The Prisoner... Thoughts and Quotes

The Prisoner. How does one describe this thing? First it must be noted that it is a British television show from the 1960's. I still remember watching the reruns in the 1970's, as a kid. The premise, superficially, concerns an intelligence agent, ala James Bond or similar, who tries to escape his professional position and his unsatisfying life. But as he tries to retire, he is drugged and taken to a mysterious island. The island is populated with ostensibly happy people, and the environment is a lovely seaside village. And everyone is identified by a single number. Our protagonist is given the "name" Number 6.

Number 6 doesn't know why he's there at first, but then it becomes clear that some para-government entity has put him there. And all they WANT is for #6 to tell them WHY he resigned and WHAT he knows. And, generally, they want him to be a good citizen of the village, and conform, join-in, be nice... normal and friendly.

Of course, #6 immediately thinks of nothing else except ESCAPE.

In the end, the television series explores the relationship between an individual and the community. This is an ancient problem. The ancient Greeks ruminated excessively upon this very thing. And, philosophically, it is not in any way clear which is more important, the individual or the community in which he resides.

Our contemporary instincts tell us that the best good is that which is best for the most people. But it may come as a surprise that this is a rather new idea, or at least it's an idea which is only now popular, briefly, historically speaking. Surely it can be argued that great men, men like Socrates and Plato and Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson, are more important to the very core of mankind than the teeming masses.

In my own estimation, the individual is at least as important as the community, and perhaps is of greater value. The individual human must be protected and respected as the most precious thing alive. That's why we have laws protecting the lone man against the tyranny of the many. The lone man stands aside the group, forever glorious and irreplaceable.

With that said, here are some quotes from The Prisoner:

First, my favorite:
“I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own.”
--No.6; Arrival

And more. Peruse at your leisure:


New No.2: “Good day, Number Six.”
No.6: “Number what?”
New No.2: “Six. For official purposes, everyone has a number. Yours is number 6.”
No.6: “I am not a number, I am a person.”
--Arrival


No.2: “We can treat folly with kindness . . . knowing that soon his wild spirit will quieten, and the foolishness will fall away to reveal a model citizen.”
No.6: “That day you'll never see.”
--Dance of the Dead


“Unlike me, many of you have accepted the situation of your imprisonment and will die here like rotten cabbages.”
--No.6; Free For All


The Queen: “I want to be near you.”
No.6: “And everybody's near in this place . . . far too near.”
--Checkmate


No.2: “Tell me. . .are you still as keen as ever to leave us?”
No.6: “Any more questions?”
--The General


Chairman: “We deplore your spirit of disharmony.”
No.6: “That's a common complaint around here, isn't it?”
--A Change of Mind


No.2: “I assure you, that no matter what significance you may hold for me, to the Village and its Committee, you are merely Citizen Number Six, who has to be tolerated, and if necessary, shaped to fit.”
No.6: “Public Enemy Number Six.”
--A Change of Mind


“You still have a choice. You can still salvage your right to be individuals. Your rights to truth and free thought! Reject this false world of Number Two . . . reject it NOW!!”
--No.6; A Change of Mind


“He told [those kids] a . . . a blessed fairy tale. That one wouldn't drop his guard with his own GRANDMOTHER!”
--No.2 [concerning No.6]; The Girl Who Was Death


AND THE FINAL TWO:

“He has revolted. Resisted. Fought. Held fast. Maintained. Destroyed resistance. Overcome coercion. The right to be a person, someone or individual. We applaud his private war, and concede that despite materialistic efforts, he has survived intact and secure!”
--The President; Fall Out

“All that remains is . . . recognition of a man.”
--The President; Fall Out

Final note:
I suppose, too, that I should tell you the ending of the entire TV series. So if you don't wish to know, then stop reading.

Throughout the series of episodes, Number 6 continued to plead to see Number ONE. But he could never get passed Number 2. Number ONE was the only person who could, in the end, grant Number 6 freedom. Of course, finally, Number 6 is allowed to meet Number One. And who does he meet? Himself. That's right, Number One is his own self. The entire time, the person who was holding Number 6 PRISONER was his own self, his own fears... A great metaphor, for sure, beyond all the concerns of society and the individual within. In the end, WE are the people who stop ourselves from success. We fear escape. We fear success. We enslave our own souls by adhering to the ideals of the familiar.

More Illegal Drug Horror

First, let me say, I don't mind people smoking a little pot or snorting a little cocaine, or whatever, in the realm of mild hedonism... assuming all things, otherwise, are equal. But that's not reality. We do not live in a vacuum.

