Another beautiful day on the river -- or, more precisely, beside the river. The wind has been blowing strong for three days at least, but every time we get within view, the wind and the current on the river are going in the same direction and so, no plowed-up whitecaps, no endless foam and spindrift.
Tomorrow I meet Skip Lippincott in Cambridge, where he will do the final installation of the new dodger on Robin. It will not be an overnighter since it will be Friday.
But next week and the week after, I plan to be on board three days and to get some serious work accomplished on Robin.
At the same time, I'll be working on the youth novel, adding 1,500 words a day -- my goal -- to the 20,000 words already written. The book is about 2/3 complete. The working title is Rooster, which happens to be the name of the Westsail 32 that co-stars in the narrative.
The first draft should be done before the two weeks is over. At that point, I will do some serious rewriting, hoping to vastly improve the chances of publication.
After all, I'm unemployed and some income -- any income -- would help!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I've been deep in writing but not on the blog. This is the second attempt at a youth novel in which I try to apply the criticisms my first effort earned.
Once again, I'm going with something I know well. A grandfather invites his grandson to sail with him on his Westsail 32 on the return leg from Bermuda. Since I'm personally familiar with some of the adventures such a voyage could offer, and since I'm a grandfather eight times over, I should be able to handle the factual part. The writing? We'll see.
Once in a while, I glance out the window. Today it is partly cloudy, but the clouds are large and sooty gray and take up most of the sky as they race to the east. The sun has an easy time of it today.
The leaves on the walnut and the cherry, the black locust and the holly and the red maple are excited as a mob of twelve-year-old girls, giddy with the swaying and tossing of the individual limbs on which they ride.
Thelma and I didn't make it to the river on our first walk at 6:30. The wind in the 44-degree air drove us back. Now it's over 50 degrees, and when we get to the river bank, I expect we'll find the water stirred to a a froth.
I'm writing this now and thinking about the scene outside because, after getting through the drama yesterday of the scenes when the boat capsizes and "Grandpa" gets seriously hurt, I'm struggling with "Michael" to find a way to deal with all the carnage he and I have created.
A few minutes ago, I was reading a description of the French countryside by Jack Kerouac and I was moved and thought perhaps I could do the same for the banks of the Delaware. Something is lacking, though, so I'll just take Thelma for a walk and then get back to work.
Once again, I'm going with something I know well. A grandfather invites his grandson to sail with him on his Westsail 32 on the return leg from Bermuda. Since I'm personally familiar with some of the adventures such a voyage could offer, and since I'm a grandfather eight times over, I should be able to handle the factual part. The writing? We'll see.
Once in a while, I glance out the window. Today it is partly cloudy, but the clouds are large and sooty gray and take up most of the sky as they race to the east. The sun has an easy time of it today.
The leaves on the walnut and the cherry, the black locust and the holly and the red maple are excited as a mob of twelve-year-old girls, giddy with the swaying and tossing of the individual limbs on which they ride.
Thelma and I didn't make it to the river on our first walk at 6:30. The wind in the 44-degree air drove us back. Now it's over 50 degrees, and when we get to the river bank, I expect we'll find the water stirred to a a froth.
I'm writing this now and thinking about the scene outside because, after getting through the drama yesterday of the scenes when the boat capsizes and "Grandpa" gets seriously hurt, I'm struggling with "Michael" to find a way to deal with all the carnage he and I have created.
A few minutes ago, I was reading a description of the French countryside by Jack Kerouac and I was moved and thought perhaps I could do the same for the banks of the Delaware. Something is lacking, though, so I'll just take Thelma for a walk and then get back to work.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Yesterday, the members of the boat club set the moorings in the Delaware River -- those moorings that had not been left in the water over the winter. Our mooring for Bluebird was on the bank and ready to be launched, but at this point I don't know whether it made it.
There were some rules standing in its path.
