Stand with Pride with a 9-5

Any student would pop google eyes if they could work 40 hours a week and still go to school finishing up their degree. However, when it's you who gets the J.O.B. and you try and tell somebody that you landed a sweet 9-5... you get nothing but grief and empty hands right back at you. What's the deal? You ain't happy or jealous? Prob. neither...

Debunk'n the 9-5...

With my generation.. a 9-5 j.o.b. is like a bad word. Like 40 hrs is ok, but why not 10-6? 8-4? or 11-7? Sure them are fine and get you the same deal as the rock solid 9-5..
9-5 must mean “old school” “retro” or “grown-up hours.” it's like the Jack & Coke of working hours... I thought retro was in? I suppose I thought wrong...

Welcome to a generation of fusion-junkies, alternative new-age lifestyles, organics, everything that isn't .. well... that of our parents today (read: not when they were our age).

Defending the 9-5...

Don't tell me I bonk'd cus I got what I got. What it is not is a straight up 20-30 year career.. Is that what we're worried about? No adventure? How about no money? 9-5 will bring me the same doh-ray-me as a 10-6 or working straight-up every weekend (Suk).. And it's a million times better then having no job.. no money.. and having nothing to take your girlfriend out with...

Don't throw the 9-5 away just yet dudes... don't object to 40 hours/wk.. soon 40 hours will seem like a vacation to us when we're in our 30's & 40's.

Start'n on the 4th of Sept. I'll work my 9-5, go to school, and write a wicked thesis...

...with pride!...

~J out

Cookie Crumbles

As Alberto Gonzalez exits stage right from his brief public speech this morning the house of cards falls and there seems to be no more of the King's men to put this powerful kingdom back together again...

September will be one hot month.. If ever a time to turn around and retain some dignity from the mess in Iraq.. this would be it. All wouldn't be forgotten, but at least critics would understand the decision.

I fear the reality is that we'll never know why things happened as they did in those secret halls of the white house. "I'll let history decide my choices" Bush constantly reputes.. history, at least in the short, feels like its been shaped by some super power in a high rise in New York's media dominated sky rises or maybe its just that I watched too much Doctor Who.

If it came to pass that we've all been duped into thinking that we had a "liberal press" it wouldn't phase me. The truth.. er.. "the debate" seems to be whatever the person being grilled in the hotseat on political shows says it is. Either this lack of investigative journalism is due to some massive hand... changing the words & debates of the mainstream & non-mainstream media or reporters and anchormen alike are afraid of being "Dan Rather'd."

Either way.. I'm not satisfied with the debate.. The hard questions have yet to be pressed on the white house. If only there was a honest reporter that could get their hands on those secret tapes.. er I mean secret mp3's :) from the pres' goose egg shaped office.

~J out

The pain begins on the 12th

I start school back up again on the 4th, but yesterday I received a message setting a date for the six of us senior's thesis meeting. We've been challenged to look at topics and to do some preliminary research on potential topics.

This is probably the toughest task of writing a non-topic based thesis paper. In some classes you're given a subject to write about.. Even if it is not your favorite topic, you can dive in because the topic is clear... At this junction I need to find that subject.. something I'm "passionate about" and truly want to know more about. In college, students are asked all the time to write on something in depth, but in reality, it's never truly in depth.. It's always just deep enough to dig in and learn a little extra fact on something your prof. touched on in his daily rants. They call them many things.. "Research papers, Reports, thesis papers, etc." but they are all usually universally 8-15 pages max (counting a bibliography) and usually only require 3 primary sources and maybe a glut of supporting websites. That is your in depthness.. that is your collage grad's example of "critical thinking" not something major or something requiring a comprehensive primary and secondary bibliography.. not something that is broken into chapters and into topics that actually explores a topic, answers a question comprehensively, or argues virtues of a real sticky conflict. No... this is not the roll students should be put in... You shave years off a young mind that would be better suited shaving in a corporate environment where that person is getting paid to think hard... *sigh* Yet this is where my B.A. ends. At this end of it is a giant brain fart and if I can get through the cloud then maybe somebody will have mercy and hand me a sheep skin for a "job well done." What on earth is worthy of such mental anguish? Perhaps this devilish requirement allows my college to retain some of its 'prestige.' I can see it now... The deans of Lewis and Clark are standing at the gates of the Harvard country club.. the gate keeper opens the gate and asks them to show what gauntlet they put their seniors through... Each year the deans return the requirements get stiffer.. Oh woe is me... My mind aches in anticipation.

