A Sailor's Notes

by Thunderblast

1. Anchorage

Time and time again, I've been told.

You'll never be who you want to be.

You will never be a sailor.

You are not worth their time.

A pegasus doesn't belong on a boat.

Perhaps now would be the best time to prove them all wrong.

That frigid, snowy, somber November night, was the night I came into the world. A pegasus just like my father, but a big head like my mother when she was a newborn. At least, that's what I've been told. In the north, it's always been a rumor that ponies born with big heads meant something good. No specifics, it just meant good luck. Yeah, right. Who believes those urban legends, anyways?

My parents, Sea Current and Hazy Brook, gave me the name of Anchorage. More like, my father did. For once, he won an argument. An argument that lasted quite nearly a week. The name was derived from the safe docking of a ship, if that wasn't obvious already. I suppose my father had early thoughts of what he wished for me to be. Heck, my accent is northern.

The years went by like seconds it seemed. Kindergarten was over in the blink of an eye, followed by elementary school. Middle school was just about the same. That was, until, my final year before high school. Despite the almost-perfect life in Winneighpeg, just like that, it was all over. Both me and my mother came to be devastated upon learning my father was being forced to transfer elsewhere. Somewhere very few south of Trotonto recognized. It left us no choice but to part ways, or move.

It's plenty obvious what happened next.

⚓

Giving off a quiet, gentle yawn, my uninterested eyes shifted from the teacher standing before the black board with a pale stick of chalk in her hoof, writing rather quickly onto it with the hard clicks of the stick meeting the board being the only noise to be heard, and the rounded clock hanging just above the classroom's door, ticking away at the seconds.

My gaze held on to the clock for just a couple of those precious seconds, watching carefully as the larger hand shifted a hair closer to two o'clock. One could hope the teacher wasn't quick enough to finish what she was trying to write before the bell would ring, signalling the end of class for the day. That was probably why she was scribbling on the board as quickly as she was.

"All right, students. Who can—"

Before she could continue, before she could even finish turning to face even one of us, the bell rang aloud through the school. Anyone who might have been snoozing away couldn't have been any more. The teacher gave a soft groan, setting the piece of chalk down on a small steel ledge attached to the lower portion of the board.

"Legally, I cannot keep you longer than the bell. So, we will pick up on Monday. Have a good weekend, and don't forget to grab all of your belongings on the way out."

With the teacher now seated, and giving her final word, I reached beneath my desk and looped a hoof through one of the straps on my backpack and slid my chair back, standing on all fours and sliding my other hoof through the opposite strap to rest the bag on my back, atop the hooded jacket I kept half-zipped up almost all of the time. The other students in the room did the same, a couple of the fillies beginning to chat about plans for getting together over the weekend as they did on a normal basis.

Walking out into the hallway ahead of the crowd while keeping a gentle pace, I moved toward the front exit of the school. The other few classrooms were also letting out, and many ponies of my age were trotting out with their things. Most bundled themselves up, while the couple that didn't I knew were from around here originally. Much of the ponies at my high school hadn't lived in the north their entire lives. Even if they spent a good ten or so years away from the warmer climates, they would still find themselves wearing something heavier than a hoodie or a sweater.

An audible click and a gentle creak of the door swinging open later, my feathers ruffled as the crisp, oceanic breeze swept across. Just a block away to the right, the swishing and crashing of waves were the only noise to be heard where the rocky coast met the angry seas. Many would think of it as a nuisance, a noise that never ceased. I enjoyed it. The fresh, salty scent of the sea spray, the rumble of the waves building, the overall power of the water.

Further south would be far different. The island in which I moved to saw days very few and far in between where the ocean wasn't trying to make its way up into the town. The way the region was set up in terms of geography, there was always strong winds coming from the west. Off shore, however, winds came from everywhere.

This influenced the last mayor to implement a wind farm on the southeast side of the island. Much of the time, the turbines would need to be shut down to avoid a power overload. After all, only a few hundred ponies populated the island. Many of which, right here, in Gander Cove.

I walked the street in the direction of the marina, passing by the few small homes that rested between the coast and the school. A couple of which rested on stilts, the design was so the homes and everything inside would remain intact in the event of a hurricane. They were rare in these parts. That being said, they didn't not happen. Despite the smaller size of the homes, the ponies living in them paid a good hoof and a hind. Cheap houses on the waterfront weren't easy to come across anywhere one wanders.

At the end of the street was a ninety-degree corner, the pavement turning and running against the edge of the water and the wood-concrete construct boardwalk and boat docks less than a block further. Tied down securely at their docks, the sailboats and fishing boats rocked gently as the waves slapped against their sides. The ones closer to the land suffered less with the docks having forcing the ripples to tone down slightly. Today was just a decent day.

Stopping at a wooden bench against the steel barrier sitting between me and the water, I set my backpack down to my side and leaned back. I gave a light shudder feeling the wet wooden surface press against my flanks and soak a bit into my clothing, not that it made me any less comfortable.

