Mystic

...The boat rolled and swayed under my feet as the wake of a passing tug passes under Mystic's keel.

It's funny to think about the tugs as pushing the hoards of tourists off the island. Devine always talks of them as cattle and us locals as the cowboys, making our living herding them from one place to another. I reckon him to be right, in a sense, 'cause if you think of them as people or friends, you lose the ability to send them on thier way.

Mystic likes the tourists. She is a striking boat and attracts the attention of the ones that want something special. As if being on a fancier boat makes thier trip more meaningful. To me she is like a woman, if she looks good and feels good, then she is fun to be around. Takes some work on my part, but she is all I have.

Around the entrance mark at the jetty and I helm over and the boat takes on a diferent roll. Some of the folks look up to make sure all is OK. People who have thieer lives so under control in their world imagine that you are less than capable in your own. Of course, if you are a big wheel in the city then you MUST be a big wheel down here.

To make them happy...."we are gonna turn south here and head over to a place I know with some privacy. Takes about an hour..." then the fun part, "If that's OK with y'all".

The guy looks around and throws a "cool" at me, and stretches back out.

I head up and tie off the helm and start cracking out the main. I look up and here comes this guy ready to help...maybe he's OK after all.

"Dude, I'd love to help" he offers, "I sail some at home"

"No prob" If he wants to pull lines then I am all for it.

He leans down and takes two wraps of the main halyard onto the big winch. No hesitation, no scrambling to get the line from a potential override. This kid knows his boats.

Up we go with the big Dacron main. Mystic would love one of those performance mains, but mostly she just needs delivery sails to do her job now.

The main fills and she heels...and for the fifty billionth time in my life I realize that there is no better feeling than a deck tilted under you with the wind driving you.

The kid already has the jib unrolled and is back in the cockpit trimming up...giving me the look every trimmer ever gave a driver... "get the bow up and let me find the slot" I reach down and kill the diesel...and do just that.

Mystic starts that smooth acceleration that feels so good. Sliding through the water so powerfully while the bow rises and falls with the waves.

"Be careful up there", the kid yells to the girls on the foredeck, and a wave drenches them.

"Dammit Hank, you meant to do that" she screams in satirical anger, "you jerk"

All three of them bust out laughing. Evidently this kid means something to them.

I look over at him and he has a look of horizons on him. Devine claims that some of the tourists get like that on thier last days on the island. They get dreamy eyed and start imagining life with the horizon as a TV, and waves as the alternative to the metronome that they live with. He is the greatest natural philosopher that I have known. I guess a lifetime here made him, but I also think that the life he leads gives him the freedom to become what he is. He's the best friend I ever had and I never would have made it through Minna without him.

Mystic heels as the wind hits her.and I bow up a little to depower and another wave slices off the bow, a thin sliver of water that sprays the girls again.

Hank yells at them to move on over to the rail and they do. Dangling thier legs over the side and pressing thier chests into the lifeline.

I imagine what we must look like with these three women on the rail, this kid in the cockpit grinding the winch and my salty sun cooked self at the helm. Might be a nice brocheure shot, but as usual, no one around to take pictures.

The radio crackles and I pick up a bit of the conversation with the ferry captain and the landing. I nod to Hank and he takes the helm. I need to listen to the ferry to know what the weather is outside. We have a while to be offshore, and I want to make sure no gales are rolling across.

I get back topside and he has the tail in his hand and his foot propped on a spoke of the wheel. He reminds me of a laser sailor, using two hands, two feet and your mouth to get the boat going.

This is the way sailing should be. There is just so much technology that something as free as sailing can abide. Those guys over at the yard and all thier gadgetry would love to know what Mystic has that makes her special but like Devine says, "looks run a close race with brains." He is talking about women but I guess it is OK to apply it to boats as well...