Every day is a gift, a blessing. The people we meet, words spoken, our surroundings, even the simplest of things, all make our lives different, precious, our own. Did you hear about the dog that swallowed a firefly - he barked with delight!!!!!!!!!! Did you give thanks for those minutes? All along the way Dave and I reminded each other to give thanks. So now I am reminding you, don't forget to give thanks. This weekend is the 69th anniversary of the Provincetown Blessing of the Fleet. Captain Dave and I attended about 40 of them. Not too shabby.
Richard & Arnold Log: Star date Wednesday 10-21-16. We left P-town harbor at 4:30 AM. It was pitch black, no moon. The wind was North East light, 5-10 mph. Five minutes into the journey I heard "OH Fuck. Shit. What the hell!" I was already so keyed up my eyes hurt from being fully dilated. I knew right away that something was not right. I tried to keep calm and asked the stupid question "what's wrong." The reply seemed strangely loud- "No depth sounder, no reading on the depth gauge." I'm thinking "oh is that all. What difference does that make?" Captain Dave says, "We're going to need a depth sounder in the future. I should have bought the more expensive one, the one that would still be working!!!"
Well yes, ok, but let's get things in perspective: we're safe, the wind is light, everything else seems to be working, and we know our way blindfolded to Menemsha Harbor. We will sort it out or buy a new sounder. But no - It seems the boat has to be hauled out to put the thing-a-ma-jig on the bottom of the boat, the transducer, so getting a new one is out of the question at this stage. We will have to make due with what we have. We will not turn around.
Dawn is breaking. Inside the wheelhouse it is dark, shadows and outlines of grey against black. The glow of the computers are beaming their magical rays to us, giving us charts of the area. We have every chart from Maine to Florida supplied by NOAA and downloaded by our son Robert on a program called OPEN CPN. Try it. Every chart - free. Dave and I laugh at how far we've come. We started out with the Wildflower in 1970 with just a compass. "We've come a long way, baby," I say. He gives me a big smile, pushes a few buttons on the sounder, while I read from the manual. The machine finds itself and shows us the depth of the water in the middle of Cape Cod Bay. We are tracking our depths and happy about the outcome. Its 6:30 and the radio crackles. It's Rex McKensey, the Provincetown Harbormaster calling to wish us bon-voyeuge. We are on our journey and now it is official. The air temp is 60 degrees. I make breakfast of oatmeal and hot tea. God's in his heaven all's right with the world.
Next stop Menemsha:
Saturday, June 25, 2016
Remembrance of things past
How can I thank everyone? Is there a way to personally, I mean beyond the texted word, beyond the tweet or message, a way to thank you? I have felt your kindness in the exchange of words, a remembrance, a shared experience. Thank you for sharing stories, telling me about the man I knew for almost 50 years, stories from your meetings and experiences with Captain Dave. They are new to me, enriching, expanding, renewing my thoughts of David. And so I thank you.
This blog is begun after Captain Dave crossed the bar. June 2,2016
In October, 2016 Dave and I left Provincetown heading south. We had a destination, but no schedule. We knew where we would be stopping along the way. We looked at charts, always wondering about the next ten miles, the seas, and the weather. David's uncanny judgement of places, tides, height of the waves, the direction of the wind, the clouds blowing across the sky gave him a sense of well being, thereby relieving my an angst -somehow it worked. If things got bad he dealt with it, that's when he really excelled. Managing emergencies, high seas, gale winds brought out the real man in him. He didn't hesitate, he acted. And so I hope to give you a picture though the journal that I kept from October, 2015 into the spring of 2016 of the fun we had, the experiences and the love we shared. The Captain is no longer at the helm, he's gone to higher ground. I think he'd like me to share with you a glimpse of what we had on our last voyage together.
Leaving Provincetown was more difficult than I could have imagined. There was a need to cast off in both of us. It pushed us. We knew somehow that if we didn't do it now, then we never would. And so the journey began. It was a Tuesday evening, our first night aboard, but we spent it tied to the float where in 1980 Dave and I tied with our sailboat, The Arethusa. I'm in the galley putting away supplies when Dave tells me he's going to go out with Bob for a quick ride to charge of the batteries in Bob's boat the Near Miss. It's a farewell, a father / son special time, the way men do. They spend half an hour cruising around outside the breakwater, listening to the engine. Dave gives his approval and they head back to the wharf. Last night he took his grandkids out in the skiff to check out the ten horse engine hooked over the stern of the dingy. For the past week we have been bringing supplies, clothes, utensils and every other conceivable convince that I could comfortable carry to the boat. The living quarters are small, but when we moved aboard I was surprised at how easily the Richard & Arnold absorbed it all, took everything in with ease, and it could have held more. When I commented on this to the captain he said, "Well remember this boat carried forty tons of fish in the hold - this is nothing."
