Rockhall Halloween

WARNING : this post contains graphic images that may be offensive to some readers. If you can't stand the site of blood on a non-human object, please do not continue to scroll down past the text.

Rock Hall Halloween

First, let me tell you that I am perfectly fine. I thought I'd tell you that up front, so you won't be tempted to flip out your phone half way through my story to call to see if I'm OK.
Prolog:
I bought the sailing vessel Flyer,  a Nordic 34, last Spring and spent the season bonding with her and a rather recalcitrant Westerbeke. Ultimately I established that I was NOT a marine engine mechanic/electrician, evidenced by the fact that my engine would not start despite lavish use of my ratchet set and multimeter. So, I called my friend Tad, who came by and showed me how to fire up the glow plugs by by-passing the solenoid with a bit of wire and a couple of alligator clips. Confident that I could get underway, I invited my friend Stefi to sail with me the following weekend.
The story:
It was a bright and small craft advisory Saturday. Stefi had to pass on the sailing trip. She was too sick, and duly noted that it was just too cold out there to anchor out without any heat. I, on the other hand, am smitten enough with sailing to put up with a bit of discomfort. Plus, it was near the end of the season and I had serious doubts about having another chance to get out overnight.
It was already 13:00 hrs. when I arrived at my boat in Back Creek. I figured that I'd sail around a bit and  then drop anchor somewhere nearby and just relax for a change. But my slip-neighbor Dave put it into my head that I could be in Rock Hall in time for dinner. Who was I to argue?
The wind was just abaft the beam at just under 20 knots. I had one reef in the main and four layers worth of fleece, wool, gortex,  and inflatable vinyl. It was some kind of ride! My face began to hurt, not from the wind and cold, but from a prolonged grin. When I turned up into the Chester River, I had to head more to windward, and both the true and apparent wind speeds picked up. So I put another reef in the main and continued on my way. I draw 6'2”, so there'd be no cutting across the bar at Rock Hall. About 20 minutes from the harbor, I started the engine without help from my alligator friends, rolled up the jib, and turned into the wind to get the main down.
Now it was pretty rough. The wind speed was a steady 23 knots and the seas were steep and short in the shallow water. I went to the mast to  lower the main, but the halyard clutch at the cockpit chose that very moment to go on strike. The sail now could do nothing but flog itself to death, and in doing so, snapped a number of slides. Evidently one of those slides still clinging to the sail, or perhaps the head board itself, hit me in the head. That hurt like a moth...I mean, it really hurt a lot!  With choice words spewing from what had been that remarkable grin,  I went aft to negotiate with the clutch over the halyard issue.
That's when I first noticed the big drops of blood splattering on the coach roof. Hmmm...that's odd. It hurt, but I didn't know it was that bad.  I had left a trail of blood from the mast to the cockpit and back again to pull the sail down. And of course I had to hug the sail around the boom to tame it well enough to get a couple of sail ties around it, so the sail was smeared with blood too.  Had Jackson Pollack been on board, we could have made millions from reprints.  (Yeah, I'm Jackson's sister by another mister).
While heading for the harbor, I hailed for any vessel in Rock Hall harbor for assistance. I was perfectly fine but didn't want to leave Flyer defenseless against the perils of the break wall should I pass out. Plus, getting the anchor down at that point seemed like risky business! Getting no reply, I hailed the Coast Guard, and despite a clear signal, the officer asked for my cell phone number (question number 50 of 1 billion, as will become evident).  I had my hands full with all the electronics; and yes, there was blood on them. (Cue spooky music.)
The officer asked a billion questions. Once he was satisfied that he'd covered all bases, and had duly noted my favorite color, he asked for my GPS coordinates. How exact do you have to be when you radio your position as just 25 yards outside the break wall at Rock Hall harbor?  Finally he told me that he'd send someone out. Now there was blood on my hands, the VHF radio, iPhone, and GPS. The electronics were but innocent bystanders.
Captain Mark,  of Blue Crab Chesapeake Charters, heard from Chris at Rock Hall Landing marina, that there was an injured person on the way in and jumped in his dinghy to rescue me. It was too rough for him to climb on board, so he followed behind me into the harbor. Once behind the break wall, he climbed aboard, took the helm, and docked Flyer at the nearest marina, which just happened to be Rock Hall Landing.
There were EMT and DNR vehicles at the ready, with requisite flashing lights and curious bystanders who looked mortified at the sight of me. Once inside the ambulance, the EMT team scouted through my matted hair to find the source of the bleeding, then bandaged my head with about a cotton-crop's-worth of gauze. They started a drip, asked a trillion questions (slightly more than the Coast Guard had, minus the request for coordinates), and took me to the  Chester River Hospital Center in Chestertown.
I was received by a fairy,  a devil,  and Peter Pan. Each commended me for the first-rate job I'd done with the fake blood.  My degree in verisimilitude finally paid off.  Still I felt obliged to point out to them that it wasn't fake. That's when Peter Pan flew to my cart and wheeled me in to an exam room. The doctor on call snipped off a bit of hair around the wound, prepared his stapler, then decided to hand-sew it instead. The stitches added a bit of clout to my inadvertent costume.  And just to add a bit more Frankenstein-esqueness, they attached some electrodes and  put my head through a CT scanner. ("It's alive...it's alive...it's ALIVE!")
Peter Pan returned to tell me that results were negative and that I could return home. She advised asking someone at home to wash my hair carefully in luke warm water.  "Umm...", I replied, "I'm on a boat by myself and have no hot water." "Oh!", said Peter Pan, "then I guess I can wash it for you." And she did. But she declined without hesitation when I asked her nicely if she'd mind blowing it dry and styling it a bit.  I could here the nurses giggling in the hallway when she recounted my request.
Corey, the DNR officer in charge of my "case" (who, buy the way, asked a mere thousand questions) stayed with me all the while and even drove me back to the boat. He needed my documentation number and insurance information anyway. I don't know how I would have gotten home otherwise. He did let me know that Flyer looked like a murder scene.  I felt so badly for my boat. Some well-intentioned person had tied her to the dock with the jib sheet, and I had visions of the jib unfurling and carrying me back to Kansas.  A few more lines and fenders later,  all was well with the world again. Then I slept (ha--that's a stretch of the imagination!).
As I surveyed the damage the next day, Capt. Mark and Chris and several hands came to see how I faired. Yep, felt just like Dorothy. Capt. Mark stayed to help me fake the main and see me off. Trouble was, the engine wouldn't start. I succumbed at last to the alligator method, bade farewell to those who had helped me, and headed out for the return trip home. There was still 20 some odd knots of wind. I still had a jib, and an engine that I figured I could keep going so long as I started it now and then along the way to keep it warm.
I must say that the return sail was almost awesome. It would have been totally awesome had the wind been a little further aft.  I had started the engine once or twice  before, and again as I approached the Bay bridge. I was in the home stretch then. All that was left to do was start the engine, furl the jib, and head for home. Except, the engine wouldn't start. The alligator method failed, and Flyer tried to head out to sea every time I went below to spend quality time with the Westerbeke.  When finally my arms ached from short-tacking and my head ached from the blood that rushed to my head each time I hung it over the engine, I took up the bloody VHF and hailed for a tow.  Flyer arrived in her slip with her tail between her legs. I didn't look much better.
Epilog:
The doctor who had stitched me up had sent me on my way with instructions to see my primary care physician for a follow-up, and to have my stitches removed in about a week. That seemed like way too much trouble. I could almost pull them out myself. And I absolutely hate doctor "visits". So, the following week, as I lay on the exam table for my annual GYN once-over,  I asked my gynecologist if she'd take a look at the other end of me for a change. She happily removed the stitches.  No tricks for the treatment necessary.

