Tag: restoration
Disentanglement

Disentanglement

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Every Tuesday I connect with the kind and fun bunch of Rebel Writers. They meet face to face in a secret location in Hong Kong and write. I used to take part in those meetings face-to-face while I was living there. Now I can only connect from afar but I still enjoy to participate. In the end when you become a Rebel Writer, you will be one for the rest of your life.

So every Tuesday I get up on my boat check in with them and start my writing as well. This weekly appointment is what gets me writing no matter what, despite the fact that I am running against the clock to get in the water and get going. Having this sacred, personal moment of messing about with words has a healthy effect on my mind.

During last meeting we decided to video call for a little catch up. Also the daughter of one of the Rebels was present so I thought it was a good idea to give them a tour of my boat. I realized how messy my boat really was as soon as this idea left my brain, it converted in vibrating air captured by my microphone and was sent all the way to Hong Kong. All I could do was to justify myself adding that I am tearing apart close to 30% of the total internal space of the boat and that I was living in a construction site. Which of course is true and normal these days.

Despite the clarification I felt a rush of shame pervading my body and I tried pathetically to limit the visual of messiness through camerawork, with little success. Not even a square foot of the boat was tidy. I consider myself lucky I don’t suffer from the paralyzing, debilitating type of shame that would shut you down and make you stutter and say stupid things. I still held face and walked them through my messy yet very interesting boat.

The sensation of shame continued after the video call as my eyes were contemplating the explosion of boat parts and tools around me. I have been in this condition for a couple of months now, but even if I am used to my mess sometimes it exceeds my own tolerance.

The previous day I worked on my water tank in the v-berth, then rushed onto the boat to prepare the dough and toppings for our Monday pizza night at the boatyard, then worked a little more while the dough was raising, to again rush and pick everything up and carry it to the breezeway on the other end of the boatyard. When I came back it was dark already and with a full belly and first signs of a carb crash I went quickly to bed. The next morning I woke up to the mess of cooking and working and everything else.

In this particular phase of working there is no place onboard that stays the same. Things keep moving and shuffle around from one surface to the other. This happens even if the majority of my belonging are stuffed under the boat in the squatter camp, a sprawling of boat parts and materials that allows for great boatwork and creations and that also has a post-apocalyptic aesthetic, so appropriate during current times.

I am fortunate I got to be in a very private corner of the boatyard so my mess is hidden. Tranquility is parked stern to the edge of the property, against a fence with climbing vines and tall trees. My port windows face the North River and I can observe the marsh and boats at anchor from where I sit at my table. My only neighbor in a radius of 80ft (25 meters ) is Bill, who is a long time friend, solo sailor, inventor and “connazionale” (he is American and he also holds an Italian passport). He tolerates my mess and contributes with his own, although I have to say I am undefeated to this day.

For a coincidence of life I am right under the tree where four years ago Beta was spotted the last time before he decided to take a two week vacation from the boat. This tree dumps leaves, branches and staining berries onto my deck and used to block the sun from reaching my solar panel, but I still love it. It harbors a quantity of animals and insects that are my companions during my work days.

The boatyard is encased in maritime forest and it opens on a winding river that leads all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, separating Georgia from Florida. Its magical powers are beyond comprehension and the enchanted forest attracts a community of boaters that end up taking residence in the boatyard.

This special corner in this special county of this special state which is part of this special country is where I prepare my farewell. The Americas, North and South, have been particularly welcoming to me.

The people I met during my travels invited me in their lives with generosity and a sane curiosity for a man with a weird accent. They were able to make me feel important, even when I came empty handed. Here I met new fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, teachers and peers.

From all the encounters I learned that we have one blood if we are willing to meet eye to eye and heart to heart. I received way more than I gave, and per the rule of life, whatever is left in the account I will pay it forward, wherever I may roam.

It is hard to detach from people that were so friendly and generous to me. I made this vow to follow the tides of life, those bigger than myself forces that right now are pushing me away from this land. I am also sure that the people who love me would be disappointed if I retreated from this call.

I thought it would be easier to leave, just pack the boat and go. But I am not just crossing an ocean for the sake of adventure. I am realigning and dealing with with this surge of mess around me, this puke of threads, stories, connections I need to transform, purge, celebrate and disentangle from. I went deep into this territory, now I am climbing up from the hole I digged, carrying my treasure.

The Ocean is calling, and the Ocean always punish messy people. Even if my mind tolerates mess it comes a moment when clutter becomes a real obstacle, and that moment is when you are underway and your entire world starts moving up and down and back and forth and left and right. A messy boat underway is a recipe for disaster. Curbing my mess is my main job now.

