There are no birds out here, I am way to far
from land. Usually in the morning hours while lying in the cockpit, looking
out, one foot hung dangerously lazy close to the edge of the water, I will see
hundreds of flying fish emerge from a wave and fly across the water a good
distance and as fast as they came they are gone into another wave. Last night I
woke at 3am for no reason got up and sat in the cockpit, watching the boat rip
through the water, the moon noon high and stacks of clouds lining the distance.
Breaking off a piece of dark chocolate I sat there, thought about my family and
made faces out of the clouds. But again your brain goes both ways out here. Most
nights I wake talking to someone who I believe is on board (strangely most of
the time I feel its my brother Dan who is here with me), tending to the ship as
I sleep, then reality hits me and I sternly say to myself, “its just you
Munsey, you are the one that tends to the ship” and I get up. Even 2 nights ago
I thought Dan was sleeping in the bunk next to me and for most of the night
every time I got up to take care of the ship I was as quiet as possible as to
let him sleep….at about 4 a.m. I realized once again I was alone. Hallucination
at sea especially for a single handers and even crewed boat sailors (although
less frequent) is a very real and documented thing, even the great Josh Slocum
believed at times that the Captain of the Pinta from the Columbus fleet tended
to and even drove the Spray as he slept, Vito Dumas had ghosts as well, and no
one can forget the voices that drove Donald Crowhearst to go mad and eventually
throw his life into the sea. I am very sensitive to this as I have a history of
hallucinations at sea. In 2009 while sailing double handed somewhere off the
Turks and Caicos I had a full conversation (I remember it very well) with 5
people who vividly sat in the salon talking to me as real as day, then I apparently
tried to get off the boat with them. If Earl wasn’t there, who knows what would
have happened. At a certain point I did realize that I was asleep or something
and insisted that we tack the boat back and forth over and over again until I
woke up. It must have been really bad because no one wants to tack a boat over
and over in the middle of the ocean in the black rough night, but Earl did with
me. Hallucinations are mainly brought on by becoming over tired day after day
until your body shuts down or mythically you could say that souls in waiting
are temporarily buried in the deep, I am after all in the middle of the Bermuda
Triangle. I had a friend tell me just before leaving that he was doing this
same trip a few years back, the voices in his head kept getting louder,
stranger and he knew he end up doing something stupid and hurt himself (like a
back flip of the cabin top) so he set the boat a drift and took his chances
floating like a cork in order to sleep it off; which worked. I have gone to
great lengths to make sure that I am eating well, perfect at that and sleeping
as often as possible to avoid this. Single handed sailing is without a doubt an
extreme sport. Jumping off a cliff with a parachute is an amazing 60 seconds
and yes extreme also, but blue water open ocean sailing and in this case 20 days alone at sea with
your thoughts, prayers, wind, waves, the rain, the sun and the torrent the
accelerates when it all come together is something altogether different.This is
where real extremes begin to be pushed.
It’s been 12 days since I left Charleston, I am at least 500
miles from anything we would call land and haven’t spoken to anyone except
myself, the boat and an occasional freighter captain in almost 2 weeks. Those
conversation, which usually seem to take place in the middle of the night, are
odd at best but much appreciated. There
was the European captain who was into “yachting” who wanted to know exactly
everything about what I was doing, when he asked me the size of my vessel he
started screaming “that’s fantastic” Europeans especially the French go to sea
in small boats, anywhere in the world when you see a big ocean going sailing
yacht its American. Also in Europe mini transat racing is huge….lets just say
the race is one guy/girl, a 20 ft boat, from France to Brazil, sailing nonstop,
on the brink of destruction (it is really crazy). There was also the Indian captain
who was blown away “man” that anyone would be out here in anything less than a
ship, asked me a million questions and as he became more comfortable his
Hollywood slang transformed to Bollywood, if you took a scene from the Darjeeling Limit, Harold and Kumar go to
White Castle and mixed it with Life Aquatic you have the setting, “he
was a funny guy” who I think in his midnight watch just wanted to talk. I like
cool people like that; so entertaining. Best was the Arab who seemed to have
been on a very long cruise and wanted to know if I knew if there were any good
looking women in his next port of call… Montreal? Had I ever been there, was it
really that cold and where was a good place to go to eat? Funny he should ask as
I am an expert in that field and can answer all those questions with great
accuracy: Yes sir the finest, so many times that facebook keeps asking me if I
live there since my current city is blank (it won’t let me put Atlantic Ocean
as a town), nothings colder than a Quebec winter and Montreal is hands down my
all-time favorite city to eat and drink in (even in the winter). Matt, if a group
of Arab merchant marines come in adorned with harems and blankets to stay
warm….in that pause when you wonder how they ever stumbled in to eat at Cartel…I
told them. My only advice to them in
Montreal was to watch out for the one’s who have Bette Davis eyes, Leonard Cohen would tell you that himself. I
don’t think the captain understood what I was saying, but he will….c’est la vie…we
seldom truly understand advice until after the fact.
This was written at sea and computer issues are forcing me to stop here. But will continue
and add pics via my ipad soon.
