A Kind Wish for a Pleasant Voyage

From the Log . . .

On the 22nd of October, we made our decision to leave, the following day, from Ensenada for the next anchorage below Ensenada, which is know as Santa Tomas Anchorage. The port captian of San Diego, who was in a boat adjacent to us, determined that we could get our papers on the 22nd and leave early the following morning.

Dean Smith, therefore, went ashore in the morning to obtain the bill of health and I was going in to obtain the remainder of our papers from the captain of the port, including the immigration officials at 3:00 o’clock, when I was advised that the Captain of the port was open.

Dean and Rey had a very interesting time getting the bill of health. They went to the various doctor’s offices, hospitals and each one told them to go some place else. As a matter of fact, I do not believe that anyone understood what they wanted. They went into on hospital, where the man who was in charge thought that they wanted a taxi cab, so she called a cab. Finally, however, they came back after a morning of hard work in Ensenada with a bill of health, which, if I can read Spanish at all, means that neither, myself, the boat, or any of the crew could possibly have picked up anything contagious in Ensenada. It was signed by the doctor, so that makes us all pure.

In the afternoon, Marilyn and I went ashore to get paper to go along further. We first went to the immigration authority and he looked at the papers that we had made out for ourselves, in a very questioning manner, said that our counselor stamp was perfectly good, but that he had never seen anything like the papers that we had. I believe that, that is true because everyone said that the paper could only be made out, going as far a Ensanada to the next official area of domain. This would amount to a trip between Ensenada and Cape San Lucas. I had heard in San Diego that the touring permit would let you go though Mexico entirely, if you merely made out the papers. Accordingly, Marilyn and I took some old Spanish sailing papers and made out a list of the placed that we wanted to go in Mexico ending at Salina Cruz. The immigration official had never seen anything like this and said that he would not sign our paper. He would put a stamp on it and I thought that, that might pass the port captain.

At 5:00 o’clock, we went back to the port captain’s office and found that he was not in. As a matter of fact, the office was closed and we wee told that his office hours were from 9:00 until 2:00. We had been waiting around Ensenada until 3:00 o’clock, as someone else had told us the office opened at that time. Therefore, it seemed inadvisable to do anything further about the thing and we went to one of the nearby bars for a beer. We met the captain of the port of San Diego and his friend, who was also in the bar and a friend of theirs who was also a shipping man, who was interested in various shipping companies and we waited around until 5:00 o’clock, as someone else told us the captain of the port would be back about that time.

We went down and found no one there and got the information that the office would be open at 9:00 o’clock in the morning. At about the time, one of the captain’s employees did come along, Mr. Sates recognized him, and asked him to stamp our papers. He looked at them very woefully and said that he had never seen anything like them, did not think they were legal and that we had better come back in the morning and see the captain of the port.

We were advised at every step we went to get a broker. On my previous trip through Mexico, I had had so much trouble with brokers that I thought possibly the trouble I would have by myself, would be very much less than if I employed one of the Mexican brokers to completely confused. As it turned out subsequently, this was the fact of the matter.

On Friday morning, October 23, 1953, we went into the town to see the captain of the port. We were then advised that his office opened at 10:00 o’clock so we walked around for a while and came back at about 9:30. Finally, the captain of the port came in and he was a very kindly gentleman. He had been in the maritime service of Mexico for many years. He had been captain of the port of Ensenada four times. He spoke excellent English. We talked about his visits to Alameda, and his affection for California, San Francisco and especially the peninsula below San Francisco. He looked at the papers that we had made out and said they were not exactly according to the Boyle, but they would do perfectly well if we would only take them back to the immigration officer and have him sign them.

We then back to the immigration officer, a distance of about three blocks and he said that the papers were irregular and he would not sign them. He would sign, however, the counselor list of the crew with our names and position on the ship. He did sign this put his name on it, and I took it back to the captain of the port. The captain of the port sighed, and said that the official actually did not know very much about marine affairs, so he told his stenographer, to make us up a set of papers that said exactly the same thing that our papers did, except that they were on official Mexican stationary.

We then took these back to the immigration official and he stamped them and signed them promptly what so ever, saying that we had probably paid $15.00 for these papers, and it was too bad, but it was the only way that he could do it. While, we were here, we also picked up our counselor list that had been stamped, in as much as it actually is our passport for the whole crew into Mexico. We then went back to the captain of the port’s office to have our papers stamped. They were given to us without any charge, what so ever and a kind wish for a pleasant voyage. The stenographer in the office said that he had never seen any such papers before when they were finished and the captain of the port said they were perfectly legal for a yacht. Here to fore, the broker, either, did not know that you could get a passport through all of Mexico, or he was purposely trying to make a yacht owner have a group of papers from one port to the next. (There is a considerable swell in here, so please excuse the typing) Whether or not the remainder of the Mexican officials know that law or not will be seen as the situation transpires down the coast.

When we had obtained the paper and left a few packages of cigarettes for the port captain and his secretary, I felt a little sheepish about not paying a fee and having a broker do it instead of the port officials and yet I am certain that, in my own mind, the brokers are the people that cause you overtime charges, charges for various types of stores that they put aboard and all types of odd things that they put on their bill, that in fact they got themselves. The officials as far as I could see, were perfectly honest, decent, kind and were willing and anxious to do the best that they could for us. Hereafter, I will take my chance with the official, rather than the broker.

______________________________

The above account gave me much pause.

The back and forth, the effort to avoid brokers and get papers that would not require additional interaction with the Mexican Officials down the coast. I found all of this very interesting. There is a very independent streak that runs through my family. A fierce desire to be free of entanglements seems to be a genetic trait.

Sailing provides this freedom, provides an opportunity to be totally in the moment. Away from shore, it is the water, wind and waves. A balance of forces that are not man made.

Sometimes beautiful, sometimes . . . not.

In the journal, I was struck by the image of Marilyn typing away in the cabin below decks in a large swell in Ensenada Harbor.

I can remember her calming me as I lay seasick and terrified in the top bunk of that very same cabin, my first exposure to a heeling sailing vessel as we made our way under the golden gate, with the leeward rail awash and the rush of the water against the hull in my ears below deck.

"the boat can't turn all the way over, it will be alright . . ." she spoke to me as my eyes stared at the pivoting cabin sea table, swinging side to side as we crested each swell rushing under the gate from the Pacific. For some reason, the sight of Navy Blue covered cushions and mahangony tables bring that memory rushing back to me

And then the statement:

“They were given to us without any charge, what so ever and a kind wish for a pleasant voyage”

To find the beauty in a pleasant voyage. The kindness of Mother Nature. That is what propels some to go down to the sea in ships, only to learn all the moods of Nature.