_____________________________________________________________

Note the broken sail slide. I think that this is what hit me.

Most of it washed out with professional cleaning (twice)

Need to Round Cape May in an Impenetrable Fog? There's an APP for That !

Friday, May 21 was hectic at best--more fixing, more rearranging of sails, bags, and supplies. Later in the afternoon, Yanik, our designated navigator, called to tell me that he needed to bail out. Said something about a job that required him to be in town on Monday. I'd been counting on him to navigate; he had the charts in his laptop with waypoints pre-plotted. But he figured Sweeney could fill in for him and that we had paper charts on board. What I didn't have was the safety factor--back-up GPS systems, and the short-cut route around Cape May. Not to mention that being down a crew meant that watch schedules would be more demanding.
Then came Saturday morning, and with it thick and heavy clouds. Not at all what I had expected nor what the weatherman predicted. Post arrived by 9 and together we installed the bilge pump (wired to run manually). The sky, meanwhile, tried to lighten up.
Left the dock at 11:00 and headed down the Barrington River, being ever so careful to avoid the ledge. Once on the Narrangasett Bay, we raised sail and headed down the channel toward Newport. Somewhere between the lawn chairs on Castle Hill and the Newport bridge, fog fell fast and thick, obscuring the channel markers and the creepy house on the little island. And that creepy little house was the last thing we'd see for a very long time.
Out came the tourist charts and Post's handheld GPS (a Garmin model even older than my own). Sweeney plotted waypoints and set the course to steer. We made a hard-copy backup the old-fashioned way, by writing the lat/long of each waypoint on a piece of paper, and stored the same waypoints in my Garmin for redundancy.
The fog didn't quit.

The first night at sea was plain nerve-wracking. Visibility was about 75 yards, if that, and every little glimmer on the horizon was potentially a ship's light hell-bent on bearing down on us. We had two people on watch at all times, but still, Sweeney and I were stunned when a vessel emerged out of the fog on our port bow--coming toward us. It sped passed us and then it was gone. 
Morning broke as best it could given you couldn't see the sun. There were about 4-5 hours during that second day when we could actually see a horizon. And other ships. Lots of other ships. Scary to think that they were out there the whole time, but we just couldn't see them. But we were sailing! We got a solid 11 hours of pure sailing without the engine running. (Good thing, too, because Post twice had to fill the fuel tank from the jugs of diesel we had on board.).
But by dusk the fog lowered the lights and dimmed our view. There was the odd glimpse of a moon and hints of phosphorescence in the wake. We were tired, having stood four-hour watches with two hours off in between to catch whatever sleep we could.


