Atlantic Circle 0393032957

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Kathryn Lasky Knight Foreword by Philip S. Weld

A wonderfully and European

unorthodox account

cruise by a

a sailor, has no desire writer the

young

of

a transatlantic voyage

woman who, though

to bea"salt"and

sea has produced

in

married to

who may be the best

a very long time.

FPT

ISBN D-3T3-D32T5-7 >$lb-TS

Atlantic Circle Kathryn Lasky Knight Kathryn Lasky,

a

midwesterner de-

scended from a long

line of recently

arrived Russian Jews, married Chris-

topher Knight, a sailor descended from a long line of Grand Banks fishermen and

Nantucket whaling captains. Neither fully

understood what they were getting

into.

As

wedding present they were given

a

a thirty- foot ketch, their

and as they began

honeymoon on Leucothea, Kathryn

had a lovely vision of island hopping

in

Penobscot Bay, Maine. Chris, however,

was a voyager, and what began as an idyllic

honeymoon extended

into an At-

lantic crossing, three years of sailing in

Europe, and a long voyage home. Ten years and one child

later,

the voyage

was

finished, the Atlantic circle completed.

And the marriage was still going. Of all the accounts of blue water

sail-

boat cruising, this stands apart. Kathryn did not

become

She remains

a "salt."

baffled about a bowline and a mortal

enemy

of the gimbaled alcohol stove.

Her account fresh

air,

a

a wonderful breath of

is

welcome sound of

and a frank look

at life afloat.

laughter, It is

also

the story of a marriage, of self-discovery,

and of understanding of what a voyage truly

means. She says

and yet

it is

romantic in

it

is

its

unromantic,

look at sailing

(Continued on back flap)

JACKET DESIGN BY MIKE McIVER JACKET PHOTOS BY CHRISTOPHER KNIGHT

11-84

>" ATLANTIC CIRCLE

V"

ATLANTIC CIRCLE Kathryn Lasky Knight

PHOTOGRAPHS BY Christopher Knight

W-

IV-

NORTON New

York

COMPANY

& .

London

Copyright

©

1985 by Kathryn Lasky Knight.

All rights reserved.

Published simultaneously in Canada by Stoddart, a subsidiary of General Publishing Co.

Don

Ltd,

Mills, Ontario.

Printed in the United States of America.

The

text

of

book

this

is

composed

display type set in Centaur.

in

Bembo, with

Composition by

Com Com.

Manufacturing by Haddon Craftsmen.

Book

design by Jacques Chazaud.

Portions of the chapters on Europe appeared originally in different form in Sail

magazine.

First

Edition

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Knight, Kathryn Lasky Atlantic circle.

1.

Leucothea (Yacht)

195 1-

.

3.

Christopher G.

G470.L34

ISBN

2.

Voyages and

North Atlantic Ocean. II.

I.

travels

Knight,

Title.

9io'.09i63i

1985

84-4888

0-393-03295-7

W. W. W. W.

Norton Norton

& Company, Inc., & Company Ltd.,

1234567890

500 Fifth Avenue,

New

37 Great Russell Street,

York, N. Y. 10110

London

WCiB 3NU

To Max and Meribah With Love

V ATLANTIC CIRCLE

Foreword

Atlantic Circle in

many

bits

may

well be the wittiest, most incisive

a season. Mercifully free

of nautical jargon,

book on

sailing

combines delightful

it

of travelogue from Norwegian fjord to Vineyard sound, enticing morsels

of haute

and a running account of connubial

cuisine,

yo-ho-ho skipper

types,

no doubt, prick

will,

piercing a rubber

one heck of

it's

bliss

between

a gifted

LOOK OUT, you guys, you male chauvinist,

of young Americans. But

pair

a lot

he-man pretense

inflated

more explosive than

that. It

tooth

as lethally as a shark's

life raft.

While you were sacked out

your bunk there with a Hornblower

in

paperback, enjoying your off-watch,

this

Kathryn Lasky Knight, for

all

her

endearing young charms, has been fashioning a subversive harpoon of a book.

With

devastating accuracy, she describes the misery endured aboard a small

womenfolk whose mates

yacht by the

can't see the

need for a warm, fresh-

water shower more than once a week. She has struck a blow for equal rights at sea.

Her

movement

story could

become

afloat.

"There are moments

Even during

in sailing," she writes, "that others find inspiring.

a cruise these often

measure our limits

in terms

either fail or succeed,

we

and

come

in the

form of

self-testing,

when we

of our patience, resources, and adaptability.

we

talk

about these moments

We

later, especially if

succeed.

"There were two such moments on our passed

them quite admirably,

not increase

my own

sense

I

better person. I

am

As

a

of self-worth

it

to

I

and found that they did

So what

in the slightest.

unknown

me.

It

didn't

if

I

had

make me

a

matter of fact there are certain kinds of self-improvement

absolutely loath to pursue."

In both

own honeymoon. Although

really did not like

explored a few frontiers previously

that

of the women's

the Uncle Tom's Cabin

What male would

dare say that?

moments, Kathy showed her mettle. Nine days

bathless,

and

blocked everywhere in Eastport, Maine, from even a shower, she persuaded Chris to cross over to Canada.

When

a

new

halyard had to be rigged, she,

"a notorious acrophobic," chose to have Chris winch her up the mast rather than risk

him

to her dubious cranking power.

No doubt she inherits the direct

- ATLANTIC CIRCLE

io

who

approach from her mother, a belle from Indianapolis

When

of Russian Jewish emigres.

he took to racing

performance dinghy, he recruited her

as

his Thistle, a

on with

it,

know what you

from the

she replied with dignity

goddamn

can do with your

high-

crew. Preparing for the spinnaker

run one afternoon on the lake, she became entangled in the to get

married the son

When told

sheets.

"Marven, you

bilge,

spinnaker?"

Despite the fact that Kathy found that "this world of string and wood,

wind and water

spar and canvas,

.

.

.

didn't

do much for me," she persevered.

She screwed up her courage for a North Atlantic crossing aboard Leucothea, the thirty-foot

Cheoy Lee ketch

that

was

a

wedding present from her

parents,

then mostly enjoyed three summers' cruising in the Baltic and across Europe

from Denmark voyage back It

to the Mediterranean

by canal before enduring

represented miles enough to allow her to

the yacht club bar, but that's not Kathy's style. "It

is

a difficult task to

name

thinking, there

hobnob with Harken

after

something adversary between the boat's name and the

people unconsciously project such a relationship.

So

there

always

this peculiar tension that exists

if this

of

is

sails

that

not precisely

begs for comparison.

It

between

a boat's

name and

that boat."

She searched the Odyssey, rejected "Calypso"

was out from the

start.

I

am

Turning men into swine phor to

my way

woman who

whether positive or negative. Even

so,

woman on

woman's point

a

women. To

going to be the suggestion either of something shared or

is

boat, a reflection,

the

the saltiest in

to this:

from

a boat, especially

of view. Boats for the most part are named

is

the long

across to Grenada.

politics.

is

not into

women

too

common. "Circe

inappropriate on every level from poetic meta-

They do not need our

of Leucothea, whose

as

with that brand of heavy magic.

veil saved the

help."

Then out popped

the story

drowning hero.

Pick up Atlantic Circle anywhere and you're soon intrigued by a fresh insight.

Take

this appraisal

of "boatie"

life:

"They don't

sail;

they

drift.

don't have adventures; they maintain the boats that keep them adrift.

can perceive

They

little

beyond the boundaries of their

are en-hulled, so to speak, physically

fiberglass or

wood

They They

capsules.

and mentally. They are not

voyagers of the world's oceans; they are self-selected inmates of boats, and they might just

as

frozen foods

on

what

as

well be in a supermarket pushing a cart from produce to a boat sailing

from

Fiji

to

Tonga, because

that

is

largely

boaties talk about: the price of things in one port as opposed to

another."

But not the Knights.

Chris, a filmmaker of distinction

whose American

Challenge documentary of the 1980 solo transatlantic yacht race

won

rave

reviews, shares his bride's love of gourmet food and off-beat sightseeing. She

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ may

roll

her eyes over his puns, but devotion and admiration flow between

them even when cabin conditions

How

well she writes.

It

deteriorate in storm or fog.

flows on like

silk,

shimmering with good

How

metaphors, brightened with saucy retorts and discoveries.

worked as the

at

it.

First as a fashion

She will be discovered

all. It

now by

come?

She's

Country, eventually

and the

visibility like the inside

o£ groping for

off to port," the

And

of a

full

Even

if,

to their loss,

book

yachties only," there'll be a next and

alert will spot her irrepressible

like this description

the relief of

has given her prose an elegant confidence.

adults as a talent.

book "for

editors mistake this to be a

I

&

copywriter for Town

author of twelve children's books, fiction and nonfiction, surely the

most demanding school of

a next

n

energy today.

Maine

a landfall in a

milk bottle

we saw

fog: "in

glow knows

a feeble pulsing

Minturn Harbor lighthouse. Every down-east

sailor

it.

take the chapter

on "climbing up and down mountain ranges"

in

France aboard Leucothea, with her masts lying on deck so she can pass under bridges. "Far in the distance across

one of these

Gothic twin towers of the grand basilique of

fields St.

loomed

Nicholas.

the flamboyant

I

was becoming

quite attached to this business of sighting Gothic towers in the rather than whistle

paradise filled with

buoys

in a

Bay of Fundy

fog."

It's

a

morning mist

journey through

merry encounter and good food. Hard work,

too. Getting

caught in a lock with the prop wash of a big barge buffeting their boat was "like square dancing with elephants."

gives

With the birth of Max, and then Meribah Grace, voyaging, perforce, way to gentler coastal cruising for the Knights. But they've worked

out nets and tricks to keep the kids from falling overboard. be sequels of adventures en famille to beguile

us,

volumes

No

doubt

that, like

there'll

Kathy's '

sole quenelles, "as the

supreme Jewish accolade goes, 'You could die from!'

Philip S.

Weld

>" PARTI

Leucothea under

sail

on Penobscot Bay.

CHAPTE r1 On It's

calm

a

clear day,

you can

possible to imagine that they

finally the

become

see the roots

until

islands.

There

a

is

mythic quality

in their thrust out

of the

sea.

From

one can almost picture what

once called the beginning mists of time.

a poet

Some people machine

that

consider strikingly similar to the models

I

of my childhood.

cereal boxes

Not me, however. Not when I Bay being piloted in a single-engine

can imagine those mists.

three thousand feet above Casco

flying

floor.

rocky crowns broke through the surface of some nameless bay to

three thousand feet above the water's surface,

am

digging into the sea

grew upwards over millions of years

I

found

in the

When my eyes aren't fixated on the gas gauges

that are registering three-quarters full,

I

am

scanning the water below for the

clods of dirt and rock that might provide an adequate strip of earth for an

emergency landing.

The is

We are in no actual danger. The flight has been smooth.

whose thrumming

engine,

performing excellently. All

A-OK,

except for me.

are lousy.

thoughts of mortality time,

it is

string

monitor

I

in the parlance

fuel gauges are

these seemingly

—my own. And

a fiery final perdition

Chris,

"Where

My

Hovering over

vibrations

is,

like a cardiac patient,

of the aerospace program,

measuring E, and

mythic

islands,

I

my

vibrations

am consumed with

rather than the beginning mists

of

contemplate.

I

my husband, is waxing ecstatic over the grandeur of the coastline.

else

can you see

of emeralds!"

He

this sort

he banks the plane steeply so little

wing waggle over

Is it

a figment

of

my

of

we

stuff.

a sailboat.

He

is

mean look steps

can skim closer. I

close

my

imagination, or do

"America the Beautiful"?

I

wheel and

rotates the

I

at these islands

He

as

performs an adorable

eyes and lean back in

sort,

but he

my

seat.

humming

actually hear Chris

not a superpatriotic

—

on the rudder peddle

is

obviously

finding this scenery so spectacular and uniquely American that he feels

compelled to

through

my

chariot of fire it

sing.

Meanwhile, William Blake's "Jerusalem"

mind, somewhat feebly, and

making

a neat

plummet

I

am

is

running

thinking about our

little

into the deep with the sea closing over

in a final sizzle.

"There's the Blue Dolphin. Let's say Hi."

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

16

Tied up to a dock

Boothbay Harbor

in

schooner Bluenose. Chris

connection with the Blue Dolphin

feels a personal

Mary

because of a lengthy college courtship with this

no-foot piece of nautical

We do

schooner so Chris can examine her.

so Chris can scrutinize her condition. .

.

.

off.

to

We

tradition.

a sister ship to the legendary

is

Nutt, whose family

circle several times

every time

this

"Looks

we

owned

around the

fly to

Maine

like they've stripped her decks

yeah. Yeah, definitely. Look, they've taken part of the deckhouse top

Wonder what

sail

her again.

I

they're doing that for.

think they've taken

"Hardware! For

God

all

sakes, Chris,

back gently on the wheel and

we

Maybe

they're really getting ready

the hardware off the forward mast!"

we've flown too close!" Chris

pulls

float off.

"She's old but elegant."

"Mary Nutt?" "No, Blue Dolphin. Mary's about your age."

"You should have married her." comment does not shock Chris.

This

I

have

said

it

several times during

our marriage, particularly on those occasions of physical duress and imminent danger.

"Now, now, Kathy." He

pats

my

knee reassuringly.

"Still

not getting

used to the flying, huh?"

"No,"

I

how I never will. Mary Nutt would now rather than sitting here scared stiff

say quietly and think

probably be wing walking right

watching the fuel gauges.

The Nutt family

lives

that because they are the

up

to

its

name admirably. And

owners of a

classic

anyone think

lest

schooner they

somehow

fall

into the Merriweather-Post-Rockefeller-Vanderbilt category, such notions

should be dispelled immediately. Beany Nutt, the father, a Dartmouth professor II

of oceanography, had done extensive Arctic research

using Blue Dolphin as his research vessel.

Arctic addicts and together with their six

Newfoundland

for

He

little

many summers. The

and

after

World War

his wife, Babs,

became

Nutts cruised Labrador and

children

all

grew up brainy and

biologists, etc. Mary honeymoon on a Hobie Cat in the Caribbean. That should suffice to explain her. The parents, Babs and Beany, gave up sailing when their children were all grown and took up flying. Babs, pushing sixty, became a glider-pilot instructor. They later

tough, becoming world-class kayakists,

sailors,

marine

Nutt, Chris's friend, got married and took her

bought

a dear little airport in Post Mills,

Vermont, and have been spending

their retirement years in the air either in their aircraft, as It

Beany tows Babs's

has always seemed to

glider

me

amphibious plane or in separate

up and drops her

that the Nutts

family for Chris to have married into.

An

at

four thousand

would have been

feet.

the perfect

appropriate match in every sense

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ of the word. Whereas ...

ominously

in the air as

For diversion

as

stuff.

It

I

Three Four Juliet, the Piper Cherokee

I

begin reading.

I

am

and

am

I

We

now somewhere between

are

my

a

non

To

rabbit's

further contemplation of

would choose death and

I

Such

are

my

survival instincts.

Tom

IBM

Watson, the

I

am

chief,

sequitur indeed considering that rabbit's

my nimble mind virtually flies from consideration of lapine sangria

juncture in

my hiccuping consciousness and

that Chris turns his phrasing,

my

"What?" "I'll

seems.

says, "I

it

rather insignificant

rarely seems to be a stream)

actually hiccup at

I

thoughts having so recently been on rabbit's blood.

sail

across the Atlantic

with me."

think of our thirty-foot ketch Leucothea, sturdy and

I

sails full

pounds of lead

It is at this

me

have a modest proposal."

give up flying if you'll

The

(for

ask.

I

look down.

sea-kindly, all

How

find unsettling, in

I

needed a distraction from the

and Beatrix Potter to computers and Watson.

I

are flying.

Port Clyde and Vinalhaven, and

thoughts from Beatrix Potter to

who summers on the island. This is I don't even know the man. But I blood, so

Any

thoroughly convinced that

find a place in heaven next to Beatrix Potter.

shifting

we

familiar with the shelter and

the solutions to starvation that

is

never get past page 15 of the book.

that beverage

The question hangs

finish the thought.

one that suggests the nutritional value of drinking

particular the

blood.

do not

pick up a small paperback that Chris carries aboard,

I

Survive in the Wilderness. first-aid

I

17

and driving us toward a distant shore.

How

sensible

it

beautiful simplicity of ropes, wind, dacron, three thousand

opposed to

in the keel, as

device that

this antigravitational

looks like a cereal-box toy. "It's a

deal!"

I

respond.

I

sink back into the seat and

Four Juliet will just get us to Deer

our arrival

at their

CHAPTE R This was the

Isle,

where

hope

Chris's family

is

that Three

waiting for

summer home.

Z

summer of

1972.

It

would be two more

would

actually begin to fulfill the bargain in the sky.

amply

that there

were some rather fundamental

I

years before

we

have already hinted

differences

between Chris's

made him eminently suitable for and my own backgrounds and such a venture and me eminently unsuitable. Whether it was to be a challenge rearing that

of the "spacious skies" or the "sea to shining

waves of-grain"

Deer

Isle,

sea,"

I

was

strictly

an "amber-

sort.

Maine, the destination of most

flights

on what Chris

called

Chris and Kathy on the rocks

in

front of the Deer Isle house. Their official

Fly-By-Knight Airways, was the

A

Knight family.

yard-Nantucket-Rhode Island of

to think

as

ancestral

few forebears were

home of

picture.

the paternal side of the

scattered about in the Martha's Vine-

but

area,

engagement

it

was Deer

Isle that

people tended

the familial turf. Chris's grandfather Dr. Charles Knight had

been born there, and though he eventually went off to Harvard Medical

summer

School, he returned to the island in the

to lobster in a

dory for

his

tuition.

On Deer

their

much

it

and

who wore

to her horror that she

a

for

rowed from

some privacy.

harebrained than honeymooning on a

less

was apparently just about

bride,

his bride, Sadie Ellis,

some twenty miles away,

consider this slightly

I

Hobie Cat,

The

in 1905 he

to Marshall's Island,

Isle

Although

fall.

honeymoon

as

wet when

heavy rain began to

a

brand-new purple hunting

discovered

outfit,

had been dyed bright purple when they pitched

their tent that night.

Although they

settled in Boston, Charles

farm on the Reach, a lovely the mainland. Sadie

Knight kept the old family

of protected water between Deer

two

sons, Peter (Chris's father)

farther back in the

Knight family

tree,

the

China

listed.

trade.

A

a

sees the professions

of in

William Torrey was

few were

of the Charles W. Morgan.

On

and Jack.

one

Many served on Grand Banks schooners and some

certain

Horn, and more than

Hawaii.

and

in the late 1800s that

of cooper, shipwright, mariner, and increasingly master mariner

Isle

was never too keen about the house, but summers were

spent there with their

Going

stretch

He

lost

and

the Ellis side there

lost at sea

rounding Cape

on the Grand Banks. One was

his

was

a

a captain

wife had a daughter born aboard in

Quaker who was shot

three times

during the Civil War, which goes to show what ambivalence in the face of a bullet can do.

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ For

who was

tree, there

Her mother,

half-Indian.

Jonathan Eaton of settlers

family

real exotica in the

Rhode

Island.

also

was a

certain

During

a period

Hence

new

become

this

really true,

I

it

is

so

the chiefs

tribe

Meribah was "delivered up"

line. It is

were

a sprinkling

of Mayflower types

in the

me

to believe that so

many

always hard for

country can claim kinship with the Mayflower crowd.

would have

think the boat

the explanation for

these claims.

all

to

child.

the duller ancestors

and indirect

people in

(as

Meribah. The account goes on to say that upon the return

little

of peace between the whites and the

Among

to

of unrest between the

and the Indians, she was captured by the Indians and

her husband with her

direct

Meribah Wardell,

named Meribah, was married

delicately reported in a family history) "compelled to

wife."

19

sunk. So

Names

like

I

have

If

on

settled

it

were

incest as

Thankful and Theophilus,

Ebenezer and Mercy, Uriah and Josiah abound. They

all

looked toward the

They were all hardworking, stalwart types, until Novemwhen along came Levi Knight and the work ethic went out

sea for their living.

ber 28, 1847,

window. Notorious

the

godliness. In fact Levi

appreciated. to

for his laziness, Levi did

was probably

He is certainly my

have such

it

all

under the guise of

a folk hero before such types

were

favorite dead Knight relative, if one can claim

favorites.

who was captain of the schooner Elizabeth, Canada. He became a fisherman out of Deer

Levi was named for an uncle

which was Isle,

lost off

Bay Chaleurs,

but Levi soon decided that

so he took

up farming

at the

it

was ungodly

Reach on Deer

to catch the

Isle.

good Lord's

fish,

Pretty soon he decided that

plowing God's earth and slaughtering innocent animals was not any more godly than

fishing, so

he gave up farming and opened a small tobacco shop.

Long before anybody had ever heard of the surgeon general, that Surgeon in the Sky spoke to Levi, and soon he gave up selling tobacco. He then proceeded to spend the Francena worked

rest

of his

life sitting in his

wife, Francena's, kitchen.

tirelessly raising the five children,

Knight, Chris's grandfather.

Nobody knows

including Dr. Charles

for sure exactly

supported themselves, but the inclination toward hard

immediately by Levi's offspring, and that might be a died in 193 1, and most people

and a bore, but it

I

if

would have been

a guru.

So

I

as a

grouch

Levi really was grouchy

was only because he was born too soon. Had he

certainly

lived today he

retreat or at least an

Chris's father, Pete Knight,

Harvard's School of

was

most

prefer to think of Levi wrapped with

saffron robes, cheerfully boring people in his down-east accent in

Himalayan mountain

they

partial explanation. Levi

who knew him remember him

remain firmly convinced that

how

work was resumed

some

ashram in Cambridge.

Levi's grandson.

He

graduated from

Design with a landscape architecture degree in the late

Rusty

at the

Chris, three

when work was hard

thirties,

Maine and

is

at

lower

to find.

A

good job

house.

a half years old,

left.

offer

brought him to

Cleveland, Ohio, with his bride, Lillian (Rusty) Balboni, and he enjoyed the less-rigid social

atmosphere

Doctor Knight had died Street

on Beacon

Doctor Balboni, Cento, in a

Hill,

there.

relatively

were

there

his

and around the corner

Lillian's father.

Italy, at the

But

young, but

at

trips to the East.

still

widow, 78

Sadie, lived

on Joy

Mount Vernon was

Gerardo Balboni had arrived here from

He went

age of thirteen speaking no English.

pharmacy whose proprietors found him

to be a bright,

to

work

hardworking

sort

and encouraged him to go to college and then on to medical school Harvard. at the

He became

a

at

beloved physician in the North End of Boston and

Massachusetts General Hospital.

For the Knights in Cleveland, Boston became a stop on or from "the

Maine house." The old farm on

the

way

their

Reach was now

a

to

summer

house for Rusty and Pete and their four children: Peter, Chris, and the twins,

Judy and Jonathan. The house had no running water and no electricity. But it did have a sailing canoe, a millpond where you could make model boats out of shingles, and endless adventures. Pete Knight received only two weeks' vacation a year, but Rusty tive

would spend whole summers

house with her four kids and a college

girl to

there in the primi-

help out.

Water had

to

be hauled, cooking had to be done on a woodburning stove, children had to be kept

from drowning, but there was plenty of time

to whittle

model

make miniature diving boards for the frog population near the millpond, and chew the fat with cousin Francis while his delivery of ice in the boats,

back of

his truck

melted in the hot July sun.

A

CHAPTER

TLANTIC CIRCLE

3

Island life requires versatility for survival,

was no exception.

He

He had

delivered

it

fished,

in the

ingenuity.

dard was

He was

and he had cut

summer

vided refrigeration.

it

on an

ice

in the winter

which

still

and pro-

unusual about Francis was his mechanical

Yankee Tinkerer par

to rockets, Francis

not high-

island, certainly

from ponds

for the old-fashioned iceboxes,

What was

the

and Chris's cousin Francis

had on various occasions cut lumber, worked for the

roads department, or whatever they call

ways.

21

excellence.

What Robert God-

Williams was to sunken boats and

cars stuck in

mud flats. He had assembled an incredible array of junk into a line of Rube Goldberg-type machines that could accomplish any task. Need a mooring dropped or pulled? Francis would come chugging into your harbor with the

his floating crane,

which

consisted of

some gear salvaged from

trawler affixed atop a platform that was floated

drums with an outboard

York

pulls off the side

on

"One of them

Or

flats

is it

with

a truck?

at

low

the tide starting to turn. It

looks

wrecked

a small population tourist folks"

of the road to admire the sunset

himself stuck in the clam Francis in his truck.

attached.

a

more

from

tide

of

oil

New

and finds

Along comes

like the offspring

of an

unfortunate union between a pickup truck and a piece of heavy wrecking

equipment.

What

Francis's

machines lacked in refinement, they more than compen-

Francis Williams in his boatyard at Burnt Cove, Deer

Isle,

Maine.

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

22

sated for in character,

and what they might have lacked

He was

always be provided by Francis. the strongest

I

have ever seen.

wrapped around

champagne

a

he had heard about a

"Why,

wings.

my

was inevitable

few

that Francis,

"just

it,

hands were

huge hand

he recounted a joke

as

.

.

with

his assortment

of equipment, would

"The boys had boats So from November to April

business. ."

Cove became crammed with

sailboats, dinghies,

May, put

our wedding

glass at

his

Francis's

drink."

a place to put them, so

yard in Burnt a

remember

man who inquired of his hostess whether a lemon had woman. "Well, Ma'am, I think I just squeezed

one day get into the boatyard had

man, and

a massive

will always

no," replied the

your canary into It

I

horsepower could

in

lobster boats

and sundry pleasure

craft.

The

to haul, and

I

Francis's front

and more than

boats, as his wife,

kind of crept up" out of the water and across the lawn.

Then before you knew it they were With the boats came the usual concomitant

Pretty soon they were up to the drive. right there in with the petunias.

load of junk that seems to breed in boatyards

of

—

old wire spools, cradles,

rusted-out engines, etc. All strewn about in total disarray.

trailers,

this really

bothered

May

that

much. She was used

to confusion.

None One

entered May's house and was in immediate danger of becoming lost or

crushed while threading through stacks of old National Geographies and

Modern Photography s (May was a photo

buff),

books, and grandchildren's toys.

pattern

everywhere

as

were textbooks

sewing projects

in progress,

Musical scores were scattered

May was the choir director and the as May had decided to start college

church organist. There in her fifties to get her

B.A. in music. She commuted regularly to the university in Bangor even during the worst of winter. There were always term papers to write and choir practices to get ready for, plus her weekly

newspaper to write, so dishes were washed just

vantages

a

column

week and seldom put away because

back out again." There were always scores bled about the place like dandelion

fluffs,

a couple

you have of newborn

"after all

in the Island

to get

of times

them

kitties that

and there was an enormous

foundland called Tuffy Bear that lumbered about

Ad-

right

tum-

New-

like a canine version

of

Francis.

In spite

machines

of her

own

disdain for order within her house,

plus the ever-encroaching tide

trying moments. Francis's priorities were different it

took

house. to

May

the longest time to finally get

always seemed

It

as if there

drop before he could get to

woman.

it.

some of Francis's

him

from many

to install a

were another boat

May, however,

is

May

a

few

people's,

and

of boats must have given

bathroom

to haul or

in the

mooring

a unique and strong

Despite the chaos in her house, she has a keen aesthetic sense and a

talent for

accomplishing things. She takes the music education of the island

seriously and devotes countless hours to teaching children

and exposing them

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ to

good music. She

has

formed music groups for the

Francis gave a hoot about music, but

appreciation for beauty in

life as

island winter survivable for

March

well

it

as art that

May. Maine

are not easy places to be.

Men

elderly.

was her love of

doubt

that

and her genuine

it

made many

islands

I

^3

a harsh

and ugly

between December and

often drink because they cannot

fish,

women get fat and dream of other places and other men and other lives. But May was different. I remember when May called to tell us that Francis had died of a massive heart attack. He had been unconscious for a day. The family was keeping a and

by

vigil

his bedside in the

Blue Hill Hospital when suddenly he opened

eyes and sat up. In a perfectly clear voice he asked

what day

his

was and the

it

The family was dumbfounded.

time.

May

"Francis,"

"Tough

as a

CHAPTE

said.

sure are tough!"

boiled owl," he replied and promptly died.

*4

Chris's fascination

with Francis began

in those

summers of

The highlight of every week was the making snowballs in July from the ice chips

youth on Deer the chance for

he brought the horses for haying the

his early

ice delivery

Isle.

When

the blocks.

"You

fields,

and

sawed

as Francis

would

Chris

beg to ride on King or Queeny. Sitting by the woodshed, Francis carved scraps

He

of shingles into tiny square-rigged ships that Chris found

taught Chris to

make

across the millpond,

his

own, and soon

pushed by the summer

fleets

sea breezes. Perhaps

blame Francis for dreams of ocean crossing planted impressionable age of four or

Of course requires

more

in terms

in Chris's

all

two weeks

were the ones at the

in the sailing canoe

of skillful handling than any sailboat

narrow unballasted

first

learned to

at the

on

when

A sailing canoe

end of the summer.

to encounter. Steering with a paddle, shifting leeboards to keep the

should

I

head

five.

the best rides of

Pete Knight arrived for

irresistible.

of them were voyaging

a person

is

likely

each tack, trying

hull upright, in the canoe the

Knight children

sail.

week of summer there was usually a cruise on a smart little ketch with a name like Rogue's Moon or Black Bird. Of the four

In the last

schooner or

Knight children Chris seemed to inherit the strongest love of the seemed to come

fairly directly

from

his father,

who

taught

sea.

him with

It

skill

and patience about weather and navigation and wind and boats, but perhaps

more than risks

that Pete

and Rusty Knight taught

their children

about

risks

well taken and the trade-offs between living well and living securely.

* A

young Chris

helm of Black Bird,

at the

on a summer charter with his parents.

When

Chris was a freshman in high school, landlocked and bored in

Cleveland, he remembered his father's old scrapbooks hidden behind the

row of books

in the living

room

first

bookcase. Put together by Sadie Ellis

Knight, they recorded a phenomenal adventure undertaken by his dad and a friend,

Harold Putnam. The two young Dartmouth students

set

out in the

New

summer of

1933 in a kayak and began a circumnavigation of

that started

on Lake Champlain. From Champlain they went out

England

the Richlieu

River to the Saint Lawrence, then into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, round the Gaspe Peninsula,

of

and

islands,

down

finally

on

the

to

Chris was fascinated

as

Nova

Scotian coast, through Maine's

Boston and

New

maze

York.

he poured over the journal

entries,

photos of

campsites and seal hunts, yellowed news clippings of adventures with whales

and

gales.

