Syzygy Sailing

In the midst of boat work we frequently acknowledge the “right tool for the job”; tonight it was all about the “right person at the right time”.

I had a frustrating day trying–and failing–to drill a few holes in a piece of stainless steel. Drilling a few holes was my ONLY goal for the day–it has to be done before I can move forward with my current project–but after driving a hundred miles, stopping at various specialized establishments, spending an emotionally debilitating amount of money, and carrying multiple heavy metal objects back and forth multiple times, this task went unfulfilled. Along the way I did some other errands fine but Damn! I really just wanted to get those holes drilled!

One would think that drilling holes is not that difficult. But sometimes Oh hell yes it is. In the past month I have learned how to TIG weld, use a mill and a lathe, how to adjust and replace blades on a serious band saw, how to properly cope a piece of tubing to mate to another piece of tubing, and designed and insulated an icebox. I assure you! drilling large holes in thick stainless steel remains the MOST IMPOSSIBLE TASK of everything we have done on the boat so far. Seriously, harder than everything else. Why? This amateur can offer only justifications (since I haven’t found the answer). Stainless is much harder than “mild” steel. If your drill bit doesn’t cut into it, dig into it properly, than all of the energy of spinning that bit goes into friction–thus heat–and when you heat stainless steel it only gets HARDER than it already is. I tell you truly: a quarter-inch thick slab of stainless steel is where drill bits go to die. You can drill all you want, you can press as hard as you can–with a drill press–you can pour cutting fluid on it, you can use exactly the right speed, you can buy expensive cobalt bits, but at the end of the day you’ll end up with a pile of dull drill bits and a piece of metal with a partial hole in it. And all of your efforts will have served only to harden the metal via that excess heat. It’s a downward spiral leading to frustration and despair and wasted money and broken drill bits, and yes I will shamefully admit that my failure to drill holes in stainless steel ruined my day today, has ruined many of our days in the past, and will probably ruin plenty more. What a silly thing to ruin a day! It’s only metal and a hole! But when there’s no one who can do it for you, and you can’t get it done, and you absolutely need to . . .

After returning home with an attitude of failure inadequacy and disgust, I chose to pursue a proper drink at the Trappist in Oakland (best source of real beer–i.e. Belgian–in the entire east bay) with Karen. At the Trappist, we happened to sit next to a guy who happened to be wearing his California Blacksmithing Society t-shirt and happened to have work-blackened hands which I happened to notice and on which I chose to comment. His name is Brad Faris, and had I tried I could not have found a more ideal individual to answer all my metalworking questions and ease the specific frustrations of my day. Brad’s father was a pinball machine artist, and Brad was originally a pinball machine designer, who became a blacksmith after moving to germany to build pinball machines, and is now a custom smith with a studio in Oakland. Hell of a story, hell of a nice guy. Brad is a stellar individual with a wealth of knowledge, and it was a pleasure to talk to him.

Brad and Karen and I talked technical stuff, like the reason why brass goes pink when it goes bad (the zinc in the alloy is oxidized, leaving on the copper, and porously weak) and what naval bronze does when welded (spitting zinc and producing salt-like deposits) versus silicon bronze (beautiful puttied welds), but we also talked about pinball machines and neat hot forges and old school metal suppliers in petaluma, which is to say that we weren’t dorking out at all–it was interesting and accessible and it was a conversation in a bar while buzzed that was filled with content and value and excitement to me and Karen both. He gave me the important names of the metal and tool supply places that I needed to know immediately, like KBC tools where tomorrow morning I’m going to get some new sharp drill bits and “TAP magic” cutting fluid for tomorrow’s second attack on the stainless. And US Metals which is a more standard supplier than ALCO metals which is like a metal flea market by analogy, and Metal Supermarket which is good for small pieces because they have smaller stock on hand and are more willing to cut and sell it in small quantities, and Van-Bebber in Petaluma which–even though it’s in a silly location for a place that gets all its raw materials from shipping yards in the bay–is apparently the type of customer-service rich operation that draws people from all over to make the inconvenient drive for a great product. Brad knows his shit! So incredibly fortuitous that we just happened to run into him at a bar on the day that I most needed his particular expertise.

