Lake Tashmoo

So there I was...pulling into the narrow opening between two break walls on the south shore of Martha's Vineyard taking note of Diane Sawyer's house off to the right a couple hundred yards down the beach.  As we continued along the tight channel into Lake Tashmoo there were people standing in knee deep water only twenty feet from our boat making me think twice about trying this harbor out.  Eventually the channel widened out and we found plenty of water to drop our anchor in this quiet and pristine harbor.  After landing the dingy at the towns convenient dock, we hiked the mile into Vineyard Haven where amenities were in abundance.  After purchasing a clamming license Kim and I retraced our steps back to the dingy and made our way to the shallows of the harbor at low tide.  There we would perform the little twisting motion, while standing with weight on the heels of our feet, until we felt that familiar bump buried in the sand.  Bending down to dig this bump up would reward you with either a clam or a quahog, both worth eating.  After filling our bucket we would head back to Eventide to put our catch in a mesh bag and tie it in the water off the swim platform so these bi-valve mollusks could naturally clean the sand from the inside of their shells.  Later we steam them by the dozen, dipping them in melted butter to complete the experience.  Taking a harbor tour in the dingy, we meet an architect who has lived on his boat for many years and now found himself in Lake Tashmoo.  He tells us that just about an hour before sunset we should take our dingy to the end of the harbor, tie it to an overhanging tree limb and hike several hundred yards along a dirt path to enjoy an outdoor Shakespearean Theater.  For a small fee, we sit on a terraced hillside in the middle of the woods, enjoying a bottle of wine and hors d'oeuvres, as we watch an amazing performance, sans electronics or lights, by professional theater actors from New York and Boston.  After offering a standing ovation, we make our way back to the dingy with the last bits of daylight.  We motor our way through the many moored and anchored boats to where Eventide is waiting, promising to rock us to sleep in this wonderful place. 

Anniversary

So there I was...celebrating 32 years of marriage with my best friend last week.  As we reminisced over dinner that night I could still feel the fear, as if it were just yesterday, watching her father walk her down the isle with a shotgun in his hand.  We had little in common when we first met but over the years her dreams have become mine and mine hers.  In our early years together she soon realized that I could not get enough time "messing about in boats" and adventures would become a norm.  Many would have run the other way, or at least distance themselves from the insanity, but not Kim.  If it was important to me, it was important to her.  She was, and is, such a giver with enthusiasm to top it off.  She was right there with me rappelling down that hundred foot cliff in Missouri, motorcycling across Oklahoma in wicked thunderstorms, hiking to the top of Tuckerman's Ravine on Mt. Washington, NH in two feet of snow for our fifteenth anniversary, hoping out of a Jacuzzi in bathing suits to throw ourselves into a Colorado snowbank (just because) and so many boating experiences when we thought we might lose it all.  As I prepare for another adventure on Eventide this summer it is Kim going out of her way to make sure I have this opportunity.  There is no better wife, mother, friend.

Close Call

So there I was...too weak to stand, crawling on my hands and knees from the cockpit of Eventide into the main cabin.  A few years ago a hurricane was making its way up the east coast bent on hitting New England.  Many boats had been pulled out of the water and placed safely ashore in expectation of the very high winds and waves expected to hit the Mystic, CT area.  Several boats that were moored next to me headed up nearby rivers to get some protection inland.  I looked at this as a great adventure.  To ride out the storm on my mooring, a 1,200 pound train wheel and axle securely planted offshore at the mouth of the Mystic River, and feel what it's like to be in the middle of all the action.  By late morning the winds began to increase as I put the finishing touches on all the extra lines I had attached to every available cleat on the boat with an abundance of chafing gear to keep them from wearing through once the waves got crazy.  As I looked around there was nobody anywhere to be seen on the remaining boats near me.  After preparing their boats they had headed for shore.  I was taking lots of pictures as the storm grew in intensity, fascinated by the incredible forces knocking my boat around,  like it was a mere toy.  Then several boats broke away from their moorings, one almost ramming me on its way to crashing onto the rocks at shore.  This was all quite an adrenaline rush and I was thinking that I was glad I got to have a front seat to this spectacle when something happened that I didn't expect.  I got seasick.  As the storm churned it's worst with no end in sight I relinquished my lunch, then breakfast, then yesterdays dinner to the sea from the aft rail of the cockpit.  Though I had no more to give, my stomach had obviously missed the memo.  Eventually, from the many hours I'd spent in the strong winds and my drained physical condition, my core temperature and hydration were getting to dangerous levels as I started shaking uncontrollably.  No longer able to stand, I fell to the floor of the cockpit keeping my eyes shut to stop the dry heaving that refused to cease.  Knowing I was in real trouble here with no one able to get to me in these conditions, I crawled, eyes closed, into and through the main cabin getting tossed onto my side several times from the violent jerking of the boat straining against the mooring lines as one huge wave after another made contact with Eventide.  Finally making it to the V-berth I flopped on my bunk and blindly started pulling anything my hands could reach on top of me to hold in the heat.  After about two hours I finally stopped shaking though the storm raged on for many more hours.  By next morning friends came to check on their boats and gave me a ride to shore, beaten up but still in one piece.  And boy was I hungry.

