We write to describe, inform, instruct, and entertain. Occasionally, a writer gets to use his writing in a personal manner to encourage, to express love, to extend empathy, or to show sympathy. I've had two such occassions this week. Like most writers, I have a sense of satisfaction seeing and reading my words in print. However, my spirits soar knowing that those same words touched a life. I write these words through tears. I just lost a dear sailing friend. The family has asked me speak at the memorial service. I will share the following:
I met Bob through a mutual sailing buddy. Bob had a boat and needed a mate. I worked nights, sailed days, and looked for any opportunity to sail. Bob and I cast our lots together on his little boat we called the Compaq. I had a little more experience than Bob but not much. We learned together by many errors and even more trials.
I had the privilege of sailing with Bob alone. I know him as a sailor and a friend. If I had to pick one word to describe Bob, I would pick the word “gracious.” Bob carried himself first and foremost as a gentleman. He had class.
Bob invited myself, my wife, and another couple to Hawaii. The women looked forward to land activities. The men went over to sail Bob's newest boat. With the boat largely untested and unknown by this crew, we set off to Diamond Head from Pearl Harbor. The wives wisely stayed home.
We had a great sail aside from dodging nuclear submarines which kept popping up beside us at inconvenient times and aside from one-third of the crew now incapacitated below with seasickness. Once again, Bob and I found ourselves sailing alone together. He and I sat on deck the wind blowing through his full head of hair and blowing through my ears. We teased our sick mate and enjoyed the wind, wave, and wonder of Hawaii. I'll never forget that glorious day with Bob.
Bob graciously suggested that we turn around for the crew's sake. I reluctantly agreed. We sailed until we could see the entrance to Pearl Harbor. I walked back to the motor and gave a hearty yank on the starter cord which promptly snapped off in my hand without unfortunately starting the motor.
I yelled at the sick mate to come topside. “No, I don't care how you feel. I need your help up here.” We had our continuing sub escort, the wind on our nose, a narrow inlet to navigate, no motor, and one very sick mate. We called on the radio for help, and heard only silence in reply. I remember as an added bonus that the poisonous jelly fish had started their annual migration through Hawaii. The water teemed with them. I really wanted to avoid a swim. Dave and I tried to sail in. I believe Bob finally raised someone on the radio.
But you know what I remember most about the day? Bob never yelled at me, never accused me, never even teased me about the starter cord. Ever gracious, he never converted his fear into anger. He handled it well.
On the Columbia River in a different boat with a brand new motor I tested Bob again. Why these guys ever let me start a motor I can't figure. This time the entire throttle unit came off in my hands and promptly dropped to the bottom of the river.
We had to negotiate a three knot current and a crowded marina with an engine that ran but ran without the benefit of throttle control. I remember Bob kept asking over and over, “How did that happen? Where did it go? It just fell off?” Incredulous, yes, but ever gracious he never pointed a finger at me even in jest.
Bob had his theories about boats as do all sailors. He hated a low boom on a boat. The boom runs along the bottom part of the sail and ranks as the most dangerous part of a sailboat. In pirate movies someone always get thrown overboard by a swinging boom.
In Pearl Harbor with the wives aboard we sailed blithely along having cheated death on the open seas. We felt secure inside the harbor. Hawaii, however, had another dirty, little secret for us called Kona winds. A downdraft they slide down the mountain side gaining momentum as they go and then rush silently across the water at tremendous speeds. They made the submarines look tame. We got hit hard. I still have scars on my hands where the nylon main-sheet ran through my hands burning my skin as it went. I really had no time to see if any one's head stood in the path of the boom. This boat had a high boom thanks to Bob. It probably saved some one's life. You were right, Bob.
Bob has many qualities that I lack. I sail on the edge. I like my adrenaline rush. Bob sailed safely, cautiously, conservatively. He knew when to quit, when to start the motor and go in, when to call it a day. He didn't have to sail to dark every time. He didn't have to sail just because the wind blew.
Bob had the money to buy a bigger boat. In the time I knew him he owned three boats—in succession I should add. He didn't have to have the biggest, the best, or the most expensive. He bought little boats, used boats, boats with high booms. I never forgave him for selling the Compaq. I loved that little boat. That's the boat he and I sailed on most together. Bob prided himself on “never losing money on a boat.” We teased him about his perceptions of boat ownership.
Most of us who sail soon find out that our wives and families don't necessarily share the same passion we do toward this sport. They indulge us. Bob loved sailing, and Sylvia wisely let him enjoy something that he had both wanted and had earned. Ever gracious, Bob did not take undo advantage. He kept things in perspective. He kept expenses reasonable. He kept his priorities straight.
Bob and I have one thing very much in common. We both like to talk. I said to Dave, my sailing buddy, on a recent a sail. “You know, I wish we could get Bob out again. I miss him.” I'll never forget and will always miss having Bob in the companionway telling some story or encouraging us to plan for our futures.
Sail on, Bob. May the wind always be at your back. Stay clear of the boom, keep your deck shoes dry, and we'll meet you on the other side.
A Steady Healm
You sailed this life and now a different realm.
You put your head down and earned
supported your family to one day sail you yearned.
And one day you did
the river, the harbor, the ocean to rid
yourself of land's cares
to float trade wind fair
against low booms you railed
with steady healm to seas beyond you've sailed.
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