Cole Tyler

The sky has quickly darkened, the swell rapidly grown, and the wind angrily picked up. We are on the verge of rounding Cape Horn.  Starting to get wild out there!  Gotta go help out.

 

Before I go, I will leave you with a phrase my grandfather used to say;

 

“Time on my brow has sit his seal,

            And I start; to find myself a man.”

                                               

 

I love you

 

Cole

I’ve been reflecting on this trip for the past few days and there are so many thoughts going through my mind. From when I wasn’t much more than a nuisance and the crew didn’t accept me to when Captain Carbajal finally approved of me in Columbia. This entire trek has been memorable to say the least.

 

The only regret I have is that we had to go through some tough times to get here, in particular Diego. I’m not sure if that will ever leave my soul, but I kind of don’t want it to.

 

We’re on the precipice of rounding the Horn and I can’t help but think back to being 8 years old and seeing my grandfather’s journal for the first time and formulating this dream. It’s funny, but I can even recall when I learned that once a sailor rounded the Horn he was able to place his elbows on the dinner table.

 

I can also remember the day that I left and by “left” I don’t just mean left home. I left my family, my friends, my life, and Adelaide.

 

I wish she understood why I was leaving at the time, but to be honest, I’m not even sure I understood why I was leaving.

 

You see, I have always wanted to change others, change someone’s life in one fashion or another and I initially thought this trip would allow that to happen. But in reality, the life that’s truly changed on this voyage has been mine.

 

Off to the deck,

 

Cole

 

Was going through Gramps’ journal on the bus ride to Lima and came across his entry when the rain got the best of him, like it may have towards me on the Incan Trail. I think you’ll enjoy and get to know him and his temper a little bit more. Gonna grab a bite to eat with the fellas and Maya.

 

                                                April 28

Fanning Island in sight but poor signs of getting there because we are becalmed and it is raining and has rained incessantly for the last four days. It seems as though all the windows of heaven are open. There is nothing but water above us, water beneath us. In fact there is water all around and whatever light air there is hauls around the compass about three times in 24 hours keeping us busy bracing the yards continually. Add to this, short intervals of scorching rays of a torrid sun and you have all that is necessary to break down the constitution of any common man. The ship’s Mate is laid up reduced to a mere skeleton. Some of the members of the crew are sick while others are complaining of sore hands and a disagreeable feeling is pervading throughout the whole ship with signs of insubordination among the crew during the last two days. My apprehensions are anything but agreeable unless we get fair weather with the change of the moon. We have the most stubborn and unmanageable crew I ever saw aboard a ship. They are all foreigners with the exception of one and he is a devil of the first water. I am feeling unwell and am certainly not in a very agreeable mood and have but one thing to say to them and that is that they must kill before they can trample on me. I have patiently held off punishing them in a number of instances because I did not have sufficient grounds to warrant extreme measures. Today, however, forbearance ceased so I struck a real genuine John Bull on the job and sent him head first under a spare topmast. I knew he would resent the blow as soon as he could get up so I head him down, when suddenly a damn big Scotchman pinned both of my arms behind me and in two minutes I had the whole watch on top of me. The Captain came to my help and got me out of the crowd with my face in a rather lacerated state. While the Captain was between me and the men, the Scotchman who was spokesman for a part of the watch happened to edge in front of an open door in the forward house, the threshold being about 20 inches from the deck. I could get hold of no weapon to strike him so I made a spring at him and sent him backwards over the doorway. He struck with the back part of his head on a large iron boat davit. Although I am sorry for what I did if the Captain would have left me alone I would, on the impulse of the moment, placed that Scotchman at a place where he never would have pinned another man’s arms. The Captain gave me a severe lecture and put me under strict injunctions. I suppose if the man’s health had not been in a precarious state things might have looked better. I don’t care a pipe, the ship must carry me home and that is all I want from her for if ever I get on American soil once more it must be a decidedly advantageous inducement that will get me on board another ship.

My turn to keep watch as Isaac is getting some well deserved shut eye and I thought I would give you all an update of where we really are. Well to be honest, I have no real clue where we are other than the Peruvian jungle somewhere between Lima and Cusco.  We’ve been hiding out and keeping an eye on the crew all day and now it’s gotten dark again here.

 

Anyway, I had the chance to ask Isaac about the Sendero Luminoso. I’m sure a few of you have googled them, but to hear what they are truly about was fascinating.