Thinning The Jellyfish

So there I was...cruising from Martha's Vineyard to Newport several years ago when I spotted a fin in the distance from my vantage point on the upper helm station of Eventide.  It initially looked like the dorsal fin of a large shark but as Kim and I got closer we could see that the fin was flopping back and forth.  Either a very sick shark or something else.  Turns out it was something else, namely a Mola Mola, commonly called an Ocean Sunfish.  These fish weigh in at around 2000 lbs, look like a massive pancake laying on it's side at the surface, have huge eyes and a small mouth for eating it's primary diet of jellyfish.  As we approached, I thought the sound of our engine would cause the Sunfish to dive but as I idled up to within 3 feet of it, it just lay there looking at us with that big eye and flopping it's fin as if waving.  A friendly fish that feeds on the dreaded jellyfish.  How good is that?  Speaking of jellyfish, one of the most feared of this species, though not technically a jellyfish, the Portuguese Man-O-War made a rare showing that same summer as we spotted several off the coast of Martha's Vineyard.  Named after the classic Portuguese fighting ships of old, because of their similar appearance, they have a gas filled bladder that looks like a sail standing several inches above the water and about 30 ft long tentacles below.  The winds effect on the sail actually propels it through the water and if a person comes in contact with the tentacles it will not be something they forget.  Fortunately, our friendly Mola Mola will eat these guys as well.  Most years I have at least one sea turtle sighting and I'm always amazed how big they are.  And the best part, they eat jellyfish.

Flying Into Spring

So there I was...flying down into the Grand Canyon last week in a helicoptor.  As the morning sun shone off the massive walls of the canyon, creating shadows and designs on the layered rock, our aircraft gently touched down on a flat section half way between the upper rim and the base, where the river flowed.  The sheer size of this "natural wonder of the world" is what amazes most.  Hopping out of the copter, our very competent pilot told us we had about thirty minutes to explore and enjoy a picnic lunch that was laid out for us.  Impressive, to say the least.  Flying over the Hoover Dam and Lake Mead on the way to the Grand Canyon was icing on the cake.  What I noticed most, while enjoying these incredible sights, was the absence of color and life.  Everything seemed to be brown or a shade of that color.  Growing up in New England there was always such lush greens in Spring/Summer and the Fall colors are world renowned.  So much wildlife could be experienced if you sat quietly under a tree for five or ten minutes watching the forest come alive.  Or walking the beach listening to the seagulls over the roar of the waves as the Piping Plovers keep time with the surf, running and feeding as the water advances, then recedes.  I guess I'm biased to thinking this way because of where I grew up but this trip to the desert areas locked those feelings firm.  Glad I went, and it is amazing to see, but now I'm ready for Spring, which officially starts in about fifty minutes, and all the colors and life that come with it here in the Northeast.  We have a sign that hangs over our kitchen window that says, "Let It Snow".  Time to switch that to the one that says, "Let It Grow".

Working to Live or Living to Work

So there I was...tearing all the flooring out of the living room this past week.  Our 1940's home had plank sub-flooring and a very narrow top nailed oak flooring that was tired looking and had outlived its ability to be restored.  Along with this, serious squeaking would accompany every step that was made anywhere in the room.  Being one to be bothered easily by such things and not being one to sit still for very long, a plan was hatched to rip the entire floor out, down to the joists, effectively giving us a full view of the basement from the living room.  Now replaced with new glued and screwed sub-flooring panels, I await the carpet installers to finish the job and the chiropractor to put my back together again.  Kim has been asking (hinting) when I'd be ready to go live on the boat again and my son, while talking to my wife this past weekend, wondered if she should keep a tranquilizer gun around for the next time I think demolition sounds like a good idea.  I have been known to have difficulty slowing down and resting.  Projects and work always seem to be percolating in my head.  What should be there is, "who am I going to go meet for coffee" or "where should I go fishing today?"  Retirement should be more than having more time to do jobs around the house.  A card I received from some of my coworkers when I retired said that my week would now consist of six Saturdays and a Sunday.  My efforts need to start reflecting that.  May the projects become smaller and the fish stories become bigger. 

