TRISTAN JONES - THE SAILOR WHO LOVED PHUKET

I knew all about Tristan's records, that he holds most of the single-handed sailing records in modern sailing history. That he has traveled to the Arctic Circle, and that he has sailed the world's lowest stretch of navigable water, the Dead Sea, and that he had sailed an ocean-going vessel on the world's highest waters, Lake Titicaca in Peru. To be precise, Tristan Jones has sailed 345,000 miles (more than the distance to the moon) in boats under forty feet long, 180,000 miles of this distance single-handed. He has sailed the Atlantic eighteen times, nine times alone. And he stayed alive on an iceberg for fifteen months by living off seal blubber. His adventure-filled articles and books had been translated into seven languages.

Tristan had done everything, and had been everywhere, and the one place he chose to live is on the island of Phuket in southern Thailand. That's saying something for Phuket.

I knew these things about Tristan Jones, from his articles and books, but I still wanted to meet him, not to ask him about himself, or his accomplishments; I wanted to tell him something. Tristan had been a great inspiration for me, and ever since I began reading him, I hoped that one day I would meet him, so that I could thank him. I had my reasons. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to own my own boat and sail the South Seas. I didn't have a bankroll to go out and buy a yacht, so I decided to build one.. Everyone I met told me it was hopeless to even attempt such a thing. Tristan told me, through his written word, that I could do it. And there were still others who said, even if I did get my boat built, it was an impossible dream, to sail the oceans without a bundle of money, and most important, without experience. Tristan taught me dreams are what living is all about. And so I built my own boat, a 71-foot schooner, Third Sea, and sailed the oceans, and all the time I was at sea I hoped that one day I would meet Tristan Jones.

The years passed, and still our paths hadn't crossed, but Tristan always seemed close at hand. He was forever making the news, either something new and exciting he was doing or else he had a new book that was being released.. Then in 1982, I suddenly had doubts that I'd ever meet Tristan Jones. He might never even go to sea again in a small boat. I was in Singapore, aboard my schooner, when news reached me that doctors in New York had amputated his left leg above the knee, the result of a wound sustained while serving with the Royal Navy in Yemen.

But I was wrong. Tristan didn't give up the sea. The next news I heard he had been thrown out of a hospital in New York for organizing a wheelchair race among the other amputees "They were too much younger, but so miserable. He then raised the money, mostly through writing, to buy and outfit a trimaran and sailed it from California on an eastward voyage halfway around the world to Thailand. When he was in New York, he had formed the Atlantis Society, a non-profit organization dedicated to helping raise funds for the poor and the disabled. He decided to settle in Thailand, Why western Thailand? "It was in the moderate, cyclone-free tropical climate of the west coast of Southeast Asia, he said. "It was stable, evidently; and it was reputedly cheap. Once Tristan reached Phuket, he began his work with handicapped youngsters.

Tristan hoped to spread his word about the Atlantis Society by taking Henry Wagner, a 40-foot Thai longtail boat, rigged with sails and designed for the ocean waters, across Thailand's Isthmus of Kra, which he described as "the thinnest part of the long peninsula that dangles down from Indo-China like the tentacle of a dead octopus.

There is no known record of a sea-going vessel ever having done it before. To help him cross the isthmus, he had gathered a crew of Thai youngsters: the orphan Nok, a scruff of a lad with a hideous cleft palate; Som with one arm; and Anant, like Jones, a leg amputee. To make up the complement he had Thomas Ettenhuber, a 23-year old German who was nearly blind, and a Thai dog named Rambo. Tristan had signed Thomas as mate aboard Outward Leg in Europe.. He had been with him for three years.

Tristan and his handicapped crew sailed the boat part way, via the Ta-Pee River, and for two days had an elephant named Plai Thongchai haul the two-ton vessel six miles through the jungle. The entire crossing took six weeks of incredible effort by the disabled captain and crew. After making the crossing, unaided by any others, Tristan and his crew voyaged northward, a further 1,500 miles by sea and river, to Chieng Rai on the border of Laos.. Tristan showed the world that disabled people could not only do the same as their able-bodied brothers, they could do it better if they tried hard enough.

I learned that Tristan was living ashore in Phuket, writing another book. I got his address and wrote to him, asking if I could come visit, and then awaited his reply. What I hadn't known when I wrote to him was that he had suffered another tragedy. After several operations to remove blood clots, the doctors found it necessary to amputate his right leg. He was now a double amputee. Soon after I head the sad news, his reply to my letter arrived. I couldn't believe what he wrote. His letter was filled with deep sympathy. He had heard about the loss of my schooner Third Sea in a typhoon in Hawaii, and now he expressed his regrets in hearing the news. He said for me to come ahead. I was welcome any time.

He was at his desk when I entered his quarters, a bedroom cum office. "You're late, he barked. "I expected you days before this. I made some excuse for my delay, which he seemed not to hear, and then he said, "Sorry about your schooner. He also thanked me for my book, The Last Voyage, which I wrote about my schooner and her loss. I had sent him a copy. He swung his wheelchair around to face me. He asked me to pull up a chair, and as I was doing so, he saw me glance out the window toward the beach. He then asked if I could hear the leaves. "I listen to them day and night, he said. "They are like a Beethoven symphony, like the waves that were my only companion for so many years.

Instantly I liked Tristan Jones. It was easy to see this was no ordinary man. He continued the conversation by telling me he watches birds settle on a tree near one window every day. "They come at different intervals and sing. I know them now; they are so regular. These birds are not an accident, he said. "They are part of something. I know there is a God; everything fits in so wonderfully. There is some idea there.

His voice is deep and commanding. He speaks more like a college professor than the sailor he is. He laces his conversation with a combination of metaphors and axioms. He is witty, his mind quick and incredibly sharp. We begin talking about writing, the books he wrote and those he is writing. "I'm much better known in Australia and America than I am in my own country.. In America I'm accepted. I have entry to clubs, even universities there.

After that first meeting, every time I was in Phuket I stopped to visit Tristan, and each time I did he had more exciting stories and plans to relate to me. On my last trip I asked if I could write about him in my book "At Home in Asia. He agreed, and when the book was published I took a copy and went to Phuket to present it to him. He had gone over the draft, and made a few suggestions, and was anxious to see the final results. He never saw that chapter about him. Tristan Jones died three days before I arrived. I could hear his voice scolding me. "You see, you're late again. I was late, but I will never forget for Tristan Jones, nor will the world as long as there are books to read.

Harold Stephens Bangkok

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