Running Woodchuck

As was I, he was speeding, he as if his life depended on it, I knowing
that the life I wanted depended on it.
I could have outrun him, could have, had I wished,
ended his plump, brown existence.
He may not have known that, only sensed that
this gaunt figure approaching on the macadam
could do him no good and maybe harm
and it wasn't worth debating. Just get the hell
across the lawn and under the nearby front porch.
Built low to the ground, he extended his form, his black nose
stretching, impossibly elastic, his front paws extended, rear up in the air,
belly just above the mown green blades,
frozen in space the instant I saw him
and then, in the shadows, he disappeared, not this time extinguished,
and my pace unbroken I ran on, breathing in on four strides, out on two,
my own gaunt pursuer days, months, years ahead and I running toward,
not away.

Yesterday, three newspapers -- the Providence Journal, New London Day and Richmond Times-Dispatch -- ran reviews and/ or stories about Rescue of the Bounty, all completely favorable. One could easily get puffed up by that much attention, if one were not already a fine example of puffed-uppery. Bringing me back to earth is the rejection I got Friday from the Washington Post Style Section, where the editor, Eva Rodriguez, was initially enthusiastic but, in the end, had to say that the "resources" were not available at that lofty citadel of strong journalism to do the story I had suggested. The Post non-fiction book review editor had already said thanks but no thanks. So we push on, seeking the key to open the main gate of best-sellerdom.

The New York Post ran an "adaptation" , which was a summary of Rescue of the Bounty, this past sunday. You can read it here http://nypost.com/2014/03/29/the-tragic-rescue-of-a-movie-ship-caught-in-hurricane-sandy/.

In those last days, when the lump of plaque, dislodged from elsewhere, has snagged the inside of the carotid, leaving me with but infrequent bursts of lucidity, I would arrange now if I could to have this memory rise from time to time. There is much connected to it. Monica and I had, a week or so before, successfully completed the race back from Bermuda to Newport, RI. It was a fantastic voyage, with everything we could have wanted -- dead calms, rough storms, incredible sunsets and sunrises. She had to return to her desk, her job. But my job was aboard Robin, and so I headed for Maine for two weeks. The day before I would point Robin down Penobscot Bay, I sailed from Castine on a westerly course to Belfast. At first, there was no wind. Then I passed north of Islesboro and a whisper of air began playing with the raised mainsail. In a short time, Robin was sailing on a beam reach, her autopilot steering, her rig perfectly balanced. I was a passenger, bathing in the afternoon sun. Breathing was shallow, delicious draughts of air, flavored by the saltwater, tucked into my nostrils and, held but a moment, expelled for yet another greedy sampling. Robin's pulse was slow, her motion on the small waves reported in delicate splashing about the bow. It lasted about an hour, probably more than enough to bring a smile to my face in that fog to come.

The following is the review of Rescue of the Bounty published by Booklist, the magazine of the American Librray Association. We re pleased. When a coast guard C-130 and its crew members set out over the Atlantic into “Frankenstorm” Sandy in a nighttime sea rescue, they came upon a startling sight, “a big pirate ship in the middle of a hurricane.” Built in 1960 for the film Mutiny on the Bounty, the aging tall ship had been featured in two Pirates of the Caribbean movies and was now attempting to make its way down the coast from Connecticut to winter dockage in Florida. In the raging waves and wind, the Bounty began to fail, and despite the efforts of its seaworthy but sparse crew of 16 women and men, it was sinking. Coauthors Tougias (Overboard!, 2010) and Campbell superbly re-create the disastrous voyage, providing just the right amount of detail to bring every character involved in this dramatic tale to life, from Bounty captain Robin Walbridge and his shipmates to the brave coast guard rescue swimmers. A thrilling and perfectly paced book, Rescue of the Bounty is filled with good intentions but bad decisions, tall-ship history and current usage, and the roar and taste of the storm-whipped ocean. — Eloise Kinney

Sailing Scuttlebutt, a daily blog for sailors with 11,000 viewers, has taken note of Rescue of the Bounty, reprinting the Kirkus review. We're hoping Sailing Anarchy, which caters to hard-core sailors like the Bermuda 1-2 racers, will do the same.