Perhaps from now till when us six seniors meet, I'll sift through my other Blog looking for clues on what I was onto then.. Maybe there's something of hope there stuck between two random posts, something I wrote while in country, that peaked my interest. Till then I'll be in anguish trying to find a topic worth a significant amount of research, time, and effort that will satisfy the council of aristocrats in my department.

~J out

Starting of a new week

Coming into this week there's a lot of stuff that needs to get done, but once done I'll be on cruse control. Mid-week (Wed-Fri) is Tink & Friends last camp out extravaganza till school starts then my mind will have to shift gears from working from 9-3 to (Mon)work->(Tue)school->(Wed)work.

Honestly I say that my thesis work will not be as hard as it looks. All this is based on my reasoning that writing giant reports for my other classes was hard, but not impossible. There's an element, however, I'll call it the LC (Lewis and Clark Co.) element, that tries really to over complicate it and make mounds into mountains. Lets take a 16 or so page paper I had to write for a Japanese history/pop-culture class. Coming into it, it was just a 16 page research/thesis paper... this means that you research, write, re-write, turn in... but the course progressed, the professor talked up that paper like it was some giganourmous task that he mockingly joked that we were fearing to write. Now... stress like that will make a thesis literal hell and I hope this thesis professor doesn't take the path of "total dominance" and "total micro-management"...

If anything in this world, teachers need to know that this generation of students needs a stress-free environment if creative juices (of any kind) are going to flow :)

~J out

Sailing on Air - Conclusion

We passed the final mark the Sauvie Island Rd. bridge.. The bridge towered above us and we watched cars driving by unaware of our little sailboat passing through. I could see the Willamette Rv... To my right I could see the St. John's Bridge... the bridge I cross everyday to get home... Even though the trip is over, every time I cross the St. Johns bridge I glance over to the mouth of the Channel and think about when I was right there taking the "big left turn" towards home.

We pulled up the main sail.. wind was strong and the waves mellowed out. Re-entering the Columbia river, you forget just the volume of water that moves around there. A roller just picks you up and drops you with little effort, but a motor boat that zips by hardly feels like anything. The Columbia River is big.. biggie big... at least to me.

Our sail caught the wind and our hearts soon followed. Both Tink and I wanted some real sailing after all that phony motor sailing. It was 5pm.. the winds were up and we were moving home. It really didn't matter what time we'd get home, it was all fun at this point. Our previous troubles were fading as our boat launched forward. Soon Tink had it in her mind to perhaps lower the RPM's of the motor.. Put it in neutral and just run with no motor, but leave it on in case. I was designated to do the motor business, but like I could do any better then her :)

I reached back.. way back.. over the edge with the mighty waters lapping up the back of the boat. It looked scary.. leaning way back with nothing to hold me in the boat. We could hit a roller... sway to one side and I'd be in like Finn. I carefully twisted the black touchy controls. The motor revved down and I flipped it into neutral. With no stress on the motor or no prop to turn I heard the motor rev up.. way up again and I fell for it... I twisted it more clockwise and the motor just gave up... again silence. Not the noiseless silence, but the lack of that humming motor silence... It's eerie.. more so because of earlier that day.

My heart had the sinking feeling that you get when you know what you gotta do. I swear my hand shook just knowing that I was going to pull and pull. The difference here was that we were moving. Luckily Tink was on the tiller and our main sail was still pulling us forward.. If Tink could maintain our momentum and keep us moving forward then there was less stress on me to get that thing roaring again. Of course this offered a new challenge (boy do I like challenges) I had to lean over that motor and get it started while the main sail downhaul was pushing against me... I had to contend with the moving waters and get that motor started with pressure on the prop. I had to contend with a moving boat and if some smoker buzzed us then I'd have to work with sneaker waves rocking the boat. All of this mattered, but not to detur me from what I had to do. On my favor, at least what I initially thought, the motor had just been running.. Everything was just running so getting it back to that point should be easier.. right?

First things first. There's an order and as soon as you move away from the proper order of things.. everything get messy fast. I re-assured the motor was in neutral.. To make sure I watched for the prop to spin freely.. It was. Ok *check*
Second I pulled the choke out.. ok *check*
I adjusted to Gas throttle to "Start"... ok *Check*
Pulling once to set it and then..... I gave it a mighty yank

Putt... putt... VROoo..... dead. Almost I said.. I tried again, but the next 3 pulls gave me nothing.. no life.. "don't freak out" I told myself, "it really does want to run" Tink suggested that the motor had it out for us... Like it was mad that we were trying to mess with it so it was going to get back at us.. I wouldn't put it past me to think that as well... If you think Cars don't have a personality.. you're wrong... why not a touchy outboard with a sassy attitude?