We motor-sailed with jib furled to give us a full view of whatever there was lurking out there. By 1 AM we should have been seeing navigation markers at the entrance to the shipping channel around Cape May. (By the way, did I mention that my GPS broke during the day when it fell out of its pocket on the binnacle? You can't have too much redundancy!) But we saw nothing. No lights, no Cape. And we were missing the little edge of the charts that would have contained all the nav aids we needed. So yeah, we were lost. Kind of. That is, we knew where we were in terms of lat/long because Post's GPS told us. What it couldn't tell us was where we were supposed to go from here. Or how to get there. Need to round Cape May in an impenetrable fog when you've missed your turn into Delaware Bay? Well, there's an app for that! I powered up my iPhone and launched the Navionics chart plotter/GPS app I'd downloaded to my iPhone for the very-worthy price of $9.95. Within seconds it located Flyer on a color chart that contained all the detail for all the nav aids in the channel. Plus, we could move a little purple dot to any position and we'd get bearing and distance to the target. We held our breaths while hunting for the flashing yellow light that marked the entrance of the channel. And it was right where it was supposed to be!
The fog was so thick that we couldn't see it till we were practically on top of it, but it gave us the confidence to continue up the channel into Delaware Bay.

The fog lifted as the sun fought its way up and over the horizon. Our spirits lifted too--we were SAILING!

From there it was easy to follow the channel to the mouth of the C&D canal, though we had the iPhone at hand the entire way. Mid way down the canal you come to a point where you are no longer returning from sea (leaving red markers to starboard), but are leaving the Chesapeake (leaving the red markers to port). A bit confusing, even when you're not sleep-deprived. Luckily there's fair warning (sort of)--marked by several red and several green markers in a row.

 It rained as we entered the Chesapeake. The Johns handled it admirably while I was curled up in the quarter berth. Little by little the fog lifted and we saw very welcome rays of light. Just too bad that dusk was lurking around the corner.
Arrived in my slip in Easport about 8:45 PM,  57.5 hours after leaving the dock at Stanley's Yacht Yard.
The twin Johns, in matching white long-sleeved shirts, shorts, and boots, shared their thoughts about the relative merits of  Musto's off-shore jackets and continued for a long while with other such sartorial sea-speak. That was, of course, between glasses of well-deserved Dark and Stormies and other rum concoctions. There's no telling when we actually went to sleep that night, but I can say for certain that morning came too soon.

Thank you crew. Thank you Apple.

The Boat is Afloat

The folks at Stanley's yard splashed Flyer (again) yesterday, and so far she is--reportedly--not taking on any water. The last time they fixed the keel they also said that it was not taking on water, so I asked John Post to go over and check it out before I board my plane for Providence tomorrow morning.
The one good thing about the delay is that Sweeney has recuperated and is able to join us for the voyage south. I'm still hoping for a Saturday departure.
There is now another name in contention: Palimpsest. 

Rocky Horror Picture Show (Without the horrifying bits) - The Debut

Another fitful night, but no new names to report. That rock thing still has my nickers in a knot.
Spoke to Sue at Stanley's Yard yesterday. She couldn't say for sure if the boat was in the water but said that either she or Steve would call me back. But they haven't. I'm trying to not take it personally. I'm booked on Southwest Air for this coming Thursday (5/20), and it would be really neat if we could actually depart on the 22nd.

Now, sit back and enjoy the show (but feel free to do the time warp--again--as you do so)

Flyer in Stanley's Yacht Yard, Barrington RI: Our first on-the-water encounter.

Given no boom, it appears that she sails well with just the back stay adjusters.

Main salon.  Check out those chain plates. And that's a newly-painted mast.

Double stainless steel sinks with a view of the nav table.

The head. Right where I'd put it. And look...there's a pot to pee in too!

Electric panel. Note that the Radar switch actually runs the Refrigerator.

And that would be the inverter control panel. 

V-berth with Tina's new custom cushion covers. There are two hanging lockers in there.

Cockpit is a bit small, but very nicely "decked out"

Rock Bottom Post Part 'em Depression Naming Rights

It's almost 3:00AM and my jaw hurts from grinding my teeth. Can't sleep 'cause I'm worried about my baby. (Enter twang of country music in the background.) Either that, or I didn't have enough to eat for dinner, which sometimes causes the same symptoms. In either case I've been unable to think of much else besides getting the boat fixed and underway post-parting of the keel and parting the boat from Post.
Unconfirmed reports claim that the keel has been rebedded and the seam is soon to be glassed.
BoatUS sent a surveyor up to inspect the damage. He reported that there are "three areas that indicated possible damages that should be further checked out by sanding and grinding (if necessary), etc....
· One area located approx. 6” port side with the second area located approx. 6” starboard side of the vessels centerline. These areas are located near the after end of the sump.
· The third area is located along the radiussed corner in the sump (where the sump turns from vertical to the horizontal along the bottom) about midway between the leading and trailing edge."
The yard has been advised.
Meanwhile the pursuit of a name continues. The list of candidates fall into the following themes:
· Tattoo You blog post theme, brought to you by John Post and the Rolling Stones: Bigger Bang, Hot Rocks, Black and Blue, Emotional Rescue, Aftermath, and of course, Get Your Ya Ya's Out!
· The aftermath of my encounter with the Edson steering wheel nut: Edson, Shiner, and, as sister Elle suggested, Bruiser
· The grounding, brought to you by Jeff Munson: Dr. Shoals, Soundings, or "The Navigator was relieved for Cause" (which, he adds "might be too long to fit on the stern")
· This morning's musings: Shalemate, Post-Part'em, Rock Bottom.

But my latest candidate, which has floated to the top of the list, is Touchstone.

The next opportunity to herd all the Johns together for the delivery is the weekend of May 22nd. I'll go up a couple days earlier to ensure that the boat is sea-worthy, install the fresh water pump (with its new upper housing/switch bits), bilge pump and float switch, and various switches and circuit breakers on the electric panel. Then there's provisioning, filling of fuel jugs, etc. etc.
Right now I'm thinking that I should find something to eat so that I can go back to sleep.
Good night moon.

