Anduril Sailing Blog: Boring, Boring, Wind

It is at the moment of a person’s greatest trial that their inner strengths will rise up and challenge the task. As they say in Game of Thrones, “this is known.”

Another aphorism goes: “don’t let your bullshit get in the way of your story.” That one could be reversed and would be just as true. The real truth, not fabulist bullshit truth, is that bad shit is just as likely to hit you when you are ready as when you are not. Assholes show up on timing that suits them, not you. And most of the time it is exactly the same asshole as the one you already had to deal with before.

Some types of assholery are at the same time both annoying and boring. Mr. Hot Sun is that kind of asshole. When underway on the boat there is no place to hide from him and he definitely puts a trial on your day. He has surprises too: with the help of a cheap plastic watch band that leaks chemicals into your skin, Mr. Sun can cause what is called a photallergic eruption. This is a whole-body rash that makes for four straight days of itchy, itchy. But except for those itched, Mr. Sun is in a word, boring!

Another asshole is Mr. Paneinback (nickname MuscleSpaz). He makes you hunch over and moan. Single-handling a boat when Mr. Paneinback is aboard makes it really hard to get around. A fella doesn’t even want to get out of bed, let alone operate a sea-going sailboat. Obviously we don’t like having Paneinback aboard. But is he interesting? Nope. Boring!

Both of the above-mentioned assholes, along with Mr. GottaFlu and Mr. Bored&Lonely, accompanied Greg on his 250 mile solo boat delivery trip through Pacific Costa Rica. He sailed alone because Alice was a good daughter and had gone home to Ontario to tend to her dying dad (Tony was a kind and quiet man: he was as salt of the earth as men are made - may he Rest In Peace).

The plan at the end of this solo trip was for the lovely couple to rendezvous at an equally lovely northern Costa Rican bay called Playas del Coco. This bahia is known for its beautiful white beach and its perpetually calm and windless anchorage. Here, on Alice rejoining her loving husband, all the birds would sing. It was an especially propitious moment because just prior to arrival Greg had finally evicted his accompanying crew gremlins. But an empty stage invites actors. A guy named Mr. Papagayo had been patiently waiting for his moment under the lights.

For those who don’t know Mr. Papagayo, he is the living amalgam of all the worst people you have ever met over the course of your life. Despite all your prior experience, no one is ever ready for Mr. Papagayo when he appears.

Sailing into Cocos in light winds, Greg pointed the bow up, slowed the boat and dropped anchor. Boat-bound and having been sick for the past week he was keen to go ashore ASAP. He launched the dinghy, lowered the outboard onto its transom and secured it. Everything was ready and perfect. Just a few things to gather from below for the shore trip and then it would be a quick buzz with the dinghy to civilization at the beach. A beer and pizza sounded awesome. Oh look, that’s a wind shift, isn’t it? Hmph, 180 degrees. Well good then, that makes it coming from off the shore, so the water will be nice and flat.

One of the annoying things about Mr. Papagayo is he is sneaks up on you and then immediately starts making really loud noises. Whoooo, he yells! I am Mr. Wind and I do whatever I want! I can blow 50 knots and I will. You there: stupid sailor? Do you know what 50 knots can do? See that dinghy of yours that you just put in the water? It’s not a dinghy, it’s an airplane. Pffft!! See? Now it is an upside down airplane that has crashed into the water. You don’t like that, eh? You don’t like your outboard motor submerged in sea water? Well I am Mr. Wind, and you aren’t going anywhere!

You asshole! Do you realize how much work it is going to be to fix that water-logged engine?

Ha, tough shit. You had nothing better to do today. Pffft! You didn’t need that roll of paper towels or that hat either, did you?

And so Mr. Papagayo noise-maked and partied through the afternoon and the night. There would be no pizza and beer for Greg. Boiled potatoes and carrots with noodles would have to do. Greasy hands and scratched shins from man-handling a heavy outboard in a lurching boat would be his only reward for arriving to meet his wife.

“I hate you Mr. Papagayo,” he said, “I always have”.