Compass

Yep, that's the Goodewind.
Built in 1928 and apparently still sailing.

There was the time Stillman nearly capsized a team of international biologists and a boat crew. He and Pan had signed on as assistants to a Royal Geographic Society expedition to scientifically survey the Pitcairn Islands group, specifically Henderson Island, Oeno, and Ducie Atoll. It was part of an effort to get Pitcairn and its band of licentious mutineers and their neighborhood islands listed as a World Heritage Site. The adventure was quite romantic, in its own way, though the young Stillman’s essential task would be to carry fossilized coral for the geologist, observe crake behavior, search for seeds in the poop of Henderson Island fruit doves, and pay his own way—the project coming up a little short of money at the time.

He and Pan got on Goodewind—a steel-hulled ketch from World War II days—at Papeete for the sail to Pitcairn Island itself. On his first midnight watch with Quint, a first mate of sorts, young Stillman was left at the wheel while Quint went into the chart room and stayed there for a while looking at charts. Stillman, not wanting to reveal his naivete, chose to reveal his fecklessness instead.

He thought he could stay on course simply by watching the bubble-shaped compass. Stay true to a SE heading and what could go wrong? Except idiosyncracies of the sea sent him a couple degrees north of SE, then a touch south of SE, and with a little more correction a bit further north of SE, then a little too much SSE … ESE … etc., etc. etc. With each correction, Stillman’s fear ramped up as he tried to cover up his incompetence and the accompanying embarrassment.

And suddenly the boat lurched around, the main sail swung, and the boat came around in quite an opposite course than intended. The sudden thunk and shift brought out the crew like a handful of fretful ants—Quint first then the captain and everyone else. Stillman was speechless with shame as he realized he had stupidly endangered lives and a sailboat due to his own inexperience and fear of appearing stupid … ultimately proving the point.

Fortunately, the wind was less than forceful and no lasting harm was done. The crew turned the ketch around and the voyage continued—though Stillman received a kindly talking-to by the captain. Stillman, though, would not have thought it inappropriate—and would not have protested one wit—if the captain had keel-hauled his sorry ass for being a self-absorbed dumbshit.

The Goodewind crew soon taught Stillman, and he soon learned, that proper piloting is not a matter of being slavish to four letters, numbered degrees, and vertical lines on a floating ball. A sailboat sails best when the pilot picks a slow-moving cloud, or better, a bright star, and gently points the bow in its general direction. Direction is best managed with a gentle hand on the wheel and a feel for wind.

It is a life lesson Stillman seems to have done his level best to forget. But yesterday, he went paddleboarding on a quiet bay, his first time to paddle a surfboard while kneeling and eventually standing up. He did fine, but realized afterward perhaps the same revelation applied.