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| Port Townsend Fishing Fleet |
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
PT Fishing Fleet
Turn Point Orcas
I resumed my reclined position only moments later to hear the unmistakable exhale of a large marine mammal. Rising again I saw the Orca only slightly further out in the turbulent water. Sightseeing boats soon converged as the radios were chattering faster than a Sunday gossip group. Even a small dinghy wandered into the mix only to be unexpectedly visited by a big male surfacing a mere 20 feet to their port side. The dinghy suddenly turned and the motor screamed as it was clearly pegged to high throttle making a beeline for safer water.
Fish at Turn Point
Roche revisited
The crabbers have taken a two day break as the bay is noticeably more quiet and void of the red and white styrofoam lillypads! Tuesdays and Wednesdays are crab holidays per the regulations.
Contemplating catching a slip for the evening. Wash down Ohana and me!
Friday, July 17, 2015
Island Time
Perched on a weathered teak chair at a weathered teak table table outside of Hotel de Haro, the internet connection labored at a weathered pace. Finally the UPS site opened. I entered the tracking number and waited. Great Waters on the east coast has estimated a there day delivery when the order was placed on Tuesday. It was now Friday and i hoped the tracker would show arrival today. The activity bar seemed frozen at 80% complete. Finally the screen blinked to refresh and revealed my answer. Tuesday the 21st, or as they put it, only 2 more business days. Translated, that would be 5 days island time. Meanwhile looks like an opportunity to cruise locally. Revised plan - ride the afternoon flood to Sucia, then in a couple days maybe come back and drop the hook in Reid Harbor on Stuart. A short hop over to Roche on Tuesday and then on to Canadian waters.
Of course all subject to the nuances of mail delivery on the island. Usually the mail is delivered in the afternoon…unless it isn't. Typically there are no weekend deliveries except when there are. Gotta love it - this was one of those islands that still embracing island time.
Of course all subject to the nuances of mail delivery on the island. Usually the mail is delivered in the afternoon…unless it isn't. Typically there are no weekend deliveries except when there are. Gotta love it - this was one of those islands that still embracing island time.
Rocky Situation
Bee Hive
Friday, June 15th - Ohana is nestled among crab pots, mega yachts and an assortment of lesser vessels. An eclectic mix. Yesterday's crossing of Juan de Fuca proved uneventful. The 4 - 6 foot wind waves of the previous day and night had subsided as conditions dramatically lightened. The big ebb still provided the usual lumpiness at the mouth of Admiralty inlet but the afternoon winds never materialized. The earlier jump into the strait of Juan de Fuca allowed for a longer run over to Haro before the flood organized for the push north into the San Juans however the timing was off by an hour. As with exiting Admiralty I rode the lumps of changing currents at the mouth of Haro but laboring at half the speed. I have seen this on prior crossings as the flood current north takes longer than the charts predict.
So now the sun is rising on Roche. The bees are beginning to awake at the hive. Speeding over to nearby crab pots in search of tasty nectar. Soon planes will carry bees from distance to explore this hive. The activity is a little unsettling. Lots of urgency about the coming and going. Hopefully today I will retrieve my inbound refrigerator part and buzz off to a nearby quiet anchorage. The bees of Roche will no doubt continue to bring in the money.
So now the sun is rising on Roche. The bees are beginning to awake at the hive. Speeding over to nearby crab pots in search of tasty nectar. Soon planes will carry bees from distance to explore this hive. The activity is a little unsettling. Lots of urgency about the coming and going. Hopefully today I will retrieve my inbound refrigerator part and buzz off to a nearby quiet anchorage. The bees of Roche will no doubt continue to bring in the money.
Monday, July 13, 2015
On Ice
The thing about plans is they test one's commitment. They also allow one to organize stuff. Get ducks in row and quacking on cue or in a queue. Anyway, in project planning parlance, this year's sailing trip has experienced some slippage. In fact the boat has spent way too much time in the slippage. Between land travel, physical therapy and various house projects, Ohana has been growing a green beard at the water line.
