Free Atlantic High by William F. Buckley Jr.

required—large plastic garbage bags for dirty laundry
    address book
    Arriving in Antigua ten days before Christmas, we were introduced to
Sealestial
. Notwithstanding my misgivings about large charter vessels and their capacity to sail, as voiced in my journal from Fiji, I had a feeling, on approaching her in the crowded dock at English Harbor, that this was a boat designed to sail. And, indeed, we discovered that the beautiful white ketch had been designed as that—a racing boat, built in 1973 at the South Ocean Shipyard in England, designed by E. G. Van de Stadt. The prototype was
Stormvogel
, against which we had once raced to Bermuda aboard
Suzy Wong. Sealestial
, its mast cut down by eight feet, was now a cruising-charter version of
Stormvogel
, 41 net tons, 47 gross, with 71 feet of length overall, 18.6 feet of beam, drawing 8.5 feet (disqualifying it for Bahamian waters, significant areas of which accommodate a maximum of 5.5 feet—
Cyrano’s
draw).
    A boat is easier to visualize than to describe, and accordingly herewith a few shots of
Sealestial
, including its huge saloon and the owner’s splendid cabin.
    The owner of
Sealestial
is a Yugoslav-American physician who practices in Detroit, Dr. Papo, with whom I will deal later. The dominant figure in
Sealestial
was its captain, Allen Jouning.
    We stowed rapidly, eager to test the boat. I took the helm, with no objection from Captain Jouning, eased the vessel back, and headed out for a short afternoon sail to the northwest, anchoring off a small, secluded beach. I felt an instant bounciness to the vessel, which responded joyfully to wheel and wind. I could see that she pointed (came up close to the wind) well, without losing speed. She had on a less than full-cut genoa, but we did 8.5 knots in moderate airs, and that’s not only good but very nearly unheard of in heavy, large, charter sailboats. We were all very happy, and vaguely resolved that
Sealestial
would figure in our future.
    Provided it is always safest to add, that Allen Jouning was aboard. I noticed first that he was quiet, emitting as few instructions to the paid crew as necessary, in comfortable contrast to the raucous types who make a drill out of every maneuver. I noticed next that he raised no objection not only to my acting as master of the vessel, but even to my maneuvering the boat into and out of tight corners. He knew, of course, that I had sailed. But it is nevertheless the practice of most captains gently to edge themselves back to the wheel at just those critical moments when you wish to exercise your own skills. On most charter boats you are made to feel like the new copilot who is welcome to take the wheel after cruising altitude is reached, always on the understanding that he will give it back to the old pro for landing and takeoffs. Elsewhere I have commented that since age thirteen I have owned the boats I have sailed with fewer than a half-dozen exceptions. I find it easy to play a purely passive role on a boat, and easy to act as the boat’s master; anything in between, I fidget.
    Allen Jouning sensed this, as he seemed, with uncanny intuition, to sense other human idiosyncrasies, all of which he handled with humor, thoughtfulness, and dignity. He had been in command of
Sealestial
since November 1978. He was born in Auckland in 1946, and was schooled there. In 1969, having sailed eight years, he went to Fiji and did charter work for two years. From there he delivered a boat to Los Angeles in a harrowing forty-two-day passage, nonstop, beating all the way, running out of everything save the barest supplies.
    He was determined to race, and found himself as first mate in the Onion Patch series aboard Bermuda’s
Peanut Brittle
, and then on an Erickson 46,
Alita
, on which he did the Annapolis-Bermuda race. Just before coming to
Sealestial
he was master of
Venceremos
, a Swan 65—a “gold-plater,” as they denominate boats on which no expense is spared, that they may bring home the