Nautical Chronicles

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | December 14, 2011

IT NEVER HAPPENED

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:

It Never Happened

Like most boaters, on any given summer weekend, we (Louise and I) would rather be on the water aboard “HalfMine”, traveling to some exotic destination, with a flotilla of our friends, prepared to enjoy all the amenities provided by these distant ports of call. However, when natural forces prevail and we are unable to leave the docks, we somehow manage to amuse ourselves.

“HalfMine” is equipped with a quality, six-speaker stereo system complete with a 6-disc CD changer, 500 watt amplifier, 2 Bose 151 outdoor speakers and is I-Pod compatible. We religiously play “Taps” for the marina as the sun sets and the flag comes down. Not so religiously, we play “Reveille” in the mornings. We also have the standard karaoke machine which is only occasionally used. Our inflatable “fat suits” have also been a hit. And this is only our boat.

Whit’s boat, “Mudslide”, has 16 speakers and he is known to be careless with the volume button. Perry’s “Off Duty” has an ingenious stainless steel pole mounted in the fighting chair support bracket for “pole dancing”, and our inventor friend, Peter from “Wicked’toria” has several clever items for disbursing water onto the docks when cool refreshment is needed (or as a surprise to unsuspecting guests, as the case may be).

With all this entertainment available to us, it would be hard to understand how we, and our crony friends, could ever become…bored.

It happened.

Late one boating season, sitting around on Peter [another Peter] and Mary’s boat, “Out of Service”, we were gloomy. Our boating season was coming to an end, and it was obvious that none of our usual antics were going to make us happy. The days were much shorter; the sun was going down early; there was no sun out and a mild mist was beginning to envelop us. Even the midgies and mosquitoes weren’t a problem on this sullen late afternoon; there weren’t any. If this condition were to last, we’d all be going home soon and this could not be tolerated; drastic measures were required.

Whiskey.

Perry had a pint bottle of Jim Beam. We put it into a brown paper bag, rolled back just enough to expose the top of the bottle, and began to pass it around. There were some who didn’t care much for this libation but took a taste just to be cordial. Others had a more robust approach to this solution for our malady (especially Kenny). Since there were 15 of us, the bottle didn’t last long, but the idea had taken root. We quickly found another pint bottle, wrapped it in brown paper and continued our remedial activities. Soon, the music began, spirits were raised, the singing started, soon to be followed with the dancing.

As was generally the case, moderation was practiced by too few, and what began as a dull, meaningless day, became a rather wild and meaningless night. However, to our knowledge, the whiskey from the brown paper bag was the only liquor imbibed that night. Each time the bottle was emptied, it was refilled with whatever other whiskey could be found (someone may have filled it with Tequila once instead of whiskey) but it always remained full and in the brown paper bag. At one point, as our stock was running perilously low, we approached a boat, with normal, reserved, book-reading, TV-watching owners (John and Louise[another Louise]) and asked in a most courteous manner, “Could we borrow a cup of whiskey?”

Our friend, Kenny, doesn’t swim. His 1^st mate, Debbie, concerned for his well-being, managed to get his Type-II PDF on him, but had a hard time keeping him in his “playpen” (what we call the closed, aft deck of the boat); his recurring, immortal words have gone down in dock history: “Why can’t I be with my friends?”, and “Whiskey is my friend!”.

Dottie and Joann invented a new, much safer way to walk on the docks…it involved scooting, crawling and crouching; they invented it to stay out of the water.

Brian tripped on a dock cleat, cut his foot & left a blood-trail the entire length of the main dock. Early the next morning, we noticed this trail and followed it back to his boat. Concerned for his well-being, after several knocks on his door, without answer, we tenuously entered fearing the worst. He wasn’t there. Maybe he did the smart thing and visited the emergency room. Nope; he went to breakfast with a friend and barely noticed the cut on his foot.

But what happened with our friend Peter that night, “really never happened”.

Peter and Mary’s boat, “Out of Service”, is a heavy boat and travels well, even in a bad sea. They love their boat; it’s a sturdy Carver live-aboard type boat, 50+ feet and many of their trips are to lovely destinations. It’s an older boat, as have been their five previous boats…and, unfortunately, spends a lot of time in need of repair, thus their name.

That night, as we passed the brown paper bag around, unbeknown to us, Peter did not partake. He is partial to Rum; preferably expensive Rum; flavored; preferably on the rocks, which he “sips”. This was how he was passing the evening. He loves music and singing and dancing. Both he and Mary were dancing in a lively manner and carrying-on, but the one thing we can always count on is that he wears himself out quickly. When he has reached his endurance level for both rum and dancing, he is the first one to escape to his boat “for a nap” (it should also be mentioned here that Peter “naps”, sans pajamas). Usually he is not to be seen until the next morning.

Well…this particular evening was to be (exceptional) an exception.

Our dock festivities expired around midnight; Peter had expired around 10 PM. By 12:30, we were all pretty well tucked into our berths, except our friend David who was visiting some late-night boat-folks on the other side of the marina. At 12:45 on this pitch-black night, out of the corner of his eye, David spotted, what looked to be, a naked man, running full throttle, around the docks, toward the marina rest rooms and offices; he could not believe his eyes. The sprinting figure disappeared in the parking lot before David could understand what was happening. David then tracked the elusive figure up the ramp, through the graveled cooking and party area to the restrooms. He peered into the men’s room, but no one was there. He began to scout around the parking lot, and even headed toward the main road in search of his quarry before hearing…”psssst; David; psssst”. The voice was emanating from the laundry room at the rear of the office building. It was Peter. David, completely incredulous to what was happening, approached the laundry room; “Peter…is that you?” “Yea; do you think you could find me a towel or something?” Peter…what are you are doing?” “I don’t know; I don’t know how I got here or what happened; I just know I need something to cover myself…quickly!”

David, the always dutiful, always helpful mayor of “F” dock, helped Peter back to his vessel, “Out of Service”. It turned out that Peter had always had occasional episodes of sleep-walking at home, but this was not common knowledge…until now; and sleep-running was new, even to Peter and Mary.

There were no other witnesses to this occurrence. It was with great hilarity that David related this story to the rest of our gang the next morning. As unbelievable as this story seemed to us, it had to be true; David could not have made it up; no way. But to this day, the best person to validate this happening, the only person to validate it, Peter, has maintained that “It Never Happened!”…and with as straight a face as you will ever see.

Captain Robert Brown

First Mate Louise

6 Comments

Posted in All Stories, Peter & Mary Stories, Tall Tales | Tags: Boating humor

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | December 7, 2011

THE LADDERBACK CHAIR INCIDENT

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:

Ladder Back Chair Incident

My friend, Peter, lives on his boat; year-round. It is a 50+ foot Carver-style and for one person, it is fairly comfortable. Winters at Rye Marina in New Hampshire, however, can be cold; cold, windy, snowy and miserable. According to Peter, he is “living his dream”…right. Occasionally, on week-ends while he is away, I am on “boat duty”; I make certain the heat is working properly, the pipes are not freezing, the toilet is flushing correctly and the boat & dock are accessible. For this responsibility, I am paid handsomely.

On one particularly cold January Friday, I stopped by the boat to check on things since Peter was to be away “slow-mobiling” as he calls it, somewhere down Maine in Aroostook County. I saw his UCM-Pest Control truck parked in the lot & thought this was suspicious since he usually hauls his sleds in his trailer with the truck. When I entered the saloon, I found him awkwardly sprawled in an ungainly position on his dinette sofa…fully dressed. He appeared to be uncomfortable. I asked, in my characteristically understated, unemotional tone of voice, “What’s going on…I thought you were to be away this weekend”. Here is what he told me in his understated, typically unemotional style…

Peter had scheduled two appointments Friday morning, in anticipation of leaving early for his snow-mobiling trip. His first was a “squirrel job” in Rye, and his second was for mice in a farmhouse in Epping. At eight o’clock sharp, Peter met with the lady who owned the home in Rye, and was provided with the account of squirrel mischief in the attic of her two-story home. She was in a hurry to get to work and felt comfortable leaving Peter, the professional-that-he-is, in charge of the attack on the squirrels. “The amount of racket these creatures are making at night keeps us from getting any rest and something has to be done about them…immediately”.