 

To paraphrase from Isaac, the Sendero are evil, have no heart, and deserve to suffer horrible deaths. A strong statement I know, but after you hear me out you’ll understand.  Just by the way Isaac’s been acting and the look on his face since the crash, I knew there was something that really got to him about this place.  I finally pried it out of him and what he told me freaked me the fuck out!

 

So I guess Captain Carbajal, Isaac’s dad, used to be a part of the Sendero. That obviously slipped Isaac’s mind as he was filling me in on his childhood, so thanks for that as it might have been relatively useful!

 

Regardless, not only was Carbajal a member of the Sendero, but he was the next in line to lead the organization before he bailed. Isaac told me that it was in 1957 when he left, but the years before that he and a man named Abinal ran the terrorist group.

 

Carbajal and Abinal had a falling out as Abinal loved the power that he was gaining and Carbajal noticed that it was going to Abinal’s head and was becoming more and more ruthless. It came to a boiling point when Abinal ordered Carbajal to kill someone and the Captain refused. Instead of killing Carbajal for insubordination, Abinal spared the Captain’s life but told him that he had to leave their camp and to never return.

 

Unbeknownst to Abinal, Carbajal had begun an affair with Abinal’s lady, Magdalena. She eventually got pregnant but out of fear didn’t tell Abinal that it wasn’t his baby.

 

When Carbajal left, he headed to Lima where he lived for the next 10 years. Meanwhile, back in Pleasantville, or the jungle where I’m currently sitting, Magdalena wed Abinal and they raised their son, Isaac, the guy sitting next to me.

 

Throughout that ten year period, Captain Carbajal and Magdalena would secretly meet at a church at the end of town. Eventually, Carbajal convinced her to join him and leave the now abusive Abinal and flee to Lima with their son, Isaac.

 

This undoubtedly pissed off Abinal and when he caught Magdalena packing he lost his mind and killed her with little Isaac standing in the doorway.

 

I guess Abinal didn’t know that Isaac was standing there because the little guy took off without anyone knowing it. He ran to the church where his mother told him to go if anything were to happen to her.

 

After a few days of no contact and Carbajal’s people updating him on the status of the jungle and the Sendero Luminoso, he got worried and went to the church.

 

There, he met his son for the first time and convinced him that he was his father as he knew Isaac’s middle name, Albatross, as that was the ship he first sailed on. (And if you recall, the same ship my grandfather sailed on). 

 

Crazy shit man. How bout it Connor?  You couldn’t MAKE this shit up!

 

Cole

It was a night full of dancing, drinking, and laughing. I sat and watched most of it take place. Around midnight most of the guys on the crew were making out with the local gal each of them had paired off with and I wish I had taken pictures to share with you.

 

While I did not have someone to kiss when the clock struck 12, I did think of a certain someone. She knows who she is and I hope to see her soon. So if you’re out there I want you to know that while we weren’t in each others arms to begin 2009, I would bet the shirt on my back that we were in each others minds.

 

Also, as the night was coming to a close the Captain came up to me as the other guys were dancing, drinking, and attempting to be smooth. I was leaning against a post, he stood next to me for what seemed like 20 minutes when it was in all likelihood about 2 and said nothing.

 

After the pause he told me that Diego’s death wasn’t my fault.

 

I kind of shrugged it off to get him away from me because he had a few cocktails in him, but he continued.

 

He told me that the crew, all 12 of them look up to me. I think he actually said the word ‘admire.’ When I asked him why, he responded quickly and effortlessly.

 

“All they have is this boat – some who have been sailing since they were 13 around South America and some who have been working on the docks in these small nothing towns. When they see you, they see someone who jumps at opportunities, someone who jumps at life, someone who is fearless. You’ve earned their respect.”

 

Stunned as I kind of thought they resented me, especially Raphael as his little bro just got killed in my freaking arms, I began to walk away.

 

But the Captain grabbed my arm, looked me in the eye and in his elder seaman fashion he told me something I’ll never forget and might have been yearning to hear since I was 8.

 

“Cole, you have your Grandfather’s genes.”

 

It was at that moment that we both cracked a smile, toasted to Gramps, and began what will undoubtedly be a great 2009.

 

Happy New Year. I love you all.

 

Cole

We walked to her beachfront hotel another quarter-mile away, both of us staring at the ocean and both of us sobering up from the one too many shots of grand marnier provided by that bartender, Jaycen. It was around 3:00 AM. 

