Evanston: on the 100th anniversary of the War to End All Wars

        Michael, who was crunched by time and chance and an automobile two months ago and only yesterday was released from his rehab facility, reminded me this morning of the poem, ‘An Irish Airman Foresees His Death’, by William Butler Yeats, part of which I quoted at the front of STORM PASSAGE.  Though he mentioned it in a different context, it is appropriate on this one hundredth anniversary of the end of WW1.

I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

                  — W. B. Yeats, 1919

Evanston: my last 76th evening

        This might be ill advised.  It is almost 10 PM as I start writing and I have a second glass of Laphroaig beside me  which was preceded by half a bottle of wine.

        Carol has gone to bed.  

        I watched college football for a while with the sound muted, listening to music.  Some Bach naturally—the best thing that might be said about Webb Chiles is that without any musical talent or education, Bach spoke to him as no other did—and then a shuffled list of contemporary music.

        Four poets:  Dante, Tennyson, Kazantzakis, Cavafy, saw a Ulysses who would not after the Trojan War and his ten year return to Ithaca be satisfied to remain there and would as an old man set out for the edge of human experience again.

        I doubt that any of those poets thought of a Ulysses 77 years old.  

        I also doubt that any of them thought of Penelope, who according to the legend was faithful for twenty years, giving up the natural fulfillment of her beauty and life.  I have often thought of and admire Penelope.

        I wrote in a long ago deleted poem, ‘intensity not duration’, yet incredibly and inexplicably I have known both.  

        That Webb Chiles has grown old is a statistical aberration almost beyond belief.

        Yet I am sitting in a comfortable condominium in front of a fireplace.  A life that would be envied by almost all our species, but which is redeemed for me only because I know that in two months I will be doing something difficult and dangerous, something that no other of our species has ever done before,

        There is no ego in this.  Or I hope not much.

        I was given by freak chance a one in a hundred billion horse to ride and the ability to write about that ride.  If I deserve any credit, it is that I did not quite fall off and I rode far beyond what anyone, including myself,  thought possible.  77 tomorrow I am still riding hard.

        And I wonder, assuming time and chance permit me to reach San Diego next year, what I will do next.

        I pause.  A sailor a thousand miles from the sea with a problem beyond the imagination of poets.

Evanston: MORNING OF FIRE; an experiment; bragging; sign of the times

        I had never heard of John Kendrick until BookBub offered MORNING OF FIRE and I should have. He was an exceptional man who fell through the cracks of history.

       Only a few years after the United States came into being he lead an extraordinary voyage to establish an American presence on the west coast of the continent. Once there, after a torturous rounding of Cape Horn, he and his men and ships were as remote as if they were on the far side of the moon, and without Houston Control.
        Scott Ridley tells John Kentrick’s dramatic life and death well. A friend who is reading the book has been riveted and disgusted. Recommendation enough.

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        While still useable, my 12” MacBook is showing signs of age, so yesterday I rode the train to an Apple store and bought a 12.9” iPad Pro in the hope that it can be a laptop replacement, despite some reviews that say it can’t.
        I also bought a keyboard and pencil and am writing this on the iPad. It is too early to know if the experiment will be a success.

       With the keyboard attached, the iPad weighs about the same two pounds as the MacBook, is about as thick, is slightly wider, is considerably more powerful and has a bigger display.
        While I have used IOS on phones and an iPad mini, there is a steep learning curve. Almost nothing works the same as on other devices or my MacBook and the solutions to most of the differences are far from intuitive.
        The display is huge and vivid.  I like the touch of the keyboard better than that on the MacBook. Visiting sites on the Internet, reading in the Kindle app and magazines in Texture are all excellent. I have already become so used to the touch screen that I found myself futilely touching the screen of the MacBook.  And I am gradually figuring out how to do the things I want and need to do.
        An unexpected consequence of this transition has been to cause me to like iNavX less and iSailor more.
        When you buy charts from iSailor they can be downloaded to any number of devices. I opened iSailor on this iPad and my charts were soon all there.

