“Will you be taking the ICW?” Asked an old man while washing down his fancy motor yacht with a brand new white hose.
“I’m not sure. We’ll see as we get closer. What do you see will be the benefit of doing that?” I asked, doing my best to act as if I knew what the man was talking about.
“The ICW??? …the intracoastal waterway? …traveling all the way down the east coast without going out into open ocean?…” He answered with a humorous sarcasm.
“I understand,” I responded as if I knew what the ICW was all along, “…but this is a very solid sailboat, designed to travel across the Atlantic. I really don’t think I’ll be interested in the ICW!…” Focusing back on my work of epoxying the deck, I pondered, “Note to self: I have to remember to stay away from this ICW thing. How boring…”
This was an interaction I had the previous summer with a retired yacht owner. At the time I was in the process of repairing Aleph Tav for this journey, and I had not yet taken the time to research how to navigate a vessel from Rhode Island to Florida. All I knew was that we would be sailing on the Atlantic ocean next to the United States from north to south, and I was sure the details would come together as we went along, but this ICW was definitely out of the question. Yet here we were many weeks later, tired, beat, exhausted, some of us even traumatized, Aleph Tav looking like it came through a war zone, towing a beat up Navi. And now, that ICW, the very place I was suppose to make a mental note to avoid, was highlighted on the chart plotter, and I sailed for hours out of the way, looking for it’s entrance. Interesting how a journey, and the things we suffer through it, can so give us a different perspective, and cause us to change our mind.
“Good morning Capt’n, maintain your current speed as I raise the bridge.” Came a voice on the radio as we approached the first lift bridge on the ICW… I slowly crossed under it as we entered the smoothest of waters, and I knew we had crossed a very special threshold. It was so peaceful that the crew slept soundly through the entire grand entrance.
For the next several days and actually weeks, we motored across the most beautiful, untouched wetlands, amazed by the tranquil beauty that surrounded us. Slender crane birds watched us pass by while bands of pelicans glided in perfect formation behind one another with the tips of their wings barely grazing the still water. The beauty of each sunrise was topped only by the glory of its setting, and the smooth water was disturbed only as families of dolphins came up for a gulp of fresh air, then vanished.
As we entered deeper into what seemed like paradise, we noticed the bars on our cellphones slowly dropped, then vanished all together. We were completely cut off from civilization, unable to contact friends and family… How ironic; it was while we traveled through paradise that our loved ones worried the most and prayed the hardest for us.
Day after day, we traveled slowly through the connecting rivers and lakes, hurrying to take pictures until we realized it was impossible to miss a perfect shot, as immediately after that moment, there was another, and another, and yet another even more perfect shot moment without ceasing …
I pondered: “What a blessing it is to be bendable; being willing to turn from a place where you are 100% convinced of going in one direction, and go another way…” Someone may argue that bending and going another way is only good if you are turning in the right direction, other wise, you should stand firm. But I would ask: unless you remain bendable, how will you ever know the difference?…
The sun was about to set while we prepared to dock for the night. At the same time, an old man was also approaching the dock paddling his kayak. By now I was pretty well acquainted with boating etiquette, and right of ways, but this was new; a twenty thousand pound vessel, verses a fifty pound kayak with an old man in it… Who should go first?
To be continued


