Author Archives: jalsails

Storm Force 11

~
images

Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea To me, way hey, blow the man down Now please pay attention and listen to me Give me some time to blow the man down

Winds are measured by their speed and the conditions they create over land and sea. In terms of damage and havoc rendered by strong winds – the difference between a Gale Force 10 (GF 10) and just a notch higher on the Beaufort Scale – Storm Force 11 (SF 11) – is the white knuckle – am I gonna survive? – factor. GF 10 winds howl at the about double nickel miles per hour creating very high tumbling waves, lots of foam and a very heavy impact all around. Over land, these winds can break off tree branches and blow away barricades. But the violent winds of a SF 11 can reach 117 mph, severely limit visibility, and will most likely cause widespread structural damage. In either case, boaters simply can’t see where they are going – and most likely wish they were in a safe port splitting the main brace.[1]

images-2We must carry wind and flood insurance on our shore property to limit our liability for storm induced losses. Tomorrow our property will be tented and fumigated to kill termites that invaded the structure during the aftermath of a Force 12 Hurricane that tore off the roof.  Wood infesting, ingesting bugs became squatters. They’ve done untold dollars worth of unseen damage but there’s no such thing pest insurance (if there was our neighbor would be history). It’s the price we pay for an ocean view.

images-4

Against the Wind

For the past few months my homeport of St. Louis has been damaged by an ill wind that blows no good. Relentless gusts have leveled business, fueled the fires of distrust, and bedeviled community spirit. No answers to problems blow with these winds. We seem to be caught in a high pressure zone of ongoing Storm Force 11 winds generated by a lot of hot air not associated with the Jet Stream. It is a brutally frigid wind that is blowing our communities into a winter of discontent.

wind

All we are is dust in the wind? Seriously? I think not.

True wind and termites are Nature’s children. The conditions that winds create in many ways are acts of God. The ill winds hurling across the country are not. These are human-generated winds of war. Many a captain and crew are struggling to weather this relentless storm. Perhaps the most prudent action for all is to batten down the hatches and pray that this SF 11 too shall pass. These winds of change are blowing hard – adjust your sails, keep a weather-eye open, and pray for calm.

[1] A double ration of rum.

Ice Bearing Ducks

~
TheEdmundFitzgerald

The SS Edmond Fitzgerald Photo courtesy National Geographic

Common sense has it that TV weather people are clueless about accurately predicting rain or sleet or sunshine. The manufacturers of bread, milk and toilet paper count on their ineptness when forecasting winter sales revenue. Last night half of the United States endured record breaking cold (AKA, ‘freeze your butt off”) and snow blankets many homes in the lower forty-eight. The witch of November has come stealing. Nature has dealt a serious blow to residents around the Great Lakes that called forth a State of Emergency not associated with protesters in a Mississippi River port of call. The gales of November have arrived in a fury reminiscent of the one that sank the Edmond Fitzgerald.

baby-harp-seal_230_600x450

Polar Bears’ Pop Tart. Image from Wikipedia

Was this predicted? Champions of Global Warming – or as I prefer to call it, Global Chaos – say, Yes. A bad storm off the Sea of Japan blew into the Bering Sea with enough clout to cold cock the Polar Vortex and send it spiraling south with a full boat load of frigid polar air. Labrador retrievers in Ohio are sensing polar bear farts in every other sniff of icy wind. Polar bears at the Omaha zoo point their nostrils northward while drooling at the faint scent of Eau de Baby Harp Seal.

Unknown

WC’s Jim Cantore

What’s next? Rather than consult weather pin up Jim Cantore we should pull on some cold weather gear and check out the neighborhood beavers and ponds. Beavers were once prized for their hides that were turned into really warm coats and stove pipe hats (made the PETA hatters stark raving mad). Beavers aren’t smart enough to escape many a trap – but they are great predictors of the upcoming winter weather. Like the brick-building-third -little-pig they build their homes to last. Beavers intuitively understand just how hard they need to work to protect them from the cold long before the big lake they call Gitchee Gumee freezes. When beavers sense an especially heavy snow laden long winter they build sturdy, thick lodges that block a lot of the water mass. If you see a McDamansion – count on a rough winter. If the dam looks like it would fit right into a Tornado Alley trailer park – plan on a mild winter.

Beaver

Dam harbinger of winter weather

Don’t see a dam? Check out a nearby pond, “ice in November to bear a duck, the rest of the winter’ll be slush and muck.” It was 10ºF last night but the ducks in our lake are swimming merrily about today. So much for a balmy forecast of warm breezes melting off the snow that leave us with muddy boots most of the season.

