She is a writer and editor in her other life and is a super sailor to have on board. When not sailing here she is found racing sail boats. She holds a United States Coast Guard Masters License. When sailors take that last long journey they go to a place know as Fiddlers Green. This is a place where sailors of all ages and all oceans frozen in time gather on the mossy beach surrounded by rolling blue seas.
Weeping willows line the beaches with their limber branches easing their leaves to the ground.
One old timer with a heavy beard and cup of grog is laying paint onto an overturned dinghy as he takes long puffs on his pipe. The shimmering paint gathers in the seams of the lap strake hull as a group of sailors spin their yarns in the shade of the weaving willows. There were many white horses as you looked out to weather as the ocean attempted to resist the movement of the huge waves searching for a craft to raise on a crest and drop into a trough. The sun burned through the haze of the spume filled sky as the gallant old hooker drove down each wave. I lay in the net under the sprit facing the sea daring each passing wave to sweep me off the bow.