The Sailor

I am a sailor. I have sailed the Atlantic Ocean. When I arrived at the island of Martinique after 35 days on sea, I knew right there and then. I am ready to sail again. I want to spend all my life at sea. Sailors talk about the sea as if it was a human, a woman actually, a very wise one. She is trying to teach us, to communicate with us.

In time I met people who are both talking and living with her, they call themselves “Sea gypsies”. Their boats don't have a flag of their home country, because the sea is their nationality, their religion, their home. They have been sailing for decades and when they talk one can hear the rhythm of the waves in their voice. Humility is their common feature.

Then I met Johnson. I met him in the door of a small supermarket in Harvey Vale Bay on Carriacou Island. We looked at each other and we knew, we are of the same kind. Paul Earling Johnson is now 80 years old. He says he used to be famous. He was born on a Colin Archer boat designed by a Norwegian who was known for building safe and durable ships. He was born on the Humble river near Porthsmouth, UK on a boat called Escape. His parents sailed on various expeditions to the North Pole, one of which was attended by Aldous Huxley. Johnson's twin sister died during the bombing of their home port in World War II. Johnson say’s from this moment on he always felt alone. After his short career in the Navy during the war, in the Shetland Islands, he bought an 18 foot dinghy built in 1895 and sailed the Atlantic Ocean alone. At that time, 1956, it was the smallest and oldest vessel to cross the ocean. He made it just to the Caribbean for Christmas, on the invitation of Bernard Moitessier.

Then he started building boats. Colin Archer was a world famous designer, but Johnson knew all too well the flaws of Archer's boats and thought he could do better. He wanted to create a perfect boat for riding storms, to ride the howling gale. Johnson did become a famous boat builder. He sailed the world with various women and has three kids that he knows of. When he ran out of money, he settled on land for a few years, generally somewhere between St. Barths and the Bermuda Islands. There he built a dozen boats and left galloping around the world again. He sunk three ships. He loved and drank and lived foolish all his life, never truly living on land. Once he tried, he bought land on the island of Flores in the Azures Islands, he gave up after two months, this life wasn't for him he says.

And now he is alone, turning eighty. He never thought he would live this long. His boat is a mess, he is a mess, both are unfit to sail. He drinks a liter of vodka a day, rum is too expensive these days, sitting on his boat and relying heavily on friends. Here he contemplates his life, his death…

Was it worth it?
Is this the price for freedom?
Was he selfish?
Where are the boundaries between selfishness and freedom?
Does fulfilling a dream have a bitter end?
Is it loneliness?

These questions are as much mine as they are his. I am on the beginning of my journey, he is at the end of his.