Oct 26, 2009
This day upon which I pontificate upon was started with the garish shouts at 4:30 in the morning from a skipper both brave and beautiful. His name is Matt Ryan, the saltiest sea salt in all the saltiest of seas. Some of the crew arose with strange smiles, thumbs up, and morning breath while others did their best to hide underneath sheets and contemplated stowing away in the bilges. Once on deck the enormous biceps of my crew made short work of removing sail cover and hauling halyards. Our destination was Martinique, our expected passage time six hours. I looked at the hearty sailors aboard my vessel and bellowed that this was not good enough and that if we were to arrive earlier it would put hair on their chests. The women were not pleased. With my charm and inspiration they filled they their impressive lungs with air and blew into our sails with such awesome power that we arrived two hours ahead of time. After arriving and anchoring we took care of Ocean Star as if she was our own newborn baby girl, pampering her and telling her that she was special. This is of course done by flaking sails and cleaning the salon and galley. Afterwards I released my tough and rugged crew upon Martinique to plunder and thieve, but in all actuality I was disappointed to see them entering a local library, eating in a McDonalds, or going shopping for dresses. Once their bellies were full and their appetites satiated they came aboard to wash their salt encrusted bodies and again stuffed themselves with hearty Mexican tacos, the thing sailors most desire and strive for in their lives.