I Have Three Women in My Life

Doberwoman makes no secret as to how she feels about Das Boot. Bad enough that she has to play second fiddle to Trophy Wife, but to play 3rd fiddle to a hunk of fiberglass floating the water must be next to intolerable. Recently, any time I take #3 down to the harbor to check on #2, she refuses to come aboard. But Doberwoman is making the most of the present situation, demanding outings as in many venues as possible. This weekend the two of us hit all the local spots in Nature's great cathedral.

While Doberwoman was swimming her laps in the harbor, my fleet was enjoying a rather long-ish race on the other side of the breakwater. We followed the swimming by walking down to Das Boot to check on the de-humidifier, and encountered Diesel Guy installing new fuel injectors. That was a plus. Progress!

After the race, I hung out a little with the guys just for one beer. It was fun with 'the lads' swapping lies and even telling some of my own. But I wasn't out there with them and felt too much like a want-a-be camp follower to hang out any more.

But I missed it. A steady 8-9 knots wasn't exactly a great day for Das Boot, performance-wise. Still, doesn't it beat being ashore? But it would have been a great Wyliecat-30 day. There: I said it!

Crewing for Bob Marley

The only thing day-sailing today accomplished was to make me miss Das Boot even more. Playing mainsheet trimmer was a fun role only because I deeply heart everyone one on this emerging team. But a C&C does not represent the direction in which this old man needs to go. Got to light a fire under the diesel guy to get my project back one line: sailing and/or selling. Enough of this dragging at anchor!

This One Is Not a Novel

A local sailor with whom I have competed on the starting line as well as in table tennis tournaments found himself in this quartet. As reported by FeckTV on 9 February:

Four Irish sailors have had a lucky escape after being rescued from their sinking yacht off the coast of Bermuda. Their trip of a lifetime turned into a nightmare when the yacht lost battery power and suffered a mechanical failure, stranding it 400 miles off the Delaware coast as weather conditions became more dangerous.

The four men were all experience sailors and left the Connecticut two weeks ago aboard ‘Wolfhound’ a 48ft yacht skippered by Alan McGettigan, a member of the Royal Irish Yacht Club in Dun Laoghaire. Mr McGettigan was joined on the voyage by his friends Morgan Crowe, Tom Mulligan (club protest secretary at Dublin Bay Sailing Club), and Dedan Hayes (a solicitor for law firm Arthur Cox). Mr McGettigan had bought the boat in December and the journey was to take them from the US down to Bermuda and then on to Antigua, however disaster struck.

A spokesman for the Bermuda Coastguard said the yacht suffered two “knock-downs” (where the boat is tipped over before righting itself) as large waves buffeted the crippled vessel. Speaking to the Irish Independent, the spokesman went on to say “With the mechanical failures and damage they sustained, they put out a distress call which we received about 70 miles north of Bermuda”.

Luckily a Greek freighter, the Tetian Trader managed to pick up the distress call, and was close enough to the area to respond. The crew of the freighter managed to rescue the men from the yacht shortly before it slipped beneath the waves. The men are currently being cared for on the Greek freighter which is headed to Turkey. They will be dropped off at Gibraltar early next week, where they can then make their way home.

My friend repaired to his condo in Ireland. Later in the year he will re-cross the pond (in the air) and resume sailing with us in our waters. I look forward to hearing him detailing the lessons learned, etc.

Final Passage

This was a thriller centered around a yachting race from the Canary Islands to Grenada in celebration of Columbus's 500th anniversary. Despite a promising prologue, this did not turn out to be a page turner. More like a snoozer. I use my transistor under my pillow to put me to sleep. Some nights NPR covering the sequester or BBC talking about Syria couldn't put me to sleep. I would turn to my Kindle where The Final Passage was stored and Timothy Frost would knock me out cold in 1½ pages.