       With iNavX the number and types of device are limited. Buy the Navionics charts for the US for your iPhone and you will have to buy a different version for iPad. Those charts are now available as an in-app purchase in iNavX. So yesterday I paid $69.99 and was informed that the charts were limited to this single device.
        A few minutes after making the purchase, I received an email from Apple that my ‘subscription’ would automatically renew at the same price a year from now.
        It turns out that I will not have to pay for the charts every year and that automatic renewal of ‘subscriptions’ is Apple’s standard policy. If I do not renew, I will still have the charts but I won’t get updates.
        I use both iSailor and iNavX. I find some actions easier on one than the other. However, I am now going to make a strong effort to use only iSailor.

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        This is unabashed bragging. I can’t even ask your forgiveness.

        I was feeling good when I did my workout Wednesday and instead of stopping at my age or 80, I went to 90 push-ups and crunches in the first set, a personal best for push-ups. I could have done more. I am not sure I could have done 100. Maybe one day I’ll see.
       90 push-ups would be doing my age through November 10, 2032. These dates are becoming ridiculous.

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        I had lunch with a friend today at a restaurant a half mile away. Seven people passed me walking the other way as I returned home. Every one of them was glued to their phones. One woman was staring at her phone while walking her dog.
        My friend, Michael, who is himself going home tomorrow after two months in hospital and rehab, tells me that his very superior dog, Rusty, is irritated if he sees Michael glancing at his phone while they are out walking.
        I am with Rusty.

Evanston: a correction; a fairy tale; Armistice Day

        If you read the last entry before 7 or 8 PM US Central Time Friday you received wrong information.  I dropped a decimal point when I wrote that 1.4 grams equals ½ or 0.5 of an ounce.  The true number is 0.05 of an ounce, which is ten times more astounding and  about the weight of a half of a penny coin.  Truly almost beyond comprehension.  At least mine.

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        I thank Ron for a link to a clever and amusing ‘fairy tale’ of how Leonard Cohen’s song, ‘Suzanne’, might have been written.

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        A week from today will mark three momentous events:  my 77th birthday; the expiration of my driver’s license; and the 100th anniversary of the end of what was then hopefully but sadly wrongly called, “The War to End All Wars”.  

        One of these events may be slightly more significant than the others.

        Of all that I have read commemorating that anniversary by far the best is a long article in the SMITHSONIAN MAGAZINE by William T. Vollman which is both accurate and moving.  Long and well worth your time.

        I just googled and the median age of the world population in the year 2000 was 26.4 years.  Presumably it is now slightly higher, but still half the people now living have been born since 1990.  I doubt very many of them read much history or have any understanding of how cataclysmic and significant WWI was.

        The American philosopher, George Santayana, wrote:  Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

Evanston: two clarifications; a cartoon; rubber band airplanes

        Recently I have been asked two questions by several readers.  

        First, do I do my age in push-ups without stopping? I do.

        As I have written here before, but not recently, my workout, done three times a week when I'm in Evanston, takes nineteen or twenty minutes and starts with some stretching, then my age--actually I now usually go to 80--in push-ups, my age or 80 crunches, 60 knee bends, then 40 push-ups, 40 crunches, 40 knee bends, then 40 push-ups, 40 crunches, 100 side leg raises each leg, and 150 knee bends.  All moving immediately from one to another, though I do sometimes pause for a couple of breathes between the first 80 push-ups and the first 80 crunches.  
        Since I almost severed the supraspinatus in my left shoulder rotator cuff in a fall two or three years ago I do not do nose to the carpet push-ups any longer, but do get my elbows to at least 90º angles.  When I started physical therapy for my shoulder they did not expect I would ever be able to do a push-up again, but I was within a few months.    
        I've always been able to do my age in push-ups and adding one more each year is not difficult.  Beyond 80 it may be.
        I exercise differently three other days a week and take Sundays off.

        Second, do I intend to sail from Panama directly to San Diego?  I do.

       As some of you know, that will not be an easy sail, with the last 1000+ miles against the prevailing winds and the cold California current.  I sailed against them in EGREGIOUS on the final passage from Tahiti to San Diego, but GANNET is a bit wetter than EGREGIOUS.

        It is possible that I will find it too difficult in GANNET, in which case I will ease the sheets and sail to Hilo, Hawaii, which is much easier and close the circle there.

