Traversing the spiritual bridge between land and sea is bewitching, is familiar and comfortable yet also new and exciting… so powerful.
Man o Man what a home wrecker is the sea (an incredible blonde with dreamy eyes waiting under the motel sheets in the middle of the day).
I let myself ease in… I gather up the sensations, letting them build as I drift along with them… and then I let go, releasing myself into the moment, letting the moment take over, letting it sooth me, cleanse me.
Somewhere in this, briefly, my mind reached back to Pineapple Hill and our promises…but the water lured me away … until …soon …I was looking ahead instead of looking back.
The sails tightened. Water splashing easily off the hull provided an excellent shade of quiet. I let the sound of it wash over me for the longest time.
But then a voice came over the VHF radio. “Thanks for the wake, asshole!”
What an odd thing to be spoken “from out of the blue” like that, interrupting my reunion with the sea.
I looked around for the voice and for the wake but saw no likely suspects.
It became quiet again. But the mood was gone.
Then came more chatter on the VHF, this time between the dock master and a cargo vessel. At the same time, MadDog and Roger came out of the cabin congratulating one another on finding and fixing a shorted wire from the galley fan to the battery bank, and The Kid joined us in the cockpit (he’d been standing at the bow pulpit –perhaps also feeling himself led away by the sea, led away from his knocked up girlfriend and her eviction from the trailer over stolen beer).
We eavesdropped on the conversation that had intruded our space by way of the VHF. The harbormaster was recommending a Chinese restaurant to the crew of the cargo ship Beautiful Swimmer.
We looked for it on the horizon, hoping to watch it come in, hoping to see the craft with such a lovely name.
But all we saw out there was the dark thin line at the edge of the world.
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— Tim Bryant, Surf Director