 

We stopped in front of her hotel and I gave myself a good ‘ol pep talk as she was about to walk out of my life forever. So, like Tom Cruise in Risky Business, I said “what the fuck” and poured my heart out to her. Not sure why I told Maya everything, but I had to get it off my chest and I figured that the likelihood of seeing her again was slim to none.  We both have flights booked to two very different parts of the world.

 

To paraphrase, I told her that when I booked this trip, it was as though I was on some drug. Like the power of the Cape was urging me to it. That by experiencing the majesty of the Cape, I would be able to change the world because the stories I would tell would urge others to tap into their imaginations, be curious, and wonder why . . . and why not.

 

As I told her, my eyes actually began to water as I held my journal, the one Tierney gave me in Hermosa Beach, and spoke about this blog, my writing, Adelaide, and this journey.

 

I told her how I booked this trip because it was my dream since I was a child, ever since my grandfather first spoke to me about its power. I have read about it, wrote about it, and dreamt about it for years and now that I’m here, it’s like, ‘what am I thinking?!?’

 

I mean look at me! I’m just another number, just another person in this over-populated world. I had this vision of changing others and I can’t even take care of myself. I can’t even take care of an 8-year old boy!

 

After my rant Maya looked toward the dimly lit parking lot adjacent to her hotel and she pointed to the kids kicking a soccer ball and asked me to take a look at them.

 

“Cole, those kids wake up every day to this city, to poverty. They don’t know any different. Yet look at them. They still play. They still dream. They still imagine. But their dreams, their imaginations, have limitations, restrictions.”

 

“They don’t get to go on family vacations and see the places you’ve seen. Their minds don’t even allow for them to dream of the places that you’ve lived because they can’t fathom them. If you bail on this trip, if you turn around and go back to where it’s easy, where it’s normal, to where you’re supposed to be…well, then you’re not only a coward, but you’re a phony.”

 

“And everything you’ve ever written in that brown journal is bullshit. And that’d make you just like everyone else and I don’t think that’s you. You’re different Cole. You’re unique.”

Maya then clasped my hands and as her eyes watered so did mine. “Cole, you talk about living the dream. Well, you’re halfway there…what would your grandfather want you to do?”

 

And as I turned toward the ocean to attempt to rid that crater size lump in my throat that was forcing water in my tear ducts, Maya took out her pen, wrote her information on a page in my journal, and said, “Why don’t you meet me in Machu Picchu?”

As the sun began to rise at our backs on that morning Maya gave me a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and then flashed that striking smile once more before she turned and walked toward her hotel.

And yes, after about 15 meters she turned and looked back… and smiled.

And yes, after about 15 seconds after that I looked forward…and toward Cape Horn…and smiled.

 

More later.  Lots to think about.

 

Cole

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Holidays to all of you!  Even though I’m “on my own” during this holiday season, I have managed to meet some great people and have had some amazing conversations and experiences with them.  What more could I ask for? 

 

I have to finish this cool story that I’ve been posting about . . .

 

After hearing my long story about Gramps, Maya and I finally sat down on the beach and watched the wave’s crash against the shore. They were uncommonly loud this particular evening.

 

Maya was captured by the story and stated the obvious, “So your grandfather sailed around Cape Horn and that’s why you are attempting to do the same, right?”

 

Not exactly. Thus, I then had to explain that there was more to the Cape than just his story at the dinner table.

 

As my grandfather completed his trip around Cabos de Hornos, he contacted his wife from Puerto Williams, the largest port city near Cape Horn. When he called her she told him that she was 8 months pregnant and was having difficulties. Angry that she never told him, but understanding that he had to quickly get home, Gramps got on the next flight out of Chile.

 

When he landed in our hometown 36 hours later he arrived to Clare in labor. Their child, my Dad, was successfully born, but Clare’s health was in danger.

 

There were a large amount of complications due to her pregnancy and as you may have imagined, she passed away two days after achieving her lifelong dream of having a child.

 

Gramps was not exactly the world’s greatest father as he was relatively clueless when it came to how to raise a kid and he buried himself in his job of running his and Clare’s Bed and Breakfast. So he raised his son in a strict mode and in a fashion where he never shared his stories from the sea. Thus, my Dad, who was a dreamer, never got to actualize those thoughts.

 

After telling Maya the back-story on my grandfather I felt some connection with her. Thankfully, she began to tell me about her career, family, and life back home in Cape Towne as it seemed as I was doing all of the talking. 

 

Off for now. 

