William H. Longyard (Winston-Salem, NC) has paddled, rowed, and sailed small boats for 25 years. A high school English teacher, he has published several books and written articles for boating journals.
A Speck on the Sea: Epic Voyages in the Most Improbable Vesselsby William Longyard
"From canoes and small sailboats to jury-rigged vessels of every description, and even a pair of strap-to-your-feet pontoons, the watercraft in these true stories make nearly as motley a collection as the mariners who piloted them. Meet the five escaped slaves who crossed the Mediterranean in a homemade folding rowboat; the lifeguard who paddled thirty miles through a… See more details below
"From canoes and small sailboats to jury-rigged vessels of every description, and even a pair of strap-to-your-feet pontoons, the watercraft in these true stories make nearly as motley a collection as the mariners who piloted them. Meet the five escaped slaves who crossed the Mediterranean in a homemade folding rowboat; the lifeguard who paddled thirty miles through a killer storm in an inflatable rubber suit; and the mysterious two-man crew who crossed the Atlantic, east to west, in a converted lifeboat, bailing all the while." Whether driven by desperation, a spirit of adventure, or a desire for fame and fortune, all the risktakers whose stories are told here displayed uncommon courage, superior nautical skills, and remarkable poise under extreme and perilous conditions.
- McGraw-Hill Professional Publishing
- Publication date:
- Product dimensions:
- 6.26(w) x 9.29(h) x 1.40(d)
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By Bill Marsano. William Longyard has assembled a truly delightful collection of nearly six dozen stories of voyages in really deep water by people in ridiculously small--and sometimes just plain ridiculous--boats. Buy it pronto, put it on your nightstand; promise yourself you won't read more than one story per night. OK? (Of course you can always start over.) There is, apparently, no profile that fits these people. Some are desperate, such as the Englishmen held as slavery in Algeria: They made a daring escape in a folding boat they built themselves. (In 1644!) Some are godful folk determined to spread the Holy Word. Some seek fame and others seek love; a few hope to make great heaps of money as profitable novelties. Others have had their adventure gene cross wires with their crackpot gene (an alarming number of them begin with absolutely nautical experience whatsoever). Doesn't matter: Their stories are wonderful and hair-raising. Their craft are various. There's a Jeep and a succession of boats designed to take the record for Atlantic crossing by the world's smallest boat. There are kayaks, canoes, undecked sloops, a mold plug and a pair of water-walking pontoons. There are rowboats, of course, and my only (and very minor) complaint is that Longyard doesn't include the best sardonic nautical quotation I've ever run into: When a couple of British ex-soldiers finally completed their transoceanic row, a reporter asked how they felt at having 'beaten the Atlantic Ocean.' To which one of them replied, 'We didn't beat the Atlantic. It let us go.' Longyard makes up for this with his chapter on Capt. Franz Romer, who kleppered the Atlantic in the 1920s--first man to do it. All these years we've been allowed to believe he took a stock Klepper off the rack, but that is apparently far from the truth. Every reader will have his own favorite amongst these stories; mine is that of Paul Strogis. A Latvian on the run from the Russian army (which wanted to draft him) and the German police (who feared he was a dangerous socialist, or worse), he traveled widely, working his passage, and fetched up in Australia, there to slowly starve as he pined for love until it struck him that he must emigtrate to the U.S., 9000 miles away, in a boat of his own devising. So he set about to learn everything he needed to know to build, sail and navigate a boat from books in the public library. He built his own sextant from scrap hacksaw blades. And then God bless him he set off. There are lots of black-and-white pix here; they're nice and grainy--just vague enough to inspire more madcap dreaming.--Bill Marsano's adventures in his Feathercraft folding kayak have been pretty bloody demure but still sufficient to scare him silly.