"Rii-chrd, you jist godda trurrst im." This advice, delivered in a languid cowboy drawl was all I got from Don Matlock, terse member of the starting gate crew at Santa Anita Racetrack in California. As a thoroughbred racehorse trainer I observed the daily regimen of my charges from a western saddle atop an aged former racehorse. Daily I watched and envied as cowboy skilled outriders, the coast guard of the racetrack, spun and spurred their ponies to deeds beyond me. In particular I admired the ability to "ground tie" their ponies; jump off, drop one rein to the ground and leave knowing the beast will stay put, as if anchored. A necessary skill for a working cowboy out on the range, this was unheard of in the pony clubs, show rings and hunting fields of England where I first learned the rudiments of horsemanship. Clueless as to how to even start the process I went to my friends on the gate crew and there received the equivalent of a manual - "you jist godda trurrst im". Putting all doubts aside I persevered with the "trurrst im" method and before long could eat my breakfast in the track kitchen whilst my pony (usually) waited patiently, ground tied, outside. This was the first of many trips to the cowboy well of knowledge, and each time I returned with a view from a different quarter which sometimes made the difference between winning and losing.
And what has all this to do with sailing you ask? At first glance horses and sailboats seem to have little in common, aside of the time and funds they consume, but it is surprising the number of people we have met who have filled their lives with both, drawn perhaps to the learning of a large body of arcane lore with the reward of access to a vast anthology of folk tales and inside stories. Within each field are many discreet disciplines with bodies of knowledge that can and should inform the others. With horses showing, jumping, cutting, driving, dressage are all separate fields with distinct and unique participants. On the water cruising, crabbing, racing, week-ending, circumnavigating, and sport-fishing are again distinct and their participants rarely mix, but competence can be gained by borrowing knowledge from one's neighbor.
Here in the Chesapeake families of watermen have earned a living from the fecund tidewaters for generations, mostly oystering and crabbing from the decks of their distinctive shallow draft "deadrises", named for their construction method which traces back to nothing more complex than the early European settlers' boat builders' small improvements to the indigenous peoples dug out log canoes. The twin ravages of development and run-off pollution reduced the bay to a barren desert by the late eighties and although it is far healthier now thanks to programs of regulation and cleanup enacted through pushback from conservation groups, it is unable to sustain the pressure we exert on it and therefore making a living within these confines is problematic.
So, as the goes the cowboy so goes the waterman. Nowadays there are no cows for boys to chase so those that cannot let go ply their trade at the racetrack where a loose horse exhorts hollers and yee-haas and gives those with cowboy in their blood a chance to show their mettle. Stories of daring pick-ups and disasters averted are plentiful. These men and women are good at what the do.
The watermen too, have had to move on. I spent a little time last week watching David give his deadrise "Miss Ann" a slick new coat of paint and quizzing him of his life. He now works as a tug boat operator which pays well and predictably. He would prefer to oyster and will still pull a few crab-pots but he cannot let his family depend on it. Looking wistfully at his grey primer splotched wooden craft he sighed "I spent my life trying to get her and now I have her I can't get rid of her." Richard Moughon, from a long line of watermen, was in the yard longer and came by regularly to bring vegetables from his garden and jaw about paint jobs, ours on Mandy, his on Melissa Ann. Crabbing and oystering only in his spare time, he now works for the local power company. " Everyone told me it would be good for me so I did what was right for everyone and pleased everyone except me." Richard had his third child last week and did the right thing.
As at the track, the skills these watermen have inherited and inculcated will not be lost for they will take them with them and find a place to practice them. For my part, I see Richard down in the creek maneuvering his big old deadrise into the shed so I'm going down to see if I can learn something.