Ship of Fools

Avalon is looking for a new home

2011-03-15T11:39:00.001-04:00

Avalon is looking for a new home. Unfaithful me has purchased another, younger, prettier, larger, faster boat.

Her name is Ship of Fools. She is a 1982 Hunter 33 Cherubini design. Plans, graphics and photos to come. She was designed to sail the coastal areas of Florida, the Keys and the Caribbean with a four foot draft and a ten and a half foot beam.

She has been lovingly maintained and kept in her original condition by attentive owners and is up to date with all her charts and nav gear. LED lighting in and out, high efficiency fans, all ports can open and are screened as well as screens for both deck hatches. This is a live aboard ready cruiser that is well surveyed and Coast Guard Certified. I do believe it's time to go sailing.

A little background about where the money came from. Years ago I made a very stupid decision and decided that I wanted to see Vietnam. I did. I got a very close look. I brought something home with me; a chemical that is now making parts of my body go haywire. The Veteran's Administration has decided, in a strange throw of guilt, to declare me 100% percent disabled, total and permanent.

This declaration came with a large lump sum of money and a very healthy monthly stipend. With this money also comes the knowledge that my time here on this plane is very limited. This is a relief as well as very frustrating. The relief comes from knowing that I'll be out of his mad house before too long. The frustration comes from now having the means to see the world but not the long term health to enjoy all of it. Guess I'll just have to be satisfied with what I can reach. Hence the boat.

So, here I am with a good, steady income, a seaworthy boat and a desire to spend lots of quiet hours listening to the sound of wind and wake while I move my home from exotic sounding place to exotic sounding place. It could be worse.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

The Further Adventures of.....

2010-12-29T11:36:00.001-05:00

From shore, two other men and I watched Avalon drag her anchor into another moored vessel. The owner of that boat was standing next to me. There was a feeling of inevitability in the tableau. We all knew that this was the beginning of what was going to be one hell of a blow.

White caps topped the two foot chop that had risen in the bay while twenty to thirty knot winds piled all that water up on shoals that lay nearby to the East. Avalon was broadside to the wind, hard up against the prow of my friend's 42' sloop. Both boats were now dragging into a third boat also owned by a club member. This was going to be seriously entertaining.

R, the owner of the forty two footer and I had met at the club just thirty minutes earlier for non-boat related business when the wind caught our attention as it started roaring out of the West, driving low level clouds into the late morning sun. High up, heavy dark clouds raced to the South.

R and I look at each other, both saying almost at the same time "everything for a reason", and started preparing our cloths and personal gear for a wet crossing in a canoe. There just didn't seem to be any other choice. Get out there and untangle some lines now and hopefully power to another anchoring point, or see three seaworthy vessels go aground on heavy shoals of rip rap and oysters. I figured we'd be swimming before we got to the boats.

I went to my Jeep and unloaded my cell phone and other perishables from my pockets while R did the same. Then, trying not to think about what we were about to do, I followed R to where he kept his canoe. R is an experienced sailor who is licensed to transport up to 100 tons and is the only sailor here who I've seen bring his boat into the slips under sail. He is also young and just a little crazy. I've got about half that.

We grabbed his canoe, a 16' Coleman with a transom. A canoe in white water chop with a twenty to thirty knot wind. This was starting to look like a really bad idea and we didn't even have the canoe in the water. At the dinghy dock we were well protected by a mangrove breakwater. Just beyond the basin opening, the water of the bay heaved and surged. Maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but it sure seemed like it at the time.

We climbed into the canoe, double checked our safety gear, looked at each other, smiled, shrugged and started paddling. Getting to the mouth of the basin was easy, getting out proved to be a challenge. When the wind hit us the canoe heeled and rocked. I got off the thwart and planted my butt on the keel while I felt R do the same. We started to really paddle We were committed now. If we tried to turn about the wind would roll us.

Ten minutes with the wind off our starboard quarter and we were in position to drift into R's boat. It had seemed like half an hour. The wind would puff and blow and howl and stop and start, sets of waves two and three feet high would roll and pitch the boat. We were in a fight. Somehow it seemed worth it. Exhilarating, frightening, joined in mortal battle yet not doubting that we would get done what needed doing. I was alive!

Once along side R's boat we grabbed line and stood up in the canoe, grabbing the beam rails of the ship above us. Then it was just a matter of climbing, grabbing rigging and hauling ourselves up a slick surface that bucked and rolled like a live thing. Timing the waves helped with the climb, letting the lift of a swell help boost. We were a couple of hairless apes clambering over the rails and onto the deck. Then we just sat there for a couple of moments to catch our breath.

We didn't take long. Every moment was another moment closer to shore. Every wave was another impact between boats and the tangle we were on was heading for another boat. There was some work to be done and we had to do it quick. A fast inspection of anchor line showed that Avalon's rudder had ridden over R's line. To untangle this mess we had to use Avalon's anchor and release R's. That meant a faster drift to shore and less time to avoid the shallows.

I scrambled forward across R's boat, grabbing rigging and safety lines and got to the bowsprit where I could climb out over Avalon. The only way to untangle this mess was from the decks of Avalon. Both boats rocked, bucked and twisted, the hulls beating up against each other. There were no halfway measures about this. I had to commit to getting on Avalon, placing myself beyond the point of return climbing down. There would be no climbing back up.

R Got his anchor line release and handed the end of it over to me with a large float on it so we could get it back later. Before I could drop his line I had to first untangle it from my rudder. I had to get some slack. Nearly two hundred feet of three quarter inch line wound up with me in the cockpit, and over a period of a few minutes I managed to get it tangled up with Avalon's aft stay and the tiller.

All of this, three sailboats, two men and hundreds of feet of anchor line and chain, was being bounced, rolled and shaken in high winds and heavy chop. We were about four to five hundred yards from a lee shore, in about nine feet of water with the wind grabbing and pulling at every surface. It was stacking the water up against the shore causing a short, sharp chop that sometimes overcame wind direction. I was glad I had put my glasses in my pocket before we got in the canoe. I don't think I even missed them.

R's anchor was still holding and attached to my boat at the port side jib sheet winch. His boat was no longer held to the storm initiated raft up, drifting toward shore while R pulled himself along deck lines back to his cockpit. His boat has a fifty horse diesel for power. That was enough to pull him away from the shore and into a safer anchoring position. I was port beam to the wind and still in contact with the third boat, held in place by two anchor lines fore and aft. The forward anchor line was the one that had let loose. I soon found myself coming stern on to the wind.

Seeing that my keel and rudder now cleared the third boat's anchor lines, (she had two out), I went forward to release Avalon's anchor. Stern to the wind, Avalon bounced and cork screwed. Most of the trip forward and back was done on hands and knees. I don't remember being scared. I was too focused on what I had to do. If Avalon was going ashore, so was I, and I really didn't have a choice. There would be no rescue. There just simply wouldn't be time.

Now, ya gotta remember; I'm closing in on sixty real fast. The spirit is willing but the flesh is starting to complain. By the time I got to the bow pulpit I just simply had to take a break. I had already done a lot of pulling an pushing, with all parts of my body. Take a few minutes to catch my breath, plan the next moves. Braced up into the bow pulpit railing I squat/sat and looked around. It was like something from a movie.

All around me the water was a dirty brownish/greyish/greenish maelstrom of windblown chop. The wind was trying to create tall waves while the shore threw them back. They seemed to collide under Avalon with a wild short chop that had no real direction except up. When the chop got around two feet the wind would tear it's head off and throw it toward the shore. I started to laugh.

This kind of shocked me for a second until I realised that I was having a ball. This is what I came here for. To come alive again in the face of a challenge, to totally commit to something and give it everything I have. It was like I was back in combat again only this time it was to save, not kill. I was ALIVE! Totally connected, completely involved. This is seriously sick behaviour and I really must do something about it. Maybe next week. Right now I'm having too much fun.

I released the forward anchor line and let Avalon's bow swing toward shore. Now she was effectively going backwards at twenty five knots with gusts of up to forty. This was when the bimini tarp caught the wind and started acting like a sail. This was truly a case of poor planning. That thing was one of the first items that should have been dealt with. Out with the knife and hack, hack, hack until all the nasty blue and silver plastic fibers are gone and below deck in the salon, making the sole as slick as damp ice. Note to self; below deck slick.

Earlier, while R and I were preparing our boats for handling, I had started the outboard to make sure it would run. I was gonna need it. There would be no sailing this day. The outboard is mounted on a scissors type arm that hangs off the stern of Avalon. It's an ugly thing and destroys the lines of Avalon's hull, but it's what we have. At the moment it was spending most of it's time under water.

It was going underwater because Avalon was anchored stern to the wind. This is what sinks boats. Get enough water broaching the stern and it'll be Niagra Falls into the cabin. Bye bye boat. The simple economics of it would not allow me to restore her after that. Running aground, maybe. I was trying to avoid both. I want to keep that boat. Right now she provides the most cost effective way for me to learn how to sail and handle myself with the sea. She was doing her job. I had to do mine.

There was no way for me to know if the motor would restart. There was no way for me to keep Avalon anchored like this. It would kill her. The only choice I had was to release the stern line and hope that the motor would start. I looked at the shore gauging the wind direction. If the motor didn't start, I has heading in that direction. There was a long beach almost directly down wind of where I was at. Also almost directly down wind was a large breakwater with docks and power boats. Decisions, hopes and prayers.

Earlier I had untangled R's anchor line from my backstay and tiller and it was in a semi neat pile at the stern. A cocktail of fear and exhilaration ran through me as I released the line from the jibsheet winch. I guided it over the side as the wind carried Avalon toward the shore. The last of the line went over the stern, without the float. Shit! I had untied the float to give me a free end of line to untangle the mess and had neglected to re attach it. I had just lost R's anchor, chain and line over the side in an old mooring field. We'd be lucky to recover it.

Now that Avalon was moving with the wind and waves, the motor was now spending most of it's time above water. Time to see if it starts. I mentioned before that the outboard hangs off the stern of the boat. It's also well below the toe rail. That means that when I want to start the motor I have to lean halfway out of the boat and down to grab the starting line and pull. This is where I might get to swim. There would be no getting back on the boat. Did I mention that it was cold? Wind chill seemed to be close to freezing. Getting wet would be a real treat.

Bracing the tiller with my knees, I leaned out over the outboard, grabbed the starting line and pulled. And then again, and again. This was not looking good. I had rebuilt that motor and it usually started on the first pull. I reached down farther and pulled the choke out. One more pull and no joy. I had time for one more shot before I needed to prepare for grounding.

I rolled on a little throttle and then PULLED! It started! I gave it more throttle and with my feet pushed the tiller hard to port leaning half over the pitching, rolling stern nursing a cold outboard. Come ON, you BITCH! Pull to the wind! And she did. And I apologised and promised and flattered her while we ran parallel to the shore. We had a chance.

I gave the outboard about fifty percent and sat back up in the cockpit, determined to get Avalon away from shore and into deeper water. The motor would still sometimes go under but somehow it kept running. But, when we headed a little into the wind, the relative motion of the boat to the waves and wind changed and the stern would rise out of the water bringing the motor with it. Now the prop spent half it's time out of the water. By this time most of the downwind shore was breakwater and docks.

Making the decision that here was better than there, I ran forward as fast as I could go and threw the cruising anchor over the side. I fed out chain and then line. It was moving on it's own almost faster than I could handle. I grabbed the line hard, bracing myself on the pulpit rail with my feet, felt the anchor snub down and then held on while Avalon swung to the wind. Like I was rappelling I took the extra line behind me with my left hand and cinched it off on the forward cleat. One handed knot tying practice had paid off.

I started slowly paying out line until I had laid out about one hundred feet and then tied off. I didn't know where we were on the tide table but we hadn't hit bottom yet. Avalon has a draft of nearly five feet. That meant that we were in at least seven feet of water. Avalon was rising and falling with the waves nearly three feet. Bounce, roll, dive, lift and buck. No contact with the bottom and the anchor seems to be holding.

Time for a beer! Oops! No beer. Time for some rum! Oops! No rum. Time for a joint! Oops! No pot. Time to call home and let Gail know I'm alive. Oops! The phone is in the car. Time for a snack and some water. I had plenty of fresh water, canned foods, coffee and tea aboard. The batteries were at full charge and the propane tank was charged. It wouldn't be comfortable but at least I would be able to stay warm and fed.

I thought about using the sideband radio but I knew that there was no one at the club monitoring the base there. I braced myself in the companionway and watched the clouds fly across the sky and the waves crash and tumble over each other. Every once in a while a wave would break over the bow sending spray down the length of Avalon. This was like something from a movie.

Standing on the lower step and bracing myself on the companionway door frame my head just cleared the cabin roof, giving me a great view of the bay. White caps, a howling wind from the West, a sturdy boat under my feet and an uncertain anchor keeping Avalon and me from going ashore in a hard way. This was REAL. That's the only way I can describe it. I started to laugh, something that came from deep, deep inside. I was very much alive and living and doing just the thing I had come to do.

This was the most real thing I had done in years. There were no questions about right or wrong, no moral grey areas. This was about pure survival. Now that the other two boats were secure and Avalon was in a (hopefully) secure position, I had time to reflect on what I had just done. My knees got weak, I felt that old familiar twist in my stomach and then a REALLY bad need to pee.

As badly as the boat was bucking and rolling peeing turned out to be a challenge. I can say with pride that the head sole stayed dry. So did I. This was another accomplishment of sorts and seemed to point to an idea that I was truly getting my sea legs and learning to live with the sea. All the things I had read and been told and had seen on TV or the movies came to nothing more than dreams. THIS was where the rubber meets the road.

In doing what I had done this day I had placed my life at risk for a small piece of fiberglass, aluminum and wood. And a dream. And I had won. I bet it all on my ability to figure out what had to be done and then in the doing of it. It was like combat. It was like my first lay. It was like..........nothing I had ever done in my life. I had gone out in heavy winds and chop in a canoe with another man, climbed up on his boat and then made my way across that heaving deck to my smaller boat which was bobbing like a cork, timed my leap to my own cockpit, untangled anchor lines, fought with the sea to keep my boat and wound up here/now, laughing and drinking instant coffee while the weather raged around me and my little home.

I turned on the sideband radio and listened to the NOAH weather reports and realised that there was no way I was getting back to shore tonight. Thirty to Fifty knot winds and the tide piling up on the lee shore just four hundred yards from where I was anchored. I was not getting back to shore this night. Now it was just me and Avalon and the sea. Avalon was stocked as any home would be, so I was not without my creature comforts. The only thing I was missing were intoxicants and that was probably a good thing.

Some months ago I had installed a stereo and good speakers in the salon, so on came NPR and whatever program they were running. Always a good choice for pure listening enjoyment. A little bit of This American Life, a couple of news breaks and then into the Jazz portion of the evening. I was in hog heaven. The galley was stocked, I had fresh water and semi palatable coffee, a soft bunk with heavy fleece covers and thick pillows.

Sleep was an issue. I would sleep for about half an hour and then be up for two, cat napping it all through the night. This was keeping watch like I was singlehanding it across the Gulf Stream, making my way from West Palm Beach to the Bahamas using an autopilot. This was rough. From time to time it became almost impossible to stay in the bunk while the boat rolled and bucked. An appreciation for the saying "BB in a gourd" started growing in my mind.

The night passed and dawn came with little let up in the wind. If anything it had gotten colder. Another adventurous urination and more instant coffee. By now I had figured out that I wasn't going to get motion sickness so I read a few chapters in a SciFi book from my little library while I ate a breakfast of rolled oats with raisins, honey, cinnamon and crushed walnuts. I like my food and I like it healthy. I was also practising cooking in a bouncing, heaving, rolling galley. Ya never know when that kind of skill can come in handy.

The wind showed no sign of letting up, the chop in the bay was just as bad as it was the night before, and R was on deck getting his canoe ready for heading into shore. That's when I realised that he was insane and so was I. He was my ride back to shore. If he was going to put that narrow thing in the water and beat into the wind to make the basin, I was going to have to help. I began preparations to get wet. I also said a few prayers and curse words, knowing that the ride back to shore was going to be a LOT of work and spray.

By ten o'clock the wind was gusting and hitting lulls. This was going to be a crap shoot. I knew R was waiting for a lull to put the canoe into the water and then counting on it to last long enough for him to get to my boat, pick me up and then with the both of us, paddling like hell into the wind to get back to the club marina.

I put my glasses back into a secure pocket, and watched as he let the wind drive the canoe up against Avalon. He and I both knew that there was no way that one man in a canoe could fight that wind and chop. He was taking a risk for me and I could do nothing less than stand up for it, no matter how badly I needed to take a shit. This was one of those moments when you know that one false move will either put you in the drink or fill your drawers. I was having fun.

Timing the waves I made a graceful (not) drop into the canoe and then it was elbows and paddles as we made our way back to the marina. I have to say that R makes a great bunker mate. I believe that I can count on him in a tight place and I hope he feels the same about me. We worked hard at it, both of us used to canoes, though I was the novice in this environment. Thanks, R. I learned a lot and I hope I didn't make your life any harder for my inexperience.

Back at the club house, several of the older members were there to greet us. Mostly it was about making sure that R and I were alright, and that there was hot chocolate and coffee for us to warm up with. I have to say right here that I feel blessed that by accident or fate or whatever, I have found myself in the circle of Boca Ciega Yacht Club and the wonderful folk who spend their spare time there. Never in my life have I ever felt so welcomed or accepted. These are warriors tried and true, men and women who love the sea and sail and take care of their own. Thank you.

Needless to say I had some dues to pay with Gail because I had not been able to tell her where I was at and that I was OK. Once I called and heard her start with the concerned lover bit, I was giving thanks again that there was someone in my life that would go that little bit of extra effort for my safety.

What I'm trying to say here is that I'm doing what I want to do, living the dream that has been with me since I was a wee lad and have found good folk with which to share it. I am SO blessed. Every day I try to remember to give thanks for all that is in my life. I only hope that those who are in my life feel the same about me.

Life is for living,
Money's for spending,
Folks are for loveing,
And that's never ending.
Take just what you need,
And pass the rest around.

As and addendum as well a necessity I've just gotta say this;

I learned a lot in this narrowly avoided disaster. I learned that I still know very little about what has to be done to keep a boat safe during anchoring. I know that I was given good advice and procrastinated. I know that through my inaction the property of others was endangered and damaged.

I have offered all restitution and apologies and am taking steps to insure that this kind of issue never repeats. Sometimes you're the audience, sometimes you're the show. This time I was one of the clowns. No offence to clowns, but this is gonna take a little while to live down.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Sea Sick (almost) Blues

2010-10-29T13:28:00.001-04:00

The heat is over, at least for a while. A cold front came in the late evening. With it came wind and wave. It was a great night's sleep.