After the owner left, Peter surveyed the situation and determined he would need to gain access to the attic. He searched the several of the 2^nd story bedrooms looking for a folding, pull-down type ladder or stairway; nothing. He did discover an access panel in the ceiling of the master bedroom closet; fairly small. Peter, on the other hand, is not so fairly small. He was going to need a ladder, and he was going to need to “suck it in” if he was to gain access. Then he thought, “maybe I don’t need to go into the attic; maybe I can place a trap near the access panel and hope for the best”. He also thought, “since its sooo cold out, and miserable, and the ladder is tied down on the truck roof, and I’m in a hurry, maybe I can just find something to stand on”.

The bedroom was fairly large and nicely furnished, almost a decorator-type styling with matching furniture, custom window treatments, color-coordinated bed furnishings and a beautiful, low-pile white carpet. It appeared to Peter that one of the sturdy, ladder back chairs would work nicely as a foot-stool for placing the trap in the attic access area. He carefully placed the chair under the access panel, carefully climbed onto the chair, with trap in hand, and carefully, ever so carefully reached up to move the panel and place the trap. The ceiling was a little too high (or the chair a little to low), and he needed to reach while on his toes on the chair…carefully.

Just as he had the trap set in the attic, he began to lose his balance and the chair began to wobble. The trap stayed in place; he did not.

As luck would have it, he ended up impaling himself on the ladder back part of the ladder back chair; it was an almost direct hit to an area of his anatomy where things usually do not enter; a place as it were, where the “sun don’t shine”. His eyes were wide and his mouth had formed an “ooooo” shape. His toes were dangling just above the floor and he was finding it difficult to un-impale himself. While he was maneuvering himself off the upright part of the ladder back, he felt a warm trickle running down his leg…this could not be good. When he finally extricated himself from his struggle with the chair, he noticed a red pooling on the beautiful, low-pile white carpet. Walking with a notable limp, Peter headed for the bathroom in search of SOMETHING to stop the bleeding and to, as best he could, view the situation. Meanwhile, the mess was escalating to include the bathroom tile floor. The closet was full of designer towels with matching face clothes and hand towels; there was no first aid kit and nothing of an absorptive nature larger than Q-Tips. He wadded up a large amount of toilet paper to use as a packing; then he noticed the large tear in his work pants. He packed himself well and then wrapped his winter coat around his waist. He cleaned up the mess as well as possible and considered blaming the remaining damage to the beautiful, low-pile white carpet on his bloody battle with the squirrel family (which he never caught).

He carefully surveyed the scene after he had cleaned up & replaced everything to where it was originally and said to himself, “Not too bad…considering what just happened”. He limped, slowly to his truck, with his winter coat wrapped around his waist, climbed SLOWLY into the driver’s seat…and remembered his next appointment in Epping; mice. What the heck…a 15 minute mouse job and then back to the boat (I have found that self-employed, independent business owners have more perseverance than your normal, self-interested employees; an employee may have considered going to the hospital). The mouse job went well; there were no extenuating circumstances; it did go more slowly than usual, and the homeowner was surprised at how Peter seemed to be immune to the sub-freezing weather while doing the work around the barn; he kept his winter coat firmly tied around his waist.

So, back on the boat, I was surprised to see Peter, and asked in my casual way, “What’s going on; I thought you were going snow-mobiling?” After telling me the story, with kind of a smirk on my face, I asked if he’d gone to the hospital or seen a doctor. His eyes kind of squinted and his mouth made a funny look and his head kind of turned sideways and he said, “No, I think it will be fine”. I told him there was a good likelihood he should have sutures; his eyes squinted again, his mouth made that funny look and his head turned down and sideways and he said, “No, I think it will be fine; how could they stitch something like this anyway.” And finally, as only a truly good friend could do, I squinted my eyes, scrunched up my mouth, turned my head sideways and said, “I’m only going to ask you this one time…do you want me to take a look?” This time there was no hesitation when he said “NO”, and there was equally no hesitation when I said, “GOOD!”

Peter is still “living his dream” year-round on his boat at Rye Harbor in the winter and in Salisbury in the summer. We meet a lot of new boaters each year; maybe this year, we’ll meet you out there. If we do, make sure to ask us to tell the story about the ladder back chair incident; over cocktails, this story remains one of our most memorable boating chronicles.

Captain Robert Brown

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Posted in All Stories, Peter & Mary Stories, Tall Tales | Tags: Boating humor

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | November 29, 2011

THE DAYS OF OUR MOORINGS

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:

Days of Our Moorings, Re-Births and Head Butts

“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our moorings”; adapted from “The Days of Our Lives” (thanks Martha).

For many years, our boating friend Perry had a “secret” mooring in the Ipswich River which he referred to in passing conversations, but never fully explained to us. He would disappear with his boat and dinghy for weekends and never be heard from; he’d never talk about it when he returned. His boat’s name is “Off Duty”; he’s close-mouthed, tight-lipped, not forth-coming with information, and answers a question with a question…which is how law enforcement officers are supposed to be; secretive.

After years of trying to invite ourselves down to his mooring to tie-up, Louise and I on “HalfMine” finally bribed him with a case of Michelob-Ultra to allow us along for a weekend. His mooring is located near Grape Island and requires a careful approach due to shallow water at the entry. There is a large sandbar in the center of the river which appears at low tide providing a great playground for boaters…but only at low tide. At other times, the sandbar is below water and creates a formidable hazard to navigation; local knowledge is extremely beneficial in these waters.

Louise and I, Perry and Dorothy packed up our boats, including our dinghies, for the weekend…and a great weekend it was. As I’ve said before, there is nothing so much fun as doing something for the first time, and we had never been into the Ipswich River, let alone on a mooring overnight. The daytime weather was hot; the sandbar was available from 10AM to 4PM; the drinks were cold (his free case of Mich-Ultra did not last the weekend); the dinghy runs at night were fun.

And his secret mooring was no longer a secret; “HalfMine” needed one of these.

Over beers one evening at Striper’s, my friend Jack who worked in Ipswich said “sure, I can get you one of those”. So began our addition of “The Mooring” to our list of boating adventures.

Over the past ten years, we have spent much time with our boating friends in the Ipswich River, Massachusetts. In fact, not only is Perry’s secret mooring no longer secret, he has helped six of our friends get their own river locations; in effect, with eight moorings and the ability to raft up to 25 boats, we have relocated our Marina to our Moorings. And now, strange things go on at the moorings as well as on the docks.

Let’s see…I remember when Dorothy had to babysit her friends (miniature white, very clean, very white) white poodle for the weekend. Winnie was a pampered, kept in-door type lap dog; I don’t think Winnie was allowed, by her owner, to even walk on her own four legs; she was kept firmly in the owner’s arms, at all times. When the dog needed to go to the bathroom, I believe the owner held the dog above the grass or litter box to do its business. Anyway, Dorothy brought Winnie to the mooring…and the sandbar…and Grape Island; wow. I have never seen such a transformation. And could Winnie RUN! And, of course, run away she did. When she returned, we didn’t think it was the same dog. It must have taken weeks to get all the sand, dirt, bugs and other miscellaneous debris out of Winnie’s matted white coat (I may have mentioned that Winnie had [past tense] a very white coat). It probably took many more weeks to get rid of Winnie’s new attitude, but we don’t know. Dorothy’s friend never talked to her again, and we never saw Winnie again. Too bad; Winnie would have made a great boat dog!

And I remember the day we tied all the rubber inflated things together (they float; they have cup-holders; they tip over in the water; they may or may not hold the person while floating; they are multi-colored and can lose air if not properly inflated…those kinds of things; rafts and such), and dragged them and their occupants (the girls) around the river and back-and-forth to the sand bar with the dinghy. We also invented the “actual, natural deviation” whereby all floating objects along with their passengers allow the shifting tide to propel them, in or out of the river, naturally; no power allowed. It is a widely-held belief, at least at our marina that objects, left to drift, will not run into anything; that they will naturally drift around things in their path…this is not true. You may wonder where all of this is going; we let the girls drift for the better part of an afternoon. They ended somewhere up the Parker River on their way to Rowley before we “rescued” them. The boys considered just letting the tide bring them back naturally, but in the end, we went after them; it was a really nice way for all of us to spend the day…apart. They did run into a few things on their voyage, dispelling the belief that drifting debris drifts around fixed objects.

