Time For A Break

So there I was...trying to put together the weekly blog a day after Thanksgiving but having trouble finding the drive to do so.  It might just have been too much turkey.  I was going to tell about a time in Paris, France when a young Asian woman speaking in broken English approached me on the street wearing a green bowler hat, blond wig and Heidi dress.  She asked if I was an American and when I answered in the affirmative she and her five or six other friends all started jumping up and down and screaming.  Seems there was some sort of initiation that she was going through and she couldn't eat until she had her picture taken with an American.  So the group gathered around me and started clicking pictures as my wife looked on with a most bewildered expression.  Off the group ran giggling all the way.  It is bizarre how these things happen to me but lately things have been very quiet.  I don't doubt that they will get crazy again but I think it's time for a Christmas Holiday.  I'll resume the weekly blog in the new year.  See you in January 2013. 

Do Angels Draw?

So there I was...driving along the shores of Lake Ontario coming back from the boatyard where my boat is wintering on dry land.  As always, I was in awe of the vastness and power of that large a body of water.  It helped to put things in perspective as it had not been a good couple of weeks for me.  First my boat had been broken into and alot of my tools had been stolen, many of them passed down to me from my father.  Then with much effort and in the cold Kim and I had set up the frame and covered the boat with a new winter tarp only to have it part at the seams and rip itself off the boat with the strong winds.  My best efforts were being rewarded with less than ideal results.  
There was a time some 35 years ago that life was really beating me up.  Sometimes after work I would drive an hour and a half to get to the Rhode Island shore and sit on a break wall listening to the crashing waves.  Here I tried to figure out what I really wanted in life and why things were not going as planned.  One of those evenings, after sitting there for about an hour, a girl walked out to where I was on the rocks and handed me a sketch she had done of me from where she was sitting on the shore.  After I thanked her she smiled and just walked away.  As I looked at the sketch I notice how small I was in relation to how big the ocean was drawn.  That is when I started putting things in perspective.  Don't sweat the small stuff.  There are greater things in life to think on.  There is a much larger purpose for living than my day to day successes and failures.  There is a God and He has plans for me.
To this day, I find myself wanting to be around large bodies of water.  It keeps me grounded.  It keeps me from thinking too much of myself.  It helps me to see things as they really are.

Rocky and Bullwinkle

So there I was...having my morning coffee when I heard the squirrels running on the roof of the house again.  It was common as we have this huge pine tree close enough to the roof to make it easy for them.  I noticed the sound being louder than usual and with a little investigation found the critters to have taken up residence in an upper section of the attic accessible only from a damaged roof vent.  Before I could fix the vent I had to get these guys out but they had no intention of leaving despite my many efforts.  Then I bought the "Squirrelinator" (cue dramatic music).  After mounting this devise to the roof I captured the varmints within a day.  I secured the roof vent so I don't have to pull out the "Squirrelinator" (cue dramatic music) again.  This brings me to my other animal story from several years ago.
So there we were...winter camping on Mt Moosalamoo in Vermont.  My close friends, John and Rich, had been doing this annual excursion together for some 30 years straight and through the years others would join them, this being one of the years I did.  We "Robust Trampers", as the guys aptly named us, would backpack on snowshoes through the 4 ft deep snow a fair distance into the woods to set up a base camp and day hike out from there.  It was usually 3 days in zero degree weather sleeping in tents and cooking your meals on small camp stoves laid on a table you cut out of the tamped down snow.  We came back from a day hike on Moosalamoo to our camp and within a few minutes John quietly turns my head to show me a huge moose that is standing no more than 30 yds from us.  After she effortlessly trots off through the 4 ft snow we go to where she was standing to check her tracks.  My two hands end to end equaled the size of her hoof.  Then we saw her calf, some 6 feet tall, run off in a different direction from the mother.  I put on my snowshoes and told the guys that I had to track it.  After all, moosalamoo is the Abenaki Indian word meaning "trails of the moose".  As I followed its trail I saw where it crossed a snow covered frozen pond where it obviously slipped and took a digger as the snow was cleared from the ice where its body slid.  A memory of the scene from the animated movie where Bambi slides spread eagle across the ice came to mind.  Its tracks leading away from the site indicated that it was walking normal and no harm was done except maybe to its pride.  It was turning dark fast and the thought of the mother moose finding me tracking her young might end badly for yours truly so I headed back to camp.  These huge animals just thrilled me and made my weekend.  Can't say the same for the squirrels.

