The Old Anchor Marina was sold last spring to a rather shady individual who allegedly financed the operation through a rather lucrative business. Buying and selling radioactive Rolexes and other jewelry items of questionable parentage up in the Houston area. And of course speculation has it that the place could be a laundromat of sorts...

First thing the new owner, a swaggering, rotund little fella, did was immediately rid the place of all the vermin that had been accumulating there during the prior regime, dispersing them to the four winds. Some moved to other area dives and hovels, trailer parks and ramshackle housing, to be ultimately scattered once again after Hurricane Dolly flattened and transported all but the most well built and the lucky.

Dock Boy abandoned Sea Lyin', and she sank at a dock where they moved her surreptitiously one night.......

....Jack and Barb (Sea Shack) moved to another, friendlier finger, and Mark roared off in his motor home, first finding haven a few days in the Wal Mart parking lot before moving on to the Travelers, eventually picked up by his parole officer and the constabulary, landing in the big house again to serve the remainder of his sentence.

Who knows what happened to the rest.

Next, the newly named  Pelicans Point Marina (doesn't that inspire confidence in a boat owner....yea, I'm gonna want to take my boat to a know Pelican haunt....jeez, Wilma wouldja just take a lookat the size of that turd pile on our bimini?) began the process of siezing, evicting and "disappearing" the collection of mostly derelict and abandoned vessels that were remaining in the slips. 

The new owner got the idea that he wanted to build condominiums where the old trailers sat, condos that would hang out over the already crowded public waters in the turning basin of the fingers. He decided that then they would just close off and gate the cul-du-sac at the end of Tarpon street.

We attended that planning and zoning meeting when this rather revolutionary and assinine idea was presented to the city.

The Pelicans Point representative showed up with a huge attitude, and of course the ruling infrastructure of Port Uglyville, not one to be challenged (never mind the host of other legitimate concerns surrounding this) immediately nixed Pelicans plans......

In retaliation Pelicans Point raised both their slip fees and trailer park fees to ten dollars a foot.....cut off the cable TV and chained the boat ramp.

That'll show the bastards.

So the public began to exit the new Pelicans Point Marina, South Padre Island (someone should give them a geography lesson) like rats off a sinking ship, and now it is a virtual ghost establishment, clean restrooms, deep water slips (yep, some are more than five feet deep) and all.

They even got sideways with me when they tried to levy dock fees for the plundered SJ28.....Of course I only purchased the plunder rights from Mark.

And of course I told them they could take the bill and quite carefully place it in a part of their posterior anatomy where the sun just does not shine.

As surely as we watched the fall of the House of Anchor, we will just as quickly (perhaps even more so)  get to see the implosion of Pelicans Point. They have alienated the community, and the community has likewise turned it's back on them. Not too good of a success plan.

Word travels fast in little coastal communities

On day one of the delivery of Island Time from Isla Mujeres to Port Uglyville (Cabrone County) Texas, in the narrow Yucatan Channel we were privilidged to three different encounters with Whale Sharks.......here is a video from encounter #2.

BTW we arrived a little after noon Thursday ton an otherwise uneventful passage. The lowlight was getting stuck in the Port Uglyville fingers channel...

Rum and Coconut water....you cannot get it in America

-Harry Belafonte, Rum and Coconut Water

I am sitting on Island Times back deck. It is Tuesday evening August 4^th around 1800 local time. Island Time Jim is below having s short nap, and I am minding the autopilot (for all the minding it needs, just an occasional tweak of a control knob). We are about two hundred and thirty five miles from Port Isabel, henceforth christened by ITJ as Port Uglyville. That’s approximately 2/3 of the distance to be covered. If all goes well, we will be hitting the Brazos Santiago Pass around mid afternoon Thursday.

Island Time is a stout boat and all that I figured she’d be. An Island Packet 370, she is a sailors dream. Plenty of lines and controls, and the layout is oh-so-thoughtful. Vangs, outhauls, travelers and cars-  each in a precise place, each with a precise purpose. Down below the galley is laid out perfectly, and there have been several five star dinners cooked down there during this trip. Hell, we even got showers yesterday, something foreign and strange to me….

We have had a lack of wind and it continues today. The breeze is intermittent and moderate from our stern quarter (about SSW), just funky and not really enough to sail on. The iron genny is running, and we are hoping fervently the water pump impellor stays together long enough to get home since there isn’t a spare aboard. However, I’m pretty confident ITJ could rig something up, and he disclosed a worse case scenario plan using the 110 volt pump which powers the A/C unit in a pinch to circulate raw water….pretty damn inventive if you ask me. I am thankful to be sailing with someone of this character. Makes me a lot better sailor too. When given the opportunity to sail with a master – go.