About to Keel Over

Steve Trehue called with an update: he hauled the boat, loosened the keel bolts, packed them in 5200 and float-tested the boat again. That seemed to take care of the forward bolt leaks, but only served to send the leak to the aft keel bolts. Remember, you can neither create nor destroy matter. However, it is a good idea to try to keep liquid matter from weeping up through keel bolts.

He suggested that we haul again and this time drop the keel to find the source of the problem. He also suggested that I file an insurance claim. I'm going to send him a suggestion box for his birthday.

It may take the rest of the week to complete the job and test the new repair. He hopes to have me in the water by the weekend and will keep me posted along the way.

I'd keel over for sure at this point if not for the fact that Flyer is such an awesome boat. (Can't wait till you get to sail her!)

On the Hard. On the Mend? Hard to Say.

Just spoke to Steve Trehue. He is certain that the structural integrity of the boat is solid and that the problem is "a nuisance problem." He doesn't think that any damage was caused to the bolts at all. The plan now is to haul and seal the bolts with 5200. Then he'll do a water test and go from there.

He promised to call with an update later this afternoon. To make me feel better, he did tell me that the weather is not favorable for the next 36 hours up there. Um...not sure that helped much!

That Sinking Feeling

Generally speaking, it's best to keep the water you float in outside the boat. So when I went back to RI to sail Flyer down to Annapolis, I was a bit disconcerted to find a half inch of water in the bilge. I sponged out the bilge till there was absolutely nothing but fiberglass, wires, and shiny keel bolts. In the morning I was half way through my shower on shore (generally speaking, it's best to keep the water you shower in inside the shower stall) when I remembered the bilge. I almost called Yanik, who was making coffee as I left for my shower, to check the bilge, but I held out till my return.

Then I checked the bilge. The boat was not sinking, but my heart was. There was a half inch of water in the bilge. Despite the dread, I dipped a finger in the water and did the telling taste test. It was salty. I coerced Yanik into confirming my diagnosis.

After coffee and a breakfast bar I went up to the yard to consult with Steve Trehue (the yard owner). He assured me that there could be no leak along the keel seam because they ground down around the seam and sealed it with fiberglass and epoxy. He suggested that it may be residual and/or rain water, and that I should dry it out completely (again) and monitor it.

Meanwhile, we readied the boat for sea. Yanik checked electric systems and established navigation systems, fixed the fresh water pump, and did a billion other things (not the least of which was discovering that the burners on the stove worked and did not require new thermocouples). John Post came by just in time to help to send me to the top of the mast (again) to right the wind anemometer cup & vane direction sensor that for some reason had been attached upside-down. While up there, I fixed the anchor light just by cleaning the rust off the contacts. Not that we'd be anchoring at sea, mind you, but it seemed the right thing to do given I was already dangling in my harness.

What goes up must come down. Following my descent from the mast head, I stuck my head in the bilge and once again found water. Did the taste test again. Sure enough, it was salty. I made the difficult trip up to the yard to talk it over with Steve. He couldn't believe that there could be a leak but sent Phil (the repairman) to try to find the source. Before long he determined that water was coming in through the keel bolts. Not only that, but to test the nature of the leak, they'd have to haul the boat and drop the keel.  I consulted with Steve yet again, who thought he could have us on the hard, repaired, and ready to go on Tuesday.

Meanwhile Sweeney had stopped by for a visit. Still suffering from diverticulitis, he was not able to sail down to Annapolis with us. Worse (for him, I think), he was unable to help me drown my sorrows in drink after the two Johns and I conferred and decided to scrap the delivery. Yanik couldn't afford to waste time hanging around for repairs, the nature of which was still speculative. One more trip to the yard to confirm things with Steve, but by then the yard had closed for the weekend.

Tattoo You: The Maiden Voyage

Turns out that the wheel nut on an Edson steering wheel sits pubic-bone-high off the cockpit floor. Not five minutes into the maiden voyage, I struck a shale ledge that stopped us short and threw me forward. Now I have "EDSON" etched in my bone (see schematic below), on an ever-changing background of hues of black, green, and blue.

About that ledge...
There we--John (Jack the Knife) Post, John (Sweeney) Sweeney, Tina (Tina) Chase, and I (mud)  were on the maiden voyage. John maneuvered us out of the slip, then handed me the helm. Not having looked at a chart, I asked for navigational instructions, as in "can I go there?". Hearing an affirmative, I continued on my merry (actually, joyous) way, till, not a moment later, we stopped very suddenly. Big thud. Not like the thud you hear on the Chesapeake Bay when you ground out in mud, and not like a breaking-up sort of thud when you hit a rock (which I've never done, so I don't actually know what that thud sounds like), but more like a thud you might hear if you hit a stump (or a whale).
There was no sound of water charging in to take the cabin, and the engine was still alive, so we motored out to more open water where the wind rose from about 8 to 15 knots, and Flyer rose to the occasion. My smile was ungovernable; I had no control of it. Flyer sailed beautifully on all points of sail. I thought to myself, "what a good idea it is to own such an awesome boat"...till I discovered we were taking on water VERY slowly. I kept a log of the water depth in the bilge all night. I figured about a half inch every 4 hours or so.
In the morning I bit the bullet and had the boat hauled for inspection. Remember that ungovernable smile? Well you can kiss that good-buy. The bottom of the keel suffered only cosmetic damage, but water was draining from the keel seam at the forward end, and the hull showed signs of bowing at the aft end of the keel. Everyone at Stanley's Boat Yard was extremely sympathetic. They told me flat out that the Barrington Yacht Club was supposed to have planted their marker, which, by the way, says "LEDGE" on it, on the very spot I hit. Evidently the yacht club missed their April 1 due date.
Now I'm waiting for the hull to dry so that the guys in the yard can grind back the keel and hull and figure out what's what. Evidently the damage is not as bad as was first thought thanks to the quality of the build. Never-the-less, I've been nauseous ever since seeing Flyer back on the hard.
More to precede, and more to follow...