As the tendrils of the spiral of chaos agitate in this magic forest things start to fall into place, messages are exchanged, clarity is achieved. The unnapetizing concoction made out of who I was and who I will be is brewing. As the agents of change are doing their metabolic work I try to keep things under check, put away stuff and tidy up. It looks like a Sysyphean effort, but there is no way around it and the reward is immense.

As Robert Frost put it, “the only certain freedom is in departure”.
Does this sailing thing make sense?

Does this sailing thing make sense?

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It is forty days since departure deadline, and things start to look busy here at the boatyard.

The Covid-19 arrived in the US in full blown mode as it is in the rest of the World. Italy just confirmed that school will be closed till April 15th. They have been closed since February. Friends from Hong Kong tell me that the country is fearing a second bout of infections brought by people coming from abroad. As I am writing the Azores are closed to arriving vessels, as many other countries are denying arrivals to sailors. This concerns me a little since the Azores are my next port of call.

I’ve been dodging this Coronavirus since my departure from HK in February. Then I got out of Italy just in time before the great lockdown. Now it has finally caught up on me, even if in this dire scenario my life changed very little. I noticed that by talking with friends whose life have radically changed since it has been confined between four walls. For one time I feel my experience to be more similar to other people’s.

Maybe the difference is just that I was already self isolating in an old boat in rural Georgia. My day goes by tending to a small vessel by myself, I move stuff around, build things, repair objects, redesign systems. I consume my meals alone or seldomly with other self isolated sailors. My life changed very little because my plan to upgrade Tranquility and cross the Atlantic is still underway.

The past weeks were key in trying to get everything here, materials, tools and equipment, and I am still planning ahead and guess what I exactly need in case distribution grinds to a halt, a remote possibility to be frank but I prefer not to take chances. Now I am finally putting things together slowly and painfully as usual, trying to cram together way too many projects.

It is a process I know well since it is the fourth time I take apart and put together this boat in order to make her better. The first time was when Kate and I bought Tranquility as an unfinished restoration project in Fairhaven, MA. The second time in the marshes of Glynn where we performed the heaviest rebuilding. The third one in Panama where it became clear that this crazy project was becoming mine only as I could not stop messing around with this boat despite my failing marriage. Maybe because of my failing marriage I found solace in even more boat projects. It is hard to tell which. The current refit is getting bigger than expected, which is not a surprise as my imagination often gets wild when it comes to boat improvements.

This thing called sailing

After ten years of this sailing life spent repairing boats and sailing them I still struggle to explain to others what is this thing I am doing. My family has still not gotten used to it either, in fact they met this whole idea of an Atlantic crossing on a small boat with skepticism, worry and even anger.

What is this thing I am doing?

I feel I am moving between an obsession that forces me to isolation and a blissful existence in Nature that for one time help me stay away from the danger of human contact. It makes financially no sense as the money poured into my old boat will never come back and it keeps me away from employment for long bits. It is not a socially relevant quest as it involves mainly myself and I. It adds very little to the progress of human knowledge as sailing is an obsolete technology. All these sound like red alerts and yet I can’t keep away confronting this questionable choice.

To be honest I am not completely alone. Bill my neighbor is doing exactly the same thing. He is also fixing his boat all over again, to take it across an ocean once again. The same is true for some people I have met of that I am aware of. We are a small number but we tenaciously stick to this nonsense.The comfort of knowing that others are engaged in a similar pattern is not enough and questions keep showing up.

Even if I can’t understand what this is, I know where it comes from.

It comes from visions inside my head, daydreams which I am not fully responsible for that clog my judgement and hijack the focus on building a socially respectable life. Those are visions that taken literally would drive you to madness but if harnessed with caution can propel you to great achievements. Or at least this is my hope.

The technical finesse behind the discipline of sailing is a never ending climbing route to perfecting many skills. It is so incredibly vast involving knowledge that span through so many departments that an expert sailor becomes close to be a master-of-all-trades. I like this idea.

Sailing takes you in the heart of the present moment, as you insert yourself in the ever changing reality of water and air, the breathing apparatus of planet Earth. This experience reminds me that I grew out of it and I am equipped to find my way between wind, waves and currents. I can say that I have the biggest home there is.

It can be done. Necessary knowledge can be acquired, discomfort and fatigue are a just transitory moments and we as humans can adapt and thrive in many situations. These experience are good tests to take and help building personal resilience. Resilience and resourcefulness is becoming so important in the current world where reality changes at a very fast pace and we are often not prepared for what comes next.