The

coast that

young Knight and Putnam had

with bays and channels and started to

grow. In

library, Chris

came

islands to explore.

his senior year in

as

was

idea

was riddled

of a grand adventure

high school, while studying in the

across a fairly detailed

the southeastern coastline of Alaska

The

traveled

as

map of

Alaska.

He

noticed that

convoluted and thick with islands

anyone might imagine. The map indicated spectacularly high mountains

that

plummeted

into the sea. This inside passage

from Skagway

to Seattle

looked ideal for kayaking. Laced with channels and fjords that were protected

from the open After

more

at

two

sea

and braced by mountains,

full years

Dartmouth, and

of planning, Chris,

it

now

was

a kayakist's dream.

a nineteen-year-old

his brother Peter, a senior, set off for

sopho-

Alaska with

few miles out of Skagway Alaska kayak adventure.

Chris and his brother Peter a the start of the great

Chris, in the bow,

and

Peter, in the stern, sidle

up

at

to

an iceberg in Tracy Arm, Alaska.

S " ifci

-

*

i- L

.

4 :

:!

ft .

—

"

;.

26

a

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

kayak called Wasso

in Vastervik, fifty

III.

Specially designed and built to their specifications

Sweden, Wasso III was a sleek mahogany needle weighing only

pounds but capable of carrying two hundred pounds of camping equip-

ment and

The

two

the

boys.

southeast coast of Alaska, although protected for the most part,

a rugged one. There were small gaps with

the sucking Japanese current. There

wilderness.

The boys would have

were

direct exposure to the Pacific

killer whales,

was and

and mostly there was

to hunt for food to supplement

could carry. The equipment stowed in the boat had to be

what they

as reliable as

would be unavailable along the way. In case of medical emergency they would have to use their ingenuity. There were few towns on the charts, and many of these had become ghost towns when the mines or salmon canneries had closed down. possible, because replacements

The

risks in short

seeing another Chris's focus

human

were formidable. They would being. Death

was

was not just surviving but

travel for days

without

a distinct possibility, but Peter and

also enjoying the wilderness.

For two

years with the guidance of their father and support of both parents they had tested various kayaks

and modified

their ideal one.

chart and current table of that coast.

number of

studied every

The equipment had been

on

tried

a

practice trips that refined their boat-handling skills as well.

Everyone except

Chris's parents

had been opposed to

the Knights' friends in Cleveland to Alaskans

most thought skeptical

They had

and

that the trip

at their

who

was impossible. People

this trip.

at their

kindest were

worst condemnatory. Rusty Knight once told

everyone in Cleveland "thought Pete and

I

were

From

heard about their idea,

me

that

either nuts or negligent as

parents."

CHAPTE «5 Back

in Cleveland, Pete Knight, Senior,

a duplicate set

followed

his sons' progress

of charts. Although he had never seen the Alaskan

coast,

on

every

mind and every hazard and wind Because a kayak has no chart table for

current and tidal change was printed in his variation

was imagined and

plotted.

on-the-spot course work, Pete had precharted several options for the boys

based on prevailing wind patterns and tidal currents. There were that

had direct exposure to the

Pacific:

two

places

Dixon's Entrance near Prince Rupert

and Queen Charlotte Sound. The passage across Queen Charlotte Sound was about thirty to forty miles long. Pete,

Sr.,

had plotted a course several months

before, taking into account the thicket of rocks close to shore and the big Pacific

waves

that

had built uninterrupted from Japan for some four thousand

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ miles.

was

It

27

pounding, monstrous surge. The run was long, not one that

a

could be done in a single stretch, but landing on the coast without being

was impossible. Thus, the

splintered

was

Egg

first

leg

was

Egg

set for

Island,

which

middle of the sound and had a semiprotected backside. Beyond

in the

was Cape Caution

Island

or, as the

They were then rock some twelve

boys came to

C-c-c-c-aution.

to proceed

had

miles

set for a

on

call

a compass course Pete, Sr.,

Wrecks and

off.

C-c-c-c-ape

it,

whales were

killer

prevalent in the area, but the real danger was being caught by bad weather

with no place to hide.

Throughout ried

about

summer

the stifling

from

this passage as letters

of their approach to the sound.

nights in Cleveland, Pete Knight

his sons

and

wor-

own calculations warned

his

He imagined the rumble of the immense surge He imagined the sun that would set and rise

like artillery fire in the distance.

with each swell and the straight

He

blew up.

bow, ers

imagined

all this

lee shore

—

the

wet

the long Pacific swells occasionally

on deeply buried

powered by

two

his

They made after setting

it

demon

all

around into a

Two

wind

that

was

it all,

their trip. Sixty-one days

rarely supposed to

miles

from

paddled the entire

to the Black Sea. II,

blow had indeed blown had

Seattle

at last

turned

wind.

years later Chris and a group of

in

into thundering break-

needle splitting through

sound and continued

summer and twenty

tail

Dick Durrance was back

weather

wings off the

sons.

across the

Ledyard Canoe Club

Germany,

humping up

mahogany

if the

out from Skagway, the great adventure was completed. The

perverse southeast like a

ledges, the

with nowhere to land silver spray flying like

Dartmouth

Danube

river

from

friends its

from the

source in

Ulm,

Photographed by Chris and fellow classmate

the story appeared in National Geographic. In 1966 Chris

Wasso photographing another story for National Geographic.

A

group of ten Dartmouth friends and English students paddled in kayaks through the inland sea of Japan from Shimonoseki to Tokyo.

Summer work

stints

studies in architecture at

was during

this

with the Geographic supported Chris's graduate

Harvard and kept

time that

I

met

his taste for

adventure

alive. It

Chris.

CHAPTE ,6 It

home in

seems that ever since the Knights had

left

Deer

Isle as a

the early 1900s, they had been trying almost desperately to

to the sea again."

however, was

The only

Ellis,

island

of ancestral import

which hardly evokes

nostalgia

in the

permanent

"go down

Lasky family,

among any of our

kin.

The Laskys, left to

shortly before leaving Russia

right, Ida,

—

Kathy's grandmother; her

son, Louis; Kathy's great-grandmother,

holding granddaughter, Cecile. The child standing

Nor had we been yearning

Kathy's aunt,

home

to return to our

town

layev in Russia and a small

remember, but

is

in

Ann Lasky

places,

Smith.

Odessa and Niko-

Poland the name of which

I

can never

sounds something like the name of one of those smoky

it

sausages.

There

no family

is

tree for the

Laskys

as far as

anybody can

ascertain.

"Shrub" would better describe the known genealogical shape of

However, poking types

on both

my

into the shrubbery reveals father's

time, around the turn

of the century

Jews was even worse than Nicholas

II's

pogroms by

and mother's

it is

interesting if not dazzling

To

take a slight leap back in

sides.

(this

one) the Russian policy toward

today. Jews were required to serve in Tsar

army, and ironically they were just the

tsar's forces.

things.

some

In short, they

as likely to

were catching

it

be victims in

from both

ends.

sure

Once a man had served he could still be called up again. In fact the only way not to be called again was death. A great-great-grandfather of mine

and

his

their

wife were murdered in their beds because the

two

silver

wine

cups, and thus they did avoid recall.

were two unacceptable choices for

my own

tsar's

But

troops wanted service or death

grandfather Joseph Lasky, a

machinist in a factory outside Nikolayev. In 1904 he packed up his wife, three kids, father,

and

sister

and

left.

Somehow

they got hold of a

wagon

(any

conveyance was an almost unheard-of luxury for Jews then), and they

number of days to a border where the guard was bribed. We are which border. The next thing my Aunt Ann remembers (she was

traveled a

not sure four

at the time)

was boarding

a boat in

Le Havre for Liverpool.

In Liverpool they took a ship, the Halifax,

sleeping

on the

floor.

dark bread, salamis, it

was thought

that

They had

to bring their

own

When

traveling steerage and

food, which consisted of

tea,

and hard candy.

my

great-grandfather, Joe's father, had contracted tra-

they arrived in the States,

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ choma and would be

detained indefinitely.

The family was very

29

nearly

hysterical over this, but miraculously Great-grandfather Sol's eyes cleared,

and the family continued to Duluth, Minnesota, where two uncles had

settled

three years before. Duluth, although hardly exotic, can be thought o£ as

somewhat unusual and

of Jewish migration

in terms

Marven. Joe found work Trying to imagine

patterns.

It

was here

and had three more children including

his wife, Ida, settled

that Joe

my

father,

as a machinist.

life in that

household in the early 1900s

was an intensely Jewish family transported to the

is

odd. Here

of a

relative wilderness

northern almost pioneer town. Grandfather Sol drank his glasses of sweet stayed

warm

and alternated between growling

in the kitchen,

giving them rough but affectionate pats.

He walked

money!" The older people

in reply, "to find

tea,

and

doubled over with a cane

when my dad

never raising his eyes from the ground, and once

why, he barked

at the kids

in the

him

asked

household

did learn English but often spoke Yiddish, especially if they did not want the children to understand.

My

Aunt Ann was very musical and wrote

eventually published.

but

My

a

few songs

was apparently spoiled rotten by

father

did not interfere with his love of adventure.

this

I

that

were

his sisters,

get the distinct

impression that he itched to escape the thickly feminine world that seemed to

dominate the home

when he was

a school vacation

loggers in the morning,

on the shoulder

him

of

a pair

He worked

front.

ten or eleven. His job

from

He

swimming

He did One

Hortense Falender.

went out together

on which he also

I

wake up

the

his father

blithely

went

all

made over

became an excellent swimmer

not

make

the team, but he did meet his future wife,

could hardly

call their

courtship whirlwind.

They

for eleven years before finally deciding to get married.

"People thought about things in those days." This mother's.

to

like tapping a shark

age of seventeen, traveled to Indianapolis for the Olympic

at the

trials.

was

loved the outdoors, and

barrel staves

Duluth and into the northern woods. He and in 1924,

logging camp one winter during

which must have been something

at breakfast time.

skis

in a

have often wondered what

else

is

a favorite

remark of my

they did besides think during those

eleven years.

Although ily

more

my

different

mother

from

ison, the Falenders lived in a

loath to call

it

a

movie

times.

It

Jewish,

my

father could not have

They had

by

my

grandmother Belle on the

six children

—one boy and

considered quite striking in appearance.

contract.

They were

must have been

found

a

fam-

Prosperous and very urbane by compar-

Mediterranean style house (they would have been

a villa) designed

street in Indianapolis.

who were

is

his than hers.

all

One

loveliest

five lively girls

in fact

was offered

college-educated, a remarkable feat for those

a sparkling

household during the twenties, with

musicals, endless pranks, and a constant flow of young

men

courting the

girls.

Kathy's parents,

Marven and Hortense Lasky, pose on the beach during their courtship.

They had

who

a six-and-one-half-foot black gentleman,

functioned

as a

powder blue Model-T took them on summer northern Indiana and sometimes even these trips

recipient

of the movie-contract taken to

for themselves, laissez-faire

which

Cuba and

which they did

in

my

Lake Wawasee

Beatrice, eldest

One of the most

the other girls

rather nicely.

A in

object of

sisters

and

fun summers ever was

were

My

The

of the

left at

home

to fend

grandmother was quite

mother's family including her parents adored

really speaks well

of them because

Olympic-team

try to tag a penniless a fortune hunter.

But he was

not,

attending night law school.

would have been

my

easy to

reject courting a lovely well-off girl as

He was working

—

bright,

then as a lifeguard and

We never could figure out how one went to law

school without having attended college. to a series

it

and they saw him for what he was

ingenious, hardworking, and kind.

went on

Leader Bell,

about certain things.

Everyone father,

offer.

trips to

as far as Atlantic City.

was to display the fabulous

when Bea was

War

combination butler-nursemaid-handyman-chaufFeur.

of jobs

—

more

He

never did finish law school and

lifeguarding, one with

Johnny Weiss-

muller in Florida, another also in Florida of tending alligators in a Seminole Indian village where the Indians wrestled the reptiles. a ladies' hat salesman

and then

He became

at

one time

after prohibition a liquor salesman.

Over an eleven-year period from his late teens to his late twenties, he would turn up at the Falenders', always welcomed and sometimes pressed into service to escort a younger sister of my mother's to a prom after a sudden breakup with a beau.

him

until he

and was working with her

My mother, an eminently sensible sort, refused to marry

had found

sister

a steady job.

as a social

She

in the

meantime had

finished college

worker. Trips to Russia, Norway, and Europe

Mildi and a good friend, another Hortense (Hortense Davis),

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ were frequent during the prewar

My

years.

father bore

all

pa-

this fairly

tiently, even other intermittent boyfriends. There was, however, a at a

31

fistfight

country club dance between him and another one of my mother's

suitors.

My grandparents were at the dance too and evidently when my mother went crying to her mother over

and

said, "It's

this

shameful display, Belle merely waved her hand

your problem, Hortense." however, they did get married.

Finally,

My

father

had found a niche

own company,

for himself in the liquor business and eventually started his

my

with no help from all their

money

company things,

mother's family because by

in the depression.

in Indianapolis. In

wine

in tank cars

what

father

Melody

Hill,

seem the oddest to Indiana

though hardly

a

reversal

of

and put

in

grand cm, really

The anthropomorphized grapes emblazoned on the sang on radio and television, "I'm sherry, I'm port,

off.

trucks also

muscatel and zinfandel!" As cute grapes tap-danced their

way

Shirley Temple, these

as

lost

had a bottling and distribution

will always

was driven from California

bottles at his plant. His label,

did take

My

time they had

this

sides

try

of

me,

animated

little

into the hearts, minds, and bloodstreams of the

unsophisticated wine-drinking public in the Midwest.

But I

it

was

of wrath as far as my older sister Martha and my father would arrive in the blue van with the little

strictly grapes

were concerned when

dancing grapes painted on the

sides

notes of the commercial's song. disease

—

We

common

were victims of a

first

four

adolescent

terminal embarrassment caused by parents. This van was the bane

God

of our existence. it

and the horn that honked the

forbid a peer should actually see us being driven in

by our dad, who could have been the

smiling countenance. Several years later Gallo. Ernest Gallo

was the

house for dinner with beautiful sound

I

first

his wife,

sixth grape

my

with

his bald

father sold out

famous person

I

ever met.

Amalia, whose name

I

head and

Melody

Hill to

He came

to our

thought was the most

had ever heard.

CHAPTE *7 When we

were growing up

outside the city, and sailboat, a Thistle.

when

in Indianapolis, there

they started a sailing club

Unfortunately, neither Martha,

bear to subject ourselves to the rigors of being his crew.

competitive to the point of tyranny on board, and untrainable in the fine art of spinnaker skills

necessary for small-boat racing.

having fallen

down

I

was

a reservoir

my father bought a small my mother, nor I could He was

we were

management and

the

fiercely

apparently

myriad of other

have one vivid image of

my

mother

in the boat after a bout with the spinnaker, one leg

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

32

straight

up

my

and

in the air, scratched, bleeding,

and entwined in the spinnaker

father at the tiller yelling at her that so-and-so

My mother,

boat length on us and to get the thing up. straight

still

up

know what you

In general, Indianapolis had

I

to

on

to offer in

As an

golf.

a pier

It

seemed to be

all

my

who

while a gravel-voiced counselor,

we were all supposed to salute or say "Up yours!" and crack her on fact

Martha and

alternative,

real forte in those

weekend

I

were

plague.

at

which point

ever wanted to do was

I

my

the head with

in

doubtlessly had gone

"Oars up!"

like

something. All

paddle.

As

a matter

of

On

one

inches of winning the broad jump.

My

days was track rather than the waterfront.

came within four

I

French.

knot tying and standing with oars

Buvee Boston College, shouted commands

parents'

goddamn spinnaker?" the way of sports and

—

Boating bored me. a line

in a dangerously sweet voice

summer camps some where you spoke nothing but was a good swimmer, I avoided the waterfront like the

sent to fancy

full

bleeding, her leg

still

can do with your

little

from minature

entertainment, aside

Although

him and

in the air, turned to

"Marven, you

said,

lines,

had just gotten a

jump had remained unmatched through seven attempts to smash it in one stubby-legged Sylvia with God meet. Then along came Sylvia Sakowsky knows what kind of lungs and a will of steel. "Kiss good-bye to those four

—

inches, Lasky!" Just before she flew off the

huge breath of

she

air, as if

jetted across the sand pit.

There was

and when she landed a throaty,

my

mother turned to

they

still

say oy!"

part of the

camp

my

Not

my

that got her.

a

said,

"Oy

vey!"

mother minded the

She found

"Jewish American princess," but

this

camp

camp was

it

Were we Jewish always found descriptive

or any it all

it

princesses,

at this

dollars a

oy.

It

now-overused expression

that

certainly

was

a hothouse for their

but she was terribly homesick

nice,

home

it

all at

Martha and

I?

absolutely torturous to the same time.

I'm really not sure.

on the question.

There

is

have

belle,

WASP,

of supposedly clever nomenclatures that are intended to say

about a group. They are ultimately

privilege, then

I

an exceedingly offensive term that was really no more

racist tags that

make

nonthinking people to categorize other human beings. But off

point that

summer and

was the non—oy

of an individual's nature than debutante, Southern

number

a

pretentious and snobbish. This

and, although an excellent French student, found

have to speak French, canoe, and miss

was

It

"One thousand

was long before anyone had ever heard of cultivation. Martha's French

remember her taking

I

loud expulsion from her lungs midair

ecstatic

dad and

that

mark,

were inhaling the whole camp. She absolutely

we

If Jewish

fit

a difference,

special pleasures

the term. I

think.

American

princess

it

still I

easier for

won't beg

means to have money and

We were indulged, but we were not spoiled. By

indulged,

I

mean

that

we were

allowed

and experiences of a material kind because money could buy

ATLANTIC CIRCLE we

them. But

and

we were

there

were

always realized that

this

33

was a privilege and not

a right,

never excused in terms of conduct because of privilege. Always

and values.

standards, expectations,

was a limited thing

that

money could

this

money could buy was

We

learned that privilege

buy, but standards and values had no

price.

what

Part of

Indianapolis during the winter every year. years old at the most,

I

was

the privilege of escaping

When

I

was quite young, two

a runny-nosed, skinny, allergic kid,

migrated to Florida for the winter, a practice

We

had dried up.

was back

in the

somewhat

later,

would

we

heyday of the grand hotels

—Miami Beach Rony

like the

the glitzy but gorgeous Fontainebleau.

My

settled into a lovely apartment. In

between a kayak and a gold

plater.

We

boat terms

parents felt that

I

remember

girls.

was somewhere

would swim madly

day long.

all

We each had an elaborate

Esther Williams was a heroine for Martha and me.

bathing cap festooned with flowers.

it

This

area.

Plaza and,

such lodgings were too rich for our blood and too cushy for young

So we

all

kept up long after the nose

Hollywood

stay in the

my

and

So we

parents felt that extended doses of sunshine might be the answer.

that

I

had one with sprin-

when you swam. My sister had one that was covered with roses. Together we would choreograph elaborate water ballets, our rather uninspiring forms moving through back klings of violets

on

it.

The

little

petals flapped

dolphins, tucks, and watery arabesques. For the better part of a day,

was

visible

of either of us were our

all

that

rear ends turning somersaults or

our

flower-bedecked heads. All of this paid off lavishly ballet in order to fulfill the

when

I

went on

to college and took water

gym requirement. Eventually I became the lead Wet Dreams. However, in Florida Martha and

dolphin in a group called The I

for the

most part did not attend schools but brought schoolwork from home

and were taught by our mother. training fine.

were

felt

was an

that the reading

did during those vacations, although

I

textbooks, was far

The

and they went to great extremes to protect

inalienable right in terms of our education.

more

what

extensive and richer than

doing during school, and both writing far

to survive this casual academic

My parents always had the bedrock belief that family vacations

just as valuable as school,

what they

We seemed

more than any

I

I

I

of

do know it

was

toward

teacher ever had or would.

was about

a fourth-grader.

We

to private school in Indianapolis at about this

when my

sister

neared

had switched from public time. The school was a

peculiarly anachronistic institution, even for those days, being very long tradition

in

would have been

my parents encouraged my inclination

Florida trips stopped being extended ones

high school and

little

and short on psychology.

It

was headed by

a starchy

on

Scotswoman

if

WM

=r

-.^

p"

•^-^^^^

t/i,/

1(1 2ro j

s I It

r

1

1 Jutf/iy

1

xX

I

if1

/

M \

Wf

?

*'L. **»«

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ abhorrence for straight

lines.

There was not one. The only road

followed the contour of the shoreline.

It

did the houses in order to give each one access.

Hence

packed

at

by overhanging

angles.

gables.

At points

town

in the

twisted and curved sharply and so

maximum

water view and harbor

the gabled white houses with orange roofs

amazing

117

were stacked and

the sky above the road itself was obscured

But between the houses, through open shed doors,

and where the roofs touched one another to make oddly shaped apertures,

one could catch the most exquisite harbor pictures

—

a

wedge of blue sky

meeting water, a chunk of mountain, a dory perfectly framed.

We

had come

but were welcomed

as strangers

as

old friends. At the

head of a minifjord that wriggled out from Rasvag, there lived two old ladies

We asked if we could tie up at their pier. They They spoke excellent English and invited us in to was their summer home now but had originally been built

in a classic clapboard house.

were more than

home.

see their

by

pleased.

It

their grandfather, a sea captain, as the family

the front door, tion.

home.

On

the lintel over

Agnes Soyland, one of the women, had written

"Vart Paradisio pa jord/for

big and small). She and her that radiated love

and good

og

liten

sister

stor." (This

mood

paradise

warm

on earth

or character.

The

Each room was living

of treasured family photographs, many showing the two

young

girls in their

Hardanger native

member

modate

others.

in

as

here and there to stash

or houseguest. Little sleeping places for children attic eaves.

There was no

The barn had been renovated

electricity,

to

accom-

but lovely kerosene lamps and

magnificent woodburning stoves in a variety of shapes and

found

a lively

women

festival costumes.

The house went on and on with rooms tucked an extra family

a perfect

room was

gallery

had been built under the

for

house

sunlit

Each door throughout the house was

spirits.

beautifully carved with simple, elegant designs.

expression of a different

is

then led us through a

this inscrip-

sizes

could be

every room. But most impressive were our hostesses; well into

their eighties, they

were

women

of natural elegance. They had asked

could take a tour of our boat and had hopped over the cular grace.

Once aboard they were

lifelines

if

they

with a mus-

curious about everything, especially

our Tiny Tot coal-burning stove. "All the

way

across the Atlantic

with

just that?"

As we neared the southern

tip

of Norway,

we saw more

boats and

people, although it was far from crowded. The Nordic angst so celebrated by playwrights and filmmakers seemed nowhere in evidence. Admittedly we were there at an "up" time long warm sunny days, the best summer in forty

—

years.

For the most part however, the Norwegians seemed to us

like a

terrifically healthy and positive lot and quite well-heeled in an unpretentious

way. Most of the people had second homes and

boats.

They

especially

went

s ATLANTIC CIRCLE

n8

A

in for character boats.

resurrected and

now was

Colin Archer coast guard cutter design had been

In Farstad

we met a family,

gaff-rigged with red

We saw

being built again with loving authenticity.

several old fishing boats renovated

sails.

and

of

sailing in the best

style.

the Eks, sailing a marvelous old black cutter,

We were invited aboard for a drink and discovered

Mr. Ek, Jens Christian, was the director of the Norwegian State Opera Oslo and his wife, Meret, was a singer in the opera. They suggested to

that in

good harbors and

us several

ward around

spots not to miss, so

we continued on southNorway makes on the

the tip of the large spoon shape that

map.

The prominent the networks of

Locked behind the Hellesund

—

geological features of this region were the skerries

narrow channels

maze was

a favorite retreat in the past for

eighteenth-century clapboard houses were

was oriented toward the water, and

life

neighbor, chances were

up next

you

to a soaring side

Nordic kings. This spot

and around the rock

that lace in

intricate skerry

Norway's romantic

set

on

of sharing

we

islands. All

with a

a yard

We tied

shared a tiny inlet or postage-stamp bay.

of granite emblazoned with the royal

Ny

poets. Classic

of tiny

clusters

instead

islands.

town of

the whitewashed

crests

of three

discovered was famous in Nordic sagas. Accord-

ing to legend, Olaf Haraldsson, an ancient Norsk king, was being pursued

by

his

enemies

when he came up

against this granite face.

lously split open leaving a passage twenty feet In addition to

We

its

legendary heritage,

wide for

his escape.

Ny Hellesund was rich in mussels.

gathered a prodigious amount for our dinner.

reliant all

The rock miracu-

We

had been heavily

along the coast on harvesting our dinners from the

sea, for

Nor-

way's steep prices made grocery shopping and eating in restaurants prohibitive. The rate of exchange at that time for Americans was quite unfavorable. Hamburger and pork chops could be as much as four dollars a pound. There

was

a scarcity

uncommon apiece.

of vegetables because of the poor farmland; thus

to see green peppers or a rare tomato

marked

We fished whenever possible for mackerel

fish similar to

high

it

was not

as sixty cents

and flounder.

A

delicious

rock cod was so plentiful that sport fishermen would think

nothing of giving us several pounds of their catch.

was buying

as

fresh salmon,

which was not

at all

had enough people to justify buying a whole one. rusty cans left stowed

Our major

indulgence

unreasonable in price

To

fill

if

you

in the gaps, the

from the previous summer's crossing were

like

money

in the bank.

We sailed sixty miles without any open water through the "Blindleia," or Blind

Waterway, with

where our favorable

short stops in Lellesand, Tvedestrand, and Arendal,

guests disembarked.

wind continued.

In

The green

Lyng0r we

shores slid

ate

by

like

magic

as

our second onshore meal

our

at

an

Kathy

wharf

at a

restaurant

Lyngor, Norway.

in

enchanting wharf restaurant where one could

tie

up

a boat practically to a

table leg.

Leaving Kragero

we

had one of our

sund, a long narrow channel that divides either side

were

loveliest sails

two

islands,

with deep

steep rock facings

clefts

provided surprises around each twist and bend. Every

through the Langaar-

On

Lago and Gumo.

and outcroppings that

now

and then on a

flat

rock sloping into the sea there would be a family bathing. They were

all

friendly and outgoing and

and get a better look to be alone

though

would

at us.

I

began to

right

up

realize that in

to our boat to say hello

Norway

the idea

was

with your family and not on a beach with hordes of people. Even

we had

seen an

overwhelming number of summer homes

southern tip region, each house privacy in mind. Trees were

of

swim

often

their dense protection.

conveniences such

still

had been located with

left intact,

and

and homes were built in the heart

These summer homes were

as roads, stores,

in the

isolation

far

removed from

and movies. The family alone

in nature

seemed a strong Norwegian theme.

There was an island just before the Oslo fjord called Malmo.

Its

harbor

enjoyed a rather perfect seclusion tucked away behind a barrier of rocks and protected from the open waters and winds on the other side. Inside the water

was

like a mirror,

but over a low sand-and-rock link one could see whitecaps

in the Skagerrak. This type

of anchorage has always been

of mine, where the wildness of the the harbor.

We

sea

is

foiled

walked toward the windward

by side

a peculiar favorite

the exquisite serenity

of the

island

of

and found

They had been buffeted and smoothed, worn and wrought like great mounds of rising dough with soft folds and deep

the strangest rocks.

into

odd shapes

dimples.

They were

were caused by the

glacier rocks,

ice scraping

and the strange configurations and texture

over them and smoothing them out. All over

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

izo

these rocks

were

gull chicks,

and the wind was so strong that when they

turned to look at us they could not stand up without walking sideways.

We

couldn't help laughing at these speckled creatures sideslipping across the rocks trying to stare at us.

We

Oslo!

pulled into a

slip at

Kongens Yacht Club on Bygdoy

the

Although a singularly ungraceful

Peninsula.

city,

Oslo possessed

charm. Leaving the Norwegian sweater stores to the

me

on an odyssey of various

off

town.

He was of course

of gorgeous gaskets.

that

our

nylon

nuts, bolts, shackles,

that

it

was

else in

ship's coffers

line,

in

we bought two wonderful Norwegian

of better quality than anywhere

a

maritime

Chris dragged

ship chandleries in the grungiest areas of

in ecstasy filling

must admit however

I

tourists,

with an assortment

stove alcohol, and odd-sized

one of these

half-lit

emporiums

fishermen's sweaters, cheaper and

Oslo.

A maritime treasure of the world was a short walk from where we were docked

—

We went early one morning to

the Viking ships.

the

museum and

waited until they opened the doors. Just seeing these exquisite black dragon

back one thousand years to the time when Viking seamen

ships took us

ranged the coast of Europe and America. All the elements

our cruise so

seemed embodied

far

in these boats

—

the

we

had seen on

narrow

fjords, the

superb timber, the ruggedness and the honest craftsmanship of the Nordic people.

CHAPTER Our

V Drew,

friend Eleanor

because of her residence in

and

me for

to Oslo,

I

the

rechristened the City

for this cruise

New York City, had flown into Oslo to join Chris

Oslo-Copenhagen jaunt. Not wishing

insisted that she

Mouse

to shortchange her visit

be given an acclimatization day in the city before

we set off. There was some minor grumbling from

Chris's quarter about

one should grab the northwest wind when one can. City Mouse and heard him

as

we

Number twenty

rushed off to the

Munch Museum and

I

how

barely

then dashed into

Carl Johans Gate, address of the well-known jewelry store

of David Andersen, where

we

joined hordes of other American

women

pawing over silver-and-enamel pieces. The only affordable items in the store were some tiny gaily colored enamel earrings set in silver. We each bought several pairs.

It

was

all

so lovely after

marine hardware shops in the

With

dimmer

mucking about with Chris

purchases discreetly tucked in our purses,

patiently for us

on

in the

reaches of the city.

we met

a street corner with a five-gallon can

Chris waiting

of stove alcohol

in

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

121

The three of us then advanced to the Theatre CafFeen, where in polished mahogany elegance we lunched on itty-bitty open-faced sandwiches that cost an arm and a leg. We had stuffed the five-gallon container of stove hand.

alcohol under the table. As

Mother

looked about

I

Queen

sturdy matrons in

at the

and elderly gentlemen with homburgs resting on

hats

their knees,

I

caught a glimpse in an exquisite beveled mirror of Chris's distraught counte-

Need

nance.

wind had

say the

I

of the Theatre CafFeen, Chris,

able to reach out

beyond the

potted palms and beveled

Although still

glass,

light.

it

was

One hour

a

beyond

all

we

we were

these lubberly charms of civiliza-

No

to Chris and

under

as

we

parked, or something." I

fixed drinks

A

frantic

raced topside. Midst

much

put in twelve miles or so

—down "Hey,

was

folks,

down

happened to be a busy

to us,

Mouse

than City

symphony of

it

busily tacking out of the

sail,

we

sooner was the anchor

me

fjord.

decided to leave quickly while

unbeknownst

the east coast at a tiny village that,

barge port.

was

and mahogany, beyond the elegant

head wind,

later

is,

leather

narrowest part of the fjord. That evening

and

sea creature that he

and detect a significant wind change in the

tion,

and even within the

shifted to southeast,

cloistered splendor

I

called

below

think we're double-

toots lashed the air as Chris

we

panting, sweating, and tooting

hoisted

our anchor and just escaped being pulverized by a tug pulling a barge. After

our reanchoring in a more suitable spot, aboard with City Mouse. As

I

removed

began to prepare dinner, our

I

first

main cabin

the floorboards in the

and wrested from the Stygian depth of our bilges two precious rusted cans

from our crossing the summer before, Mouse's

saw the color drain from City

I

lips.

