The Captain and Mr. Shrode: A firsthand account of the voyage of Maverick
432
The Captain and Mr. Shrode: A firsthand account of the voyage of Maverick
432Paperback
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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780615651187 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Moonmaid |
| Publication date: | 02/23/2013 |
| Pages: | 432 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.51(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.88(d) |
About the Author
After retiring from playing music on the road, he began working at the College of Marin in Kentfield, California, where he has taught philosophy, ethics, logic, and humanities for two over decades including a semester teaching at San Quentin.
His interest in sailing began in 1990. Eleven years later, he began a circumnavigation with friend Terry Shrode that is the topic of his book, The Captain and Mr. Shrode.
Table of Contents
PreparationsThe Crew 1
The Boat 3
The Plan 9
Departure 11
The Pacific
Underway 15
Vomit 17
Marine Mammal Alert 19
The Northeast Trades 21
The Tropics 23
A Bath 25
Crossing the Line 27
Landfall Tomorrow 29
Landfall 31
Damage Report 33
Nuku Hiva 35
Contacts with the Natives 37
Departing the Marquesas 39
On to the Tuamotus 43
Terror in Tahiti 47
Other than That, Mrs. Lincoln… 53
French Polynesia for Gentlemen 59
Bora Bora Bora 61
Dinnertime 63
What's Niue? 65
Friday Night at the Races 67
So Longa, Tonga 69
Pre-Frontal Geometry 71
Savusavu and the Road to Lambasa 75
Kava Jive 77
I Tell You No Lau 79
Malolo Lailai 81
Fijiphilia 83
Vanuatu Tu 85
Missionary Impossible 89
9/11 93
Behind Closed Doors 95
Mr. Shrode's Wild Ride 97
The Kite That Took Flight 101
Bonfire of the Inanities 103
Torres Strait, No Chaser 107
Origin Of The Specious 111
Faith Is the Place 113
Paradise Lost 115
The Muslim World
Bali, Hi 119
Ain't No Bali High Enough 121
Java Jive 125
Gentlemen Don't Do It 127
How We Ran Aground 131
Kumai 135
Gilang 139
The River 143
1000 Miles to Windward 147
Merry Christmas from Phuket 153
What Terry Missed 157
Ceylon 159
Hell on Wheels 161
A Measured Response 163
Uligan 165
High Wind, Heavy Seas 169
Pirate Plotting 171
Oman 173
A Fissiparous Fleet 175
The Bab El Mandeb 179
The Road to Asmara 181
The Night the Sea Turned White 185
The Full Red Sea Monty 189
Send Your Camel to Bed 195
Into the Valley of the Nile 197
Night Train to Cairo 201
Condo Made of Stona: The Sequel 205
Forward Progress 209
On the Hook in the Suez Canal 211
The Med
I Can See Clearly Now 217
Can You Hear Those Church Bells Ringin'? 221
Reunited 223
And a Bad Go-Getter 227
Meltemi 231
Delos 235
City-States 237
The Odyssey 241
The Battle of Salamis 245
Agoraphobia 249
Corinth 253
Ithaka 257
Been Such A Long Way Home 259
The Wandering Rocks 263
Dismasted 267
Rock This Way 273
In a Little Spanish Town 277
The Pillars Of Hercules 281
The Atlantic
The Marrakesh Express 285
The Master 289
And Your Bird Can Sing 295
Christopher Columbus 299
Head Out on the Highway 307
Looking for Adventure 309
The Bung 311
The Dolphin's Rings 315
If It's Going to Happen, It'll Happen Out There 319
Hand Jive 321
Houston, We've Had a Problem 323
Parrot Talk 327
Fixing a Hole 331
Sea Trials 335
A Different Drummer 339
Dreamworld 343
Let Us Cross Over 353
The Great Divide 355
The Final Leg
Homeward Bound 361
The Old Man And The Sea 363
Here Today, Gone Tamale 365
You'll Start Out Standing 369
Two-Lane Blacktop 373
Acapulco 377
T-Shirt Weather 379
With God On His Side 381
Abashed 389
Jiggety-Jig 391
Almost Homeboy 393
The Golden Gate 397
Both Sides Now 399
Appendix 405
Acknowledgements 415
Introduction
One pleasant January day in a dead calm off the coast of Sri Lanka, the Captain was merrily piloting his craft towards a safe harbor when he espied an approaching vessel. It was brightly painted with a menacing dragon figurehead, but otherwise the boat was of the open, wooden type we had seen often, about 30 feet with a powerful outboard and a crew of eight or so swarthy gentlemen. Their behavior differed from the more common deportment of cheery fishermen selling their offerings from the day's catch, in that their smiles were of granite, and their main sales rep was more aggressive than we were accustomed to.
