Come Sail Away

A strange memory occurred to me recently.  About twenty years ago, Miss Patty and I were planning a family vacation to Nova Scotia.  One day after work, I went to the AAA office here in Nashua to pick up some road maps and travel brochures.   The clerk who assisted me asked if we wanted to take the international ferry between Portland, Maine, and Yarmouth, Nova Scotia.  When I replied that we hadn’t decided yet, he made his recommendations.

 

“If you do take the ferry,” he began, “take it going to Nova Scotia and not coming back.  It leaves Maine at 6:00pm and goes overnight.  You can sleep, then, and get to Nova Scotia early the next morning. You won’t waste any time.  Coming back to Maine, it goes during the day.  You’re stuck on the boat for twelve hours with nothing to do but look at water.  It’s boring as hell.”  Here he rolled his eyes and shook his head disgustedly to emphasize his point.  “I made that mistake once,” he continued.  “I was bored out of my mind.  Never again!”

 

On hearing this, I nearly burst out laughing!  If only he knew who he was talking to, I thought.  Twelve hours of looking at water sounded like a great day to me.  I wished I had brought my Merchant Marine license to show him.  I would have told him that I looked at water to earn a living for several years, and I would gladly do it again.  I would most definitely not be bored!

 

This man certainly caught my attention and provided some amusing entertainment for me with his memorable remarks.  Two decades later, I still remember this monologue vividly, and I can’t think of it without laughing.  But I did not laugh then.  Instead, I politely thanked him for the road maps, the travel brochures, and his professional advice regarding the international ferry.

 

As things turned out, we did not take the ferry between Maine and Nova Scotia.  But in two summers of vacationing in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland, we did make several voyages aboard the several ships that connected these provinces. These voyages ranged in duration from one hour to fourteen hours, and none of us were bored.  On the contrary, we all agreed that even the fourteen-hour journey was too short and went by too quickly.  I was impressed that four teenage children would unanimously agree with their middle-aged parents on this point.

 

Our first voyage took place on Tuesday, June 24, 2003, aboard the Princess of Acadia.  This lovely old vessel sailed across the Bay of Fundy from Saint John, New Brunswick, to Digby, Nova Scotia, in a leisurely three hours.  We all enjoyed this passage tremendously, and the children were especially intrigued by the extreme drop in tide that we saw on arrival in Digby.

 

Two days later, on Thursday, June 26, we sailed from Caribou, Nova Scotia, to Wood Island, Prince Edward Island, aboard the Holiday Island.  This was a shorter voyage across the Northumberland Strait on a hazy, hot, and humid day.  The comparatively cool breeze on the water was refreshing.

 

Two days later, on Saturday, June 28, we recrossed the Northumberland Strait from Prince Edward Island to New Brunswick via the new Confederation Bridge.  While we recognized the Confederation as a marvel of modern civil engineering, we would have been just as happy to sail aboard the historic ferry that it had recently replaced.

 

Returning a year later, we sailed aboard the Joseph and Clara Smallwood from North Sydney, Nova Scotia, to Argentia, Newfoundland, on Monday, June 21, 2004.  This grand voyage took fourteen hours and thirty minutes across open ocean.  I had been concerned that our four teenagers’ interest would not last for this duration, but it did.  They all loved it and wanted to do it again.

 

A week later, we did do it again.  On Sunday, June 27, we sailed aboard the Lief Ericson from Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland, to North Sydney, Nova Scotia.  A shorter voyage of only six hours, it seemed slightly anticlimactic but was nonetheless a wonderful way to spend a large part of the day.

 

In recalling these events of twenty years ago, I also remember a popular song from over forty years ago, when I first went to sea, and which I recently heard again:

 

I’m sailing away.

Set an open course

For the virgin sea.

