"In the east the wind is blowing the boats across the sea. Their sails will fill the morning and their cries ring out to me. Man, man your time is sand, your ways are leaves upon sea" - Al Stewart Eyes of Nostradomus

Date: 03-20-2008 / Depart: 1800 Tarpon Street / Arrive 2030 Tarpon Street / Wind: SSE 6-12 / Tide: Rising / Water Color: stained blue / Skies: Clear / Temp: 75 deg F. / Seas: neg. /

I swear Olivia, I swear I will not wait so long to take you out for a stroll again.

Thursday afternoon rolled around, with a gentle easterly breeze, warm oh so perfectly warm, around 75 degrees F, the water clearing up from  stained brown to it’s tropical azure blue, the entire world seemed to be in sync as I struggled to cross back over a causeway crowded with spring breakers and pinche frescas, almost rear ending people several times as my sight remained fixed on the bay below…..

I had promised to meet the commander at Renaissance, lend him my heavy duty rechargeable drill to do a bit of repair work. I figured on having a cocktail or two, while watching him work. But suddenly I was overcome with guilt remorse, and the strongest need to tug up the canvas that I think I have ever had. It’s just been far too long….So I called my erstwhile crew to assemble an ice chest of cool and refreshing beverages, grab the nav bag and get to Olivia.

Once aboard I busied myself rigging up the big genny, the sheets, uncovering sails and casting off duplicate lines in anticipation of a sunset cruise on the bay. The commander called, having just dismissed his class and I told him my plans. He said he’d be there ASAP.

After what seemed like eternity, the crew finally showed up, and I fired up the engine, backing out into the placid late afternoon water. Rounding the corner the infernal dredge was blocking the channel, and there was a maze of PVC pipe leading in no specific direction toward marker 17. I gave the dredge operator a shrug, and he pointed lazily at the eastern part of the channel, the part where the sandbar is the worst. Figuring that it was now navigable-deep, I crowded over to that side, dangerously close to the dredge pipe on the other, and immediately started dragging the keels…..Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle, lean on the throttle, hunt the bow back and forth and finally we began to creep off. I can’t believe how long this tiny dredge has been trying to clear up the hazardous shoal in front of the harbor mouth. Months now. I figure it’s like the case of Sisyphus rolling the stone up the hill, just in time to have it roll back down again. Perhaps this effort is the same study in inefficiency….just as they get one part dredged out, another fills in, as soon as the get it dredged out, the part they were just working on fills in. A perfect testament to small town job security I thought….No matter though….we were preparing to sail.

The commander and D went forward to raise the main, and I busied myself with the mizzen. Grabbing a handful of halyard, I hauled up, and a bunch of twigs, mud and feathers came puffing out of the space between the sheave and the bottom of the mast. Oh Lord, had it really been that long? Have I been this negligent in the thing that I love so much?

The main now up, I could feel Olivia chug forward with a sense of anthropomechanical joy. The commander and D upped the genny, and…..oh no….I rigged the sheet wrong, inside the shroud, between the lifeline a Houdini-esque mess. My quick thinking companions soon had this chingaso straightened out, and we were trimmed and sailing along in the waning afternoon light.

Ice cold Tecate’s were passed around, as we ghosted along on the light breeze. A couple of tacks near Pirates Landing pier (just for show….), and we were at the causeway underpass, where we opted to spin it around and head back, dead downwind.

Sailing into the big red fireball dropping low over Laguna Vista in the west, I realized that my life is in transition not unlike the ephemeral transient time between light and dark. There is so little time to do what needs to be done, and this afternoon just reinforced that fact. I thought about what Island Time Jim had told me several days prior, as we sat on his patio overlooking the marina, and the public boat ramp, watching the late afternoon show as people arrived back at the docks drunk, trying to trailer their bay boats. He wondered what had become of a certain sailboat moored across the harbor. It’s owner had this plan you see….was going to upgrade the thing then get some experience sailing in the Gulf of Mexico. Only he came down with some sort of incurable cancer, which put the end to those plans. For good. He failed to listen to the nonlinear, unconventional, deemed by society as generally reckless, itinerant and irresponsible advice to just go now…

Perhaps I had waited this long to take Olivia strolling because of this. Perhaps it is a frustration with the status quo….with the seemingly endless parade of things that are in the way before I can round the pass and head out. It is the forbidden and sirens whisper of the wind, and the smell of the sea. Things that add to my already restless soul. Maybe I was just trying to keep things in check. I don’t know, but I resolved not to wait this long again….

Back to reality, so little wind, coupled with an incoming tide and we were traveling faster than it could push us, so we stowed the canvas and chugged back in. Inside 17, and the freakin’ dredge was still right where it had been, this time with no operator aboard. Once again, pinched next to the submerged dredge pipe, and on the shoal, we wiggled our way off. Thank goodness for Olivia’s 30hp iron heart.

I left the genny  bagged on the foredeck, sheets attached, only covering up the main and the mizzen sails determined to sail again regardless of responsibility.

We had a couple of drinks on board, in the glow of the cabin lights, then migrated to Gabriellas for a martini or two, catching up with Jim and Janice (whom I had wanted to take sailing, but who just happened to be in McAllen all day….).

On Friday morning Janice called and let us know that Jean, the matriarch of (formerly)  Anchor Marina had died Thursday. It was her birthday. I thought about what a beautiful statement, so very classy that was. Come into, and leave the world the same date. Jean was a tough woman with a big heart. I will miss her.