Boats

An ‘Inside’ Passage: Jonathan Raban’s Voyage to Juneau

I find that authors who are effective at reading aloud their own writing offer an extra dimension of insight regarding their work. Jonathan Raban’s recording of A Passage to Juneau, is an example to which I like to return. Being a sailor myself, I find voyages, sailboat cruising, and basic navigation provide more compelling metaphors for how we think of our course through life than the often used one of journeying. Raban’s book about sailing his 35′ Swedish-built ketch from Seattle north to the capital of Alaska recounts so much more than a trip up the Inside Passage through the interior waters of British Columbia. His reflective narrative allows us to witness – through his eyes – how he faces the challenges associated with the death of his father, an English Vicar, as well as the coming apart of his marriage while he remains close to his young daughter.

Raban includes as a literary companion, on what unfolds as an imaginatively-shared voyage, the technically gifted but personally flawed explorer, George Vancouver, through the latter’s ships logs and historical biography. Raban’s log of his passage in the Penelope is interspersed with perceptive observations about his family off in England and down in Seattle, while also sharing reflective thoughts regarding Vancouver’s own earlier exploration of the same waters. So there are three interwoven strands within the writer’s expressive narrative, Raban’s cruise, his interior journey through memories and toward an uncertain future, and a travel oriented book that shares his evocative impressions of the waters and terrain of Puget Sound and the Straight of Georgia that is mixed with those Vancouver.

The explorer and esteemed navigator, George Vancouver (1757-1798)

Having lived on Vashon Island while commuting to college on the Washington State ferries, I remain drawn to some of the same locations in Puget Sound that play an early role in the book. The immediacy of the author’s description of the area in and around Seattle’s Fishermen’s Terminal where he prepared for setting off, as well as of the beautiful San Juan Islands, provide a very good sense of what he was leaving behind on his travels, while also emotionally carrying aspects associated with those places with him as he ventured into less familiar waters.

A Hallberg-Rassy 35′ ketch much like Raban’s boat, *Penelope*

Raban was nothing like an enthusiastic newcomer to sailing when embarking upon his “Passage.” His other voyaging books, particularly his account of his circumnavigation of his native United Kingdom (Coasting), as well as his editorship of The Oxford Book of the Sea, attest to his deep knowledge of sailing and all things nautical. His attraction to such voyages is also reflected in his highly readable account of his water journey down the Mississippi (Old Glory), from St Paul to New Orleans, and was the fulfillment of a childhood fascination with the Great River and its history .

The Audible recording of a condensed version of Passage to Juneau nicely captures Raban’s resonant voice and British vocal style. Portions of his recording give a good sense of the author’s subtle humor, accentuated by his sharp eye for memorable detail. Imagining how Vancouver’s voice must have sounded to his shipmates, Raban reads passages from the explorer’s diary with a slightly exaggerated flat nasal intonation, imbuing the historical figure with a fuller sense for us of the 18th century navigator’s complicated humanity. And Raban’s description of his brief interaction with officious Canadian Customs inspectors regarding a suspect American potato, found during a search of his boat, provides a memorable anecdote. Both examples and others like them function, I think, as thoughtful counterpoints to the more difficult aspects of Raban’s ‘interior passage,’ a journey through reflections prompted by the loss of a parent and the diminishment of a marriage.

The Audible version of a cover for Raban’s book, Old Glory

One key to appreciating Jonathan Raban’s, Passage to Juneau: A Sea and its Meanings, lies in its subtitle. Clearly the author has written something more than an absorbing description of a nautical adventure, though he certainly provides that. The interest of this book for me lies in its implicit invitation to reflect on what draws some of us to the sea, to find our way on waters that may have patterns but no directional lines or unnecessary limits. For the sea is where what is called ‘human geography’ and our created pathways may diverge from the given features of the natural world.

As is broadly true with much of our life on land, a parallel to navigation over the water exists with how we make our way forward in our decisions and actions, day by day. This is the parallel we can perceive between sailing and what is formally called casuistry in moral theology. All of us, in all circumstances, are challenged to apply universal principles or rules of thumb to the ideosyncracies of everyday situations. Generic and abiding principles (with boats, it is things like Coast Guard rules and the observed behavior of tides), coupled with familiar tools (a compass, wind direction finder, charts, etc.), need to be brought into engagement with particular circumstances (the wind, waves, and tides, as we find them today). Through this process we discern with greater clarity location and direction, especially when our efforts are coupled with a grasp of purpose. Otherwise, and in more ways than one, knowing where we are and where we are headed can be difficult.

The author on the veranda overlook of his Seattle home

Walter Inglis Anderson and the Experience of Loving What God Loves

A beach on Horn Island, Mississippi Gulf Coast

We are created in God’s image and likeness. We often assume that this is reflected in the way that we think, in our capacity for reason and in our desire for wisdom. But we also reflect our creation in God’s image and likeness in our desire to love. We all want to love, and receive love. Sometimes, especially in this fallen world, we love in ways that are disordered. We love the right things in the wrong way, and we love the wrong things in what we deceive ourselves into thinking may be a good or right way.