Then there was the day we unintentionally stranded one of our own on the sandbar. When the tide comes up, there really is no place to go. She did not want to leave when the rest of us did, so we said we’d be back to get her. Of course we all got into doing other things until someone pointed toward the yacht club and asked, “Who’s that with the lawn chair, waiving her arms, waist deep in water where the sand bar used to be?” Peter said, “Oh my lord, I forgot to pick her up!” We are always sorry, but these things can happen at the moorings. Victoria did not drown, but mercy sakes she was some upset.

Jim and Carol have a cute little center-console boat which they run around the moorings in. Six of us decided we should “make a run” to Tom Shea’s in Essex one afternoon for cocktails and apps, and that we should use Fox Creek (the shortcut) to get there. It was a hot day and the ride was refreshing, but we think Jim was going too fast (he gets this look in his eyes and this smile on his face and we know he is “letting loose”; normally, he is just an accountant). When we departed the restaurant, we asked each other if the tide was too low to return to our mooring using Fox Creek (the shortcut can only be used at high to mid tides); our answer, after brief consideration, was that of course we could. In fact…we couldn’t. Halfway back to Ipswich, we were stuck. Usually, when stuck in Fox Creek, the reason is that the creek is too shallow. For this reason, our mate, without second thought, jumped from the craft into the shallow water to push it into deeper water. As it turned out, the craft was too wide for the creek; it was bound-up at the sides; there was plenty of water underneath the boat…and the mate, much to everyone’s amusement, submerged himself in Fox Creek. The mate was me, and I have never seen so much laughter from one crew, especially the accountant. It did, however, take the entire crew to un-stick the vessel, so everyone was required to get wet and mucky with the low-tide goo.

At night, we usually end up back at “HalfMine” for eats and drinks…and music. This is when the real trouble begins. Our “playpen” uncomfortably holds 15-20 dancing people I must have been swinging around the pole one night just as Steve was be-bopping in my direction. We collided. It was one of the best head-butts you can imagine…one eye, BANG…into one forehead. At least six of our friends are nurses, so the ensuing commotion with the hollering, running for 1^st aid kits, blood…and laughter was destined to become one of our most memorable occasions at the moorings.

Except for the night we were all reborn.

We must have been wired and fired that night. The girls were in the forward, V-birth of “HalfMine”. It was a warm, cloudless night and the guys were on the front deck above the V-birth. The hatch was open to allow air circulation into the boat, so guys and girls could all hear what was going on. As usual, there was the normal ruckus going on with music and laughter. Well, Peter, for whatever reason, decided the girls should join the boys on the deck. Peter is also a pretty good sized boy (big and strong) so he thought the shortest way to the deck would be…through the hatch. He grabbed the hands of one of the girls and yanked her, quickly and deliberately, up and through the hatch. There was a “popping” sound as she arrived on deck. Well, obviously, the antics weren’t going to stop there. Others were popped through with great applause; then others were running down to be popped through a second time; then the boys had to be “reborn” as well; until all but Peter had been delivered. Different arrangements needed to be made to bring Peter up from below; more than one “doctor” was needed, from below as well as above…this was going to be one big, big baby! We had several folks pushing and several folks pulling and, as luck would have it, HE GOT STUCK; IN THE HATCH!

The next day, “HalfMine” had to go back to the marina with Peter stuck in the hatch, his hands and arms at his sides, with no way to extricate himself from our boat. Thank goodness he was facing forward so we didn’t have to see the forlorn look in his eyes as we headed out of the river into the sea (we put goggles on him). After returning to Cove, we used the forklift and an attached cable (as well as some grease) to remove him; he was ok, but since this incident, he has lost some of his girth.

And these are things that go on at the moorings; stop by sometime…Ipswich River near Grape Island; Perry’s secret place.

Captain Robert Brown

First Mate Louise

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Posted in All Stories | Tags: Boating humor

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | November 23, 2011

ASSAULT ON HOGG ISLAND

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:

Assault on Hogg Island

It started as just another weekend trip to theEssexRiveron the back side ofPlumIslandinMassachusetts. Louise and I in “Halfmine” were planning on anchoring with Peter & Mary in “Out of service”, which we do on a regular basis.

Once we were securely anchored, we dropped the dinghies in the water and prepared to do what we do best…sit on the beach, do nothing and discuss topics of great importance. From the beach, we had a good view ofHoggIslandand began talking about how the island had been used as a “set” for the movie “Crucible”. There had been several false buildings constructed for the movie set, and they were visible from the beach. As always, we also discussed how beautiful the island setting was, located in the middle of theEssexRiver. Our conversation then wandered to other extremely important topics, and we temporarily forgot about the island.

Late in the afternoon, we returned to the boats, sunburned & soggy, and ready for cocktail hour, another pastime we do on a regular basis. Louise and Mary had planned a sumptuous, onboard Mexican fiesta complete with salad, quesadillas, refried beans, corn, tequila…it was to be quite the feast. Favorably for Peter and me, they were quite content that we remain on the aft deck smoking cigars, listening to JB, and continuing our important discussions from the afternoon (I also believe that our 1^st mates didn’t mind being apart from us since we tend to get in the way; also, there tends to be “bathroom” talk which they don’t seem to appreciate the way we do). Somehow, our discussion drifted back to Hogg Island, Thaddeus Choate, who was buried at the top of the island, the caretaker’s house and other “historic” mis-information (we have since learned that there was no Thaddeus Choate; the island is now called Choate Island, owned by the Choate family for 300 years; Mine & Cornelius Crane are buried at the top of the island; two young slave girls died on the island & were buried there; Rufus Choate was born on the island in 1799, son of George & Suzanna Choate; Thomas Choate bought slaves f or his son, Francis in 1714).

This day, as we sat on the back of the boat discussing the universe in general, our topic, somehow turned to…the supernatural; life after death, ghosts, spirits, aliens, all types of things that go bump in the night. I was shocked; Peter was superstitious. I had not known this. It was, therefore, imperative that I milk this new realization to its fullest. The discussion was deep and lengthy; I may have told a ghost story or two from old campfire days…just enough to keep him on edge; I also had another idea which I was going to spring on him after dinner, after dark.

Our dinner that night was particularly enjoyable and lasted until well after dark. We ate a lot of food. Peter very rarely does anything in moderation, and when we get together, I also help take things to the extreme…ask the mates. The night was star-filled and clear with only the hint of a moon; the Milky Way was visible as only it can be on a dark night, at sea with no surrounding lights. I managed to return to our day’s topics: the supernatural andHoggIsland. I suggested the idea of making a clandestine dinghy voyage toHoggIslandunder cover of dark. Possibly, we should apply some camo paint to our faces to avoid detection. We should use no tell-tail running lights with the dinghy since our landing should be undetectable; we should not speak but use only hand signals. We should especially be on the look-out for ghosts, spirits, night creatures…and the caretaker. We should hike, noiselessly, to the summit and have a beer with Thaddeus. Otherwise, our option was to stay on the boat, listen to music, sing & dance; the usual type of evening.

Well…our 1^st mates wanted nothing to do with this idea, however, they were not as opposed to our doing it as I might have thought (I think they liked the idea of getting rid of us for a while). Much to my delight, Peter was actually a little scared due to our earlier talk of ghosts; I couldn’t believe he was superstitious. I of course told him he should face his fears to get beyond them. He, reluctantly, agreed to go (in hindsight, I’m sure his decision had nothing to do with our extended cocktail hour; we had just finished a huge Mexican fiesta meal, we were coherent and the night was perfect for a dinghy run).

We changed to dark clothing, skipped the camo face paint and slid noiselessly into the dinghy. We viewed the surrounding waters for possible spying eyes, and slowly, very slowly inched away from our boats toward the night-black island. There were no lights visible on land and we were encouraged at the prospects of our surreptitious landing and subsequent journey to the summit. For whatever reason, Thaddeus needed our salute that night.

