May 21 0300, Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, St. Michaels, MD.

There is something about a lighthouse that brings the mind to muse on directions, dangers, and the eternal search for havens of rest. I am lounging on the upper balcony of the Hooper’s Island screwpile lighthouse as I write. Below me is the grounds of the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, today’s haven of rest. stretching before me is the harbor where Dragonsong lies twitching fitfully at her mooring.  This tiny craft with her broad bottom and snug cabin has brought me here to relax in the land of sailor’s lore.

This vacation was hard won in my current rat race. I need to stand back and take more than a few irons out of the fire. Winding down should be easier than this. Why isn’t it? So much has happened since last I ventured on the water for more than a day. I can’t seem to let go and stop running it all through my head like an old moving picture animation machine. The flickering images give me a headache.

All this nautical charm and vacation-land ambiance has an unreal quality. Maybe people here don’t have to study or drive long repetitious miles. Maybe they don’t worry about aging parents or long lists of waiting tasks or small, possibly, cancerous monsters growing on their skin.

I think I am developing a love-hate relationship with vacations. Is it me or is it sailing? Would this be a problem if I spent a week on a dude ranch in Montana or skiing. Perhaps I would get more out of oohing and ahhing at the latest plastic amazement amusement at Epcot Center. When I was in the third grade my family went to Disneyland. It was like living in a well ordered cartoon village where the lines always kept moving as efficiently as the cash flow. That was the late 1950′s. “Tomorrowland” didn’t look anything like today except now I’m a grownup and have the responsibility and unalloyed joy of keeping the lines moving in my own little corner of today. Time for a poem, then I am going to take a nap in the sun.

I stand by the lighthouse rail
Looking out to see myself
Searching for my vessel’s lights
Skirting the rocks and shoals
Edged around by mariners souls
Lost on moonless nights.

These lighthouses marking the dangers
That litter the edge of the land
Are built by God, not mere men,
To see so clearly where I stand.
This beacon stretches forth to comfort me
And place my vessel in fortune’s hand
So this sailor might find home again
Though his heart be left upon the sea.

May 21 2030 hours, at anchor, Leeds Creek

I napped too long on top of the lighthouse. Justine’s closes at 5:00 at this time of year. Am I the only one on Summer schedule already? I probably needed a nap more than a  milkshake anyway. Supper made up for it somewhat. The shrimp at the carpenter Street Tavern were excellent. After eating I rowed the Doughnut of the Damned back out to Dragonsong. I passed some swans along the way. They look pretty damn big from water level. the biggest one looked like he had a craving for PVC but didn’t have the nerve to act on the impulse.

With the sun close to the horizon I used the last chance at daylight to to motor across the Miles River to Leed’s Creek. it’s a very picturesque place to drop the hook for the night.  As I approached a suitable anchoring spot I killed the engine to be met by a natural silence, very deep and not penetrated by planes, trains or automobiles. Just about the time I was finished being awed by the uncommonly silent silence the air began to echo with piercing bird calls. I am not certain but I think it may be a swan. Maybe herons? I don’t know something sizable and probably hungry, or in love. Whatever, it’s a great show and beats hell out of so-called nature programs on cable TV.

So ends this day.

 

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In the Spring of 1993 I took a Cruise of several days in my 23 foot sloop Dragonsong. It was a needed break in a heavy schedule of working full time and going to Community College part-time. In those days sleep was optional, as available. This entry was written in retrospective at the end of a long day. This is my natural environment, swinging on the hook with the oil lamps glowing, a hot drink cup of coffee and maybe the radio keeping me company. I am a hopeless escapist.

May 20, 1800 EST: Departed Rhode River Marina, Edgewater, Maryland .

I slept in this morning so I got out the door later than I wanted to for the three hour drive to the boat. I got in the mood to play tourist in Annapolis.  The Nature Store, Fawcett’s incredible marine store, and some very interesting vessels at dockside. This is to be my beginning of the season shake-down cruise. The mission profile is simply to cross the Chesapeake Bay to St. Michaels and satisfy my craving for a chocolate milk shake at Justine’s. Not exactly the Holy Grail or Golden Fleece but still a worthy goal for a worn out scholar.