And yet, we still love, whether it is ourselves that we love to the point of it being at the expense of loving others and the world around us, or it may be that we love others and the world at the expense of rightly loving ourselves.

The Holy Scriptures remind us that God is love. And that God first loved us before we knew it. And that God so loved the world that he gifted himself in the form of the Word made flesh, who came among us, full of the grace and truth that he has so generously shared with us. “I am who I am” (what God spoke to Moses from the burning bush) becomes the source of “we are who we are,” especially when we become aware of and live into the fullness of who we really are.

And so, to love what God loves is to share in the experience of God’s love. Awareness of this leads us to become more aware of the way we are called to share in God’s own way of loving. To do so actually comes to us naturally, even though we in our fallen state are impaired in our ability fully to live into this reality, and believe we are capable of it.

In my prior post, I reflected on how some of this capacity to love what God loves may be revealed in the life and work of Walter Inglis Anderson, who himself may not have been aware of the fact, nor may have had the conscious ability to believe it. In this respect, Anderson, followed in the spiritual footsteps of John Muir, whose earlier example may help us appreciate this dimension of the Mississippi painter’s relationship with nature. For Muir, through his childhood formation in orthodox Reformed Christian beliefs, came to believe he was loving Creation as God loves it, however much Muir’s vision expanded and broadened over the years so as to appear that he had moved beyond the bounds of traditional faith.

The painter and solitary, Walter Inglis Anderson, portraying himself rowing out to Horn Island

To experience joy when we encounter and perceive the beauty we find in the world – even in ourselves – is to experience God’s love for the world. Beauty in the world is a manifestation of God’s self-giving, and of a love that is self-giving, even to the point where we are capable of bringing harm to it or rejecting it. The same is true for God’s love for us, and for those with whom we have been given the opportunity for fellowship and community. For God’s love is not for us solely, as individuals, but is present in fellowship and in community, especially in communities founded upon this great gift of divine love.

Anderson’s son, John, retracing some of his father’s footsteps

Here, we can come to appreciate another insight we can gain from learning about Walter Inglis Anderson. Like the earlier Muir, Anderson came to perceive – or perhaps always intuitively knew – that to see, to really see what is in and around us, is enabled by ‘getting out of the way.’ When I, as one who sees, am conscious and then distracted by my awareness of my process of seeing and perceiving, I become absorbed with my own subjectivity, at the expense of more fully becoming focused upon the objects of my perception. In seeking to love you, or things in the world around us, my focus upon my process of loving or seeking to love impedes my actual participation in really loving you, you who are a fellow subject of loving and not simply an object of my love.

A Horn Island painting by Walter Inglis Anderson

I think that Anderson was enabled to arrive at such an awareness by enacting his desire to be among and really see the plants, birds, animals, the seashore, and the changing weather conditions, while on his solitary sojourns to Horn Island. Therein lies the paradox. God’s love for the divine beauty reflected in the world that he has made was at the heart of Anderson’s love for the beauty that we find in nature. And in sharing in that same love of beauty, he came to perceive how he was actually not alone, even in his periodic states of hermitage under the shelter of his upturned dinghy.

Awareness of this is one doorway into perceiving and then enjoying what Jesus spoke of when he said, “Wherever two or three of you are gathered, I am there.” The great “I am” is with us, now to behold and embrace, Spirit in Flesh, Word made human, not only in ourselves and in the things around us, but also between us at the heart of our fellowship.

Walter Inglis Anderson and the Beauty of Humanity

Walter Inglis Anderson, Self-Portrait from above

Perhaps like Henry David Thoreau or John Muir, a gifted painter named Walter Inglis Anderson came to discern some things of great significance within the visible beauty latent in nature. Like his venturesome forbears, he did this by seeking out an area of wilderness. It became his habit to row out the ten or so miles to Horn Island in the Mississippi Sound, where he slept on the sand using his upturned dinghy as his hermitage. Out there amidst the shifting dunes, with only the shell of his boat for cover against storms, Walter Anderson perceived more of who he was as he experienced harmony with what was around him. In time, compelling objects of his attention became for him fellow-subjects apprehending the splendor of Creation.

A shoreline inhabitant whose common name (‘hermit’ crab) was often derisively applied to Walter Anderson

Paradoxically, by his solitary coastal journeys, a man who had suffered bouts of mental illness became aware of an elusive but precious quality that he shared with those from whom he was isolated. His transient island resting places, where he spent weeks at a time over the course of twenty years, provided him with fleeting glimpses of what it might mean to be more fully human. There, away from others, he experienced moments when he felt he had become who he was meant to be.

As one writer has put it, “Anderson’s isolation from humanity convinced him, in the end, of humanity’s beauty… [He] believed that if we re-established our primal relationship with nature, we would regain our beauty.” Walter’s youngest son, John, summed it up succinctly: “Solitude was a tool that helped him to find unity with all people and all creatures.”