Last night the breeze came up around 0230 or so. We had been sailing under stay’sl and main with the engine going, when I noticed that the wind was about 14kts off our starboard beam (SSW). Almost delirious with excitement at the prospect of pure sailing (something we only did a little bit on day one. Just not enough wind) I effortlessly popped out the big genny.

Of course it wouldn’t set right, so I woke up ITJ.

Of course I had taken out way too much sail.

Of course we had to struggle for about 30 minutes to get everything set and balanced again, gently taking out a bit more sail, tweaking with this, toying with that a little at a time, which is of course the way it should be. Lesson learned.

I am learning to sail downwind, the most difficult point of sail

Seas have been mostly pretty calm- one to two feet maybe.  Today we had a little larger for awhile, but they are now calming back. Skies have been mostly clear. We had a hint, just a hint of light sprinkle for maybe two minutes late this morning. Currently the water depth is more than four thousand feet deep, and we are making about five and a half knots (VMG).

We have just the slightest bit of a northbound current.

Okay. Enough of the technical log.

ITJ keeps the boats up to date and I will surely plagiarize some if it for my own memories and records . I have beaucoup videos and photos, and will try and put some stuff together when we return.

By the way, he suggests if you need a high quality gaff hook dive the following coordinates: 22 18 North 88 12 West. (directly from the log book expletives deleted)……

Since day one we have caught a Cero mackerel and a Yellowtail Snapper trolling a silver lure through the azure water.

We have run across whale sharks on three occasions (all down along the Yucatan), slowed down watching them feed slowly across the surface not more than 25 feet from this stellar craft.

We have seen pelagic birds, seldom seen from Terra firma, Boobies, jaegers and shearwaters, there have bee pods of spotted dolphins playing off of our bow. There have been blooms of jellyfish and flying fish have accompanied us in every other wave it seems., flying fast and low over the endless peaks and valleys. Nights have been black with every star in the universe up there in the sky, the Milky Way lighting up the water all around, piercing the black of night.

And it has been hot. Plenty hot. By about 1430 you find yourself madly searching for just enough shade to curl up in and have a narcoleptic coma, trying not to roast. And I suppose I could moan about not having the wind. But that’s all subject to change on a minutes notice. Out here there are few constants. The only constant is the sea itself. And so we are headed towards that dreaded “N” word. No, I am not a bigot, at least not concerning people. And I am yearning to see my family (and friends) up there, but now……I have seen the light. (insert church choir here).

I believed in my Country.  Still do. Always will. But what it has become  is painfully evident down there. We revel in our own odious offal and expect the world to tolerate our behavior. We love having our own noses rubbed in our trash and excrement, wrongdoing-r-us.  We are failing, stumbling, blind and terminally wounded. And the sad part is, we don’t even realize it.

 We just keep fiddling away while the whole place burns down around us.

We are judged by our government, which I confess is pretty lame these days, and it’s not lookin’ like it’s going to get a whole lot better. Our permissive society has bred successive generations of crass individuals, all looking for instant gratification. It was evident in the tourists in Isla Mujeres. Mostly kids abusing the credit card to the max, behaving badly like it’s the Last Mango in Paris. Those are just a few of the things that make the “N” word disgusting and ugly.

Jim just got up, he was an hour late making a log entry. I am going to secure here. If the weather remains this placid, I will try and update again (obviously for later publication) before we make the jetties.

I'll let ya'll be the judge of the above provisioning "how to"....

We cleared ou this morning (Island Time Jim says it's the Clearout-cha-cha-cha), finished our provision shopping, bought a few last trinkets, took the dingy over to north beach for fish tacos (dingy problems though, lots of leaks), stowed the dingy and motor, harvested a couple of coconuts to bring back (27), washed the deck and we're pretty much done. Topping off water tanks, and maybe a couple of other small chores ("anything that can fly....will).....

Early light dinner, shower and bed.

Weather window looks good and we should be on our way in the early morning.

Stay tuned. See ya'll in a few days.

Welllll.....on second thought...nah.

Don't help.

I am writing this from Island TImes salon at the El Milagro (Miracle....and it is!) Marina in Isla Mujeres Mexico, getting ready to deliver her back to Port Uglyville Texas.

