The Soul of a Sailboat

The Soul of a Sailboat
Today I am stepping back a little bit to a time before we took our big left turn and sailed away. It is out of chronological order, but it is a story that has become very special to me and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
The Magic Dragon has a wooden mast and we knew before we placed her at the mercy of the Pacific Ocean, we needed to inspect every inch of her. We had been taking care of the mast as she stood on the boat, but it is challenging to complete serious maintenance when you are dangling in a harness 50 feet above the deck of the boat. We had scheduled a haul out in Port Townsend to do the bottom paint and decided to have the mast pulled so that we could get it laid out on ground level. We would be able to pull all the hardware off and strip the varnish and really see what condition our mast was in. Up to this point the mast to me was essentially just a wooden stick that supported the sails.
We had only been out of the water a day or two when the crane arrived to pull the mast. The crane operator had told us how to prepare the boat, but no one prepared me. I stood by and watched as the crane pulled on the mast and the handlers pounded on it to try and break it loose. The mast was not coming free, the Dragon did not want to release her hold on it. The crane operator became concerned thinking that the entire cabin top was going to come off with the mast. Several times he stopped but at last the Dragon relinquished her hold and the mast finally swung free over her deck. He gently lowered the mast to the saw horses that would support it for the next few weeks. I was surprised at the array of feelings I was experiencing. I was sad, the boat seemed empty and lifeless, almost bereft. I chided myself. I was being silly. We were just doing basic maintenance, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness and then I realized, the mast was no longer with the boat, they were separated. That wooden mast is more than a stick that supports the sails. That wooden mast is her soul and without her soul, it felt like her life was ebbing away. It was strange to think of her having a soul. Granted we do talk to our sailboat like she is alive and part of the family and now I knew what gave her life.
No sooner had the mast been put to rest on the saw horses when people started to wander by and comment. If you have ever spent any time in a boat yard, EVERYONE has an opinion and they will share it with you whether you want to hear it or not. The opinion of nearly everyone is that wooden masts are antiquated and this one in particular would never survive the Pacific. In the not so distant past didn’t all ships have wooden masts, and didn’t those ships travel all over the world? Aluminum is so much better and carbon fiber is better yet. One person even came over to tell us that the only thing our mast was good for was a bon fire…. Seriously. But everyone DID say “there is this guy here in the yard and wooden masts are his specialty”. Who is this person? “Oh, he will be by one of these days, he knows you’re here”. The days went by, the comments and opinions continued to fly around the yard about our mast but no mysterious “Wooden Mast Man” materialized. Dave went to work removing all the hardware, labeling each item and the location it was removed from. The next task was to remove all the old varnish. Finally on the fourth or fifth morning there was a stirring in the yard and people started gathering around our mast. The moment of truth had arrived, the crowd parted, and a very old weather-beaten man slowly made his way to our mast. He looked to be 80 years old or better. He was bent and broken. His eyes were milky. His hands were gnarled and twisted by arthritis. He walked with a limp and his voice barely above a whisper. The crowd became very quiet, intent on hearing the verdict, so certain they were that the mast of the Dragon was good only for kindling and scrap wood. He approached the mast almost in reverence. He walked the length several times with his hands hovering just above the surface. Finally, he turned and asked permission to touch the mast which was granted. He placed his hands on the mast like a faith healer might. He was all over the mast, crawling underneath and around and over the saw horses. For a crippled old man, he was surprisingly agile and nimble and seemed to draw strength from the mast. He paused and drew out his knife and turned to us and asked if he could touch the mast with his knife. There were some areas of dry rot and he wanted to determine how deep they ran. Permission was granted and he proceeded in pressing the point of the knife into the rot. This went on for several minutes. The crowd who had been quiet all this time was starting to get restless. I could hear them shifting around and they were mumbling amongst themselves. Finally, the suspense could not be taken any longer and someone in the crowd piped up and shouted out, “That mast is no good! They just need to burn it don’t they?”. The next moment is burned into my heart and will remain with me for the rest of my life. This crippled old man immediately threw his arms around our mast in a protective gesture and said “OH NO! The tree that made this mast was here long before you and I were. It lived before we were even on this coast. She needs a little care but there is still a lot of life in her. No, do not burn her.” Her soul was safe. The crowd quieted and ghosted away. Within a couple minutes the entire crowd was gone. The man spoke with Dave and told him how to manage the dry rot and then just as quietly he too slipped away.
Dave ground out the dry rot and replaced the areas with Dutchman’s. A new spreader was fashioned. Twelve coats of Epifans was applied. The hardware was put back in place and within a couple weeks the crane returned to lift the soul back into our Magic Dragon. Not another word was uttered about our wooden mast other than how beautiful it was. That mast has sailed us through the Salish Sea, the Pacific Ocean and the Sea of Cortez. I guess she did still have a lot of life left in her.