Crop Dusting

I live in the land of commercial aviation, Chicago, IL, every minute or so a large jet passes over our bungalow on the 58oo block of N. Talman Ave. It is rare to see a small private airplane but it is becoming more common to see helicopters flying under O’Hare’s flight path. The increase in helicopters began with Obama’s presidency.

Legions of low flying, thumping dull grey or shiny blue copters have become commonplace. They have tapered off since a helo pad was built close to Hyde Park but others have taken their place. There is increased traffic between downtown and O’Hare airport: the rich shuttling back and forth over the standing wave of traffic on the Kennedy Expressway.

But today is downtime on Carrie Rose, no need to think of backyard noise in Chicago. CR is anchored in ten feet of tannic water swinging in a gusty S/SW wind. There is not much boat traffic here in the Corsica River on the eastern shore of Maryland, so she rides softly in the short chop. This is our second day anchored here. Yesterday afternoon the sky took on a thunderstorm look. I turned on the weather radio and heard warnings.

Prudent skipper that I am I went forward and took down the large piece of sailcloth that acts as a sunscreen and inadvertently a sail. Next, I let another twenty feet of anchor chain out adding it to the fifty already on the river’s bottom. I figured that should hold us in place no matter what the wind and waves. But the wind never materialized, nor did the rain.

As I said today is downtime. That means we are staying put. This morning after a night of periodic awakenings a few drops of rain woke me at 7:30, an hour later then usual. I stretched and heard the kik-kik-kik of the common terns fishing around the boat. I went into the pilothouse to check the battery’s level of charge. The two house batteries had spent the night keeping the refrigerator cold and the anchor light lite. They were low.

I started the generator, a noisy contrivance and ran it for an hour while we had breakfast. The world, including me, is addicted to 110 volts. No sense denying it. One of the added benefits of generating power is heating water, so we each took a shower. The morning passed.

I plotted a course to our next and final destination, Island View Marina on Kent Island, MD. I finished reading a book about Captain Cook, depressing in the end. I am glad to be on Carrie Rose leading a simpler life. And speak of a simpler life, I drew in my doodle book, wrote a recommendation for my last medical assistant and then it was time for lunch.

It is curious how the day progresses when anchored with nowhere to go. Carrie Rose is a few hundred square feet packed with stuff gathered over the 16 years. Towards 2 o’clock, I wandered the few yards to the stern and sat out in the sun and the breeze.

This portion of the Corsica River resembles a large bay. It opens to the west and the Chester River. To the east around the sand spit it narrows dramatically. But here it is wide. I sat and listened to incessant cheep-cheep-cheep of the local osprey until a crop duster appeared. It flew low doing acrobatic turns and disappeared behind the tree line to spray its noxious cargo.

Up, down, around and back, repeatedly until it left. Three times it returned; finally veering south over the boat not to be seen again; leaving the cheeping osprey to populate the bay’s sound scape once again.