We just returned from a dingy ride aboard Tender Time, back from town where we ate Mayan style fish washed down with a couple of mojitos, and yes, I saw the Southern Cross for the first time tonight.

Earlier we dove an old barge for lobster and snapper, and I almost lapsed into a state of ecstatic rhapsody over all of the coral, tunicates, sponges and other marine life encrusting the old wreck.

For breakfast we feasted on Tuna roe, Tuna steaks and Rainbow Runner, all grilled to perfection served with a wonderful habanero-avacado salsa and fresh steaming corn tortillas....

Lunch consisted of a grilled chicken soup in a base of capers, olives potatos and who knows what else followed by a coconut right off of the palm, cool water slakeing my tropical thirst , with the meat as desert, as sweet as candy and the consistancy of butter, definately NOT something I have ever before experienced. In fact it was so good that I stumbled back to the boat, passing out in a profound narcoleptic coma, finally awakened by the late afternoon sun playing hide and seek with Island Times gigantic bimini.

We did manage to fix the windless, a true feat in a place such as this.

Yes Jim, it is paradise, and it is just the tip of the iceberg, and I have a notion that El Caribe II won't be long in coming here, as well as points further south.

I will try and update again soon, but of course we are in those latitudes, so I might not be able to, things can be just a bit different in the tropics...... Anyway, watch for the SPOT to start moving in the next year or two (well maybe a day or two.....)

Until then....

I am sitting in the commanders living room after a wonderful meal of blackened fish, stuffed squash and other warm and tasty treats. We are all laughing and talking, happy and secure. Thank you for your friendship David, Kim and Savannah.....

A mere 20 miles away we are still without electrricity and there is carnage all around. We are living under generators, eating meals cooked outdoors and being thankful for how we were spared.

Times like this are the glue that holds the fabric of our lives together.

As Island Time Janice says, it is a natural winnowing effect that sorts out the wheat from the chaff. Our communities and lives are welded together by things like this.

WInds on SPI were clocked at over 146mph making it an (unofficial) cat three storm. I have never seen the power of the wind manifest like last Wednesday. It was perhaps, one of the longest days of our lives.

In short, both Olivia and El Caribe were battered, but survived with almost no damage to speak of. More importantly, we are all safe and sound. We are hoping that utilities are restored in the next several days......weeks at the most.

Yep Morgana, we kissed the boats tenderly before holing up to weather the storm, but would you believe it, some choose to stay aboard!

We are at present staying aboard El Caribe II in Island TImes slip. She is our refuge and comfort as we clean up the devistation which became our house.

I will post more, including photos (some heartwrenching) as soon as I get long term connectivity.

I just wanted you all, my extended family of sailors and friends to know that we are OK.

God bless you all, and thank you for your prayers and support.

Looks like we're gonna get pounded. Wouldntcha know it? Needless to say I did not go to Isla Mujeres (yet) but have stayed here to help prepare for this thing.....Spent the day getting boats secured, things moved and people situated. And Jimmy, there's still so much to be done.

I ate the last mango in Paris........

Total Distance traveled offshore: 187 miles, Time: 42 hours.

Perhaps it is better to start with the end. Or impressions at the end.

Last night the moon was full, and we were coming down our rumb line as the wind continued to push us along at five to seven. We had simply and quite easily slipped into a three on and three off schedule.

A boat underway, in passage on the open sea is not the same as a boat underway anywhere else. The meaning of time, the relevance of it are lost along the rhumb line. It is simply a matter of speed, current and heading. There is an abstract suspension of time as the vessel slips along under the most primordial and basic emotion in the world.

The power of the wind.

One suddenly is drawn into a small intimate world akin to a return to the beginning of life. A return to the womb. Without engine, the sounds are drawn as though one were sitting in the midst of a finely tuned Japanese garden, and you are able to tune in and tune out the various sounds at will. The timbre and volume are consonant and resonant, complimenting one another in a symphony of endless motion translated to fluid poetry.

There is the gurgle of water in the scuppers and drains, exiting the stern and alongside in a rush of bubbles the same as the champagne we now sit and drink in quiet contemplation of something only a sailor can understand. There is the cymbal crash as the bow hobby horses up and over the swell, proud and graceful. There are small creaks and groans as the boat leaps ahead on its course like a stallion with a bit in its mouth, spurred on not by metal gouges, but by the ancient and unseen wind. The wind that has blown long before we arrived on the scene, and will continue to blow long after we are gone.

And then there are the voices, heard every so often in the quiet of the task.

The commander asked me at dinner tonight as we shared stories, drink, laughter and friendship about the voices.