The Red Dragon Canoe Club is an organization that relies on the labor of its members. If you have a boat, you are required to invest 10 hours a year at the club. Normally, Monica and I put in our hours cleaning up the lawn and helping out at various club social functions. There always have seemed to be enough boys eager to play on the water that my efforts can best be expended elsewhere.
Yesterday morning, I made an exception and went to the boathouse at 8:30 a.m. to be available for the mooring launch. But I already knew that Bluebird -- not yet ready herself for the water -- might have to wait a bit for a mooring.
The rules in the way were two: One, that you had to have all your club fees paid before your mushroom anchor, 75 feet of chain and a mooring ball could be hauled offshore and dropped in the current. Two, that you had to have proof of liability insurance.
We were current on our fees. I actually checked with Pat, the lady who accepts money, to make certain.
But since Wednesday, I'd been trying to locate the home owner's insurance policy that said that our boat was covered. I'd had no luck.
I found packets of papers that proved that we had home owner's insurance from 2007 until February, 2010. I couldn't find the packet that said we were covered since February, though.
More important, none of the packets actually spelled out the risks for which we were covered. They referred to the policy in general and noted any changes.
Lacking a document that proved a 19-foot, two-inch boat had liability insurance, I was pretty sure our mooring was in trouble.
I admit, we should have been on top of the issue of insurance documents. They are a pretty vital piece of one's paperwork.
The problem, as I've realized the last few hours, is that there is so much paperwork.
It is unimaginable that a postal service that delivers two catalogues from the same retailer in the same day is facing the need to cut costs. Indeed, there are some retailers that are so supportive of the United States Postal Service that they send us catalogues almost daily.
Then there are the insurance companies themselves. We certainly get more than one piece of mail daily from the medical insurance firms. Usually, they are stating they need more information before they can pay a bill. I have come to believe these pieces of mail are a way for the insurance companies to play the float. How many millions do they make investing our premiums while they delay paying legitimate bills.
Not only does all this mail seem adequate to fund the mail delivery system. Inundated with all these envelopes, we, as humble recipients, are hard pressed to keep up with it all.
And this is probably the explanation for why we can't find the insurance documents.
I called the insurance company last week and talked with three representatives, two of whom said I needed a new insurance policy for Bluebird, before one said that, indeed, our home owner's policy was adequate. They told me I could get a copy of the policy online.
But when I checked our online account, there was no home owner's document.
So tomorrow, I call the 800 number and hope to get through to someone able to send a copy of the required document.
Only then will Bluebird be set to sail.
There were some rules standing in its path.
The Red Dragon Canoe Club is an organization that relies on the labor of its members. If you have a boat, you are required to invest 10 hours a year at the club. Normally, Monica and I put in our hours cleaning up the lawn and helping out at various club social functions. There always have seemed to be enough boys eager to play on the water that my efforts can best be expended elsewhere.
Yesterday morning, I made an exception and went to the boathouse at 8:30 a.m. to be available for the mooring launch. But I already knew that Bluebird -- not yet ready herself for the water -- might have to wait a bit for a mooring.
The rules in the way were two: One, that you had to have all your club fees paid before your mushroom anchor, 75 feet of chain and a mooring ball could be hauled offshore and dropped in the current. Two, that you had to have proof of liability insurance.
We were current on our fees. I actually checked with Pat, the lady who accepts money, to make certain.
But since Wednesday, I'd been trying to locate the home owner's insurance policy that said that our boat was covered. I'd had no luck.
I found packets of papers that proved that we had home owner's insurance from 2007 until February, 2010. I couldn't find the packet that said we were covered since February, though.
More important, none of the packets actually spelled out the risks for which we were covered. They referred to the policy in general and noted any changes.
Lacking a document that proved a 19-foot, two-inch boat had liability insurance, I was pretty sure our mooring was in trouble.
I admit, we should have been on top of the issue of insurance documents. They are a pretty vital piece of one's paperwork.