Most recently, icing on this slow baked cake came last evening when the final load of produce went into the luke cool refrigerator. Actually, the lack of ice in the freezing compartment had me quickly searching for answers as well as a bottle of something better aged than I was rapidly becoming. I brushed off the desire to drown my worries and went to work on the Frigoboat or frigging boat refrigerator. These Frigoboat units are fairly robust but are susceptible to moisture build-up (frost) and the potential to suck up a few molecules of water which can then find their way into the capillary tubing, freeze and block circulation. My Frigoboat had evidently had an embolism and was experiencing a frigging stroke. I cleared the compartment, heated a pint of water, muttered, "Clear!" and applied the warm wet cloth to the copper tubing. Within a minute, I could hear the coolant circulating again with its high pitching gentle whine. The patient would live, at least until the next event. This morning the Frigiboat was happily pumping along and so the decision was made. Today I will cast off the dock lines, at last…but also begin arranging for Frigoboat surgery upon return from what will likely be a shortened version of the original summer's sailing plan - weeks not months.
Now both boat and skipper are clean shaven and ready to chill asea.
Most recently, icing on this slow baked cake came last evening when the final load of produce went into the luke cool refrigerator. Actually, the lack of ice in the freezing compartment had me quickly searching for answers as well as a bottle of something better aged than I was rapidly becoming. I brushed off the desire to drown my worries and went to work on the Frigoboat or frigging boat refrigerator. These Frigoboat units are fairly robust but are susceptible to moisture build-up (frost) and the potential to suck up a few molecules of water which can then find their way into the capillary tubing, freeze and block circulation. My Frigoboat had evidently had an embolism and was experiencing a frigging stroke. I cleared the compartment, heated a pint of water, muttered, "Clear!" and applied the warm wet cloth to the copper tubing. Within a minute, I could hear the coolant circulating again with its high pitching gentle whine. The patient would live, at least until the next event. This morning the Frigiboat was happily pumping along and so the decision was made. Today I will cast off the dock lines, at last…but also begin arranging for Frigoboat surgery upon return from what will likely be a shortened version of the original summer's sailing plan - weeks not months.
Now both boat and skipper are clean shaven and ready to chill asea.
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
The Special List
Last year, there was a Canadian border crossing incident. Kind of an accident of ignorance which morphed into a small international dilemma…or as my friend Carl calls such an event, a "fiasco". Oh yes, I regrettably should mention that ownership of the fiasco in question belongs to me.
"It was a dark and stormy night"… actually it was a truly windy evening with 30 knot gusts meeting us last summer as we made our way from Juan de Fuca into Haro Strait en route to Bedwell Harbor, BC on that fateful day of August 28th.
A brief account of this incident was logged in two parts of last year's blog
(ohanaseachange.blogspot.com), however, as might be expected, this year's crossing raised old concerns. And thus, Part 3 of the fiasco continues.
Last year's story ended with an official warning. The warning presented in paper form by the two inspecting Canadian Customs agents despatched from Sydney. After interrogations and ship inspections and re-interrogations, we were informed that we were lucky. Like being told you should be thankful for your broken toe because it could have been your leg. Given the distinct legal probability per the Canadian border crossing code of a $1,000 fine and vessel seizure, we would only receive a warning. This outcome, was largely influenced by the prior evening's weather which forced our late arrival. However, the warning was a reprimand for our ignorance of Customs phone reporting hours (24 hours daily) and our poor decision to drop anchor instead of at least tying to the Customs dock. Warning cited "Failure to Report".
