self-portrait in the present sea

Opua: Garfield and gannets

Sun, 5 Feb 2012 18:30:48 +1300

5:30 p.m. My freeze dried Santa Fe Chicken is soaking up hot water for the specified thirteen minutes. I’ve just been driven below by the wind, which is blowing about twenty knots, and will dine this evening in The Great Cabin rather than on deck.

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I did not know until last year while reading 1861: THE CIVIL WAR AWAKENS what an extraordinary man was James A. Garfield, the 20th President of the United States. DESTINY OF THE REPUBLIC by Candice Millard, which is primarily about his assassination, only strengthens that conclusion.
Born on an Ohio farm in 1831 when Ohio was the frontier, he was raised in the most desperate poverty. After his father died when James was less than two years old, his mother was forced to sell off most of their small property, and she and an older son worked the rest.
Against the odds James received an education and proved to be a brilliant student. Working as the janitor his freshman year at the first college he attended, he was made an assistant professor as a sophomore. Later he studied law, entered politics, and without any previous military experience was a successful general in the Union army during the Civil WAr.
In 1862 Abraham Lincoln asked him to resign his commission to run for Congress, where he served for nine consecutive terms, until at the Republican National Convention in Chicago in 1880 he became, largely against his own wishes, the compromise Republican candidate for President.
The year before being nominated he wrote in his journal: I have so long and so often seen the evil effects of the presidential fever upon my associates and friends that I am determined it shall not seize me.
As was customary at that time, candidates did not campaign for themselves, but retired modestly to their homes. Garfield made no campaign speeches; neither did Abraham Lincoln. In comparison with today’s truly wretched excess, perhaps they were the good old days after all.
Garfield won the election, but has largely been forgotten by history because his presidency lasted only 200 days, On July 2, 1881, he was shot by Charles Guiteau, who believed he was directed to do so by God; and died on September 19.
Candice Millard makes a very strong case that Garfield was killed not by Guiteau’s bullet, but by his own doctors, who did not believe in or follow the antiseptic practices introduced in Europe more than a decade earlier by Joseph Lister. They repeatedly probed for the bullet with unsterilized instruments and with their own unwashed fingers.
Another man of fame, Alexander Graham Bell, also enters the story, with his attempt to invent a machine that could detect the bullet within the President’s body.
DESTINY OF THE REPUBLIC is an excellent book about a man and a period of history with which I am not very familiar.
I came away from it with admiration for James Garfield in all respects, and a belief that the United States lost a potentially great President to insane violence.

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A few nights ago I was sitting on deck when a cannon ball hit the water fifty yards away. As I heard the sound and saw the splash, I smiled. In a few seconds a gannet bobbed back to the surface.
Since then I have seen two hunting over the basin in the evenings and today around noon as well.

Opua: reshoed, restored

Sat, 4 Feb 2012 15:12:45 +1300

The photo was taken two nights ago.
You are supposed to be noticing the shoes.
THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is presently facing the same direction, but the sky is mostly overcast as it has been for two days, and the wind is considerably stronger: twenty knots, gusting twenty-five. THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is hobby-horsing, occasionally slapping her stern into the water; rigging is rattling; the mooring is groaning; and the wind sounds like a CTA train slowing as it approaches a platform.
I managed to get ashore to shower and run a few errands before the wind, which is predicted to gust 35, came up. I have rowed the Avon to windward against 25 knots. I’m not sure I can against 35; but I didn’t expect this basin would get that much and it hasn’t.
I did expect to get wet rowing back out, but I didn’t.

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After I wrote about buying my annual pair of Sebago Schooner boat shoes last year, one of you--thanks, James--noted that the following day, the stock of Sebago’s parent company went up in value by $29,000,000. If you believe I was responsible, perhaps you should sell before reading further.
During a routine skin examination, I mentioned to the dermatologist a small tender spot on the bottom of my right foot. He glanced at it and said, “Buy a new pair of shoes.”
This was only a few days before I was due to fly here, so I went online to Amazon and began paging through hundreds of boat shoes, finally settling on the above, which are, I am somewhat embarrassed to say, called Red Setters. At least the manufacturer has the good judgement not to put a big image of a dog (sea dog?) on the side. There are small red setters on the sole and insole.
Despite the name, they are comfortable and seem to have a good deck gripping sole and be well made. However, you know that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA hasn’t taken a drop of water over her deck in ages, so they have yet to be truly tested.
You may recall that when my height was measured last December, I was found to be only 6’ tall, after having been 6’ 1” for more than fifty years.
While wearing my new, thick soled, elevator boat shoes, I am again 6’ 1”.

