2011 01 28
Floating at Anchor Listening to Dire Straits broadcast from the onboard IPod
Our friend and travelling companion of the moment, Joe, called yesterday with trouble onboard. His batteries were low and refused to take a charge. His Rutland 913 wind generator was not producing any current despite strong gusty winds and his Honda gas generator just sat on his transom idling spent fuel into the atmosphere.
Joe, with whom we intend to cross the gulf stream, outlined his dilemma to us and expressed concern that he and Jeana, his erstwhile mate, might not be able to cross.
Allowing a respectable interlude for the ebbing of onboard frustration aboard Joe and Jeana's boat we dinghied over to interfere with their goings on. Frustration like the tides are factored into every boater's assessment of how and when to proceed with their mate.
We fell into a maelstrom of cushions, boards, cans, packages of paper towels. It was as if the gust front that hit us on Tuesday night had reserved special treatment for Joe and Jeana's boat - stuff strewn everywhere.
Experienced boaters we knew this disaster scenario had nothing to do with storm conditions. The first step in troubleshooting any critical system on a boat is actually gaining access to the malfunctioning system.
Why do boat designers hide the battery locker in one of the two most inaccessible places on earth. On Joe's boat he had to dismantle an entire stateroom to get at his batteries. At that he could only access two the batteries. The third he assured me was buried so deep in the bowels of his Beneteau that we would have to just assume it was in good working order. On Meredith we have been here and done this. We accepted Joe's assurance that third battery was in good order.
Joe's batteries were showing only 12.25 volts on his Link 1000 a cool little display device which monitors and controlls his boat's Freedom 20. This after a full night of 15 to 20 knot winds driving his wind generator and 3 hours of Honda generator to boot. His batteries should have had so much charge they were sparking excess energy into the ether. As per the Link 1000 they were at low voltage.
The Freedom 20 inverter/charger was buzzing like a steroidal mosquito. Ten minutes spent in the battery room trying to figure out the connection scheme of the mulithued spaghetti wiring so favoured by French nautical designers left both Joe and I near hysterical. Forget waterboarding. Homeland Security need only put terrorists in Joe's battery compartment. They'd talk.
We found nothing amiss: no loose connections, no visible corrosion, no tell tale black spots or smoke smudges.
Poking buttons on the Link 1000 for a few more minutes did not good at all.
We decided to shut down all incoming power sources and "reboot".
This was overly ambitious. Beneteau had hidden all the AC breakers under the nav table. My head would not fit under the table and despite wearing trifocals none of my aids to visual navigation provided a focal length sufficient to resolve any of the carefully letters labels into any more defined than white smudge.
Joe, same age as me more or less, could do no better. We made educated guesses on the contents of each label based on the number of indistinguishable characters we could count on a label.
This is another point about sailboat design that really irks me. Most people who sail boats, and thus most people who have to work on boats, are middle aged or better. Our eyes are no longer our primary sensory organ or if they are we stand mute inglorious Miltons.
Shutting things down and restarting had no discernable effect
Nothing worked. Not that we expected it to. But we were men fixing a boat. Something manly needed to be done. Ego demanded it.
We plugged the Honda back into the system and tried charging. No go. Now, when you think about it, why would it work? It did not work the first time and we had made no changes to any part of the system.
This is the moment when the lightning bolt of near genius struck. "Let's plug something in to the generator and see what happens." came out of someone's mouth.
Joe plugged a space heater into his Honda. Without even slight hesitation the Honda roared into life. Life with the volume turned up. Simultaneously the Link started to blink and its display showed amps coming into the batteries. 2, 4, 10, 24, 42. We were charging baby.
Oh, but then 32 then 48 then 20 then 45. The poor old Honda was speeding up and slowing down in time to the varying display on the Link. Interesting.
Unplug the space heater and the Honda fell silent, refusing to supply current to the Freedom 20. Interesting.
We had reached that most sacred of moments in any boat project. It was time to commune: to reflect and consider things greater than ourselves. It was time for a Bud. We had two. This job was going to take a lot of communing.
Over the course of the day we found out that the reason Joe's batteries were not charging was because they were fully charged. The Link 1000 was giving incorrect voltage readouts. We checked for corrosion to no avail. Interesting.
The BC and I left Joe and Jeana his erstwhile companion to put away the 3 tons of stuff they had to remove to get at the batteries in the first place.
