“Wow! This is great!” Terry shouted. He was practically jumping up and down in his seat. “I’m going to order one tomorrow.”
His enthusiasm caught all of us by surprise. We had met Terry just a few hours earlier when, after an Atlantic crossing and two months of exploring England’s southwest coast, we sailed into the town of Poole. The only open space at the town quay was just astern of Fandango, a handsome, bright-blue, 35-foot wooden sloop. As we approached the rough stone wall, Terry and his two mates had rushed off Fandango to take Seraffyn’s lines.
We appreciated their help, as the rushing tide and gusty wind presented a real challenge. As soon as my husband, Larry, and I finished securing all our lines, I invited the three on board for a drink. We soon learned they were schoolmates from the Midlands of England. Terry, a cabinetmaker, said, “We all work in the trades, and it’s taken us five years to buy and outfit Fandango. She’s almost ready to go. As soon as spring arrives, we’ll have saved enough money so we can set off cruising.”
Two hours later, the dark and cold of late autumn seemed to rush in. My head was swimming from the laughter and all the questions these potential voyagers asked. To call an end to the evening, I got out a small, leather-bound book we’d been given as a launching gift. On the cover, Seraffyn’s name was monogrammed in gold leaf above the words “Guest Log.”
David, one of Terry’s mates asked him, “What’s so great about that book?”
“Don’t you see?” Terry replied. “We ask everyone we meet to sign it. Then, if ever we go broke, we can write and hit them up for a fiver,”
Larry almost choked with laughter. “No, Terry. That’s not the idea,” he said. “Having everyone sign the guest book ensures we will remember their names the next time we meet up, or we can contact them if we sail near where they live.”
As soon as all three had signed the book, I suggested it was time to call the evening to a close.
A few days later, Terry came rushing along the quay and called Larry topside. “I want you to be the first person to sign our new guest book,” he proudly stated as he handed Larry the handsomely embossed book.
“I’d be pleased to sign it,” Larry replied. He took the book below and ceremoniously signed it. Terry couldn’t wait. The minute Larry climbed back into the cockpit and handed Fandango’s guest book back, Terry opened it. He glanced at Larry’s comment.
“You ruined my book!” Terry shouted, truly angry. “You ruined it. Now everyone will see what you wrote!”
As Terry stomped off, I turned to Larry. “What did you write in there?” I demanded.
“No loans.”
Several years later, we were sharing a delightful evening on board Wanderer V with our mentors Eric and Susan Hiscock at Daphne Island near Victoria, British Columbia. Late in the evening, Susan brought out their guest book and asked us to sign it. As is tradition, I skimmed through its pages, commenting on the entries from cruisers we’d also met during our travels, others whose paths we hoped to cross at some future port of call. While I was perusing the pages, Larry brought up the story of Terry and Fandango’s guest log.
“Larry isn’t the only person to upset someone over a guest book,” Susan said. “In British yachting circles, bringing out the guest book is a polite way to signal: time to end the gathering. I always assumed everyone knew that. But….”
She and Eric had been anchored in English Harbour, Antigua, where they’d watched a young couple sail in on a smart-looking, relatively small cruising boat. Soon after anchoring, the couple launched their tender, rowed over to Wanderer IV, and then somewhat shyly asked if Eric and Susan would be interested in joining them for drinks the next day.
“They seemed genuinely excited when we accepted,” Susan said. “The next morning, Eric and I couldn’t help noticing they appeared to be spend every minute tidying their boat. At the appointed time, we rowed across. The boat was immaculate. We were invited to have a look around on deck, where we were shown all of their favorite details. Then we were escorted belowdecks and given a detailed tour of the sparkling interior. I saw a lovely display of hors d’oeuvres sitting on the galley counter along with four glasses and two bottles of wine. So, I was taken aback when, the moment we were invited to sit down at the saloon table, the wife handed me their guest log and asked Eric and I to sign it.
“As I added our names and a comment to their guest log, I tried not to show my confusion and disappointment,” she continued. “I had been looking forward to learning more about this charming couple. But as soon as Eric had added his signature, we both stood up, thanked them, climbed into our dinghy and rowed home. Once back on board Wanderer, Eric and I tried to figure out what we might have said to have our visit ended so abruptly. But by the time we figured out the wife probably hadn’t understood the protocols of guest books, they had already lifted their anchor and left the bay. We never saw them again.”
And what brought these two stories to mind? A few weeks ago, I received a message on social media. “I am not sure you remember me. We met at Poole town quay maybe 50 years ago,” wrote David Jackson. “I was on a boat named Fandango, sailing with two mates. Now my wife and I are planning on visiting New Zealand. Love to catch up.”
I reached over to where I keep my three guest books. One is from Seraffyn’s 11-year meander and has lost its original cover. The more battered-looking, leather-bound one is from Taleisin’s 27-year sojourn. The latest is a far less formal, but nonetheless loved store-bought notebook with “Sahula’s Guestbook” written on the cover in indelible black ink.
It took me a while to locate the entries that each of Fandango’s crew had made. Not because they were difficult to find, but because each page I turned opened up a flood of memories.
Some of the people who signed these pages had been folks like Terry and David who hoped to set off on a life-changing voyage. Others are what I call addicted voyagers, like the Hiscocks, whom we crossed paths with in a number of widely scattered anchorages. Still others were dreamers who wandered down a jetty and paused to chat with us, then came on board and became lifelong friends. There were also those we only knew for a few hours, but always, in one way or another, each enriched our cruising life.
When I replied to David’s online message, I included a photo of the page he’d signed and wrote, “Thank you for your friendship way back then and for giving me a reason to meander through my guest book today. I am once again reminded, as much as I love the sailing, the wonderful destinations, the beautiful vistas, it is the people I’ve met along the way that have kept cruising totally enticing.”
After cruising more than 240,000 miles, National Sailing Hall of Fame inductee Lin Pardey is off to sea again. Her latest book, Passages: Cape Horn and Beyond, encourages folks to go simple, go small and go now.
