The Last Oceanic Roustabout

This is my final oceanic blog. Six days left in French Polynesia until I fly to the States. It takes 8 hours to retrace a 28 day sailing voyage. I'll stop in San Francisco to visit old friends. My final destination is Atlanta, where this trip began. Back where I sold or gave away all my belongings, gave up what many hailed the greatest apartment in the city, and threw the most presumptuous fundraiser ever conceived (for myself).  That was June 1, 2009.

I took to the States by train, bicycle, and woody wagon. Visited TN, MO, KS, CO, NV, UT, CA, AZ, NM, TX, LA, MS, AL. I came home for a few weeks, during which time I met many of you. Then in March, I took to the seas. I had never sailed.

Since then I've sailed almost 4,000 nautical miles. Been sick-sea, home-sick, awestruck, and sublime. I crossed the equator and then an ocean. I count 18,000 miles traveled since last June. Only 2,200 of those miles were covered by airplane. In total, I spent $4,370. By all accounts I lived well.

It'll take some time to know what this trip meant, if anything at all. I haven't developed any particular slogans or philosophies, except to confirm what Bobby Kennedy said: “This world demands the qualities of youth; not a time of life but a state of mind, a temper of the will, a quality of the imagination, a predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the life of ease.”

But I didn't learn this from RFK. I learned this from you, young and old. David Stewart went to the jungles of Thailand to cage fight at the age of 50. Catharine Lloyd made her move from Atlanta to San Francisco. Rob Teilhet had the courage to run for higher office. Josh starting talking to guys until he found the right one. Melissa made the decision to go to law school. Phil left for Italy to study gastronomy. Grant said “FUCK FEAR”.

These friends acted when the alternative was the rigor-mortis of routine. They chose what it was they wanted. They gave their soul what it needed. They decided for themselves.

The greatest calamity befalls that which purports to create fun for us. A few examples to prove the point: theme restaurants, Del Webb communities, family-oriented board games, audience participation, and the mother of all horror, what everyone else is doing. I'll, instead, make my own happiness. When one thing no longer makes me happy, I'll do something else --even if that's digging my own grave for fun. This isn't caprice, it's reason.

I will decide what is next. I have offers to continue sailing. I could go to law school. I could sit at The Local and listen to Perry Como and the banter of my friends every night. Or, maybe I will form a Jack Jones cover band, singing Wives and Lovers at retirement homes. Whatever I decide, I'll tackle it with similar Quixotism --there are always windmills to be fought.

This past year one thing has followed me everywhere. It's a tickle. At least it feels exactly like a tickle. It's actually joy. And often I feel like I'm going to jump up and down and scream-- creating a volcanic explosion of mirth. It's a sinister ovation to an often ho-hum world.

This is how I said good-bye to Alobar, her skipper, and you.

Dear Capt. Joel,

I'm writing this letter to thank you. To thank you for your generosity. To thank you for your careful and successful seamanship. To thank you for what you've shown, in many ways, as care for me.

You are the consummate skipper. I am quite proud of our ship. For what it is worth, I've watched you very carefully for three months. By your example and guidance I've learned a great deal.

Unequivocally, you've had an impact on my life. My future successes, which may lay ahead, are thus owed in part to you, and the summer I spent aboard S/V Alobar.

Your First-Mate,

Robert Walter Lange

Warm and Cool Comments

Annie Brett, "Captain" of S/V Infinity sent me this note:

"ok. upon receipt of this lovely automated message, i just had to check out your blog.

and now i am laughing. at you, not with you. it is every bit as pretentious as i would imagine.

i especially like your picture."

Annie -- I've decided to at least employ an editor to fix grammatical errors and the like. However I can't account for my inability to create honest prose. If you saw my test scores and grades in school you'd be surprised I can write and breath at the same time. 

You, or anyone, can sail with Captain Annie, follow this link http://www.infinityseatribe.com/sv-infinity.htm.

The Week Before Tahiti

In port Papeete, Tahiti. I've made friends. I'm considering running for mayor of the marina, maybe the entire island.

In 4 days I'm in love with as many women; commandeered the liquor on as many yachts; traded as many pearls for Marlboros. Admittedly, on only one occasion did I wake up in a dingy. All is right in the world (a “return to normalcy” to borrow the phrase). I would say this to every crewman and captain in the harbor, if I could just retire this incessant grin.

This grin, this glee, can only be illuminated by an email I wrote to Sister Katie a week before:

"Dear Katie,

I've been begging for emails. My thoughts, uninterrupted by those of anyone else for over a month, have reached the bitter-end. Only a simple soliloquy strolls its circumlocutory path around my mind. I want all at once to be drinking Jon's booze on the lawn; sitting in Santelli's good seats; at Friday Lunch Bunch; crashing fundraisers and cocktail parties in scuffed Ferragamos-- pocketing all the beef-wellington because I can't afford dinner.

I miss waking up wondering where I put my car, how I'll get home, and where I put my damn Rolaids. Instead I've watched the sunrise everyday this week-- without a pocket full of ATM receipts. There is no story there. I've lost weight, don't smoke, don't drink, breath deeply after refreshing, dream filled sleep. I might as well go to church, floss, watch “must see TV”, develop accountability and monogamy.

I'm young, all my plumbing still works, I can read in the dark, I still imagine myself as one day successful and famous. Alobar has stymied the volition of my youth. After the crossing this vessel became a retirement home. I read “The ABC's of Bridge” after a 4 p.m. cabbage and vinegar dinner. I crossed an ocean for no other reason than the story. Now, I must get back to tell it. I am profoundly home-sick.

We have arrived at the atoll of Manihi. An impossible creation where coral heads breach the ocean, crumble, congeal. Inhabited only by palms-trees and people. A calm lagoon lies within the collar, outside waves arrive angrily. The ocean must be surprised after traveling across so many miles of nothing. Of this nothing I am acutely aware. Paradise has been pronounced a secluded beach where the worries of work and the rush of life are banished for a time. It is right here. However I rarely work, and rarely worry about important things. So I have only found a secluded beach.
- Your Bro"