Caught by the Sea: My Life on Boats

by Gary Paulsen Narrated by Patrick Lawlor

Overview

Another such wave could easily be the end of us. I had to do something, fix something, save the boat, save myself.

But what?

Gary Paulsen takes listeners along on his maiden voyage, proving that ignorance can be bliss. Also really stupid and incredibly dangerous. He tells of boats that owned him, good, bad, and beloved, and how they got him through terrifying storms that he survived by sheer luck. His spare prose conjures up shark surprises and killer waves as well as moonlight on the sea, and makes listeners feel what it's like to sail under the stars or to lie at anchor in a tropical lagoon where dolphins leap, bathed in silver. Falling in love with the ocean set Gary Paulsen on a lifelong learning curve, and listeners will understand why his passion has lasted to this day.

”Slashes of humor help weather the rough seas in this memoir that will appeal to reluctant readers and boaters of all ages.” -Voice of Youth Advocates, starred

Editorial Reviews

School Library Journal

Gr 7 Up-On the coattails of Guts (Delacorte, 2001) comes another collection of Paulsen's autobiographical vignettes, this time about sailing. His love for the sea began at age seven, aboard a troopship headed to the Philippine Islands. A plane crashed into the water and Paulsen watched as sharks attacked the women and children. Though gruesome, the account is typical of the author's unaffected, matter-of-fact writing style. The rest of the stories are dull in comparison, however, as Paulsen chronicles his experiences with various sailboats over the years. He tries to define the sailing terminology as he uses it, but it is complicated stuff for landlubbers. His writing is adult in tone and he often looks back and reflects on his adventures. The passages about food, reminiscent of those in Father Water, Mother Woods (Doubleday, 1995), are better. When he describes the taste of double-stuffed Oreo cookies, readers taste them, too. It is quintessential Paulsen to describe the number one law of the sea: "If given a chance a container of oatmeal will open, mix with a container of coffee grounds, further combine itself with eight or ten gallons of sea water and then find its way into your sleeping bag." At book's end, Paulsen refers to his age and current heart condition but dangles a carrot in front of readers about a sailing trip around Cape Horn. Stay tuned.-Vicki Reutter, Cazenovia High School, NY Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Spinning more vivid yarns from his anything-but-sedentary life, Paulsen (Guts, 2001, etc.) will enthrall even resolute landlubbers with this slim volume of nautical reminiscences. Writing around the twin themes of the Pacific's profound power to harm or heal, and his own utter ignorance of boats or sailing, he describes encounters with sharks, gales, and other learning experiences on his way toward reaching an understanding with each of the three sail boats he has owned. Think seafaring Woodsong (1990). Terrifying and hilarious, sometimes simultaneously, these adventures effortlessly carry important lessons about the craft of sailing as well as the craft of living. (Autobiography. 10-12)

FEBRUARY 2013 - AudioFile

Paulsen sets the stage, and narrator Patrick Lawlor picks right up on the drama in this autobiographical work. Listeners will relive Paulsen’s memories of solo sailing trips, terrific storms, and the pervasive call of the ocean. Lawlor truly evokes the performance nature of the piece, and at times it feels as if listeners are right alongside Paulsen through the endless days of no wind or the manic minutes hanging from the mast looking for rogue waves. From tongue-in- cheek boat-buying tips to a list of what not to do on maiden voyages, Paulsen and Lawlor take listeners on a journey that will invigorate even the most ardent landlubber. E.A.B. © AudioFile 2013, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940172301315
Publisher:	Brilliance Audio
Publication date:	12/20/2012
Edition description:	Unabridged
Age Range:	10 - 13 Years

Read an Excerpt

The First Sail

I was discharged from the army after nearly four years, most of it spent at Fort Bliss, Texas, in May of 1962. 1 hated every second of my time in the army and although I was still very young, I did not think I could salvage the time I had just wasted, or that I could save my ruined life. I know how ridiculous that sounds now, but the feeling was real then. I remember sitting in my old truck in El Paso, Texas, thinking that I was done, had no future, and the thought popped in out of nowhere that if I didn't see water soon I would die.

Now I'm amazed to remember how much I missed the sea, because it hadn't been a real part of my life between the ages of ten and seventeen,

when I enlisted. Maybe I longed for it now because of all the time spent eating sand in the winds of the desert.

I drove to California that very day, straight to the coast, then north, away from people, to a small town named Guadalupe, near Santa Maria. There I bought some cans of beans and bread and Spam and fruit cocktail and a cheap sleeping bag and then walked out through the sand dunes, where I could hear the surf crashing. I walked until I could see the water coming in, rolling in from the vastness, and I sat down and let the sea heal me.

I was there six days and nights. Before dark each night I gathered driftwood for a fire. The salt in the wood makes it slow to burn and it was difficult to light. But I worked at it until there was a good blaze going. I would heat a can of beans and sit there not thinking, really not thinking of anything at all, listening to the waves roll in and licking the salt from the spray off my lips until the heat from the fire made mesleepy. Then I would crawl into my bag near a huge log that must have ridden the Pacific currents down from the British Columbian forests, and I would sleep as if drugged, as if dead.

Today you would see people there. Today there are developments and beach houses and condos and malls and noise and garbage and oil. But then I saw nobody, heard nothing but the gulls and the crashing sea and now and then the bark of a seal as it hunted the kelp beds just offshore.

it would be easy to say it was peaceful and just drop it there. And it was peaceful. Years later I would come to run sled dogs in the North woods, and to run the iditarod race in Alaska, and there would be moments of incredible serenity then, quiet and cold and peaceful, but nothing quite like that time after the army when the sea saved me.

I went away from there a new person, and I also began to understand things about myself, that I must see and know the oceans. I must go to the sea, as the writers Herman Melville and Richard Henry Dana, Jr., and Ernest K. Gann and Sterling Hayden had done. Like them, I must seek myself there, as the novelist James Jones did as he was writing Go to the Widow-Maker.

To do that, I would need a boat.

When first I thought about boats, the intensity and obsessiveness that people brought to them seemed overbearing, silly. Most boat owners I met seemed ridiculously anal and boring-as indeed some of them are -

Except for trapping in the North woods with a canoe, I knew absolutely nothing about boats. I had crossed the Pacific that one time at the age of seven in a navy ship, and my knowledge of that was limited to old, dented steel, the hum of huge engines, and a bunch of kind sailors who wanted me to introduce them to my mother, who was young and lovely and almost terminally seasick.

When I was about fourteen, I made one wild attempt at sailing. in a book on woodcraft I found a drawing of a "sailing canoe" and built a sixteenfoot canvas canoe from a kit that I sent for. It came complete-wood, glue, canvas, nails and paintfor just thirty-one dollars. The book made it seem simple to turn my canoe into a sailboat by rigging a dried pine pole for a mast with a small boom and using an old bedsheet for a sail.

I set it up with the canoe tied to a dock on a lake in northern Minnesota. I tied it fore and aft (though I would not have used those nautical terms yet) so that it was stable. There was a slight breeze blowing from the left rear; later I learned that this is called the stern-port quarter. Following the instructions, I lashed a paddle on the side to act as a leeboard to keep the canoe from sliding sideways, and used the other paddle across the stern to steer the canoe.


From the Hardcover Library Binding edition.

Copyright 2001 by Gary Paulsen

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