So my rescue maneuver was to flush out the motor.. re-set the motor and do it again. I can't stress how much I was getting from the situation. I overreacted.. no doubt, but this was different. A giant freighter could come toward us and decide not to move and that'd be it. I had to do this.. It was a very bad mission impossible situation and I had to start the motor before everything blew up.

Come on.. start... start... pump... pump... ok once more.. "I have to tack" Tink said.. that meant that outhaul would be in my way again. Ok give it a break for this tack then go at it again. After we crossed the river and tack'd back I'd gave a new motivated try.. Every little bit of knowledge and Navy know how came into play. Once more I pumped out extra fuel.. set the choke.. and pulled like I had a pair. With new motivation it started.. The motor came on with a passion to burn.. As soon at I heard that thing go I flipped into forward and didn't look back. I didn't care if it was loud and at max drive... WE HAD MOTOR FOLKS...

Tink acknowledged the accomplishment... We were happy again and on our way..

Up the Columbia & Willamette exchange... Up the Columbia and down past Frenchman's bar.

I took a breather and enjoyed the sailing experience once again. The sun started to set and it was a classic sailing moment into the sunset. Relief, Joy, Stress, Tiredness, all of it made up my condition... But I stilled enjoyed every bit of it.

Both Tink and I approached the mouth of the Marina and carefully (oh ever so carefully) throttled down.. We were coming home.. home from a great adventure that I'm really eager to do it all again....

hopefully soon.

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 8- Floating Villas

Up and running... moving down the peaceful channel.. Life never felt better. We were entering that part of the river where people were living out their lives along little marina's and boat house villages.

We had nearly lost track of where on the channel we were. Unlike the Columbia river there is little, if any, little markers that indicate your mileage or progress. We spotted a place on the map.. "Rick's Marina" or something that if seen, would tell us (generally) where we were. Life started to appear.. old weathered down boat houses covered the banks in spots. Clumped into groups of maybe 5 or 6.. Some of them looked, as British say, shotty.. worn and seedy. One place in particular reminded both of us of a place that the green river killer might have inhabited one time. Dark and falling apart with that eerie tilt in the roof.. Half sinking, half floating only by the will of the ghosts that live there... In two words.. Complete Rubbish.

All that we saw along the channel was not all half hazard disasters.. In fact as we moved on the real estate got a lot better... It was like taking a tour of a classic American living experience...

It always starts with complete and utter wilderness. Perhaps a logging operation or distant outpost, but it's always surrounded by nothing.. Then wilderness turns into farming operations scattered around smelling of that trademark bovine essence. Farms turn into the fringes of society.. Perhaps the outcasts or Henry David Thoreau types who want nothing more then to disappear from societies minds. Between them and the outer edge of society is more farms, wilderness, and, in this case, old beat up sunken barges. Finally.. you enter the outer fringes of society.. They are the houses that have that farm decor or rural look, but actually make up the outer ring of the "burbs" (suburbs). Those houses quickly morph into a developed society of suburbs equipped with signs, warnings, and crafty "welcome" and "home sweet home" signs. On the river, houses are adorned with that "river look" a mix of that fishing aesthetic and floating home & patio. It's a design that strikes the eye, because to them, the front of house isn't the best side.. it's the back.. Middle of society houses have elaborate patios with lush hanging gardens and bright teak platforms. Some have their prized possessions.. A nice looking yacht or sailboat out in front for all who float by at 5 miles per hour to gander upon... It's all for show... I suppose it's all for fun. The closer we get to the Willamette... the more elaborate the design. Soon houses look like a floating "stream of dreams." 

Old boats and new yachts were bunched up in marinas all along the river..

It was all pleasant to see and probably worth going back just to see again. "For Sale " signs looked like opportunity to get in and enjoy the river life which is something that would be totally different. Just think if your back yard determined the worth of your estate? Just how much would you be worth? An interesting perspective.. I completely enjoyed myself the entire time.. but my stamina under that hot bright sun was fading slowly.. I had one last "push" to go.. from the other mouth of the channel all the way back home.

I didn't know it yet.. but I had already gotten used to calm narrow waters...