Upside Down At 3,500 Ft

So there I was...watching the news yesterday as they showed Laguardia Airport in New York covered in water with just the runways showing.  Hurricane Sandy had pummeled the area that I had boated through only a month ago.  Looking at that flooded airport reminded me of a day about 28 years ago when heavy rains in Kansas City, Missouri had left a small outlying airport surrounded by water, but the runways themselves were still usable.  The reason that was important to me that blustery morning was I was about to go up and jump out of a perfectly good airplane at 3,500 ft. hoping to land on dry ground.  Kim and I had not been married long so I wrote a quick will on a scrap piece of paper and had it signed and witnessed by a friend of mine there just in case gravity won and I lost.  I had training the night before and the morning of the jump as I would be jumping by myself and not attached to an instructor.  It is called a static line jump where a tether is attached on one end to the plane and the other end to your parachute so as you jump from the plane the 15+ ft line goes taut and pulls the parachute from your pack.  After a short freefall the air fills your chute and landing on dry ground is all you have to worry about.  As I stepped out onto the strut of the planes wing to prepare my spread eagle exit into open air, I became fascinated with the power of the propellers thrust.  Looking at it as I jumped caused me to fall in a twisting motion and as my chute deployed the lines wrapped around my legs.  I found myself hanging upside down at 3,500 ft with a partially opened parachute and falling fast.  Kim can see the deformed chute from the ground and knows things are not going well for me up there.  All I could think to say was, "Oh crap" and realized I better move fast.  Doing a mid-air situp I started unraveling the lines from my legs until finally I fell upright and the chute filled fully.  After a pleasant flight I made a good landing only 5 ft from the bullseye (a bath towel on the ground), and more importantly, not in the water.  Kim was breathing again but if I remember right she hit me...hard!

We Have History

So there I was...sitting with Kim in my new living room, in my new house, in my new town, in my new state trying to think what new things I can tell you in this blog.  Living on the water allows so much material for this endeavor as change and motion are a constant but what can I tell you now?  As we talked,  I realized that one of the things I treasure most in our 30 year marriage is our history together.  It has never been boring and we tend to fall into adventure on a regular basis.  Let me tell you about one such time.  So there we were...driving through the hills of Southern Missouri in my Toyota Landcruiser FJ40, the best offroad truck ever built.  We hear a call for help and see a young man in real trouble standing at the back of his car.  Seems he was trying to jack up the car to change a tire on an incline and when the car started moving he grabbed the jack trying to stop the motion getting his hand pinned between the jack and trunk lid of the car.  For those younger among us, the jacks we used to have in cars in those days were called bumper jacks and were a slotted 4 ft metal bar that would attach to a cutout in the bumper and a rachet system would raise the car.  It was this metal bar that was now crushing this young man's hand and was holding him there.  We waved other drivers down and several of us, including my 6 month pregnant wife, tried to push the car uphill to release the hand.  In the proccess Kim slipped and bloodied her knee on the gravel.  It wasn't working so I got the front of the Landcruiser against the front of the car and pushed slowly until the hand came free and the boy collapsed on the ground.  The other guys there got him into the front seat of my truck and off to the nearest hospital I sped.  The Landcruiser had bucket seats so the boy and Kim were sitting in the same seat.  Kim was trying to care for him but she does not do well with blood and his hand did not look good.  As I drove down the road the two of them were taking turns passing out.  First the boy passed out then came to.  Then Kim passed out.  Back and forth this went while I'm trying to stay on the road.  When we got to hospital nurses came running out to meet us.  They open the passenger door and see both of my passengers bloodied and passing out.  A nurse looks at me and says, "Which one is it?"  
We never saw the boy again and Kim recovered just fine.  This is our history.  Never a dull moment.