Opua: oiled; launch date; GANNET in heavy weather

Fri, 3 Feb 2012 15:49:31 +1300

A weak front has made today the first of solid low overcast since I arrived. We’ve even had a little wind, though not much more than ten knots.
While getting there would not be difficult, I don’t need anything ashore and have stayed on HAWKE and oiled the rest of her interior. I just finished the cabin sole, which I will try not to walk on for an hour or two.
THE HAWKE OF TUONELA now looks about as good as she is ever going to under my ownership.

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An email this morning from Skipper Bud’s confirms GANNET for launching on May 5. If Chicago has some decent weather in April she will be ready. If not, not. I will be very pleased if she floats May 5.

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Naturally I have been thinking about GANNET.
My preferred tactic in heavy weather--Force 10 and up--in boats such as EGREGIOUS, RESURGAM, and THE HAWKE OF TUONELA, all of which have been in Force 12 storms, has been, given sea room, to run off before the wind and waves under bare poles without towing a drogue.
Once on RESURGAM in a Force 10 storm approaching Durban, South Africa, I did deploy a para-anchor from the bow with unsatisfactory results.
CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE was in Force 10 twice. Once in a storm near Tahiti, and once in the Red Sea.
I was trying to get into Papeete and fought the Tahiti storm, sailing when I could, heaving to under mizzen alone when I couldn’t.
In the Red Sea, I hove to under mizzen and let the storm push me stern first at three knots in the direction I wanted to go.
I think GANNET is so light that she will go far too fast down wind in such conditions. Surfing under bare poles, while no doubt exciting, would probably end in disaster. As would being hove to in big breaking waves.
Two of you--thanks Tim and Roger--have written to me suggesting Jordan drogues. Although I have no experience with such drogues, I have read of them over the years, and I expect to buy one. More information is here.
One problem is that I’m going to have to beef up GANNET’s stern cleats so the drogue does not rip the boat apart. And a second, mentioned on the Jordan website, is retrieval.
On THE HAWKE OF TUONELA, I expect I could winch it in with her big #52 Andersen primaries. GANNET has only two tiny Barient winches. On the other hand, she is so light that once the extreme conditions have passed, she might not put much strain on the drogue and it might come in without too much difficulty--possibly pulling the boat back to the drogue, rather than the drogue up to the boat.
I’ll have to do more research and eventually tests.
You can sail a long way without seeing Force 10. I had only four or five hours of such wind on my entire fifth circumnavigation.
But you may recall that I don’t take uncalculated risks.

Opua: work boat

Thu, 2 Feb 2012 15:08:33 +1300

Above is the promised photo of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA back on her mooring after anti-fouling to enable you to judge if she passes the ‘view at a boat’s length’ test.
The photo is as it came from the camera.

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I worked out this afternoon for only the third time this year.
I had some good excuses: a minor cold; doctors giving me preventative shots for pneumonia, tetanus and shingles; flying across the Pacific; being in the boat yard. But I still should have worked out more than twice in January. That is why I print out a calendar at the beginning of each year and circle the days I actually do work out: so I don’t kid myself.
To print a calendar on an Apple computer, you open terminal and type ‘cal’, leave a space, then type the four digits of the year’s calendar you want, such as 2012, then hit ‘enter’.
I wondered how far into the future this works and so typed 2020, 3030, 4040, 5050. Each time a calendar, which I assume to be correct, appeared instantly.
I found myself wondering at that last year: one and a half times farther beyond us than we are beyond the world of Augustus Caesar and Jesus Christ. The world of 5050 is beyond imagining.
That’s one of the things about death I regret. I’d like to come back for a day or two every hundred years to see what happened.