Resting my hoof on the wrought-iron armrest, I relaxed, staring out into the grey waters beneath the overcast sky. Out in the water, a single sailboat, followed by a small schooner, parted ways as they passed each other in the harbor. The few ponies that manned them were too small to make out due to distance. In a town like this, everypony knew each other. Mostly.

This was where I spent much of the time after school. Mainly on weekends. Weather didn't matter much, although it made my parents extremely unhappy and forced me to listen to their lectures on how I could become sick. Even on the sunniest of afternoons, my mother always found a reason to go against my decision to sit out here and listen to the ocean's sweet ambiance. That was one of the numerous things mom and dad argued about, only because my father enjoys bumping into me occasionally on the waterfront. He was the one who got me into such a calming hobby. After all, he's a sailor. A different kind of sailor, however.

"Anchorage!"

Just like that, the moment was over.

I snapped around, hoof on the back of the bench. Blinking a couple of times, I eased myself.

"Hi, mom."

Walking over to me with a bag of groceries in one hoof from across the cobble street, the hazel mare had a light scowl visible from a mile away. She clearly wasn't happy. "What have we gone over with you being out here after school?"

"You act like this is dangerous," I answered, motioning my hoof.

"The fact is, I don't want you coming here when you get out of school. It is completely out of your way home, and it's pointless! What do you even do other than sit here and stare out into an abyss of... nothing?"

"Well..." I shrugged, eyes shifting to the side and back. "Perhaps I enjoy it. It eases my mind after a long day."

"What could possibly be so comforting out here? Why not listen to music, or read?" My mother raised her eyebrow.

"One, I'm not into music, and two, we do reading in school. I wouldn't exactly call that relaxing."

Once again, she scowled. No, this time, she glared. "I don't appreciate your tone, Anchorage. If you're not home by four-thirty, I'll get your father. You hear?"

"Why are you attacking me? All I'm doing is sittin' here. I could be doing far worse, like—"

"Now!"

Recoiling back, I pinned one ear down and nodded. "Yes, mom."

The mare nodded once, turning her nose up and walking off. When she was gone, I looped a hoof back through the leather straps of my backpack and got up, mind set on getting home as soon as possible. In the past when she's caught me out here, it was typically followed by the usual speech about how worried she was to not find me at home with no prior knowledge. Now it was about her not wanting me out here at all. And as much as I wanted to talk to her about it, I was afraid of it becoming less civil. Mares...

⚓

Our house wasn't necessarily as far away as possible from the ocean, though at the same time it wasn't the closest in the least. The island had quite a few hills on it. One of the smallest was just north of town and was where many of Gander Cove's residents lived. The homes were larger than the ones in town, each one secluded by thick pine and brush, though some on the edge of the hill had a better view all around from their balconies.

Marching up the hill was little issue. Over time, I grew used to the somewhat steep terrain. Rather than flying, both me and my father hoped to build arm and leg muscle rather than more useless wing muscle. It only made more sense to. That, and the walk wasn't half bad. Even if it was, as my father has said a few times, getting to where you're going is only achievable if you motivate yourself to.

I took a single key from a side pouch on my backpack as I walked up onto the wooden front porch of our home, weaving past some of the outdoor furniture and to the front door, unlocking it with a single, quiet click, and inside I trotted.

Half of the time I would be greeted by mom or dad. The only times I wasn't were obviously when they were out working or shopping. It was more common than not. Dad was still at work in East Harbor, a decent-sized naval installation on the east-central coast, no more than twenty or so miles from town. This was done to keep any activity away from the population, as well as avoid taking up limited room. The only way to and from the port and town was by a single path. That, or the other windy, directionless dirt paths that could be found all across the island.

Dropping my backpack off on the railing of the staircase and letting out a semi-exhausted sigh, I made my way to the kitchen for a snack. When dad stayed at work later than usual, that meant dinner would be, too. Thankfully, neither parents minded what I eat, as long as it isn't poison. With that, I grabbed a small bag of potato chips and a can of cola to hold myself off for a short while and trotted up the stairs to my bedroom.

I slipped my hoodie off and set it on the back of my desk chair, then hopped onto my bed with a soft grunt, grabbing a binder on my nightstand and a pencil. Popping open the bag of chips, I slipped one into my mouth and crunched on it politely while flipping through the pages before coming across a pencil sketch of a well-known ship in Equestria, the R.E.S. Titania.

The ship had been built just a decade prior to my birth, and to date remained to be the largest hoof-built steel container ship to ever sail the world's oceans. Recent years had been booming for the shipping industry as more and more vessels had been constructed in Manehattan and Baltimare. They provided for quicker transport to and from the eastern Griffon Kingdoms, as well as Saddle Arabia and other nations far from Equestria. A couple of times its needed to make port early out of emergency, due to hull integrity being compromised or severe weather. That was all I knew about it, aside from what it looked like.

