Sorry Charlie

That TV financial fellow, Charles Schwab has been harping on me about retirement. So I took his advice and I've retired.  I've retired on my boat.

Really, when the 'rubber-meets-the-road.' at 69 years of age, what do you really need in order to be able to enjoy each day?

I need a bed with a comfortable and firm mattress...one I can get into and out of without any strain. At my age, I've got to get in and out of it a number of times thru-out the night.

I absolutely need a coffee pot and the best cup I've ever brewed was with my Keurig brewer. I use a few cups in the morning to fuel my heart so it can jumpstart my brain.

The coffee has to multi-task. It needs to get me going and about 10 am it really gets me going, if you catch my drift, so I need a comfortable 'head' so I can do the crossword puzzle.

I couldn't survive without my books and laptop; the laptop I can power with a solar panel snatching Wi-Fi off of my neighbors.

I like to cook so I will  need a simple galley. I'm not Jacque Pepin so it doesn't have to be big; I can do the prep work on the engine cover.

Retirement wouldn't be bearable without wine. Six bottles or so....I'm into cabernets so I won't need any refrigeration.

My bike can stay on the foredeck. That's it ....

Here's some of the stuff I don't need: television, telephone, shaving gear, mailbox, car (I can rent a truck to trailer the boat,) lots of clothes (just a few changes, mostly dockers and golf shirts, navy blazer for the club. I do need my foul weather gear.)

So you see Mr. Schwab, but I'm all set. I've retired on my boat. It's what I, and a lot of my buddies, have dreamed about for years, While my wife refuses to join me she promises to stop by on our anniversary. She does have one simple request. Would please keep the trailer off to the side of the driveway so she can pull in and out of our garage more easily. She doesn't want to scratch her car.

Automatic Dock Cleat Hooker

There are a bunch of conveniences for the boat that I’d like to have, except some of them haven’t been invented yet. I’ve been making a list:

It certainly would be convenient and less embarrassing if, when I get close to the dock I’d like to be able to press a button, have an arm reach out and grab the cleat I’m aiming for and then attach the mooring line. Then move to the stern and repeat. I can take care of the springs and breast lines.

When I’m ready to take off the boat cover I’d like to release the snaps and then just clap my hands and the cover would fold itself up and rest quietly on the stern so that I could put it away. They can do it for light fixtures, why not boat covers.

It would be wonderful to have a set of automatic fender‘extenders and retractors.’ Upon approaching a pier, dock or lock wall you’d just hit a button and two, or more depending upon how many times you pressed the button, fenders would pop out and then drape themselves in the proper position, at the correct height, to protect the hull. Upon getting underway you’d just have to reverse the process. Sure would make docking a little less frantic for our wives.

I think that there should be a beverage dispenser someplace close to the helmsman’s station. Featuring icy cold water, Gatorade, coke, maybe even sunscreen. You know how hard it is to reach the cooler while keeping one hand on the wheel while tearing down the lake at 25 miles an hour? They got the fuel system down pat; just adapt the technology to a multi-tap dispenser. And it would make the first mate happy so that she doesn’t have to put down the book they’ve been reading to get you a drink.

Speaking of the helmsman’s station I’d like a dashboard organizer that actually worked. I’ve tried everything short of putting Velcro on every piece of gear that goes up there; sunglasses, binoculars, sunscreen, charts, cell phone, hat, etc.  Every time we hit a wave or take a sharp turn I go into this wild arm gyration dance trying to catch everything before it tumbles down the companionway. Tried the Velcro idea but do you know the pain it causes when you put the binoculars to your eyes and the Velcro catches your eyebrows?

Every trailer boat should come equipped with a bilge plug fail-safe system that locks the brakes of the trailer if it’s not installed within 15 feet of any body of water. Like they have on the cars, you can’t get them in gear if your foot isn’t on the brake! Same concept. They could call it “Is the plug in the hole or you don’t go!”