There is an oft repeated saying on the boat, about having the “right tool for the job”. For the water tanks, it was the cutoff blade (yeah the cutoff blade is frequently that “right tool”) on a 4″ grinder, for the icebox insulation it was Japanese pull saw, for rebedding it’s 4200 UV fast cure, the list goes on and on. Tonight I have to say that Brad Faris was the right person at the right time. His expertise is exactly what I needed to know to turn today’s frustrations into an optimism for a different tomorrow. I’m excited about tomorrow because I have new ideas about how to properly succeed with that piece of stainless–tomorrow I’m going to do everything right and at the end of the day I’m going to finally be able to give a detailed technical dissertation on how to kick 304 stainless ass. Hell of a frustrating day, hell of a rewarding night.

Smart, responsible guy seeking cat to live onboard a small, clean, mouse-free sailboat. Cat must be trained to use litterbox and not get claustrophobic or seasick. Cat must not get scared near loud power tools or dig his/her claws into the sails or piss on the cushions or chew on electrical wires. Cat must not have allergies to epoxy or fiberglass. Cat must not mind swearing or heavy drinking or long, loud sea shanties. Ideally, cat would be a proficient swimmer. In a perfect world, cat would also be skilled at fishing and scaring away seagulls, and not mind drinking saltwater. International travel opportunities for the right cat. Ugly hairless cats need not apply. International applicants (with proper papers) are encouraged to apply. Applicants should submit a video demonstrating their abilities to Jonny. For reference purposes: *This cat does not meet requirements, and should be sent to aquatic school for further training. Pathetic. *This cat has sufficient swimming skills, and impressive navigational skills, but seems to lack the innate desire to attack ducks or go onto the boat. It would surely perish at sea. *This cat also has sufficient swimming skills, and a demonstrated ability to return to the boat, but it’s pretty slow and appears to need assistance. I’d consider this cat for an apprentice-level position. *This cat is perfect. Bold, assertive, strong, fearless, persistent. Note the cat’s skills with its claws: it doesn’t dig its claws into the inflatable dinghy, while it does use its claws to climb the rope. Impressive.

"What is it that motivates you to want to sail around the world?"

I’m been considering this question in greater depth lately–more people have been asking, and I’ve been more closely examining my standard response.

My standard response goes something like this: over the past decade I have experienced a substantial amount of adventuring around this country, largely through climbing and canyoneering, and the excitement and newness of those activities has faded.  Four years ago this culminated in looking for a next step, a new activity, a grander undertaking.  Learning to sail, then saving money to buy a boat, then buying a boat and fixing it up, then sailing the boat around the world–all of this combines into one very ambitious new adventure.

I want to encounter new people and new places, I want to experience things that take me beyond my current boundaries, I want a larger universe.  The few times I have traveled abroad have been rare and precious gifts.  Each occasion has provided unequaled education and inspiration–I return home invigorated–and I constantly ask myself what is my major malfunction, that I don’t travel more frequently.

I want to run away from it all.  Other cruisers commonly advise that escaping is a really bad reason to sail away.  Better to face your demons at home they say, deal with the root of the problem rather than running away, because the demons are really inside you and you’ll take them with you wherever you are.  They are surely right–but I also think that escape can be a good reason to go.  I want to escape those cancerous aspects of my current life that I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to excise for some time.  Sometimes one needs a dramatic departure from the current life–a discontinuity–in order to make a new start. 

I’ve started sleepwalking through this bay area life, and I hate that more than anything.  I hate the sleepwalking!  I think it happens to everyone, it’s a natural consequence of human makeup.  It’s evolution, our minds are hardwired to turn things into habits–it’s the smart thing for the body to do.  When an activity is new it takes extra time and concentration and energy; when it becomes a habit it requires little effort or thought, and we can do other tasks at the same time.  Learning to drive a car requires concentration; you have to actually think about turning the wheel and pressing on the gas and when to do it and how much, etc.  After you’ve been driving for a few years is is completely habitual and requires no conscious thought, and because of this you can eat food and carry on a conversation while driving.  Making habits is efficient and natural.  It also robs us of the excitement and risk associated with activities.  You figure out a route to work, you learn how to complete your job the same way every day, you eat at the same few restaurants each night, you sleep on the same side of the bed with your head at the same end, every day.  Eventually the whole day, the whole month, a whole year just becomes a habit–then you’re sleepwalking.  And the insidious thing about it is that sleepwalkers don’t realize they’re sleepwalking.  The mind doesn’t give you feedback about how habitual an activity is becoming.  It just gets easier and easier until you consider it boring and you don’t think about it anymore–if you’re like me, your day job provides an example.

Are these motivations sufficient?  A good enough justification for spending all of my money and time and putting everything on hold for five years in order to sail around the world?  Are the motivations strong enough to withstand the knowing look of a good friend (someone who can effortlessly identify and dissolve bullshit)?  Are they strong enough for my family–the watchdog reminding me to spend my life in a worthwhile way?  Am I bullshitting anybody?  Am I bullshitting myself? 