I guess I just couldn't identify with the chief protagonist who made all the mistakes I never would have:

• Never marry a woman who won't sail with you. 
• Don't own or race a yacht longer than 33  38 feet. 
• Don't find yourself owning a yacht in a partnership; not even with your brother; not even with someone who everyone tells you is your brother. 
• Don't bet on a yacht race you are contending in, especially to the tune of £12,000. 
• If you do bet on the race, don't fooking stop and wait for the other guy to catch up with you out of sportsmanship. 
• Don't wear -- don't even possess -- a $40,000 Rolex watch.
• Don't go out to sea, sailing alone with your boss's daughter, no matter how she looks doing foredeck in a bikini. 
• Don't ever lie to the U.S. Coast Guard or D.E.A for that matter. 
• Don't leave your yacht unattended in the Carribean drug highway.  

And it goes on and on. So many necessary lessons contained in this saga whose plot is full of twisted turns and contrivances. But I'll not say anymore lest I spoil the story for other potential readers.

It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over....

For me the great life of sailing maybe over. Except for the memories. Which are substantial if not inestimable. But this looking at 'next' boats is just time-wasting and wistful thinking. I can't even care for my teeth, let alone a new/unfamiliar vessel. I'm thinking that not even a lotto win will recover or restore yachting for me. Our ages & infermities & medical complexities are just trending too much toward adversity. When I catch myself looking speculatively at my next boat, I end up feeling like I am 'in irons'.

My mind goes back to the time in 1989 when we bought Das Boot. What we had done is put in offer on a Sparhawk-36. We did our due diligence, went through the survey, and we 'hauled and hung'- our new boat. We were surprised at the amount of water draining unremittingly from the crease between her hull and the leading edge of her keel. We were shocked. The broker tried to reassure us:

"She's just smiling! That's all."

We went home and slept on it for a night. We did not sleep easily. Went back to the broker the next day and reneged on the deal. The broker was clearly disappointed. Two weeks later he died of a heart attack. He wasn't that old. We turned around and bought Das Boot, actually having her built according to Trophy Wife's specifications! Das Boot turned out to be a vastly superior boat. We never looked back. Initially remorseful, I never really thought about that broker whom we may have killed.

Until now. Now I can imagine that yachts had become for him not uncomplicated objects of art or sources of fun. That's the way he got started in the business, of course. But he had become dependent on brokering them as a source of month-to-month income. Which means, some nights, maybe weeks, he did not sleep easily. They became more undifferentiated in his mind, even if they were still individually 'special' and uniquely 'beautiful' in the minds of his customers. They were simply commodities. If he had lived much longer, they might just as well had been trucks. Or trailers.

I want to pass Das Boot on to a quality owner before she becomes a commodity to me. Because right now, she's still a treasure.

And looking back to 1989 when we turned down that Sparhawk-36, I can understand how my wimpy prospect felt last week, turning us down. He couldn't sleep, thinking about whatever it was about Das Boot that spooked him. Maybe some rust on the engine bolts? Maybe that the RPM gauge on the engine wasn't working? Or maybe the fact that it took my current broker's clueless agent 30 minutes to get the engine started? Whatever. I'm going to get over the disappointment he caused me. Two weeks from now I will still be living. Because boats -- the ones with sails -- can only prolong my life.

I'm Being Low-Balled!

And I'm not liking it a bit. Selling Das Boot. At a huge discount. Hurts. All those memories of 22 years sold out for a song and a dance. Trophy Wife and I arguably still have a lot of sailing in us. How much more is uncertain. But the writing is on the wall. We both are becoming frail with slow-moving but incurable diseases. My Most Valuable Player (in the crew) and best friend has bought his own boat. In these dark days of winter I feel the wind chill of change.

So I have to endure the idiocies of arrogant diesel 'specialists' who want to measure my fuel oil in their laboratories. Not to mention a buyer who doesn't like that Das Boot doesn't sport seat pads or dodgers, or that her 150 feet of chain plus rode is in my back yard. And what's this? No roller-reefing?

I'm clearly paying the price for abusing a cruising boat by racing her. It's cruisers who are in my market. What a fool I have been.

Das Boot is irreplaceable. 22+ years of memories, good & bad, cannot be replaced or adequately compensated. Every time I step aboard these days, my topsiders are treading on hallowed decks and floor boards. I am in a cathedral. That's what it feels like it as I run her engine. Check her bilge. Empty her dehumidifier. Stroke the foot of her incredible mast. And whisper a blessing before disembarking.