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The start of last evening’s Opua Cruising Club race gave credence to the cliché that watching yacht racing is like watching paint dry. I don’t belive we had more than five knots of wind all day, and at the start it was three to zero.
I was on deck. I sipped some wine. I went below and boiled a cup of water for freeze dried lamb fettucini. I came back up on deck. No body had moved.
I sipped some more wine. Went below ten minutes later for the lamb fettucini. Took it on deck. Poured a small amount of white wine from my glass into the fettucini--along with boiling water, the extent of my culinary skills. Ate same.
The leaders had maybe moved fifty yards.
The course was up the inlet toward the mountain to the east.
Speaking of drying paint, while sitting in my SportaSeat, I noticed more sea green on the back of my legs.
I went below, washed and dried the plastic measuring cup I use as a dish. Got some turpentine and removed the green leg paint. This time when I went back on deck, the twenty boat fleet had finally moved off.
An hour later one small boat, about 20’ overall, which had somehow caught its own private puff, returned with a half mile lead.
While I do not race and Moore 24s are known to excel in strong wind and waves, I know that GANNET moves in a sneeze. I think she might have acquitted herself well last night.

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I’ve been doing small, but necessary tasks: tightening the alternator belt on the Yanmar; touching up white cabin paint; trying to figure out why one solar panel is not functioning properly; freeing a rusty wrench; removing all the books from the port side of the boat, throwing those too moldy out, putting the rest in the cockpit to sun, and cleaning the shelf with Exit Mold; lightly sanding some of the interior wood prior to oiling.

Opua: cutting boards and engines

Wed, 1 Feb 2012 16:19:43 +1300

Yesterday afternoon when I went forward to grab the pick-up stick on my mooring, I reached out and it wasn’t there. I looked again, reached again, and it wasn’t there either.
Deciding I could outsmart it even if I couldn’t quite see it, on my third attempt I reached for a point several inches to the left of where I thought I saw it, made a sweep to the right and was successful.
A more tragic demonstration of my faulty depth perception came in the early evening when I came below and set a Dartington crystal glass on the cutting board on the stove. Bottle of Laphroaig in hand, I poured my favorite liquid into the glass and missed completely. I have done this with wine in the condo; but this was Laphroaig!
I did not spill much--though any loss is grievous--but enough so that in addition to the best mooring in the world, I now also have the best smelling cutting board in the world.
(‘The Best Mooring in the World’ is the title of an article of mine that appeared in January CRUISING WORLD. I’ll add it to the Articles page soon.)
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When I bought GANNET, I knew I would need new equipment for her and also bought a subscription to PRACTICAL SAILOR magazine, which often has good information about boat products. A PRACTICAL SAILOR review was instrumental in my buying the Torqeedo electric outboard.
I know the editor, Darrell Nicholson, from his previous days at CRUISING WORLD.
PRACTICAL SAILOR sends out emails at intervals on various topics. About a month ago I received one that said something to the effect that the diesel engine is of the greatest importance on a cruising boat.
I sent Darrell the following:

I couldn't disagree more with the opening sentence of your latest Waypoint email about the importance of engines. While I don't doubt your later assertion that many 'cruisers' use their engine to cover 25% of their miles, this is not because the engine is necessary. I used 40 gallons of diesel on my entire fifth circumnavigation, which included having to power through the Panama Canal, for a mpg of 600.

Two of the boats on which I've made my five circumnavigations had no engines, and I doubt that I've used those on the others to cover more than a fraction of 1% of the miles I've covered.

There is no secret: have a boat that sails well and think of yourself as a sailor.

(In rereading that I wouldn’t have both ‘cover’ and ‘covered’ in one sentence.)
Within a few hours Darrell emailed back, asking if he could print my response. Although I expected that it would anger many, my old shoulders are broad and I said yes.
Darrell managed to get it in his February issue, which just came out. Surprisingly, so far no hate mail and three emails in agreement.

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I sat on deck last night until 10:00 p.m. listening to music and watching the half moon, stars, and the running lights on the car ferry a half mile north.
I had a good view of the bay from THE HAWKE OF TUONELA at an elevation of fifteen or twenty feet above sea level in the boat yard; but sitting on deck there wasn’t appealing, and I retired early each evening to read in the v-berth.

Opua: floating

Tue, 31 Jan 2012 19:01:12 +1300

Evening.
The light breeze is so sweet.
If you’ve ever gone to the Poems page of this site, you might have seen, written during the EGREGIOUS voyage now almost forty years ago:
the wind that is
blows against my face
brutally
an indifferent lover
blows into my skin
enters my fingers
flows through my body
more essential than blood

That was written in the Southern Ocean. Tonight’s breeze is gentle, not brutal. And, probably, no wind is more essential than blood. Probably. But how would I live without wind?
THE HAWKE OF TUONELA bobs and sways as gently as the breeze.
A few minutes ago sitting on deck, I took a deep, deep breath, as I never do on land.