Tomorrow the conclusion to "Sailing On Air"

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 7- Simplicity at a premium

Somehow, Someway, humans have one flaw when it you're doing something for along time and then all of the sudden what you're doing is boring and it's time to do something else. It's the change in what you're doing.. that point at which you move from something that works to something that has a chance at failure. Our trip offered such an example of what I'm talking about..

We were drifting slowly.. our mainsail was raised to perhaps experiment with motor sailing, but more so to give both Tink and I a sense that we were still "sailing on a sailboat." Things had settled down significantly... Our botch'd landing had faded from our minds and the river had absorbed that stress of keeping everything in order... Sailing down the channel made boating more like a cruise and it was so relaxing that Tink had time to pull out a book she'd been dieing to read while I was enjoying just swaying back and forth on the tiller. 

I really don't know where it all changed for us.. Perhaps when you're out on water, reading a book doesn't come off as natural behavior.. Perhaps rest and relaxation also doesn't feel natural and a change of venue would put us back on the adventure... It was some combo of both or neither that drove Tink to put her book down as an old dock came into view... Both of us looked at it as we approached.. a "Camping available" sign perched on top an old pillar aged by river and time. Curiosity struck Tink past the point of opportunity.. 

We were half way past the dock when she said, "let's pull up and check it out." It really wasn't like I could swing that boat around and land on a dime..
we were on a sailboat after all.. Slightly curious myself I did a 180 and headed back down stream just to turn around once more in order to land. I had to get that boat at an angle so that we wouldn't ram the dock, but still have our bow pointed in a way that we could get back on course easily.

Our Honda motor was attached to our stern in a way that you have to have two people man it if you want to dock anywhere... One person on the power control and one person on the tiller and both controls are very sensitive. My directions, I thought were clear enough, "as we approach the dock I want you to throttle down, but do not turn the motor off." I braced myself and headed in... We were about 10-15 feet from that old dock when I gave the command to throttle down.. I heard that strong putter of the engine cycle down, down, and then silence... No more motor sounds... It had died on us.

"What happened" I only said it, because it's natural to do so.. But we both knew what happened. I didn't see it, but Tink turned the throttle too quick and it was too much.. Simple user error that even later on I even did. I never expected what grand effort would follow this folly.

"No problem Tink just get the tiller" I didn't really look back to see all that was happening.. "You want the mainsail down?" this was a order I made while the motor still ran.. I figure if you're going to port you need that sail down.. Now that the motor was dead the mainsail was the least of MY worries, but Tink was following the play list of orders I made.. 1. take down mainsail, 2. man the tiller 3. etc.

I work steadfastly to yank and mettle with that motor to comeback. To me, it was an ER emergency and I was the doctor that had to save it. I didn't even notice that we were drifting down river and to the shore.... "Should I get those boats to help us? Pull us in?" Tink asked.. she referred to some sailboat or fishing boat behind us that was coming past us.. "whatever I said" my mind was on a never level.. You see my logic was simple... Whether drifting down the river or on a dock your problem is the same; likewise the solution will also likely be the same so what matter does it have if you're drifting and doing what you need to do to self rescue or if you're towed into the dock, docked, and then start doing what you're doing right now which is getting that dang Honda motor to run...

I pulled without worry to my own health.. Blood, Sweat, & tears.. it didn't matter.. My hand shook with all the times I gripped that small plastic handle. I unplugged the gas.. pumped out the gas... re-plugged it in... choke out... pull.. nothing.. repeat x2, x3, x4 I was getting disheartened. Priorities reduced from getting Tink to man that tiller to just getting some life outta this motor. Tink's priorities shifted as well.. The mainsail went down in a heap and Tink was going to hail a sailboat coming near us for a tow. In retrospect I should have paid more attention.. Tink kept asking me if she should get help and I kept giving a non-answer or an "I don't know." I probably should have remained optimistic for both Tink's hopes and mine.. it was going to start...but I felt that I was out of control. Under my breath I said a prayer.. "please God help me get this thing started" at first I turned too for pride.. No way do we *need* a tow... later it was for my own reassurance that we could get home some time today with this motor.

The approaching sailboat seemed like a timer... I had seconds to get that motor started before I just give up...

Finally with that boat only feet away from us that Honda motor came back to life.. I pushed in the choke and shifted into forward.. we were moving again.. whew. The sailboat drifted past us with it's occupants & skipper concerned.. I signaled them with a big "ok" and thumbs up... I turned to Tink and said, "let's pass on this place for now and keep on down the channel" It was just a flurry of emotion for me, but a learning experience I hope to not forget anytime soon.