Our landing was soft and quiet. We were able to skim to the shoreline and tie up to a small shrub. Peter was very uncomfortable about the darkness and the possibility of spirits from the after-life…he was nervous. It was very dark. He was also claustrophobic and the “closeness” of the dark night was unsettling to him. I, on the other hand, was having a great time. As we hiked out of the pucker brush, we found the dirt trail which would take us to the gravesite; we were out in the open but there was no light from any building or vehicle so we were close to being invisible. We quietly made our way up the hill. We viewed the false building fronts erected by the movie company, and we saw the historic Choate House. Every night-noise we heard though seemed to spook Peter.

To say the least, Peter was very relieved when we reached the graves, although he was apprehensive about the spirits surrounding the area that I kept talking about. We leaned against the railing surrounding the graves, listened to the stillness of the night & drank our beers in salute to Thaddeus. That is also when we learned that we were saluting Cornelius Crane & his wife, Mine rather than Thaddeus. Much later is when we discovered that there was no Thaddeus. Undiscovered, and leaving no trace of our pilgrimage, we high-fived the success of our mission and departed the graveyard.

Our return trip to the dinghy was uneventful since our ability to sneak down the hill quietly had been well developed on our way up the hill. When it came time to leave the dirt path and return to the dinghy is when we ran into an issue…the Mexican Fiesta, the beer and the anxiety of the evening had suddenly and unavoidably caught up with Peter; control was not something he was going to be able to exercise. He needed to relieve himself…badly.

We had not come, fully supplied on this voyage, for such an event. Let’s face it; we didn’t expect to need toilet paper on this type of late-night excursion into the unknown. He had worn a shirt and pants; no T-shirt & no…well no under clothes of any nature. There appeared to be no broad-leafed shrubs, and no other suitable substitutes; this was truly a quagmire of conflicting alternatives, but nature was going to have her way. Being the good friend, and after several “augh….jeez’s”, I offered him my underclothing (he was very grateful; I was thankful I hadn’t put my name on them as I used to do as a kid at camp).

We returned to the dinghy to find it had somehow gone a-ways out to sea (actually, the tide had come in some) and we were forced to wade through the murky waters to get it back. Silently, we returned to our anchored boats and our 1^st mates…dirty, wet and humiliated.

As we boarded, slightly embarrassed by what had transpired, we discovered the final, crowning blow, the second issue of the evening’s events…ticks; lots of ticks. Our final humility was having to strip down, hermetically seal our clothing (what was left of them) in plastic bags, and be reviewed head to toe for this infestation. For several weeks after this epic voyage, we found the bodies of dead ticks on the aft deck.

The following day, we returned toHoggIslandduring normal business hours, to enjoy the sights, and, more importantly, to make certain we had not disturbed the natural beauty of this remarkable and historic site in any way. We also wanted to be certain Peter’s flag was not waving unceremoniously somewhere in the pucker brush.

Captain Robert Brown

First Mate Louise

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Posted in All Stories, Boating Humor, Peter & Mary Stories | Tags: Boating humor

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | November 17, 2011

Photos For “Toilet Tips For Travel In The South Of France”

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Posted in All Stories, Boating Travels | Tags: Bare Boating in France, France bare boating

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | November 14, 2011

TOILET TIPS FOR TRAVEL IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES

Toilet Tips For Travel In The South of France

If you don’t already know it…we’re back! All we can truly suggest is that if you ever have the opportunity to try a trip like this, DO IT! Our crew agrees (at least on this one thing) that the best way to truly experience any place is with a boat in the water.

Our 1^st Mate Debbie’s comment on the bus ride home from the airport after our trip to France pretty well summed it up…”you could write an entire story about just the bathrooms in France”.

Louise & I, with our friends Debbie & Paul, scheduled this trip a year ago. It included three days in Paris and a week on a 42’ canal boat…a bare-boat cruise on the Canal du Midi in the south of France. Since we have done bare-boat cruises three times in the British Virgin Islands, we thought we had a pretty good handle on this one. Well…it certainly was an adventure; a holiday…not so much.

Our trip took us: from Logan Airport to Dublin Ireland to Paris (by plane) to Toulouse (by plane), to Castelnaudary (by bus), to Port Cassafieres (including a side trip to Marseillan near the Mediterranean coast, (all by bare-boat [120 miles+/-]), to Beziers train station (by taxi), back to Paris (by train), to Shannon Ireland (by plane) & back to Logan. This does not include the various taxis, buses, boats & bicycles we used while on our trip (we recommend the open-top sight-seeing, on-off buses in Paris to make the most of a short, sight-seeing trip in the city).

Three days in Paris is not enough time to see everything you want to see. We did, however, see most of the main attractions: Notre-Dame de Paris, The Musee du Louvre, Musee D’Orsay, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysees and the Seine. Unfortunately, we missed Monet’s Giverny & the Moulin Rouge. The food was good, but different (fish come complete with head & eyes as do the shrimp [prawns], escargot come in the shells and are hard, vodka/tonic comes with one ice cube in a short, narrow glass [and is very expensive] and wine is plentiful and cheap; the breads are the best in the world).

Compared to driving in Paris, New York City is a piece of cake. Small cars, taxis, buses & motorbikes all compete for the right-of-way; pedestrians are always in peril and have no status what so ever.
Luggage is a problem; even rolling luggage. Too many modes of transportation make moving & storage an issue. Everything in Paris is SMALL: small hotel rooms, small elevators (or small stairways where there are no elevators), small vehicles, small door openings… small.
Language is a barrier, especially in Paris. Everyone is too busy to try to communicate with you; and many seem to be impatient. Our limited knowledge of French helped, but not much. The country-side was much different; very friendly folks, lots of waving, patient…definitely not in a hurry.
Getting the check after dinner is a bitch. Eating dinner is a relaxed affair taking quite a bit of time & several courses. Apparently, there is only one seating since there is never a rush to get you in and out. In fact, very rarely could we get the check in a timely manner. And you can never appear to be in a hurry; you must be relaxed & ask several times…but never appear to be impatient when you ask; otherwise, it will take even longer; stay relaxed.
And then there are the bathroom facilities…but we’ll get to that later.

Our flight from Paris to Toulouse was quick, and our stay at the Hotel du Canal in Castelnaudary was delightful. We lucked out on the weather; had wine and cheeses on the patio overlooking the Canal du Midi where we would be spending the next 7 days & nights on our bare boat. We also got our first look at the 42’ canal boat…oh boy!

Our rental was through Le Boat which is a sister-company to Moorings which we had chartered through in the BVI’s. They provide hundreds of boats to cruisers throughout Europe & have literally hundreds of cruising packages available. We had chosen a one-way trip on the Canal du Midi since it explored wine country as well as old cities, quaint villages, expansive countryside and, eventually, the Mediterranean Sea. It turned out to be exactly the cruise we were looking for. Additionally, this trip only included 62 locks that we needed to pass through!

The inspection of our craft, prior to departure, was brief…it only needed to be brief; there is not much to the systems on board or the electronics on board (there are no electronics). Several times on our trip, we thought we could have used a VHF radio, a GPS, a depth finder, a compass, a generator (all on-board lights, AM/FM radio, pumps are run by battery), an emergency flare gun. Amenities on board these vessels are meager. In fact, we were sorely disappointed that the pump-type toilets in the heads did not pump into a holding tank, but pumped directly into the canal; and they didn’t pump all that easily (Paul suggested we use butter on them to help lubricate the pumping action, but it didn’t help Louise at all). The Le Boat folks were apologetic but indicated that no pump-out facilities were available on the canal making use of the holding tanks impossible. We did not swim in the Canal du Midi, and we washed our hands after handling the lines.

After disembarking in our newly-acquired craft, we immediately came upon our first four locks. Paul (our captain on this voyage) maintained the helm as two mates climbed onto the edge of the lock & secured the boat to the cleats. “Calypso” (our boat’s name) was then lowered 8-10 feet to the next water level, allowing us to continue our journey…to the next lock 200 yards away. And so it went until nightfall when we put two stakes in the ground along the side of the canal & tied ourselves for the night.

NOTE: there is no tide & no water movement to speak of in the canal; the boats don’t need much anchorage to stay in place, but we found the best way to tie up was to run lines to the trees which border the canal for hundreds (if not thousands) of miles; you are permitted to tie up anywhere on the canal on either side unless posted otherwise, and rarely is it posted.