Flash forward to this year. We had rounded Turn Point on the northwest tip of Stuart Island on this clear Sunday of June 7, 2015. Earlier that morning, we had cast off from our mooring buoy at Turn Island, ran counter to the ebbing tide up San Juan Channel but raced with the favorable ebb current down Speiden Channel and caught the eddy along the western shore of Stuart Island. We would make Customs at Bedwell Harbor by 2:00pm with an hour to spare before catching the afternoon flood to Montague Harbor. Passports and official boat papers were ready on the chart table. We slid onto the Customs dock after an Express Cruiser chose the section of dock reserved for float planes. Already I was feeling a bit more qualified than at least one other boater. Cinching up the last of the dock lines, and instructing crew to return and remain on the vessel, I noticed two uniformed agents marching past Ohana from the outward arm of the dock. In 12 years, I had never encountered agents at Bedwell upon arrival. And only last year had our fiasco prompted their appearance at all. Interesting. My first thought was "fine, this year at least we wouldn't have to wait for them to motor from Sydney". These were not the same agents. Could they be less pedantic, more reasonable? But wait, we hadn't done anything wrong this year… or had we? Crap! Maybe I should have studied up on the regs. Food, liquor, weapons, money, drugs… I knew all of this, but was there more? I clamored up into the cockpit and down the gangway, collected our documents from the chart table, re-emerged into the cockpit, jumped down on the sturdy wooden dock, stabbed a knuckle into my spasming lower back and made for the Customs office up the adjustable shore bridge. The door to the Customs office was wide open, the officers were inside. One male one female. Both were young, energetic and appeared to have a Canadian disposition. That would be informally formal with interested nonchalance and a dehydrated sense of humor. The female officer was standing to the side of the closest desk just hanging up the corded phone. The male officer was seated at the further desk thumbing through a small stack of papers. I greeted the first officer and stated my business. "Hi, I'm checking in for border crossing", I offered. The officer directed me to the phone bank outside of the office. "Use the phones. We are just here for support, if needed." I cordially extracted myself and eased out to the phones along the exterior wall under the eaves of the office. Carefully placing the passports and boat registration within easy access, I picked up the black plastic receiver which autodialed. "Hello", said a dry voice. That was the normal cue. I stated my location and business. The standard questions were then asked. I'm not even sure that I was asked the prior year's pivotal question, "From where are you arriving?", but I know this time i had an acceptable answer. The question may have been proffered, but my brain was as near to seizure as our boat the prior year. After the standard parlay,"Please hold on", came the vaguely familiar and ominous reply. Last year's experience taught me that this reply takes you down a different path. A path that leads into the bureaucratic backwaters, the swirling eddies and quagmire of customs legalities instead of that northbound flood current. One minute you're on Boardwalk poised to pass Go and the next you're hoping for a Get-out-of-Jail card. "Please go into the office. An agent will assist you". I re-cradled the receiver and slunk back into the customs office. The female officer looked up quizzically. "They told me to come see you for my clearance". "Have you had any problems recently?", she queried. I relayed last year's fiasco in summary form whereupon my education in matters of border crossings, issues, policies and potential reforms continued. This is when I became aware of the Special List. The Special List is special in all the undesirable ways. Listees all share the common trait of having violated some part of the border crossing laws and receiving special recognition for this feat. Whether one has stowed away more than the allotted liquor allowance, dropped an anchor before checking in or actually attempted to smuggle cocaine or slaves, they are all in the same leaky boat, on the same Special List. Thus, associates on the list, if they still have a boat, funds and are not in jail, receive special attention…every time they request to cross the border. Upon producing the Warning document from my ship's illustrious and now maligned portfolio, the female officer remarked, "Oh, this is just a warning". She then explained that unfortunately warnings and outright penalties all are documented in the same system. The officer receiving the next border request cannot distinguish the goofy sailor from the drug smuggler, not to say that the smuggler should not be considered goofy as well. But they are both flagged for special recognition. She went on to say that the agency was discussing expunging the warnings or somehow separating them from the serious offenders, but no reform was expected anytime soon. Her recommendation for future crossings was to proactively point out that the officer should see a flag in my file and this was due to a warning for failing to report immediately at the Bedwell dock on a late evening arrival in 2014. Nevertheless, I should expect to receive the continued special inquiry due to being on the list. With legal matters in our wake, she and her partner then asked who issued the warning. "Can you describe them?". "One was stern and stocky the other kind of lanky and a bit better humored", I replied. They exchanged knowing glances and her partner added wryly, "Ya, you're lucky you didn't have us". Carrying the lighter mood, I acknowledged that could well be the case, but added at the risk of being a suck-up, that I found them both this time to be very understanding. We went on to discuss the coincidence of family relations in medical school and their commitments and busy schedules and the potential advantage of a Nexus Pass for the future and otherwise enjoyed a more Canadian-like exchange before receiving my border pass number and instructions to deposit our two-dozen organic eggs in the dock bin before casting off. Should've cooked them. But alas they joined over 200 other eggs already slowly stewing in the giant trash omelet. Dock lines were let go, we scrambled back aboard and were soon riding the flood... that was now well in progress.