The first few hours back at the boat a few days ago where kind of touch and go. I spent what felt like half the day right on the verge of sea sick. Ooops! I thought I was over that stuff. Well guess what, Bucky! It don't work that way.

Working through it was about the only thing I could think of doing. Keep busy, don't focus, spend time above deck, stay cool, eat something, drink something, watch the horizon.....all those things were running through my head while my stomach considered contraction. I got the bucket ready.

Sitting in the companionway I watched the other boats moored around me dance to the wind and waves while mine played accompaniment. This was not looking good. Sweat was pouring from my face and my knees where weak. And I'm crewing on a club cruise this weekend. Wonderful.

OK, let's eat. What have I got to loose? Pretzels, nuts, a banana, some ice water, hell, maybe a warm beer. Or a shot of rum. I'd already taken a couple of hits of smoke and some canned chilli over macaroni was sounding kind of good. I looked at the ship's clock. It was time for lunch.

Knoshing on some stale pretzels and sipping ice water I got the galley ready for boiling up some water for macaroni. So far, so good. Breakfast is staying where I put it and I'm feeling a little cooler now so maybe, just maybe........

Fifteen minutes later I'm fully engaged in making lunch, the chilli is over the macaroni, I have a warm Amber Bock in hand and life is wonderful. My stomach has settled, my inner ears have readjusted to this particular reality, I've stopped sweating and the dirty dishes from cooking were in the bucket I had previously prepared for damage control. Life is good.

Sitting in the cockpit with a bowl of chillimac and a beer, feeling the wind, listening to the sounds of a busy public harbor, watching the sports fishers, recreational boaters and the occasional sailing vessel or working boat go by I knew I was back home. The joy of the water was back and I was feeling comfortable and at ease.

Partway through lunch I pick up the paper back I'd found in the club library, the third book in a series that I had started reading decades ago and a real treasure to find, and gave my renewed sea legs the ultimate test. Five chapters later and regrettably out of beer I decided that it was time to get to the chores. Captain Gary was back.

The main salon was a mess. Tools and parts and trash and clothing and all the little things that get moved around and forgotten when you find yourself living in two places took up every horizontal space. Maybe it was depression, maybe it was being in a hurry, maybe it was just plain sloth, it still had to be cleaned up.

First, all the tools were taken off of the chart table and put on the footboards near their home below the quarter berth. Last sail in the Gulf had cost me some repair time with a chainplate mount. The tools and cuttings from this repair were all over the place. I really need to stay on top of this kind of thing but I truly am a slob. Mess and chaos doesn't bother me much so long as I can get to the work spaces to cook, clean and sleep.

The chainplate mount gave up during a close haul near marker one in John's Pass. That's about a mile off shore. I has pushing the boat and myself when I heard something go BANG below deck and the sails got kind of loose. My first reaction turned out to be the best one somehow. I released the sails and let the boat head up wind on her own and ran below to look for damage. I got lucky.

The port side chainplate had moved about a quarter of an inch in an attempt to pull out of the half inch plywood it was mounted in. Too much more under strain and I could loose the mast. If that happened I would be better off to open up the thru hulls and let her sink. It had already been a long day's sail, singlehanding from about ten AM to now, just before sunset. This was going to be entertaining.

I don't need to check my fuel. I knew for certain without looking that I don't have enough to make it from John's Pass to Gulfport using the ICW. Motoring with a following sea on the Southbound leg of my sail was not something I wanted to think about. She's a small boat with a tiny hiney and would want to roll a lot. With an outboard that's not a fun thing. Been there, done that with a couple of other guys on another boat. We got wet a time or two.

The wind wasn't bad, five to 8 knots from the North, seas around three feet, so sailing back without stressing the mast was possible. "Coming about! Set sail light for home, boys! We'll follow the shore and take our own sweet time about it."

As the sun set I watched the shore line. All along the shore were small, bright flashes, marking the positions of tourists as they took pretty pictures of nice sailboat in the sunset on the Gulf. I'm sure they thought it was quite the tableau. All the right elements for a romantic composition. Sailboat, Sunset, Gulf of Mexico, a smattering of clouds and sea birds..........

So, there I was, crippled and sweating out each gust of wind, doing my best to get home intact and floating while Canadians took my picture to share with the grand kids back home, eh? I opened another beer and enjoyed the moment. Even if I sink the boat, what an adventure! This is what I'm here for. This is the life.

Two hours later it's full dark and I'm in North Pass by Shell Key searching for the channel markers and wondering why my spot light isn't picking them up. I have to come in now as the tide is with me, adding a couple of knots to my speed. I could have anchored out in the Gulf in twelve feet and waited for the morning, but that decision nexus had already passed me by. I was committed to the pass and the sound of breakers was getting louder and..........

I'm aground and now I can see the shore to starboard and channel markers half a mile to my port. This is another fine mess you've gotten us into, Ollie! Think! Now what? Tide's coming in, it's a sandy bottom the motor runs........ I gave it about half an hour just sitting there pivoting on the keel and then started the outboard. Timing the waves I inched the boat off the sand, one bump at a time while keeping the sails close hauled and the boat healed over. After about an hour of this we're free and heading for the channel.

The draw bridges are on demand after nine PM so I called ahead to Structure C and requested an opening. After several calls I wondered if there was anyone home. Finally I get an answer from the bridge but not the one I wanted. He says he can't see me. I know my running lights are working so I'm confused for a moment and then I remember that my steaming light doesn't work.

I take out the spot light and shine up the bridge house. Can you see me now? My guess is he was catching a nap and I was blowing his beauty sleep. He opens the bridge and I make it through without hitting anything and now I'm in the home stretch. Go to the first marker and turn right and.........

I'm aground again. I missread the marker. I'm also still in view of the bridge tender. I'm thinking of renaming the boat "For Sale". I think for a moment and come to a conclusion. The tide is still coming in, I'm not aground hard, I'm hungry, there's more beer below and I could use another hit of smoke. Dinner! A can of soup, a burrito wrap and two beers later and I'm off the shoal and headed for home.

Half an hour later and I'm setting the anchor. It's good to be home.

Two months later and the chainplate repair is done, a new mainsail is on order (I had put my hand through the old one taking it off. Guess it was rotten) and here I am, back from several out of town shows with the band and house/dog/bird sitting for a friend and the boat is a mess and I'm fighting sea sickness and life is good.

The club is doing an overnight cruise to some place South of Sarasota and I'm going as crew on a larger boat with some of the friends I've made here at the club. This is a good place and I feel right at home. More about that later. This time I just wanted to write this little story, catch up a little and let y'all know that I'm still alive and well, living the life and living life.

Now it's time to do a little shopping, get some lunch, and clean up. This cruise promises to be fun. At least this time we won't be racing and trying to break the mast.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Waiting out the heat

2010-08-14T11:03:00.000-04:00

It's hot here in Florida. Hot and humid. It's kind of hard to sleep aboard but still better than hanging out at the marina. At least out at anchor there is a breeze. Oh, yea, and the gentle rocking of wakes. Most of the floating condos that come and go from the Gulfport marina have some kind of maritime courtesy, but then there is the cigar smoking bunch. Apparently they have enough money not to have to worry about any fines resulting from excessive wakes in a mooring field. Same goes for the Dolphin Tour boat. Every time it goes by I expect my mast to snap off. It was never built for this kind of stress. It's good to know that I'm not as prone to motion sickness as I used to be.

Avalon is now without a mainsail and has one loose chain plate. She's not going sailing again for a while. All the standing rigging needs to be replaced. It is more than likely the original gear. The aft stay is adjusted all the way down and still there is a forward rake to the mast. No wonder she had such strong weather helm. Free boats can be expensive. I'm not complaining but still......

Life here at the Boca Ciega Yacht Club is good. Good folk, good area, good information. I'm learning a lot about dealing with sail. Maybe in a few years I'll have what it takes to be a sailor. First, however, I need a boat I can sail and not just live aboard. The money is coming in but it's slow. It'll take to the end of hurricane season to get enough jack together to make the needed repairs. All I have to do is hang in there and be patient. Oh, yeah; I need to be smart about what I spend, too.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

The next step

2010-07-16T10:17:00.002-04:00

Avalon and I have sailed. We have gone out into the Gulf, fought tides in the narrows, found and for the most part avoided sand bars and shoals, learned a little about how to combine power and sail to best effect, and I have learned Avalon's seemingly forgiving ways. The single greatest lesson learned is the inescapable fact that I have more to learn than I can even begin imagine at the moment.

It all came to a collision of goals, vectoring in from all sides like sharks, homing on the money that had suddenly appeared, sparking a feeding frenzy. It took every bit of self control I had to keep from blowing it on stuff (stuff I had been dreaming about for a year!) and keeping to dealing with the short term targets. The long distance stuff can wait a little while longer.

The money came from three years of concerted effort to get the VA to pay attention and understand that I do have an issue or two that deal directly with my experience in Vietnam. Six months of working with a hunter/killer team, wolves with rotors, taking the fight to Charlie, that can leave an impression on a young mind. Add to that the dioxin exposure (sometimes sticky with it from the rotor wash on freshly sprayed jungle) and there is a case that I did not create all the problems I've gathered up while making my way to this place. I could go on into a rather rambling and paranoid rant about our trusted and beloved government but I think I'll save that one for another time and place.

I got my disability from the VA. Three years of fighting and a little role playing and here I am, pulling down just enough that I can now say “I don't have to take that gig”. Of course, that comes with a caveat. If I want to maintain my independence and have enough money to outfit Avalon, I have to spend the next year living on the “hook”. That's kind of like camping in a small RV in a place that has no shade, moves all the time and has no hook ups. It's a place where the heat and humidity is a sentient thing, the wind (or the lack of it) can be a pleasant friend or implacable foe and a storm can be more than just an adventure. It's like living on a desert island; what you have is what you brought with you. Saving up to half my income per month by not paying rent on a cheap apartment or slip is worth it.

By living on the hook I will be teaching myself the basic skills I will need to do the kind of sailing I want to do. I want to sail the world. That's difficult to do from a condo. Another part of what I'm doing is tied in with the Boca Ciega Yacht Club. I've applied and by all indicators I have been accepted as a member there. If so, then my life on the hook will be more instructive and comfortable. They have a nice club house with a kitchen, showers, ice machine and Internet.

The club is also exclusively sail. If you don't sail or at least love sail, you ain't a gittin' past the gate. There are sailors from hobby to Magellan. All levels of experience are there with a depth of knowledge that I hope to participate in. In my application I mentioned that I do handyman stuff and don't mind working around the yard cutting grass and trimming vegetation. It'll be good exercise. I also hope to participate in what social events are there as well, such as racing, one day to three month cruises, sailing seminars, club gatherings for social meals and parties. Complete immersion into a culture; the only way to learn the language.

Exercise is a major concern for me. I've seen several live aboard boaters with bad backs. I rarely see them leave their boats. Usually they're locked away in the main cabin soaking up A/C. I've noticed that I tend to sit still for long periods as well and never really get a chance to stretch out. Then my back starts to hurt and it hurts to walk so I walk less and ride the bicycle more or drive the Jeep or just sit some more and my back gets weaker....... Wrong! I'm not going there!

Living on the hook in the club mooring area I will be rowing to and from shore daily and sometimes more often. Even if I get a small outboard for the dinghy I'll be doing some walking. I have a PO box in Gulfport which is just about a mile from the club. That's a nice morning or evening walk. Every Tuesday there is also a farmer's market in Gulfport. A new grocery store has opened about a mile North of the club and there is a coin op laundry across the street from the grocery as well as a hardware store that has gotten to know me after about five years. I plan on doing a lot of walking. Did I mention that I'm now considered one of the locals in Gulfport? Been here too long.

What I find most amazing is that I am a boat owner and a member of a yacht club, two things that were farthest from my mind when I first came to Florida. So much of life happens by accident. All my life I've watched my father play at his yacht club in Indianapolis, a club that he helped build into one of the most wanted boating tickets in the Indianapolis area. It was always a mystery to me why he did it, but I did enjoy the boating and skiing and hanging out on the river. The politics of being a club officer and the sudden unexpected boating expense was always something I would rather be without.

All the money and time, sweat and tears, laughter and good times with friends, all of it taught me that I didn't want all that much to be a boat owner, but I always did enjoy my time on the water. I wanted the forest and prairie, mountains and coast lines. I wanted to be Lewis and Clark, Boone and Crockett. Land lubber to the bone. I had my dreams when I was young, building model sail boats and imagining a life on the high seas. Ah, to be Nelson, Magellan, Vespucci and Columbus. I forgot all about them once I found cars and girls, and the sea was so far away from Indy. Then suddenly one day I'm in Florida and I'm a boat owner. A sailboat owner.

I turn the boat into my home, remember the dreams, find the irony of earlier attitudes turned 'round and then start to dream again as I build the biggest boat model I have ever built. If I don't get this one just right, or maybe just right enough, I could wind up stranded in a place that I really don't want to be stranded at. Then again; this boat could, like the course of my life so far, prepare me and take me to the place I need to be for my next big lesson. I've made enough plans in my life to now have the ability to recognize certain gods by their individual laughs. Sometimes you're the audience, sometimes you're the show. It's called participation.

The first sail was an emotional experience for me. For a year I had been living aboard and dreaming of sailing Avalon while knowing that there was so much to do, quite a bit of which I would not be aware of until I sailed her. It was quite a feeling to have the motor running (finally), pushing the boat along quietly at about four knots (I'm guessing here). There's twenty feet of boat in front of me, eight feet behind me, six feet below me and almost fourty feet above me, all of it coming in at three and a half tons. That's a lot of boat. I was getting facial muscle cramps from all the teeth gritting and smiling. Had I been sitting during the first moments of moving the boat I most likely would have pinched a hole in the seat cushion.

Getting out of the marina was an education all on it's own. Avalon is eight and a half feet wide. The channel is at best fifteen feet with narrower portions. One side is mangroves and live oak trees. Some of the live oaks reach well into the channel, waiting like Charley Brown's kite eating tree for a meal of mast and rigging, antennas and lights. The other is made up of several million dollars worth of sailboats. I wound up with live oak leaves and a small branch or two on my deck. I'll be glad to be out of this tight little space. I can get in and out without hurting myself or anyone else, but Avalon still winds up with garnish. That's not good for the rigging and it's hard on seat cushions.

I have to tighten up and un-slob. Major lesson. I'm messy. Clutter does not bother me all that much. It's out where I can find it. Even under the piles. That doesn't work on a small boat that happens to be under sail. Loose things grow wings. The really messy stuff happens when there is a floating condo or two under power passing close abeam in a narrow channel. Wakes and sea walls, sound waves and echoes. The resonances can get interesting. Sacrifices were made. One has to wonder if sometimes the wakes of these boats is intentional, just to watch the pretty sailboat bob and roll. Bastards.

Most of my sailing is going to have to be in the “pond” for a while longer or for short forays out onto the Gulf on calm days. I've found that the shroud lines are loose or at least out of tune. That's just something else that I have to learn how to do. With the experience that the BCYC represents in the area, I don't imagine I'll have much trouble getting the info and tools I'll need. I suspect that she'll need new lines as the turnbuckles that make the adjustments have very little thread left to tighten. The aft stay turnbuckles are down to the last thread. If there is any forward rake on the mast it could play hell with her handling. More money! Boats. Break Out Another Thousand Sucker.

I found this out while close hauled and close to hull speed in a two foot sea. The lee side shrouds were flapping and bouncing while steering got iffy. I gotta fix that. There were groaning and popping sounds coming from the mast foot where it meets the keel. My guess is that the mast was trying to pull out of the boat. That would not be a good thing. I think I'll see if I can renew my Tow Boat US membership.

Another thing I learned was that my compass was not only unlit, but uncalibrated. Oops! I had laid out a nice little course that would take me nearly 12 hours to do. It took all of those twelve hours to do what I wanted to do, but it didn't happen in any way that I had planned. The compass is now adjusted, the lights are working and ready for the next mishap. A working speedometer would be good. I don't want to have to depend on GPS to tell me my speed, direction and location. High tech is fragile and vulnerable to many things that compass, mechanical clock and sextant aren't. Dead batteries, solar flares, software viruses and malware; the more complex the system, the greater the chance of chaos.

I will not do that kind of trip again without another pair of hands to take the tiller so I can at least read the chart. Having the ability to let go of the boat and use both hands to do something would be a really nice thing to have. I'll be looking around for autopilots. They come in at around six hundred bucks these days, new. It would be nice to be able to have someone or something else hold course while I grab a beer, pee, cook, eat, scratch, nap, sight see, take pictures, take a d....well, you get the idea.

I also need to get the steaming light repaired. When the motor is running there is supposed to be a bright light halfway up the mast to warn others that a sailboat is coming or to kind of light the way. The draw bridge operator told me he couldn't see me about Midnight a few days ago. A head light would be a good thing to help me keep track of the the channel markers. Channel markers are a good thing as are happy draw bridge operators. So many things to do.

The motor runs well and quiet without the two stroke stink. It's a Honda seven and a half horsepower four stroke. One gallon of fuel at one third throttle brings me about two hours of running. That's a good thing to know. I also need to install a larger anti cavitation plate or a different prop. At half power the prop starts sucking air with the motor well into the water. At the moment one third power and a clean hull gives me four knots. I can get five if I really push it but I can tell the wake is more air than water. Greater prop efficiency will give me longer powered cruising time per gallon. The less gas I have to keep aboard the happier I'll be. Small controlled fire, good. Big uncontrolled fire, bad. The dream is to go all electric but I rather doubt the money will ever be there for that to happen. Ya gotta be rich to be green.

Something I need to deal with long before I get an autopilot is a solar panel large enough to take care of my daily needs. Running a radio, a fan, a couple of lights and maybe a small inverter to run my laptop; all that can be kept up with by a single panel that can produce at least ten amps of flow. Ten amps charges my batteries back to full in about three hours. Three days of being very frugal with power and then she has to charge back up again. The club has a T dock with power. Looks like I'll be using that dock every other day for a few weeks to recharge. Gonna have to make some kind of deal to avoid abuse and hard feelings.

Another thing I must do is put out a mooring block and tackle. This is so I don't have to use my onboard anchor and line. That will make coming in and going out so much easier as I don't have an anchor winch. Seventy feet of half inch line, thirty feet of 5/16 chain and twenty pounds of plow anchor is a lot to deal with on a daily basis. It would be nice to just reach out with a boat hook, snag the buoy, hook or unhook the line head and then drift into position. This will also save my anchor line from becoming encrusted with various ecological niches. It's great full body work out, hoisting anchor. The real fun begins with a two foot sea and fifteen knot winds in the rain.