Coffee Tastes Better When It's Cold Outside

So there I was...pulling the boat along side the dock in Phoenix, NY just before the first lock that I would have to go through on the Oswego Canal.  To get to Lake Ontario you have to leave the Erie Canal bearing North onto the Oswego Canal.   It had been cold and rainy all day while traveling to this point.  Though I like the cold, sometimes the rawness of it seeps into my bones when the wet and cold come together.  My bones were telling me to find something warm, quick.  I secured Eventide and walked down the street to a little coffee shop called State Street Cafe.  The owner, Tammy, was incredibly cheerful and sympathetic to my long cold day on the water.  She begins to tell me that what I need is some of her homemade hot chicken and bisquit stew with a hot cup of coffee.  Then I should have a piece of, just out of the oven,  apple pie with a dollup of ice cream melted on top to finish it off and another cup of coffee.  Though normally frugal to a fault at this point I didn't care how much it cost.  What a joy it was to sit there eating and drinking warmth back into my happy bones.  The simplest of things can mean so much.  The cup of hot chocolate tastes so much better after you've come in out of the freezing cold and the tall glass of ice tea feels so good going down on a hot summers day.  It is the extremes in life that produce real living.  To avoid the discomfort is to never truly understand how wonderful comfort can feel.  By the way, it was less than ten dollars.  I know!
I was there too late in the season to take advantage of a group of kids that are called the Bridge House Brats that take care of all of the boaters needs for free.  Pick up groceries for you, wash your boat, walk your dog, and much more.  They will accept tips but there is no charge.  Google Bridge House Brats, you will be amazed.  
Kim drove in to spend the weekend on the boat with me and we went apple picking for the first time in our 30 year marriage.  I don't know why it took so long because that is so much fun.  Back to State Street Cafe for Caramel Apple Crepes that rivaled the crepes we had in Paris.
Kim left on Sunday evening and in the next few days I made my way through the locks and into Lake Ontario.  Not an easy trip to Rochester but I am tucked in a marina waiting for Eventide to be put on dry land for the winter.   Glad to be back with Kim but I don't like living and sleeping in a house that doesn't rock and I can't hear the waves.  Sometimes it's good to switch to tea from coffee for awhile.

Flight of Five

So there I was... at the docks in Waterford NY waiting for Kim to arrive so she could go through the first set of five locks with me.  A guy named Rick on a 40' trawler started talking to me who had just come the length of the Erie Canal from west to east.  I would be going from east to west.  He was from California and boated the Pacific Northwest for years but always wanted to do the Erie Canal.  So he went online, found the boat he wanted, negotiated the price he wanted (which was a great price), flew out to a port on Lake Erie, fixed the boat to his liking and off he went.  When I left him he was heading south down the Hudson River with a finishing point in Florida or the Bahamas.  When he gets there he will sell the boat, at a profit I'm sure,  and fly home to California.  How cool is that?  He gave me some great tips for doing the Erie Canal single-handed since Kim would only be helping for one day.  Speaking of Kim...
She showed up right on time and the next day she drove the car to lock 7 leaving it there and rode her bicycle 16 miles back on a bike trail along side the canal to where the boat was at Waterford.  We spent her 50th birthday the following day doing what is known as the "Flight of Five" or the "Waterford Flight"on the Erie Canal.  These five locks, in close proximity to each other, would lift our boat 169 ft and constitutes the greatest verticle lift in the shortest distance of any locks in the world.  This is twice as high as the total lift of the Panama Canal.   It seemed aprapoe that Kim was celebrating her own "Flight of Five" and so after each lock she would tell me what major events happened in her life during that decade.  A few tears were shed as we went through the locks and the decades.   Not by me of course.  
I went on alone after this and I am tied to a wall at the entrance of Oneida Lake after going through locks 21 and 22 earlier today.  Lock 17 was the toughest with it's 40 ft elevation, the highest on the Erie Canal.  Imagine coming up to a four story building with a long rope hanging from the roof to the ground.  You hang onto this verticle rope trying to keep your 17,000 lb boat from moving all over the lock chamber while water floods in to fill the lock.  My arms were so tired that night.  I have a four hour trip across the lake tomorrow so I'll say goodnight.