Three hours later Joe and Jeana responded to our invitation and dinghied over to Meredith. Joe and I communed well into the night and well into a twelve pack of communion beer. Yingleung this time.
This morning while dinghying ashore we slipped quietlly past Joe and Jeana's boat. His Honda was running. The space heater was plugged in and glowing redly.
I love troubleshooting probles. On someone else's boat.
This included one fused connection where the fuse was good, as verified by my ohmeter, but the fuse would not transfer current.
Joe's generator still works just so long as he runs his space heater at the same time.
I'm calling that one a win.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Gust Front
2011 01 26
North Lake Worth
We came ashore today. Sanity required firmity beneath our quavering feet.
The gust front we expected to precede last night's cold front was a doozy. After a day incarcerated aboard our delightful Meredith, imprisoned by high sustained winds and antagonistic chop in our anchorage we retired for the night.
Before doing so we lengthened the scope of our anchor rode. Ten feet of water at high tide, five of freeboard gave us a 5:1 scope of 100 feet, rounded up. We hit the berth with 150 feet in front of us and a doubled up snubbing line.
Just as we retired the phone rang. Peter and Jane from Kinvara safely at a dock in Coconut Grove called to wish us well. They were watching the weather approach our anchorage on the internet. Sometimes, as it was last night, just hearing another human voice is incredibly relieving.
This is one of the choices to be made when the atmo threatens imminent harm. Kinvara finds security in a solid dock. Meredith seeks the freedom of a good anchorage. The only harm we have ever suffered has come from a dock.
When the front hit it was intent on disproving all the doubting Thomas's in the anchorage who found themselves beseiged in their sleep. Like Meredith and those aboard. It was 10:30 p.m. Two quick puffs introduced the impending giant. These puffs had an eerie quality however, and they put both the BC and myself sufficiently on edge that we were up, dressed and lighted by the time the gust front attacked.
At its peak wind topped 48 knots. It held for 45 minutes. Not a single boat dragged in North Lake Worth. At Lake Worth Inlet things were a bit of a mess. A 67 foot ketch lost hold in the softer bottom and went on an unescorted tour of that crowded anchorage. We listened as one poor fellow desperately called the Coast Guard "We see that ship you told had come adrift. It is coming straight for us!!!!".
Now I am not sure what the Coast Guard were supposed to do about that situation but his predicament affected all of us in Lake Worth. Coast Guard offered their usual helpful comments "You are talking to Miami Coast Guard captain. We suggest you call West Palm Coast Guard for assistance."
Like always, government was very helpful.
Next morning the sun came up. the wind was gone and boaters started to set up their dinghies.
When it hit both
North Lake Worth
We came ashore today. Sanity required firmity beneath our quavering feet.
The gust front we expected to precede last night's cold front was a doozy. After a day incarcerated aboard our delightful Meredith, imprisoned by high sustained winds and antagonistic chop in our anchorage we retired for the night.
Before doing so we lengthened the scope of our anchor rode. Ten feet of water at high tide, five of freeboard gave us a 5:1 scope of 100 feet, rounded up. We hit the berth with 150 feet in front of us and a doubled up snubbing line.
Just as we retired the phone rang. Peter and Jane from Kinvara safely at a dock in Coconut Grove called to wish us well. They were watching the weather approach our anchorage on the internet. Sometimes, as it was last night, just hearing another human voice is incredibly relieving.
This is one of the choices to be made when the atmo threatens imminent harm. Kinvara finds security in a solid dock. Meredith seeks the freedom of a good anchorage. The only harm we have ever suffered has come from a dock.
When the front hit it was intent on disproving all the doubting Thomas's in the anchorage who found themselves beseiged in their sleep. Like Meredith and those aboard. It was 10:30 p.m. Two quick puffs introduced the impending giant. These puffs had an eerie quality however, and they put both the BC and myself sufficiently on edge that we were up, dressed and lighted by the time the gust front attacked.
At its peak wind topped 48 knots. It held for 45 minutes. Not a single boat dragged in North Lake Worth. At Lake Worth Inlet things were a bit of a mess. A 67 foot ketch lost hold in the softer bottom and went on an unescorted tour of that crowded anchorage. We listened as one poor fellow desperately called the Coast Guard "We see that ship you told had come adrift. It is coming straight for us!!!!".
