Step 6: Remember the magic

Sharon at the helm of "Spitfire" on a recent sail
with Captains Greg Freitas and Barbara Emerson

Some of the fondest memories I have of growing up on the northern side of the Adirondack park in New York, are of Christmas Eve on my grandparents' farm.  There's definitely something to be said for the vision of their fields covered in snow, the smell of fresh balsam flooding the living room air, and a seemingly endless supply of culinary goodies that came around only that time of year.  Christmas on the farm was a very special day, one that built with the anticipation of the jolly old elf himself guided by his flying reindeer.

My grandfather would dutifully retire to the porch after dinner each year to watch for Santa's arrival.  My brother, sister, and I would wait until finally the message was delivered - "He's coming up the street!  I see him headed this way!"  In a flurry of feet versus stairs we headed for an upstairs bedroom to pretend we were asleep so that Santa wouldn't pass us by.  As we laid in the dark in wonderment, we heard the faint ringing of old sleigh bells all around the house outside.  We heard the pawing of tiny hooves on the farm house roof.  Soon the pawing stopped, and the sleigh bells faded off into the distance.  Back to the Christmas tree we would virtually fly, to see that Santa had indeed arrived.

At the helm of "Spitfire" with Captain Greg

Between you and I - this whole spectacle could have been simulated with snow balls thrown on the roof, and an old set of bells long retired from horse teams that used to haul maple sap buckets from the woods.  It could have been the work of my aunt and uncle flinging snowballs and running around the house like a pair of nuts.  It could have been - but I am sure it wasn't.  I don't want to forget the magic.

As our love affair with sailing, the sea, and a life in the islands matures and grows - I'm hoping not to lose the magic of that either.  It's a hard thing to explain really, unless you have experienced it yourself.  Every time I have gone sailing in the Caribbean, I have felt the magic.  The anticipation starts as soon as you take your shoes off and hop in the dinghy.  The hum of the outboard, the salt spray, it's all a preamble to a much bigger show as you leave the soft white beach sands behind, and head out to your bigger adventure.

Bouncing along the waves you get closer and closer, until the boat is on your horizon.  That same sense of excitement you had as a kid at Christmas fills deep within the pit of your stomach as the dinghy gently pulls up to the beam of the boat.  To this day, I can remember each and every time I have boarded a new boat in this way.  Climbing from the dinghy through the boarding gate is not just boarding - it's the boat and it's crew welcoming you aboard, allowing you into their world.  All the people ashore look out and wonder, "what's it like to be those people out there?".  You are suddenly one of "those people out there", and you are living this life in this moment.

A "sign" in Cruz Bay

The diesel comes to life, the mooring line is released.  Guiding your vessel back and away you turn her into the wind and raise the main.  Your bird has spread her wings and is waiting impatiently to glide.  The magic happens.  With a simple turn of the wheel you fall off the wind, fill the sail - and there it is.  Her big hull heels over and she accelerates without any other sound besides the lap of water against her hull.  She parts the crystal blue waters in front of her bow.  She's taking you with her now, riding the wind and letting you call the shots.

This is the magic I don't want to lose.  Like Christmas Eve on the farm, I never want to lose that special feeling whenever I head out, whenever I board a boat, whenever I raise that main and fall off on a tack.  Maybe after more years of sailing I will take it for granted.  I suppose if I do, I can read this again and remember.

Kenny Chesney "Magic"

"I believe there's magic here in these sails

In the wake of these old pirate trails

That cut through the water and the atmosphere

I believe there is magic here

It's in buried treasure under the sea

In all the music that drifts out on the street

It's in the barflies drinking their beer

I believe there's magic here

This crazy rock has got a lot

Of romance and sex appeal

It's lazy days with Hemingway

And I gotta say that it captures me still

'Cause I believe there's magic in those beach side dives

Under the moon as it's changing the tides

Friends, they go away, then they reappear

I believe there is magic here

This crazy rock has got a lot

Of romance and sex appeal

It's lazy days with Hemingway

And I gotta say that it captures me still

Friends, they go away, then they reappear

I believe there's magic

A whole lotta magic

I believe there's magic here

I believe there's magic

A whole lotta magic

I believe there's magic here

'Twas the Night Before A St. John Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through Cruz Bay,
We were all anxious for the arrival, of the fat man and his sleigh;
The stockings were hung by the palm trees with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The tourists were nestled all snug in villa beds,
While visions of north shore beaches danced in their heads;
And Sharon in her bikini, and I in my trunks,
Dinghied to the boat, headed back to our bunk.

When over by Beach Bar there arose such a clatter,
I peeked from a port hole and saw Santa's sleigh land with a splatter.
He had clipped my mast, flying low was his style,
Now the elf and his deer were on the beach in a pile.