I can’t talk anymore. I’ve got to call LegalZoom to get my patents going!

My Nautical 'Comfort Food'

What I seek on the water is the exact opposite of my everyday existence. It’s like a dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes versus roasted Cornish game hens with cumin and lemon. I want simplicity, quiet, calmness, no stress…I want to hear myself think, or not think, for that matter. Some of my nautical pleasures include;

 

The day’s first cup of coffee, wrapped in a blanket in the cockpit watching the day get started.

Just cleaning the boat. I rarely wash any of my cars, but I wash the boat everyday. I just like to wash the boat; makes me feel good.

Tinkering around on the boat. Tightening stuff, fixing stuff, checking fluids, re-arranging stuff. Just doing things on the boat.

Reading on the boat.

Driving the boat at speed. Not at maximum rpm ….. just at a good clip. Wind in your hair and eyes-start-to-tear speed. A glance back at my wake.

That first swallow of beer after a sunny day on the water. That first tsunami-wave taste sensation that washes all over your mouth. I usually empty it in three gulps. Not very couth.

Exploring. Just poking my boat into unfamiliar waters. So far I’ve traveled to places on the water I never dreamed I’d get to; Little Current, Baie Fine, Straits of Mackinw, Welland Canal, Toronto, Big Chute, Chesapeake Bay in all it’s glories …. I find that everyplace looks better from the water.

Hearing the lilting song of the loon, at dusk, on the Trent-Severn.

Just watching a sunset on Alum Creek Reservoir. It’s not quite up to the cocktail fueled dock gathering at Key West, but still a great way to say ‘Thank You’ to old Sol for another great day on the water.

Doing absolutely nothing while being on the water.

Simple pleasures are like comfort food. Macaroni & Cheese, Peanut Butter & Jelly and Meatloaf & Mashed… my boating pleasures are my nautical ‘comfort food.’

It makes my heart go Var-o-o-o-o-o-m!

The 2012 Sports Illustrated swimsuit model ‘rookie-of-the-year’ is Kate Upton. Ms. Upton is what my dad called a ‘varoooom’ girl. You know…she ‘gets your engine racing and makes your heart go varooooom!’ Kate hails from St. Joseph, a coastal town along the shores of Lake Michigan, and she’s considered by the Chamber of Commerce to be one of the best things to happen there since the Whirlpool factory moved in. But she’s not my ‘varooooom’ girl; Wolf’s Marine Store is! Wolf’s bills itself as the ‘Midwest’s Largest Marine Accessory Store.” I call it the Midwest’s Largest Marine Museum.

 

If you think a West Marine store is the ‘end all and be all’ of marine stores then you haven’t been around boating long. When you enter Wolf’s you take a step back in time. The wonderfully ‘different’ smells of the sea assaults your nostrils. You know and love the smells; stale harbor water, a little diesel odor, fresh pine, dust and stale musty air. No amount of Fabreze could change Wolf’s. Not with the amount of rope they’ve got or jumbled stacks of teak, rack after rack of pontoon seating or the rolls of upholstery fabric, captains chairs, miles of rub and hand rails, rigid hull inflatable’s. Have I mentioned the dive shop? Or the boat repair department. Wander outside and check out the used boats for sale. 

Before the professionally designed, extremely organized well-lit, wide aisles, homogenized, sterile and ‘uniform’ corporate effort of the national chains there was as ships’ chandlery in most seacoast towns of America. Local guys who knew local needs filled stores with thousands of items; manila line, brass fittings, engine parts, canvas, paint, linseed oil, palms, needles, beeswax and more to serve the harsh world of the maritime trade. They could supply a ships captain with 5000 feet of ½ manila line, 5000 lbs. of local food stuffs or 5000 gallons of red lead bottom paint or just a new 5000 lb anchor. Unfortunately, not a lot of them survived. 

