Underway Day 17:
I woke to a sound of a man shouting and the unmistakable groan of a sport fishing bow thruster. It sounded close. I un-snuggled myself from the comfort of the heavy survival school wool blanket to have a peek. The current was ripping in my direction in a tight fairway, but the captain knew what he was doing and cleared us safely. I went back to snuggle my wife, and fell back asleep for a well needed 90 minutes until 0730.
My gigantic head of unkempt hair and I then meandered to the showers at the quayside, a little embarrassed near the tourists, who were otherwise enjoying the morning view of the city's bay front.
Upon return to the vessel, I realized I should call Sinbad. We had a busy day planned and I wanted to make sure he was part of it. I forgot I had the phone on silent, but as I went to pick it up, it was ringing silent and it was the ole' pyrate himself!
We made plans for breakfast. I hadn't seen him in 15 years, but he was a big influence on my life when I was 24 years old and I think of him as my maritime mentor. He is one of the most interesting people I've ever had the pleasure to know. It's hard to know where to begin to tell his story. For starters, here is a link to his webpage: https://pirate-privateer.com/biography/
I had come through Beaufort on my old Corbin 39 sailboat in 2004. Despite having lived aboard for a few years at that point, I was still a green water sailor and "wet behind the ears" as they say. He had offered me some wok at the Jarret Bay shipyard and he welcomed me into his life. He provided a mooring for me while I went snowboarding that year, and provided advice before I headed offshore to Bermuda that January. That is a whole story in itself about surviving a subtropical cyclone 600nm offshore in January. It was my baptism by Neptune's fury and was published in Blue Water Sailing magazine at the time.
Back to the point, Sinbad is a real life pirate. He has a commission from President Regan (see photo) and legally changed his name to Horatio Sinbad. He custom mounts his 8 fully functional cannons on the Meka II. He carves his own wooden blocks and pulleys, splices his lines, and fabricates almost everything. He sews his own sails, and has built his brigantine in mostly traditional, old school ways. It has been his home since he ran away from Detroit in 1967. He has the highest rated ATF licence available and buys all types of charges and gunpowder in wooden barrels, 50 lbs at a time. He helped start the NC Maritime Museum, and he teaches people the history and ways of the freedom loving seafarers of old. He also does shows, complete with cannons, deck fights and all sorts of re-enactment high seas drama. I could go on, but, in short, Long John Silver has nothing on Sinbad.
We went to the local diner, the only one in town, for breakfast. It was a lovely conversation. It didn't take long to realize that despite my fears, this 75 year old man was still a badass. 15 years have gone by, but he hasn't slowed a bit. He mentioned that he needed to do some work aloft in the bosuns chair for about 5 hours later in the day. We went back to my boat for the tour, and I gave him the rundown on all the latest tech and gadgets on the Mombo. He still refuses to get a smart phone, and that's what I love about him. We both love and respect each other regardless of whether the nautical tech is modern or ancient, and I do think he appreciates the relative simplicity of the craft we've chosen for the loop. It certainly isn't normal. In fact, no one has ever done the loop in a World Cat. In many ways it has advantage.
He went back to the Brigantine to get started on his day. Mary and I prepped to get underway. We motored around the point, stopped to get fuel, and negotiated with Tom Bullock, aka Bull, another old time resident, and owner of Bulls Props. It's hard to haggle with a pro, but we made a trade for my two mismatched spare props and I walked out with a matching set of 3x16x18.5 props.
We then motored over to say goodbye to Sinbad across the harbor.
He was ready to go aloft.
Lieutenant Terry Brown, Sinbad's equally amazing wife of 38 years, gave Mary and I a nice tour of the legendary Meka II, and I fawned over all the cool fully functional nautical gear, handcrafted in traditional ways. A guy walked down the dock in modern clothes but an unmistakable braided beard. He hailed to Sinbad and looked at me and said, "who's the new crew?" Sinbad looked at me and said, "that's Blackbeard." I knew it! There is no such thing as a reenactor off duty. If my wits had been quicker, I would have told him my new nickname, Captain Greybeard.
Sinbad prepped the halyard by carefully scampering up the ratlines, off belay, like a man 50 years younger. Then he descended and mounted his bosun's chair, basically a wooden plank, like a swing set bench, nothin' too fancy. It would be his dangerously uncomfortable seat, 50 feet off the deck, for the the next 4 hours, at the top of the mast, in 10-15kt winds. I tailed the line while Lt. Terry ran the winch, and we had him up to the top in no time.
Once we hoisted him aloft, this was no time for hugs. We walked down the dock to Mombo, which was parked next to him, and shouted our goodbyes. It seemed appropriate to yell, "be safe, I love you" to a 75 year old pirate while he hung 60 feet above me on the mast head, in the noon day sun. As we pulled away into the current, I had a better idea. I switched on the new loud hailer that I installed a few weeks ago. I turned it to full blast so all of Beaufort could hear, and in my most Pirate'ye voice yelled, "Long live the Pirate"
They reply came a resounding reply across the bay. "Yaaaar!"
The incoming trawler honked his horn, and we motored to our own job for the day, the 20 hour engine service. We arrived for our appointment at Jarrett Bay, where I worked with Sinbad all those years ago. We waited a bit, and hauled the boat out. We drove it a long way in the slings, about 20 minutes down a road to the mechanic shop. A few hours later we had changed the oil, filters, lower unit oil, zinks, installed a skeg guard and the new props.
We got back in the water at 5, broke in the props and headed 15 miles north to a tiny town called Oriental NC. We considered options and almost anchored, but we decided to take a good offer for a slip and a bed at the Oriental Marina and Inn. We backed her in, dropped our bags, had a docktail, washed the boat, ate dinner and wrote this blog. If you go, try the bacon and pimento cheese burger.