tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73038444208431407002024-02-07T22:32:37.827-04:00Sail AntiliaAntilia is to the Caribbean Islands as Avalon is to the British Isles, an island in the mist. Is Puerto Rico, Antilia? A coast hugger, I sail with new and old friends as often as possible in Andariego (Wanderer), exploring and learning from the sea and the stars. These are my meandering stories.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-64971152498909052652017-08-25T21:30:00.000-04:002017-08-25T21:30:42.296-04:00A New Inexperienced Crew<br />
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<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QkSFqtcbFaxgoq6uOSiYh4CpbyPoipaH5GUSZl8NrIPolXSRU3G-q4t72PgBjZfZzFTpMAeUZRnnZtfRSZ5JtpDwbFIaZ3NryTHr6N2MKCQF1AFMUVTsU99Du8bEin8zuuic6MuOSr4/s1600/3+amigas.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QkSFqtcbFaxgoq6uOSiYh4CpbyPoipaH5GUSZl8NrIPolXSRU3G-q4t72PgBjZfZzFTpMAeUZRnnZtfRSZ5JtpDwbFIaZ3NryTHr6N2MKCQF1AFMUVTsU99Du8bEin8zuuic6MuOSr4/s320/3+amigas.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elda, Eva (me), Melinda</td></tr>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>Thursday, August 24, 2017</b>. There was deteriorating weather
predicted for the afternoon and the weekend. Sahara dust in the air, hazy
skies, strong currents, low wind. East winds 5-10 knots, seas 3-4 feet, and
after previous north swells, churned seas and poor visibility for snorkeling.
The crew: Eva (me), Melinda, David, Elda, and Domingo. We sailed from Isleta
Marina, Puerto Rico at 9:30 a.m. to Palomino, and back at 5:00 p.m.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We had been
planning this sail for sometime and had to postpone it more than once due to
bad weather. This being hurricane season in the Caribbean, we’ve had Harvey’s
in-the-making, and many other tropical waves and thunderstorms in the previous
weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3nLs3QlxnDNotmWJNy9tikTN_Nf2tEGrjGALHES-zCcQrl6AhkWUmYBi9maBcE4OG4snNIx602m0meXPXiUC0US1BFsGwgNq_aYmPGdEg9BTwBvD0V8cULKMAAf6Rl2y942HV-S16rs/s1600/Domingo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI3nLs3QlxnDNotmWJNy9tikTN_Nf2tEGrjGALHES-zCcQrl6AhkWUmYBi9maBcE4OG4snNIx602m0meXPXiUC0US1BFsGwgNq_aYmPGdEg9BTwBvD0V8cULKMAAf6Rl2y942HV-S16rs/s200/Domingo.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Domingo, enjoying a nectarine</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span>My savvy
sailing friend had to cancel, and suddenly I only had two couples, dear
friends, but with little or no sailing experience. I hesitated sailing but
didn’t say anything. I decided to give them specific little jobs—how to wrap
the line on the winch for raising the main, hoisting and dousing sails, doing a
horn-cleat knot, using a boat hook, assigning each to a small area forward,
aft, port, and starboard. I specifically told them that if I asked them to do
something they didn’t want to do for whatever reason, it was OK, but to tell me
so I could assign someone else to the task. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It worked
out perfectly. Leaving the dock, working on the rigging, tacking and gybing
(jibing), and catching a mooring line. Docking at the end of the day, all were
assigned the same posts as when leaving. It was clockwork. In a sense, it was
smoother than at times I’ve sailed with an overconfident more experienced crew.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In between,
as good friends, we enjoyed stories, shared food and wine, and played with Andariego’s