“Did you hear them?”

“Yes of course” I replied. And therein we launched into a protracted discussion about the mechanics of the voices. Scientifically I guess they could be described as a combination of the various sounds together which produce a certain range that the human ear is tricked into thinking are voices…..

I think though that maybe they really are voices. Voices of those who have gone before us.  They are not speaking to us. They are speaking to the wind, to each other to the sea. They are not meant for us to hear and understand. They simply belong to the entity we call our boat . They do however comfort us and tell us we are not all alone out there.

At dinner the commanders commander, Kim with a genuine curiosity asked D if she felt confined, claustrophobic out there. After all 35 feet is pretty infinitesimally small in a giant nothingless ocean.

The sailor nee former Port Captain weighed the question with careful thought. She replied (as anyone who has overcome the demons that tie us comfortably to shore); “no….not at all”. She explained that the boat becomes a world all in itself, and the sea instead of being a big open nothing place is filled with wonder and things only someone who goes there can understand. It never crosses your mind. How can one be confined in the open ocean?

At 0630 this morning we crossed into the Brazos Santiago Pass and the rhythm and roll of the sea shifted to a glassy blue Laguna Madre. The smells of land permeated the air and we were once again transformed into terrestrial beings. For me the communion was over for the time being. For D it had just begun.

She too had heard the voices.

Have you?

"Diesels love their oil like a sailor loves his rum"

-Captain Ron

As those of you who so faithfully tracked the delivery of El Caribe II know by now, we safetly arrived at Port Isabel this morning, a little over an hour ago.

It was a long, fun trip with the last 48 hours culminating in an offshore passage that was quite rewarding . I have many, many stories pictures and information to share over the course of the next several weeks....

But first.

I've got to get prepared to fly South this weekend and help Island Time Jim deliver her back from Isla Mujeres......

Of course the spot tracker will be going along too, so stay tuned.

Until then.....thank you all for your prayers, well wishes!

See you out there. 

The cursed cockpit locker (my "workshop") forward of the blue sport seats on the right....

Pontificating from my lair....

July is here. Yep ya'll it's the "H" season again, and my-oh-my the tropics look a little angry just now.

Where to start? Where to start?

Yesterday I was at 'Div pumping what little water was in the bilge (I am a dry bilge fanatic, because the bilge aboard a Westerly Centaur is basically, non-existent).

We have been experiencing deluge upon deluge, and it looks like a definite pattern has developed.

Yep, we're in a holding pattern, Holding Pattern!

Island Time Jim called me on the Skype and asked for my schedule.

Seems he needs crew to be able to deliver the boat from Isla Mujeres Mexico back here, an open water delivery of around a week. I am available, but first I believe it's time to deliver El Caribe II back here so that we can get busy moving aboard.....

Backing up, about a week ago we were up in Kemah. Earlier in the week, Blue Water called and informed me that the new heat exchanger had been installed (since I couldn't be there to do so), and that they could not get the engine to overheat at the dock. They suggested that we run it hard away from the dock....see what happens.

Soooo.....we got up there late in the afternoon, and I just couldn't resist. I fired up the Westerbeke W-50, sans cover (really the galley front), admiring the new shiny red heat exchanger, when I noticed (to my great chagrin) a veritable torrent of water pouring down the port upper bilge, bound for the dark, dark depths under the engine.

Tracing the river upstream, I threw open the gates of hell (the port cockpit locker.....it's big enough for me to cram my buttocks grande into, and hotter than Hades to work in, but everything on the aft side of the engine resides there. I jokingly refer to it as my workshop as there are several shelves replete with tools and parts down there....but as usual....I digress....

I pulled out the spare main sail, the hi-tech stainless portable barbie and some other junk, and there.....there below lay the villian. A fiberglass elbow downstream of the wet exhaust (which is also located down there) was gushing a spray, and oh-no, GOOD LORD the wet exhaust incoming elbow itself was spitting a gory stream of raw water.

I groaned understanding all too well what was ahead.

The next day was spent running around gathering parts (including a brand new wet exhaust), culminating with yours truly scrunched into the port cockpit locker cutting, fitting and hose clamping things back together, all accompanied by the muffled sounds of melodious cursing which I'm sure was appreciated by passers-by as a work of art in itself.

At one point I noticed another torrent of water pouring down towards the bilge, and I was momentarily confused until I figured out it was sweat....

