One of the craziest God damned books I ever read was an account of a septuagenarian who crossed the Pacific on a raft. Yes. A raft. It was basically a maybe twelve square feet of planks with a silly hut in the middle of it and a vertical pole maybe ten feet high. There was a critical moment towards the end. Well, actually every bloody moment on that ramshackle conveyance was probably screamingly critical. In any case, there were storms and such, yes, and then some miraculous moment shooting past breakers through a notch in the Great Barrier Reef… The most poignant moment that has stuck with me was when he developed a hernia and self-treated by hanging himself upside down from the pole until the protrusion receded. He didn’t need a doctor or a hospital. He had ingenuity and the pole. In any case, this is the misadventure that I recalled when, twisted in the aft lazarette I heard whistle like a warble and then a raspy voice in a crusty barnacled tone, “Ahoy there, what’s goin’ on?” And there on the dock was a salty appearing fellow creased and aged by the elements wearing a plaid shirt, worn famer john jeans overalls and an incongruous pair of puffy slippers that made it seem as if he was transported from place to place on two explosively permed guinea pigs.

            “I am installing an autopilot,” I adjured.

“You don’t need that,” came his response. “Just go.”

And so initiated my encounter with this interesting fellow. He would appear from time to time out of nowhere, always dully inquisitive and always with a similar insight.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Fixing roller furler.”

“You don’t need that. Just  use hank-on sail.”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Installing a refrigerator.”

 “You don’t need that. Gonna break anyway. Just go.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Installing manual crash pump below.”

“You don’t need that. Use a bucket.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

 “Installing AIS.”

“You don’t need that. Keep a lookout.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Installing AC.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

And so it went. The last time I saw him, well one particular time I saw him deserves to be mentioned. I was sitting on the loo TP in hand when I looked down and saw a couple of puff balls under the divider and God damn if a weathered claw did not descend and pluck the very roll from me hand. “Are you blind? You don’t need that. Use your fingers. There’s a sink and soap right in front of the bloody stall.”

That left me a bit shocked. And so the encounters continued sporadically during our three-year voyage prep period. It was the day we finally cast off the lines that I last saw him. We were making our way, about to hit the open bay for the last time when I heard a distant warble. It was coming from the Ancient Seamen’s Sanatorium on the point at the mouth of the estuary. I picked up the binoculars and there he was leaning  out of a third-story window. Unfortunately I could not hear him quite clearly but I could effectively read his lips as he said, “You don’t need that. Just go.”