Shinybass Journal Entry 01/08/25

 

 

 

 

I grew up in Virginia Beach, a son to ‘city’ parents who hailed mostly from Pittsburgh. (This now gives you the explanation into my affection for the Black and Gold sports teams). The water my parents knew were from the murky confluence of the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio Rivers, used in days of yore primarily for barge traffic, driving over, and, I suspect, the cement shoes testing grounds for mobsters. Not exactly the aquatic scene.  

 

After they moved around the country a bit, my parents moved into a garage off 22nd Street in ‘VAB’ and started a life together. You read that correctly – a garage. My Dad was in the Navy, and now, as if in a foreign land, my steel town parents were now a few short blocks away from the ocean. At the time, the Beatles were still dominating the radio, and the price of a car was still like 35 cents or something.  

 

Eventually 4 Cook kids came along, and we (thankfully) stayed in Virginia Beach. Our summers were filled with sand and the occasional jellyfish sting. We were casual ocean lovers, but not a water family; there were no kayaks in the garage, and the only ships we knew were gray and had the latest Navy planes noisily streaking off their decks. We had ‘things’, but never a boat.  

 

That doesn’t mean I didn’t dream. I remember hatching a plan with the kid next door to build a boat. I scribbled rudimentary (and very shoddy) untested design plans of our boat on a piece of sacred notebook paper. There was a deck, some railing, and port hole, I believe. We even dragged home scrap lumber from one of the home sites around the neighborhood to get the new shipyard moving. Our parents gathered around the heap of wood now blocking the driveway and just smiled and kind of shook their heads. The lumber was soon returned, but the dream never died.  

 

It has been said you are a product of your environment. That would surely explain the music in my life (thanks Mom), the appreciation and love for vintage cars (thanks Dad), and why I order unsweetened tea. I am also easily influenced by people I trust. While I was living in Mobile, Alabama, and a good friend of mine that I admire (and want to grow up to become) tip me off onto something sort of crazy.  

 

 

‘The Boat’ 

 

My friend is a unicorn. He’s the silent, cool one in the room. He’s an astute listener, witty, smart, always looking to the horizon, yet very present. His family also knows boats. A co-worker of his was in the middle of a divorce and a relocation and had not one but two boats for sale. The larger of the two had become his apartment, and was a lotta bit over my meager budget, but the small one, oh the small one. My unicorn friend gave me 100 reasons to buy it. For a few hundred bucks, I was the new owner of a Catalina 22.  

 

She needed work. She needed moved. She needed a lot of bleach and love. And she needed a crew. It just so happened there was a crew member from King Konga (the ONLY crew member) staying with me. We took 2 days and scrubbed and cleaned and had the best time at the sleepy little dock getting the boat ready for her next voyage. The third morning we sailed her to her new berth across Mobile Bay, but not before I got a speeding ticket on the way to the boat. I guess I was excited.  

 

We sailed her across the bay, and as my friend gave me on-the-job lessons, I watched and learned, as I would have to do this myself one day. But I was on the water, feeling the breeze, enjoying the sunshine and thinking of all the countless hours I would spend on the boat.  

 

When rented my slip, I told the new harbormaster inquired as to what I did for a living. When I told him the gig, he said ‘Welp, you won’t be on this boat at all.’ Boy did that sting. I had dreams! I had dreams! I was going to do something new and without anything stopping me. Except a busy touring schedule. Dammit.  

 

I did get to use the boat, although not as much as I would have liked. The slip was a solid hour drive away from the house, which made for a long commute. I did get the boat stuck on a sandbar, which was funny, as I hopped out and pushed to get us moving again. I took my family out on the boat, and the best sail ever was with my little brother as we raced to beat an oncoming storm. That was a full push for that little 22, and it was amazing.  

 

I have been reading a book about General George S. Patton and his final days during World War II. As it turns out, George had a love for sailing and he and his wife unfortunately lost their first sailing vessel in a storm. To try and cheer him up, his wife had a new sloop secretly commissioned (spouses take note!), and after she told him of the plan, George had a hand in the design process.  

 

The resulting craft was a beautiful schooner. The plan for the boat was for George and his wife Bea to sail her around the world in his words “when the war is over, and if I live through it.” The General never made it home; he died not in battle but in a car accident in Germany. The boat went through various owners and was in poor repair. After a three-year renovation, the When and If can now be chartered down in Key West as she sails on beautiful sunset-kissed waters and appreciated for decades to come. Sadly, Patton never saw his ‘when’ or ‘if’.  

 

I recently heard another sailboat reference that was the real inspiration for this entry. Bob Goff, former attorney turned author and motivator of good thoughts posted a great clip on Instagram. He talked about seeing a huge marina full of boats in San Diego with grand names like ‘Adventurer’ or ‘Last Chance’, and ironically all of these boats were still tied to their moorings. Not one was at sea. Granted there could have been a storm or it was a Monday workday or any number of reasons they were all there, but that wasn’t the point.  

 

The point was that each of those boats can represent something about ourselves, something unfulfilled and undiscovered. Those 900 boats represent our ambitions to be more than we are, bigger, more caring, effective versions of ourselves. Each boat is a chance to challenge ourselves to cut the lines and head to new waters whether rough or calm. We set out to become better and find out what we can really do when we challenge ourselves. 

 

Being a boat owner is a challenge. Financially it is not the best. There is always a check to write when you own a boat, and the upkeep is not for everyone. There is a moment, however, when that sail is full, the warm outstretched wind hugging every inch of canvas as the afternoon sun warms the soul that makes every bit of the effort worthwhile. Much like life. You scrounge and save and get your kids to Disney, or Busch Gardens or the county fair, and all the heat, the lines, the exorbitant prices are all out the window when you see the smiles on your kid’s face when they finally get to the top of their expectational mountain. There is no feeling like it.  

 

Such is the same with life. It’s not easy. It is tiring, deflating, downright crappy some days. There are days the seas are rough, and the mast is snapped in two, and you have to keep a course. Once in Jamaica, I tried to impress my then girlfriend and eventual wife Maegan with my sailing prowess, only to have a cable snap on the catamaran as were trying to get back to shore. After several unsuccessful attempts to get back on course, and looming appointment ahead, I just got it to the closest beach, which happened to be one resort over from ours. A 5-minute cab ride back to our resort and all were OK. It wasn’t the path I was planning on taking, but it never is, is it?  

 

I hope to one day get back into sailing. The boys are old enough, and I’d love nothing more than to get a small boat out on the lake in the summer. Or better yet, get back to a true saltwater situation and go from there. Or maybe just metaphorically sail and find me; work on that ambition that needs to be awakened. When I bought the first sailboat, I was given the quote attributed to Mark Twain about ‘Throwing off the bowlines and sailing away from safe harbor’. Truth be told, I never sailed in ‘uncharted’ waters. I was taught to be smarter than that. As far as life on land is concerned, everything is uncharted, even what we think is going to happen tomorrow. All we can worry about what we can control, adjust the lines when the winds are unforgiving, make the best of what we have and enjoy that sunset cruise.  

 

“As for me, give me sails. An engine will fail, the oars will tire. The wind cannot push me in the wrong direction forever” 

• Me, 2025