Given that most of the oak trees in town still wore their leaves well past October and there are all kinds of berries hanging off tree branches in the yard – I’m predicting this winter is going to be colder than a well digger’s arse. Last July, Lake Michigan steamed like a young man’s dream and flipped her deep cold waters to the surface. Right on cue beavers started adding insulation to their dam homes and the firewood sales people made reservations for luxury spring vacations. Dean Martin swooned it best, “Baby, it’s cold outside.”

PolarExpress

Beavers, Ducks and Bears, Oh My! Polar Express Arrives Way Before Christmas Eve

Homage to Gordon Lightfoot who wrote the lyrics of The Wreck of the Edmond Fitzgerald after reading an article about the tragedy in Newsweek Magazine.

On, Comet!

~
Nantucket Sleigh Ride

Moby Dick Being Followed by Nantucket Sleigh Ride Much Like Rosetta Chasing Comet 67P

Comet 67P orbits the sun at 85,000 mph. It is more rapid than eagles. Ever since I graduated high school in the summer of ’69 (mid 20th century) when 67P caught some astronomers’ eyes – a bunch of scientists have wanted to sail aboard this chunk of icy rock. They built a ship for sailing 310 million miles across space that “as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky.”[1] They christened the space vessel Rosetta and for a decade its been following Comet 67P like Cat Steven’s Moon Shadow. Rosetta stayed its course to a new port of call. Because of this bold voyage, as Major Tom said while floating in his tin can, “The stars look very different today.”[2]

207152main_vonbraun-kennedy-516JFK, himself an avid sailor, declared space the “final frontier” long before William Shatner’s opening line of Star Trek. Over half a century ago he credited the true grit of pioneers who sacrificed their safety, comfort and sometimes their lives to build our new West. Kennedy praised those who slipped past the boundaries of the now standing St. Louis Arch as people who were not “captives of their own doubts, nor prisoners of their own price tags.”[3]

Unknown-1

Star Ship Enterprise Photo courtesy Wikipedia

Why bother with an expensive rodeo ride on a chunk of star dust? Easy answer; because there are so many unanswered questions about our world. Are we alone? Is any body out there? Buehler?

And there’s another thing earthlings don’t know. What one sees of our planet from space is mostly water, and what physicians know makes up a human being is, mostly water. JFK was at the 1962 America Cup Race when he explained, “All of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears.” Where does all that salt and water come from? Scientists think that just maybe water came to Planet Earth from space – riding a comet just like 67P.

Naming space ships is as sacred an honor as naming any boat on earth. Yesterday, Rosetta sent its dinghy, Philae to set its harpoons into 67P’s rocky surface and begin the ultimate Nantucket sleigh ride, “On, Comet!” Rosetta was named for an inscribed piece of volcanic rock – that’s a stone that once flowed like water from a fiery hell – that allowed scientists to crack a language code and read Egypt’s past. Philae was named for the island on the Nile River where the obliesk was found. Today it’s anchored on an island in the sky. What code will it crack? Who could we come to know? What has flowed into our lives via comets just like 67P?

It’s good to know that there are still pioneers on earth willing explore the New Frontier because it’s here whether we chase moon shadows, play space cowboys, or cower in the dark. It is comforting to know that science still probes the mysteries of the heavens despite the hefty price tags only Richard Branson can afford. A better understanding of a single virgin comet may help humankind better understand why it is that “when we go back to the sea — whether it is to sail or to watch it — we are going back from whence we came.”[4]

NASAComet

From sea to shining sea

[1] David Bowie, 1969, Space Oddity

[2] Clement Moore, 1882, A Visit From St. Nicholas

[3] John F. Kennedy, 1960

[4] John F. Kennedy, 1962

Gone with the Flow

~
IMG_5474

Anchor Yankers Island Island Closing. JAL

Imagine doing something just for the sake of doing it. You’re in the zone. You are going with the flow. Time fades and your entire being gets into whatever it is you are doing. The moment is prized and you hardly notice that your body and mind are stretched to their limits. The flow is you.

IMG_5475

DW’s idea of a river dance. Port Charles to AYI.

Saturday I hitched a ride up river on our friend DW’s power boat. I arrived at the harbor and found him on the dock, relaxed as he savored a hot tumbler of coffee. When I apologized for being a couple of minutes late he grinned, “We’re on River Time.”