I’ve got to be free,

Free to face the life

That’s ahead of me.[1]

 

As a teenager looking ahead to a seemingly endless and limitless future, I felt impatient to leave home and go away and get on with life, a life of following the sea wherever it took me.  The sea to me meant freedom.  It gave me the freedom to “search for tomorrow on every shore,” and to learn and grow from the experience.  This experience, acquired both at sea and in port, inspired me to upgrade my license and advance professionally, and later, to pursue higher education in the humanities in college.  Now, at retirement age,

 

I look to the sea.

Reflections in the waves

Spark my memories.

 

These memories of my seafaring experiences, “some happy, some sad,” have to a large degree formed my character, guided my thinking, and shaped my outlook on life, and they continue to provide a foundation for philosophical inquiry, reasoned analysis, and the eternal search for lux et veritas, light and truth.  In this way, I have found many tomorrows on many shores.

 

Not content to remain ashore, though, I have taken many opportunities to return to the sea and again partake of the inspirational beauty and majesty of this unique element of Creation.  When the opportunity arose to sail among the eastern provinces of Canada, my family and I jumped at the chance.  Now we all have fond memories of these voyages.

 

In all the years that I have felt drawn to the sea, I have frequently sensed the presence of the Divine.  This is usually difficult and sometimes impossible to articulate, but despite its inherent ineffability, the spiritual aspect of the sea remains undeniable.  It is often as if

 

A gathering of angels

Appeared above my head.

They sang to me this song of hope,

And this is what they said.

 

They said:

“Come sail away.  Come sail away. 

Come sail away with me now.

Come sail away.  Come sail away.

Come sail away with me.”

 

Whether standing on the shore and looking out to sea, or boarding a ship and going to sea, the experience is always sublime, and there is never any occasion for boredom!

 

Now let’s look at a few photographs of Canadian ships:

The Princess of Acadia approaches her dock in Saint John, New Brunswick, on Tuesday, June 24, 2003.

The Confederation, as seen from her running mate, the Holiday Island, as the two vessels ply the route between Caribou, Nova Scotia, and Wood Island, Prince Edward Island, on Thursday, June 26, 2003.

 

The view from the bridge of the Joseph and Clara Smallwood on her voyage from North Sydney, Nova Scotia, to Argentia, Newfoundland, on Monday, June 21, 2004.

The Leif Erickson rests at her berth in the fog in Port-aux-Basques, Newfoundland, prior to loading passengers and cargo early on Sunday morning, June 27, 2004.

The Abegweit sails beneath the new Confederation Bridge that took her place on the route between Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick on June 1, 1997, in this postcard view.

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[1] This and all subsequent quotations are from Dennis De Young, “Come Sail Away,” in Styx, The Grand Illusion, A&M Records, 1977.  Found on www.AZLyrics.com, et al.; punctuation and grammar normalized.

Left Behind

On Sunday afternoon, November 4, 1979, the General Hoyt S. Vandenberg sailed from Roosevelt Roads, Puerto Rico, bound for a special operations area in the Caribbean.  Due to depart at 3:00pm, the ship rested patiently alongside the dock in the beautiful tropical weather while her crew tended to their duties.  Captain C.H. Harriman stood with the harbor pilot on the starboard bridge wing, watching as the last mooring lines were brought aboard.  I stood at the engine order telegraph inside the bridge and next to the helmsman.  We were to get underway in just another minute, when suddenly an unexpected visitor arrived.

Entering through the chartroom, Mitchel Salem, the first assistant engineer, asked me quietly, “Where’s the old man?”

Somewhat startled by this soft-spoken apparition, I pointed and replied, “He’s on the starboard wing.”  Then I watched as Mitch approached the old man and said something privately into his ear. Captain Harriman, the taller of the two, bent over to listen.  After a moment he stood up straight, looked around, and exclaimed in a very loud voice, “I can’t sail without him!!”

In the commotion that followed, it was revealed that the Chief Engineer was not on the ship.  He had been searched for everywhere, but to no avail.  The obvious conclusion was that he was still ashore and would miss the ship.  Captain Harriman hurriedly instructed the linehandlers to leave one head line and one stern line on the dock.  He then stepped inside the bridge to examine the Certificate of Inspection, which listed all the crewmen and their specific qualifications that the ship was required by law to carry.

