A raven-winged friend helps a sailor count his blessings.
Issue 147: Nov/Dec 2022
During the decade we sailed our 38-foot Cabo Rico, Triana, a sizeable black crow marked the days from season to season and year to year. I thought it was gone after that first spring—after the bottom was painted and the boat left the crowded, dusty yard to its favored home, mooring #E-7, staring at the cove’s bend and into the greater bay where wind, sail, and sea beckoned adventure.
I was mistaken. As the July 4 weekend approached and I prepared Triana for an extended excursion, the crow appeared, sitting peacefully on the bowsprit as I loaded supplies. That summer it was a frequent visitor to our mooring, appearing from somewhere within the state forest that bordered the cove. Time of day seemed irrelevant, as a sudden cry welcomed a morning coffee or an evening beer after a daysail with friends.
When autumn arrived, after the boat was hauled and placed among its many saddened brethren on the hard, once again the crow appeared as if overseeing the removal of gear and application of shrink wrap to ensure it was done correctly to withstand the approaching New England winter.
Many types of birds occupied the cove off Greenwich Bay in Rhode Island. Sea gulls, ducks, geese, and blue jays were among the species that might adorn that new canvas with a love note—of sorts. But only my frequent visitor had the distinguishing feature of its right wing delicately highlighted with what appeared a dab of white paint.
He seemed to be a peaceful creature, so we coexisted through the years. Over the long winter, I would look forward to spring and a shift in the weather when the days warmed enough to sand the brightwork or begin to wax the cabintop. As the sailing season would start anew, I wondered if he would appear and cry out.
The years passed frightfully fast, and my family’s sailing adventures were peppered with everyday life. Surgery for me; the death of our beloved dog; a change of jobs for my wife, Julie; moving our primary residence; illness and death of our elderly parents; and our retirements.
Still, we sailed on, kindly assisted at times by friends who enjoyed the day underway and whose help minimized my hauling on the sheets, limiting the possibility of reinjuring my midsection after surgery.
But the coup de grâce was a brain bleed, which impacted my sight and balance. Over many murky months, I took note, counted my blessings, and eventually sold the boat to a young couple with two growing boys. The sale hurt, but I thought it best to pass the adventures along, as someone had previously done for me and Julie.
Yet, I often wondered about my friend, the black crow, until one morning when I was walking our newly acquired rescue dog. I walked him to the end of our block where a tidal marsh rises from a lazy sheltered bay. I looked out over the marsh, its mix of fading straw and budding green colors transitioning from season to season. In the distance, a quiet blue bay gave way to the barrier beach that disappeared into a belt of blue sky. Puffy white clouds raced above, casting quickly moving shadows on the marsh. On the horizon, a single white sail beat to windward, the mainsail fluttering as if waving hello. I wondered, might it be the young couple and their children?
Interrupting my thoughts came the cry of a crow, sitting proudly atop a nearby telephone pole that served a lonely cottage where the dirt road flooded with a full moon and high tide. Yes, I miss the boat and the many days and adventures my family had on her. But the voice of this black crow, perhaps a distant cousin of my friend, reminded me that I’m lucky to have had any adventures underway and even luckier now that I can still walk our dog and see the horizon over the marsh, enjoying all the memories.
Captain Michael A. Cicalese is retired from the U.S. Coast Guard, as the executive director of Mariners House, Boston, and as a columnist for a New England-based newspaper. Read more of his stories in Spindrift, available at amazon.com. When not writing, he continues to assist seafarers and veterans via several maritime organizations.
Thank you to Sailrite Enterprises, Inc., for providing free access to back issues of Good Old Boat through intellectual property rights. Sailrite.com