I'm struck by the notion that Grandfather's journal is largely about the social interactions they encounter on shore. Less about the voyage itself. More about the kindness of the people they meet.

Several posts back, Grandfather enjoys a highball with the immigration man, who now finds his papers irregular until they are presented below a Mexican letterhead.

Now the Port Captain turns out to be a pleasant fellow.

It will be very interesting indeed to see how the irregular documentation is greeted by the port captains down the coast, and what ‘skipper’ thinks about it.

The Ordinary Fashion That We Know

From the Log . . .

We went into one of the Mexican markets and even that is a transformation. My memory of Mexican markets is of an open stall, where meat is covered with flies and you have to brush the flies away before you can see exactly what kind of meat you are getting. Even then, you are not at all certain. As you go into the markets, at the present time, they look very much as they would in San Diego. They have a refrigerated cabinet with the meat enclosed in glass and out in the ordinary fashion that we know in the United States . . .

I suspect that as we go further down the coast away from San Diego that more primitive conditions will exist.

______________________________

Our perceptions are always colored by our experiences.

1953 was the start of my grandfather's second attempt to circumnavigate. The first took him as far as Pitcairn. So when he says in his journal "My Memory of Mexican Markets", perhaps he is speaking of that earlier attempt.

I transcribe the journal a few pages at a time, then post a section at a time, trying now to set the size of the post so that a particular event is described.

But I know what the next event is, and it also deals with some reflection on this being a different trip, years after the first. Times had changed, and there is the coloring of the experiences which lead up to the present.

The first trip was with my Grandmother, my mother and her sister around 1937. My mother has the actual logs (not journal) from that trip. I have the scrapbook with photos from the Galapagos, and other ports of call between there and Pitcairn - I'll be writing about that in a future post.

This second trip, which results in a circumnavigation, is a different set of circumstances, and World War II had some bearing on things.

One of the most significant things is that Grandfather had divorced my Grandmother, and married Marilyn about a year prior to the start of this trip. Marilyn was his Secretary in his medical practice.

So with a young bride as his companion, the transformation of the Mexican Markets must have been a quite a relief.

As I recall, my Grandmother was one who would say exactly what was on her mind. Marilyn was quite a bit more reserved.

My grandfather, on the other hand, loved the sailor's life. Captain of his ship, 'skipper' to Marilyn. He embodied the confidence of one who knows what he, his ship, and his crew are capable of, and acted in a fashion that instilled in his shipmates an admiration for his qualities.

He was often described as 'charismatic'.

The Captain, in the ordinary fashion that we know, is the leader that everyone looks to for the answers to every question afloat.

It is interesting to note how this journal was recorded. Dach Hall, a young Australian, signed on as crew when they reached Australia. In a letter to my mother in 2001, he mentions that:

"I can recall that Skipper, when we were at sea without being disturbed, would go down to his cabin, armed with the Ship's Log, The Visitor's Book and any other pamphlets, photos or letters/notes etc... He would spend the better part of 3 hours dictating the 'log' on a wire tape, which Marilyn later sat down in the Cabin with the recorder and type up the 'log' - original and about six or eight carbon copies."

As I transcribe the 'log', I don't edit it, or correct misspellings. I reproduce it exactly as Marilyn typed it up.

This dictation and typing was the ordinary fashion that Marilyn experienced in 'Dr. Holcomb's medical practice'.

I marvel at what it must have been like for her at sea, listening to a wire recorder and typing the journal with a mass of carbon copies. The young wife of a Surgeon, following in the footsteps of a previous wife, at least part way around the world.

In close relationships, there is an honesty that is fundamental to such a journey.

It is fascinating to me, as I attempt to avoid the coloring of my own experiences, and perceive the log as it was written. To follow along and try to understand the journey on a path I've never taken.

To witness the honesty of a first hand account, without judgement.

For this is not the ordinary fashion that we know.

Ayala Cove

Ayala Cove is steeped in history.

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Throughout my young life, I'd read stories of the South Pacific, and the image of the cove was always in my mind.

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Pictures of the Galapagos, Tahiti, Hawaii, Pitcairn,

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the Bounty

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pages of a log book

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the wooded slopes of Angel Island as a back drop to a cove defined to the west by a rocky outcrop.

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The fog spilling over the ridge. The polite, genteel civilization in the form of Belvedere . . . just . . . over . . . there.

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The stories from my grandfather's life, and the image of the cove as seen from the teak deck of a schooner.

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They merge in my memory.

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They fuel my imagination

Ayala Sandbox

The concept of a Sandbox has been with me for as long as I can remember. I grew up in an age when your Mom took you to play in the park, and where you went was the sandbox. It was your world, and your imagination was the only thing that limited you.

They say that your conscious memories begin around age five. Standing on the deck of the Landfall II in Ayala Cove, at about that age, my world, my sandbox, was that cove on Angel Island.

I wanted to go ashore and play on the beach.

It would be years before I was able to do that.

Hussongs Bar

From the Log . . .

I cannot remember exactly the first year that I came to Ensenada, but I would say that it was probably in or near 1919. At that time, there were only a few buildings on the main street. I can remember the bar known as Hussongs, was there and I can remember the Commercial Hotel that was either built or in the process of being built. The large Hotel Playa de Ensenada came in the 30’s and I can remember the building of that with the gambling casino and the various parties that went on in that hotel. From the first remembrance of Ensenada, I must say that it has undergone a remarkable transformation. At the present time, there are beautiful hotels along the beach. The Play de Ensenada is now called the Pacifico and although the gambling casino is musty and closed up, the beauty of that original architecture and tile still remains. It is said to see a beautiful hotel with only a few guests.

We were in, yesterday, to the Impardor Bar, which has a very interesting painting in back of the bar and has its glassware spotless and clean.

I think all bartenders are pleasant people, on the whole, and yet the Mexican bar tender seems to have a charm about him and a pleasantness that is unusual. They talk to you kindly, are helpful in trying to show you a new type of drink, and on the whole make a very pleasant afternoon, when you walk around a foreign town seeing things.

Hussongs Bar looks exactly as it did 40 years ago. I am told that it looks exactly as it did 80 years ago. As a matter of fact, the Hussong family is one of the oldest families in lower California and are most influential in every way, not only from a social, but from a financial standpoint as well. I understand that they have very large holdings including a number of motels. Some of the family resides in San Diego, but on the whole, they are still very large holder in lower California equities.