Anderson’s portrayal of himself rowing out to the island

Walter Anderson expressed the point compactly in one of his Horn Island logbooks: “In order to realize the beauty of man, we must realize our relation to nature.” His son, John, later explained what his father had meant by this. “I think that in those twenty years that he was living in solitude on the wilderness island, he was attempting to realize his relation to nature so that he could realize the beauty of humanity.”

Underlying these words, and the perception they express, may be a nature-mysticism of the kind often associated with Thoreau and Muir. I also find an affinity here with the spirituality we can discern in traditions as widely different as Zen Buddhism and the writings of Christian monastic solitaries.

Eugene Peterson’s rendering of Jesus’ words in John 12:25 (in context), captures a similar perception: “Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal.”

To this mystical vision of the world I think we can also connect an insight attributable to St. Augustine of Hippo, regarding what we love, and how we love. If we love ourselves and our lives, or the world around us, for our own sake, we belong to the ‘city of the world,’ and we live turned away from God. Yet, if we love these same things for God’s sake, we belong to the City of God, and live in a God-ward way. Here it is important to remember that to love in the latter way that Augustine commended may not necessarily be an activity that we undertake with conscious awareness.

It is actually possible to love God without ever consciously intending to do so. I believe this was the case in the adult life of Walter Anderson. It happens when we love what God dearly loves. And such true love can be expressed unconsciously, in ways that may be apparent to others while not to ourselves.

This truth connects the experience of the non-religious nature mystic with that of the religious contemplative, as both in various ways are focussed upon the Beauty inherent in Creation and within our human experience of Nature. This brings joy to the Author of Creation, who so loves the world that he has brought us into the new life that – through the Word made flesh – he now shares with us.

Emphasis has been added to the Eugene Peterson quote above. In a later post I will offer further reflection on Walter Anderson’s life and work, including his wondrous artistic creations, among which are paintings and drawings, as well as ceramics, linoleum prints and patterns for fabrics.

Reflections Inspired by Tiny Houses

A 14′ Tiny House inspired by Japanese Aesthetics (from the Baluchan website)

As earlier posts of mine attest, I have been interested for some time in the Tiny House movement, which has now become a widespread phenomenon. Whole Tiny House communities are being developed, and Tiny House construction designs have been proposed as an alternative approach to addressing homelessness. Reflecting on this movement, and the broad appeal examples of Tiny Houses seem to have, I have given some thought to what this development in small scale architecture may represent, and to what it may tell us about how we want to live.

I can see an impulse similar to the pursuit and enjoyment of living in a Tiny House in some attractive parallels, which also represent a quest for discerning a simpler way to live. Quite aside from a specific focus on contemporary examples of Tiny Houses, many people appear to have an interest in reading books like Thoreau’s Walden, or those by John Muir. I continue to meet folks who like the idea of having a small boat in which one can actually ’cruise,’ even on local lakes. And still others seem to share my fascination with living environments inspired by Japanese aesthetics.

An interior shot of the Baluchan *Bonzai* 14′ Tiny House

If these musings seem familiar, learning more about the Tiny House movement is worth pursuing. Here are some observations I have made in the course of my own reflections on the current popularity of this movement:

First, the appeal of Tiny Houses has much to do with the process of rediscovering, and learning more about the beauty of living simply. And therefore, about more than managing to accept being without some things, but actually doing well with less. Marie Kondo’s videos and published writing have attracted a good deal of attention regarding the desirability of organizing our household belongings, and paring down what we have toward living with what we truly love.

Viewing and reflecting on examples of Tiny Houses can aid one’s discernment regarding needs vs wants. Most of us have probably considered this distinction from time to time, and have likely also experienced some frustration with our halting efforts to enact our reflection upon it. We know we have wants, which often masquerade as needs, while we may not sufficiently consider the potential value to us of having wants that are correlated with our needs. After all, a premise of this post rests on a paradox: the assumption that I not only want to live more simply, but that I may also need to!

The kitchen space between the bathroom and the small main living area

Here, briefly noted, are some potential benefits that may come from spending time in a Tiny House:

Living off the grid becomes a much more realistic goal when choosing to live in a Tiny House. Tiny Houses also allow for mobility in relation to one’s surroundings, even if it is not a frequently exercised opportunity. Changes in one’s locale can lead to learning opportunities.

Those who build their own or who choose to do maintenance work on a Tiny House are more likely to learn how to use, and use more ably, simple and hand-powered tools.

Tiny Houses are well suited as places in which we can experience solitude as a positive aspect of our lives, while also providing an excellent context for significant times spent with others.

Living or spending time in a Tiny House may allow us to have increased time for personal reflection, and an opportunity further to discern our vocation, in addition to our more usual absorption with occupational concerns.

Tiny Houses therefore have the potential to be places in which we read more, and spend less time consuming social media or watching videos. While every living place for which we have some care requires time and attention, the theory behind choosing a Tiny House as a place to live assumes that we can devote more time to actually living, rather than preparing to live. Reading makes the world bigger and our lives richer.