water toys. Lots of laughter. Sea therapy always provides a respite from life’s
hectic pace in an island financially bankrupt, but still rich in flora and
fauna, its people, and the bounties of the sea. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David, enjoying water toys</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-13768972157895447332017-02-26T10:30:00.001-04:002017-02-26T10:30:08.192-04:00Friday Sail<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-LswqCgnUK_Ml96Go8T5ncktzMnKmXJGxo0VzTgaC48OpuekFTpJueltCHSEIAeI-z1yAXE4WyV0hEFTubhYVFV9uI0bwdY8waHPwALEHtG-Bi9_zV1nXl3CBVTyw3gSYh34Cl9AurI/s640/blogger-image--89630321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7-LswqCgnUK_Ml96Go8T5ncktzMnKmXJGxo0VzTgaC48OpuekFTpJueltCHSEIAeI-z1yAXE4WyV0hEFTubhYVFV9uI0bwdY8waHPwALEHtG-Bi9_zV1nXl3CBVTyw3gSYh34Cl9AurI/s640/blogger-image--89630321.jpg"></a></div><br></div>I love to sail on Fridays because most people are on land. There are moorings galore from which to choose. With less sea traffic, flora and fauna are more present. There's less human noise. The sea and the sails sing to the tune of the stays' metal strings. <div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFhu6SzyyckjLhkbkYDTGYtHZKp2V4CoIHJeL_0iGK9ne95wun9m6PHXKtU_6UGFw9oTbyF2uIOieRnjFl2_fpLniq-U-IaMq5lTCXyesI6w5iKyOtJ0sDHH3spHZtnp1krJkZ4FrYVc/s640/blogger-image-1408481484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFhu6SzyyckjLhkbkYDTGYtHZKp2V4CoIHJeL_0iGK9ne95wun9m6PHXKtU_6UGFw9oTbyF2uIOieRnjFl2_fpLniq-U-IaMq5lTCXyesI6w5iKyOtJ0sDHH3spHZtnp1krJkZ4FrYVc/s640/blogger-image-1408481484.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">On Friday, 2/24/17, we left the dock at about 9:30 am with SE winds and an all female crew: Brenda, Madeleine, and me, Eva (middle pic). North swells (resaca) and windy, 15 knots with higher gusts (ráfagas) kept us well heeled and cutting waves. Andariego behaved well without hobby-horsing. We tacked three times and moored in Palomino for the day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">There was a Pelican convention near us and like us, they sunbathed, ate fish (salad Niçoise for us), frolicked on the water, and socialized (top pic).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Unlike the pelicans, we toasted to life with Albariño and Pinot Grigio, and took selfies--Brenda, blue cap and me with khaki cap (bottom pic). In the blink of an eye, it was time to sail back on a beam reach. We got back home at night. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5G_F_5d0qHI2TdtlQQChnd5Mf6OAzAeQdskjJzZUiB04XfPlg6ZzJ9pDemIPYjrPOsdMLOPwbz2EWEl8wxaCiG34R7JEN0olFrvEecHLrKoDWzAvJaFWNFpMyl6wzRCPLKKeHsrWl2rw/s640/blogger-image--1091862659.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5G_F_5d0qHI2TdtlQQChnd5Mf6OAzAeQdskjJzZUiB04XfPlg6ZzJ9pDemIPYjrPOsdMLOPwbz2EWEl8wxaCiG34R7JEN0olFrvEecHLrKoDWzAvJaFWNFpMyl6wzRCPLKKeHsrWl2rw/s640/blogger-image--1091862659.jpg"></a></div> </div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-47409716034488803272016-10-02T09:59:00.001-04:002016-10-02T09:59:13.742-04:00Ancient America sailing<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-4VlvW-JV8REdqMvWOBf_Y4lbMhZIwo4X9PfIg-UXrHYl3N7wKFEG4iB2gei0EYGO725PuK0Ew25k6nraRQBQAjtsmPQo4NBbKuJZpWMEoZvb-en4q3HNie9NOIuETNYVo1pTfOyGdE/s640/blogger-image--1989839930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-4VlvW-JV8REdqMvWOBf_Y4lbMhZIwo4X9PfIg-UXrHYl3N7wKFEG4iB2gei0EYGO725PuK0Ew25k6nraRQBQAjtsmPQo4NBbKuJZpWMEoZvb-en4q3HNie9NOIuETNYVo1pTfOyGdE/s640/blogger-image--1989839930.jpg"></a></div><br></div>I'm