Wild Goose - Wherever we are, we are never alone (Finally, a post by Mike Taber!)

One of the less desirable aspects of crewing? I would say the tasks the captain/skipper requires of you that you just don't ordinarily do. But a vessel on the sea is not a democracy, and I who rarely write a letter have been commanded to contribute to this blog of the Wild Goose. On a seagoing vessel, the captain commands...and receives in measure.

Of course I'm being tongue-in-cheek about this. Skipper Linda Moore and her husband Hugh could not be finer people to sail with! Competent, prepared, easy-going and prone to embrace the wonder and joy in our travels, without unnecessary drama (most all "drama" such as acted-out anxiety is unnecessary at sea). They are the influential nucleus of a comfortable team of 4 with overall high morale. So far, we've been fortunate to escape/avoid situations that might test that morale and balance aboard.

As we began our night watch rotation beyond the Virginia coast, I felt a part of something beyond the 4 of us. The reality is that "it's only an ocean crossing" that so many have done over the centuries. My personal recognition from that past includes the many Tabers who have made this passage, and many others around the world, on old whaling ships, merchantmen, and military vessels. A John Taber is shown as put ashore in the Azores from a New Bedford whaler, very ill, where he died in December 1834. (I have other plans for myself) Most recently, there are my father's crossings on troop transports in WWII. He still remembers his west-to-east passage with few good memories, so he tries to imagine that mine would be like his, but mine in a tiny boat (his point of view).

More about night watches. Mine often include time I call "being in the zone" (some might see the "zone" asa state of meditation). I'm in another dimension of sorts, and at the same time focused on my surroundings. Particularly when the weather is foul at night, like being in gale conditions, I look to someone else for assistance so we get through it all without serious harm. First, I talk with my son Lucas who's been dead over 25 years, but in these moments he is with me, and I feel comfort in his presence.

This passage, it's been different so far. No moments of concern to speak about. The fifth night out from Virginia, 60 miles NW of Bermuda, I'm on the 9-12 PM watch under cloudy skies and rain, 20-24 Kt winds and 7 knots speed under sail. No visibility so I switch the radar on from time to time. Note to someone who doesn't sail: these are not bad conditions-- the boat is moving well, radar doesn't see all but it's pretty helpful, and I'm wet but not cold. (Old sailor saying: "I don't mind wet, and I don't mind cold. Don't give me wet and cold.") In the midst of this fine, comfortable moment in sailing, I find myself talking to Lucas, regaling him on the joy of the moment. Not my usual way, as I would save our moments together for the tough slogging.

Then, I find I am summoning another old friend to join Lucas in our chat-- this one is Capt. George Davis, 1942 Naval Academy grad, career destroyer group commander and fellow sailor who died at age 91, robust to the end, at home in Florida last month. Then we're joined by my great friend and fellow fiend of 35+ years ago, Allan Hunt (USN Vietnam era carrier officer) who died of leukemia at age 32. I feel literally "carried" in this group of mutual appreciation and blessing, into which I feel the presence of others, maybe some Tabers from long ago, who also passed this way. It is a special moment, one I will remember well many years from now. It's very comforting to be part of a loving, embracing family of blood and non-blood persons in the physical present, and at the same time part of a growing extended family in another dimension.

Such is sailing. I will never be alone.
Mike Taber
on board s/v Wild Goose