Now I am not sure what the Coast Guard were supposed to do about that situation but his predicament affected all of us in Lake Worth. Coast Guard offered their usual helpful comments "You are talking to Miami Coast Guard captain. We suggest you call West Palm Coast Guard for assistance."
Like always, government was very helpful.
Next morning the sun came up. the wind was gone and boaters started to set up their dinghies.
When it hit both
Freedom of Speech and Accommodation
2011 01 25
Radiofree Canada - the fight continues
My children are truly sick of hearing me explain the value of Free Speech. Even more are they tired of my explaining how the current wave of effluvium referred to generously as political correctness misunderstands the purpose and value of Free Speech.
The first thing the PCers get wrong is the need to be accommodating when someone expresses themselves in a way in which you disagree. They have adopted this approach in an effort to force people to pay attention to the expressions of new immigrant groups who are doing things differently or who are saying things with which we disagree.
Being free to say whatever flits through the ether of your brainpan does not guarantee a decent response. You can say "Those @#%@#$@ Jews have screwed up my life". On hearing this diatribe it is not incumbent on me to listen politely. I can tell you to your face you are braindead bigot. Nothing obliges me to politely listen or to accept or try to understand your position.
Neither do I have to listen to you telling me why polygamy is good or why my choice of God (there is no God by the way except in the minds of those who need his help to win football games or wars and of course those who continue to believe in Santa Claus). That a person is guaranteed the ability to express themselves does not in any way mean they are guaranteed a receptive or approving or even a polite audience.
Having free speech allows stupid ideas to be aired in public. That is the point to it.
When the nazis or the commies or the CSISsies spew their vitriol and stupidity (all three groups have espoused that we should put people in jail without letting anyone know about it, with no recourse to the courts and without telling the incarcerated even what are the charges against them) other smarter more reasonable people can say publicly that things are amiss and that these totalitarian groups are wrong. Then the people can decide.
Notice - the people can decide. Governments decide nothing. Governments do not have morals, they have interests (yes, I quote Machiavelli - was he wrong?). Morality comes from the people.
As to the word "faggot" or "fagot" as it is spelled in the UK: In less tolerant times society burned witches at the stake. They would bind offensive women or women who had recklessly let slip that they were intelligent, to a stake, throw a bunch of sticks around her and set fire to the lot. The bunch of sticks were called "faggots".
Homosexuals were held in such low regard that upon being found out they would be thrown live and untied directly onto the fire. No one cared to waste good stakes and cord on a homosexual.
From this came the use of the word "faggot" to describe male homosexuals.
Makes you think about using the word in polite conversation. Or any conversation at all.
Crude losers will continue to use the word, blissfully unaware of what they are saying or why it might be offensive.
Most of the rest of us will hesitate.
And that is how you use Free Speech to deal with speech that is inappropriate. You DO NOT BAN IT.
In free society speech adapts. It must be free for this to happen.
My comment on God is out of respect for John Stuart Mills, a deeply devout Brit, who decades ago made the case for freedom of speech in his foundation work "On Liberty". He allowed that even people who would disparage his God must be allowed to express that view. It would then be open to him to correct the error.
Anyone reading this has a computer and access to internet. "On Liberty" is freely available. No reason or excuse to remain ignorant.
Radiofree Canada - the fight continues
My children are truly sick of hearing me explain the value of Free Speech. Even more are they tired of my explaining how the current wave of effluvium referred to generously as political correctness misunderstands the purpose and value of Free Speech.
The first thing the PCers get wrong is the need to be accommodating when someone expresses themselves in a way in which you disagree. They have adopted this approach in an effort to force people to pay attention to the expressions of new immigrant groups who are doing things differently or who are saying things with which we disagree.
Being free to say whatever flits through the ether of your brainpan does not guarantee a decent response. You can say "Those @#%@#$@ Jews have screwed up my life". On hearing this diatribe it is not incumbent on me to listen politely. I can tell you to your face you are braindead bigot. Nothing obliges me to politely listen or to accept or try to understand your position.
Neither do I have to listen to you telling me why polygamy is good or why my choice of God (there is no God by the way except in the minds of those who need his help to win football games or wars and of course those who continue to believe in Santa Claus). That a person is guaranteed the ability to express themselves does not in any way mean they are guaranteed a receptive or approving or even a polite audience.
Having free speech allows stupid ideas to be aired in public. That is the point to it.