At Wolf’s there is no membership cards, no catalogs, no corporate uniformed employees, no hand-held scanners recording your purchase for the perpetual inventory gnomes and no fancy displays. Just a huge, old industrial warehouse filled with treasures. Some stacked in out of the way corners, some are in bins, some in boxes and some on skids. To see a great deal of the stuff, you have to move other stuff first and then get down on your knees to sort through stuff. Some of the stuff sells quickly and some of it will never sell.

I just love to wander Wolf’s. It’s mysteries and wonders are like a museum, but not the sterile or protected-from-touching kind. It’s more of a living historical nautical ‘bazaar’; a step back in time. At first I glide from area to area quickly, because each step reveals another treasure. My initial trip around the store is somewhat fast and cursory. Then on my second pass, I look at every item, sometimes I find myself just looking at the item in awe. I think about who I could buy this item for or where I could use it or is there something here that I should buy for my next boat, h-m-m-m-m, even thugh I wasn’t thinking about buying a new boat. Electronics, marine hardware, cordage, faux lighthouses, one legged wooden captains….Wolf’s has it all! And I look at it all! 

When I needed a rear swim platform for ‘The Waterdog’ I got it at Wolf’s. When I needed a special bow staff I got it at Wolf’s. When I was thinking about upgrading my helmsman seat I spend hours crawling over the inventory at Wolf’s. And the prices sure beat the heck out of the well organized, computer driven, bright lighted corporate store!

Don’t get me wrong I really, really like West Marine…. But I worship Wolf’s.

I’m sure Kate Upton was happy to ‘varooooom’ out of Benton Harbor for the lily white sands of St. Tropez and the bright lights of Broadway, but me, I’m at my happiest when I’m ‘varoooooming’ around Wolf’s.

Meatload, Mashed with a Side of Medicine

Dinner time has always been special and my most looked-forward-to meal of the day. Since our daughters have left Sharon and I have a quieter, more relaxed dinner time. Its a simpler menu and less drama-filled conversations seated before the television tuned to the evening news.

Watching the evening news always made me feel superior in a smug kind of way. I don’t have any of those problems. I didn’t know of anyone involved in drug trafficking. I didn’t have anyone on the Columbus City School Board. I wasn’t getting thrown out of office for skullduggery. The war on terror was a million miles away.  Listening to all those problems made me feel great when compared to mine. 

That was until recently when I realized that with each bite of dinner I was being lectured to about all of my current or potential physical aliments:

• High blood pressure
• Shingles
• Allergies
• Arthritis with severe joint pain and inflammation
• Dry itchy skin, hot flashes
• Memory Loss
• Low teardrop production leading to chronic dry eye
• Sleepless nights caused by coughing/coughing caused by sleepless nights
• ED, COPD
• Too much earwax accumulation also known as Wax Pack (not really, I made this one up)

So along with the wonderful taste sensations of Sharon’s meatloaf and mashed spuds I get a serving of what’s wrong with me. But, of course they offer me a cure. If only my doctor will write the right prescription! But wait there are some potential side effects that they feel they must tell me about. If I take their drugs there is the possibility of:

• Dropping over dead. That’s Dead with a capital D,
• falling down sickness,
• high or low blood pressure,
• blurry vision, headache, rash, swelling, difficulty swallowing
• backache, liver problems, dehydration, dizziness, kidney challenges
• yeast infection,  problem getting pregnant
• shimmies’ and shakes
• and a condition causing something  to last 4 hours. Call your doctor!

And the actor pretending to be my doctor goes on and on with a list of side affects that is far longer than the disease the drugs are designed to cure. It’s enough to make me put down my fork.

Now, I understand that these drug companies have the right to advertise but enough is enough. Can’t I just enjoy my dinner while being informed of the latest things that are wrong in the world…shooting, drug busts, falling down houses, corrupt politicians or forgetful news reporters. Listening to those problems suffered by other people made me feel pretty good.  I don’t want to be told what’s wrong with me! Shoot, I already know what’s wrong with me. I don’t need to be reminded of it with every bite!