When I finally meandered over to Rhode River Marina I found it necessary to do some extra chores, such as, sort out the wiring for the cabin and running lights. I don’t like to go out unless I’m sure that I can see and be seen should I be on the water after sundown.

I shoved off about 6:00. I feel like I’ve slipped into island time but i don’t mind a bit. Hey who needs schedules and clocks and all that crap anyway. The wind was fair for Eastern bay but a bit light all the way to Bloody Point. The tide slowed things down a bit and it soon became apparent that this would finish up as a moonlight sail. As evening set in the wind came up nicely to hurl Dragonsong through the dark at what seems like break-neck speed as we played connect the dots on the map by following flashing red and green lights. Because of the darkness I played it safe and went the long way around the shoal at the confluence of the Miles and Wye Rivers.

May 21, 0100 EST: At anchor, Shaw bay, Wye East River.

Late into the night seems to be my normal schedule whether I’m studying for classes or escaping the grind by going sailing. Now I sit here tired and happy, anxious for the morrow and the promise of chocolate delight. Seems like a silly subject for a quest on mighty waterways. Maybe it’s not the milk shake as much as how I got to it that makes all the difference.

Swinging on the hook is all about the feeling of contentment to be had in a self-contained world. The area offers folk music programing on the FM radio from Washington D.C. and Easton, MD. So my ears are treated to good music which will season the atmosphere during my dinner. Beef stew tastes pretty good at 1:00 A.M. especially if you augment Dinty Moore’s recipe a little bit. I threw in a dash of tomato sauce and a dollop of Lowenbrau to give it a taste of sin. I think I will save demon rum for tomorrow night.

So ends this day

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My favorite cruising ground is the Chesapeake Bay but  Puget Sound is what is available to me now. These are large expanses of water with varying characteristics of weather, topography and tidal conditions. They are not the kind of water I began sailing on. Like many people I began my sailing experiences on a lake.

Memorial Lake State Park in Lebanon County, Pennsylvania was a good place to start learning.  It’s 230 acres of water was uncrowded and peaceful.  There are the usual picnic tables and a launching ramp.  No gasoline engines are allowed which keeps the noise level down. Places like this have a lot to offer the recreational boater including a starting point for dreaming of bigger things.

As time went on I trailered my San Francisco Pelican to lakes all over Pennsylvania with excursions into, New York, Maryland, and several New England states. Trailering a boat is the road to variety. Conditions from lake to lake can vary almost as much as in coastal cruising. Of course there is no tide to deal with but wind conditions are strongly affected by local terrain and micro climates. Launching facilities can be anything from a paved incline between floating docks and designated set up spaces near to rest rooms to a dirt road that descends precipitously to the water. Be prepared for anything.

Memorial Lake is situated along the base of Blue Mountain at the northern end of Lebanon County. Mountains breed weather and direct wind patterns. The downdrafts on the leeward side of a mountain can translate to the sailor as sudden squalls. The mountain  blocked the long range view of the horizon.  Summer thunderstorms seem to appear suddenly and kind of leap over the mountain onto unsuspecting sailors.

Many lakes created by damns as reservoirs sit in a natural valley and have a bowl shape or are a broad pathway between high bluffs.  The effect of this can be a confused wind pattern as the breezes are deflected by the shoreline walls.  you have to be on your toes looking for wind shifts.  This is good training in reading the water surface for squalls and catspaws.

Lake sailing can be very social in it’s own way.  Every lake seems to have a group of regulars who show up on Sunday or Saturday to relax on the water or race around the  buoys for bragging rights. Always look for the retired gentleman lounging by a laser eating a sandwich.  He’s a good source of local knowledge.

The launch ramp is a natural venue for conversation.  If your boat is a bit unusual you will attract a lot of questions.  My Pelican was a rare bird indeed in Central Pennsylvania. Home built boats in particular stand out everywhere.  Sailors were always trying to guess the type and landlubbers would tell me it looked like a miniature pirate ship. Well, what did they know? The mast wasn’t aluminum and the yard on the standing lug rig was as good as square rig to some.  I used to eat up that kind of attention.