When the nazis or the commies or the CSISsies spew their vitriol and stupidity (all three groups have espoused that we should put people in jail without letting anyone know about it, with no recourse to the courts and without telling the incarcerated even what are the charges against them) other smarter more reasonable people can say publicly that things are amiss and that these totalitarian groups are wrong. Then the people can decide.
Notice - the people can decide. Governments decide nothing. Governments do not have morals, they have interests (yes, I quote Machiavelli - was he wrong?). Morality comes from the people.
As to the word "faggot" or "fagot" as it is spelled in the UK: In less tolerant times society burned witches at the stake. They would bind offensive women or women who had recklessly let slip that they were intelligent, to a stake, throw a bunch of sticks around her and set fire to the lot. The bunch of sticks were called "faggots".
Homosexuals were held in such low regard that upon being found out they would be thrown live and untied directly onto the fire. No one cared to waste good stakes and cord on a homosexual.
From this came the use of the word "faggot" to describe male homosexuals.
Makes you think about using the word in polite conversation. Or any conversation at all.
Crude losers will continue to use the word, blissfully unaware of what they are saying or why it might be offensive.
Most of the rest of us will hesitate.
And that is how you use Free Speech to deal with speech that is inappropriate. You DO NOT BAN IT.
In free society speech adapts. It must be free for this to happen.
My comment on God is out of respect for John Stuart Mills, a deeply devout Brit, who decades ago made the case for freedom of speech in his foundation work "On Liberty". He allowed that even people who would disparage his God must be allowed to express that view. It would then be open to him to correct the error.
Anyone reading this has a computer and access to internet. "On Liberty" is freely available. No reason or excuse to remain ignorant.
Pirate Radio
2011 10 25
Afloat off the East Coast of dullsville aboard Canadian PirateRadio Station MEREDITH,
(exact location unspecified, to protect us from missile attack from the Canadian Navy protecting your right to endless replays of Terry Jacks while you eat your unflavoured porridge)
"And that, good listeners was MONEY FOR NOTHING coming to you live from tape on frequency 88.9 on your radio dial. Tune in tomorrow, 8:00 a.m. EDT sharp for another broadcast of your favourite illegal song. Remember we rotate our broadcast frequencies often to confuse the muddleheads at CBSC and CRTC those good folks who work all that paid overtime to save you having to think for yourself.
Catch us tomorrow on 90.3, another broadcast of another song too horrid to allow Canadian minds to be exposed. Don't worry folks the dumbass bureaucrats won't have finished passing memos on our new frequency until at least noon.
We're gettin' ready to sign off folks while I phone the government of our free neighbours to the south, the USA. Gotta report my locale to the good folks at Homeland Security protecting Americans from unwarranted attacks from senior citizen Canadians striking at 5 miles an hour.
It's great to be free folks. The war on terror is only ten years old now. We are all in debt to our government which selflessly protects us from the unidentified unspecified unknown enemy that our government tells us wants to attack us and take our freedoms away. Nope. We're gonna show those terrorist bastards and give our freedoms away to the government so they can protect us.
This just in folks. The Canadian government has just banned the reading of "The Sky Is Falling". Apparently some malcontents were suggesting that they could not see any difference between CSIS and Foxey Loxy. Some people are never satisfied. I for one am going to hide in this cave and wait until the sky is finished falling.
This is Winston Smith, broadcasting live till they catch me."
Afloat off the East Coast of dullsville aboard Canadian PirateRadio Station MEREDITH,
(exact location unspecified, to protect us from missile attack from the Canadian Navy protecting your right to endless replays of Terry Jacks while you eat your unflavoured porridge)
"And that, good listeners was MONEY FOR NOTHING coming to you live from tape on frequency 88.9 on your radio dial. Tune in tomorrow, 8:00 a.m. EDT sharp for another broadcast of your favourite illegal song. Remember we rotate our broadcast frequencies often to confuse the muddleheads at CBSC and CRTC those good folks who work all that paid overtime to save you having to think for yourself.
Catch us tomorrow on 90.3, another broadcast of another song too horrid to allow Canadian minds to be exposed. Don't worry folks the dumbass bureaucrats won't have finished passing memos on our new frequency until at least noon.
We're gettin' ready to sign off folks while I phone the government of our free neighbours to the south, the USA. Gotta report my locale to the good folks at Homeland Security protecting Americans from unwarranted attacks from senior citizen Canadians striking at 5 miles an hour.
