Archive through October 27, 2004
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 304 Registered: Apr-04 | LarryR, I wish you all the best! But! Wish you would stick around. It was a pleasure to have known you ever so briefly! All the best to you and Merri. |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 586 Registered: Aug-04 | Yes Larry - I agree with Ghia. Please do stick around. You bring much to this forum, good stories, good humour and more importantly, decorum which, I believe, a lack of by someone who I thought would now know better, has encouraged you to make this decision. And I do hope you receive the due apology. Good Luck but do return! |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 587 Registered: Aug-04 | Also Larry, I believe you took a comment by that person in the wrong context though quite understandably. Sometimes people type things when they are tired and don't always give thought to how their words are perceived. I might be wrong, but I really believe such was the case. If you'd like to see if we are on the same page and remedy the problem, send me an email with your gripe if you wish. Otherwise, as I said, "Good Luck." |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 306 Registered: Apr-04 | AL, Kegger would probably be a very good conduit and could probably drive that infamous 16.1 system! lol MR, Mr. B got a big kick out of the Brylcreem and bobbysox comment! He is great at indulging most of my eccentricities and whims but has drawn the line with the brylcreem. Besides, for us, retro means the old hippie days of the 70's - think the Doobies circa TCAM. lol. It's funny as we seem to have a bit of a "reverse WAF" going on. He loves music but is not a gear head. As such, he has "reeled" me in a little on my latest endeavor. Told me, I had gone over the deep end....said he wasn't going to let that happen. I told him, thanks, but I don't need any chivalry. He did point out some things that are slightly more pressing than getting a second "retro" stereo. Things such as needing windows replaced (old ones aren't energy efficient and are in bad condition), needing bedroom furniture (the bed is on the floor - you didn't get to see those pics), need new tires on the car, etc. He's right. So, I'm going to do this in stages. He was cool with the amp because it could be had relatively inexpensively. The McIntosh amp first paired with the existing B&W's. Then, maybe a Rega Planar 3 turntable at the beginning of next year if the budget allows and then the Spendor speakers whenever the budget allows. So, the brylcreem and bobbysox will have to wait a little while. |
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LR Writer Unregistered guest | MR et al - thank you for your good wishes, but my leaving had no direct relationship to the comments to which you refer. I tried without luck to send a private message - now that I'm "gone," the site won't let me do that. So - I just say that I began to feel like a guest at a party where everybody appeared to welcome me, but where I got the feeling that some of the people secretly wished I would go home early. I bear no grudges - and don't want to make a big deal out of quitting. For several of you, I will miss you greatly. And I'll still be alive at e-mail wryte4u@comcast.net. respectfully - Larry R. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1345 Registered: Dec-03 | I don't think it was but i hope it wasn't one of my dumb comments. as i have said many but mean no harm or ill will. LARRY. i for one will definatly miss you. we have corasponded hear and on the phone and will miss you posts. they allways have me thinking. but i can understand if you feel that your tastes could be better served elsewhere. i don't how many times most of us have said that somethings are not for everyone and others prefer different. if that is the case for you then i back your desisign to leave us. but if someone has made you feel uneasy. "whether it was me" i wish we could resolve it. |
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LR Writer Unregistered guest | Kegger - sigh - no, my friend, nothing you have ever said has caused me anything other than laughter or learning - a pretty good pair of consequences, I'd say. . . This is rather hard for me - but the forum sort of "settled in" around me, and I began to feel that I was "outside the loop." There is so much energy and creativity on this forum - but its overall direction is just not the same as my life at the moment. True, there have been some instances where I was made to feel intimidated and "small," and I believe that is a situation I'd just as soon forget about and move away from that tension. I believe that some people delight in creating chaos, then watching the "fun" as other people fight back. I have encountered this before. Only my "opinion" here, guyz-n-galz. So Kegger, and all - I think it best that I just leave. Oh, it is NOT that I think that I'm "above" this forum - good grief, y'all have more intelligence and drive than I'll ever have. But frustration is not "happy time" when you get up near the 70 mark - someday you will know what I mean. Thus - with respect - goodbye. I may check in with the Discoveries thread occasionally, but it's time to leave the party. BTW, Kegger - sorry, but even you couldn't replace a good pair of speaker cables! (Grin) Respectfully, Larry R. |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 588 Registered: Aug-04 | Ghia, Yes, life is a compromise at times. Why not show Mr B your appreciation for his wonderful economic prowess in the form of a candlelit dinner, some of that nice Peter Lehmann wine and a schmaltzy card with the words "Love Is A Many Spendor Thing" inscibed? Really, tyres and windows are okay and all, but they aren't much fun! [grin] |
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J. Vigne Unregistered guest | Practical! P-R-A-T-I-C-A-L??? What do you mean PPPRRRRAAtical? We're at war here. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1352 Registered: Dec-03 | allright a pic of THE ROOM after a rather long saturday night and sunday speaker rebuild session! wwhhhOOO!! glad that is over............ I THINK!  |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1353 Registered: Dec-03 | yes I know, CLEAN THAT PLACE UP! I do, but just about every weekend ends up like that! It's a never ending cycle. such is the bachelor life. maybe I should get married, and this would stop? or at least a GF? |
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Silver Member Username: Rick_bNew york Usa Post Number: 427 Registered: Dec-03 | Kegger, Girls are very nice. (LOL!) Do what makes you happy, my friend. Finding one that will help you rebuild your speakers-now that's a challenge. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1354 Registered: Dec-03 | no rick, I have a girl. just not a gf or wife. lol she's got a little extra on the bottom and the top! lol! |
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Silver Member Username: Rick_bNew york Usa Post Number: 428 Registered: Dec-03 | Oh, I see! Kind of like a powered speaker.......(LOL!) Cheers! |
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Silver Member Username: Rick_bNew york Usa Post Number: 429 Registered: Dec-03 | Rantz, "love is a many Spendor thing? BRILLIANT-very good Rantz, very good! Sorry I missed it the first time around........ |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 308 Registered: Apr-04 | Sorry, I haven't had time to respond...I missed that too, MR! As Rick said, brilliant. |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 311 Registered: Apr-04 | MR, Sem and Jan, What can I say? He's right, the car needs new tires. I try to convince him that I'm sort of being fiscally responsible. For instance, in the past, when it has been time to get new tires, I have instead gotten a new car. It's true. I have never, ever bought a set of new tires. Mr B hasn't been around long enough to understand this. But, I'm willing to get new tires rather than a new car. The way I see it, it is much less expensive to get a McIntosh/Rega Planar/Spendor system and a new set of tires than it is to get a new car. So far, this logic has not worked. Sorry MR, despite your brilliant wit, the romantic stuff won't work either - I'm quite sure of that. So, the only thing that may work is the tactic "if mama ain't happy, ain't no one happy." |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 312 Registered: Apr-04 | Kegger, You wrote: "maybe I should get married, and this would stop? " Would it stop because you'd become Mr. Clean or because you had someone to pickup after you? Think hard about your answer. :-) |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 313 Registered: Apr-04 | Rick, I saw your Morrison story on the Speakers forum and answered it...but, the answer was in the midst of a number of postings happening at same time so you may not have seen it. Very cool story and experience! For what its worth, I've never been part of a recording session of a masterpiece album. But, I have met David Lee Roth, Loverboy, the Wilson sisters, Jon Bon Jovi, Pat Methany, David Coverdale and others long forgotten. hehehehe.... |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1388 Registered: Dec-03 | ghia i think the context of this explains it. "maybe I should get married, and this would stop? " I said maybe it would "stop!" not maybe i can continue but someone can clean. no i figure a wife/gf might set me straight and not stand for what i do. so maybe the messes won't happen as much. or at least i will be tempted to take better care of things. so as not to look like such a slob to my signifacant other! see it's not so much what the wife/gf would bring to the table but more how i would change. if theirs noone for me to change for, then the change is much tougher! kinda like your bf story he is trying to teach you to be sensable, which you "admit" in the past you have not been. so without him you may have done things differently, but because you value his input it may alter your course of action. how's that! |
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Silver Member Username: Rick_bNew york Usa Post Number: 430 Registered: Dec-03 | Thank you Ghia. I did see the original post. As far as the "If mamma ain't happy" tactic, he'll be running down to the salon, to pick up those Spendors. Was that birds eye maple, or rosewood? Besides, you are so close to the real deal, you can't imagine. My hat is off to you. It didn't take you 30 years to figure it out. (LOL!) Cheers! |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1389 Registered: Dec-03 | check this out! LS3/5a II Pure Vacuum Tube Amplifier. http://www.kbpshop.com/ |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 319 Registered: Apr-04 | Kegger, Brought this over to Discoveries instead of the Twilight thread. My internal alarm clock goes off by 7a and, if it fails, the feline clock, smacks my face by 7:15. Here's my roster: QB - Dante Culpepper QB - Tom Brady RB - LaDanian Tomlinson RB - Michael Bennett RB - Tyrone Wheatley RB - Steven Jackson RB - TJ Duckett WR - Marvin Harrison WR- Isaac Bruce WR - Peerless Price WR - Peter Warrick WR - Jimmy Smith TE - Alge Crumpler K - Ryan Longwell Def - Ravens My starters are studs as long as they are healthy. I'm concerned about depth at RB. My BF has a strong RB corp and won't trade any of them to me. I'm a little peeved about that. |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 54 Registered: Jun-04 | You can have your cake and eat it, too. Here are two pictures posted by a member of the Pianoworld Forum, showing a Steinway "B" grand piano and, flanked by, (as the member describes it) "Genesis V" speakers and tube monoblock amplifiers on the floor, one for each channel. Click on the link below. When you get there, scroll down to see the photos. Steinway "B" beauty |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2065 Registered: Dec-03 | Beautiful room, too. From all the clues, Holmes could probably tell us the precise location. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1396 Registered: Dec-03 | JOHN. glad to see your back! |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1397 Registered: Dec-03 | ghia your team looks very good. what are the positions for your league? "what starts (ie 1,qb 2,rb) maybe 2 qb's" how many people are in the league? what is the point system? do qb's get less points for touchdowns 4 verse 6? that would give me enough info to see how well your team is really balanced. I'm not saying i'm the ffl guru just want give you my honest oppinion. but i feel i'm pretty knowllagable at this since i've done it for about 15 years and ran the league that my buddy took over 2 years ago. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1398 Registered: Dec-03 | hears my first league. all players are scored relatively even with yardage catagories and qb's get 5 points for td's. 12 people in the league. I had pic #9. draft went 1-12 then 12-1 next 2 rounds jumbled around then goes back to 1-4 all over again. we play 2 qb's 3 wr's 2 rb's 1 k 1 d qb payton manning qb aaron brooks qb drew brees wr torry holt wr jimmy smith wr donte stallworth wr reggie wayne wr dione branch rb travis henry rb curtis martin rb thomas jones rb willis mcgahee rb garrison hearst k jeff reed k john carney d buffalo d detroit I feel i did pretty darn good considering draft position. I also feel curtis martin and detroits defense are underated this year! |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1399 Registered: Dec-03 | hears my second league. all players are scored relatively even with yardage catagories and qb's get the full 6 points for td's. 12 people in the league. the draft order on this league can get pretty screwy. you pick #'s out of a hat for every individual round. and i was not very lucky this year. (5) #11 picks on my draft order. with the first 3 rounds like this 11,5,11 not a good start. we play 2 qb's 3 wr's 2 rb's 1 k 1 d 1 te qb matt hasselback qb mark brunell qb kurt warner rb fred taylor rb dominic davis rb jerome bettis wr lavernious coles wr dione branch wr koren robinson k matt stover d tampa bay d detroit te marcus pollard this league has few backups so their is quite a bit of player movement. I feel i did good to above average in every catagory. not as much room for injuries as league 1. if i could get lucky and dominic davis along with maybe kurt warner or mark brunell turning out better than their projections i'll be allright. again my sleeper detroit defense. |