I am engaged; Karen and I are getting married next fall.  Karen and I have talked a lot about our future after the boat, and we are optimistic and excited about that part of life too.  So the question of motivation gets harder to answer, as life on land looks pretty promising too.  The sailing trip isn’t the same no-brainer easy "yes" activity that choosing to do a hard climb, grueling canyon, or lengthy road trip once was.  People talk about how hard it is to go skydiving–when the moment comes how can you jump out of the plane–but that’s why it’s so easy–it’s only a moment.  You just have to get up your gumption, your "f-it, just do it" for only an instant and then you’re out of the plane you’re committed and reasserting your commitment is irrelevant.  It only took a second of effort.  If you had to maintain the same motivation–that level of fearlessness that it takes to push yourself out into the air during that moment–if you had to constantly sustain that day in and day out for years, it would be impossible.  Preparing for this trip has not required just one single huge sacrifice or commitment or leap; it has required years of plodding sacrifice and commitment which will continue until the moment we sell the boat.

So you tell me: are my motivations sufficient?  Do my answers to the question justify all the time, effort, money, and sacrifice in order to take a sailing trip around the world?  My reasons for taking the trip haven’t changed, my motivations are intact.  So far I remain satisfied with my answers.  They don’t silence the internal questioning as easily as they once did–my life is more complicated than it was when we first embarked on this project–but they still quiet the doubts.  I examine my motivations much more frequently than before; my answers are correspondingly more polished, more carefully given.

Everyone at my school — students, fellow teachers, and administration — has known about this sailing adventure for a couple of years now.  So it shouldn’t have come as a shock six weeks ago when Sarah, the principal (and my boss), emailed me this note: Jon, could you please get me your resignation letter as soon as you have a chance?  I want to start the search [for a new teacher] as soon as possible.  (Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind : ) Thanks, Sarah But it did. It shocked me. The note made me pause, blink, blink again, and contemplate the magnitude of the choice laid bare in the e-mail — quit my job or not –  and how it all began with seemingly innocuous choices four years ago. I’m about to quit my job, a job I’ve had for eight years. For Jonny, the purchase of the boat was the terrifyingly committing step. For me, this step is the extraordinarily committing one.  I think I know why. If things ever went sour or didn’t work out, I could simply shrug off buying the boat as a poor financial decision, like the decision I made to leave money in the stock market for the last six months. I wouldn’t be the first boat owner not to go sailing. But quitting my job is more undoable. I’ve got the job security of a teacher, and the comfort I derive from that snuck up on me, without me realizing it.  Why in my right mind would I let go of that?  I know plenty of other people who have asked me as much. Four years ago, when the idea for our trip was first hatched, it wasn’t so committing.  Matt and I had just taken our first sailing course, and the idea seemed more fanciful than anything else. It was distant and intangible. As a first step, we committed to saving some money. No big deal. In fact, we treated the money-saving as a competition, and spontaneously e-mailed each other screenshots of our savings account just to rub in our positions. It was playful, like keeping track of who has done more weekly push-ups.  Jump forward four years, and it doesn’t seem like a game anymore. I’m walking away from a career. I should have been able to fire off a resignation letter that same day in response. All it required was typing a few sentences, and after all, I’d already made the decision to resign four years ago. The decision to buy a boat took me down a path, and I’ve gotten so far along it that now much of what I do feels pre-ordained. My choices have become necessities of the circumstances I’ve put myself in, and I’m feeling swept along… and I don’t have any control. To try and take back a little control, I spent six weeks chewing on the decision to formalize my departure from my job.  What ended up happening was it chewed on me.  One little person on my shoulder would try and call me crazy.  If acted out on TV, that would be a  caricature of my  mom.  Another romanticized the possibilities.  That little person whispering in my ear would be some amalgamation of Tom Robbins’ fictional characters. I finally wrote the letter. I had to and felt that out-of control-feeling as I wrote it.  I hedged, however and asked for a leave of absence instead, which makes it easier for me to come back.  I also apologized to my principal for taking so long.   And even if I feel a loss of control in this particular decision, I kept coming back to the excitement I feel about what lies ahead.  About the learning that will happen, the experiences that will unfold.  Friendships created and deepened.  Now I’m impatient to get started, and scared about the scope and breadth of preparations we have yet to make.  I’m ready for the next chapter of my life. And it’s coming quickly!