As is in the nature of things, Ashby’s had already scheduled another boat to sit in the travel lift tonight, so I was given the choice of finishing the repair of the chip they had made in the fairing of my keel and going back in the water this afternoon or waiting until Thursday morning. They could let me sit in the travel lift Wednesday night. Even if you did not already know the answer, no prize would have been awarded for the correct answer.
Boats are among the most alive of man’s creations. Along with musical instruments. I don’t have the experience to judge airplanes. Certainly not commercial airliners which are no more alive than a Greyhound bus. But maybe some fighters.
But boats aren’t alive on land, only in water.
Creaking sounds.
I’m taking my glass of wine and going back on deck to watch the sunset.
I may have said this before: I love being on the water.

Opua: painted

Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:57:24 +1300

I painted myself Sea Green today, and got a little on the boat, too.
The ‘HAWKE is a workboat’ mentality was never more on display than during my touching up the topside paint just above the waterline this morning. It was ‘quick, dirty, and done by lunch’, and I didn’t even care about lunch.
Using an aluminum stepladder I found near an empty cradle, I rapidly circumnavigated the hull with 180 grit sandpaper in one hand and a mineral spirits soaked rag in the other.
For this I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt which were appropriate. Why I didn’t change into the Levis and long-sleeved shirt I usually paint in before proceeding, I do not know. By the time I recognized my error, it was too late.
The second circuit of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA with a foam brush in one hand and a small can of International’s Brightside Sea Green wrapped in paper towels in the other, took about an hour, at the end of which the waterline was painted well enough to pass my ‘look good at a boat length distance’ in the water; and I had paint on my hands, arms, legs, feet, and, somehow, chest. When I finally saw myself in a mirror I also found a drop on the end of my nose and several on my chin. You must admit that I do have a strong, paint-catching chin.
I made far more of a mess in that one hour working on the waterline than in applying the two coats of anti-fouling combined.
Before painting, I lubricated the seacocks from the outside of the hull.
After, I applied more filler to the patch chipped out of the keel.
There is a lot I could do on the boat tomorrow. Nothing I have to do until they lift me in the travel lift sometime in the afternoon.
I am not feeling particularly ambitious.
Ashby’s is a very good yard in which to live aboard your boat. Many of the yards around Boston would not permit us to do so. Many yards in the U.S., including some I have used in the past, no longer allow you to do your own work. I find this unacceptable. Actually I find it despicable.
However, as accommodating as Ashby’s is, I am very much looking forward to THE HAWKE OF TUONELA being surrounded by water in forty-eight hours instead of on stilts surrounded by land.

The photo, taken a few minutes ago, shows Bernie’s boat in front of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA; Cato’s behind.
The somewhat sinister appearing circular building is the painting shed.

Opua: decadence and light

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 17:20:37 +1300

Now that this journal has become centered around my morning gustatory delights, today’s breakfast was at 8:30, eaten at the Marina Cafe, while my laundry rotated in nearby dryers, and decadent: fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs on toast, bacon, and a large cup of excellent black coffee.
I had a lot of laundry. Four full loads. Some was almost a year old, left from before my last departure; some work clothes; and most of two loads all the bedding, including the mattress cover, washed in honor of Carol’s February arrival.
There is always a problem is sorting my ‘good’ clothes from my work clothes when I return to HAWKE. In the absence of huge rust stains or globs of paint, the dividing line is vanishingly slim.
I took advantage of having the bedding off the v-berth to oil the wood in the forward cabin.
I also removed the masking tape from HAWKE’s waterline and called it a day.

The boat to port of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is a Beneteau 34, belonging to a pleasant Norwegian couple in their thirties. He is named Cato. I don’t know her name.
They cruise for a while, then fly half way around the world to Norway to work for a while, then fly back to cruise. He does something with fiber optics.
Cato told me that they have been keeping their boat on a rented mooring on the north side of the Opua basin. A few months ago, while they were touring the South Island, the Monitor self-steering gear was stolen off the stern.
Self-steering vanes are expensive. A Monitor now costs more than $4,000 US.
There is less traffic on that side of the basin.
I expect the thief was from another cruising boat rather than a local resident.