"It was a dark and stormy night"… actually it was a truly windy evening with 30 knot gusts meeting us last summer as we made our way from Juan de Fuca into Haro Strait en route to Bedwell Harbor, BC on that fateful day of August 28th.
A brief account of this incident was logged in two parts of last year's blog
(ohanaseachange.blogspot.com), however, as might be expected, this year's crossing raised old concerns. And thus, Part 3 of the fiasco continues.
 |
| Anchored at Bedwell |
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| Bedwell Customs dock |
Flash forward to this year. We had rounded Turn Point on the northwest tip of Stuart Island on this clear Sunday of June 7, 2015. Earlier that morning, we had cast off from our mooring buoy at Turn Island, ran counter to the ebbing tide up San Juan Channel but raced with the favorable ebb current down Speiden Channel and caught the eddy along the western shore of Stuart Island. We would make Customs at Bedwell Harbor by 2:00pm with an hour to spare before catching the afternoon flood to Montague Harbor. Passports and official boat papers were ready on the chart table. We slid onto the Customs dock after an Express Cruiser chose the section of dock reserved for float planes. Already I was feeling a bit more qualified than at least one other boater. Cinching up the last of the dock lines, and instructing crew to return and remain on the vessel, I noticed two uniformed agents marching past Ohana from the outward arm of the dock. In 12 years, I had never encountered agents at Bedwell upon arrival. And only last year had our fiasco prompted their appearance at all. Interesting. My first thought was "fine, this year at least we wouldn't have to wait for them to motor from Sydney". These were not the same agents. Could they be less pedantic, more reasonable? But wait, we hadn't done anything wrong this year… or had we? Crap! Maybe I should have studied up on the regs. Food, liquor, weapons, money, drugs… I knew all of this, but was there more? I clamored up into the cockpit and down the gangway, collected our documents from the chart table, re-emerged into the cockpit, jumped down on the sturdy wooden dock, stabbed a knuckle into my spasming lower back and made for the Customs office up the adjustable shore bridge. The door to the Customs office was wide open, the officers were inside. One male one female. Both were young, energetic and appeared to have a Canadian disposition. That would be informally formal with interested nonchalance and a dehydrated sense of humor. The female officer was standing to the side of the closest desk just hanging up the corded phone. The male officer was seated at the further desk thumbing through a small stack of papers. I greeted the first officer and stated my business. "Hi, I'm checking in for border crossing", I offered. The officer directed me to the phone bank outside of the office. "Use the phones. We are just here for support, if needed." I cordially extracted myself and eased out to the phones along the exterior wall under the eaves of the office. Carefully placing the passports and boat registration within easy access, I picked up the black plastic receiver which autodialed. "Hello", said a dry voice. That was the normal cue. I stated my location and business. The standard questions were then asked. I'm not even sure that I was asked the prior year's pivotal question, "From where are you arriving?", but I know this time i had an acceptable answer. The question may have been proffered, but my brain was as near to seizure as our boat the prior year. After the standard parlay,"Please hold on", came the vaguely familiar and ominous reply. Last year's experience taught me that this reply takes you down a different path. A path that leads into the bureaucratic backwaters, the swirling eddies and quagmire of customs legalities instead of that northbound flood current. One minute you're on Boardwalk poised to pass Go and the next you're hoping for a Get-out-of-Jail card. "Please go into the office. An agent will assist you". I re-cradled the receiver and slunk back into the customs office. The female officer looked up quizzically. "They told me to come see you for my clearance". "Have you had any problems recently?", she queried. I relayed last year's fiasco in summary form whereupon my education in matters of border crossings, issues, policies and potential reforms continued. This is when I became aware of the Special List. The Special