"What's that?" She asked. "Dinner."

I

could read her horror, but after a month's orientation to

Norway's astronomical

we had few

prices

"Don't worry. They're very speckled loveliness. "There are

when

I

open them up you'll

no

see

safe,"

I

choices said

left.

holding up a can in

all

its

bulges, punctures, or seam separations, and

no

rust inside.

We

check them carefully."

City Mouse smiled wanly. "What's inside them?" She asked.

"Ham

in this

one and corn here."

"Jesus!" gasped City

Mouse.

botulism in the same meal." I

had fondly begun to

A

"I never thought I'd get trichinosis

direct hit to the jugular

refer to as

La Cote

The next morning we were up the head

winds built up.

No

Bilge.

early hoping to get under

such luck.

and

of what Chris and

way

Our anchor had become

something on the bottom, and Chris had to dive to untangle

it.

before

snared

on

This would

not have been a remarkable incident save for the fact that the water was so cold that he had to wear a wet

suit.

After

we dug down

to the

bottom of

*4 Kathy huddles under dodger beating out of the Oslo

we

the locker

had packed

discovered that,

my

wet

suit instead

Fjord.

when we had left Boston of Chris's. Women's wet

a year before, suits

neoprene mammaries, just to keep things straight underwater forget;

with

we

have built in lest

anyone

however, anatomy, even in neoprene, need not be destiny, and Chris,

all his

x and y chromosones orderly and attentive, stepped into the sleek suit. Then, looking like a cross between Myra Breckin-

black rubber wet

ridge and Barbarella, he

City Mouse and

I

dumped himself into the icy waters of the fjord. him on vigorously, and soon the cantankerous

cheered

anchor was unsnared and off the bottom and right into tto the teeth

of

a due-south wind.

we were

We

sailing double-reefed

only made thirteen miles

that day.

The next day proved worse: generally dirty weather. east side

of the

fjord. In

We

put in

rain, at

racing dark rags of clouds, and

Hanko, the

drenching rain

king's yacht club

on the

we walked up to the tiny barn red

clubhouse to inquire about hot showers and were greeted by some elderly

gentlemen who'd been drinking the afternoon away.

Band-Aid on

the end

One

fellow with a

of his nose approached us with great glee and boomed,

"Well, what happened to you?"

He

had mistaken us for a British boat that

had gone on the rocks and had had to be rescued. His face absolutely

we informed him

we were not the ones. The next morning as we left Hanko we sailed by

white

feet

of

fell

when

that

the king's yacht.

all

three

The deckhands waved merrily

hundred

sleek

to us. Earlier

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

123

we'd seen a smartly uniformed gig crew bringing the royal dog ashore for

As the yacht became

a walk.

encountered our

a point off a

around

driving rain

We

had to

dug

rocky

we way

fast-moving waves. The cold Mouse was very brave but threw up.

lee shore in steep

into our faces. City

her in with a

tie

a royal speck in a darkening world,

weather yet and spent four hours ramming our

dirtiest

life

harness so she could safely vomit over the

From under her oilskins the blue enamel earrings gave me a wicked wink. The four miles around the point was the ultimate scary skerry, but once around, the wind jumped to our quarter and we skipped up to the eighteenthlee rail.

century fortified city of Fredrikstad.

The old

part of the walled city complete with

In a slanting rain

we walked

proportioned framed buildings,

all

mood of things

got right into the

with

it,

its

When us

up

five

as it

Norway.

It

model of

Tower

the Eiffel

l6

the northwest

I

had an endearing

in the entrance.

wind

finally

came,

it

came cool and

blew into our open companionway and over our

am when

we

and went to a Chinese restaurant, which

vermilion flocked wallpaper, plastic tablecloths, and

three-foot chrome-plated

CHAPTE R

fascinating.

painted muted sea colors. For dinner

turned out to be our only bargain meal in sleaziness to

moat was

the cobbled streets and peered into the delicately

first felt it. I

knew

that Chris felt

it

clear,

faces. It

too.

We

waking

was about

didn't say a

word for fear it would go away, but we soon heard it steady in our rigging, a welcome riffling sound. Sure now that it was no whimsy wind of a dream,

we

roused City Mouse, dressed quickly, had a cold breakfast, and ghosted

out of the harbor.

We

averaged five or six knots the entire day. Before us unfolded a

patchwork of low-lying barren rock

islands,

pink and smooth

The border between Norway and Sweden but a natural one

as well.

is

—Sweden.

not just a political reality

The topographical change is dramatic upon crossing Norwegian coast slips into a

over. Suddenly the jagged vertical pine-clad treeless

world of low pink rock

into the water.

through All this the

was hard

Oslo

Our It sat

The wind

this silent

islands that slide

with barely a

level

change

we

slipped

had a blessed northerly component, and

rock world making hardly a ripple in the waveless

won

after three

sea.

and a half horrid days of beating out of

fjord. first

port after Stromstad was the rock-island village of Smogen.

prim and stone-locked behind

a labyrinthine

guard of offshore islands

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

I2 4

—

of the Skagerrak.

a sea virgin

built entirely

the

on

was the

It

top-heavy

effect. Still

Especially

from

the island.

we had

I

had ever seen a village

I

down in size to match

seemed scaled

a rock. All the buildings

low proportions of

time

first

supposed that

helped to counter a

this

an undeniable sense of things being perched.

a distant perspective,

was odd

it

town

to see a

virtually

popping out of the rock. Without dug foundations, Smogen looked just one of those pop-up

we

villages

found

in children's books.

like

was very calm,

it

anchored off to avoid attempting Smogen's bathtub-size harbor jammed

When we rowed

with boats.

ashore

wharf storage buildings managed dows.

I

felt I

ersatz minivillages.

to have gay ruffled curtains in their

win-

should be putting a golf ball through some opening. Because

rather hard to

grow

things

on bare

baskets and pots of flowers in front

As the

town reminded me Even the

realized that the

I

of a miniature golf course with one of those

it is

As

three

of us were

sitting

were loads of colorful

stone, there

of buildings.

on the minuscule harborside benches

A

witnessed one of the most memorable docking feats ever.

forty-foot yawl entered the narrow harbor completely under

was composed of

under the age of

five children, all

sail.

and a

six,

I

fellow in a

His crew

woman who

looked distinctly like a nun standing on the foredeck with a wimple, midcalf skirt, heels,

and a boat hook. They proceeded to tack up the sixty-foot-wide

channel, backwinding the jib with artful discretion as they headed into a

A

four-year-old with impeccable timing dropped the

sail;

of dockside levitation was on the pier with barely a rumple and I

tied

down

nun

the

in her

the bowline, while a five-year-old matched her

had never seen anything so astonishing

in

slip.

in an act

wimple

work

astern.

my life. They had all the precision

of the Purdue marching band. I

knew

that this

would

really get Chris

—more

where

it

Our

hurt.

dockings

Bay of Pigs than a marchperformance. The more Chris tried to train City Mouse and me, the worse we got. At one harbor along the way I had thrown a temporary line to a German man ashore and recently had been less-than-smart

ing band.

I

like the

was neither Golden Girl nor nun

had completely forgotten about him when later as

we were changing

and City Mouse looked I

clothes to

at

streaked topside to find

me

"ja,

I

go ashore,

went below.

Fifteen minutes

yelled, "the

German!" Chris

I

with terror not knowing what had happened.

him waiting

could be, and smiling amicably. apologize saying,

my

in

there

still

he

"Ja, ja,"

holding the

said.

ja" back for this was the only

I

line, patient as

tried desperately to

German

I

knew

aside

from "mit Schlag."

The wind kept blowing northwest rock islands that characterized

as

we

this section

through one batch of islands that

we came

threaded our

of Sweden's

to call the

O

way through coast.

—

s

We

the

sailed

Vallero, Torno,

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ And

Salto, Broto.

houses to

then there was one perfectly round island covered with

very edge.

its

125

We sailed so close to the steep-to shore that we could

look into people's kitchens and wave hello.

We so

had

down

out from Gothenburg with plans to

set

sail

twenty miles or

where we would take off

the Swedish coast to a point

for a

twelve-hour passage to Anholt, a tiny Danish island paradise sometimes called

The

Pearl of the Baltic.

was

at

When we were just outside of Gothenburg,

such a perfect angle for Anholt that

bit starboard so the

wind would

the eight-to-twelve watch.

were passing through across

a

we

catch our quarter.

We

turn a

lane,

took

I

endured an annoying evening calm

major Kattegat shipping

wind

the

jump and City Mouse and

decided to

as

but no sooner were

we we

wind freshened and we cranked up our speed to six knots. a lighthouse on the eastern end of the island, then a the west. We were a bit low on our course so when Chris to

than the

it

At ten pm we spotted of lights

string

came up we had around the

to take a long tack out again to avoid the extensive sandbars

island.

Soon

City Mouse and

after

I

went

to sleep,

we were awakened by

violent motion, a terrible jolting and bucking as if in a bad storm, but there

was no more wind than when we had come off watch. The shallow sandy bottom, hallmark of the Baltic, had become even shallower, causing waves

up

to build

steep

and

close.

soon was completely awake, having been

I

thrown out of my bunk, and had

Mouse how strange

to use them.

I

seemed to be using

it

to get out the

could hear the it

in the

hum

bunk boards and show City of the depth sounder.

We

middle of an ocean.

How

tacked far

we

out again until the red zone of the lighthouse was no longer visible and

were I

in the

were

white sector proper for approaching the

island.

called back to deck to assist in landing preparations.

City Mouse and I

took the helm

and was rather alarmed to see the Fathometer indicating in bleeps of orange that

we

lines

only had eight feet under our keel. Chris and City Mouse organized

and walked back the big anchor to the

stern.

breakwater into a U-shaped harbor stuffed with

we

breaking it

tied

up next

so eloquently, out

Danes" to

assist

to a

handsome Swan

We

sailed

through the

sailboats. Just as light

48,

and

as

was

City Mouse put

of the forward-and-aft hatches popped "five great

with the

lines.

We awoke the next morning to a watercolor world of pale green dune grass, a

milky

sea,

and

fragile blue sky. Figures bronze-and-biscuit color

walked down a wide beach fringed with sand dunes on an upper

we came wore

so

closer to the sun-darkened figures,

much

as a stitch

of clothing.

It

was

we

realized that

As

none of them

definitely a family beach. All

generations were basking in the sun. For those discreet,

ridge.

who

wished to be more

there were the hidden sand pockets in the dunes screened with

tall

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

126

But

grass.

of them, swimmers, bike

all

grandpas, were

suddenly

riders, Frisbee players,

entirely nude. In a kind

of ultimate

sensibility reversal

embarrassed by our clothing and stripped

felt

grandmas and

down and

we

dived into

the cool clear Baltic waters.

CHAPTER JJj The major compensation in leaving Anholt was our magical run to Gilleleje on Zealand, just west of Copenhagen. When we had left that evening, night.

the edge

my

it

was hazy, no

Then quick

of the water

grasp.

It

that

floated

it

stole

it

up

low-flying cloud; then

Once more

real horizon, just a

wink

as a

I

saw the

seemed to

milky opaqueness to the summer

moon

a little higher

away and

—

We

shadowy

a big soft,

up

returned, hanging

pale and yellow in a not-quite-black sky.

sphere.

there like a thin wafer,

pulled into Gilleleje harbor

two Next day we arrived in Copenhagen. We had Mouse departed and my parents came aboard, right at o'clock in the morning.

at

Mermaid. One of the most pleasant things we did Tivoli,

all

a

crew change

the harbor

Copenhagen,

in

City

as

by the

Little

aside

from

was food shopping for the boat. Prices had dropped considerably from

Norway and Sweden, and on

so close and quiet to

big pale peach just beyond

and nearly slipped away behind

came partway back

it

up

roll

float like a

sorts

was

there

a

much wider

of delectables for which Denmark

choice.

We

stocked up

famous. Bacon (almost

is

nonexistent in Norway), chicken, steak, cheeses, wonderful fresh vegetables,

and of course weinbrod

Denmark

for the

first

—Danish

pastry. It

became

a

morning

ritual in

person up to rush out and buy fresh wienerbr0d for

breakfast.

Our

next port, barely out of Copenhagen, was Drag0r, a perfect intro-

duction to Danish village kin-colored houses. tural styles in

The

life

with narrow cobbled

streets lined

influence that the Viking invasions had

England was made emphatically

narrow channel over to

walked into town and found fish

a

Back we sailed flotillas

to

wonderful restaurant where

Denmark,

this

affair

architec-

tacked across the

Malmo.

we had

delicious

dessert.

island

of Zealand. The minute

crowded behind rock breakwaters. Because

brimming with boats and we had

We

time to the island of Om0o in the Danish

of islands south of the large

harbor was a squalid

we

in at Skanor, near

and the traditional lingonberry pancakes for

Smallands,

on

clear here.

Because the wind blew southwest the next day,

Sweden and put

with pump-

it

was

recently lost our neutral and reverse gears,

Copenhagen's Little

Mermaid

gazes on Leucothea

and

we we

stayed outside.

oil tanks

The

soon discovered.

was no

unattractive harbor

We

following the broad gold beets,

beyond.

fields

of the

village,

Om0o

of undulating wheat, vast expanses of sugar

and meadows with sleek red cows. After a mile and a half we came to a

charmed village with thatched cottages of painted

Some of the lines

reflection

rowed ashore and began our walk toward

cottages

followed

were white, others blood

suit as there

was not a straight

with profusions of hollyhocks,

plaster

red.

cottages with their

charming angles and wobbles, steeped

from

From straight

woodsman

prettily at

butterflies,

How

classic fairy tales.

witch or a kindly

Gardens

and cosmos sprang up around the

dahlias,

of blossoms floating

illustrations

wood trim.

line in their construction.

cottages, the riots

and attended by hundreds of white

and dark

Walls wobbled and roof

windowsill

level.

in clouds

These

of blossoms

were uncanny reminders of the

often had such an abode housed a

in children's literature.

Om0 to Prsest0 we sailed and then through the Bogstrom channel,

and wide and flanked by low velvety green

lutely windless

day thick with

in the distance,

and

we began

heat.

Long

strings

to notice that

was an abso-

of fluffy white swans floated

on most boats we passed

had slipped into something more comfortable friendly greetings with

fields. It

—

nothing.

We

the crews

exchanged

nude helmspersons.

We stopped for a picnic at one point, tempted by the shade deep in the We rowed ashore and got caught in

luxuriant green fringe of the channel.

what we took

to be bulrushes. Chris

ashore pulling

my mother and me, who

and

my

were

father still

had to get out and wade

perched primly in the stern

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

128

of the dinghy. Bogarts

I

was having

Chris and

as

flashes

of African Queen and two Humphrey

Dad hacked through

my

born, thus confounding

having doubts about the

Once out of

got worse.

by four

fronted head-on

metaphor. Halfway through

suitability

"One

on

electric fences

we

found an

at last

I

began

we were

con-

my mother commented we had

us, so after

crossed

which, midst mountain

idyllic spot

weeping willows, provided a sylvan

ash and

swamp

this

to firm land,

of us,"

for each

weakly. They were not particularly bullish on

two

father

he was

of our proposed picnic ground. Things

the bulrushes and bulls.

my

after

the bulrushes, but

muttered that he hadn't been in these since being abandoned just

setting straight out

of a Claude

Lorrain.

We made of Svendberg

a special effort to stop in the village

we had

as

time museum.

It

did live up to

as a

its

merchant marine captain. There were

owned mari-

Holm

Petersen,

his travels all

over the

reputation, since Captain

amazing collection on

the owner, had acquired an

world

of Troense just outside

heard about an outstanding privately

a lot

of old

sea

dogs living

in Troense, and as we walked back to our boat, a particularly salty-looking man with a tuft of snowy beard practically danced a hornpipe up to us and asked if we were "the Boston ketch." Yes, we were. "Well, Captain," he

addressed Chris in his soft accented English, "have

Pan?" His faded blue eyes searched our

faces.

you ever

seen a ship called

"Yes, the Pan?" he said again

and fingered imaginary pipes in a lovely gesture.

"How much the pun,

we

Aer0sk0bing.

was

water do you have here, Chris?"

ran aground It

issued as a

became

mud

on the

a point

And just

in sync, forgive

banks of one of the two harbors of

of great debate whether

warning or an exclamation.

my

father's question

We finally got off by setting out

an anchor, running a bowline ashore to some people on the pier, and sending Chris and

we

all

my

father crawling out

screamed profanities

at

on the boom and bouncing wildly while

one another.

Aer0, scene of our fiasco, was one of the larger islands in the archipelago south of Fyn, and the

town of Aer0sk0bing on

of the most perfect examples of an old Danish the dollhouse streets of Aer0sk0bing

is

the island provides one

village.

To walk

to pass through a time

through

warp

into

the eighteenth century. Tiled-roof cottages painted ice cream colors and

carved doors, each one a masterpiece with beading, wheat, or ribbon design, porches festooned with roses, ing village.

all

combine

to

make Aer0sk0bing an enchant-

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

129

CHAPTE ,28 "It is little

game

a

is

by

directed

superiors.

There

The countryside slid we chuffed from Hamburg to

professor spoke rapidly.

compartment window

train

home.

fly

layover in this

for municipal

I

as

was not anticipating with any great joy our two-day

My prejudices were such that

German town.

to get off the boat

I

The

It is

We had to put into Kiel for a couple of days to let off my parents who

were to

to a

any other game.

like

choice for the rest."

by outside the Kiel.

—

I

was

disinclined

and explore or spend any money in a town that has U-boats

monuments.

Bad weather had delayed our sailing plans, and I had finally succumbed day trip to Hamburg. And now, in the close air of the tiny compartment,

seemed to be paying for

it

as

German physics professor who now back to visit "the Fatherland." game of war. He took the metaphor seriously listened to a

I

taught at Vanderbilt University and was

He had been

talking about the

but not gravely. sense

He

took

it

seriously with the

formula and making the calculations

a

particular piece

of

The

reality.

on

cornfield collect

He

game of war

as a

have just been treated to an

a small

boy during

the edge o( their village and play a

and

golden

fast,

each

game

in

the

war

years.

He

which they would

a stroke in the pastoral

with

its little

"The Americans," he continued,

we do.

It is

the only

mathematical studies

I

his calculations

way

went with

to fight

image he painted

blue-smocked children

"after the

communism. So

to Huntsville!"

war understand after

I

complete

Where presumably he

Von Braun and waxed

and simplicity, the elegant balance

the beauty for larger

word

me of this wartime village

fields.

worked out

equally lyrical over

at the heart

of these solutions

war games.

Chris,

who

had chosen the peace symbol

with the man, but

He worked I

up

schoolmates in their blue smocks would go every day to a

spoke very

better than

my

and

unexploded incendiaries.

for Chris in

life as

We

satisfaction

feel in setting

they work, describe a

professor had played the

animated lyric description of his his little

when

that,

of Hamburg.

child in a village outside

and

same kind of

of descriptive Tightness that any mathematician must

it

was

useless.

He

our house

flag, tried

believed the metaphor of war

out formulas to describe

sat there silently in that

as

it;

calculations to

chuffing train and

compare

grew more

it

arguing

as a

to reality.

fearful as the miles

flew by and thought of other trains and other journeys that had been

on German

railroads

and Polish ones, and

I

stared at this

game.

man

full

made

of numbers

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

130

had not heard of young Stephen Hawking then, the

CamHad I heard of him I would have realized or perhaps been articulate what Hawking has always known to be the crucial question:

and solutions.

I

bridge cosmologist. able to

Numbers can only

know why. Why to

Hamburg,

it

describe, but as

he once told an interviewer, he wants to

does the universe exist at

was

deepen the mystery

as the

same

smug

possible to calculate

go to the bathroom.

game, and

a

all

I

finally

I

my

train

mathematician did not

does for Hawking.

skill

solutions.

had just met

But for the man on the

all?

his skill as a

It

merely made

it

had to excuse myself to and

first killer,

wanted

I

throw

to

up.

We and

finally did get a

break in the weather and were able to leave Kiel

back toward Denmark.

sail

Zealand, coming up along

we

Copenhagen, where

would always northern

canals,

We

eventually

made

down

say "just a

farther that

few more days

here," just a

as

home

for our

The five

own

winter of

longest period of time

months, and

European

stay.

We had

Come spars,

of

talk

to Spain, but

we

fragile

September,

as

we

sunshine quickly

We

packed our duffels and prepared

work and

study.

zg

CHAPTE R was

toward

night began to catch the days of the Nordic summer, and

the winter light stole into the harbor. to fly

on

of

circle

east

week more of this

light; thus the best-laid plans disintegrated.

away

complete

summer. There had been

to the Mediterranean and

worked cleaning out La Cote Bilge and taking down slipped

a

western side and then turning

decided to put up our boat for the winter.

go much

originally planned to

Amsterdam, the

its

it

we ever spent continuously aboard Leucothea last summer of the boat's home now. The voyage would

began during our third and

We planned to head Leucothea

begin in August with a long meandering putt through the Dutch, Belgian,

and French Canals, which would lead us southward to the Mediterranean.

We wanted to be in Gibraltar by early November and cross to the Caribbean by Christmas. Preparing Atlantic crossing

loomed

for five as a

months away from home and

monumental

summers before had not done

that

much

task.

to assuage

constant refrain that this southern crossing

sunny, clear

skies,

nervous. Five

Our

my

would be

fears despite Chris's

a "piece

of cake"

and gentle trade winds the whole way! But

months away from home

—away

a trans-

previous crossing of two

from

I

was

still

the comforts and

rhythms of home!

The boatyard

in

Skovshoved, outside of Copenhagen, where

we had

Leucothea under twin

left

jibs.

was an excellent one. Our Atomic 4 gasoline engine, more tractors in Nebraska, had been replaced by a brand-new Volvo

Leucothea,

suitable for

during the winter.

diesel

We arrived that summer in Copenhagen via London

looking like a traveling circus carrying

which we had stashed

in

assorted paraphernalia for five

Somewhere between

for forty-eight hours. it

new

bags with

months of boat

sails,

we

was

Without

a crane

I

and

friends,

ground transportation

arrived at the boatyard

up on the

still

jerricans

living and a crossing.

the baggage area and

back went out, and by the time cripple. Naturally the boat

sail

London two summers before with

cradle,

where

it

I

was

would remain

how I would

did not see

my

a total

make

ever

onto the boat. Chris eschews hotels on general principle, and in addition

he wanted to

work day and

as possible for the

me

that

I

canal trip that

a yard

could be off

movement

bunk, where

I

must be understood

was

me hand

and foot.

wreck

raised like an old

worked

furiously to set the boat

that Chris has always left the absolute

minimum for a boatyard to do, preferring instead to minister to every himself. He basically loathes yards, even good ones, and feels nobody knows our boat

as

he does.

He

soon

promised

remained with barely discernible

for almost three days while Chris

It

I

as

He

had so diligently researched.

worker and Chris

installed in the starboard

in order.

I

we

could remain supine and that he would serve

So with the help of and

night on the boat so

is

probably right, but

it

makes for

detail

really

frantic

times.

Any

sense

of order that

life

had previously possessed was quickly

destroyed with the onslaught of getting the boat ready. Geraniums in win-

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

132

from

dowsills, fresh-picked lettuce

were remembered the bunk, ets

as the

most extravagant luxuries

became one of oilcans, exotic

for urinals (remember

we were

soggy boxes, tools and more

was

in a locked state

in the cradle

tools. All this

my

feet

moldering

—

dry dock) gear in ,

was spread out over

was an old

Under

thirty linear

bottle

To make

label.

I lay in my bunk dazed my pillow I found a nest of alien wrenches.

of Jack Daniels, regrettably empty, with

difficult

on

a boat

was

now

twice

so. I

that

lan-

realized that a

draft

I

panicked

of my third children's book was due.

I

had promised the editor

send

it

state;

as

I

sail

to Skanor,

where we had

visited last

first

that

from Denmark. Writing, and the promise of a good meal

of a short

was nor-

was overwhelmed, and

however

guished in a depressed

a

matters worse, Chris was disgustingly cheerful.

But for me everything was unmitigated misery. Everything mally

me

soon

rubbing compounds, buck-

fiberglass

up

special dinner

my world, viewed from

both mentally and physically.

in this topsy-turvy world.

At

still

as

only twelve or fifteen of which can be used for living space anyway.

feet, I

cooking a

a garden,

I

would

at the

summer, seemed

end

to restore

finally.

We

had some nice sunshiny days of

sailing in

Denmark, but we were

again going to have to pass through Kiel in order, this time, to enter the canal

system in Holland. So under what

We

were there for

else

but leaden skies

and

just twenty-four hours,

this

we sailed into the port. we really did not

time

leave the boat even for a meal in town.

Apparently our sentiments were shared by a neighboring sloop that flew a

Norwegian

there

was

flag.

a call

At about nine am on

from the

"Hello! Hello! American boat breakfast."

my

morning following our

arrival,

.

.

.

May

I

you aboard

invite

for

some

We came topside to find a lean, striking-looking Norwegian man "Come

in his early fifties.

from

the

pier.

American

for French toast.

visitors.

you? American specialty

They just

—French

Thus we met Arne Brun interested in ever

good fortune

Lie,

left. I

I

how

just learned

think this

is

to

make

it

quite funny, don't

toast!"

one of the handful of cruising folks

meeting again, and the one that indeed

to reencounter and see

on

a

somewhat

we

I

am

have had the

regular basis.

He had

put into Kiel to drop off his guests and with better reason than either Chris or myself was reluctant to spend time or

Arne had been

in the

Norwegian

money

resistance

in the city.

During the war

and had been captured by the

Germans. After being beaten and interrogated, he was declared a "Nacht und Nebel" prisoner, which meant that the Nazis planned that he would be dead so soon that bureaucratic details like giving

Instead of being

him

a

number were

summarily executed, he had been

Natzweiler extermination camps, where he

sent to

unnecessary.

Dachau and

somehow managed

to live for

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ three years as

any of

we

most of the others around him

on

this

meeting

that first

However we never

died.

was only some years

in Kiel. It

133

learned

later that

heard his story.

That morning in the snug cabin of his lovely Tres results

of Arne's newly cultivated

guests

from

whom

skills in

he had learned

this

Belle

making French

Tom

were

we

toast.

enjoyed the

The previous

Winship, editor of the

Boston Globe, and his wife, Beth, the advice columnist for teenagers. Chris

had just finished a major to be a rather

the best of

slide

show

for the Globe a

ways

waterways

first

up

It

seemed in

Sea.

lock, particularly as

at the

one of the

to enter the Kiel Canal,

in the world,

between the Baltic and the North

ship lining

before.

too.

The following day we prepared busiest artificial

fronting our

month

uncanny coincidence, but boats can become small worlds

I

which I

cuts across the base

of Jutland

was extraordinarily nervous con-

noticed a large tanker and container

we were

entrance too. Just before the locks opened

informed by a British petroleum tanker that there was another entrance for pleasure craft. to the right this

The

and

let

Baltic Pilot

book, for

all

of

its

the devil take the hindmost")

,

charming

details ("keep

had neglected to mention

second entrance. The lock, however, was a very tame one. The water

only changed three inches.

level

We moved out of the lock, officially entered

the canal, and began cutting right through the heart of Schleswig-Holstein, rich fertile farmland dotted

of

traffic

—

—Turkey,

little

cottages.

Russia, Poland, Greece, China, Liberia.

and the navigating easy. in

with snug

We

stopped our

first

was Danish before World

War

But

a

good

deal

from everywhere

the canal

was wide

and only night on the canal

Rendsburg, a lovely old town of cobblestone

that

There was

tankers and container ships sailing under flags

streets

and ancient houses

I.

The next day we completed our passage through the canal, exiting at Brunsbuttelkoog in the mouth of the Elbe River estuary. We were now sailing along the Frisian coast, the low sandy islands and the coastline of northern Germany and Holland that were celebrated in Erskine Childers's book The Riddle of the Sands. Our own first riddle came in the windswept Cuxhaven yacht basin, which consisted of a maze of piers, swirling crosscurrents,

and precious

little

maneuvering space for our long-keeled Leucothea.

After successfully negotiating a docking in one of the vacant the wind, to a

much

we were

accosted

less accessible

by the harbor master, who

spot swept

by

a strong crosswind.

blown sideways, fouled our prop on an underwater

slips

facing into

insisted that

we move

Of course we were

line,

and snapped the

flexible couplings to the engine.

We lost a day waiting took us on a

for parts, but a sympathetic yacht-club

member

"grand" tour of Cuxhaven. The highlight of the tour was an

134

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

ice

cream parlor serving twelve-inch sundaes.

anxious to get on our way. There was

two o'clock

it

we

turned favorable and

still

We left the next day near noon, some current

submersible island, which was part of the diabolical plot to Riddle of the Sands.

had everything up

The weather was

—twin

jibs,

bright and sunny, the

well offshore for an overnight

this tricky coastline,

my

heavy shipping

traffic

perfect.

watch

we

We

staysail.

decided to stay

thus passing the perilous "roogs"

sail,

Wangerooge, Spiekeroog, and Langeoog,

The wind was good on

the hero in

kill

wind

main, mizzen, and briefly the mizzen

Rather than much about with

by

against us, but

scooted by the dread Scharhorn, the

as

well

that night,

as

and

Baltrum and Norderney. I

was busy checking

the

streaming in and around the Elbe delta that leads into

Hamburg and other North Sea ports. To complicate matters, although offshore, we still had to be aware of currents that could suck us into the sandy shoal areas. These waters were certainly among the most dangerous anywhere. God forbid I should ever see them in a gale, but the night was calm and the clear black sky pricked out with stars. When I saw that many of the were not moving but appeared

ships

to be anchored,

I

turned on the depth

we were

sounder and saw that there was only sixty feet of water although out of sight of land.

