6/29/15

A chance encounter with friends from the Rideau Canal.

An alert Cedar Waxwing couple.

An interesting sunset after yet another raining day.

Fishing

Carrie Rose is floating in a natural fish hatchery. Below us, surrounding us are thousands of perch, crappy and who the hell knows what else. Though we have been assured there are no sturgeon, I'm more worried about the infamous musky! Along with the 5 boys (ranging from a little above my knee to my chin) pulling fish out from behind our boat like in some cartoon, the birds are reaping a harvest. And to top it off another golden-orange sunset.

Great Blue Herons stalking the pier

A pair of busy Osprey taking turns

An uncommon site, a Caspian Tern

Locks on...

Dives...

Missed...

Undeterred...

Success!!!

Tuck In

Today we got out the charts and cruising guides to plan our escape from Ladd’s Landing and ultimately Vermont. It turned out to be a warm sunny day, which started slow because two days ago my back went out.

Really, my left sacral iliac joint decided to act up. All I did was bend over in the shower to wash my foot and KaBOOM there it went. By the time I got back to the boat, I was improved but I know better. It was lying in wait to get me and get me it did that night at our friend’s cabin in the wilds of Vermont.

This has been happening since I was sixteen years old, so I am a pro. It is the remnant of a football injury. It is also the reason I ended up in medical school, but as they say that is a story for another day.

Charlotte and I, and our friends had had a fun afternoon of walking, talking, eating and drinking. It was time to go to bed. As I lay there a sickening spasm engulfed my back bringing with it quite a few involuntary expletives. I am not sure what Charlotte thought was happening as I rigidly laid there trying to slow my rapid breathing.

On a scale of one to ten, this was bad. The next several hours were taken up trying to inch my way to her side of the bed (it was the only way I could move) and off. If I could just get one knee over the edge and on to the floor, I figured I could get myself up.

Sounds easy, a few feet, stand up, walk it off…an hour later I was still at it. Eventually I extricated myself and made it limping to the living room. What then? I tried various chairs and finally found one that was tolerable, wrapped a blanket around myself, and attempted to relax in the dark.

This peace did not last. I fidgeted, I spasmed, I limped, I lay on the floor — a big mistake — I waited for the sun and for everyone to wake. I think most people if not feeling well would rather not feel well at home, so we made it back to Carrie Rose.

It took until noon the next day to stabilize enough that the spasms did not try to drag me onto the floor and then we planned our cruise while sitting in the salon. Jerry came over and we debated the various methods of getting ones way with the world. There is the chain-yourself-to-the-pipeline crowd, and there is the borrow-my-private-jet-to-go-to-the-Cayman-Islands crowd.

This animated discussion did seem to help my back. Once it was over I puttered around the boat, went shopping for dinner and we battened down the hatches for another 40 knot squall. All in a days work on Carrie Rose.

So, tonight when I tuck in, pull the covers over me, tonight when my left SI joint settles into the forward cabin’s foam mattress, tonight I hope it decides enough is enough, and lets me sleep and awake unmolested, at least until the next time.

Peony

This is an auspicious year, the first ever with three springs. We saw sakura (and peony) bloom in Kyoto in March. In May, we watched ants chew away at our three backyard peonies. Their flashes of white and purple sadly lasted for only a few days before being beaten senseless by raucous weather. Now in Vermont on Carrie Rose, we are enjoying another batch of blooms on the first day of summer.

Jupiter, Venus and the Crescent Moon share the stage

An After Dinner Walk

The weather has been unsettled. Today we woke up to clouds, which quickly settled into a steady rain from the south. Then around three it cleared up suddenly and we were able to enjoy the sun for a few hours.

We had a visit from Marion and Jim who are traveling the east after Marion’s 50th Graduation from Vassar celebration. Over glasses of wine, we discussed their next destination, Isle La Motte, just north of us and the local geology. For good measure, we discussed cellos and flutes, sunglasses and cameras, and when to meet up again.

Then the skies to the north blackened, and I added a fender and another spring line. The squall blew in as squalls do, dramatically. But we were lucky this time, after an hour it had blown through.

To help digest I took a walk around the marina’s environs with my camera and long lens. Below are the birds I was able to capture in the act of being birds.

Yellow Warbler

Yellow Warbler

Yellow Warbler

Breeding Chipping Sparrow

Eastern Kingbird

Cedar Waxwing

Black Crowned Night Heron

Osprey with fish

Great Blue Heron

A Moment

Steady rain, soft rain, and now the wind has died. A swell moves in from the north and with it comes a light dusting of fog. A few of the outlying islands have disappeared. The sky has a bit of detail but essentially resembles an enormous cotton ball.