______________________________

I’m going to make this post short.

hmmm, I can hear a sigh of relief, ahhh, what's that about?

Can it be that Hussongs bar looks exactly like it did in 1953?

Several years ago, I went by my grandfather’s house. Not the one my mother remembers from her childhood, but the one Grandfather and Marilyn lived in. The one I remember from my childhood. It no longer has the magic that it had when I was young, and my grandfather was living in it.

Where is the magic in Hussongs bar?

I’ve decided to keep a list of the months of 2006, 2007 and 2008 in a spreadsheet.

There will be a column for Tillerman and another for EVK4. I’ll mark each off as I read the archives. That way perhaps I’ll avoid the convolutions that occurred when I tried to read Tillerman from beginning to present. I’ll take the months in no particular order, and just read when I feel like it, instead of trying to do it book fashion.

This also calls in question what I’m doing with my Grandfather’s log, or journal. If it is so hard to read a blog from beginning to end, then the order in which the log entries appear is going to make it tough for a blog reader to read them until I figure out how to edit the home page sidebar of Ayala Sandbox to list the entries there in chapter form.

Thankfully, Chapman is a book.

I know how to read a book.

Convolutions

From the Log . . .

This man was well dressed, polite and smart and was most helpful. He sat down in the cabin with us, enjoyed a highball and we talked with him for about 15-20 minutes. He assured me that he was ready and willing to do anything that he could to facilitate our stay in Ensenada and to make it as pleasant as possible. It was a refreshing and unexpected experience and if the remainder of our officials are as kindly as this gentlemen, the trouble with paper work and various regulations certainly will be made easy.

______________________________

I should have added that paragraph from the journal to my previous post, but I just couldn’t pass up the ending of the entry and that start of my post: Clumsy soldiers with a fixed bayonet or two . . . Yikes!

Having a Highball with the immigration man, that is sooooo my grandfather. I think also that it defined an age as well. Greasing the skids with a little liquor, in polite company.

The history of the Landfall II, previously the
Mavourneen Mary, is one steeped in Hollywood, just as is Brigadoon.

Mavourneen Mary (My Darling) was originally built by Boeing for Jane, as in Tarzan and Jane.

But that’s not what this post is about.

My mind is very convoluted. It probably shows up in my writing style. Sailing for me is the antidote. It is not how I started, it’s not what drew me to it, but one day while in college I reflected on why I loved it so much. As I recall, my Tornado crew asked me “what do you find so special about sailing?” during a break in training one day as we were parked just west of the Berkeley Olympic Circle.


Much later in life, I’d experience ‘heaving to’ on a J105 to ‘serve breakfast’, while sailing with one of the OCSC members and her crew, which included 'Chicken Jibe James' in a supporting role.

But that’s another story.

Back in my college days, it was a wonder to me how you could park a Tornado in any wind or sea condition. Sheet the jib on the wrong side, sheet the fully battened main in tight at the leeward end of the traveler, and put both rudders over at their stops. Stick the tiller extension under the jib sheet wire, and you are now a stationary raft (with a 35 ft fully battened storm sail). The forward force of the wind completely balanced any leeward drift or wind drag. Perfectly stable in any wind or sea condition, even a ‘typical’ day in the slot with 4 foot chop, 10 foot swells and 25 knot winds. Somehow ‘heaving to’ any other boat just doesn’t compare to ‘parking’ the Tornado, stretching out on the trampoline and resting your back on the boom.

While other fleets reached back and forth between races, we just found a quiet corner of the race course and parked.

Convolution – it takes nothing for my mind to jump from Tarzan and Jane to Olympic Sailing to a Death Roll.

But as I explained to my crew - When I’m sailing a dinghy on the bay, I’m totally focused. The rest of my life, the world, anything and everything gets left behind, and I’m totally in the moment when sailing. I can remember looking east that day, taking in the sweep of the view from Richmond, Brooks Island, Berkeley, the Oakland hills, to the Bay Bridge, and Treasure Island, and not recognizing what being ashore was like. Totally in the moment on the water.

Here at the computer, typing away, my thoughts swirl and I grasp at the threads of thought that got me to the middle of this post.

What was I thinking?

Oh Yes!

My quest to read Tillerman’s post, from his earliest to his latest, was interrupted this morning when I made the mistake of clicking on his 2006 archive and finding myself in December (without thinking) instead of January. As I read through the December of 2006 posts, starting at the bottom, I found myself skipping through the posts. I just couldn’t read them all. But the ‘Email from Mark Hammett’ post led to ‘Worth Doing Badly’ and eventually to the ‘Ham-it-up! Capri 25 Sailing Round Down’ video.

I read everything, and I was struck by a couple of thoughts.

These thoughts were heightened by Joe Cool’s video of Big Boat Knock Down.

I’ve spent my life sailing on San Francisco Bay; from an El Toro to Brigadoon on the wooden boat axis, a Lido 14 to an Olympic Tornado on the plastic axis. I’ve been from the tip of a bowsprit (yeah, that's me, 'Bowman John' in my younger days) to the ass end of a boomkin. From being dragged across a finish line while holding on to a centerboard, to the top of a mainmast on a schooner. I’ve windsurfed, trapezed, and been a monkey on a foredeck in the St. Francis Big Boat Series on Maxi’s. And yet, I still have much, much more to experience.

One of the many things I have not experienced is a Death Roll on anything larger than a 505 - there is still one of those out there with my name on it. When I put the chute up on a J105, I am ever, ever vigilant.

Perhaps if Mark wants to go come out west and go sailing with me . . .

If you’ve read this blog from the beginning, you’ll recognize that being the ‘Captain’ of an OCSC chartered boat is a relatively new experience for me. I like to say that 90% of my sailing life has been as a crewmember, (maybe 40% as 'bowman' hee hee) not the ‘Captain’.


Mark Hammett’s email is gold. It does not matter what you sail. It matters that you sail. To expose sailors to the sport, to help them along the way - Mark Hammett and Tillerman ROCK! - To introduce a crew to a death roll, albeit accidentally, capture it on video and offer it up to the world. Way to go Mark.

So what if armchair sailors can’t help but reveal their own ignorance to the world through comments on blogs about Mark’s Capri 25 experiences or Tillerman’s sunfish experiences.

Whether you come into the sailing world on the deck of a ship or the deck of a sunfish, the important thing is to experience the joy of the wind, waves and water.