Cole

As we walked along the silky, sandy beach directed by a moonlight that seemed as if it was painted by God’s hand himself, I told Maya that this trip began when I was a kid.

 

Not sure if any of you bloggers know, but my grandfather, William Tyler was 18 years old and broke while working on the docks of New York City when he fell in love with the sea. When he heard about the bombings on Pearl Harbor he felt compelled to join the Navy and fight in World War II.

 

After the war he returned home, met my grandmother, Clare, and tried to start a family. Unfortunately, they were initially unable to have children so Clare, who felt she was to blame for not being able to bear children, allowed her husband to leave for a year and chase his dream of sailing on the high seas.

 

Thus, he set sail upon The Albatross hoping for adventure and searching for answers and ultimate purpose in his life.

 

It’s kind of funny, but Gramps’ first step on the ship was a soft one that was full of weariness, curiosity, and excitement. But that excitement was quickly replaced with fear, motion sickness, and resentment toward some of his shipmates that I wrote about earlier.

 

His captain, Captain Brennan, was a 67 year old seaman and Navy veteran, who my Gramps admired and hated at the same time. Captain Brennan initially taught him how to tack, read the stars, and release his sails, he also taught him about the essence of living which prepared him for the most profound moment of his life.

 

As my Gramps sailed on he began to realize the reason he went on the trip was to learn, teach, and essentially live life as he made his way toward the “edge of the earth,” or Cape Horn.

 

His moment when he sailed around the infamous Cabos de Hornos is one that I can recount as he told me time and time again as a child.

 

I can practically picture him telling the story around the dinner table.

 

We would be sitting across from each other at a small, 4 person wooden table that sat next to a fireplace. My youthful eyes locked onto his and his elderly face daydreaming back to one of the greatest moments in his life. Every time he told it, the story remained the same, but each time my ears heard it the Goosebumps on my arms grew and the amount of sleep I got that evening shrunk.

 

He spoke of how he was outside on deck while the members of his crew who had rounded the Horn sat around a table like the one we were at. Their feet resting on the table as Whisky was being poured and jokes being told. This particular table was where one could sit only if you had rounded the upcoming continent.

 

Gramps would then take a sip of his Whisky, or at least I thought that was what he was drinking, swing his feet onto the table, and tell me what rounding Cape Horn truly meant.

 

“Captain Brennan walked to the bow and placed his hand on the headstay and spoke to me in a manner in which I can still recall every last word.”

 

And then he did so.

 

“William, this site is powerful and it is not for everyone. But those who can accept its powers, its history, must be clear in their thoughts. Meaning, you must comprehend that this sight is one that embodies dreams, life, love and danger. Dreams my son, are a must. If you are not dreaming, you are not living. If you are not living, you are not inspiring and impacting others. If you fail to love, you are stealing from society and raping your soul of what it has learned. And if you are afraid of danger, then well…you wouldn’t have stepped aboard…”

 

By this time I was not only hooked on his story, but envisioning myself at the bow of The Albatross.

He continued enacting Captain Brennan’s speech. “William, if there is anything Cape Horn proves it’s that life is about living, and to live, you must dream. So William, dare to be great and live your dream and let this moment remain in your heart forever.”

 

And like clockwork, a tear would drop from my grandfather’s eye and as I told Maya the initial reason why I was here, a tear dropped from mine.

 

 

 

   …As I said before the wind hauled to the S.E. and before daylight it blowed very hard. We took in all sail except a close reefed mail topsail, because we had no other storm sail bent at the time. Toward the evening of the 19^th the gale increased to a hurricane with heavy rain and raised by the terrific force of the wind. It was impossible to tell whether it was rain or spray because the sea ran mountains high and every time the ship yawned by the wind and got into the trough of the sea, the waves broke over us in such a fearful manner immerging the ship entirely for 20 to 30 seconds at a time. The clouds were very thick and heavy and appeared to touch the mastheads. They turned day into night and night into darkness.

     The men were all called aft for fear the forecastle would be washed overboard. During the worst part of the gale we were all busy in getting up tackle to secure our masts for the ship was rolling very heavily and we had all made up our minds to see them go with every roll and only because of the skillful work of our Captain we would have lost them. At 7 o’clock in the evening the wind increased to such a terrific extent that she would not have her bitts any longer. The Captain ordered to have it goosewinged which is done by hauling up the weather side and make it fast with gaskets the remaining part of the sail looks then like the wing of a bird. It is the last resort seamen have resource to save their spars and is one of the most dangerous and trying maneuvers at sea and will show what kind of stuff a man is made of. I never saw it performed but once before and hope I may never have to see it again.