Maybe there’s a pill I could take to make these commercials go away?

 



I love Paper Nautical Charts

I love paper charts. There, I said it! There’s something wonderful about a one dimensional, paper chart fresh from National Oceanic & Aeronautical Administration (NOAA), or even better, one from our neighbors up north; the Canadian Hydrographical Service. Theirs are ‘works-of-art.’

I know, I know, everything is electronic today and I have used it and will continue to use it but there’s just something about laying out a course line on a paper chart, computing distances, plotting your dead reckoning position or GPS point every hour. I like being able to find alternative harbors with a quick glance and just stepping the distance off with a pair of Weems and Platt dividers. And don’t get me started on the joy of sliding a set of parallel rules along to the compass rose. It’s almost obscene.

And, being a dyed-in-the-wool nautical traditionalist, I take great satisfaction knowing that I’m using the same tools and techniques that seafaring navigators before me used to accomplished great things with. Navigators that took our flag around the world, which led invasion fleets to far-away foreign landings, and assisted in the exploration of our planet. My making it across to Leamington is on that same level. It give me a sense of accomplishment.

I’ve had a chance to visit a couple of ocean-going ship’s bridges and always gravitate to their navigation stations. Although loaded with the latest electronic navigation equipment each one of them has a paper chart for the current chunk of ocean we where sailing on and all the necessary plotting tools close at hand. Makes me feel like of the gang.

I wish life was like a nautical chart where you can see the starting and ending points of your journey and all the obstacles along the way. Shallow water (wrong business decisions,) sunken wrecks (wrong life’s partner,) shoals (betting on a sure-thing stock,) reefs (not exercising enough or wrong diet,) islands, etc…….all laid out for you. In ancient times they even told you where the sea monsters lived.

I’m sure Larry Lowe and his disciples are rolling their eyes in frustration at my ‘old school dinosaur-like’ love of a paper chart. But let me ask you…which is easier to use? A NOAA Chart or the Chartplotter with the 150 page operating manual, like the one that came with my very rudimentary Hummingbird 151 fish finder? Paper wins over pixels every time in my book!

But, here’s the real secret to why I love paper charts. They don’t require batteries!

Death Of A Dream

Wednesday, November 4^th, my dream got killed. Its murder was brutal. The ‘Dream’ arrived sometime in my adolescence. I wasn’t passionate about it at first. That came later. Dreams don’t arrive in their final form. They come as little gifts with no strings attached. They don’t cost anything, no effort is required and negative elements are never mentioned or considered. They occupy the ‘illusion’ part of the brain and create a wonderful, peaceful, personal refuge from reality.
 
In its earliest form it was just to get ‘on’ the water. Big water. It wasn’t about journeying to tropical isles or to the Mediterranean. It was just to spend time on the ocean. Growing up in a solidly middle class family I was part of the repetitive and boring rhythms of a 1950’s life. A day of labor for my dad, the drudgery of school for me, dinner always at 5:35, scouts for me and my brother and maybe a six pack for my folks on Friday night, Saturday was always spend trudging to the A & P Supermarket and then the 10:30 service at Zion Lutheran Church on Sunday; a real living breathing Ozzie & Harriet tableau.  That was my folk’s life.   What a dreary, mind numbing rut. I swore with all the naïveté and righteous indignation of youth that my life wouldn’t be anything like that.

I dreamed of escaping to the sea.  At one point it was to solo the Atlantic, then it was boosted by reading Thor Heyerdahl’s adventure on the Kon Tiki, a reading counselor exposed me to the writings of C.S. Forester and I began to walk the decks with Lt. Hornblower as he sailed in the defense of mother England. Mutiny on the Bounty?  I was enthralled by Captain Blights 3618 mile open boat escape more than in the charms of Fletcher Christians ladies of Pitcairn Island. Small boats began to capture my nautical wanderlust. 22 footers around Cape Horn. The dream was to get on the ocean, challenge and test myself against its power, its whims and all its mysteries. I craved going offshore! My dream allowed me to embrace the customs of daily life with a smile on my face and some pep-in-my-step. It was a constant companion, a friend who never whined, asked for favors or demanded anything from me.