Emerging from the cursed space some time later about twenty pounds lighter due to fluid and blood loss (as anybody who has ever worked with hose clamps knows, they slit you as effectively as an Aztec obsidian knife...and this time was no exception. I had about thirty five gashes on both arms....), around 1800 I fired up the engine, checking everything for leaks, and after a little hose clamp tightening, the problem finally appeared over.

Next chore, water pump impellers. First one was the genset in the lazaette. Opening the cover, the old impeller was just a few crumbles of rubber, not even resembling the part.

Is anything on a boat every easy? (or cheap?)......

Several hours later and after losing a few minute cover screws (and of course being stainless no magnet would recover them from down there) I finally had the cursed thing re-installed and the single lung Westerbeke generator purring and spitting a beautiful stream of water....

Guess everythings in order now huh?

-Nah-

Conscience is a horrible thing to have.

I figured I'd better check the big engine raw water impeller too....so back to Blue Water for two (at 56 dollars each....). Dropping the engine driven pump, and opening up the cover, lo and behold a vane was missing on the impeller, so it was probably a good thing that conscience go the best of me.

Everything back together (did I install it in the right direction of rotation?), I fired up the big engine again and everything seemed to be working OK.

Exhausted, I took a swim,

One of Watergate Marinas pools....and I want to move El Caribe back here? Where for twice the price we get to use a County Park nasty public shower? I must be outta my FREAKIN' GOURD!

......had a couple of grogs and crashed until the next morning when we were awaken by our new friend, Mario who had volunteered to show us how to get out of Clear Lake.

And out the channel we went, past the boardwalk, past the last channel marker before turning around and going back tot he slip. The engine never registered more than 182 degrees (F)...so I figure all is good. We did not haul sail as I needed to tighten up the port forward lower shroud (which I later did).

We had planned on either going offshore or delivering down the ditch (Gulf GICWW), but the wind was stubbornly on the nose, dead south, so the next day we decided to return back down here and wait for a weather window.

Which it appears we have, although the storms currently pounding us are pretty strong. The wind has gone SE though, with the promise of a bit more east which means we should be able to sail (we're thinking ditch at this point)....thus conserving diesel, which is currently around $4.60/gallon here.

In any event, we are sitting on GO, and should have a determination in the next day or so. I have been busy entering the routes and waypoints into Blue Charts for uploading to the chart plotter (Oh yea).

Once we get back here (about 5 days), hopefully the weather will look good enough down south and in the western gulf that I can fly down and help Island Time Jim get her home.

We just bought a SPOT satellite tracker, a handy little personal transponder, and will be trying it out on the delivery (or maybe before), and certainly across the Gulf later, so check it out. The link is on our sidebar under  the "Links".

Meanwhile, Olivia is at her mooring, waiting her next assignment. She will be starting a new life as a charter boat, wine and cheese sunset cruises (yours truly as Captain) later this summer. So if you get down here, I'll take you out gratis.....just let us know that you found us here, at Olivias homeport.

I received a call this morning from Bluewater Ships Store informing me that the new heat exchanger sans paint had arrived, and was ready to be transplanted first of the week.....A couple more small engine chores and we should be ready to test it out

We are planning on returning to Kemah early in the week as well, do a few sea trials, then if everything goes well, and the weather window remains open, we will deliver El Caribe II south on the outside.

-But-

If the Gulf starts her tantrums, we will go down the ditch, just make a mini vacation of it. Meanwhile, we are busy here putting things in storage, streamlining our oh-so-complex lives and getting things ready to move aboard for awhile.

A new chapter is about to begin.

I am sitting in one of the clubhouses of Watergate Marina here in Kemah. It is an upscale place featuring two swimming pools,multiple club houses with internet, big screen TV's, tennis courts and host of ammenities too long to enumerate here....and the slip fee is quite reasonable too, $250 US each month.

Right now our "Down Souther", El Caribe II is lying at the dock, after having the major discrepencies repaired, a loose rudder and a centerboard cable replacement. Now we are waiting on Blue Water Ship Store service department to correct what appears to be a fresh water cooling system problem in the W-50 so we can deliver South in a couple of weeks.....smack dab in the middle of "H" season too....

I am probably the most anxious since she will lay at the tip of Padre Island until the fall, at which time I hope to be able to deliver her further South, to the Rio Dulce. Otherwise this is a great place to just be. D and the twins love it, and it would be quite easy to just stay awhile. The idea of not coming here any more seems sort of strange....