     The gale continued in its fury until 2 o’clock in the morning of the 20^th with it died away a calm following all in a moment the sea becoming smooth in equally as quick a time. This is very seldom the case and presages anything but good weather, for when the wind and waves abate at the same time and so suddenly after a heavy gale, it invariably follows that the wind will turn round in the opposite direction and blow the same gale back again. After the gale a dead calm reigned for about an hour; everybody was looking over the bulwarks scanning the horizon while the Captain was watching every movement of the clouds in order to find out how to lay the yards for the reception of the second edition of the gale. We all expected it and made no sail. The ship was pitching sluggishly at the mercy of the sea and sort of painful and melancholy silence prevailed fore and aft during the calm. At 3 A.M., a light breeze sprang up from the S.W. which soon veered around to the N.W. just allowing us time enough to brace the yards around when it came down upon us with a vengeance continuing about 12 hours when it moderated a little and we made sail on ship and put the wheel up and steered away to the S.E.

     We had the wind nearly aft and plenty of it making rapid progress to the South and, as we were now rapidly approaching the tropics, the weather became warm and pleasant. The past gale gave us all a good shaking up bringing our sea legs into use, and we became acquainted with each other forgetting our unhappiness all dwelling on the happy thought that this would be his last voyage, all sailors being alike declaring that every voyage is his last one. Strong and good resolutions are passed for the future everyone undergoing a serious reflection of his passed follies so that in these sober moments a general reformation takes place; no more liquor is to be touch fast women forgotten, and in fact a new leaf is turned over by one and all. How easy it is to make a virtue out of necessity and how natural it is to make resolutions when long enough removed from these vices which our own senses teach us to be in the end of our ultimate ruin. What a pity that memory is so short that even the sight of one of these old scenes will cause us to forget our past miseries and

that our minds are too weak and unstable to resist the temptation of again indulging in the old habits. Such, however, is the run of the world that it has truly been said by the poet, “Resolve and reabsolve and then die the same.”

 

I’m off to bed.

Cole

 

So the wind has yet to pick up as it’s been almost a full day without movement and the crew is either sleeping, laughing in their own cliques, or looking at and laughing at me. And Isaac’s hair has still yet to move. As you might imagine, it can get lonely on the wide open sea and yes, I’ve been thinking about her.

 

But I thought you would like another story from my Grandfather as I’ve been re-reading his journal to stay busy. He wrote this next entry about a few days of adventure at sea.

(I know I’m not supposed to say this, but I can’t wait for adventure like that).

 

     The wind was light but fair and we had all sail set to the best advantage and nothing unusual happened until the 18^th when the wind hauled to the south east and the sky became overcast with thick and heavy clouds. In fact the indications all about us warned every experienced sailor of an impending storm. It was nearly the time when the sun crosses the equator so we of course expected part if not the heft of the equinoctial gale. We therefore prepared ourselves by shortening sail in good time, but shortening sail would scarcely suffice in so powerful a gale for it was quite likely our masts would be shortened as well. Our rigging was all new and our ship having laid in the hot sun for a long time caused it to become very slack. It should have been set up before the vessel went to sea. Merchants and shipowners, however, care very little how ships get from one port to another so long as they turn out a good and profitable cargo. They imagine that if she only gets our to sea the sailors will look our for her no matter how much trouble they may have so far as their lives are concerned, and only for the sake of saving a few paltry dollars for the sake of the owners. But sometimes they pay very dearly for it with the loss of their spars and sometimes the whole ship and ship’s company with her.

     The former was very nearly the case with us. By setting up rigging—-I mean to tighten it, and dear friend should you ever go aboard a ship you will observe that every rope in her has an iron thimble, or wooden block called deadeye, spliced in the end of it with a number of small holes through which a smaller rope leads called a lanyard. A similar block is fastened in that part of the ship where the rope leads through these two deadeyes several parts of the lanyard is rove, a tackle is clapped another one of the same purchase and is called, “luff upon luff.” The hauling part of the latter is taken to the gypsey or capstand and hove tight, and by which means the lowest rope can be made as tight as a harp string.

     This work can only be done in fine weather and should always be attended to as in the proverb, “in time of peace prepare for War,” this is fully verified.

 

More later – should get some work done.

Cole