Here I Go Again (with any luck)

It's been a long while since I've had any adventures worth writing about, but with any luck that's about to change. I am heading off to sea on Halloween(October 31) for a sail to the Virgin Islands by way of Bermuda (though tropical depression Noelle thinks maybe not).
In any event you can catch all the news about the trip on the captain's web site at sailingallover.com. Stay tuned to this blog too. I'll provide details about this adventure later on.

"...If You Try Sometimes, You Just Might Find You Get What You Need" -- Rolling Stones

(continued from previous post) The hotel clerk arrived at 7 a.m. I was nearing the end of my minutes and wits as well. I explained the evening's drama, then had to do it all over again when the manager came in. So, out came the $4o, the unprocessed credit slip for the 2nd room, and a refund for my room that I didn't get to sleep in. Did I actually make money on that deal? Just then my phone died. I had half an hour to get to the airport. The manager said he'd keep a lookout for the taxi, then let me into my original room. I shoved everything into my duffels as best I could given the time I had, then hopped in the taxi that was already waiting for me. (I sat in front. You're meant to do that in Australia.)
The coach class queue at the Qantas desk was dismally long, so I went to the customer service desk to see about a seat in business class. Also, that line was much shorter. I started explaining the situation about having booked business with award miles when the agent looked at me like I was nuts, then asked me, "You do know that that flight has been canceled, don't you?"That would certainly explain why I'd been on hold for a half hour or more on my cell phone. As a result of the cancellation, all passengers on my flight were booked on the next flight, so there was barely a coach seat left for me, let alone one in business class. Oh, and by the way, my flight was canceled due to mechanical problems. A car hit the wing of the aircraft. I'm thinking both vehicles were on the ground at the time of impact.
Back in the coach queue I received a call from Russ. He started in telling me all about his misadventures with getting on the wrong ferry, having to back-track to the quay, and so forth. I'm afraid I won the "guess what happened last night after we left the restaurant" contest. Hands down, in fact. All that waiting in line for a boarding pass got me thinking. I figured that if I'd booked business class, they ought to allow me entry to the Qantas Lounge. So, back at the Customer Service desk, the same agent asked, "You again? What now"? Remember the bit about being at wits end? I served up my logic and won a pass to the lounge. Things were looking up. I had coffee and some sort of muffin before taking a long shower. When I emerged, I got online, replenished my phone card, downed two mimosas, and emerged from the lounge just in time to board. The best thing about being on board was not having to rush off anywhere for at least 13 hours.

