The Old Salt

Before the beach boy became an Old Salt, he was fresh to saltwater and everything about boats and boating. The first time he saw breaking waves and an ocean, he was a child and started screaming with delight. As the years began to progress, the endless horizon would always beckon, even when the boy was living on the far side of the mountains and the ocean was miles away. Other goals and interests were always a distraction, but the breaking waves were a whisper that would never fall silent. When the beach boy began his voyage, those who came before him were the inspiration and the education for the seafaring legacy, but legacies are hard to inherit when the sea is the teacher and her lessons are easy to wash away. 

Before the beach boy became humble with the lessons of seafaring, the education was frustrating. Everything that was seemingly easy was hard, and the skillful tasks that would make the beginners envious were somehow just out of reach. When a veteran skipper would throw his hands on a line, a beautiful bowline knot will emerge in a second. When a salty skipper would walk a deck with an apprentice following every line on every cleat must bear careful scrutiny. Saltwater is always waiting for a mistake, and an error waiting in boredom can easily become a disaster. When repetitive lessons become boring, Old Salt protégés must learn directly from Mother Ocean. 

Confidence and bravery are the stuff that make heroes, but even on a calm day, an overconfident and unproven mariner can be the stuff of sleepless nights or nightmares. After all the seafaring lessons from mentors and manuals become mundane, only the trial and error of circumstance and experience can turn a beach boy into an Old Salt.

A red sunset at night is a sailor’s delight. A red sun in the morning is a sailor's warning, but when calm and fair weather prevails and the water is as flat and calm as a kiddie pool, the tiniest error in judgment can cascade into an unforgettable lesson.

Part of the overconfidence was because the little boat was brand new. It was an inflatable: bright orange in color, with a small outboard engine perfect for exploring sandbars. Another item to bolster confidence was the flawless warmth of a Gulf Coast spring day. When the beach boy cast off - just to try out the dinghy for a few minutes - he was alone. The life jacket his mentors always insisted he have onboard was indeed in place and was another splash of orange on the varnished deck next to the fuel tank.

The gulf was a mirror. The only clouds in the sky were white puffballs decorating the horizon and reflecting on the surface of the water. With a full throttle, the little boat skimmed along better than expected. It really was impressive and surprising how fast a small boat could move in a calm sea. With the engine droning smoothly, the original idea of a quick test ride suddenly expanded into a brazen idea for a harmless quest. The boss was not really keeping track of time and the beach boy would be away for only a few more minutes. Beyond the headland was the crescent of a sandbar that was waiting around the corner of a driftwood beach and a stand of black mangroves.

The rigged inflatable rounded the corner and not another boat or person was in sight. Absolutely no one. Beaching the bright orange craft was easy because it was so light. There was an anchor in a closed compartment, but a quick walk along the sandbar would only take a few minutes. After exploring only a short distance of the beach with tidal seashells, the beach boy looked up and saw the little inflatable floating away from the edge of the sand. With the now panicked beach boy running as fast as he could, the brand new and expensive little boat that belonged to his workplace was drifting away. While he was running full speed and watching with alarm, the breath of an offshore breeze began to push on the bright orange hull and the boat spun around and became noticeably smaller.

When the beach boy hit the water, he was swimming hard. The breeze, however, also began to pick up along with the incoming tide that had obviously floated and freed the waiting hull from the sand.

For a time, the beach boy began gaining on the boat and the distance to redemption from a foolhardy mistake seemed within reach, but a fresh zephyr of gentle wind began to mock the efforts and hope began to evaporate. Disaster was waiting over the horizon if the little boat escaped. There could be not a single doubt: the foolish beach boy was at fault. With an ongoing medley of fear and dread exploding with every stroke of the swimming effort, the beach boy began to realize he was now at an equal distance from the shore and the boat sailing with the breeze. Failure, embarrassment, and repercussions were all waiting on the sandbar, while victory, vindication, and a quick ride back to well-being were waiting onboard the boat. The beach boy then made another foolish decision and began to swim harder.

With every swimming stroke that was now equal parts of self-ridicule and adrenaline, the incoming tide perhaps took over from the offshore breeze and the out-of-breath and exhausted beach boy caught the mistake, fired up the engine and went back to work with a story he would never share until now. Old Salts can only become old men of the sea after they learn a few lessons the hard way.

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: “Lost and Found” and “Surrounded by Thunder—the Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men.” Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.