You are looking at the scene of one of the great passions ever known. I did not say the greatest. I am sure there have been equals. I hope that you yourself have known such passion. But I am confident that there have been none greater.
Twenty-three years ago today, Carol and I left THE HAWKE OF TUONELA, who was anchored—this was before the mooring field existed—here in Boot Key Harbor, rowed ashore, and drove down to Key West where we were married. I believe we have lived rather happily ever since.
We had known one another for only two months,
meeting when I flew to Boston to take her and the man then in her life, a German born physician, and his Peterson 44 across the Atlantic.
I don’t like to sail boats I have not myself prepared and have done only three boat deliveries. One from San Diego to San Francisco. One San Diego to Cabo San Lucas. And the one with Carol.
I did the first two because I needed the money. I made the one with Carol to meet Carol. There was then no woman in my life, and I agreed to make the delivery because I thought I might meet someone along the way.
I flew into Boston on a Monday. The three of us lived on the boat from the beginning. Carol and Henry in the aft cabin. I in the forepeak.
Two evenings later, on Wednesday there was a bon voyage party on the boat, after which Carol’s best friend said to her, “Henry is a good match maker.”
The three of us set off. There was a problem with the self-steering vane, which I fixed. We stood watches and during mine one night an NBA play-off game I was listening to on radio headphones was interrupted by the police chase of O.J. Simpson down an LA freeway. By the time we reached the Azores, alliances had changed. I flew back. Carol continued on to Portugal, from where she flew back.
It was a great risk for Carol to marry a much-divorced man. I am so glad she made that leap into the unknown.
We will share a video call this evening and a drink at distance.
To love and passion.
To love and passion.