For much of the above, and as a both–and rather than an either/or starting point, I commend considering adding a form of a ‘Tiny House’ to your present circumstances rather than making a radical change from them. Experimenting with what can be done with less, while also still retaining one’s present home, can be instructive. This can be accomplished by, for example, purchasing a used but well-equipped small RV. We have recently seen some interesting examples on the road, and ones that could fit in a standard home garage.

For us, it has been our 1988 24 ft trailerable sailboat that has provided this kind of learning opportunity. With its relatively small cabin (about half the length of the boat), comfortable berths (or bunks), a camping stove, cooler, portable toilet, and cockpit which serves as a small ‘back porch,’ we can meet most of our daily needs for a week or more at a time. The slip for our boat is under $200/ month, including electricity and water connections, if needed (ie, if the boat is not yet off-the-grid-ready, though our boat is now thus equipped). DAYSTAR has become our floating ‘tiny house’ or ‘cottage.’

Ably and effectively inhabiting this principle of beautiful simplicity is turning out to be a lifelong project for me, and I believe this is also true for others. I am a neophyte in the process. Perhaps my readers have some similar experience with this ongoing process!

Imagining a Voyage

We all imagine taking journeys or voyages, sometimes out of an unfulfilled desire and sometimes with an apprehension about the potential consequences of such ventures. Even those who do undertake to travel over the land or over water usually prepare, even casually, for their upcoming experiences by anticipating certain items likely to be needed or enjoyed while en route, as well as potential challenges or obstacles to be overcome while away. Having recently spent about a month on our old sailboat of modest size, I realize that my efforts to prepare for any needs we might have while docked or sailing led us to be burdened with some unused items. For the best parts of our recent travels were those that had more to do with ‘being’ than any kind of ‘doing’ in which we were engaged, and in relation to which we might have had particular needs for gear or supplies.

Some people believe that the best journeys are those that we undertake through reading, through our enjoyment of the accounts of such travels as recorded by others. I often choose boat and sailing related reading material for my free time, and when preparing for an upcoming trip I find that such reading helps me anticipate and plan for the kind of lake or coastal cruising that I hope to do.

A.J. (“Sandy”) Mackinnon with Jack de Crow

Nonetheless, there is a type of nautical-related reading that I enjoy probably because it challenges my usual approach to trip pre-planning. One example is a book I have come to love reading and re-reading, A.J. Mackinnon’s delightful, The Unlikely Voyage of Jack de Crow. In it, Mackinnon – with engaging humor and self-deprecation – describes how he embarked on a river journey one summer, during a break from teaching at a school in north Wales. He asked to use an old plywood eleven foot Mirror dinghy, and ended up sailing and rowing it all the way to the Black Sea! To say that he embarked upon his voyage under-provisioned would be an understatement. And yet, relying upon his wits and the kindness of strangers, and making use of the floor space of the dinghy to sleep under a cockpit tent fashioned from a tarp, he actually made it – even surviving the incredibly high tides of the Bristol Channel and their strong currents, as well as his subsequent crossing of the unpredictable English Channel.

Cover photo from another edition of Mackinnon’s book

When preparing for our recent trip on our venerable Nimble 24, or when contemplating some modification of it, I often try to remember Larry and Lynn Pardey’s three-fold advice: “Go small, go simple, but go now!” A.J. Mackinnon, without knowing it, followed that advice more fully than many have tried to do, and with astonishing results.

An illustration by Mackinnon from his book

At the same time, I also try to remember what may appear to be some counter-balancing words of advice that I once heard: “There are old sailors, and there are reckless sailors; but there are no old reckless sailors!” And so, while I admire and at times have tried to emulate some aspects of Mackinnon’s approach to his incredible journey, as well as the Pardey’s seasoned counsel, my natural temperament (and perhaps also my additional age) has more often led me to be over-prepared than ill-equipped in terms of gear and supplies.

Mackinnon’s illustration for how he prepared for nights on the boat

There are several qualities that I admire about Mackinnon and his approach to his sailing journey on his little but mighty Jack de Crow. In his account of his adventures, he demonstrates – along with his lively sense of humor – a willingness to make mistakes and not feel defeated by them, courage in the face of multiple situations in which he faced the unknown and the possibility of harm, and that he did not take himself too seriously so as to have been willing to risk derision by others who had more formidable boats and yachting equipment. Continuing to learn from his book, I find that I am doing better about leaving room for how ‘less can be more,’ though my first mate is sure to raise eyebrows at the claim.

Jack de Crow and her skipper arrive in Istanbul harbor

For an entertaining read, allowing you to undertake a fun voyage in your imagination, Mackinnon’s book makes a terrific choice. The cover art, and the drawings within (by Mackinnon) are whimsical and yet accurate, without being overburdened by detail. At the same time, if you are looking for inspiration to undertake some small boat rowing, sailing, and even voyaging, I can think of no better place to start.