Words & photographs do not do justice to the sights, sounds, smells…the senses which are activated while traveling the Canal du Midi in the south of France on a bare-boat charter going, at maximum 7 knots. We are truly fortunate to be able to enjoy the experience of such a journey, and to have the choice & freedom available to us to do so. It is easy to see how the French Impressionists were moved to paint as they did.

The banks of the canal are lined with old Sycamore trees, evenly spaced and truly a vision to behold. Unfortunately, many are now succumbing to a disease requiring them to be taken down. Also along the bank of each canal is a tow-path from a time when canal boats were pulled along by horse, mule or oxen (we didn’t see any oxen) or hand. These paths are now used by hikers, joggers and bicyclists as recreational areas (motorized vehicles are not permitted).

There are long stretches of canal which overlook vineyards and open fields. There are also stretches of the canal which penetrate into the backyards of cities, with derelict boats moored to the canal sides right next to large, renovated, expensive canal boats which, in many cases, appear to be homes for the folks aboard. Most memorable along the canals are the quaint villages we stopped at, usually between noon and early afternoon. We know this because they are deserted; literally no one is in the street anywhere in these villages from 12:30-1:30. Do not try to provision your boat during this hour…nothing is open. It’s like walking in a ghost town with only a few sounds emanating from behind closed doors.

And there are the locks.

We had over 60 locks to pass through. We were traveling down-stream for most of our voyage which allows for easier tying up of the lines (we could get out at the edge of the lock, wrap the lines & get back aboard; the up-stream side means that a mate needs to be let out prior to entering the lock to be able to have a line thrown up to them to tie the boat which is now lower in the lock). We got the hang of it after two or three locks so our crew actions became fairly rote early-on…not so for many of the skippers and crews we were able to watch. As in most boating activity, it is difficult not to laugh out loud (or be laughed at) while watching such antics; it is fun. There were two exceptional locks: a-six step lock, literally stepping down the side of a hill, and a round lock allowing access from three different canals. Again, though, our crew was up for the challenge.

And there are tunnels and bridges.

The canal goes over several roads and several rivers in its journey. It was interesting to look down, over the side of the canal and see cars passing below and underneath us, as well as see rivers and streams below us. There was also a tunnel we needed to navigate through for several hundred yards. This tunnel, as well as most of the bridges which we passed under, were very low and narrow. We wondered how many of the vessels we’d seen along the way could pass through these areas since our boat was much smaller and narrower than they were.

The fairest port we visited was in Marseillan. There is a long stretch of canal which goes toward the Mediterranean just past where our boat was to be returned on our final day. This stretch of the canal is desolate; the banks of the canal are lined with old, older and derelict boats, some occupied but most not. The canal empties into a lake which is home to many shellfish beds; caution must be used in crossing this lake to the port of Marseillan. The town and the port were a welcome destination for us as we neared completion of our trip. We had power hook-ups, water hook-ups, WIFI, showers, hot water and safe dockage for the night, all for 18 Euros…a bargain. And the Taverne du Port was one of the best restaurants we visited on our trip (and they had, in stock, three different types of Jack Daniels including…Gentleman Jack).

Ah…but what about the toilets, you say. After all, that’s what this story is about. Well; one of the most memorable aspects of our visit to France: Bathroom facilities. It really is a different culture.

Near the Eiffel Tower (as in many areas of the city) there are public facilities (green & dome-like), usually marked by the long lines (or queues) of people waiting to use them. Near Montmartre there is a bunker-type facility which serves as a public rest room. It usually costs something to use these facilities although the cost is minimal; the problem is that you need to have the minimal .50Euro coin with you; if not, too bad. Also, since I personally did not use these accommodations, I was told by “a friend” that the men’s toilet fixture is not used in the traditionally accepted seated position, but rather requires a semi-standing position (if you can picture such a thing!) Additionally, rather than urinals, there are “water walls” which you are to just kind of pee against. In the Montmartre facility, there were no seated toilets for men, only women. There is also a French woman who does not speak English presiding over the women’s side of the restroom; her sole responsibility, in life, is to yell at men who need to sit down (she also monitors payment for the stalls & collects a modest tip for doing so).

All of our hotels had “ok” bathroom facilities; however there are very few shower curtains. We found it difficult to keep the water inside the tub/shower areas; depending on the shower head (hand-held or fixed) we could create quite a mess. And then there is the bidet. In the middle of the night after having had a fair amount of wine (it is France after all), and keeping the lights off so as not to wake the 1^st mate, the bidet “senses” to be a toilet…oh well; it was only pee, thank goodness. The one item we all agreed on though was the quality of toilet tissue in France; it is superb. Whether purchased & carried with you or found, where possible, in the stalls, it far exceeded our expectations.

The boat and the countryside also presented a new set of circumstances. The mates used the shower on-board “Calypso” only once, and quickly. The electric battery water pumps throbbed on and off, causing the water to pulsate hard & soft. The hot and cold water worked alternately…1^st hot & then cold; no mixing valve. Those were the only three showers taken on the boat during our trip (I opted not to follow in their footsteps). We kept a sharp eye out for other shower facilities since ours were of little value.

The alternative shower facilities varied from unusable due to poor maintenance or disrepair to unquestionably the best we had ever used. The worst were at the Le Boat basins; the best was a small marina we did not stay at but which allowed us to use the showers for 2 Euros each…a bargain. One shower which did work was so filthy, the mates could hardly use it but, out of necessity, they did.

And finally…toilet seats. How is it possible to visit a home port boat basin which has 4 men’s toilets/stalls and 4 women’s toilets/stalls and find that 8 out of 10 don’t have seats? Who has toilets without seats? Are they broken…how do you break a seat? Were they just not installed? Some of our crew managed to use the toilets without the seats, but how does this happen? And this wasn’t limited to this particular boat basin. Many of the outhouses we used in our travel down the Canal du Midi were equipped with toilets, but sans seats. Is there a shortage of seats in France?

So here they are: Toilet Tips For Travel In The South Of France

1) Always carry your own toilet paper. Purchased in stores it is usually pink, but of a high quality.

2) Always carry your own toilet seat. We did not find any for sale which may support the idea that there is a shortage of them in France.

3) If the men’s side doesn’t work, use the women’s side; it usually does work and nobody minds.

4) Be prepared to go for days without a shower or,

5) Be prepared for cold showers or,

6) Be prepared for dirty showers.

7) Practice peeing against things to prepare for the “water walls” (men usually don’t have a problem with this; Paul liked it a lot)

THE BOTTOM LINE

Our Le Boat bare boat excursion through the south of France was a memorable, exceptional & valuable experience. All of our boating experiences have been adventures, but this one was truly outstanding. It was nothing like boating in the near-coastal waterways of New England or the bright, blue waters of the BVI’s. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. But then, as I’ve said before, there is nothing more exciting than doing something for the first time. And now, like I tell Louise, “We’ll always have Paris”.

Captain Bob Brown

First Mate Louise

Captain Paul Fougere

First Mate Debbie

4 Comments

Posted in All Stories, Boating Travels | Tags: Bare Boating in France, France bare boating

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | November 3, 2011

THE RESUME

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES

THE RESUME

According to me, I’m retired. According to Louise, I’m between jobs. Of course she IS retired. Anyway, I don’t think she is as positive as I am about my emerging boating career. I’m pretty sure that all I need for abundant success in this field is to be positioned, physically, full-time in the British Virgin Islands (or at least in Ft. Lauderdale). With the onslaught of grandchildren, however, I don’t think this is going to happen, soooo…

Here is my resume. I’ve tried to make it “comprehensive” so that all my past initiatives are available for review; I wouldn’t want to miss any opportunities out there (as many of you may already know, I’ve had many “past initiatives”). Please…keep me in mind if you see any appropriately favorable conditions which may require my assistance.

Robert H. Brown Jr.

