I Think We’re All Bozos on this Boat

Back in September 2008 I organized a charter around the San Juan Islands crewed by my best mates, Hugh, Tom and Bill. Sadly, Bill passed away last week after a years-long struggle with early onset Parkinson’s. Bill, Tom and I had worked together at Hewlett-Packard. By 2008 we had each burned out on the chaos surrounding the company at the time. This cruise was a chance for us to relax, put our friendship into a new context, and to introduce my sailing mentor Hugh to my two most trusted cohorts.

Who’s the Crew?

Having finally graduated to captain and as sponsor of the cruise, my rating was not in question. For the rest of the crew, we set rank in reverse order of sailing experience. A paean, perhaps, to those that believe the least capable sailors should be promoted out of harm’s way. As this was Bill’s first sailing adventure, he naturally assumed the rank of ‘Admiral’. Tom, my co-captain on several prior charters, took the rank of ‘Commodore’, while Hugh gamely took on the role of first mate (and senior training officer).

After deliberating for several nanoseconds, Bill decided the galley was where he could add the most value. In his understated way, the Admiral warmed to his task. It wasn’t long before his tiny stove produced roast meats, cornbread, and fresh vegetables that even Jack Aubrey’s Killick would envy, albeit grudgingly. Not content with cooking, Bill took over provisioning, too. In short order he mentally planned our main meals for the week, then quietly ensured we understood our role was to fetch provisions for him, not select them.

Booze on the other hand we left in the safe hands of the Commodore. Tom, dipsomaniacally (diplomatically, surely – ed.), made allowances for our personal preferences. Mightily well stocked, we could have sailed to Hawaii blind drunk if we’d chosen to.

Hugh adapted well to his role. With a lubberly Admiral on board he found a willing pupil, while his nephew and protegee did his best not to embarrass himself.

What About the Boat?

Argonaut is a 43-foot Hans Christian ketch and about as close to a pirate ship as you could hope for from a 1980s Taiwanese built yacht. No longer part of the complement, back then she chartered out of San Juan Sailing in Bellingham, Washington. Long a sailing school favourite, Argonaut has three cabins with doors and comfortably accommodates seven. We awarded Hugh the forward cabin in an effort to minimize the effects of his deep and sonorous sleep – halyard rattler that he is. Bill took the cabin at stern starboard, I took stern port, and Tom had his run of four berths in the salon.

Anchors Aweigh

September in the San Juans is magical. Shoulder seasons are better for wind, but late summer days remain pleasantly warm until mid-October. Having sailed the San Juans for two weeks in 2007, Tom and I had specific places to explore. Some of the details are a bit fuzzy, so for the sake of brevity what follows is an executive summary of our highly recommended itinerary:

Day 1

We nipped into Reid Harbor on Stewart Island for our first night. Typical San Juan cruising days don’t involve much more than 20 to 30 miles of sailing, or motoring. Especially as the sun heads south. But a quiet first day is always recommended, and we used ours to explore Argonaut’s nuances and quirks.

Day 2 – The Hummingbird

Early the next morning, the gentle breeze encouraged me to jump in the dinghy and scoot around Argonaut taking photos. There was just enough wind to fill the sails, but not move her far. Then it was up to Canada and Galiano Island so we could check out The Hummingbird Pub. According to the Raymarine chart plotter two large boulders straddle Montague Harbour’s entrance. Ignore them. They don’t exist. On shore the bus to the Hummingbird Pub runs a regular service to and from the dock. The pub is pleasantly rustic with a decent menu and good selection of beer.

Day 3 – Sidney Deer

Halfway to Victoria, BC, lies Sidney Island. The spit on the north side is part of the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve, while the rest is privately owned. Plans for development have existed for years, but so far it has stayed wild. The remains of an old brick works are visible by the park’s dinghy dock. Exploring the low grasslands and watching deer darting in and out of the trees in the warm afternoon sun was rejuvenating.

Day 3PM/4 – Victoria

Be cautious when docking in Victoria Harbour. No matter how skillfully you bring a 43’ boat with an additional 5’ of bowsprit alongside, local shipboard brew-hoisters will razz you with cries of ‘cheaters’ if you use your bow thruster. We reprovisioned under the Admiral’s auspices and enjoyed the sights. Bill had his camera with him at all times, cinched to his belt. He was doing such a good job recording our trip that I yielded photo duties to him for much of the journey.

Day 5 – Anchoring Follies

Pausing to reenter the US of A at Roche Harbor, my experience with the customs officers proved slightly kinder than the Kafkaesque nightmare the cruising guide led me to believe it would be. Throwing all fruit overboard and denying the presence of Cuban cigars was enough to allow us back into the country.