Many lakes have a supervised swimming area where the kids can hang out. And a good snack bar and rest rooms are real pluses.  Opportunity for dockage varies widely. Memorial Lake had no docks, only a series of shoreline rails which you pull the boat up to and throw a padlock around. There were also canoe racks. The fees for using these were pretty reasonable.

One of the local characteristics gave me an interesting experience. The lake is on land that was once part of the Fort Indiantown Gap Military Reservation that is adjacent to the park.  The park sees few visitors on weekday mornings.  I showed up about nine o’clock with a nice breeze building from the west. As I was setting up my rig on the ramp a Park ranger came to me and told me to stay off the lake between eleven and twelve because helicopters would be landing on the lake. It sounded like a good show for lunch time entertainment.  I launched and settled down to enjoy a pleasant sail around the 230 acres of peaceful water.

Apparently the United States Army’s timing was not good or communications broke down as the steady beat of helicopter blades grew very loud.  It was only ten o’clock and the invasion had begun.  Three Chinook helicopters landed on the water off my port bow seeming oblivious to my presence. I immediately jibed and headed for a slightly more distant part of the lake to enjoy the maneuvers. The lumbering choppers sat down in the water and lowered there  stern ramps. All that was missing was squad of commandos exiting in rubber rafts or scuba gear. They took off after about ten minutes. very cool! They came back at eleven, on schedule, and did it again.

Besides entertaining military displays the Army through it’s Corps of Engineers has provided American citizens with quite a few lakes. Blue Marsh Lake near Reading, PA  has 1,147 acres of water, there are several launch areas with good facilities. The lake was officially opened for business in 1979.  I used to drive through the Tulpehocken creek valley everyday.  The Engineers bulldozed the heck out of anything that was scheduled to be submerged. the historic gruber Wagon Works was relocated.  It became a favorite spot for sailing because it was still relatively close by and it was a much larger span of water. One feels less like they are going in small circles all day.

Many of us dream of sailing around the world. The way the world is going that dream is be coming a dangerous proposition. Coastal cruising in the good old USA can be very expensive if you need a marina to keep your boat parked in between boat visits. Some of the pirates in this modern world own marine repair shops. If you can’t travel far, travel well. There is probably a lake near you waiting to take you away from it all.

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I’ve gotten used to not having much snow about. When you get it hanging around for a week or so it kind of makes you nostalgic for Spring. I see the canoe on it’s saw horses with a blanket of white and get chilled to the marrow. The antidote for the time being is to sit at my little desk with a hot cup of something and rub two brain cells together for a little internal warmth. Equally good is to sit by the fire with a favorite book that bears a philosophy befitting sunnier times.

“Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing — absolute nothing — half so much
worth doing as simply messing about in boats. Simply messing… about in boats — or
with boats. In or out of ‘em, it doesn’t matter. Nothing seems really to matter,
that’s the charm of it. Whether you get away, or whether you don’t; whether you
arrive at your destination or whether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never
get anywhere at all, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular;
and when you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do it if
you like, but you’d much better not.”

Kenneth Grahame’s passage from The Wind In The Willows is almost a cliche among sailors.  Chances are you have it on a coffee mug or a tee shirt, but the meaning certainly holds up. There must have been a touch of Thoreau in Ratty. He places the idea of simplicity as a useful lifestyle in exactly the right setting. “in boats — or with boats. In or out of ‘em, it doesn’t matter.” It’s all enjoyable. we die hard escapists are equally content with building or repairing a suitable craft, preparing for a day afloat or running before the wind with the sun shining on our backs. The smell of salty sea air is on a par with wood shavings and spar varnish.

Snow holds it’s own powers of nostalgia.  It reminds me of coming alongside the dock in Rockland, Maine bringing a schooner into it’s winter berth.  The flurries were foretelling the early arrival of Jack frost.  A few weeks later I was driving from Pennsylvania to mystic Connecticut for a maritime history symposium through a determined snowfall.  My insistence on not putting Dragonsong on the hard before my birthday at the end of November gave me several opportunities to enjoy the silence of falling snowflakes while afloat.

