Power & Motoryacht – June 2017

Y

a see, Doc, I’ve got this

dream. And the point of it,

I suppose, is to somehow

reexperience what, looking back,

seems like a truly wonderful part

of my life. You know, the part I

spent traveling long, empty-ocean

distances on boats.

Oh, I know. I know. You can’t go

home again. You can’t recapture

the past. Or at least that’s what

everybody says. But humor me,

Doc. Let me give you at least a

faint idea of what it was like, out

there, on those extended voyages

into the wild blue yonder. Maybe

it’ll help.

First off , I should tell you about

an old guy named Jack, a globe-

trotting, supertanker skipper turned Great Lakes pilot. Back in the

day, Jack and I spent a good bit of time together shepherding ships

across Lake Superior for a wild little outfi t called the Great Lakes

Pilots Association. And one peaceful night, somewhere northwest

of Copper Harbor, while we both stood in the reddish glow of

a chart table on board a frowzy Turkish freighter, Jack made an

absolutely singular observation.

“You know, I love this stuff —I’ve loved it all my life,” he said,

gesturing with a pair of dividers in a way that meant he was talking

about all of seafaring, not just charts and chart tables. “But do you

know the best part?”

“No,” I replied, watching the old boy expertly step off the mileage

to our next hauling point with the dividers.

“Th ink about it,” he said, tossing the dividers onto the chart, “At

this very moment pretty much everybody who’s important to you

and me knows where we are and what we’re doing—but then again

they don’t!”

It took several more years of bopping around the high seas—

venue swapping from the lakes to the Gulf of Mexico and then the

oceans of the world—before I really understood what Jack had been

getting at. For a while, I fi gured he’d merely been acknowledging

the way bluewater voyaging sets you free from the entanglements

and responsibilities of life ashore, at least temporarily. But then one

morning much further down the line, while departing Trinidad at

the helm of a 200-foot oilfi eld supply boat, with the attractive pros-

pect of days and days of open ocean travel ahead, I fi nally realized—

what Jack had been saying was that seafaring is so diff erent, oft en so

astonishingly diff erent, from shoreside life that those who don’t live

and breathe it will never truly know

its beauties and enchantments.

I continued my own seafaring

career well beyond that trip to

Trinidad. And as time ticked by

I both enjoyed—and was occa-

sionally terrorized by—hundreds

of happenings that still play like

movies in my mind today. Stuff like

delivering American-built patrol

boats to Panama—and collecting

giant rolls of cash from guys in dark

suits and refl ector sunglasses. And

dealing with outrageous storms on

board old oceangoing tugs like the

Sara Hayes and the Betty Wood.

And watching literally thousands of

bottlenose dolphins play the Hum-

boldt Current off the coast of Peru,

many of them shooting out of the big rollers like joyful rockets.

But yeah, okay, the dream?

Last summer, I bought a comparatively small, 30-year-old

pocket cruiser, mostly because I love her classical good looks. And

although the boat has additional virtues, like a practically new

Awlcraft paint job and a practically new Yanmar diesel, I was fully

aware when I purchased her that she needed a good bit of upgrad-

ing, particularly in light of the very special plan—the very special

dream—I had in mind for her.

Th e idea, you see, is to do a trip like I used to in the old days.

Only this time, I’ll be traveling from the Florida coast to the

Bahamas or, more particularly, to Hopetown in the Abacos, a

destination that, for some reason, inspires me today just as much

as places like Port Moreseby, New Guinea, and Antofagasta, Chile,

used to way back when. And, of course, to safely actualize such a

jaunt, a very reliable boat is called for, a boat that, while old, must

be rendered entirely new in terms of systems.

So Doc, is it any wonder we’re talking a serious refi t here, with

new electrics, water, sanitation, mechanicals ... you name it? And

is it any wonder that so much work is required—along with so

much money and so much time spent away from home—that my

wife is making unsettling pronouncements these days like: “You’re

obsessed, obsessed! You need to see a psychiatrist. I mean it!”

Oh sure. Sure. I get your drift. Flowers? Yeah, okay. Hit a

few long-neglected chores around the ranchero? Maybe a nice

romantic dinner for two some place? Certainly. But I’m not crazy,

eh Doc? I mean like crazy-crazy, right? Oh! Shoot! Really. Huh!

Really? U

144 POWER & MOTORYACHT / JUNE 2017 WWW.PMYMAG.COM

UNCHARTED WATERS

THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS

EXCUSE ME, BUT WHAT ABOUT A LITTLE CHAT?

KENT BARTON

BY CAPT. BILL PIKE

POWER & MOTORYACHT (ISSN 0086-441). June 2017, Volume 33, Number 6 Published monthly by Cruz Bay Publishing, an Active Interest

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