Hell, they even have Dock Boys (and Girls) here a la Anchor Marina, on a somewhat grander and slightly elevated level ....living on any number of derelicts, tramps and vagabonds out there in the forest of masts that define this place. You are right Holding Pattern, there are Dock Boys everywhere. They drift in and out of this club house after affecting a minor modification or repair to their vessels, braving the sweltering, wet, vesuvian heat that defines the Kemah area this time of year, drifting in each time with a more and more discrenable scent of raw beer and sweat.

It has been exactly two weeks since I left my phony-baloney administrators position with the closest County to Mexico, and recently my friend Captain Sean called me on the phone admonishing me for not adding to this blog for a long time.

"Hey man....you're getting pretty lazy in your updates...you know people depend on you for information and stuff...."

Well, I guess I have been, and so I apologize.

I thought that once I left my phony-baloney administrators position I'd have all kinds of time to do things. Now I find just the opposite to be true. Far from the illusion of sitting on my front porch, drinking 40's and smoking black and milds, waiting for Wednesday to roll around....you know for the welfare check to show up in the mail....my days are pretty filled with chore after chore after chore.

I had no idea the number of things that had been neglected since I leased my soul to the devil County, and so for the past several weeks I have been scrambling to catch up on neglected items in my life. In fact, I have had to sort of postpone clients who want me to get busy with their environmental permitting issues for a couple of weeks till I can get all of this extraneous work caught up.

I just don't know how people with 9 to 5's keep everything straight....

Ciclon tied off today around 1530 in Port Isabel. Wet and tired, all gear was intact. They took a severe pounding, along with the rest of the fleet, and the commander made the decision to withdraw and make port for the benefit of his crew.

I gave the commander and his crew a ride home to Brownsville. Tomorrow or Tuesday they will deliver Davids 28 Ranger north, up the GICWW, on the inside all the way to Kemah, leaving Ciclon here.

Cynthia Woods missing crewman, Safety Officer Roger Stone was recovered from aboard the upturned vessel this afternoon. He died helping the other crew to safety. I did not know this man, but as mariners, he is a hero to all of us. A part of all of us is lost when the sea claims one of us.

It has been a sad and difficult day for all.

I have spoken with the commander and they are near the sea buoy....no rig problems or otherwise, they were all in the cockpit and enjoying the day. Light winds this close to shore. 2-3 foot seas close in. 

They decided to bail out of the race due to offshore conditions and a troubling problem. A forward hatch was leaking rather badly and everything below was wet. According to the commander, every wave washing over the bow was letting in about 5 gallons of seawater. They were all wet and pretty miserable.

I am currently waiting for his call and will help them get tied up and assist with logistics as much as possible.

I'll report back later today.

For all of my  friends who are following this, the Regatta de Amigos is in progress in near gale conditions.

On Friday or early Saturday morning the Texas A&M University vessel Cynthia Woods, a Cape Fear 38 capsized after an apparent keel failure. Information can be found here or better yet, on the Regatta Amigos page. You can see her position on the race tracker, and there is more information on the discussion page. One crew is still missing. Please pray for his rescue. Roger Stone  is one of the safety officers for the boat, and speculation is that he was at the helm when the catastrophe occurred. Details are sketchy, but it looks like the accident happened so rapidly that none of the crew had a chance to even don life jackets or deploy the life raft.

Meanwhile, Ciclon, the boat I was to crew aboard, appears to have made a turn sometime late last night and looks to be heading inbound directly towards the Brazos Santiago Pass here at Port Isabel / South Padre Island. The winds are SSE and quite heavy today (gusting over 20K now, forcast to increase to near 35) and they are only making about 4.7K on a broad reach, which leads me to believe they are either motoring or have a greatly reduced sail area for some reason. This boat is a Dehler Optima, fully capable of two digit speeds under optimal, or even reefed sail. I am fearing either a rig or canvas problem.

I am holding my breath until I hear from them. We'll keep you posted......

That's Pick with her back to the camera as we headed out the Brazos Santiago Pass back in 2003 aboard our Rhodes 22, Le Menagerie

Today is one of those landmark days in a families life. Our oldest at home daughter, Sasha is graduating from Port Isabel High School, going on to college this fall. Like births, deaths and marriages this occassion is marked with a certain amount of awe and retrospection.

It was just yesterday and she was home from pre-kindergarten, sick with a cold, standing, looking over my shoulder as I stirred a pan of bubbling roux for the quarterly gumbo I like to make.

And just like that roux, our own lives are filled with complexity and an ephemeral nature that allows us to remember the flavor of things long after they are gone.