I also wonder if I have the right anchor chain and anchor. So many other boats my size have one quarter inch chain and sixteen pounds of anchor. That would be a lot easier to lift out of the water while I crouch on a bouncing pulpit hauling up yard after yard of line and chain. Just getting to the prow can sometimes be an exercise in fear management. Safety lines and harness, on the list!

She does not ride easy at anchor. She saws at the line, cutting back and forth, sailing up the anchor line, losing headway and falling back to do it again in the other direction. For now I'm going put to out 10 to 1 on rode instead of 7 to 1 until I solve this one. It may be something simple as a Bimini or tri sail. Or it may require an extra weight sent down the line to lower Avalon's apparent center of mass. Or a combination of things.

It's good to have a toy again.

What motivated me to just do it, to just fire up the motor and get out more than anything was hearing Captain Hal, one of the local charter owners, telling me never to be afraid to slip line and go. Anticipation is a wonderful thing but it can also work against you, painting dark futures and keeping you from the joys of just doing it. Fire up the motor, let go the mooring and spring lines, take your time and leave the marina. Follow the channel markers out. Pick a place to go and go there. Or just simply go. Find the moment and be with it.

Let the wind and waves tell you which direction to head, fill the sails and trim her to a good cut. Feel the movement of the deck and rudder and adjust to it, learning the sights and sounds that make up the language of sail, hull, wind and wave. Pay attention, act like a partner rather than master and she'll tell you what she wants in return for what you're asking of her. I think I like this sailing thing.

So, now the time when the rubber meets the road begins. This is where life and fantasy combine to inform my future. Do I just sail away? Do I stick around and work within the community I find myself in? Can I do both? Is there more or something I'm missing or overlooking? Am I making it too complicated? All these questions and no immediate answers. That's tough to deal with as I tend toward instant gratification tactics. Waiting is sometimes hard.

So far it all seems to be going my way so I guess I'll just ride with it and see what happens. Sometimes dreams do come true.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

One day at a time

2010-06-07T22:43:00.001-04:00

Just got done doing some fiberglass repair to Avalon. This is something I've been wanting to do for some time but finances have kept me from it. It seems that somehow the previous owners managed to tear the port aft cleat out of the hull. Needless to say it did a lot of damage on the way out. Now I need to get some paint and finish the job. Marine Rustolium looks like the best and cheapest thing to do. Hard to go wrong with white.

The new exciter coil should show up in the morning. Gotta love FedX! I realized, once I had taken the motor apart that the problem with the ignition was me. I had forgotten to tighten up the bolts that held the exciter coil down. I learned this after I performed the post mortem disassembly. The motor ran fine for about five minutes and then the loose bolts let the coil hit the flywheel. The grounding of the exciter coil took out the ignition coil and two loose bolts cost me nearly two hundred dollars. Well, shit.

Now that I have the money I need to live a reasonable life I find I'm having problems keeping my pockets from igniting. So many things I can do and so many things I don't need to do. It's hard to know the difference. One of the things I'm thinking about is a 3g net connection. That will let me stay connected in all ways digital while I'm out cruising. It's just a little hard to justify the sixty bucks a month that it will cost me.

Also thinking about a satellite radio so I can listen to my favorite radio stations. All of them are NPR affiliates. I just can't stand commercials. I do so love Jazz and Classical.

I guess what I'm trying to say that money only makes things more confused. Not only that but I'm having more health problems. Most of it I'm sure is stress related. I've noticed that my stool is now black and my ulcer is causing me more pain than usual. Stress and Plavix are a wonderful combination. Now I have to add lots of Prilosec to the mix. Happy days. I hate taking pills.

Right now I'm experimenting around with an olive oil lamp. So far no luck. I still want to live as close to the bone as I can. Money is not going to solve my issues. Good companionship, non judgmental, accepting, respectful,....... I'm dreaming again. Avalon likes me. The sea accepts me. I guess that's enough.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Oh, my! What a change!

2010-06-04T01:56:00.000-04:00

Well, things have changed. My, what a difference a day makes. Let's start with the basics. The owner of the marina changed game plans on me after I had given her a month's rent plus. I was given two weeks to settle up or leave. No more "we'll work with you on this". Now I know what her word is worth. I did an overdraft knowing that I had to do something to show good faith. My act of good faith was rewarded poorly. I feel that I now owe nothing here.

Two days later I'm at VA at the peer to peer group I belong to. It's good to have other combat vets around. We speak the same language. It helps. I told them about the fun and games I was having. By the end of the meeting I had a spare $80.00 in my pocket. It's good to have brothers.

Leaving the peer to peer group meeting I decided to stop in a VA Admin and check on the progress of my claims for PTSD, agent orange, and just plain "you fucked us, now pay up!". Much to my surprise I found that my request for a pension was approved and the letter was to be mailed that day. I was given a copy of the letter before leaving. I no longer have to work for a living so long as I live simple. In less than two weeks I will have enough in the bank to buy the outboard I need, pay off a few debts and leave a little for odds and ends. I was given my freedom.

So, I decide to celebrate. To do so I went to the place I had first met most the musicians and fans that I call my friends. I was surrounded by love and respect as soon as I walked in the door. It took me nearly 15 minutes to get to the bar to order a drink. I could not take a step without someone stopping me and wondering where I'd been, how I was doing, it's good to see you here,......Wow! All at once from a deluge of bad news comes an affirmation that I am valued and loved.

Now I can go ahead with living my dreams. I have the freedom to live as I please, where I please. Next step after I get Avalon situated at anchor is to get my passport while the getting's good. After my experience at the license branch I fear for our freedom and safety. The clerks there spent more time on the phone calling the cops than they did helping citizens get their driver's licenses renewed. The terrorists have won. There is no doubt in my mind that we live in a police state that rivals most third world dictatorships.

I knew what to expect and I had all my documentation with me, and then some. I now have a gold star on my license that tells all that I am a "good citizen". What will be done with those who have real difficulty attaining their documentation? One old woman had no idea how to find her marriage certificate from 40 years past. The look on her face said that her world had just been destroyed by the very people she had trusted to protect her future.

I had to go to the beach after that. I rode my bicycle to the license branch to get my citizenship approved, and then I rode it to the beach where I parked it and walked from one end of St Pete Beach to the other and back. All in all about fifty miles. If I didn't burn off that energy I was gonna have to kill someone. Preferably a lawyer or an NSA officer or a politician or a bank exec or................YOU FUCKING SOLD US OUT FOR A FEW DOLLARS PROFIT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bottom line, I'm now considered a prime citizen with proven documentation, the VA has come through with enough money to keep me alive and living my dreams, I have friends and people who love me. Life is good so long as I practice tunnel vision. I think it's time to visit the southern islands. I want to see the Southern Cross.

Screw it, I'm going sailing.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

More of the Same

2010-06-01T11:03:00.000-04:00

Well, it's been an eventful last few days. Let's start with the heart surgery. Three stents installed through the right wrist (how cool is that?) and three more blockages found that will need to be dealt with in the next year or so. Genetics coupled with Agent Orange exposure equals a short time left. Not many options here except to try and enjoy what time I have left.

The Honda outboard repairs went well and it ran perfectly, for about five minutes. Then the Exciter Coil and Ignition Coil burnt up. That's another few hundred dollars that I just don't have. I have the shop manual on this motor and it has all the specs for all the parts. A multimeter and the manual allowed me to test the electronic parts. This is real frustrating. Do I spend money I don't have to try and repair this motor? I've a feeling that more is going to break soon.

It's a 1984 4 stroke 7.5 hp long shaft. To replace it is nearly $2200.00. I don't have that kind of money and I rather doubt that I ever will. Another option is to use an electric trolling motor. A Minn Kota 80# thrust trolling motor is enough to move this boat at about 4.5 knots. That's plenty. Two deep cell batteries for 24v DC and the trolling motor comes in at just below $1000.00. A small gas generator for charging the batteries comes in at just over $150.00 Happy days! I don't have that kind of money either.

I did an overdraft this morning to pay my rent. I gave the marina $500.00 leaving a negative balance for rent at just under $1200.00 and a negative balance of $400.00 in the bank.. Once I gave the marina the money I was informed that I have two weeks to catch up or leave. I should have kept the money and used it for survival. Instead I decided to play straight with the marina. Seems like it might be time to either go outlaw or eat my shotgun. At the moment I'm leaning toward the shotgun, but things can change. Playing by the rules benefits only those who make the rules. I knew that already but early life lessons die hard.

While swimming in the Gulf a few days ago some things fell out of my pockets. One of them was my driver's license. Now I have to prove that I am a citizen to get my license back. Birth certificate, social security card, several pieces of mail from my address and a picture ID. This could be interesting.

I'm still waiting for a check from Skipper's Smoke House for a playing job I did for them nearly two months ago. I've a feeling I'm going to get stiffed. There was no contract. As far as the VA is concerned; well, I went to a disability review and it sounded promising. I was informed that I would hear about the results in 4 to 6 weeks. I've a feeling if anything at all happens, it will happen after I have made my survival (or non survival) moves. Time is running out.

If I was someone I knew as a friend, I would try to distance myself from that friend while wishing them the best of luck. The problem with trying to rescue a drowning man is that the one who is drowning can also drown the rescuer. No hard feelings. I understand that this is the way of the world. Some one near and dear to me once told me that "some are meant to live and some aren't. Good luck". It's true. Not everyone can survive. Guess I'll just have to wait and see how the next few weeks play out.

I'm not going to just sit on my butt and let it happen. There are things I can do to at least learn about my status at VA, and maybe speed things up a little. I also have feelers out for jobs, "real" jobs working for a pay check. They may not show up in time if at all. Over 50 white guys are not a commodity. With the previous heart condition it was difficult to muster the energy to do anything. Now that I have the energy, it may be too late. Life is funny like that.

If anything changes I'll write more.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

It's been a while

2010-05-22T00:38:00.001-04:00

I opened up the blog today and noticed that it had been a while since I had written anything here. It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's just that I've been REAL busy. Busy trying to stay alive, busy trying to fix up Avalon and get her ready for anchoring out, busy trying to find the money to maintain my accustomed low life style.

With the help of some friends I was able to locate some useful email addys. I wrote a form letter explaining who I was and where I'd been and.............. Homelessness prevention programs are a joke, food stamps are not for those who are wealthy enough to afford a boat, and slip rental is not the same as brick and mortar rental. I was informed that if I were to give up the boat and sign into a homeless shelter, then I might be able to get some help; maybe. NOT!

Without going into all the gory details, I got the food stamps, the VA is now paying attention to what I'm saying and is being quite helpful and all it took was a letter from Gov. Charlie Christ to make it happen. I guess it's hard to believe that someone who speaks well and takes care of their appearance and health might need a little help. They should try being an over fifty white guy. Nothing like being superfluous to make a guy humble.

Alright, enough of that stuff. On to the real issues. Avalon is now seaworthy. I fabricated the parts I needed for the forward hatch, all of her nav lights work, her batteries are in good shape and the head is ready for use, as a camp toilet. The outboard has been repaired (thank the gods for JB Weld). No more exhaust leak killing the motor when the cover is on. The Coil died and I am now waiting for the new one to show up. Before the coil quit the motor ran smooth and quiet. All my repairs worked. Gotta love those old Honda four strokes. I'll be tackling the fresh water system while I'm at anchor and not spending all that money on slip rental.

The marina is working with me on the back rent and letting me keep the slip at half the cost as a non-liveaboard. I have a home base to recharge the batteries, fill up the fresh water tanks, do laundry and park my truck. Looks like it's time to start the adventure of cruising. I have the NOAA charts for the immediate area and am now plotting my courses for some camping trips to various islands and cays around the Tampa Bay area. There's plenty here to keep me busy.

No more used or scrap wood is ever going to come on board again! Every time I bring some scrap wood aboard to make shelves or cabinets it usually comes with bed bugs. I realy hate those little fuckers! And they just love me.

I've been doing a lot of sailing lately in a 16.6 Catalina. Fast little boat and lots of fun. I've learned a lot, most of which is to trust myself and relax into the sensation of balance that is needed to sail with fore and aft sails in heavy and/or random winds. It's a lot more like wearing the boat than it is getting in and forcing it to your will. Wind and wave have a way of winning any contests of strength and endurance. Sail relaxed and easy, think ahead and plan your moves. It's about harnessing the wind and working with the water. It's a lot like working with horses. They are ten times bigger than you and you sure as hell can't force 'em to do anything they really don't want to do.

About 9PM tonight I decided that the wind was just right for a short sail in the dinghy. It was. Waxing half moon, five to eight knot winds, calm water, sign me up! After an hour and a half I was heading back to the marina and noticed that the sky was flashing at me. A Summer shore effect storm had built up and it turned into a race to get back to Avalon. A few efficient tacks and a knowledge of the local water and shoals got me back just as the first sprinkles hit the water. I disassembled the mast and stowed the sail and rigging. It was a good sail.

I'm beginning to believe that I am a sailor, not just someone who owns a sailboat. This dream of mine is coming true. Maybe I'll have what it takes to sail across the Gulf Stream to reach the Bahamas. I just might be good enough, some day, to head for the Windward Isles and the Caribbean. I'm beginning to feel real hope. Would that reality will stand off long enough to allow me at least a short time with my dream.

Now it's time to ready myself for a surgery. The VA is going to put at least two stents in my heart. If it calls for more it will be open hear surgery. I'm hoping for just the stents. Either way, I get five to ten more good years. Fucking Agent Orange! At least the VA admits it and is giving me a disability for it. Will it be enough to make up for the lost years? No. Will it make my last years good? Maybe. I guess that part is really up to me. When life gives you lemons, make batteries!

I may or may not write more here. If I survive the next week, there will be more. If not, well, it's been fun and I regret damned little of it. My life has been full and exciting. What more could one ask of life? Old Celtic war cry; Oorah! (today is a good day to die). It's kind of strange, or not, that the Sioux had the same war cry. Live without fear, die with no regrets. It's a big universe and I'm gonna explore it.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Just another tricky day

2010-05-12T15:59:00.003-04:00

Today is another hot one. Nearly 100 degrees heat index and it's not even Summer yet. I'm not one to complain about the weather. What can you do? Feeling hot or cold or wet or any combination of the three is just the way it is.

I am convinced that Hell is frozen. If you really want to know what miserable is, then you need to experience cold and wet with no way to dry out or find heat. I've been there. Cold and wet can kill you in slow, painful and languorous ways.

First you shiver, a natural reaction of you body to cold. It's trying, on it's own and without your concious help to generate muscle heat, burning calories no matter where it has to find them. Your body will commit auto-cannibalism to try and survive, eating it's own mass to generate heat. Then your body starts shutting down all but the core activities. Your hands and feet go numb, the pain from muscle contraction lessens and you start to feel warm and sleepy. Your thoughts wander and hallucination becomes reality. This is the last defence of your body. This is where prayer and hope come in. Maybe at a lower metabolic rate your body can survive long enough so one of your companions, if you have any, can find you and take you to warmth.

By this time your extremities, toes, fingers, ears, nose and external genitalia are so frozen that cellular damage has been done and there is no salvaging the tissue. Ice crystals form in the cells, the cell walls burst, tissue dies. If you are lucky there is someone near to assist you in recovery. If you are truly lucky you never wake up. If not, gangrene sets in, necrosis turns to poison and your own body kills you while your mind tries to find ways to hide. The pain is absolutely unbelievable. Been there, done that. Hell is cold and wet. Trust me. I will never complain about the heat.

Yesterday I installed the forward hatch. It's been a long time since I built the forward hatch, maybe about seven months. This is a hand carved piece of wood that I made to fit as closely as I could to the appropriate aperature. It's a male thing. I'm proud of it. It took me a couple of days to get the curves just right to fit into the water channels. The fit is so good that it does not need weather stripping. I like working with wood. The smell and feel of it, knowing that it was once a living, feeling thing, makes me treat it with respect and love. Steel can't make me feel this way even though I can shape it as well as I can shape wood. It's the life force in the grain of the wood that guides my hand. For this purpose you have died, my brother. To this end do I respect your sacrifice.

Now Avalon's forward hatch cover is secured three ways with hinges, stops and dogs. She is now sea worthy. The only thing she needs is a dependable motor and then we can go out and enjoy Boca Ciega Bay and the Intra Coastal water ways. Her Mains'l still needs to be replaced before I will trust her to the Gulf. I know she'll maintain integrity and float, but knowing that I have sails to get her safely home means a lot to me. She is my love and my life as well as my home. Without her I would have no direction or goals. Thank you, Gail. You have saved my life, such as it is.

Today I'm working on the outboard. It's a struggle. The price was right for the motor....free. Being a master mechanic helps a lot when it comes to working on these things. The motor runs fine so long as the cover is off. Put the cover on and within seconds it dies. Exhaust leak. The motor is up on a stand and disassembled except for the power head. Everything is lose and removed that is in the way, the shop manual open to the appropriate page. The power head still refuses to come loose. It's been there since 1984 so I guess it's kind of set in it's ways. One more day and a lot of WD-40 (fish oil if you can believe it) and hopefully I can get at the leaks. If not.....well, this is just another tricky day.

To get at the motor I had to turn Avalon around in her slip. She was facing in as this affords me the most privacy while I live aboard. I worked out how to get the motor off while facing in using sheet lines and winches, but it seemed like a lot of work. First thing this morning I started dealing with spring lines, planning each move and clearing the decks for action. No wind, slack tide, cool temps and it was time to get it done. With the judicious use of a boat hook and patience I was able to turn her about without scraping off any paint. I've been around water and boats all my life. This is my first experience with sail but trust me, I ain't no rookie.

Some of the guys in the marina offered to help and I thank them very much. That's what I like about the boating/sailing communities. They are truly communities. If someone needs help it is offered, after that person has shown that help is needed. I'm new to this marina and because of the laws of poverty I have had to make due with what I have. I am surrounded by folk who have paid their dues and are now reaping the rewards of a life of pleasure. Socially this leaves me at a disadvantage.

They have no idea where I come from or where I have been. If I try to tell them the BS filters kick in and they stop listening. I'm just boat trash and new boat trash at that. This morning I moved Avalon without power and without help, turning her about in her slip without incident. Maybe I'm building currency here and maybe not. I really don't care one way or the other. The fact of the matter remains that help was offered. It is a community and I am a part of it. I have helped others deal with their difficulties; run aground, motor quit, high winds at launch. I am accepted here.

Today I count myself to be a fortunate man. I am in a community that cares for it's members. I knew this community forty years ago and I know it again now. It don't get no better than this. To all the powers that be, thank you and so mote it be.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Once upon a time, or was it this morning?

2010-05-06T09:50:00.003-04:00

Once upon a time........ How many stories start that way? In this case, or story, it could also start out with “Just the other day”. Some things just don't change. Shame on us.

