My "aha moment" is live now

I just received an email message letting me know that my Mutual of Omaha "aha moment" is live now at http://www.ahamoment.com/pg/moments/view/17011.

The final film clip actually turned out better than expected. They managed to distill about ten minutes of my interview down to a single minute and still have it retain the points I was trying to make about how my dream of sailing around the world got started and what I am doing to fulfill it.

Nan liked their photo of me smiling so much that I have made it my blog's new profile image.

If you have a chance to watch the film clip, please leave a comment to let me know what you think. Thank you.

My aha moment

Late this afternoon, I drove over to the Mesa Mall parking lot, where Mutual of Omaha's Airstream mobile studio was parked. I had received an email invitation last week, as a result of a marketing person's discovery of my blog, inviting me to be filmed for their "aha moment" campaign. You have probably seen the commercials on TV featuring ordinary people talking about the moments that changed their lives. They couldn't guarantee that my spot would make it into a TV commercial, but it would definitely be posted to their website.

The invitation was specific that my aha moment should be about sailing and that I should plan to bring a prop to the filming. I didn't need to think too hard to come up with an idea: My aha moment happened in 1968, when I was ten years old. I read a National Geographic article about Robin Lee Graham, the first teen-ager to sail alone around the world. I knew right away that I wanted to do the same thing someday.

The studio people, Jessica and Dave, interviewed me for about ten minutes, starting with my dream and expanding on it to discuss my plans for actually sailing around the world. It was a nervous blur, but when it was over, Jessica said that it went really well, that my face was lit up with excitement. She told me that my aha moment would appear on the Mutual of Omaha website at http://www.mutualofomaha.com/aha within three weeks, and she handed me my clapboard as a souvenir. When it goes live, I'll be sure to post a direct link to it here.

Boat Quest, Part 2

In 1972, when I read Robin Graham's book, Dove, about his around-the-world adventure, I knew that what I wanted to do with sailing was not to race in regattas on Lake Michigan but to see the world from a sailboat like Robin had done. I was only fourteen at the time and living in mostly land-locked Wisconsin, so the possibility of buying a boat and sailing it around the world seemed pretty remote, a someday dream that I didn't actively work toward for many years.

One day in the mid-1990s, I was at the office of one of my computer business clients in downtown Aspen, and I noticed a framed photo of a sailboat on his desk. "Nice boat," I said. "Is it yours?" He said that it was and asked if I had an interest in sailing. "Yes," I said, "but a boat like that is awfully expensive, isn't it?" Not as much as you'd think, he replied, especially for an older, used boat. "Where was that picture taken? It looks like somewhere in the Caribbean." It is, he said. "So how does that work?" I asked. "You're here in Aspen and your boat is down there?" He said that every few months he would fly down to where the boat was stored, sail it to the next destination, put it back in storage, and fly home. In this way, he was slowly touring the Caribbean by sailboat, an island at a time.

The idea I had been holding for more than twenty years that owning a decent-sized boat and sailing it on the ocean was something I might never be able to afford either in terms of money or time was suddenly gone. If this person could do it, I thought, why couldn't I? How to get started though?

About this same time, Phil LeBoutillier walked into my office. He said he was developing a bed and breakfast in the Bahamas (tomatopastehopetown.com) and needed some assistance getting a computerized accounting system set up to track the project. He also said he had noticed my Minifish leaning against a wall out front and wondered if we couldn't maybe work out a trade for some fiberglass repair work. There was still a deep scratch on the bottom from a bad day sailing on Lake Mendota, while I was at the University of Wisconsin in the late 1970s, when I was blown into rocks near the shore. He invited me to come with him to check out his shop a few blocks away where he was building a plywood dinghy for a new trawler he had bought as a transport boat for the bed and breakfast.