To starboard of THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is a classic old wood boat 28’ long, plus or minus. I can’t classify her by rig because her mast is not in sight.
She is owned by Bernie, a man about my age, now a Kiwi, but born in Yorkshire.
I do not know what Bernie did to make what is called a living. What he did that was important to him was climb mountains on the South Island. He has stopped that not because of his age, but because he no longer wants to be away from home for two weeks at a time. So he bought this boat, which he can daysail or overnight if all is well at home, although he has not sailed since before he left England fifty years ago.
This morning Bernie told me, “People think I’m crazy.”
One advantage of being a writer is that sometimes you’ve already thought things through, so my response was immediate. “I don’t. When you stop making plans, when you stop moving forward, however that is defined, you are dead.”
Bernie’s face and eyes radiated sudden light from within. “Yes,” he said firmly, glad to hear someone else express what he feels. “Yes.”

Opua: anti-fouled

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 16:28:31 +1300

Breakfast was earlier this morning: 9:00 a.m. The second coat always goes on faster.
The front passed with, as is often the case, less wind and rain than predicted in this protected part of the Bay of Islands.
I woke at first light to a clear sky. But that any painting was going to be done today was far from certain.
For the first few minutes after I rolled gingerly from the v-berth I was The Hunchback of Tuonela. Moving about enabled me eventually to straighten up and climb down the ladder, where I found that someone had made off with the foot high block of wood I stand on to reach the waterline near the bow. At the other end of the boat I use a short ladder to paint the top of the rudder. I can reach everything else from the ground.
So I had to walk to the far side of the boat yard where such blocks of wood, normally used under keels, are stored and carry one back which did not help my back.
This done, I opened the can of anti-fouling, stirred, and rolled.
Done, as I said, by 9:00 a.m., with enough left in the can to touch up the bottom of the keel, the three areas where pads are at the end of supports, and the patch I will fill Tuesday when we are in the travel lift.
Could be the last time I paint HAWKE’s bottom.
GANNET’s is next.

Opua: ibuprofen days: the sequel

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 14:43:13 +1300

Breakfast was late this morning. Not until 10:00. I applied a coat of anti-fouling first.
Pattering light rain woke me at 6:00.
` It did not last long.
I was expecting rain in the afternoon, but not morning.
I got up and made coffee, then climbed down the ladder with a sheet of sand paper in hand. The hull was still dry, so I sanded the filler--of which the surveyor would not approve--that I applied yesterday.
Back up the ladder for a cup of coffee.
Back down to start painting.
A coat on THE HAWKE OF TUONELA’s bottom takes about two and a half hours. I got hungry part way though, but didn’t want to stop until I was finished.
With my time in the yard extended, I could easily have waited a day; but the boat looks immeasurably better with the first coat applied.
While painting I wear Levis, old boat shoes, a long sleeved shirt with the collar up, and an old hat.
Inevitably I got paint on my hands and wrists, but only a little on my face, and didn’t make much of a mess of the surroundings.
My normal prescription eyeglasses were speckled and saved my eyes. Thus far my right eye has held up very well in the yard. I did bang my head into the propeller this morning; but I’ve done that in the past. While I do make certain of my hand grips, I’ve had no difficulty going up and down the steep ladder.
My back has not enjoyed way too many contorted positions. Ibuprofen is again a part of my diet.
Predicted rain and up to 35 knot winds in a quickly passing front have not yet quite arrived; but the sky is threatening.
Tomorrow’s forecast: fine weather accompanied by a second coat of anti-fouling.

Opua: no deal

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 16:23:50 +1300

The number of my evenings in Opua is again indefinite.

At 8:30 this morning THE HAWKE OF TUONELA was hauled from the water at Ashby’s Boat Yard.
After a power wash removed most of the scum and small hard creatures that covered her hull, the travel lift took her to a cradle and proceeded to chip a hand sized piece of epoxy from the bottom of her keel.
THE HAWKE OF TUONELA has a bolt-on lead keel. What chipped off was only an extension of the epoxy applied when I had her hull professionally treated for osmosis several years ago. I can easily fix it and have already applied some filler. To complete the job, THE HAWKE OF TUONELA will have to sit in the travel lift overnight.
I had hoped to return to the water Monday; but have learned that is a New Zealand holiday called Anniversary Day. So THE HAWKE OF TUONELA will spend Tuesday night in the lift and be launched Wednesday.