        And there is always the temptation to head WSW for the Marquesas Islands and then proceed across the Pacific to New Zealand.  If I did, I would close the circle of the GANNET circumnavigation in Neiafu, Tonga.

        But I find compelling symmetry in completing the ‘Being’ part of my life in San Diego where it began on November 2, 1974, when I pushed EGREGIOUS away from the dock on my first attempt at Cape Horn.

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        I am now officially a cartoon.

        Zane in New Zealand thought that in the photo I ran Monday I was in something of a ‘preacher pose’ and so provided captions.

        I think I thank him.

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        From John, a sailor, boat builder, cellist, I have learned of what I believe are called F1 Rubber Band Airplanes, elegant feats of gossamer engineering so delicate that applause can cause them to crash, but which can stay aloft for more than thirty minutes on the twist of the rubber band.  John once folded his plane in half by not walking back to the table with it slowly enough.  

        His class has a weight limit of 1.4 grams which is 0.05 of an ounce.

        Here are some links to this ethereal world, including one of the world championships held in a Romanian salt mine.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0gBMRK60BvY

https://floatdocumentary.com/pages/indoor-duration

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=leUr1fP_nZQ

        Thanks, John, for broadening my education.

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        The lead photo is a stylized version of a photo I have run here before.  I find it more compelling than the original.

Evanston: A Horrible Scene at Sea; adjusted

        Tim, of marathon running in the morning and  playing violin in a symphony orchestra that evening fame, also likes to read old newspaper archives and sent me this article from the Saint Genevieve, Missouri, FAIR PLAY, dated October 24, 1872.  If you click on the images to enlarge them, I believe you will be able to read it.  I wonder why the crew were unable to jury rig something and reach land.  I certainly would have tried.

        Tim, who lives near Kansas City, Missouri, also noted that the fall leaves are more colorful this year than usual.  That is true here as well.  The photo is of one of the two trees in front of our condo.

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        As I have noted before, it takes me a while to make the transition between the disparate parts of my life.  I am now adapted to being in Evanston.  I resumed my workouts on Monday.  After not doing them for a few months, in this case two, I always wonder if I can still do my age in push-ups.  I can.  In fact I did 80 in the first set, which will carry me to November 10, 2022.

        I walked down to the lake yesterday in a blizzard of falling leaves.  Most are still on the trees, but won’t be much longer.  That process of thousands of tons of leaves being recreated each spring and lost each fall is stunning.

        I’m catching up on the AMC series, Better Call Saul.

        I have been considering what I need to buy before sailing for Panama in January and have decided to wait and order it just before I fly to Hilton Head and have it delivered there rather than buy stuff now and have to check a bag on the flight.  There is not a lot.  I have found that CampMor no longer carries Mountain House freeze dry meals, which is my favorite American brand, so I will have to buy them elsewhere.

        And this morning I started writing an article about the sail to Saint Michaels.  I had not planned to write about that, but the material is there and I certainly have the time.

Evanston: autumnal; Guernsey'; on dying; old boy

        It was autumnal when I landed in Chicago Saturday afternoon.  Temperature around 50ºF/10ºC.  Solid overcast gray sky.  Raw wind.  Turning leaves.  Leaves on the ground.  Low sun with slanted angles.  And it has pretty much remained that way.

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        A few months ago I bought THE GUERNSEY LITERARY AND POTATO PIE SOCIETY from BookBub.  I was a bit skeptical because this is clearly a ‘feel good’ book and they are often sappy, but I read and enjoyed it very much.  To simplify, the story is of a young British woman writer who in 1946 becomes involved with people on the Island of Guernsey, British but near the coast of France, and the story of their lives under German occupation during WWII.

        I noticed on Netflix that the book has been made into a movie, which Carol and I watched yesterday.  While the book is richer and more complex than the movie, the movie remains true to the essential details and spirit.  

        I recommend both book and film.  I would read the book first.  Both did make Carol and me feel good, and I expect they will you too.

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        Something a friend wrote recently caused me to think about attitudes toward dying.  

        I have written that I don’t believe that on some levels any of us really believes in our death, even though on others we know our death is inevitable.  We are all the centers of our own universes, and may be the sole inhabitants, and we cannot conceive of a universe without our presence in it.

