These are my people; we are deal-makers

September 2006

By Tom Snyder

When adventurous people encounter overwhelming and dangerous challenges, one common reaction is to make a deal with one’s god, promising a life of greater meaning if only one might survive the ordeal. Even non-believers will temporarily invent a presence with whom to negotiate a happy ending.

Among sailors, there is an elite fraternity of courageous thrill-seekers among whom I am proud to count myself. We circumnavigate things, we cross Arctic waters, we navigate oceans alone, we laugh in the face of danger. But at some critical tipping point of peril, we are ready to deal. Speaking for my brothers in the world of tenacious survival (close friends like Ellen “Giggles” MacArthur, Dodge “the Jackal” Morgan, and Walt Cronkite), we all eventually reach our limit.

I might hold out longer than most, but, as these stories below will demonstrate, I, too, have had some heart-pounding conversations with my maker.

Location: Inner Casco Bay Time: August

I was motoring in a gentle but threatening breeze through a 4-inch but deeply confused chop. I had just downloaded a Doppler radar report of an approaching violent squall with winds in excess of 90 knots. Before I could get my sails down, I realized that the squall report was for Salt Lake City, Utah.

Still in an aroused state, I felt my cell phone vibrate. It was my wife reminding me that our dinner guests were arriving in 30 minutes back on the island. Even though I was at least an hour away, my voice betrayed nothing — this battle was between the ocean and me. There was no reason to terrify my wife. As far as she needed to know, I was just out sailing on a mild summer day.

But when I hung up, my courage failed me as I faced the fact that even a superhuman effort could not get me home in time. I pictured my wife, alone with guests, trying heroically to chat about the Big Dig. Without me. It was too much. I turned to the man upstairs and said, “Get me home in time for dinner and I will drop everything in this superficial life of mine, and I will join the Peace Corps, living the rest of my days in Sub-Saharan Africa.”

That is what we do in such moments. We make commitments that reflect the impending mortality, commitments that change our lives.

Location: Outer Inner Casco Bay (Hell’s Gate) Time: Late August (high hurricane season)

Steaming along under power one morning, I heard a “clunk” from somewhere in the diesel engine compartment. Or at least I was pretty sure I had heard something. If not a “clunk” then at least a pronounced “clink.” No stranger to the inner workings of a diesel engine, I quickly put two and two together (four).

Every diesel engine has something called a fuel pump. If this pump were to develop a hairline crack, then there is an overwhelming probability that the event would be accompanied by a “clunk” or at the very least a “clink.” I went with the odds.

Next step. Fact: Diesel fuel spraying out of a hair-line crack will atomize and become explosive, perhaps in the same way atoms in an atom bomb become explosive. All it would take to start this chain reaction would be an ignition source.

I wracked my brain. Ignition source. Ignition source. Dammit, Tom! Think! Then it hit me! The proposed LNG terminal, had it been approved, was a scant few miles away! (Had it been approved.) Now suddenly we’re talking about wiping out a vast coastline. “Dear Lord,” I begged. “Save Cousin’s Island and I will drastically reduce the amount of Diet Coke I drink on any given day.” Again, commitments that change our lives.

Epilog 1: Although I did, in fact, arrive home in time for dinner with our guests (I was closer to home than I had realized), I felt that I should not be asked to honor the whole Peace Corps promise, because technically there was nothing all that miraculous about it. As I said, I was closer to home than I had realized.

Epilog 2: Out of respect for the Lord’s work in delivering much of the coast of Maine from fiery disaster, I have upheld my end of the deal and backed way off on the Diet Coke.

This is how we live. Hey, a shout out to you, Ellen. I’ve got your back, Dodge. Walt, don’t be such a stranger, you big crazy guy.

Tom Snyder sails out of Peaks Island, Maine.