Always On The Move

So there I was...leaving Manhassett, on the north shore of Long Island, early in the morning heading for Hell's Gate in the East River toward Manhattan.  Taking a hard right before I got to the "big city", I headed up the Harlem River.  I couldn't stop singing the song Spanish Harlem the whole distance of the river until I came to the Hudson River.  There were no songs for the Hudson River.  Then there was a very bumpy night spent at anchor in the bay created by Croton Point.  This was followed by a drive by of West Point and later that day I anchored in a quiet harbor 2 1/2 miles up a creek in Kingston, NY having a meal at a creekside bar with some very colorful individuals.  The next day I was on to another anchorage in another creek just south of Coeymans, NY where I spent two days of solitude followed by a nerve racking morning feeling my way through the pea soup fog and rain to make it to the marina where I took on 145 gallons of diesel fuel to the tune of $641.37.  The very pregnant young women who helped me with dock lines then took my money with a big smile making that pill go down a little easier.  Off into the rain I went making my way through Albany and onto the Federal Lock in Troy, NY, the first of many locks that I will navigate in the coming weeks.  Just a short distance from there was the entrance to the Erie Canal. As I write this I'm tied to a dock just below the first of 30 locks and 184 miles of canal before I find myself in Lake Ontario, one of our Great Lakes.  Then another 75 miles to get to Rochester, NY.  Why Rochester, you might ask?  That's where Kim, the love of my life, lives. 

Go West Not So Young Man

So there I was...motoring into the dock with my dingy in Mattituck Harbor on the north shore of Long Island.  Getting into their dingy to go back out to their sailboat was a couple a few years older than me and we struck up a conversation about the old 1953 3hp Johnson outboard engine that I used on my dingy.  As the conversation progressed we got to talking about how the woman, who was in great shape, had just been kiteboarding all afternoon on the bay.  Kiteboarding is where you hold on to a large kite to propel you across the the top of the water, often at great speeds, on what looks like a small surfboard.  It is an intense sport and I was impressed that this "not so young" woman was proficient in it.  The conversation eventually turned to living a minimalist lifestyle on our boats. Being an advocate of the minimalist philosophy I was explaining how my wife and I had sought to downsize making our life simpler, cheaper and more fullfiling.  Always wanting more is endless and requires all your time maintaining more and working too much to afford it all.  Wanting less creates a feeling of accomplishment as you give things up, while financially and emotionally simplifying your life giving you more time to invest in the things that really matter.  I read once a quote that said, "The quickest way to make a man rich is to decrease his wants".  The couple proceeded to tell me of their home in the woods on 7 acres of land with no electricity and a pipe from a nearby stream leading into the house for water.  For many years they had lived and loved this simple life allowing them to work and live in their very modest home in the winter and travel the east coast in the summer living on their boat.  Her job for the day was to go kiteboarding.  His job was to carry it to the beach and back.  I decided they won the minimalist challenge.
Yesterday I raised anchor and did an 8 hour cruise going west toward New York City going by the harbors of Port Jefferson and Oyster Bay.  As I passed Oyster Bay the water in Long Island Sound became deep red, almost like blood.  Thoughts of God telling Moses to turn the water in the Nile River to blood came to mind.  In this case it is what's called Red Tide, an algal bloom that has been a problem in New England waters.  It's very disconcerting.  I motored into Manhasset Harbor and got one of their free moorings for a couple nights.  From here I will make my run through Hell's Gate, up the Harlem River and into the Hudson River.  Going west as simply as I can.

