I have to confess that I am a worrier. I come by it honestly, as does my daughter and her Grandmother and her Great Grandfather. I am sure the worrier gene can be traced back many generations. However, as far as I can tell, none of these tightly wound ancestors of mine ever decided to captain a boat. Likely good reason for that.
Captaining a boat takes a certain faith. You need to trust your equipment, your engine, your rig, and, especially tonight, your anchor.
Unfortunately, I don't.
And so tonight as my children softly snore in the forward berth, and as Mother Nature roars outside our little craft at 35 knots, I sit, worrying.
Worrying is not so terrible a thing when used correctly. When worrying forces one to check the engine several times a day one tends to find things like low oil, air headed for fuel systems, and alternators dangling precariously from loosening bolts. Worrying can save one from certain disaster.
However, worrying eventually eats into sleep, snatches the cozy pillow, and hurtles one into the cockpit and onto the rainswept deck to check the anchor. The other captains, without the worrying gene, sleep soundly in boats next to us while I type, trying to distract myself from the time, the waves and the howl of the wind.
In the end I guess I will learn that when the "Witch of November comes callin'" at "only" 35 knots, I too should just stay in bed. But tonight she and I will share this cockpit and stare together into the dark.
No comments:
Post a Comment