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One who knows Unregistered guest | Holmes, here's a clue. Look at the window pane that is second from the left, second from the top. Very craftily framed by the piano lid and its brace. Does that face look familiar, Holmes? Look at the face of the man in the portrait, are they not the same person? And magically that face disappears in the next photo. Such is the life of the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Close but never quite close enough. Possibly if you could determine the location you might find The Nun. Heh, Mr. Holmes? |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2068 Registered: Dec-03 | Kegger, Thanks for the welcome back. But you have lost me completely with all this stuff about yardage, sleepers &c. I am off on another trip on Wednesday. I will drop in when I can get internet connection. Also time. Neither of those was so good in Canada, at least for me. Going way back, MR wrote "I saw Bond briefly in a movie and I can't for the life of me recall what it was". Me, too. I was something I saw recently, too. It could just have been "Die another day" or similar. Maybe "Love Actually". No, that is not similar. A Brit film, anyway. And definitely not "Chicken Run". Rick wrote " I think the sooner everyone on this planet realizes there is only one race-THE HUMAN RACE-with only different customs and cultures, the better off we'll all be. " I would just like "Amen" to that, and raise a glass to Rick. Now, the great room mystery. One who knows: I see no face. Is this a hoax? I just love those Georgian windows. Sash windows are the best. Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in a house like that. It is the cheetah, lying on the Steinway in the first photo, but not the second, that has me worried. |
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Holmes Unregistered guest | Another clever game of cat and mouse Watson. Moriarty has sent a photograph of his very own apartment. I will find the "THE NUN" Professor, I swear it! |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 322 Registered: Apr-04 | Kegger, Our league has 10 teams with 15 players on each. It's a "head to head" league. We start 1 each qb/rb/wr/te/k/d. We have 3 offensive player options that can be filled with rb/wr/te. Right now, I'm starting 2 rb's and 3 wr's but only because my receiver core is slightly better than the rb core. In the first round, I drafted 3rd and took Tomlinson. The draft order flipped each time. I got Culpepper with my 2nd pick and Harrison with the 3rd. I then made a blunder by picking DeShaun Foster with the 4th pick. He may turn out to be a good choice but I ended up dropping him to try to get another RB who will be a starter. Scoring: Passing TD Pass 4 Each Interception Thrown -1 2pt Passing Conversion 2 Every 25 passing yards 1 40+ yard TD pass bonus 2 300-399 yard passing game 3 400+ yard passing game 6 Rushing TD Rush 6 2pt Rushing Conversion 2 Every 10 rushing yards 1 40+ yard TD rush bonus 2 100-199 yard rushing game 3 200+ yard rushing game 6 Receiving TD Reception 6 2pt Receiving Conversion 2 Every 10 receiving yards 1 40+ yard TD rec bonus 2 100-199 yard receiving game 3 200+ yard receiving game 6 Offensive Players Punt Return TD 4 Kickoff Return TD 4 Fumble Recovered for TD 6 Each Fumble Lost -1 Every 25 kickoff return yards 3 Every 25 punt return yards 3 Kicking Each PAT Made 1 Each PAT Missed -1 FG Made (0-39 yards) 3 FG Made (40-49 yards) 4 FG Made (50+ yards) 5 FG Missed (0-39 yards) -3 FG Missed (40-49 yards) -2 FG Missed (50+ yards) -1 Team Defense/Special Teams Fumble or INT Return for TD 4 Punt Return TD 6 Kickoff Return TD 6 Blocked Punt or FG return for TD 4 Each Interception 2 Each Fumble Recovered 2 Blocked Punt, PAT or FG 2 Each Safety 2 Each Sack 1 0 points allowed 10 1-6 points allowed 7 7-13 points allowed 4 14-17 points allowed 1 22-27 points allowed -1 28-34 points allowed -4 35-45 points allowed -7 46+ points allowed -10 Less than 100 total yards allowed 10 100-199 total yards allowed 7 200-299 total yards allowed 4 300-349 total yards allowed 1 400-449 total yards allowed -1 450-499 total yards allowed -4 500-549 total yards allowed -7 550+ total yards allowed -10 |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 323 Registered: Apr-04 | JohnA, No worries, the cheetah moved down to the floor in front of the boxy thingy in the second photo. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1414 Registered: Dec-03 | ghia with that system. then I would completely agree with your assessment. you pretty much have studs at all positions and could use a second quality running back. maybe you could try trading Tom Brady for a descent rb then pickup a qb like tim ratay or mark bruenell or kurt warner yu know at least some starter that has desent potentiel as hopefully you'll only need him for 1 week. and with 10 teams at 2 qb's each their should be some pretty good guys available. just a thought but i agree another rb and you should be set. any thought on my teams? |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2069 Registered: Dec-03 | http://www.femalefirst.co.uk/entertainment/1742004.htm 'Stewth, MR, it says here... http://www.undercover.com.au/idol/bond.html ...that two of them are Australian... that's it for Gemaine Greer and Dame Edna Everage. Still can't trace the movie.  |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2070 Registered: Dec-03 | Mrs A knows everything. Full Cast and Crew for Johnny English (2003) |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 615 Registered: Aug-04 | John A They had to get get two Aussies - not only for the glamour, but to add talent to the mix also! You could be right about those movies - maybe Johnny English as well. Got to be in one of the three - get Holmes onto this one too! BTW - some people seem to think this is a football forum. How they cannot see that it's a Bond forum is beyond me. Speaking of Bond - what ever happened to Pussie Galore - Oh I know, look in Australia :-) |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 616 Registered: Aug-04 | Ha ha - I knew I was on to something! |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2071 Registered: Dec-03 | MR, We have Pus_y Galore with all these flamin' cats around the place. It was Plenty O'Toole who first gave me the idea that Ian Fleming was an Old Rogue and no stranger to the double entendre. Mike Myers got the joke, too, but took it too far, imho. Speaking of innuendo, I wish Larry had not taken offence, and would return. Ghia wrote "Evidently the musical merits of Bond doesn't stimulate conversation". Sorry, Ghia, I was away. I think they are probably very talented musicians. But that is not the main selling point, as far as I can see. ---- The following words are not allowed on this discussion board: Pus_y Please revise your post to remove the words indicated above. ---- Sorry, admin. But, even with a pack of them round our house, I can't see why you're so down on cats. |
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Silver Member Username: Rick_bNew York USA Post Number: 432 Registered: Dec-03 | John, Welcome back, good trip I hope! Rantz, They can also€T? (LOL!) |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 618 Registered: Aug-04 | Hey Guys Look in 'Old Dogs" Ghia has had some very bad news! |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 334 Registered: Apr-04 | Guys, When I posted pics of my kittens in the tub, I had thought to make a little joke about pu$$y galore but decided to use a little restraint. Next time I won't be so thoughtful. :-) MR, I'm impressed. An Australian knows about American football. If y'all are so inclined, I encourage you to root for the Carolina Panthers. Here's a link to the fight song and the lyrics: Panther growl Panthers Old Fight Song (unfortunately, the end is cut off but it's the only wav I could find) Stand and cheer for the Panthers Stand and cheer for the team The pride of both Carolinas And city of the queen Carolina! Stand and cheer for the Panthers In our grand ol' name Nothin' could be finer Than to be in Carolina For a Panther football game! From the mountains To the Ocean Carolina, Carolina best of 'em all! From the endzone To the endzone Carolina, Carolina carry the ball! Oh, nothin' could be finer Than to be in Carolina For a Panthers football game! Nothin' could be finer Than to be in Carolina For a Panthers football game! Carolina! Kegger, I'm not familiar with your scoring methods. At first glance, I actually liked your second team better. But, the first team looks pretty good too. Of the quarterbacks, I think Manning and Hasselbeck are the best ones you have. I wanted Dominic Davis on my team as my 2nd RB but he got drafted in the 3rd round and I had planned to take him with my 4th pick. The guy who drafted him already turned down a trade offer. I've considered offering up Brady but, most of the teams that have RB's I'd want already have good QB's. I might try to offer him up for Davis again. |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 620 Registered: Aug-04 | Ghia I respect your restraint! Go Panthers Yeah!!!! |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1428 Registered: Dec-03 | sounds like your on the right track ghia. our scoring systems are basically the same just change the qb touchdowns from 4 to 5 and 6 respectivly. and yes i feel fairly good about both drafts. |
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J. Vigne Unregistered guest | Ghia - The "boxy things" in the photos are very large and very expensive monoblock tube amps. They appear to be one of the Conrad-Johnson Premier series. Very impressive and enough heat to fill the room. The big CJ Premiers usually used about eight KT88's per amplifier. Think of 16 150 watt light bulbs and then the three power and output transformers per amp adding to the heat. I'm suprised the cat can lay that close. |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2073 Registered: Dec-03 | What a sleuth, Jan. Ojophile posted the link and maybe can get more info from the Piano Forum. Unless the owner is extremely serious about music and hifi, also rich, I would guess those are photos of a recording venue, and the hi-fi is a monitoring system. Hence the untidy layout in an otherwise beautiful room. If so, I wonder what the recording was. And where one can get a copy. The way it is set up, one could compare the sound of the recording with that of the original performance. This is the goal. We are in Old Dogs territory. |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 55 Registered: Jun-04 | That is the home setting of one of the members in the Piano World forum. Yes, many of them are affluent. Well, you'd have to be. How else would you be able to afford those 7' to 9' grands? We're talking about Bosendorfer, Steinway, Mason & Hamlin (M&H), and the Kawai Shigeru "signature" pianos. It's like having a Mercedes Benz E-class parked in your living room. It sure makes my puny 5'5" Kawai RX-1 look like a music box. Look at this expensive Shigeru piano in this equally expensive home. Look at that magnificent staircase! Kawai Shigeru |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1434 Registered: Dec-03 | ghia I put this on the other thread but i wanted to catch you. {RB FROM ST LOUIS) lamar gordon just got picked up by miami. I just put him on my roster, might be a stud in disguise get him if you can! NOW! he should be starting by week 2 |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 343 Registered: Apr-04 | Thanks, Kegger! Unfortunately, one of the other teams already grabbed him. But, they dropped Lee Suggs so maybe I'll grab him to handcuff to Willie Green. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1441 Registered: Dec-03 | thats to bad ghia I tried to get to you as soon as I heard. I picked him up in both leagues. |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 346 Registered: Apr-04 | I appreciate the effort, Kegger. Today was a busy day at work and the few lulls I had were spent thinking about the amp. |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1482 Registered: Dec-03 | got yu! |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Old Dogs at Sea - the story of Gypsy Wind Pages 4 thru 6 here: Page 4 July 29--we made the drive, and took most of the loot to the boat. That was the easy part. Now we had to check over all the systems - plumbing, electrical, engine, and the rigging. It was so hot that when we went below decks to escape the sun the 93-degree interior of the boat felt cool! And we scrubbed, and oiled, and vacuumed, and generally exhausted ourselves for two days. Then we met "Captain Courageous," at the airport. A short man, in his mid to late 60s, with white hair and beard, and a nervous attitude. I noticed under his open shirt a long scar on his chest. And I thought he'd been kidding when he told me that he'd been through about everything from hurricanes to open-heart surgery! But CC laughed off my questions about his health, and that this trip would be no strain. Something about his answers made both Merri and me uneasy. Something was wrong. . . My fears intensified on the boat, when I offered to show CC the seacocks (openings in the boat hull fitted with bronze valves for intake and output of all kinds of not-always-neat stuff). But he said he'd just poke around, adding:"I leave the things open all the time, anyway." Not what I'd been taught. The valves are all connected to hoses of one sort or another, and if a connection slips or breaks, the sea comes pouring in. We had emergency plugs, but it would be a disaster if we were asleep or in a storm. "Let me show you the emergency equipment locker," I hopefully offered, but CC waved me away again. "I don't worry about that stuff," he replied in a scornful tone. "But what about life vests?" I added, plaintively. "Don't