It's great to be free folks. The war on terror is only ten years old now. We are all in debt to our government which selflessly protects us from the unidentified unspecified unknown enemy that our government tells us wants to attack us and take our freedoms away. Nope. We're gonna show those terrorist bastards and give our freedoms away to the government so they can protect us.
This just in folks. The Canadian government has just banned the reading of "The Sky Is Falling". Apparently some malcontents were suggesting that they could not see any difference between CSIS and Foxey Loxy. Some people are never satisfied. I for one am going to hide in this cave and wait until the sky is finished falling.
This is Winston Smith, broadcasting live till they catch me."
Movie NIght
2011 01 25
North Lake Worth (America's Richest Zip Code)
Still Free, Still Broadcasting Songs Deemed Unacceptable for Canadians
Day Two of 20 knot plus winds
We have fallen into a solipsistic funk. Nothing exists beyond the bulkheads of our sturdy boat. The universe has lost all meaning, shrunken as it is to the interior volume of our little vessel.
Last night we got drunk just for something to do. Today we have this darn tornado watch. No drinking.l Since dropping anchor in the shallow Lake Worth we have not inflated the dinghy. No point. We sit here attempting to amuse ourselves without resort to companions or conversation.
Until recently I enjoyed the interior of my boat. It was peacefully dim. When I explained this to the BC she giggled and told me she understood now why I liked it so much: she had no idea how much it and I had in common.
In our brave attempt to remain sane we run a bunch of mind games. Right now we are listing memorable phrases from the movies and organizing them into coherent conversations. Examples:
Navigation:
If we get lost we'll just pull in somewheres and ask directions.
Explain to everyone how you know we have arrived, Captain Ron.
Houston, we have a problem.
I don't think we are in Kansas anymore, Toto.
The Truth. You Can't Handle the Truth.
Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
I'll blast every motherfucking last one of you.
Stay Cool Charly.
Adequacy of Stores:
I don't eat dog either.
Soylent Green is people!
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
And I'll never go hungry again.
Strangers in a Strange Land:
Every breath a deposit in the bank of good health.
I hate snakes.
Nice Dog, Are you a whiner.... or do you bite.
Does Your Dog Bite?
Hasta la vista, baby.
I'll be bach.
You get the idea. It's better than counting cows. More fun after a few rounds (of drinks you clown). Give it a shot. We can develop a list of lists.
Dailing in a new FM frequency to once again broadcast Money for Nothing as I write this.
North Lake Worth (America's Richest Zip Code)
Still Free, Still Broadcasting Songs Deemed Unacceptable for Canadians
Day Two of 20 knot plus winds
We have fallen into a solipsistic funk. Nothing exists beyond the bulkheads of our sturdy boat. The universe has lost all meaning, shrunken as it is to the interior volume of our little vessel.
Last night we got drunk just for something to do. Today we have this darn tornado watch. No drinking.l Since dropping anchor in the shallow Lake Worth we have not inflated the dinghy. No point. We sit here attempting to amuse ourselves without resort to companions or conversation.
Until recently I enjoyed the interior of my boat. It was peacefully dim. When I explained this to the BC she giggled and told me she understood now why I liked it so much: she had no idea how much it and I had in common.
In our brave attempt to remain sane we run a bunch of mind games. Right now we are listing memorable phrases from the movies and organizing them into coherent conversations. Examples:
Navigation:
If we get lost we'll just pull in somewheres and ask directions.
Explain to everyone how you know we have arrived, Captain Ron.
Houston, we have a problem.
I don't think we are in Kansas anymore, Toto.
The Truth. You Can't Handle the Truth.
Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn.
I'll blast every motherfucking last one of you.
Stay Cool Charly.
Adequacy of Stores:
I don't eat dog either.
Soylent Green is people!
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
And I'll never go hungry again.
Strangers in a Strange Land:
Every breath a deposit in the bank of good health.
I hate snakes.
Nice Dog, Are you a whiner.... or do you bite.
Does Your Dog Bite?
Hasta la vista, baby.
I'll be bach.
You get the idea. It's better than counting cows. More fun after a few rounds (of drinks you clown). Give it a shot. We can develop a list of lists.
Dailing in a new FM frequency to once again broadcast Money for Nothing as I write this.
Exercise at Sea
011 01 25
Aboard Radiofree Canada
Get real. When you are at sea you do not need any additional exercise.
However. Sometimes you are ashore. Or worse, like today, you find yourself stuck on your boat with no way to get off.
