“The canal is closed. You won’t be going anywhere today.”

At least I thought that’s what the lockmaster said. Shouting to me from the lock control shack a mere ten yards away, his voice was in the background behind noise from a rushing brown torrent rolling over the top of a flood spillway another ten yards in the opposite direction.

Staring at me with a worried expression, leaning out a half open door, he continued, “She’s been rising all night, and we... be responsible... safety.”

The lock we were in, with its rising but quiet water, was part of a cut to the side of a long, dam like structure next to us which held back the river. The water rushing over its adjustable floodgates swirled and boiled directly in the course we would have to motor when we exited the lock after it dropped us. This part of the canal was actually a natural river, and, using binoculars, looking a few hundred yards downstream, a huge anchored red can, a navigation marker, was well under water, a bump of water rushing over. Coming out of the lock we would have to use lots of throttle and hard right to avoid being swept onto an outcrop of rocks along the shore. This and the combined effect of the general watery mayhem were making all of us nervous.

I knew we could make it. Another sailboat in front of us would have to go first, and he was clearly getting ready to go. The bearded captain jumped off his boat, came walking towards me, and together we stepped through the heavily painted steel door into the lock control room, ignoring “No Unauthorized Entry.”

“I can’t be responsible for your safety, but if you’re determined to go, just be careful,” now with an encouraging smile, having seen it all before, and rather enjoying the prospect of a little show, I guessed.

Fifteen minutes later, now locked down and the gate before us open, we watched the boat in front scoot out, neatly dodge right to avoid the rocky shore, and push clear, safely in the river, staying right of the submerged navigation marker. Despite the drama, we did the same, bouncing along in the turbulence and making marvelous progress shoved along by flood waters.

A few days later, canal waters quiet once again, rounding a bend, we entered a swamp. Sitting on the bow in the sun, sliced water of the bow wake beneath me a steady burble, a single puffball cloud stood alone in the blue, recently rain washed sky. I studied slowly moving wisps around its edges. A blue heron, long wings motionless, glided directly in front of the cloud a mere fifteen feet overhead, veered gracefully left descending, leaned back on its tail while picking a landing spot, and came to rest on spindly legs precisely between two cattails. Its mate stood a few feet away on the edge of reeds, long neck curving, rapier beak pointed almost straight down, following movement beneath the water, ready to strike.

We anchored in swamp solitude, on the edge of the canal, first mate Lee paying out anchor chain in shallow water.

“We’re short one hand. Let’s put an ad in the New York Times for a new crew member before we sail for Panama,” I suggested a while later. Lee reeled his antique flat-fish lure back to the boat, a five day fishing license pinned to his shirt, apparently unconcerned about losing such a valuable lure.

“I’ve got it. ‘Crew wanted for South Pacific.’ Then we just list types we don’t want. No drinkers, no druggies,” Lee offered.

“That’s off putting. Stay with a positive description that attracts like-minded people. We’re trying to reach out to people, not drive them away.”

“You do the newspaper ad. I’ll catch dinner.”

Looking back on this conversation we had about reaching out to people, there is some parallel today with the national debate just beginning, about how best to create unity within party presently out of power and likewise within party in power, as dissentions and confusions arise. Accentuate the positive. Set aside personal attacks. Clearly and calmly state that for which your party stands. Those who share most, but not quite all your views, are not your enemy and are precisely ones you have the best chance to win over to your thinking. Treat them with respect, and they will return the favor.

This has been true for thousands of years.

Ross Pobanz can be contacted at ross.pobanz73@gmail.com.