List is special in all the undesirable ways. Listees all share the common trait of having violated some part of the border crossing laws and receiving special recognition for this feat. Whether one has stowed away more than the allotted liquor allowance, dropped an anchor before checking in or actually attempted to smuggle cocaine or slaves, they are all in the same leaky boat, on the same Special List. Thus, associates on the list, if they still have a boat, funds and are not in jail, receive special attention…every time they request to cross the border. Upon producing the Warning document from my ship's illustrious and now maligned portfolio, the female officer remarked, "Oh, this is just a warning". She then explained that unfortunately warnings and outright penalties all are documented in the same system. The officer receiving the next border request cannot distinguish the goofy sailor from the drug smuggler, not to say that the smuggler should not be considered goofy as well. But they are both flagged for special recognition. She went on to say that the agency was discussing expunging the warnings or somehow separating them from the serious offenders, but no reform was expected anytime soon. Her recommendation for future crossings was to proactively point out that the officer should see a flag in my file and this was due to a warning for failing to report immediately at the Bedwell dock on a late evening arrival in 2014. Nevertheless, I should expect to receive the continued special inquiry due to being on the list. With legal matters in our wake, she and her partner then asked who issued the warning. "Can you describe them?". "One was stern and stocky the other kind of lanky and a bit better humored", I replied. They exchanged knowing glances and her partner added wryly, "Ya, you're lucky you didn't have us". Carrying the lighter mood, I acknowledged that could well be the case, but added at the risk of being a suck-up, that I found them both this time to be very understanding. We went on to discuss the coincidence of family relations in medical school and their commitments and busy schedules and the potential advantage of a Nexus Pass for the future and otherwise enjoyed a more Canadian-like exchange before receiving my border pass number and instructions to deposit our two-dozen organic eggs in the dock bin before casting off. Should've cooked them. But alas they joined over 200 other eggs already slowly stewing in the giant trash omelet. Dock lines were let go, we scrambled back aboard and were soon riding the flood... that was now well in progress.
Monday, June 22, 2015
The Missing Ling
07 June 2015
The past evening at Turn was quiet except for some fishing commotion during dinner prep. Rapid footsteps on deck were audible from the galley. Soon the word was relayed down gangway that a net would be needed and perhaps more. Like a curious gray haired groundhog, I popped up, eyes searching for the source of excitement. Brooke had been casually tossing a buzz bomb into the dark waters beside Ohana and now her pole was doubled over pointing beneath the keel. I extracted myself from the gangway to get a closer look. Louis was already unleashing the dinghy for a possible water level assist. I peered overboard watching intently as the rod tip remained bent. Guessing the high likelihood of a snag I requested the rod handle for a sense of the unknown weight. The weight in fact felt immovable. After heaving a few times on the line, I gave a determined slow and steady upward pull hoping to free up the situation. Suddenly, an equally determined counter-pull came with the unmistakable pulsing tugs of something very large and alive. Thoughts raced that we would have our hands and dinghy full with some denizen of the deep when the weight eased and from below came a frisky, well sized rockfish. Brooke and I exchanged knowing glances. A repeat of a similar fishing phenomenon in this very anchorage occurred a few years earlier. As well on another voyage in a remote region of BC. This was the unmistakable feeding pattern of a large ling cod. One minute you're plunking around for small bottom fish when suddenly your catch becomes an irresistible lure for a giant ling. During one such event, we coaxed the big ling from below and not wanting the monster to share our inflatable, we gaffed the rockfish from its jaws but not before snapping a quick photo. This time, the apparent monster would not show his teeth, at least to us.