CHAPTE Of all

*3°

we have ever made, none was more peculiar than we approached Delfzijl anticipating our first bit of Dutch all we could see were miles of beveled concrete walls sloping into clean angles. One had the sense of approaching a grand fabrication the landfalls

Holland. As coastline,

the sea at

in every sense

of the word. Images of chubby-cheeked children

shoes, dairymaids, delft

and

tiles,

sailing barges gasped for life.

to be nothing except for endless miles a crack for

Hans Brinker.

only variation of the for

power

hours trees,

plants and

we chugged up

We

was

a country

infinite stretch

some the

dikes.

grimy

a

little

Not even

under concrete wraps, and the

large cranes that scratched at the sky. For

Eem

breakwater

wooden

of dikes was provided by the cubicles

River toward Delfzijl without

a sign

or people except for one sailboat that had gone aground on a

Then behind the

It

of beveled concrete

in

There seemed

we

spotted a thicket of masts.

two

of land,

mud bank.

We

motored into

set

off for town.

harbor, tied up, changed our clothes, and

passed through the concrete curtain via the town water gate that led us

down

several flights

of

steps into

our

first

Netherlands village, alive with

people, trees, and loads of bright flowers carefully hidden

from the

sea.

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ There brewing.

is

and

Now

much

chop.

of

Dutch

as a

safely

and

winds

at half force,

felt the gale

I

that

nothing so cozy

is

mown

cows, and newly

surface

of the

fringed

its

canal,

which

Chris

sea,

was incongruously mixed with

it

Some

fields.

leaves fluttered onto the

and

reflected the cattails, tall grass,

The banks of the

edge.

dirty weather

and the thirty-foot fetch did not allow

We could smell a sea scent, but

grass,

when

canal, especially

"entrenched" away from the

literally

135

canal

were just

a foot

trees that

above the water

and beyond the banks, visible through openings in the

trees,

level,

was the sunken

farmland, the dikes, and beyond the dikes, the North Sea battering the

we had

dangerous Frisian coast

just escaped.

"There are warnings of gales in Dogger, .

.

German Bight

.

For the equanimity.

first

time

could

I

BBC man

listen to the

need not smolder

I

Forties, Viking,

German Bight

force seven to eight north."

with some degree of

he wished everybody in Viking and

as

German Bight good sailing from the cushy refuge of his broadcasting studio. Chris and I would be in these canals for the next eight weeks as we "sailed" Leucothea across

to the Mediterranean.

and European scenery.

rants, stars

Europe

and the Beaufort

gale warnings,

scale.

So much for weather

prepared to navigate

I

forecasts,

Bring on the fresh milk, good restaustrictly

by

the Michelin

from here on. That

first

morning

we were up early and off to Datema, a we had spotted while walking the previous our possession was in fact a Michelin road map

in Delfzijl

paragon of a chandlery shop evening.

The only

chart in

of Europe and some sketches

in

guidebooks for the

canals.

Except for a vague

notion of which countries lay between Holland and the Mediterranean,

had no definite plans or ideas of

room of Datema, an

stood in the chart the luster

how one

of hardwood

got "there" from "here." So

we we

elegantly simple space bright with

and sunlight, while

floors, polished brass fixtures,

Captain Lukas de Vries charted a suggested course for us from Delfzijl to

Belgium. along

We

would be

the canals

go

able to

this particular route.

opened up into

And we

as far as

lakes.

From Datema we went

to a string

turned cool, the skies gray and squally. cheese and light

on

Amsterdam with our masts up

could count on some good sailing where

guilders, so

it

of food purveyors. The wind had

We

was time

were loaded with

to leave.

passed through a lock, and then a tiny drawbridge lifted and

backs on the North Sea, which was ready to snarl. the

BBC man "Let's

predicted gales for

It

I

went below. Our

a delight. This

was

definitely

and

we

was August

turned our 26, the

day

Bight.

have some hot chocolate, Kathy, and

weather report."

What

German

charts

We boarded Leucothea,

listen to the rest

of the

gimballed stove sat there steady as a rock.

my

kind of sailing.

I

came back up with

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

136

the chocolate just as

we began

one of Holland's most old brick

row

main

to pass through the

classical cities in

terms of

its

street

of Groningen,

architecture.

Curves of

houses lined the canal banks. Occasionally there would be a

break in the row; space would open up; and a stately Dutch mansion guarded

by

a

sweep of willows would appear. Numerous drawbridges spanned the and often two in succession would be handled by the same bridge

canal,

keeper,

who wore

from one bridge bowline around

a crisp black

to the next.

uniform and cap and would ride

There was one instance when

lamppost by the canal side

a

we

as

Dutch

canals kept a fairly leisurely schedule. All locks

eight

it

was

lights

a

waited for the bridge

keeper to peddle the quarter mile between bridges

between twelve to one pm for lunch and four to

a bicycle

we threw

—urban

sailing!

and bridges shut

five

pm

The

down

for dinner. After

out and nothing moved.

The next morning we woke up into a world suffused with that limpid light of the Dutch painters. It silvered the water reeds and made the canal glitter like a tinseled ribbon. A windmill was perfectly framed in our companionway. After a

tall glass

of the best milk ever,

the tiny village of Garnwerd,

where we had

walked up the canal bank and down the other

we were

off to explore

up the night before.

We

side into a brick village.

The

tied

brick streets extended right to the edge of the brick houses. There were no sidewalks, nor

was

there

any

soil for

planting in front of the houses, although

the backyards had been turned over entirely to gardening.

We continued later that morning from Garnwerd, and though we were miles inland from the North Sea

degrees under bare poles. forty knots at sea.

Leucothea

tied

we found

We figured that

it

ourselves heeling about fifteen

must have been blowing

at least

We decided to spend the night in the town of Leeuwarden

up on a Dutch canal

in the village

j

Ik

of Garnwerd.

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

137

up along the grassy banks of the public gardens with our masts sticking up into a huge willow tree. That night we walked to an elegant restaurant a few blocks away and feasted on a spicy turtle crab soup and tied

right

excellent beef.

and

To

return to our boat that evening and then

listen to the susurrus

memory,

of the willows rustling

the full irony of which

would be

in

lie in

our bunks

our rigging was

months

realized only

a special

later

during

our southern crossing.

There was more

we

sailing as

We spent one

crossed the Sneeker Meer.

town of Sneek and then headed for the IJsselmeer, formerly the Zuider Zee. Our first stop on the IJsselmeer was Hindeloopen, which Captain de Vries had marked with two stars and an exclamanight in the ancient fortified

A

tion point.

was

a

wooden

tiny doll-scale village as snug as a

busy seaport in the sixteenth century, sending out

shoe, this old

flotillas

town

of the tubby,

gaudily painted East Indiamen to Java in the great days of the Dutch East

The town was

India trade.

of various homes and

built mostly

stores the walls

of yellow brick, and

in the interiors

of this brick juxtaposed beautifully with

the jewel-colored tile floors.

Laced with canals that were spanned by minia-

ture footbridges, the village

was a Dutch maze.

morning discovering miniature the reflections

clomped

a

We

set

toward Enkhuizen, where

sailing barges.

One

of time

mud

sitting in

we

did

spent the afternoon

wan-

has the definitive collection

lines

and pudgy contours of the

which were

to the inner IJsselmeer,

we

a diagonal course

clearly designed to spend after leaving

passed through a set of locks that

which

is

completely separated from

one by a long dike. The water here turned much smoother, and

a following

was

on

and shallow waters. Shortly

Enkhuizen on our way to Hoorn,

marked the entry

we

Museum, which

could trace the squat

East Indiamen directly to the barges,

It

to the two-year-old

Hindeloppen, but

in

off with a following breeze

dering through the Zuider Zee

the outer

with

Over one arched bridge

down

family, and everybody

had not planned to spend the night

across the IJsselmeer

a lot

trees.

it all

shoes.

and the next morning

of

walked through

sailing barges, tiny canals painted bright

of cottages, flower gardens, and

young Dutch

wore wooden

We

Hoorn with our twin jibs pulling mightily. one of our last before we would have to pull our

wind chased

a fantastic

sail,

us into

spars.

Hoorn awaited

we approached

the

us in little

all

authentic old sailing barges jetty wall. a

At

double take

a

bend as

we

of

its

we had

in the wall

fifteenth-century maritime romance.

we

bridge,

spotted fifteen or

seen so far tied

loomed

a

more of

As

the most

up along the massive brick

medieval tower. Chris and

I

did

caught sight of three Dutch boys in old-fashioned

pantaloons and sea caps perched on the wall looking out to sea over the spars

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

138

of the barges. They were not the brick wall.

It

age of

town.

sail,

boys but bronze ones

did

else

overlapped in a

art

we

onto

cast directly

was an immediate and involving piece of sculpture

time collided and reality and

town. Nowhere

real

in

which

fitting tribute to a seafaring

sense so clearly the direct links to that golden

navigation, and trade with the Spice Islands than in this ancient

We might have speculated for which of Hoorn's dazzling

the bronze boys

were scouting the horizon

—Willem

inhabitants

Schouten, Abel Tas-

man The headwind we had

We

quarter.

approach

were going

full hull

really fast,

sail

gradually shifted around to our

and

speed Leucothea started to

If you're sitting in the right spots,

up through her rudder and

tracing

Hoorn

leaving

fast,

you can spars.

we were just

for several months, as

a

as usually

hum

—

feel all sorts

We

when we

happens

a high-pitched whine.

of

delicate flutters

wanted to remember

this last

few miles from Amsterdam now.

CHAPTE «3' The lock

leading into

good seamanship and

Amsterdam was

a horror show, but thanks to the

of the barge captains

gentility

we somehow managed

We were packed in with three other barges, each one hundred feet long. We were the last ones in the lock and somehow got turned to survive the ordeal.

backward by the prop wash of

a barge.

While

the water

was draining

out,

we were busy throwing lines to people who maneuvered us around again, but we were still not in a great position, risking impalement on the lock doors,

which sported

a pattern

of sharp protuberances resembling something

out of a ninth-century torture chamber. This danger would become imminent with the prop wash of exit.

by

three barges as they started their engines to

all

Chris decided that the only safe answer was to be towed out of the lock

the barge directly in front of us,

which

always been adamant about the absolute "It's

get

towed or

get

.

."

.

really

perils

shocked

arrived

we

three barges revved

passed

among

the

barge started up, her cub.

Even

restraint,

after

Chris had

us.

When

the fatal

braced for the worst. Instead of a deafening roar

up

their props, there

bargemen not it

as

and he made an obscene gesture while

nodding toward the lock gate eighteen inches behind

moment

me

of towing.

was with

all

was only a purr. The word had been

to cause

undue turbulence.

the gentleness

we had cast off the

as the

lines,

of

a

mother

the barge pulled

When

our tow

lion tugging at

away with

great

not opening up until he was a quarter mile away.

The drama was not

over.

Upon

our arrival in Amsterdam,

we would

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ have to take out our masts

we were

if

on our

to continue

through Europe. Chris's aversion to boatyards stems

canal course

think in part from an

I

experience he had in one near Boston that put in our spars the

owned

They managed

the boat.

into a slight

it

ourselves as

much

as

loathe this activity of

I

Chris loathes boatyards. Most often

good crane and

a second person

I

Unfortunately there was no good crane in the place

Amsterdam. This did not faze Chris

and in Chris's words "Lift 'em right out!"

mean

that one.

that

realized

He

what

my

for starters as

mean

did a

that one.

complete nut

I

own

to pull out

no way,

that

I

would have

so gently for the

I

we

form were

to help and so

first

He couldn't

at the bridge.

at this

moment

as a

mate

There was no arguing.

I

our marriage

in

in life.

There was,

jam on

the bridge.

made

who

emphatically

it

when

can be compelling at the spot

I

have to be.

where we were

friend

had pushed

She was staying

crossing.

I

the spars going to be pulled out

would Holly, our

morning, the very same Holly

napolsky until

take

and an ambulance trying to get

lights,

he would jury rig the broken crane

said

up, but

it.

shape, or

manner. Chris succumbed.

in this

looked

had chosen

would simply

major artery into Amsterdam, and he was planning

a

our spars on

clear that in

He

was

it all. It

I

was

can escape

I

am not needed. we were tied up

apparatus from the bridge

favorite food magazine says, a traffic

There were cops and stop-and-go through

It

We

in the least.

the boat over to "that bridge" and rig our

I

we

year

C shape by reversing two stays. Ever since this unfortunate event

the task because with a

in

first

of the mizzenmast

to curl the top portion

he has stepped both mainmast and mizzen himself.

doing

139

me

at the

tied

who had arrived

out the door ever

Hotel Gran Krass-

got things arranged on the boat for her to

move

aboard.

called her up.

"Hi.

How

was your

flight?"

"Fine."

"How's

"More "Want

the hotel?"

krassnapolsky than Gran, but to

come over and

OK."

help us pull spars?"

"Sure," she replied with cheery innocence. to

my

How

could

I

be doing

this

friend?

The

best that can be said about our mast-pulling activities

were no broken bones, cracked

skulls,

is

that there

or hernias, and the masts were not

flawed or marred in any way. But for what seemed like hours, the three of us

were staggering around

an indelible

memory of

to sink directly into the

like

drunks under the weight of the

Holly,

ground

who is as we swung

her shoulders. Luckily a well-set services at a crucial point.

spars.

I

have

short and not very strong, seeming the butt of the

mainmast onto

Dutchman walked by and volunteered

He and

I

were wrapped around

the

mainmast

his

in

i

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

4o

a passionate

embrace while Chris loosened the shrouds.

whisper something to Chris about graphing but

I

this

was

would be

Amsterdam

We felt in case of collision We had be able to

quite attractive,

Dutchman and I Dutchman his name.

I

asked the

in a much-altered form,

and a crossbar lashed to the

pointing forward. still

who was

the shrouds and the

with both masts

on sawhorses placed amidships, an X-frame on

reclining horizontally stern,

would drop

catapulted into oblivion. So instead

Leucothea left

was tempted to

being a sexual provocateur by choreo-

his

entanglement with the Dutchman,

fearful that he

I

slide easily

it

was

bow

better to

have the heavy ends of the masts

ample head clearance

in the cockpit

under the lowest bridges

meters in height from the water surface.

Our

first

as

and would

we measured

only three

day out of Amsterdam

spent motoring through lovely residential sections.

The

canal

when we

barge pole

sank

it

mud bank

into a

we

was quite

narrow, and more than once the spinnaker pole enjoyed a whole as a

the

pulpit for the butt ends to rest on.

new

life

and heaved to dislodge

Leucothea.

On the chart the area we had entered appeared as a latticework of canals. In actuality

it

was a maze, and instead of shrubbery hedges there were thick

We were in a nature preserve midway between AmsterWe had

bands of river reeds.

dam and

Utrecht.

It

was a place of rarest beauty and exquisite peace.

pulled into one of a thousand watery alcoves and used our arboreal mooring

system of casting a line over a hanging branch. raspberries

nudged our port

We

one-boat anchorage.

maze and found

as a flotilla

We

houses.

It

was

There was an inviolable privacy to

this

dinghy journey to explore the marshland

away

in various cul-de-sacs

and

returned aboard to enjoy a sunset drink in our

passed under the

that led into the heart

framed before us

creeping thicket of

of swans cruised nearby.

One by one we see

a

several other boats tucked

offshoot passageways.

cockpit

rail.

made

A

low

arches of the ancient brick bridges

of Utrecht. In the darkness of the underpass

in the arc

as if the city

of the next bridge

a stretch

we would

of canal lined with

revealed itself to us through these crescent

segments that offered successive but separate views of the old town: a bend in the flagstone quay, a

sweep of willows, a waterside

against a curve of blue sky.

near the center of the city.

While we had our dinner on board,

notes of a flute player floated the city clock

cafe, a cathedral spire

We tied up alongside the quay by a chestnut tree down from

the liquid

the street above and every hour

chimed "Pop Goes the Weasel."

The barge

traffic

in this southern region

and the number of locks had increased significantly

of Holland.

the barges and the families aboard as early morning, if

we were

We

became increasingly friendly with

we

shared successive locks. In the very

in a lock tied

up next

to a barge,

we might

see

Leucothea approaches quay

the

the sleepy faces

windows of

in Utrecht.

of tiny children peering through the inevitable lace-curtain

the stern cabin as father stood at the wheel. Mother, in thick

knee socks, housedress, and heavy gloves, lassoed bollards and jumped be-

tween barge-and-lock platforms with through a

skill

and grace.

of ten or twelve locks and went

series

One day we had

to pass

company of

a small

in the

armada of three barges. All the locks were rising ones as

we were

approaching the Dutch-

Belgian border. After the gates were closed and lines secured, there would

be a turbulent surge

as the

ourselves, fending off

lockkeeper

let in

the water.

with boathooks and spinnaker

great care the projecting butt ends

After the lock had

filled,

poles,

sequence.

how

the gates

would open and

the middle barge, file I

out in

began to

well tended the lock areas were. There was always a trim cottage

where the lockkeeper lived with

filling up,

his family,

I

One

time, while the lock

noticed the keeper walk over to the vegetable garden

the ladder built into the wall,

the end

and along the flagstone quay

herbs.

alongside his house and begin to dig potatoes.

By

guarding with

would pull out, allowing the others to As we became more relaxed about lock maneuvers,

were lovely gardens planted with flowers and

was

would brace

of our masts.

usually the longest,

notice

We

I

cleated the line, climbed

up

and bought a couple of pounds of potatoes.

of a ten-lock day,

we were

quite friendly with our lock-

« ATLANTIC CIRCLE

142

mates.

One

barge called Victor was run single-handedly by a young fellow

no more than twenty-five years and amazing to watch

He was

old.

one hundred

wheelhouse and back again while maneuvering

to

locks.

He

dark

wood

the wheelhouse to an old-style cabin paneled in rich

with beautiful molding

details.

tion of rock music tapes for whiling

The

cabin was very reminiscent

away hours

at the

his extensive collec-

helm struck

more

a

note.

We had by river swept

this

time switched to the Afgedadmaas, which

"dammed-up Meuse." The

translated into

landscape did change

we

thought

as the

broad

through rolling countryside in a more natural way, unlike the

of

straight lines

a

dug

We

canal.

passed through one lock

perienced our greatest change thus far in water level,

and

bow

barge in and out of

his

of the captain's quarters on the Charles W. Morgan, but

modern

at all

from

feet

We walked down a short

invited us aboard at the end of the day.

companionway from

with no crew

a bachelor

in action as he sprinted the

we began

to get the definite impression that

where we ex-

at least six to eight feet,

we were

climbing a stairway

into Belgium.

Maastricht appeared ahead of us on the river wrapped in a veil of soft

some

rain like

silent

dream of a

We

city.

tied

up

at the

quay just before the

ancient bridge that spanned the central portion of the river.

portion had been blown up in

World War

in a vain attempt to stave off the

Germans.

and walked into the center of the

II

by

The

eastern

the people of Maastricht

We crossed the bridge to the west

city, into a swirl

of

frantic late-afternoon

Saturday shoppers. There were myriads of elegant stores and chic women.

A

show blossomed out from

street fashion

formed

as spectators

a ring eight

the glass

canopy of

a dress

deep to admire the mannequins

shop

—Indone-

sians, Africans,

and lean Dutch milkmaids. The broad cobbled pedestrian way

whirred with

activity. Charcuteries

making last-minute purchases of

By this

time Holly and

We had suffered the

first

I

and

were

swarmed with people

salivating for the stars, the Michelin stars.

a humiliating rebuff in

Amsterdam when we showed up

route.

It

was a rainy

The Dutch maitre

d'

with

starred restaurant

in foul-weather gear.

patisseries

delectable foodstuffs.

on our

all

night, and

we

at

arrived

the arrogance of a French

one could not be convinced that under the dripping

oilskins

were three

appropriately clad persons with wonderful palates and great enthusiasm,

charming yachtspeople not directly to because

we were

We

had

sailed all the

but

still.

It

way from America. Perhaps deal. He claimed it was

was no

without reservations; however, the place hardly appeared

to be overflowing,

Norwegian

who

this restaurant,

and Holly and

I

blamed Chris for lacking a

tie

with

his

sweater.

planned ahead now.

We

had called that morning from a town

flL

11

HB nS'

^i

fit

H^I^ A/ Jl

&

*

3 *

\1

J^

^

*ri^

Holly and Kathy contemplate the next pound.

make our

before Maastricht to Enfants.

We

we looked

as

reservations at the one-star

Au Coin Des Bons

had carefully plotted our entrance so that in

elegant as possible in our foul-weather gear, and Chris held a

last-minute briefing about hiding the flashlight in a handbag. artfully

poked out from

the neck of

our sea boots and tottered over

were serving

of the rain

spite

their function

my

oilskins.

Holly and

I

A

liberty scarf

had

left

behind

which were now soaked but

in heels,

of making us appear

tall

still

and "land-dressed"

as

opposed to squat and foul-weathered. Chris had donned the unthinkable a tie

and jacket.

We were

with shock when

my

greeted, accepted, but Chris nearly

him

asked

was overcome

to hold the flashlight while the hostess took

coat and Holly refused to part with her blue rubberized wrap.

these

were unpardonable

gaffes considering the pains

everyone for

to rehearse

orders

gian

I

were

safely placed.

this event.

We

The food was

smoked salmon served with

a

felt that

Holly and

I

He

felt

had gone

he overreacted, once our

excellent, particularly the

Norwe-

savory horseradish sauce, but the service

was rather perfunctory and Mimi Sheraton would have taken them to

task

in this department.

The next

day, Sunday,

we wandered

of Romanesque and Gothic and to

Maastricht,

which was

was not

that satisfying architecturally.

all

been undermined, in

a mixture

spirit at least,

in

Romanesque

arches.

architecture

Thus

my mind

That which was Romanesque had

by someone who was nuts

and had been given carte blanche with

on the lovely curved

through the great stone church of

his paintbrush

and

the repose and serenity that

was shattered by the

for barcolage

gilt to

do

is

his thing

so pleasing

garish painted decoration.

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

144

The effect was jarring. Imagine if those wonderful heavy-bodied, rather monumental figures by Picasso had been dressed in sequins and frothy cascades of lace rather than nothing or the simple chemises he painted

them

wearing.

Also

at Saint Servatius there

thread had been

worked

and many of the

apostles, etc.,

directly in the cloth.

was a splendid exhibit of priests'

into incredible nuance* of skin tones so that Christ

had been depicted

in an almost painterly style

There was the usual display of relics: so-and-so's

am

a

bone chip from Saint Somebody.

I

cannot help but be struck by the peculiarity of the mind and

out and guards

this religious

of

that level

am

I

by such

a saint.

its

faith

in a small sailing craft. rest. I

Farm

I

spirit that seeks

to admit that once past

objects to the non-Christian, to wit

is

am

perhaps a chicken-bone fragment into

I

mean

some through

the earthly day-to-day variety,

or if need be across an ocean

life

Keep your pants on, Jerry

not ripe for conversion

at all.

I

Falwell, Oral Roberts, and

am

still

Jewish, but in terms

think of myself as a religious eclectic. So along with

cookies, a I

And I have

toenail,

totally irreverent, but

believe that this kind of faith can perhaps attain a certain

I

the kind of truth that propels

the

what

of truth, not necessarily sublime.

of ritual

I

impressed by a certain mysterious beauty of the mind and heart

make through

that can

not that

It is

memorabilia.

the surface grizzliness suggested

myself,

robes. Silk

few

little relics

might help,

if

my Pepperidge

could really believe in them.

I

could almost see Harold Gatty, the Raft Book man, wincing

with, in addition to the obligatory stick and string,

stepped onto his

life raft

the cookies and

Hammett,

say, "Just a

as I

minute, Harold!

I

now

that

even

the mascara and guide to the Cotswolds,

You

think

you know

it all;

you think

without any previous knowledge of navigation you can get us to shore. Well, Harold, I've got news for you. Before there is

something

string,

else

—

then at me.

I

buddy." Harold, of course, looks

resist a visual

of hair and a femural shard of course blanches and

'previous knowledge' there at his stick

and

hold up something remarkably similar. "Stick and

"No. Harold,

string?" he asks.

being able to

faith,

is

pun,

—

falls

different strokes for different folks."

(Not

"A

piece

I

relics

put an oar in the raft's oarlock.)

of Saint Mary Ecstasia Dementia." Harold

into the

open jaws of a shark

that's

been circling

the raft.

Such were

my thoughts at

ern crossing were indication of

reliquary

we

my

still

Saint Servatius, and Gibraltar and the south-

miles and months away!

mental

state to

repaired straight to

within easy walking distance.

I

must have given some

Chris because upon his suggestion from the

Chez Jacques,

Holly and

I

a one-star restaurant that

was

had entertained the notion of

writing an article for a food magazine. In order to be able to sample a variety

of

dishes,

we

urged "our companion" to depart from

his

customary creme

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ caramel for dessert and try the ginger Chantilly. it

as

candied gingerroot in a sweet cream.

As Chris

bit into the first

response,

my

chunk, Holly and

turned pink, then pinker, then vermilion.

He

gulped

halfway through Holly's, she and

of

ice water.

away by hot ginger. As a dessert came from a lady Chanel

who

suit

sounded lovely.

watched, ready to hear

I

were

mine.

at the

I

By

the time he

was

frantically signaling the headwaiter

Thus ended our attempts postscript

his

companion

might add

food writing, blown

at

that the inspiration for the

next table, a fiftyish porcelain duchess in a

had been eating these seemingly innocuous creamy boules

de gingembre with what

I

now

can

think of only as frosty equanimity.

Maurice," she said and popped another

delicieux,

My

My companion detonated. His eyes

his water, then I

described

looked lovely.

It

brain busy searching for savory accolades.

ran with copious tears.

for a pitcher

It

The waiter had

145

boule into her

little

"C 'est

mouth.

CHAPTE *3 Z was

It

fairly easy to repress the specter

of the

the insulated confmes

of an Atlantic crossing within

now

every

canals. Still,

and then there would

be some sort of a reminder or foreshadowing of what was ahead that

immensely tendril

my

unsettling.

It

was not long

from an Atlantic gale found

I

found

we had left Maastricht that a little way to us and managed to titillate

after its

imagination to force-seven anxiety.

We had

tied

up

for the night along

an unprotected spot of the canal and in the early morning began catching a lot

I

me from

of wake from passing barges so Chris roused Holly and

bunks

as

he planned to

move

the boat.

winter

set in

the weather.

felt a definite

the air like splinters

below

of

When

glass.

As

I

Soon

a freezing gale

Chris could spare

North Atlantic heavy weather

to excavate our

Grand Banks had we seen

from

me

a locker and to

come up and

steer.

began nicking

topside

gear.

—red long Johns, sweat

this stuff

Chris was turning blue in the cockpit and called to additional line

our

crawled out of the companionway

Not

suits,

me

I

since the

watch

to fetch

While

I

was

went

caps.

some

steering,

Chris, his fmgers stiff with cold, tied extensions onto the wheel lines that lash

the rudder

had been I

when we

are using the self-steering gear.

in hibernation

was

but things became clearer to

initially puzzled,

Chris thread the line through cockpit.

"Okay," he

warm now." sleeping bag

I

—

said as

went down the

first

But the

self-steering gear

on deck for weeks now.

little

my

as

I

watched

bronze half rings farther forward in the

he seized the to

me

lines,

bunk and

"you can go below and

stuffed

myself into the

time since the North Atlantic. Chris

sat

get

arctic

comfortably

H6

» ATLANTIC CIRCLE

in the

companion way,

stove, his

his legs

down

swinging

a set

of reins suitable for

The

radio reported that

canals. it

The Tiny Tot

was blowing

we were

Biscay, and here

in a rainy

reading Sense and Sensibility and

There were no locks for

of

felt safer, cozier,

more

insulated.

I

and eating in

croissants.

She was

The Alexandria

Quartet.

and the next day Belgium.

down my book and

put

beauty that

its

believe that anyone could write that well. at least that's

it,

what

I

thought

tea and looked across the cabin

She looked up.

We

didn't have to

I

tell

put

I

it

good

her what

cliffs. It

sip

in the city

of

me

to

down my book I

to think

took a

sip

of

friend Holly. "I'm so scared." I

was talking about. She knew.

gorge thickly encrusted with

a

trees

and sided with

was the most romantic landscape we had seen thus

far,

and on

How-

occasion elegant stone chateaus loomed up on granite promontories.

we

approached Liege things became abruptly

less

romantic, in fact

downright ugly. One might even say "satanic" and be tempted to of the cement and iron-ore

Jerusalem at the sight

and belched lurid clouds of smoke into the

when

particles.

air,

ran

my

tongue over

my

lips

I

For the next half mile Holly and

mouths. The the shore

I

giving the sky a peculiar,

last

was

lit

could I

hum

factories that lined the banks

jaundiced appearance. There was a spot along the river where the foul that

had

continued along the Meuse. After Maastricht there was a stretch

where we passed through

ever, as

I

took a

was hard for

was thinking about.

I

my

at

Bay of

tucked into

I

had just finished reading a description of twilight

tea. I

steep

Holly and

canal,

tea

a long, long time,

line

stove was stoked and burning.

was wrapped

I

Alexandria that was so stunning in

about

warmed by our

a blistering force nine in the

Dutch

our sleeping bags sipping freshly brewed

never

into the cabin

head protected by the dodger, and in each hand a steering

feel a film

air

was so

of fine dusty

both held scarves over our

two hours before Liege the trip was absolutely stygian as fires from a string of blast furnaces casting a frightful

with

glow over everything. It

became obvious

or around Liege. first It

time

we

was quite

title

many Communist

from an

"The Lures of Liege." the

were absolutely no pollution controls

article

we

the

ground

were quite few and countable

Au Vieux Liege. where Liegian women sat in

thinly

of buildings. There would be

a sign

Walloon Museum and

windows on

party posters plastered about.

had been reading with the enticing

In fact the lures

also a quaint red-light district

curtained

floors

a restaurant,

on the front door

that said either "ouverte" or "fermee"

whether work was

in progress or not.

The a mirror

river

went on, and we kept following

—smooth

in

elegant old buildings were black with soot. For the

started to see

different

on one hand: was

The

that there

it

There

depending on

eastward.

We

bend, and the citadel of Dinant appeared ahead

rounded

as if

magic

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

147

rock gates had opened. Late afternoon sun gilded an onion-domed cathedral

snuggled against the

supporting the

cliff flanks

throbbed echoes off the rock walls

diesel

mooring spot

a

few

fortress. Leucothea

we swung around

as

from the cathedral square and

steps

a patisserie that could provide the next day's breakfast.

bloomed outside our and

we

trusty

's

into a three-star

directly in front

A

of

bed of geraniums

portholes. Holly departed in Dinant to return to

home

continued on our easterly course.

With an unceremonious

"Passez! Passez!"

customs

He

officer flicked us into France.

flick

of his hand, the Belgian

did not even open our passports

or look at the vessel's documentation papers. At Givet, on the French side,

was another story

it

we

as

particular

man who

them on

sent

a

for their missing carnet de passage.