I have spent my time this week driving in the snow and sledding with my Grandson. Also played about in the shop with my half model project and spending a bit of time at the drawing board planning a wee boat that might be built sometime before the bankers come around and strip me down completely. It’s all about boats, so it’s all good. Afterward there was indeed something else to do, if I liked but I’d much better not.  So, I didn’t

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I often bridle at the seeming inevitability of things.  Why are “unavoidable” and “unwanted” synonymous?  It puts a negative spin on life.  One seeks some assurance of a life with rising prospects.  The company I work for frequently champions the phrase, “The only thing permanent is change.”  This blatant violation of the rules of logic never fails to ring the bell on my logical fallacy detector.  However, some folks think it looks cool on a tee shirt.  What really seems to me inevitable and, if you will, “permanent” is desire.

In myself the desire to have a boat and go sailing on a regular basis is unquenchable.  I am not alone in this.  The boat shows continue to draw large crowds in this time of economic strife.  History is populated by seagoing promoters of civilization. They explored the “New World” and made Columbus a household name.  Okay, some Jolly tars of yesteryear got a chance to spend some quality time with the girls of Otaheite.  However, that was not a normative example of the mariners life in the eighteenth century.

The sea does not weave it’s spell effectively for all.  There is an old proverb which states that he who would go to sea for pleasure would go to hell for a pastime. Ralph Waldo Emerson* observed, “the wonder is always new that any sane man can be a sailor.”  “Being in a ship is being in a jail, with the chance of being drowned,” was the opinion of Samuel Johnson.

Having just paid my taxes, it was a bad year, I find myself wishing to get on with boat acquisition activities.  With taxes out of the way and death not yet upon me I am left with the permanence of desire.  It’s a burning I can live with, a jail which can be endured.  I’ll take my chances on drowning and keep a weather eye out for just the right small ship to buoy up my attitude.

*Ralph Waldo Emerson, English Traits -(1856), Chapter II, Voyage to England.

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Back on August the 11th I wrote about Dylan Winter’s rambles around the British coast.  If you are interested in Knowing more about him check out Small Craft Advisor magazine, Sept./Oct. issue.  They have a very good interview with Dylan.  We exchanged some email messages after I published my blog post about him.  He is a friendly chap and very accessible.  Do get the code for access to the videos on his website, Keep Turning Left.  While you are at it I can recommend Small Craft Advisor very highly.  Get a subscription today.

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Many sailor’s have their own private dream of a particular voyage.  It can be anything from a cruise around the lake to circumnavigating the word.  Circular voyages have a special place in our imaginations and aspirations.  They lack the practical purposefulness of going from point A to point B.  There is in fact no point except the one hidden in our psyche.  We never seem to find ourselves by traveling only in straight lines.

Dylan Winter is a man traveling around in order to get around the big island he lives on.  He has been sailing since he was 8 years old and had never been around the whole thing.  At age 44 he decided it was time to see England from the water, and sample as much coast line as possible.  Dylan is a cameraman and video journalist.  Filming the event was something he would do as a matter of course.  Rather than let a lot of unedited video go to waste he started posted it on Youtube. His journey is being taken in stages to fit in with his real job schedule.  Have a look at his first video and see if you are as captivated as I was.

he makes an effort to poke his bow into as many estuaries and rivers as he can along the 20,000 mile coast line of Britain.  His narrative style is personal and engaging.  The approach to equipping the voyage, which will be spread out over several year,s is one I can relate to.  Dylan is an ordinary working guy with limited funds and no sponsorship of his effort.  He has begun to monetize the journey a bit with a website where you can subscribe via PayPal to get access to high def downloads of all the videos he takes along the way.  It’s well worth it for a load of vicarious enjoyment that beats what passes for “reality television” by a nautical mile.

The vessel featured in the videos is a 19 foot Mirror Offshore.  The design is the result of a competition run by the Daily Mirror newspaper which had as a theme to create a “yacht for the working man”.  Dylan named the boat “Slug” and states candidly that she she sails like a pig.  I have to give the man credit for honesty.

On his website, Keep Turning Left , there is a Google Earth map showing the locations for each place along the way that he explored and recorded on video.  You can zoom in and get a bird’s eye view and star the video clip at the same time.  It makes for a nicely interactive experience.If you are too busy having your own summertime sailing adventures remember Dylan Winter this Winter.  As you curl up by the fire with your laptop have a little point and click time.  Dreams can warm the heart as well as any fireside can.

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