It was during one of Cristobal Colon's later voyages that he named the eastern reaching cape of Central America "Cabo Gracias a Dios," or Cape Thanks To God. The famed explorer, known familiarly today as Columbus, was giving thanks for having finally reached the point (pun intended) where he could turn south after having spent an entire month fighting the prevailing easterly winds and currents. Part of the reason for the long transit was due to the limitations of square-rigged ships when faced with oncoming breezes; beating and high angle tacking was never the forte of 15th century vessels. Another factor was the absence of any navigational aid beyond sextant and compass, neither of which tell the navigator a thing about where the next reef lies or what course to set to avoid running into the terra firma in a fog. We of little Faith give our thanks to the inventors of the caravel, who were developing the triangular rig as Chris was pounding his decks in frustration. Our triangular, or "lateen" sails allow for a much higher-angle press into the wind. So we hope this won’t take us a month. We'd also like the thank the early and subsequent explorers and cartographers for providing our detailed charts…even if some parts haven't been detailed since the 1800's… And who could leave out the inventors of near-earth-orbit satellites, the microchip, and the battery, all of which contribute significantly to making GPS technology work? Yes, we have it good compared to those early seafarers….which it seems important to keep in mind as we bob on the nearly windless sea, having covered a trifling 35 miles in the 20 hours since departing Roatan. Some of the island's higher peaks are still discouragingly visible astern….
And so it seems a good time to reflect on what it means to have Faith. The boat has been in my family since before I was born – in fact, my first time on board was while I was still in the womb. That would have been in late May or early June of 1974. A few weeks later I got to see the fair vessel for the first time. I suppose the folks liked having additional hands on board because they placed another before the mast three years later (Kevin) and two years after that came a third little mariner (Erin). Dad's kids Brian, Elizabeth, Marjie, and Jon also frequently hired on. Together we ravaged the high seas of Lake Michigan every summer thereafter. Some of the closest bonding my family ever had was while cruising aboard the Faith. I can remember helping Brian bury Jon up to his neck in the sand at Port Sheldon, Michigan, or walking to breakfast over the bridge in South Haven and admiring the miniature tugboats down in the channel. Our little boat carried us in person and in spirit on adventures immediate and imaginary. To Michigan's nepenthene shores we'd drift: our tropical havens the placid lagoons and shimmering white sand beaches, the northern islands our fanciful solace. Along Wisconsin's emerald margin our little clan would be awed by the magnitude of the big workers; ferries and oarboats, freighters and fishermen. On to Chicago, the glittering skyline a resonating gem as the city surged with electric life. We'd pretend to be pirates, explorers, secret agents, sailors on the stormy seas…oh, wait, that one wasn't pretend…if any of them were…. Well, suffice to say that some of the happiest parts of each of our childhoods involved the boat. All of the kids spent some of our formative teenage years taking the boat out on our own, sometimes even with permission. We'd entertain guests with a cooling escape from the ragged heat of a summer afternoon, entice friends for an evening at sea, woo lovers in the glistening moonlight. And then, one by one, we pursued our callings to places disparate and far away. At last Faith was put up like the toy soldier in Little Boy Blue, waiting for her children to return for her, loyally gathering dust while rusty streaks belied the tears she shed as she faced a fact more unavoidable with each passing year: we weren't coming back.
It was in the fall of 2003 that I began to consider graduate schools for a PhD in dinosaur paleontology. I'd been living, landlocked, in Montana for five years and would be completing my Masters before long. My main stipulations were that the school be further west and near the ocean (and of good name, of course). Berkeley suggested itself immediately – in no small part because I'd grown sick of frigid winters and the utter lack of waters broader than one could step over – and I started planning. "I should live on a boat," I figured, wanting to get as much as possible out of returning to a near-shore environment. (The fact that it would be a sailboat was a foregone conclusion.) My father had placed Faith up for sale by then (which always rankled something deep inside me) and retired to Florida. Not that I believe for an instant that he really wanted to sell her – he could have dumped her off fairly easily with minimal effort. But he could no longer afford the energy of her upkeep. I called him one day and we got around to talking about my future plans: "I think I'm going to go live on a boat when I get to California," I said. "Have you found one out there?" he queried in return. "Not yet but I haven't really looked very hard. I doubt it'll be real complicated, it's the ocean and there are plenty of older boats that wouldn't be too much to get and fix up…”
"Why don't you take the Faith?"
A thunderbolt. The thought had dimly occurred to me before, a pipe-dream or an impossible wish, but here it was: the actual possibility that a resurrection, if you'll pardon the metaphor, could occur.
"You're kidding!" I spouted, "Dad, if you're serious, I'll take Faith! I'll take her down the rivers and through the Canal!"
"Call your brother," he responded, "he's been talking about that for 20 years."
As soon as our conversation ended I dialed my brother in LA. Brian is 15 years my senior and a professional Hollywood production scion. This means he has summers off. He's also an avid sailor.
"Brian!" I said, "Dad just gave me the Faith!"
"Wow," Brian returned, "that's great!"
Then I tossed him the hook: "I'm taking her to San Francisco – through the Panama Canal. You in?"
"Uhmm, I'll have to think about it," three second pause, "Of course."
"Ha! That’s fantastic! Dad said you'd been talking about it for years."
"Whaaat?....Oh! Jeez! I made a joke about that when I first moved to LA – I told Dad he should retire to California and be able to sail the boat all year…"
And so, in the end, the children Faith had helped raise came back to rescue said fair maiden and whisk her away on the greatest single voyage of her illustrious career. She has indeed been very kind to us.
Back on the Caribbean the wind has begun to stir. Ahh, sweet breath of sailing life! The daring crew and I blink in glad surprise and heave-to the sheets! Avast mateys! Ahead lies the Honduran Horn!
Believe in happy endings.