Middle Aged Misadventure (1)
Ryan Michaels

 

MIDDLE AGED MISADVENTURE

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago, never mind how long precisely, having little or no money in my purse, and nothing to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world.

Naa, I’m just kidding, although I must’ve had your interest there for a moment. My name is not really Ishmael, and while the events are still fresh in my mind, I decided to write down as much as I can remember about my sailing experience Friday night. In order for you to fully appreciate my tale, I feel obligated to provide some background material leading up to my middle aged misadventure.

When is a person considered to be middle aged? Actuaries would probably argue the average life expectancy these days for a U.S. male is probably between 75 and 90 years old, thus making middle aged somewhere around 40 to 45. But that just seems too damned young to be calling a person middle aged. So I’m thinking somewhere after 50 years old but before 60 (old enough to qualify for a senior citizen discount at most retail establishments) is the qualifying age. Coincidentally, this is the age range I fall into; a hint as to the title of this narrative.

An adventure, in my own definition, is a premeditated event that is risky, exciting, challenging, and most certainly involves doing, seeing, or experiencing something for the first time. An adventure provides a look into one’s inner self and helps one answer these age-old questions. Would I have the courage, the stamina, the skills and knowledge, or the heart to complete this type of endeavor? And I surely believe premeditation or prior intent is a major characteristic of an adventure, the one thing that would set it apart from mere happenstance. Therefore, I would define a misadventure as an adventure that one stumbles into by accident. Oh, and usually a misadventure has something less than desirable results. Calamity, misfortune, mishap are common synonyms for misadventure. Get the picture?

To fully appreciate my story, I must also begin the tale just a little time before it happened. I have to set the stage. I had just moved to Florida from the Midwest, Ohio specifically, just barely two years ago for reasons I won’t go into. But I have always loved the ocean and the beach, and a move to a coastal community at some point in my life was inevitable. As a new resident of an ocean side community I felt a little disgraced that I had no kinship with the sea. I have often told friends and relatives that I’ve dreamed of being a pirate. Oh yeah, I went to the beach as often as I could, mostly lying about and walking about, often drinking a bit too much grog. But much like Ishmael, Santiago, Admiral Nelson, Naughty Nat the Pirate, the old salt Gnarly Dan, and countless other men of maritime literary greatness, I have always felt compelled to be a part of the sea. And like those who yearned for the sea, those who felt driven to shove off in search of adventure and unchartered waters, I needed something to take me to sea, both figuratively and literally, since my chances of becoming a real pirate are now somewhat diminished (see my definition of middle aged above).

So I started thinking of getting a boat. A powerboat would be great, but I am not very mechanically inclined and the cost of a boat, mooring, maintenance, gas and oil, just isn’t justified from my conservative, accountant type perspective. But a sailboat, still as primitive a vessel as when the first cave man stretched an animal canvas across a branch and attached it to a log to get from point A to point B on a lake, well, that is what suited me the most. Talk about a kinship with the sea, this would be it. And a small sailboat would suit my pocketbook as well. There would be no mooring or storage fees, no gas and oil. Hell, you don’t even have to get it licensed!

Before I bought a boat however, I wanted to be smart about it. Yeah, that’s the ticket. I took three group lessons from the Edison Sailing Center and I read every article I could find on the Internet. I also read several books on sailing. I bought some rope and learned to tie cleat hitches, figure eights, bow lines, and sheepshank knots. When I was ready to start looking for the perfect boat, I turned to the Internet again and the local paper. After months of scrutiny, I saw an ad for a Sunfish down in Naples. A Sunfish would be perfect for me. It is only fourteen feet long, it has a mainsail and no jib, it’s easy to rig and sail, and it’s one of the most popular designs of sailboat ever made. There are Sunfish enthusiasts all over the world and regattas every weekend somewhere. I could take a passenger along for a sail on a Sunfish, but both captain and crew actually sit up on the deck, not inside the boat. There is a small cockpit large enough for a pair or two of legs, but not large enough for a body. Kind of like a surfboard with a sail, just a bit larger and a tad more accommodating. And it is a real sailboat!

I went to Naples the next morning and from the moment I turned into the driveway of the seller’s million dollar country club home, I was in love with this little orange and yellow beauty of a boat. For being over thirty years old (born on date of 1975), she was in excellent condition and ready to sail. Even though she was held together by duct tape at a few corners of the vertical and horizontal spars, she had a few small holes in the mainsail, and her dagger board was rotting a skosh at the top, she still had a classic beauty about her. She was sleek and athletic with a firm body after all those years. The seller said she had been in his garage for over twenty years and even when she was used, he and his little girls sailed her in mildest of winds. I tried to negotiate a discounted price by pointing out her flaws but the old guy wouldn’t accept anything but full price. And besides, he had three other potential buyers coming by later the same morning. So I gladly paid the man his cash and promptly motored our way back to Fort Myers Beach (a shoddy old trailer was also included in the price). Finally at last, I had a boat, a beautiful little boat that was sea worthy and ready to sail me off into the sunset and on my first sailing adventure. I couldn’t wait!

At first I had trouble rigging her. As simple a boat as she is, it still seemed to me that a critical part or two might be missing. I consulted the Internet for guidance but to no avail. Eventually, I drove down to Lover’s Key where I knew they rented sailboats and I took a peek at another Sunfish. Immediately I recognized where I had gone wrong and I went back to rig her up again. This time I was successful. I was now ready to get her out into the Gulf of Mexico. Over the first few weeks I cautiously sailed my little lady around the Gulf, not venturing too far from the beach. I learned to get off the beach, sail in every direction, and practiced guiding us both back to safety at the point on the beach where we started. Soon I reached a comfort level within myself, but only after a few episodes of tipping, idling dead in irons (you cannot sail a boat if there is no wind), and having to walk her back to the launch site because I missed by a quarter mile. And soon I felt qualified to take a passenger. I could sail from the beach, out and around the Gulf, and back to my starting point without actually getting wet. So I took my son and my nephews for a ride, one at a time over a few weeks, and got them all back safely. I was beginning to feel like a real sailor, and old man of the sea. I was ready for an adventure now.