The reindeer were scattered all over the sand,
Some injuries were suffered in their attempt to land,
Comet was bruised,  Rudolph's nose was withered,
How would Santa get his island gifts delivered?!

We ran through the circle, past the Tamarind Inn so quick,
We would get The ACC dogs to rescue St. Nick!
More rapid than eagles, barking as they came,
Santa patted their heads, and called them by name:

"Now Moose!  Now Georgia!  They love those butt scratches!
On Missy!  On Cally!  On Peaches and Patches!
To the top of Woody's, to the top of the Banana Deck!
Now yank away!  Dash away!  Pull like heck!"

Down Love City streets, these loyal pups pulled that sleigh,
It's said every dog shines once, and this was their day.
So up all the hills, all the way to Coral Bay they flew
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too -

Later with some splashing, I heard near my hull,
Paddling and pawing, this night wouldn't be dull.
As I climbed to my cockpit and was turning around,
I saw St. Nick in a dinghy, with the pups towing him around.

He was dressed in a red Speedo, it sure wasn't pretty,
But the dogs were so proud, they saved Christmas in Love City;
A bundle of new snorkel gear hung at his side,
And it looked as if he were a Low Key guide.

His eyes - how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were sunburned, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
"These pups pulled my sleigh through the sand as if it were snow"

With a candy cane snorkel held tight in his teeth,
He hopped off my stern and dove for the deep.
He played with each dog, swimming and rubbing their bellies,
And he shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

He wondered how these dogs, had landed at the ACC,
With wet little noses, and furry hearts full of glee.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head
"I'll find each one of these dogs a home and a warm bed";

A tear dripped down his cheek, as he went back to work,
The dog's stockings were last, then he turned with a jerk.
He tucked each dog in, and closed each kennel door,
"Wish I could take them now, wish I could do more"

He sprang to the office, and left a note for the staff,
"I left so many toys for your dogs, you'll surely have a laugh"
And I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight -
"Merry Christmas to all, and to the ACC good night!"

Island Characters: Peter Hoschl

"Angel's Rest" Bar, Coral Bay St. John

As time goes on, I plan on introducing some of the "characters" I've met during my island travels.  What is a character?  A character to me is someone who stands out among others.  A character is someone who stands out not because they dress funny or because they seek childish attention in shock value like present day "celebrities", but rather because they have an interesting story to share.  There is something about them that draws others to them.

Peter Hoschl, owner/creator, "Angel's Rest"

Peter Hoschl is the owner and creator of "Angel's Rest" bar.  If ever there was a horse of a different color - this bar is it.  Anyone who has ever spent time on a pontoon boat will appreciate this.  Peter is a self described hippy, with a background in construction.  He rescued this 40 foot - yes I said 40 foot - pontoon boat and did a frame-up build of Angel's Rest himself.  On top of the massive pontoon frame, Peter constructed a typical island bar, complete with glass table and chairs, entrances to port and starboard, day beds for lounging forward, and a ladder leading to an upstairs "porch" complete with loungers aft.  Under the glass table and chairs is a circular cutout in the floor, allowing for easy viewing of graceful sea turtles swimming below.  I'm not even sure what to call the bathroom aboard Angel's Rest.  On land in a house, it would be called a bathroom.  On a boat, it's called a head.  I'll leave you to decide whether Angel's rest is a floating house/bar, or a boat.

Cutout under the table

Tim swimming from S/V Magewind to
Angel's Rest for cocktails

Angel's Rest resides on a mooring in Coral Bay on the east end of the island of St. John in the USVI.  St. John has only two towns - Cruz Bay to the west, Coral Bay to the east.  Each day Peter fires up the two Evinrude outboard engines fitted to Angel's Rest, and leisurely motors to Hansen Bay in the far east tip of St. John where he sets anchor and opens up bar for anyone that wants to swim or dinghy to him.  Pricing?  That's easy.  Every drink is five dollars no matter what you order.  Drinks come served with entertaining jokes and stories as tall as the hills that make up the surrounding island.  Listening to Peter describe how he "checked out", and how Angel's Rest got its name is in and of itself worth at least a few rum cocktails.  I will warn you though - Peter pours with a heavy hand...  The swim back to shore or back to your yacht can be tricky.

Sharon saying good-bye for another year

Bar is closing - everybody off!

When the day is growing old and the sun flirts with the horizon, Peter will promptly exclaim with a grin - "Bar is closing.  Everybody off my boat".  Like a school of fish, patrons file off the side into the cool Caribbean water and swim off in their respective directions.  With anchor pulled up, and the sun now sinking into the sea, Peter motors off into the distance like a cool Caribbean cowboy.  Time to restock, a new day will soon come.

Usually I go home after the bar - here the bar goes home after me