Little Hotel of Horrors

After the Big Hit in Hamilton Island, I flew to Sydney and took the airport train to Central Station, where I caught another train to St. Peters Station, where I set off on foot to find the little hotel, Formule 1, that Alan had recommended that was "just a few blocks" from the train station. I kept walking and walking in what I felt should be the right direction (according to my little map). Sure enough, just as I was about to give up hope, there was the motel, sandwiched, as promised, between a McDonald's and KFC. A blind person could find this joint. Can't miss the smell of french fries and the colonel's oh-so-special secret recipe!
By the time I checked in, it was about 7 p.m. The hotel clerk gave me a key code for the key pad lock on the room, and told me to use the same code on the hotel door if I came back after 10 p.m. (after which time there would be no one on the desk). So off I went, back to the train station, to meet Russ (that's him above) for dinner in Kirribilli. We ate at an Indian restaurant and I must say that it was the best meal I'd had in 10 days. (After the bowl of frozen prawns I sent back to the kitchen on Hamilton Is., anything would have tasted great! But I digress.) A bottle of wine and a few stories later I was on the train again heading back to the hotel. I use the term hotel rather loosely. It was more like a dorm room hybridized with a port-a-pottie. (See the photo of the room and the bathroom below.) But it was all I really needed--just somewhere to shower and sleep for the last 2 nights in Sydney. I returned to my room to sleep off my goose egg.
In the morning I woke up slowly, showered, and had some muesli I'd brought along from Hamilton Is. Then I prepared for my last outing in Sydney. That included camera, sunglasses, book, maps, sweater, etc. etc. I'd be out all day and well into the evening. I did a lot: hopped on a ferry to the Maritime museum in Darling Harbor (see photo of Capt. Cook's Beagle replica below); walked to the Art Museum of NSW; walked back to the Quay via the botanical gardens (where I got a bit lost as the sun set...and the hordes of bats took to the air...and a park "ranger" told me the park closed at dark, but didn't offer to guide me to the gate!); walked to the Rocks and found a good ole pub where I had a pint and waited for Russ to join me for dinner on my last night in Sydney. We ate some sort of hybrid middle-eastern and Italian meal--a pizza with cous-cous and lamb? Anyway, the beer was good! And I was very happy to have company.
Russ had to rise early for a tennis match. I had to rise early to catch a plane. So I walked Russ to the Quay to catch a ferry back to Kirribilli, then I boarded a train back to the hotel. Except that I went the wrong way when I transferred, so had to back-track to Central Station and try again. It was sort of late and the trains weren't in any hurry to get me home. Then there was that walk from St. Peters station. By the time I arrived it was probably around 10:30. I was beat. I entered the code to get into the hotel "lobby." Hmm...that didn't seem to work. So I tried again. And again. Still no joy. Some other "guests" walked in, so I finally gained entry that way. Walked to my room, entered the key code, and hmm...that didn't seem to work either. So I tried again. And again. Still no joy. I was tired and was not enjoying this little challenge. I walked outside, wedged my knapsack in the door so I wouldn't me caught out again, and tried to retrieve my internet reservation from the ATM-like reservation kiosk. It kept refusing my information. I tried another credit card. No joy. In desperation I made an on-the-spot reservation for another room, thinking that at least I could sleep somewhere and then get things straightened out when the clerk returned to the desk at 7 a.m. So, the machine spat out a new room number and a new code, which actually worked to get me inside the hotel. With renewed confidence, I found the new room, entered the code (which worked!), opened the door, and found that the room was not made up. In fact it looked so recently-abandoned that I wasn't sure if the guests were coming back or not. The room spelled like smoke. There was an empty bottle of Moet on the counter and several other items of merriment strewn about. I've slept in some unsavory places before, but I wasn't about to sleep in that room...not even on the floor. Back to square 1. By now a few people had figured out that I was having a great deal of trouble. One of the "regulars" offered me his room for $4o AUD. He didn't need it and could stay with his friends in their room. $4o was all I had left in my wallet. I'd need some of it to get to the airport in the morning. Still, I really needed to sleep, so I took him up on his offer. He took me to the room and gave me the code. It was smoky, but the bed was made, so I felt like things were looking up! (No towels, or anything, and of course all my luggage was in a locked room--my room.) So then it was about midnight. There was but a flimsy latch on the inside of the door that served as a lock. That wouldn't offer much protection against someone breaking in, especially if that someone had the key code! So I slept fully dressed with all the lights on. I didn't have my Swiss Army knife, because I'd forgotten to remove it from my carry-on pack at the airport and had to hand it over to Mark in Canberra.
I set a cell phone alarm for 6 a.m. I wanted to call Qantas to see about getting a business class seat. After waiting on hold till almost 7 a.m., my phone ran out of minutes. (to be continued in the next post)

One Hit; One Myth

Finally got to circumnavigate something! So what if I had to pay for it, and it lasted only an hour. The boat was a 36' Catamaran called Adrenalin Rush. The breeze was slight, so hanging off in the trapeze was not that thrilling; my adrenalin strolled if anything. Needed bigger wind, so I called the skipper/owner, Keith Logan, the next morning for a weather forecast. He said that the winds were filling in, he'd take me from the harbour to Catseye Beach, and get me back in time to catch my flight to Sydney that afternoon, all for the low, low price of $AUD50.00 cash.
Keith picked me up from the Reef View hotel, where I'd stored my gear. We boarded the boat, along with the deckie (deck hand). Headed to windward and hoisted sail, then turned off the wind, toward the lee shore. Keith went forward to help the deckie with the centerboard; I was sitting amid ship on the trampoline. Seemed to me that we were awfully close to shore. Just as I had the impulse to run aft and grab the helm, the boat slammed into a coral head. The boat stopped dead, hurling the deckie overboard and into the net between the hulls. The momentum shot me forward where the rigid boom vang had a go at my head as the sail gybed. I was knocked down on my back. There was an awful lot of swearing coming from the skipper. A rather humongous goose egg was lain on my head. I marveled at how tough titanium must be to have held my neck together through the impact. Quite a hit!
The deckie checked for water intake, then was ordered into the dink (dingy) to push the boat off the reef and to turn it to head for a tack away from shore. Looked like the centerboard took a bit of a beating but the hull seemed sound. The deckie was ordered to survey the hull from the dink but could see nothing amiss. He took the dink around to Catseye Beach while Keith and I continued our little cruise as if nothing had ever happened.

So much for the hit. Here's the myth:
The myth: you can never go back. The reality: You can go back, but you may never figure out why you wanted to in the first place!

How to Make Enough Bread to Keep a Roof Over Your Head

There's nothing like travelling to make you aware of just how far a buck will get you. I stopped into a Technical Writing agency in Sydney to see about the chances of getting some work there. Unfortunately I'd need to be sponsored by a company in order to work in Australia, so the contractor thing is right out.

I was discussing the situation with the Georgelins when I stayed with them in Canberra. (Yes, I stayed with friends again, free-loader that I am.) Because my skills are not exactly in short supply, and because really I think an Australian could do my job, my chances of getting a company to sponsor me are nearly nil. I went on to say that although my work is somewhat mundane, and certainly not as creative as the special effects animation I was doing here before (and let's just throw in the fact that nobody ever reads the manuals I write), it does keep a roof over my head. Without missing a beat, the kids chimed in, "Yeah, someone else's roof!" Good on ya, mates.

To compensate in part for sharing their roofs, I made bread for the Rays and Georgelins. I think the recipe comes from the Silver Palate cookbook, published sometime last century. Here's how to make some bread (challah) to keep the roof over your head:

What you'll need:

2 c. milk

8 T. unsalted butter

1/2 c. sugar

2 pkgs. active dry yeast

4 eggs at room temp.

