There are things that bother me and they should bother you, too. As my tide ebbs, the list grows longer. Here are some things (including some nautical knots) that chafe.
Unkindness. For those of you that read, there’s something called the Great Filter theory – why we look into the night sky and, as yet, nothing winks back. The theory goes: there’s a barrier preventing life from evolving into space-sailing civilizations. Some argue we’re past the filter and on our way; I don’t think so. We’re stuck in low earth orbit. I think our collective unkindness is the filter. It prevents us from effectively working together, from realizing we’re all in the same lifeboat. I’m as guilty as my neighbor. Aside from living and trying to contribute in my space, how often have I reached beyond the gunnels to help someone aboard? I don’t tithe. I haven’t adopted a child. It’s an affliction of affluence – our survival genetics keep us near the feathered nest. That chafes me. All the time.
Commercial fishing. These fishing vessel owners make a living off the ocean commons (read: the world’s ocean) and gripe about regulations meant to preserve what’s left of fish stocks. Meanwhile, they make little effort to protect their crew with real training, drug and alcohol testing, and decent work environments. In my line of work where we help injured mariners, I’ve encountered owners using pool cleaning chemicals to clean trawl nets; offshore vessels with such poor accommodations that a bucket serves as a toilet for a crew of four; owners who own the fish house that buys the catch (crew get shares of the fish catch, so go figure); owners hiring whoever’s standing on the dock, and owners sending unseaworthy vessels over the horizon. It’s a disgrace. This industry should be regulated like nobody’s business – and it should humbly appreciate its uniqueness: an industry that plucks profit from the public coffers. Yikes, this really chafes me.
Too small an ensign. Ron Ackman was a cool guy and one-half of Oldport Marine. In the late ‘80s, I was team Ackman and he always graced the launches with ensigns that almost touched the water. It looked sharp at idle and better underway. Too small an ensign chafes me.
Newfangled square fenders. Folks – arms outstretched, palms down, a la Biden – fenders are round so they’ll roll between your topsides and whatever obstacle you’re lying against. That square fenders are being foisted on the floating sector chafes me.
Waterlogged DEI. Easy there, I’m talking about the utter lack of diversity in youth sailing and boating generally. Instead of cranking around on your restored whatever with a suit of sails costing the salary of a Midwest elementary school teacher, how about buying some Optis for local public schools? Let’s get kids who’ve been (or may be) short-circuited by the odds out on the water. How about sailing programs with scholarships that recruit from the urban centers? And hey, you marine manufacturers: the way I see it, there’s a huge audience your marketing overlooks from power to sail. What chafes me is how white each sailing season appears.
Caribbean crew contracts. Corporate bigwigs owning Cayman Island-flagged yachts try and hire crew with onerous (malodorous?) contracts. Do you really think it’s fair to try and have the crew indemnify your corporate entity for a misadventure? Do you think applying British law to crew disputes is reasonable when your stinkpot spends two-thirds of the year in USA waters? From the hedge fund helmsman to the bellowing CEO, y’all are a joke and represent the worst making it that you chafe my soul. (Chill. Not all of you. The bad ones. Keep huffing, you know who you are.)
Backlit vessel names. Tenders more than a third of your yacht’s length. A tumbler of Scotch where the ice cubes are floating. Curled up shirt collars because you didn’t poke around in the dark to find the stays. Dogs in the coffee shop. Dogs in the grocery. Parents that parent in public – you ain’t ever getting Jimmy to behave outside if you haven’t spent the time to get him to behave at home. Chipped outboard props. Those Bluetooth speakers that make it so we’re all listening to your immature musical musings. Old men not knowing how to trim their runabout so they’re plowing around bow down. New ball caps. Waiting for a drink. Waiting for anything. Undercooked shrimp. The way Uber always seems to cost more than I expect. Gas grills. Wood screws in boat cabinetry where the slots aren’t vertically aligned. Instagram filters. (Nay, social media in toto.) Courts that don’t rule quick on discovery disputes. Dubstep. Nissans. Knee-length Khaki shorts. Wrapround sunglasses. White Lotus Season 3 (except Parker Posie) – Mike White is slipping. Starbucks writing nonsense on my six-dollar Americano – just stop; work on speedier service. Dried out deck boards on floating docks. Nice boats in expensive slips that get furry because they’re not used.
All this (and more) chafes me. But I know the salve for this chafing: it’s an ocean view of sun-dappled waters and a glass of something sweating in my hand. That’ll do. Get on with things. Make use of the spring. Be nice. Succumb to a vice. Enjoy your time, friendo.
Underway and making way. ■
John K. Fulweiler, Esq. is a Proctor-in-Admiralty representing individuals and small businesses in maritime matters including personal injury claims throughout the East and Gulf Coasts and with his office in Newport, Rhode Island. He can be reached at 1-800-383-MAYDAY (6293) or john@saltwaterlaw.com, or visit his website at saltwaterlaw.com.