Today I realize just that the whole event was just human error and we all should learn that we make mistakes and that our partners should forgive and forget. You did nothing wrong Tink.. whether it was there in the channel or somewhere else.. it was going to happen sometime. Glad we fixed it...

Now i'm off to find a better motor :)

Next up.. "the floating villages"

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 6- The Channel Ride

A fork in the river divided our path in two. To our left was the giant Columbia river that we had powered up from.. to our right was a much less known route "The Multnomah Channel".. When I told people at work that I'd be going down the Multnomah Channel they looked at me with some wonderment.. "what's that" was in people's eyes. Everyone knows about the Columbia River and the Willamette River, but the one river the connects both of them just isn't known...

It's a shame, but in some ways a lack of knowledge protects this live and luscious place. Venturing down the St. Helen's end of the Channel you enter into a green Amazon like river cruise. It's like a Disneyland ride and you expect some huckleberry Finn & Tom Sawyer adventure ride to narrate your vessel, but this is no pre-scripted ride.. The scenery is real, the trees to either side is real, it's all un-touched except for some ancient paper mills and washed up rotting barges that are strewn along the banks...

Our boat drifted masterfully along the river.. A steady two or three knots made this drift very enjoyable. A light hand on our tiller to keep the boat turning down this curvy river was all that was needed to keep moving forward. We took turns.. Tink and I.. navigating along.. Lush forests turned into golden farms then back into fishing holes with old wooden docks and hanging tires.. With the sun out.. it truly looked in places like Mark Twain had reached down and carved out a place for us to enjoy. We followed along trying to navigate by our depth sounder which was nothing more then an old fish finder.. "40" Tink sounded off "39, 38, 39" plenty of depth for our barely four foot draft boat..

Nobody was out there, nobody except smokers that is.. There's an unwritten code written by ancient sailors and codified by our nation... A boater's code that states that a sailboat or ship under sail is to be respected. Under sail a sailboat has the right away only contested by perhaps a swimmer or rowboat like a kayak or Canoe... Unfortunately.. This code is drifting down into history along with the great sailors of our time... Nowadays those with a few extra bucks in hand can buy a motorboat and 
do whatever they see fit..

Along the channel smokers (powerboats) would trail us and "buzz" us forcing our sailboat to rock madly back and forth. Action such as this has forged a deep divide between powerboats and sailboats. Perhaps because I come from the sail side I blame the power boaters for this divide... They buzz us with their boats and there's no way we could ever buzz back... They know we're limited.. they know we're slow... Why oh why do they try to follow us and buzz us? It's just not right.. More discussion to follow later on afterwards.

Smokers aside.. The channel is undoubtedly a must for small craft to do.. The current is weak enough and the traffic light enough to really get some experience motor sailing or driving a boat. Some of the challenges you get setting off in the Columbia (such as barges, giant boats, waves, currents, big smokers, etc.) you don't get on the channel. It's just a nice float..

More to come about the channel & another story 'bout that Honda motor :)

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 5 - The botch'd take off

We cleaned up our little boat and washed out all the coffee & pots. Instead of using a camp coffee pot I insisted on the European style french press. The french press is one creation that always is a joy to watch. You fill it with any blend of ground coffee and then pour hot steaming water and watch as the hot water surrounds and manipulates the coffee. It's a poor man's lava lamp.. only with that pungent coffee aroma that always smells good on a morning like this one. Pouring the black elixir into my Disney "tigger the tiger" coffee cup and dressing up with my sun faded green lifeguard hoodie... I stood on the helm like a true Nor' Westerner.. It's been commented that NW people have a style about them.. A way of speech, a look, a feel. Perhaps it's because for every blend of Starbucks coffee we have a matching name for rainfall.. "Mist" "Drizzle" "light down-pour" "trickle" and our clothing is just as exotic. Never do I wonder why I have two different fleeces in my car along with a flannel shirt.. You must always be prepared!

 The hour was upon us to leave the comforts of the docks. St. Helen's giant old glory flapped in the light winds blowing as if it was directing us to our future. The sight of a giant flag always inspires the deepest critic I think... It's just there full of history and symbolism... Awe inspiring you are... Ole' old glory!

I brought Tink up from her burrow down below to make a strategy for turning around and leaving. One suggestion was to leave a rope tied up and to motor around it.. Another was for me to just pull the pulpit around... But seeing our woes, a passerby yhaghty started coaching us giving us that $100 dollar advice.. You know.. that advice you give people that sounds real good, but as soon as you start doing it the situation gets ugly... fast. That advice... And the advisor classically always says, "Well it's because you're not doing it right...!"

