The best thing about traveling is all the interesting people you come across and the stories you hear. When we did the river bout tour of San Antonio, I struck up a conversation with the gentleman next to me, because he looked like just that sort of character. It turns out he was from the mountains of North Carolina, and I made the mistake of asking him how he ended up in San Antonio. "Just out on business," he said. He was older than he looked, but there was something in his eyes that said he'd seen a few things, despite his crisp appearance. He began to talk about boats. He looked more like a cowboy than a sea captain, and even said that being from the mountains, he hadn't always been a natural sailor. But that's what he did.
Now he was the proud captain of The Shell, a little coastal sloop that he used for a little fishing in the bays. She'd never been out on the open ocean, and probably wasn't fit for it, but he said that's all he needed out of a boat right now. He said he wasn't much of an ocean captain, and dove into a story from his youth. He'd been given command of a ship for a trans-Atlantic voyage, a powerful, tempermental liner that he just called the bitch. He said when you take a command like that, you have to be in it for the long haul, no matter what, because there's nobody to take over once you're out so far. Then he talked about the storm. They couldn't salvage the ship, and he was devastated to lose his livelihood, bitch though she was. It took him awhile to board any boat again, and still hadn't been out on the open ocean again. So his Shell made him happy, and was good for all he needed.
Something caught his eye and he digressed. He told of a time he'd almost gotten a job as the captain of a river boat. The Queen City Queen, she was called. He was fascinated with the sweet, slow cruise of a river boat, and the good old-fashioned life he thought he'd have on that ship. His timing was bad for the river boat, as much as he wanted that job. She was a new ship, and wasn't ready for the water when he was hired. He didn't have the time to wait, and by the time she rolled up the river, he had gone. To the day, he swore if the Queen City Queen ever rested in port without a captain, he'd be there to take the job, and still tried to keep in touch with the right people to make that slim chance happen. Before the storm, during the storm, after the storm, he had thought about that sweet, slow cruise he should have waited for on that good Southern river lady.
But he spoke of yet another ship. The most beautiful he'd ever seen, he said, or at least the finest he'd ever had occasion to sail. It was called the Gin and Tonic. It seemed this ship captivated him, as he'd only seen her from a distance. The ship was so fast, he said, she skirted the horizon, just in sight, and only passed his eyes for a fleeting second. Perhaps it was a myth, perhaps it was the mist off the ocean in the distance or having just settled on his little sloop and seeing greener grass, but he talked about the Gin and Tonic like a legendary treasure. He wanted to get back out on the ocean again, he wanted to sail with the big fish again when she pulled into his port. But there was another story behind that, too. Apparently the shipwright's son was a dear friend of his. He had never given much thought to it, since he wasn't in the market for a new boat. The shipwright knew and trusted him, and knew him to be an excellent captain, so he had made mention of this ship if ever the captain was in town. Though he knew of the Gin and Tonic before, he didn't think she would have been the gorgeous thing she was, because from what he'd seen, he didn't figure the shipwright to be such an artisan. That is until he saw her. And naturally between him and the captain's seat of the Gin and Tonic stood his dear friend, the shipwright's son, who was not a real choice of captain, but still felt himself responsible for the ship's keeping. The bigger problem was that she didn't even make berth in his home harbor. He had other business on land that kept him where he was, and couldn't very well sail a ship that was in Rhode Island.
This was troublesome business for the captain, with three boats in three different harbors and one at the bottom of the ocean. He wondered how a trail-loving mountain boy like him ever ended up out there on the water, but remembered how much he loved the ever changing winds and subtle dance that sailing is, troublesome though these ships may be. Maybe sometimes you need a different ship for different things, different kinds of sails for different winds.
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