The spokesperson wanted to come aboard, which was odd, and even though there was a language barrier, it was clear he was insisting on it. He also didn't have the customary fish in his hand. The Captain's adept instincts told him that something was amiss. His knees, he noted in passing, were not so much trembling as attempting to jump overboard. He was reviewing in his mind his standard catalogue of suitable social responses, in the hope of deciding on one that would set just the right tone. Let's see, there's the sizzling riposte, the dismissive laugh, the impossibly dense philosophical analysis, the….When, to an operatic fanfare, manfully into the breach from the companionway strode Sergeant-at-Arms Terry Shrode to deal with these ruffians. Now the reader may presume that at this juncture Mr. Shrode would be armed to the teeth and ready to do battle. But we carried no arms aboard, and had we possessed them, there is not a high likelihood that this particular sailor would have been adept in their use.
No, Mr. Shrode countered with a thespian burlesque worthy of the great masters. Affecting an attitude of airy guilelessness, he projected a Forest Gump-like inability to comprehend the potential for evil. “Can't we get on your boat? That looks so cool! Are you fishermen? Do you have any fish? How do you catch them? Is it fun? Do you have candy?”
In the hands of a lesser man, this offering would have been transparently disingenuous. But Mr. Shrode is not a lesser man, and he relentlessly pressed on, not for an instant tipping his hand. Observing the fishermen's response, the Captain noted bemusement, curiosity, and a hint of empathy for one so diminished in apprehension. There is little doubt that if they had suspected he was putting on an act, or if we had assumed any kind of defensive posture, they would have stormed poor Maverick. These were not your professional pirates, however. Their only weapons were knives, and it would seem that, after a disappointing day, guided by one hawkish soul, they had sensed an opportunity. Yet Mr. Shrode's innocent exuberance had touched a deeper note that resonated with our common humanity. After five long minutes of Mr. Shrode's dissembling, they lost their focus and decided to head for home.
Of all the theatrical performances I have been fortunate enough to witness, this one had an unrivaled impact on my immediate circumstances. Of course, none of the rest took place in real life. But more to the point, none were better acted. Perhaps it's not one of the greatest pirate dramas of all time. But, on the other hand, perhaps it is.
The above story was mysteriously missing from the original email accounts of the adventures of the crew of the mighty Maverick on the high seas. These are now presented with modest editing from the original dispatches sent during a circumnavigation undertaken during the years 2001-2003. Welcome aboard.
You'll Start Out Standing
2:45 PM local time, Sunday, April 6 (1945 April 6 UTC).
15 40 N 096 55 W
Temp. 91, Humidity 71%, Cloud Cover 10%.
Underway near Puerto Escondido, Mexico.
When one undertakes a venture such as ours, he perhaps holds out the hope that the experience may toughen him a bit, make more of a man of him, that sort of thing. He'll walk with a salty swagger and have a certain air that sets him apart from the ordinary man. The last thing one wishes is to be proven a weakling, a fool, a coward.
It's true that the Captain currently has a salty swagger but it has more to do with the fact that he's found the tamales and the question on his mind is “Dónde estan los baños?” than that he's got a few miles under his keel. And about his air, the less said the better, although it does do a rather good job of setting him apart from other men.
Daniel Patrick Moynihan once said that if you live life fully, it will break your heart, probably quoting an old Irish proverb. Similarly, it seems that if you sail enough miles, the sea will turn you into a poltroon. Just what you didn't want.