Ling cod (estimated 40lbs) near Sullivan Bay, BC
OhanaNorthward.blogspot.com
The past evening at Turn was quiet except for some fishing commotion during dinner prep. Rapid footsteps on deck were audible from the galley. Soon the word was relayed down gangway that a net would be needed and perhaps more. Like a curious gray haired groundhog, I popped up, eyes searching for the source of excitement. Brooke had been casually tossing a buzz bomb into the dark waters beside Ohana and now her pole was doubled over pointing beneath the keel. I extracted myself from the gangway to get a closer look. Louis was already unleashing the dinghy for a possible water level assist. I peered overboard watching intently as the rod tip remained bent. Guessing the high likelihood of a snag I requested the rod handle for a sense of the unknown weight. The weight in fact felt immovable. After heaving a few times on the line, I gave a determined slow and steady upward pull hoping to free up the situation. Suddenly, an equally determined counter-pull came with the unmistakable pulsing tugs of something very large and alive. Thoughts raced that we would have our hands and dinghy full with some denizen of the deep when the weight eased and from below came a frisky, well sized rockfish. Brooke and I exchanged knowing glances. A repeat of a similar fishing phenomenon in this very anchorage occurred a few years earlier. As well on another voyage in a remote region of BC. This was the unmistakable feeding pattern of a large ling cod. One minute you're plunking around for small bottom fish when suddenly your catch becomes an irresistible lure for a giant ling. During one such event, we coaxed the big ling from below and not wanting the monster to share our inflatable, we gaffed the rockfish from its jaws but not before snapping a quick photo. This time, the apparent monster would not show his teeth, at least to us.
Ling cod (estimated 40lbs) near Sullivan Bay, BC
OhanaNorthward.blogspot.com
Ohana Cast Off
06 June 2015
07:35
Red Nun off Wing Point Bainbridge Island
Clear skies/ 58F
Tide 9.7 ft @ 07:23
Wind W 5.1 kts
SOG 5.7kts
COG NW
Crew: Brooke and Louis
Voyage: 06 June - 13 June 2015
Itinerary: Turn Island, Montague, Sidney Spit, Roche Harbor, Sucia Island
The second week of June was a most favorable convergence of the most important sailing variables. Tide, weather, equipment, crew and schedule. Although schedule is a much disdained topic among cruisers, often the reality of responsibilities dictates a schedule of some sort. The trick is too allow sufficient flexibility whatever the time constraints such that safety and its cousin, enjoyment, bath the voyagers in the warm glow of an ideal journey.
And thus we cast off just after the peak of high tide in Eagle Harbor on a bright June morning with one full week of free time and the ship fully provisioned and ready.
We would follow the outflow from Puget Sounds past Kingston, Point No Point, Marrowstone Point and through Admiralty Inlet. The dregs of the big 10 foot ebb would push us out past Partridge Bank where the westerly wind would take over the assist as we coursed Juan de Fuca northwestward toward Cattle Pass where the new flood would pick us up on its surge through San Juan Channel. We would swing into the back eddy on the northwest lee of Turn Island, catch a mooring buoy and settle in for the evening by 16:45 hours.
07:35
Red Nun off Wing Point Bainbridge Island
Clear skies/ 58F
Tide 9.7 ft @ 07:23
Wind W 5.1 kts
SOG 5.7kts
COG NW
Crew: Brooke and Louis
Voyage: 06 June - 13 June 2015
Itinerary: Turn Island, Montague, Sidney Spit, Roche Harbor, Sucia Island
The second week of June was a most favorable convergence of the most important sailing variables. Tide, weather, equipment, crew and schedule. Although schedule is a much disdained topic among cruisers, often the reality of responsibilities dictates a schedule of some sort. The trick is too allow sufficient flexibility whatever the time constraints such that safety and its cousin, enjoyment, bath the voyagers in the warm glow of an ideal journey.
