Jared's last blog ...

In less than 24 hours my father, the Skip, will arrive back in Boothbay Harbor, Maine after sailing around the world for close to two years now completing a dream that has spanned across four decades and a well-lived life of hard work and dedication to family.  As I sit here in Costa Rica writing this (life is tough ;) I wish I could be part of that moment, stepping off the boat and truly arriving home.  It has been almost two months since our circumnavigation triumphantly ended in Saint Lucia after starting there 15 months before. It was an intrepid, enlightening, sometimes scary, and always rewarding journey around the world.  What an amazing feeling as all the boats formed a single-file line adorned with brilliant code flags and made the arrival back to Rodney Bay.  I imagine, in the days after he arrives to Boothbay, that the Skip will realize that there will always be a part of him that is still out there riding the Agulhas current, chasing a wild boar with the spear he made through the jungles of Tanaa, or saying good-bye to a village chief by blowing on a conch shell.  I can only say this because in the past two months, I have realized the same and find myself lost in memories on distant shores. I am forever shaped by this epic journey.  There will always be that part of me that is still walking beside my Dad along the black volcanic beaches of Tanaa, the two us covered in jungle mud and drenched in sweat and smiling at the prospect of a well-earned pig roast.

I am, no doubt, my father’s son:  The good, the bad… mostly good.  Our dedication to completing our shared dream of circumnavigating the world wasn’t a fairy-book cruise, by any means.  At times boredom, frustration with constant breakages, sadness, terrifying weather, missing my beloved Mercedes (the fiancé, not the car), and even disease; tested our relationship.  We did not falter.   It was hard emotionally and physically.  We never slept well.  I remember when I saw a bed for the first time in months in Australia.  I took a picture of it, shortly before falling into a deep sleep.  We constantly were bruised and battered by the never-ending motion of life on the sea.  I should have known the physical toll it would take on me when I broke my toe the first night on the boat after arriving in Tortola on November 28, 2009.  Mother Ocean has left our bodies bruised and chaffed from the reality of perpetual motion.  All these realities considered, I realize that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.   We were tested and of the 29 boats that started with the World ARC, we were among the half that persevered to the end.  I will be forever in debt to my Dad for that and I am not bashful to say that I will be forever proud of myself for the “keep on keeping on”(Bob Dylan) attitude that dictated my success and loyalty to the boat, and ultimately to the dream.  Thank you, Skip, for sharing your dream with me.

Now, believe me, it was far from hell (99% of the time-that 1% can seem eternal, though).  We managed to catch so many fish that we can honestly say that we could have fed ourselves around the world (at least the protein aspect, and what more does a Metz need?) with the tuna, dorado, wahoo, and the marlin that we caught.  It was nice to have won the first race in our class, the leg from Saint Lucia to the San Blas Islands of Panama, but I think the Skip and I would agree, it was even nicer to win the best fishermen award at the end of the journey.  Sailors are a self-reliant lot, and to be able to provide your own dinner is, I believe, to add a component of life on the big blue that the sailing community has moved away from in modern times with refrigeration and canned goods.  

To see a new shore is like looking at the world through the eyes of a child.  Remember the sense of amazement you felt the first time you felt love for something or someone or saw a shooting star?  That´s the feeling you feel when after weeks of seeing nothing but blue and then seeing a tropical island approaching you, with welcoming plumes of smoke belching from a volcano.  We always moved the fastest after the anchor had been firmly set and we could finally get the dinghy ready to launch, retrieve the diving gear to explore a virgin coral reef, or simply go to knees and kiss our beloved terra firma.

Travelling around the world also makes one remember the greatest thing about getting away:  going home, wherever that may be.  We have been blessed to see much beauty in this world, but we have also witnessed great depths of sadness in the eyes of humanity.  We saw the uglier side of the human experience in the poverty, racism, violence, and corruption that we experienced in certain regions.  No matter how much I loved the regions I have been fortunate enough to visit, there will always be that side of me that has always existed.  The part of me that screams, “I am proud to be an American.”  You will never truly appreciate freedom until you have seen those who have never known it.  That being said, we saw and experienced far more friendship and love than hate.  People are generally good at heart wherever you may roam and tend to desire the same things from their fellow beings.  We are more alike, than we often allow ourselves to acknowledge.

Skip, I want to dedicate this final blog to you.  You literally gave me the world that few will have the opportunity to experience.  I give you eternal gratitude with the knowledge gained in my enduring memories and the peace I now know in this kindred spirit and wandering soul.  Thank you.  As for the readers of my blog, let me leave you with this.  I don’t know how much of the world the great singer, Louis Armstrong, saw.  Perhaps the notion occurred to him by simply looking outside his door. But he definitely got it right.  What a wonderful world.


Postscript:

In reading what was to be my last blog, it has become very apparent to me that I have been remiss in acknowledging the individuals that were paramount in the success of this journey. 

First and foremost, I want to thank the original “B.E.G.” for keeping the ship afloat.  Mom played the part of mule all too often for us and often at a moment’s notice before she had to fly to a certain locale.  By hunting down essential l mechanical components, medications to cure our ailments, or a special book or DVD we were craving; she kept us in the game.  The logistical nightmare of finding a specific fuse, arranging a flight to an obscure port, while staying within the confines of our itinerary was no small task.  She never failed.  Thank you, Mom.

I want to thank my brother, Travis, for setting up this blog in the first place and encouraging me to post these ideas instead of just writing them in a private journal.   The feedback I have received from you guys has been truly rewarding and has inspired me to rekindle the fires for this old love of writing.  Besides, after 17 days of seeing nothing but blue, forcing myself to write burned up some time between ports and probably kept me from going loco.   That being said, boredom at times was so tangible that even with the blog I came close to resembling Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.”  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.  All work and no play make Jack a dull boy…You get the point.  Imagine if I hadn´t had this as an outlet. I shudder.

I want to thank my brother, Justin, for constantly being there to drive Mom to and from the airport on a moment´s notice for those special missions to bring us supplies.  I also want to thank him for keeping me up on the latest episodes of the greatest show on TV: “Dexter.”   Knowing how our favorite sociopath was spending his Miami nights, reminded me of very happy times in Florida watching the show with my bro, Puddah.  Thanks, bro!   I also want to give him a preemptive congratulation for selling my truck at an exorbitant price as I am not in country.  That hasn´t happened yet, but knowing him, it will.

Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank Mercedes who has put up with my crazy dreams and gave me the freedom to accomplish this feat.   She loved me around the world and still does. Te amo, Merce.