Grace Under Fire

So there I was...going through my e-mails a couple days ago and saw where the guy who bought our house in Connecticut was asking me where we bought the wide plank oak flooring found in the dining room.  While trying to remember this for him, the memory of why were picking out oak flooring came flashing back.  It started on a Friday evening about twenty summers ago when Kim, Josh and I headed down to our boat to spend the weekend on the ocean as was our habit.  That evening a teenager, who lived in the neighborhood, burglarized our home and for whatever reason set fire to it before he left.  The house was a total loss.  My son's cat died in the fire and was buried by the firemen in the backyard.  We couldn't be found until late on Sunday so we were oblivious to the whole thing for almost two days.  The fire marshall who met us at the house that Sunday evening was so kind to us while we tried to figure out what happened.  Finally realizing it was arson, the State Police got involved.  The boy was caught a week later and there is a whole other story about how we became close to his family and the healing that God did in their lives.  Miracles do happen.  Our insurance company was wonderful and with their help we started rebuilding our lives and eventually our house.  I especially remember needing to go back to work so the night before I went to Eddie Bauer and told the sales associate I needed five shirts, five t-shirts, five pairs of pants, five pairs of socks, etc.  All of the incidentals we have and take for granted had to be purchased right away for our family to function.  When the rebuilding of the house started there were so many decisions to be made quickly, including what flooring to put in the new dining room, making the next year a bit overwhelming.  Neighbors in our little town, our church and so many friends went above and beyond with their acts of kindness, leaving us with a myriad of positive memories during a stressful period in our lives.  When it was time to sell the house and leave Connecticut we chose a real estate agent we felt to be competent and trustworthy only to find out that she was the daughter of the fire marshall that helped us through that initial realization, so many years ago, that all that we owned was gone.  Through God's grace, so much more was gained.

Dirt Bikes

So there I was...coming out of one of my favorite burger places a few days ago on the shores of Lake Ontario when I heard the high pitch whine of 2 cycle engines coming from a connecting bay.  Going to investigate, I found a long curvy circular track made on the ice of the bay from the shoveled snow and orange cones set at strategic corners.  Motorized dirt bikes with studded tires, made to grip the ice, were circumnavigating the track at high speeds pushing the limits of gravity and centrifugal force.  As Kim and I sat and watched these risk-takers, I thought back to the days when I owned a Yamaha 250 Enduro dirt bike while living in Missouri.  We lived out in the country and I remember a blizzard coming through that made all the rural roads impassible.  The daughter of a friend, that lived nearby, was very sick and needed medication from a pharmacy about 10 miles away.  So he and I jumped on our dirt bikes and took off into the deep snow, crossing farms and wooded land cutting our own path to town.  Many slips, falls and challenges later we made it and returned with what his daughter needed.  I also remember the time I was navigating the bike through a wooded area that was extremely inhospitable with steep hills and dangerous drop offs.  Heavy rains had created muddy puddles everywhere and as I approached one at a good speed I guessed it to be six inches to a foot deep.  I was wrong.  As I hit the four foot deep mini pond the bike went under water as I flew off into the mud.  It took over an hour to get all the water out of the engine and carburetor but it eventually started and the only thing hurt was my pride.  The time I can picture most about owning the bike is when I would take my 18 month old son with me.  With this mammoth helmet on his head, he would sit in front of me hanging onto the handlebars as we motored out of the driveway, up the dirt roads  and into the woods with him laughing and squealing all the way.  Returning home we'd find Kim standing out front wringing her hands with nervous anticipation relieved to see that I brought her baby back in one piece.  Good times.  