Now with one hoof digging through the small snack bag, and the other working on the line work of the sketch with just my memory feeding the information of what to draw, it continued to come together after a good week of work and retries. Since I was a foal, I was drawing just about anything I saw. Houses, carriages, trains, skyscrapers, landscapes, and now, anything maritime. I wouldn't say it's a huge talent of mine since I still lack some detail, not that it truly mattered. As long as what I was drawing is clear, that is good enough for me.

Finally, it was done. The paper with a massive container ship sketched onto it, along with the harbor it traveled through, and the pillar of light smoke trailing up and behind. My longest artwork project, complete. Looking over it one final time with a small smile, I carefully tore the paper out of the binder and rested it atop a small pile of previous sketches on my desk opposite of my bed. Sitting back down and grabbing the bottle of cola off of my nightstand, I cracked the lid off and took a big, satisfying gulp of the fizzy, sugary drink.

As I did, however, the front door swung open downstairs, quickly followed by the gentle rustling of paper bags and hoofsteps.

"Anchorage?"

I set the bottle back down on the nightstand and hopped up to my hooves and out of my room, into the hallway, where I stopped at the top of the stairs. "I'm here, mom!"

"Alright, good. Could you come downstairs and help me out, sweetie?"

"Sure thing," I replied, trotting down the staircase to the bottom as my mother made her way into the kitchen with a couple of tall paper bags.

She let go of the bags on the black granite counter top and worked on putting some of the groceries away from one of them while I took responsibility for the other. With a smile, she looked over at me. "How was school?"

"Long, as always," I'd replied honestly.

"Learn anything new?"

"Not any more than yesterday."

"Any homework for the weekend?"

"Nope. Teacher didn't get a chance to finish teaching, so no homework. Again."

"That's good, I suppose. Although, homework does keep you busy," she said, opening the refrigerator and putting away a carton of milk and some sticks of butter.

"In a negative way. I don't see the point of giving us homework on the weekends. I don't see the point of it at all. Six hours a day apparently isn't enough for them, is it?"

"I'm afraid not, Anchorage, but that's how the world is. You won't be complaining when all of this school gets you a suit-and-tie job some day."

"... Suit-and-tie job? Mom, we've gone over this."

"It's just a suggestion, sweetie. Most jobs require a decent education. Certain ones require college. You should get off just fine without college, though. Your father would like you to, but that's all your choice."

"I quite honestly don't have a clue what I want to do yet. I'm about to be in the tenth grade, usually when they start pressing career options onto you between classes. That... won't be fun."

My mother looped her hoof around and pulled me a bit close, planting a kiss on my cheek. "These are the years to decide, Anchorage. Before you know it, you'll be wanting out of the house to live on your own and have a job. That's just over two years from now. I guarantee then, you'll be wishing you listened," she gave a soft smile.

Crumpling up the now-empty grocery bag and tossing it to the trash can, my gaze shifted to the hazel mare at my side. "I'll think about it."

She smiled some more and kissed my cheek once more, then patted my shoulder and let go, moving to the other side of the kitchen.

"Hey, mom?"

She paused and looked back. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Why don't you like me going to the marina?"

Her smile faded in an instant. My heart sank. Her expression didn't fold into anything else, however.

"I just worry about you wandering around instead of coming home, sweetie. That's all."

"It... doesn't seem like it." My one ear fell back.

"Well," she exhaled deeply. "I don't quite understand what interest you have in the ocean. It seems rather odd to me. I don't want you doing it."

I felt my blood briefly heat up. No, calm down, Anchorage. Be civil. "Why not? Just because you don't enjoy it doesn't mean I shouldn't."

"You are my son, and I would prefer if you do the same thing everypony else does. Nopony sits on a wet bench in the middle of the afternoon just to sit back and watch the constant waves. Who does that?" Her head tilted slightly.

"You said dad did before you married him."

"Yes, but, he doesn't any more. Why should you?"

My focus shifted to the counter for a moment, then back up. "It makes me feel good. It makes me feel at home. I didn't have this in Winneighpeg."

"But I thought you missed Winneighpeg, sweetie?" My mother continued to look more confused by the second. "You cried the night Sea told us what he had to do."

"Well... I was afraid of change. After we moved, I changed. I felt different. It might be the air since you can smell the salt of the sea, and occasionally the stench of fish, but..."

"...But what?" My mother stepped closer.

My gaze moved to the window, looking outside at the trees. My head shook a bit. "I don't know. I just like it here."

Hazy's ears slipped back gently. She walked closer and wrapped her hooves around me in a hug. I returned it.

"I am sorry, Anchorage. I truly had no clue you loved it here so much. I... I thought you've always hated it."

A small grin crept across my muzzle. "Have I ever complained?"

"I wouldn't know. You're quiet at dinner a lot."

Just like that, it faded. "I know."

My mother pulled back and looked me in the eye carefully, then smiled warmly. "You're just like your father, you know that, right?"

Letting out a chuckle, with the smile returning, I nodded once. "Yeah, yeah. I know, Mom."