use them," he said as he walked away. At least he opened the safety locker, looked in, and closed it again. "And what do you want to do about jack lines?" I asked. "What are those?" he started, then, catching himself, "Oh yeah, we'll never need 'em." He shook his head as he walked into the galley. Jack lines are long strips of nylon webbing or lines (ropes) run the length of the boat during rough weather and on overnight passages. A prudent sailor clips his safety harness onto them so he won't be tossed overboard. That's especially important at night, when only one person is usually on deck during night watch. The fact that CC had little use for safety gear was, to say the least, unsettling. Had this guy really been a charter captain? Did he really have a Coast Guard license, as he claimed? We had 450 miles of deep, possibly angry ocean to cross. What if Merri and I suddenly found ourselves "captain-less?" Could we work out a chart course and figure in the navigation points? Simply put, were we good enough to survive? We would soon find out. We had provisioned the boat with more than enough basic food, and now came the decision on drink: what, and how much? We knew that CC had a reputation for making large amounts of rum and Coke disappear, and Merri and I seldom shied away from a glass or three of good wine. For courtesy, especially for sailors we might meet along the way, we bought a half-gallon of rum, several bottles of Sauvignon Blanc wine, and a case and a half (30 cans) of beer. Remember that amount. CC, for his part, said that he had "a supply" of vodka in his sea bag. We never knew just how much, but I later saw at least one quart, which he never offered to share. Page 5 July 31--the big day! We paid final bills at Turner Marine and let loose the mooring lines that were in such bad condition we left them on the dock! I waved goodbye to a somewhat dejected Merri. As CC and I motored into Mobile Bay, I turned to her call for "a big wave and a smile" as she snapped our picture. I could see her get into the rental car, and drive off toward Pensacola, where she would meet us that night--we hoped! It was hot. There was almost no breeze, but there were hordes of small, biting flies that materialized out of nowhere, and would plague us for the next two days. We hoisted the huge genoa jib and revved up the Yanmar diesel's 35 horses. It took most of the morning to motor across Mobile Bay and down to the Intracoastal Waterway markers. CC thought a cold beer would just fine! The ICW is a long series of channels in protected waters, such as those between the mainland and the numerous "barrier islands" that dot the Gulf shores. It's a fine, but dull, highway for barges, freighters, and a gaggle of pleasure boaters--hey, that's us! Once on the ICW we faced a new problem: rain, hard rain. We quickly found that the aged canvas on our bimini (canvas top over the cockpit) was a better sieve than umbrella. Now, water poured on us, and into what was CC's third beer. (It wasn't yet noon.) I dipped into the Gatorade, and went below, fired up the generator, and "nuked" hotdogs in our microwave, and to put together a salad. CC refused my offer to replace him at the wheel while he ate. We had done a stupid thing; we had left port with a ship's compass that didn't work. The surveyor in Mobile had missed it, I had missed it on our smooth-water test sail, and CC had missed it on his cursory inspection. The fluid that "damps" the compass wheel to prevent it from swinging back and forth wildly had all drained out. Now, with the seas getting a bit rougher, the compass was out of control, and finding a course involved guessing at a number between the two extremes of left and right swings. Fortunately, I had a hand-held compass aboard. "How about taping my little compass on top of the ship's compass," I suggested. All I got in return was a shake of his head and a dismissive wave of his left hand as he replied: "should-ah checked that out before you bought the boat! But don't worry, we've got the GPS, which is better." I didn't comment that he should have checked the compass, also! And as for the GPS well, it would be better, except that the boat's GPS system didn't work, either. We knew that from the boat inspection, and I would eventually have to replace it. Meanwhile, I had purchased a fine, hand-held unit. Merri and I had studied GPS in sailing school, and knew generally how to work the fascinating system. The Global Positioning Satellite system was developed by the military, and involves a series of 12 satellites which beam coded signals that are in turn de-coded aboard ship to give latitude and longitude. But the GPS system also gave boat speed, time to various "way-points" on the charts, as well as, BRAVO, the compass course you set. My little wonder also had a "highway" on its screen, showing when you are on, or off, course, and by how many degrees. So we had that to rely on, unless the electrical system or the unit's small batteries failed. We set the little GPS box on the edge of the cockpit, about eight feet forward of the wheel. It was impossible to read without walking forward, but then, we only had to check it occasionally, since we had turned on the autopilot. That would steer a straight course, we hoped. Talk about faith! Anyway, it did, until we finally got in weather to rough to even contemplate. But that would come later. For now, it was calm enough so our compass-swings were a mere aggravation. And there was always my little "hockey puck" compass to use in an emergency! Page 6 Early afternoon, and now the rain was coming down even harder. The bimini was hopeless: we put on our foul weather jackets, even though it was hot and sticky. We sailed into what is marked "big lagoon" on the waterway, and my nautical education got more intense. Picture a canal flowing into a huge lake, and you have some idea of where we found ourselves, in rain so heavy that "soaked" wasn't a complete description of our condition! "I can't see the markers anymore," yelled CC, to my surprise, because I could still see the line of red and green buoys fading away in the distance. Suddenly, CC turned the wheel and began motoring in a large circle. "What's this for?" I called out to him. "Can't see, so we'll just circle awhile," was his only answer. As we motored round and round, I could see other boats at anchor in the shallow water, their skippers peering at us as though we were crazy. Well. . . "Why don't we just drop the hook? We're only in 20 feet of water," I suggested. Big Mistake--I had bruised CC's ego, I guess. "You can order me below and take command of the vessel, if you want," he testily answered. "No, that's okay," I chatted back, now worried that he would "break." And so we motored, round and round, as binoculars on the surrounding boats followed our counter-clockwise caper. After forty-five minutes of circling, CC pronounced that he could now see the channel markers, and he spun the wheel to set us on course toward Pensacola and, I hoped, a hot shower and some dry clothes. But our progress was measured in agonizingly slow knots--about six of them an hour. Each "knot," is a nautical mile. To convert to "miles an hour", multiply by 1.15. Six knots equals just under seven miles an hour. Obviously, there ain't no such animal as a "speeding sailboat!" By late afternoon, it became apparent that we were not on course. The ICW markers are laid out so the red ones are on the mainland side, green ones on the ocean side of the channel. But now the green ones were on our port (left) side. It was time for another of my big-mouth mistakes! "Uh, Captain Chuck," I asked with due humbleness in my voice, "didn't you tell me that the red markers should be to port and the green ones to starboard (right)?" "Yeah, remember--red earth, green sea," was his abrupt answer. "Then why are the green ones now on our port side?" I softly replied. He skipped about three beats before shooting back: "either they've changed the channel or they moved the markers--there's no red 18 where it's supposed to be." I broke away from his hostile stare to scan the horizon with my new and trusty binoculars. The red markers were there--far to the left. "We're out of the channel, I said, with some alarm in my voice." "Doesn't make a difference," was CC's curt reply. "What!?!" I looked at the depth sounder, and it's slow but certain changes. Sixteen feet, 12 feet, 9 feet, 7 feet. Gypsy Wind drew 4 feet, 6 inches. The mud and whatever else was under the surface was getting too close for my comfort. "Let's see if we can get back inside," I offered. A binocular duel ensued--each of us looking around for markers, each silently angry with the other. Great trip so far, I thought! At least I knew by the chart that we would spill into Pensacola Bay if we could just make it over the submerged rocks and sandbars, and around the next bend. We made it, with less than 2 feet of water to spare under our keel. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Old Dogs at Sea - pages 7 thru 9 here. Welcoming any and all critical comments. Page 7 Merri, meanwhile, was frantic. At the Pensacola marina, gale warning flags were up, and the weather service was broadcasting reports of wind gusts up to 50 miles an hour. As we eased into the marina, it was with quick step and relieved smile that she ran down the stairs and along the pier to what was surely the most bedraggled boat in sight! "Everything okay?" she asked, as she and a dock assistant helped us secure lines and fenders. I'd have to tell her about our direction-impaired rummy of a skipper and the leaking bimini. Later, after some dry clothes and a good dinner. Now, there was garbage to dump, including CC's personal collection of 6 beer cans. We were told that food at the marina was excellent, so we made reservations, got into clean clothes, and told Chuck we'd meet him at the restaurant bar. By the time we got there, he had one martini half-empty, and another full one waiting. Somewhere between the fish course and dessert I noted that he wasn't quite as sharp as he'd been earlier. No wonder! He'd had four martinis and three glasses of wine! We returned to the boat, but CC said he had more "socializing" to do. We never heard him come aboard that night. Saturday, August 1. Gray skies, a nasty chop on the bay water, and small craft warnings on the marine radio, but CC insisted that there was no problem. The radio, he claimed, "always gives the same old stuff." My suggestion that we wait a day was waved off, and with full diesel tank and high hopes we motored out of Pensacola Bay and into the gray-green clouds that shrouded the Gulf of Mexico. Merri had, in a moment of dazzling improvisation, solved the problem of the leaking bimini. She took the pink plastic shower curtain from the head, and we used rope and about 50 pounds of silver duct tape to secure it over the once-bright-turquoise canvas that had failed us. Talk about color! We looked like some kind of derelict, but staying relatively dry was a top priority at the moment. We were a parade of one going out; dozens of boats were coming into the harbor, and warning us on the VHF radio of rough seas and lightning beyond the breakwater. CC shrugged and opened his first beer of the day. It was 8 o'clock in the morning. Sailors skip this paragraph if you wish. A bit about the boat's sails--she has a large main sail aft (behind) the mast, and two triangular sails in front of the mast. The front one, called the genoa, is a large jib, 5 stories high and some 20 feet long across the bottom. It's very hard to control in a heavy breeze. That's the reason for the second sail, or staysail, which is smaller, and can be used with the Genoa for faster sailing, or by itself as a storm sail in high winds. Each sail is on its own furling rig, and the staysail is self-tacking. So here we were, with storm warnings up and lightning crashing around us. CC has the diesel revved up, but he wants more speed and some boat stabilization, he says. So he orders the genoa--the largest sail-- unfurled. I suggest the staysail, but CC won't hear of it. The 5-story genoa it would be, "But no main sail," calls CC. "It's too dangerous to rig!" Huh? Merri and I looked at each other, and started to argue, but thought better of the idea. It was a long trip across the Gulf, and better to let the crazy man have his way than to risk, well, what, a mutiny? Now, we had a dangerously unbalanced boat, with the huge genoa wanting to pull the bow away from the wind, and tipping us over too much if we didn't set our course almost directly into the wind. Fortunately, that's the direction we needed to go. But as any boater can tell you, sailing into the wind, and the waves, is hard, wet, exhausting work. Boy, was I getting an education! Page 8 Lightning was missing us by just a few boat-lengths, my hair felt like it was full of sparks, and we were heading right into the teeth of the storm. What a good time to eat lunch! Merri, bless her soul, went below and made us sandwiches and a relish of pickles and olives, with potato chips on the side. She brought up the plates, her face the color of the lettuce in the sandwiches. "That's it," she said, in a shaky voice, "I'm not going back down to that galley; it's hot and smelly, and I don't feel good." And with that, she leaned over the cockpit and vomited. Seasickness had struck in full force, and Merri was sick, very sick, and would stay that way for the next three days. Merri wrapped herself up in her insufficient rain jacket and sat in one corner of the cockpit, looking anywhere but at CC and me as we finished off the sandwiches and went straight into the cookie course. I noticed that CC was drinking a can of iced tea--refreshing, I thought, that at least it wasn't beer. He'd already had two before lunch. Ha! I would later spy him below in the galley, emptying about a third of a can's contents down the sink, and filling it up with vodka. He was secretly drinking a lot more than I thought! A sure sign of an alcoholic, I knew. CC would not leave the helm except for short, frequent trips to the head. He would put the boat on autopilot and simply leave the cockpit. I would sneak behind the wheel while he was gone, but on his