Generous to a fault, I donate a copy of my new novel to the good (tall) ship Lynx.
I had a great weekend. Seems that after the Sultana (see previous blog) left our hometown, she met up with other tall ships, including the lovely Lynx, a replica of an American war ship from the War of 1812, that were calling at Cape Charles, Virginia, right down the road. Terry and I spent Sunday down there, ogling the gorgeous lines and rigging and perfect paint and wood and lusting to go out for a sail in a brisk wind with everything up, full and by.
That was not to happen, but we did get to walk about and chat up the crew. Nice kids, really--kids in the sense that they were adults, competent and fully matured, but still so much younger than us. I couldn't imagine running a ship like that when I was their age. From where does such youthful competence come?
So I asked that young man standing next to me in the picture. He said he started on tall ships up in New Hampshire when he was fifteen. (The Lynx hails from Portsmouth, N.H.) and never stopped and so here he is, second in command and still so young. Or so he seemed to me. I mean, could he even be thirty?
See them there, way up in the rigging?
That's the key, then: start early and stick with it. A rule for a successful life? I suppose. Hard to argue with the evidence.
As always on tall ships, I was fascinated by the intricate details: the coiled lines, each in its place, each perfectly maintained. The shining woodwork (ah! wood, lovely wood everywhere, warm and rich and smelling of oil and tar).
This stuff fascinates me. Look at the detail. Imagine the maintenance.