I know I've mentioned this before, but if you use illegal drugs, especially pot or cocaine or meth, you are FINANCING the drug cartels and the associated violence, killing, and destruction... the horror... You are financing the horror. Just look at the daily headlines out of Mexico.

Mexico. We in the U.S. get almost all our drugs from the Mexican drug gangs, those brutal and soulless institutions which market pleasure mixed with blood. Of course, we might think it's a Mexico problem, and not our concern. Well, the cartels have actually set-up a nicely organized network throughout North American cities, from Anchorage to Key West. They're right down the street, so to speak. But even if it were simply a problem in a foreign nation, the problem is, we are the ones creating the problem. Plus, the argument that non-Americans are undeserving of our concern is conspicuously without heart.

Let me be blunt.

Buy some weed today? Some coke? Take a toke today? Congratulations, you just added your own little money advance to the nightmare. Congratulations, moron. Sleep well in your stupor.

Listen, man, the Cosmos is full of pleasures that don't need to feed this catastrophe.

A cool glass of wine... sweet sex... dolphins off the bow of your boat... the laughter of a dependable friend... an anticipated meal... the smile of a curious child... starry, starry nights...

And on and on...

Listen, man, I wish drugs were legal, too. But they're not, at least not the kind of which I write tonight. Unfortunately, the appetite in America for these particular drugs is overwhelming. We give the cartels 30 BILLION BUCKS a year, and we sell them their automatic rifles and grenades and rocket launchers.

I mean, I don't know... Look in the mirror... No, do it... Look in the mirror and consider. I must do it also. I pay taxes and support the US military and its sometimes questionable (at best) use of force... .... And I pay for the government to ride harder and harder over the populace of our nation... But I must choose my battles. I politely decline to smoke. I politely decline to enjoy the company of many folks because of their drug use. Many folk. ...We must choose our battles.

Now, with that said, watch this video from last year. Horror.

PIIGS: The Beginning of the End for the World Economic System?

When the normal guys start talking crazy, that's when I get REALLY nervous. There's always nay-sayers and contrarians and fringe personalities making money off of common fear, but as more mainstream commentators comment on possible DOOM, I am chilled:



What Brian Williams is mentioning is something called PIIGS in Europe. It stands for "Portugal Ireland Italy Greece Spain." More recently it may be indicated as PIIGGS, with the extra G for Great Britain. ... The term has been around for a while, but what it now infers is any European country with high government debt levels and an unsustainable economic reality. GREECE is the current big struggle, and is completely collapsing economically, and thus socially and fundamentally.

I am no expert, but I do my best to piece things together from various sources. I confess that I am a libertarian politically, which means, in one sense, that I do not believe government should be involved in the realm of business and economics, basically, but should be a small entity just as it was originally conceived in the U.S., with little interest in how we conduct our individual lives as long as we are just to each other. The government should have a capable military, an adequate court system, but generally these people who join the government of the U.S.A. should leave us all the hell alone.

Of course, today, the governments of the U.S. and virtually everywhere have become giant enterprises, more or less, and have taken over the role of the mafia and similar organized crime associations of the various cultures worldwide, banning such organizations while simultaneously collecting payment from individuals and threatening us all with violence, naming imprisonment. I find it remarkable that we've allowed ourselves to be so ridiculously dupped. Then again, I suppose it is all about the psychological force known as "the father." Each of us will always be the children of our parents, and we all, secretly, wish to be protected and cared-for by this "father entity." Food, shelter, love... So we vote HIM into power in the form of more government oversight and help, more entitlement, more and more and more... and finally we quietly cross a point of no return and get to a point at which the father can no longer realistically provide for us. The whole world is reaching this place. Greece is our future, it is being said.

Europe and the International Monetary Fund are now moving into action. ONE TRILLION DOLLARS (750 billion euros) are being spent to save Greece and stabilize the markets. Now, one of the amazing things about this is that Greece is a nation of only 11 million people, which is smaller than New York City or Los Angeles. Heck, my original hometown of Dallas/Fort Worth is over half that size. So what's the big deal about Greece?

Well, again, I lack technical knowledge here, but the idea is that ALL IS INTERCONNECTED in this world, economically. The construction of this worldwide, interconnected economic reality occurred throughout the 20th century. Let me explain. We had World War I, WWII, and we had all the horrors we could imagine became reality. The popular notion, then, was to connect all nations politically and especially economically, so that if one nation attacked another, it would AUTOMATICALLY "lose," because it was harming its own economy as it sought destruction of the other nation. It's like the Cold War. Mutually-guaranteed destruction: if the US attacked the USSR with nuclear weapons, the USSR would retaliate with nuclear weapons, and both nations would be destroyed.