The problem, as I've realized the last few hours, is that there is so much paperwork.
It is unimaginable that a postal service that delivers two catalogues from the same retailer in the same day is facing the need to cut costs. Indeed, there are some retailers that are so supportive of the United States Postal Service that they send us catalogues almost daily.
Then there are the insurance companies themselves. We certainly get more than one piece of mail daily from the medical insurance firms. Usually, they are stating they need more information before they can pay a bill. I have come to believe these pieces of mail are a way for the insurance companies to play the float. How many millions do they make investing our premiums while they delay paying legitimate bills.
Not only does all this mail seem adequate to fund the mail delivery system. Inundated with all these envelopes, we, as humble recipients, are hard pressed to keep up with it all.
And this is probably the explanation for why we can't find the insurance documents.
I called the insurance company last week and talked with three representatives, two of whom said I needed a new insurance policy for Bluebird, before one said that, indeed, our home owner's policy was adequate. They told me I could get a copy of the policy online.
But when I checked our online account, there was no home owner's document.
So tomorrow, I call the 800 number and hope to get through to someone able to send a copy of the required document.
Only then will Bluebird be set to sail.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
The shoulder is yielding to therapy, so all the boating plans and dreams, now more than ever a practical possibility in the coming months, are flooding in.
A chartplotter is finally in our sights. The prices have come down enough and the need, if we are to sail along and through the coast of Maine and its fog and rocks, is imminent.
Soon, I'll be going to Robin's side (at the request of Skip Lippincott, the canvass man) to oversee the fitting of the new dodger and Robin's resurrection.
Next Tuesday -- only seven days from now -- I visit the orthopedist and hope that he approves removal of the sling. Then serious boat -- and, yes, garden -- work can begin.
For now, I'm left with pawing through the charts for the summer cruise to Maine. Having already succeeded in posting photos on this blog, I'll attempt to present the charts in question, shot at home with the digital camera.
A chartplotter is finally in our sights. The prices have come down enough and the need, if we are to sail along and through the coast of Maine and its fog and rocks, is imminent.
Soon, I'll be going to Robin's side (at the request of Skip Lippincott, the canvass man) to oversee the fitting of the new dodger and Robin's resurrection.
Next Tuesday -- only seven days from now -- I visit the orthopedist and hope that he approves removal of the sling. Then serious boat -- and, yes, garden -- work can begin.
For now, I'm left with pawing through the charts for the summer cruise to Maine. Having already succeeded in posting photos on this blog, I'll attempt to present the charts in question, shot at home with the digital camera.
The photo at the top is the overall chart that gets you from Atlantic City, NJ, to Cape Cod, MA. Atlantic city is, roughly, along the coast to the lower left side of the chart. Nantucket is the yellow island amid the swirls of blue in the upper right corner of the photo.
The second chart shows the perils of going too close to Nantucket. Notice below the blue areas -- which indicates shoal water -- the warning: "Area to be avoided."
The third chart shows the waters between Nantucket and Penobscot Bay, which appears as the largest dent in the coastline of Maine, approximately at the center of the upper end of the chart.
Our goal will be to sail from Cape May to Penobscot Bay without running aground. We're still seeking local knowledge, if anyone would be so kind.
Inasmuch as I couldn't place the photos in this blog where I wanted to, I'm seeking some local knowledge for blogspot.com, too.
Monday, March 29, 2010
I need help from anyone who has sailed east around Cape Cod. I've looked at the charts and consulted with Capt. Mr. Lou Lagace and understand the dangers in sailing outside over Nantucket Sound. On one chart, the area is clearly labeled unsuitable for passages.
There is an alternative. I could once again travel north through the Cape Cod Canal. That is the most direct route from New Jersey to Maine. No question about it.
There are two reasons not to go that way. One is traffic. Shipping out of Boston that is not headed for the Canal cuts directly across the route -- often, as I have discovered, at high speed.
