When I first set out to write Call of the Sea by Captain Ron Smith, I didn’t plan on crafting a nautical memoir. I only wanted to capture the feeling, that deep, unexplainable pull of the tide that has guided my life for as long as I can remember. But as I began to write, I realized something: the sea doesn’t just shape our stories; it becomes part of who we are.
Every captain carries his own version of the ocean, not just the map of where he’s been, but the emotional chart of how those journeys changed him. My life at sea stories began as journal notes, scribbled log entries, and quiet reflections written under the dim light of a cabin lamp. Over time, they turned into lessons, memories, and moments that demanded to be shared.
Writing about the ocean is like trying to capture the wind, it moves, shifts, and refuses to be contained. But that’s what made this process so meaningful. Through every chapter, I found myself revisiting the places and people who defined my boating adventures, the camaraderie of crewmen, the hum of the engine before dawn, the thrill of spotting distant sails on the horizon.
A captain’s journey is never just about navigation or seamanship. It’s about resilience. It’s about facing the unknown, again and again, and finding comfort in that uncertainty. The sea teaches you humility, patience, and trust in your instincts. These are the lessons from the sea that carried over into every part of my life on land.
The more I wrote, the more I realized that Call of the Sea was not just my story. It belonged to everyone who’s ever felt the magnetic call of the ocean, that restless desire for adventure on the open water, for discovery and meaning beyond the shoreline. Each wave in my book carries a message: that we are all explorers, navigating our own inner seas.
There’s an intimacy in writing a nautical memoir. You aren’t just describing waves or voyages; you’re revealing pieces of your soul. For me, the hardest part wasn’t remembering the storms or the near-misses — it was revisiting the quiet moments. The still waters. The times I looked out over the endless blue and felt both completely small and completely alive.
That duality, fear and freedom, is the essence of the maritime lifestyle. It’s why sailors keep returning, even after they’ve been battered and bruised. There’s something healing about the sea’s honesty. It doesn’t lie. It doesn’t flatter. It simply reflects what’s inside you.
When readers tell me Call of the Sea made them feel the salt in the air or the roll of the deck beneath their feet, I know I’ve done my job. Because writing this book wasn’t about selling a story, it was about sharing a truth. It was about celebrating my love for the ocean, the place that taught me everything I know about courage, forgiveness, and peace.
The act of writing became another voyage, one without sails or coordinates, but with its own challenges and rewards. In every sentence, I could hear the whisper of the tide reminding me that the sea never truly lets go.
So here’s to every sailor, dreamer, and wanderer who feels that same call. Whether your journey takes you across oceans or into the depths of your own heart, may you always find your way back to the water. Because in the end, it’s not just a story we write, it’s the life we’ve lived.