114 year old sailing vessel Vega - From The Masthead 5

Once upon a line

When good ole Pattie yelled, “ Give me liberty or give me death” I wonder if he realized how literally we cruising sailors would take him. Then again, I’m sure he did it just to annoy all those anal-retentive Britt’s that had crashed his party. Local rumor says he had family somewhere in Maine building yachts. Now I can’t imagine using a public hanging to advertise the family business, but then no one ever became a politician because they had good taste or wanted to make an honest living?

What Patrick did see on that fateful day was a dodge through which good folks could quietly slip away and live in peace with the world. He foresaw a legal loophole to a freedom without bureaucraptic interference and even less political control. He also correctly predicted that our life style would drive many a rubber stamper absolutely raving for centuries to come. He saw into the future and what he saw was the world of cruising sailors.

200 years later there we were, a very modest demographic segment existing without any fixed place of abode. We happily lived without paying mortgages or property taxes. We even had the nerve to own private floating islands with our own sewer systems, fresh water systems, power companies, and even public transportation systems. All of that was in general, poaching on state monopolies, completely unregulated, and worst of all un-taxed. That way of living was clearly un-American, un-Patriotic, unexploited, or whatever.

No right-minded politician – sorry for the oxymoronic phrase- would be able to sleep contentedly knowing we existed. Bureaucraps the world over would spit at the thought of us peacefully enjoying the sun without permits or benefit of their rubber stamps. Tax collectors fumed because they couldn’t figure out where to find us, or if they could find us whose pigeon we were to pluck.

You see right from the beginning cruising sailors just didn’t fit into any of the known regulatory molds. Of coarse the reason is clear. We didn’t want to fit in. We didn’t even try to fit in and if we did fit into a box it was the one marked “address unknown return to sender”. What we wanted was OUT. We wanted out of the system and into the world of free spirited sea gypsies.

The whole dream of buying, building, begging, or otherwise gaining access to a sailing boat was to escape the land sharks that enslave good folks like us. We didn’t want to spend our lives trapped into a rat race trying to keep them well financed and off of our backs. We were not going to be satisfied with a two week vacation when we knew the whole year, minus our time in the boat yard, could be one big sunny holiday. Well, I did say that was the dream, not the reality.

I’ll never forget the day when sitting under a tree, in a questionable state of sobriety, I realized why old people say, “ Youth is too good to be wasted on the young”. Click the light bulb went off in my head and that little voice said, “ Hay you, maybe it’s because they spent the past 65 years wishing they could just say fark it and go sailing”.

You see governments are always ready to tell us exactly what they want us to do. On closer inspection most of those rules are designed to make us into perfectly functioning little machines working hard to support those same governments, spin doctors, bankers, and advertising agents. There must be a reason why so many foreign registered yachts are owned by, you guessed it, politicians, bankers, insurance executives, and advertising agents.

I never had any problem figuring out the insurance types. After all anyone willing to bet big money that I will never die is clearly a huckster who sells other peoples bridges in their spare time. As to politicians they’re usually compulsive liars who failed math so they can’t be bankers and aren’t clever enough to sell bridges or be insurance salesmen. I figure that most communities send politicians off to the capital just to be rid of them. Advertising people at least have an excuse. They’re all simply barmy as hatters anyway and wouldn’t recognize reality if it bit them where it hurts.

No wonder so many of us chose escape to the high seas. We had it maties, and we blew it. We should have kept out big mouths shut and quietly enjoyed what we had. But, no there we were telling the world how great it was to be sailing. Like tent evangelists we touted the benefits of dropping out, and sure enough a whole mob of new cruisers followed us to sea. Where once we were a few, suddenly we were tens of thousands all out they’re having fun and not really paying that much for it.

Sailboats became sexy status symbols that had to be financed with mortgages and insured to the masthead. All those new boats needed marinas, which have fixed addresses, and repair services. The boats needed new gadgets and widgets. Why, they even have new models every year with changing styles. The economic equation was again in balance to the delight of all concerned. Well almost all concerned.

Suddenly all those nice free anchorages had time limits on how long one could stay, many were even declared off limits to yachts. The system found a way to channel us back into having fixed addresses, buying permits, and paying monthly bills. Tax collectors and rubber stampopaths swooned with delight. Do you know that in California they even charge a tax on the land your boat floats over while moored?

I for one could care less. I just pulled the hook when it all started going pear shaped and set sail for a place where no one cares if I anchor there or how long I stay. Life is amazingly cheap here. The sun almost always shines, and I get a tropical trade wind down the wind scoop every night. If you’re holding your breath waiting for me to tell you where it is you’re soon going to turn very blue. Besides, I’m having too much fun swinging in my hammock watching all the beautiful girls wander about under swaying palm trees showing off their newest grass skirts.

