SALT WATER

Salt-water rock mountains 

When you have driven to the White Mountains or Maine from south to north since forever it is slightly disorienting to come sideways into familiar sights from the west-to-east can’t-get-there-from-here angle.  (We always went “up to New Hampshire” and “up to Maine.”)  The mountains, the towns, the roads, look at once familiar and strange.  Like arriving in Maine for the first time from our home in Vermont.  One vacation spot to another, really.  The mountains or the sea?  But why choose?

Olin and Hans taking one of the sailboats out

Me, Ken, in borrowed kayaks

Hans sailing his Laser near the Zube

Messing about in boats is mostly what we all do at Bailey, kayaking, rowing, sailing.  Besides reading, walking, swimming, puzzle-solving, eating and drinking.  I love kayaking, but when it comes to sailing I’m most useful as ballast.  I still can’t keep straight what a cunningham does or what a shroud is.  I kind of know the functions, but not necessarily what they’re called, which isn’t much help when Cap'n Cliff calls “bear off,” or “slack the jib.”  (But I can look things up!  A cunningham is a line on the boom that you pull to tighten or flatten the sail, and a shroud is a set of cables stretched from the masthead to the sides of the boat to support the mast.)

The boys (l to r, Olin, friend Harrison, Hans) getting the Zube ready

Thinking about this reminded me of when we were in Punta Arenas, ‘way south in the Patagonia area of Chile a couple of years ago, and visited their Naval Maritime Museum where we happened to see a film about the last clipper ship to round Cape Horn entirely by sail.  The grainy film was made early in the 1900’s by an American who signed on as a member of the crew and added the narration some years afterward.  (Credit for the film, to our surprise, was given to Mystic Seaport.) The ship was German, as was the captain, so our sailor had to learn not only the functions of the more than 300 ropes, but had to know what they were called in German.  The captain would call a drill at odd times for the new sailors by calling out the name of a rope and having them race to see who would be the first to locate it.  Each time the captain did this, he sent his dog charging off after them as a sort of encouragement to speed, as the dog liked to bite the rear of the slowest man at the end of the line.  

If we're talking about today, that slowest man could be me.

Olin winching away while we take it easy on the windward side

One sunny afternoon the wind was blowing nicely, making for a good sail day.  We often sail to an island in Casco Bay or head north somewhere or nowhere.  This time the wind was good enough to have a gusty sail south as far as Portland harbor.  Ken and I made our contributions switching back and forth on every tack to the high side of the deck.  Which was probably also our major contribution to the sail race the ‘Zube’ (short for Zubenelgenubi, a double star in the constellation Libra, viewable through binoculars) entered two days later.   It seems we won it, but maybe we were actually second because we were given a huge handicap due to the Zube’s size and speed.  We gave ourselves a pretty nice handicap anyway, snagging not just one but three lobster traps and starting a minute late.

Uh-oh,  headed for Portland harbor's "NO" ZONE 

Hans and Olin are experienced enough now to be seriously helpful crew.  (Hans did some useful work hanging over the side to try and unsnag the lobster rope before the race.  Ken was useful too, by supplying a sharp knife at the critical moment.)  Much of Hans' and Olin's experience has come from piloting small sailboats, especially Hans’ sailing a Frostie through a couple of winters. This summer he got his own Laser sailboat and he's already handling it beautifully.  

Hans at the helm on the return from Portland

L to R: Hans, Harrison, Claudia on longboard, Olin, and the Zube on the right

Sailing was not a part of my childhood, but was more like something that occurred on a distant planet.  I remember my mother saying that she would never get on a sailboat because they could tip over.  (Until we took her into our canoe when she was in her late 80's she'd never been in a canoe.  Talk about tippy.)  I stored away that thought, puzzling idly why people sailed these things if they knew they were going to be tipped.

Holding onto Hans as he tries to free the Zube from a lobster buoy

Ken and I and a couple of Leah and Cliff’s guests (Dave and Deborah Davies and daughter Izzy) were sailing and kayaking in different parts of the bay one afternoon while Hans, Olin and his friend Harrison were sailing, each in his own boat.  The kayaks moved toward the sailboats, Leah and Cliff hopped into the punt, and pretty soon everyone was in the same area.  A couple of tennis balls materialized and soon there was a game of tennis tag.  Sailboats are more fun to be in than kayaks for catching and lobbing tennis balls.  Somehow all the sailors–not the kayakers–ended up in different boats than they started with.   Hmm, idea for a game: musical boats, one boat less than the number of people...

Cliff and Olin race to grab the ball

Dave, uh, pushing Deborah away from the ball?

I see it!  I got it!
(Ball is to the right of the Olin's 904 sail)

What happened to that ball,  anyway?

Jacquish Island, off the tip of Bailey, is an isle encircled by water-sculpted rock, a source of many of Leah’s collection of rock photos. (See them at McGavernDesign.)  We hiked the perimeter.  Much of the rock looks so much like wood you need to touch it to assure yourself it’s really rock.  

Olin hoards his snacks on the way back from Jacquish (background right of flag)

***

BACK HOME in our saltwater-less environment it’s time to deal with our over-abundance of tomatoes, squash and beets.  I almost dread finding more of everything because I will have to do something to preserve them almost immediately if I can't find enough interesting recipes.  The tally on beets is about 15-20 so far, cucumbers maybe 30 or so, tomatoes–I don't even want to go there.  Soon to come:  about a thousand eggplants.  No, not really, maybe only 20 or so.

And August signals the start of the annual Addison County Field Days, our local fair, the main attractions of which–barring the midway of rides and thrills–center around agriculture, farming, and cattle.  One of the sweetest events was the Favorite Pet contest.  This year's contestants:  Two miniature alpacas, one rabbit, one turkey-necked chicken, two baby ducks, and two sheep.  Everyone won.