Yesterday we arrived at |Lake Worth Inlet after a day sail out of Port Everglades in 15 knot winds and 5 foot waves off the forward starboard beam. Anchoring in North Lake Worth we find ourselves in 20 knots of wind threatening 30. North Lake Worth, a shallow little bulge in the ICW that could only be called a lake in the land of the near dead and those that profit from them, has kicked up a marching parade of 3 footers, quite extraordinary in a 12 foot deep lake.
NOAA has issued a tornado watch across much of the land of the near dead and those who profit from it, also known as Central Florida An approaching cold front is going to have a squall line punch to it and no one is betting on the time of its arrival.
We are trapped aboard. Even if we were tempted to debark in the face of a forecast threatening boat destroying squalls and tornadoes such foolhardiness would prove counterproductive. In three foot chop no inflatable dinghy will protect your tender bottom from a thorough soaking in the salt. Anchored in the wealthiest zip code in the USA we would not be well received were we to walk into any store in the area soaked from the waist to our toes.
Stuck on board we are working overtime to amuse ourselves. Boatwork is done - jobs that we have eluded for months become high priority and are tended to. Lockers unattended by the quartermaster since our last offshore foray are stripped down, inventoried anew, cupboards washed and contents restowed in good order.
Normally the salon of our boat is a preferred space. It is peacefully dim. As I read this the Budget Committee giggles good naturedly commenting that she never before understood how much our boat and I had in common. After a full day occupied by two adults the sixty cubic meters of living space have grown tiny. Yesterday was spent battling wave and wind on our journey from Ft. Lauderdale to Lake Worth. We vastly prefer that to enforced idleness of a storm day at anchor.
Without discussion there is no drinking. No one wants to be slowed by the effects of alcohol when the squall line hits, or worse asleep and groggy.
By day's end we wear zombie stares, our personalities wiped out by endless reading brain cells stuffed to the bursting point. Hours spent at the computer or portable game console have given us an unhealthy palour. Sex has come and gone. We are bored beyond endurance.
It is time for onboard exercise. We have a program. We turn on a little SRV (Stevie Ray). We have a few tracks where Carlos Santana joins in. Perfect for what we are about. We tack on some Joe Bonamassa, introduced to us by friends Tim and Bice back in Lucan ON. Then we start, and this is for real:
Grab a handrail. Sorry Hunter owners may have to sit this out. No one at Hunter ever thought their owners would leave the dock in the first place so they may not have handrails.
Start bending and straightening the knees. When you are bouncing along to the rythm section things are set.
Add some lateral sway - maybe 20 degrees or maybe 30 each way. As your knees pump you up and down swing to port and starboard.
Hold the handrails like they are stays. Once it is all cooking throw yourself back and forward to boot.
Let go the handrail with one hand and then the other. The game is to always have one but only one hand holding on but to time it to the microsecond. Failing and falling is part of the program.
How you have a full seaborn experience. Up, down, back, forth, trippin' and stumbling and you and your derriere hitting everything in sight?
When the bruise count hits an even dozen you can quit.
Just like going to sea.
Aboard Radiofree Canada
Get real. When you are at sea you do not need any additional exercise.
However. Sometimes you are ashore. Or worse, like today, you find yourself stuck on your boat with no way to get off.
Yesterday we arrived at |Lake Worth Inlet after a day sail out of Port Everglades in 15 knot winds and 5 foot waves off the forward starboard beam. Anchoring in North Lake Worth we find ourselves in 20 knots of wind threatening 30. North Lake Worth, a shallow little bulge in the ICW that could only be called a lake in the land of the near dead and those that profit from them, has kicked up a marching parade of 3 footers, quite extraordinary in a 12 foot deep lake.
NOAA has issued a tornado watch across much of the land of the near dead and those who profit from it, also known as Central Florida An approaching cold front is going to have a squall line punch to it and no one is betting on the time of its arrival.
We are trapped aboard. Even if we were tempted to debark in the face of a forecast threatening boat destroying squalls and tornadoes such foolhardiness would prove counterproductive. In three foot chop no inflatable dinghy will protect your tender bottom from a thorough soaking in the salt. Anchored in the wealthiest zip code in the USA we would not be well received were we to walk into any store in the area soaked from the waist to our toes.