It is now late afternoon.
I scraped those areas covered by the slings during the power wash. Applied some filler. Ran masking tape along the waterline.
I hope to get the first of two coats of anti-fouling on tomorrow morning before possible rain showers in the afternoon.
While I was working, a surveyor arrived, authorized by the prospective buyer, and did his job.
Before he left I asked if it were appropriate for me to know his conclusions. His first words were, “She’s not a boat for beginners.”
A while later the yacht broker and Tom, the prospective buyer, arrived. I told Tom that this is not the boat to learn to sail on. As I somehow expected, he took offense at this
I told them to go talk to the surveyor.
They did. And Tom withdrew his offer.
The broker later showed me the survey.
The conclusion is that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is basically sound, her sailing gear and engine good; but she is ‘rough’ and would cost more to bring up to ‘yacht standard’ than she probably is worth.
As used by the surveyor, ‘yacht standard’ apparently means paint and varnish. He said that HAWKE’s topsides should be stripped to the gel coat and spray painted. I agree; but have no intention of doing that myself or paying a professional $10,000. He also thinks the bottom paint and all filler should be removed as well. Another good idea. But not for me.
I believe I have written here before that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is not a yacht: she is a work boat. My standard of appearance is that a boat look good from the dinghy when I row away. THE HAWKE OF TUONELA passes that test. People often tell me she is a pretty boat. A man did so this morning while she was being pressure washed.
When she’s back on her mooring, I’ll take a picture and you can judge for yourself.

Opua: sold?

Wed, 25 Jan 2012 19:57:20 +1300

7:30 p.m. on a soft and lovely evening.
I’ve just come below to write this. Music: Satie’s Gymnopedies is playing on the cockpit speakers.
A half hour ago, while sitting on deck sipping an after dinner Laphroaig, I saw a shadow pass HAWKE’s bow which resolved into an inflatable dinghy, with an outboard on the stern, being rowed by a slim girl, twenty years old more or less.
I called to her, “Are you rowing by choice or because you are out of fuel?”
She replied with a slight European accent, Dutch or Scandinavian I believe, nations who know no one is going to learn their language and so become fluent in English, “By choice. It is quieter.”
“Excellent,” I called to the granddaughter I never had.
I watched her continue on to a blue hulled boat anchored twice as far out as my mooring.
Some of us are admirable.

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A month from tonight I may not own THE HAWKE OF TUONELA or the best mooring in the world.
Unexpectedly a yacht broker appeared by dinghy this afternoon with a man who later made a written offer for HAWKE at my asking price. The closing date is February 24.
There are several possible stumbling points along the way, chief among them a survey which might reveal problems with THE HAWKE OF TUONELA that I could live with but others could not.
Beyond that is the buyer, a New Zealand citizen about fifty years old of Indian or Southeast Asian extraction, who has little sailing experience. For undisclosed reasons he wants to sail to a particular Indonesian island. From New Zealand this is not difficult for a good sailor. Four or five days north and the wind is behind you all the way. But there are a lot of things to run into.
I face no moral dilemma. Money is not my bottom line.
The broker advises me that the normal procedure is for a sea trial, followed by a survey. He suggested that I cancel my haul-out tomorrow, but I’m not going to. If I sell THE HAWKE OF TUONELA, she deserves to go with a clean bottom. If I don’t, I want her to have one.
What I will do is tell the prospective buyer that THE HAWKE OF TUONELA is a sailor’s boat. She is powerful. She is not a boat to learn on.
I expect that this man may disregard me. He has probably made his way as an outsider in a foreign society by will, intelligence and determination. I doubt he will recognize me as an even greater outsider who has no interest beyond telling him the truth.
Carol is due to fly back to the U.S. a month from today. I may be with her. Or I may own THE HAWKE OF TUONELA for many more years.
Some who have known me even for a long time have written about how disappointed I must be at the prospect of selling THE HAWKE OF TUONELA and leaving this place where I have found serenity. Not at all. I sometimes need rest; but I was designed to push on.
And now I’m going back on deck to listen to music and watch the dying of the light on these lovely hills. My evenings here may be numbered.
A correction: my evenings here are unquestionably numbered.