The second reason is the timing of such a trip. You have to pass through the canal when the current is going in your direction -- at last in a sailboat that avarages about 6.5 knots. Otherwise, the current can push you backward.
I can deal with each of these issues. But I'd rather make a trip where no schedule is dictated, and I'd like to make a long offshore passage. By my estimate, a trip from Cape May, NJ, to Penboscot Bay would be about 500 miles.
So my question is what types of experiences sailors have had going outside. I know that there are channels through the Nantucket Shoals. The alternative seems to be to avoid the shoals altogether, sailing east and then north once the shoals have been passed.
If you've gone that way, what w0uld you recommend?
There is an alternative. I could once again travel north through the Cape Cod Canal. That is the most direct route from New Jersey to Maine. No question about it.
There are two reasons not to go that way. One is traffic. Shipping out of Boston that is not headed for the Canal cuts directly across the route -- often, as I have discovered, at high speed.
The second reason is the timing of such a trip. You have to pass through the canal when the current is going in your direction -- at last in a sailboat that avarages about 6.5 knots. Otherwise, the current can push you backward.
I can deal with each of these issues. But I'd rather make a trip where no schedule is dictated, and I'd like to make a long offshore passage. By my estimate, a trip from Cape May, NJ, to Penboscot Bay would be about 500 miles.
So my question is what types of experiences sailors have had going outside. I know that there are channels through the Nantucket Shoals. The alternative seems to be to avoid the shoals altogether, sailing east and then north once the shoals have been passed.
If you've gone that way, what w0uld you recommend?
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Just got back from Hawaii. Went sailing there. Capt. Dan's boat, a 1980 Hunter 33. It wasn't exactly Gilligan's cruise. No, this was a four-hour cruise out of Hilo to mingle with the humback whales.
I was visiting daughter Nancy and her family, and I brought her husband, River, and their oldest son, Kua for the adventure. It had been raining since I arrived on Tuesday, March 16, when, on Sunday, we followed Dan's directions and drove down the street behind the Nissan dealer. There were no signs. Nancy had thought Dan said to turn in the driveway with the blue and white lion. We didn't see such an animal. Then we realized he was talking about a blue and white polypropylene "line" hanging from a post.
It was a short distance from the line to the water, where Dan's skiff was hauled up between te lava boulders at low tide. The lava was shiny black in the mist and drizzle.
A lengthy article in the Hilo newspaper, written by Capt. Dan's first mate, had lured us here. It explained a little about Dan's cruising business. When we called, Dan didn't exactly flesh out the picture of either his operation or what we could expect. Communications is not high on his resume, apparently.
Dan loaded us into the dinghy and walked it out past the nearest boulders, through which the tide was sluicing, and then rowed us to his yact.
The closer we got, the less yacht-like it appeared. There was an absence of either paint or varnish on the woodwork. Indeed, the boat appeared to be well-used, to be polite.
But Dan was talkative and friendly, and with the Yanmar diesel thumping away, we motored along the lengthy seawall built to protect Hilo from tsunamis, two of which in 1946 and 1960 killed scores of residents.
Rounding the seawall's tip, we encountered good long swells eight to ten feet high but little wind. Quickly, though, we saw whales a mile ahead, breeching.
We motorsailed out to sea, rising over the swells. Kua, who is 10 and enthusiastic, steered for a while and River did as well. I, with my one good hand, was busy hanging on as the boat rocked.
In short order, we were near several humpbacks. Several had calves by their sides as they arched up toward the surface, their breath gusting out of their blow holes. Snorting out.
Then the mist intensified, and while Capt. Dan offered us the use of two foul weather jackets, none of us used them -- probably because we already were soggy.
The wind came only once we had retreated back behind the seawall. River handled the helm on two long tacks. and Kua manned the fishing rod that the captain had provided and with which Kua had been trolling most of the afternoon.