        I have also written that life is really only forty years long.  That almost everything of use and merit our species has done has been accomplished by people roughly twenty to sixty.  There are a few exceptions and you can stretch  sixty to sixty-five without changing the truth of the statement.  

        At soon to be seventy-seven I am obviously trying to be one of those exceptions.  I express no opinion as to whether I have succeeded.

        As far back as STORM PASSAGE, I noted two diametrically opposed attitudes toward death.

        Dylan Thomas writing about the death of his father:  ‘rage, rage against the dying of the light.’

        And Socrates:  ‘Why should I fear death, for when I am death is not, and when death is I am not.’

        Perhaps both are appropriate for different stages off life.

        Those who die young before having had a life may rightly rage.

        Those who die old have no cause for rage and would better try to emulate Socrates.

        For myself I face oblivion with equanimity, though I am apprehensive about the probable pain in the process.

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        I thank David for sending me the photo taken by his wife when they visited GANNET last summer, perhaps titled:  Old Boy of Summer.

Skull Creek: last evening

        This is today's second post.

        A cold front went through last night and this morning with some rain, but less than I expected.

        My messenger bag and travel vest are packed.  My boarding passes in my phone.  I am ready to go.

        I like it here on the water.  I like being on GANNET.   A pleasant breeze is blowing though the forward hatch and keeping the no-seeuns at bay.  But I also like being with Carol.

        She has been in San Francisco on business and expected to remain there over the weekend because of a meeting scheduled for Monday morning.  It has been cancelled so she is flying back to Chicago tomorrow as well.  Our flights are due to land five minutes apart in the late afternoon, so I will be able to ride home with her in her company provided limousine.

        My employer does not provide limousines.  Or health care.  Or a retirement program.  Or even a salary. 

        Sometimes I wonder why I work for him.  

        It may be because no one else would hire me.

Skull Creek: annual report

        Although the year has two more months to run, GANNET’s and my sailing is over, thus an early annual report.

        I don’t know if the formatting will carry over, but here are GANNET’s daily runs in 2018.

        The total of her daily runs since leaving San Diego in 2014 is now 25028 miles.

        The photo was taken the first night out of Saint Michaels when we anchored becalmed after making nine miles in that many hours.

 2018

January 20     12

21                109

22                185

23                 163

24                   7 476 Marathon to Hilton Head Island

Sept 17   16

18         135 

19         101

20           98

21           89

 22           55

 22   10 (after 1200)      504   Hilton Head Island to Mobjack Bay

25/26 100           100                   Mobjack Bay to St. Michaels, Maryland

                                           604    Hilton Head Island to St. Michaels, Maryland

Oct   9          9

10               29

13/14            114   (7 a.m. the 13 to noon the 14)

15                46

16                31   (Hove to.  Day off.)

17                86

18                98

19              116  

20                80                           609   St. Michaels, Maryland   to Hilton Head Island

total for year                           168916

    

Skull Creek: leaving; new videos; intimidated

        I fly back to the higher flatlands Saturday.  Chicago is as flat as the Low Country, just 600’ higher.

        I wonder how Savannah and surroundings managed to appropriate ‘Low Country’.  This whole coast is low from Florida to New Jersey, where can be found the first coastal hill in more than a thousand miles.  The land around the Chesapeake looks exactly like the land around Hilton Head.

        Tomorrow is supposed to be rainy, so I will tie down the tiller and tie a line around the furling jib this afternoon.  Usually I lower the jib and stow it on the forepeak, but this time I am going to leave it up.  I will be returning in little over two months.

        I oiled the Great Cabin wood this morning before coming up to the gutted condo to use the Internet.

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        I have uploaded to YouTube seven short videos of the sail from Saint Michaels, Maryland to Hilton Head.

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        The past three evenings while attempting to enjoy libation and music on deck I have been driven into the Great Cabin by tiny insects which unscientifically I call no-seeums.  They are almost invisible and they are legion.  Their bite does not itch long, but in sufficient quantity is distressing.  They have not been here in the past, so I hope they are briefly seasonal and led unfulfilling lives.