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Noah D.
On blogs like this, everyone seems to put all their qualifications. I’ve never felt qualified to do anything that I’ve ever done. I just have a tendency to say “I think I’ll go do that” and then kinda go do it, actually rather naive about what it actually takes. For instance, I ran the Athens Classic Marathon (“The Marathon Marathon”) because, though I really hate running, if I was to ever run a marathon, that would be the one to do: the Marathon. So, having never run before, I got a little app that plans out my training and I did it… finished in 4:54:21.
And so goes most of the things I’ve ever done. Including sailing. My first sailboat was a little sloop-rigged Alcort Puffer that was about the size of a bathtub. I don’t think I ever named it! I bought it for $450 or something having never sailed before. The harbor master at my home marina helped me put it in the water, said, “if this happens, do this,” “if this happens, do this,” “if this happens, do this,” and, with one leg, shoved me off the dock and walked away.
My second boat was a 1960-something 22ft McGregor Venture that I named Ivory Tower. Bought for $750 with two feet of water in the bottom (there really isn’t much of a bilge) and barely floating, I put a couple thousand into it, rebuilt the interior, and re-rigged it as a single-hander–at one point no two parts together–and built it all the way back up in my parents garage over the winter. I spent loads of time on that boat on Guntersville Lake in North Alabama. It is still in pretty good condition, but then I moved away.
Education in maritime matters can only really happen on the water. For in my mid-to-late teens and early twenties, I spent most of my time in, on, or near water. Definitely during the summers, and occasionally during the winters, my friends and I would attempt stupid things like wakeboarding off a dock fully clothed in February and then try to let go at the exact right instant to hop back on the dock: not everyone succeeded.
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Lynn D.
Truthfully, I’m sailing on the S/V Proteus because of Noah, but that doesn’t mean I was dragged here against my will.
Living abroad has been the perfect mix of independence and–not that I don’t miss them, but–separation from my family. I’m the baby of the family.
I grew up with my family spending most holidays under water. By the time I was 10 years old, I had my SCUBA license and was diving independently with my parents and sister. On more than one occasion, I remember someone on our dive commenting–after a long day of diving–how they had dreaded seeing two little girls get on the dive boat, because most of the time they tend to slow everybody down or cannot dive as deep; however, they were completely relieved when my sister and I would dive as deep and swim as fast through currents as the rest of the adults… yet we were, what, 10 years old!?
Perhaps my parents just did not think too much about the fact that we were diving with sharks and into wrecks at 80ft and all manner of other such dangerous things while other kids our age were playing in the sand and squealing when a jellyfish touched them. When you take “normal” and, at a young age, elevate it to the level of everyone else’s “extreme”… yeah, why not get married at a courthouse, quit school, move to England, work a little while, live on a boat, go back to school, and make a life 5000 miles from where I thought I would? Yeah, why not even sail around the world someday?
Sometimes it is best to live as ten year old me did and not ask, “Why would I take diving lessons when all my friends are just taking ballet?” (I did ballet, too! And volleyball and track and gymnastics and tennis and basketball and diving and soccer and rock climbing.) I’m pretty happy making my own “normal” now. I sleep better at night and have far less knots in my back.
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So, now we are 100% boat people. We have no land-based home and only a few possessions stored with family back in the States. Sometimes it sucks, but most of the time it is brilliant fun. We have sacrificed a bit of stability for our back yard to be the rest of earth.