Changes in Latitudes

We begin with a quote from the Prophet Jimmy Buffett, “The PJB” himself (Mel just invented this appellation; good luck Googling it):

“With these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes
Nothing remains quite the same
With all of my running, and all of my cunning
If I couldn’t laugh, I would just go insane.”

So the Burnetts have a new post!  Hooray, that means Mel has not faded away into the bland, rolling prairie of Nebraska.  She and her family have not become dried-up husks of corn, groaning on their stalks as the jet-stream-warped, beery Canadian breeze wended its way between the gassy, corn-fed cows.  The Burnetts are prospering in their new-found, land-locked state! 

Well, at least as far as you know.

So what inspired Mel, back to working 50+ hours a week, to post after almost a year? 

A trip to the Bahamas, of course! 

(The trip was almost two months ago now, but this is how Mel rolls these days.  Unfortunately, “land life” means that her priorities are now all screwed up, and “blogging”, which used to be central to her well-being, is at the bottom of the list now.  Oh my, so is her well-being!  Epiphany moment.  Well, let’s get on with the post.  Gotta go back to work soon.)

And so it came to pass that in mid-March the Burnetts found themselves loading up their noble land-steed, the Cessna 210 named Tiberius, aka “Ty”, with about 150 pounds of expertly-packed shorts, cameras, and pre-ordered-boat-parts in preparation for the 10-hour flight to Long Island, Bahamas.  After a pit stop at the glitzy Banyan Air in Ft. Lauderdale, Mel shed a salty tear of remembrance as she donned her old crusty life vest for the ocean crossing flight, the same life vest that protected her as she frenziedly flaked the halyard in her first storm off the coast of Colombia, reluctantly hand-steered through the North Atlantic, and carefully boarded the Coast Guard boat after Marvin was imperiled.  As they transited the outer limits of super-busy Miami airspace, Mel gazed at the familiar Bahamian water beneath her, and she was soothed by the intimate combination of waves and color, the scattered Beaufort 3 whitecaps broadcasting their 450-490 nanometer wavelength, brilliant blue photons.  Mel’s eyes dried out as she continuously clicked the shutter button on two different cameras, no longer worried about the possibility of ditching in the water should that 4^th cylinder finally overheat.  The addict finally was reunited with her drug.  After too much time, Mel had her fix.

It was an intense fix, as all aboard were aware that our two-hour flight to Long Island would have taken three days in the boat.

And so it was with bittersweet emotions that the Burnetts were reunited with their estranged family member The Amazing Marvin, now renamed Island Home by his happy new owners, Charlie and Kara Sposato.  Of course, in addition to renaming the boat, Charlie and Kara refer to Island Home now as a “she”. This is as most boat-folks tend to do, which the Burnetts accept with characteristic open-mindedness, as now Marvin, er, Island Home, is the most awesome transgendered boat in the Caribbean.  Ironically, Charlie and Kara patiently allowed us to continue to refer to the boat as Marvin and “he”, because despite being modern and hip, we are also getting old, and we are set in our ways.

Mel is fascinated by the neuroscience of nostalgia.  What is it?  Clearly some memories are filed closer to the emotional areas of our brains.  Within a few hours of boarding, the Burnetts had immediately settled into their old habits.  Greg started inspecting.  Mel located and mentally logged the provisions.  Allie demanded to swim.  Tommy declared he was bored and began to read.  During her boat tour, Mel noted that every corner of the boat broadcasted its associated memory, and every time she turned around, she felt an old feeling, imagined an old smell, pictured an old scene.  There’s the front cockpit from which we viewed an intact and thriving Virgin Gorda on my birthday in 2015.  There’s the bowseat where we watched dolphins frolic.  There’s the zipper for the helm enclosure which we struggled to close in 50 knot winds. 

Boats are dense when it comes to memories.

