Women Who Lived and Loved North of 60 Book

From "Sailing Alone Around the World" --

"But where, after all, would be the poetry of the sea were there no wild waves?"

I was taken sailing once in Bahstan Hahbah and it was not a pleasant experience. All I remember is it was very windy, and crowded with boats; I did not enjoy the company of our hosts and for all I know I had cramps. So I never set foot on another sailboat. But my GR friend Numidica, who sails, recommended the book and sailing with Joshua Slocum via the memoir of his solo sail around the world -- he was the first person to do it -- was a revelation and a treat.

Knowing nothing about boats (except Titanic, so I knew the most basic terms such as "hull" and "davit," like a child who knows the alphabet but can't yet make words) -- let alone sailboats, with their many parts, with all the jargon, and with Slocum using his own spelling for some words so the Kindle and Google couldn't help me, many times I repaid my GR friend Numidica's great rec with an ocean of DMs. Roughly 927 -- feel free to correct me if I'm underestimating -- to which he patiently responded. Having him as a resource enhanced my experience of the book. I came away with a deeper understanding of the love of the sailor for his boat and the symbiotic relationship they have, which I'm guessing explains why ships of all sorts are referred to as "she" and not "it."

There were so many parts to and on The Spray (and that's before engines and electronic equipment) and Unpredictable Things happened to them. So even when I had no idea what Slocum was referring to I went with it and was simultaneously at sea, so to speak, and rapt. This started from the beginning, as Slocum described building The Spray from the bones of another boat, and I have no idea what I'm talking about so I'll let Wikipedia do it --

"In Fairhaven, Massachusetts, he rebuilt the 36 ft 9 in (11.20 m) gaff rigged sloop oyster boat named Spray"

-- because I wouldn't know a "gaff rigged sloop oyster boat" from a teredo worm. Thanks to an answer to the possibly 926th DM I sent Numidica, I am now familar with teredo worms which are gross but also cool worms that live in the ocean and eat boat-bottoms. Just as boat owners do today, Slocum painted the bottom of The Spray with copper paint and touched it up at various ports to foil these foul yet adorable creatures.

Okay, then! If you know what a gaff-rigged sloop oyster boat is you've probably read the book or don't want to. If you haven't a clue and think this language is a deal-breaker, surprisingly it is not. That's because Slocum is very good at relating his story and there is so much else to enjoy besides the technical aspects and details.

Joshua Slocum comes across as a superbly capable, intelligent, cranky, joyful curmudgeon, full of wit and sarcasm. This is an adventure story a la Robert Louis Stevenson (whose widow he met in one port) for anyone who enjoys any sort of adventure. He's in love with the sound of his own words; this is a man who spent a lot of time talking to himself and those conversations are interesting, and he knows it, which for this reader increased his charm. I can't imagine how much confidence it takes to sail alone at all let alone around the world, so to me he earned his conceit. A humble man could not have written this great book, but possibly he's more humble than he lets on.

There are gales and hurricanes, high winds, huge waves:

"On this day the Spray was trying to stand on her head, and she gave me every reason to believe that she would accomplish the feat before night. She began very early in the morning to pitch and toss about in a most unusual manner, and I have to record that, while I was at the end of the bowsprit reefing the jib, she ducked me under water three times for a Christmas box. I got wet and did not like it a bit..."

Stand on her head, reefing the jib, Christmas box -- I have no idea what he's talking about but enjoy the telling. That was the case many times.

It frightened me to imagine winds and waves whipping The Spray about like in the above passage, but it was also exciting. Here it's Man against Nature: Slocum luffing and taffing repeatedly, fighting for his life, caught in an unexpected gale. Thrilling to read about him living it, knowing others every day do so too -- although now with the benefit of engines and other electronic equipment. The book is harrowing and also fun.

There were pirates. There were thieves, men waiting for him to leave the boat to socialize or give a talk at some port in this wide world to steal his stuff. So when he left Spray he'd strew carpet tacks all over the deck to protect his minimal possessions. Once when he felt threatened by men in another boat he went below and came back up having changed his clothes twice trying to make them think he was a crew of three. He didn't fool them but points for ingenuity.

There were torn sails, essential Things breaking. There were beautiful sunsets, spare meals he savored, dolphins and flying fish, the latter a lovely spectacle and a welcome dinner when they'd fly right onto the deck of The Spray. He met people of all cultures, visited every continent except Antarctica. In his quiet moments alone with the waves and wind and stars he read, he loved to read and brought along a lot of books. His book chronicles a remarkable undertaking and exciting adventure.

The reader feels the love and respect Slocum had for The Spray, this vessel he re-built and continuously worked so hard on that freed him from land, pit him against the ocean and his own skill and ingenuity, took him places most of us will never see, his ceiling most often the starry sky somewhere on the water with not another soul in sight. A man and his boat.

And a man and his goat. He was gifted a goat in one port. It did not go well.

"Clark, the American, in an evil moment, had put a goat on board, 'to butt the sack and hustle the coffee-beans out of the pods.' [whatever that means; sounds intriguing] He urged that the animal, besides being useful, would be as companionable as a dog. I soon found that my sailing-companion, this sort of dog with horns, had to be tied up entirely. The mistake I made was that I did not chain him to the mast instead of tying him with grass ropes less securely, and this I learned to my cost. Except for the first day, before the beast got his sea-legs on, I had no peace of mind. After that, actuated by a spirit born, maybe, of his pasturage, this incarnation of evil threatened to devour everything from flying-jib to stern-davits. He was the worst pirate I met on the whole voyage. He began depredations by eating my chart of the West Indies, in the cabin, one day, while I was about my work for'ard, thinking that the critter was securely tied on deck by the pumps. Alas! there was not a rope in the sloop proof against that goat..."

The goat ate his chart hahaha. Not to be condescending but I found Slocum cute when he was mad, especially at the goat:

"No sooner had it got a claw through its prison-box than my sea-jacket, hanging within reach, was torn to ribbons. Encouraged by this success, it smashed the box open and escaped into my cabin, tearing up things generally, and finally threatening my life in the dark...Next the goat devoured my straw hat, and so when I arrived in port I had nothing to wear ashore on my head..."

That's what made him a captivating narrator; he writes as though he was more upset about his hat than having his life threatened in the dark. As playful as he was, though, for all the frivolity and rants small and large this is serious and a terrific adventure book. As Joshua Slocum wrote, so beautifully:

"To face the elements is, to be sure, no light matter when the sea is in its grandest mood. You must then know the sea, and know that you know it, and not forget that it was made to be sailed over."