The few people here mope around in yellow slickers, which their dogs mimic. The big hardy black dogs — they that defy the leash — of the weekend are nowhere to be seen. Several great blue herons inhabit the outer reaches of the docks. If any bird is stately, it is these. They carefully place each step: knees bending backwards and gaze at unsuspecting prey. For as long as they can stand still, time for them must be on a different scale then ours. We have come from years to months, from hours to minutes; from seconds to such incomprehensibly small units of time that we have determined our solar system’s clock is derelict. Grudgingly we adjust ourselves to the errors of the universe. This morning’s rain lingered from the day before. It dissipated early in the afternoon leaving a warm sunny day in its wake only to be interrupted by a spirited line of thunderstorms.

And now I fear the rain, a soft rain not disturbed by wind will linger until tomorrow morning and begin the cycle over again.

40 Knots

Twice now, in the space of a week we have had storms gusting to 40 knots. The first one already alluded to happened suddenly at three in the morning. The second is happening as I type and mercifully is from the south.

Northerly storms, especially 40-knot winds from the north are not advantageous for this marina. I’d say they are down right dangerous. It was lucky there were no calamities considering the dark and the number of poorly secured boats.

The lack of drama was due to the diligence of the marina staff. Aware of some of their clientele’s shortcomings, they were on the docks with wheel barrels of dock lines, going boat to boat retying and adding lines as needed. I passed muster or so I thought. For an old man I have been sleeping well here. But at three AM, my semi-circular canals woke me up to a rollicking pitch-black scene reminiscent of trips through the Manitou Passage on Lake Michigan’s eastern shore. Except here were standing still and not moving at 8 knots.

A huddled figure in orange was working his way flashlight in hand up the dock. A dock that even though it lies a few feet from my dry vantage point in the pilothouse seemed a mile away. The couple in the small sailboat next to me was quickly preparing to abandon ship with their mop of a dog standing guard.

The huddle figure turned out to be Dan, the marina’s owner. He appeared at my door and in a voice loud enough to be heard above the gale and clatter of halyards clanging against aluminum mast informed me he moved CR back a foot so the anchor would not hit the dock. Hit the dock! The anchor is five feet from the water, so we were in 4 to 5 footers while sitting in the marina.

Inspecting the gyrating docks from my roost, I made an executive decision to stay put. I am not as spry as I use to be and I had secured CR well before the blow but I grabbed my Surefire flashlight to survey the scene. Its high beam cut through the fog and the horizontal rain. Everything appeared intact. I went to bed. I might have stayed awake but those same semi-circular canals that woke me were now working on overdrive and I began to feel the queasy, greasy, unsettling feeling of bile in the back of my throat.

Down I went and fell asleep. A sleep, if it can be called that, with one ear listening carefully for changes in the amplitude of the chaos just outside the few centimeters of fiberglass that separates me from the bottom of Lake Champlain. My unconscious must have deemed the rest of that dark morning safe for I woke to the cold clear blue skies of a northern front.

The wind still had its hackles up and the boats continued to shimmy. Daylight makes even a dire situation (and this was not one) look better so, I started to contemplate breakfast. First though I gave my surrounding a second look. The sailboat to my south had the oddest mixture of lines that I have seen in years. Including the lines that the marina staff had place there were probably eight. There were long lines and short lines; there were thick and thin ones; there were what looked like clotheslines and braided lines that could have held a 60 footer in place; and there was one bright yellow three stranded line.

You know the type: they float, cannot hold a knot, and deteriorate in the sun. If any rope is not suitable, even in pristine shape, for a dock line this is it. To add to the insult the cleat was packed with the remnant of it where it must have broke off before, so the line’s loop was looped over this mess.

Trying not to be pushy when my feet became tangled in the extra ten feet of it cluttering the dock, I mentioned that basically this was a piece of sh-t and it might be wise to change it. I got what I can only describe as a clueless smile back from the diligent young man who was scrubbing the boat.

So, now looking from my safe haven, still in my bed cloths I saw two of its three strands lying in the lake. Here was the stern of a 30’ Morgan held in place by one taut thin unraveling strand. Okay I thought breakfast would have to wait. I dressed, climbed out back (it was forty degrees), retrieved a dock line, and tied off their boat. It was the only neighborly thing to do.

There is a silver lining to this story. Through the ministrations of several of the staff, the boat is now well secured to the dock. There still is an odd mixture of lines, sans the yellow one, and the spring lines are oddly placed but we all had to learn. As I sit here bobbing to the gusty southern wind I think of all the foibles I made in the past and the many more I will make in the future. And I hope that two 40-knot storms in a week will qualify as this summer’s cruise quotient of nasty weather. I will get back to you on that one…

Bustle

For all the bustle of yesterday, today the marina is characterized by a lack of activity. I woke up to a lively motion. Overnight the wind had clocked around to twenty knots from the south and occasionally CR rumbles when the gusts work their way around the trees and down from the bluff that lies to the south.

The marina is protected from this wind but the weather radio is ominously predicting rain, thunderstorms, and 20 to 30 knot winds from the north late this evening. Just the direction that most threatens the marina. Threatens is too dramatic of a word, I hope at least. It can get mighty uncomfortable on good old CR when the swells are confused.