Stuck on board we are working overtime to amuse ourselves. Boatwork is done - jobs that we have eluded for months become high priority and are tended to. Lockers unattended by the quartermaster since our last offshore foray are stripped down, inventoried anew, cupboards washed and contents restowed in good order.
Normally the salon of our boat is a preferred space. It is peacefully dim. As I read this the Budget Committee giggles good naturedly commenting that she never before understood how much our boat and I had in common. After a full day occupied by two adults the sixty cubic meters of living space have grown tiny. Yesterday was spent battling wave and wind on our journey from Ft. Lauderdale to Lake Worth. We vastly prefer that to enforced idleness of a storm day at anchor.
Without discussion there is no drinking. No one wants to be slowed by the effects of alcohol when the squall line hits, or worse asleep and groggy.
By day's end we wear zombie stares, our personalities wiped out by endless reading brain cells stuffed to the bursting point. Hours spent at the computer or portable game console have given us an unhealthy palour. Sex has come and gone. We are bored beyond endurance.
It is time for onboard exercise. We have a program. We turn on a little SRV (Stevie Ray). We have a few tracks where Carlos Santana joins in. Perfect for what we are about. We tack on some Joe Bonamassa, introduced to us by friends Tim and Bice back in Lucan ON. Then we start, and this is for real:
Grab a handrail. Sorry Hunter owners may have to sit this out. No one at Hunter ever thought their owners would leave the dock in the first place so they may not have handrails.
Start bending and straightening the knees. When you are bouncing along to the rythm section things are set.
Add some lateral sway - maybe 20 degrees or maybe 30 each way. As your knees pump you up and down swing to port and starboard.
Hold the handrails like they are stays. Once it is all cooking throw yourself back and forward to boot.
Let go the handrail with one hand and then the other. The game is to always have one but only one hand holding on but to time it to the microsecond. Failing and falling is part of the program.
How you have a full seaborn experience. Up, down, back, forth, trippin' and stumbling and you and your derriere hitting everything in sight?
When the bruise count hits an even dozen you can quit.
Just like going to sea.
Eating Your Way Around Ft. Lauderdale
2011 01 25
North Lake Worth FL
Yesterday by agreement with Okemah Rose (O kee mah) we sailed North out of Ft. Lauderdale to North Lake Worth for a hookup. This is not about that.
Our first time in Ft Lauderdale, son Jake, the BC and I put in to Lake Sylvia for a two day layover in bad weather. We did not explore much which was a shame but spent our time aboard a boat anchored in the midst of very expensive homes ("I would not want to put a price on such things but the number would have 6 digits and the first digit would be a 7") all aflame with waste light, each home having a "boat" moored before it. The boats were all 6 digit multi tiered floating fibreglass castles.
Last year we tied up to a mooring ball at Las Olas Municipal Marina. $30 a night. A short dinghy ride away from everything. Free wifi. Good showers. Municipal staff. Four out of five is pretty good.
That year we visited with friends Ben and Andre who showed us how to enjoy Ft. Lauderdale, from their favourite creperie to the downtown, the best french bakery in Florida if not the entire USA, and visits to Miami South Beach. We mentioned our visit to the "Mob Motel" an unidentified hotel near the beach where we were strolling. A visit to the facilities became a necessity and we entered what appeared to be a nicely designed hotel. Except for the 250 pound muscle bound doorman. Well, it appeared to be a doorman. There were two.
The lobby was unique and quite obviously not open to the public. However the staff graciously directed us to the washrooms, cautioning us not to stray. No worries there. Ben and I both had the sonar on full active ping and were actively suppressing the strong incoming fight or flight response rising in each of our gorges. Being civilized cowards we elected flight.
This year we stayed at Los Olas again enjoying the company of Peter and Jane aboard Kinvara. With these two livewires there is no letting moss grow on any body parts. It was with a vengence that we toured the canals of Ft. Lauderdale.
We found a full blown shopping mall complete with Chapters reachable by dinghy. Halfway through the first day we stopped at a city park, tied up and walked a short distance to the "French Bakery", another french bakery equal in every respect to the french bakery of Ben and Andre. This one came with a jazz trio to enhance your patio dining. Mind you coffee and a pastry cost $14. But what a pastry.
That night we dined at Coconuts, as reported.
Next day we were away to the Raw Bar. It is located at the end of a canal. You get to it by entering Lake Sylvia, dinghying under a 3 foot high overpass (the southmost canal exiting Lake Sylvia), crossing the ICW and continuing to the end of the canal. There it is.