Opua: Americans

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 15:07:03 +1300

As of one minute ago according to the U.S. Census Population Clock there were 312, 899, 825 Americans.
About half of the visitors to this site are Americans, so I thought you might like to know about yourselves.
According to a boat review in the January issue of NEW ZEALAND BOATING, “Americans like their toys big and powerful.” And “American boats in the past haven’t always been known for their ability to handle chop, but those days are gone.” That’s a relief. And, “Americans like things to be simple.” Not a conclusion I would have reached after observing some cruising boats flying the American flag.
So there we have it. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Or perhaps some other end of a horse. Now, my fellow Americans, we know: big, powerful, simple. And we’re better in chop.
I tried to think of what generalizations I would apply to 312 million Americans and I could come up with only one: Americans are diverse.
To be fair, NEW ZEALAND BOATING engages in equal opportunity stupidity. Of a German built boat, they write: “She’s a smooth, beautifully-mannered fraulein.”
Oi! It is almost enough to give journalism a bad name.

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A weak front accompanied by three brief showers has been followed by a south wind, which is the cold direction here.
I left the hatches open last night, but did pull the quilt back over me sometime; and when I woke this morning it was 46ºF/7.7ºC, which meant Polartec and Levis until the sun warmed things up.
I rowed ashore to end my stint as a dirty old man. After showering, I walked to the chandlery to check if my anti-fouling paint had arrived. It had. I left it to pick up on Thursday.
I rowed home and have spend the day reading and writing and listening to the radio.
This is one of the many differences between my life on the mooring and in Evanston.
In Evanston I almost never listen to the radio. I do watch some television, including programs that claim to present the morning and evening news; though I’m not sure why. I get the news from the Internet.
I watch sports; the rare series: Downton Abbey on PBS; Boardwalk Empire on HBO. And that is about it.
The last time I checked, which was several years ago, I had no New Zealand TV reception on my mooring. This is not a loss.
But New Zealand has some excellent radio, particularly the national classical music station, which is much more innovative than most of those in the U.S. I listen to it several times during the day.
I listen to more of my own music, transported to THE HAWKE OF TUONELA on iTouch and iPod, here than in Evanston. Often in late afternoons, and always when I’m on deck for a drink and dinner in the evenings. And again in the v-berth before I go to sleep.
Yesterday was an exception.
Via Slingbox I watched the beginnings and ends of the two NFL championship games and an episode of Downton Abbey.
Internet in New Zealand is expensive.
I pay both by time and bandwidth. That’s why I watched only parts of the football games. During the remainder of my time here I will watch the Super Bowl and Downton Abbey, but that will be it.
More sports in Evanston. More music on the mooring.
Not a difficult choice.

Evanston: hill, hell, and inflation

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 15:19:39 +1300

I walked up the Opua hill yesterday.
If you are new to this journal, the road is a steep one kilometer/.62 mile incline.
It was easier than expected, considering that in America I live in true flatlands and it was my first hill since I left here last April, which is not to say that I wasn’t taking a very deep breath every fourth step as I neared the top. Some might have called it panting.

I don’t believe in hell, but sometimes wish I did so that I could take satisfaction in a special Dantesque circle reserved for those who tie their dinghies short to public docks; and a lower and even more painful one for those who chain and lock their dinghies short.
I have had to battle my way to and from the dinghy dock all week, being blocked out and then in.
Yesterday as I approached, a man standing on the dock uttered sentiments similar to those I was at the time only thinking.
Carrying bolt cutters probably is excessive.

Also excessive is the 100% increase for four minutes of hot water in the marina showers from $1 NZ to $2 which took effect in June when no one was around.
I seem to recall that we used to get six minutes of hot water for a one dollar coin, so the increase has been even greater than 100%. And this in a country where neither water nor electricity are in short supply.
I can take a four minute shower, but then as you may have noticed I don’t have to spend much time on my hair. Anyone who really has hair is going to need two coins for a $4 NZ/$3.20 U.S. shower. That’s over $100 U.S. a month to be clean.
I’m going to beat the system by not going ashore tomorrow.

Opua: a rare sighting

Sat, 21 Jan 2012 15:08:31 +1300

I have been stalking the elusive Webb Chiles for years, for so long it seems a lifetime.
Sightings are rare. Often no more than a fleeting glimpse of a distant reflection.
Last evening as I descended the companionway, camera happily at hand, there he was. Instantly I saw though his disguise as the Mad Hatter and snapped the above quick shot. But as I took another step, trying to edge closer, he vanished.
Earlier sightings:

2008

2009

2011