At this late point in life, I still have a lot to learn. Fortunately, I have wandered into a realm where many lessons are offered. In November, I was asked if I wanted to be commodore of our little boat club, the Red Dragon Canoe Club. Since the alternative was to keep being the club's secretary, which demanded that I keep notes of the organization's meetings and make them available to the members, and since I really didn't want to continue my three-year occupation of that post, I accepted the offer. The club is in the midst of attempting to find its way forward, a task that involves a choice of keeping and restoring our historic clubhouse -- a post-Civil-War mansion that is in disrepair -- or abandoning it one way or another. There are 90 memberships in the club. A membership can be held by an individual or a family. There are probably more than 90 opinions as to the path we should take. I had heard of "cat herding" before I took office in January. Now I truly know what that means. Since there is no right or wrong answer to the problem -- only strongly-held views -- it is more than difficult to do a fair job of leading the club members. Added to this overriding concern, the harsh winter has brought its own problems: A downed power line that hasn't been fully repaired, leaking toilets that have tripled our water bill and the desires of separate members to do this or that with the club property. I'm not certain that I am, at this point, learning. Tomorrow night we have a monthly meeting of the members, and that will amount to the first true exam. I'm spending today cramming for it.

The big news for our book, Rescue of the Bounty (available April 1) is that the first review is in, and it is a good one. You can read it below. "KIRKUS REVIEWS In October 2012, out of New London, Conn., bound for St. Petersburg, Fla., a single tall ship sailed into the path of “the largest storm in geographic spread ever forecast.” “Well…it looks like a big pirate ship in the middle of a hurricane.” The Coast Guard pilot looking down on a churning sea and the embattled Bounty could be forgiven for thinking the scene something out of a movie set. After all, the ship sinking 90 miles off Cape Hatteras was an expanded replica of the famous three-master constructed for Mutiny on the Bounty, and it had been featured more recently in two of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. Tougias (A Storm Too Soon: A True Story of Disaster, Survival and an Incredible Rescue, 2013, etc.) and Campbell (Eight Survived: The Harrowing Story of the USS Flier and the Only Downed World War II Submariners to Survive and Evade Capture, 2010, etc.) review the ship’s 50-year history, sketch the backgrounds of the sailors aboard and offer an excruciating moment-by-moment look of the four-day voyage that killed one crew member and the captain. Relying primarily on sworn testimony from the Coast Guard’s formal investigation, the authors identify a number of factors that contributed to the disaster: a rotting hull, seams improperly caulked, inadequate bilge pumps, a largely inexperienced crew and the lack of any professional weather router. Culpability, however, rested finally with Capt. Robin Walbridge and his reckless decision to set sail: “The boat’s safer being out at sea than being buckled up at a dock somewhere.” Notwithstanding this huge miscalculation, the authors offer a surprisingly sympathetic portrait of the captain, crediting his compassionate manner and the respect and loyalty he inspired. Finally, they devote a thrilling portion of their narrative to the courageous Coast Guard rescue and the almost incredible efforts of the pilots, hoist crews and swimmers who headed straight into Hurricane Sandy. A taut recounting of a needless maritime tragedy. https://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/michael-j-tougias/rescue-of-the-bounty/ "

I pretty much walked away from this blog 14 months ago when I got the opportunity to co-author a book, the topic of which was within my interests. That book is now being printed and shipped to distributors and so I thought I'd return to the blog to see if anyone's home. Right now, Zippy, our 9-year-old black cat, is on the desktop in the loft, and when I try to use the mouse (he doesn't recognize it for its namesake, thank goodness,) he licks my hand. The girls -- Lexi and Samantha -- are down in the living room, lying on the couch, the first real estate they seized 20 minutes after they first entered this house two years ago. The cat and the dogs don't socialize unless I invite them to have play time. Samantha thinks Zippy would make a good lunch, although Lexi wiggles a friendly wiggle when she gets close to him. Outside, there are still significant traces of the most recent snow storm. In the 44 years I've lived here in New Jersey, the ground has never been so white. It's odd that global warming would in fact give us record snow cover -- odd, but pretty. The Christmas wreath with its red bow tie is still up on the Paladian window on the street end of the house. It's too cold today to take it down, and most days I don't notice it up there. Too cold to give the girls their aftrnoon walk, too. Well, it's not really that cold -- I think they said the high would be 21. But the wind was blowing the last time I was out and I'm using that as an excuse to vegitate a bit more. Zippy's vegitation -- we've kept him inside more days than not -- is costing him his once-sveldt figure. I just had trouble lifting him to my lap, and he probably couldn't escape Samantha's snapping jaws should, in a careless moment, I leave down the gate at the bottom of the stairs. The book project was energizing while it lasted. The first draft was done by the end of May. The publisher, Scribner, had set publication for April 1 at the beginning, and the fact that we were quick changed nothing. Working with co-author Mike Tougias was a pleasant experience. We agreed that I'd write the first part of the book and he the second. This division of labor kept us out of each other's hair and I suspect that if you didn't know there were two authors, you'd never guess it. Now I'm trying to organize myself for what comes next. I have writing projects in mind, and I still haven't rewired poor Robin, whom I abandoned in November and will only revisit once the ice melts.