.
The Raw Bar has fantastic food, the BC had stuffed clams which she says were unreal, and prices are very reasonable.
Along the way you pass a covered dock designed for Mega Yachts. You also pass mega yachts that cannot afford a covered dock. Life is tough in Lauderdale. Actually there are numerous for sale signs on mansions down here and many of the well maintained mansions from last year were not maintained at all: flaking paint, overgrown lawns, pools shut down or very strange shades of green and brown from algae. The downturn has been hard on the upper middle class. Poor babies.
Dinghying back we passed a catamaran from Canada which had followed us South from Lake Worth Inlet. It being time for a gam we traded gossip from home and exchanged spots to each other for our travels in the Caribbean. They marvelled that we had sailed the entire trip with our mainsail flying. We marvelled that they had not.
Then it was home. We showered one last time, traded some movies with Peter who had left his DVD collection at home and put up the dinghy and outboard. Next morning we sailed back to Lake Worth Inlet to meet up with Okemah Rose.
North Lake Worth FL
Yesterday by agreement with Okemah Rose (O kee mah) we sailed North out of Ft. Lauderdale to North Lake Worth for a hookup. This is not about that.
Our first time in Ft Lauderdale, son Jake, the BC and I put in to Lake Sylvia for a two day layover in bad weather. We did not explore much which was a shame but spent our time aboard a boat anchored in the midst of very expensive homes ("I would not want to put a price on such things but the number would have 6 digits and the first digit would be a 7") all aflame with waste light, each home having a "boat" moored before it. The boats were all 6 digit multi tiered floating fibreglass castles.
Last year we tied up to a mooring ball at Las Olas Municipal Marina. $30 a night. A short dinghy ride away from everything. Free wifi. Good showers. Municipal staff. Four out of five is pretty good.
That year we visited with friends Ben and Andre who showed us how to enjoy Ft. Lauderdale, from their favourite creperie to the downtown, the best french bakery in Florida if not the entire USA, and visits to Miami South Beach. We mentioned our visit to the "Mob Motel" an unidentified hotel near the beach where we were strolling. A visit to the facilities became a necessity and we entered what appeared to be a nicely designed hotel. Except for the 250 pound muscle bound doorman. Well, it appeared to be a doorman. There were two.
The lobby was unique and quite obviously not open to the public. However the staff graciously directed us to the washrooms, cautioning us not to stray. No worries there. Ben and I both had the sonar on full active ping and were actively suppressing the strong incoming fight or flight response rising in each of our gorges. Being civilized cowards we elected flight.
This year we stayed at Los Olas again enjoying the company of Peter and Jane aboard Kinvara. With these two livewires there is no letting moss grow on any body parts. It was with a vengence that we toured the canals of Ft. Lauderdale.
We found a full blown shopping mall complete with Chapters reachable by dinghy. Halfway through the first day we stopped at a city park, tied up and walked a short distance to the "French Bakery", another french bakery equal in every respect to the french bakery of Ben and Andre. This one came with a jazz trio to enhance your patio dining. Mind you coffee and a pastry cost $14. But what a pastry.
That night we dined at Coconuts, as reported.
Next day we were away to the Raw Bar. It is located at the end of a canal. You get to it by entering Lake Sylvia, dinghying under a 3 foot high overpass (the southmost canal exiting Lake Sylvia), crossing the ICW and continuing to the end of the canal. There it is.
.
The Raw Bar has fantastic food, the BC had stuffed clams which she says were unreal, and prices are very reasonable.Along the way you pass a covered dock designed for Mega Yachts. You also pass mega yachts that cannot afford a covered dock. Life is tough in Lauderdale. Actually there are numerous for sale signs on mansions down here and many of the well maintained mansions from last year were not maintained at all: flaking paint, overgrown lawns, pools shut down or very strange shades of green and brown from algae. The downturn has been hard on the upper middle class. Poor babies.
Dinghying back we passed a catamaran from Canada which had followed us South from Lake Worth Inlet. It being time for a gam we traded gossip from home and exchanged spots to each other for our travels in the Caribbean. They marvelled that we had sailed the entire trip with our mainsail flying. We marvelled that they had not.
Then it was home. We showered one last time, traded some movies with Peter who had left his DVD collection at home and put up the dinghy and outboard. Next morning we sailed back to Lake Worth Inlet to meet up with Okemah Rose.
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