2 t. salt

6 c. unbleached all purpose flour

1/3 c. cornmeal (palenta will do)

1 T. cold water

poppy seeds

What to do:

1. Bring milk, 6 T. butter, and sugar to a boil. Remove from heat, pour into a large mixing bowl, and let cool till lukewarm (105-115F.)

2. Stir in yeast and let stand 10 min.

3. Beat 3 eggs in a small bowl, then stir them into the milk mixture

4. Stir in 5 c. flour, 1 c. at a time (add salt to flour). Flour a work surface and turn the dough onto it. Wash and dry the bowl

5. Sprinkle additional flour over the dough and begin kneading, adding more flour till dough is smooth and elastic.

6. Smear reserved butter around the inside of the bowl and add ball of dough, turning to coat it with butter. Cover with a towel and set aside to let dough rise until tripled in size (approx. 1 1/2 - 2 hours, though it may take longer in the cooler climes such as Bermagui, NSW)

7. Turn dough onto lightly floured surface and cut into halves. Cut each half into 3 pieces. Roll the pieces out into long snakes about 18" long. Braid 3 snakes and tuck ends under. Repeat for the other 3 snakes

8. Sprinkle a large baking sheet with cornmeal, and transfer the loaves to the sheet. Leave enough room between the loaves for them to rise. Cover with a towel and let rise till nearly double (approx 1 hr.)

9. Preheat oven to 350F.

10. Beat remaining egg and 1 T cold water in a small bowl. Brush evenly over loaves and sprinkle on poppy seeds

11. Set baking sheet in middle rack of oven. Bake for 30-35 min. or until loaves are golden brown and sound hollow when tapped

12. Cool completely on rack

Makes 2 large loafs, but don't expect them to last long!

Life on Land and Sea

The constant cackle of cockies (cockatoos), crows, and kookaburras may rival that of wayward roosters in the Micronesian islands, who never seemed to know what time of day it was, and so crowed constantly. I guess, like sailors, they know that the sun must be over the yard(arm) somewhere in the world. Just as well they woke me early--I left my bungalow and found that a wallaby and her joey were foraging right in front of my room. Nice way to spend the day. Here's what my bungalow looks like:

Now, to continue from the last post: I did get to do some snorkeling the following day, but must say that I've had better. I think the problem is that I'm rather spoiled, having dived at Jacques Cousteau's favorite reef in Palau. Anyway, the islands are lovely and the water warm.

I did get another offer for a ride, this time to Perth, on board a 46' catamaran. I could get off it anywhere along the way, say Canberra, for instance. Two things scuttled that adventure: a) the owner didn't know how to sail, being a new convert from power boats, and b) there are no flights available from anywhere in Australia back to D.C. any time soon. Oh yes, a Swedish woman was teaching the skipper how to sail along the way. Never did receive any calls from the New Caledonian, Richard, who Bottle Shop-Debbie thought would love to take me out for a sail.

So, the only thing left to do was to try my hand at windsurfing. I gave it my best for a good hour and a half, half of which I spent in the water rather than on top of it. After a short break I sailed a small Hobie Cat for an hour to make me feel better. Here's why I need to be at sea:

Time to go.

...And a Bottle of Rum, continued

Where was I? Oh yes: just as I was getting ready to board a bus back to Schute Harbour to catch the ferry back to Hamilton Island, I received a call from a yachtie, Craig, who saw my notice in the Whitsunday Sailing Club. He lured me from the bus stop back to the club by suggesting that perhaps I would like to join him for the Dent to Dunk rally--a sailing voyage from Dent Is., near Hamilton Is., to Dunk Is., near Cairns. And so we met and chatted (long enough that I almost missed the last ferry back to Hamilton Is.) and decided that I would go along if a) Craig's other crew approved, and b) I could change my flight back to Washington.

Because you are reading this, you have probably guessed by now that that ride fell through. The following day I found out that Craig's boat suffered a grand mal cutlass bearing failure and that the trip was cancelled. But that's not all that was cancelled that day. First it was the sea kayak adventure I'd signed up for in the morning, due to wind and waves. Given the wind part of that cancellation notice, I signed on to the Banjo Paterson, a yacht built originally for the Sydney to Hobart race long ago. I scrambled to get to the pier on time; everyone was waiting for me. And off we went. We even got the sails up. But then came the notice that there was a crack in the heat exchanger and we were taking on water a bit faster than the pumps could handle. So we turned back. The crew was apologetic and offered us free drinks. I had a glass of champagne while sitting on the bow pulpit. I understand that they drank champagne on the Titanic too. Back on shore; back to the tour desk. I booked onto an afternoon snorkel safari in the Coral Gardens in the Great Barrier Reef. So off I went--back to the harbour and into the dive shop, only to find that there were not enough people for the trip. They needed a minimum of 6 people and had but 3. You'd think I'd know when to quit. But no; I signed up for the next day's excursion.

And now you'll have to wait for the next installment because the masses are staring me down as they circle for computer time.

The weather has been spectacular. Just lacking wind.

"Yo ho ho and a Bottle of Rum," or, "Yo, a ho, and a Bottle Shop"

Sorry to say that I still can't post any photos. I did manage to transfer my photos to CD in Airlie Beach today, but the computer I am using doesn't have a CD bay. But hey, it's free. Stay tuned...

