BACK HOME! THE VIEW FROM THE OTHER SIDE
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light coastal shower plays its staccato on the keyboard of our livingroom window. I sit in my rocking ch^ir, a chair that went unused for a year awaiting my return from three oceans. Yes, I am back home. On such a wet. windy day near the end of
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Finally, after 30,000 miles, the Golden Gate!
November, it is great to relax near the fire¬ place, enjoying the warmth given off by the burning oak logs. Relax and to recall once again all the good and the bad of my solo cir¬ cumnavigation. Reflections from the fire dance on the dark beams of my house. It is dark, but I don’t turn the lights on. From the nearby ocean I hear the sounds of ships horns through the rain and fog, sounds that make my sailing memories even fresher. But everything is over. It’s only 20 feet to a hot shower, and just 6 more feet to the freezer containing my favorite ice cream, strawberry cheesecake. It is of these two things that I dreamed constantly for 13 months. Also close by is our bedroom, with the sturdy, unmoving bed that 1 built when 1 first moved to this country 12 years ago. Yes, I am back home. At times like this, with my Ericson 30 re¬ turned to her home at berth T 34, it is good to look back over the 30,000-mile trip and draw conclusions from my journey. It’s time to share with you readers'what has been col¬ lected in the little computer between my ears after 30,000 ocean miles. But first, first I owe you the story about the very end of the ex¬
pedition, the climax and peak, the arrival at the Golden Gate where the voyage ended for good.
I n the very last installment of the Equa¬ torial Challenger I had completed the circling of the globe way out in the Pacific and now needed only to return home. These last 59 days of sailing were not easy. It was wet and bumpy sailing against the wind and the cur¬ rent. It was mostly noisy, cloudy and cold. But after sailing as high as 40 degrees north, Nord IV was now very near home. After days and nights on watch, with my eyes submerged in the Star Trac navigation dis¬ play and my ears full of wet fog, I could shout, “Only 100 miles to the Golden Gate”. Then I had my first conversation with Krystyna, not in her capacity as my wife, but as Secretary of the Expedition. “Yes, Nord IV, we have everything under control. We have news services waiting for you, as well as telegrams from Europe, phone calls from Australia . . . everything is waiting and prepared.” “No, Nord IV, there will not be a parade waiting for you as there was for little Saman¬ tha. But it is your fault, you had over one year to contact the proper person but you did not. I hope you still remember how to write in Cyrillic. Sorry.” “No, Nord IV, there wilj not be a two-hour TV interview' with you was there was with Charles Manson. It is also your fault since you did not murder anyone. What do you expect from a poor sailor?” “No, Nord IV, nobody has offered you $100,000 for a book like the Watergate criminals. Sorry, but it’s just another of your unforgiveable mistakes that you chose sailing rather than burglary.”
iB ack out on the ocean, Nord IV is sur¬ rounded by fog, fog, and more fog. Almost three days with fog and no rest, but now it is excitement not weakness that drives me. The Golden Gate, only 50 miles to the Golden Gate! Again I contact Krystyna on the radio, bit this time 1 do the talking: “No, we do not need some cheap kind of celebration. Of course it is my fault that I will not be wearing a green tuxedo like Francis Chichester and smoke an expensive cigar in the companionship of a luxurious cognac. It is my mistake because I believe that a foul
weather jacket is the nicest form of all clothing and that sea water and alcohol never mix. It is my fault that my boat is.so small and that I am not rich enough to get fat grants.” “No, we will not-accept anything cheap. Our sailing was perfect and it would be unfair for my boat to have her participate in some¬ thing out of character. Only a few close friends should greet me, don’t tell anyone else. Almost keep it a secret.” With the radio off once again I am alone. But was I really ever alone during those 13 months of sailing? I don’t think so. Always I had my friends to think about, my land, about the Golden Gate, about the Bay. Also about the hundreds of people who fly white sails between Vallejo and San Jose — these sailors are my comrades, too! “You are always alone or never alone.