Beautiful Charlevoix

A Charlevoix sunset from the pier where the Pine River channel meets Lake Michigan

When thinking of the beauty of a person, his or her character far outshines any outward physical characteristics a person might have. And when thinking of a beautiful community, we may do more justice to those who live in that area by engaging with some aspects of their daily lives than by focusing more simply upon the sights we associate with where they live.

I have been blessed to have been able to spend a number of weeks over many summers in Charlevoix, Michigan, largely through being able to live on our old boat (featured in my last post). With this piece, I want to highlight what I have found to be so special about this community and its splendid harbor and access to nearby ‘big water.’

Thursday Farmers’ Market along the main avenue above the city marina terrace

My first visit to Charlevoix may have been in around 2004. I had been to Traverse City and had seen its stunning turquoise waters, but Charlevoix was new to me. I was immediately drawn to what I saw of it during a lunch visit. Sitting on the deck of the Weathervane restaurant, I watched boats of all kinds and sizes pass through the raised arms of the drawbridge that otherwise crosses the channel between the town’s natural harbor, called Round Lake, and Lake Michigan.

The Charlevoix lift bridge over the Pine River channel

Many voyagers making passages on the American Great Loop stop in Charlevoix, as do occasional sailors from Europe on summer forays across the Atlantic, who then sail here through the Great Lakes. Even some well-known ‘tall ships’ stop here. The Pride of Baltimore was passing through the harbor on the day we arrived for our visit this year.

The Pride of Baltimore passes through the lift bridge by The Weathervane, out to Lake Michigan (in a prior year)

Visitors from larger cities find in Charlevoix a few of the amenities we associate with grander places. For over a century, Charlevoix has also been the home of two private communities of summer ‘cottages.’ Many of the boats (yachts, really) that we see on the area waters attest to the levels of discretionary income available to folks from Chicago and Detroit who make Charlevoix their summer home. Consequently, boat maintenance and winter storage facilities are substantial local businesses here.

Boats receiving maintenance at our boatyard

Yet, upon arriving in Charlevoix for my first boating visit, and docking at the city marina for a couple of weeks, I was struck by what I learned about the real, year-round community to be found here. The harbor master was a teacher at the high school, and the young people working at the marina and at main street stores were his students as well as local residents. I continue to shop for groceries with folks from town at a store they patronize throughout the year, and buy tools and replacement parts with them at the local hardware store.

A typical older and well-kept home in town

I think what many visitors find so compelling about Charlevoix is how the community has yet to succumb to a condition that has beset many places with some similar attributes. Charlevoix, in my estimation, has resisted becoming a caricature of itself. The tourist-souvenir storefronts do not outnumber shops that maintain a viable year-round business, and local history is esteemed because it remains real to those who live here, rather than offered as a commodity for visitors.

The Charlevoix Public Library, and former community K—12 school

For me, the best example of this is a place we have come to love, the Charlevoix public library, which was once the town’s K—8 school, and which includes a reading room with a fireplace that earlier served as the Kindergarten room! And as long as you are not looking for lake view or waterfront property, an ordinary home in town is still affordable for many people.

The library main reading room, once a school gymn

The former Kindergarten room with its fireplace and bay window

But, of course, sitting as it does on the rocky and wooded shore of northern Lake Michigan, this town and its surrounding fields and forests, along with its tidy and well-kept streets and homes, is a truly beautiful place in the summer. Winter up here lasts a very long time, making the warm months all the more precious. I remember visiting on May 1 years ago, only to find that ice still stretched across the 18 miles of Lake Charlevoix! By that date, it is already full summer in Louisiana.

After some years of regretful absence, I am so happy to be up in beautiful Charlevoix once again.

The Allure of a Classic Old Boat: Our Nimble 24

Our Ted Brewer designed Nimble 24 sailboat, DAYSTAR

There is an affliction that is common to owners of sailboats, known as ‘one-foot-itis.’ The name refers to our ever present desire to have just that much more room inside the boat, or within her sail plan, cabin height, or in the extent of her amenities. Speaking for myself, I admire the beautiful sailing yachts my brother has been photographing on the southern coast of France. Yet, aside from the unimaginable purchase cost of a 45 or 70 foot ocean cruiser, I don’t wish to have to contend with all the maintenance work and expenses associated with such a boat. As the old saying goes: the best definition of a boat is a hole in the water into which you pour money!

Yet, for the owner of a small boat, another foot or two of length could bring with it greater stability, hull width, and such things as an enclosed working ‘head’ (I.e. toilet) and full galley (small kitchen). Standing head room inside would be a real plus. Usually, with each additional foot of length comes a proportionately larger volume of workable space and hull displacement (weight). These variables bring with them additional maintenance issues, transportation challenges, and docking fees, resulting in an overall increase in operating costs.