Oh by the way, my little darling of a boat has a name, The Devine Miss “M”. She is named after my granddaughter McKenna who is affectionately referred to in family circles likewise. And like my boat, McKenna is new to the family, she is absolutely beautiful to behold, small yet sturdy, sleek and agile, and she and I are just getting to know each other. What better namesake, wouldn’t you agree? And like all my children, I’ve grown to call her by a nickname now, just “M” for short. And yes I know I spelled Devine incorrectly, I’ve had it pointed out to me several times. But I have decided to leave it as is, a unique spelling for a uniquely beautiful little vessel. Perfect.

Okay already, it’s time to tell the tale of my misadventure on Friday evening. In reality, I normally don’t get to sail with “M” much in the evenings because of the daily thunderstorm activity here in the hot and humid Florida summer. Besides, on the few days without a storm, the gentle summer winds are barely enough to get us moving over the light chop on the waves. At first, and while I was initially learning, it was okay to move slowly. But as my skills and confidence increased, a day without at least a moderate breeze was not worthy of a sail for me and “M”. After all, we were approaching adventurer status.

But this particular Friday evening was perfect. There were only a few cirrus clouds and a fairly brisk breeze heading straight off shore, the easiest kind of breeze for me to head out and come back in. As usual, there was a slight hint of an afternoon storm off in the distance but nothing too ominous. I have heard many stories of sailors and powerboat captains getting swamped by storms in Southwest Florida who had been foolish enough to head out into a storm and not be able to get back safely to shore in time. At my level of (in)experience, I wouldn’t even rig up little “M” if the clouds indicated the slightest chance of a storm. But again, this night was just so perfect. So into the sea we set.

A little cocky by now about my sailing abilities, I took along a life vest but had recently begun stowing it in the cuddy (more like a glove box without a door). I figured if I needed a lifesaver I could get to it quick enough. And besides, a pirate would look pretty foolish with tan lines from wearing a vest. And on this particular evening I also decided to take along my cell phone. I could keep it in my pocket and call my wife Jackie from aboard “M”. She was working that night at the Pier Peddler, and I would call her from the boat and have her watch me sail by. I had been meaning to test how far out into the Gulf a cell phone would work (for emergency purposes) and this was an excellent opportunity to do just that.

As I sailed past the pier at Fort Myers Beach, I called Jackie and had her watch for me. She saw me and reminded me to be careful, like she always does. My son, JR, was also working at the Beach Pierside Grill and Jackie told him to watch too as I was sailing by. I was so proud of my boat and of myself. I once again felt like a real sailor and I told “M” that this was what life was all about. Yes, I talk to “M” quite often as we sail about. She really understands me and my primal need to take refuge and comfort amongst the waves.

As I was casually sailing about, I spied a channel marker quite far out to the Southwest. I had seen this marker from shore a number of times at night because it had a very bright beacon on top, evidently to guide ships into the channel that leads to the back bay. But I could only imagine what it looked like, having never really seen it up close before. My mind was made up. This could be my adventure this evening, my truly first sailing adventure. I would set a heading for the marker and get a close up look, then return and tell all the lubbers (people not of the sea) of my daring trip out so far into the ocean.

As we made way to the southwest, it was nearly surreal. The waves were calm, the breeze was light and steady but not too brisk, and there were sights and sounds like we had never seen or heard. The sea was not particularly clear that night; it was filled with tiny little bubbles and appeared cloudy. But man, this was the open sea. A couple of dolphins playfully and curiously swam nearby, just off the starboard bow a number of times. I watched a rented Hobie Cat sailing north and south along the beach, being careful not to sail too far away from the safety of the shoreline. I could also see people fishing from the pier and I could hear the fading rock music from Top of the Mast bar. I guessed the channel marker to be about 3 miles out into the Gulf, I have no way of telling the distance for sure, and after an hour and fifteen minutes of heading straight for the marker, I knew I was finally going to reach my Everest, that it could and would be done on this beautiful evening. I had set out for an adventure and by golly I had me one. This is something I could tell my kids and their kids about for years to come. I would recite the story over and over again at beach parties and family reunions for as long as there were people to listen. At last I was a true sailor and a man of adventure. I was proud of the feat “M” and me were about to accomplish, so I called Jackie again and told her to watch the horizon for a another look at us. At this point, I could see the hotels and condos on the beach but the pier and people were too small to make out. Jackie said she could not see me anymore and that I had better head a little closer to home. But that is what I expected from her. She has always been my conscience and better judgment, keeping me from harm’s way and otherwise foolish activity. Reminding her again that I was completely safe, I hung up the phone and then began to circumnavigate the channel marker and head back to shore. I made mental note of the physical characteristics of the marker, the pilings tee-peed up to form a triangular top, an orange and white marker, and the little beacon light that shown ever so brightly every night, guiding boats into the channel to the back bay. And there was a single, all white, sea bird sitting atop the marker, not making a sound nor moving. The bird seemed curious as to why this yokel in a small sailboat was way the hell out here in the middle of the ocean? He was like a Buckingham Palace guard, disciplined and totally unmoving, ready and willing to guide and guard at all costs. Just as I passed the silent watchbird of the channel, was when I first noticed some dark clouds to the south, probably a summer storm down around Naples. It was time to head back. My mission was now accomplished and the imminent storm just made the decision that much easier.

 

 

Go to part:2 

 

 

Copyright © 2005 Ryan Michaels
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"