Demons are a man’s best friend

September, 2002

By Tom Snyder

I’m the kind of guy who likes to tell people what kind of guy he is, and I’m the kind of guy who likes to confront his demons. Another way of putting this is that I am not the kind of guy who does not like to confront his demons. The demon that I’d like to talk about today is weather – bad weather, heart-breaking storm systems that sweep down from Canada like a hot kiss at the end of a wet fist. Well, I’m the kind of guy who is built to say no to fear.

So, gone are the days when I would remain on the dock, paralyzed by Weather Channel images of descending jet streams. Gone are days when I would stay at the mooring because the atmospheric pressure had suddenly gone from climbing quickly to climbing sluggishly. Gone are the entire sailing seasons when I would not launch my boat because warm currents off Chile were too damn deep, and we all know what that means. All of the above is gone now because I am the kind of guy who can decide it is high time to get in his boat and intentionally search for a killer storm. Mano a mano. (Incidentally, I am also a night person and a morning person, which is unusual.)

Storm Day

I said goodbye to my wife and kids without letting them know my intentions. There was no need to frighten them. I took a long last drive around Peaks Island. Everything was in such sharp focus – the sounds of children laughing, dogs barking, golf carts humming. God I loved this thing I called my life. I waved to an elderly man who, had he seen me, would have returned a look that said, “Go on, young fella. Find your inner storm.”

Once aboard my boat, I sat in the cockpit listening to NOAA weather radio. Bang! This was it! The NOAA announcer had a strain in her voice – an almost robotic repetitive quality that betrayed her own fear. Even professionals are human, after all. Her report was, from my point of view, one of those good news/bad news jokes. Only it wasn’t funny.

The bad news was that that very afternoon there was more than just a passing chance of thunderstorms with possible high winds, hail and lightning containing millions of volts of electric current. The good news was the very same news: It was show time! And I’m the kind of guy who once he says he’s going to do something often does just that.

I left the island and headed away from land. Away from the solid ground that coddles people who are not the kind of people who sail off into storms. And damn if the NOAA lady hadn’t called it exactly right. There were all the signs of a weather system from hell: (A) Shifty winds, one moment at 2 knots from the south, the next moment at 5 knots from the west and (B) high puffy white clouds against an ominous, stark blue background. The bright sun attempted to lull me into a false sense that all was well on a beautiful afternoon. As if!

Another man might have missed a subtle indicator that all hell was about to break loose, but I am the kind of guy who does not miss subtle indicators. I snapped to attention in response to a sudden collapse of the wind to 1 knot at most. This, of course, was the much-reported “eye of the storm.” I put on full foul weather gear plus a synthetic silk under-liner. There was no rain as such, but any seaman knows that you’ve got to do whatever it takes to stay dry. Let’s put it this way: Once you get wet, you will remain wet until you are dry. And if you are wet, you don’t think clearly.

I hooked myself to my web of jack lines and waited for this faux calm to pass. (It is hard when clipped in to go to the head, but not impossible.) Waiting is the hardest part. You begin feeling like Sebastian Junger, though maybe less drop-dead good looking. Minutes stretched into dozens of minutes. Then it became clear that I was not in the eye of a storm, but smack in the middle of a pleasant summer day. Plus I was extremely hot in my foul weather gear. Soaking wet, in fact.

I had met a demon and laughed in its face, in the figurative sense of laughing in the face of something. I felt good and I am the kind of guy who likes to feel good.

I have since talked to some of our great, legendary sailors about their relationship to bad weather. Dodge Morgan told me that it was his fear of inclement weather that led him to decide not to single-hand his boat around the world. I think that’s what he said. Ted Hood told me he doesn’t even think about bad weather. Does that tell you something? Maybe a little denial going on there? And remember, denial is not just a river in Egypt.

I’m the kind of person who likes to improve other people around me, and I guess what I’m saying is that we could all stand to get over this weather thing. Isn’t it just possible that the weather is a lot more scared of you than you are of it? So, go on, fella. Find your inner storm.