My own experience with ‘one-foot-itis’ came from my enthusiastic enjoyment of our 15’ West Wight Potter, a boat whose ‘cabin’ is sometimes described as having the interior space of a pup tent, while resting on a boat with the buoyancy of a cork. I cruised solo on the boat for two weeks one summer, and was hooked on the pleasure associated with that kind of time away on the water. Then, naturally (sailors will understand this), I began looking at bigger boats, of a size that would enhance my cruising adventures.

I have always loved classic boats and ships, and the designs of a marine architect, Ted Brewer, came to my attention. I read about his Nimble 20 sailboat in Small Craft Advisor, and then discovered his Nimble 24. When one came up for sale on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain, I had found our next boat. With bronze ports (windows), a teak and holly sole (floorboards), and tanbark sails, she is indeed a classic. Built in 1988, she is hull #3 of the N24 series. We named her DAYSTAR

Brewer designed the Nimble 24 with some significant criteria in mind. She would not be a ‘blue water’ or oceangoing boat, but one capable of voyaging around Puget Sound, or a crossing from Florida to the Bahamas. Some of the features Brewer designed into the Nimble include provision for safe passages in coastal waters while also being able to enter shallow inlets; cruising room for two adults with small children and or pets; space for an enclosed ‘head’ (toilet), with two distinct cabin areas as well as a cooking area. She is of a canoe-yawl design and therefore a ‘double-ender,’ with a small mizzen or second mast allowing a flexible sail plan for a variety of conditions. Her shallow draft or depth tolerance is attained by a short but heavy fin keel containing a retractable centerboard, along with a retractable rudder extension.

Removing and replacing old bottom paint: doable with jacks, patience, and some courage

For practical reasons, her outboard sits in a motor well in the aft of the cockpit, providing easy access as well as a dependable drain point should the cockpit be swamped with water. The boat is built with positive floatation within the hull, meaning that should the boat be filled with water, she will not sink. She has relatively high sides with a ‘sharpie’ (somewhat flat) hull, and her good stability enables her to handle a fair bit of wind and adverse waves.

Rowing in just after sunrise over Charlevoix harbor

All of these features result in a boat well-suited for ‘gunkholing,’ or navigating into shallow coves and inlets. DAYSTAR can be brought right up to edge of a river or beach, though her skipper must take care to keep sand or mud from getting into the outboard engine’s impeller (water-cooling intake). On the open water, she sails well, and we can regularly reach a comfortable if not a sometimes thrilling 5 knots (or 5-6 mph) with decent wind. We have sailed her on Lake Michigan, and on the adjoining 18 mile long Lake Charlevoix, as well as on Lake Pontchartrain.

The cabin interior showing both the main and forward comparment areas

As the photos here may suggest, our stays on DAYSTAR involve camping on the boat, and she serves us as something like a little floating summer cottage. We rely on a large water jug, a good cooler with daily additions of ice, a small grill, and a portable-potty, for our basic needs. Many people love RV’s for camping holidays, something we can mimic with DAYSTAR when she is trailered. But we love sailing and the flexibility of having no roads to follow. Keeping an eye on the weather is always vital, and having good charts and GPS navigation help us discover and navigate safely unfamiliar waters. Given all these features that bring us pleasure, we are looking forward to some time away on DAYSTAR this summer.

A nice breeze fills our sails as we point toward the horizon over Lake Michigan

In honor of my friend, Norm Laskay, who was DAYSTAR’s skipper and her knowledgeable and careful steward before she came to us.

M/S Juno: A Floating Beauty

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Did you know that it’s possible to book a safe and enjoyable overnight passage on a small ship that was launched over 150 years ago, in 1874? The M/S Juno, built for and still ‘sailing’ on largely inland waters in Sweden, is the oldest registered passenger-accommodating ship in the world. At about 100 feet in length, and with only 24 cabins, she is tiny compared to the grand vessels now being launched for the cruise industry. Not well-suited for ocean crossings, the Juno is perfect for her comparatively short runs between the Swedish ports of Gothenburg and Stockholm. Her usual route takes her from salt water through inland canals and lakes, and then through salt water again to the Stockholm archipeligo of islands and the Baltic Sea.

Originally, the Juno’s superstructure containing her bridge, lounge and dining room, as well as some cabins, was significantly smaller when the little ship served to convey freight as well as travelers. But these days, after a century and a half of service, her mission continues as a passenger vessel. Her age and small size, as well as her historic purpose, account for the fact that modern day voyagers need to be prepared for limited amenities such as shared restrooms.

Juno transits one of many locks along her route

Her principal route takes her through canals and locks, as well as inland lakes, up and over the lower Swedish peninsula, with the highest point on the journey reaching a remarkable 300 feet above sea level.

I love Juno’s diminutive size and her classic lines that feature an upturned stern. Her bow line, with a vertical sheer that is now being rediscovered in boat design, is particularly appealing to me, being the skipper of a vintage 24 foot sailboat displaying a similar profile. I would enjoy a berth in one of Juno’s small cabins, resembling as they do old time railway carriage compartments. I think that Martha and I would appreciate the intimacy of sailing with a relatively small number of fellow passengers as well as the proximity of the up-country scenery along the route.