An extremely important lesson I’ve learned through my OCSC crewlist experiences is that of being ‘skipper of record’. At OCSC, crews typically pool their money to charter a boat from the fleet. The fleet has everything from J24’s to a Caliber 40 to a Mahe 36.

While everybody typically shares the cost, only one individual can be the one solely financially and morally liable for the outing. The concept of ‘Captain’ is an important one. In the final analysis, the Captain is the final authority, and has the final responsibility.

For that day, on that boat.

People handle it differently.

My grandfather was known as 'skipper', and he took Landfall II around the world.

I'll be 'Captain' John, Bowman John, Crewman John, Foredeck John, or any other position on any boat and just love being on the wind, waves and water. I've been a 'Tillerman' with me, myself, and I as crew.

OCSC is very effective in training, they’ve created a set of rules and guidelines, and a stair step approach to certification. I challenged the certification process at the BBC level, and vaulted to the top of the stairs in one leap to avoid the cost associated with all the training. I've come to realize that it's doable, but not advisable.

There is a fellow member of OCSC that I sometimes refer to (affectionately) as ‘Chicken Jibe James’, the chicken jibe being one of the skills that OCSC teaches their BC and BBC students. It’s even described in Wikipedia as an alternative to jibing - just after Wikipedia presents the Dangers (worth a review).

James is good at it and practices it. He practices all the things he’s learned at OCSC. He’s done 100+ charters. He provides everyone he sails with the opportunity to practice the skills as well. It’s a little dull and rigid for most, and as far as I know he isn't spinnaker certified, so he doesn't fly it, but there is something there.

I sometimes think that if I sailed with James, more, I’d learn everything that OCSC teaches in BC and BBC, including the responsibilities of being ‘Captain’, which is something I kind of took for granted, thinking that experience on the water is what being ‘Captain’ is all about.

That it would translate from experience. - WRONG!

It’s one of the reasons I’m reading Chapman cover to cover, and attempting to read the total of Tillerman’s blogs. There is always something to learn about sailing. A lifetime is not enough.

I watched Mark’s video over and over again. Pausing and then restarting at the most dangerous moments during the Death Roll and Woman Overboard.

There was a fellow (Mark?) on the starboard side who looked like disappeared in the video, only to reappear on the new windward side. When I saw the video for the first time I couldn’t imagine how he didn’t get knocked overboard. It finally dawned on me that he crossed prior to the uncontrolled jibe. He crossed the traveler, then made his way to the new windward side around the mainsheet as ‘windward’ became ‘leeward’ – instantly.

The beauty of the video is you can go through it again and again, see each crew member at each location, and study how they reacted and what sort of challenge they were confronted with. I love that Mark is willing to make his video available to clubs and training centers.

I’ve been in every possible position, and in the last year, that of ‘Captain’.

Tillerman is focused on laser sailing (when not running marathons or playing with his grandchild). There is nothing wrong with that, he’s ‘Captain’ of his Laser, if something goes wrong, he is the only one to shoulder the responsibility, just as the Captain of a Capri 25 is the only one who can shoulder the responsibility of that craft – whether or not he/she is helmsman/woman.

There was a year in the heyday of the west coast dinghy sailing decade. During that year of the 70’s we lost several sailors. One, I think it was a Finn sailor, who died racing in Monterey Bay, when struck by the boom. It was said that he was dead before he hit the water.

This is a convoluted post. Mark’s video was a convoluted jibe (and MOB recovery).

I am totally focused when sailing. My experiences over the last year have challenged my focus. Not so much challenged my confidence, but the experiences have pointed out the value in a humble nature. In a way, I’m searching for the humble nature in my larger than life grandfather through his journal.

There have been so many times when I’ve returned to the dock, the boat is put away, and everyone relaxing in the club house. The crew is thinking, and saying “That was GREAT!”, and I’m thinking “Whew! Cheated death again”, and sobered at the innocence of the souls that were in my care.

It’s difficult when ‘Captain’ of a sailing vessel. There is so much that you have to keep track of. Things can happen in the blink of an eye, and you stand alone to bear the responsibility. You can not take that lightly.

Whether you are on a Laser, a Capri 25, or a tall ship.

A-p-parent What?

From the Log . . .

We arrived in Ensenada arbor at about 9:10 am, on October 20, 1953. The harbor has been much improved since I was here last. There is a large jetty, extending out from the point and instead o a long lazy swell, there is no excellent anchorage with almost no motion at all in Ensedada Harbor. Likewise, a new pier has been built. The fish canneries have been greatly enlarged and there are a number of sport fishing boats as well as small coastwise freighters that are anchored in the harbor.

There were a number of American boats that were anchored when we came in. One small ketch that was called the SilverGull. A 50 foot cruiser from Los Angeles and a small sloop from some place or other. He has skull and cross bones black flag at his stern and apparently is some sort of peculiar person, who have chosen to avoid at least until the time of this writing.

The Mexican official that came aboard was entirely different than any Mexican official I have previously contacted. He was well dressed, polite, spoke English and was no accompanied by several hangers on. He was the immigration officer and did all that was necessary for the captain of the port as well as the customs officials.

My previous experience has been that you have three officials and they usually bring along with them two or three soldiers, who sometimes have shoes and sometimes not. They, always, however, have very large chevrons and most often carry a fixed bayonet or two, in a rather clumsy fashion.

______________________________

Clumsy soldiers with a fixed bayonet or two . . . Yikes!

So here is a clumsy attempt at humor, and a story about bayonet like bows-

I’ve decided that I’m going to turn Tillerman’s propensity for self promotion on its head. He shamelessly places links to past posts (usually recently past posts) on his current posts. I guess this enhances his traffic numbers. It must because I follow them all and have a great time.

What ever floats his little boat. He he

In one of his comments, he says he hardly ever goes back and reads his own posts - meaning, his really old posts, like, from 2005.

Now EVK4 is going back to his old posts, like from 2005, see his comments on my recent post. So I'm going to shamelessly promote one of EVK4's old posts, and challenge Tillerman to write a post on Apparent Wind, from the laser sailors point of view.

For me, sailing is past, future and present. And my past goes way back. Not as far back as EVK4’s young son, but close. I’m having a great time reading Tillerman, and EVK4 (and Chapman).

This reading brings to life many of my memories. Some day I’ll describe what it was like to go to the dark side and begin crewing for a speed freak on a Tornado, only to find myself on a trampoline with a fashion model in a knit bikini.

But EVK4’s April 20, 2005 post turns over a rock that has been sitting still for 26 years.

