Thursday, June 14, 2018

Hilton Head Island: why; not; more spartina

        The usual afternoon thunderstorm just passed.  One of their virtues is that they cause an immediate 10ºF drop in temperature.  A pleasant 76ºF/24.4C now.
        I am sitting on the screened porch.  Slow rain is still falling, but with no wind it is not coming in.
        If any of you wonder why I am not resuming the voyage until January, the above image is the reason.  The hurricane season has started.  That is the inelegantly named Bud.  I don’t mean to be sexist, but I really wish hurricanes were still all named after women.  I would much rather be destroyed by an Alice or a Maria.  To be killed by a Bud is ignoble.
        That image is a day old.  Two days ago Bud was a Category 2 hurricane.  Now he is only a tropical storm.  Still he is right on the track I will eventually sail from Panama to San Diego and he won’t be the last storm this season.


        A short film at the NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day site is stunning.  Really beyond imagination, though it does its best to stretch ours.
        There are fleeting moments when I almost doubt that the universe really is all about us.


Wednesday, June 13, 2018

Skull Creek: happy anniversary

        I seldom post twice on the same day but am today.
        The last was headed Hilton Head Island, it was written in the condo.  This, Skull Creek, because I am back on GANNET.
        About an hour ago I was sitting sipping a martini on the screened porch when I realized that Carol and I met twenty-four years ago today.
        Late afternoon thunderstorms are common here in summer.  If the wind is not strong, it is lovely to sit on the porch and see the rain falling a few feet away on the deck and branches and leaves of Live Oak trees and Spanish Moss.  There is beauty here.
        The process that led to my remembering this date was caused by my thinking that our present morass with the condo renovation is my worst experience with people, with the exception of parts of my life with Jill, since I was imprisoned, falsely, as a spy in Saudi Arabia in 1982.
        Thinking of those bad times with Jill, and to do her justice there were many good times as well, made me realize that I have never had such bad days with Carol.  I know our twenty-fourth wedding anniversary is coming in August, and somehow I realized that we met on June 13, 1994.  I checked and am right.  It was a Monday.
        I had flown up from south Florida to sail Carol and the German man who was then a part of her life across the Atlantic.  
        I have done few deliveries because I don’t like to sail boats I have not prepared myself.  I did this one less for the money than the prospect that I might meet a woman along the way. 
        Our first sight of one another was in a loading zone at Logan Airport.  I doubt that love and Logan Airport have ever before been used in the same sentence.
        Two nights later, after a bon voyage party on the boat, one of Carol’s best friends said to her, “Henry is a good matchmaker.”  Impressively observant.
        Carol and I were married two months and three days later.
        Happy anniversary, love of my life.

Hilton Head Island: started

        Friends are coming this weekend to photograph GANNET under sail for CRUISING WORLD and other purposes, so I decided I better see if a Torqeedo would start.
        I’ve been sleeping on GANNET and first thing this morning I cleared the port pipe berth, slithered aft and retrieved outboard mount and Torqeedo and mounted them on the stern.  The motor started at the touch of the button, bless its little electric heart.  The battery, last charged at the end of February, showed 100%.
        I also tested the tiller pilots.  All three Autohelms work.  There is a loose connection in the wiring for the Pelagic which I will track down in time, but is of no immediate importance.
        At 7:00 the air temperature was a mild 73ºF/23ºC, but sweat was rolling off me, and this was not hard labor.


        A long pier leads out to Skull Creek Marina so that boats are in deep enough water.  I am told that even so, at extremely low tides some of the bigger sailboats touch bottom.  Not GANNET.
        This is only the last quarter of the pier.  It is as wide as a two lane highway in order to support the travel lift.  Boats hauled from the water are taken a long way to the minuscule boat yard ashore.
          I like watching the spartina cover and uncover with the tides.  So do herons and egrets who work the sea grass mostly at mid-tide.
        An original.

And a Prisma variation.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Hilton Head Island: C. S. Forester and Sara Teasdale

        A long, long time ago when I was young I read all eleven of C. S. Forester’s Hornblower novels twice and several of his other novels as well.  He was a very good and entertaining writer.
        I don’t suppose I have thought much about him since until a few weeks ago when his novel THE GENERAL was one of the offerings at BookBub.  
        The officer of the title is Lieutenant-General Sir Herbert Curzon who rose to his rank early in WWI and commanded more than 100,000 men up to the Battle of the Somme in 1916.  
        I have written somewhere that soldiers often die not for their cause but because of the egos and stupidity of generals and politicians.
        THE GENERAL provides the best explanation I have ever read of how Great Britain’s officer caste killed so many men futilely.
        After reading it, I bought two more of Forester’s novels.  THE GUN, which I have read before, set in Spain during the Napoleonic Wars; and THE GOOD SHEPHERD, about a convoy crossing the North Atlantic during WWII.