Mystic Storm

So there I was... sitting in the cockpit in a protected harbor just south of the train bridge in the Mystic River watching the sunset as I like to do most days.  I had picked this spot as I heard strong winds were heading my way and indeed they were already building.  The forcast had called for 50 mph gusts and heavy rains but I had been dug in for two days and felt good as the storm approached.  I felt good until I realized I was slowly moving because the anchor was dragging through the silty soft bottom of the river.  I had problems with this area before but had since increased the size of my anchor thinking I had it figured out.  The winds had now increased to about 30 mph and it was getting dark fast.  Reanchoring a vessel single-handed and in extreme conditions is not easy but I was surprised how I seemed to take it in stride.  I think living out here day in and day out I've sort of grown accustomed to the movements, sounds and situations that used to bother me before.  As the storm howled outside through the night I got up a few times to check on things but otherwise slept well.  I like this life...even the tough parts.  I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned there.
Heading for the north shore of Long Island tomorrow but a meal at the pub in Captain Daniel Packer Inn in Mystic is a must.  Give it a try if you're ever here.  Goodbye Connecticut.

Newport Is Crazy Busy

So there I was...catching a little breakfast at the Seamen's Church Institute, an icon in Newport, originally started in 1919 to serve those who worked and traveled the sea.  It is a place where cruisers, like myself, can get an inexpensive breakfast, take a hot shower, wash your clothes and spend some quality time in its library and chapel.  I was sitting across from this couple and eventually we were telling our tales to each other.  Seems Scott and Mary Flanders have lived on their 46' Nordhavn trawler since 2006, one of the most seaworthy trawlers built and had taken her around the world and then some.  They write articles for a prominent boating magazine called Passagemaker and are well known in the cruising community.  A wealth of information and I got to pick their brain and enjoy their company for an hour.  What an amazing couple, what an amazing life.
Dove on a friends boat yesterday to clean the growth, mussels, sea squirts and barnicles off of his running gear (that's the shaft and propeller for my non-nautical friends) .  Took awhile as it had gotten to garden proportions.  When I got out of the water these little critters that look like miniature walking sticks with, I think, six legs and pinchers were all over me and holding on for dear life.  I had obviously destroyed their habitat and now they wanted to come home with me.  A long shower and much scrubbing  convinced them otherwise.
An early morning jaunt on Newport's historic Cliff Walk was a must.  This 3.5 mile trail has the crashing sea, some 70 ft below, on one side of you and the sprawling estates of several mansions on the other.  One of my favorite is aptly named The Breakers and was built by the Vanderbilts as a summer home in 1895.  This is a must see if you find yourself here some day.
The Newport Boat Show, a great in water show, started today with million dollar boats by the dozens that you can board and explore.  Great fun.  Always busy in this harbor.  Starting to feel the need for a quieter place.  I'm pulling anchor in a couple days.  See you at the next stop.

Was That What Was Nibbling My Toes?

So there I was...sitting in the cockpit of Eventide watching the guy on the boat anchored right behind me in Block Island pulling in a fish that was giving him quite a fight.  As he brought the 3 foot Sand Shark to the surface the water exploded as the shark was none too happy.  What was this shark doing in Great Salt Pond?  Locals said that was unusual.  The day before I had been swimming around the boat and felt a movement against my leg thinking it was probably seaweed.  Still think it probably was seaweed but I would have loved to see the shark swimming that close up.
The last night on the island I walked the beach watching several groups digging holes in the sand and making large fires in them to have clam bakes, grill burgers and fish, etc.  They would all be standing around the fires with their wine and beer thoroughly enjoying each others company and this extrordinary atmosphere.  There are not many beaches you can do this on with the blessing of local government.
The next day I was off to Newport with beam seas from 4-6 ft that tossed me all over the place for three hours.  Wilson was rolling all over the cabin, he looked pretty shook up.  Anchored, then drinks and catching up with my old friend, Garret, who has lived on his boat for many years in Newport and has promised to help me with my salt water fishing so I can eat.  Lots of activity here.  I'll fill you in next time.

