The Monad was well offshore, running wing and wing before twenty knots of wind in breaking seas, a full “fresh breeze”. Even on yachts much bigger than Monad, that is exhilarating sailing. Sam had her “sailing by the lee” with the following wind twenty degrees off the stern towards the mainsail’s side. The jib was sheeted close on the other side. The windvane was steering.
Monad didn’t need more speed – she’d have needed to be reefed down if she’d been going to weather. Flying before it, boat speed decreased her apparent wind by a third. If the windvane were to lose it and let her come up, there would be hell to pay. Sam lent a hand on the tiller as a wave crest tried to humbug the windvane and thought again about reefing down. Then he checked the progress of the pirogue coming from astern, off the lee (mainsail’s) side of the boat. He saw three aboard. An instinct told him that they were not fishermen.
Sam un-cleated the preventer, which holds the mainsail’s boom forward and down to prevent accidental jibes, which can be disastrous in this much wind. Then he carefully sheeted the mainsail in as far as he dared, about halfway, in possible danger of jibing.
Sam stood facing them as they came alongside, both hands in sight, the mainsheet in one hand the other holding the small control line to the windvane’s control turret. Two men with body armor and assault rifles suddenly leaped aboard. Sam put his hands up, as if to surrender, which pulled the windvane’s control line. The turret turned, the vane flopped onto the other tack, the helm was pulled over forcefully, and Monad turned hard into the pirogue, all in an instant. In an overlapping instant, the mainsail jibed, throwing the boom across hard, catching both boarders in the back of the head, knocking them clean across the boat and overboard. Sam grabbed for handholds as Monad nearly knocked down when the mainsail hit the end of its throw full of wind and as the bow of the pirogue climbed Monad’s side.
The two boarders were in the water. The pirogue slid off and idled away as Monad came up. Sam couldn’t see the driver. He put Monad on a broad reach on the tack she was now on and sailed away as water gurgled from the half-swamped cockpit and sloshed on the cabin sole below. When he looked back, he saw nothing of the men in the water.
“Unbelievable,” Gizmo said when Sam finished.
“Exactly,” Sam agreed, “you couldn’t get away with it in fiction. Maybe I could take out one pirate and mess up their first try. But all three, one time and done? And not a shot fired! I’d say ‘luck’ is an understatement.”
“True enough,” Gizmo replied. “Still, sailor man, that was a clever set of moves.”
Bill, at a table out of sight on the other side of a bush, was certainly impressed. Bill is an account executive vacationing on the small, tropical island of Quiaquia.
“Three armed men wearing armor,” Gizmo mused. “You wouldn’t have had a chance if you had been armed.” He paused. “The secret was surprise. And using forces greater than your own.”
“Do I hear your gears turning?”
“Yep. I’m visualizing rope snares powered by drogues, tripped almost any way you like.”
“Well, I like rope.”
“I recall your Cartagena cowboy-in-the-jungle trick, lassoing two thieves escaping on a motor scooter and taking a turn on a light pole. A drogue would be the light pole.”
“I never actually did that. It was a dream of vengeance.”
“You still carry the lasso you made for the occasion?”
“Depends where I am.”
“Let’s do some inventing.” Gizmo does nautical inventions of little or no commercial value, stuff you would tinker up for yourself instead of buy... stuff you couldn’t buy, nobody sells it, nobody makes it.
“Ya mon. But I gone now. Shekima Creek.”
“I’ll be a few days behind you,” Gizmo said.
As Sam departed, Bill arched back to see around the bush, but only saw him walking away. Sailorman was of medium height and build and wore long pants, long sleeves, a full-brimmed hat, and flip-flops.
Just then, Bill’s companion Sarah, also a vacationing account executive, rejoined him on their side of the bush. Bill was whispering heroic adventures of a guy called Sailorman when Phil joined Gizmo.
“Was that...?”
“Yep. He’s gone.”
“Rats. Said he had a good story.”
“Just heard it. It’ll blow you away. Get us some beer.”
Behind the bush, Sarah dug out her device and started recording. Thus, begins the legend of Sailorman.
Sailorman’s basic documentation comes in three parts. Bill’s Blog is Bill’s non-nautical but colorful retelling of what he heard. The maneuver Bill describes can’t be done, but Sailorman’s online fame is more Hollywood than nautical. Part two, Voices From the Bush, is the recording, Gizmo’s accurate retelling of the incident plus some of his ideas on defensive and offensive uses of rope. Sarah’s Search uncovers additional deeds bearing the mark of Sailorman, revealing him to be a serial hero, not just a one-timer. A signature trait is that nobody knows it was him. In some cases, nobody even knows that the deed was done.