Two communities lived in close proximity. They shared sons and daughters, defended each other in times of conflict, supported each other in hard times and shared bounty in times that were good. They were good neighbors and respected the boundaries that make good neighbors.

In times of war the two communities would take prisoners and hostages. With the applied trials of time and personality, these prisoners and hostages would be given their freedom and in many cases adopted into the communities to become productive citizens, husbands and wives. If a conquered enemy was found to be implacable respect was still given and the beliefs of that person honored. Strength of personal conviction was valued.

The people of these communities respected the land, the beasts of forest and field and gave thanks each day for the lives they were given and for the lives of those around them, great and small. Through individual ways and sometimes in groups homage was paid to the powers of the universe. In each was the recognition of how small an individual is and how great is all creation.

These people were not perfect. There were those among them who wanted more than what was due, were jealous of the success of others. There were also those who had twists and quirks of mind and spirit that could make them dangerous to others. For the most part the people of the communities would accept and watch over these folk with kindness and humor while keeping watch so that no harm was done. For the most part. There were still petty differences and spiteful acts. People will always be people.

Then one day a stranger came to one of the communities.

This stranger came telling of a man from the far east who spoke of love and kindness and of his father in heaven. He related stories and parables spoken by this man, stories about a loving father in heaven, parables of respect and kindness to even the least among us. He also spoke of the dominion of man and how it was mandated by a single god in the heavens. He spoke of the need and power of evangelical acts, of rewards in the afterlife for those who would spread the message of this god and his son.

To make the message more accessible the stranger incorporated the tales and legends of the local people. Some, at first a very few, began to believe in what the stranger had to say. These people became vocal and in some cases aggressive about spreading the tales of this new god and his son. The views of these people were respected and honored for the citizens knew from the teachings of youth and the lessons of life that from diversity comes strength.

The followers of this new religion in time grew more numerous and more adamant about the rightness of their belief. Singly and in groups they would try to convert their neighbors from their earlier heathen ways in an effort to save their souls. In time the lessons of this new god drove out the beliefs of youth and began to divide the communities.

The ones who held to the old beliefs welcomed the followers of this new religion. They listened with humor and respect but still kept their own beliefs. These were neighbors, after all, useful members of the communities, sons and daughters. To each their own and peace to all who would give it. To the converts of this new way the beliefs of the hold outs were considered wrong and a threat to their new god and his son. Conflict broke out in the communities.

The converts of this new religion took up arms against their neighbors, knowing that their actions were right and would be rewarded by their new god and his son. Good people on both sides of the conflict were maimed or were killed. Property and chattels were taken, homes and lives destroyed, all in the name of a loving god and his son. And the story continues.

To this day, as can be seen by all who would look, a Pagan can live with a Christian or Muslim, but a Christian or Muslim cannot suffer a Pagan to live in peace. My question is this; who in this conflict of beliefs shows mercy, love, acceptance and respect?

Again, back to the beginning of this tale. Once upon a time there were two neighbors..............

Another Night

2010-04-27T23:03:00.000-04:00

The slap and clang of standing rigging sounding from the masts, the tug of spring lines curtailing the run for freedom in the wind, I listen to the sounds of a windy night in the sticks. The fan in the companionway goes from quiet to frantic as the wind shifts and clocks, telling me of a night that would be a challenge to sail. What else is there to expect from a Florida Spring night?>

The moon is full and the tide cycle is fast, three feet in six hours from slack to slack. Sometimes I can feel Avalon heel fifteen or more degrees as the Westerly winds grab her mast and shoves. I have to wonder what it would be like at anchor out by the Gulfport Pier. I also wonder if tonight I could take the dinghy out and do a full moon sail. With the way Avalon is bucking and pulling at her lines, I kind of doubt that it would be a good idea. There are faster and cleaner ways to die.

I almost drowned once. In a public swimming pool. Some of my “friends” and I were playing around and having a good time and this one fat kid, one of the local bullies, decided that it would be fun to hold me, the nerd, under for a while. I felt the water trying to find it's way into my frantic lungs and by instinct I grabbed his jewels and twisted. I didn't let go until I was forced to by a nearby adult. It was gratifying to see and hear him yacking up all that chlorinated water. I was disappointed that he could. Does that make me bad?

There is in all of us a joy in living and a need to find that next breath. Each and every one of us would strike back at those who would do us harm, no matter how futile the effort. A field mouse will stand up to a stooping owl, a rat will turn on the dog or human that has it cornered. Only the human will passively allow another to kill it. We somehow believe that we will be rescued at the last moment, that this is not really happening, that we can push the “redo” button. Hope is the nastiest joke the gods ever played on us.

We hope that things will work out for our loved ones, our friends, for ourselves. Are we not worthy of another chance? Do we not deserve the privileges of continued life and love? After all, are we not created in the image or our creator? How can that be a bad thing? We are ENTITLED! We are the pinnacle of creation, the Alpha and Omega. Bull shit!

We are just another creature in the universal food chain. Not one of us is entitled to one second more than our allotted time. If you are worried about dying or the death of one you know, then you are not living. Be here, be now, be what you need to be at the moment and make no apology. This is where you are and this is where and when you belong. All else is artifice.

I love this life and all that it brings. I really do. Tonight, while writing this, I took a break and walked out to the end of the marina pier to watch the play of light on the water. The gusting wind from the West formed the bay waters into short ripples. The low scudding clouds playing tag with the full moon created a light show. The short chop on the water, the fast clouds and the full moon made a dance of light and dark that played from the marina to the Eastern shores of Boca Ciega Bay, a glowing, flowing show of movement. I wanted to be out in it. I wanted to participate.

I wanted to join in the dance of light, wind and wave, to be a part of the flow that I watched from shore. I was too drunk. Too much rum, too much self pity, too much recrimination and anger, too much disappointment at life. There was no way I was going to trust myself to that kind of elemental power. Not yet. When Avalon is ready, when I have restored her to her power and me to my skill, then we will go out and dance. I look to that day and the visceral joy it will bring us.

Today I was informed that if I were to give up Avalon I would have a much better chance of getting assistance to avoid homelessness. Would you give up your girl friend, wife, boy friend or husband to give yourself just a few more days of life? This boat, Avalon, is the dream I have held close to my heart since I was twelve years of age. Fear of the sea and the mastering of that fear was my first remembered, and conquered, nightmare.

This is where and when and how I need to be. If I starve or die in the process then so be it. Today I asked some friends for information, not help, aid or assistance, just plain information. Maybe it will come, maybe it won't. In the long run, it's just me and my relationship with life. I am close to my dream, I can feel it. I can smell it. My dreams tell me that what I want and need are near. All I have to do is hang in there just a little longer. So mote it be.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Cleaning the Dinghy

2010-04-21T23:53:00.002-04:00

After getting a stern warning from my landlord/dock master about rent, I wondered what I was going to do about it and what I could do about it. The only answer I could come up with was "not much, at least not right now". I decided to take my dinghy that lives in the water tied to the stern of Avalon out to the spoils island at the mouth of the harbor. I was sure the bottom needed to be cleaned, and man, did it! The barnacles had barnacles. I'm kinda worried about how much it's gonna cost me to have Avalon's hull cleaned. It's been nearly six months.

So, I row out to the island, about a mile, taking my time and just enjoying the water and the feel of physical activity. The wind was coming from the West so I kept to the near shore and then once out into open water stayed on the lee side of the Island and let the wind shove me onto the beach. Once there I take all the stuff out of the dinghy and then turn it over, exposing the brownish/greenish mass of sharp shit growing on the white hull. Rummaging around in my dinghy tool kit I realize I didn't have a scraper. Well, shit. So I tried to dislodge some of the barnacles with a course 3M pad. This cost me some shredded finger tips on my right hand. Well, shit again. Band practice later and I needed those fingers. Nothing like a little self destruction to put things into perspective.

I looked at my oozing fingertips, looked at the barnacle covered hull, shrugged and dug into my Captain's bag where I keep a Schrade multi tool and a few other odds and ends. One small pen knife blade at a time I remove the barnacles, taking a break once in a while to watch the water, feel the wind and marvel again at the place I live. About an hour later and I'm feeling better, the hull is clean and the salt water has all but healed up my fingertips. I leave the boat and start walking around the island that I have all to myself with the exception of a couple of crows who I am sure followed me from the marina. Gotta watch the Corbae. They be smarter than you might think.

The walk helps me think, just wading in the shallows and watching the conch hunt and the horseshoe crabs glide along the bottom. On several occasions I had offered my talents at the marina as a part time sort of guy. I have all the skills except one....Spanish is not my first language. Seems to be an issue all across the board when it comes to getting work as a blue collar kind of guy. Even the Navy Commander that lives there uses the Hispanics, knowing that there is a vet looking for work. Ya gotta wonder.

So, here I am, wondering if I'm gonna survive this one intact, knowing I have friends and knowing that there is bugger all that they can do to help. Hell, most everyone I know is hurting. I've got a thing or two coming down the pike from the VA. Maybe it'll happen just in time, like in the movies. Just keep sending the love, folks. This is just a speed bump and all I gotta do is keep moving forward and It'll work out as it should. Thanks for all your support. I'm glad I'm here and that you are, too.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Fishing With Friends

2010-04-19T16:26:00.000-04:00

Dark and early on a Saturday morning, I drug my hungover body out of the berth and prepared for the day's adventure. Friday night was an adventure as well but that's another story. Just had to say it because that was why I was hungover with only a few hours sleep. No complaints, mind you, just stating the facts and setting the stage.

A friend and her husband had invited me to go deep sea fishing with them and we needed to get an early start. Knowing that one of the best preventatives for sea sickness if a full stomach, I scarfed down a huge bowl of oatmeal, with raisins, crushed walnuts and a generous dollop of butter and brown sugar. If I was going to get sick at least it would be colorful. Dramamine helps, too. I live on a boat and the motion doesn't seem to bother me all that much, but why take chances? Especially with a hangover from too much beer and a few shots of cheep rum. Aargh.

By eight AM we were at the marina and loading up the boat, a twenty foot center console. Lots of fishing poles and gear, coolers full of food and soft drinks, the three of us headed out to the Gulf. First we stopped at a hidden spot to pick up the pin fish trap. Lots of the little suckers. Then it was out past Shell Key and into the main channel heading West. We stopped at the main marker to try and pick up some more live bait with chum and a net, but there was just no activity. Fish finders are great. Don't know what fishermen did without them.

The GPS had several artificial reefs marked and we headed out to them, about ten miles out. We were headed out against an incoming tide, so the ride was a little rough. Fun, really. Lack of power steering and trim tabs meant that the bow wandered a little so we didn't hit all the waves at an optimum angle. I was thankful for my foresight in taking the Dramamine. I was wishing for some more aspirin to stop the headache, but I figured it would go away in time. I had two beers with me so hair of the dog was an option.

At the first reef we hung out for a while and watched the fish finder do it's thing. Lots of activity. Sardines for dead bait and then wait for the bites. I pulled in the first red snapper, about thirteen inches. I was surprised at the lack of fight. Rachel caught the next one and then John started hauling them in, some over two feet in length. Lots of other fish were caught but not all of them were keepers. Back into the water with 'em and see ya next time, little guy.

We then started moving around to other artificial reefs throughout the area with varying levels of success until about Three PM. By this time I was content to watch the action of two very experienced fishers work their magic. I nursed a beer and enjoyed the sun, the feel of the boat moving with the water and wind and the sight and sounds of two friends enjoying themselves and their sport. Of course it's more than just a sport. These folk are VERY serious about their food.

When it was time to leave john took the pin fish that had been thoroughly ignored by the other fish and dumped them over the side. Rachel kept her line in the water hoping for one more good hit. She got it. Suddenly her pole bent nearly double and line started running out from the reel. This was BIG. The boat started running over the anchor line, so John pulled in the anchor while Rachel gave the fish it's head. The boats nearby had all stopped to watch as the fish pulled our boat further out into the Gulf.

A few minutes of fighting and the line finally snapped. John and Rachel guessed that the fish had headed back into the reef and cut the line. Made sense to me. I was hoping that she could have pulled it up close enough to the surface so we could at least get a good look at it. We later determined that it was a Goliath Grouper, about eight hundred pounds of appetite. When John dumped the pin fish over the side, the fish finder suddenly went empty, no fish to be seen near the bottom. That sudden splash of all that bait hitting the water must have awakened the monster, sending the rest of the fish into hiding. We never saw it on the sonar. We were too busy watching Rachel fight the thing. She was shaking and worn out by the time the line broke.

The ride back to the marina was much like the ride out; against the tide and airborne from time to time. Yee Haw! My headache was gone, I didn't get sea sick, I had caught enough fish to give me two good meals and had had a great time on the water with friends.

Back at the house, Rachel took the day's catch into the back yard and with skill and economy cleaned the fish, creating several large baggies of grouper and snapper fillets. An hour later and it was a surf and turf dinner that just couldn't be beat. I felt like going into a chorus of Alice's Restaurant, but settled for a quick renaming of the song.

Thanks, John and Rachel, for a great time. I'd kinda like to do that again real soon. I learned a great deal about fishing in the Gulf, all my questions about gear and bait answered in just one trip. This is one Yankee that has found Southern Hospitality to be alive and well in the state of Florida. And yes, Rachel and John, I don't mind helping out with the chores. Food and experience like that is worth reciprocation. Thank you again, so much.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Today I met with a friend at a local yacht club

2010-04-09T23:09:00.000-04:00

Today I met with a friend at a local yacht club. We took out one of the club's 16.5 foot Catalinas. I was expecting a rather leisurely sail. What I got was an education.

The wind was from the NE at about 10 knots, gusting to 15. That's what the weather report stated. OK, I've done that in my little 10 foot dinghy. No big deal. This should be a lot of fun. Lemme tell ya about expectations; it's best not to have any.

Everything started out real fine. We checked out the boat, made sure it had all the stuff we would need to sail it, you know; beer, water, beer......did I forget anything? Oh, yeah! Beer. Just kidding. I had three beers with me, Gail had brought water and cold cuts, I had the captain't bag with survival stuff like sideband radio, lights and such, Gail had the membership at the club and keys to the door. Hit the johns, sign the boat out and head for the dock.

We climbed into the boat, stowed everything we could in the forward compartment and prepped the boat for sailing. Check all the lines, take off the sail covers, hang the rudder, pull out and ready the paddles for getting out the the marina, pull on the sailing shoes and go. Once out into the channel I proceeded to hoist the mainsail only to find that I had not connected the hawser to the top of the sail. Oops! I know we were being watched by some of the club members so I was immediately embarrassed by my oversight. Missing a detail like that can put you on the rocks. It damn near did.

I did get the sail up in time to avoid hitting the shallows. It was a near thing as the wind was coming at us hard from the NW. Did I mention that there is also a Coast Guard Auxiliary station there as well? That kind of mistake attracts attention. Tugging and pulling I managed to get the mainsail up and working. We then grabbed a big sail full of wind and off we went with a healthy heel and a snap of fabric.

We needed to get past a mooring field first, so I asked Gail to stand by the jib sail after we were on course in the channel. Once clear of the mooring field I told Gail to set the jib and she tried, but nothing happened. The jib stayed rolled up on the forestay. Now, I've never used a roller/reefer jib, or any jib for that matter. It took me a moment to realize that we/I had neglected to release the return line for the roller. Damnit! This much for Gail; she's good crew. I asked her to uncleat the thin purple line and try to deploy the sail again. This time it worked.

When the jib came out of the roll with a bang I was hardly prepared for the sudden rush of speed and the way the boat heeled over, shipping water over the lee rail. Wow! We got the boogie on, now! And then the first real gust hit us, from a different direction. I remembered my first sailing lesson; don't sail a strict course in high winds, sail to the wind. I relaxed a little on the tiller and allowed the boat to swing into the wind.

At a certain point in the turn I felt the boat shudder and saw that the sails were tight and the hull was cutting the chop at nearly forty five degrees to the wind. Perfect! I have it now! This is great! And then the wind clocked again, coming from the original direction and the sails were luffing, slapping and flailing, looking for traction. Steer back off the wind and watch the sails. Soon we were cutting through the water at hull speed roughly on the course that I had originally set. This was going to be the pattern for the entire sail.

I would get the boat trimmed and the wind would shift or just plain drop off. Sometimes, looking at the way the waves were moving I would swear that the wind was coming straight down. We would have a good progression of waves, telling me more about the prevailing winds than the tell tales on the rigging, and then all of a sudden the waves would flatten with lots of little wavelets in a confused pattern. It was a challenge. It was also very difficult to maintain a steady course. The wind would veer as much as forty five degrees with periods of calm at seemingly random moments. There had to be a pattern, but I just couldn't read it.

So, Gail and I fought the wind instead of working with it, or maybe the wind fought us and refused to work with us. Either way, this sailing trip was turning out to be a lot of work. It was also one hell of an education for me. This was the first time that I had had an opportunity to work with a main an jib set up, or a bermuda rig, under any conditions. I was gonna learn this! No way was a piece of fiberglass and Dacron going to beat me! It did, however, beat me (and Gail) up.

We got wet. We got thrown around. The cockpit filled up more than once with water while I tripped over the main sheet lock and tiller during an unintentional jibe. Then we had made it far enough upwind to come about. From Structure C to the channel for Correy Causeway Bridge, we fought our way upwind. Then when we reached the areas that I knew were shallow we came about to sail with the wind. Now it was time to relax and have a beer. Yeah, right.

Just as Gail and I had brought the boat about, we ran aground. I thought I knew the bay by now from sailing it with my little dinghy. My dinghy draws three feet. The Catalina draws four. It was mid tide with heavy winds. I couldn't see the usual brown stripe that a shoal shows. Well, shit! There we were, stranded on a fin keel in four or less feet of water and high winds. OK; lets see if we can heel out of this. Draw the sails in tight, move the boom around until it catches the wind, don't worry about the water coming over the rail, just get the keel out of the shoal. It worked! In the course of the entire sail it worked three times. I need to learn the waters around here a little better.

Once off the first grounding, I set the sails "wing on wing". I had only read about this and had never tried it. It worked! With the jib out to port and the main out to starboard, we sailed downwind quiet and calm. And then the wind shifted. The jib flapped and banged until I could steer more with the wind. The main stayed tight. Good thing. I would have hated to deal with an unintentional jibe with the wind as fickle as it was. We actually did several unintentional jibes throughout the sail. Gail; you are one brave fem.

With the downwind run I had time for a beer. It was WAY needed by that time. I knew that I had bitten off more than I could chew comfortably with this day's sailing, but what better way to learn? Find your limits and then exceed them. Reach and stretch. How do you know what your breaking points are if you never reach them? How can you enjoy life without risking it? Gail and I had a ball. Four hours of sailing in some of the worst non gale conditions you could imagine with each moment a challenge and I was worn out. I'm certain Gail was, too.

