By the time I’m 10 years old, I can keep a 2 hour watch, trim sail as needed, track our knotmeter (a glass tube I dangle over the stern on my belly, watching the little red ball bubble up–until I can just stay right side up and guess it pretty accurately based on a number of things i can’t even enumerate) and my printing is disciplined enough to keep decent log entries if anything changes

Over four decades, he wrote or edited somewhere between 30 and nearly 40 books, depending how you count the editions, and a few of which became dog-eared, salt-stained volumes sitting beside the chart table on FAIR WINDS and now MATILDA

With a focus on the surprising, the strange, and the beautiful, we hope to provide an ever-growing cabinet of curiosities for the digital age, a kind of hyperlinked Wunderkammer – an archive of content which truly celebrates the breadth and diversity of our shared cultural commons and the minds that have made it.

Your bunk is no retreat. You are a vagrant chunk of ice in a cocktail shaker. You hold on to the berth with your toes and the muscles of your derriere, all the time scrounging out of the way of the Chinese torture-drop coming off the over-head. (Damn that shipyard man, you told him about that leak.) You don't feel like eating, but that damned fool Cookie (showing off) has fired up the alcohol stove. The cabin slowly fills with unconsumed alcohol fumes which make your eyes smart and which go right to the pit of your stomach before his miserable scrambled egg can get there.