The other day, I learned that a childhood friend passed away after a long battle with ALS. That night we had an incredible display of lightning as storms passed to the north and south of us. I dedicate these pictures to Steve, who I will always remember as a tan kid riding with me on the bow of a boat.
Riding up on the front deck was my favorite place to be after a long day of watching our dads surface breathless from chasing fish or Spanish treasure (ballast stones) all day. It seemed like we were always four hours out to sea (in pre-GPS and too-poor-for-Loran-C days where we relied on dead reckoning, word of mouth, a sketchy depth finder, and gut feelings for navigation to and from where the fish lived). The noise of the wind, bow waves, and engine droned out everything so that the front deck was a place where sign language and facial expressions ruled. We were innocent and didn't know about beer and women. Who knew that there could be more to life than travelling across the open water with the sun and salt spray against your face?
When we travelled back to shore, sometimes we went with the waves so that, although we were running at 20 mph, the water appeared to be moving by slowly, like a slow, endless river. The glare on the water and the slow motion of the boat through the swells was mesmerizing. Sometimes we dangled our feet over the bow. Other times we just sat back and soaked in the sun as the cool salt spray blew over. Each of us had our own stream of consciousness driving our grins. For me it was dreaming of the monster shark we would hook into that night. For Steve, I knew it was the same, which made me grin more.
Steve was at home on the water. Tan, windblown hair, and a big white-toothed smile. Farewell, Steve.
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