Black Sunday (Part 2)

So there I was...thinking the next big wave was going to turtle the boat, turn it upside-down, as my mind was scrambling for a solution.  Normally a sailboat would try to right itself with the sheer weight of the 2,000 lb. iron keel attached to its underside but in this case the 42 mph wind was pushing the sail to the water.  We couldn't release the line attached to the sail because it jammed in the block (roller) when everything unfurled with such speed and fury.  The only answer was to cut the line but my knife was in the closed cabin.  I yelled for Kim to climb sideways into the cabin, since she was closer, and hand the knife out to me.  Being the she-cheetah that she is, it was in my hands in seconds.  I cut the line (always keep your knives sharp) with one quick move and the sail and line were soon flapping like a sheet on a clothesline in front of the boat releasing all of the wind it had captured.  The boat popped right-side-up and though we were still getting hit with the waves it was now controlled mayhem.  I went forward and rolled the sail around the furler by hand leaving only a 4'x4' section of sail exposed,  immediately giving us control of Crosswinds once again.  Kim returned to her place in the cockpit hanging on white knuckled and looking forward and me to the helm.  A short while later I saw what looked like a one gallon milk jug that someone must have lost off their boat but as we sailed quickly up along side it the milk jug looked up at me.  It was the head of a leatherback turtle and it's shell had to be 4' across, it was huge.  I yelled for Kim to look causing her to almost jump out of her skin being so intent on staying alive at the moment.  I guess wildlife sightings weren't on her priority list.  As we entered the Watch Hill gate buoys, a coast guard cutter came speeding toward us, probably called by a passing freighter that watched our knock-down earlier and expected our boat to go down.  We waved them off as the seas settled quite a bit once we entered Fishers Island Sound.  The wind and rain were still going nuts when we arrived at our mooring and attaching to it ended up in a bent boathook and more drama.  Once we were tied and secure Kim fell down on the deck and started crying.  She had held it together through it all but now was the time to let it all out...and she did.  The amazing part is she still wants to be on the boat...with me.

Black Sunday

So there I was...sailing away from Newport, RI several years ago with Kim on Crosswinds, our 26' sailboat late one Sunday morning. The weather forecast was not favorable with 5' to 7' seas expected and 25 mph winds but we had to make it to our home port of Mystic, CT and our jobs the next morning.  We expected to get beat up a bit but we had no idea what was coming our way.  As we rounded Pt. Judith, RI, we evaluated the conditions as this was our last chance to ditch into the man-made harbor of refuge that was built for just these occasions but felt we could handle the present conditions.  Shortly after the point of no return the sky opened up dropping massive amounts of rain while the winds built to 42 mph and the seas, coming from behind us, grew to somewhere between 10 and 15 feet high.  We had an outboard motor on this boat which makes it impossible to drop sails and motor into the seas, and back to Pt. Judith,  because the hobby horsing of the boat pulls the propeller out of the water making it ineffectual at best and destroying the motor at worst.  So, we shortened our sails the best we could and ran for Mystic some 25 miles away with nowhere to hide from the storm.  As the seas grew, Crosswinds started to surf down the waves at speeds that were much too fast for this boat.  My fear was that she would dive her bow into the bottom of the wave prompting me to fight the helm over so we would ride the wave on an angle like a surfer would do.  The hard rains were coming sideways from behind us making it almost impossible to look back to time the oncoming waves and this scenario was going on and on with no signs of letting up.  We had a fore sail that was huge but only about half of it was out thanks to a device called a roller furler that rolls the sail around itself.  With the wind continuing to build I was loosing control of the boat and knew we had to roll that sail up some more.  I asked Kim to take the helm so I could pull the roller furler line, effectively shortening the sail, knowing it was going to be a real struggle with the wind pulling on it with such force.  She saw what I was going through at the helm and felt she couldn't handle it choosing to deal with the roller furler instead.  I warned her to not let go of that furler line once she committed but the force of it was overpowering and it was yanked from her grip.  The whole sail unfurled in a heartbeat and the wind spun the 7000 lb boat sideways and knocked it flat on it's side to where the top of the mast was now touching the water.  Kim and I scrambled to the high side of the cockpit and hung on as the next big wave was bearing down on us.  (To be continued...) 