return he made it plain that I didn't belong there. I would argue that it was my boat and that I'd like to "drive" awhile, but he was constantly drinking, and I was afraid that he'd throw another temper tantrum. So he "drove." Later afternoon Saturday, and the seas were building-- five feet, six feet, and working toward a full gale. We were on a course for Appalachicola, an 18-hour sail to the east, where we planned on nipping into harbor and resting a bit. I finally won the argument, and we tried to furl the genoa. Two pulls on the furling line and it stuck. Another try, and it wouldn't budge. The sail was up full, in a worsening storm. Both the genoa and staysail are rigged on Harken roller-furling equipment. For the non-nautical, it's a huge "fishing reel" at the bottom of a metal tube that runs over the heavy cable joining the deck to the top of the mast. On this, the sail is attached. By pulling on the jib sheet (rope), the sail is unrolled off the furler and out the side of the boat. By pulling a second line that feeds into this big "reel" the sail is rolled up again. This time, however, it didn't. Now the wind was up to 20 knots plus, and the seas were washing over the bow. We needed to get rid of all that canvas, but the lines were hopelessly tangled. I left the relative comfort of the cockpit and grabbed at whatever was handy--shrouds, handrails, lifelines--as I staggered forward to the bow. My hands were shaking so hard that I could barely work the hopelessly tangled line on the roller furling mechanism. It looked exactly like the fishing reels of my youth, complete with the backlashes for which I became famous! This time, however, there was more at stake than a fish: the safety of the boat and our very lives depended on how we would handle a situation for which we were ill trained. Page 9 "Is there any way we can roll up this sail by hand?" I yelled back at CC, who still sat behind the wheel. "No, we can't," was his terse, petulant reply. I was just inexperienced enough to believe that. But we did have a second choice, and chance, however. And it was Merri, not I, who made the decision. "I want to drop the sail, now!" she ordered CC. We could do this simply. We had learned how in sailing school--beginner's course. All we had to do was release the halyard (the rope that pulls the sail to the top of the mast) and haul down the sail. "We can lash it to the lifelines," Merri added. "No, it's too dangerous, we can't do that," CC shot back, obviously annoyed that a novice - and a mere woman at that - would dare to challenge his decisions. "Well, we have to do something," I acidly remarked. "The boat is overpowered, and we're heading into even worse weather." CC's shocking reply marked our destiny: "Well, we'll just have to sail on. We can't turn back to port now. We have to sail right out into the Gulf." Now I was crawling back into the cockpit. My face, Merri would later tell me, was a map of anger and fear as I listened to CC's unbelievable litany: "You can order me to my cabin and take command if you want." Why didn't we do it? Why not take over, drop the genoa, and turn back to Pensacola? We quietly discussed that, but in the end I guess we were just too scared to call the man's bluff and "fire" him. Merri and I were wearing life vests, and I told CC that he'd better do the same. He simply laughed and said, "I never wear the damned things--too hot." We were being soaked by the waves that sloshed aboard and by the rain that slanted under the bimini. At least Merri's infamous "shower curtain cover" provided some measure of shelter in a storm that showed no signs of abating. Saturday night can best be described as "Hell." CC hinted that some hot food might be nice, but he would not leave the wheel, so I would have to go below, cook in what were now 7-foot seas, and try to take him his supper I wasn't about to tackle an untried propane stove in the middle of a storm! So I turned to the trusty generator, fired it up, and tried to microwave a meal of black beans and kosher hot dogs, with some peas and mushrooms. I spooned some canned fruit onto the plate, and called it "a meal." Then it was one hand on the paper plate full of food, the other hand on the grab rails that lined the four steps up to the cockpit. I made it, somehow, without spilling anything onto the already slippery cockpit floor. I offered CC a Coke, but I could see that he was already well into yet another beer. Did this guy ever slow down? He was, after all, a heart patient! I made it back below, leaving CC to eat and drink, and poor, dear Merri to moan and cry in the cockpit. I was beside myself with anger, remorse, and sympathy. It was too late for seasickness pills; they only work BEFORE you get sick. I had put my wife in harm's way, and my prayers seemed a miniscule act of contrition. In the galley, I tried to fix some dinner for myself, but CC was apparently trying to correct our course, and the boat lurched as I spooned peas and beans onto my plate. My back crashed against the far wall of the galley, and the peas and beans slurped onto my feet. I looked down and burst into tears, partly because of the intense pain in my back, and partly out of anger and frustration. "We're going to die out here in this insanity," I said to myself as I cleaned up the mess. |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 918 Registered: Aug-04 | "We're going to die out here in this insanity," I said to myself as I cleaned up the mess. Good grief Larry, I'm almost crushing my mouse, as the tension builds. Keep it coming - pla eeese! |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 92 Registered: Jun-04 | I thought I'd offer a tip on editing or revising your most recent post if you're not happy with it: After you hit "Post this message" and you realized you had missed some detail, misspelled some word, or you simply didn't like the way a phrase sounds, follow the instructions below: First, it's important that you are still logged-in to the forum. The thread doesn't matter. Second, your post must be less than 60 minutes old (or younger than Mike Wallace or Andy Rooney). 2. Go to "Edit Profile". 3. Log in again. This log-in is required to edit your profile and is separate from your current ecoustics session log-in. 4. Click on "Most Recent Posts" or simply scroll down. 5. You will see a table listing your most recent posts. You will see a garbage icon and a pencil icon (see below).  6. Click the pencil icon, and you will now be able to edit your post. 7. The post that you want to edit will be displayed in a separate browser window that will fill up most of your screen. a) Edit your post freely. b) Click "Refresh preview" if you want to preview your edited post; otherwise c) Click on "Save Message" 8. Open your browser and go to the thread where you made your changes. Check to see that your changes have been posted. The garbage icon allows you to delete your post. That's it. For whatever it's worth. Cheers!   Don |
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Gold Member Username: KeggerMICHIGAN Post Number: 1675 Registered: Dec-03 | dude that is a great tip i love it. thanks! never new that and wanted it! |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | MR et al - here are pages 10 thru 12. Enjoy? Page 10 At sea, the black of night magnifies every terror known to mankind. The wind whines, the waves seem to laugh as they try to soak you or pull you overboard. The boat screams as it rockets up and down the hills and valleys of waves that you feel more than see. And now the huge, flapping sail was tearing itself to pieces. I watched helplessly as shreds of its sun-protective edging snagged on the shroud-wires, and tore away into the darkness. Now, it was too rough to even think of overruling CC and going forward to pull it down. God help us--we cannot help ourselves. CC again rebuffed my suggestion that he wear a safety harness. He refused to wear a life vest. If he fell overboard there would be no way we could see him, let alone save him. Huddled together in the cockpit, Merri and I decided in hushed voices that if CC fell overboard we would just sail away and leave him. No, we weren't thinking rationally at this point: we were exhausted, sick, angry, depressed, and scared like we'd never been scared before. CC was making one life-threatening decision after another, even as he increased the pace of his drinking. Nine p.m.--time for Merri to take over the first of the three night watches. Merri had the helm from 9 p.m. to midnight, although I took most of her watch, as she was much too sick to handle the bucking, pitching boat. I had the midnight to 3 a.m. watch, when CC would come on again. I hoped he would have slept off his evening libations. Right. . . I give her credit, because she tried to sit behind the wheel and make often-vain attempts to keep the faithful autopilot on course. The seas were so rough and irregular that even the autopilot couldn't keep a straight course. She sipped a little water, but could not keep anything else in her stomach. CC had taken yet another drink below, and was most likely passed out by now. I sat, numb, in the water-soaked cockpit as Merri--her terrified eyes glowing red in the compass night-light--scanned the black ocean for signs of a dreaded "rogue" wave, which might swamp us. There was also the danger of another ship, so easy to miss in the storm, even if she were showing all her running lights. We were not equipped with radar. Merri lasted less than an hour. "I can't do it anymore," she said in a barely audible voice. I checked the autopilot, and helped her to her place in the cockpit. Then, I began my own battle against fatigue in a five-hour watch as "Captain Courageous." Someday, maybe I'd see the humor in that self-appointed title. The seas were now so high and the chop so irregular that I had to keep one hand on the wheel and the other on the rail. The autopilot was overpowered. I disengaged it, and tried to steer by hand--an exhausting job! I could not sit. I could not stand. I was being thrown up, down, left and right. I could hear Merri crying again. I had never faced a crisis like this. I tasted the salt of the sea, and of my own tears. "You know where the EPIRB is, Mer," I called to her, eager to give her something to focus on. "I know," she said, "and the red switch turns it on." She had dry-practiced the emergency routine. I had insisted that we both knew how to do it with our eyes closed. That training might now save our lives. There would only be one chance if we broached. I looked at her, and slowed my speech, emphasizing each word: "If I say 'Now' grab the EPIRB and get ready to jump. Just make sure that you don't get fouled in any of these lines in the cockpit! But remember, we don't leave the boat unless we have to!" Page 11 We both had on survival vests. We had a waterproof radio. We had the EPIRB--a device that looks like a huge flashlight. It flashes a strobe light when activated, but most important, it sends a radio signal to a satellite network, pinpointing our position of latitude and longitude, and alerting the Coast Guard to home in on our signal in hopes of finding us quickly. It's the latest technology. It's a thousand dollars very well spent, if we need it. By now, the storm was doing its best to tear us to pieces. Standing up, I had to look up to see the tops of the waves when we were in one of the "valleys." So this is what death looks like? Not if the boat had her way! Three a.m.--CC stumbled on deck and stared at the green light of the little GPS. "We're too far west. We'll have to tack, now," he said flatly. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. To turn the boat through the wind and onto another course is easy under normal circumstances. Now, in ten-foot waves and 30-knot wind, he was asking me to do what no sane person would try. The maneuver involved my going to the port side of the cockpit, untangling some thirty feet of waterlogged line, and wrapping it around a winch sitting just inches above the crashing waves. And then I had to fight my way to the starboard side of the cockpit, uncleat the line leading to our huge, bedraggled jib, and keep it under tension on the winch. I handed the line to CC, who would keep it from running free until he had turned the boat so the wind was coming over the other side. I scrambled across the cockpit as CC turned the wheel, yelled "helm's a'lee!" and let his line run out. As the boat turned, the wind caught the sail, snagged it in the rigging, then whipped it out over the ocean. Now I had five stories of wildly flapping canvas at the end of my line. Pitch dark, on a boat that was being thrown more than twenty feet up and down the waves, and all I had to do was to haul the jib line with all my strength and keep from being washed overboard at the same time! Alternately being thrown into the air, and pushed to the deck, I held the line with one hand, inserted a metal handle into the top of the winch, and turned with all my strength. The line stretched and screamed as it got wound tighter and tighter. I remember my head slamming into something, and I tasted blood in my mouth as I cleated off the line, and collapsed onto the cockpit seat. From somewhere, Merri produced a can of Coke, and handed it to me without a word. I tipped it up, tasting both cola and salt water, and nodded my thanks. But my reverie was short-lived. CC had made another tactical error. We were now sailing on an even rougher course. Bits of sail were shredding and making tiny "whap" sounds as they tore free. "We can't do this," I shouted at CC. "We can't do this course, it's too rough!" "Then we'll just have to tack back again," he grumbled, surely realizing his mistake by now. So we did it again, in the black of night, with every muscle in my body shaking from the strain. I knew CC was turning the boat, but when I looked up after cleating off the line, I saw to my horror that he kept turning the wheel until the huge sail was broadside to the wind. That created a wall, catching the gale in its midsection and pushing us far over--rail under water, starboard ports under water--until Merri and I were standing on the side of the cockpit. If that sail went into the water, we would be in