Beyond being traditional, a superhero’s secret identity allows him or her to observe unnoticed and to appear unexpectedly. And it shelters them from enemies, lawyers, and the press... and offers an out if they screw up. It also comforts the yachting public to think that Sailorman, unbeknown to all, might be right there in the anchorage among them. It may be thanks to him that the dinghy is still there in the morning – if it is... even Sailorman can’t be everywhere. But the real reason superheroes stay secret, Sarah points out, is simply their wholesome humbleness.
Gizmo’s retelling of the incident is amazing enough, Bill’s fanciful version even more so. Sarah’s Search, far more than revealing more Sailorman adventures, gives us precious insights into the man behind the deeds. Her analysis of some of what his two friends did not say (often the most important part of what is said) is most remarkable. What really got people clicking on Sailorman is the power and emotion of Sarah’s Search. This writer, quite frankly, is a bit jealous.
Once Sailorman’s fame hit critical mass, additional resources were brought to bear. Computer modeling has enhanced Bill’s scant description: Sailorman is between 5’8 1/2” and 5’11” tall, 153 to 178 pounds, 43 to 57 years of age, and was born between January 20 and March 20.
Some Sailorman-mania clearly goes too far. One site (which I haven’t, myself, visited) graphically details his sex life, his bent on bondage in particular. Check out his clever use of the rolling hitch (“midshipman’s knot”). And note that clove hitches (ankles and wrists) are backed up by stop knots. There are two sites, one is of the persuasion that he will soon be "coming out"... which has also raised the question, do we actually know that “he” is male?
Not all who click on Sailorman sing his praises. There is the matter of three men he left in the ocean, presumably to die. These men might have had families waiting at home, wives and children – children. Perhaps even a dog. After subduing them, he should have tied them up (which we’ve now seen is one of his specialties) and turned them over to the appropriate authorities. He may also be liable for the loss of their boat. While a sailboat has right of way over an overtaking powerboat, it is required to maintain its course, to "stand on". And both vessels, regardless of right of way, are required to take all possible action to avoid collision.
Homeland Security is having a nervous look. Imagine a Sailorman mimic tying up flight attendants. Of particular interest is his use of pantyhose in which knots, once set, cannot be untied, must be cut. Should pantyhose be banned? Or should airliners be equipped with specially designed knives to free victims? Knives with special safeguards against use by hijackers, of course. Woe be to the administrator who chooses wrong or fails to act.
Sailorman’s secrecy, ironically, focuses attention on him. His fans eagerly try to unmask him and reveal his weapons and ways. Rope tricks from seamen, cowboys, magicians, trappers, Spiderman, and others have been adapted and adopted. A favorite is Sailorman’s “Utility Belt”, which becomes a ten meter long mini-heaving line, which is also multi-headed for use as a bola, such as Argentine hunters use to tangle the legs of fleeing prey. There being no reports of its use against bad guys, it is supposed that he mostly uses it for plucking fruit from unreachable branches to feed starving children.
As for Sailorman’s yacht, Bill heard only that it was a sailboat and small, and calls it “Gonads”. Phil had remarked on it being small enough to jibe very quickly and had called it something like (but not quite) “Nomad”. A computer model reckons it at between 29.527 feet (9 meters) and 36.089 feet (11 meters) in length with a draught of approximately 4.921 feet (1.5 meters) (it is marvelous the precision computers can achieve). The yacht probably has a white hull and is sloop rigged. “Sloop rigged” seems to be confirmed by the colorful conclusion Sarah somehow came to that “The Nomad is smaller than a ketch – which is smaller than a schooner – but bigger than a cat boat.” Experts agree, that probably means sloop. A Nomad and a Nomad of Argyle have been reported, both bigger than the computer model. The only report of Gonads is of an offshore racing powerboat.
Computer models make some people sneer. But they are here to stay and have been forecasting hurricanes and helping financial institutions to responsibly manage our investments for quite a while now. Moreover, this year’s models (as in past years) are greatly improved over last year’s models. In most alleged sightings, Sailorman matches his description. The fact that neither Nomad fits the model shows that we haven’t seen his boat yet. It also seems to confirm a Sailorman trait: Bill only saw Sailorman, not his yacht. Sailorman keeps his yacht hidden. The power of the human brain, which sets us above all else, allows us to easily jump to such conclusions. But it is the magic of computers and the internet that allows the pieces to be collected and assembled into pictures that we somehow trust.
Shekima Creek, Sailorman’s Bat Cave, Fortress of Solitude, or, in Jimmy Buffet song, One Particular Island, remains a mystery. Bill’s Blog says he clearly heard “Shekima Creek”. But while almost anyone in the region can tell you where the island of Quiaquia is (It We Bay being a yacht Mecca), even cruising guide guru Don Street can’t say where Shekima Creek is. It isn’t on the chart. Bill must have heard wrong. Nor is it on the grid: no wi-fi, no cyber cafe. Even your phone won’t work there. And they know nothing about Sailorman.
