Captain and First Mate have sailed away in different directions.  For now, here’s the beginning of our love story.

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How do two young(ish) professionals from Manhattan end up unemployed, homeless, living aboard a sailboat that is cruising the Caribbean for a couple of years? When I gave notice at work, one of the partners said, “This sounds like a rash decision. Have you thought it through?” Yes. It’s been in the works for decades.

Jason grew up on the Jersey Shore; Brita grew up on the Great Lakes. We both loved the water, were out on it every day, all day during the summer and every chance we got on vacation. Neither of us was much for sailing growing up, preferring powerboats: (Jason) jet skis and (Brita) water ski boats.

We both moved to the big bad city, where we pursued our graduate degrees, careers and other hobbies. And then we stumbled upon the Manhattan Sailing Club in 2008/09, and were quickly quite hooked on sailing. Jason bought s/v Blue Moon in June 2012.  We met on a very cold, very wet, very windy evaluation sail in May 2013.

We were both ready to leave our jobs and the city, so we started to plan our getaway. I scoured maps for livable places on the water and job listings for jobs near livable places.  Finally, Jason said, “You know, we could just go sail around for a while.” Brilliant. Why hadn’t I thought of that?!

We spent much of fall 2014 getting Blue Moon ready and moving all of our stuff to our respective parents’ homes. Jason brought the boat down to the Bahamas in November 2014.  We resigned in January 2015, caught the first plane to reunite with Blue Moon, and have been sailing ever since.  Sail ho!

brita@sailho.com   |   +1.646.831.8740   |     jason@sailho.com   |   +1.201.697.2992

3 thoughts on “Crew

  1. Sea Fever
    BY JOHN MASEFIELD
    I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
    And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
    And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
    And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking,

    I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
    Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
    And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
    And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

    I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
    To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
    And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
    And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

  2. I like Bobbie’s quote, but it hasn’t got quite the same feel as this legendary beginning:

    “Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

    “There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.”

    Okay, sure, it’s a bit less recognizable without the first sentence: “Call me Ishmael.”

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