Hard To Leave Block Island

So there I was... at 10pm weaving between anchored boats on a pitch black night in my dingy with the 15hp Yamaha outboard churning away.  I was making my way to Paynes Dock with the anchor lights on top of the masts of the hundreds of sailboats looking like stars in the sky, though there were no stars that night.  I came up alongside a quiet side of the dock and Kim and I climbed a ladder to gain access to a place called Mahogany Shoals.  This "best kept secret" pub that we entered is located near the end of the dock, has barely enough room for me to stand, is quite small and you dare not let go of your drink because the floor is so crooked it's hard to find a level table.  Walter, a beloved Irish musician/singer/storyteller was about to start his set.  Kim and I had seen him a few years ago in this same venue.  At that time there was this little Benji looking dog that would just sit and stare at him as he played.  At first he denied knowing the dog.  Then maybe he knew him and eventually he admitted to owning him.  He told the story of how he was playing at a Scottish wedding in Florida and was taking a break when a large drunk Scotsman came outside and vomitted over the rail right onto this poor little stray dog.  The Scotsman looked bewildered and said, "I don't remember eating that"  Well, Walter cleaned him up and adopted him.  Back in Mahogany Shoals Walter mentioned that the dog did take tips and a guy there offered him a 5 dollar bill.  The dog walked over, took the 5, looked at Walter and walked out the door.  All Walter could say is, "It's that darn poodle down the dock".   Another memorable night at Mahogany Shoals and at midnight we head through the darkness hoping we can find the boat for a good nights sleep.  At 7:30am we hear the familiar cry of "andiamo andiamo" (which, in Italian, means something like come on let's have breakfast, though I've heard several definitions.)   The cry comes from the Aldo's Bakery boat that comes through daily to tempt you with hot coffee, pasteries of all kinds, Italian breads, etc brought right to your anchored boat before you're awake enough to resist.  Then it's another day at a beautiful beach accessible using the dingy.  This is indeed a boaters paradise.  It will be hard to leave.

This is a Sub-Blog

Though I'll be adding another blog in a couple days I thought it prudent to fill you in on a few facts.  For those of you who don't know,  my name is Wayne and I live on a 34 ft boat that is called Eventide.  I have sailed the New England waters for many years but have come to this wonderful place called "Early Retirement" which has allowed me to do this full time.  In the years that I have been boating I have had the pleasure/curse to fall into bizaar and sometimes entertaining or even heart wrenching  situations while on the water.  I created this blog to share these adventures with you.  The picture in the profile is a replica of a Wilson ball from the movie Castaway in which Tom Hanks, after creating the face with a cut and bloodied hand,  begins to talk to the ball and calls it Wilson.  My very good friend, Jasmine, gave me this to keep me company knowing I was going to be living alone on a boat.  Sadly, I do talk to Wilson...daily.   Now giving that I obviously need more human contact you can email me at crosswinds@hotmail.com if you have any questions or comments.  The sea is an amazing and demanding place to live and stories abound when you're out here.  Thanks for joining me. 
Wayne

