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Clipper Around the World Race

Relocated here

I'm Losing It

A case in point:

This morning I staggered to the kitchen to punch on the coffee maker and then a few steps off to the bathroom. Dawg was waiting for me to take her down to the street to get the papers, so I avoided filling even half a cup of java. Trying to save time, I also paused to assemble a Netflix item to return via mail box. (If I could accomplish that, I would be 2-3 days ahead of the normal week's procrastination.) On the way down a set of ten flagstone stairs my head slashed through a spider web. I resolved to obliterate it wielding a newspaper on the way back up to the house. Which I did. 

I reached the front porch with the newspapers in hand but also with the Netflix envelope, too. Damn. Well, back down to the mail box. Back up and now inside the house, I realized I still had the Netflix. Whassup with that? Take it down later with the recycle cans, I resolved. 

90 minutes later, looking everywhere for the newspapers' sports pages and the Dodger box scores, I couldn't locate either paper.

WTF were they?

Gybe Turkey

Relocated here.

The Winds Are Back!

At gusts of 35 knots.

This is the varsity sailing. I was happy to have my seat on the 50-yard line.

I wasn't close enough to get this shot from my vantage point on the beach and breakwater. I was fortunate enough to keep my camera dry while I retrieved my crazed Doberwoman, Ballou.

Ballou goes completely bat-shit-crazy when she sees kite-boarders. Yesterday, she jumped out of my car and instantly became a crazed and alien monster half a kilo down the beach. The boarders, thinking such a beast would be dragging them out of the water and destroying their expensive rigs, started yelling epithets at me as soon as they identified me as the hapless dog owner. However, they were in no danger: Ballou only swims in horizontal water. And it didn't matter what smack they yelled at me cause you can't hear jack in 30+ knots of wind & surf.

I'm just glad the laws didn't show up.

For Sail or for Sale?

That is the Question!

Several months ago I listed my boat as for sale on a freebie brokerage site without charge. The listing consisted of a brief description, a photo in full racing mode, a price and my contacting code. The only immediate response was from Trophy Wife who was enraged. 10 days later came an inquiry fom New Mexico. Because my boat is more of an island boat that a lake boat, I think my unreflective response was somewhat tinged with scepticism and sarcasm. Understandably, The New Mexico party did not stay engaged.

Then, yesterday came a second inquiry: was my boat still available and if so, could I supply more photos? This morning I responded that he should ask Trophy Wife; but that since he was asking me, I would send along a couple of photos. Which I did.

Back when I was playing tennis for three decades, I thought I would play it until I couldn't walk - that there was no life after tennis. And now, what with Trophy Wife and I having been sailing together for four decades, I cannot face life after sailing? 

That's a question.

I know of two - and recently a third case - where a sailor's life ended with his pitch-poling backwards over the rails into the sea, impelled by a medical event. Personally, I think that's as good a way to go as any. However, from the POV of his family/crew, his dying in bed with his topsiders removed might be preferable. The over-the-rail alternative requires other younger & healthier mates risking themselves in recovery of the MOB.

Another consideration is my current deferred maintenance on home and health. Perhaps life after boat could be enhanced, sans yacht. Maybe, just by down-sizing in the yacht department could open up the possibility of a upsizing in home, hearth and health.

OTOH, the breeze is up today. I hope yesterday's E-correspondent was just kicking boat bumpers. If he calls, I should just leave it up to Trophy Wife. Now days it's not such a good market, anyways.

Snatching Victory from Defeat

Actually, salvaging a couple of crooked numbers from absolute, double zeroes.

After three hours last night, we left the miserable sloppy, 2-knot (plus) waterboarding torture, convinced that we were DNF. There was blood in our eyes and murder in our hearts, and resentment toward the Race Committee for sending us on even a 2-mile windward-leeward-windward-leeward course. We did not hear the race-shortened announcement. I attribute that to several facts: 

• Our boat makes a deafening banging & clattering racket in no-wind chops.  
• We were too shorthanded to spare crew below to listen to the VHF. 
• A few years ago it was deemed politically correct for the Club to dispense with shotguns in favor of air horns. 
• The marks have been moved so far off the beach this year (to accommodate the sissies who can't navigate kelp beds) that  we can hardly hear the RC's audibles. 

Once back to my computer I see that we were bestowed 19th place out of 21 finishers. BTW, one reason we were short-handed by two last night, is that the two lads were on this Harbor-20 that beat us!

I'll take it, just to get over it and to move on. After all, I learned something: I learned to make the quick-release clip on the end of my preventer a quick release clip.

Now that backing into our slip has become S.O.P., I'm ready for some winds which can bend the bills back on our caps!