Sails across Europe.

two-hundred-mile

just piling

on

his

was

it

bike with

to

no

avail.

The man pointed

was Saturday. But

It

morning

at eight, the

.

.

little

tie

man

up

this carnet

the Gallic

mania for

saddlebags to peddle home. Chris

He

.

.

."

The

entreaties

Monday morning.

safely here for that long. All right,

Not now?

were

could not possibly stamp us

to wait until

as

there

was

tomorrow

The man held

Chris asked again.

out his hand in a gesture that Chris interpreted the

this

and the customs man was

Je vous en prie

would have

said.

was

taxi ride to Brussels

was impossible, Chris exclaimed. Look,

that

no place one could even

neat .

to his watch.

We

in before his dinnertime.

titillate

five-fifty-five pm,

its

ran up to him. "S'il vous plait

celebrated It

We were ready—armed with

and a formidable array of documents, enough to bureaucracy. However,

man

encountered the notorious customs

and Electra Johnson's book Yankee

in Irving

good evening. So he shook

hand limply.

By

morning

ten-thirty the next

was mad. "The

up, and Chris

hell

man had

the customs

with

this. Let's

go."

I

felt

still

not shown

Chris was being

quite rash, tempting the French bureaucracy in the worst way. In the United States

we had

spent weeks writing for

bringing a boat into France; guarantee that I

we would

we had

not

sell

all

the official

documents required for

posted a three-thousand-dollar bond to

our boat while

we were

in this country.

protested loudly that just leaving was dangerous and illegal.

it.

We would be mouilles dos.

fmd

us if they

Within

We

across

Europe

had begun the most

—

imagining that

still

them

anxieties

were suspended, and

traveling across the sky rather than

But gradually the fog melted into

a

had evapo-

of our voyage

journey through the French Ardennes.

surface streaks of mist

we were

my

startlingly beautiful portion

a magical three-day

the river's

didn't like

to see the papers."

ten minutes after casting off our lines,

rated.

Above

want

I

Chris, allergic to bureaucracy, said, "Let

milky morning

I

kept

up the Meuse.

light that blurred detail

and reduced the world to the simplest shapes and forms.

It

was

as if

we were

a ATLANTIC CIRCLE

148

looking

the mountains and valleys through a gauze screen.

at

was

It

a

quivering world of white shadowy outlines. As the day brightened the screen lifted and the river caught the reflections of the valley's reality. Vill-

ages and clouds danced a trembling dance in the black water around Leucothea.

The

liquid ribbon of a river uncoiled and for three days

winding course through

its

we

this

slipped in and out of dark patches

to paint out the sky and

where mountains would

where we were held

shadow

cast

upon

and for

me

has always been the most

European

the water. This region

cruising: the

in

tightly in the grip

followed

I

memorable and

remember

between Chris and myself and

soar abruptly

of the

ridge's

was an absolutely enchanted one

weather impeccable, the scenery

solitude and peace incorruptible. closeness

we

green-gold bowl of the Ardennes. At dusk

as a

it

time

as

perfect part of our as if painted,

when

I

and the

of incredible

a time

wrote copiously

my journal contemplating all sorts of heady philosophical matters. I would

often discuss

come

what

to being

I

was writing with Chris.

It

was the

closest

we would

ever

Will and Ariel Durant.

For some reason the shimmering

reflections

caught by the water and the

movement of the river triggered all sorts of ruminations on reality and illusion. From looking at my journals, one would have imagined that I was back

and

in

my

Eliot.

old undergraduate poetry course steeped in Wordsworth, Yeats,

There are

gyres done in valley

=

river?

And

The

stasis,

in fact little Yeatsian diagrams

my wobbly

hand with legends

followed by a cryptic question:

then there

is

a little exegesis

liquid ribbon of the Ardennes.

on

showing interpenetrating

that read river

What

it all.

= movement;

are valley reflections in

"If you have

two

interpene-

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ trating motions, there

on

thus,

we

the river, although

apparent It

becomes a

stasis

point at the center so

keep moving

we have

all

appears

an apparent

still;

stasis. Is

statis reality?"

amazes

me now

that

I

am

knee-deep in diapers and car pools that

I

down

a

ever had the time to contemplate reality and illusion while gliding

However, what amazes me even more

river eating pate.

my journal the lines

149

I

can perceive things

I

see that

what

I

much more

and

clearly,

is

that in rereading

in reading

between

have always thought to be a string of halcyon days

of peace and meditation was not precisely

so.

I

could write

wanted

all I

to

about shimmering reflections and the philosophical implications of stasis and

movement, but the subtext here had

it

was toward

do with

end the river moved

that

river, halt the boat.

suggested) a nasty crossing?

me

to

terror

and anticipation, with

of suspension and inexorable movement, for ahead lay the ocean, and

states

Would

us.

desperately wanted to stop the

I

This was heaven, says the

little

joke

text.

Or was

it (as

the golden image of our days in the Ardennes

come

in a gale with a vicious gaiety like the patterned curtains that

to hang.

At

the time

when

buried, but

when we

my

would have

anxiety

nervous than

I

I

the subtext

instead, the punchline being the trans- Atlantic

was writing

in

my journal,

this

reached Gibraltar the ten-thousand ugly reared and be tossing maniacally.

was before our

first

I

I

to

mock

had refused

was

all

little

deeply

heads of

would be more

crossing and full of resentment toward

Chris.

The enchantment of the Ardennes ended abruptly place of

was

Rimbaud.

I

could see

why

he

left.

A

a bitter pill to take after the splendor

down

kilometers

the river,

was equally

of the

lackluster.

French towns have their compensations, and in Sedan

of goodies

at the charcuterie for a

at Charleville, birth-

drab industrial

little

town,

valley. Sedan, a

But even the

we

it

few

dingiest

purchased an array

most marvelous picnic

that included a

creamy pate de Champagne the texture of velvet. The French pates were addictive,

and

this

was the beginning of a 250-gram-a-day

habit. It

was not

we were nearing one of the major gastronomique regions and indeed when I looked at the guide map Sedan was shown to

hard to ascertain that

of France,

be not too far from the Vosges, the mountain range that cuts across Alsace

and Lorraine.

We were on the Meuse, also called the Canal de l'Est in this section. We stopped one night in late September at a spot just after the Lorraine town still

of Inor. The canal carved a lovely half-mile curve canal

on

far as

you could

either side see.

were elegant plane

at this point.

Along

the

trees planted at fifty-foot intervals as

On our right was a vast green field where holsteins were

grazing and thousands of lavender blooms were scattered across the green.

On

the left

was

Inor.

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

150

From

jumble of

the distance Inor appeared like a cubic

we

and ochre buildings. But early that evening when

we

the village,

red-tile roofs

took a walk through

The couple of

discovered that almost everything was new.

buildings that were old had gouges and pockmarks in their walls, and

became apparent

damage during World to

was one of the towns

that this

War

had suffered a

As we walked we noticed

II.

have a certain blankness to

that

Streets

it.

seemed

a bit too

to the size of the houses, and the houses had a strange

them.

facelessness to

I

remembered reading

From as

in proportion

anonymity and

in the Michelin guide that the first

by the barbarians occurred

invasions of this region

seemed

that Inor

wide

it

of

lot

in the third century a.d.

then on for the next sixteen centuries, there were invasions

clockwork. There were Huns, French dukes,

political bishops,

as regular

and others.

Louis

XV had even given Lorraine as a gift to his father-in-law, an old Polish

king.

As we walked through the

made town

sense and

town of Inor,

tiny

its

facelessness

seemed to possess a certain ironic eloquence.

It

desperately sought a kind of anonymity to serve as

protection.

It

did not want to be noticed.

children's history lessons in this

town

I

suddenly

was

as if the

some

of

sort

began to wonder what the

consisted of.

Did they

learn about

what

town was like before 1940? 1914? 1870? 1766? 1552? 840? Did it matter? The blankness was split with a sudden skidding and screeching of tires.

their

There were wild whoops and

hollers.

A

fan of gravel sprayed Chris and

and out of the dust swirled a

like bullets,

was skidding around incising the street

us,

little

demon boy on

his bike.

me He

popping wheelies, sometimes riding with no hands,

with wildly carved

running the entire gamut

turns, in short

of an eight-year-old's repertoire on a bike. "Madame! Madame! De quel pays " etes-vous?

We continued through Lorraine. We endured our first real scrape with a barge since entering the canals in Holland. Leucothea tail

mud

firmly implanted in the

we were

while

was

one hundred yards from

waiting for the lock to disgorge a barge.

the limite de stationnement

by

a

few

sitting

We

were within

yards, too close, in other words.

the barge exited at full throttle, the strong current that flowed back

bow

as it

passed us

swung our bow out

our imbedded stern acted Leucothea

The

's

bow moved

a pivot.

When

from

its

into the middle of the canal, while I

watched

in fascinated horror as

steady sweep toward the midships of the barge.

butt ends of our masts, resting on sawhorses, were aimed squarely at her.

There was a

A

bump

.

.

I

madly

absurd

.

another bump.

torrent of blistering French

out of the wheelhouse.

and

in a

as

with her

a lock entrance

little

A

third

came from

the

bump knocked down

tried to fend off the black leviathan

bargeman

as

he blasted

their clothesline. Chris

from our masts with our

boathooks. Both of us, meanwhile, were torn with fear of having

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ lost

our "ticket" back across the Atlantic. Imagine being dismasted

Maybe we could

canal!

call it

an emasculating war

151

French

in a

wound and rename our

boat The Sun Also Rises. After an agonizing minute that seemed like the collision

bow

to

was over. Chris was

examine the masts. Not

from the barge. Next time both

CHAPTER

at the

helm.

I

a scratch! Just a curl

and the

ears

made my way

feebly

tail, I

five,

to the

of black paint scraped

thought.

On

to

Verdun.

\ \

Seven kilometers outside of Verdun there was a deep lock with a change in

water level of ten feet or more. In such a case you can never

of the world above until the water has risen three or four

began to gush

in.

rise

window,

base of the house; then

sat at the

appeared until the low

of these white

we

few shabby

the house a

rose, the

more

row of crosses

and land seemed to be undulating with an ocean

hills

They

crosses.

a door; a

beyond

white crosses marched into view. The more

little

much

out of the dank slimy chamber. The peak of the

lockkeeper's house appeared, then the attic

potted plants

see

The water

We felt the familiar surge backward and then the line went

Leucothea began to

taut.

feet.

lost their definition entirely

and became strange

chalky ciphers on a blank landscape where hundreds and thousands of

World War

had died during the

We

had dinner that evening

shaky Michelin acceptable

I

star. I

had

truite

at the

Hotel Bellevue, possessor of one

au champagne, which although perfectly

was not outstanding. The country

and redolent.

I

when

I

men

siege.

had been scouring

my

pate,

however, was texturous

brain for appropriately descriptive

away order it for her companion a Pekingese, the canine variety as opposed to a human resident of Peking. The single star in the Bellevue heavens started to shake violently for me. The phrases

saw

dog, dressed in a

you

little

something (her?)

between

I

did.

Her

its

bow

in

by hand. Chris

found the pate

as

mistress ordered her (him?) seconds,

do

that either.

siege

of Verdun.

didn't

bangs, or whatever

its

eyes, apparently

my master did not do, with extra cornichons,

We had our own petit it

tables

knitted jacket and a pink

call that fur that flops

redolent and texturous as

city

two

a lady

which she fed

to

him

We had tied up next to a lovely

park by a walking path. There were no other boats tied up there, but

seemed quiet and pretty, clear of barge

to the restaurant.

Sound

asleep in

by voices along the path. a night

It

traffic,

our bunks

sounded

and was walking distance

after dinner,

like several

we were awakened

young fellows who had had

on the town. They paused beside Leucothea and

in

loud voices talked

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

152

we came from

about our boat, wondering where

We

was.

lay very

still

our bunks, and although they could not

in

could see their legs through the cabin windows. pants and boots.

and what kind of boat

They continued

I

counted five

to talk very loudly; they

men

it

we

see in,

in khaki

were obviously

drunk. They walked a few paces, stopped, then rapped sharply on the

doghouse.

"S'il vous plait!"

swing over the

lifelines.

one was aboard. and stuck

We

shouted Chris. They laughed harshly.

The boat heeled

incredibly vulnerable. Chris

felt

head out the companionway.

his

They were

over.

I

aboard.

hopped

saw a leg

Or

at least

into his pants

listened frozen in the

I

bunk

below.

Nous

Chris: S'il vous plait.

Boarder: Dormir. (Leave a time like this.)

There were

became harsher and

filled

a

voulons dormi. (Please,

we are

to the French to correct

it

trying to sleep.)

your grammar

few more exchanges. The voices of

with a cruel self-assurance.

I

the

at

men

could hear Chris's

voice constricting in quiet rage. Things were escalating.

"Va

t'en!" (Get out) Chris repeated.

"Combien de vous?" the lead-up to a challenge. (I

(How many are you?) countered a voice. It was What the hell would he say? "Je ne comprends pas.

They

don't understand.)

repeated the question.

The

stalling technique

could not go on forever. Chris had picked up our kitchen knife behind his back.

I

started thinking furiously.

Another leg swung over the

word

"Monsieur!" Chris packed a lot of rage into a

mushy.

It

became

to distraction

instantly clear.

my

with

French was not hard for me, and

was

that they

I

would go up and

execrable French it

shot through with

my

seemed to be

to conjugate verbs altogether. (It

was

I

known

trying to understand

my French,

in the present tense.

to speak only in infinitives, failing

hopped into

my jeans.

one thug.

"Madame, " quickly corrected the other thug. There was not I

knew we could

win. In a small whispery voice

speech: "Je ne comprends pas beaucoup francaijes

et votre

aussi les francaijes et cette bateau est notre maison et

don't understand

much French and

French people and

this

boat

Bad

soir.)

"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," responded

harshness.

them

My hope

their Achilles' heel.

Hoosier accent and spoken only

After a couple of drinks I've been

"Ah, bonjour!"

absolutely blitz

delivered very sweetly.

all

would become consumed with

lifelines.

that naturally sounds

is

our

I

like

I

a trace

delivered

pays plait-moi

tres.

maintenant passe minuit."

your country

home and now

it is

a lot

and

of

my Et (I

also the

past midnight.)

They were having to bend over to hear me. I had to repeat things, but it didn't really matter. They were mesmerized by the sweet jumble that issued forth. One leaned toward me. "Listen, Madame," he said in French and continued to explain drunkenly about how they were in the army and had

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ only five days

left.

We

of a sudden.

"Cinq jours,

he repeated.

c'estfini,"

We

sang the "Marseillaise."

they trotted off into the darkness. Chris and then proceeded to

sit

we had

All one day

to

a lock almost every

Nancy. But

it

it

was

"fini" all

around, and

all

slumped onto the bunk below,

I

bolt upright for the rest of the night, hermetically sealed

down

into the cabin with every hatch battened

was

And

shook hands

153

was

was awful.

tight. It

spent descending into the Moselle Valley. There

two hundred meters

as

we

way down

stepped our

Michelin and not to be missed,

a three-star city in the

thanks to the building passion of Stanislaus Leszczynska, father-in-law of

XV

Louis

and dethroned king of Poland. The canal did not cut through the

city but skirted the east side,

which was

We

tied

station at Saint Catherine's basin.

was

a short

up near the coaling

The

walk

to

rather industrial and served barges.

one of France's most elegant

centerpiece of

Nancy

is

From

here

it

cities.

the Place Stanislas,

which one

enters

through magnificent wrought-iron gates festooned with gilded curlicues. Five grand Palladian buildings flank the immense central space, each one

gleaming white with appliqued cornices.

balconies.

The

fronts

pilasters

and heroic

statutes soaring

from

their

of the buildings are embroidered with wrought-iron

There was a marvelous geometry and balance to the place with no

monotony.

was so very

It

sidewalk cafe

I

felt as

rich

though

and elegant that

were

I

in the

as

Chris and

I

sat in the

midst of a phalanx of wedding

cakes.

Nancy

bears the imprint of the art

nouveau movement. Sinuous

and convoluted forms crop up everywhere grillwork, furniture.

Even

the pastry shops

nouveau motifs for decorating cakes inscribed with delicate scrolls

de Nancy, which

magazine. The

I

that

had read about

museum was

nouveau furniture and

seemed to have adapted the

We visited

my

the

all

as

painting in

Musee de

of the very

stories

of

best

work

art

pastel

that can only

wood. The craftsmen had managed to incorporate

the sinuous organic forms of nature using small slices of inlaid

Whole

l'Ecole

There were breathtaking examples of

stained glass and unbelievable furniture with ornamental

be described

art

winter's research in Gourmet

a fascinating repository

objects.

lines

building facades, windows,

were glazed luxuriously and then

of chocolate. in

—

wood.

mostly based on mythology showing gods and goddesses,

horses and satyrs, clouds and lightning had been not carved but inlaid with

contrasting kinds and grains of

wood

so that at

first

glance a piece might

appear to have been painted until one looked closer and realized that the swirl

had not come from a painter's brush or a itself.

or tabletop that

chisel

but the grain of the woods

All of the furniture had an unexpected lightness. Supports for a desk

would often be

slender curved legs or elegant parabolas of

allowed the piece to almost

float in its space.

wood

ATLANTIC CIRCLE

154

Unlike the author of Gourmet's

Mort du Cygne and contorted

master bedroom, a piece called L'Aube inlaid

"undid" me. et le

Crepuscule.

was the bed

its

in the

The headboard was

—

the dust of drowse.

The

swirling

grain provided the clouds, with a suggestion of a village or landscape

beneath in a contrasting grain.

It

gave the

effect

images of dreams. The foot of the bed showed colored opaline, too.

It

with a giant moth of sleep that hovered over the occupants' heads

dusting them with inset jewel fragments

wood

was not the piano with

article, it

legs that

set in a

The tub was

set

sunburst of inlaid

on an

altar

wood.

of the multiple overlay

dawn with I

a great

liked the master

candy-

bathroom

of sorts, and the whole thing was decorated

with a scramble of glazed terra-cotta forms

—

cupids, bosoms, leaves, and

fannies ran riot.

We

followed in the Gourmet writer's footsteps to the Capucin Gour-

mand and enjoyed our most memorable meal

thus far en route.

We

had a

velvety duck soup followed by rack of lamb and finally a walnut-andchocolate genoise cake that was (to hell with Gourmet) orgasmic.

We

were getting plumper and plumper. However,

world's most effective reducing spa lay in wait for

me

I

knew

that the

in the Atlantic, six

weeks from now.

From Nancy

the

Marne-au-Rhin Canal began. After

outside the city, the scenery once again

became quite

rural,

the soda plant just

with lovely broad

green expanses of clover. Far in the distance across one of these the flamboyant Gothic twin towers

Leucothea on

mr

fife

the

fields

loomed

of the grand Basilique of Saint Nicholas.

Marne-au-Rhin heading toward Strasbourg.

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ I

was becoming quite attached

to this business

155

of sighting Gothic towers

the morning mist rather than whistle buoys in a

Bay of Fundy

fog.

in

The

peaceful river rhythms with the wonderfully quite landscapes and locks at

One morning I noticed that a spider had spun web around our masthead where it rested on the sawhorses. Had Leucothea

decent intervals were for me. a

really forgotten the sea?

CHAPTE

I

had not.

-34

Climbing up and down mountain ranges thus far in France, oddities. filled

we had

For example,

in Leucothea during

our

at the

town of Liverdun we

traveled in a canal bridge

we

with water suspended over the Moselle River. At another point

tunneled in darkness through a mountain one-and-a-half miles while the foredeck with a flashlight,

off the clearances to Chris. side

travels

encountered some truly remarkable navigational

by

side

He

a

kind of

sat

on

bouncing the beam off the walls and calling steered

by

lining

up the masts, which

on the sawhorses, with the pinprick of

and forming

I

rested

end

light at the tunnel's

There was no other point of reference

rifle site.

in

the darkness.

But by

to

most wondrous sequence of navigational events awaited

far the

summit of the Vosges before descending

us at the

what appeared

to be the

to the Rhine. First

we came

end of the canal with a mountain spanning across

"What do we do now?" I asked. Chris was busy looking at the charts to see if we had taken a wrong turn and had entered a dead-end section of the canal. But then, when we were it

presenting an eighty-foot face of solid granite.

black door appeared smack in the middle

within three hundred

feet, a little

of the mountain wall.

When we were within fifty feet,

swung open, and

there

the black door silently

beyond was the Wizard of Oz. No, but

I

would not

have been surprised. Interpreting the open door as a signal to enter, that

was

or sixty

swung

new

totally black

feet.

shut,

circle

with slime. The walls soared to an astonishing

There were no other boats and no lockkeepers and just

of Dante's

as

I

was beginning

Inferno,

sort

visible full

visible.

we had

to think that

enormous black bubbles began

around Leucothea in gentle profusion.

some

we putted into a chamber

We

were being

of gorgeous hydraulic dream. At the top was

from below, from which

a little

man

fifty

The doors

discovered a to gurgle

lifted to the

up

top in

a tiny lockhouse, not

leaned out and waved, his face

of merriment, obviously enjoying our stunned countenances over

this

We

had

fantastic trick that

he played daily. "Bonjour. Vous

etes arrives!"

In a moveable bathtub,

we

down

slide

the inclined plane.

indeed arrived

hundred above

summit. For several hours

at the

which followed

mountain

the

feet into a valley.

To

crest.

We

we

putted through the canal,

port was a sheer drop of three

were actually more than

hundred

six

sea level.

At the end of the summit we passed into another lock

—

a gigantic

bathtub with an openable end suspended on the side of a mountain. the gates

were closed and the

signal given,

inclined plane in our

movable bathtub

Leucothea during our

two hundred-foot

tub,

up

feet

looked

at

at a gentle slide,

sliding

parade pace.

When

down

We

we

slid into the Alsatian

the

got off

walked on the sidewalks of the

our boat, waved to each other, and watched the mountain

to starboard as

in the village

away we went,

Valley below.

of Lutzelbourg, which looked more

like a

rise

We spent the night

Tyrolean

ski village

than a harbor town.

Two days later we arrived ancient city with first

its

winding our way through the

time since entering the European canal system in Holland,

a fairly strong current

off the

main canal into

Church was

in Strasbourg,

lovely canal buildings of stucco and half timber. For the

a

to starboard,

under our keel

—

the smaller river

and

tied

lawn and lovely flower

up

a hint

111,

It

was

we

could

feel

We turned right

passed the twin-spired Saint Paul's

at the side

beds.

of the Rhine.

of

at this

a

former lock where there

very spot that

we met one

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ of our all-time favorite boatie families

—

the Craig

157

Hoods from Vancouver,

Columbia.

British

Craig Trixie)

all

,

Hood and of

whom

three

his

helped us

young daughters (Tammy, Tracey, and up and get settled, were going through

tie

Europe on an enormous power boat

more than anything

else.

We were

quite delicious and prepared

that resembled a floating tennis court

invited for dinner that night,

which was

the aid of Tammy,

by Tracey, age twelve, with

age ten. Trixie was on shore collecting chestnuts from a nearby tree to to unsuspecting tourists. Craigie held forth

upholstered

were

now

wing

sell

somewhat raggedy

in a

chair and explained that the peculiar vessel

upon which we

enjoying the cocktail hour was only a means to an end. They had

spent the previous winter in Guernsey

up

on deck

so nicely that

on

someone made him an

their sailboat,

which he had

irresistible offer.

He hoped

fixed

to get

another sailboat once out of the canals. In the meantime they were quite content with their present I

mode of

travel.

"The

girls

do the cooking, and

drive the boat and keep the tricks of this canal navigation a deep dark

secret."

At midnight we

all

tiptoed off to see a water rat that Trixie, the

six-year-old, had spotted.

We

spent three days in Strasbourg,

continue the

rest

where

my

parents joined us to

of the way through France to the Mediterranean. After

would

leaving Strasbourg and entering the canalized Rhine, which to the

Doubs

we

Valley,

encountered the toughest part of our cruise so

We were on this particular segment of the Rhine for two days, and to be a real horror

take us

it

far.

proved

show: fast-moving current, many immense barges, and

the gigantic locks. Neither the lockkeepers nor the barges

boats or yachts, and

we had

several close calls.

were used

There was

a

to small

good

deal

of

screaming between us and recalcitrant or blithely ignorant lockkeepers and barges

on

who knew

nothing about the handling of small boats.

their props full blast in

insisted that

we would

our faces

as

we

tried to enter

Some

turned

crowded locks or

be perfectly safe exiting a lock simultaneously while

scrunched between two-hundred-ton barges.

During one death-defying incident we were sucked into the a barge

which refused

the lock.

We

to turn off

managed

engines to no avail.

800 hp engine while

us.

crosswise in the lock between the props of both

We yelled and screamed at them to turn off their

We had no way

to control the boat against the tremen-

dous force of the two prop washes. People on instructions to us in a

we

of

were entering

to get free suffering only a squashed stanchion, but

we were immediately swung barges on either side of

its

flanks

all

the barges

were shouting

melange of French, German, and Dutch.

No

one,

however, thought of turning off the offending props. The lockkeeper, some thirty feet above,

came out of

his

house and made a symphony of totally

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

158

incomprehensible gestures that mainly consisted of flailing alternately

hugging himself.

turned ourselves about and instructions.

Finally, in a

left

They then began

me

In an attempt to put

I

slipped and

everyone

We

then

most courteous. They promised to order Everything went smooth,

as

they decided that the barge

Somehow we managed

first.

dragged us

was

sides. It

By

We

off.

exiting barge's

like square

the time

for tying

up

tied

propwash

we

up

whom we

we

were

was

stationary as the all

dancing with elephants. it

was dark.

It

looked bad ahead

banks were concrete slopes swept by wakes. The night

a barely adequate place alongside another barge. I

entered.

tied to should exit

still

was thick with fog and the huge leviathans chugging by

tension.

when we

proceeded to fend off madly on

got out of the lock,

as all the

with

size

from them before they

to another barge that

and

our

however, was not so

exit,

to untie ourselves

struck,

to

first

they understood and were

engines off

The

My

explained to

I

safely in a boat

last

all

fine in the lock.

down, and

sat

visit the

managed

I

up to the lockhouse.

of our entering a lock

engines churning away. At

else's

the loudspeaker.

into the river.

fell

my way

announcement was "speak French." impossibilities

German over

to address us in

scramble up the bank and slogged

we

of angry self-preservation,

fit

We were furious over the schizoid

the lock.

ashore on the sloping concrete banks to

lockkeeper and negotiate,

them the

arms about and

his

was almost crying, and

We

yes, at last actually

us.

We finally found

were

all

aching with

yearning for the open

sea.

The next morning we were up and were off for another day of not so horrible

as the first

finished this portion

of our host barge's

at the first turn

calisthenics

on the canalized Rhine.

day but no great fun by a long

of the Rhine when

we

shot.

We

diesel It

was

finally

turned off at Niffer and went

through a smaller lock with a lockhouse designed by Le Corbusier. The gang at the

lockhouse was a charming bunch.

canalized

Rhine went through

parts

We had to clear customs here as the

of Germany. Luckily nobody asked

about our original entry into France. The customs fellow

man was

a Rabelaisian

who wanted to see "tous les papiers." He adored our international Hong Kong-built Cheoy Lee, savoring every figure that

registration for our

indicated the boat's measurements, date of construction, etc. "Oooh,

he would exclaim

—

as

he came upon some

fascinating

little detail

la

la!"

on the form

gourmand of documents. He reveled in the seals and the embossed stamps on the orange US Coast Guard documentation form, read aloud the a real

small print, the typed-in information, letting exotic words like "oil screw" roll off his

tongue.

He

"Votre nom, monsieur? Ah,

voila!"

he

and "fiberglass"

Leucothea was built:

looked up said,

at

Chris to ask his name.

looking on the form where

"Kowloon. Monsieur Kowloon."

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

159

CHAPTE *35 We

were

now

in the smaller canals

we

once more, and for three days

traveled through freezing-cold rains, glad only that

we

Bay

weren't in the

of Biscay, where a severe gale was reported. The towns slipped by: Mulhouse,

We

Dannemarie, Valdoie. the Jura mountains.

had been

in a section

known

Every one hundred meters there was

as the staircase

a lock, and rain

of

was

my father, my mother and I stayed

pouring down. This was tough going, especially for Chris and

who

insisted

on doing

all

dry below. In one day the

work

the

we went

at the locks

while

through thirty-one locks, but

it

got us to

Gorge de Doubs.

The

fields that

in the light.

The

next morning were quivering platinum with

had

rain

finally stopped,

early with a three-knot current sliding us

and

down

patches of white sunlight to dark shadows cast fields

climbed up

around the

restaurant at

up

tied

at gentle angles to port,

river's bends. In

I

bright

the black liquid ribbon

by

the mountains.

The

and to starboard granite

our guidebook

dew

way

the river's

from

terraced

curled

cliffs

discovered a one-star Michelin

Baume-les-Dames, a perfect stopping point for the night.

in a beautiful rural

valley town.

we were on

At the

anchorage just walking distance from the

restaurant that evening

we

We little

enjoyed one of our most

splendid meals, which included terrine des escargots and poulet Bresse in a sauce oimorilles. It

was

we

all

left,

My mother had quenelles as a first course, and they were exquisite.

served expertly in cozy but unpretentious surroundings, and

the chef

came out

to shake hands

when

and thank us for stopping by in

our boat.

Our

ironic entry in

The

my journal:

river valley twists

Why

do

Doubs Valley continued, and I found this "The Gorge de Doubs is spectacular this morning.

lazy voyage through the

I

use this sea

and bends with

image

in the

all

the curves of a

midst of

secretly yearning for the sea in this green pocket

your

hat, journal, here

comes

a labored

of a grain of sand to make the pearl? I

I

chambered

nautilus.

this pastoral perfection?

Am

I

of tranquillity? Hold onto

metaphor:

Am

I

the oyster in need

better stop writing this stuff, or

I

think

might throw up."

We

stopped

at the elegant citadel city

extraordinary charm, with narrow streets and

but elegantly dressed stone. tions

the

were just

way

right, the

It

was

a city

width of the

the cool gray shadows

would

I

of Besancpn. tall

It

was a

city

of

ancient buildings of simply

loved immediately. The propor-

streets to the

height of the buildings,

bathe one street and then around the

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

160

corner there

would be blinding white

between cupola and

where we had

where the sun had pierced

light

spire to light a tiny square.

tied up.

My

mother and

I

There was a cool green park

took a memorable walk, just the

two of us through these streets. We came upon an irresistible patisserie. The windows were enchanting, with pewter bowls filled with chocolate. Inside, the shop itself coffee, white,

was

mosaic with

like a chocolate

and brown

tile floors.

its

dark

wood

paneling and

There were small wicker baskets on one

counter displaying chocolates and wrapped candies. In one corner there was

with pineapples and oranges stuffed with

a tiny cold cabinet

ordered coffee and pastry

—

was green-tinted almond

them savoring every of

my

a

little

paste, the inside

bite,

we

and

ice

cream.