        At least one of you has viewed ALBATROSS. Two counting Carol.  Three counting me.
        The film is part of The Midway Project, named after the Pacific Ocean atoll, once significant during WWII and now the nesting place for millions of birds.
        I read a book titled ALBATROSS a few years ago that must also be part of the project, so I knew what to expect.
        The film is both beautiful and tragic.  The beauty is in the birds themselves and the inspired and sometimes very clever photography.  The tragic in the corpses of dead birds cut open to reveal the almost unbelievable amount of plastic inside them.  Often dozens of pieces in a single bird.  One had both a disposable cigarette lighter and a toothbrush in it.
        David, the one of you I know viewed the film, after doing so sent me a poem by Sara Teasdale.

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white, 

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone
        I must confess that I did not know of Sara Teasdale, so I googled and learned that she was born in Saint Louis, as was I, and wrote another fine poem often connected with her suicide that reminds me of parts of two I wrote long ago.
        Those two were enough for me to buy a Kindle edition of her collected works for $0.99.
        Sometimes you do get something for nothing.  Or almost.  But you already know that.

Friday, June 8, 2018

Hilton Head Island: albatrosses and plastic

        Today is World Oceans Day.  For some us every day is.
        Recently the GUARDIAN, the INDEPENDENT, and the NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC, among others, have run articles about plastic pollution.  This is, of course, a disaster that has taken place entirely since 1950, within the lifetimes of many of us still living.
        I thank Martin for reminding me about World Oceans Day and for providing a link to a new film about albatross which can be viewed in its entirety at:   
        I have not yet watched it.  I will later today.  But I have a good idea of what it will show and expect some of it will be tragic.
        I don’t know if any of you have read ISLAND.  Published in 1944, James Norman Hall made the observation even then that our species was becoming a cancer to the planet.  And like other cancers we are metastasizing at an ever increasing rate.
        Martin, who was a merchant marine officer, observed that he who was on ships in the Southern Ocean and I who have sailed there are among the few who have seen in person the magnificent albatrosses in flight over those waters.  And that we might well be the last.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

Hilton Head Island: my best words; Raptored

        Like I expect most of you, I don’t often visit the main site.  I regret having separated the journal from that site, but uploading and revising a post with Blogger is decidedly faster than with iWeb.
        Nevertheless I have just made changes to the home page of
        This followed reading an interview this past weekend with an original artist during which some of my words were mentioned.
        While there is no doubt in my mind that ‘A sailor is an artist whose medium is the wind.’ is my best known and likely will be longest remembered sentence, my statement of an artist’s defining responsibility may be my best.  I am not aware that anyone else has ever said it better.  
        I wasn’t sure there was room for those words.  I’m glad there is.


        I finished applying the Raptor non-skid to GANNET’s deck.  Just in time.  A blister has formed on my thumb from using the shears.


    Being white on white, the Raptor panels don’t show up as well in the photos as in person.
        I like the way it looks and it seems to be a good non-skid surface.  Water over the deck, inevitable in time on GANNET, will tell.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Hilton Head Island: ashore; waves

        I am sipping a cold martini.  It is very good.
        The condo continues to be stalled.  No work has been done now for two weeks and I have no idea when any will be done.
        At times I consider starting a new page on the main site listing the evidence that we, homo sapiens, are not an intelligent species.
        If I did, the years 1914-1945 would head the list.  Many other spans could be included, but those are inconvertible.  
        Also would be lotteries.  Not that they exist, but that people buy tickets.
        And third would be this renovation.
        I am not going to go into the detestable details and will not respond to emails asking about them.  If you have been reading this journal, you are aware of how much I liked Hilton Head Island.  The tense of the verb is accurate.  At this moment I wish that I had never heard of Hilton Head Island.  Perhaps that will change again in time.  Perhaps.
        In the meanwhile I have moved back into this shell.
        Two afternoons ago I heard thunder and glanced up and saw an apocalyptic sky over Pinckney Island.  I had no food up here and knew that when the storm hit, it would do so in an instant.
        I made it back to GANNET with a minute to spare before the rain and wind came.  Even though protected by larger boats on either side, GANNET heeled and was buffeted.  I turned on the wind instrument which showed a maximum gust of 35 knots.
        Yesterday afternoon I walked back under sunny skies and when I opened the hatch, the Great Cabin was 104.3ºF/40.16C.  Not quite the 106º it reached in Marathon, but hot enough.
       Only the guest bathroom and the utility room and the screened porch and deck are intact here.  Everything else is gutted.  The air conditioning works and so does the Internet.  Some, not all, electrical outlets are functional.
        So we ordered a coffee maker, portable microwave, and a tiny 1.7 cubic foot refrigerator at a total cost of less than $200.
        They arrived today.  Thus I have a cold martini.  And will soon have another.  Then, but for the lack of ice, eight or ten more.


        I thank Art for links to some spectacular photographs of waves taken by Rachael Talibart.