His 24’ Cobia stirred up a mess of Chinese carp before pointing upstream, getting down on plane and ripping through the current. The shoreline was ablaze with orange, crimson, and golden foliage. The channel shined beneath the low-slung sun as a purloined trove of Cartier’s finest diamonds.

IMG_5473

Pavillion @ Anchor Yankers End of a Season. JAL

Time like a river flows. Boats allow us to flow with time in ways that can’t be measured by Rolexes. Watching a bald eagle soar above the river for just a few moments is a vision that can endure in memory over a lifetime. Being with the flow resets our heads to moments in life when age is irrelevant. Age is trumped by the joyful sensation of being alive. The past is left in our wake the future lies at the bow. We float with Now. Regardless of the number of candles on the last cake – being on the water resets our internal sense of time. We are forever young.

Our cruise back to port was brief as the boat bit into the groove and sped down the channel. My mind absorbed the crisp fall air, glare of the sun, and brilliant foliage reflected off the calmer waters. My knees flexed to absorb the shock of crossing over wakes. Crows dug their feet into the creases of my eyes and lips as I squinted and grinned into the wind. Water, land, wind, and sun were transformed into a memory that will last longer then the time yet to pass between laying up for winter and next year’s boating season.

IMGP2994

Ralph, Jeri, Big G Last Sail of 2014 on Ex Libris

Shallow Up

~
images-3

Our Lady of the River @ Portage Des Sioux from Palisades Yacht Club – erected as a “Thank You for Not Flooding the Whole Town in 1950”

Rivers, lakes, and oceans have some places where the water is deep and others that aren’t. Boaters put a premium on knowing the difference. When the bottom unexpectedly meets a hull the results can be catastrophic, so boaters seek water that’s relatively deep. Novice swimmers (regardless of their height) tend to do the opposite and feel more secure when they can touch bottom.

IMG_1162

My (in the) River Home during 2013 spring flood – parking and grassy area to Palisades’ harbor

We can get into real trouble in water whether it’s over our heads or beneath the keel and propeller. Depths vary between the spots where water kisses dry land and the deep abyss where living things take it upon themselves to light their way.

People are not just made mostly of water – they tend to act like deep or shallow ends. We all know at least one philosopher savant who makes simple things complex and often drowns us with details ad nauseam. We grow exhausted fighting the current of drawn out discussions that appear to have little meaning to anyone past the first drink and no end in sight. Then there are our easy breezy pals who never dive deep into any conversation. These easy chatters bring a light chop to dialogue that carries us through the next round. Somewhere in between are the acquaintances that are much like uncharted waters. We’re not sure whether their cups are half full or empty – and don’t really care. Not knowing the details makes navigating some relationships really interesting.

I know people who think, “I’m really not all that deep – what you see is what you get.” That’s a misleading statement. You can’t always tell what lies beneath by what the surface looks like. This season the river has gone from flood (more than12’ feet below our boat in the harbor slip) to the lowest levels (3’9” beneath us on Saturday) many of us have ever seen. Take for example the Mississippi River last weekend. We set sail on our friend’s sailboat, Mariah. As we prepared to leave the dock, numerous sailors warned that there was less than a yard of water at the mouth of the harbor. Our skipper affirmed that he had a retractable centerboard and we’d only draw about two feet of water beneath the hull. Sure enough – out we went into the river channel.

images

“Frankly, Scarlett – it is a dam.” @ The Lady of the River’s feet – fall 2014

It was a beautiful day for sailing – steady 10 knot winds from the north. We headed back with big grins and wary eyes ahead looking out for the rock dam that extends from the Lady of the River across the slough (a skinny channel set apart from the main river by a series of islands). We knew almost exactly what lied beneath – but not how far the lie went. The golden autumn sun was setting low in perfect alignment with the slough and the wind was at our bow. We had to squint to read the current as it swirled the energized, dancing waves in a chaotic rhythm. We saw the line of whirlpools and white caps that signaled shallow depths – but the river unexpectedly went shallow under quieter water. With a sickening series of thuds the centerboard rammed the dam and had a rocky ride over its crest.

Bent centerboards don’t retract back into their kangaroo pockets beneath the hull. A harbor mouth that was “deep enough” a couple hours earlier – was a greedy sucker that swallowed the centerboard and held the boat solid in it’s jaws. We were stuck. Drama ensued with a tow by the harbor master, sheepish nods to the naysayers who warned us to stay tucked in our slips, and a certain sense of satisfaction that we really did have a great sail while everyone else busied themselves ashore. Rather than wreck the day with deep analysis of what went wrong – we all sort of shallowed up. Our small community offered to help fix the boat and get the skipper back on the water ASAP.