The memories weren’t completely overwhelming, however, due to an unfortunate event.  After the transfer to the new owners, while anchored off the coast of one of the Carolinas, Marvin, like anything with a big metal rod sticking out of it, had been struck by dreaded lightning.  All electronics were lost.  With characteristic resilience, Marvin (and his owners, and of course the insurance company Pantaenius,the Greek God of Mischance) endured yet another many-month restoration and remodel, and once again came out all the better for it.  So it was with relief and admiration that Mel saw modifications like Marvin’s new fridge, deck lights, and batteries, all improvements, and all nostalgia-free.

“One of the inescapable encumbrances of leading an interesting life is that there have to be moments when you almost lose it.”  — The PJB

Our stay was brief, largely because “land school” thinks just one week in the Spring is enough to decompress from weeks of being a slave to the clock, which is set to times poorly matched to childrens’ circadian rhythms.  During that week we left the social and safe haven of Salt Pond, Long Island, Bahamas, for the wild frontier of the Jumentos, spending a few nights sampling the levels of protection of the bays of Flamingo Cay.  We were sometimes in the company of hard-core Bahamian fishermen, bobbing nearby in their tiny white boats, casting us a characteristic wave of camaraderie if we should look their way.   Mel felt kinship with them, as on the way there, Kara taught her how to fish off the back of the boat.  Mel briefly experienced the thrill of a catch before reeling in a single fish eye, staring accusingly up at her as its former, now one-eyed, owner was likely blindsided and gobbled up by an unseen shark.  It had to be delicious.

In between snorkeling the nearby reefs, saying hello to old friends like Angel Fish and Creole Wrasses, exploring conch-graveyard caves and rusted shipwrecks, we settled into our old routines.  This meant Greg helped Charlie out on boat projects, and Mel wandered the boat philosophizing, discussing storage plans with Kara, messing with the new Garmin chartplotter, and surveilling the kids.

Having two adult “boat couples” on a boat at one time emphasized that some of the puzzlng patterns of interaction Greg and Mel experienced while “Captain” and First Mate” were not unique to them, but an inevitable consequence of mixing salt water with clashing chromosomes.  Communication is key on a boat, and clearly men and women speak two different boat languages.  This explains the confusion.

Overheard during one of many boat projects, as Greg and Charlie starred quizzically at the main:

“Oh, I see the problem!  It’s obviously getting hung up after it loops back.”

“Yes!  We need to reverse it and put some stuff on that thing.”

“Great idea! Mel, as you can clearly see the problem is with that not backending onto this and not going over there.  Now get me some stuff for that.”

After being fired from her assistant status for asking too many questions, Mel assisted Kara in the galley:

“And then I put curry and garlic in it.”

“How much?”

“A little and a smidge.”

“Got it!”

Of course, Greg was rejuvenated working on boat projects with Charlie.  Any two sailors who have owned the same boat, especially Leopard sailors, who tend to to be detail-oriented, precision tinkerers, cannot help but troubleshoot with zest when they get together.  Electrical wiring plans were critiqued, the generator was tuned up, the jib leech line was tightened, and at one point blocks and tools were strewn all over the boat for some reason.  Alas, we had to leave before Greg could fiddle with the new electrical panel.  Amidst the projects, as soon as golden hour commenced, Mel rounded up the crew and showed them how to interrupt their work to reflect on the sunset.  Mel is not classically spiritual, but if she pays homage to anything with ritual, it is that one section of the sea that fills with gold the moment the sun sinks into it. 

After a rough trip back to Salt Pond and some socializing with other cruisers, the Burnetts said a sad goodbye to their gracious and fun hosts, Charlie and Kara, and made the long flight back to Omaha.  The Burnetts were pretty quiet on that trip, lost in their thoughts.  As Ty’s gear came down over the Ol’ Muddy Missouri, we were grateful that we were able to see our old friends Marvin and the Bahamas, and our new friends Charlie, Kara, and Island Home.  Great.  Now we have more things to cause nostalgia.

“Where it all ends I can’t fathom my friends
If I knew I might toss out my anchor
So I cruise along always searchin’ for songs
Not a lawyer a thief or a banker”  –The PJB

This slideshow requires JavaScript.