Friday, June 1, 2018

Skull Creek: partially decked; a minority opinion

        Three 2 meter x 1 meter/six ½ feet x 3 ¼ feet rolls of Raptor non-skid were delivered late yesterday and I got five pieces in place this morning, one on either side of the cockpit, and three in the bow.
        GANNET’s non-skid is eclectic. Diamond pattern Treadmaster on the cockpit sole; two strips of a New Zealand product on the starboard side of the foredeck to protect it when anchoring; and now the Raptor.
        The Raptor is interesting.  A different kind of surface with less texture and therefore less abrasive to skin and clothes.  It costs about $110 or $115 a sheet and is easy to work with.  I cut it with a shears.  One caveat is that after making cuts, the paper covering the adhesive on the bottom tends to shred on the edge of the cut and must be removed carefully.
        As I may have mentioned Raptor says the decking is UV resistant and should last seven years.  
        If I am still alive and still own GANNET, I’ll let you know.
        Here is a link to their website.  I don’t believe they make the diamond pattern any longer.  If you click on their online brochure, what I am using is like that on the Transpac 52.
        I have not yet figured out what shapes I am going to use in the area around the mast.


        At 32º North Hilton Head Island is well beyond the Tropics, but it does not feel like it.  
        I had to wait for the dew to dry on the deck before starting work this morning and then had to stop when sweat pouring into my eyes made it impossible to see.  91ºF/almost 33ºC at 1 p.m.
        I understand that in most of the world summer is longed for and cherished.  Not here.  Not by me.  It is too hot and the hurricane season.
        I can hardly wait for November.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Skull Creek: less; the longest night

        Some of you will recall my quoting Antoine de Saint-Exupery, the early French aviator and writer, that perfection in airplane design is achieved not when there is nothing more you can add, but when there is nothing more you can remove.  Obviously I believe the same is true of boats.  And writing.
        So today I removed two small sheet tracks on either side of the mast.  They were on GANNET when I bought her and I kept thinking that someday I might use them, but not having done so now for seven years and more than 25,000 miles, it became obvious I never will. 
        I wanted to get them off before new non-skid decking arrives later this week.  It is made by a company in Seattle called Raptor and is said to be similar to Treadmaster, but less harsh.  I have Treadmaster on the cockpit sole.  It is excellent non-skid, but very hard on skin.
        I learned of Raptor in the Yahoo Moore Owner’s group.
        Their website does not seem to be fully up to date and the sheets I am receiving are not shown there.  They did send me a sample before I placed my order.
        I have become tired of having to repaint the deck with Interdeck every year or so.
        I filled the bolt holes, five for each track, with Dr. Sails self-mixing epoxy.  It is expensive, but very good, and I didn’t have a container to mix standard epoxy.
        In an orgy of ambition, I also re-glued the velcro for the screens around the hatches.  For this I used another effective adhesive, Gorilla Super Glue.
        And finally I went on deck and polished the metal.
        I have still to oil the interior and re-bed the main traveler.
        The interior needs repainting.  That might happen, but not right now.
        And on the list is the eternal:  look for leak near the bow.  That is a gesture.  I have been looking for years and don’t really expect I will ever find it.  It is not serious.  It is a mystery.


        Steve Earley’s entry today, “a perfect day, the longest night” is classic.  It might be subtitled:  you do what you have to do, and could only be written by a really good sailor in a really small boat.
        And if you go to the entry you will have the added bonus of getting to view the great lead photo, which I posted here, again.

Monday, May 28, 2018

Skull Creek: the greatest strength; my right foot

        Evening.  Overcast sky.  Cooling breeze blowing up Skull Creek from the south.  The wind has been from the south for more than a week.
        Here we were only on the fringe of Alberto, which in any case is not a significant weather system.   Moderate steady rain that fell through last night ended this morning.  I took my lunch and foul weather parka when I walked up to use the condo’s Internet, but did not need the parka.
        I watched parts of a couple of baseball games, caught up on email, viewed some video links sent by friends, showered, then came back down to GANNET.
        Dinner of freeze dry Santa Fe Chicken and Rice, accompanied by boxed red wine and John Luther Adams  BECOME OCEAN followed by Handel’s MESSIAH.  Sometimes only substantial music will do.
        This was my first freeze dry dinner in a while.  
        Last week I ate ashore with Carol’s family and yesterday I biked to the supermarket and brought back among other things a prepared salad.


        A reader wrote after my most recent quote of Ecclesiastes 9:11 that it is romantic, but not the way the smart money bets.  I have heard that before, but Ecclesiastes is not even slightly romantic, it is harshly realistic.  Ask millions of farmers and fishermen who have worked hard and seen their efforts destroyed by weather.  Ask 6,000,000 Jews who happened to live in Europe in 1940.  Ask the middle class in Germany in the runaway inflation of the 1920s.  It is a useful cultural myth that if you work hard, you will achieve your goals.  It sometimes is even true.  But Ecclesiastes knows that however hard you strive, however intelligent, however strong you are, you can still be destroyed by time and chance.
        I have said that Ecclesiastes 9:11 is the greatest truth I have ever read.
        The greatest strength is also Christian:  to absorb the evil done to you without passing it on.  A strength not often practiced by those who call themselves Christian.  A strength that if I have ever achieved at all, took me more than half a century to do so.
        Perhaps I am thinking of this because I was listening to THE MESSIAH.  
        I am not a Christian, but the religion has inspired some wonderful music to which I am about to return.