What a vessel, the sparkle in the captains eye! Oh he loved me, without a doubt, and I am forever his mate, but the Richard & Arnold was something special to him. Fortunately I understood the term 'the other woman'. We've owned, operated, sailed, fished and lived aboard many vessels. I'll give you their names and then you'll understand a little more about the captain. The Fanny Parnell, The Wildflower, Julie D, The Kingfisher, The Office, The Arethusa, The Osprey, The Vast, The Opel, The Richard & Arnold, the Last Tango and a couple of good sized skiffs that had no names. We've owned them, worked on them, and learned to love the sea from them. Some we owned for years and one we owned for three days before it broke loose in a February NE gale and sank. All of the boats were given his time, his money and his love. He wanted to save them all. I learned that if I had faith, went along with some of the wild ideas, I'd get to live a life that held excitement, humor, and shear terror, but would never be boring.
And so because of who he was, leaving Provincetown for a six month cruise was inevitable. We both faced challenges, surprises and risks. Our faith was tested. That first night onboard, that Tuesday Dave asked if I was excited I told him I was too busy to think about it. I had a million loose ends. He had one loose end and that was the sixty foot Casey built, 1924 fishing vessel tied to the float on MacMillan Pier. For Dave his journey began the day he was born. Casting off lines was what he'd been doing for over fifty years. I had to remind him a few times that I was new at this. I came to visit a couple of times when he was fishing, stay a couple of days, but I was the homebody, the shore captain, and not a seasoned crewman. He put up with the newbie, the inexperienced crew, the landlubber. And he had the patience of a saint.
To be continued:
This blog is begun after Captain Dave crossed the bar. June 2,2016
In October, 2016 Dave and I left Provincetown heading south. We had a destination, but no schedule. We knew where we would be stopping along the way. We looked at charts, always wondering about the next ten miles, the seas, and the weather. David's uncanny judgement of places, tides, height of the waves, the direction of the wind, the clouds blowing across the sky gave him a sense of well being, thereby relieving my an angst -somehow it worked. If things got bad he dealt with it, that's when he really excelled. Managing emergencies, high seas, gale winds brought out the real man in him. He didn't hesitate, he acted. And so I hope to give you a picture though the journal that I kept from October, 2015 into the spring of 2016 of the fun we had, the experiences and the love we shared. The Captain is no longer at the helm, he's gone to higher ground. I think he'd like me to share with you a glimpse of what we had on our last voyage together.
Leaving Provincetown was more difficult than I could have imagined. There was a need to cast off in both of us. It pushed us. We knew somehow that if we didn't do it now, then we never would. And so the journey began. It was a Tuesday evening, our first night aboard, but we spent it tied to the float where in 1980 Dave and I tied with our sailboat, The Arethusa. I'm in the galley putting away supplies when Dave tells me he's going to go out with Bob for a quick ride to charge of the batteries in Bob's boat the Near Miss. It's a farewell, a father / son special time, the way men do. They spend half an hour cruising around outside the breakwater, listening to the engine. Dave gives his approval and they head back to the wharf. Last night he took his grandkids out in the skiff to check out the ten horse engine hooked over the stern of the dingy. For the past week we have been bringing supplies, clothes, utensils and every other conceivable convince that I could comfortable carry to the boat. The living quarters are small, but when we moved aboard I was surprised at how easily the Richard & Arnold absorbed it all, took everything in with ease, and it could have held more. When I commented on this to the captain he said, "Well remember this boat carried forty tons of fish in the hold - this is nothing."
What a vessel, the sparkle in the captains eye! Oh he loved me, without a doubt, and I am forever his mate, but the Richard & Arnold was something special to him. Fortunately I understood the term 'the other woman'. We've owned, operated, sailed, fished and lived aboard many vessels. I'll give you their names and then you'll understand a little more about the captain. The Fanny Parnell, The Wildflower, Julie D, The Kingfisher, The Office, The Arethusa, The Osprey, The Vast, The Opel, The Richard & Arnold, the Last Tango and a couple of good sized skiffs that had no names. We've owned them, worked on them, and learned to love the sea from them. Some we owned for years and one we owned for three days before it broke loose in a February NE gale and sank. All of the boats were given his time, his money and his love. He wanted to save them all. I learned that if I had faith, went along with some of the wild ideas, I'd get to live a life that held excitement, humor, and shear terror, but would never be boring.
And so because of who he was, leaving Provincetown for a six month cruise was inevitable. We both faced challenges, surprises and risks. Our faith was tested. That first night onboard, that Tuesday Dave asked if I was excited I told him I was too busy to think about it. I had a million loose ends. He had one loose end and that was the sixty foot Casey built, 1924 fishing vessel tied to the float on MacMillan Pier. For Dave his journey began the day he was born. Casting off lines was what he'd been doing for over fifty years. I had to remind him a few times that I was new at this. I came to visit a couple of times when he was fishing, stay a couple of days, but I was the homebody, the shore captain, and not a seasoned crewman. He put up with the newbie, the inexperienced crew, the landlubber. And he had the patience of a saint.
To be continued:
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