And it is applicable to my current sailing experiences. I’m having a ball sailing with members of OCSC. They are drinking very deeply from the cup of learning. Most of the ones I sail with are somewhere in their own personal journey to accomplish their own sailing goals. My only sailing goal is to sail, and sail, and sail, preferably with Admiral Anne and Nature Girl, and well, anyone else with a sense of humor.

Hey Edward, you want crew? I'm a click away!

Tillerman, when are you going to get off your silly little boat and bring your sense of humor to the wild, warm, west coast? We can pop the chute on a J105 in the slot and go for a wild ride without finding a death roll with or without our names on it.

Where was I?

Oh yes, the day I completely understood Apparent v. True Wind.

I found myself on my Tornado 26 years ago, in THE SLOT, on a January day, with NO WIND, and an EBB current.

Yet I was able to sail against the 5 knot current to return 'up river' to Richmond Yacht Club, before the it switched to a Flood. Even with no wind. Zip. Nada

Chapman explains apparent wind by comparing a Spanish Galleon to an Ice Boat (on page 276 of the 65th edition – look it up, it’s a cool way to explain it).

A Tornado is much closer to an ice boat than a Spanish Galleon, Newport 28, or a Laser. All I had to do was turn the hulls 90 degrees to the ebb current, and the apparent wind generated was able to accelerate the speedy racing machine. Chapman explains that a boat will accelerate until the drag forces equalize the imbalance of the forces acting on the center of effort and the center of lateral resistance. A cool way to describe how and why a sailboat moves through the water with magical ease (assuming the crew knows what they are doing).

The really, really cool thing is that as apparent wind accelerates a boat, you can adjust your point of sail and sail trim to keep the acceleration going, until drag stops your acceleration. Which is why certain very cool racing craft can sail faster than the wind, sometimes (like ice boats) much, much faster, other times (like the Tornado) just faster.

Lucky for me on that day, a Tornado has very, very little drag. It also tracks like a train on rails. I discovered that the rudders will cavitate and ventilate under certain conditions; making it a little tricky to turn up or down when on a beam reach in the slot coming up on Pt. Blunt like a speeding bullet. After the ‘girl in half a wetsuit’ incident at Pt. Blunt, I learned to give that rocky outcrop a wide berth.

There are tricks you can use to eliminate more drag on a light wind day. You can raise both your rudders and your centerboards. You can tilt trim the boat so that it is ‘down by the bow’. This helps the separation of flow from the hulls at the stern. The bayonet like bows act like rudders when you change the trim.

You can check out this video - the opening sequence provides a birds eye view of those bayonet sharp bows.

Sailing without rudders? Am I nuts?

No Way! Yes Way! - the Tornado’s hulls have a CLR, even without rudders and centerboards. They are relatively very long and very narrow. It’s the balance between all the forces that result in your direction vector.

From the slot, I was able to make my way to Treasure Island (I have some pirate blood), then pick up the counter current from the south bay, East of TI, and tack my way north to RYC, using only the apparent wind generated by the tide currents.

When I stopped accelerating, I could dip into the fast ebb current in the ship channel, and use its power to create more apparent wind to recharge my acceleration curve.

It helped I was an engineering student at the time, understood all this, and had a warm, sunny January day (Tillerman, eat your heart out!) in which to play with Mother Nature.

Mother Nature was playing me by keeping all the wind to herself. I played with her by getting my craft, ‘Monkey’s Delight’ to move anyway.

It also helped that I’d crewed for John Liebenberg for a few years in the Fireball Fleet. The two John’s were unbeatable in light winds. He was a master, and I was his apprentice.

It took a few hours, but I got back to my home base even though there wasn’t a breath of wind.

A few months later, my first born came into this world.

But that’s another story.

A Smug Mug Wiped Clean

From the Log . . .

We then set sail for Ensenada Bay, which is a distance of about 45 miles from the Coronados Islands. We had a nice breeze and sailed until about midnight, when the breeze dropped and the motor was turned on for a period of about four hours. At about 4:00 o’clock in the morning, when I came on watch, the light of Todos Santos Island, seemed rather close to us and in as much as we did not which to make the port of Ensenada before 9:00 am, we cut off our motor and sat there until daylight, when Marilyn came up and we fixed up some trolling lines to do a little fishing. I do not know what is the matter with my fishing, I have never been in southern waters so long before without catching a fish, but we trolled back and forth around the Todos Santos Islands for an hour or two and never got a strike. You could see fish jumping here and there, but still, we had no bites on the lures that we trolled astern.

Usually in this bay, the fish are voracious and all you have to do is put out a line of any kind in order to catch a fish. I am told by the people ashore that the weather has not been satisfactory and that we are in the wrong season for good fishing. There are a number of sports fishermen that go out here and se saw, yesterday, some fish that they brought in, but not very many.

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‘Skipper’ doesn’t seem to have any trouble enticing Lobsters from traps. ‘Comeuppance’ was a phrase that was used a lot during dinner table conversations at my grandfather’s table with parties and drinks afterwards.

But on to present day concerns.

I was feeling a bit smug. I’d figured out an effective way to force my way against the current as I attempt to read Tillerman’s Proper Course Blog from start to finish.

I just finished reading his 168(!) and final post of 2005 - his 'Tillerman's Top Twenty Stories of 2005'

I'm still laughing from the 167th post of 2005 - 100 things about me.

And my practice of reading a book at lunch (thankfully I eat slowly and read fastly) has been enhanced by a life long ambition I've just begun to fulfill.

As a young lad, I’d always appreciated the heft of Chapman Piloting and Seamanship. I’d visit chandeliers (yeah, I am and old bugger) and gaze longingly at the thick volume on the shelves. My longing to understand everything about ships and the sea was perhaps at its peak when I was a student at CAL. I passed over the bridge between Alameda and the hook of Ballena Bay one day. To my left was a Gaff Rigged Schooner. I couldn't resist. I knocked on the door of the house it was behind, and explained my passion for sailing originated on the deck of my grandfather’s Marconi rigged schooner. Could I perhaps take a closer look?

I signed aboard as a crew member, sanding varnishing, tarring rigging, and helping sail Brigadoon for a few years after that.

Had the great honor of being on board during the Master Mariner’s Regatta. Something I’d missed out on during my early childhood.

But I could not afford the high cost of my own copy of Chapman. I was a starving student. I was going to CAL, racing my own Tornado out of RYC, even though I had no car.