In the end, this has basically WORKED. No world wars, just occasional incidents in small countries, in a sense, despite the very real loss of life in places like Vietnam. These days, the US cannot attack China, because we would destroy our economy, and vice-versa, and on and on.

But there is ONE FATAL FLAW, as I understand it, and which many are beginning to speak of. If one part of this daisy chain goes over the cliff economically, it starts pulling the other links of the chain over with it, or at least starts a gravitational force upon the rest of the long chain. Slowly, as this force is unrelenting, other chain links are pulled toward the precipice. And as these nations, one by one, fall over the cliff, they pull the rest of us over as well.

The EU and the IMF and the USA are attempting to save Greece, but there are "conditions" which Greece must meet. Greece must reduce the size of its government and associated payrolls and pensions, and must begin privatizing some of its health care system. Greece has for too long taken money out of the private sector and put it into government. The obvious observation by an American is, "Hey, aren't we going in the same direction?!" Yes we are. As we bail-out Greece and demand that it reduce its public sector, we are simultaneously increasing the size of our public sector and are removing more of the health care system from private hands. We are making ourselves into one of the PIIGGS.

But how long do we have before the images of rioting on TV are images of US cities? I do not know. Some say it could begin any ol' time now, but others say it'll be a couple of years, or any point in between, while others say that we are a special situation which is somewhat immune to such things.

I don't know. I am neither a sage nor a fortune-teller. But it looks very, very bad. The stimulus money is apparently going to be running-out soon. Many states have sustained their public institutions this past year only because of that stimulus entitlement. Without it, an array of public jobs and works will be unfunded further, likely leading to mass lay-offs around the country in the next year or so, or so I understand. And that public state consideration is only one small part of the disaster we face. The private foreclosure mess isn't any better, and at any time may move wholeheartedly into commercial real estate. The local malls will begin closing, and then supermarkets. And while some stores will certainly survive and even prosper perhaps, the growing closings of the local malls and whatnot will likely have profound psychological effects en masse upon the population.

ODD TIMING. For myself, I have fully accepted the life of the starving artist, and of living with little. I have realized that, in order to concentrate on serious art, I must abandon all the money-making infatuation I have, in a sense. I mean, in order to have a nice apartment and a nice car and a nice TV and a nice computer and ALL THAT (which IS all very nice, don't get me wrong) I MUST WORK MANY, MANY HOURS in whatever job I can get, whether it be as a waiter or a truck driver or a cook or a Disney caricature artist. Most people say, "Oh, that was so perfect, working at Disney, drawing cartoons all day... and you're able to pursue your favorite art when you get home." Wrong! When I would get home, I'd be exhausted, and go straight to the TV and the computer, and eat a meal, have a beer, whatever, RELAX. I did this for YEARS, and I see other artists doing the same thing. ... So what's the solution? For me, it's radical: quit everything, drop-out of everything, and just make serious art. I'm little above a homeless person, living on my little sailboat, wondering if I'll have money next week for food, but, at the same time, all I do for money is serious painting. I'm even giving-up pastel portraits. From now on, basically, I'll simply be exploring oil painting and the old masters. I'll sell my works wherever I can, to whomever I can, for whatever I can get. And that's enough to survive. For me, if there's any possible path to great art, this is it. Maybe others can overcome the allure of modern convenience, but I cannot. I must leave it all behind. ... Which brings me to this ODD TIMING. Just as I am learning to live with little, the whole world may soon be joining me. Odd, I think, in my odd mind.

So, as I learn to fish, and to live simply, and to create art, I tell everyone to not freak-out, to calm down, and don't worry yourself to death. Don't jump off any skyscrapers. ...We have our friends, we have family. In the long run, the encroaching global crisis, if fully realized, may serve to improve us and save us. We, as citizens of nations and of the planet, are learning lessons the hard way.

POSTSCRIPT :
I just noticed this video by fellow Texas and Libertarian Ron Paul... Helps explain things a bit more:

Cast Away

I know it may sound ridiculous, but this is how I feel, and have felt, for much of my adult life: as if I've been cast away. And while the famous movie of the same name doesn't form a perfect metaphor, somehow it touches this most sore characteristic of my soul. You see, twice as a young man (once when 18 and once when 23) I had a girlfriend who I planned to marry, although things actually never got to the "engagement" period, technically. In each case, our love seemed strong and mutual, and in each case the girl was pretty and brainy. And then, again in each case, as our love seemed at its highest, and my imagination full of bliss, the end came with a simple conversation. Each girl gently and abruptly ended the entire thing, in a moment's flash. Stunning and devastating, in a moment's flash. Stunning and devastating, for my entire life.