Granny and Paw-Paw

So there I was...having lunch with the pastor of my church the other day and we were sharing how we found one of the greatest treasures in this life, our wives.  I was telling him that I was set up on my first and last blind date by a well meaning coworker.  Having very little money at the time and basically subsisting on macaroni & cheese,  we began our courtship with conversation over nothing more than coffee and tea.  By our next date my financial situation had not improved in the least so going hiking seemed a good idea.  She suggested hiking her families land of many acres down near the Arkansas border in southern Missouri.  When we arrived at our destination she wanted to stop by her grandparents place who owned a farm close by to introduce me.  Coming from Connecticut, I had become acclimated to the very different mid-western way of life while living in Springfield, MO but had not had much exposure to the rural farming communities.  As we approached the farm house a large man with even larger hands got up from his chair on the front porch and shook my hand with a smile and one of the heaviest southern accents I had heard.  This was Kim's Paw-Paw and she was quite proud of him.  Then it happened.  Granny walked around the corner of the house.  She was a small woman dressed in cowboy boots, cotton dress and a bonnet on her head.  She was the epitome of what I had thought a southern farmers wife would look like in story books or on TV.  As I was taking this all in, my eyes were drawn to the holster strapped around her waist holding a revolver neatly by her side.  At first I thought she must be messing with this Yankee who was so far from home, but she went on to explain how she had been shooting the snakes that were eating the eggs in the chicken coop.  Over the next several months I got quite an education from Granny and Paw-Paw as we got to know each other and they found a very special place in my heart.  Kim reminds me of Granny with her giving and upbeat spirit, playful nature and a giggle that brightens a room.  How can you not fall in love with that?

Uncle Pete

So there I was...jumping from a fire escape three stories up to grab onto the window ledge of a building.  It was a few days after the death of Lyndon Johnson who died on January 22nd 1973.  To honor the 36th President of the United States, public schools had the day off and a couple of friends and I decided to ride our bikes across the Connecticut River into Hartford.  After visiting a radio station and several stores, I told the guys I should check in on my elderly uncle who lived in an apartment building in the downtown area.  After knocking at his door and getting no answer I went out onto the fire escape and saw his window half open.  He would sometimes have to do this, even in January, because the old steam radiators in this building would pump out too much heat in certain apartments with no adjustment.  Knowing he wouldn't have left it open if he wasn't home, I leaned out to see into the apartment through the window and saw him lying face down on the floor.  Believing I could make the jump from my perch to the window ledge and acting like a youth with no sense, I made my move.  While hanging on with one arm I was able to slide the window up the rest of the way and scramble through.  He looked bad but was still breathing, though unconscious.  He had laid there for three days and was close to death according to the doctors.  Having Parkinson's Disease, he had fallen and found it impossible to even turn onto his back.  After a long hospital stay he made a full recovery and was better than ever, thanks to a new and effective drug to treat this illness.  
Sometimes, what looks like a negative can have a positive effect.  Who would have thought that several more years would be given to my Uncle Pete because a President died.  

Gyros

So there I was...watching the Today Show a couple mornings ago where they were showing a new one wheeled motorcycle going on the market soon.  The way this thing stays up is with the use of gyros.  This is the same technology that was pioneered by Dean Kamen when inventing the Segway several years ago.  Why does this factoid find itself in my blog?  Three reasons.  One...I think gyros are one of the coolest underused phenomenons of physics that I know of.   Two...They've started putting gyros in the bilges of boats under the brand name Seakeeper that can cut the rocking of a boat dramatically, even with no forward movement.
Three...Dean Kamen owns an island just off the coast of Groton, Connecticut that I used to boat  around for years when I had a mooring in the neighboring town of Noank.  The name of the island is North Dumpling and is actually part of New York though closer to Connecticut.  Years ago, during the elder Bush administration, Mr. Kamen wanted to put a wind turbine on his island to generate some energy from the winds, especially from the west, funneling down Long Island Sound.  New York would not allow this to happen for a variety of reasons.  After many legal battles, Kamen said that his island would secede from the U.S. if an agreement could not be reached.  He was friends with Bush and though I don't know about the legalities, there was some sort of agreement reached involving a non-aggression pact.  Whether legal or just a ruse, there is now a wind turbine on the island.  Kamen, in all his wit, is called Lord Dumpling and printed money for the island called dumplings.  Boating by the island you can see his navy consisting of an amphibious vehicle that can go on land and sea along with a replication of Stonehenge that Kamen says is to sacrifice the lawyers.  For the President's assistance, Kamen outlawed broccoli since Bush hated the vegetable.  It was always fun to take guests for a cruise around North Dumpling and watch their reaction as the story was told.  Thanks Dean for your work with gyros and your wonderful sense of humor.