He untied both our lines and instructed me & Tink to stay on board. "Now what you're going to do is turn the motor on, put it in forward and swing that tiller all the way to the right and you'll just spin right around..." Perhaps I didn't hear right because my eye was staring at that big metal bridge up ahead. My hand felt the current pushing against the tiller and we were inches away from tragedy. The advice to just pull 'er over didn't work.. in fact it failed miserably.. we were headed right at that steel walking bridge and there was nothing to stop us.

Quickly the mass of hunter people came rushing to our aid.. Going from rich sailors to a help squad.. I was nothing less then shocked at the response. People came from everywhere grabbing our lines and moving us around.. "pull it up a bit.. reduce the power... turn it in more..." they all directed. It was a circus act that would amuse anyone, but we learned something about something.. I think.. What ever the results we did aim the bow towards our destination and powered our relatively unscathed...

More to come.. "the Nor' West's own Amazon"

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 4 - A star studded night

Twilight whittled its way into a clear moon lit night.. The stars shined like droplets of silver above our small fiberglass world. Tink reached down into the cabin and pulled out an aged bottle of wine from Spain.. My cork opener was one of those that you always see on the Godfather series.. The curley cork puller snaps out from the middle while the lip holder comes out the end.. A small knife in the back to cut away the shiny foil which protects the intoxicating goodness.

I cut away the foil and began twisting into the soft cork material until I could put the lip puller over the edge. With a mighty yank! well perhaps several mighty yanks and a single drip of sweat later.. I heard that iconic "Pop!" sound that to me symbolizes the pure essences of wine.

Only the best for us novice dubious duo. I poured the light clear yellowish contents into two transparent dixie sized plastic cups. "Cheers to a good trip so far"...

The clink of two plastic cups as they hit rustled a chuckle from the both of us.. Half "roughing it easy" and half "roughing it cheaply" ... twas the life of us young sailors.

We sat amongst the stars in the boat's cockpit.. In real honesty.. it was perfect! Why have a huge cabin when sitting out under those stars feels great? In front of our view was the mighty Columbia.. I could imagine in my mind's eye Lewis and Clark drifting down it.. If only he had a sailboat & a Coleman stove! Perhaps even a map.. I wonder what Lewis and Clark would say if they knew the maps of the Columbia river sell for $40? I'm sure even Lewis himself would resist buying one, yet there it sat on our little wooden table propped up by a cherry branch cane.

Marvelous... absolutely grand... that is until we heard in the faint distance the rumble of a motor approaching our dock. First the motor sound then a light.. The hunter crew scurried over like school children to watch as one their own in a gigantic forty-one foot Hunter boat equipped with all the party gear you need to really "get down, get down, get down tonight!" In the immediate it caused our vessal to rock to & fro. Our grand scenery of the Columbia now was blocked by 10-12 Yachties pulling in this beast of a boat... They pulled in the lines hand over fist.. It looked like a group of Hawaiian fisherman with khaki shorts and hibiscus flower dresses pulling in a big Mahi Mahi to shore.. Or perhaps their great Captain Cook had arrived and all the groupies wanted to know of his exploration. All we knew was that now our silence was interrupted by a flurry of retired, rich, hunter sailors... If only I could bring you the smell of river & cologne..

It was time to smile and be friendly... A quick way to rid our boat of the crowds was just to turn off my lantern, but as they stuck around just the feeling of having people stand and chat and mingle wasn't so bad for neither of us who were just enjoying a cup of wine.

minutes turned to hours and soon it was time we retire to the V-Berth. Our sleeping bags covered the front and preparations were made to have our first night. I laid down and perhaps due to a medley of tiredness, soreness, and exhaustion I just drifted away... Tink shared with me another story.. Apparently one side of our boat isn't so equal to the other. Come late into the night I was instructed to take the lesser of one side.. Being a gentle man.. I suppose my duty is to always take the brunt of the bad side of every situation.. I agreed and laid down to find that this side was slanted.. 

Sleeping on a slanted bed is worse then putting a bag of peas under a pillow. From the moment I laid there I couldn't sleep. Every time the boat moved I awoke. My eyes selfishly kept looking at the peace my partner was having on her side. One is never to have such thoughts, but the ordeal, as I will call it, will be addressed before the next time I lay there.

