Date: 04-06-08 / Depart: 1600 Port Isabel Fingers / Arrive 1830 Port Isabel Fingers / Wind Dir: E Wind Speed: 12-18/ Skies: Clear / Water: Stained / Seas 2’ / Tide: Standing high to falling / Temp: 82 deg F. / Water Temp: 75 deg F.

It’s getting to be that time of the year again. The indeterminate, very transitional period between the non-existent spring and the dreaded days of summer. The H season is still almost two months away, and sailboats are venturing out like there is no tomorrow, all weaving a frenetic dance between fishing skiffs cris-crossing the Laguna Madre once again in search of redfish, trout and flounder all just getting active, hungry following several months of cold water inactivity. On the south side of the causeway, parasail boats haul customers around in obnoxious circles, acting for all intent and purpose as if they are the only vessels on the bay, presenting ever present challenges to sailors trying to tack across the lower part of the mother lagoon towards the open Gulf of Mexico.

Friday found me ducked out from my phony-baloney administrators job after lunch, bored with the SOS that has become de rigueur around here. I just needed a little sanity maintenance, and so pleading that the caddy was running poorly and needed to go to the shop (and it really was / did), I holed up over at Olivia, doing a few chores down below before the afternoon sun became too hot, driving me topside in search of a fishing rod that I cast into the channel sans bait, hoping nothing would touch the bare hook, a ploy to at least look somewhat productive as I lounged in a deck chair, hidden behind very dark sunglasses.

The day was going well, Doug (Wind Fit) occupying the other deck chair and we chatted, mostly about nothing in particular as the afternoon slipped quietly along like a boat under sail….

-Until-

Island Time Jim came peddling down, telling me that D needed me to call immediately.

The rest of the afternoon and part of the evening were spent in agitated productivity, moving furniture from the garage of the now cancelled new home port, something we should’ve done several days earlier when we negated the deal (hey, we tried to deal with the stupid real estate agents for over seven months, and I finally just had enough….so it’s back to square one). Because real estate sales are so very few and far between this action created a chain of events that caused the realtors (and the property owner) to gnash their collective teeth, stomp their collective feet, and howl collective evil venom at your humble narrator.

The cherished sanctity of the afternoon was broken by the demon, work…..Thank goodness Island Time Jim helped us out, lending his ever wry and astute sense of observation to the event. Afterward we barbequed some hot dogs, finishing off the evening with a round of Pussers rum. A surprisingly delightful, aromatic  elixir…..

So Sunday I was quite ready to set sail for awhile. Because of a multitude of other commitments, which finally seemed to sort of taper off by the late afternoon, we finally managed to cast off the dock lines and chug out of the harbor into a pretty windy afternoon. White caps were already forming on the bay, which was still a little ticked off following a late season short lived cold front. I decided to motor under the causeway, and set sail on the south side, letting D have the helm, and just enjoying the afternoon, busying myself with pre- sail setting chores.

On the south side, as usual the wind was a bit more piped up as I hoisted up the main (having earlier set the mizzen), and jib, ‘Div rolling onto her port side as I changed spots with D, wending our way through three parasail boats that were making a nuisance of themselves. We spent the next hour and a half maneuvering among them, heading toward the powerlines, but never crossing through.

Just to lazy to tack, tack, and tack.

The wind started turning gusty, and on one close haul, sheeted up tight Olivia hit about a 25 degree heel, and things down below went crash, all over the cabin sole. Sailing is a good exercise to weed out what needs to be tied down or stowed better. My personal motto is “anything that can fly…..will”.

Since we were both feeling a bit indolent, we turned downwind and slothfully run back toward the causeway underpass, crossing through as the day began to wane. Past the Pirates Landing pier we doused the jib, steaming along past a lone bay boat on the anchor. As we got ready to shut down the main and mizzen another skiff came haulinass out of the fingers, slowing down alongside the anchored boat, handing the lone occupant a 5 gallon jerry can of gas which he promptly poured into his tank. A rather Samaritan act…Then they both fired up, and I guess felt obligated to come blasting by us close enough to grace us with their rooster tails as they headed back into the fingers.

It is hard for me to not hold these moronic weekenders in righteous contempt. Every day I put up with their high speed noisy entrances, sometimes only several feet from Olivia’s stern there in the harbor. They are for the most part pathetically oblivious to their lack of respect and manners, ignorant of good boating skills. And no amount of yelling, cajoling or browbeating will change that fact.

Back inside the harbor, we steam up to the dock. Doug and some folks are barbequing, just partying away, and several of them come out on the dock to handle lines. I miss the first pass as the current is beginning to flow now, but the second time around nose ‘Div gently into her slip and we attach the mooring lines. We take care of the various chores, stow the headsail and sheets, cover the booms, clip off the halyards, adjust the topping lifts and sheets, stow the cockpit cushions, reattach the cutter stay, cover up the winches, offload ice chest and nav bag before relaxing on the dock with the other itinerant sailors, where we had a most excellent cheeseburger and a huge caguama of Modelo beer.

On Saturday (the day before) my passport arrived in the mail. Guess what that means?