Of course – the river’s going to have to rise up and lift Mariah off the bottom. Then our conversation will be deep enough to be interesting and shallow to the extent we keep our mood afloat.

IMG_5442

Sky above goes up forever, river below keeps on burnin’. Alton bluffs seen from Portage des Sioux. 10/19/14

Fall Up, Sail On

~
IMG_5264

Avast ye Scurvy Crew – Pirate Day on the Alton Pool

IMG_5263

Fleet Admirable Jerry with Commemorative Bucket water bucket. Sioux Harbor.

Fall winds bring sailors out to frolic on the Alton Pool of the Mississippi River. Small powerboats have been cast aside as soccer moms, the NFL, and the Cardinals’ boys of summer command summer boaters’ weekends. Hearty sailors who laid low during the spring into summer floods, when summer breezes that barely misted a mirror thus declaring sailing about dead, greet autumn with zeal.

There’s an adage in southern New England to beware of crazed Mainers Down East in the early spring because they’re all crazy with cabin fever. River folk take notice – sailors assume the persona of an Indy 500 driver who spent the final weeks of summer in Jamaica. Fall brings forth their need for speed as they trim the mainsail to capture the winds, fill balloons and canons with water, and fill their holds with fermented libations to enhance yarns told ‘round harbor bonfires. They become Mississippi River Pirates.

IMG_5272

Best or Most Not Johnny Depp Pirate Costume Winner – A Simple Man.

IMG_5271

Which Wench?

MRPs are the polar opposites of those not deserving of the moniker “pirates” who hail from east African ports. They amuse rather than terrorize other vessels. The only booty they ever plunder tends to be legitimately purchased and paid for with VISA cards. Their wenches are often captains or majority shareowners of the boats and comfortable bunkmates for decades. While they consider most rules to be “guidelines” – they’d never arrive unannounced in a cockpit – they always ask permission to come aboard. They flat out do not take hostages – most secretly revel in their empty land nests and note that while the Captain will sail safely with six to 10 passengers and crew – and may well have berths to accommodate 6 – the boat ONLY sleeps two.

IMG_5268

Cap Mike’s NotAwardWinning Couture & Motley Crew aboard his S2.

Some people fall into a mild depression as the days grow shorter, trees shed, grasses dry up and daily highs mean its too chilly for flip flops but just right for donning cords and sweats. These sad souls think the third season is a precursor to the third and final act of the dramatic play, Life Span. Snap out of it – some never live beyond a day and some wish they’d been dead for years. Life is at once a tragedy and comedy with plot lines crisscrossing pleasure and pain, starring the characters Joy and Sorrow, set in rain and sunshine with a mysterious theme. Heed the wisdom of the philosopher Horace and the fictitious teacher John Keating – Carpe Diem – Make Your Lives Extraordinary. It’s not just the events of a day that create memories to carry us through the year but our perception of the meaning of those happenings that silence or give voice to our power to sing – “It’s been a really great day.”

IMG_5254

Work Like a Captain – Play Like a Pirate

Spindrift

~
PointJudith

Seriously, back off. A car didn’t last week. JAL Point Judith Lighthouse

Gale force winds churn the seas and slap the coast. Force 8s, as they are called, fashion steep waves and deadly rip currents. The wave crests are sprayed skyward in a form called spindrift. The agitated seas have a deep gray hue trimmed with dull white strips of foam streaming along the wind direction. It’s as if Nature herself is blowing off steam.

IMG_0137

Got Wet?

Nature’s tantrums make for interesting times. Summer storms are generally short and robust. Last week one hit the coast of southern Rhode Island right at the moon tide – a tide that generates the highest highs and lowest lows of the month. The Narrow River was bloated by an overdose of rain and tides shoved upstream by blustery easterly winds. I was giddy to be a part of the “inclement weather.” I yanked an old yellow slicker out of the closet, donned a cap and dragged my kids and grandkids out for a day of adventures.

We were the first ones to be seated at a local fish ‘n chips tavern for lunch – where adventures begin – quite the opposite end of the “blue haired dinner specials” crowd. We had hungry kids, a pocket full of quarters for the arcade and a dollar off coupon for the local Biome Aquarium. Winds blew, rains fell, tides raged. We went off in search of local tourist traps selling sweatshirts in a nearby fishing village. It smelled of salt and dead fish and since the sweatshirts are sold in a store on a dock – eventually we all smelled tidal.