Impressed (x4)

So there I was...sitting in the cockpit of Eventide in Dutch Harbor, part of Jamestown Rhode Island, watching the sun set across Narragansett Bay.  I was single-handing the boat for a week and heading for Martha's Vineyard where Kim would meet me after the sea calmed me down a bit.   A beautiful wood sailboat was ghosting into the harbor barely leaving a wake and heading for her mooring.  Normally a vessel of this size will start the engine to assist picking up the mooring but this one was going to do it on sail alone, which impresses the heck out of me.  I grabbed my binoculars to watch the crew go through their paces and was even more impressed to see that it was four ladies.  Like a well oiled machine they moved with precision and landed the mooring about as perfect as could be done.  Impressed for the third time, I jumped in the dingy and motored over to this forty plus foot sailboat to commend them on a job well done.  With thanks for the compliment they asked if I'd like to come aboard for a drink.  Why, yes I would.  What a great bunch of gals they were and as drinks turned into a dinner of homemade chili we told sailing stories as the sun finished setting.  Then they told me the story of the captain of this vessel who was sitting across the cockpit from me, all 125 lbs of her.  Apparently she was a finish carpenter of sorts and over several years she built this boat with her own hands.  Then she sailed her off and circumnavigated the globe in three years.  She had returned a couple months earlier tired and out of money.  Now she was regrouping and putting together a plan that would allow her to get out there again.  A tour of the boat showed how talented a builder she was and the perfect mooring pickup showed how competent a sailor she was impressing me a fourth time.  I think that's some kind of record.  

Civilized

So there I was...walking the streets of Vineyard Haven on Martha's Vineyard several years ago with Kim and her cousin Melinda who had come a long way to spend a few days with us in paradise.  We were waiting for a particular establishment to open so we decided to hike up to West Chop Lighthouse to fill the time.  Having never visited this lighthouse, one of five found on the island, I didn't realise what a long uphill hike it would be and doing it in sandals just made it worse.  By the time we got there we were hot and exhausted but it was worth it as I have never visited a lighthouse I didn't like.  It was what we came to just beyond the lighthouse that has stuck with me all these years.  There were two little girls, about ten years old, that had a little lemonade stand set up in the perfect spot to serve those who had hiked to the lighthouse on this hot summer day with a beautiful view of Vineyard Sound behind them.  They both looked like they just stepped out of a Sears catalog with the perfect looks and dressed to perfection.  They were polite and well spoken to a fault but what came next was the coup de grâce.  When I asked for a lemonade one of the girls goes into a cooler next to her and pulls out a lemon.  She cuts it in half and as I watch in amazement she fresh squeezes it and combines the juice with the ice, sugar and water the second girl had prepared.  I am presented with this most elegant concoction with the sweetest of smiles and it was the very best glass of lemonade I have ever tasted.  Sometimes all of the pieces come together to produce the perfect experience.  How civilized.