After the second break-up, I feel ill FOR SIX WEEKS. It started within an hour of the break-up conversation, with vomiting and deep congestion, like the flu. And I was so weak I could barely stand or walk for several days, and I kept weeping involuntarily, over and over... ... I calculated, afterward, that I would not survive, physically, another such experience.

And so commenced a quarter century of haunted living. And I use that word carefully, HAUNTED. Unable to sleep, often, until the light of day reveals itself. Unable to communicate, or terrified to do so, and terrified to consider ANY friendship worthy of the risk. ... I even have a haunted home in my dreams, and when I say "home" I mean an actual structure, like someone's family home, except this one is completely fictional, or, that is, fictional in the sense that dreams are fictional. In my dreams, however, it seems utterly convincing, real. And what does this home look like? It looks like an immense old hotel, built snugly in some hills and at the edge of a busy little town. The hotel appears to be built in disjointed stages, over decades of time, with multiple-storied sections, and some sections following the steep edge of a hill. And the structure is so immense that it disappears upward around a hilly corner, into a blue-black mist. I have yet to explore the whole thing. In fact, most if it is a mystery to me. I've had many dreams in which I find myself back in the old thing, living there usually, finding more and more rooms and closets and stairways, hallways, all semi-lit, all semi-maintained, all completely frightful. These dreams are nightmares usually, and, usually, I REALIZE that it's a dream, that I'm back at the old hotel, my own personal family home, haunted and rotten and teeming with ghosts. And how do know there are ghosts? I SEE them, I hear them, feel them. ...Occasionally I find "real" people living there, and I wish them well as I hurriedly leave, or try to. Last year, I discovered that all my old friends from Orlando (in the real world) had moved into my dreamland haunted hotel. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "We've all moved in." "But it's haunted!" "Oh, don't be silly." A few months later, they all seemed to have left. I discovered this while I was walking in yet another dream, walking along a sidewalk, and came upon the old hotel. I walked around to the back, fascinated. I hadn't visited in a while. In the back, there's an old park-like area, with big trees and freely-living weeds, and then a forest and hills, all disappearing into that dark mist, and all virtually connected to the hotel, having grown into each other, I'd guess you'd say... the hotel crumbling, literally, plank by plank, out into the weeds and forest and up the hill, and the vegetation sprawling forcefully up, into, and over the structure. An old grain mill is back there too, attached by a breezeway to the hotel. Everything is abandoned. ... Then, in this dream, I look around, and I see three girls going into the back of the hotel, near the ruined mill. I follow them, and find that much of the hotel back there is ripped-out and torn-up. I ask the girls what they're doing here, and they said that they're college students and that they're renting a room. How comical! I laugh. I follow the girls to their room, but since the stairs have collapsed, and even some of the walls, we must CLIMB up along the edge. Basically, we're crawling over rubble, but then we're inside, me and the 3 girls, and we climb some more, this time up a few ladders, higher and deeper into the hotel. The sun glints through busted walls and roof sections, here and there, and I feel completely unafraid. When we arrive, I tell the girls, "Oh yes, this is my old room." "You used to live here?" "Of course. I own this whole place.... But I advise you to not go into the other rooms. I mean, I think everyone has left now, but, I'd hate for you to have a bad experience. It's hard to explain." "But we've already been through that one door, and out into that one long hallway." "Oh, my, I'd advise you to not do that, and to lock that door, and all other doors. I'm afraid to say it, but spirits live here." "Yes, we know." ... The girls moved-out the next day I think, to join everyone else who has abandoned my heart.

... I haven't visited in a while, but that old place, that old haunted hotel, still exists. It exists, and I can never really leave, because it is ME, my SOUL, and I suppose I should open the darkened doors and follow the long halls and climb the stairs and ladders, and explore the wretched thing. I do find it interesting.

Of course, other events and people have managed to further scar my heart over the years. My mother, while still supremely disappointed with me and my free-thinking ways and my troubled demeanor, died unexpectedly of heart failure when I was 27. I thought I had plenty of time to make her happy and proud, but no. Oddly, today, she might have become somewhat proud of me. She always wanted me to become an artist. At the time she died, I couldn't even draw... And I remember vividly, standing in the hospital room, with my weeping father and siblings behind me, and closing her eyes at the bequest of the ER doctor. "I'll do it," I said, with bizarre eagerness. I closed her eyes, her dry, cold eyes, as my eyes were dry and cold as well. Two weeks later, I left work, walked to my car, sat down into the seat, and found myself weeping for 15 minutes or so. I knew it was for her, and that was the one and only time, something I'm ashamed to admit, but something which is interesting to me as I view myself from afar. There's a key to my interior there.

And now it's April 2010. Remarkable. I'm still breathing. Still foolish. Still haunted. ...Terrified.