A lot of the sail was trying to be courteous to the Gulfport Sailing Club as they raced their cats around. There were a few close calls, but I believe being predictable saved a lot of hassle as well as fiberglass repair. My sincere apologies to anyone who lost time because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I did my best to stay out of the race course, but as a sailing novice I claim ignorance and lack of skill. Beat me up later once I know what I'm doing...I'll deserve it then.

Getting back to the yacht club was a lot of work. The wind kept clocking and backing. I asked Gail to stow the jib so we could get back into the marina under mainsail alone. This was sailing I was used to. After being becalmed and thrown off course several times we managed to get the bow pointed into the marina. Against the wind. Against a wind that would sometimes blow at 20 knots and then go calm, only to come at us again from a different direction. The paddles on board were nice to have but Gail, for all of her strengths, has little upper body strength. It was a struggle getting back to the slip.

We did it, out and back, four hours of intense sailing in challenging conditions, and we were still civil. Wow. One of the club members was on hand when we returned and commented that he wondered who would be brave enough to take the boat out that day. I commented back that there was little difference between bravery and stupidity. Only success or failure would determine which was which.

Gail made us some sandwiches, I drank the other two beers and thanked the gods for our safe return. Lets do this again real soon. The sea is my new horse, the boat my saddle and my intention the harness. Yee Haw! Let's go sailing!

Thank you, Gail, for suggesting this day. I had more fun than I have had in years. This was one of the most physically and mentally challenging days I've known. It also gets me closer to realizing my dream. I want to be proficient enough to sail the Earth's oceans on my own. This day got me closer to that goal.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Took the dingy out again today

2010-04-07T23:35:00.000-04:00

Took the dingy out again today. Not much else to do at the moment. No job, damned little money, getting farther in debt with the marina, health ain't all it could be, what little work I've been getting is subject to the realities of the economy most of us live in. Ergo, I sail my dinghy.

I'm getting to know all the shallow spots in Boca Ciega Bay, learning how the water acts during tidal periods and wind conditions. These are valuable lessons. Learning how to read the water, what colors mean what depths, the mean direction of the waves and wind and how the water looks when the wind is shifting, how the water will stack up on a lee shore and beat the crap out of you and your boat.

This is important stuff when you are in a 10' sail boat. Reaction times are quick. If you don't plan or look ahead, you wind up with water coming over the rails or losing your headway. I am really looking forward to the day I can take Avalon out. It's frustrating knowing that I have the skills to get her ready but not enough money to make it happen.

I keep my eyes open for opportunities for work, but it's kind of scarce for my demographic. I'm looking for music work as well, but with the heart thing it's kind of hard to work up the energy and enthusiasm. I'll be glad when VA decides that it's time to do the surgery. I'll also be glad when I hear about my appeals.

Seems that my heart issues are not all about genetics. Agent Orange exposure has now been linked to congestive heart disease. I can still smell the stuff as it dripped off of the leaves of the jungle canopy, there in the Landing Zones as we dropped off or picked up troops. C'mon VA! I'd like just a little fun before I gotta check out. I wanna go sailing! Whaaaa!

I did a little research today, just for the fun of it. I remember in 1968 falling in love with the design of a sail boat. It was a Century 26. I found out today the Century later became Coronado and the boat I have now, Avalon, is that EXACT SAME BOAT DESIGN, only a little larger. Who says dreams don't come true.

So, I'll keep a positive attitude, enjoy what life I have, give thanks for the life I am living and the dreams come true, and who knows; I just might make it through my "bucket list".

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

I made a mistake this afternoon

2010-04-04T15:25:00.000-04:00

I made a mistake this afternoon. I took my little 10' sailing dink out into Boca Ciega Bay. Not exactly the wisest thing to do on any Sunday, but this day it was a little hairier than usual. Holidays seem to bring out the family. When the family comes out they must be entertained. If you have a boat, the visiting family wants to help you enjoy it.

Most boats in the area are power boats. Most of those are, compared to my boat, quite large. All of them are faster than my boat. I should have walked out to the end of the marina pier before I went out and looked for sails. There weren't any sails. Mine was the only one I saw. I should have known. Most sailors in the bay area know better than to go out during amateur hour. There were a few sail boats but they were wise and were proceeding under power.

Power boats are to be enjoyed at top speed. If you ain't airborne from time to time, you ain't havin' any fun. Now I have to admit that this rule does not apply to the floating condos that look like boats. With them it's come as close as possible to the little boats, smile and wave as you go by, and then watch 'em deal with your wake. Happy times.

Now I must admit, I had the unmitigated gall and audacity to be in the traffic channel when all these boats came by, becalmed by a changing wind, trying desperately to get the hell out of the way. Every time a little wind would come by and fill my sail, a boat would pass, blessing me with it's wake, bouncing my boom and spilling the sail. At times it was downright entertaining, 4' wake from one side meeting a 2' wake coming from the other direction, meeting me in the middle. I double checked to make sure I had brought along the bailing bucket.

About the time I was wishing I had an outboard (or a shotgun), a police vessel came by and everyone slowed down. The wind came up a little and I was able to GTF out of the way and back into the shallower areas where the leviathans couldn't go. Homeward bound, sore and creaky, gritting my teeth and calling myself quite a few awful names, I rode the deceitful wind. Sometimes heeled hard, other times drifting, I managed to get safely back to Avalon. A couple of grapefruit and a longing look at the rum (too early) and I'm at the keyboard extoling the virtues of sail.

From this experience I draw the conclusion that licensing and testing are in order for all power boaters. Any bozo or video gaming shut in can get behind the wheel of a power boat and go blasting of into the great blue. Few know the rules of the Rhode and fewer still pay attention to them, unless someone in power is watching. Thank you, Police boat! If you are in a power boat and come upon a boat under sail, please keep in mind that the sail boat has limited choices about direction or speed, whereas your choices aren't. Do the right thing. Be courteous. The sailor might be armed.

Next holiday weekend, I think I'll stay in my slip and read.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Many parts of the professional politician are edible

2010-04-04T11:03:00.001-04:00

Many parts of the professional politician are edible, though barely. The hunting of professional politicians (PeePee's) is not limited to any season, but when hunting primarily for food they must be hunted during their first term. After the first term the toxicity of the meat increases exponentially. Under no circumstances should the internal organs be consumed, especially the heart, if it can be found.

When field dressing the carcass it must be kept foremost in mind that the internal organs and tripe must be buried immediately. If accidentally consumed by domestic animals, the animal must be immediately killed and burned to avoid further spread of contamination. Any hunter who allows a domestic animal to consume these parts and live will be arrested and given to second term PeePee's as a toy. This is a harsh but necessary measure as it has been found that domestic animals such as dogs, pigs, ferrets and pet rats become insurance, financial and pharmie lobbyists if allowed to consume the tripe of PeePee's and live.

For sanitary purposes the carcass of the field dressed PeePee must be thoroughly washed with a lime solution and then rinsed with fresh water before butchering or spitting. This is to ensure that the usual parasites, such as bankers, insurance companies, Wall Street firms, pharmaceutical corporations and defence contractors do not enter into the system. Care should be taken to secure the safety of any infrastructure contractors, public health administrators and financial regulators found in the PeePee's digestive tract.

It must be remembered at all times that the consumption of PeePee's should only happen during hard times brought on by financial collapse, governmental corruption and mandated insurance. The risk of food poisoning is high, so please, follow all sanitary measures when handling PeePee's, their offspring, holdings and followers. Your safety is our foremost concern.

PeePee Wackers Hunting Group
Planet Earth,
Milky Way

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Many parts of the professional politician are edible

2010-04-04T11:01:00.001-04:00

Just got back from playing music with some of my friends.

2010-04-02T01:46:00.000-04:00

Just got back from playing music with some of my friends. Of course, I don't really know if they are my friends or just folk who want to use my talents. It's hard, sometimes, to be a combat vet. Trust is something that is earned, usually through time or experience. It's kind of hard, in a civil situation, to measure the quality of an individual. A lot of folk can talk a good game, but can they live it?

I say folk instead of people because it seems more personal to me. Folk are just like "us" with a different point of view. "People" are at least once removed from the common stream because they CAN be removed from the common stream. It's a way of identifying the "other". Folk are a part of us, a part of the whole, in my mind. Someone who is worthy of recognition as an individual. "People" is a generic term to describe those who aren't us.

Back to the music.....It is such a major part of my life, a part that time, experience, loss and hard times has not been able to excise from my life. This is what I was born to do; play music, sing, express my feelings and tell a tale. My job in this life, so far as I can tell, is to communicate the human experience through as many points of view as I can. There is my point of view and then there is every one else's. All are valid. No exceptions.

So, I played music and sang, told a story or two, did not get paid for my time or talents, and feel no ire because it was my choice. I knew what I was walking into when I went there. I was going to be welcomed, announced as being "in the house", applauded just for being there and then asked to play specific tunes. All of that happened and all of it fed my ego. Yes, I have an ego. It's as big as I am and no larger. My life defines my ego, my ego does not define my life. I know that I am a worthy individual, that I am "folk". This helps a lot in my dealings with others.

I want to trust. I need to trust. So few are worth trust. It is not because they are nefarious or evil; it's because they are just not aware. Ya gotta be able to pay attention to get attention. How many times will you walk or drive past a road and not know where it goes? How often will you say a line and not know where it originated? Metaphorically speaking, this is what we do every day. We parrot what we hear and call it our own, we live in land that was tamed before out birth and call it ours. Is this place and time really ours?

These are the ramblings of a drunken musician and singer, just back from an evening in a cheap bar, who spent quality time with friends and acquaintances, doing the things he loves with the life and people he loves. To live a life we love? We should all be so lucky.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

I started to write a tirade about the joys of love

2010-03-28T22:43:00.002-04:00

I started to write a tirade about the joys of love, the gaining and loosing of it. The realization came to me halfway through the first paragraph that I was just venting spleen, spilling so much bile. Love, true love, is not deserving of that kind of attack.

Now, I know that I'm not the one to speak in depth about love. I've not been successful with that stuff. I know that there have been good people who loved me and tried to do the best they could for me. My failing is in reciprocation. A lover opens up to me but I cannot allow myself to be open. No matter how many words are spent in trying to reconcile this deficit, the reality of personal feelings take primacy.

How I would love, how I wish, how I hope that someday I could learn how, or unlearn how not to. Not to put too fine a point on it; I learned how to slaughter my fellow monkey at an early age and was good at it. I took pride in my job. Now I see those young men I fought and wonder at the love and passion I destroyed. Theirs and mine. I wonder at all the years I spent defending what I did, and now all the years regretting it. I wonder how I can live with me and how anyone else would want to.

On a cogitative level, I know that I was doing what had to be done, what my government asked of me in a war time environment. On an emotional level, the redneck, Christian Boy Scout that I used to be wants damned little to do with the man I am now. No matter how much I try to candy coat who I am with pretty words the reality still remains; I volunteered for the job, placed myself in combat, and had one hell of a good time.

I guess to love one must feel worthy of love. Love isn't so much giving love as allowing another to love you, the giving of yourself to another. If you feel unlovely, how can someone else see you as lovely? Can you trust that their perception is true? Will you question their motives? Will the ugliness of who I am come through in a moment of openness to be reviled by the one I opened up to? On many levels I just don't want to know.

I love my life now, the one I have with Avalon, my sloop, my home. It's my earliest and dearest of dreams. How appropriate that now, near the end of my life, I find my first dream. I would like to share it, but I don't know how. I'm not unique in this. I go to group meetings with other combat vets and listen to their issues and find that they are mine as well.

Our lives, like gods, demand a price. There is no escaping the past and no avoiding the future. What we were shape who we are and what we are shapes our world. The worst part of it is that we do this on an individual basis and then share it. But then again, isn't that what love is; we create who we are and then share that person with others on an intimate level. Ain't it fun to be human?

If this sounds like an apology, then maybe it is. I cannot help who I am and how I react to this world any more than another can. I can only be who I am, to be true to myself. All I can do is approach it with a sense of humor, to not take myself too seriously. I'm not alone in this. I am in a support group and it does help. Next time you see a vet, give him or her a hug and say thanks. It really does make a difference.

Gary Bush
gabochum@gmail.com
No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

More Dinghy News

2010-03-28T19:51:00.000-04:00

Went to the Eckard College marine yard sale yesterday and picked up a sail for the dinghy. It's a jib for a larger dinghy but I think with a few mods and a little luck I can turn it into a mainsail. I made a mast extension from a 2" dowel, cut a slot in it, installed a nylon pulley for a sheave. About 30' of 1/4" line should work for the main halyard. Put grommets in the sail behind the leach line, hook up an outhaul line and I should be in business.

The whole point of this exercise is to give my dinghy a sail that I can raise, lower and reef when I need to. This sail with a sleeve is for the birds. If I want to heave to or just sit still at anchor for a little while and fish, I have to unship the mast. That can really suck when there's a 7+ knot wind. Hopefully in the next few days I'll have a chance to make a real fool of myself with this thing. Looking forward to it. Sometimes you're the audience, sometimes you're the show.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

For my father

2010-03-26T19:00:00.000-04:00

I have to wonder, how often do fathers and sons become strangers, enemies even? It was once pointed out to me that blood is thicker than water; it's been proven often enough. My father told me that. He loves history. By extension, because he loves history I do, too. By extension, because he loves many things in this life, so do I.

Is it because I want to be like him or do I want his approval or is it simply because it seems the thing to do, to follow in the foot steps of the one man who influenced my life in so many ways? I'm certain that Freud would have a ball with that. I also wanted to marry my mother, but that's another story. This one's about Dad.

Right now, I am frightened for my father. I know his intellect, the power of his observational skills, the way he could parse the BS to get to the root of the issue. Before I go any farther with this let me make one thing clear; I love my father without reservation. No matter how much or often we might disagree about things, he is the single most important man in my life. He was there when I needed him, he never abused me and often defended me when we both knew I was wrong and gave me hell later. He gave me my moral compass and allowed me to pursue my life as I saw fit. No one could ever give a greater gift than the love my father gave me.

Still, I am frightened for my father. This world is changing fast. In the last fifty years we have progressed farther than we have in the last five thousand. This is phenomenal growth. More than that, it is frightening. In a world that barely knew flight, we now reach for the stars. In a world where it took a month get a reply to a letter, we get a reply instantly, even from the other side of the planet. Nations that we once fought are now trade partners and lands that were foreign now own most of our debt load. Change has come quickly and without cease.

There is no time to catch our breath. For the folk who grew up in a slower time, these times must be full of wind and fury. Just yesterday I had a conversation with a ninety year old man who piloted B 17s in WWII. He talked about going to the recruiting station in a Hanson carriage drawn by the same horse he used to plow with. I had a great aunt by marriage who went to the West Coast by Conestoga wagon and back to the Mid West by 747. How confusing/frightening this world must be to our elders. How awesome and terrible.

Virtual lives, the barriers of privacy melting into the world wide web, the people of government wide open to examination, the death of the printed word and the ascendancy of the virtual word, any opinion, no matter how skewed there for the perusal of those who care to look; how does one choose? How does one who is used to the slower pace of print with it's lack of easy cross reference deal with the speed of propagation that information enjoys today?

The hate and fear mongers, the resisters of change, the ones who find change a threat; their voices can be heard loud and clear. To a generation that is not used to the pace of change we experience today, those voices make sense. To those who were born to these times, a PC in every home, email, blogging, public airing of personal lives; their voices are like the lowing of cattle awaiting the milk maid.

Dad, I love you! You are the one I look to when I have a difficulty with life, internal and external. It is your example that I follow. Strength, morality, integrity, truth, you empower me. I think I might know now, in my own adulthood, something of who you are and where you come from. It is with compassion and love, reaching for understanding that I express my feelings here. I am not an orphan. I know you love me. I know you care above and beyond yourself for me. For this, and many more things, I thank you.

Your son,

Gary Bush

(and damned proud of it!)

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

This morning I was awakened by hunting dolphins

2010-03-25T08:38:00.002-04:00

This morning I was awakened by hunting dolphins as they corralled fish into the empty slips around my boat. It never ceases to amaze me, the pure muscle and grace of those people, how perfectly they are fit to their environment. Somehow it seems that all is right with the world when I see and hear them going about their daily lives, hunting, playing, going from place to place. How fortunate to be able to observe them and take joy in the observation.

When they had moved on I noticed that the sky was getting light. I made a cup of coffee, walked down to the end of the pier, took a seat on the concrete bench and settled in to watch the sun rise. Magenta, violet, purple, pink, rose and red, the sky performed the slow wheel of change. With the brightening of the day, the rookeries in the mangroves came to life. Egrets, Pelicans, Herons, Osprey, Gulls, Ducks and Cormorants, along with many other small birds greeted the morning sun, taking flight to begin the day's hunt for food. Their calls filled the morning sky as much as the sunlight did.

There is much in this life that is good. There are many simple things that bring simple pleasures. The gentle warmth of a morning breeze, the sounds of life greeting the day, the sound of waves as they meet the shore, the taste of coffee, the smell of salt and sea, the colors of the sky and the patterns of the clouds. With the artificial bustle of the human world these things can get lost or just simply missed. How easy to focus on what is wrong and forget what is right.

Once the sun had cleared the horizon I stood and gave thanks, performing the homage of namaste and went back to Avalon, my boat, to begin my own preparations for the day with a feeling of a day well begun. "Once again, dear friends, into the breach. Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!" It's so easy to let the frustrations of our lives place us into a space that demands aggression and force. It can seem so necessary.

Take a breath, hold it, let it out slowly. Roll your shoulders forward and then back. Stretch your arms to the sky and arch your back. Relax into an upright posture and then say "thank you". It doesn't matter to whom or what you say it. All that matters is that you say it and mean it. Your prayer of gratitude will be heard.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Trusted Leaders

2010-03-24T18:33:00.000-04:00

I respect professional politicians only for the virulence of the diseases they carry, much as I respect three day old sushi. It might nourish me but then again, it might kill me. Part time politicians may have a non-cynical belief in the system and seem to be for the most part people who wish to make a difference for the people and for the better. Once they inter into the professional realm however, backers are needed to maintain the office, to collect votes, to advertise. That is when the incremental sale of ideals truly begins.

There is huge profit to be made in the American market and the markets that America controls. It is difficult to believe that simple politicians, most born into privilege and wealth, would be left in charge of such a vast profit making machine. The realities of international commerce, or any real commerce for that matter, preclude the ideologue, the dreamer or the simply venal from any true control. Best to utilize the base drives of simple, provincial folk to present the public face. Just as "God" rules through proxy, so too do the business interests that control our commerce.