Down South

So there I was...startled awake at three in the morning as someone was pounding at my door with apparent intentions of knocking it down.  I had arrived here in Montgomery, Alabama late in the evening and found the $7 a night motel so I could get a shower and a good nights sleep.  After traveling and sleeping in my car for over a week I was beginning to reek despite my many attempts to freshen up in the rest stops along the interstate.  At 18 years old it wasn't uncommon for me to jump in my car and just take off with no particular destination and very little money in my pocket.  This was my first time heading south from Connecticut and I had almost no exposure to southerners to this point except for the old southern preacher I met in Georgia a couple days earlier.  After being warned about sleeping in a car with Connecticut plates in rural areas due to a bit of left over Civil War animosity, I pulled into this little country church and asked the pastor if I could stay in his parking lot for the night.  At 7 in the morning a knock comes on my car window with the old pastor bellowing in a heavy southern drawl, "C'mon, vittles is on."  His wife fed me grits, collard greens, biscuits and gravy and other foods I had never tasted in my life.  There is nothing like southern hospitality.  Back in Montgomery, I stumbled out of bed as the banging continued at my door with shouts of, "Let me in there...you let me in there." As I opened the door I saw an extremely large woman with her fist raised in the air and fire in her eyes.  She stared at me for a moment and then flatly said, "I got the wrong room."  I closed the door and headed back to bed.  A moment later, two doors down, I heard banging and a familiar voice yelling "Let me in there...you let me in there."  
Many years later I would live in the south and even marry a southern woman but that night in Montgomery I had mixed feelings about what felt like a whole different country.

Still Crazy After All These Years

So there I was...standing in the middle of the woods with a tuxedo hanging from a tree branch and a fidgety horse by my side as my brother looked on in disbelief.  It was 31 years ago, yesterday, that I donned a white tux and after carefully crossing a stream, riding an all black horse, galloped up the long hill to become one with my bride.  We had met on a blind date six months earlier and now she was coming from the other direction with her father in a horse drawn surrey.  The mothers, bridesmaids and flower girl were already waiting at the outdoor pavilion dressed in period costume after arriving in a wagon pulled by two mules.  As Kim and her father got closer it was a race for me to arrive first.  Dismounting quickly, I handed the reins to one of my groomsman and took my place next to my brother, the best man.  All was going well and the guests were enjoying the show when Kim and her dad exited the surrey and started walking down the aisle.  What someone forgot to tell me was my father-in-law-to-be would be carrying a very large shotgun at his side while he approached.  My brother said something like, "We have to run, we have to run now."  I never found out if the gun was loaded or not but I didn't run and never will.  Our wedding night was spent at a remote hunting cabin in a little town called Romance, MO.  Isn't that just sick?  It started crazy and still is.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  

Cave Crawling

So there I was...filthy from head to toe and wedged in a hole wondering if I was going to see the light of day again.  It all happened several years ago when some casual friends of mine said they did some caving and that I was welcome to come along.  Always ready to jump at the opportunity to try something new and risky, I met them at the break of dawn one Saturday morning.  They had all the equipment I would need and told me to wear clothes I wouldn't mind throwing away.  After donning helmet, gloves, multiple lights, headlamp, food and water we slipped into a small hole in the ground located in a wooded area where I immediately felt the temperature drop to about 55 degrees, down 25 degrees from the outside summer day.  As we made our way deeper into the earth there were narrow tunnels that required you to lay on your back and move yourself forward by walking with your shoulder blades through the mud and bat droppings while you studied the hanging bats just inches from your face at times.  There were small streams moving through parts of the cave and here is where I first saw a blind salamander.  Having no use for eyes in the pitch black environment its body had adapted and though you could see where the eyes used to be it was now just skinned over.  There was a circular room we came to that was about 8 feet across that was formed from some sort of whirlpool that had etched it away showing several layers of different colored rock.  It was here sitting on a ledge that we stopped for lunch and turned off our lights for the first time.  I have never seen blackness to that degree before.  Even after allowing time for your eyes to adjust you still could not see anything and I then realized why the necessity for redundancy  and variation of our many lights.  With so many turns, branches and levels of a cave, if you lost all light there is little chance of finding your way back out.  Speaking of levels, we were having to drop through a hole to enter another level of the cave when I, as the largest person there, got stuck and instead of stopping to think this through I impatiently pushed harder getting myself seriously stuck.  The other two cavers were already through the hole so there was nobody above me to pull me up.  It was decided that I would breath every bit of air out of my lungs, contracting my chest cavity, while the others would pull from the bottom.  With a great tug I popped through to the lower level like a cork.  We found another way back.  We emerged from the cave, six hours after entering, dirty, tired and happy to see the sun.