Finding the Rhythm

Over the last 6 months we have slowly been getting to know Neverland and her many sounds and rhythms. The tribal drumming of the wind generator, bom-bom-bom-bom, eerily reminiscent of the goblin war drum in The Lord of the Rings before escalating into what I call 'Jumanji' mode: bombombombom. The halyard is a jazz musician, playing minor scales up and down the mast with dissonant, tinny clangs in infuriating precision. A week ago Patrick rolled out of bed at midnight to silence it, returning to the warmth of the covers only to realize he had just tuned it to a higher key. ‘It’s playing you a song.’ I sleepily muttered. Unlike the halyard, the engine has a low droning hum that WILL lull you to sleep. There’s also the flapping of the sails when we need to trim them, or the at-first-absolutely-terrifying bang of the boom as it crashes over to windward when there isn’t enough wind to hold it over. Actually, that sound is still very terrifying.

Headed South on the ICW

But there's a whole other melody to this Neverland song: the rhythm of the journey itself. Aunt Dolly shared in conversation that, back when she and Uncle Lewis cruised full-time, it would take her two full weeks to get into the groove of their boat. She wasn’t kidding. In my land life I had gotten so used to manipulating every last detail, creating a day full of expectation, aka the mirage of control. I could easily establish a routine: this errand at this time, lunch here, coffee with a friend there. I'd lay my head down at night, knowing I'd Maestro’d that Sonata to near perfection. This is not the way of the boat. You are not the Maestro, you are not the lead singer, you are not even third chair oboe. No, you're the tambourine. After this last stretch to Charleston, I'm pretty sure we weren't even the designated-band-member tambourine, but rather the drunken wedding attendee who gets pulled up on stage and throws everyone completely off-beat.

The boat’s movements are most dictated by other elements. They set the tempo, sometimes the directions, and definitely the mood. The wind, for instance, is undoubtedly the lead singer. Sometimes she sustains long, ethereal notes, other times disappearing for seemingly endless cigarette breaks. The current acts as the drummer, setting the pace. You often find yourself wishing he'd pick up the tempo, until you're attempting to dock, at which point a gentle, lingering guitar solo would be most welcome. The Tide, he can play guitar, I don’t really know how to relate it back to the boat, but it for sure controls how bad we are sweating going through some shoaling spots on the ICW.

There is a sailing phrase "you can pick the destination, or you can pick the time, but not both". We were trying so hard to be in Charleston by New Year's Eve, we forced it, spastically shaking that tambourine toward the head microphone. Not listening to our gut, pushing our way through some sketchy situations, and not giving ourselves time to enjoy the journey. Well, the joke was on us, ain’t nobody like an overzealous tambourine player. The other band members quickly put us in our place. We were never going to make it by New Years, the wind and the current were playing a slow sultry song that we weren’t hearing.

The Ben Sawyer Bridge dealt the final blow. We radioed the bridge tender for an opening on Jan 1st at 4:30, only to be told it doesn't open during rush hour traffic, not even during the holiday when most people are off work. We took it as a sign to stop forcing things and fall into the rhythm. We turned around determined to enjoy the evening, finding the absolute best anchorage of the whole trip. A secluded completely marsh-covered inlet, not a house in sight, the iconic Ravenel Bridge illuminated in the background, marsh birds of all shapes and sizes, swooping through the orangey-pink glow of the sunset, wings spread wide. We could hear dolphins behind us, surfacing for air as they hunted. We watched fireworks exploding in all directions, and, lo and behold, coming over the coastal breeze, we could hear live music from a nearby venue, cranking out the best of the 80's early 90's. Some Toto, a little Journey. Ok, now we let those tambourine cymbals shake.....crescendo....."I've had the time of my liiiifffeeee, never felt this way before, and I swear it's the truth, I owe it all to yooooooouuuuuuuuu."

Best Anchorage of the trip!

Getting through the Ben Sawyer Bridge the next morning