Born 9/17/47; Newark, Ohio

– At 3, removed all wheels from baby carriage while crossing street; all fell off; life threatening

– At 5, removed parking brake from parent’s car while at grandparents, and shifted into neutral; on a hill, of course; rolled into street; mechanically inclined early-on (handy)

– At 6, best friend, Sara J. and I pooped in Dingledie’s barn together; same week as pulling up of shrubs in a neighbor’s yard; got caught; neighbor thought it was the work of “teenagers”; she was surprised to see me & my mother at the door to apologize

– At 9, got a BB gun for Christmas…self explanatory what happened to neighborhood birds; also, Doug R. and I were the Masked Avengers; dressed up in capes & masks & terrorized the small neighborhood children

– From 7-15, was in the Cub and Boy Scouts; never made Eagle; enough badges, but the wrong ones (a theme developing here); received God & Country Award, worked at World’s Fair; went to National Jamboree in Valley Forge; hiked parts of the Appalachian Trail

– At 10, worked for Wallace Brown Greeting Cards; sold door to door; also Fanny Farmer candy sold door to door; also Fuller Brush sold door to door

– At 11, had paper route; later took over 2^nd route in nearby area (doubled Christmas tips!)

– At 12, started working for father building homes during time off & summers; continued doing this through college excepting 1966; at 19 worked for another contractor building grain storage elevators during the day and for Owens Corning Tech Center in Granville, OH at night pressing “A-pillars” for the Javelin automobile (was asked to be foreman of the project as it went into production at the main Owens Corning plant in Newark, OH)

– At 14 purchased a Sears Moped; driving equals freedom!

– High School: debate, tennis, cross-country, art club; learned to type!; just missed being an exchange student to France for a year; discovered girls; graduated

– At 16 got my learners permit & started driving real vehicles; license revoked 30 days later (for 30 days) for excessive speed (45 in a 30 zone); also started motorcycle gang with David M.; “Societies Children”; only 2 members; women were called “Societies Property”

– Parents gave me a Jeep, CJ-3B at 18; did a lot of off-road stuff; at Ohio University, we’d take it back to the abandoned coal mines & abandoned miner coal homes & have “Gin Jugs”; great parties! Record number of attendee’s was 65; that was the one when the local’s came out, fired a few shotgun blasts, and told us we did not have permission to be on this land…I told them we did, and used the land owners name; remainder of the party was tenuous at best

– At O.U. (’65-’69), studied Architecture for 3 semesters; aced all design courses & failed 5 hours of calculus each semester; barely stayed in; transferred to Journalism; graduated; secretary of Sigma Delta Chi, journalism society; worked part-time at Union Bar & Grill (no college affiliation)

– Attended Ohio State University; took courses for teaching certification

– Taught 6^th grade in Licking County Ohio Schools from 1969-1971; fired by Superintendent (long hair, wide ties & wide collared shirts); petitioned by student’s parents, successfully, to be reinstated (my mother was then the school psychologist for the County schools, and my step-father was the assistant superintendent for all of the County schools! The local superintendent: what was he thinking); I had already been accepted in Maine to teach 6^th grade there; packed up Jeep & headed on to New England…attended University of Maine in Farmington part-time; earned 7-year teaching certificate

– Teaching school, in Maine in 1972 was enough; accepted by Minuteman Council, BSA, for a position as District Scout Executive, for Belmont, Watertown and Waltham, MA.; during 3 year tenure, attended many camping outings; also directed 1,800-boy camp in New Hampshire (Camp Sachem); at 25, I was responsible for 17 camp staff, 1 chef, 2 maintenance and 8 weeks of campers; chef was a drunk, nature director was gay; rifle range was operated by quadriplegic; sailed a boat through the swimming area; staff got drunk the night of the dance with the girl’s camp; entire episode was life threatening

– Decided to go back to school, graduate work, in 1975, at Boston University; worked for friend’s father at Hospital Pharmacy in Worcester Square, South End of Boston across from the entrance of Boston City Hospital; I was the soda jerk; that was the year they started the methadone clinic; every junkie in Boston hung out in our square; Sidney (the owner) had a heart attack & I ran the store for several weeks; managed to collect $1,400 in parking tickets; came out of the store one day to watch my Jeep’s spare tire being rolled down the street by someone other than me

– Worked part-time as a karate instructor in a Kempo dojo in Chelsea (earned brown belt)

– Worked part-time as janitor at Northmeadow Tennis Club in Tewksbury, MA

– While at BU, met the President of Dynatech Corporation (evolving cryogenic technologies); tried, unsuccessfully, for 2 years to work with his company; too specialized for my background; studied Russian & German for a year in attempt to work with them overseas; represented Dynatech at conference of Russian physicians held at the Museum of Science in Boston; was offered position in Cayman Islands to start subsidiary to write off-shore contracts; one thing I didn’t do that I should have

– In 1976, began business career repossessing cars, boats & planes for Concord National Bank in New Hampshire; timing was good since I had now amassed $2,000 worth of parking tickets in Boston and had decided to leave the state

– Within 2 years, I was department manager; 5 collectors & we had farmed out all repos; also attended UNH, Durham for graduate credits in business administration

– In my third year of banking, I applied for, and got, a position as Commercial Lending Officer for Londonderry Bank & Trust; I had also built a home in Windham, NH, and owned two apartment buildings as well as 78 acres of land near Concord, NH; also played competitive racquetball obsessively

– At 33, I was Assistant Vice President of the bank, but ready to get out; fast track, but nowhere left to go; I went into partnership with a business I had met through banking, and became their Chief Financial Officer; invested heavily into company, personally & with friends; fired for “over stepping my authority” (a theme which would continue); sued them, successfully, to recover all investments

– At 35, sold all holdings & bought Shorwinds Motel at Hampton Beach…what a change! Owned & operated for nine years (longest I’ve held only one job)

– Also, received real estate brokers licenses for New Hampshire & Massachusetts; wheeling & dealing for the next 8-10 years; Rand Investment Services, Rand Development Corp., Shorwinds Improvement Company, Shorwinds Real Estate; purchased 51% of stock in the company which had fired me; became CEO of Sports Media Displays, Inc.

– Sold all due to the real estate recession of ’87; continued construction operations, my old stand-by (thank goodness my dad had taught me to be “handy”)

– Worked with the US Census Bureau for the 1990 census; Team Leader

– Worked for Team Design as a consultant in 1990; also managed Nugent’s Liquors in Kenmore Square for 6 months in 1990-91

– Worked for UPS at Christmas of ’92; it was the 1^st year they tried using bicycles with attached carts to deliver the extra packages (bicycles did not work well in the snow!)

– Worked three weeks in a factory in Amesbury cutting carbon impregnated Styrofoam used in manufacture of Stealth fighters (used to reduce radar signature of planes)

– An opportunity was presented (by a friend of a friend) to work for Shaw’s Supermarkets as a management trainee; started as Bakery trainee; made donuts & muffins; night baker; Keene, NH; needed apartment there due to odd hours; landlord was Munchie Zen; wife’s name was Sue (Zen); horrible job; after 6 months, transferred to Londonderry, NH as fully trained Assistant Bakery Manager; just as bad…not for me; after 1 year I was done in & over baked

– At 47, back to construction where I have remained; worked for:

o Self employed; helped remodel several homes
o Worked two days for a cabinet company in Brentwood
o CBM; helped build Mobil gas station in Hampton, NH
o CPM Associates; traveled nationwide installing new factory outlet stores (Jones NY, Villeroy & Boch, some bra company…)
o InterSpec Construction; commercial finish carpentry; Field Superintendent; did several Shaw’s Supermarket renovations (ironically) & new buildings for CM&B as a sub contractor; ISC became union contractor (all carpenters joined local unions)
o CManagement; (owner closed InterSpec & started construction estimating software company for German outfit); marketing VP; went to Germany to see how they wanted company here set up; company out of business in one year (poor language translations from German to English).
o ABM; started union finish carpentry division; placed carpenters to commercial jobs
o CM&B; general contractor; field superintendent; supervised many types of general commercial construction including many Shaw’s Supermarket projects & buildings.
o Continue to do various small “projects” for friends & relatives; work part-time at Cove Marina on an as-needed basis

– Met Louise in 1983; we’ve been together since; married in 1998; we are great together; how she puts up with the above stuff, I don’t know. Update: 2011: we just had our 13^th anniversary (28 years together…wow).

– 3 step kids, Sean, Jennifer & Michael; all exceptional kids; also leading exciting, exceptional lives

– At 50, acquired interest in boating; first boat was 21’; scared to death, but interest increased; after 1^st year, got bigger boat; 27’; began longer voyages; not enough boat though; after 2^nd year, got 34’ Sea Ray Express; traveled as far north as Mt. Dessert Island, Bar Harbor, Maine, and as far south as Hoboken, N J; too many adventures to list!

