The appearance in Cambridge of a sailboat named Sea Scout with a hailing port of Amsterdam helped me discover the source of a malaise that had settled upon me recently.
Sea Scout was docked along the T-head at the end of H-dock, where Robin sits in her slip. I had walked to the end of the dock, curious to see if there were any unusual vessels in the slips, and so happened upon her. The tide was low so I was looking down on her. I guessed her to be 27 to 28 feet long but beamy, with what I thought was a European flair. She had a small transom on which was mounted a Navik windvane. Her decks were clear, save for a curiously long piece of bamboo about three inches in diameter.
There was a paddlock on the companionway hatch and, although the day was hot, the cabin vent was closed. I guessed no one was home.
I walked to the far side of the marina where Chautauqua, the Morrison's boat, is berthed. She was riding nicely in her slip, so I called John to see whether there was anything he wanted me to do and to let him know his boat was fine. I asked him if he was familiar with Sea Scout. He wasn't.
Later in the day, I went back to the T-head to take another look at the little boat. Now the companionway was open, but no one responded to my greeting, so I inspected the boat further. Most boats that have windvane self steering also have some history, and now I was imagining a crossing of the Atlantic from Amsterdam aboard this pretty little boat. I still didn't recognized its make.
I paid particular attention to the Navik windvane, since Robin's vane was damaged coming back from Bermuda and might need to be replaced. The Navik seemed to be a simple device, easily mounted. It had a trim tab on the paddle that rides in the water. I was attempting to visualize how the gear worked when the owner arrived. I introduced myself.
His name is Geert van der Kolk, Dutch of course. I asked whether he had sailed across. No, he said, although the prior owner had. He said he kept the hailing port on the boat to reduce complictions a while back when he and his wife sailed to Cuba.
Very interesting. I knew there would be a story attached to Sea Scout.
Geert explained that his boat is a Dufour Arpege, 1968, a 30-footer and the first Dufour model made. When we exchanged business cards, he saw my Soundings logo and told me he wrote for a Dutch sailing magazine. But that isn't his occupation, he said. He is a novelist. Indeed, one side of his card is filled with the covers of ten novels he has written, all in Dutch. No English translations yet.
This all was fascinating to me, but as I ended my brief interview, I realized that I had no place to tell this little story.
For the first time in 41 years, I am disconnected, against my will, from any institution that, on a daily basis, wants my work. (I can freelance for Soundings or anyone else who might take my stories. But that is different from being a part of a team.)
It is this unwelcomed separation that has been eating at me, this elimination of the purpose that directed my days for so many years. It will take some time for the experience to no longer be unsettling.
Geert and his wife, whom I didn't meet, live in Washington, D.C. for reasons I never learned. His card carries phone numbers in Haiti and Holland. His web site is www.geertvanderkolk.com .
By the way, the long bamboo pole on the deck is an emergency boom Geert made in the islands when the boat's aluminum boom was broken in an accident. It worked fine, he says.