We visited a lighthouse and gaped at the 10 to 12’ waves crashing against the steep rocky shore. We marveled at the size of waves breaking over the seawall and the enthusiasm of the surfers riding the angry surf. Sea spray coated the windshield, potholes filled with a mix of sea and rain made for slow travel. Yet the winds were balmy and the air felt more humid than drenched.

Shark

Shark Tank at the Biome. Yes, it was Shark Week.

Seemingly, every tourist in the state with a kid under 14 felt it was the perfect day to visit URI’s aquarium, the Biome. Young and old petted young sharks and learned that quahogs can live for over 500 years. The second lesson was somewhat confusing for young grandkids who can barely comprehend a 15-minute car ride but are familiar with the “catch and release” protocol of clamming at Camp Mimi.

For people who play in boats and live by water the notion of getting wet is commonplace if not the point of recreation. Making sure the bilge pump is on Auto, the dock lines are secure, and the fridge is stocked are standard precautions when heavy weather is forecasted. Gales at sea aren’t a great venue for play. Stormy summer days alongshore make for great memories. Jigsaw puzzles are splayed across kitchen tables, crayons and markers clutched in tiny hands work magic on blank sheets of paper, and good books are read.

Spindrift is harmless but the forces that create it are not. I think there is something to be learned from it whenever we fail to control the urge to blow off steam. It’s not the spindrift that hurts – it’s the underlying forces that unleash chaos. Heed your internal barometer. When you’re in a social situation where the pressure is falling, the winds blow cold and skies darken – take to the harbor. It’s the safe thing to do.

IMGP2903

Don’t even go there.

Sextilus

~
IMG_1343

Bottoms Up Jamestown, RI (Connanicutt Island)

Summer has come of age and does not look, smell or feel as fresh as late spring in early June. August might feel more “thirtysomething” if the Romans hadn’t decided to switch over the calendar because it was originally called Sextilis. Personally, the name change probably had something to do with aging Roman power brokers deciding it was too hot for sex during these blistering nights. Caesar Augustus decided that the eighth calendar month was to be his namesake so he stole a day from February and extended August to 31 insipid days.

PointJude

Point Judith Lighthouse JAL

Like the rule of Emperor Augustus, things that happen in August have far-reaching influence. Caesar Augustus gave the world an era of peace, a solid economy, great writers, and better harbors. The harbors make me question his fear of unknown currents just beyond the breakwater. Maybe he wasn’t a sailor because we sailor know boats aren’t built to stay docked in safe harbors. The beauty of sailing lies beyond the shore.

I can relate to Caesar during these dog days of August living by the seashore. It is time to cut to the chase, savor waning UV rays, scrunch sand between toes, and float without a boat downstream.

CinnieKayak1

Connie Paddling = go with the flow.

Warm water also brings forth jellyfish and crowds to the beach. Locals don’t embrace either – especially the jellies. Imagine swimming with clear umbrellas of snot floating along. Jellies are safe because as Augustus believed, this month is a time for peace not war. Nobody fishes the jellyfish; they’re neither edible nor useful as bait, and they make lousy pets.

The sun is more lenient about clouds than in July and allows tall puffy mountains to build in the afternoon sky. The sun is taking his time rising and seems eager to give way to dusk. When he lazily reclines on his Barcalounger on the horizon the seawater turns liquid silver and gives up its color to the stars well before eight o’clock. This week’s super moon is looms large and clear, it’s craters unmarred by ozone haze in an ebony sky encrusted with sparkling stars.

Augustus must’ve had some hormonal imbalance to relate to this month. Many nights in early August are sticky, still and stifling. Sweat drips, sheets cling, towels must. Within the week along comes a polar blast to chill the evenings. We dig out sweats and extra blankets. We savor these nights of dreamless sleep that void memories of steamy pillow-tossed nights.

The season is turning like the tide. I sense changes in the taste of the wind, the sounds of the bugs and the smells of the night. Taking hints from the geese, I know the time to migrate west is nearing. Summer is losing ground and it’s getting to be time to greet Autumn.

Kayak

Pettaquamscutt River Hobie Island Adventure

Eel Meal = Full Gull

~
lobsters

Lobster Docks @ Galilee, RI Photo by JAL

Some sea food is not so good looking but tastes great. Clams, oysters, squid and a bevy of fish types come to mind. Lobsters look like humongous insects cloaked in crimson armor. Calamari is a plateful of squid tentacles, chowder is a cup of bivalve innards, and crab cakes are stuffed with the meat of one of the orneriest creatures in the sea.

