This Side Up

Captain cleanup makes a visit

John Howell
Posted 7/28/15

Timing is everything.

I looked out and there was Captain Fredy Silva perched in this dinghy with a homemade double-ended paddle made from a two-by-three and a couple of squares of plywood tacked …

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This Side Up

Captain cleanup makes a visit

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Timing is everything.

I looked out and there was Captain Fredy Silva perched in this dinghy with a homemade double-ended paddle made from a two-by-three and a couple of squares of plywood tacked to either end that looked like an oversized ping-pong paddle. His progress would have been much faster with a pair of oars, although, granted, he wouldn’t be facing forward.

He spotted me standing on the seawall, watching.

“Hey captain,” he shouted, waving his paddle in the air.

His voice carried over the water in the still morning air. It was about 6 a.m. and a customary time for Fredy to row in if he’s in the neighborhood. His routine, as I’ve learned from neighbor Merrick Leach, is pull the dinghy up the rocky beach, secure it, and head off to the gas station and convenience store on West Shore Road. A cigarette is part of the daily routine, as is a beer – but just one beer, no more.

For a while Fredy kept a bike on shore, one that looked surprisingly new that he’d rescued from a dumpster. He’d pedal that to the convenience store as well as around town. Then one day earlier this summer it was filched while he was in the convenience store. Fredy was outraged. He called police on his cell and they came to take a report.

He figures identifying the thief would be as easy as reviewing the convenience store security video.

“If they did that they’d have ’em,” Fredy says.

He’s got a point. But then I can understand the cops’ point of view, too. Recovering a bike pulled from a dumpster and belonging to a guy whose permanent address is a boat that is sometimes moored off Conimicut isn’t exactly a priority.

Rightfully, from Fredy’s perspective, it adds up to another instance of not being taken seriously.

That was the reason for wanting to connect with him last week. Ever since appearing on these shores some eight years ago, Fredy has told me he believes he should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for having sailed a 20-foot boat from Rhode Island to Florida using a road map and a set of sails made from a blue tarp because he couldn’t afford anything else. The voyage was a feat, made all the more remarkable by the fact Fredy had no prior sailing experience and was driven to finding a better place after experiencing psychological issues and having his family life crumble.

On his return visits to Conimicut – he’s been known to stop by every couple of years – he’s never forgotten to tell me he hasn’t been inducted into the book of records or that his book about his trip still goes unpublished.

Earlier this summer I rowed out to see Fredy and he welcomed me aboard his “one dollar yacht,” a Columbia 26 that he’d found in a marina and reconditioned – actually remodeled – with what was certainly bucket loads of resin and fiberglass. The boat is functional. It’s got a berth that also serves as a couch, small table, tabletop butane stove and handheld TV the size of a book. He’s rigged up a solar panel to power LED lighting and maintain the charge on his battery.

Fredy wasn’t in the position to offer drinks and cheese and crackers, not that I expected or wanted that. I was interested in hearing his latest escapades and of his plans for the summer. After recounting how he’d spent the winter frozen at dockage at a Taunton River marina, which I recounted in an earlier column, he pulled out a giant Ziploc bag filled with papers and a few pictures. The largest of the documents, more than 100 pages held together with a spring-loaded clamp, was his book, “The Blessed Voyage.”

Edges of this loose-leaf book were browned and tattered. In places the typing was smudged from being wet, but it was legible.

“Take it,” he said. “I know it will be safe with you.”

Knowing the amount of junk I keep, I wasn’t so sure that would be the case. But I wanted to read his book, so I took the manuscript with the promise I would return it as soon as I made a copy.

The tale is one story of near shipwreck after the next, meeting colorful characters, many of whom assist him and his underlying faith that the Lord will protect him – hence, “The Blessed Voyage.” Fredy said it took him months to write out the book in longhand, time that I imagine he had sitting on his boat. He then handed it to a friend who typed it out on a typewriter. There’s no digital copy as best I know.

When I caught up with Fredy last week, he’d reached shore. An acquaintance from his excursions to the convenience store was there to meet him. He was going to drive him to Cumberland so Fredy could work on his son’s truck.

I mentioned I’d been reading the book. I expected plenty of questions, including, “Do you think it should be published” and a familiar statement, “I should be in the Guinness Book of Records.”

But no, that didn’t happen.

Fredy carried a bucket. He scouted the beach and soon had it filled with plastic trash. He does it whenever and wherever he comes ashore.

“I know where I can recycle it,” he said, muttering about how people talk about saving the bay but do little to help.

“You know,” he said, looking up, “This is the best planet we’ve got.”

He’s got a point.

 

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