Odysseus returns to Maine at last | Opinion
Rick Gilmore is president/CEO of the GIC Group, an international agribusiness company. He is also founder and chairman of the Global Food Safety Forum.
This Odysseus returns to Maine from Minnesota after a long hiatus.
My Penelope is a Portland native and our journey together brings us back to Portland. I’ve sailed on Lake Minnetonka but, till now, only fantasized about sailing in the Gulf of Maine.
Just when I had given up all hope of sailing on any body of water, I am now once again tacking, trimming sails on a new boat — J-22. I now voluntarily crew and have no concern that the sea gods of the Mediterranean will disrupt my uplifting experience.
SailMaine’s WhatsApp site brokered my return to sailing in style. As soon as this impressive NGO established a crew finder address, I joined. The mere prospect of sailing in the Gulf of Maine almost dwarfed the thrill of riding my boat’s sideboards on Lake Minnetonka. The thought that I’d soon be at sea, hand-wrestling with the wind, was energizing.
My excitement prompted me to write our two darling daughters to share my news, whereupon they responded in disbelief by saying, “Did you tell them how old you are, Dad?” Penelope was far more understanding. For full disclosure, I did note on the site that my goal of regaining my sea legs would suffer the drawback of uncooperative, aging knees.
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The next step was to make it real. I introduced myself as an interested and available crew member on SailMaine’s WhatsApp. Next step: scan the availability announcements from skippers. Sure enough, an ideal date popped up. I took a leap of faith, grabbed it, closed the site and faced the dark screen worrying over my fate.
If I were really Odysseus, sheer delight would have canceled out all those years on land. But the lapse of time and the challenge of Poseidon’s high sea weighed heavily.
In keeping with my tale of bravery, there was no backing out. The day of possible doom arrived. With a farewell kiss for Penelope, I drove off to confront my destiny. I arrived without a hitch; parked my car in a welcoming spot and walked with deliberation to SailMaine.
Gathered at the gate was a mix — young, middle age and ancients like myself — of would-be sailors. I spotted an old salt who seemed to be on the lookout for a fellow sailor. My guess was that he was my captain and I was right.
Hand extended, he said, “Hi, Rick, I’m Marty; follow me.” Walking down the pier to an awaiting motorized taxi to our boat, I no longer felt like Odysseus, but rather like Peter Pan walking the plank! Another friendly hi from the “boat taxi driver” was mildly comforting, but the new challenge was boarding the taxi with motor purring below the pier.
Marty comfortably got in the boat standing upright. I, on the other hand, got down on my
hands and knees to board — hardly the image I had rehearsed in my mind.
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Off we went to the awaiting, spiffy looking J-22. As the taxi approached, I realized I would once again have to endure the image of a seasick sailor while boarding. The ever-tolerant SailMaine boat taxi driver shouted, “Have a good sail.” I was now secure in the cockpit, facing Marty, already busying himself with the lines and quietly delegating the easiest tasks to me.
I regained my composure, having successfully unfurled the jib and helped raise the mainsail. To remove the luff in the mainsail, Marty’s next order was to “tighten the Cunningham.” Crush! “Marty, what’s the Cunningham?” Rather than ridicule my ignorant question, Marty responded calmly, in a tone suggestive of a hospital operating room where he spent a good part of his professional life as a surgeon at Maine Medical: “It’s the downhaul, Rick.”
“Oh, got it. Thanks.”
Completing the prep phase, we were ready to cast off. “I can handle it; no problem, Marty.” I worked my way to the bow with a gait akin to a turtle. Marty, calmly at the tiller, started to navigate his way to the open sea and I felt a rush of confidence and comfort. I was home.
There we were — tacking to my heart’s delight, slightly high-siding when the wind would give us a boost and sharing the panorama of Maine’s vast, breathtaking coastline.
I lost track of time and place until Marty’s reminder that “we better head back.” Crush — who ever heard of leaving heaven? Under his assuring stewardship, Marty steered our vessel to its mooring. My job was to “pick up the mooring” to attach the line of the sailboat to the permanent buoy.
It was, indeed, a rude descent into reality, persuading my knees to support my long
journey to the bow. I made it, thanks to Marty’s ever-kind encouragement and guidance.
The last step on my first outing with Marty was the same humbling embarking and disembarking from the boat taxi on the return to the pier. There was little change in my nimbleness, but the angst was gone. In its place was a sense of accomplishment and a newfound respect for SailMaine’s outstanding programs.
The ultimate gratification in my crewing experience has been the friendship established with Marty. Thanks to him, I now know what and where the Cunningham is and frequently recount my sea tales to Penelope.
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