Christmas Cruise

So there I was...pushing my 9 foot long Dyer Dhow fiberglass rowing/sailing boat onto the ice at the edge of a lake we lived on several years ago.  Kim and I were embarking on our annual Christmas Cruise, a tradition we started years earlier.  In the week before Christmas we would launch the boat from the private beach where we stored it and circumnavigate the lake looking at all the decorations and lights the residents had on their docks and houses while sipping hot chocolate that Kim poured from a thermos.  Some years were colder than others and often there was ice formed around the shoreline going out a hundred feet or more.  The center of the lake took longer to freeze as it was spring fed.  This particular year, the ice was an inch or two thick, so after Kim got in the bow of the boat I climbed in the stern giving us the required combined weight for the boat to break through the ice.  I started my little 1953 Johnson 3 horsepower engine and it would push us forward until the bow rode up on the ice and again broke through.  This scenario was repeated many times until we finally came to open water and our cruise around the lake was a grand success.  Sometimes people would wave from their yards as we passed by no doubt wondering how in the world we got out there.  Returning to our beach we would find the the narrow path of broken ice chunks we had created on the way out and followed them into shore.  Always enjoyed the challenge of the ice...if I have a strong boat.  

Ice

So there I was...hiking out onto the ice of Lake Ontario.  Kim and I had given part of a Saturday to snowshoeing through the park bordering the lake's south shore and after dropping off our deep snow hiking wonders at the car, we slipped and slid our way onto the hundred plus yards of ice extending out from the shore.  What made it especially tough going was that it froze in the form of ice balls the size of bowling balls.  Thousands and thousands of them.  Made you feel like you were on the moon if the moon had water.  Got me thinking of one of the winter trips we did with friends years ago.  Instead of the deep snow that we were used to snowshoeing in, that year the weather had spread a thick layer of ice over everything.  Ever the Robust Trampers, we hiked out away from our warm wood fired cabin only to spend the entire time trying to stay vertical, struggling against gravity and ice.  At one point I did a most magnificent full split.  I can't do a split.  Hurt for days.  The next year several of us owned those cleats you wrap around the soles of your boots to avoid these olympic displays in the future.  Many years before this, I brought my new bride home to Connecticut during the winter to spend some time with my family.  Since she had never ice skated, I took her to the pond where I spent countless hours of my youth playing hockey, ice tag and just skating lap after lap until darkness fell and you couldn't see to avoid the cracks in the ice anymore.  She did exceptionally well for her first time and didn't even fall once.  So I pushed her down.  Everyone needs to fall at least once their first time out.  I don't think she saw it that way.

Carson's

So there I was...checking my emails at Starbucks after hiking from my home through the 6-8 inches of snow that was still falling making a stark winter landscape into a Winter Wonderland. I love snow!  The first email I open is from my close friend, Jan with sad news of the closing of Carson's, one of our favorite breakfast places located in Noank, CT.  Opened 106 years ago it hasn't changed all that much.  From the old stools at the counter to the penny candy and old fashioned milkshake mixer this place was a blast from the past.  We kept our boat moored for the summer in the small coastal town of Noank and would dingy into shore for the short walk to Carson's where we enjoyed a great breakfast while chatting with fellow boaters and locals.  It wasn't uncommon to still be enjoying the atmosphere as we relinquished our booth to the next hungry customers only to carry our thick ceramic coffee mugs outside to the front porch where conversation would continue.  Others sitting out there would join in as would the many dogs that would inevitably be there with their owners knowing that Carson's was always a stop during their morning walk.  My son, Josh, would plead with Kim and I to get him a milkshake from Carson's come afternoon and when we balked at buying him one every day this little 10 year old concocted a plan.  He was familiar with another well known eatery in Noank called, "Abbott's Lobster in the Rough" that people from out of town could never find.  Lost and frustrated they were always stopping locals to ask directions.  Josh made a cardboard sign that said, "Directions to Abbots 10 cents" (he misspelled Abbott's) and stood on the corner where most of the cars got lost.  He did a booming business and people would usually give him far more than 10 cents for the service.  In no time he had enough money for several milkshakes and candy, too.  The owner of Abbott's drove by and being impressed with Josh's entrepreneurial spirit he took a picture of him with his sign that hung in the restaurant for years and is still on their website under "Getting Here".  All because of Carson's.  So many fond memories.  This icon will be sorely missed.