Last Wednesday started out pretty normal here in Columbus. I was working off of a 12 foot ladder when my ‘Dreams’ wake-up call came through. It was broadcast on USPS’ Sail Angle mass email.

Seeking crew to sail south – full trip or part way

A Buzzards Bay Sail and Power Squadron (D14) member’s son-in-law is looking for crew to help him sail his newly re-commissioned Swan 441 south.  …..He’s an experienced ocean sailor, so there’s no worry about going to sea with an amateur who has “more dollars than sense” He’ll take any help he can get, either for the entire trip or partway. He’d like to head for Bermuda if he can get enough crew but will settle for Miami. …. Leaving next week.

In the amount of time it took my brain to read and comprehend the above message, I realized that my ‘Dream’ had finally arrived! It immediately changed from being a fantasy to a ‘Reality.’

My ‘Dream’ now looked like this. An offshore voyage with a very seasoned skipper, heading to the romantic isle of Bermuda! All I had to do was get to Cape Cod, throw my gear below, pull my weight and my life-long dream was realized. Cape Cod to Bermuda, or at least, Miami! My ‘Dream’ didn’t look half bad in it final form. I can finally get underway on this long-awaited adventure.

Imagine, a free offshore voyage in a well founded 44 foot Swan, and let me tell you, a Swan is a very nice sailboat. At the helm is a well-seasoned, licensed, ocean-going, knowledgeable skipper who has just finished refurbishing it. He was so confident in his abilities that he was reaching out to the ‘general boating public’ to gather together a crew of complete strangers. H-m-m-m-m. My mind, also known as ‘Reality’ immediately put up ‘Storm Warning’ flags. Going offshore in a new-from-the-yard boat, with a green crew of total strangers, in November sailing due south of Cape Cod, across the Gulfstream to Bermuda….sounds like fun. Doesn’t it? Or does it? What normal Captain would want to do that?

There was something like a prize fight being fought inside of my head. My ‘Dream’ and ‘Reality’ were battling. My ‘Dream’ would lead with a left jab ‘it’s a 44 foot Swan’ argument and then ‘Reality’ would block with ‘the boats fresh from the yard with no shakedown cruise.’ Shuffling right the ‘Dream’ would feint with “the skipper has 150,000 offshore miles under his belt” and ‘Reality’ would dance away with ‘if he’s so experienced why doesn’t he already have his own crew; why is he reaching out to a bunch of strangers?’ It went on and on, blow after blow, strike and counter strike, jab and move. ’Dream’ would throw a hard overhand punch and the ‘Reality’ would shake it off. ‘Beautiful Bermuda’ was countered with the ‘wicked weather of the Gulfstream in November.’ Then when the ‘Dream’s muscles were jelly ‘Reality’ served up the  killing force by squaring his hips, squatting and bringing his right hand upward with force generated by his calves, quads, gluts, abs, his entire being into a uppercut,  by saying “unknown skipper, unknown boat, and unknown crew.” And with that killer punch, my ‘Dream’ was down for the count never to rise off the canvas again. 

I came to the conclusion that while I wanted to say yes to my ‘Dream’ the ‘Reality’ of my mind was screaming NO!  I had cherished this dream in its ‘illusionary’ form, had looked forward to it as an ultimate test of my sailing ability,  but found it’s ‘reality’ too much for my mind to embrace. It was easy while it was just ‘A Dream.’

Isn’t it ironic that after fifty years of dreaming I now yearn for the boring life my parents lived? On dry land.