Home is the Sailor from the Sea

Courtesy of Steve Callahan

After eight hard days at sea, a quiet dawn reveals the rugged tip of Bream Head, the entry to our home bay in New Zealand.

We probed our way into the new Marsden Cove Marina and slid up to the Customs Quarantine dock. I expected that when we tied the last line off to the dock cleats that we would hoop or holler in celebration. But neither of us wanted to shatter the stillness of dawn or desecrate what felt like a sacred moment. We just gave each other a high five and the long handshake of a job well done.

I do not know how many landfalls I have made in my life. Each passage has a personality of its own, each landfall a unique background setting. But with each comes the deep satisfaction of having navigated one's vessel safely across an open and unforgiving sea.

In spite of the joyful prospect of seeing my beautiful Diana again, sleeping the long slow and uninterrupted sleep of the dead, rendezvousing with old friends, walking on stable, immutable, still land, I felt an ironic sadness about the journey's end.

This has been a long and difficult voyage by design. It has tested our skills, endurance commitment and character. It has loomed large and central to my entire being for the last five years. It has spanned a dozen countries, several seas, and almost the entire Pacific, our largest ocean.

"Home is the sailor, home from the Sea." But how can one come home from the Sea when the Sea is home? I looked back out over those many miles of the majestic Pacific, who had once again proven herself to be a harsh mistress, but nevertheless, I silently pledged my undying devotion and eternal love.