I quickly nicknamed Sasha, Pick - as in Pick of the litter. A mostly serious and dedicated child, I have often told her (with a genuine modicum of seriousness myself), that if there's anything left, it will go to her to decide how to divide. Pick is a child far mature beyond her 18 years.

We owned an old bombproof Abbott 30 a decade ago when the twins were born, but had to sell it when things just got too complex. Down the road we suffered a fire that destroyed every material position we owned, and it took a while to recover from that, but in 2003 we bought a Rhodes 22, Le Menagerie.

Pick has only sailed with us twice. The first time was a beautiful, blue June day, light winds, blue seas and skies with only a gentle 2-3 foot ground swell rolling through. We slipped outside the Brazos Santiago Pass and I set out a trolling line hoping to catch a Kingfish as we slid quietly along south towards the mouth of the Rio Grande River, Boca Chica.

It was then that we began to notice that Pick was turning a light shade of green in contrast to the turquoise water. We got out the spray can from the lazarette and began to soak her down hoping that the cool water would help, but she just kept getting greener and greener. I decided to turn around, go back to Anchor Marina, we weren't that far away anyhow.

Inside the Brazos Santiago Pass, the wind dropped out of the big Genny and we sat there bobbing in the mixmaster as I lowered the Honda 9.9 into the water and cranked the starter. At that exact moment Pick groaned; "Oh no!" leaned over the port rail and proceeded to make fish chum, much to the amusement of onlookers from the jetties and other fishing boats drifting and anchored nearby.

She recovered somewhat as we continued to motor in on the calm Laguna Madre, and we kept dousing her with the spray can. She was off of Le Menagerie before I even got the dock lines tied off.....

Even though Sasha says that just seeing a mast bobbing back and forth gets her seasick, she came out one final time with us on a beautiful cool October afternoon when the water was like glass. That's the way she is...every pleasant, ever anxious to please. She has given me a world of good memories that I will sail of into the sunset with, long after she has established her own life and home.

So it makes no nevermind to me whether she physically sails with us or not. She sails in my heart. 

I couldn't be prouder of Pick regardless.

Tonight I will raise a toast to my lovely daughter and sail with her into her next adventure.

"Took a look down the westbound road, right away I made my choice."

-Bob Seger, Roll Me Away

I was flying back from Houston this past weekend, high over the Texas Gulf coast and the clear blue expanse of the Gulf of Mexico, sitting on the east facing side of the airplane (I thought it out beforehand) looking out at untenable miles and miles of towering cumulonimbus clouds disappearing over the horizonal curve hundreds of miles to the south-southeast where Ciclon will be headed this coming Friday at 1400 local time as they depart on the Regatta de Amigos, bound for Veracruz Mexico.

Because my daughter Sasha is graduating High School on that exact date, this race is not an option for me (this time), but maybe the next one in two years....regardless I will be following it and posting a few updates here, and it can also be followed at the link above, as Ciclon and all of the other entrants are carrying transponders, which will update their positions hourly.

So anyway, I'm looking at the Gulf, wearing my blue tennis shoes, and sort of tranquil after my complimentary bidness class cocktail (rhum and coke....what else?), just thinking about things....the direction of things.

The flight is less than 45 minutes, and as much as I hate to fly, it wasn't all that bad. Before I knew it we had touched down in Harlingen and D was there outside to pick me and my smelly clothes up, head home.

Yesterday morning I returned to my phony-baloney administrators job, to an email inbox full of castigating, insulting rhetoric from some worthless conjunto county commissioner who would be hard pressed to explain what "self aggrandizement" even meant.....demanding her fair share of ill gotten gain, and finally heaping on the straw that broke the camels back.

I sat there for about 45 seconds thinking about what things are worth.....thinking about the blue expanse I saw the day before, thinking how I've wasted almost three years, grown fat from inactivity, begun to develop things that if left unchecked could wind up causing serious health concerns....thought about the rational in treating things that could be prevented in the first place by a simple, permanent change in daily activity and lifestyle so that I might return to the same beck and call for a bunch of thankless, uneducated politicians, weighed the alternatives, filled in the date in the letter that has been sitting in "My Documents" for some months now.....

.....and quit right there on the spot. Gave 'em my one minute notice.

I have no regrets in doing so. In fact I became instantly much happier and more peaceful than I have been in ages. I know there are blue horizons just waiting out there, and in the meantime, I am assembling the elements necessary to find out.

The best outboard FOR the world

Last night I brought the newest nautical bling home.