– At 56, acquired Master 50 ton Captain’s license needed to pursue boating commercially; could see myself running water taxi’s in Ft. Lauderdale and transporting boats for owners and dealers; Update 2010: at 61 upgraded Captain’s license to 100 ton Master

– June, 2004; Captain Paul & I picked up customer’s boat, 48’ Bertram, in Ft. Lauderdale, and returned it to Scituate, MA; 1^st paying customer since license

– Memorial Day Weekend, 2011; mate Jim & I delivered boat for customer from Merrimack River to New Bedford; 2^nd paying customer since license (we’re not really making our fortune here, are we)

– Bare boat cruises in the BVI’s, 2004, 2006, 2008; 39” power cat; with Louise, Paul & Debbie.

– Bare boat cruise in South of France, 2011; 43’ canal boat; with Louise, Paul & Debbie

– While in banking, I got my Justice of the Peace & Notary licenses; have performed 12 weddings since then; Update: 2008: 2 more weddings; last one was as a captain, in uniform on Mudslide (their boat); Louise manned the helm while ceremony was performed on the deck in waters off Hampton Beach

– Kids got me a karaoke machine for Christmas one year…nice; 2005 took a Royal Caribbean cruise in Mexico; did karaoke in front of 250 passengers (I have a picture!)…Jimmy Buffett, “Margaretville”…did not win!

– At 59 (July, 2007) we bought our retirement condo…a 46’ Post sport fishing boat (we don’t fish); what a life

– At 61, grandparents! Sean & Debbie had Kelsey Leigh…what a blast!

– At 62, grandparents again! Michael & Holley had Bryce Richard; what fun; who knew?

– At 64 grandparents again! Jennifer & Eddie had Ava Louise, and Sean & Debbie had the twins: Kaelyn Elizabeth & Liam Edward

– At 61, Louise is retired from teaching!!

– I, on the other hand, am older…but considering other avenues of earning a living …we’ll see

– Current deficiencies:

o Cooking
o I don’t do heights
o Lifting very heavy objects

– The 5 things I love the most:

o Louise
o Family
o A Party
o When a plan comes together
o Happy endings

It appears that I have had too many jobs, but no real careers. Keep me in mind if something should come up. Louise thinks I should boil this resume down to a single page…How do I do that?

Captain Bob Brown

6 Comments

Posted in All Stories, Relationships

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | October 23, 2011

CHARLES RIVER: 1ST TO THE 4TH

Well, here’s the 2nd in the series. Enjoy…we did!

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:
Charles River: 1st to the 4th

The new “Half Mine” was ready (the good half belongs to my wife, Louise; I get the broken half…always; I was 50; she was younger; I had never boated until the previous year; she had, with her father & friends). We had picked up our new boat in Portsmouth, NH, two weeks ago, and had blown 1 of the 2, 4 cylinder motors, not once, but twice before getting her to Cove Marina in the Merrimack River. We were at the docks, repaired, and confident, now, that our new 1989, 27’ Carver Montego would be capable of safely & comfortably transporting us to “The Charles River” for the 4th of July celebrations. We can’t remember how we decided to go, or who we were going with. Cove was a new marina to us; the friends we were making were new; this was our 2nd year of boating; our boat was new to us, equipped with a new GPS. All-in-all, this trip spelled ADVENTURE (a word lacking only an “S” and an “I” to spell “DISASTER”).

We were following a 30’ Sea Ray named “Absolutly II” (named after the vodka & the owner’s pest control business), and other boats from Cove; new friends who had coerced us into going on this trip.

While underway, we kept in close contact with Paul, the experienced captain of “Absolutly II” (closer than he appreciated; I used to have kind of a radio fetish but have since matured due in large part to a dampening effect from my friends). He was travelling with his soon-to-be X-girlfriend, Dawn (or Dove or Joy; a dishwashing liquid name). Paul did not know us very well; I’m not sure he knew us at all (we had met him while he was in “party mode” in the Essex River the previous year). He thought our boat name was “Half-a-Mind”, and wondered what kind of morons would name their boat with such a stupid name. Unknown to us at the time, after each of our transmissions, he would ask his mate “Who ARE these people?”

Well…THAT WAS ABOUT TO CHANGE.

We, Louise & I, were traveling with Debbie (she had just broken up with Don, Paul’s best friend…you can see where this is going). We had just about made it to the Annisquam River before losing power to one of our engines. We hailed Paul to apprise him of our situation. He suggested we check our fuel filters. Since this particular incident, we have learned where our fuel filters are, and we have the tools aboard to check them. When we informed him we would stop at Cape Ann Marina for repairs, we don’t think he cared much, but he wished us luck anyway…sure.

We had met an outstanding mechanic located in Seabrook, NH who empathized with our situation and was willing to gather his tools, jump into his truck and meet us at the marina in forty-five minutes so that our weekend trip to “The Charles” would not be spoiled (he has since divorced & moved to Florida; maybe that’s why he was so available; maybe that’s why he is divorced). One hour later, he met us at Cape Ann Marina. He told us he had to “fully survey” both motors to be able to determine the problem. We waited, anxious to get to Boston before dark & before an impending storm which was brewing to the south of us, became a problem. Remember…we’re new at all of this boating stuff. Two hours later, he had solved our problem.

It was the fuel filters.

Underway, again, “Half Mine” was nicely making way through Gloucester Harbor. Unfortunately, there was no longer anyone to talk with on the radio, we had lost our flotilla, and were pretty much on our own. We also noticed fewer boats on the water due to the approaching storm front. Our new GPS was not acting properly (I really do believe it was the GPS & not operator error; that company is no longer in business). We had paper charts, a compass & absolutely no experience using either one. We had been told by various folks, “when you see Boston, don’t go towards it or you will end up in Winthrop Harbor”, so we left it well to our starboard.

We missed Boston.

We did, however, find a lighthouse which we could not identify on the charts (the charts had several lighthouses). How is it possible to be lost this close to our destination? Stupidity. The GPS was junk; the dark clouds were much closer; there were no other boats in sight. So… I called Frank on my cell phone; he was my boating buddy from the previous season & very knowledgeable. He was also at a family cookout in Methuen; how could we possibly have thought he could help us? Really stupid. I should also mention that by this time Louise & I were no longer speaking to each other, and Debbie was very quietly sitting on the rear bench seat. I seem to recall telling them that if they thought they could operate the boat better than I was, and get us there better than I was, then they should do so… now. I was really surprised they did not take me up on the offer.

We spotted a solitary boat heading across our bow & in the opposite direction. We hailed this “no name” boat and asked if we could follow him…the storm was now seriously threatening us. We asked where he was going, but really didn’t care at this point, as long as it was toward land.

We really enjoyed our 1st visit to Marina Bay in Quincy (the lighthouse turned out to be Scituate Light). What a great stop. We docked, dined, danced & drank; it was a great night, a great relief, and one heck of a storm.

Early on the 4th, we left for Boston. We had been given explicit directions; there was no way we could miss the Charles River this time. We were again, able to raise Paul on the VHF (much to his dismay and, we suppose, to his displeasure). From Boston Harbor, we asked him for directions; from under the Route 95 bridge we asked him where his boat was in the river; from the locks we asked him how to get to his boat; and from the Longfellow Bridge we asked him which side he wanted us to tie up to (this was pre-911 when we could still tie up to the trees along the river bank near the Esplanade). We had hailed him four times since entering Boston Harbor. He asked his soon-to-be X girlfriend, “Who ARE these people?”

What an experience. The fireworks were great; the concert was outstanding; the 1812 Overture led by Keith Lockhart was inspiring, and the cannons were a surprise. The Giant Glass yacht broke anchor & threatened numerous boats, ours being one. We met many new friends. John & Linda’s boat hosted her cousin, a local media personality, (who we’ll call Tom). He provided an over-abundance of entertainment for all of us that evening (he has not been invited back to their boat since that “performance”). We had never been in a dinghy, so Paul let us learn how to drive his (nothing is quite as much fun as learning something new). That year, we were still allowed to dinghy up & down the small waterways adjacent to the Esplanade, and we spent the afternoon in battle with squirt guns & water balloons.