The crew of Maverick arrives at Huatulco where all the books say it's safe to wait out a Tehuantepecer. The Captain looks at the bay, which is not too deep, and the faxes, which predict 12-foot waves gliding oh-so-gently by only a short distance away. He recalls that waves have the property of refracting around things. (Even particles may act like waves and refract, exhibiting just the sort of duplicity that the Captain abhors in the universe and its miserable doings.) Looking at the headland that protects the bay, he hypothesizes thusly: Here lies the sort of thingamajig around which a wave, if it got a notion to, might refract, sending its mischievous energy into the harbor. The books say no, it's safe. Never one to be reassured by facts or evidence, the Captain has that particular talent of the coward, to be afraid.
Seeking reassurance he asks the port captain if the harbor is safe, if the mean old waves might refract into the harbor. The port captain pats his hand and looks meaningfully into his eyes, having seen his sort before. “No, it is very safe here.”
So then the Captain goes to see the manager of the marina, Andrico, who has the sort of sporty name that tennis pros and ski instructors favor, and asks him the same thing. “No, not to worry,” he says in his best bedside manner, as if reassuring a little old lady.
So the books, and the Port Captain, and Andrico, and the fishermen, and the indulging looks on the faces of all who are brave, say that the nasty waves will not refract around the headland.
But the waves refract around the headland.
On Sunday, when the Tehuantepecer is scheduled to start blowing to 50 knots, the right side of the bay, the one the locals said was safest, starts to look untenable and will be if it gets worse. We move to the other side of the bay and as usual make certain we've got the hook well stuck. Later, the other cruising boat in the anchorage follows.
On Monday, the winds reportedly gusted to 65 knots, hurricane strength, out in the Gulf, and we had gusts of up to 40 in the bay. Every vessel in the bay dragged its anchor, except Maverick. Okay, there were only three other vessels. But one was a 60-foot steel trawler, and another was a large barge. Both craft were anchored by professionals—members in good standing of the “nothing to worry about in this snug harbor” school of thought. The trawler crew was aboard and tried to re-anchor but couldn't and eventually settled for tying up to the pier, which, with the surge, was a very ugly solution. The barge fetched up on the rocks. A local tug attempted to stabilize it at the docks, but when that failed, grounded it on a beach. The cruisers were away in town, so when we saw their boat was dragging in the strong wind and chop, we got into the dinghy with three fenders and clambered aboard to try to keep the fenders between their boat and a huge channel buoy. As the boat dragged past it, we found some lines and tied two to the buoy, stabilizing the situation until the weather died down. They were not ungrateful; the boat would have foundered.
An exasperating fact is that most of the time, the dashing, devil-may-care skipper who throws out 30 feet of rode in 20 feet of water and says, “Who's ready for a brewski?” is going to be fine, while the silly crew of Maverick that spent FIVE HOURS before they were satisfied that their anchor was well set in Mykonos will look like fools. Most of the time even a poorly set anchor will not drag, the boat will not be broken into, the through-hulls will not fail, we will not lose our passports, the lighthouse will be working, the rig will not come down, the hull will not come apart, the navigation will be obvious, the chart will be correct, the oil cooler will not spring a leak, lightning will not strike, the boat will not swing onto the reef in a gale, and all your worries will seem the far-fetched scenarios of a guy with no self-confidence and no sense of adventure.
When we were in Lipari, I saw an excursion boat loading passengers for a day trip. Everyone was in a festive mood, the crew welcoming the visitors, handing out drinks, helping them stow their bags. Only one man stood apart from the rest, leaning on the rail with a worried look on his face, staring down at the mooring lines. Though he wore no uniform, I knew in an instant he was the captain.
It's a little humiliating to feel the need, or even the duty, to be a fussy worrywart. It's really not what you had in mind when you visualized yourself as Captain. There is no dignity in paranoia, when the movies teach us that the hero is like Butch Cassidy or the Sundance Kid, jumping off a big cliff and not getting hurt. On the other hand, in the book, Little Big Man, there is a story about Wild Bill Hickok that I assume is apocryphal, but nonetheless like many apocryphal tales it is a good one. As he approaches a bar to get a drink, a man at a bar stool on the end who seems to be passed out drunk lifts up his head and raises a gun to kill him. Hickok, prepared for that eventuality because he's paranoid, has his gun hidden behind the hat he holds in his hand, and blows him away. Little Big Man is amazed, and asks Hickok how he knew that guy had a gun, and Hickok replies that it was just a hunch, and when he gets hunches like that 99 out of 100 times he's wrong. “But it's that one time in a hundred that pays me for my troubles.”