Morning came finally, and I tried every which way to squeeze the last drop of sleep I could before I had to meet yet another great day. Both us got up.. but I'm sure only one of us was actually "rested." We both headed up the path to the head. By this time it was like a mini pilgrimage... Down the docks.. up the ramp.. up the stairs.. repeat backwards.

Breakfast this morning was oatmeal.. I insisted on instant, while Tink insisted on old fashion.. Lets just say that once Tink finished boiling.. I was done... And of course I picked the packet she wanted to eat :) It was a typical morning.. I pondered how we were going to get out of the docks. Something was going to need to happen.. but I really didn't think just what skills of mine were going to be tested that fateful day.

To be continued...

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 3 - Liberty Call in Helens

(a recap of our landing...)

We made our approach heading toward the public docks. Our plan was to "buzz" the docks to see where the best place to land was. Tink spotted a nice spot on the upriver-inside dock so we spun around and came in slow. We powered down the motor and got the lines ready for docking. Our primary mission was just to get seated on the dock, the thought of leaving the next morning didn't really hit yet, so as we made it in the docks, our bow was facing the wrong way...

In the tiller, I could feel the current pushing against the boat. Coming in nice and slow we landed and I jumped out like a man on a mission... Slowing the boat and tightening up slack lines... We made it..

Meeting the nice Hunter People.

We made our way up the ramp, but not without noticing a sign that read, "The Hunter Boats Association." Right off the bat I knew what that translated into..."The 2000+ model Porsche Club." All of the men were nicely dressed in their Columbia or nautica shorts, Hawaiian polo shirts, & Sperry Topsider Shoes.. The ladies were in their weekend sailing outfits and fully equipped with a non-breakable West Marine wine glass in hand... Oh how nice! :)

Coming close and hanging out wasn't really an option to me.. Those Yachties were guarded by ferocious pair of white poodles... I made haste up that walk way... "liberty call at last." It wouldn't be fair to say this experience was new... Tink and I had been to St. Helens before, but this day we weren't day sailing. Our plans were to scout the town (i.e. look for a Starbucks or something) then head back to our boat for dinner. I remembered last time that there was a tiki-looking pizza parlour that appeared that it might have a bar.

We headed that way past the older looking theater and curio shops.. the time was somewhere around 7pm and the town was quiet.. Not a soul to be seen in any shop... "closed" signs decorated the landscape only contrasted by maybe one open sign which was quickly dowsed after 7:30... Small town... So small that the iconic green maiden of black gold coffee didn't appear anywhere on any street that we walked down. To my luck that pizza place was open and we made our way in.

We sat down at a nice table with lifted stools with a back. Tink likes stools with backs on them, but it was also next to their restroom. An aged woman with a 60's style apron appeared at our table to start us off... Their selection of beverages was simple. Any fancy named beer was a micro brew... any generic name was a domestic.. "A pitcher of Bridgeport Pale Ale please..."  I said... Here I suppose I could say that this really was borderline micro brew/domestic.. but either way I wanted something at least decent enough that Tink would share. I'm often criticized as cheap so I'll just say in passing that a full pitcher of beer at $11.25 hit harder then the buzz it generated. We ordered on the side a plate of mozzarella sticks and after a proper relaxation we left to cook some fine stew.

The hunter people seemed like they were growing with every new 40' hunter boat arriving... All of them seemed like the real parrot head types to me, but for most of the evening Tink and I were ignored...  That is until a 41' hunter pulled up on the adjacent dock. It was twilight and I wanted light.. I lit a Coleman lantern and sat down... Like a pack of flies our boat was nearly surrounded on the dock by these hunter people all (without thanks or mention) taking advantage of what seemed like the only light. Of course to not say something was rude.. So one or two asked us about the boat.. I knew the importance of conversation and tried to remain talkative & social. Little did we know... but the lesson here is "he who has the light out on the boom sets the party :)"

The evening was pleasant and we were acknowledged which was nice, but no matter how much we tried to blend.. They were hunter people and we were in a Coronado... Ahh oh well. We'll find our crowd soon enough...

More to come...

~J out

Edit:

One saving grace from after landing was the founding of a new drink.. "The St. Helens." Based on pretty much what we had on board..

In a plastic cup you put 1/2 Sprite or 7up and 1/2 Coconut Rum.. Stir with a screwdriver or plastic knife and enjoy with or w/o ice.

sailing on air part 2 - Sailing Free

Sailing smoothly with the motor on towards St. Helens. The wind blew softly over our faces and all seemed fine. It was coming close to 3:30pm, but we didn't have time on our minds.