Does the shepherd allow the sheep to vote about shearing and market time? Does the rancher ask the cattle for their opinion? In both cases, the owner of the herd picks out the alpha of the group and entices it to lead the group to places the rancher/shepherd chooses. We know what then happens to the herd. While at pasture, the herd has the illusion of freedom. That illusion is dispelled only when it's too late for any member of the herd to run. The shepherd protects the flock or herd from other predators only because other predators cut into the profit made from the herd. The shepherd culls the weak, sick and old from the herd for the same reasons. It is not from emotional attachment or a desire to see members of the herd rise to the level of shepherd.

If you do not wish to be part of the herd; turn off your TV, don't read the paper, grow a garden, chase your children around the house and tickle them until you and they are exhausted. Read for pleasure anything you can find to read. Read to your children and instill in them a love for the printed word and the tales it tells. Show them the love of family, the joys of responsibility, the give and take of community.

"Gods" loose their power when there is no one to worship them. If we ignore those who would be our "Gods" then they will have no power over us. If you believe in the power of freedom, then, BE FREE!
No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

A conversation with a volunteer

2010-03-16T15:40:00.002-04:00

Yesterday when I arrived at the Gulfport library to drop off some books I was accosted, politely, by a volunteer registering voters for the upcoming local and Federal elections. I was rude. I sped up my step, racing towards the doors while angrily stating that I didn't have enough millions to make my vote heard so, what's the point? Once in the library with the books and quiet information surrounding me, the history and speculation sitting quietly in their shelves, I started to regret my brusque behavior.

I found a few new pieces of brain candy, new fiction I hadn't read yet by authors I didn't know. With a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of literacy I took my prizes to the check out counter, flirted gently with the older woman (and I'm sure quite beautiful when in her prime) behind the counter and realized that I had regained my sense of humor and balance. I found that I was ashamed with myself for having vented my ire at someone who was doing a job because he believed in the system and in what he was doing to support it.

Upon exiting the library, the first thing I did was seek the man out and offer apologies for my rude behavior. What ensued was a brief but enlightening conversation about the observations he had made in the course of performing his station. He shared with me, without rancor, the reactions he had gotten so far and his take on the demography indicated.

One of the first things he told me was that my reaction was not unusual by any means. As a matter of fact, he told me, most of the people whom he had approached had something to say about the Supreme Court decision to allow corporations the vote by delimiting their campaign contributions. The basic statement usually indicated that the individual vote was now without weight or meaning. This, he informed me, cut across age, gender and racial lines in a way that indicated a uniting of the majority. In a general kind of way, he continued, the only ones who had anything positive to say about what he was doing there were the ones who had stepped out of new, expensive vehicles and were well dressed and groomed. This group, he observed, were in a distinct minority.

When we were done, I got on my bicycle and slowly made my way back home, thinking about the conditions we find ourselves in now and the circumstances that brought us here. I know I don't have all of the information needed to make a truly informed opinion, but I can at least report on what I'd heard. Without going into the arguments that divide us, I have seen something that unites the majority of us; we, as a people and a country, are at a point in history that will either make us heroes or villains to the generations to come.

We have a chance to do what is right, or wrong, for the future. What we do with this chance will define our place in history. I, for one, would like to know that the greater good will be done for the greater numbers of us, now and into the future. What is happening now has historical precedence and the results of those times are recorded for all to see, in the quiet shelves of libraries as well as in the collective consciousness of the people, the histories we learned in school. I have hope for the future and fear as well. Can we get past the noise of a few so that the will of the many can be done? I sincerely hope so.
No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

A Good Sunday

2010-03-14T16:34:00.001-04:00

Well, it's been a while since I did the last stress test, radiology and xrays involved, and somehow there as been no follow up appointment. C'mon, guys. It's not like I'm imagining the pain in my chest or the discomfort when I start doing physical things. What's it gonna take.....? I guess it's going to take another phone call and start making a nuisance of myself.

Today I spent cleaning out Avalon, getting rid of all the trash and BS that has accumulated over the Winter. The cockpit is looking better. Got rid of the long cushions that were there. All they did was store moisture and rot the wood on the lazarette covers. Gave one of them to Rich as he has no cushions in his boat. We trade things back and forth, help each other out and in general are becoming friends. The other cushion I am using as part of my berth matress. Works well.

I need to come up with some disposable income so I can get to work on this old girl. Fix the exhaust leak in the outboard so it will run with the cover on, rebuild and upholster the aft lazarette covers, get the reef removed from the hull, buy a new mainsail, etc., etc., etc., ad nausium.

Before too long, the dockmaster of the marina is going to chain Avalon to the pier if I don't come up with more rent bucks. I understand more patience is being shown to late pays because of the economy. Usually the marina is packed by this time of year with a wiating list. Not this year. It seems that the economic rape that occured over the last decade has gathered a lot of us up in the same lineup. It was them, Officer! They did it! I just wish I could get hold of "they" for just a few minutes. It would go a little towards getting some kind of satisfaction. I for one would at least like a kiss, damnit.

Later on this month, Eckerd College is having their anual marine salvage sale. If I have to I'll borrow money and go there to see what I can find. A mainsail would be nice. 5 to 10 bucks is about all things cost there, if one is to believe what one hears. Looking forward to it. I'm hoping to at least pick up a sail for the dinghy. Get something that is close to the size I need, do a little modification and start experimenting.

I need to be able to raise and lower the sail without having to unship the mast. When the wind is around 10 to 15 knots that kind of activity can put one right into the water. It would be nice to have some reef points as well. I'd feel a lot better about taking the dink out with those kinds of mods. One thing I can say about sailing the dink....I have no fear about taking Avalon out now. If I can sail that dink with it's zero response time handling, I know I can sail Avalon with her much slower reactions. Kind of like the difference between riding a roper and a trail horse.

Later this evening I plan on visiting a few places where friends are playing music and one where today is the first day of business for a bar some friends set up on St. Pete Beach. Maybe some work? Ya never know. Showing my goofy smiling face in places will either get me a sympathy gig, a free beer or an invitation never to be seen there again. One never knows. Each day is an adventure.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

A Musician's Rant

2010-03-12T22:43:00.001-05:00

Wednesday night I played a gig at a dive bar on US 19 in St Pete. We were checking each other out for a possible fit. For some reason, club managers tend to think that the audition process is all about them, when in reality it's a two way street. I'm not going to name the place because I live here and don't want to piss anyone of unnecessarily.

It's the kind of a place where the rooms are for rent by the hour and the clientèle is prone to regular drug use, the hard stuff. It was kind of like being a piano player in a whore house. I tried not to touch anything but myself when I went to the john, opening and closing doors with my feet and elbows. Hey, if I get sick I can't work. My immune system is strong but why take chances.

Surprisingly, my mellower stuff worked there; Cat Stevens, Harry Chapin, Chris Christopherson....... The Management staff and I had a long talk after the gig about goals and aspirations. Seems they want to change the class of clientèle and use someone like me to do it. Now, I'm not really that much of a class act. Give me a room full of rowdy rednecks and I'm right at home. It does seem to me though, that if they want to make that kind of a change they will have to move the bar. That ain't gonna happen.

Let me put a band in there on a week night, grow with the room, invite jammers after the first two sets, do live streaming on the web, advertise the shit out of it real time and in the local papers and maybe, just maybe it'll work out. Club managers have short attention spans as a basic rule. "Make me money now! Not six months from now!". I doubt that they will go along with my suggestion. I also kinda priced it out of their reach.

I take care of my people. I'm not going to ask my band to dedicate six hours plus for less that a C note apiece. It takes that long to do a four hour gig. Load the gear, drive to the gig, set the gear up, play the gig, load it back out, drive home during amateur hour with the cops on high alert. I can hear some folk saying that something is better than nothing. How much will you risk for $50.00 and have to pay your own bar tab? I risk $7k in bucks every time I do a gig and I'm just the bass player with no job, home or family to risk.

Let's not forget about all the practice, dedication, discipline, sacrifice and plain hard work it takes to just get to the place where you can actually say "I can do the gig.". Musicians are some of the hardest working, dedicated, disciplined people I know. We have to perform in mathematical precision while at the same time being creative. Music is math. Music is math made audible. Not kitchen arithmetic but real time quantum physics happening on stage. Ya gotta know more than just how to count. Heisenberg plays a real big part in this.

Well, that's my rant. At least on this subject. I'm frustrated that because of the economy I have watched my pay as a musician drop dramatically. Twenty five years ago I was pulling down close to 35k a year. Now I'm lucky to do 12k. And that's a GOOD year. It seems the better I get at my job the less it's worth. I'd have done better being a sanitation engineer. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

Screw it, I'm going sailing.

By the way.....if you read this blog, please become a follower or member or at least leave a comment once in a while. It would be nice to know that I'm not just shouting at the void. Don't be shy. I'm not selling anything or asking you to make donations. This is basically for my family so they can keep track of me. Black sheep do wander.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Another Bozo Moment

2010-03-10T10:02:00.000-05:00

Last night, while attempting to squeeze a little more speed out of a video chip set, I crashed and burned my laptop. It was a tragic event. I sat in stunned silence while I stared at a screen randomized and useless. Damnit, was just about all I had to say at that time.

This is something I'm rather used to doing. I'm not exactly a member of the geek squad but I do have at least a useable working knowledge of computer hardware and software. It also helps that I use Linux Ubuntu as an operating system. Within 3 hours I had managed to reload the OS, recover all needed data that I store in the www cloud, re-entered my user names and passwords and was back in business.

This goes back to my childhood, building models, solving puzzles and teaching myself complicated board games that no one wanted to play, the cretins. Without knowing it I was preparing myself for the life I would live as an adult. My curiosity and itchy feet gave me the skills and attitudes that are necessary for the life I find myself living now, my first organized dream and lifetime goal, to sail what oceans I can reach, see the lands and islands of history and legend all on my own as a solo explorer.

Once again I have to say that I follow my instincts. The only time my instincts have gotten me into trouble was when I didn't follow them, when I listened to the wise counsel of others who base their lives on caution and fear. Fear and caution are good things, in moderation, harnessed to a drive to always learn and see more. As guiding factors they suck. I refuse to stay inside on the couch, living my life vicariously through the TV while I grow fat and pasty.

Patience my ass! I'm gonna hunt it down and make it mine. Time to go sailing.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Getting warmer

2010-03-09T19:14:00.000-05:00

The weather is getting warmer! Thank you, thank you, thank you! The dolphins are back which means that the fish population has recovered from the cold period that killed so many. Of course, my luck with fishing says nothing of the kind. Dragging lures and bait has done nothing except entertain the local fish. Oh, well.

Another gorgeous sunset with lots of reds and magentas. Too bad about all the condos in the way. Most of them are only 30% occupied, and then it's by folk who never leave the TV. What's the point of living here if you don't take time to enjoy it. "It's too cold, it's too hot, it's too humid, it's too noisy, it's too............." GET OVER IT OR GO BACK NORTH! Let the rest of us here enjoy the place without your over medicated, pampered ass getting in our way. So, there!

Alright, enough of that. Got dinner on the stove, brown rice, mixed veggies and pink salmon. spice to taste and then put it all in a burrito wrap. Yum. Five bucks can feed me for nearly three days and I still weigh in at 220. I just gotta get out and do more walking. The bicycle just doesn't burn the calories fast enough. Maybe I should cut back on the beer..........not.

Looking forward to playing a new room tomorrow night. Not only do I need the bucks, it looks like it may turn out to be a fun place and a regular gig. Hope so. I can't say it enough; I need to get Avalon outfitted and moving. I feel time running out.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Sunday Thoughts

2010-03-07T20:06:00.000-05:00

Did a little work on the dink today. Not much but something to keep me occupied while I wait for Florida weather to re-establish itself. In the seven years I've been here I've never known it to be so cold for so long. The weather predictions for the coming week show temps getting close to 80 again. I am SO ready for it.

Just for the hell of it, when I got back from band practice this evening, I loaded up the dinghy with my usual captain's bag, a couple of beers and my new fishing pole and lures and rowed out into the shallows. I knew I was not going to catch anything, so I was not disappointed when I didn't. It was still fun to watch the sun go down from the water and see the pelicans fly into their roosts in the mangroves.

I've always loved the outdoors, camping, hiking, exploring, seeing the natural world do what it does while paying no attention to this bunch of noisy, hairless apes (except maybe run from us). Watching the dolphins head out from the shallows, the sea birds heading home for the night, the first planets and stars coming out fills me with a peace and happiness I rarely know in the company of man.

I've always been something of a loner. Even when I was a very young child I would spend hours by myself, happy in my own company, playing games against myself, building models, working puzzles, reading. Later in life I would go for long hikes or solo camping expeditions, grooving on the fact that everything I was doing was all me, including the trouble I would find myself in from time to time. When I got my first motorcycle I would spend days getting lost and finding my way back, without compass or map. Maybe I was born to explore.

Now I have this 27' sloop, Avalon, that has the potential to be a blue water cruiser. This is the next, and maybe the last, chapter of my life. If I die while doing this, I believe I will die happy. I know my heart will kill me eventually, probably in the next decade. What better way to go than doing what I have wanted to do all my life; explore.

Thank you, Gail, for the gift of this vessel, thank you, Christine, for your support and encouragement. Thank you Dad and Mom for letting me be who I am and the moral compass you gave me. Thank you Universe for the chance to live during this time and the will to live it well.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Teach a man to fish......

2010-03-06T18:57:00.000-05:00

Did a little self investment today. Picked up a grapnel type anchor for the dinghy, a fishing pole, a few shiny lures and some heavy fishing line. Monday I plan on going out to the shallows outside the marina and see if I can start coming up with dinner once in a while. Being a pragmatic kind of guy I've never been one for sport fishing but fishing for food makes sense to me.

It looks like I may be making some bucks this month, so I believe that if I can come up with the right kind of green a solar panel is in the offing. What better than to learn how to live on the hook while at the marina. Safety nets are cool. A DC fan or two, some automotive type LED's for lighting.......

Got enough cable now for the aft safety lines and maybe even a cable from the cockpit to the pulpit for a safety harness. If I'm gonna single-hand I'm gonna do it as safe as possible. Don't have, nor can I afford a roller-reefer. No trips forward without being strapped in.

I was talking with Ric on the way back from Daytona explaining how as a biker I considered the motorcycle as a horse to learn to work with. Then I went and became a horse rancher and learned how to really work with horses, how to become part of the animal in a partnership. Now I'm becoming a sailor and it feels as if the ocean is another horse I want to learn how to work with and Avalon is the saddle and harness. This came out in conversation totally ad-lib, as much a revelation for me as an explanation to Ric.

What I'm doing with my life now feels good and right. I can feel my sphincter pucker a little when I try to visualise going out into deep water on my own, but I'm also looking so forward to doing it. Fear is natural. We all experience it. What we do with it is what defines courage.

What a life! Can you think of anything better to do with it than live it?

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Band and gig photos

2010-03-05T20:33:00.003-05:00

Forgot to share the photos.......Click on post title

Thanks CC

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Doin' the Do

2010-03-05T20:14:00.000-05:00

Wed night Crossroads, the Eric Clapton tribute band that I play bass in, did a gig at Daytona Beach and had a great time. It was cold enough to see our breath. Kudos to the bikers who were hard core enough to be there. We had an intimate but appreciative crowd. Minnie but mighty. The agent who works for us believes that he can set up a travel itinerary so we can do the road. We'll find out.

Hopefully this and a few other things going on will allow me to outfit Avalon and get her ready to sail. I need a mainsail, the outboard repaired and solar panels. The goal is to get all of this done while I am still at the marina. Best to learn all the hard lessons while in a protected area. I'm getting too old to play Rambo.

Thanks to all who pay attention and to those who contribute.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Tuesday at the marina

2010-03-02T15:26:00.001-05:00

Last night and this morning were good tests for my ability as a spring line tech. High winds and high tide with surge had me rockin' and rollin' all night long. Avalon was making noises I hadn't heard before. Kinda got my attention. Needless to say, it was a restless sleep, keeping one eye and one ear open. I imagine that's what it's like to single hand and keep a watch over a long reach.

Feeling a little slow today, weak and iffy. I hope it's not the heart thing. Still to much to do before I go in for surgery. At least the prognosis is looking more like stents rather than bypass. Much less time needed for recovery.

The band is sounding real good in the studio. Practice, practice, practice. Tomorrow night we are going to be in Daytona. Promises to be a cold one. Warm cloths and maybe a little antifreeze will be in order.

Stood out at the end of the marina pier this afternoon and watched dolphins play and jump around. Actually, I don't think they were playing unless it was foreplay. There were four or five of them, one very obviously a male. Lucky guy. With all the splashing and jumping it seems to me that something good was going on. They obviously were having a good time. To bad us land people have such a hard time having fun. How nice to just be in the moment and enjoy the day for what it is. "Sufficient unto the day the evil therein".

Thinking about going out to Ka'Tiki tonight to play a little acoustic guitar. Gotta stay in practice. I think I have a regular Wednesday night gig now, though not sure. We'll see on the 10th of this month. A friend of mine is opening a bar on St Pete Beach and is going to be doing solo music there. Might be some work for me. Things might be looking up financially. One can hope.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

A good Sunday

2010-02-28T21:08:00.000-05:00

Went sailing the dinghy again today, 10 to 15 knot winds with 20 knot gusts, 2- 3 foot chop. Thought I was going to have some fun, instead got one hell of a work out and humbled to boot. The boat handles just fine and is a joy to sail, especially with the mods I've made to the sheet lines, but it is still a small boat and it's a lot of water.

The wind was blowing good, but it was shifting in a 45 degree arc out of the NW, sometimes dying all together. Sailing to the wind this time meant sailing in a shifting curve tangent to the intended course. From 20 knots to nothing and back again from a different direction kept me on my toes, literally. There was no way for me to shift my weight around to keep trim without risking going over the side.

Got many face fulls, with about 3 inches of water in the bilge after I was done with the sail. With the confused chop, taller than my freeboard, and having to keep close hauled to keep course there were several times when I was shipping water over the gunwales. Popeye got wet. So did the sail. It was all from splashing, though. I managed to keep the barnacle side down the entire time, but it was a close thing.

After a couple of hours of this I was DONE! I have learned however, that fleece is used in sailing because water goes through it without stopping, giving you something warm and dry to wear. Warm and dry was a good thing. The water was cold and the wind colder. 65 degrees is a little chilly when you're wet and in the wind. I did learn a lot, as I always try to do, and came out of it a better sailor than I went in. I guess that's the point.

I do have an issue with the racing Hobie Cat sailors who where out there. One tried to get as close as he could, just to mess with me as far as I can tell. I was keeping a steady course, trying not to get swamped when I saw a shadow cross over my boat. It was the lee hull of a hobie cat going by over my head. If I'd have seen him coming, as he came up on my blind side, I'd have steered into him and forced him to luff or maybe capsize. Ass hole! The water there was shallow enough to give me something to stand on. Time to kick ass!

