Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The voyage so far had been wonderful. Long, sunny days of glorious, downwind cruising,
the sails faithfully pulling the boat along as she skipped and danced in the trades. This
really was what sailing was all about. Not a care in the world but keeping the boat on track,
sailing smoothly, and navigating her course along the way. The company was good; we
were happy, young, free, and going somewhere. The food was not too bad either, consid-
ering the circumstances, and there was a romantic friendship building between Paula and
myself. The lad had accepted the outcome gracefully and was content to be the odd boy
out. Or so I believed.
It was around this time that I made an interesting discovery about my boat. I was lying in
my bunk in the early hours of morning; Paula was on watch, and Herman was unconscious
as usual after his watch. I lay with my head against the base of the mast which entered
through the coach house roof and rested on the keel in the bilge. I opened my eyes in alarm,
thinking I had heard voices. I sat up but couldn't hear anything. Lying down again, I rested
my head next to the mast with my ears pressed up close and heard the voices. This time I
lay quietly and listened intensely.
I smiled as I distinctly heard what sounded like a group of men singing in a choir. The
voices seemed to come from the inside of the mast, and I presumed it was the force of the
wind exerting against the sails or rigging. The more I listened, the more clearly I heard the
singing and was amazed at how much it sounded like men singing. When I told the girl, she
too listened to the mast and smiled in wonder; she heard as did the lad, the sounds of men
singing and talking. I was to take comfort in the voices in the mast for many years to come.
At times the voices became one voice, and it would be speaking, not singing, and while I
could never make out any words, it was as though someone was talking to me. This raised
another thought that I had often wondered about: how had I been able to build the boat? I
had had no formal training, had never lived next to the ocean, and had never really sailed
much apart from sometimes on a friend's father's sailing dinghy.
I realized that my genetic makeup must include a memory from the past in which my an-
cestors were boating people. I had questioned my parents as to their family history, and
indeed, the family had a nautical history going back a couple of hundred years. I rather
fancied the idea that the voices in the mast may be the men folk of my ancestors embodied
into the boat they had helped me to build. The notion was fanciful but comforting.
The following day, after the mast incident, while I was strapped into my navigation station
working out the latest calculations, I announced to my young crew that tomorrow at this
time they could start looking out for signs of St. Helena in the distance. The lad naturally
doubted my navigation and, in fun, took a bet that there would not be an island visible as
predicted. Paula, on the other hand, had more faith in my navigation and bet they would