But I Won't Tell You About That

So there I was...anchored in Great Salt Pond on Block Island.  I could tell you about watching the guy pull in over 100 good sized fish in one cast of net in Hamburg Cove, but I won't.  Or running into old friends Ralph and Ellen walking the beach on Napatree Point in Watch Hill, but I won't.   Or getting to see Rick and Mary in Block Island, a couple I've known for many years that sailed their 37 foot sailboat around the world in five years.  There are many stories there but I won't tell you about that.  There were camels and kangaroos that I ran into by accident while hiking around the island, and nature trails that took you to the edge of cliffs overlooking an endless ocean but I really don't want to tell you about that.  There were sunsets that would take your breath away and seemed to never want to end.  Or walks on the beach with Kim in the evening where the sand, the surf and breeze conspired together to produce the perfect moment, but that's not what I want to tell you about.  I want to tell you about two twelve year old boys that I watched from the cockpit of my boat yesterday afternoon.  They were in this old beat-up little boat that was barely staying afloat with the weight of the two of them in it.  They paddled it out to where my boat was anchored with two old boards that they probably picked up off the beach.  When they got out far enough they lowered a big rock tied to a line over the side as an anchor.  Then two sticks with line and bait were used as fishing poles.  I watched these two for quite some time as they talked and laughed and maneuvered to keep themselves on top of the water and not under it.  As far as I could tell they never caught a thing but I couldn't help but wonder when they reach my age if they won't look back at this moment as one of the best.  No matter where these two friends end up in life they will always have this very simple, very special memory.

It Still Hurts

So there I was...walking down a street in Mystic CT in search of a good cup of coffee when I noticed a hanging sign on the side of a building advertising an accounting firm with the last name that sent chills up and down my spine.  I had to know, so I walked into this establishment and was met by a lady ready to help.  I said "This may seem like an odd question to you but did a man with the same last name of your business and who was an accountant die a couple years ago in a boating incident?"  She said, "Yes, that was my brother."  And I replied, "I was the one who pulled him from the water and on to my boat that day and was with him when he died."  A pained sob came from inside her and she threw her arms around me and cried and cried. Not a gentle cry but a fermented suffering that had been needing to come out.   When she was able to listen I told her of how my wife and I had heard Matthew calling for help as we motored down the channel after leaving Watch Hill on that 4th of July weekend.  When we got to him he said he was having trouble breathing.  Kim threw him a throw ring with line attached and pulled him to the swim platform ladder.  He looked up and said an exhausted, "Thank you." He grabbed for the ladder and died.  As he floated away Kim swam to him and brought him back to the boat where we attempted to get him aboard.  Boaters will tell you that this is not easy.  The Coast Guard was at least 15 minutes out but with the help of people we flagged down and a tow boat operator who was an EMT we got him in the dingy and started CPR.  It was too late.  
The poor lady would burst into tears several times as I was relaying the story and she kept thanking me for being there for her brother.  They worked together for many years and she misses him every day.  There was a picture of him on the table.  She was so glad I stopped and told me to thank my wife as well.  We hugged, she cried, I left.  God bless this woman.  Give her peace.

And So It Begins

     So there I was driving up to the dock at the boatyard where my boat/home was floating offshore at its mooring in the Connecticut River.  I had just retired an hour earlier from my job of 22 years with a hearty farewell from all my coworkers and friends.  There at the end of the dock was John Chapin one of my closest friends and he looked tired.  Almost one month earlier he started paddling his single man canoe with another close friend, Rich, from the headwaters of the Connecticut River in Canada on a quest to reach the mouth of the river in Long Island Sound.  Camping on the banks of the river each night and paddling all day for that long would wear anybody out.  He had two days of paddling left to reach his goal and my boat was a tempting stopover for the night.  How serendipitous that he came to this point on the very day I retired.  I had stopped on the way to the boatyard and picked up the first of the Sam Adams Octoberfest to hit the stores for the season to celebrate.  I think I may have seen a tear form in John's eye when I pulled it from the car.  Many toasts and a pizza later we sat in the cockpit feeling blessed for the ability to adventure the way we do and for the amazing wives that love us through it all.  John went on to finish what he started and I slipped the mooring a few days later to see what stories I might find out there.  I'll do my best to fill you in on the adventure.