Jones Island has a snug cove on its northeast corner. The chart shows five state moorings available on a first come first served basis. By the time we arrived at sunset every spot was occupied. Shaped like a bowl, the bottom drops away sharply, and anchoring proved tedious. To this point, Hugh and Bill had manned Argonaut’s massively reluctant hydraulic windlass. But that night I went forward while Hugh took the helm. As a 33-year veteran of a non-standard arrangement of throttle and reverse lever exactly like Argonaut’s, he became the “tireless” designated driver, gamely maneuvering in close quarters while hunting for holding ground.

We dropped the anchor at least a half dozen times, but out of options we determined to make a good set. A couple of hours later Argonaut stopped dragging and swung precariously in the dark. I stayed on anchor watch for an hour while dinner got underway. Fortunately, the wind dropped and the night grew still, clear and full of stars.

Day 6 – The Most Fun, Ever

At 14 tons displacement, it takes a lot to get Argonaut moving. Fortunately, the wind arrived in force. With an early start and the breeze kicking up to a steady 22 knots we raised every bit of canvas we had: jib, staysail, main, mizzen, and mizzen staysail. A first for all of us. Heeled at 45 degrees, water rushing along the gunnels, with her long keel Argonaut tracked beautifully.

By tacit agreement it was the Admiral’s turn to steer. Stepping forward eagerly, Bill took the helm. With a light touch and massive grin it was clear he had found his calling. No waves slowed us down and Argonaut shot along Orcas Island at eight and a half knots. An occasional gust off the hills barely shifted us. Standing with one leg straight against the coaming, the other bent in compensation, the Admiral’s exhilaration became infectious. By the time the galley sink filled with water it was clear we pushed the funometer (aka inclinometer) to its limit.

Sportingly, Bill handed the helm to Hugh for his turn, and it was time to shorten sail. Tucking a full reef in the main and dropping the staysails brought things back to 20 degrees of heel with no loss of speed. We were so well balanced Hugh barely nudged the wheel. It was truly a glorious day of sailing. Later Bill said, “That was the most fun I think I’ve ever had.” I wish he could have crossed the Atlantic with us.

Satisfied with our week’s endeavors we anchored for our final evening in Inati Bay, a short distance from Bellingham. Ill-advisedly we did our best to drink the remains of the liquor stores while babbling like pirates. It was a heroic effort, made possible by Bill’s masterful conversion of leftovers into a magnificent repast. Thankfully, we found several full bottles of wine the next morning.

Day 7 – Man Overboard

Groggily I awoke to the sound of Bill staggering up the companionway. Nearly comatose in my berth I heard the whirr of his digital camera and surmised he was taking pictures from the stern. Click, whirr, click, whirr, click… Splash! Oh, shit!

Even with a hangover I recognized the sound of a camera dropping in the water. I crawled out of my berth and poked my head into the cockpit. Ever the analytic, Bill was standing pointing down and marking transits from the shore as best he could. If he was frustrated, he didn’t show it. Now there was a serious problem to solve, his adrenaline cut through his mental fog. For as long as I’d known him, once he set a course of action he pursued his goals with focus and energy.

‘I’m going in after it,’ he deadpanned.

I looked at him incredulously. ‘Bill, we’re in 25 feet of murky water, swinging on the anchor. There’s no way you’ll find it. Besides, the water is about 55 degrees and the camera is already toast.’

‘I have to try. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t.”

I knew better than to argue with him. Besides, there were lots of photos that deserved rescuing and the memory card might just survive the dunking.

‘You’ll need a mask and snorkel, I’m pretty sure there’s one on board.’

Bill went to change and I dug around the lockers to find a mask. Back on deck I brought Tom up to speed. He also knew not to stand in Bill’s way. The chilly, grey morning made the water appear warmer than it was. Lowering himself in where others might have dived, Bill’s rising alarm as the icy cold crept up his legs grew increasingly loud. His breathing deepened. Letting go of the ladder, he thrashed for a few seconds then quickly realized he’d met his physical limits. The camera was gone. But at least he’d tried to rescue it.

Later that morning Bill spoke with his wife Karen. After he hung up, he relayed that during the week we’d been away the global financial disaster that would later define 2008 was in full swing. We talked about turning left towards Hawaii and giving the future a miss. But we’d run short on booze and had families to tend to.

A Toast to Absent Friends

A couple of years after the cruise Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s. A chronic disease that often afflicts the elderly, it can be more aggressive with the relatively young. It saps motor functions and makes day to day living increasingly difficult. Over the next few years, I’d meet Bill whenever schedules allowed, but our times together became rarer.

I miss Bill’s dry sense of humour, his keen intellect and passion for knowledge. He worked harder and more productively than anyone I knew. His lack of self-consciousness and willingness to dive in (literally) made him a terrific collaborator. He never suffered fools, especially carpetbaggers that didn’t bother to understand how best to get results from a team. ‘I flipped the Bozo bit on them,’ he’d say. For a diplomat and politician, his ability to skewer the pompous with a technical bon mot was unmatched.

Fair winds and a following sea, Admiral!