Vega, Baltic trader, Gaff rig, square rig, traditional, classic, Vessel, Historical, volunteer, sailing, Shane Granger, Meggi Macoun

Once upon a line

When good ole Pattie yelled, “ Give me liberty or give me death” I wonder if he realized how literally we cruising sailors would take him. Then again, I’m sure he did it just to annoy all those anal-retentive Britt’s that had crashed his party. Local rumor says he had family somewhere in Maine building yachts. Now I can’t imagine using a public hanging to advertise the family business, but then no one ever became a politician because they had good taste or wanted to make an honest living?

What Patrick did see on that fateful day was a dodge through which good folks could quietly slip away and live in peace with the world. He foresaw a legal loophole to a freedom without bureaucraptic interference and even less political control. He also correctly predicted that our life style would drive many a rubber stamper absolutely raving for centuries to come. He saw into the future and what he saw was the world of cruising sailors.

200 years later there we were, a very modest demographic segment existing without any fixed place of abode. We happily lived without paying mortgages or property taxes. We even had the nerve to own private floating islands with our own sewer systems, fresh water systems, power companies, and even public transportation systems. All of that was in general, poaching on state monopolies, completely unregulated, and worst of all un-taxed. That way of living was clearly un-American, un-Patriotic, unexploited, or whatever.

No right-minded politician – sorry for the oxymoronic phrase- would be able to sleep contentedly knowing we existed. Bureaucraps the world over would spit at the thought of us peacefully enjoying the sun without permits or benefit of their rubber stamps. Tax collectors fumed because they couldn’t figure out where to find us, or if they could find us whose pigeon we were to pluck.

You see right from the beginning cruising sailors just didn’t fit into any of the known regulatory molds. Of coarse the reason is clear. We didn’t want to fit in. We didn’t even try to fit in and if we did fit into a box it was the one marked “address unknown return to sender”. What we wanted was OUT. We wanted out of the system and into the world of free spirited sea gypsies.

The whole dream of buying, building, begging, or otherwise gaining access to a sailing boat was to escape the land sharks that enslave good folks like us. We didn’t want to spend our lives trapped into a rat race trying to keep them well financed and off of our backs. We were not going to be satisfied with a two week vacation when we knew the whole year, minus our time in the boat yard, could be one big sunny holiday. Well, I did say that was the dream, not the reality.

I’ll never forget the day when sitting under a tree, in a questionable state of sobriety, I realized why old people say, “ Youth is too good to be wasted on the young”. Click the light bulb went off in my head and that little voice said, “ Hay you, maybe it’s because they spent the past 65 years wishing they could just say fark it and go sailing”.

You see governments are always ready to tell us exactly what they want us to do. On closer inspection most of those rules are designed to make us into perfectly functioning little machines working hard to support those same governments, spin doctors, bankers, and advertising agents. There must be a reason why so many foreign registered yachts are owned by, you guessed it, politicians, bankers, insurance executives, and advertising agents.

I never had any problem figuring out the insurance types. After all anyone willing to bet big money that I will never die is clearly a huckster who sells other peoples bridges in their spare time. As to politicians they’re usually compulsive liars who failed math so they can’t be bankers and aren’t clever enough to sell bridges or be insurance salesmen. I figure that most communities send politicians off to the capital just to be rid of them. Advertising people at least have an excuse. They’re all simply barmy as hatters anyway and wouldn’t recognize reality if it bit them where it hurts.

No wonder so many of us chose escape to the high seas. We had it maties, and we blew it. We should have kept out big mouths shut and quietly enjoyed what we had. But, no there we were telling the world how great it was to be sailing. Like tent evangelists we touted the benefits of dropping out, and sure enough a whole mob of new cruisers followed us to sea. Where once we were a few, suddenly we were tens of thousands all out they’re having fun and not really paying that much for it.

Sailboats became sexy status symbols that had to be financed with mortgages and insured to the masthead. All those new boats needed marinas, which have fixed addresses, and repair services. The boats needed new gadgets and widgets. Why, they even have new models every year with changing styles. The economic equation was again in balance to the delight of all concerned. Well almost all concerned.

Suddenly all those nice free anchorages had time limits on how long one could stay, many were even declared off limits to yachts. The system found a way to channel us back into having fixed addresses, buying permits, and paying monthly bills. Tax collectors and rubber stampopaths swooned with delight. Do you know that in California they even charge a tax on the land your boat floats over while moored?

I for one could care less. I just pulled the hook when it all started going pear shaped and set sail for a place where no one cares if I anchor there or how long I stay. Life is amazingly cheap here. The sun almost always shines, and I get a tropical trade wind down the wind scoop every night. If you’re holding your breath waiting for me to tell you where it is you’re soon going to turn very blue. Besides, I’m having too much fun swinging in my hammock watching all the beautiful girls wander about under swaying palm trees showing off their newest grass skirts.