And somehow…Paul ended up with Debbie. They spent way too much time “among the missing” in his dinghy (several hours as we recall; possibly they went to Methuen to see Frank). They have since, returned…and are still together. I never asked Paul, but I am willing to bet that his trip back to Newburyport with Dawn (or Dove or Joy) was…uncomfortable. He did, however, need to call us after we returned; he had lost Debbie’s phone number. But Captain Paul has never asked anyone since that weekend, “Who ARE these people” on the “Half Mine” (although he has used “Half-a-Mind” as the boat’s name on several occasions since).

“Half Mine” returned to Cove Marina and continues to reside there. The return voyage was not eventful which was fine with us. We have made seven return trips to the Charles River for the 4th, and every one of them has been an adventure and another story waiting to be written.

Captain Robert Brown
First Mate Louise Brown

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Posted in All Stories | Tags: Boating

Posted by: nauticalchronicles | October 4, 2011

IN THE BEGINNING

NAUTICAL CHRONICLES:
In The Beginning

Boating has been an adventure and a thrill; now it’s a passion. We could see it being a career if we don’t run out of time first.

I’m 62. My wife, Louise, is younger. For various reasons, 12 years ago we decided to “get into boating”. Don and Louise’s friend Debbie had taken us out, once, in his boat in the Merrimack River, and we became “infected”. Also, Louise’s father had always had a “water craft” of some type; his stories were so memorable that she thought it would be fun to buy a boat. The first step was to find it.

Having been automobile repossessors, we felt confident in our abilities to spot a “good deal”. We began our search by visiting boat dealers who handled repossessions. We quickly found a suitable craft: a 1989, 21’ Four Winns. We made, what we thought to be a skilled and outlandishly low-ball offer. To our surprise, it was immediately accepted by the out-of-state bank; they even threw in a trailer. Our confidence somewhat shaken, we closed the deal and brought it home. It was November.

I am from Ohio…central Ohio. There is not much water in central Ohio. Growing up, I never thought much about boats or boating. I firmly believed in my Zodiac sign which is land-based. My attempts at swimming & lifesaving merit badges had defined swimming, for me, as “staying alive in the water”.

Many years ago, I moved from Ohio to inland Maine (on a whim), then from Maine to inland Massachusetts (for work) and then from Massachusetts to inland New Hampshire (for political reasons). Finally, I moved to HAMPTON BEACH (for self employment). Until I was 50, my beach business, being seasonal, did not allow for extra-curricular summer sporting activity; again, boating had not crossed my mind. It entered our minds when I got a regular job with regular hours, benefits, weekends free & real vacations.

So here we are; November, 1996; a repo’d boat named “Half Mine” (half hers & half mine; the broken half always to be mine); stored in the side yard at the house; with no clue what to do with it come Spring-time. The answer…take a boating course. The course was informative, but it was like learning how to drive a car without ever having been in one. The instructions and terms were mysterious, foreign, overwhelming and frightening. But this did not quell our excitement (and anxiety) about the upcoming boating season. There is nothing so much fun as starting something new.

Don and Debbie’s boat, “Mudslide”, was docked at Larry’s Marina in the Merrimack River. Our new “Half Mine” managed to secure a slip next door, much to Don’s surprise. Someone from Larry’s launched our boat and got it into the slip for us. I was apprehensive from the 1st step I took onto the boat, in the water…it tipped back & forth; it was not as stable as it had been in the side yard, at home, on the trailer. Louise, of course, was more comfortable since she was “experienced” (besides boating with her dad, she had owned a small sailboat with four other families).

Heart in hands (and stomachs in mouths) we started the motor, untied the lines, put it in reverse & ventured forth on our first, never to be repeated, highly anticipated, boat trip…to the first red marker. OH S#$!T (something we’ve said many times since that first voyage). It didn’t steer like a car; it was “tippy”; we didn’t seem to have control of it; and how in the world were we going to get it back into that tiny little slip we had just left? It is hard to describe the trauma (and excitement) we felt at this first attempt at boating.

The following weekend, Don wanted to show us the “trick” to getting out of the mouth of the Merrimack River (we’ve since discovered, and been told, that the mouth has one of the most aggressive currents in the Northeast). There were at least 1,000 boats in the mouth that morning, with 4’-6’ waves, close together…and we attacked them all, at 4 knots. We didn’t know much about boating, but we did know that this was not comfortable. But rather than quit, we persevered.

The friendships we made that first season have been enduring and the experiences so numerous and memorable, nothing can compare. We learned, quickly, with our over-night trips to the Essex River above Gloucester, and to Portsmouth, New Hampshire, York and Kennebunkport, Maine, that our prized, 21’ cozy yacht (with no camper canvas) was not enough boat for our adventures. We needed a bigger boat.

We kept the Four Winns for that one boating season before finding the boat of our dreams…a 1989, 27’Carver Montego. It was to be a “go anywhere, stay anywhere, live-aboard” type of vessel. We were thrilled. It was our second season, our second boat, and we had changed marinas to be closer to the ocean. We were now at Cove Marina on the Merrimack River, closer to Newburyport with all its great summer activities. We were meeting new friends while still maintaining our old friendships.

If the first year was an adventure, the second was thrilling. Our trips included: the Charles River for the 4th of July; DiMillo’s Marina in Portland, Maine; Martha’s Vineyard; The Dockside Restaurant in Gloucester; Kennebunkport; York; the sighting of the Emerald City, and the trip on which we were escorted by the 1,000 dolphins. It was astonishing how much we learned in those first two seasons, with the two blown motors, the loss of steering, the broken hoses & bent props…first hand experience was truly our best education.

Our new friend, Paul, never cared much for the Carver. He said he’d rather “have a bad headache than a Carver” (he had a 30’ Sea Ray Express). But we loved our boat…until our trip at the end of our 2nd season through the Cape Cod Canal to Newport, Rhode Island. It was a very rough trip with very rough seas and our light-weight Carver was no match for what we were asking of her. Paul claimed he and Deb were “drinking champagne in stemware”, while we were following him, holding on for our lives. We needed a bigger boat!

Since Paul had been soooo comfortable on his Sea Ray, we opted for a similar boat. Before boat shopping this time, we really did our homework. We knew, before looking that we wanted a 34’ Sea Ray express, somewhere in the range from 1984-1987; anything newer would be too expensive. We started the search; we found one at Great Bay Marina in Newington, New Hampshire. Unfortunately…it was not for sale. It was up on blocks & needed help, but it was a 1989. We tracked down the owner who said “it’s not for sale”. We made him an offer anyway…which he accepted. Our 3rd season was starting with our 3rd “Half Mine” and we were thrilled (Paul was so upset that we had a bigger boat than his, he immediately sold his 30’ and got a 39’).

The 34’ was perfect. We went anywhere, anytime; and what a great party boat with the full camper canvas & wide beam; rainy, dull nights stuck at the docks weren’t so dull anymore. For seven seasons, Louise & I took “Half Mine” from Northeast Harbor, Maine to Liberty Landing, New Jersey…and we loved every minute of every adventure. This was when our “boating pastime” went from an adventure and a thrill to a passion.

Just the other morning, while reading Northeast Boating, I asked Louise what her three most memorable boating adventures have been. She immediately said her 1st was the sighting of the Statue of Liberty while coming down the East River; her 2nd was our trip from Castine, Maine through the Eggemoggin Reach, and her 3rd was our bare boat charter out of Road Town, Tortolla, BVI to Anegada Island.

It amazes me how she and I can have such different ideas. My most memorable voyages, to date, have been the “rogue wave” that broke over our bow on the way out of the river one day, the “assault on Hogg Island” in the Essex River one night by Paul & I, and the day the dolphins traveled with us out beyond Cape Ann (discounting of course, our 1st trip to the red marker from Larry’s Marina).

Now, I’m 62 (Louise is younger). We had thought about buying a condo in Florida for retirement; but then we thought about a bigger boat for retirement instead. A year ago July, we found “the boat of our dreams” (for now), in Essex, Connecticut, and bought it; a 1991, 46’ Post Sport fish (we don’t fish). Almost immediately, the price of diesel skyrocketed and our on-water adventures took a nose dive…except for Provincetown; but that’s another story.

Captain Robert Brown
First Mate Louise Brown