Some of the floating condos were out, most of them courteous, but a few seemed to find pleasure in creating 6 foot wakes. It was a wild ride a couple of times. I'm thinking of tying myself to the dinghy from now on, just in case. Looking forward to warmer weather and some night sails.

The band is playing on one of the big stages at Datona Wednesday. It promises to be cold. One more practice and then off to the races. Looking forward to the pay day. Homey can use the money.

Worried about the weather thing. Reports I have been reading from NOAA say that the Gulf Stream is slowing faster than expected and that Winter ice dams did not form in the Arctic and Antarctic this year. Cold water species are seen closer to the equator and the oceans are becoming acidic at a rate that is more than just a little worrisome. I need to get Avalon ready to move. There might not be much time left. I want to be at sea when the changes come. Hell, I just want to be at sea. All my instincts are driving me there. Soon.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Another Grumble

2010-02-25T10:14:00.000-05:00

Today I go to the Vet to Vet meeting that we have every Thursday at Bay Pines VA hospital. I go there to look for ways to cope with the issues I have but usually walk away more messed up and more useless than usual. It's kind of hard to go there knowing that's often the outcome.

I get to listen to other vets talk about how well they are doing financially, how their portfolios are doing, the new Harley they bought, how good the wife is treating them, retirement bennies from jobs they were able to keep, the 100% disability checks, etc., etc. This messes up my attitude and I'm not sure what the source of my anger is. Is it created by jealousy? Envy? Self Pity?

I know I'm jealous about the jobs they were able to keep. I keep blowing my jobs through attitude. Something happens at work, something goes "click" in my head and my mouth starts saying things that I know are wrong but cannot stop. The same thing happens in relationships with men and women. I can't keep a wife, a girl friend, a lover a close friend or a job. No long term benefits from any relationship have any part in my life. Each day stands on it's own terms with little personal relationship with the day that came before or the one that might come next.

Maybe that's it. I believe that right now is all I have. The next moment might not get here. The last moment was the one I just lived and I survived it, now it's time to move on. There is nothing permanent in my life. Nothing lasts and what is here can be gone in an instant. The only friend I can really count on is me and I'm not that good of a friend to me most times.

I know on an intellectual level that the last paragraph is not current reality. Viscerally I know that it is the truth. My head tells me to relax and take it easy, the war is gone and over. My gut tells me that there is a sniper or rocket or mortar or anti-aircraft battery gunning for me and those around me. No matter how much I tell myself that I'm safe, no matter how many times others tell me I'm safe, I don't feel it. My reflex is to maintain what I feel is a healthy scepticism. If it moves, I see it. If it moves close, I track it. If it moves close and fast I'm ready to kill it.

Therein lie the seeds to my steady, sequential failures. One after the other. It just doesn't stop. I try not to be angry or sad. I try to keep the hopelessness out of my daily routine but the older I get, the harder it gets to keep some kind of positive energy going.

I hate asking for help. I hate accepting help. It makes me feel vulnerable. It makes me feel that the only friend I have, me, has let me down, has fallen down on the job and I can't trust the dumb ass any longer. This is how I feel. Right or wrong doesn't factor into this. The reality is what my gut, my instincts, my perception tells me. I perceive myself to be a failure because I cannot support myself or provide the simple things that I need to stay alive.

So today I go the the meeting, spending gas money I don't have, just so I can listen to fat, self satisfied REMFs (Rear Echelon Mother Fuckers) bask in their success in gaming the system and hope that someone is paying attention and help me get to where I need to go so I can continue breathing for just one more day. Happy, happy. Joy, joy.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Rough water, good times

2010-02-22T21:39:00.000-05:00

Took the dinghy out sailing today. This was the roughest and windiest I've ever sailed it. 10 - 15 knot winds, 1 - 2 foot chop with whitecaps. I had a ball! Fist time I've ever had that hull to plane.

I've made a few more mods on the sail set up so now I can let go of the main sheet once I've set trim. Now I can scratch my ass without going into jibing or going into irons. I could really get to like this sailing stuff.

Tomorrow is looking real good for sailing as well. The wind should be from the NW at about 10 to 15 knots. Perfect for getting in and out of the marina. I gotta get more cash going on so I can get Avalon out to join in the fun. I'm getting impatient to sail her.

Had band practice tonight, getting ready for the Daytona show. It's good to work with pros. Bam Bam is really getting with the program on drums. We spent the evening going through the finer points of some of the songs we're doing and picked up a couple of more. It's sounding like Clapton. Cool.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

More Thoughts

2010-02-20T22:51:00.000-05:00

Today was a good day. Through barter I acquired a storm jib. Now I have a light wind jib, a medium wind jib and a storm jib. The mainsail is still in need of replacing but all things in their own time.

It was a warm day with little wind. I used this time to lay in all sail to dry them out. It's been cold and wet here for quite a while and I could smell the mould starting to set in. It felt good to see Avalon dressed up. I am looking so forward to getting her out in the Gulf. Soon.

The pain in my chest is becoming a constant thing. I don't know if it is psychosomatic or actual but I do know that I am getting weaker and slower. One flight of stairs is enough to get me out of breath. I walked close to two miles today and it was about all I could do. This is not so much frightening as it is sad.

I have spent a great deal of effort trying to stay in shape; walking every day, riding my bicycle for tens of miles, rowing and sailing my dinghy for miles, lifting, pushing, pulling, singing, performing. All these things take a lot of energy and burn calories like you would not believe but still my cholesterol levels are through the roof.

Lots of fruit and veggies, water by the gallon, the rare fast food, no sodas, no processed foods and still my veins are clogging up. All of this can't be just genetics. I can smell the Agent Orange sometimes. It's not a smell you can forget. It's like old mushrooms and rancid oil, a thick odour that clings to the pallet and the back of the throat.

The more the pain in my chest grows and my energy ebbs, the more I wonder if it's worth it to let the surgeons have their way with me. What am I getting saved for? Homelessness? Poverty? Starvation? Sure, at the moment I have one of my oldest and dearest dreams, living on a sailboat and planning a cruise around the Gulf and Caribbean, playing professional music with real pros. What good is that dream if I can't financially support it? What good is that dream If I can not physically live it?

I have a fantasy of telling the anaesthesiologist just before I go under not to wake me up. What better way to die, at the top of my form, at the most graceful I've ever been. Why wait until I'm a wasted hulk, rotting in the harbor waiting for the worms to finish the job and feed me to the silt?

This is not a suicide note. I have no intention of killing myself. Why deprive others of that pleasure? If I die at my own hands it will be through lack of planning, stupidity or hubris. It is my plan, my hope and my dream to sail the Atlantic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean and maybe even the Indian Ocean. There is a huge world out there to see and I plan to see it. Currently, however, I see no way to do that.

I want to see the coral reefs of the South Atlantic Islands before they bleach. I want to see the Southern Cross during a midnight watch. I want to feel the gentle embrace of mid-ocean swells and the rage of a driven sea. I want to live. No, let me rephrase that.....I want to LIVE! Really live. I want to live until I can't live any more. I want to die knowing that I have LIVED. That is how I have done it so far and I see no reason to change.

Sometimes I tell my audiences that I am a very fortunate man. I have lived out almost all of my dreams. I have known the love of good and beautiful women. I have raised and trained horses, dogs and children. I have explored most of the United states by motorcycle, car and rail. I have been an effective and respected warrior. Now I am living on a sailboat in Florida and am playing pro music. All these dreams come with a price. I pay it gladly.

The price is usually not being understood, not having a steady job, income or home. The price is not having, or allowing, anyone close. The price of being able to stand alone is that you stand alone. This doesn't mean I haven't had help along the way. That's where the love of good and beautiful women comes in. It just never lasts very long.

I'm not complaining. I have made my choices. I made these choices when I was a very young boy. This is my life and I will live it to the best of my ability. I have skills that many are jealous of and most disbelieve, and attitudes that will probably kill me. How can someone accumulate all those skills in one lifetime is the question I hear most when I recount my talents. Only when I'm drunk or high. When I'm sober I have enough sense to stay quiet about it. Why invite incredulity?

I have a few good friends and know a lot of good people. I am a wealthy man. If I leave this world soon I will leave it knowing that I have never done intentional harm to anyone, that I tried always to be the best person I could be, that I always paid my respects, honored my Mother and Father, protected those whom I could and fought those who would do otherwise. I will die knowing that I railed against the machine when I where I could, regardless of the disapproval of those close to me. I love placing myself in the path of those who would ride over us. I do so with with a spear in my hands and a fire in my belly. Did I say something about hubris earlier? How about being a warrior?

To all who know me....Thank You! Life is good.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Saturday

2010-02-20T10:09:00.000-05:00

I love working with Linux. So glad I dumped Microsquash. Just downloaded a celestial map with full labeling and azimuth info, as well as current location editing. Now all I need is a sextant to begin re-learning celestial navigation. It's been a lot of years since I was a Boy Scout. My learned paranoia tells me that the GPS system can't always be counted on. Learn the sky, keep a good clock and compass along with accurate charts and I should be able to get really lost in style.

Sailed the dinghy for a while yesterday with one of my neighbors. He just got a sailing dink and wanted to race. This guy is all about speed. He has yet to learn where all the shallow places are. Poor guy tore up his rudder in the shallows while impatiently looking for wind. Lots of condos around the bay.

Sculling with the rudder is OK, but it can get you into trouble. So, while he bitched and moaned about the luck he was having I sailed around him and helped him get back to the marina. He did think ahead enough to have a trolling motor aboard. He did keep his sense of humor through it all. I'm sure we'll do it again soon. It's kind of fun making the rich boys in their floating condos change course. Some of their wakes are many times my freeboard. Whoopee!

Time to do some breakfast and then get to sanding on the project boat we have going. We hope to have it done in time to sail it to the Keys in the last few days of May. Looking forward doing that. Leave Tampa Bay and head out until we can't see land and then head South. Way cool.

Life is good.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it like ya mean it.

Just more stuff

2010-02-19T10:21:00.003-05:00

I started a new job a few days ago. One of the guys here at the marina is a professional rigger and sail tech. He's gotten a lot of promised work here at the marina an asked me if I would like to help out. Cool. Lots of sanding on teak, cleaning up bright work, painting and varnishing. I love it. Extra bucks for me and Avalon and a source for needed supplies at good prices. I hope I never have to spend another cent at Worst Marine.

I've also been doing auditions in some of the clubs and bars around the area, looking for solo work. Looking kind of promising. Who knows? I might even be able to get Avalon out and sailing this year. That would be way cool.

I'll know more later on this month about the cardio thing. That could put one hell of a stopper on steady income. In the mean time, one of the guys here got himself a sailing dink and wants me to join him with mine later on in the day. Sounds like fun. Then, it's back to work Saturday working on a big Dutch ketch. Hardly the kind of boat one would expect to see in these Southern waters. She's built like an ice breaker. When we're done with her we are to sail her to Key West and hand her over to her owner. Looking forward to it.

Life is good.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it while ya got it.

Living

2010-02-16T19:17:00.000-05:00

Tonight I say goodbye to a friend. I didn't get to know him well but I knew him well enough to respect his spirit and gentle soul. He was a musician, guitarist and singer; one of the fellows I had met when I first came into the Bay Area and a person who made me feel welcome.

A bunch of us are getting together at Gulfport on the Rocks to celebrate his life and time among us. I feel privileged to have been specifically asked to be there. Tim, you will be missed.

No one gets out of here alive, so live it while ya got it.

Screw it, I'm going sailing!

2010-02-10T21:09:00.001-05:00

Just got off an online chat with a person I have never met. We are Facebook friends. She lives in the NY area. Right now they are experiencing a very severe and unusual snow fall. This person is someone who cares about others and has a grasp of things human that outstrips most I know. She is frightened about loosing the power to her home. Ice on the trees and power lines. Temps below freezing. That's tough stuff, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I used to live in Indianapolis, Indiana. I remember snow and ice storms in the 80's that took down entire forests, blacked out cities and killed many in various ways. To die when it's cold and dark. No thanks. In the 60's I carried papers in snow that was drifted up to the roofs of single story buildings, sweating inside my layered clothing while I hauled a sled full of the news that few read. I know the cold in an intimate way.

For a while, later in life, I had a horse ranch in Southern Indiana. In 1999 it got so cold that the snow froze in balls in the horses hooves and the ice from their breath closed their eyes and hung off of their muzzles like beards. The heater in the stock tank couldn't keep up. I would have to heat water and carry it from the house to the barn so they could drink. I know the cold.

My job in the city was that of a country boy keeping city boys in business. I was the miracle worker that got the snow plows back up and running, performing field repairs, laying on my back in the snow and ice and sometimes slush, under the trucks, beating on twisted steel with a hammer and heavy wrenches. I know the cold.

Now I live in Florida in the Tampa Bay area. Tonight the temp is going to reach below freezing. Climate change? Is it real, is it here, who caused it, can we stop it, can we slow it down? Who cares!!!! IT'S HERE, IT'S HAPPENING, AND WE HAVE TO COPE!

Climate change means that places that used to be wet are now dry. Climate change means that places that were dry are now wet. Climate change means that lots of us are going to find survival just a little difficult. It means that lots of us, right now, planet wide, are finding it difficult to get by. While our "leaders" point fingers and deny, we starve, die of dehydration, heat exhaustion, freezing, resource driven wars and poverty driven diseases.

I care and I wish there was more I could do. The system does not want me. I'm too old, too white, too expensive. My experience is a drag on the bottom line. I've been unemployed long enough now that employers will not even speak with me. I have so much to offer in so many skilled places and yet I feel useless. Welcome to America.

Screw it, I'm going sailing.

Bugs

2010-02-08T20:49:00.000-05:00

Refit the cooler today and discovered that the wood I used was carrying bed bugs! Ack! It's back to battle with the little buggers. There is a resurgence of bed bugs in the Bay area and some of them are insecticide resistant. Once I have the new wood done around the cooler it should kill 'em off. Let's see them chew through spar varnish!

Guess I'll have to treat the lumber I am going to use for the side board cabinets. Don't want to throw it away as it's good teak. I'm sure a solution will present itself soon.

Wet Friends

2010-02-08T16:59:00.000-05:00

Last night my dolphin buddy showed up, knocked Avalon around a little to let me know he was there, and then took off. I don't feed him or try to touch. He doesn't seem to want physical contact or handouts, but he does like to let me know he's around. Once in a while he'll show me off to a new girl friend. It's good to be a pet human.

Simple is best

2010-02-07T10:49:00.001-05:00

A few days ago I had a brain storm. If you know me then you know that it was a tempest in a tea cup. A very small tea cup. Anyway, I was staring blankly at the galley area, not thinking of much at all, no surprise, when all of a sudden I got hit with an idea. The cooler I had purchased at wally world looked to be approximately the same size as the built in ice box next to the sink.

I haven't used the ice chest because of the inefficient design. It wasn't all that well insulated and required a lot of ice to stay cool for a short while. Hmmm, I wondered. Would that plastic cooler fit inside the ice chest? I tried it and guess what.....it fit. Tightly. The only problem with it was it raised the height of the teak work area boards 7/8 of an inch. So I got out my trusty shot filled nylon mallet and beat on the cooler, jamming it in even tighter. After measuring again I was happy to note that it was still 7/8 of an inch higher.

Shortly after moving into Avalon I had taken the head and closet doors off and broken them down to their constituent parts. My neighbor has plenty of wood working tools, like a table saw and a joiner/planer, so I got busy chopping up some of my spare teak and made a new frame for the work station boards. I love working with wood. I love the smell and feel of it. I was in seventh heaven.

Now I have more room in my galley, a working ice box, and stowage for my galley goodies. Cool. Ya gotta love a simple solution to what I thought was a thorny problem. Next is building a series of open cabinets along each side of the salon. I'll keep ya posted.

Reflections from this morning

2010-01-31T11:07:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning feeling hopeful, a sense of anticipation of good things to come and I have no idea why. I'm living a lifestyle that is so alien to the way that I was raised as to be almost horrifying to my younger self. That younger self is still in there, railing away at my present self, constantly asking why. Why do you live in a boat? Why don't you have a job? What are you going to do with the rest of your life? How are you going to survive and what makes you think you should? It seems to me that outside of a few good friends (actually quite a few) a boat, some tools, a guitar and a few scraps of clothing there's not much happening that is conducive to eating regularly.

This feeling of hopeful anticipation comes, I think, from a need to believe, to be positive. I've got to believe that after quite a few years of things going haywire, inexplicably going wrong and falling apart that maybe now I'm going to get a break or two. Maybe it's my turn now. Maybe it's my turn now because I have good friends, a good place to live, good health care and the possibility of living out the dearest and oldest of my dreams.

Sitting here at the chart table aboard Avalon, feeling her rock to the wind and tug at the spring lines, hearing the sounds of the marina and the people and wildlife that live here, drinking a cup of coffee and banging away at my laptop fills me with a contentment that I have rarely known in my life. The dream is more than just possible.....it's happening. Sure, it's a little scary. Yes, it's a little lean at times. Somehow those two detractors seem more like minor irritants. The overall feeling I get from this life style is one of connectedness. I'm connected to my dream, I'm connected to my friends, I'm connected to a community, I'm connected to myself.

This connection to myself is something new. In the past I have attached myself to someone else's agenda as a regular part of my life. The wife, the job, the mortgage, the kids, the critters, all of these and more defined me, put me in a box that could be understood, quantified, marketed. Now the box has disappeared and been replaced by an ocean of possibilities. Literally. This has forced me to re-evaluate my relationship with myself and my environment and I have discovered something. I like me. I like my life. I enjoy the things I do. Life is good.

Today I go to band practice, working with seasoned pros who want to create a finished product before it is shown in public. Cool. I like that a lot. It allows me to pursue my solo work as I wish while also working on a band project. Right now a lot of things are in limbo due to upcoming health issues. It's kind of hard to schedule solo shows when I might be going through multiple bypass heart surgery within the next few months. The upside of that is if I do go through that surgery, I will more than likely be defined as 100% disabled, thereby financing my dream. If it kills me then I won't care about the dream. Either way, I win. At least for a little while. Maybe long enough, however long that is.

Volunteering for Vietnam was one of the dumbest things I ever did with my life that seems to have turned out to be one of the smartest things I ever did with my life. Kinda funny when you think about it. A disaster comes into your life and gives you a hard time and you curse the gods. Later something similar happens and you know what to do while helping others get through it. Maybe Nietzsche was right when he said "that which does not kill us makes us stronger".