But back to Cast Away. I wrote down part of the epilogue speech, for it sums my thoughts right now:




"...So I made a rope, and I went up to the summit to hang myself...but I had to test it, you know, of course..."you know me'...And the weight of the log snapped the limb of the tree... I couldn't even kill myself, the way I wanted. I had power over nothing.

"...That's when this feeling came over me like a warm blanket. I knew, somehow, that I had to stay alive...somehow...I had to keep breathing...even though there was no reason to hope. And all my logic said that I would never see this place again."

"...So that's what I did. I stayed alive. I kept breathing...

"...And one day that logic was proven all wrong, because the tide came in, and gave me a sail... And now here I am. I'm back. In Memphis. Talking to you. I have ice in my glass...And I've lost her all over again... I'm so sad that I don't have Kelly, but I'm so grateful that she was with me on that island...

"...And I know what I have to do now... I gotta keep breathing. ...Because tomorrow the sun will rise... Who knows what the tide could bring."

I am no longer doing portraits

How do I explain this? I do not know. I am a portrait artist who can no longer do portraits. ...

My goodness...

Why does suffering need to be a part of artistry? Why difficulty? I know not. I only know that, fundamentally, my portraits are all wrong, despite the courtesy of clients and man, despite the successful garnering of meager acclaim. It's all wrong. Something is wrong.

In fact, recently, I had a portrait rejection. My first. How can this be? ... Well, it BE because, some time ago, my heart left the effort... left the effort of portraiture TO MY POCKETBOOK.

If you only do something for money, it quickly becomes mediocre, or never arises from mediocrity, to begin any possible path toward greatness.

Aah, the perils of the starving artist.

Suddenly, Shakespeare

I came across this sonnet tonight, after having not read (or EVER really appreciated) Shakespeare, and this sonnet STRUCK me with clarity and great force. I've long hoped for understanding of Shakespeare, or, really, I've long hoped that I would gather the forces of my self and LEARN Shakespeare and "get" it... Maybe this is a beginning...

Indeed, the permanent concerns of the human soul, or heart, are certainly permanent, or timeless... Ah, the considerations of felt being... of being itself.

( And I took the liberty of adding punctuation here, and parenthetical references..., punctuation which tells how I "hear" the sonnet, how I see it at this point... not necessarily how it is MEANT to be read... Maybe it'll help you... I don't know. But read this thing, read it carefully, slowly, and take the words deeply inward, if possible)... :

SONNET 29

When, in disgrace... with fortune (money) and (in) men's (society's) eyes,

I, all alone... beweep my outcast state
And (I) trouble "deaf Heaven" with my bootless (bare-footed? as in, poor) cries
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me, like... to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him (a successful and happy individual perhaps)... with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and (/or) that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy, (I am) contented least;
Yet in these thoughts... myself, almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark (of a bird) at break of day, arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd... such wealth brings
That then I scorn... to change my state with kings.

Alive and living on Ramen

Howdy, everyone. I haven't updated my blog, or even been ONLINE at all, in nearly 6 months. I got stuck in Tampa last summer, and have been living on my sailboat, and doing lots of oil portraits, and now a pastel or two. Basically, I've been starving, living on noodles, but learning much about portrait technique. I'll post photos of everything soon, and give more details.

My Philosophy

(This is an article from the 1970's, but it captures my philosophy quite well. Perhaps it will help explain my decisions and my longing... In my upcoming move, I'm planning a lot more than just "moving to Key West." I have ideas beyond simply making money from tourists: I want to live a certain lifestyle which combines my previous experiences with sailing, camping, travel, simplicity, sleeping under the stars, becoming fit naturally, meeting new people, learning new languages... I long to live an extraordinary life... The canoe mentioned in the article is just one type of vessel which is possible for such a life. My open sailing dinghy, which I'm converting into a small trimaran, is another. The point is, the vessel is cheap and very seaworthy.... Yes, I think this article explains ME better than I do.... My desire to live modestly and fully, to live my days reading and drawing, learning, and seeing the world. I dare you to read the whole article! --Tim)

From Mother Earth News. Link:

http://www.motherearthnews.com/Nature-Community/1977-01-01/Live-On-Less.aspx


The Endless Vacation or How to Live Very Well on Practically Nothing
By
Ida Little



It's that time of the year again. The time when early winter's crispness and the novelty of those first downy snowfalls rapidly begins to turn into the monotonous, gray, icy sludge and slush of late January, February and early March.

Wouldn't it be great to trade this whole mess in on kind of carefree, come-and-go-as-you-please, beachcombing life in the tropics? Wouldn't that be great!? Impossible, of course, here in the late 1970's, but, nonetheless, great!