A vintage photo of Juno taken before the lengthening of her superstructure

My great-grandfather, August Anders Holmgren, hailed from the northern seaside city of Sunsvall on the Baltic coast of Sweden. He emigrated to America in 1893, sailing most likely from Gothenburg, via Liverpool, to Montreal, and then by train to the Midwest just as many other Swedes had done before him. Perhaps my great-grandfather reached his ocean-going ship in Gothenburg via the Juno or one of her sister ships, sleeping on the floor of the dining room as many deck passengers did in the era when the Juno was still in freight service.

Given this personal history, I am sure that a short voyage on the Juno would prove to be a particularly nostalgic experience for me. My family connections with coastal Sweden, and my own experience of having crossed the Pacific Ocean five times by ship, help me to appreciate why I am so drawn to the Juno and the opportunity – some day, I hope – to sail on her.

Background note: I remember my surprise at encountering Cracker Bay, a 150 foot long private yacht (50% longer than Juno) with three decks above her water line, which one summer cruised into Round Harbor, Charlevoix, MI, from the Great Lakes. That year, as a vessel registered in the Cayman Islands, Cracker Bay was ‘manned’ by a family with young children and a crew of four or five. She took on $20,000 worth of gasoline supplied by a tanker truck parked near the fuel dock at which small craft like mine received a comparatively few gallons at a time. One of the children on Cracker Bay rode a bike over to the dock where my 15′ West Wight Potter was berthed, on which I was cruising for a couple of weeks. He marveled at the diminutive size of my boat, saying he wished he had one just like her!

Cracker Bay, with accommodations for up to 12 passengers, at Charlevoix, MI, in 2010

The Beauty of a Small Boat

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A West Wight Potter 15 rigged with a second jib sail

Having recently featured a ‘tiny house’ on wheels, I find myself thinking about the beauty of small boats. Among examples, I love the West Wight Potter 15 (or P15). Originally designed and built in 1960 by Stanley Smith on the Isle of Wight, P15’s are found all over the world. Though not designed for ‘blue water’ navigating, some have been sailed across the ocean. In 1972, John Van Ruth sailed an early version of the boat from Mexico to Hawaii!

In a prior post, I shared how I discovered this venerable boat design through an article by Anne Westlund, in Small Craft Advisor, documenting her cruise on Lake Powell.

Anne Westlund’s Pea Pod, along with a friend’s P15, on Lake Powell

I was captivated by Westlund’s account of how someone could enjoy a week or more on and in the confines of a 15’ boat. Remarkably, Anne has spent whole summers on Pea Pod, her P15. The West Wight Potter has been described as having the buoyancy of a cork and the roominess of a pup tent. Undaunted by its potential size limitations, many value them, perhaps inspired by the famed ocean sailors, Lin and Larry Pardey, who said, “Go Small, Go Simple, but Go Now.” Though no longer manufactured, used P15’s easily can be found because so many have been built and remain in good condition due to their sound design and construction. Should replacement parts be needed, they are readily available and economical compared to components of larger and more elaborate boats.

Stanley Smith with his brother, with an early West Wight Potter like the one he bravely sailed from England to Sweden

A P15 fits in a garage and can be towed behind just about any vehicle. Two adults can sleep comfortably in the boat, and many P15’s are equipped with a battery, navigation and cabin lights, and other amenities including limited stowage space. Approached as if preparing for a backpacking trip (and with some of the same supplies), a weeklong cruise on a Potter is realistic, especially if going solo. The experience may be of a minimalist kind, but small boat sailing can provide for more time on the water with less maintenance. Sailing one may call for greater agility and balance (small boats can be ’tippy’), and calmer sea conditions. Small boat sailing may also be more physically tiring due to confined quarters and a more frequent need for sail and tiller adjustment.

My P15, Zoe, at the end of a glorious day of small boat sailing

For those who don’t mind getting dressed while sitting down, a safe and dry boat like a P15 is a great choice for sheltered waters and coastal sailing. I have cruised on Lake Charlevoix in northern Michigan for two weeks on Zoe, and 4-5 day trips on her in Arkansas. Water-tight dry bags for clothing and gear, and a cooler – on deck – expand the possibilities for longer cruises. During spells of bad weather and for leisurely evenings, I set up an awning over the cockpit with a large tarp and bungee cords. It’s good to have shore facilities nearby for restrooms and other necessities. Yet, a porta-potty (for use under the awning-cover) can be stowed aft in the cockpit. An occasional onshore meal and visits to a public library have also enhanced my times away on a small boat.

Sailing provides a good metaphor for our spiritual lives, as many have noted. When sailing, we don’t have any choice about the weather, but we can choose how we engage it. A motor is helpful getting into a marina in the evening, or out of trouble if a storm comes up. Yet, the beauty of sailing – especially in a small boat – lies in creatively engaging the wind to maintain a course and get somewhere. Small boat sailing is more susceptible to sudden changes in wind and wave conditions, as well as varying water currents. But this kind of sailing may be more energizing because of a greater need for the sailor to interact with these conditions, especially when they are challenging.