Every marina and harbor has different characteristic. Sometimes they relate to wind and waves in a peculiar fashion. Having experienced such peculiarities, I try to prepare in advance and so, one thing I do when first entering a harbor is to, as best I can, slow and survey the scene. It is not always possible. I do my best but then once docked I take a walk around and look how boats are tied up.

In some situations it makes me nervous enough to head back to the boat, listen to the weather with a pessimist ear and start to retie the lines in a fashion similar to the afore mentioned boats.

There is a reason sailors tend to be a superstitious lot. Before engines, radios, satellite weather forecast, Coast Guard, etc., etc. it was a tough watery world out there. It still is but pay attention and it is extremes that most likely pose a threat.

I observe any boat tied to a starboard dock at Ladd’s Landing has multiple fenders out. For the exposed boats on the end of the piers, there are mooring balls north of them they can use to keep themselves off the dock. I have nothing if not a multitude of large fenders. Four of which are now protecting CR’s starboard side.

Considering the weather forecast the question is, should I move a few more fenders over now or wait until the middle of the night in a thunderstorm to get out of a warm bunk, and stand on a shaky dock wrestling with large blue fenders in the wind and the rain.

I think I go do it right now…well maybe I’ll have lunch first.

P.S. It blew last night 30 to 40 knots from the north. I woke at 3AM due to Dan (the marina’s owner) moving CR back a foot so my anchor would not bang into the dock. My anchor is six feet up so it gives an idea of the waves coursing through the marina. I watched Dan, like a shepherd tending his flock, move from boat to boat checking the lines and fenders. The docks have a lively motion on a good day so last night they were approximating the Space Shuttle simulator. I stayed on board once CR was secure to a sleep with one ear open — just in case.

Going No Where

There are times when going cruising means going nowhere. I did not use to think so. Incessant movement was the plan but now a half-decade into a wander my thoughts on this subject have changed.

I am presently sitting comfortable on the back of CR watching — and listening — to the also incessant traffic crossing the bridge from Grand Isle to North Hero. In the background is the second movement of Brahms’s piano quintet in F minor and the clanging of the surrounding sailboats unsecured rigging.

There is a stiff southern breeze but as I look north waves of dark clouds approach. Soon they will eclipse the sun and it will go from pleasantly warm to cool, and I expect even cold tonight.

When fronts meet, there is a lull in the wind as they sort themselves out. This lull provides precious time to reassess the sail plan and if the overtaking front is from the north, it usually means a reef in the main.

But today it is just I in a chair on CR’s aft deck so no reefs are necessary. A squall line is now clearly visible with dark threads of rain draped below it. The sun is gone and there is a chill in the air, a lone shaft of light pierces the dark tumbling clouds. The south wind is wavering and boats are returning to the marina.

This is the unsung part of cruising. Sitting safe and watching a storm develop — living out of doors with the comforts of home, at least on CR.

Vermont

Okay, let’s see what has been happening here on my own in Vermont. When I arrived, Carrie Rose was sitting high and dry in not the most scenic circumstance. It was determined that I would spend the time before launch (which, by the way happened today) on the boat. Of course you say, should not CR be just as comfortable out of the water as on and I would say your correct but it is just not the case.

For one there is no water, so to wash your hands, go to the potty, or do the dishes requires a step off a precipice onto a just-barely-stable ladder. Most normal people will look for somewhere to eat but not me. I toned things down and managed to have dinners of spinach and cheese tortellini with butter sauce one night and a local tomato sauce the next.



Instead of wine, I have been sampling the local brews, which seem to come in 22oz. bottles. I suppose this is the local unit of what one should drink at one sitting but of course I can’t pull it off without being worthless, so I use the wine pump to preserve what is left for the next day. It does not actually work but then I am not a beer connoisseur.

Back to CR, I was nervous this winter if I had winterized CR correctly. So, I searched for any obvious signs and found none. I went through the checklist: seacocks, water system, engine block, and toilet. And I found no reason to be concerned but the only way to tell is to get in the water, start the engine, and fill all the tanks; ultimately the only way to find out is to use it. So, that is what I did today and I can report CR is working fine.

I also did something I do not usually do I washed CR before she hit the water. Even though it was covered until recently the shear abundance of nature in Vermont made sure that it was decked with the detritus of the multiple flowering trees, the pollen from the pine forest, the usual aggregations of spider and bird poop, and the carcasses of whatever hovering fly happened to be in the vicinity, etc., etc. This mess was even too much for me. I got the hose out and scrubbed.



Now on my third day here at Ladd’s Landing CR is gently bobbing in Lake Champlain’s pristine water. For a boat, no matter how nice, is not a boat on land. It is a dead creature, a mere appliance until it is transformed at the intersection of water and air. Miraculous indeed…