an infrequent repository of mostly new stuff
Found this on my phone this evening, and realized I never posted it.
Shot on October 10, 2024, in the hay field next to the house.
I walked out in the dark, not expecting much, so wasn’t prepared for what I saw. No camera or tripod. I took off my shoes to prop up my phone on a hay bale. I stood there barefoot in the wet grass, shaking from cold and wonder.
This time lapse comes from that improvised rig.
On Sunday morning, many with long drives hauled out. A few of us, locals or those staying over, headed out to take advantage of the great weather with another sail. Chris H came all the way from Pittsburg, so he was staying another day to make it worth the trip. He invited me to join him on his Vivier Ilur Clarissa. Dennis K got a ride on Randy C’s William Garden designed Eel, Winkle. Harris and Barbara led the way in their new catboat, Mariah, just delivered mid-summer.
It was a real treat for me to be able to lay in the boat and let Chris do all the work, while I enjoyed the view. It let me keep both hands on the camera for a change. And what a great day for it. Beautiful boats and beautiful weather.
All three boats danced around each other all afternoon. Sometimes coming together close enough to chat, then veering off to points on the horizon. With the chuckle of water on a lapstrake hull tapping time.
As usual, most of our views of Harris were of his transom. He can’t bear to slow down enough for us to get close.
I shot a lot of video. Something to savor over the coming winter.
Between the cookout and campfires, Jim A took four of us for a sunset sail on his family’s Sakonnet 23. What a sweet boat, a real thoroughbred designed by Joel White.
We motored out the little harbor, through a neck of rock jetties, just as the sun went down. Clear of the channel, we quickly raised sail and cut off the clattering outboard. Suddenly silence like a sigh of relief as she eased into a light breeze. We sauntered across the water in the twilight, taking turns at the tiller, laughing and telling stories.
With the last light fading, we reluctantly turned back, only to discover the outboard motor had other ideas. Wouldn’t catch no matter how hard we yanked on it, not even a cough. It was like some jokester had poured a couple to shots of scotch in the tank. Matt tossed out the anchor so we wouldn’t drift into trouble, while we sought the magic combination of curses and hand waving to break the evil spell. This whole episode followed a dozen shared stories of near disasters, all because a motor had failed. Maybe this motor was listening and thought this was a great opportunity to tell its own story. The idea of waiting for a tow, anchored in the channel in the dark, but not our idea of humor. Motors are why we’re sailors, after all.
Eventually, jiggling the choke and throttle, it caught. Relief, anchor weighed, sails dropped, and we motored back down the channel by the light from our phones. No harm no foul, and another story to tell later.
A short video from inside the boat that evening. Lots of laughter and ribbing. A great evening. Hope we get to ride on her again, soon.
There’s a signal flag that ships hoist in harbor when it’s time for crew to return to the ship. A blue field with a white square in the center, like a cloud in a clear blue sky. For generations it’s been known as the “Blue Peter”, and those who know it by name know it means it’s time to say your goodbyes, time to depart.
We waved farewell to one of our brothers recently. Captain Kirk tacked suddenly away downwind and crossed the bar. He was a generous friend, funny, and thoughtful. We’ll miss him much. He loved our merry band of misfit sailors, and wanted us to remember him with another sail together – at his favorite spot among fast friends on lovely boats. We were happy to oblige.
Around two dozen of us gathered on a beach where the Chickahominy meets the James. We sent some of Kirk’s ashes off on the sea in a little boat of his own, viking style, and went for a sail ourselves
One of my Melonseeds, Aeon, got splashed for the first time this year.
After a big cookout on the beach, many of us returned to campfires and tents to sleep under the trees along the shore of the Chickahominy. Perfect weather, with cool breezes and calls of owls and whippoorwills for lullabies.
It’s hit 100 degrees here past several days. And no significant rain for over a month. Everything brown and dry. Worse elsewhere, but not good.
Good time to spend in the river.
Out of order, but time is a construct. Sketchbook study.