If we find peace in being close to the water and feeling the wind, a small boat is a wonderful thing to sail. For beauty can be found almost anywhere in God’s good Creation. Especially if we are open to it.

Additional note: My earlier post featuring the WWP15 can be found by clicking here. If you become enamored with the WWP15 as I have been, I recommend Dave Bacon’s book, The Gentle Art of Pottering: Sailing the P15. A quote from Jack London: “Barring captains and mates of big ships, the small-boat sailor is the real sailor. He knows – he must know – how to make the wind carry his craft from one given point to another… it is by means of small-boat sailing that the real sailor is best schooled.”

Especially in a small boat, never go out without proper safety equipment. As Captain Ron said, “if it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen out there!”

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The Curve of Time: A Beautiful Book

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I discovered M. Wylie Blanchet’s cruising memoir, The Curve of Time, at Village Books in Fairhaven, Washington, not far from the Canadian border. Evidently considered a classic by readers in Canada, I had not known about her book despite having long been an active boater and avid reader about seafaring. With an evocative water color painting as a cover image, a forward by the Seattle-based writer Timothy Egan, and with the copy in my hand being the 50th Anniversary Edition in hard cover, I was intrigued and bought it.

As the dust jacket blurb indicates, Wylie Blanchet set off on numerous summer cruises with her five children on the same boat from which her husband had earlier been lost in 1926, and presumed to have drowned. 25 feet in length, 6.5 feet in width, and with a relatively small enclosed interior, Blanchet along with her children bravely explored the sometimes forbidding but always mysterious waters along the coast of British Columbia and its adjoining and deep inland sea.

Wylie (a.k.a., Capi) in the wheelhouse of Caprice, and with her family one summer

Those British Columbia waters are famous for the very strong tides running in and out of narrow fiord-like inlets bordered by tall trees and sheer rocky walls that rise up several thousand feet. The walls above the water’s surface are generally paralleled far down below by their unseen foundations. ‘Capi’ Blanchet notes how often her marine charts indicated depths exceeding 100 fathoms in these waters (600 feet), with the final distance downward marked as unknown. Among other challenges, such depths make anchoring nearly impossible except when a boat is secured to the shore.

Caprice, against a rocky shoreline

With one set of clothes per family member along with a bathing suit, spare but adequate cooking equipment and tableware, minimal sleeping accommodations both within and on deck, and the crew possessing a seemingly boundless sense of curiosity and desire to learn, the Blanchet’s explored hundreds of miles of what at the time were largely unpopulated and untamed seascapes and surrounding terrain. Capi Blanchet’s well-told stories about her family’s adventures during their summer cruises provide the material for her fetching book.

For those who have traveled to or lived in the Pacific Northwest, the author’s prose brings alive the look and feel, and even the smell of the moist coastal air found in that region. It may bring to mind books like I Heard the Owl Call My Name, and Snow Falling on Cedars, novels that also effectively describe aspects of that alluring part of the world. Yet, like those others, Blanchet’s book hardly prompts a romantic longing to explore waters and lands that, as she presents them, are full of potential danger because of their wildness (bears, a cougar) and unpredictable weather.

Readers interested in doing some ‘voyaging’ with Capi Blanchet through reading A Curve in Time will observe how she records experiences from the late 1920’s and 1930’s, and published her memories of them in 1961. She demonstrates sensitivity and concern about our encroachment upon the communities of people who originally inhabited the land, and upon areas of great natural beauty. Her perspective and writing may perhaps best be seen as helping – along with many others – to lay an early foundation for our contemporary approach to ‘the environment’ (a term whose present use would have been unfamiliar to her), and our raised sensitivity about the cultures of First Nations peoples.

Having read Blanchet’s compelling book, I am now curious to read Following the Curve of Time: The Legendary M. Wylie Blanchet, a biography by Cathy Converse. Though often demurring from drawing attention to herself in The Curve of Time, Blanchet clearly was a formidable woman possessed of great practical intelligence and a captivating sense of adventure. Retracing her voyaging would be challenging enough for many experienced boaters, but exploring those same waters in a boat the size of her’s, with its dependent large crew and minimal accoutrements, may suggest caution to other equally capable navigators.

M. Wylie (‘Capi’) Blanchet around the time of her marriage

For first time visitors to the Seattle area who are not embarking upon an Alaskan cruise, I heartily recommend even a short round trip on one of the Washington State Ferries. Having commuted daily to college for a year on the ferry between Vashon Island and Tacoma, and having regularly taken the ferry to Seattle on weekends, I remember how a 20-30 minute ‘voyage’ across parts of Puget Sound can help one experience in an economical and time-sensitive way a genuine bit of the maritime Pacific Northwest – the kind of waters that Capi Blanchet explored nearly 100 years ago.

Toward Beauty

In Art, Faith and Life ~ STEPHEN HOLMGREN