"Yes, it is great," say Ida and Barry Little, "but not at all impossible. Because that's exactly the way we've lived for the past three years, and we've done it all on far less money than you'll probably believe possible!"

My husband, Barry, and I enjoy independent and isolated nomadic living. So we really thought we had it made 11 years ago when we kicked over the traces, bought a 40-foot ketch, and began island hopping up and down the West Indies and along the northern coast of South America.

Eight years later, however, we'd both had our fill of that way of life. The ketch was a constant expense and every safe anchorage for a boat of that size, we'd found, was too populated by curious natives and/or other ships and yachts for our tastes.

"There must be a better way," we told ourselves. "There must be a way for us to enjoy an endless round of sailing, swimming, fishing, shelling, contact with wildlife, and — most important of all — solitude and privacy. And there must be a way for us to do all this on little more than pennies a day."

WE FOUND A WAY!

And that's exactly what we've done for the past three years. We've come and gone as we pleased throughout the Caribbean with summer side-trips that have taken us as far north as Ontario's Wilderness Lakes region. We've sailed and swum and snorkled and fished and shelled and beachcombed and otherwise luxuriated in the wonders of some of the earth's most beautiful places. And we've done all this for day after wonderful day after glorious day. In blissful solitude and privacy. And on the very thinnest of thin shoestrings.

Our secret? We've combined the advantages of land camping with the mobility of sail, and come up with a way of life that, for us, has none of the irritations or drawbacks of either.

THE KEY TO OUR SUCCESS

We made the major breakthrough into our new life of low-cost and far-ranging abundance when we sold our 40-foot ketch (which was a constant financial drain and which would never slip into the really isolated bays, inlets, and shoals we like to explore anyway), and bought a 17-foot canoe instead.

Yes, canoe. Barry and I have traveled in and lived out of a canoe now for almost every day of the last three years. And we wouldn't trade our new life for anything. There are canoes and there are canoes, however, and if you want to duplicate our success, we think you'd do well to heed our advice when you go shopping for this vital piece of your wayfarer's equipment.

The most common and least expensive canoes available are made of aluminum. Forget such models for extended cruising. They're cold to the flesh, noisy on the water, too fragile for use around coral, and difficult to repair in the field. Fiberglass is warmer and quieter, but still too prone to coral punctures and sand abrasion. And wood, while quite good, needs more regular maintenance than we're willing to give it.

What you want is a canoe made of ABS plastic. Ours is a 17-foot Chippewa model (that we've fondly named Manatee, or "sea cow") made up for us by Mr. Deane Gray of the Old Town Canoe Company in Old Town, Maine. It weighs only 70 pounds, is warm to sit on and is tough.

At one time or another during the past three years, we've used a crane to pick the canoe up by the ends when it was fully loaded with 1,000 pounds of gear, left it out all night (again, fully loaded) banging against sharp coral reefs, and otherwise "put Manatee through the mill." Yet the little craft still shows only minor dents and scratches and has, to date, required absolutely no maintenance.

What's more, our ABS canoe wouldn't sink even if we could somehow manage the impossible and break her into little pieces (this particular variety of plastic always floats). And if we ever do find a way to make a major dent or puncture in Manatee's hull, we'll simply repair it — quickly, easily and right in the field — with a little kit of supplies that Old Town included when we bought the boat.

Our 17-foot Chippewa is also versatile. It has the highest bow (25") and the most center freeboard (15") of any commercially available canoe. We ordered Manatee with a full deck cover of rubberized dacron and a 55-square-foot lateen sail. If we have to, we can take the ole girl out on days when wind and waves occasionally bring a moderate amount of water over the bow, and, in calmer weather, we've used the sail to move us hundreds upon hundreds of miles without spending a nickel on an engine or fuel and without once dipping an oar into the water. And when we get to where we're going, the two of us — with no additional help — can lift the tiny boat and slide or roll it onto a beach.

In short, we owe most of our newfound freedom to our little 17-foot ABS canoe. Thanks to the craft, we can come and go as we please while "the sea supports the load, and the wind moves it along." Manatee allows us (unlike land-based backpackers) to indulge in unlimited nomadic travel without once suffering back strain. Without, in fact, even having to "paddle our own canoe," except for the few times when we've foolishly let dying trade winds leave us stranded some distance offshore.

And the price is certainly right! We never spend a penny for an engine or fuel, and Manatee only cost us S1,000 (as opposed to the $15,000 we were set back by the purchase of our 55-year-old 40-foot ketch). Surely this canoe is the best investment we've ever made.

We spent the first couple of months that we owned Manatee just practicing the art of sailing her. And we quickly learned that, although the little canoe carried only 55 square feet of sail, she responded with a great deal more sensitivity than our former ketch (with its 1,000 square feet of sail) had ever done. It was a struggle, in fact, to keep from capsizing our new boat in the beginning!

