Colin Archer pilot cutter - entering Nedstrandsfjorden.
Most sailors don’t see themselves as philosophers although maybe they should. At least, in the world’s most famous sea novel, Moby Dick (1851), the author Herman Melville claims water and reflection to be inseparable. And of course, after hours and hours at the helm, the helmsman easily loses himself – or herself – in thoughts not necessarily related to the main task; keeping a steady course. What kind of thoughts, the other crewmembers normally never get to know, that is; if the helmsman is not a windbag. Or maybe the helmsman doesn’t reflect upon anything at all? Maybe the steering of the boat, the gazing at the horizon, trimming the sails from time to time, makes it possible to set one's mind at rest, letting go all quotidian worries. But I suppose this is some sort of reflection too, although of a more Zen Buddhist kind.
Nowadays, unfortunately, many cruisers have their own blog (like myself!). Almost all are writers and their own publisher. This would have worked out just fine, if they (we?) just hadn’t felt obliged to fill up the whole wide world web to the brim with an endless stream of privat family trifling or idiosyncratic technical knick-knacks concerning the beloved boat. The public sphere of pleasure sailing and cruising seems to have become – more and more – a collection of rather embarrassing family albums: “My beautiful wife Ramona, our five cute children, my sweet grandma and our precious little dog (to the left), all posing, ready for our adventurous around-the-world-voyage – etc. etc.”. Luckily you don’t have to read more if grandma doesn’t happen to be your grandma too. Surely other and more interesting writers and sailors still exist on the web as well as in the bookshelves. Though my own reading, unfortunately, is not wide in this field, I suppose many are not only excellent – but a kind of practical, humble philosophers too. Several of the Norwegian old-timers would fit into this category, certainly circumnavigators like Erling Tambs with his book The Cruise of the Teddy (1933) or Peter (Per) Tangvald with both his first book, Sea Gipsy (1966) and his autobiography published after his shipwreck and death, At Any Cost: Love, Life & Death at Sea (1991). Both were readers and many books were read while they crossed the wide oceans. Tambs made this intellectual activity possible by balancing the sails of his old Colin Archer doubleender. He then lashed the tiller, letting the boat “Teddy” steer herself. Tangvald used a simple windwane, the same type used by Bernard Moitessier.
For both these adventurers, sailing and seamanship were not only a precious craft, but also a rebellion against the complicated, modern society. They were ordinary but at the same time extraordinary and courageous men, zigzaging the globe without engines in their boats and only with a minimum of navigational aids. Their tempting of fate was influence by romantic thoughts. Freedom, happiness and love could only be found at sea. Their longings for a (lost) tropic paradise among the South Sea island were mix though, not only with vitalism and heroism – at least in the case of Tambs – but with male selfishness. This led them both towards tragedy. While crossing the Atlantic Ocean, Tambs lost one young crewmember and he was blamed for it. Tambs has written about the accident in his book Hard seilas (1939). During the years, Tangvald lost two of his wives at sea. His young daughter drowned together with her father, while his son survived. One easily sympathises with their firmness, their utopian longings and their maturing capacity for conjugal love and family life aboard. In many other ways these two sailors don’t come forward as uplifting examples, but their philosophical sailing and tragic fate are still worth reflecting on, either at sea or while couch-sailing back home during dark, wintry days.
Norwegiand editions, Flyt forlag:
Tangvald: Havets vagabond, På liv og død
Tambs: Seilasen med Teddy, Hard seilas