And thus we cast off just after the peak of high tide in Eagle Harbor on a bright June morning with one full week of free time and the ship fully provisioned and ready.
We would follow the outflow from Puget Sounds past Kingston, Point No Point, Marrowstone Point and through Admiralty Inlet. The dregs of the big 10 foot ebb would push us out past Partridge Bank where the westerly wind would take over the assist as we coursed Juan de Fuca northwestward toward Cattle Pass where the new flood would pick us up on its surge through San Juan Channel. We would swing into the back eddy on the northwest lee of Turn Island, catch a mooring buoy and settle in for the evening by 16:45 hours.
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| Dinghy deployed at Turn Island |
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| Explorer crossing Juan de Fuca |
More Olympic adventures
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| Cricket - compact lapstrake Acorn design tender hand built by shipwright, Jason Bledsoe, proves rugged and capable in the waters of Freshwater Bay near the estuary of the newly released waters of the Elwah River. |
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| Louis - a natural river guide on the lower Sol Duc. We drifted a six mile stretch of water below the Sol Duc hatchery. Water was at historically low levels for late May. A few cutthroat trout were coaxed from the scattered pools. Only one bolder-strewn rapid proved tight and challenging for our size and wingspan ...but with good teamwork, all remained excitedly dry. |
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| Calm stretch of the Sol Duc mid morning |
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| Change of flies in preparation for the deeper pools ahead |
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| Brooke balancing a log roll-casting along the tree-lined shore of Lake Crescent |
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| A fine rainbow from the secluded waters of Wentworth Lake. Thirty minutes to entice into the net with a five weight rod and large caddis-like wet fly. The alluring fly hence named the "Wentworth". Tips and gear courtesy of the fantastic staff of Waters West shop in Port Angeles. |
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Sidetracked
In the beginning there was a sail blog. Well, maybe it was more of an adventure blog. Either way, the ship's departure was delayed but for many good reasons. Louis and Brooke were wrapping up a med school rotation in some of the wildest country on this continent and in their limited free time they rallied to explore…and the 'ol star geezer was allowed to tag along like a stiff hipped retriever whose eyes still twinkled at the sight of a ball flying toward the water. So the weekends of May were dedicated to sea to sky on the Olympic Peninsula.
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| Louis and Marc review the Olympic range from Hurricane Ridge |
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| Canoe poised by Beaver Lake. Cutthroat await |
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| Salt Creek Recreation area. Surf kayaking |
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| Louis stalking cutthroat trout on the Sol Duc |
Thursday, May 7, 2015
Short Stories and Tall Tales
"The battered bow of the ketch pointed skyward through the gray morning mist lolling in the gentle waves with the dead heads along the steep rocky shore…"
"The starboard rail kissed the afternoon sunshine sparkling off the azure sea as the sails drew the sleek hull with great speed ahead of the approaching storm."
...What happened? Whats about to happen? Good stories raise good questions.
Each year's sailing blog has been about raising a few questions but mostly about exploration. New waters, new horizons. Looking outward reflecting inward. The typical discovery themes. Blah blah blah. Sound a little curmudgeonly? Ok, age cannot always be disguised. If you're lucky you acquire a little wisdom along the way. If you're normal, no amount of wisdom can insulate you from cynicism. I once thought of naming our sailing ship, "Star Geezer", but wasn't ready to accept the age connotation. Settled for Ohana. That's "family" in Hawaiian. Which I like just fine. Wherever the ship would go, no matter the crew, our Ohana would always be there.
I digress. Anyway, this year's blog of sailing in the Pacific NW is more like planned aimlessness. Sail here, hike there, meet folks along the way. But look for stories. This voyage will try to focus more on the stories. After all, how many photos can one take of misty mornings, moonlit waters and fish. Fact and fiction. History and fantasy. Let the sea lead. Oh, and try to remember to write. Wonder what the Hawaiian equivalent is for "star geezer".
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