An essentially unused British Seagull Engine that I persuaded Island Time Jim to sell to me before he took off down south. I have long had a great affinity and love for this engine, even though arguably there are more efficient outboards out there. The Seagull is a salty engine that sounds like it means business, packs a ton of torque for its little horsepower and is a true classic, no longer being produced.

I first became aware of this unique engine many years ago on the docks of the Kodiak boat harbor. I had this friend, Charlie Naughton, a half Irish, half Aleut jovial, brilliant madman who owned his own small halibut boat, Wenonah. Charlie instinctually knew where the big flounder lurked, and like any good fisherman drank like a fish…..

Later, after I had returned to Kodiak, eventually migrating to Dutch Harbor via big steel crabber, I ran into Charlie Naughton again, this time occasionally making trips with him on Wenonah that rainy summer, along with his other crew-person, Pam. Pam was Charlies girlfriend, a Harvard educated, plump, self perceived intellectual, an essentially brainless muffin who lacked any semblance of common sense.

Wenonah had no head, and thus the venerable five gallon bucket served as the necessary vessel. Charlie had thoughtfully stolen a toilet seat from the fishermans shower up by the harbormasters office, making the apparatus a bit more civil to use.

Wenonah was about thirty five feet long, and powered by a huge outdrive inboard gas engine, just about the very worst power any boat can have. Outdrive units only last about as long as it takes to untie the bow lines, steam away for a couple of days and return to port to retie, never to operate again. Wenonah, however was fast with pointed, sexy prow and sleek lines. When Charlie shoved the throttle forward, it stood right up and got on plane, making maybe 30 or 35 miles an hour.

First day out with them,  Pam decides she needs to pee. She goes below with the bucket, returning topside a moment later to dump the contents over the stern as the boat clips merrily along on Monashka bay where we had a couple of long line strings. Charlie shouts back over his shoulder “Don’t forget to rinse it out”, figuring she’d use the deck wash that we used to wash the halibut blood off of things before it got too slippery. What does she do? She tosses the bucket over the side (it had a long rope) to scoop up some water…….

Imagine, it’s like tossing a sea anchor over going thirty. Damn near jerked her arms out of the socket, as the bucket, toilet seat, and (thank God) attached float are ripped out of her hands into the wake. I laughed and tapped Charlie on the shoulder nodding aft where the float could be seen like one of the longline markers we had launched earlier.

Charlie introduced me to the joys of vodka and sweet pickle juice as a legitimate cocktail having concocted the libation out of necessity on the anchor in some secluded bay on Afognak Island when he ran out of anything else to mix that nasty Popov vodka with. Now, I probably wouldn’t serve it for sundowners (although some day I just might), but as I recall it wasn’t that bad….I’m sure it would do in a pinch.

Because Wenonah was an outdrive powered boat, prone to fits of poor or no operation, Charlie had purchased a British Segull engine as an emergency kicker, mounting a stern mount right next to the “W” written in small letters on her tail.

One day while walking up the dock, heading up town I spied Charlie’s head just aft of the stern of Wenonah, just above the cold, cold water. Hurrying over there, thinking maybe he had fallen in, in a drunken stupor I inquired. “Charlie! Are you OK?”. He just grinned, beet red from the cold. Pam poked her head out of the aft door of Wenonah’s house and calmly answered; “He dropped the seagull over the side…..he’s trying to get it off of the bottom.”

The bottom lay some 25 feet down, and before I could offer to get my scuba gear to help out, Charlie dove down again, and in several long moments, surfaced with the British Seagull triumphantly held overhead. Unceremoniously he plopped it onto the dock, and scrambled out of the water clad only in blue jeans.

Charlie went inside Wenonah’s house and changed into dry clothes, emerging a few minutes later.

Back on the dock he turned on the water hose and thoroughly flushed the diminutive British Seagull for a long, long time. He drained the gasoline into a rusty old coffee can, disconnected the carb, opened it up and dried it off, dried everything else that he could get to, resembled everything warmed it up in the cabin for awhile, poured in some fresh gasoline, this time carefully attaching it to the stern, wound the start rope, and the thing started on the first pull……

I fell in love on the spot.

I vowed if I ever ran across one of these wonderful (but cantankerous) engines and it happened to be for sale, I would not hesitate to purchase it. So when Island Time Jim casually mentioned he actually had one that he did not use, well, the rest as they say is history.

I haven’t run it yet, but I plan to real soon. I have the formulation for all of the incantations necessary to get it to start the first time, and when it does……I’m going to celebrate with a vodka and pickle juice.