May your new owner love & trust you as we have.

My Super Bowl Sunday Party

I Need to Get an Updated Hoodie

Late in 2008 I bought this white hoodie from Cafe Press. I don't recall what I spent but whatever it was, it was well spent. It warmed me considerably that winter. And it not only served as a barrier against those brisk mornings on the dog walks in the off-the-leash park. People meeting me on the path would ask me, "What do those numbers mean"?

I would smile and respond, "Think about it". Those mornings transitioned from December into January. Gradually, the expressions of puzzlement gave way to broad smiles and even some thumbs up.Even a few HOO-AAH's. A week after Inauguration Day, the hoodie probably became passé and today it probably is in that box in the corner of my garage.

I could have dragged it out yesterday to wear it on the Martin Luther King Day march up to the Arlington Theatre. Except we are now having spring and it was just to damned wonderfully warm for it to have crossed my mind. Instead, at the time I otherwise would have been on the dog path, I was trying to clear a paper jam in my printer. I had extracted a football sized component from the infernal machine when I was distracted by a voice on the TV in the living room. 18 minutes later, Ballou nosed me with the question, "Why have you been doing nothing except standing there in front of my couch all this time when we could be walking?"

The 2nd Inauguration of our 44th President proves to all of us that 01202009 was not a fluke or a token, however Mitch McConnell might have hoped otherwise. In those concise 18 minutes, we heard one of the best Presidential addresses speeches in history. I don't presume to predict that #44 will be an all-star in history, or merely just another varsity player. As he said yesterday,

. . . . We must act, knowing that our work will be imperfect. We must act, knowing that today’s victories will be only partial and that it will be up to those who stand here in four years and 40 years and 400 years hence to advance the timeless spirit once conferred to us in a spare Philadelphia hall. . . .

I just count myself to be among my fortunate contemporaries to have lived long enough to see what, in the 1960's, I never dreamed I could see.

And I never thought so much could be said, and so eloquently, in 18 minutes.

New Year, New Boat, Old Man, Old Friends

Marked the New Year by sailing on my best friend's new boat, with a few old friends. Loads are heavier. This C&C is a few feet longer than Das Boot. Faster, newer, etc. And needs to be sailed by younger hands than mine. Moving around on deck, grinding wenches are a challenge for this old man.

The purpose of the sail was to get the light wind spinnaker out of the bag for the first time and to raise it. That was surprise no one was prepared for.

Happier New Year, Sailors

A Tale of Two Cities

Henan, China and Sandy Hook, USA

Yesterday, a man with a knife slashed 22 children and one adult outside an elementary school in Henan province Friday morning, China's worst such incident in more than a year. But these kids were wounded.

Today, in Sandy Hook some guy killed 20 kids and 7 adults using three guns.

It's hard to identify crazy people and keep them medicated. But I think the Chinese have a better idea on gun control than we do.

Sparhawk-36: The One Who Got Away

More than 20 years ago, when I was ignorant of keel boats, I was entranced with this Laser-36. I call it a Laser because of its un-stayed, carbon fiber masts. I had been a dinghy racer. I was a chicken of the seas, then, as well as too chicken to hoist myself up a mast to check shrouds. These carbon fiber poles were indestructible. That sold me on the boat.

At that time, I didn't know about Wyliecat-30's. I knew about Nonsuch's but they were too heavy and sluggish. We looked at Freedom's and liked what we saw. For myself, I guess I liked the price.

We bought the Sparhawk, owning it for about 40 hours after we had it surveyed. A major doubt developed during the survey. Trophy wife insisted that we turn it back to the broker before our "buyers' remorse time" expired.

Given that we turned right around and bought Das Boot, our beloved 'Laser-38', I have always been grateful and respectful of T.W.'s judgment in boats. (And in other areas, too!)

But I have always liked the lines of this 36-footer. To be fair, modern sails for this craft are cut with a great deal more generous roach than these puny triangles pictured. A Sparhawk-36, Andiamo II, is currently listed in the Bay area at a very attractive price.