No dinghy dock is another of Shekima Creek’s defenses against yacht tourism. Sam pulls his rowing dinghy up the beach, Gizmo noses Whiz-bang onto the beach and sets an anchor in the sand. Then they walk to The End of the Beach, Bar’s bar at the other end of the beach. The place is a roof held up by poles, leaning into a rock formation on two sides, open to the beach on the other two. They enter beside a signboard that once read “No Shirt, No Shoes, and No Service”, help themselves to a cold one, and take a seat near Bar’s hammock.
“Still inventing pirate traps?” Bar asks.
“Ya, mon,” Sam replies. “Exciting stuff. Deliberately rigging a sailboat with lines intended to drag you overboard. Like playing with loaded guns.”
“Difference being,” Gizmo adds, “that flack suits protect against loaded guns, but not against loops of rope.”
“What are the odds of another pirate attack?”
“About the same as the first time,” Gizmo answers, “squared, if you want the odds for twice.”
“Traps are going to stop them?”
Sam and Gizmo smile sheepishly. “Giz and I agree,” Sam says, “the odds for our snares are no better than the odds for the trick I used the first time... which worked against all odds.”
“What’s needed,” Gizmo adds, “is the luck he had the first time.”
“What’s needed,” Sam sighs, “is no more pirates.” When it comes right down to it, I suppose most Sailorman fans would be pretty disappointed in Sam.
“And your judgment? Resisting armed pirates?”
“It’s got to be one of the most stupid things I’ve ever done. Still....”
“Still,” Bar agrees.
Then the three, being sailors and knowing the ropes, fall to discussing various tricks and traps that Sam and Gizmo have brainstormed since returning to the Creek. The basic design is a trip line that releases a drogue into the water, which theoretically draws a loop tight around the pirate(s) and yanks him or her overboard so quick and unexpectedly that he or she can’t react. Boat speed determines how fast and strong the trap is. Assuming boarding would be on the low side of the boat, the leeward side (under the boom and into the cockpit), the first snare is a loop of line running out with the mainsheet to the end of the boom, forward along the boom to the vang/preventer, then in to the rail, and back to the mainsheet. This trap would be tripped as they try to board. A second trap is a loop around the companionway opening, tripped from either the cockpit or below. Another possibility is a leg snare around the cockpit legwell.
The “drogue” for the first snare is Monad’s kedging anchor, which hangs on the stern rail. The anchor, its chain, and its rope rode are made up as a bundle, which releases by pulling a slipped knot from the cockpit. The draw line of the snare clips to the bundle. And Sam’s right, it’s as dangerous as a loaded gun! The bitter end of the rode is cleated so that...
“Check who’s coming in,” Bar interrupts.
In sails Phil, Madeira. Phil is a single-hander, not to be confused with a similar Phil on a small yacht of similar name who sails all over with Di, whom you might have met. But this is a Phil that you might also have met. In addition to the part Phil has already played in this story, he is one of those guys who seems to meet everybody and always comes packed with news.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he begins, an apt opening. Then he tells of Sailorman, Bill’s Blog, Voices From the Bush, Sarah’s Search, and a sampling of where links lead. “Here’s the bizarre part,” he concludes. “Sailorman is famous online but almost unheard of in the anchorage.”
“And only the four of us know who I am in this?” Sam searches their faces. “Can we keep it that way?” He sees their assurances. “I ain’t Sailorman,” he adds. “They made him up.”
Phil lets them marvel a bit over what they have so far heard then says, “There’s more. I met a guy with a special forces son on loan to a local task force. They recently lost three men and a boat to pirates or the sea, they don’t know. No mention of Sailorman.”
A stunned silence. Then Bar, “If those guys were real, they’d have identified themselves!”
“Unless they were doing their own thing on the side.”
“Even then – especially then!”
“Even if they weren’t real!”
“Especially if they weren’t real!”
All eyes turn to Sam. “No, mon. They didn’t say a thing. Not a word.”
Sam and Bar’s eyes meet in a spark of shared memory, a story Bar told about a hot-shot plain clothes cop he met who loved the fear in the eyes of people who thought he was about to kill them.
Then Sam flashes on something he’d read long ago in a spoof called “A Gentle Companion to the Rocky Route South”. The section titled “Pirates” read, “If an unlighted vessel stalks you in the night, it is either pirates or officials. If it is pirates, you must defend yourself. If it is officials, you must not defend yourself. Good Luck."