the worst kind of trouble. The experts call it "broaching." The sea could easily tear our boat apart, and sink it - and us! Page 12 CC was struggling to stay on the helmsman's seat. Surely, I thought, he'd turn back up into the wind or, mercifully, turn downwind and run with the storm at our backs. Below, I could hear the sickening thuds and crashes as one locker after another tore open, spilling contents everywhere. Cans, bottles, equipment, splintering against what had been one side, but now was the bottom of the boat. "Chuck!" I yelled at him. "Give us a break! Head up! His reply stunned me. "It takes time to adjust the boat!" Now he was fighting the autopilot, which he had somehow managed to engage, and which was now making whining, almost pleading sounds. At last, he tripped the release lever, turned the ship's wheel, and we stopped sailing on our side as we headed into that awful wind. We would have to assess the damage at dawn, if we made it. Exhausted, Merri wrapped her rain jacket around her head, and huddled in one corner of the cockpit. I grabbed her hand, hard. "We'll make it, Mer," I said, trying to sound just a bit optimistic. Later, she would tell me that the only voice she heard was her own, repeating: "Our Father who art in heaven. . ." I collapsed against the cockpit side, and dozed off in sheer exhaustion. But something jerked me back awake. Something was wrong, different. The wind! It had been steady at some 30 knots off our port bow. Now, it had cut its speed, and it was coming from our port quarter (left side, back of the boat). How had we gotten onto this course without being blown over into the water? I suppose that when the autopilot was disengaged, the force on the genoa was enough to quickly swing the boat around without tipping us over? Heck, I'll probably never know the answer to that! I shook off sleep, to see an empty helmsman's seat! Could CC be down below getting another drink? Had he gone overboard? Then I saw him--passed out on the cockpit seat, his left foot pressed against the autopilot control, disengaging it and allowing us to swing out of control. "Chuck!" I yelled at him. "Get up, we're going the wrong way!" In slow motion, he sat up, shook his head, grabbed the wheel, and engaged the autopilot again. He didn't say a word, just sailed on. The wrong way. Again. "Uh, Chuck, we're supposed to be on course 108, right?" A shrug from CC. "Well, you're heading on course 210. That'll get us to Cuba, but not Florida." He glared at me, and said it again: "It takes time to adjust the boat." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. This was a licensed captain? I told him to forget the broken compass and to steer by the wind indicator and the GPS, as I had been doing on night watch. "Keep the wind off the port bow, and we'll get there." His reply stunned me. "That's where the wind is now," he spat in my direction. "No, it's not--it's in back of you, over your left shoulder." Now CC was yelling: "I know which way the wind is blowing, and if you don't like the way I'm steering, you can order me to my cabin and take command of the vessel." I held my hands in front of me, shook my head, and dropped back down on the cockpit seat. As I dozed off, I could feel CC turning the boat back on course. At least the wind had dropped to about 18 knots. Temporarily! Sunday morning, about 6 a.m., and black gave way to a smudgy gray-green on the ocean. Low-lying clouds were still spitting rain, but it was nothing compared to last night's deluge. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Old Dawgs at Sea - if any of you are awake - here are pages 13 thru 15. Just a quick note - everything I wrote is true, nothing "added" for effect. Page 13 The wind gave us a break, blowing at about 20 knots. I managed to go below, where the galley was awash in the most incredible "stew" of edible and inedible clumps--canned tomatoes, smashed packs of pasta, cans of oil, towels, spare parts. You name it, it was rolling around, ready to send the unwary to the cabin sole (floor). Merri was too sick to help, the captain would not leave the wheel, so it was up to me to clean up what was a very dangerous mess. Paper towels for the oil spills, and big plastic garbage bags for broken containers and ruined food. The rest of the cans, bottles, and spare parts I stowed wherever I could, and hoped that I could find them when I needed them! The captain expected to be fed--he would not help in any way, so breakfast was now in order. No way was I going to use the propane stove, so I took a deep breath, flipped a couple of switches, and hit the "start" button for the generator. Nothing. I had forgotten to press the "pre-heat" switch that diesels often require. That done, I gave the start button a second, prayerful, push. Silence. Then, suddenly, there was a cough, then a growl, and we had that precious commodity--115-volt electricity! And we had a microwave! I know that I prepared something for CC. I remember handing a plate and a cup up the steps, but what it was mystifies me even now. Below, I interrupted my cleanup as I eagerly drank hot, instant, coffee and attacked crackers and peanut butter. It tasted like the best gourmet meal ever served! But then it doesn't take much to please an exhausted, frightened, filthy, half-frozen person. Sunrise must have been beautiful somewhere, but in our storm-tossed world it was another morning of flat, depressing light. I climbed into the cockpit, where Merri was sipping her water, and CC his coffee. He was talking to himself again, making no sense. I nodded to him, then turned around to look at the bow of the boat--and froze in horror. "Chuck!" I shouted as I climbed onto the deck. "Bear away! Give me some calm water, the anchor has broken free!" Holding on to whatever lines and handholds I could find, I crawled forward to where our 45-pound anchor is kept in a metal frame on the bowsprit. A metal pin holds it in place, but if that pin is dislodged or broken, the anchor falls overboard, taking with it the chain and rope - excuse me, rode - that connects it to the boat. No big problem if we're anchored or at a dock and not moving, but potentially lethal under these circumstances. The force of the water as we moved ahead would surely slam the anchor into the boat's hull, most likely breaking a large hole in the fiberglass, and probably sinking us. "Oh, careful, Lar," I could hear dimly as Merri pulled herself up to a crouching position, fear widening her eyes. Careful, indeed! I took a chance on my strength, and lunged at the anchor chain, pulling it back toward me as I braced my feet against the metal rods called -- appropriately in this case -- the pulpit. In calmer times it's a wonderful place to stand and watch dolphins; now it was a place for desperate actions. I flopped on my stomach, on top of the chain, and reached forward, where 5-to-6-foot waves washed over the bow, and grabbed the anchor. Fortunately, the pin had not yet fallen overboard; it had just worked its way out of the anchor itself. I tugged on the anchor and pushed the pin through the fitting. My reward was a cut hand and a face full of water. The crisis was over. I took some light rope from a pocket, double-tied the anchor to a cleat, and stumbled back to the cockpit. There was a hug from Merri, and a shrug from CC as he turned the boat back into the wind. Page 14 That was the good news. The bad news was that we were now even farther west than CC thought. Although he couldn't steer, he could figure out the GPS directions, which told us we either had to change course by tacking or head even farther down the Florida coast. So we tacked and tacked in what now seemed like easy conditions. I could see in the daylight. I could time my line-hauling so I wasn't constantly thrown against the side of the boat. And Merri tried her best to help me straighten out the lines. It was help sorely needed, and gratefully accepted! CC, of course, never left the helm and never offered to help. Tacking a large boat is, simply put, very hard work. A morning of that and I was stomach-growling my way down to the galley. A kind of order was back in the galley, and I made cheese sandwiches, with olive and carrot garnishes. There was a Coke for me, but looking up the companionway I could see that CC was into another of his spiked iced teas, so the offer of a mere soft drink would be useless. "Lar," it was Merri, leaning over the stairs leading below. "We've got to do something about Chuck's drinking," she said in a fearful voice. "I know, sweetheart," I replied, glancing up to see if CC was listening. "But if I order him to stop it might send him into another of his little rages, and then what will happen?" Merri nodded, and flopped down on her cockpit seat. Water was all she could keep in her stomach, and even that occasionally found its way back into the ocean. How can I explain the remorse I felt? Afternoon--and the storm, which had abated somewhat, now began to stir itself up for another night of Hell. Now two days without much sleep, I was finding it hard to think. I knew I had repairs below--a door to the head that wouldn't close and kept banging into the cabin wall, a fire extinguisher that had been wrenched off its mounting, and three loose hose connections that spurted small amounts of water into a storage compartment. Small but annoying things that, in the confines of a relatively small boat, amounted to large problems. Two hours in the hot, smelly confines of the main cabin and I was ready for fresh air in large doses. I couldn't open the hatches because the rough seas would soon flood the boat. Now I, too, began to feel the twinges of sea sickness that Merri suffered. But it was dinner time, and the captain would have a fit if he didn't get fed. Couldn't this man do anything other than steer the boat in the wrong direction? So it was the now-familiar generator-microwave-refrigerator dance. I managed canned ravioli, bread, and more carrots. Hearty, but less than inspiring cuisine, but in these conditions, it was the best that I could do. I don't remember the next four or five hours--I must have dozed in the cockpit after cleaning up the dinner dishes. The bang of a door brought me back to a dim awareness of my surroundings, where CC was coming up out of the galley, a large glass of rum and Coke in his hand. As CC eased back behind the wheel, I pulled Merri close to me so I could whisper in her ear. "We've got to watch him. We can't let him alone for even a minute, because he'll do something stupid all over again." Merri just sighed and leaned back against the life preserver that cushioned her cockpit seat. "Turn off the radio," she said. "What radio?" I asked, wondering what sound she could be hearing. "Harry Carey's doing a baseball play-by-play," she said in a sleepy voice. "Sweetheart, Harry Carey's dead, and there's no radio playing!" "Oh, that's all right, now there's music," Merri answered. "It's much better." Page 15 There was no music. There was no radio, but now there was added worry on my part. I had a sick wife who was hearing voices, a captain who was talking to himself, and a boat that was gradually coming apart. The moan of the overloaded autopilot was a hint of a night of self-destruction to come. CC took his drink below at 9 p.m., and I slid behind the wheel. Merri was simply too weak to tackle the helm. A quick check of the compass and GPS told me that CC had been steering off-course again! Disengaging the now-hot autopilot, I hand-steered the boat into the teeth of a storm that would not quit. Water washed over the cockpit sides, soaking Merri and me. The bow alternately shot skyward, then buried itself in wall after wall of water. Suddenly, to my horror, alarms started sounding. BEEEBEEBEEP. BEEBEEBEEP. The depth gauge said we had only two feet of water under our keel! How could that be -- we were supposedly in more than a hundred feet of water in the middle of the Gulf. My mind raced over irrational choices--a whale, a submarine, an uncharted wreck? I couldn't find the switch that would silence the alarm. BEEBEEBEEP. BEEBEEBEEP. Merri was panicky; I was mesmerized by the red glow of the depth gauge. One-point-five feet. BEEBEEBEEP. Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The gauge showed 115 feet of water under us. I was gripping the wheel so hard that my hands cramped. My heart raced, the blood throbbed in my ears. A glitch, an error, I thought. BEEBEEBEEP. BEEBEEBEEP. Red lights blinking. Three feet of water under our keel. "Get ready to abandon ship if we have to," I shouted at Merri. "Something crazy is going on, but I don't know what. Have you got the EPIRB?" Merri nodded slowly, then slumped back against her life preserver. She knew that the little yellow piece of electronics could save our lives if we had to make the awful jump into the sea. But would some agency hear the distress beacon in time to save us? Now the surge and splash of the sea and the whapping of the torn sail were the only noises. The alarm was silent. The gauge read 110 feet of water. I was shaking so badly that I could not read the little compass still hung around my neck - a compass that would be our last chance of finding land if the GPS failed. Another midnight had passed, and suddenly there were pinpricks of light on the horizon. Ships! Must be other ships out here, I thought, even if CC had assured me in his best "I am the captain" voice that there were no ships in this part of the Gulf. But I knew I was not hallucinating. Bits of light--red, green, white--against the storm-black of the night. Three, four of them, spaced across our starboard bow, and getting closer. With only our low-power portable radio working, I knew we were out of range. All we could hope for was that somebody saw us on their radar scopes. "Keep a close watch, Mer," I shouted. "I think all our running lights are lit, but bulbs burn out, and we're a pretty tiny target for those radars. They could run us down and never know they hit us." "Should I bring the flares up?" Merri asked. "No, they're right at the bottom of the companionway, and we can grab them if we need them, but sending up a rocket probably won't do anything except confuse those guys, if they even see it!" I thought the boats must be fishermen, and that even their best intentions would probably not be good enough if we needed rescue. A movement in the companionway caught my eye. "It's too hot and stuffy below," muttered CC, as he hauled a pillow on deck and flopped onto one of the cockpit seats. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Old Dawgs at Sea - pages 16 thru 19. Page 16 "Some boats out there," I called to him. "Naw, not here," he said as he turned onto his side and went to sleep. How could he sleep out here in chaos? Here I was, being thrown around the cockpit, and he's got his head on a pillow!?! My boat training never included "how to sleep through a storm!" I checked the GPS again, and made a sloppy attempt to keep the boat on course. "BOBEHUNGKELEE! SURMANGILEY! UBERGUNGLE SOMEREHGLEE!" My God, there was a madman on the loose! It was CC, standing up in the cockpit, shouting garble into the night -- at me -- at Merri. He was staring, but not seeing. If he moved toward Merri, I would have to hit him very, very hard with the metal bilge pump handle on a bracket next to the helmsman seat. I was ready. But he suddenly stopped shouting, glared at me, and flopped back down on his make-do bed. Out like a light on those ships out there--ships he insisted did not exist. Three a.m.--and we shook CC to take over watch. He went below, returning a few minutes later with another of his canned iced teas. Surely there was no vodka in this one, at 3 a.m.? We would soon find out. Merri hunkered down. She had tried to stay in the main cabin below decks, but got violently sick each time, so the cockpit was her enforced "home." I flopped back on my life-vest, exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and too mind-bent to take care of myself. A wave washed over the side, soaking me again and setting afire the salt-water sores now covering my backsides. A dozen sores, oozing blood and pus - the result of constant sea-water immersion and the scraping of the boat as I was tossed around. It's only water, I thought -- it'll wash out! Sleep. . . WHACK! The noise, and the sudden ship's motion, jolted me awake. "Chuck! Wake up! You're sailing off-course!" It was Merri, sitting up across from me and yelling into what I saw as a large, black hole where CC should have been. Nothing. He had passed out again, and the ship was out of control. The genoa had now tangled itself up in the rigging, as the ship tacked onto a new course. Pieces of it now blew out behind like mangled streamers. CC pulled himself up and got into his best defensive position. "Not sailing off. Can't be, we're on autopilot." "Well," Merri shot back, "you see that light out there? It's a ship, and either we're sailing the wrong way or that ship is sailing around us, because the light moves all around." Now CC could see that there was, indeed, a ship out there--perhaps a quarter of a mile in front of us, at least for now. He leaned forward, re-activated the autopilot that his foot had disengaged, and began mumbling to himself again. And that's when things really got bad. . . "Lar, I think we've got a fire. Something's burning below decks." Merri's voice was low but nearly hysterical. I jumped up from my life preserver "bed" and pulled myself through the companionway, half-stepping, half-sliding down the steps. I turned on my waterproof flashlight as I hit bottom, then pulled one of our three fire extinguishers off the wall and began scanning the ship, one compartment at a time. Fire at sea--the worst nightmare of all. I could smell it now, the acrid smell of burning wire insulation or plastic. Engine compartment--wisps of smoke, but it appeared to be a normal, hot engine. Galley, propane controls and refrigerator okay. One more space--the battery compartment under CC's bed. I pulled away the mattress and slowly lifted the wooden hatch. Heat engulfed my face, and I instinctively pushed the fire extinguisher ahead of me. But there were no flames; there was no smoke, just intense heat. Overload. Page 17 "Disconnect the damned autopilot!" I shouted to CC. "You're putting too much load on it in this storm, and I think the wires are burning!" To get to those wires I would have to tear apart one teak wall of the main cabin, and I really didn't want to do that. I only hoped that I was right--that the autopilot was causing the problem, and not some other device hidden away where I could not it see it. I closed the battery cover, pushed the mattress back into place, and turned off the flashlight. A mental list began an automatic check-off. Smoke, no. Flames, no. Unnatural sounds--hey, the storm was wailing so loudly that smaller sounds were indecipherable. I pulled myself back up into the cockpit, and noted by the glowing red light that CC had reconnected the autopilot! "Better hand steer for awhile, Chuck," I said acidly. "If those wires get any hotter, we've got a problem." If he was concerned, he didn't show it. "Too hard to steer in this weather, it'll be okay." He shrugged and grabbed at his ever-present drink. It took Merri to scare him into action. "I hear sparks!" she shouted. "They're back in the stern, under your seat!" CC was suddenly very interested--his backsides might soon be on fire. I noted the uncertainty on his face. Now I could hear what Merri had shouted about: the "tsik tsik tsik" that electricity makes as it jumps a gap. I flicked on my waterproof flashlight aimed it toward the stern. A bright blue reflection caught the beam--and a terrified flying fish fought madly to free itself and to fly into the night. Now I watched a comic circus in action: CC making a half-hearted effort to grab the hapless critter, Merri making a series of diving grabs. My great help was shining the light without blinding either fish-grabber, but the battle was short, and the fish was soon over the side, its wings no longer making "sparks" on the fiberglass cockpit. "A good omen," said Merri. "Beautiful flying fish -- a good omen." She smiled, and I knew that she was desperate for anything positive. I still had not found the source for the burning smell, and I felt both terrified and incompetent. Unfortunately, this was just a prelude to the ultimate terror of our trip. Monday morning we got something of a break in the weather. The seas were down to about five feet, the wind was blowing about 18 knots, and the rain had dwindled to a fine mist. I managed to create another breakfast of bread, jam and peanut butter, washed down with microwave-heated instant coffee. Thank God the generator still worked! No way was I going to open the valves that would send propane to our stove! What if the storm had ripped out some hidden pipe or hose? It would let heavier-than-air propane into the boat, and we'd have a bomb on our hands! Merri still was unable to eat anything or drink anything other than water. She was getting weak--much too weak. Land today? Please, God, make it happen! "The forestay's loose!" It was Merri, standing up in the cockpit and pointing toward the bow of the boat where, like some nightmare, the huge jib and its connecting cable were swinging out over the ocean. "Chuck!" I screamed. "Help me--we've got to get that thing before it smashes us to pieces!" I sprinted out of the cockpit and across the deck, making a flying tackle grab for the heavy, twisting mass. It was like wrestling a thousand-pound snake, and I was losing. What I had in my hands was the large metal "reel" on which the lines controlling the sail furler were wound, and now tangled. From that extended not only the cable and its heavy metal "sleeve" running five stories up to the top of the mast, but also the huge genoa sail--all of it now pulling and flailing about in the wind. Page 18 It pulled me, picked me up and smashed me against the deck, then pulled me toward the lifelines and the open sea. There was a sickening screech as the posts holding the lifelines bent, cables stretching as the huge sail pulled the upper half of my body out over the water. "Larry! Careful!" Merri's face bore the same terror I had seen in a photograph of a woman watching her husband being gored to death by a bull in Spain. CC ran forward, but didn't seem to know what to do. The steel beast I was trying to subdue was swinging back and forth, taking chunks out of fiberglass and teak at one end of the swing, pulling me over the ocean on the other end, as I hung on for my life and the safety of the boat. "CC, free the jib halyard!" I screamed. If he could loosen the line that kept the sail up we could do what we wanted to do three days ago--drop the sail to the deck and tie it down. "I don't know which one it is," yelled CC as he pulled at a tangle of lines on the mast. "The red one by the little sign that says 'genoa halyard'" I yelled back, hoping that he could move faster than I had seen him move so far on this voyage. Now I was swinging in the air again, and I cried out in pain as the furler pinned me to the deck. I couldn't do this much longer, but if I let the sail and its cables run free it would surely swing out, then slam back against the boat, doing more damage than we might be able to stand. "It won't come down!" CC had freed the red halyard, and now stood by the mast with a helpless look on his face. I wrapped one arm around the furler and a lifeline. With my free hand I pulled frantically at the sail, and down it slid--with a "whoosh"--into the ocean. That took most of the force out of the monster, but left me with another problem: whether to cut the sail free and lose it, or try to pull it back aboard. Merri solved that problem by running forward and hand-over-handing the sail back aboard. It took all her strength, I knew. "Careful!" called CC, as he watched me fight the still-flailing cable and its attachments that threatened to take off a leg, or worse! "Get some line!" I yelled at him, "let's lash the furler to the staysail!" (the smaller jib on a stay, or cable, right behind the forestay) We managed to wrap yard after yard of line around the furler and the staysail, and that stopped the dangerous flailing, although the cable still writhed like a wounded snake. If it came loose from the mast-top, it would cause serious damage, or kill someone. The picture on the foredeck was not a pretty one. I was bruised, my clothing torn, my right-hand little finger slashed to the bone. Fiberglass was chipped; teak trim was full of slash-marks; the lifelines were stretched and dangling off their severely bent stanchions. What had happened? I bent down, grabbed a fragment of stainless steel from the deck, and put in my pocket. I hadn't the foggiest idea what it was, but I knew it had been part of something larger, and probably important. I bent down to look at the quarter-inch-thick steel connectors at the bottom of the furler. They were twisted like so many pretzels. What force must have been involved in their destruction? Merri bandaged my finger and assessed my bruises. "Gonna be some bad colors there tomorrow," she said sympathetically. Page 19 CC slid back behind the wheel, with a beer in one hand. I reached into the ice chest and took out a cold can for myself, even it was still morning! I popped the top, but my hands were shaking so badly I spilled beer all over the cockpit and myself. Heck, I thought, the sea will wash it all off in a few minutes. And I drank what I could. Beer had never, ever tasted so good! We said very little the rest of the day, as we motored on towards Tarpon Springs, Florida. CC said we were on a good course, and would make landfall before night. The first patch of blue sky in three days appeared, and the seas were down to near-comfort level. After a makeshift lunch that I don't remember I was daydreaming in the cockpit. In my dreams the enemy was firing a huge cannon at us--Boom, boom, boom! Chuck's "Squall line!" shout brought me back to my senses. The sky was again laced with low-hanging, gray/black clouds from which extended swirls of lighter gray--waterspouts in the making. Sea tornadoes! If one formed on our bow we'd be hit harder than we could withstand, but there was nowhere to run, or hide. Now we were under a huge line of clouds, and the wind went from near-calm to 25 knots plus in seconds. A cold, hard rain pelted us, but I had eyes only for the long, flailing metal furler. The wind and the boat's rocking tore it from one side to another. If it broke free at the mast top, well, I didn't want to think about that. "Waterspout! Off the starboard bow!" I was shouting and pointing at what, to all intents and purposes, was a miniature, white tornado. It tracked toward us, then suddenly whipped up into the clouds and disappeared. I began to breathe again. The storm was encircling us, and without a steadying sail we were rocking, rolling and bucking. And now I was sick, also. Too tired, too dehydrated, too scared to do anything but bend over the side of the boat and vomit and shake uncontrollably. By late afternoon we had sailed through the storm and into the beautiful little harbor at Tarpon Springs. Yes, the marina could take us for the night. Yes, there was diesel fuel and--thank you God--hot showers! At the dock, some very helpful cruisers took our lines and took a long, hard look at our dysfunctional foredeck with its battered equipment. "What the hell happened to you!?!" they asked. I explained briefly about keeping the 130 genoa up during the storm, and how it all broke free. "You're lucky to be alive," they said. "You can't sail through storms with that kind of rig." "I know," I said, looking daggers at CC as he cheerfully headed for the showers. Did this man know, or care, where he was? Merri and I secured the last dock line, then headed for the marina office, where we did the impossible: actually hugged two large, hot streams of water in the marina shower room. It was wonderful, if painful, as I had those red salt-water sores all across the back of my body. But I felt life return to my exhausted body. We still had a day and a night of sailing to get to our home port, but tonight there would be dry clothes, and gallons of fresh water, and food, and berths that didn't swing wildly in the night. It was too late for restaurant dinners, so we would have to "make do" with boat food. Merri finally ate something, and then just kind of slid over to one side and went sound asleep. We never heard CC as he returned to the boat from his bar-hopping. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Old Dawgs at Sea - last ones - 20 thru 22. (after this, I'll need a drink!) Page 20 Morning brought a gang of cruisers down to our dock, and the help of a South African man who had recently sailed across the Atlantic and was now working as a rigger. Just what we needed! He was a bear of a man, with an engaging smile and ready stories about his homeland. But most important to us, he said he knew how to fix our broken furler, for the bargain price of $45 an hour. At that point, I didn't care what it cost! He took the bit of metal I had pocketed, and whistled: "sheared clevis pin, 5/8 stainless. Man, it took one hell of a load to tear this beauty apart." Then he looked at the furler and the pretzel-shaped bars that once connected it to the deck. "Have to take these to the shop. Just hope I can get 'em straightened for you," as he inspected the damage a piece at a time. Two hours and one clevis pin later, the stays (long wires holding up the mast) were loosened, the furler reinstalled, then the stays tightened again. "Good as new," the man named John Oram pronounced. He got his payment, in cash, and walked off the dock and out of our lives. Time to go again. Diesel in the tanks. Water aboard. An 11 a.m. marina lunch--sandwiches and lemonade for Merri and me, apple pie and beer for CC. Then it was quick thanks and good-byes to the anxious cruisers on the dock, and out into the channel that led from the town to the open Gulf. It was rather narrow, but well marked. Outside of that channel, however, there were shoals averaging two feet in depth. "Skinny water," the locals call it. The unwary would find themselves hard aground. But we had Captain Chuck at the helm. What could go wrong on this sunny, calm day? I almost missed the next misadventure, because I was dozing in the sun. But Merri's yell, and the sudden hard turn of the boat brought me back. CC had let loose the wheel, and wandered off somewhere in his mind. The boat had turned sharply out of the channel and toward the shoal. Without Merri's warning, we would have had to call for a tow, and, yes, we might have had to bury CC at sea after all! But we made it, and motored onto a flat sea with blue sky over our heads and dolphins frisking about the bow. The magic was back! CC was hitting the beer pretty hard, and keeping himself from getting bored by alternating the brews with rum-and-Cokes. Merri could at last drink Coke, and I was gulping Gatorade to replace the liquid I so badly needed. Things were now at the glaring point between CC and us. The slurp of the water against the hull and the chumming of the diesel were the only sounds aboard. I was afraid that if I started talking to CC I'd get into a serious fight, so there were no words. Day slid into evening, and there was another simple boat dinner of sandwiches, deli salad from the marina, and some not-quite-dry cookies. CC was keeping his sandwich from drying out by drinking lots of rum as he ate. He mumbled something to himself as he ate, but didn't try to talk to us. And we were paying this turkey! Our last night at sea, and Merri had the nine-to-midnight watch. Moon, stars, and a sea under control, with the boat humming along under power. I dozed in the cockpit, but even asleep I knew something was very wrong. Bright lights kept exploding in my brain. "Larry. Larry!" Merri's panicky tone cut through the dreams. I sat up in the glare of blue flashing lights. "Oh, man, this can't be," I muttered to myself. "We're being stopped by the Coast Guard!" "What do I do?" asked Merri as she fumbled with the controls. "Slow down, put the boat in neutral, and be polite," I answered. Then, turning towards the bow, I yelled: "Chuck! We're being stopped by the Coast Guard." There was no response from the prone figure on the deck. He was passed out again, and I'd have to deal with whatever problems now came on board. Page 21 They were polite young men, armed but not threatening. They called from their boat, now only six feet from ours, and started asking questions. Where were we going? How many were aboard? Did we have a working radio? (Ours had been mis-tuned somewhere along the way, and we didn't hear their call) Who was the Skipper? "I'm the owner, but the hired captain is asleep up there on the deck," I answered, pointing at Chuck, who was now struggling into a sitting position. "Do you wish to board us?" The Guardsmen replied that they did not, but were just checking to see who we were, since we had not answered their radio calls. With that, they gunned their amazingly powerful engines and sped off into the night. I couldn't believe what I heard next. "Damned waste of the taxpayers' money!" It was CC, shouting after the departing Coast Guardsmen. I prayed that they did not hear that. Could CC do anything that wasn't stupid? I took over the helm, CC went back to sleep, and Merri snuggled down against her life preserver, still unable to stay below for more than a few minutes. At 3 a.m. I gave up the helm. CC pronounced that the storm had been the worst he'd ever seen in the Gulf, and dipped into the locker for a beer. I was surprised to see that there was any left! Or did he buy more at the marina when I wasn't looking? Merri and I just looked at each other and shrugged. What could we say? I went below for a badly-needed bit of sleep. Merri would later tell me that CC had his second beer about 4:30, and that he seemed to have trouble finding the outer buoy leading into Charlotte Harbor. But we made it. I woke to a pink-and-orange dawn and smooth water on the bay. The captain, seeing that I was awake, left the helm on autopilot and went below without asking that I keep a lookout for ships. He may have had a license, but he didn't act like it! We, of course, did look out for ships. Meanwhile, below, CC was packing his bags, ready for a hasty departure once we docked. CC returned shortly before we reached the channel into the marina--dressed in fresh clothes, his duffel bag packed on the cabin sole (floor). "Burnt Store Marina, Burnt Store Marina -- this is Gypsy Wind calling for docking support." That's one radio message I'll never forget. We were almost home. Now there were people on the dock, and lines to toss and tie. But first, I asked CC if he wanted me to tie on the fenders--the inflated rubber devices resembling giant hot dogs that keep boats and docks from scraping each other. "Naw, only amateurs use the damned things," CC replied testily. Over his objections, however, Merri and strung fenders, as we had done in Pensacola and Tarpon Springs. Boat scars we didn't need! Finally, all motion stopped. The brave little Yanmar diesel was turned off for only the second time in four days, and we stepped onto the dock. CC grabbed his duffel, shot us a self-conscious smile, and said: "Well, now you can call yourselves voyagers," as he walked away. We knew the sea should have taken him. How many more people would he endanger with his drunkenness and stubbornness? We drove home to our Fort Myers apartment, and prepared to start our lives all over again. Page 22 There would be no "Habitat for Humanity" volunteer work for us now. There would be six months of exhausting and expensive boat repairs. There would be no more "dream" for me. Gypsy would be for sale once I finished some $28,000 in repairs. By December, the teak was gleaming, the electronics were doing their magic, and new sails and cockpit covers were in place. I had driven 40 miles roundtrip every day since August, but as dirty and exhausted as I was when I came home, Merri always commented how really happy I looked. That, too, suddenly ended. As a final touch, Gypsy needed a haul-out for some painting and hull work. To get from our dock to the marina haul-out station took a bit of maneuvering around other docks and boats. As luck would have it, a cruiser-friend down the dock said he'd be happy to drive for me, if I'd handle lines and fenders. Fine. We got the boat to the cradle, had the bottom work done, and a few days later returned to get the boat back to the dock. All went well until my friend tried to back the boat into the slip. I was relaxing on the bowsprit, letting my friend and some dockhands do the "dirty" work for me. Suddenly, I noticed that we were going forward - straight towards a $400,000 luxury powerboat! It was one of those moments when I was too stunned to move or speak. I could only stare as our bow and its heavy, sharp, anchor dug into the side of the boat, then slowly dragged across the side, ripping out lifelines, a large hunk of fiberglass, and, to add a final insult, the gold boat name. When the boat was finally brought under control, my, uh, "friend," said it was all my fault for not telling him that the throttle handle might come out of its base - which is what had happened. And since he was - well - fat, he couldn't bend down to reinsert the handle! I made peace with the yacht-owner, who, fortunately, was an easy-going man. And then I paid big bucks to fix the mess! Insurance would cover only a small portion, as our deductible was $3,000. Ouch! We had a champagne-and-tears Christmas party aboard Gypsy, then prepared to end the dream: she had been sold to a nice young UPS pilot and his wife, who would sail away in a few weeks. The pilot changed her name to Three Wishes." My, she looked wonderful with strings of Christmas lights in her rigging! I cannot even begin to explain the pain that I felt - and still feel. The dream was dead. It was the final voyage of the Gypsy Wind. --O-- C;1999, Laurence Roderick |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 923 Registered: Aug-04 | A sad but happy ending! Wonderful story Larry. Thankyou. You and Merri certainly had an amazing, perilous adventure are fortunate to be around to talk about it. Hope the book is a success - it was a rivetting saga. |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 93 Registered: Jun-04 | Here's a good source of audio/video information and reference: Ian G. Masters on Audio and Video: Home Page |
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Silver Member Username: SemNew York USA Post Number: 284 Registered: Mar-04 | Larry, That is just far too much "adventure" for one lifetime. What an amazing story. Thank you for sharing it with us. |
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Silver Member Username: GhiacabrioletNC Post Number: 465 Registered: Apr-04 | LR, That is an amazing story! It's admirable that you and Merri were willing to take the risk you did to experience a dream. Even though the dream turned into a bit of a nightmare, aren't you glad you did it? Most people get comfortable with their lives but live day to day wondering "is this all there is?" and never even try to live their dreams. I don't know. Maybe the trauma you went through overshadows the experience. But, from my perspective, I admire you both for taking the chance even if it didn't turn out the way you had envisioned. Glad you both lived to tell the tale! Take care! |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 94 Registered: Jun-04 | Larry, My hat's off to you and Merri for daring to live the dream. I'm sorry to hear how it ended, but I admire your courage and determination. Very well written. Thank you for sharing your experience with us. Cheers! Don |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Sem, Ghia, Ojo et al. Thank you for your kind comments on our "adventure." And yes, believe it or not, I AM glad that we went through it. Found out a lot about ourselves - a lot about sailing - and a lot about "trust." Merri, poor gal, won't go out "to sea" anymore if it involves a journey out of sight of land. And she's what she calls a "pink water sailor," that is - if conditions are nice and calm, she'll venture out for a sail. If not - well. . . Unfortunately, the charity work that we had all lined up - helping to build homes, hospitals and schools in Central America - had to be cancelled. I feel very guilty about that, but the people involved fully understood! Now, I wish that I could say that the experience is "in the past." But nope - to quote our good friend Kegger - it is with me nearly every night. Probably always will be. OK - off the subject - and no more "sagas" from this ole Dawg! G R I N |
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Silver Member Username: Arnold_layneMadridSpain Post Number: 191 Registered: Jun-04 | What a comeback, Larry! Navegare necesse est AL |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Thank you, AL - non illigitimi carborundum! |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 96 Registered: Jun-04 | Laurentius Roderictus*, Cedo maiori! *Latin for Laurence Roderick |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | OJO - Oh, yeah? Wanna make sum-ting outta it? (DOUBLE GRIN) |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Sorry, Ojo - the above posting was crude and rude of me. As always, my friend, you are Nulli Secundus. Truly so. |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 97 Registered: Jun-04 | Salve, Larry, my friend I hope I have not offended you with my little Latin word play on your name. Absit invidia. It was done in uberrima fides. I was just having a little fun on Latin after seeing your brief exchange with AL and researching the meanings of what you two had posted. Pax vobiscum For some Latin phrases, see the link below: Latin Phrases Or E pluribus funk (at amazon.com) That's enough Latin for me. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Ojo - OK! I'm already worn out! And certainly no offense - believe me, I've been called a LOT of things in my day, and a liddle tweaking on ye olde name certainly ain' gonna git me upsot! GRIN BTW - have you tried any Pledge on your CDs yet? I'm still awaiting Jan V's Big Test results with the Vivid I sent him. Of course, I'm afraid that he'll find that it doesn't make any difference! There are many people who argue that such products are hokum, and that either the laser reads or doesn't read - on or off - period. All I know is what Merri and I heard - and no, we can't explain it. OK - I'll bookmark the Latin site - good for a few chuckles, if nothing else! (and no, I didn't take Latin in school!) Another toss-and-turn night, so I'm at work (again) in the quiet hours. Have a good night, and a better Friday! LR |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | AL - just picking up thoughts from Ole Dawgs thread - and how Merri needs two gold crowns (on her teeth, that is!) before we can go on another adventure. If I may, sir: "Navigare necesse est - etiam cura dentium" Sailing is necessary, but so is dentistry! How true, how true! This Latin stuff is getting outta hand! GRIN |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 928 Registered: Aug-04 | "and how Merri needs two gold crowns (on her teeth, that is!) before we can go on another adventure." I can understand that LR - dental work plus one gold crown is roughly the same price as a 35 footer here also  |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 98 Registered: Jun-04 | AV Guide Monthly magazine Free download in PDF format: http://www.avguide.com/AVG_monthly/issue9_hispeed.pdf |