If you’ve made it this far, you now know my brain wanders the spectrum of thought. Who would believe that someone racing a Tornado, enrolled as a dual major at CAL (Mechanical and Nuclear Engineering) and preparing for the 1980 phantom Olympics would be a deck hand on a gaff rigged schooner brought to the west coast by none other than Sterling Hayden, best know for his performance in ‘Dr. Strangelove, or how I stopped worrying and learned to love the bomb.’

Back to the Present.

As an old bugger I was prompted by my second interesting encounter with the Larkspur Ferry to buy a copy of Chapman.

There’ll be posts about ‘How many ferries does it take to right a Tornado imitating a turtle’, and ‘rush hour on San Francisco Bay’ . . . one of these days.

I can’t help but tease. The ‘Ferries’ post involves a woman in half a wet suit, an exacto knife and the Coast Guard. The Coast Guard got their woman, I got to single hand my craft back to RYC with a broken rudder fitting. Good thing Catamarans have a 'spare' rudder. This youtube video demonstrates why Tornados only use one rudder at the time. So to this day, I still get a smug feeling about single handing my boat back to the yacht club on one rudder, and beating the coast guard boat to the dock.

Lucky for me, I broke the starboard rudder fitting - it was a Starboard tack on a close reach all the way back in 20 knot winds. Since Tornado class rules limited you to a single trapeze in those days, I forgot all about my lovely half dressed crew in the clutches of the coasties. I was by my lonely, blissful self hanging it all out as I flew above the waves on the circle.

When sailing with women on board, I learned that exciting rides in fast wet boats sometimes lose out to Coast Guard Vessels with heaters on board after a swim in the bay. There was no second date for me, perhaps one of the coasties got lucky.

But back to Chapman: The 65th edition is 928 pages long. I couldn't wait. As I read the history of the book, the forward, the preface, the flyleaf’s, I came upon a description of someone who had the distinguished honor to be among the few who had read ‘Chapman’ cover to cover.

That is like a carrot on a stick to a mule like me. – I’m on page 333, Anchoring Techniques.

The humor inherent in Tillerman’s writing is like carrot cake to an overweight diabetic.

Not an apt description for me, thank God, it’s just that I don’t want to reuse a metaphor.

So back to the inspiration for this post.

The smugness on my mug was wiped clean as I turned the corner on reading the last of Tillerman’s posts for 2005, returned to his home page and went down the incredibly long sidebar. I noticed for the first time he had 376 posts in 2006 – groan.

______________________

P.S. Me and my Tornado were only a trial horse for a friend who seriously had a chance in the Phantom 1980 Olympics - Damn you!, Damn you all to Hell! Mr. Carter! - But I got married and discovered sex, so I guess it all worked out in the end.

Lobster Thieves

From the Log . . .

I though it would be very nice if we had some lobster and knowing that the people had plenty, went to the beach in order to by some. I also too several heads of lettuce, some tomatoes and cucumbers, which I am sure were usable by the people that accepted them. I then asked if I could buy some lobsters and they gave me the same old story that you hear in Mexico, “manna sequreo” which mean tomorrow of course. As a matter of a fact, the only people who were present were young men and boys who could not man the skiffs and let us get some lobsters, so that we went back to the boat, hoisted the skiff aboard and had our dinner.

At 3:00 o’clock, it was very dark, except for a small moon that came up over the edge of the cliff inside of the cove and strangely enough we found that the Landfall had drifted very close to one of the lobster receptacle that was anchored in the cove. Another very strange occurrence was that there were six of the lobsters that seemed to be very lonely in their care and in one fashion or another transferred themselves to the deck of the Landfall, where we received them gratefully and put them in a sack.
_________________________________

My grandfather is a man who was bigger than life. I have mixed feelings about the above entry in his journal. Was the lobster transfer an aquatic jail break, or simple thievery?

On a different subject:

Tillerman challenged us to a writing quest.

This is my first attempt at fulfilling one of his challenges.

My entry in this challenge is the following:

"This post is simply the best because it is the beginning of something special, and I enjoy the start of something huge".

Wasting Time South of the Border

From the Log . . .

In order to waste time getting between San Diego and Ensenada, we decided to anchor at the South Coronado Island for dinner. We anchored there in a cove in the south island which is the property of Mexico at about 5:00 o’clock. There were about 3 or 4 fishermen, as well as some floating lobster pots, where they kept the lobster that they had obtained from the previous days fishing and had not yet taken to market.

On this island, there is a very amazing set of buildings that arise almost directly from the edge of the cove and extend upward for a distance of about three stories above the surging water of the cove. As a matter of fact, there are two such buildings containing in all, one would assume 3 or 4 room apartments. Directly above this, on the cliff, is the Mexican lighthouse, which operated the light for the southern part of the island.

_________________________________

I've searched the web for information on South Coronado Island, in particular to see if I can come up with the kind of information (and photos) that I placed in the Sheep and Skulls and Submarine Nets Post. I've discovered that the amazing set of buildings was, at one time, a casino. Hmmm. I've also discovered the strange tale of the war time activities of the founder of the church of Scientology. Neither of these things warrant a link, if you want to find them (I can't imagine why), you can google it yourself.

I've held off my posting because I hoped to include some photos in this post.

But after finding The Skips Blog and Proper Course, and EVK4, I've been amazed at how effective and entertaining a good blog can be. With or without photos. So I'm not going to hold off posting just because I don't have images to share. It's time to get on with my grandfather's story as he sails south of the border.

I like Tillerman's blog so much that I've searched back into the archives of his, so I can read the blog postings month by month. I've worked my way through all of his 2005 posts. I've got three more years worth of reading.

Hmm, three years of Laser racing efforts to read as quick as possible (so I can get on to EVK4). I amazed that I'm not being put to sleep! He moves from his experiences on the race course to the clubhouse, to other venues to marathon training. With a good humor in every post.

I'm not going to be getting much sleep.

Admiral Anne came down from Redding to sail. She's a little concerned about my addiction to reading the sailing blogs I've discovered.

She sailed on Friday, and on Saturday, it was raining and not too warm today, so we didn't to sail today as we had planned. We hung out at the OCSC Clubhouse for a little bit, went over the sailing section of Chapman's Piloting and Seamanship (I gave her a copy for Christmas). Silly me! I thought it would answer many of her questions. One good answer leads to another good question. Oops! a lot of good answers seem to lead to a lot of good questions.

It's a good thing I like inquisitive minds.

Pondered Bernoulli's principle. It still doesn't make sense to me how flowing air can be lower pressure than the surrounding static air. There must be a pressure gradient for air blown out of one's mouth towards static air. The pressure must be greatest near your lips, and then slack off towards the static pressure of the room air, in order for your breath to physically move from high pressure to low pressure.

