Boatshow!

Yesterday I went down to the Maine Boatbuilder's Show, held as it is every year, at Portland Yacht Services. I am still, after all the years this show has been around, surprised to see that big, dank, almost scary old engine works filled with such a concentration of Maine maritimeness, (not a word? it is now). What's being built, who's building it, what its being built of, where to keep it, miscellaneous stuff for the boat, (new Bakelite blocks!, shiny bronze fittings!, electronics beyond imagining!), and last, but certainly not least, the stuff of dreams, romantic, oceanic dreams. Look! the VIRGINIA, first boat built in Maine, (well, ok, for the sole purpose of getting the desperate settlers of Popham's first failed colony off this harsh coastline), traditional ropework, (macrame fenders anyone?), beautiful and haunting sepia photography, shiny and expensive beachglass jewelry. Over there! Its Dodge Morgan, our very own Maine version of the first man on the moon, sailed all the way around the world, ALONE, nonstop. Even after all these years it still boggles the imagination. And he can write, with the dry wit of a man who, despite his myriad accomplishments, still doesn't really take himself all that seriously. Cheers to you, you cranky old bastard.

After several years of abstaining from this event, being of a somewhat cranky nature myself, it felt good to immerse myself in this community again. I met Koondog, my old compatriot from Robinhood, and his cheerful wife, Mary, purely by chance as we converged on the entrance, and we kept each other company, gossiping and cutting up as we made our way through the exhibits.

I decided it was time to make my way home after I lost the Koondogs and realized how footsore and hungry I was , only to be distracted and distracted again. It took me almost an hour, within sight of the main entrance, to make my way there. My trip to the boatshow had taken on the epic qualities of an expedition. A quest even, or perhaps hunger was just making me daft, yet questlike it remains for me. The things I learned, heard, talked about, saw, are helping me redefine my love of the ocean and things nautical, my perspective of myself within this context. I'm getting too old, (go ahead, snort), to continue subjecting myself to the vagaries and physical punishments of boatyard work, and NOW is the time to steer myself a new course. A quaintly nautical metaphor, but more than apt. How to make writing, which has suddenly overtaken me with a desperate need, a part of my living, making a living. This is what I seek, my expedition, my quest.