The wind kicked up in its usual afternoon gusts... this opened the river for some sailing opportunity. Tink wanted to raise some sails and do some real sailing. I, of course, thought the wind was blowing a little hard so I suggested just a jib. A jib was all we needed and worked great for out needs...

We brought her into the wind and hoisted the jib up the fore stay then bringing her back. The sail blew up like a balloon and carried our boat on a port side tack upwind. Tink was feeling very adventurous and somehow convinced me to hit the kill button on the motor. It was very silent after the motor switched off. We went back and forth though the water on tacks making our way to that lighthouse that signifies St. Helens ahead.

For a long time we were the only ones taking advantage of the mighty Columbia, but as we sailed along we spotted a bigger boat with main & jib up heaving to & fro on our six. Far away, but gaining speed we watched that boat heave away as another boat behind that one seemed like it was racing it to some grand American Cup finals.

Quite a treat it was to watch our sails pull us forward.. After a while our confidence grew and we began to experiment with speed, direction, and distance. Hours seemed like minutes as we raced along on our 23 ft. sailboat. Nothing here seemed as complicated as we thought.

Watch the wind.. Turn till the sails fill up... Go forward...

It seems like the difficulty comes with trying to explain with sailing terms all the physics at play here. We we're like a plane.. a plane with one wing.. Flying on our side.. The more wind = more lift = more speed. True captains really must be pilots of the Sea!

Late into the afternoon we spotted that old looking lighthouse. We turned too and dropped the jib, said a prayer that the motor will turn on, and gave that puppy a pull. Vroom it went and a sigh of relief leaped from my lips. We did it...

Pulling in to the docks we went.. We found a nice spot on the inside and tied up, sat down, and relaxed. "That was fun.." I said.. however.. both our knee's were crossed and it wasn't long before we headed up the ramp to the marina's head.

Next Episode.. "The Rich Yachtie's Party at St. Helens"

~J out

Sailing on Air Part 1 - The mixed up beginning

The account of my sailing adventure to St. Helens & back.

My dream for independent sailing was to be able to tackle the mighty Columbia via sail power and to learn the art of motor sailing. This boat our family bought is great for both, but being a "hand-me-down" from several owners and having been rebuilt by our crew, I thought it prudent to do a "shake-down trip." With any pre-big adventure you need a shake down trip. To tell you where to "beef up" or upgrade. In hiking trips, you find out that your 20 yr. old back pack just doesn't cut it anymore. In Biking you find out your chain doesn't spin anymore. In sailing you find the loose turn buckles, loose nuts, motor glitches, and other stuff.

Our trip took off with quite a surprising fo-pah. The motor didn't start... I pulled and pulled and pulled and nothing did it. With a can of starter fluid at the ready I pondered the inner-workings of a marine outboard. The answer came to me briefly before what the problem might be... Flooded engine. Fuel had pooled into the cylinders and the motor was too soaked to start. Of course there's your problem so what to do about it? Let it drain? That might take hours and we didn't have that... Solution 2.. Pump it out. Through a stroke of genius I pulled the motor cord 6 or 8 times with the gas hose not connected. I saw that oily, gassy, filth run out into the river (sorry) and once convinced I re-hooked up the gas and gave it a pull.. Nothing for the first pull, but the second pull turned that innate lifeless motor into a bustling, vigorous, powerful machine. Beaten and bloody.. I collapsed in the cockpit to tend to my busted knuckle. Tink came around and was pleasantly surprised to see that Honda rumble in the water, "Let's turn it off and turn it on to see if it'll do it again!" she exclaimed. I sat there lifeless, but the pain in my right hand turned into bewilderment... "you want me to do what?" I remarked sarcastically "Oh.. I guess since you got it running you don't want to turn it off huh?" she replied... "yeah." Tink proceeded on to clean the boat down... Every nut and dust particle was swept. Roughly half and hour later we were ready to rumble. 

After leaving the dock, I noticed almost immediately that our rudder & tiller felt shaky and out of place. It creaked, and jolted, and if left un-manned would nearly throw a person over board. Tink made a note in the log of the unusual occurrence and after some convincing "negotiations" made me turn the boat around towards our Marina. 

Toiling over what could have been the matter... I knew if I could get that Honda to run I could get the tiller straightened out... straighten out THAT'S IT! Looking at it closer I realized the tiller was 180 degrees backward. I promptly swung that tiller around facing forwards and we headed out to test my theory... Yep.. Problem solved.. On to St. Helens.

To be continued.

~J out