She's reading a book on sail trim, they use a mouthful of air blown across a piece of paper held between two fingers to demonstrate the principle.

I was a good thing we had the OCSC clubroom to ourselves for most of the day. We looked kind of silly blowing air across napkins.

The J105 'Energy' came in from a quick sail out to Angel Island and back. They said they averaged 7 knots without the spinnaker in the rain. They were wet, no longer cold, and very happy as they pealed off their gear.

Before I post this, a quick Tip of the Hat to Scheherazade. In Tillerman's post on Practice in November of 2005, he included a link to her Teaching Instinct post.

It was an email from Scheherazade, and The Hat from Admiral Anne that got this blog started

Thanks be to the both of you.

Border Crossing

From the Log . . .

At about that time, our well wishers descended upon us. They amounted, I would say to about 10 to 15 people in all, some of whom would accept a highball if we gave it to them. And as a matter of fact, passed out highballs to the people that came as well as ourselves, congratulating ourselves on the fact that we were finally getting underway for our long trip.

Dr. Dean Smith from New York had arrived two days before and much of his gear was still not put away so that added to the confusion. After taking leaving of San Diego and the cheerful group that came down there to see us off, I am more convinced than ever that the time to leave is in the middle of the night when no one knows that you are going. Certainly you are much more ready to leave at that time, than you are with a group of bottles and unwashed glasses, ready to get up you sails and start to sea.

Our trip through the silver gate, which the opening of San Diego Harbor is called, we were accompanied by my brother in-law, Paul Hartley in his PC. As a matter of fact, they sailed past the point tip of Point Loma to the ball buoy with us and finally gave us a cheer on our way. It was a beautiful day in southern California. The weather was warm and the breeze was just enough to push us along at about 5 knots and not dump over the spare gear that had not been properly stowed.

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When I started this blog, it was to chronicle both my grandfather's trip around the world, and for the thoughts in my head to find a place. - to flow from my mind through my arms, hands, and eventually find their way to my fingertips and from there the keys to the world.

I'm at a point now in the journal where my Grandfather crosses the border into Mexican Waters.

I was up until 3 am last night, crossing a border of my own. I didn't know where this blog would take me- I still don't. It's a post by post endeavor, with my Grandfather's journey as a backbone to keep me going. My resolve is to continue to post until my Grandfather's story is told in full. I'm great at starting things, but not so good at the finish. Somewhere along the way, I get distracted and . . .

So this is a great place to segue, to stay on my own proper course.

In the spring and summer of 2005, Tillerman, the author of the blog 'Proper Course' was going through some introspection. A laser sailor, a fellow who has been exploring the joy of sailing for many years, started to kick it up a notch.

He started to practice starting.

The border I've crossed, the start I've just made in parallel to my Grandfather's border crossing is to begin to read some of the great sailing blogs. Admiral Anne and I were reading 'The Skips Blog', and a comment by Tillerman on that Blog got me over to his. I'm now spending about 6 hours a day, trying to catch up, to get current on 'The Skips Blog', 'Proper Course', and 'EVK4 SuperBlog' .

Just like the start of a yacht race, the fundamental strategy is to get clear air. Sailboats need clear air. The recent collision between MF and 'Stann by' may have been just as much a matter of 'Stand by' getting caught up in the 'dirty' air of the Maltese Falcon, as any of the other speculations.

So I'm looking at Proper Course as my own version of 'clear air', as I try to read all of Tillerman's posts from his very first to his latest. Then, like a sailboat in a race along a proper course, I'll reach off downwind by skipping through his top ten list.

Tillerman has a fantastic sidebar on his blog. His Top Ten Blog list, and More Boating Blogs is like the Golden Gate to me. I feel like I'm about to sail under that 'border' and discover a whole new world.

Thanks, Tillerman!

Inspired . . . or not!

From the Log . . .

On Monday, the 19th of October, 1953, we left San Diego, at about 12:15. Before leaving, we went up to a commission house and purchased as many fresh vegetables and fruits as we thought that we could carry. These included a sack of potatoes, a sack of onions, case of lettuce, case of tomatoes, half a case of squash, half a case of cucumbers, lemons and cranberries and a case of cantalope. In commission houses, things look so good that you usually buy more than you can possibly use and yet when you are leaving the United States, you are leaving the most wonderful fresh commodities that can be obtained anywhere. They are not only good in their quality, but are so packaged and graded that they keep well and are a source of delight, when you get to a place where they are not obtainable.

In addition to that we filled up in diesel oil for the main engine, on gasoline for the generator, kerosene for the stove and had a couple of extra tanks and water put aboard, because any water that you put in your tanks should be boiled. This sounds like a simple process and yet if you have ever tried to boil a 15 gallon tank of water you will realize, first of all how difficult it is to get it to the boiling point and how difficult it is to handle once it is in boiling condition. As a matter of fact it takes about ½ a day to get a tank of 15 gallons of water from the shore to the boat to boil it and finally to put it in the tanks.

The extra 15 gallon drums that we brought for this purpose, were kindly donated by Mr. Carig, who is the pacific coast manager for the Republic Steel Corporation.

Another chore on the day of leaving is to obtain the necessary clearance papers for a foreign port. You have a broker for that purpose, who is generally located nearing the custom house. We obtained papers, including a sanitary report of the City of San Diego and a certificate that we had no rats aboard. Just how the United States Inspector could tell that none of our crew were rats, I do not know, but at least they gave us a clear bill of health. I suspect that we have a couple of rats aboard, but at least they are not for official cognizance.

We not only obtained clearance papers for Ensenada, Baja California, but we also obtained them for the canal zone and obtained papers that we can use when we come back into the United States. One would assume that for American Citizens, it would be easy and cheap to get back into the United States, but believe it or not I am still nursing a grudge for the immigration officials for sending us a bill for $19.40, to be certain that they were all American citizens that came from Honolulu to Oakland on our last trip. Why in the world, Mr. McCarran and his act had to send a naturalization and immigration officer to every small boat that comes in from Hawaii is more than I can tell you. I have never heard of such a thing, but the official came aboard and at the present time I am in receipt of the bill from the naturalization and immigration service that was required when we sailed from Honolulu.