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Bronze Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 100 Registered: Jun-04 | I was wondering how many of you are familiar with the French composer-jazz pianist Claude Bolling. He has successfully combined jazz and classical ideas by writing and performing innovative suites for piano and flute, guitar, violin, cello, and chamber orchestra. Since the early 80's, I've enjoyed listening to these suites on vinyl LP. I just thought I'd bring them to your attention, knowing that you all appreciate a wide variety of music. Here's a brief biography of Claude Bolling: http://www.allmusic.com/cg/amg.dll?p=amg&sql=11:4x68mp939f5o His official website is www.claude-bolling.com but it's all in French. Here are some of the Bolling albums that I have. On the amazon page, you can click on the other albums listed for more details. Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano - with Jean-Pierre Rampal on flute http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00006329Y Picnic Suite - with Jean-Pierre Rampal on flute and Alexandre Lagoya, classical guitar http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000025FX Suite for Jazz Piano and Cello - with Yo-Yo Ma, cello Suite for Jazz Piano and Chamber Orchestra - with the English Chamber Orchestra I suggest you check with your local library and see whether they have any Bolling CD's on file. That way, you can borrow and audition them at no cost. The music is very well written and performed by the finest musicians a composer can ever dream of. Enjoy. Don (ojophile) |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 101 Registered: Jun-04 | Eva Cassidy (1963 - 1996) Songbird album @ amazon.com Beautiful voice. Brief bio: http://www.oaksite.co.uk/bioblue.html |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 103 Registered: Jun-04 | In line with the "Discoveries" nature of this thread, here's a link to "How Stuff Works" http://www.howstuffworks.com/ |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Don aka Ojo - yes, my friend - I have both the cello and flute discs - love them, love them! It's the kind of jazz I like - not too loud and obnoxious, and with wonderful music lines. Don't know the singer- will check. And oh, yes, I need all the hep ah can git in the "how stuff works" department! (grin) Still wangng away on the Vivid issue - you may check new comments on the Dawgs thread. Stay warm - it's almost W I N T E R !! |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | PS - are Rangers like Rick's "Special" group? And do they use C4 or C5 explosives. (those sniper thangs look pretty ugly!) Luv the link to how hangovers work - shudda known that stuff long, long ago! (grin) |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | PPS - what's with the "DonX" thing? Whatever happened to "Ojophile?" Hmmm?? |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 104 Registered: Jun-04 | Larry, My friend, you've been busy at the keyboard! I enjoyed reading your recent posts on Old Dawgs. "RX-1" refers to my 20-year old dream finally come true, my "baby", the Kawai RX-1, posted here --- http://www.geocities.com/ojophile Hey, notice my "Silver Member" designation? Whoopee! |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Don - well, congrats! Now you've got approbation, Kawai and Ellen - as the song goes: "who could ask for anything more?" Hmm. . . maybe winning the lottery? No. . . . Yep (quoting friend Kegger) I've been VERY busy, trying to figger out a whole raft of stuff regarding these CD-thangs. Sigh. the more I read the less I understand! Heck, I'm regressing! HEP! The Audioholics forum has broken down into name-calling, and I just give up on those folk who spend more time writing 4-letter words than they do in formulating solid ideas. Like so much of society today - but don't get me started on THAT thread! (grin) Mer and I are (again) watching "Evil Under the Sun" on DVD (buffed, natch!) tonight. A "cook's night off" for me - takeout pizza, some nice wine, and a soft sofa to fall asleep on! Hmmm. . . Yah gotta find this movie, Ojo! It's a big-time "order" fer yah! Or not. . . More anon. . . |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Don aka Ojo - as I posted on "Dawgs" I can't find the Bolling discs! Sigh. Still looking. If you get a chance, audition the CD by newish opera singer Rolando Villazon - I think you'll be very pleasantly surprised! My current list of "must-have" opera aria CDs includes Kiri te Kanawa, Ben Heppner (when he's in good voice, which is not always the case), Renee Fleming, Placido Domingo, Rolando Villazon, Natalie Dessay (yum!), and my all-time favorite tenor, Jussi Bjoerling. Too bad he isn't of "our" time, with better recording facilities. If you want a spine-tingling experience, find or steal RCA 7799-2-RG - with Jussi Bjoerling and Robert Merrill singing "au fond du temple saint" from Bizet's "The Pearl Fishers." You will never forget it! You don't have to be an "opera nut" to enjoy this "song," my friend! Lined up on my "wish list" is the Mozart Requiem DVD video with my old, departed friend, Sir Georg Solti and a cast of, well, hundreds. But that's sky-talk right now, also. More anon. . . |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | OJO - Found them! O Joy! The Bolling CDs had somehow gotten shoved in BACK of the CDs in the bookcase. Must have been knocked there during dusting? Anyway - whew - they're Baaacccckkkkk!!! More anon. . . |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 105 Registered: Jun-04 | Larry, Sorry for not replying sooner; it has been a busy weekend. Anyway, glad to know that you found your Bolling CD's. Well, if you love them, then I'm sure you'll enjoy the Concerto for Classic Guitar and Jazz Piano, Picnic Suite, and Suite for Chamber Orchestra and Jazz Piano Trio Will post more later. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Don - gotcha - thanx! |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 107 Registered: Jun-04 | My favourite words of inspiration, counsel, and comfort come from Desiderata, written by Max Ehrmann (1872-1945). Here's one of many links: http://hobbes.ncsa.uiuc.edu/desiderata.html Here's a brief bio of Max Ehrmann: http://www.wvu.edu/~lawfac/jelkins/lp-2001/ehrmann.html Here are some notes about Desiderata: http://www.fleurdelis.com/desidera.htm |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 111 Registered: Jun-04 | Larry et al, Here are two more CD recommendations: 1. Piano Jazz - Marian McPartland with Bill Evans http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B000005HK4 2. Piano Jazz - Marian McPartland with Lee Konitz http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B000005HKQ British jazz pianist Marian McPartland is the host of the long-running program Piano Jazz. These two albums are my favourites because they feature two of my jazz idols, the late Bill Evans (piano) and Lee Konitz (alto sax). The interviews are a bit stiff. McPartland makes no attempt to inject humour during the conversations with either artist. The Marian McPartland Jazz Piano home page is at http://www.npr.org/programs/pianojazz/ Here's the rest of the Piano Jazz series: http://www.amazon.com/s/?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Piano+Jazz+Marian+McPartland More later. Have to take care of domestic stuff. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | Don - how thoughtful of you to post the Desiderata, which frankly I had forgotten about after having become a great fan way back in the turbulent '60s. Heard/saw a most emotional reading of it in Grant Park, Chicago, during the 1968 Democratic Convention riots. Still haunts me, and your posting of it - and associated links - flooded my mind with memories good and bad. I shall bookmark it, my friend, and refer to it more often! Ah, yes, Ms McPartland has graced our home via radio for many years - though she is one performer I never met or interviewed. I'm digging into the links - with thanks to you! You certainly have a depth and breadth of information, Don - something that too few people possess! Kudos to you and Ellen - and I hope to hear more from you! As you've probably read on "Old Dogs" my quest for more info re Vivid continues unabated. I'm still trying very hard to get somebody who has a laboratory friend to do some testing on the product, to see what it is, chemically speaking. I'll e-mail you more "stuff." Latr. . . |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 112 Registered: Jun-04 | Larry, Thanks. I envy your experiences. I can only imagine the things you've seen, the people you've met, and the events you've covered. Some of my favourite lines from Desiderata are: If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Another all-time favourite of mine is Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet. This is one my most treasured books in my little collection. "On Children" is the one that stirs me most: You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday The meaning of those words became apparent when we had our first child. Now with two boys, the impact is even more felt. The part about ...the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. is very profound, don't you think so? Ah, too many good things, so little time. |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 113 Registered: Jun-04 | Another great singer that I've admired all these many years: Diane Schuur. Some of her albums that I have: In Tribute http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000001OD Love Walked In http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000001VN/ Timeless - Features Stan Getz on Johnny Mandel's "A Time For Love". Beautiful, lyrical solo by Stan. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000001PY Love Songs - Her version of Kurt Weill's "Speak Low" is the best one I've heard in ages. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B0000001SS More later. |
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Silver Member Username: MyrantzPost Number: 960 Registered: Aug-04 | Don, Add Blues For Schurr to your list - wonderful! You'd be amazed at the number of times I've been tempted to use passages from the Desiderata on this forum :-) |
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Gold Member Username: John_aPost Number: 2359 Registered: Dec-03 | Don, Like Larry, I knew Desiderata from years ago, but had forgotten it. I agree. Thank you. As regards "our children" I agree, there, too, but I am not so inclined to think we should give up trying to glimpse "the house of tomorrow". It is the one in which they will live. And, true, we shall never know it. We still have to try to make it a good house. And that is on their behalf, always being ready to step back when they become ready and strong enough themselves. I have two children there; to whom I sometimes now go for advice. I think they are doing a good job. I also have children who still need a strong and caring hand to allow them to grow, and to become themselves Just as important, the house of today is the one built for us by those who came before. They tried to see ahead, on our behalf. We owe them a debt we cannot pay back; we pay it, instead, to our children. I think, if you talk to old people, that is what they were doing it for, all along. |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | As I always suspected, I dwell in the presence of sensitive, intelligent people when I enter this forum. I am bookmarking many things - for further reading and thought - with great thanks! Don - I know not of Ms. Schurr, but I shall try to find out - and audition - more. While I do listen to jazz, I frankly admit that my knowledge of it and its performers is somewhat shallow. Again, on this forum, I learn. . . More anon. . . |
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Silver Member Username: OjophileToronto, ON Post Number: 114 Registered: Jun-04 | Just as important, the house of today is the one built for us by those who came before... We owe them a debt we cannot pay back; we pay it, instead, to our children. Very eloquently expressed, John. I agree with you wholeheartedly. My Rantz, thanks for the recommendation. Larry, may I humbly offer my "above average" knowledge of jazz with respect to any question or curiosity that you might have about this beloved idiom? Just post your queries or thoughts and I'll do my best to answer them. Regards, Don |
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Larry R Unregistered guest | OK, Don - will do! Gladly! Have ordered (God bless Amazon) the Mahler 5th symphony DVD-video - after hearing so much about it from John A. and Ghia C. - but I also stumbled upon a movie which Mer and I have rented and watched too many times. One of the funniest movies we've ever seen! You may know it: "Moon Over Parador." Please go on Amazon and look it up for yourselves. We HAD to order it - just recently out in DVD form. It will put foreign relations and third-world politics in a new and wonderful light for you. I know this forum is for audio - but had to throw that in as a personal aside. More anon. . . |