Elver

Fried Elven @ Bali Eat, Pray & Love Your Dinner

While in Bali we enjoyed a meal that included what I mistook as crispy onion rings – until seeing that the rings had eyes and a distinctive grin. We were eating a local delicacy that in New England are called elvers. Sounds harmless enough – like the little guys with pointy hats dressed in green who make cookies. Not so fast. Elvers are young eels. As in that ugly fish that looks an awful lot like an obese black snake. We were eating fried eels and no, they tasted nothing like chicken.

Gulls

Narrow River Gull & Glass Eel JAL

Last spring four poachers from Maine got arrested for taking elvers out of local streams – just like our own Narrow River – and selling them for a hefty $2,500 a pound. As we learned in Bali – Asians love to eat elvers. In fact some Maine lobstermen have traded their gear for eel traps. The Department of Environmental Management considers American eels to be over harvested thus they are labeled “stressed” and so their young are protected.  Mature eels are considered just another fish and it’s okay to harvest them. Apparently eels, like sharks are natural predators that do good things for the sea.

Sea gulls are predators too. Last weekend a large gull dove into the river and snagged a two foot long eel. We gagged as it pulled a deep throat maneuver and swallowed it from head to almost the tippy tail – only to repeatedly throw it up, attempt to filet it to a reasonable bite size, and gulp it down again. Both the eel and the gull appeared stressed. Half an hour later the gull with the eel visible beneath its neck, staggered off the dock with a sagging belly and haltingly flew to the marsh to digest.

eel

Half way from head to tail is a big Gulp JAL

Nature has much to teach us. American eels are all immigrants who can grow to over 44” long, weigh 16 pounds and live for 25 years. Uncle Sam’s eels are all born near Bermuda in the Sargasso Sea. They find their way back to the states and unless snatched from their nursery by a poacher, caught by a fisherman as bait for striped bass, or sold at the fish market for discriminating gourmets – every single one of them heads back to the Sargasso one last time to breed and lay a few million eggs.

Except of course for the one the gull got. To consumers, it wasn’t worth much – mature eels sell for $1.29 a pound at Champlains’ fish market. To environmentalists its another story about a stressed out species. But surely, the gull’s mate was impressed by his catch of the day, showed her appreciation and wound up laying a couple of eggs as the circle of life goes round and round.

eelsale

50¢ a lb off the boat, $1.29 a lb at market. Skinned & fried main course. Getcher tshirt right next to the fish. JAL

Need a Bigger Boat?

~
IMGP1640

Jamestown, RI Photo by JAL

Independence Day has a special place in my heart. Our first son was born a couple of weeks after the Bicentennial celebration when Boston Harbor was host to a Tall Ships Regatta. Two years later, on the 4th of July, I escaped a humid New England heat wave in a cool dark theatre to see Jaws II. Sheriff Brody nailed the shark at the same moment of my first labor contraction. I dilated while the doctor prattled on about great white sharks’ breeding and territorial habits. It’s quite possible that I clenched my teeth and cursed Jaws when Randy finally slipped the umbilical dock line.

Unknown

Beluga Whales have never been sighted in RI waters before this week.

Today’s news includes a Rhode Island fisherman whose Boston Whaler glided over the top of a Beluga Whale that he mistook for a great white. Realizing that the two ton leviathan lacked a shark’s telltale dorsal fin, sported a distinctive round forehead and a beguiling grin, he still exclaimed, “I need a bigger boat!”

But, sometimes we don’t need a bigger boat. It’s summer. Narragansett Bay is full of tourists, seals, boats and the occasional great white shark. The winner of the Newport to Bermuda sailboat race made the trip in a little over two and a half days in a big, expensive boat. Kayakers – little boats with paddles – have taken control of the Narrow River to the extent that big boats – those between 13 and 20 feet with gas engines – are getting stuck on the sand bars. Hurricane Arthur is dumping a boat load of rain on today’s 4th of July celebrations – making for gurgling parade tubas and snuffed out fireworks. Right now it doesn’t matter the size of your boat – everyone is stuck in port as the winds howl and rains pummel the topsides. What really counts about boats is having the freedom to decide who’s on board and where you’re going to sail off to – together. Flying the stars and stripes off the stern reminds us how much we value our independence as we all pursue life, liberty, and happiness (even if that means a bigger boat).

IMGP1569

12 Meter America’s Cup Boat, Northern Light. Newport, RI. JAL