We

fig-shaped confection the outside of which

creme

patisserie.

Mother and

I

ate

talked about food and an old boyfriend

mother's from the year 1924.

From Besangon we continued on to Dole and then Saint Jean-de-Losne, where the Doubs ended and the Saone River began, which would take us south into Lyons. Saint Jean

was our

first

town

in the

began to look more Romanesque, and declared that he

felt

Burgundy country. The

architecture

in the hot brilliant sunshine Chris

"something Mediterranean"

in the air.

A

hint perhaps

of the perpetual summer we expected to be following from then Christmas and our landfall in the eastern Caribbean. sniffed another ters

bouquet

—

wine.

M

'

us

to his

later

V

.

until

however,

we were whizzing

vineyard. Nuits-Saint-Georges, France.

w w

|| I

Will

£'**•

father,

We were only thirty-five kilome-

from Beaune and Nuits-Saint-Georges. One hour

M. Moillard welcomes

I;,

in the air

My

ft !l Ii 1'

*^ v i .

-luiifS^Or-*!'.

39 day long.

all

back into Cambridge, where

berries, then

the

First, all

way out

hopped on

I

my

Harvard Square to pick up some goat-milk cheese.

It's

into the square as parking

When

house,

I

remembered

that

virtually impossible.

is

be caught in horrible

of flowers from Park.

I

a

traffic.

I

was, but

vendor walking through

had forgotten

all

senseless to take a car I

had promised that day. As

I

got back to the

about flowers

I

was driving

Red Sox game,

suddenly remembered that ye gods! there's a shall

bike to go into

had some students' papers to deliver to Wheelock

I

over in Brookline, which

I

Wilson Farm

to

and fresh-picked straw-

their excellent buttercrunch lettuce

I

managed

lines

when

I

of

too

at

and

buy two bunches

to

cars in front

was

late,

I

of Fenway

Wilson Farm

that

morning. Jackie Onassis probably doesn't have carnation bouquets on her dinner table,

think. I'm sure she has artfully artless spring bouquets of, say,

I

maybe Nicotiana and Peruvian lilies in ginger jars. I hoped that Chris remembered two red and two white and could fit the bottles in his backpack when he biked home from the studio lilies

of the Valley

in

Steuben

glass,

or

that evening.

When

I

finally got

that there will

we

be a

call

home

from

I

my

asked if anyone had called.

I

always hope

editor saying something to the effect that

much we'll double the advance this time, and please take the shuttle to New York and we'll talk about the third chapter at Elaine's. That doesn't happen to me the more money or Elaine's. My editor usually writes letters, and I do the calling. The only message for me is one from the plumber giving the name of a caulking compound good for toilet

yes,

love the

book

so

—

bases.

Chris had tried Life Caulk, a marine one, and

linoleum.

I

it left

a stain

on the

immediately run out again to get beeswax. Toilet water leaking

into the dining

room from

the

powder room during

a dinner party

is

really

tackier than carnations.

Back

again,

it

is

time to arrange the carnations, which have been

standing in a plastic pitcher full of water. In the pantry

ceramic vase

beeswax?

It's

I

was planning

five forty-five.

to use has a lethal crack.

There

isn't

time for

it

to

discover that the

I

Should

set. I

am

I

try the

desperate for

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

188

a container. Eureka!

suddenly remember the Armagnac bottle.

I

a tablespoon of brandy

left in

Quickly

it.

I

has only

It

decant the brandy into an old

Hellman's mayonnaise jar, rinse out the lovely brandy bottle, and pop in the carnations. They really look quite nice, better than carnations deserve to look. They probably feel better too. Enough of that treacly flower life. Bring on the VSOP, Very Special Odd Petals. There is a curmudgeonly group of intellects in

Boston called the

counterpart.

I

society

look

worth

at the

Odd

would most

its salt

Volumes. This could be

arrangement again. Nice but not

great.

their flower

Any

ikebana

have apoplexy over such a concoc-

likely

tion.

In an act

of extraordinary organization

be judicious to label the old Hellmann's jar

my

stick-on labels, the ones that Chris bought

my

reorganize kitchen.

do

I

—nothing letters

on

Band- Aid though. Oh!

to this little jury rig.

brandy.

it,

I

go

I

are wonderful.

out the spring,

I

me

contents.

that

had

They

The

What do

I

it.

The

first

would

were supposed

my

to

study to the I

think

in small

sole quenelles in pear-and-

mean

resting comfortably?

are a culinary triumph. After

done

it

can't find

We sailors are so clever!

to the refrigerator.

finally

I

on the Band-Aid and write

stick

leek sauce are resting comfortably.

They

decide that

I

new

order the hodgepodge that runs from

life,

find a

me)

(for

as to its

many

tries

time they were like

through-

gefilte fish.

The second time they were like fishy matzoh balls. But this time they worked. Chris said so. I had made them early that morning, and he had had one for breakfast. The first course would be pasta, "for starters" as they say; then, the quenelles

with new potatoes, followed by a curly endive salad with

balsamic vinegar dressing. For dessert, strawberries with a sabayon-type sauce

and accompanied by Pirouettes. "The original" curled Pepperidge Farm cookie. Six years

it is,

of Margaret Rudkin's

known

as the Atlantic

no more,

since

I

transported the forty-seven packages

finest across the three

thousand miles of open water

Ocean. Since then the cookies have become inextrica-

bly and forever associated with ocean sailing, even though

now

comfortably ensconced in a

The

The menu, which

this night. It

might seem

will be none of sauce.

I

I've tossed

is

I

on

a

white

plate.

How

asked a good question

them on land

shower. Dress. The table

my

head, seems right for I

reflect,

but there

of putting sauce underneath the food.

on top of

wretched!

last

islands It's

your kneecap

conjure up images of a few strands of pasta

arranged in an arabesque design sauce

I

in

ridiculous. In Italy they'd shoot off

for putting sauce underneath.

He

eat

of teensy-weensy entrees marooned on

detest this pretension

a culinary conceit that

around

a trifle studied, a little nouvelle,

this business

I

old house in Cambridge.

guests will be arriving in thirty minutes.

looks great.

of

new

I

a "simple ovoid"

my Uncle Jack. New York. What

suddenly think of

week when

I

saw him

in

of Bolognese

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

189

we knew the word pasta? He What word did we use before ambiance became so ubiquitous? And what did we say before that expression into came along, as she's into stained glass, or he's into motorcycles. He was making a list to send into "Metropolitan Diary" in the New York Times. This reminds me that I didn't did we, here in this country, call pasta before

had a few

others:

check the Times today for evidences of Jack. Between "Metropolitan Diary"

my

and the editorial pages

more

uncle gets

than a weekly

in the Times

columnist. In fact he has had to adopt a series of pseudonyms because the

page has a rule about the number of letters published yearly by one

editorial

By

person.

up

a slew

February Jack had usually exceeded

of names

—mostly anagrams of

his limit.

own

his

So he had thought

name, Jacob

S.

Hurwitz.

There was Bijou Schwartz and Curtis J. Hazboro and Jay Essache. And then there was George Dreyfuss Hurwitz for his cat named George, who was also

And

three-footed, hence the Dreyfuss.

of

my

Aunt

Mildi's

Annie Sorkin appeared

as

lending their names or

all

there

was

Emma

anagram

Faitch, an

maiden name. The grandchildren were included Angel Sorkin, and Samuel became letters

of

too.

Essel Sorkin,

names for Uncle Jack's pen, which

their

Cam-

wrote volumes on every subject under the sun from the bombing of

bodia to the Nixon pardon to a scoreboard plan for boxing events to the

importance of warning signals on

cream trucks and not just school busses

ice

added tax to vehicle registration to be used for

to the suggestion for an

pothole repair.

On November editorial page.

Uncle Jack was

14, 1976,

He had two

letters

church denying admission to a black man. the other the

new

from Bijou Schwartz.

potatoes.

I

am

I

can never eat

really counting a

One was from Jacob Hurwitz and all this as I am scrubbing

thinking about

new

potatoes or fix

them without thinking

of the Dart River and the resignation of Richard Nixon. it

from our anchorage

coup on the

printed on the subject of Jimmy Carter's

to a tiny village

on

We had rowed up

a creek off the

a paper to read

about the resignation, of which

morning on our

ship's radio.

we had

Dart and bought

heard

at

two

in the

We scoured the paper in a pub called the Church we had cut through a freshly of the new potato crop.

House, and then on our walk back to the dinghy harvested field and picked up the remnants

The

guests have arrived.

room. The carnations."

make

a

table looks lovely.

You would

We've had

drinks.

We

repair to the dining

One woman comments on

be too,

I

think, if

you were

in a

the "exuberant

brandy

mental note to warn Chris about the Hellmann's jar

after-dinner drinks. There

is

the usual lively banter as

we

when we decide

where. We're definitely not place card types. Chris has just one is

that

that

we must

mine seems

sit

to

boy-girl-boy-girl. resist. I

bottle.

We start to pull out the chairs.

pull again.

It

moves

slightly,

serve

who

rule, I

I

sits

which notice

and so does the one

ATLANTIC CIRCLE

190

to

my

Indeed

left.

all

move

the chairs seem to

look down. Every chair

is

tied to the

one next to

been deftly knotted into a near-facsimile of time

all

a

it

.

.

.

good Lord!

I

with a cord which has

bowline. Max!

We are by this

down on their hands and four-year-old son, who has entered

jiggling chairs. Chris and another guest are

knees unknotting the handiwork of our a stage that Gesell

and Piaget didn't cover

—knot

evidences of his handiwork around the house.

kitchen drawers

bound

shut

by elaborate

things had been ominously quiet

my mind

when

I

like

tying.

Two

knots.

I

I

was always fmding

doors knotted together,

should have realized that

was scrubbing the new potatoes and

was wandering down English country

with names

said

together

lanes

and through villages

Dittysham and Stokes Gabriel.

"You always provide such interesting entertainment for your guests," a woman as she got down on her knees to begin work on the chair she

was hoping to eventually

sit in.

CHAPTE k/\0 Max was this

evening

a

water baby from the

when

I

my

mother's Italian pottery

respectable knots, the very ones

Of

had realized

this

long before

found myself standing before our dining room

gay with carnations and

funny.

start. I

course, this

I

had been trying to

tie

as

I

table so

stared at these

for years.

It

was very

would have been an amusing quixotic entry

'The Charming Presence" bathes.

*****

in

any

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ hostess's

moment

a

me

notebook, but for

was more than

it

just terribly funny.

It

was

loaded with irony and symbolic freight. This was indeed the

"in-between" that Chris and

I

had sought, that

found when

we

settled in

Cambridge

monochromatic suburb, and

was not coaching

Little

I

had yearned

in particular,

I,

for so desperately in Garrucha, and that Chris and

a

191

had pursued together and

I

to raise a family.

It

was

certainly not

had not joined the La Leche League and Chris

The house was not a suburban colonial, but by a nephew of Ralph Waldo Emerson

League.

a shingle-style Victorian built in 189 1

we had not swallowed Knight, who had arrived

with definite influences from H. H. Richardson. But

by any means, and Maxwell Balboni

the anchor

almost a year to the day after our landfall in Grenada, possessed a buoyancy to

match

his dad's.

By

the time

the San Juan airport six times. three winters and

of

would

Max was six months old, he had been through

We

often fly

had

down for cruises. At first I found the notion

with an infant appalling.

sailing

Leucothea in the Caribbean for

left

It is.

But

For example, for years Chris had had

He

on board.

chips

"The

decks.

oil,

hazards

you know." He would

munch

substantially

them on our natural teak

say this in the same tone that

the

you

about what

in response to a question

you might encounter swimming

ing that being able to

would have

quirky thing about potato

refused to allow anyone to eat

might use to say "Piranha, you know,"

also fascinating.

it is

this

Now am not propos-

Amazon.

I

potato chips during a gale in mid-Atlantic

balmed

my

spirits,

but

it

embarrassed

me

to listen

while he would explain the no-potato-chip rule to guests aboard for a day

who

cruise

had unwittingly contributed potato chips to the lunch.

then usher them below to

To

be

fair,

munch

for the chips. Life, however, has

its

compensa-

and with them come some peculiar twists and exquisite paradoxes.

Remedies for rule often efficiently

little

come

hobgoblins and tiny tyrannies such

in strange packages.

Ours came

solid foods.

The

first

Martinique.

time

Max

on our

He and I had

was ever on Leucothea was flown in from

up from Saint Vincent.

to be our at finally

no-potato-chip

form of Max, who

elimination of this rule was merely a serendipi-

tous fringe benefit of his mostly charming presence

The

as the

in the

ended the no-potato-chip rule when just a baby, before he himself

was even on

sailed

of our main cabin.

in the torpid splendor

Chris usually just explained the rule and that was enough to

dampen anybody's longing tions,

He would

first

Max

New York

was only months

boat.

in Fort-de-France,

who

had

this cruise

was

meet Chris,

to

old,

and

with him aboard. Chris was beside himself with excitement

being able to introduce his

first

child to Leucothea. Into

three-month-old ear Chris would coo, "This board. Say starboard.

And

this is

is

George. George

He's our self-steering vane, and while he

sails

port, is

Max, and

nice.

the boat

I

Be good

Max's tiny this is star-

to George.

can cuddle you. This

s ATLANTIC CIRCLE

192

wench as Mommy used to call them before she knew better. Say winch, Max. Winch." We had only been on the boat a short time before it became strongly apparent that Max's diaper would have to be changed. I was below organizis

a winch,

Max. Not

a

ing things in a cabin that was ajumble with

sail

bags, and there

was not

a

square inch of clear surface area. Holding the reeking infant, Chris looked

below through

companionway. "He needs

the

"Hmmmm,"

I

without a thought of potato chips,

room down

answered, "Better do

I

up

it

there.

No

here. Here's a diaper."

There might have been a

shadow of doubt,

fleeting

hesitation in the voice as Chris said, "Well, it

a change, Kathy."

looking around for a place to change him. Then

said

was bottoms up on the teak

generous portions of baby

oil.

as

Chris meticulously

This

what

is

a soupc,on of

Okay," but the next thing

I

I

saw

mopped up Max with There has never

call progress.

been another complaint about potato chips on deck. Babies, especially

on

insignificant, the serious

also

boats,

from the

make you

sort

from the

promote mental and moral growth, tolerance and

esting forms

Max was so far

our

months old and sick. Still

I

first cruise, still

superficial; they

sensitivity,

and

which was two weeks

nursing.

He was

inter-

in length,

a robust little fellow

was very nervous about taking him on

a boat

from home and kept hoping some sound medical opinion would

"Don't do

"Wait," "He should be older." Nothing of the

it,"

forthcoming. In born,

On

of insanity.

three

and had never been

was

fact, it

my obstetrician,

Ann

Dr.

shackles,

"Dr. Barnes,"

I

was

Barnes, a veteran down-east sailor,

came

into

pressed, "Chris

Now

don't

with a

wants us

you think

all

that's

"What

if

it? I

think

it's

life

to

straps,

in the maternity

go

crazy?" I

sailing in I

looked

airplanes.

snap

ward.

March down

down

at the

—

before

cradled.

great."

he gets sick?"

"There are doctors,

Max.

harness for

me. The orange

and a half pounds of adorable humanity that

"What's crazy about

was

Max

The morning

and rope looked incredibly out of place

in the Caribbean.

sort

say,

after

just the opposite.

my room at Boston Lying-in and presented me "My kid's outgrown it," she said handing it to

six

out the significant from the

frivolous, the real

Go now.

This

is

the best time

they can crawl."

Next I broached the subject with my "Ooooh! Who are you chartering from?"

"We

have our

own

boat."

"You do? Wow!" "Yes, but don't

"What kind

is

you think she?"

that

." .

.

pediatrician. His eyes

lit

up.

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ "A Cheoy Lee "Bermuda "Yes.

ketch."

thirty?"

Now

"Bermuda they

193

don't

you think Max

Was

thirty!

."

is

.

.

she built before 'sixty-nine?

You know, when

used a lot of teak?"

still

Yes.

"Oh,

gee,

I

envy you. Where

are

"No, Martinique and Antigua,"

I

you going? Virgin

said trying to

make

Islands?" it

sound

totally

obscure and foreign.

Oh

"Fantastic!

my

God,

wife and

loved the food in Martinique."

I

"But what about Max?"

"What about him? He's a healthy kid." "You mean you think this is reasonable." "Oh, absolutely!" He pulled on

most

the

serious medical-doctor look

he could come up with. "Just keep him covered. The sun's your worst enemy,

and don't get dehydrated, because you're

So with everybody's blessing

up

plastic bassinet that folded

but

when unfolded and

the

two bunks.

Max was

On

in use

we

to the size fit

still

nursing."

began our

cruise.

He

slept in a small

of a pocketbook when not

on the main cabin

perfectly

sole

our rough passage between Martinique and Dominica,

zipped into the Snugli, a front carrying pouch, which

slept blissfully. Chris

and

had fun making mobiles for

I

old tangs, and snap shackles that his bassinet.

This

in use

between

first

cruise

hung

Max

I

wore.

He

out of

shells,

in lively dangling arrangements

above

was pretty near

ideal.

later, when Max was a supercurious and speedy sixwe took another cruise. This time we sailed from Antigua to Tortola. Our first cruise seemed like a honeymoon next to this one. At three months Max had been extremely packable in every sense of the word. On .several occasions we dined ashore in a lovely restaurant with our little bundle

Three months

month-old,

sleeping soundly in the portable bassinet. Such outings ceased six

months

boat

I

place.

old.

At

three

could wedge him

months

if

I

there had always been

needed both hands. At

six

Unable to crawl, he was nonetheless an extremely

could sneak away in a

split

was the name of

efficient creeper

who

We took to putting cushions on We could never put him in his

from

all

the floorboards in the cockpit or below.

bassinet

the

months there was no

second, usually to a precipitous edge. Mobile but

far

stable

when he was

somewhere on

game.

his

and plan on him just staying

there.

This baby Houdini could

slither

over the edge and out. Hence, the bassinet was always on the floor in the

main

cabin.

By

the time of our third cruise,

old toddler.

Max was a full-fledged fourteen-month-

He had been toddling for over a month,

and worse than toddling,

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

194

he had been climbing anything within reach since he was nine and a half

months. Just before

morning

him on

his first birthday,

walked into the dining room one

I

nonwalker on top of the

to find our

a kitchen counter,

a twenty-foot ladder.

I

and

had

a

real

few months

table.

The next day

not to mention climbing over the

We

Max

had to do a

Edmund

Sir

Hillary,

lifelines.

overhaul of the boat, which entailed netting in

of the doghouse and turning

aft

found

nightmares prior to our third cruise. The

mizzenmast would be small potatoes for our toddling

everything

I

he was chasing Chris up

later

We

into a giant playpen.

it

up along both

sides

of this

and the sections between the doghouse

sides

and where the panels ended had

already had spray panels

We

to be netted.

had to be careful to

section, but the stern area

fix the net as close to the

decks

as

Max was a squincher and could squinch himself as flat as a planaria in a petri dish and slide under anything. By this time Max had outgrown his bassinet so we needed new sleeping space for him. Chris netted in an area

possible as

in the

forward V-bunk for Max.

you could

let

down

for a door.

day when the

to this

is

peek out the porthole

"Was

that

It

seas get really

Max's favorite place

wave,

It

was more

like a cage than a crib as the

from the bunk's edges almost

netting extended

the forward

at the

one

as

to the ceiling, with a corner

sounds horrible, but

Max

rough and

scary to be topside,

it's

a

little

V-bunk, where he can

loved

sit

it.

And

for hours and

monster waves, and asking every third or fourth

big as the ones on the crossing,

Mommy?

I

bet

it

»>

was. It

was on the third

we were a

memorable encounter.

was I

still

cruise

however, when

Max was

still

a toddler

and

we

had

anchored off the Bitter End on the island of Tortola, that I

had just finished feeding

of mango

a splattering

rowed

closer,

I

deck and there

and mashed potato over everything

noticed a white-haired gentleman and a

dingy. As they

Max on

woman rowing

toward us

asked a couple of sailing

Max

questions and just

enthusiastically. "There's a

Dr. Spock's smile froze. Chris held cian a better look at "I can see

as

Mary Morgan,

Chris was issuing an invitation

presented his potato splattered face over the

"Ben!" cried Mary Morgan

baby on

lifelines.

that boat!"

Max up to give the distinguished pediatri-

what we considered

from here," the doctor

the other direction, "that

in their

soon realized that the gentleman was none

other than Dr. Benjamin Spock. After Dr. Spock and his wife,

for cocktails,

when

you have an

a magnificent specimen.

said,

while starting to

row madly

intelligent, calm, joyful

baby!"

in

He

continued to exclaim while feverishly rowing toward the horizon, "Maybe drinks another time. Lovely child!" he yelled as he raced into the distance. I tell

has

this story

damn good

with utmost respect for Doctor Spock.

sense.

What

could be more boring and

It

less

shows the man relaxing than

TLANTIC CIRCLE

A

drinks on board a small boat with a toddler and

two

much

a

talk

There

that

no denying

is

I

I

ing off

Island

says

But

Passage. There are

the roll but

The

A

teak.

I

with

and never once

some

special things

can remember anchor-

living

on

it.

We

slot in the rocks offered

no holding ground

roll

a breeze

there are

and there

cruise

Max was just six months old. Located Dog Island is an isolated jump-off for the

no people

found good holding ground off the island.

it's

difficult,

one night when

western side for an anchorage.

as

the

good protection

beach under the southwest point of

a sand

It

had to scour the

bottom was rocky. Finally we

was bad however, and we had

and angle our boat into the waves.

was

to put out

a steep-to shore, so

two anchors

we were

in

with the beach just a short swim away, a beautiful beach with sand

tight

blown from

the eastern side

The water was

cornices.

the reef fish

of the

place.

A

It

all

seemed

things wild and beautiful.

if the

sublime bombing range for fighter

and

Mom

A place where cruising boats

distinctly inhospitable to

remains lonely, untouched, but

Virgin Gorda,

overhanging

we had ever seen, and larger than any others we had seen in the the island for nesting. Dog Island, a singular

were three times

haven for

rarely go.

island drifting into high

startlingly clear, the clearest

Caribbean. Gulls and terns used

Max

who

a liar.

is

from slipping on mangoes mashed on

off the western end of Anguilla,

from

pediatrician than

two-week

to have said, after a

needed a vacation. Anyone

Dog

Anegada

with a baby was

that sailing

was known

longs for his and her child-free days too, aside

renowned

who would

sailing.

were times when

Max,

baby with

rather talk about their darling

about

eager parents

195

navy has

human its

beings.

way,

jets.

afloat at the baths.

B.W.L

%

S>

«f

Dog

will

it

mn

Island

become

a

Max

The

air

on board

quitoes strafed us. a lather

of sweaty

had been

in

I

that night

looked

ringlets

down

and mosquito

I

bites.

I

thought of

thought of those navy fellows

paranoia had decided that because it

Dog Island was hot and thick. MosMax sleeping peacefully. His head was

on at

all

the places

we

our boat that were so much more welcoming to humans, so much

more comfortable.

this island

should be used for target practice.

but

on lookout.

this is the

one of

all

of them

was so

Max would

that

I

who

in

isolated

some

peculiar

and inhospitable

never remember

have kept tucked away in

this place,

my mind

now, before he goes to sleep, for a bedtime story I sometimes him about the lonely island we sailed to when he was a baby, a place not made for humans but where the wind blew the sand into castles and the angelfish were as big as pancakes and the water so clear you could see a clown for him, and tell

fish

wink.

CHAPTE R/J.I I

usually

remember dinner

but the one that

memory party.

as the

I

one where

The woman who

ment attended

parties in terms

of the people and the food,

gave that spring night will always be inscribed in

Max

tied together all the chairs

—

my

the knot-tying

referred to our providing such interesting entertain-

a party the previous year during

which Chris had invited the

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ guests to help

him move

He wanted

basement.

under cover to begin stripping

it

summer

ing in preparation for

from doing

ited people

their

moving party occurred For

this

I

had had dreams of

idea of an appropriate celebration

Book

Children's

for revarnish-

The boatyard had a rule that prohibown mast work on the premises. This mastcruising.

was writing more

I

down

it

car into the

the same year as our tenth anniversary.

anniversary

days or so in March.

from the top of our

the mainmast

197

Fair, the

was

a trip to

crowning event

quick

little trip,

ten

books these days, and

my

Italy, a

children's

Bologna

to the International

world of

in the

children's books.

This coupled with the fact that Bologna was the ancestral mother's family, the Balbonis, seemed to

make

home of

Chris's

the perfect place for the

it

ten-year anniversary.

But

starting in early February, there

were ominous rumblings

A mysterious box loaded with rusty unopened canned

basement of our house.

goods appeared one evening near the washing machine. sweat

when

I

in the

realized the origins

woke up

I

of these rusty veterans

in a cold

—La Cote

Bilge!

These particular beauties were remnants of our second trans-Atlantic crossing

of four years ago. Like a specter they had come back to haunt me.

The next morning Chris proudly announced all

nervous. Chris had never been

how

known

to part with a can

rusty and battered. If the can had bulge in

it,

adieu, but generally he clung to old cans like gold.

alert to

any sudden

As

etc.

played Russian roulette with canned food

up

to

something worse.

quantities

ten-year

I

I

it

a wistful

wouldn't touch

eyes while

I

would

I

was concerned, Chris for bullets.

in Chris's

Bad because

it

So

this

was

chronology of pre-

meant he was working

sensed that he was getting into bargaining position.

con

tagliatelle

far as

—botulism

bad sign that these neonatal cans

served foods were being tossed out.

Dreams of

of food no matter

that

my

to put

even more

dilation of pupils, conflagration of rashes, construction

of the throat, gagging, thrombosis,

definitely a

me

he would bid

Cans

with a ten-foot pole, Chris would gobble up before sit

was going

that he

of those old cans out for the garbage collection. This made

fegatini, linguine

Bolognese washed

down with

of Gavi San Pietro were fading. There were murmurings about

refit,

and

I

knew

in

my

heart of hearts that Chris

was

a

talking about

the boat and not the marriage.

We

had not had Leucothea

summer before was

in the

the one during

water for almost two years

as the

which Chris had made the film on the

Observer Single-handed Race, American Challenge. This had taken us back

and forth across the Atlantic in

weekend

for sailing.

airplanes, not boats,

Now, however,

and had not

the trips to Manchester Marine

left a

were

beginning to occur with startling regularity, and the smell of Teak Bright in Chris's clothes cut

Parma.

through

my own

pungent reveries of prosciutto

di

s ATLANTIC CIRCLE

ip8

Without becoming too last

my

him

a

book.

I

can remember I

was

know

of the

like a horizontal version

"Holy

squealed

shit,"

so lively and quick

I

the

Max

resting

it,

was

must be

it

not a miniature

framework

a

the wheel

moment

in a

on

Tower. "Holy

Eiffel

Max. And behind

knew

street,

AMC Hornet with Leucothea

whats but our

thirty-two feet of

all

when

on the couch with

sitting

wondering eyes should appear coming up our

mainmast,

too well

all

turned the page and looked out the window, and what

with eight tiny you

sleigh 's

I

of my Bolognese dreams vanished.

reading to

elegiac,

shit,"

that I

looked

whispered.

that little old driver

that singular nitwit

Chris.

My of

last Italian

tortellini in the

dream image was

through the Looking Glass with

speculations put forth

by

a

That night

we had

entertainment of

moving

is

of me

some eminent

bomba moca with

be a voluptuous

that

sitting

over a simple bowl

Cafe Diana discussing the new Czech version of Alice

few

a

editor.

For dessert there would concerning the

tasteful inquiries

well-known scholar

that Beatrix Potter

was gay.

our dinner party, the one with the interesting the mast into the basement through the garage.

It

who have never met. All our guests however So we just sweated a lot before dinner pasta

a great icebreaker for guests

were old and good

friends.

—

primavera.

Chris had maneuvered not only the mast into the basement but himself into a full bargaining stance. Negotiations

was the one thousand

there

home instead of keeping

it

were about to open. For

dollars that Chris

at the

starters

had saved by bringing the mast

boatyard where the people there would have

done the work. After three years

in the blistering

Caribbean sun,

it

needed

—

work at least seven coats of varnish, I was told. The number of coats and the number of dollars saved was impressive. It would cover a lot of airfare, but I knew that this was not why Chris was telling me this. Roughly the argument went as follows: With the amount of money we saved we could take a ten-day cruise in the Nantucket-Martha's Vineyard area, where

never really sailed before, and a baby-sitter to

never

for

left

move

we

could do

it

without Max.

into our house and take care

more than

forty-eight hours, and

of the thousand dollars on fresh food

we

of Max,

We

we had

could hire

whom we

had

could spend the balance

like beautiful

beef tenderloin, fresh

swordfish, striped bass (no canned goods allowed, he promised) and fine restaurants like Straight It

with

was

Max

a in

Wharf on

compelling argument.

Nantucket. I

don't

know what

continent was unthinkable, while the notion of leaving

we were

in

appealing.

I

had planned to do

Bologna, but the idea of leaving him behind on another

him

in

Boston while

Martha's Vineyard or thereabouts was not only thinkable but

The

^,,^**Mmtei

tenth anniversary j

cruise begins.

"Alone together for the

"Just think," Chris reasoned.

first

time in three

and a half years. Ten days of eating beautiful dinners and finishing sentences.

No

Star

Wars

cassettes blasting in

Very compelling indeed. I

had recently read

more of

essential than

tortellini It

was

in an Italian

a clear bright June

Boston. Finally

ears."

cookbook

it. I

for

thought about a quotation

some

sun for a Saturday and love for a

lost in the mists

is

our

thought about

I

we were

off.

reason. "Tortellini

woman. But

of time."

morning when we slipped

The

the

mooring

left

the pier

on the other

side

crossing. Adrianne, the baby-sitter,

to us.

back,

of Boston harbor for our and

Max

Max suddenly looked terribly small as we had rowed toward Leucothea,

instructions to

the guardrails

There was Jets

were on the

pier

first

when we Atlantic

waving madly

and vulnerable to me. Waving I

shouted a constant stream of

Adrianne concerning the care and feeding of our

My last instructions were to Max himself. mind

in East

preparations involving child care, driving

groups, etc. had seemed as Byzantine as those of seven years before

had

is

the origin

"Don't

fall

off the

boy.

little

swan boats and

on top of the Hancock Building."

a ghost

of

a breeze.