In addition to the commission house stores, we finally went to a super market and went up and down the isles picking up things that we thought would be of use. These included about 25 loaves of bread, several pounds of butter, 10 dozen eggs, half a wheel of Tillamook cheese, 1 bologna, 1 salami and numerous other boxes. As a matter of fact, as we put all of this stuff aboard about 11:00 am, the whole cabin was full of boxes, crates and other materials that needed very badly to be put away.

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After more than a month with my laptop dead (presumed dead that is), and the log entries trapped on the hard drive, it took a little inspiration to get me to start the process of debugging the dead laptop, with an expected result of pulling the hard drive out and securing it in a USB enclosure.

This post is about that inspiration.

I went sailing yesterday with Nature Girl. She lives up by Joaquin Miller Park in the Oakland hills. I am so jealous, (not really), but it's a really cool place, created by a very quirky poet guy with great hair and a cool beard.

She is gaining some valuable experience at the helm, and I'm crewing for her. She'd probably describe it differently, but that is the way I see it.

Before we left the dock however, there were a pair of OCSC members doing a review. One of them I thought I knew, but it took a while for the tumblers to drop into place before I realized where I'd met her. OCSC had sponsored a trip to the Spaulding Boat Works - another really cool place. The Gaff Rigged Sloop Freda is being completely restored there. Echo, the Farallon Clipper I race on was designed by Spaulding but built elsewhere.

During the tour, we'd gotten a chance to go aboard a gaff rigged wooden sloop which was a sister ship to Freda. I belive it was Polaris.

I'd literally 'bumped' into this Boat Works Girl as were exploring the interior of the sloop.

It seemed like they'd finished their review.

Nature Girl and I went and we played in the waves and strong currents, the Angel Island wind shadow, and eventually made our way back in. As we neared the harbor, it looked like the review was still in progress, but now with only one student. As NG and I put the boat away, the other J24 came into the slip, the instructor helped with getting the main taken care of, then left the rest to the the boat works girl I'd met.

The other student was no where to be seen.

After our boat was put away, and everything stowed away in our cars, and NG had gone home, I went back to the dock to see if BWG needed any help. The sun had gone down and it was dark. The tide was as low as it ever gets (-1.9 ft!).

She was there and I reintroduced myself. When we discussed how the review had gone, she mentioned something that got me thinking.

She described herself as someone who really responds to clear direction, that ambiguity is not something she's comfortable with. We talked some more, and I learned she worked in the IT field. Cool, a Brainy Woman who likes old wooden boats.

Today as I rolled things around in my head, it occurred to me that sailing is analog, not digital.

The points of sail are very much a continuum. A boat moves through the water at an angle to both the wind and to the flow of water around the hull.
And the water can be flat, or moving up and down - and everything in between.

Often sailing properly is as much a feeling as anything else.

When you get out of sync with it, you have a bad day.

Sailors talk about a groove, especially going up wind. At that point of sail, it's easier to 'feel' the boat slow down when you get too high, speed up when you head 'down'. When off the wind, with the wind on the beam, if you are in the groove, with the sails set just right, in trim, heading up or falling off slows you. The boat doesn't heel as much.

It is a little harder to feel this, but go too far either way and it becomes a bit more obvious.

On a broad reach, things are very analog, and rather flat at that. Turning up or turning down, being a little out of trim, doesn't feel much different. In light air, it's hard to know when you are in the groove. Harder still to feel that you are in the danger zone, where an uncontrolled gibe is just waiting to separate your head from your shoulders.

To lose all confidence. For you, the student to lose confidence that you know what you are doing. For the instructor to lose confidence in the you being able to not kill him or her. For you to lose confidence in the instructor keeping things safe.

Very suddenly sailing seems digital.

But it's not, it's analog.

It doesn't help that to pass a practical test, you have to perform a MOB, a Man Over Board test. You have to snap into a beam reach when the 'Man' goes over, then do the big tack, and then --- Oh NO! ---- go to a broad reach where it is so hard to feel the groove. Then head up and place your less than responsive vessel next to the 'Man Over Board'. Right next to it, so you can get 'Him' out of the water.

Earlier in the day, my friend and I were working on this. Not on MOB drills, but just sailing through the waves, on a deep broad reach, sometimes dead down wind. With the spinnaker up, and getting the feel of that analog, flat spot. Getting the feel of the middle of the flat spot. Staying inspired, rather than not. Staying not terrified of a uncontrolled gibe

We were blessed with a light breeze, and some wave action that spiced it up a bit. There was lots of time to talk it through, for the helmsperson to get the feel of what the waves were doing to the boat, what very slight corrections were needed in light air to keep it all in the inspirational zone. To keep it in the 'groove'.

Reflecting on the analog nature of sailing, on the inspiration that comes from being in the groove, and the 'not inspired' feeling of being out of the groove and having a bad day led me to troubleshoot my 'dead' laptop, and get this blog back on track.

I wish to thank both Nature Girl, and the Brainy Boat Works Girl frustrated with being 'not inspired' by the her OCSC BC Practical Test, for triggering this post, and getting my Blog back on it's groove.

Where I am - Confused

From the Log . . .

The log entries are trapped on a hard drive in a dead laptop. Log entries will continue when I can surgically remove the hard drive and plug it into another laptop. (Sigh)

Meanwhile, some really cool confusion has set in. I bought a Garmin Oregon 400t GPS unit and Bluecharts. At some point I'll delve into the trials and tribulations surrounding getting it all working together and getting my self trained in it's use. At this point I think I know how to use it, but haven't figured out how to solve the chicken and egg experience of finding which waypoint symbols work best on the small color map of the GPS unit. It's very easy to make the chart in MapSource, but in the process of transferring updating and displaying the waypoints, it's all a little confused, with multiple waypoints with different symbols overlaid on top of each other.

Meanwhile, I've created routes and waypoints and am anticipating a confused and frustrating learning experience tomorrow as I take it out and try to use it under 'real' circumstances.

Here is a close up of one portion of the chart with the confusion removed.

On the next post I should have a cool chart of a route, with the track of our sailing adventure on the same page.

Stay tuned.

But before I post this blog, I want to mention that a spouse of a friend is currently out in the Atlantic Ocean off Virgina Beach racing in NARC with a GPS locator. As of right now, this is what his positions look like:

The link to that page is:

http://share.findmespot.com/shared/faces/viewspots.jsp?glId=0IgBv3G8fOn5SkhadpgPdmkhaVB4QNONN

I couldn't help but reflect on the history of how the world has been flattened between Sept. 1953 and now. Somewhere in my garage is a paper map with my Grandfather's noon positions marked on it during his trip. That chart had to make it home before anyone could look at it.

Now . . .