I spent last weekend with Mark, Danie, Joseph, and Rosie Georgelin in Canberra, Australia's capital. The American embassay consumes 3/4 of the city, and may be larger than the White House itself. How embarrassing! So what do you do when you meet up with friends you haven't seen? Well, you watch the kids play netball (sort of like basketball, and sounds like "nipple" when Australians say it), and Aussie Rules football (sort of like a combination of American football and soccer), and of course you bake challah, just like before in Pohnpei.

We had a fine walk in the Tidbinbilla nature reserve, where we hunted the great Australian koala bear. Rosie spotted one first; I wouldn't have noticed one if it had dangled a eucalyptus leaf in my face. They are tough to see, of course, because, well...they hide high up in trees and blend in with the bark. Later we saw gaggles of kangaroos and wallabies, and even a couple of emus. That about rounds out the fauna, except for the echidna and platypus. Have to have something to look forward to the next time I return.

So, here I am in Hamilton Island in the Whitsundays on the Great Barrier Reef. What's up with the "Yo ho ho"? Turns out that yachties don't sail into the harbour here because it's just too damn expensive. So I spent the day on the mainland in Airlie beach, where I donned my "boat ho" hat and made the rounds of yacht clubs (one, actually) and marinas (also just one), leaving notices and pleas in my wake. Still I felt that chances of getting a ride were slim. So I posted a package (what else could I do). And lo and behold, across the way from the Post Office was a bottle shop (Australian for liquor store). Naturally I walked in and went for the rum. The cashier asked me how long I'd been here. I said it was my first day in Airlie beach, but that I was staying on the island, and was just here looking for a sailing fix. And Debby from the bottle shop came through for me. Turns out she has a friend with a great yacht who just likes to take people out sailing and would more than likely pick me up from the island. There's more to the story...including a call from someone who saw my notice in the Whitsunday Sailing Club, but I'll save that one for next time. I'm on a shared computer and need to relinquish it to someone else for a while.

I'm going sea kayaking tomorrow and will return to the post sometime thereafter, but don't hold your breath--I can't always count on getting online when I'd like to.
So, "yo" from the boat ho.

Life in Bermagui

I'm getting lazy.
Australia has some of the planet's most deadly
wildlife: Black snakes, great white sharks, stone fish, jelly fish,
etc., and a nasty spider called a Funnel Web. Here in Bermagui the Funnel Webs don't bite. They're just too damn lazy.
There are, of course, more benign types: kangaroos, wallabies, Rozellas,
etc.
Alan Ray was kind enough to wrangle up a few kangaroos for me. We
walked down into the paddock where Alan shouted, "All right you
kangaroos. Time to get up." Right on cue 2 Big Grays hoped out of the
bush, did their tourist posing act, then hopped right back to the bush.
They've been telling me that dolphins play in the surf
below the hill, but so far there have been no sightings. Alan assures
me that I should look for them in the sea, and not in the paddock.
Now making plans to visit with Danie and Mark Georgelin, who took me in when I jumped ship in Micronesia. They live some 5 bus-hours from Bermagui
in the Australian capital, Canberra. From there I hope to fly to
Hamilton Island in the Whitsundays for a week or so of even more
R&R. Looks like my sailing adventures will be reduced to hourly
expeditions on small catamarans. At least I won't have to stand the dog
watch.
I can't post pictures of Bermagui because I forgot to pack a cable or card reader for my camera. Details, details.
More details as they coalesce...

"We've Been Squashing Quite a Few 'Sepos' Here Lately"

Translated, this means that Americans are getting run over in the streets. Remember, it's all upside down and backwards here, which means that Americans must remember to look RIGHT instead of left when crossing the street.
Further translation: The word "Sepo" is the shortened, endearing form of "Septic," which is what the Aussies call the Yanks. "Septic" is derived from the rhyming slang for Yank, "Yank wank septic tank." Charming, I know. Anyway, in an effort to cut down on the numbers of squashed sepos, Sydneysiders have painted little reminders in the street for us. See the photo.

I'm off to the northern beaches now to see if the house I used to live in on Bungan head is still there. Then from there I'll head north to Palm beach and the Hawkesbury river. Tomorrow I'm busing myself down to Bermagui on the south coast of New South Wales to visit my long lost friends.

Meanwhile, my former colleague and now well-renowned Film Director, Bruce Hunt, is trying to get me a spot on board a race boat that his brother is delivering from somewhere in Queensland back to Sydney. Too soon to be hopeful about this, but perhaps this is the big door that is supposed to open when another one has closed.

Stay tuned... Oh yeah, the weather is beautiful, and I wish you were here!

There Are More Ways Than One to Traverse the Ocean

Although the flight from DC to Sydney was a bit circuitous, I must admit that it was drier and much much faster than a sail would have been. There are other differences as well between Business class travel as a passenger and mate-class travel as crew:
1. When sleeping in the bow, one can anticipate being airborne on occasion at sea, but one can only hope that one remains airborne in flight.
2. When flying Business class, one can anticipate being served hot nuts. When sailing one can anticipate someone on board driving you nuts.
3. When flying Business class, one never has to worry about being awakened by the captain to stand watch. When sailing, someone always wakes you to take the helm.

Much more to come. Feel free to write your own comparisons. But no matter the downsides, I'm playing the Boat Ho card here and am hot on the trail of a delivery of a race boat from Queensland to Sydney.

For now, I'm in Sydney and loving it, sail or no sail.