A little practice, though, soon taught us the fingertip control we needed, and it wasn't long before we were both maneuvering Manatee in and out of impossibly tight situations with a deft touch.

THE LOCK THAT FITS THE KEY

Once we had a boat — which told us how much we could carry — we began to think about choosing our main cruising grounds, which would tell us what to carry.

That choosing wasn't really too difficult. Barry and I both loved the long white beaches, clear water and abundance of sea life among the bright coral reefs of the Bahama Islands. A few afternoons in the library, spent, in large part, poring over Harry Kline's Yachtman's Guide to the Bahamas and other references to the geography and climate of these islands — was all we needed to help us make up our minds.

Contrary to what most outsiders think, the 700 or so islands in the Bahamas are mostly dry, barren, and deserted. Most of the people who live there have migrated to the cities of Nassau and Freeport and to a few small settlements on what are popularly referred to as the "Out Islands". This was just fine with us since it meant that we'd find plenty of solitude as we cruised the Bahamas.

We also knew we'd be able to do that cruising in comfort since, as we learned to our joy, the temperature of the Bahamas averages 77 degrees (just right for stripping down to birthday suits!) during the winter months.

And we figured we could cruise the Bahamas in safety, since most of the islands lie so close together that, as it's turned out, we can hop right down the whole string of beaches with only a couple of "dangerous" 30-mile-long passages to negotiate. Most of the time, we do our sailing while hugging one shore or another and darting in as we desire for a closer look at interesting items on the beach. (If you've ever been forced to stand a half mile off a coast while cruising in a deep-draft boat, you'll understand, and probably envy—the freedom our little canoe gives us.) The Bahamas are ideal for this kind of small craft island hopping.

CAMPING, COOKING AND LIVING EQUIPMENT

As soon as we decided that we'd be spending most of our time canoeing up and down the Bahamas, we began assembling the equipment we'd need to make ourselves as self-sufficient as possible under the conditions we'd find in those islands.

Although any tent is better than none, I suppose, we've found that only the lightest, tightest and roomiest is good enough for our nomadic way of life. Spend what you have to, but get the best you can buy.

We started out with a two-person tent but, since we live in such a shelter year-round, soon determined that we needed something bigger, something with enough room for a "library" and "playroom"! We finally settled on a four-person, insect-proof model that weighs only five pounds and packs into a roll which measures just six inches in diameter and 12 inches long. It was manufactured by our friends, the Stephenson family (22 Hook Road, Gilford, New Hampshire 03249), and we recommend it highly. .

A stainless steel grill, a small stove (for those woodless and rainy climes), a set of nesting aluminum pots, a large frying pan, four 5-gallon water containers (salvaged from alleyways behind hospital laboratories), a plastic water bed for additional storage (remember, it's dry in the Bahamas!), and miscellaneous knives, forks, spoons, cups, plates, etc., make up our kitchen gear. This, plus a small typewriter, a camera, film, paper, books, charts of the islands and our copy of Kline's Guide, cost us about $500 altogether and is all kept stored in a big ice chest.

Our initial stock of dried soup, powdered juices, milk, sugar, flour, yeast, rice, oatmeal, grits, cooking oil, coffee, spices, Wagner's tea, rum and other foodstuffs ate up another S150 of our original grubstake and was stowed — their replacements still are — in two duffel bags. (And don't make the mistake of limiting yourself to some sort of self-imposed Spartan diet that you don't really enjoy if you do take up our type of nomadic life. You're out to have fun, remember, not to "rough it" or "prove" anything.)

And then there's our diving equipment: snorkels, masks, fins, spears, Hawaiian slings (which propel the spears like arrows) and wet suits. All of which cost us another $250.

We already had most of the clothes we wear (nothing fancy, since we live so casually), bedrolls and other miscellaneous items that we use from day to day. We probably spent only an additional $100 or so stocking up on such gear when we embarked upon our new life.

Everything considered — canoe, tent, cooking accoutrements, food, diving equipment, books, typewriter, clothes, etc. — we didn't tie up any more than about $2,000 in "fresh" money when we took up our cruising existence.

SOJOURNS, VEGETABLES AND BARTER

Although I've stressed the nomadic elements of our life, Barry and I don't really cruise all the time. As the mood strikes us, we like to settle down on one or another of the many tiny, remote cays (pronounced "keys") in our islands for three or four months at a stretch. We may, of course, use our canoe for short excursions almost every day during one of these periods, but we really aren't going anywhere important and we know that we'll be back to spend the night at our semi-permanent home.