The dinghy was a cleverly designed skiff, with the plywood sides and bottom curved around a sturdy frame. Phil was in the process of fiberglassing it so the shop smelled of chemicals. He said that since he was already at it, we should just go get my boat and fix the scratch. We shook on the trade and on our newfound friendship.

When I asked Phil later where he had gotten the plans for his skiff, he handed me a catalog of boat plans. I can't find it now but I know I still have it somewhere, and I think it might have been Fifty Wooden Boats, published by WoodenBoat. In addition to smaller boats like the skiff, there were plans available for cruising sailboats, which I studied carefully. One in particular looked like the right combination of sailplan and layout without being too large to build in a big garage and transport to the ocean by flatbed truck. But did I have the time and more importantly the skills to build a wooden sailboat from scratch?

Boat Quest, Part 1

This series picks up where "Introduction" left off as my very first post to this blog, way back in March, 2005.

After my family purchased an AMF Alcort Minifish in June of 1969, when I was eleven years old, my interest in sailing never diminished. We would put the boat on top of the station wagon every summer for our vacations to Waupaca or our trips to visit Grandma in Iowa. I kept Royce's Sailing Illustrated next to my bed and studied it nightly until I knew all the concepts and vocabulary, and could tie every knot. My friend Mark Wiars and I even played a sailing board game, Regatta, at his home after school. Mark always won because he saved his Puff cards for the finish.

At that time, we were mostly interested in small sailboats because that was our experience: my family's Minifish, the boats we sailed at Boy Scout camp, the boats we saw sailing on Wisconsin's lakes. Mark and I dreamed of sailing racing boats on Lake Michigan. He was a fan of the Star, while I favored the Lightning. Royce's contained excellent illustrations of both boats, so we would argue their relative merits like other kids argued over which professional athlete was better. Looking at my almost-forty-year-old copy of Royce's just now, I think Mark had the edge since the Star featured a lead keel while the Lightning used a wooden centerboard. On choppy Lake Michigan, the Star would be the safer and faster boat. I think this was the beginning of a long tendency on my part to overestimate a particular boat's seaworthiness.

There were many other boats illustrated in Royce's, including coastal cruisers and passage makers, but as kids we didn't pay much attention to those since they seemed so out of reach. The closest we came to thinking about that type of boat was Dove, the 24-foot sloop that young Robin Graham sailed around the world in the 1960s. As I said in my Introduction, reading a National Geographic article about Robin's circumnavigation was the beginning of my own dream to sail around the world.

Where's the Dinghy? Day 6

or, How We Learned Most of Cruising's Lessons in Just One Week

Day 6 (Thursday, May 6, 2004)

Sailing to The Baths

We wanted to get an early start for the Baths that Thursday morning because we had heard that the day moorings filled up quickly and that anchoring was not allowed. We motored over to the Salty Kat catamaran at about 8:00 to pick up Shannon, who told us that with four gung-ho guys on board her boat, she wasn’t getting any real sailing time. We changed that quickly, having Shannon jump around on top of the cabin and down in the cockpit to rig the mainsail with a single reef while I steered us into the wind. We were well protected from the high wind and swells by the mass of Virgin Gorda to our east, so it was finally time to sail! We bore off to port and watched with delight as the mainsail filled with wind for the first time this trip. We put out the jib as well and soon were flying along at a respectable six knots. With easy teamwork, we smoothly came about and were now on a starboard tack. Shannon snapped a picture of Nan and me sitting together at the helm, and Nan was actually smiling. This was the most fun we had had all week. The Salty Kat soon motored past us mid-tack, on a straight run to the Baths. Those guys don’t know what they’re missing, we commented. Several tacks later we arrived at the Baths ourselves to find that all the day moorings were already filled. We dropped the sails and motored in lazy loops, enjoying the rock formations and waiting for something to open up, but nothing ever did. Shannon decided she should rejoin her group instead of staying with us all the way to the Bitter End Yacht Club, where we planned to spend the night. So as we passed the bow of the moored Salty Kat, Shannon heaved her backpack onto the trampoline and then jumped into the water. We waved good-bye and promised to meet up with her later.

