Call me Ishmael

Call me Ishmael. Heavy rain is forecast for tonight and anyone with any sense will be tucked away in their warm and dry living room. That description excludes me. I’ll be outside testing a sailing smock.

Faithful readers will recall multiple blogs where I vowed to go into a trip using only gear I now own. They might also remember that my batting average on that approximates that of a shortstop in double-A baseball. Undaunted, I renewed the vow for an expedition coming up this summer in Alaska.

I checked the average weather during that time of year and felt pretty good about my supply of outdoor clothing and such. I ran through the suggested packing list and once again came out smelling like roses. I was all set. That is, before the rat of doubt began gnawing away.

I received advice from various quarters. The material varied in content but a consistent theme emerged. It could rain like hell and get chilly. Make sure you stay warm and dry or you’ll curse you mother for the day your were born. Or, maybe just get hypothermic.

I repaired to the gear room, which is a bit less stocked than some outfitters. As noted in my previous preparation, I have the requisite rain parka. In fact, I have a lot more than one. The reason?

The standing joke among outdoors people is that there is no such thing as waterproof. The concept exists in the marketing jargon of manufacturers, but nature knows nothing of it. Nature will find a way to get water up, down or through your pathetic attempt to thwart her. Hence, with every failure, I acquired a new parka that made claims of better efficacy.

I couldn’t afford another failure. This was Alaska. Yeah, they have the same water, air, etc., but it’s Alaska. I needed something beyond the pale, vows be damned. The purveyors of mere outdoor togs had failed me and I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

So, I asked myself, who has the utmost need for protection from flying gouts of water and how do they cope with it? The first image that springs to mind is the television shows of grizzled seamen hauling crabs, lobsters and other unfortunate crustaceans aboard a pitching ship with decks awash in the northern climes. I dialed up a few of these and noted the brands of their outwear.

It’s a quick trip to the store via the web. The gear certainly appeared stout, but also equally user-unfriendly. The material seemed unyielding and was almost devoid of pockets. On a shipping vessel, you could always repair below to retrieve that odd implement you needed on the spur of the moment. I needed it at hand.

Who else? Offshore sailors. That’s the ticket! There was no shortage of sites purveying sailing attire.

The gear was spectacular. However, the underlying principle quickly became apparent. If you could afford a stately ketch to circumvent the globe, you were a prime prospect to overpay for the duds.

But, I surmised the corollary. If you’re that concerned about appearances, you wouldn’t be caught dead in last year’s fashion. It didn’t take long to surface the outlets for the démodé rags, including a couple that were really hungry. There I found a sailing jacket that made every effort to fend off the most determined of droplets and, at a good price.

So, if you peep out your window tonight into the raging gales and see someone cutting a figure that appears to be about 700 miles off course, that’s me.