The only fresh water we have during one of these sojourns is the supply we collect in little potholes (which we dig) from passing rain squalls. And, despite the fact that there's never much loose soil on our tiny Bahama atolls, I like to scrape up what I can and put it into a five-foot by three-foot by ten-inch-deep plastic box for a garden. I mix dead leaves and pine needles into the sandy dirt to raise its acidity and plant carrots, tomatoes, squash, green peppers and lettuce (none of which are ever worth the effort) and either Chinese or Jersey Wakefield cabbages (which, if watered daily and shaded from the mid-day sun, mature in two months, but never head). Someday I'm going to learn how the natives grow such nice pineapples, sweet potatoes, cassava, guava, sugar cane, sours (local oranges), peppers and other fruits and vegetables down here.

Then again, maybe it's better if I just let the folks who know about farming take care of the fruits and vegetables while Barry and I concentrate on spearfishing. Many of the people we meet while cruising are afraid of the water and only too glad to accept a few of our fish and lobsters in trade for sweet potatoes that melt in the mouth, tomatoes which are a meal in themselves, and other homegrown taste delights. Barter wins again!

MONEY AND HOW WE GET IT

Barter or no, there are times when we find ourselves in need of a little ready cash, and we have two main ways to scratch that itch.

First, we freelance articles and photographs (just like the article and photos you're now looking at) about the free and easy life we enjoy. And, second, we've become skilled enough at diving for spiny lobsters to work with local Bahamian divers for $5.00 an hour. Neither of these pastimes earns us an overwhelming amount of money, but then we live modestly and there aren't many 7-11 stores to tempt us into spending our few shekels out on the cays.

A TYPICAL DAY

Our main dietary staple is fish and, cruising or stopped, we dive and spearfish two hours every day. (When cruising, we always make camp around 2:00 p.m. so we'll have plenty of time to go out and hunt up our supper from the nearest reef. We just roll Manatee up on a beach with the help of a couple of boat bumpers — inflatable cylinders 20" long by 6" in diameter — and unload all our gear except for the diving equipment. Then we sail to a likely looking reef — it's easy to see the orange coral, purple sea fans and yellow fish through the clear water — and get on with our fishing.)

Diving twenty or thirty feet to search the intricate coral for fish and crawfish always rewards us with enough food for both supper and the next day's lunch. So we return to camp, pull Manatee up above the high-tide line, and park the canoe under a coconut or casuarina pine tree. Then either I fillet and cook the evening meal while Barry pitches the tent, or vice versa. (We take turns so that each of us will always appreciate what the other is doing.)

About that time, we might take a break to play a game of "Go" or write letters or take a walk along the beach to watch an osprey do its afternoon hunting. By the time the sun goes down, we're relaxing in our hammock and enjoying a ritual round of rum-lime cocktails and peanuts.

As the twilight darkens, we move into the tent, bringing with us the fried grouper steaks from the grill. Dinner by candlelight then follows as a sea gull outside the shelter delights in her feast of fresh fish carcass. Finally, a few pages of a Conrad adventure sets the mood for pleasant dreams.

"But don't you ever get bored?" we're often asked.

No, we don't. We both entertain ourselves easily alone and together. We both sail Manatee, dive, cook, read, write, play "Go" and chess, take pictures and watch and sometimes tame the mockingbirds that live on the cays we visit.

Our little boat takes us off the beaten path to uninhabited and ill-charted islands that no one else ever visits. And, once Manatee is securely beached and our tent is pitched in the shade of an Australian pine, we're free to explore untrod beaches to our hearts' content, free to take all the time we want delighting in the shells, birds and other little treasures we find. If anything, the days are a little too short.

WE LOVE IT! MAYBE YOU WOULD TOO

If the days are never quite long enough, though, we love 'em just the same. Perhaps because we're living exactly the way we please, with as much solitude, privacy and sea-washed sand as we can possibly enjoy.

And, whenever we do get lonesome for other humans or want to replenish our stock of bartered or store-bought food, we're never more than a short, refreshing sail from a small and friendly settlement. It's no trick at all to pick up the latest news, a little gossip and all the provisions we want, and be back on our own private little cay that same day. Ain't life wonderful!

Perhaps you'd like to carve out such a free and easy existence for yourself too. And I see no reason why you shouldn't be able to do exactly that, if you can come up with the necessary original (and quite reasonable) grubstake, you can learn to handle a sailing canoe like ours, and you're physically up to our camping/fishing/swimming/diving/beachcombing way of life. Practice until you're as adept on the water as we are, figure out a way to supply yourself with at least as much money as the minute income we get by on, and give our "endless vacation" a try.

Come on in! The (Bahama) water's fine!