In the end, I think both Kua and River were pleased with the experience. Kua said he wanted to bring all his friends back
Looking around the boat, I wasn't certain that I'd want to recommend the experience to others, however. Perhaps I'm a bit of a snob. I didn't like the captain's insistance that every0ne remove their shoes onboard. On Robin, we require people to keep their shoes on to avoid to-jamming injuuries that could cause crew to lurch overboard. And it took him until we were half way out along the seawall to mention things like life vests. And he assured me that there was a vhf radio on board, but in truth I never saw it.
Still, I can now say I have sailed in the Pacific -- if I really must.
I was visiting daughter Nancy and her family, and I brought her husband, River, and their oldest son, Kua for the adventure. It had been raining since I arrived on Tuesday, March 16, when, on Sunday, we followed Dan's directions and drove down the street behind the Nissan dealer. There were no signs. Nancy had thought Dan said to turn in the driveway with the blue and white lion. We didn't see such an animal. Then we realized he was talking about a blue and white polypropylene "line" hanging from a post.
It was a short distance from the line to the water, where Dan's skiff was hauled up between te lava boulders at low tide. The lava was shiny black in the mist and drizzle.
A lengthy article in the Hilo newspaper, written by Capt. Dan's first mate, had lured us here. It explained a little about Dan's cruising business. When we called, Dan didn't exactly flesh out the picture of either his operation or what we could expect. Communications is not high on his resume, apparently.
Dan loaded us into the dinghy and walked it out past the nearest boulders, through which the tide was sluicing, and then rowed us to his yact.
The closer we got, the less yacht-like it appeared. There was an absence of either paint or varnish on the woodwork. Indeed, the boat appeared to be well-used, to be polite.
But Dan was talkative and friendly, and with the Yanmar diesel thumping away, we motored along the lengthy seawall built to protect Hilo from tsunamis, two of which in 1946 and 1960 killed scores of residents.
Rounding the seawall's tip, we encountered good long swells eight to ten feet high but little wind. Quickly, though, we saw whales a mile ahead, breeching.
We motorsailed out to sea, rising over the swells. Kua, who is 10 and enthusiastic, steered for a while and River did as well. I, with my one good hand, was busy hanging on as the boat rocked.
In short order, we were near several humpbacks. Several had calves by their sides as they arched up toward the surface, their breath gusting out of their blow holes. Snorting out.
Then the mist intensified, and while Capt. Dan offered us the use of two foul weather jackets, none of us used them -- probably because we already were soggy.
The wind came only once we had retreated back behind the seawall. River handled the helm on two long tacks. and Kua manned the fishing rod that the captain had provided and with which Kua had been trolling most of the afternoon.
In the end, I think both Kua and River were pleased with the experience. Kua said he wanted to bring all his friends back
Looking around the boat, I wasn't certain that I'd want to recommend the experience to others, however. Perhaps I'm a bit of a snob. I didn't like the captain's insistance that every0ne remove their shoes onboard. On Robin, we require people to keep their shoes on to avoid to-jamming injuuries that could cause crew to lurch overboard. And it took him until we were half way out along the seawall to mention things like life vests. And he assured me that there was a vhf radio on board, but in truth I never saw it.
Still, I can now say I have sailed in the Pacific -- if I really must.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Robin is a lady in seeerious need of some loving. Wrapped in her tattered brown plastic tarps on a grim noon in late winter, she cries out for tenderness. Today, I removed her dodger frame and delivered it to Skip, the canvass man.
At the same time, I fetched some charts to study for the summer trip to Maine. I took two musty and damp cushions from the V-berth. And I removed a quart of red bottom paint for the Mariner's centerboard.
By the way, we think the Mariner's name will be Bluebird, to carry on the theme of local bird names. She has a blue cabin trunk, which is our excuse for the name.
In the slip behind Robin and looking much more perky is Fran and John Morrison's boat, Chautauqua, a 32-foot Allied Seawind II which they have sailed twice to the Bahamas.
Robin would like to go along next time!!!
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