by Ray Jason
One of the great joys of my sea
gypsy life is the wonderful sense of camaraderie that exists amongst the ocean
sailing community. Because we have voluntarily
embraced dangers that land-dwellers vigorously avoid, we have a deep sense of
kinship. And when we gather together in
foreign ports, we are extremely helpful to each other because we are
essentially a wandering, water-winged tribe.
This is a far cry from the isolation and suffocation of the modern
suburbs.
A common fixture of our little
sub-culture is something called “The Morning Net.” It is a radio broadcast in which the sailors
can share valuable information. If you
need to borrow a torque wrench or check on the surf report or sell an item that
you no longer need, the Net will assist you.
And if there is a genuine emergency such as a snake bite, the sailors’
radios will light up with help from our many Sea Samaritans.
About a week ago, the Morning Net
also bequeathed me the subject for this essay.
I noticed that cruisers were requesting help from the various tradesmen
scattered amongst our fleet. People were
seeking a diesel mechanic and a refrigeration specialist and a welder and
fiberglass worker and an electrician.
But more importantly, I noticed that nobody was seeking help from a
hedge fund manager or a “political scientist” or an expert in gender
studies. (Actually, the cruising
community has gender issues fairly well figured out. The common joke is that the husbands may be
the Captains, but the wives are the ADMIRALS!)