Maybe it makes us better as well. Better with ourselves, better with others, better at making the best of what this world has to offer. When life gives you lemons, make batteries. Remember to thank the gods for all things seemingly good or bad. Take the Dhowist point of view; Situations are good or bad depending on what they lead to. No situation is good or bad in itself. All situations have their lesson to teach.

Sailing the Dink

2010-01-29T22:47:00.002-05:00

Took the dinghy out for a sail today. Seemed like the thing to do. Moderate chop, 5 to 10 knot winds from the South East. I was able to sail out of the marina this time rather than rowing like I usually have to. If the wind is coming from the West the condos that surround the marina catch it and create confused air. The navigation channel is very narrow and makes it difficult to tack. The surrounding waters close to the marina are shallow enough that fishermen use waders or pole their boats.

The dingy's draft is around 3 feet with the dagger board down. The water even at high tide is too shallow to make leaving the channel an option. So I usually row out to the spoils island at the mouth of the harbor area, a distance of about a mile. This time all I had to do was row out to the end of the pier, grab the main sheet and tiller and head out. So long as I could stay at least 100 feet from shore, the building effect wasn't too much of an issue. Fortunately, with the wind coming from the ESE like it was, short tacks got me out to deeper water. Sometimes sailing that little boat can be a lot of work.

The weather report stated that it would be a light chop. I guess. What I found out in the bay was 1 to 2 foot waves with white caps. I got a little wet but wasn't worried about it. Haul the sail in tight and steer to the wind. A few times I had to almost lean out of the boat to maintain trim. It felt good to feel the dinghy banging through the waves, taste the salt water on my face and know that I was harnessing the wind. I'm really looking forward to see how it does in the Bermudas. Lots of little islands, lots of places to anchor Avalon and go exploring. I'll get there. It's just a matter of time.

After a couple of hours tacking South East I headed into the Gulfport area, ran the dinghy up on the beach near the casino and had a little snack and walked for a little while to get circulation back into my legs. This boat can't be sailed from the thwarts. Ya gotta be in the bilge, curled up to fit. Tacking can be a real workout, shifting my weight from one side to the other while I trim the sail and work the tiller. With a little planning it works out just fine. It reacts quickly to any wind or shift in direction. Not paying attention can send you swimming. I know. I've had to bail it out during a sail or two because I wasn't ready. It's called an education.

While I was on the beach I saw a middle aged couple, tourists, walking with cell phones stuck in their ears. It seems odd that folk will travel here from Canada to enjoy the surf, sand and sun, and not be engaged in the moment. It made me sad to see it, knowing that they represent a large part of our population that just has to be connected, in touch, never really in one place or another. I'm glad I got rid of my cell phone. If anyone needs to talk with me they can call me at my home phone. Leave a message, I'll get back to you at my convenience, just like in the "old days".

I left the beach and headed out again, this time to the South West, almost to the draw bridge that straddles the channel out to Shell Key, the Southern most bit of land in the Northern section of Tampa Bay. Beyond that is deep blue water. Looking forward to getting Avalon out there. Soon. Once I was near the bridge I came about and headed North, back to the marina. At this time the wind decided to go away for a while. So, there I was with my sail hanging out, my prow pointed North, and I just wasn't moving. Rats! Good thing I wasn't in any hurry.

After about half an hour of just kind of poking along at a blistering 1 or 2 miles an hour the wind decided to come back from where ever it had been hiding and we took off, cooking along and having fun. Did I mention how shallow some parts of the bay are? I ran aground. Not bad but enough to get my attention.
Pull up the dagger board, pivot the rudder up and sail like a bathtub for a while until I don't see bottom any longer. The water in the bay is so silty that if you can see the bottom, you are in about two feet of water or less. All part of learning the neighborhood.

I sailed to the spoil island at the mouth of my harbor area, took another little break to walk and look for shells, saw that the birds, crabs and other scavengers had managed to eat a lot of the fish kill from the last cold period, but not all of it. Kinda stinky. Then I was back into the marina, sailing all the way. Another rare occurrence due to the condos messing with the wind. I sailed all the way to Avalon and with a gentle kiss brought the dinghy along side thus ending a perfect sail. Learned some more modifications I have to make on the sail set-up, but that'll be another story.

This is what I want to do with the rest of my life. This is quality living. Good friends, good surroundings, enough food to eat and a warm dry place to sleep. Life is good.

Further Rants

2010-01-26T10:02:00.000-05:00

I woke up this morning, turned on my laptop, and started browsing through my usual sites. I think I'm gonna quit doing that. Then again, maybe not. What happens is my paranoid thought processes get a little tweak each time I read the news, look at political cartoons (I love cartoons), or listen to NPR. I know I should stop doing that. All it does is elevate my blood pressure, fire up my ulcer and in general make me sad.

These things that I see and read make me sad because I love this country, what she used to stand for and the people who live here. I love the dream of America, the one that tells us that all people are created equal, that we all have an even chance in the pursuit of happiness, health, life, education and wealth no matter our beginings. In school I was taught that this country is a meritocracy as well as a democratic republic. Life has taught me that this country is a republic in the Roman form. The wealthy few rule the land and create the laws that keep the poor majority poor and in debt while distracting them from the leaderships outrageous behaviour with bread and circuses. Empirical observation; So long as the food keeps getting to the tables and the TV keeps working, no-one is going to storm the palace.

We worry more about Michael Jackson than we do about legislated insurance. Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien take up more attention span than health care insurance reform. American Idol means more than American justice and it's application. We listen to the pundits on the TV and radio tell us what a lousy job our current president is doing while allowing ourselves to be deflected from the truth of who is actually running the country. Presidents come and go. Senators, Supreme Court Justices, and career bureaucrats are for life. We see, by design, only the huge face above the throne. Very few ever get to see, or even know about, the "man behind the curtain".

Layers upon layers. The President serves at the sufferance of the Senate, House and Congress. The Senate, House and Congress serve at the sufferance of Big Banks, Big Pharma, Big Insurance, Big Agri and Wall Street. The banks, pharmaceutical corporations, insurance companies and agricultural interest are driven by Wall Street. Wall street is driven by the investors that drive the corporate board members who make the policies that protect the profit making machinery that drives Wall Street. The majority of the investors are foreign. Observation; this country is under financial attack from without and within. The guards are either asleep, absent or paid off.

Cameras at every traffic light and in every commercial doorway, cell phones and cars with GPS tracking, Organised Religion and banks influencing government, private contractors supporting our combat troops, corporations with private armies, persecuted minorities, dumbed down public schools, falling wages, off-shored jobs, guest worker programs...........

I'm doing my best to get Avalon outfitted, prepared and stocked for long distance cruising. I know for a fact that I cannot do anything about anything except my own attitude. I know that my attitude is the only thing on this Earth that I truly own. It is my hope that I will have enough time to get Avalon ready so that I may take my attitude and head to sea where I will be able to choose how I live or die. Emiliano Zapata said that it is better to die on your feet than to live on your knees. My knees got sore years ago so I chose to live on my feet. I chose poverty over slavery. No credit cards, no job working for someone else that I can loose to a less expensive worker or merely by being myself, no land, no house, no debt.

For years I have listened to guys brag about how they got 100% disability from the VA having never once set foot in Vietnam or any other area of conflict while I wondered where my next meal was coming from. I served six months of direct combat and refused all but medical help because I volunteered. I made my choices and lived with them. Now I know I need to escape or my rage and anger will own me. I'm going for the VA's money, I'm going to outfit my home Avalon, and then I'm going to go away. I'm running from this situation while running to a new life while I still can. Fix my boat, fix my body, fix my life. Soon.

If life is a dream then it behoves us to live the dream. Dream and live, live and dream. One is no good without the other.

The Procedure

2010-01-23T09:52:00.000-05:00

Two AM, 22nd of January, I was awakened by my dinghy banging on the side of Avalon. I was hoping I could sleep to at least 6AM. The wind from a cold front had made it's way into the marina and had created enough rocking and rolling to shift the fenders away from their intended places. Oh, well. I need to paint Avalon anyway. What's a few more scratches (divots)?

I had my alarm set for 6AM so I could take a shower, put on fresh, comfortable lounging cloths, jump in a taxi and go to Bay Pines VA Hospital. Once there it was sign in, have a seat, read a couple of chapters, find another book in the guest room I hadn't read by a favorite author then get collected by a nurse and taken to surgery prep.

Let me say this again; Bay Pines VA Hospital is one very fine facility staffed by some of the best talent and they are all there for the vet. I be one lucky yutz.

The purpose of my visit was to investigate some intermittent discomfort I had been experiencing. I had already had one heart stent put in and knew the symptoms. This was feeling just a little familiar. I work out hard and push my body to it's limits often. I'm not talking about weights unless it's my own 225 pounds. I'm talking about walking miles, biking tens of miles, rowing miles, pushing, pulling, lifting and working on Avalon. My knees just won't take running any more. I like my body and stay in touch with it. It's the only one I'm gonna get. Diet, exercise, rest, moderation.

So, anyway....I get the usual open in the back, draughty hospital gown, pink (no color is gonna challenge me!), placed in a gurney/bed and then get shaved in a very personal way by a nurse or two. Under different circumstances it might have been fun. Shortly afterwards I'm wheeled out of the prep area to the elevators by a cute Cubana, taken to the OR on the second floor and parked in the surgery waiting area.

By this time I'm having second thoughts about going through with the procedure. Not because of the discomfort of the process but because I wasn't all that sure that I wasn't misusing time and resources. I do tend a little towards hypochondria. I had voiced my concerns about that previously during my last consult. The response then from the doctor was non-committal. I voiced my concerns again in the OR and was told better to know than not to know. Let's take a look, anyway. OK. Let's get this done.

Once on the operating table, wide awake and curious, the OR nurse shaved my right wrist. I asked about that and was told that for an exploratory procedure it was easier to put the cath through the big vein in the wrist. If a stent was needed it would go through the groin in a larger catheter. This was a relief. When my last stent was installed the worst part of the procedure was plugging the hole in the artery. It's like plugging a leak in a tire with a gummy worm. Lots of pushing, twisting and then more pushing. I had a bruise the size of a small country after that. I wasn't looking forward to that happening again.

The best part of the procedure is...I GET TO WATCH! I love this kinda stuff! If it's tech or science, I'm into it. On the monitor above the operating table I got to watch the wire make it's way from my wrist to the heart, and then an xray visible die squirted into the heart. Way Cool. Listening to the surgeons talk, the banter and tech speak made me feel as if I was in my own little TV episode. I even got to participate in small ways by working various muscle groups by request. I was encouraged to ask questions which was great. It's nice to feel like one has a little control over the situation, even if it is illusory.

About 45 minutes later we had a group of pictures that showed beyond a doubt that there were three new blockages, two that needed work and one that was in the "grey" area. The stent that had been installed in 2008 was starting to close up at one end. That settled that. I was not being a hypochondriac this time. My discomfort was real and I had a serious problem that needed to be solved. It was just too much to be solved at that time. More consults and decisions to be made later. More to come about that in future blogs. I can say that open heart surgery was mentioned as an option.

Then it was back to the prep area on the third floor, wheeled by the same Cubana bonita and then lots of monitoring, poking and prodding by a very attentive nursing staff. All of this took about 5 hours, two peanut butter sandwiches, a few cups of coffee and half of the book I had found that morning. I gave the book I had brought with me to the waiting room. Gotta pay it back as well as pay it forward.

By the time that CB got to the hospital to claim my remains, I was starving and ready to GTFO. She mothered me out of the hospital, into her car and, to Carmalita's for a great Mexican dinner and a couple of dark beers and then to her place where I collapsed into bed and slept like a rock until 6AM. No discomfort from the procedure and a sense of relief that the heart problems I have were caught in time and are fixable.

My goal in all this is to be as healthy as I can for as long as I can. I have an ocean to explore and I'm REALLY looking forward to that and I REALLY don't want to miss any of it! We have just one chance to see this beautiful planet and all it's wonders. Chances are for taking. If you don't take chances with your life and your time you can miss so much. Some ask how can you walk away from the security of the land, the job, the family, the comforts of home and American civilisation. I ask, is this all there is? Work and worry, strive and reach for something you're not even sure you want? I know what I want. I want my life, my freedom, the ability to go where I want, when I want, how I want. That's freedom. It comes with a price. I'll pay it because it's my choice.

The only thing sure in this life is death. All the rest is up for grabs. A dream is no good if it stays a dream. Reach and explore, take responsibility for your own life AND ENJOY!

Today

2010-01-21T12:43:00.003-05:00

Today I'll spend some time uncluttering my living space. I think I've gotten rid of the bed bugs. Brought an old piece of red oak on board with the idea of repair work. Turns out I'd brought home a condo, and they really liked the new digs. We had chemical conversations for a little while and I won an argument or two, but they just kept coming at me. Finally my old hippie memory fired off a neuron and I remembered that nice piece of wood I wanted to play with. Eviction with prejudice. I ain't been bit in a week, life is good. So far. Visions of Hunter S. Thompson on safari with loaded weapons.

I do believe I have eradicated the black mould. Combo platter of 10% bleach water, followed later with 50% vinegar water. Apple Cider vinegar water to be exact. Don't have the minor congestion any longer, so it must have worked. I feel that the mould issue will be an ongoing irritant in an otherwise bucolic existence.

Tomorrow morning I go in for an exploratory angioplasty. Took a stress test and the Doc saw a blip worrisome enough to suggest a look see. Cool. Let me take a moment to tell you about how I feel about the care and attention I, and all the other vets have gotten from the folk at Bay Pines Veteran's Hospital, Bay Pines, Florida..........

I consider myself to be one of the luckiest people in America. The American Government IS taking very good care of it's vets. The doctors, nurses and staff are all about the vet. It's up to date and effective. Kudos! This is one thing the Government's got just about right. Too bad it's not like this in the private sector. We'd all be better off. OK, I've kissed enough ass for now. See yous cats in da mornin'.

I give thanks for my friends as well. If it wasn't for BH's kindness I'd be looking at The Chain of Shame, attached to the pier and my forward superstructure. He handed me enough money to pay late rent and next month's as well. Thanks, man. I owe you big time. Hittin' the gigs again soon, I hope. I'll get it back to you.

CB is also being great about dedicating her weekend to catering to my lazy ass. You're a hell of a gal.

Let's not forget GD for the gift of the Avalon. This has changed my life. I'll either love you forever for it, or hunt you down and skin you. The jury's still out on that one.

Time to hit the chores. See ya.

New Beginnings

2010-01-20T22:48:00.000-05:00

Today I began the sites that I'll hopefully be using to track my progress with Avalon, my sailing and whatever else is part of my sailing experiences. It hopefully will also function as a log covering the fun and games I go through learning how to cruise blue water. I think I've done enough for one day.

Hello and Welcome

2010-01-20T16:19:00.000-05:00

When I was six years of age I had a nightmare. It was about a small sloop in a calm sea. It was a new moon kind of night, a heavy fog and no wind. Halloween type ghosts were flying and moaning in and out of the small boat's round portholes. It scared hell out of me and I started to wake up. Then I said, it's just a dream, and went back to watch to see what happened next. That was the first horse I broke and rode and it became an evolving dream of sailing the ocean in a small sailboat.

I've spent most of my life around water. Fresh water lakes and rivers, creeks and pools. There was always a johnny boat or canoe handy and places to use them. Dad was a boating enthusiast and by extension, I become one as well. Over time I learned the joys of boat ownership, second hand, and decided I really didn't want or need one. Years pass.

Now I find myself 800 miles south of my birthplace, living on a sailboat, Avalon, much like the one in my dream, in Pasadena, FL., teaching myself about sail and salt. Folks I'm here ta tells ya! I ain't had this much fun with my cloths on since I was a teenager.

Over a period of time I will be making entries here. Hopefully this will become my Captain's Log in a year or so. That's the idea, at least. As a newbie to sail and saltwater I imagine I'll get myself into some interesting situations and places. So, STAY TUNED! It might be worth a thesis.

Example;

I got back to the boat about noon today after running a few morning errands. There was a warm 6 knot breeze coming from the WNW and the dinghy was half full of rain water from the last cold week. Its hull needed cleaning and it looked to be a nice day for a little sail around Boca Ciega Bay. I got the gear together, climbed down into the dinghy and started to bail.

Half an hour later I started rowing the mile to the spoils island, the dinghy loaded with disassembled mast and sail, bailing bucket full of cleaning tools, a life jacket, flotation pillow, small sailing bag water and a partridge..... That took me another half hour. Its a good upper body work out and I enjoy it.

At the Island, the beach was full of gulls, feasting on the recent fish kill caused by cold weather. They were full and slow to fly off, complaining all the way. Rats with wings. The cold has really done damage to the nursery and many of the adults as well. The Snook and Mullet look like the hardest hit

Took my time cleaning the hull, enjoying the sun, the breeze, the day. The sandy beach was all mine but for the herons and cormorants hanging out in the mangroves. Way cool. Good thing there was a steady breeze. I was also surrounded by the half eaten corpses of snook, mullet, red snapper, perch, needle fish, cat fish and a few I had never seen before. The row out to the island was a parade of isolated floating fish, some quite large. Kind of reminded me of an old Louden Wainwright III tune.

Finished up the hull cleaning, put the dinghy back in the water and then put up the mast and sail. Have to fix that to something useful, but that's a blog for later. With the dagger board and rudder up I let the wind pull me like a bathtub with a sail, out into deeper water away from the spoil island. It's amazing how big a shallow footprint that island has. More dead fish.

The wind was steady and the sailing was good, averaging around 4 to 5 knots. That can seem fairly quick when your sitting in the bottom of a small sailboat, your head about a foot and a half above the water. I wasn't in any hurry. I figured to spend about one hour out and one back, describing a long figure 8. The WNW wind was real helpful as the main course was South and then back to the North. I'm getting better at this. No uncontrolled jibes, no scrambles for balance, little loss of speed in the tacks.

Back at the Island and once again chased off the birds. Not on purpose. Took down the sail and mast, stowed it all away and started the mile row back to the marina. Once I was past the shoals a pair of dolphin came up on my starboard side and then at oar length, escorted me back to the marina. Maybe they thought I was going to feed them or something. No matter the reason, it was way cool in ways I'm still buzzing with. That's what it's about in some ways for me.

I like to participate with nature and always will, given the chance. The thrill of being near a wild animal of that size in it's own living room was well worth the work and sometimes inconvenience, to just enjoy the moment

_________________________________________

This will be the place I put my daily (or not so daily) impressions, observations, situations and the occasional ramble. All and any are welcome to comment and join in. Any creative writing will be found at my google home page, garybushproject. That's where I will truly ramble, spinning out yarns of absolute bunk and nonsense. Information about Avalon and myself will be found there as well.

Happy sailing.