In the shelter of shore, we put the sails back up and headed north in an effortless beam reach past Spanish Town and Collision Point to starboard and then the Dogs islands to port. In almost no time, we passed an inlet where other boats were pulling in. It’s too soon, I thought. The inlet we want is the next one. As we rounded to the east, following the contour of shore, we saw nothing ahead of us but a massive reef, open ocean and big swells. This can’t be right, I thought. I checked the chart and saw that we were north and east of where I had thought we were, in Virgin Sound between Necker Island and Prickly Pear Island. Add “lost” to our list of problems for the week. We dropped the sails and steered for what appeared to be a break between the reef and shore, then watched as the water went from dark blue to the brilliant aquamarine of shallow water. The depth finder indicated that we were in about only six feet of water. Nan thought for sure that we would run aground at any moment. But I suggested that as long as we were in the sheltered water behind the reef and could clearly see the bottom and any obstacles, we might as well go exploring. The water was so beautiful she couldn’t help but agree. We followed a line of small buoys to a tiny bay at the easternmost end of Virgin Gorda. This could have been a private island paradise for the night but there were already a couple of boats anchored there and we really had our hearts set on spending the night at the Bitter End. We turned around and headed toward Saba Rock, which marks the northeastern entrance to Gorda Sound.

We rounded east after entering the sound and there was the Bitter End Yacht Club, perhaps the most famous sailing destination in the Caribbean. It looked like a country club set at water’s edge. We moored about a hundred yards from the dinghy dock and then piloted Squishy over to it. We explored the little theme park-like village and then ducked into the bar to escape the heat and drink a cold beer. Everything was pretty expensive, like the $50 per person prix fixe dinner (wine extra) advertised outside the restaurant, so we decided to buy some steaks at the grocery store and try out the little stern rail barbecue grill that came with the boat. I installed the grill and got the coals going while Nan worked her magic on some salads, vegetables and garlic bread down in the galley. As dusk turned to twilight, we ate like royalty in the cockpit while gazing across the water at the series of pyramid-roofed huts that are the primary land-based accommodation at the Bitter End. I was able to pick out the original three that Robin Graham, of Dove fame, had helped to build when he sailed through the area in the late 1960s, near the end of his epic solo, around-the-world sailing adventure. A couple of glasses of wine later, it was time for bed. Nan roused me just a few hours later. A boatload of drunks from the bar was having difficulty locating their boat. They were in the process of boarding ours when Nan yelled out, “Wrong boat!” Slurred apologies and the sound of an outboard motor disappearing into the distance lulled us back to sleep.

Inspiration

When I was almost 11 years old, about the same age that I started to develop an interest in sailing, I remember reading a 1969 National Geographic article about a young man who had just become the youngest person ever to sail solo around the world. His name was Robin Graham, and he immediately became my hero. If someone just a few years older than I was could sail around the world, then why couldn’t I? This was the start of the dream.

I didn’t hear anything more about Robin until his book, Dove, taking its title from the name of his 24-foot sloop, was published a few years later, in 1972. I checked it out of the library and read it in just a few days. If the dream had been waning, it was quickly rekindled. I even had a name for my dream’s future sailboat: Impossible Dream. The Man from La Mancha must have been big at that time. (As coincidence would have it, I met Jim Whittaker, the first American to climb Mt. Everest, about five years ago at a book signing, and part of his slideshow focused on his family sailing around the world in their large steel-hulled sailboat, Impossible Dream.)

I reread Dove a few years ago in anticipation of taking a series of American Sailing Association sailing courses. It was just as I remembered it, but I had the greater appreciation that comes from age for the dangers and doubts that Robin experienced. As I retraced his route on the giant world map in my office, the reality of taking five years to sail 33,000 miles was staggering. But the dream persisted. And it started to evolve into a plan.