In the engine room of the General Vandenberg, there were five licensed officers: a Chief Engineer, a first assistant engineer, a second assistant engineer, and two third assistant engineers.  Four of these five were required for the ship to legally sail from an American port; only the second third assistant engineer was not required by the Certificate.  But this extra third assistant, an older man from Spain named Castro, held a Chief Engineer’s license, the only one besides the actual Chief who did.  So, whether he wanted the job or not, it suddenly became his.  Captain Harriman called the engine room and spoke with him briefly.  “Mr. Castro,” he barked into the phone.  “You’re the Chief Engineer for this voyage!  I can’t sail without you!  You got it down there?”  An on-the-spot promotion.

With the crewing crisis concluded, Captain Harriman returned to the bridge wing.  The last lines were taken in, the pilot gave the helm and engine directions, and a tugboat helped ease the General Vandenberg away from the dock.  Soon she was turned around and heading out to sea.  Once the ship cleared the harbor, the pilot left and was taken ashore in a launch.

Just when we were settling in to a normal underway watch, a radio call came in from the tugboat dispatcher.  He had our Chief Engineer and would send him out to us.  Would we please slow down so the tugboat could catch up to us more easily?  At a much reduced speed, and with the pilot ladder again lowered, we waited for the tug.  When it arrived, it nudged along the starboard side, and the missing Chief Engineer climbed aboard.  I watched from the bridge wing with Captain Harriman, whose annoyance at this entire episode was obvious but restrained.

The scriptures inform us that “unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required: and to whom men have committed much, of him they will ask the more” (Luke 12:48).  I’ve often heard this paraphrased in contemporary English as, “More is expected of those to whom more is entrusted.”  Captain Harriman’s translation, related to me in a litany of complaint afterwards, was “It’s one thing for an ordinary seaman to miss the ship when it sails, but it’s altogether different when the Chief Engineer does the same thing.”  Whatever the wording, though, it’s the same principle.

Working one’s way up to either Master or Chief Engineer is a long and arduous process.  If it were easy, the licenses would be meaningless.  Because it is not easy, these licenses make a statement about the men who hold them.  They certify that these men are competent and trustworthy, that they have made the grade and paid their dues.  Simply put, the Master’s and Chief Engineer’s licenses command respect.  And it is natural for those who respect the Master and Chief Engineer to expect professionalism in return.

Over the years, I’ve seen that the majority of educated and professional people conduct themselves appropriately and responsibly.  The small number who don’t are the exceptions and not the rule.  I recall a few such standouts of egregious unprofessionalism.  One of the worst of these was the director of a college library, a place where we asked people to keep their voices down.  She frequently threw public hissy fits and vicious temper tantrums over trivial matters, one day shrieking at maximum volume and with eardrum-splitting intensity at a staff member about his lack of political correctness.  Witnessing this performance, I thought but did not say, this woman is educated to the PhD level, and this is how she behaves?

Unfortunately, not everyone “to whom much is given” returns what is “required.”  Put another way, “it’s one thing for an” illiterate street urchin to scream like a banshee at another person, “but it’s altogether different when” a highly educated professional librarian “does the same thing.”  The standards for and the expectations of the two are completely different.

After the Chief Engineer was safely returned to the General Vandenberg, he resumed his duties in the engine room.  Mr. Castro stepped down and resumed his duties as third assistant, but he received a day’s pay as Chief for his brief promotion.  The General Vandenberg then set forth on an uneventful voyage to her operations area, and after that, northwestward to Port Canaveral, Florida.  She arrived there on Wednesday, November 14, 1979.  These events took place so long ago, but I’ve always remembered the day the Chief missed the ship and was almost left behind.  I was very young then, and this episode made an impression on me.  It showed me that I could learn valuable lessons by simply observing the actions of others.