I

conked out under the hot June

from Logan roared overhead. Ten days with nothing

sun.

to do! Lovely! This

anniversary cruise was not only going to be relaxing but a very cornball, nostalgic affair.

So our

first

stop

would be

Scituate,

where Chris and

I

had

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

200

when we were

taken refuge ten years earlier in a drenching rain Leucothea up from Falmouth

on our way

to

Deer

Isle

bringing

We

for our wedding.

had discovered a wonderful seafood restaurant called the Satuit Lounge, right

on the harbor, and had been soon died, and

we were going Scituate

we were

salivating to return to

ever since.

it

forced to motor the rest of the

way

The wind

to Scituate if

make it in time for dinner. seemed more built-up than I had remembered. The number of

package liquor

to

stores

with

ersatz colonial fronts

had increased considerably.

There was an intriguing antique shop on the pier with old hardware and interesting butter molds.

going

was

The town, however, seemed

on

just

the brink of

New England cutesy but luckily was not there yet. Part of its salvation

We

a genuine fish pier, thriving and with salty-looking trawlers tied up.

walked up the main bought

fresh

and found an excellent

street

fish

market where

crabmeat for the next day's lunch. But tonight

it

was the

we

Satuit

Lounge. It

The in

had been spruced up quite a

Satuit

Perhaps evolved

bit.

jukeboxed booths to a brick wharf-style building.

formica, but process.

more

is

the word.

had gone from a simple clapboard structure with formica

The

had been woodified through some

it

result

was a peculiar surface

Inside there sort

tables

was

still

of photographic

that appeared to be

wood

photo-

graphed to look like formica. The jukeboxes were gone. Wall-to-wall carpeting had been installed.

steamy

had

it

all

on the linoleum

our foul-weather gear.

in

we

had actually fogged

Where

place mats the

Lounge," and

we

seemed ten years ago when

counter then while

pie cases.

remembered somewhat wistfully how messy and

I

in

waited for a

my

table,

I

had stood there dripping

had been standing near the

and the

glass display case for pies

presence. There were, needless to say,

before there had been only one room,

management encouraged

God

spare us, but

we were

now on

us to visit "our also

no more

our paper

new Ballyhoo

urged to inquire about their

"function rooms." This particular piece of nomenclature for space offered for celebratory occasions

I

have always found especially unsettling.

What

could

be more unfestive than a function room? Starker than a boiler room, more

monotonous than an assembly

line, the

words function room simply do not

lend themselves to celebratory thoughts.

It

is

hard to imagine any party

occurring in one except perhaps the Kapos annual Christmas fete

at

Ausch-

witz.

All these changes at the Satuit

were soon

allayed.

Where

it

really

made

us a bit nervous.

However our

fears

counted things remained unchanged, and

we were soon diving into plate loads of the best fried clams and scallops that we have found anywhere on the Massachusetts coast. A veritable Merlin must have presided over the kitchen doing the

batter,

which was

the lightest

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ The clams were

imaginable.

the sweetest, the scallops most tender.

for our waitress. Initially she appeared quite surly, and

summer

be on a

waitresses.

But

sabbatical

and, most important, it

from Durgin Park, which

she actually softened

up quite

is

notorious for

tartar sauce.

as

long

as

its

crusty

That

is

where

They can be mean

counts with waitresses in deep-fried seafood places.

anything and totally incompetent, but

so

brought the food

a bit as she

was very generous with the

Not

she must

felt for sure

I

201

as

they are willing to raid the

and come up with something more than those paper you know they are on your side. At four-thirty the next morning we were happy to find our bow swinging to the northwest on the mooring. We slipped out of Scituate tartar sauce source

thimbles of

Harbor

it,

at five

am.

It

seemed odd

time" and clocking one's

life to

now

day according to wind and

to be plotting a

Cape Cod Canal with

of "child

after three-and-a-half years

midnight feedings or nursery school schedules tides,

the following tide if we

were

but to

we

had to reach the

go through.

We sailed

out of the harbor with the trawler Yankee Rose and were flanked by her

The sun came up, gilding the water, and twinges of missing dear old Max, to be able to fumble around

rust-streaked sister ship, Orca.

although

I

felt

in blessed silence

wind was I

have never been a morning person.

carefully

run.

I

with only occasional words exchanged about mizzens and

nice.

—

the

way women

find the organization

children overwhelming.

and bleat

at

my

herself into a girdle.

So

used to put on

terrible at

child.

mornings. this

silk

slip into a

day slowly,

stockings so they wouldn't

and efficiency needed to get a day going with

am

husband and

call these silk-stocking

as

I

have to

I

I

it. I

burn

It is

lurch.

toast

more

and

I

stumble.

spill

I

stub

No

my

toes

one could

like a fat lady trying to stuff

morning aboard Leucothea

we skimmed down Mass Bay

milk.

felt especially

with the sun barely above the boom.

good It

did

not remain silent for long however, as Chris began fiddling with the blasted radio. In

on

my

this run;

dream morning

it

was supposed

to be me, Chris, and the

wind

not me, Chris, the Boston marine operator, and a lot of cackling

between the Heidi Rose and the Lorraine

Cecelia.

The wind lightened and we motored some, but just before the canal we were wing and wing. A small boat loaded with jolly beer-drinking fellows came up beside us and wanted to know if Leucothea was the name of a fraternity house. This would have undoubtedly been enough to make the "runner on the white sea foam" turn puce. Pray that those fellows don't run afoul in their boat. Fat chance they

would

receive a scarf

from the

sea

mew

to gird their beer bellies.

We were in the canal a good hour before the tide changed and stopped at

Onset to buy some fresh

fish at

Besse and Sons Fish Market, which had

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

202

beautiful swordfish at a very

and clam

rian houses

good

stands. It

price.

Onset

itself

a

melange of Victo-

its

buildings abound-

is

was an appealing town,

ing with cupolas and pergolas. There were saltbox houses with oodles of rickrack trim. There folks to

and look

sit

good of

town

a

and watch the

was

For some reason

that provides benches for

Such benches with

sea.

bay with benches for older

a large green facing the

at the sea.

cannot think anything but

I

older people to

its

vistas are part

of my

and think

sit

criteria for rating

towns. There was a nice curve of sand beach and a town pier in good repair.

The town did not seem villages go,

it

Cape Cod

to be caught in the usual

As Cape

frenzy.

had a blessedly low cutesy-poo quotient. There were no

shoppes specializing in festive

felt toilet

gifte

paper-roll covers or sets of artichoke-

shaped soup bowls. There was a slush stand, a couple of drugstores, a saltwater

candy shop but no candle shop.

From Onset we had The wind first

shifted to southerly just as

attempted to avoid the crowd of boats already

Island

by going

into the bight

rocks and shoals, so to see

why

we

Cape Ann,

before.

It

at

anchor behind Bull

was, however, studded with

beat a quick retreat and joined the crowd.

of water. In many ways

from years

by Goat's Neck.

Hadley's was so popular.

seen south of

I

down Buzzards Bay under twin jibs. we closed on Hadley's Harbor. We at

a lovely run

it

One of the most

had many deep

it

called such long

loved and had always imagined was a leftover from

was easy

perfect harbors

cuts, bays,

we

had

and spreading fingers

was reminiscent of our English

The English had

It

river anchorages

narrow bays

bags, a term

Norman times and short

for baguettes, those long loaves of French bread. In any case, the islands

natural state

were

by the Forbes family.

I

money could

beautiful, all

good old China

trade

—Whampoa

Naushon. The only flaw

on

a lovely

time, and

to

stretch a long

Concordia anchored next to

we went below

capers accompanied

by

owned and

could not help but

reflect

way over

However,

it

that

time and distance

in the harbor scene us.

preserved in a

upon how

was

a loud lady

was soon dinner-

for delicious swordfish pan-fried with lemons and

a bottle

of Verdicchio.

I

read Chris a few para-

graphs from T. H. White's The Once and Future King. Chris liked the description

of the old pike

—

the despot of the

moat "sad and

full

of grief

in

the eye."

That evening

own way.

in Hadley's

Harbor was

sailing

I

was hard for me

its

was ready to

could be truly a civilized

We had come a long way from Garrucha. As Chris and

on deck sipping our Grand it

so civilized, so elegant in

Yes, after three and a half years of parenthood,

admit that under certain circumstances experience.

all

I

sat later

Marnier and talking about Merlin or something,

to imagine that anything could exceed this experience

except perhaps dinner with Andre Malraux at the Ritz Carleton. But then

I

would be

so nervous. All

presumably sleeping

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

203

was calm now. The loud-voiced lady was

silent,

in the sea-kindly hull at

anchor next to

ocean was far away, ocean crossings a thing of the

past,

The open

us.

baby asleep

in

Cambridge.

CHAPTE RJ-Z was up

I

way just

at five-fifteen the

went back

By

I

thought of how

to bed, something

experiences as

nine

I

looked out the companion-

many

Atlantic

dawns

could have never done on

my

was always

it

I

dawn, pink-and-orange, tinging the swath of sky between

to see the

Bull and Naushon. I

next morning.

am we were under way again, this time Woods Hole we stopped in to

a

mutual friend

in

illustrator.

Cambridge urged me

who

Dick Campbell,

book

overlooking the pond.

seen.

Then

I

the tiny

Woods

heading for visit

Molly Bang,

a

had never met Molly before, but

to visit her.

Molly and her husband,

runs a boatyard, live in an erect

From

had

watch.

Hole. At Eel Pond in

distinguished children's

I

my previous dawn

window on

little

stone house

the top floor,

Molly looks

out on a small piece of the world, a round corner of the ocean trapped inland,

and with

wedge of a view

this

—phantasmagorical everyday

streets

stories

and houses and

and bogeymen. From

young

folktales for

but

it

she paints and draws the

about

was within

this tiny

most incredible scenes

and triumphs of the human

fears

lives that

spirit,

suddenly become laced with goblins

room Molly

translates Japanese

and Chinese

children. She has traveled far, to Japan, to India, to Africa,

this tiny interior space that she has created

and realized her

lifework.

We window a

drank at

tea,

looked

some lovely

rugged channel

at

There was a

boats.

cutter.

her extraordinary books, and gazed out the

green schooner and

classic little

She and Chris were talking boats.

I

was

lost in

Molly's award-winning book The Grey Lady and the Strawberry Snatcher.

"Now whom

there's

she

an

was

artist!"

Molly

referring.

said emphatically.

Her cool

I

looked up wondering to

eyes were leveled

on

the Herreschoff 28

framed in the lower right-hand pane of the tiny window. The oddness of the I

moment

struck me.

was caught

cruise so far

a gear failure. to happen.

It

bent. Past and present briefly intersected, and

in the cross reflections

another through a tiny

Our

Time

No did.

window on

of

this salt

a piece

pond

as

one

artist

perceived

of the world.

had been high-style, an unalloyed joy. Not

embarrassing docking scenes.

a

tiff.

Not

We were ripe for something

We ran aground in Tashmoo Pond on Martha's Vineyard.

« ATLANTIC CIRCLE

204

The

cruising guide advised us to

fact

we

edition.

was a

the can and steer clear of the nun. In

should have hugged the nun, trusted our eyes, and not placed blind

The pond had obviously

faith in the cruising guide.

stern

hug

silted

up

since the last

We were left fairly high and dry on a nice sand bank. Luckily there

rising tide,

and Chris put out two anchors, one abeam to swing the

toward deeper water and one astern to pull us out of the of the

to cajole our keel out

Much

shoals.

swung out on the main boom mud. I am pleased to report that

winching and flinching occurred.

I

in an effort

my

weight

could not budge our four thousand pounds of lead from the squishy bottom

of Tashmoo pond.

we

dash of diesel,

We

with the

Finally,

got

rising tide,

some

fast

winching, and a

off.

continued up the pond and anchored near the town

lovely quiet anchorage.

pier. It

was

a

No town was within sight, only a few summer homes

and fewer boats on moorings. Vineyard Haven was a pleasant mile's walk away.

We spent an hour browsing in an excellent bookshop.

were somewhat faring .

.

.

Yankee

predictable. Chris purchased

rebels,

The

Privateer,

Our

selections

"a tale of sea-

driven by Pride and Patriotism, Profit and Plunder.

Gentlemen and Scoundrels, Merchants and Mercenaries, Cunning and

Courageous

sailing turbulent seas."

bought the Bluefish Cookbook and found

I

an intriguing variation on poached bluefish in which you wrap the foil

and pop

it

fish in

into the dishwasher (without soap) for one complete cycle.

Alas the limitations of boat

life.

No

dishwasher.

I

continued to read on in

hopes of finding a recipe particularly suited for a gimballed alcohol stove.

That evening on Tashmoo Pond the sky clouded up as a sheep's

back. Just before dinner as

on deck, the

air

overhead was suddenly

beats could be heard.

We

astir.

caught our breath

A

soft

and woolly

drinking a glass of sherry

wonderful pattern of wing-

as

we

looked out and saw a

of Canadian geese flying northwest. The leader pulled out ahead

swagged

line

and

course straight over the

set a

we were

pond entrance where we had been aground

earlier.

In an excess of nostalgia Chris and

Leucothea that at

we had enjoyed

anchor in Winter Harbor, Maine.

Tashmoo, enjoyed tournedos and

shallots,

instant hash

My

on our down-east honeymoon

companion and

I,

this

that

had held up admirably from our

Macon Chateau de Berze from our

meander through the French

evening on

chasseurs, cherry tomatoes sauted in tarragon

browns

'seventy-four crossing, and a

recreated that night a dinner aboard

I

ten years before

'seventy-six

canals.

The next day we dropped in at Dick and Pat Newick's ship-in-thewoods house for showers. Dick, multihull designer of Phil Weld's Moxie and other illustrious sea birds, was on the phone in the wake of Phil Stegall's capsize in the Two-star race

from Plymouth, England. Surprisingly,

Stegall

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~

205

the

Newick trimaran in ten-foot seas with a triple reef in main and small jib. Newick was trying to figure out what went wrong.

and

Pat's bed.

had overturned

in his

Dick works

no bigger than

in an area

a large closet that

not the sea but dense woods. Elegant drawings cover the appear sculptural

imagine

—

is

behind he

A horizontal rectangular window over his drafting table frames as

The drawings

table.

they combine the most subtle and natural forms one can

the curve of a sea gull's wing, a shark's

That afternoon he took

fin.

out the drawings for the prototype of Stegall's boat and those for

He

boat that was under construction. see

how

they could be improved upon so the boat

pushed sideways by big

He

of designing a self-righting trimaran. of such a creature was then being a

swim

when

tripped

in recent years

Birch's

A

Two-Star.

told us a twenty-six-foot version

built. "If

the

it flips,

crew

just goes for

when they come back it's right side up." Damian McLaughlin, the Cape boatbuilder of

phone

a

call,

Olympus Photo and proa had

others.

There was more

Newick had done

lost its rig.

talk

about the

the original design, but

the owner, contrary to Dick's advice, had radically changed the rigging.

had removed

removed

name from

his

the design, and

now

it

Dick

appeared that a gale had

the mast.

Listening to

Newick can be

ballast: "It's a dirty

word."

ten spinnakers, and they'll

equipment.

much

that

is

for fifteen minutes and

There was

Mike

would not be

A focus of Newick's work

seas.

own

his

studied the shape of the outer hulls to

He

went down

fifty-foot trimaran. Inside, the

On

French

blow them

takes a spinnaker

they cost and had to

We

infinitely entertaining

main

It

hull,

down

work

for

to the shed

racers: all

"They're just

out. Phil

before

it

On

and enlightening.

Weld

blows out.

kids.

Give 'em

doesn't bash

up

He knows how

it."

where Newick was building

would include many of

his

new

own

his

experimental ideas.

almost complete at that time, gave the appearance of

a miniature cathedral.

The laminated

Gothic confluence

the keel.

at

of exposed cedar joined

in a

the floating cathedral there

was

strips

Within

planned a small "apse" for Pat, a private place of her

own where

she could

occasionally escape boat talk.

he

It

becomes obvious rather quickly

a

form giver

is

giver.

He

in the

after studying

Newick's designs

same way that Frank Lloyd Wright was

form

has the courage to experiment, and he combines beauty and speed

in an unparalleled

way. Yet he

is

the

first

to speak

up on what he

greed for speed and the high price that can be extracted from

too young, too impulsive

on

a

that

when

calls the

those

who

are

they foolishly tinker with wind and weather

these light seabirds.

We

visited

Edgartown, which

I

adored but Chris

felt

was

a saltbox

version of Palm Beach. In between the pate-to-go shops and the Lilly

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

206

Pulitzer-type stores, there

was

a lot in the

way of beautiful

rose-thick lanes

and lavish Victoriana that was delightful.

The summer matron who picked us up in her sputtering "island car" Edgartown gave the best description ever of Oak Bluffs. "You

just outside

must It

Oak

see

was

work

Bluffs," she said. "It's all gingerbready, Gothicky-wothicky.

and plain living." This

built as a place for high thinking

hard to improve upon. Even quoting

is

Imagine the pithy

North Shore

trill

accent,

which

where between

by Oak

not Harvard, nor what

is

Kennedy. In

Pride's Crossing

heard, and

of word it

justice.

that unmistakable

sometimes thought

is

accent comes

fact, this

and Gloucester. In any

commentary we had ever

bit

verbatim cannot do

of those words delivered with

to be Harvard, but actually

piece of travel

it

case, it

from somewas the

best

we were not disappointed

Bluffs.

One of

the earliest planned communities in America,

composed of

is

swooped

is

referred to as the

campground. In the middle of the

and presumably help the thoughts of the

heavenward. Bird song

and swallows

filled the tabernacle as gulls

and out through the soaring loops and

in

is

the tabernacle, a magnificent open-air structure. Ribbon-thin

cast-iron trusses support the roof faithful fly

Bluffs

tiny "gingerbready" houses painted ice cream colors. These

houses encircle what

campground

Oak

arcs.

There was

a sense

of freedom to come and go to a meeting or whatever event might be held there.

The combination of Aristotle with gingerbread was odd but satisfying. At the campground office an elderly woman in a crisp summer dress

me

explained to

rule

was the requirement of church

affiliation

a fervent belief in loving thy neighbor. This

was

where houses were often no more than three

feet apart. In her

"One

throw out the rotten

and

community

essential in a

own

words,

summer." And the campground reserved the

rotten apple can spoil a

right to

camp-

the rules and procedures of ownership within the

ground complex. The main

apples.

As

far as

I

could understand, the houses

were privately owned but the ground upon which they stood belonged the

campground I

was

affiliations"

"Oh!

It's

(We're not picky about I

was leaving the

that).

synagogues counted I

as

"church

did not inquire about mosques

office, the

going to be a clear day," she

lady walked

said

me

to the door.

with sudden delight, and

me in the same careful way she had explained the rules of campground how indeed it would be a lovely day as "the fairies had

proceeded to the

association.

also given to understand that

and ashrams. As

to

tell

spread their linen." Couldn't

I

see the

dewy webs on

the grass? This

was

a

sign of clearing.

We left Tashmoo Pond on the flood in the early afternoon close: hauled and bound for Cuttyhunk. The wind was brisk from the southwest, and there

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ was

a

knot and a half of current to boost

from the weather

We churned by Naushon, which sleeping dragon. We dipped into

us.

of

side has the profile

207

a

Quick's Hole between Naushwena and Pasque, then aimed for Cuttyhunk. In the harbor

Cuttyhunk has

with several sandy

There are no afternoon.

we were

it,

we

soon discovered

The growth was low and

island, plants

and other living things

sparse.

in a

it

has a

geese.

High contoured land

we walked

over the island that

Things seemed to cling to the

kind of plucky defiance to Cutty-

hunk's bold south exposure to open ocean.

rugged rocks, but instead

feel.

appears very windswept.

sea, it

as

of Canadian

flotillas

an out-island

running into the

spits

tall trees,

by small

greeted

a different sense to

The

smooth worn

island

is

not craggy with

texture. Buffed like a piece

of driftwood that has floated for a long, long time, the island seems to have the

motion of wind and

our

friends, the Kootzes,

upon

sea inscribed

it.

We walked to Allen House, one of the two island guesthouses, to meet who

time were part owners of the establish-

at that

ment. Enna Kootz was busy deturquoising

the rooms. She and her

all

husband, Leon, had never worked so hard since becoming proprietors. For

many summers a

they had sailed their

home. Suddenly,

Leon and Enna, a decidedly

why

realized

I

Danish sense to

In the height boats, but that

Swan

they had

come

of the summer, the harbor of Cuttyhunk

were only a few dim masthead

from the

House with

Cuttyhunk. The

to

island has

geography.

its

we rowed

mid-June evening when

shrouded pilings

48 in Denmark, where they kept

that evening over a delicious dinner at Allen

lights

fish pier

swaying

is

jammed with

back in thick fog there

in the night,

and the fog-

stood like island druids, their shapes

melting in and out of the milky sky. Several times during that night

up to look out. The fog had grown Leucothea

and

wrapped

in her teak

cocoon

thicker, but in that

it felt

I

got

quite cozy aboard

vaporous world between water

air.

By

the next

morning

it

had cleared some, and

quite hazy though. Pieces of island seemed to

we

left early. It

come and go

as

we

Nantucket. Under Martha's Vineyard the fog thinned. There was

was

still

sailed for

little

wind,

but the incredible three-knot current in

the Vineyard Sound pushed us to a

four or five-knot speed over the ground.

Twenty

wind backed

to westerly and cranked

up

miles out of Nantucket the

to fifteen knots.

We

had a

terrific

sail.

Arriving in Nantucket about four that afternoon,

our good friend

Meg De

pastry chef at Straight

Give's food emporium, Provisions.

Wharf

restaurant,

miniature version of the infamous

York's

S0H0

section.

The

we went

store

is

Dean

&

directly to

Meg,

also the

had recently opened a kind of Deluca's gourmet deli in

chock-full of all

sorts

New

of goodies: chocolate

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

208

goose liver pate,

truffles,

extraordinary array of sandwiches sides

over

all this

made on homemade

"I

woke up

down

to stay in bed and not run

—

the

little

some

to the shop and

on board for

us later

perfect Stilton and

food

pre-

middle of the night," she

in the

recounted breathlessly, "and thought that sandwich up.

Meg joined

Meg

bread.

an unbeatable combination that she has concocted

line,

smoked salmon.

the Brie and

all

with a kind of zany English charm and gadzooks enthusi-

asm. In the sandwich is

exotic salads to go, and the most

terrific cheeses,

pate.

The

drinks. She

It

was

make

it!"

came bearing

on board Leucothea was

talk

could do

all I

a

hunk of

relentlessly

who

French couple tucked away someplace south of Boston

produce the exquisite pates for Provisions; the new shop technique but low on

who

style,

Meringuing the wrong thing

high on

girl,

of all things "meringued" a lemon-curd

in the

world of haute

cuisine

tart.

a kind

is

of

culinary shanghaing for true taste and under certain circumstances could be

good

considered,

"Under

my

We

Meg

grief, tacky. "She'll learn. She'll learn,"

splendid tutelage,

were told

we had

that

bubbled on.

she'll learn."

tasted

nothing yet until

we

had

tried the

ginger cheesecake that the shop was making, but also very popular the

summer

smoked

fish

decided that

day

among

folk was a chocolate-chip cheesecake. Quiches, cheeses, and

were big

sellers to sailors for

we would have a sailing picnic

we bought

We

quick elegant meals.

soon

But before the next

the next day.

three lobsters at the fish market and adjourned to Meg's tiny

cottage for dinner.

was

It

We

front.

elaborate

a neat little

sat at a

Nantucket house with a prim row of petunias out

small polished

mahogany

Royal Derby Crown china

culated ruggedness of the

new country look

the gilt and roses of the china

was

framed window by the table made

a

on the wood. After was

that

welcome perfect.

it all

with Meg's mother's

table set

directly

the cal-

so popular that year,

A

relief.

tiny Quaker-gray

We ate the lobster and talked

into the night.

Actually

way at

that

one

we

we had two

picnics provided

could consume

sitting.

For the

first

the entrance to Nantucket

all

by

the food that

picnic

we

Provisions, for there

Meg

sailed to a

Harbor where we flew

had packed

windswept kites

and

in

our basket

spit

ate

was no

of land

Brie sandwiches and madeleines and pate and Granny Smith apples.

second picnic was a biking expedition to Sisco beach.

We

at

salmon-and-

The

biked against a

southwest wind through swirling fog to the beach, which was almost empty

of people. I

We

made our camp, just

the

spread our grass mats and the food

smoked

two of

—

us, in a

dune pocket where

mint-and-cucumber yogurt

trout, fruit, chocolate caramel shortcake.

As we

doubt, the fog-spun world around us seemed reduced.

It

ate,

was

salad,

getting fat as if

no

Chris and

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ I

were

in a

Zen

watercolor.

The

horizon, not one hundred feet away, was

where sand met water. There was no longer

a thin line

209

We

distance.

not see the waves, only hear their rhythmic crush on the beach. In

could

reduced

this

world one would notice with new wonder the way a clump of dune

grass

bent with the wind or the undulating line between sand and water.

The sun began

burn through. The fog rolled back. The beach

to

We

revealed suddenly seemed public.

from

the sand with reflections

clam

shells.

The

inside

of these

flew our octopus kite, which striped

colored tentacles.

its

shells fascinated

I

found loads of big

Some were

inner surfaces seemed to hold views of tiny universes.

moonscapes or earthscapes seen from

a rocket's perspective.

One

were seeing

still

I

—

in

clam

each one and

at

shells.

felt as

—views of

all

right there

on

in

them.

How

them

though

a creation,

my

Sisco beach. Despite

collected these shells with the incredibly

of serving hors d'oeuvres

rooms

looked

of the beginnings of things

lives

unimaginable evolutions sophical musings

stars. I

like

could look

into these shells and imagine swirling seas with continents massing in

or galaxies with exploding

sea

me; pearly and swirled, the

I

of

philo-

mundane notion

Bloomingdaleish! Marinated mush-

Can hanging wicker

baskets in the

main cabin be

far

behind? After the picnic

of the scent of the

we

took a long bike ride over the

ponds and

salt

roses,

and out

island, in

through patches of fog and sun, across

moors on sandy roads where one must keep

gouging out where the sand thickens. Finally

up or

the bike's speed

we were

risk

back to the cobble-

stone streets that jiggle the cellulite better than any reducing machine.

After almost fourteen miles of biking,

Wharf,

Straight

from

a restaurant that

we

felt

ready for dinner

a previous nonsailing visit

we

at

consid-

ered the finest west of Paul Bocuse and others in the Michelin galaxy. This

was to be the anniversary dinner.

We

had made our reservations weeks

in

advance.

Our

table

was

situated right

Nantucket lightship red in the view

tied

up

making

canvas. Dinner began with

for me.

and

Next came

by

to the

the

window framing

wharf provided

in Marseilles

a water view.

huge

smoked salmon

of

for Chris and prosciutto and peach

a fabulous fish soup, very Mediterranean, with tomatoes

me

back to the Cafe

and that wonderful bowl of bouillabaisse that

reluctantly given back to the sea the next day

when

the mistral

People get het up about shredded spinnakers, but believe me, to bouillabaisse heading

away from

Marseilles

years to get back to something like coulibiac, a

The

vertical plank

the picture as stunning as a Helen Frankenthaler

saffron. Its fragrance absolutely transported

York

a

mousse of

it.

sea bass layered

is

For

worse. his

It

had taken

I

New

had so

blew up.

blow

me

all

one's these

main course Chris had the

with caviar and wrapped

in brioche,

Kathy flies

a truly

a kite with friends on Nantucket.

grand and elaborate

Romanoffs.

I

which

I

think had

beginnings with the

its

had the saddle of lamb in brioche with a delicate mustard

Dessert was sensational

—

a chocolate apricot torte.

density that real chocolate that this

dish,

would

mavens

We

find inspiring.

a

immediately decided

well" and planned to buy a few

"sail

sauce.

The chocolate was of slices in

Meg's shop

the next day.

up

Midway through our meal, both Chris's and my own eyebrows shot we heard a lady at a nearby table intone to the wine steward

in unison as

that "the Puligney

help but

wonder

Montrachet complained over the coulibiac."

if the dear old sea bass

would

have, if

family

earlier,

mostly because they looked

as if

it

could, complained

We

over the fact that she smoked throughout her meal.

could not

I

had noticed

this

they were directly out of

The Preppy Handbook. There did not seem to be any

father,

but the mother

presided over the table with lockjawed charm. There was a grandmother,

two

children of ten or eleven, and a stunning-looking girl of twenty with a

golden helmet of perfectly clipped suit

and possessed that

sort

with Jordan Baker, the Gatsby.

Obviously

I

and she hadn't even It

was only

a

mother's voice, no

nouveau riche head to see

—

athletic

beauty

was prepared said

hair.

The

girl

wore

of sporty white-duck

who

to loathe

white

associates

cheated at tennis in The Great

somebody

later that

my

so

young and golden,

eyebrows shot up again

longer intoning, scratched the

-just

one

anything yet about Puligny Montrachet.

few minutes

who was

a boldly tailored

crispness that

go on and do the object

it,

air.

"If you

but not around me!"

of this venom.

Was

it

the

want I

to

as the

go play

swiveled

my

wine steward? That

Boston Harbor buoy.

indeed would be an overreaction to the wine. steward.

It

ten years,

was her young

we saw

this

son.

It

summer matron

(old

I

had ever seen in public.

It

was hard this

as the

seemed

to imagine

tasteless displays

what

this

like

flay her

of temper

youngster could

response on the part of his mother. Within

minutes the child was reduced to

napkin

it

money, we must assume)

eleven-year-old son in one of the most bitter and

have proposed that provoked

was not the wine or the

For the next ten minutes, and

tears, silently

mother continued her

tirade.

wiping

Thank God

his eyes

the

with

his

wine steward

arrived with a bottle of champagne for dessert and she and he could continue their discussion. I

She was "on to some astounding California reds,"

have a complaint about people

in public places reducing

and

them

yell at their kids in such a

people

what

is

woman have point? May she

as this

the

appropriately, turn

There

is

one

it

who

to sobbing heaps or people

manner, but

taste in

it is

anything,

difficult to

let

who

drink beer

imagine that such

alone wine.

And

if she does,

crawl into a bottle of Beaujolais and rot or, more

to vinegar.

slightly

redeeming feature to

this story

—

the stunning

She was no Jordan Baker, not to say that she was Mother Teresa

blonde

girl.

either.