Despite the isolation from common human experience and the difficulties of this life I take great pleasure and pride in what I am doing. The effort of writing and documenting my experience are an attempt to fill this communication gap. So maybe for one time my family or friends will tell me: ”I understand what you are doing and I am proud of you”.

In the meanwhile I look for other signs that tell me I am on the right route. I think I found one in the irony of sailing. Contradiction and Paradox are the essence of life and the ironies of sailing, one of the most expensive way to feel uncomfortable and risk your life, expose its nonsensical nature.

If years ago sailing was the only way to move people and goods across long distances, today sailing loses its meaning and role. Is sailing a sport or a hobby? Is it both? If so, why all this discomfort and even danger? Despite these drawbacks sailing did not disappear in history because it still has a lot to say about us as human beings. There is a community of people involved in this nonsense, so there must be a little sense after all.

And if all this fails to provide sense, I will stick with Good Old Gandhi, who seemed to have learned quite few things about life and humans beings:

Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

Tranquility turns 50!

Tranquility turns 50!

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Sparkman & Stephens Columbia 29 Tranquility
Sparkman & Stephens Columbia 29 Tranquility

It’s been a while since the last time I posted about Tranquility. We have been sucked into different activities and duties on land, and even though projects were constantly happening on our boat, the engagement was not at the top levels. Now that we are facing a renovate wave of passion for our little craft, the levels of commitment and project management are springing back up. We may be able to resume cruising soon and this is what brings fresh to strong breeze to our endeavour, but we don’t want to say it too loud because like every sailor we are a bit superstitious.

The big event is that Tranquility turned 50 years old. Built in 1965 in Portsmouth, VA she is not immune to the inexorable effect of time passing and all our effort goes in the direction of making her a safe and pretty little boat. All across the world thousands of old boats sit abandoned in various stages of neglect, sometimes they are not even as old as Tranquility is. When we found her in a random yard of the South Coast of Massachussets two years ago, she was asking for help. Paul, the guy who sold us the boat, had a great vision for her and started a complete refit after she had been neglected for a few years. He eventually had to give up due to other projects happening in his life and put her for sale. We caught the ball.

Tranquility is the boat we fell in love with, she makes our heart sing and tickle our fancy when we imagine her at anchor in a quiet cove, floating over turquoise water. She is also the boat we could afford to buy, but it’s fair to say that she has a lot of competitors for that price range.  Both Kate and I were hooked the first time we saw her. Now that she is undoubtely the boat we own, we are trying to bring the best out of her, with our limitation of budget and knowledge.

In the past 50 years boat design and technology made great stride, as innovation never stops. Boat shows brings every year new shiny models with the latest improvements onboard. Even ten years old boats become quickly obsolete as bulding materials, safety gear and electronic components change every month, and the great circus of progress will make that boat turn in a less desiderable dream. Eventually will come the time when an expert will state that a boat has done her time and she’s not worthy to upkeep, as the price to bring her to current standards would exceed the convenience of purchase a new model. It happens with all our technology and goods: today nobody thinks it’s worthy to fix a pair of shoes, it’s easier to buy a new pair.

Why would somebody invest so much energy and money in an old boat? There is no pragmatism when it comes to sailing, at any level, and so boat restoration evades the usual categories of economical profit. Some people may think that you could recoup what you put in monetarily once you sell an old classic design in shipshape Bristol fashion. But this is just a mirage as boats have a tendency in not holding their value and they require expensive components and supplies to be kept in good shape. It doens’t matter how good is the boat. Millionaires know it too. Futuristic newly built Luxury Yachts depreciate very quickly too and chartering sometimes don’t even cover the running costs. For the haves, it is often a way to avoid taxation rather than a profitable business.

Luckily human discovered sailing thousands of years ago, and for how refined this art had become its basics are founded on simple principles. Older boat can still bring the emotions of a brand new model, for a fraction of the cost, plus an old boat can still benefit from newest improvement and accessories. With sufficient thought and effort, you will end up with a boat that satisfy your eyes and can be fitted to your requirements better than any new production could. This is the way we decided to take: starting with a bare-strip hull to reconfigure the boat as we prefer.

After coming down the East Coast with a partially complete boat we have learned two things. The first is that is surprising how little you need to enjoy cruising. The trip was in fact enjoyable and safe, even if some parts were installed along the way and others had never really been. The second is there are very important issues you want to address in order to fully enjoy your time. Trying on Tranquility we discovered what worked and what didn’t, what we liked and disliked, and that helped us establish priorities in  our project list. In the next weeks we are going to share some of these improvements, hoping that posting them publicly will help our legs keep pace with our desires.

 

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