But the

girl

I

was ready

to dislike

brother and with tender gestures began

moved over

next to her crying

to pat his shoulder

and speak

to him. She bent her shining head close to his and whispered just to him.

etc.

drink fine wines and yell at kids

She crinkled her perfect

little

nose

as she told

softly

funny things

him some

story

boy was starting to smile. I spent our last morning on Nantucket scurrying through fog-thick streets picking up presents for Max, whom I missed terribly now. It suddenly or other, and soon the

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

212

felt

too long that

unwrapped boat

rides,

we had

been away.

the cuddly triceratops.

and

half-year-old

yes,

I

I

was even ready

Max on

a Leucothea

was time

to return, but

CHAPTER

first

could not wait to see his face

wanted

to talk dinosaurs

as

he

and go on swan

after a year's hiatus to take three-and-a-

We

ride.

where we had been married ten years been for nearly eight years since

I

would go back

we had

to

Deer

Isle,

and where Leucothea had not

earlier first

begun our Atlantic

to the mainland to pick

circle. It

up Max.

43 April, 1983

Dear Holly, Sorry

I

haven't written sooner. I'm finishing a

just two, but sometimes either.

Some

it

seems like

days I'm a lousy

Mom

six.

And

book and

raising kids,

I'm not any Super

Mom

and some days I'm a lousy writer.

But I have mentally, if not actually, made notes of all sorts of things I've wanted to write or call you about. First of all, we love the slide of the pottery you're making us for the Vermont house. It's perfect. I can just imagine a beautifully grilled trout on it with mushrooms and parsley. So I can't wait till you finish the set. The price is ridiculously low. I think you should charge more. I trust this is your "best friend" price. Second item, Yahoo, Chris and I are coming to California for the American Library Association meeting in the end of June. We're so excited. I've never seen Chris so keen about a nonsailing vacation. That's one of the

main benefits of children; they help you appreciate things in a way that you might not have before. An example, this past Sunday morning (Easter) it was raining cats and dogs, really dismal. Max was very involved with his Easter basket. We did manage to get some cereal and bacon down him before he began consuming the herd? brace? flock? whatever of chocolate bunnies. Meribah had fallen asleep for a morning nap and Chris and I found ourselves miraculously and quietly alone in the kitchen. After our initial shyness with each other, and asking each other what our majors were and where we were from, we decided to have breakfast together. I am overstating it of course, but it had been eons since the two of us had

down

any meal alone without kids, Captain Kangaroo, was so excited naturally my thoughts ran toward enlarging upon our breakfast, which from all indications looked as if it were going to consist of shredded wheat with strawberries. I remembered some kiwis and Maroc tangerines lurking in the bilges of the refrigerator, and sat

to breakfast or

or Jane Pauley.

I

thus inspired (this

is

unbelievable but you of

all

people will understand)

ATLANTIC CIRCLE ~ I

put on

my

my

foul-weather gear and got on

bike and peddled in

213

this

cold miserable April-is-the-cruellest-month driving rain into Harvard

Square for croissants.

I

would have taken

parked on Sunday mornings

you buy them

On

hot,

I

in front

peddled home.

the computerized bike at

and to quote Sendak in Where that,

but the baby was

was

things,

still

like fury, because

was going against a headwind too. the gym where I go it would have been I

registering 530 calories per hour. Well,

only

the car, but they are double-

of the shop. Then

the

I

home

reached

Wild Things Are,

"It

in record time,

was

still

hot."

Not

and Max, the king of all wild playing peacefully even though the chocolate rabbit asleep

still

population had been decimated.

He

had not gone into a sugar high or low

or whatever condition they say those foods produce in children. Chris and I

sat for

one whole hour eating

For one hour

I

mythical to me,

croissants

was transported

when we

drifted

and reading the

New

York Times.

which now seems almost through France on the still black water

to that time,

of the canals and the cabin was redolent with the smell of that bread, that incredible bread! But this was even better. We had the New York Times and two, for the moment, very decent children.

Another odd thing happened

that

Sunday, aside from Chris and

having breakfast together. Later on in the day, and prepared for

it

at all,

Bunny.

He no

longer believed.

I

Max

knew from

Easter

asked us point-blank

if

I

was not really there really was an I

the look in his eyes that he did not just doubt.

It was a very tense moment. He wanted me to tell wanted the truth to be different. Well, the truth was told. You've never seen a more crestfallen child than when he found out that I was indeed the big bunny. It was really rather sad and touching, but I felt we had no choice. He really wanted to know. I had even made the candy this year. There's this wacky cake-decorating shop on Mass Ave where you can buy the chocolate and the molds. I have all sorts bunnies, hearts, carrots, seashells. You can buy every color chocolate from white

the truth, but he

—

to orange.

It's

very easy and fun to do.

I

might even take the course for

intermediate-to-advanced chocolatiers. This

is

my

little

protest against

nouvelle cuisine. Did you read the Garrison Keillor article on nouvelle cuisine in the It is

Wednesday "Home"

section

of the Times back

in February?

absolutely wonderful, especially the part about the nouvelle Bulgarian

North Dakota. Swinging from Easter to Passover. I gave the seder this year. Twenty people! Max did not opt to ask the Four Questions. He preferred instead to read the list of plagues, which he did with a great deal of style. "Boils!" The word exploded from his mouth. But here's a weird little malaprop for you. When we got to death of the firstborn child, Max read it as "Born restaurant in Breughel,

death child." Sounds like a Joan Didion novel. After going through the intense holiday week, in spite of my own manic preparations (four pounds of haroseth and fifteen chocolate bunnies) I feel that it is not

of the

first

~ ATLANTIC CIRCLE

2i 4

only worth

it,

but I've decided or realized that

man from

toolmaking that distinguishes

it

is

not language or

animal but, indeed, the capacity

makes us human. This is my insight of the month. We're at the Peabody Museum next week. Picture me discussing this with Stephen Jay Gould, the Panda's Thumb fellow. Look, they're teaching dolphins how to talk, but you and I know what to celebrate that

going to a fund-raising dinner

they'll talk about, the weather, sharks, the

question

is

dolphin seder

if they're

Jewish?

child, "Yes, Virginia, there

read this awful

I

is

Labrador current. The

will they celebrate once they're fluent? Will they plan a

book

is

a

Or

will they be saying to

me

straight

some dolphin

Neptune"?

The writing seemed

recently.

not to say uneven); the characters so crudely drawn.

send

real little

back to Jane Austen.

I

so jagged (that

was enough to

It

just started Sense and Sensibility.

I'm loving getting ready to detest Lucy Steele.

I think you were reading S when you were with us in the Dutch Canals. I remember very clearly what I was reading. The Alexandria Quartet. By Belgium I had finished Justine and was a third of the way through Balthazar in the Ardennes; by Strasbourg I was starting Clea. It took an excruciating feat of willpower, something usually reserved for food, to resist starting

S

&

Mountolive until

we

left Gibraltar.

tell you about the really good book I read recently. by Hilma Wolitzer. Her language takes your breath away it is so beautiful. You would love this book. If we were born again, an unfortunate phrase here as it always makes me think of such luminescent souls as Charles Colson and Billy Carter, but if we were, it sure would be fun to spend some time in one of those

—

I

nearly forgot to

In the Flesh

perfectly ordered conversationalist,

little

having money was It

holds.

still

worlds of Jane Austen being pretty, a wonderful

and preferably

That reminds

Although,

rich.

as she says in

Emma, not

but not having manners was unforgivable.

all right,

me

of something

substitute teacher in kindergarten this

Max

week who

is

said.

He

has had a

absolutely a disaster.

She has the most negative manner toward children imaginable. She's a caricature

of the

tight-ass, rigid teacher

controlled rather than taught.

was trying

it off. I

"pretty bad."

Need

I

to be sympathetic

Whereupon he

who

thinks children exist to be

say that she and

Max

and

him

I

did say to

are not hitting

that she

seemed

replied, "She's not bad. She's just got

bad

manners." Interesting! I

A

my favorite escapist literature, Architectural Digest, my entry for the most pretentious phrasemaking of the month.

was just reading

and here

is

lady describing the rustic simplicity of her weekend retreat says that

such a place should provide "a soothing and therapeutic preoccupation

with the unstartling and the nonviolent."

How does that grab you? Is that not a perfect description of our "Zen pavillion" in the

Vermont woods.

I

suppose our weekends are

less

violent

ATLANTIC CIRCLE

215

than an Atlantic gale. But we have found that our darling little Meribah Grace can make such a racket during the middle of the night, not crying,

mind you, just blabbering, that we are actually going to have to have a room with a door on it for her up there. The sleeping loft she shares with Max is wall-less. Hence, this month we begin to finish off the first floor, which will include a tiny bedroom that we hope will permit a more "soothing preoccupation" with sleep for the whole family. Must go. Can't wait to see you. Love,

Kathy

P.S. In case you're

wondering

why

such a long detailed

letter, it's

because

my

book on sailing; hence all the sailing allusions. I started out just to write you a simple letter. I had been working on the sailing book all afternoon and came across a I

think this

is

going to be the

recipe in the back

of

my

sailing journal written in

pasta with fresh vegetables.

the culinary all sorts

arts.

chapter in

last

You

see

how

This was before there was a primavera.

of memories of your involvement,

Do you

remember, of course,

how

out the door in East Boston so crossing.

I

light.

sailing

It

began to trigger

and otherwise, with

could you forget, gently shoving

wouldn't be

You're always there for the

Boston Harbor

your handwriting for

ahead of the times you were in

crises,

late for

our

first

us.

me

Atlantic

and the good times. Are you

216

s ATLANTIC CIRCLE

going to be there when I

want

to

Max

"Mom,

(and probably Meribah too) says,

across the ocean like

sail

you and Dad did"?

I

am

totally alert

someday in the not too distant future the dream of crossing body of water will begin to germinate in his imagination, and that

to the fact that

a large

Max and his dad will approach me with a modest proposal. What will I do? Will I go with them or stay? And if know as a parent how to let go? I hope you'll be there to

on another day

What I

will

stay, will

help

me

circle,

do

I

say?

go. I've crossed the

damn ocean

but another voyage might begin.

will be I

let

I

it

much tougher

I

twice already. I've

imagine

come

full

this one, this letting go,

than anything that has preceded.

Ye

Gods,

I

hope

with a modicum of grace and manners.

Love

again,

Kathy P.S.

I

made

sole quenelles in a pear-and-leek sauce that as the

Jewish accolade goes,

"You could

die from!"

supreme

Indiex

Abels, Franny Falender, 88

Baume-les-Dames, France, 159

Abels, Sam, 88

BBC

advertising, fashion, 36

Aer0sk0bing, Denmark, 128 Afgedadmaas River, 142 Alaska, Chris Knight's kayak journey through, 24-27

Beaulieu River, England, 104

Belgium, 146—47 Bell,

Albright, Charley, 55-60

201-2

Anholt, Denmark, 125-26

214

bird encounters at sea, 111-12

Cookbook (Jacobs and Alexander), 204 Bluenose, 16, 83

Atlantic voyage: author's anxiety about, 72-73, 78-79, 80, 145—46, 149, 168, 169 in,

79

23 80-81, 170

of, 17,

in,

Bird Brain, 111

Bluejish

Ardennes, French, 147—49

departure

Birch, Mike, 108-9, 205

Blakely, Jerry, 77-78 Blue Dolphin, 15-16

Andersen, David, 120

conception

Leader, 30, 86, 88

Besse and Sons Fish Market, Onset, Mass.

Maya, 55-58, 59 Alexandria Quartet, The (Durrell), 146, 214 Allen House, Cuttyhunk Island, Mass., 207 Amsterdam, Netherlands, 138-41, 142

author's determination

War

Besangon, France, 159-60

Albright,

Architectural Digest,

(British Broadcasting Corporation),

99, 135

dining during, 89, 179-80 fog during, 83 preparations for, 71-79, 130-31, 169

"boaties," 107-8, 157

boatyards: in

Amsterdam, 130—31

England, 107 of Francis Williams, 21-22 in

Nova Scotia, 83 people encountered Bocuse, Paul, 66, 161 in

in,

130-31

sleeping during, 89

Bogstrom channel, Denmark, 127

storms during, 41, 54, 84, 89-92, 99,

Boston Globe,

Au

176-78 Coin Des Bons Enfants, Maastricht, Netherlands, 143

Austen, Jane, 71, 214 Balboni, Gerardo, 20

133

Bounty, 83

Bradshaw, Ann, 165, 171, 173, 174, 176-77, 178 Brubella, Rosemary, 51-53, 60 Buckler's Hard, England, 104 Burnt Cove, Maine, 22

Balearic islands, 165 Baltic Pilot

(Townsend), 133

Bang, Molly, 203 barges, 162 collision with,

150-51

passing through locks with, 138-39,

157-58 pilots of,

Calais, France, 106

Campbell, Joe, 203 Canal de Calais, France, 106 Canal de l'Est, France, 149

Baltic Sea, 125

140-^2

canals:

Dutch, 135-41, 145-46 French, 106-7, 149-61 in Kiel,

133

Barnes, Ann, 192-93

canoes, 23

Barrows, Nat, 165, 166, 171, 173, 174,

Cape Caution, Canada, 27 Cape Horn, South America, 49

176, 178

~

211

Cape Cape

INDEX

Sable,

Nova

Scotia, 83

dining, see cuisine; cuisine

Dog

Carnacou, Grenadines, 182

Jimmy, 189

on board

Island,

West

Indies,

195-96

dolphins, 90, 176, 214

Cartwright, Jerry, 51-52, 60, 108 Cartwnght, Kay, 50-53, 54-55, 60

18,

113

Sleep in The Xude (Reed), 92 Drag0r, Denmark, 126 Drew, Eleanor (City Mouse), 120-26 Duluth, Minn., 29

Chapelle, Alain, 161

W. Morgan,

Donne, John, 44 Doric,

Do You

Casco Bay, Maine, 15 celebration, humanness and, 214 Charles

Dinant, Belgium, 146-47 divorces, 107-8

154 Carter,

Dutch, 134

dikes,

Morocco, 170 Capucin Gourmand, Nancy, France, 107, Spartel,

142

Charleville, France, 149

Dunlop,

Chez

Durrance, Dick,

Jacques, Maastricht, Netherlands,

61

Bill,

27

II,

144-45 Chichester, Sir Francis, 43, 75, 76-77, 104, 111, 170

Eaton, Jonathan, 19

Eaton, Meribah, 19

Childers, Erskine, 133

Edgartown, Martha's Vinevard, Mass., 205-6

City Mouse (Eleanor Drew), 120-26 Claiborne, Craig, 65

Eem

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 111

Egg

Coles, Adlard, 60, 71

Ek, Jens Christian, 118 Ek, Merer, 118

Columbus, Christopher, 170 communications at sea, 94—96, 172 Copenhagen, Denmark, 126, 130 Crystal Trophy Race (1970), 61 cuisine: in Cambridge, 188, 198 Dutch, 137, 143, 144-45 English, 102-3

French, 107, 149, 151, 159

on Nantucket,

Mass.,

209-10

nouvelle, 213

Lounge, 200-201

at Satuit

Scituate, Mass.,

on board,

Elizabeth,

19,

Columbia, 27

76

Ellis Island, U.S.,

27

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 191 Emma (Austen), 214 Emsworth, England, 105 England, 100-105 Atlantic voyage to, 65, 80-100 cuisine in, 102-3 Enkhuizen, Netherlands, 137 European vovage: canals in, 133, 135—41, 145—46, 149-61

fog during, 163

mountain ranges crossed during, 155-56,

Spanish, 168 cuisine

River, 134 Island, British

58, 89, 121, 179-80, 202,

159 preparation for, 106-7, 130-31, 138-40

204 author's interest in,

Rhone River

65-66

"fresh road4alled rabbit"

as,

57

preparations for, 73-74

"Expiration,

pilot hired on,

161-62

The" (Donne), 44

Export Champion, 94

customs procedures, 106, 147, 158

Cuttyhunk Island, Mass., 206-7 Cuxhaven, West Germany, 133-34

faith, religious,

144

Falender, Beatrice, 30 Falender, Belle

Rosenbaum,

29,

Danish Smallands, 126

Falender, Mildi, 30, 86, 88, 189

Datema chandlery

Falender, Samuel, 88, 189

shop, Delfzijl,

Netherlands, 135 Davis, Hortense, 30-31

Death

in

Deer

Isle,

Venice (Mann), 102

Maine, 17

wedding on, 38 Knight family's history on, 17-20 in winter, 20 De Give, Meg, 207-8 Delfzijl, Netherlands, 134-35 author's

Denmark, 125-28,

130, 132

125-26, 128 de Vnes, Lukas, 135, 137 islands of,

85-88

Falmouth, England, 101-2 Fal River, 103 fashions in clothing,

35-36

Fisher, M.F.K., 103 fishing,

118

Norwegian, 114—15 Flaubert, Gustave, 98-99

fjords,

flowers, author's interest in, 92-93, fog,

46-47

in Atlantic in

in

voyage, 83

European voyage, 163 North Sea crossing, 112

187-88

INDEX ~ "foreplay," 53-55

How

France, 147-64

hygiene, 43, 57, 90-91

To Survive

Wilderness,

in the

219

17

canals in, 106-7, 149-61

cuisine in, 107, 149, 151, 159

customs locks

in,

147, 158

151, 153, 156, 157-58, 159,

in,

163 wine country

IJsselmeer (Zuider Zee), Netherlands, 137

149-50 of

Inor, France,

interior decoration

sailing ships,

Book

International Children's

160-61 Fredrikstad, Norway, 123 "French Nudist and Me, The" in,

(Cartwright), 51

70 197

(Wolitzer), 214

In the Flesh

Island Advantages, islands, 15,

Fair,

22

165

Danish, 125-26, 128

New

England, 17-23,

41^2

Norwegian, 112-14, 116, 119 Swedish, 123-25

Gallo, Amalia, 31 Gallo, Ernest, 31

Garnwerd, Netherlands, 136 Garrucha, Spain, 167

Mimi,

Gattling,

97, 98

Gatty, Harold, 92, 144

Germany, West, customs

in,

129,

132-33

106

168-69

Gibraltar,

"Jewish American princesses," 32 Johnson, Electra, 147, 161 Johnson, Irving, 147 Jura mountains, France, 159 kayaks, 24-26

Gipsy Moth Circles the World (Chichester), 75

Keillor, Garrison, Kiel,

213

West Germany,

129, 132, 133

Gipsy Moth V, 104

Kiel Canal, 133

Gorge de Doubs,

Knight, Charles, 18, 19 Knight, Christopher:

France, 159-60

Gould, Stephen Jay, 214

15-17

Gourmet, 65, 103, 106-7, 153-54, 164

as airplane pilot,

Granada, Spain, 168 Grand Banks, 90-91 Green, Walter, 108 Grenada, 181-82 Grey Lady and the Strawberry Snatcher, The (Molly), 203

Alaskan kayak journey

of,

24—27

author's introduction to, 27, 36 as

cook, 58

Danube River kayak journey

of,

27

family background of, 18-20 Japanese kayak journey of, 27

Groningen, Netherlands, 136 Grossman, Tom, 108

as

Hadley's Harbor, Mass., 202

reading preferences of, 71, 84, 92, 204

28 Hamilton, Lady, 104

sailing

Halifax,

Hammett, Harris,

Dashiell, 84

Bob, 61

photographer, 27, 37, 46, 50, 55, 60, 108, 111, 133, 197 puns and humor of, 101-2, 180

youth

honeymoon of, 20,

of, 38,

41^5, 204

23-26

Knight, Francena, 19 Knight, Jack, 18

Hartley, Holly, 80, 98

212-16 European voyage of, 139, 142-47 Harvard University, 36 author's letter to,

Knight, Jonathan, 20 Knight, Judy, 20 Knight, Kathryn Lasky:

acrophobia

of,

44-45

47^8

Hasler, Blondie, 76

anti-survivalist attitude of, 17,

Haugesund, Norway, 112-14 Hawking, Stephen, 130 Heavy Weather Sailing (Cole), 60, 71 Hindeloopen, Netherlands, 137

challenges at sea faced by, 43-48, 68-70

Holland,

as

Netherlands Homer, 66-68, 166 see

Homewood,

Bill,

108

Hood, Craig, 157 Hoorn, Netherlands, 137 Hornblower, Horatio, Hornblower and Horticulture,

the

71, 84 Hotspur (Forester), 84

71

Hotel Bellevue, Verdun, France, 151

childhood memories

of,

85-89, 97-99,

99-100 33 cook, 65-66, 188, 198 "cookie strategy" of, 73-74, 84, 91 differences between spouse and, 17-18, in college,

45, 71, 139 dinner parties held by, 187-90, 196-97,

198 early education of,

33-34 31-32 Tupperware, 75-77

early sailing experiences of, efforts of, to obtain

220

~ INDEX

Knight

(continued)

Lie,

Arne Brun, 132-33

family background of, 27-31 flying fear of, 15-17, 41

Liege, Belgium, 146

from, 212-16 journal entries by, 72-73, 91-92, 100,

locks:

Holly Hartley's

Liverdun, France, 155

letter

in France, 151, 153, 155-56, 157-58,

148, 159, 167, 176-77

159, 163

life at sea as

disagreeable to, 41,

marriage

49

of,

45—48

in

Holland, 138, 140-42

in Kiel Canal, 133

pre-sailing anxiety of, 70, 72-73, 78-79, 81, 145-46, 149, 167-68, 169

reading preferences of, 70-71, 84, 92,

Lorraine region, France, 149-51

Louis

XV, King of France, 150, Nova Scotia, 83

153

Lunenburg,

203

honeymoon

sailing

of, 38,

41—45, 204

seaworthiness of, 50, 55 as writer,

35-36, 100-101, 132, 187,

197

youth

of,

31-34

Knight, Levi, 19, 76 Knight, Lillian (Rusty) Balboni, 20, 23, 26, 93, 104

Knight, Maxwell Balboni, 44, 54, 60-61, 190, 211,

on board

212-16

Leucothea,

Jr., 20 Alaskan kayak journey of, 24-27 Knight, Sadie Ellis, 18, 20, 24 knot-tying, 50, 190, 196 Kootz, Enna, 207 Kootz, Leon, 207

Knight, Peter,

Norway, 119

Lasky, Hortense Falender, 29-33, 38, 126-28, 157, 159, 160, 164-65

Lasky, Ida, 29 Lasky, Joseph, 28-29 Lasky, Kathryn, see Knight, Kathryn Lasky Lasky, Martha, 31-33, 98 Lasky, Marven, 29-33, 38, 126-28, 157, 159, 160, 163, 164-65

Lasky, Sol, 29

Lawson, Judy, 108 Le Corbusier, 158 Leeu warden, Netherlands, 136-37 Leszczynska, Stanislaus, 153 Leucothea, 17, 38, 66, 191-96, 199-212 collisions of, 68-69, 150-51 naming, 66—68, 70 prepared for Atlantic voyage, 77-78,

130-31 prepared for canal passage, 138—40 repairs of, 83, 107, 180, 198 see also

Atlantic voyage; European

voyage Lewis, John, 72

142^5

marriage, 48, 65

191-96

knot-tying by, 190, 196 Knight, Meribah Grace, 212-15 Knight, Peter, 18, 19-20, 23, 26, 104 on Atlantic voyage, 80, 93, 100

Langaarsund channel, Lasky, Ann, 28-29

Maastricht, Netherlands,

machismo, sailing and, 53-55 McLaughlin, Damian, 205 Madame Bovary (Flaubert), 98-99 Malmo island, Norway, 119-20 Malraux, Andre, 202 Manchester Crusader, 94—96 Mann, Thomas, 102 Marne-au-RJiine Canal, 154 Marseilles, France,

163-64

Martha's Vineyard, Mass., 203-6 Masefield, John, 57

Mediterranean Sea, 163—70 Melville, Herman, 54 Meuse River, 146-49 Miami Beach, Fla., 33 Michelin guides, 106 Michigan, University of, 34-35 Mill on the Floss, The (Eliot), 94 Minorca, 165 Moby-Dick (Melville), 54 Moillard, M., 161 Moitessier, Bernard, 76—77 Montague, Lord, 104 Morgan, Mary, 194 Morison, Samuel Eliot, 170 Moselle River, 155 Moselle Valley, France, 153 Mountolive (Durrell), 214 Moxie, 46, 61, 204 Musee de l'Ecole de Nancy, France, 107,

153-54 Nancy, France, 106-7, 108, 153-54 Nantucket Island, Mass., 207-11 National Geographic, 27 navigation, 52 in fog,

46

Nedstrand

fjord,

Norway, 114

Nelson, Lord, 104-5, 165 Neptune's Car, 49 Netherlands, 134-46 canals in,

135^2, 145^6 142^3, 144-45

cuisine in, 135-36,

dikes in, 134 locks

in,

138,

140-42

INDEX ~ New

England:

Raft Book, The

cuisine in, 200-201, islands in, 17-23,

209-10

(Gatty), 92, 144

Rasvag, Norway, 116 Reed, Rex, 92

41^2

Peter Knight's circumnavigation of, 24

New

Film Company, 100 Newick, Dick, 204-5 Newick, Pat, 204, 205 New York Times, 189, 213 Nicholas II, Tsar of Russia, 28 Nina, 113 Nixon, Richard M., 189 North Sea, 109-13 Norway, 112-23 fishing in, 118 fjords in, 114-15 islands of, 113-14, 116, 119

religious faith, 144

Rendsburg, West Germany, 133 repairs, 61

for Leucothea, 43-44, 83, 107, 180, 198

Rhine River, 157-58 Rhone River, 161-63 Richardson, H. H., 191 Riddle of the Sands, The (Childers), 133-34

Riew, E. V., 68 Rimbaud, Arthur, 149 Rising Sun Inn, Saint Mawes, England, 102-3

Roque

Island,

Nutt, Babs, 16

Rover

island,

Nutt, Beany, 16

Rudkin, Margaret,

Nutt, Mary, 16, 41, 50, 53, 92, 179 Ny Hellesund, Norway, 118 Bluffs, Martha's

Vineyard, Mass., 206

Observer Single-handed Trans-Atlantic

Race (OSTAR)

(1980), 46, 60, 109,

197

172-73 Odyssey (Homer), 66-68, 166 off-shore oil derricks, 110 Olaf Haraldsson (Olaf III), 118 Old White Hart pub, Port Hamble, October,

England, 105

Olympus Photo, 205 Om0o, Denmark, 126-27 Once and Future King, The (White), 202 Onset, Mass., 201-2 Oslo,

Norway, 120-21

Pacific

Ocean, Canadian coast

of,

24—27

Maine, 41, 43

Norway, 113 74, 84, 188

Sahara desert, 171 Sail,

Oak

51,

100-101, 103

sailing:

author's attempts to retire from, as inspirational,

Knight family and, 23 machismo and, 53—55 romanticism about, 65, 70, 107-8 Saint Jean-de-Losne, France, 160 Saint

Mawes, England, 102

Saint Servatius cathedral, Maastricht,

Netherlands, 143-44 Sakowsky, Sylvia, 32 Salcombe Harbor, England, 68-70

Santa Cruz, Tenerife, 172

Saone River, 160-61 Satuit Lounge, Scituate, Mass., 200-201 Sauda fjord, Norway, 114 Scharhorn, West Germany, 134

West Germany,

Schleswig-Holstein region,

Patton, Mary, 49

133 "schmozzels," 170, 174, 176 Schouten, Willem, 138 Scituate, Mass., 199-201

C, 171

Pepperidge farm cookies, 73-74, 84, 85, 91, 100, 104, 144, 168, 188 Petersen, Holm, 128

"sea fever," 57

"Pidgie," 111-12

Sedan, France, 149

Place Stanislas, Nancy, France, 153 planes, single-engine,

15-17

Sendak, Maurice, 213 Sense and Sensibility (Austen), 146, 214

Port Hamble, England, 105

sex at sea, 48, 96-99, 102

Portsmouth, England, 104 Portuguese man-of-wars, 174—76

Sheila,

Prince Rupert Island, British Columbia, 26

Sheraton, Mimi, 65

Privateer,

The (Williams), 204

Shakespeare, William, 47

Lady, 104

Sisco beach, Nantucket, Mass.,

Proust, Marcel, 85

Sister Parrish,

Provisions, Nantucket, Mass., 207, 208

skerries,

89

Putnam, Harold, 24

Norwegian, 118 Smith and Rhuland, 83 Smogen, Sweden, 123-24

Queen Charlotte Sound, Canada, 26

Sorkin, Annie, 189

Soyland, Agnes, 117 racers, French,

205

47—49

42

pates, French, 149, 151

Pauline

221

Spain,

165-70

208-9

222

~ INDEX

Spock, Benjamin, 194-95 Stegall, Phil,

Steiner,

Utrecht, Netherlands, 140

204-5

George, 65

Stokes, Francis, 108

storms, 52, 53

during Atlantic crossings, 41, 54, 84, 89-92, 99, 177-79 on North Sea, 110 Straight Wharf restaurant, Nantucket, Mass., 198, 207, 209-11 Swan's Island, Maine, 42, 46

Sweden, 123-25, 126 islands of, 123-25

Tannenbaum,

Stanley, 113

Tashmoo Pond, Martha's Vineyard, 203-4 Tasman, Abel, 138 Tenerife, Canary Island, 172 Thayer, Jack, 102 Theatre CafFeen, Oslo, Norway, 121 Thin Man, The (Hammett), 84 Thorsen, Try gyve, 113 Three Four Juliet, 17, 41 Torrey, William, 18 Town and Country, 35—36 travel literature:

Gourmet magazine, 106, 153-54 Michelin guides, 106 by sailors, 106 see also specific

works

133 trimarans, 46, 60-61, 205 Tres Belle,

Mass.

Vance, Christy, 114 Vance, Gene, 110, 112, 114 Verdun, France, 151 Victor, 142 Victory, 104-5

Viking

ships,

120

Wardell, Meribah, 19 Wasso III, 26, 27

Watson, Tom, 17 Wechsberg, Joseph, 103 Weissmuller, Johnny, 30 Weld, Anne, 60-62 Weld, Phil, 46, 60, 61-62, 108, 204, 205 Where the Wild Things Are (Sendak), 213 White, E. B., 71 White, T. H., 202 Williams, Esther, 33 Williams, Francis, 21-23 Williams, May, 22-23 wine country, French, 160—61, 162

Winship, Beth, 133 Winship, Tom, 133 Wolitzer, Hilma, 214 women at sea, 49-55, 60-62

World War World War

I,

II,

151 129, 132-33, 142, 150

Yachtman's Medical Companion, The, 62

Yankee Sails

across

Europe (Johnson), 147,

161

Troense, Denmark, 128

Tupperware, 75-77 tyranny at sea, 57-60

Zinno, Joyce, 100 Zuider Zee Museum, Enkhuizen, Netherlands, 137

(Continued from front flap)

and what

it

meant

to

two very

different

people and their marriage.

An award-winning writer of children's books, Kathryn Knight lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Norton

«Sf

W W

PRINTED

•

IN

•

NORTON

&

COMPANY NEW YORK

•

LONDON

THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

ISBN 0-3^3-032^5-7