re-reading this book for a paper I'm writing. It is rich in references on the use of sails by native Americans from north to south, and especially in the Caribbean. The sails were made of heavy cotton or matting (palm fronds). For long voyages, they attached canoes to the sides of their pirogues (piraguas) for stability, storage, and to create a wider surface (for housing and even fire provision), much like a catamaran or trimaran these days. Men and women sailed. Some sources report the use of 2 sails, triangular in shape, later known as the Marconi rigging from the Bahamas. This rigging is now used in sloops like Andariego. They could sail close to the wind. In first encounter days (not discovery), Europeans could only sail downwind following the Gulf Stream currents. Who learned from whom?<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVu2p3P-pQE6JU_3HIcjEOvRQJAyVw2EVxVF-0lHN4czXXaVq0VDqFy0vTSFdOP50wsaZdbYsdNAyugQ6ODBiSeh7W6YRC0DIHrLrqHJLvHI_55fJS1B0qUi2gp9P2Crgjm9VNSYcTSM/s640/blogger-image-1184675552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVu2p3P-pQE6JU_3HIcjEOvRQJAyVw2EVxVF-0lHN4czXXaVq0VDqFy0vTSFdOP50wsaZdbYsdNAyugQ6ODBiSeh7W6YRC0DIHrLrqHJLvHI_55fJS1B0qUi2gp9P2Crgjm9VNSYcTSM/s640/blogger-image-1184675552.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-5881617787886142602016-02-14T17:58:00.001-04:002016-02-14T17:58:39.322-04:00Sailing with mainsail only<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAN8-lw4PkZv4Fi30HLjhpZjVVBrSxMSXn2lngbvUDOczufPykvsOK2XlYqULlA1idXrPl-fq9fw80xwcBuiNVcOVk2-0EItZgMtemQlMWkVSKnPElmhrlxc1RJvUitDWUa7C5MXn0Uo/s640/blogger-image--1369776163.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPAN8-lw4PkZv4Fi30HLjhpZjVVBrSxMSXn2lngbvUDOczufPykvsOK2XlYqULlA1idXrPl-fq9fw80xwcBuiNVcOVk2-0EItZgMtemQlMWkVSKnPElmhrlxc1RJvUitDWUa7C5MXn0Uo/s640/blogger-image--1369776163.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We went sailing yesterday, Feb. 13, for a couple of hours at around 10:30 am. The crew was Wil (at helm in top picture), Jorge (bottom pic), and myself (photographer). We stayed close to Isleta Marina because of our handicap, no jib. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The wind was from the east and fluctuating, 13-15 knots, a little choppy. It was hazy and clouded to the east. We sailed with only the mainsail because I'm waiting for a rigger to help me replace a cracked plastic piece on the mast top that helps to furl the jib. I've been waiting for a rigger since before Christmas. Riggers are in demand in Puerto Rico. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We had a great sail and reached up to 4 knots speed, even with our jib missing. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasDMAKXH_XpBPMV8Hy5TQV7HnDksZiWJ7IGLXTPiSU_S0OtWGjhgycLsDpDf32P9SSKsiWCsa9nAzxJVfooNq8pKL3RzGiAEClDBTrHS4IoljZIqZeTKDTQD8MzBI6LySEWWTt3H5mfQ/s640/blogger-image--222049839.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhasDMAKXH_XpBPMV8Hy5TQV7HnDksZiWJ7IGLXTPiSU_S0OtWGjhgycLsDpDf32P9SSKsiWCsa9nAzxJVfooNq8pKL3RzGiAEClDBTrHS4IoljZIqZeTKDTQD8MzBI6LySEWWTt3H5mfQ/s640/blogger-image--222049839.jpg"></a></div><br></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-11565668662160071392015-12-24T18:03:00.001-04:002015-12-24T18:03:12.457-04:00Merry Christmas 2015In the groove. Ho, ho, ho! We wish everyone a happy Christmas and a New Year filled with happy, healthy, and hollowed sailing days. Best wishes from Andariego. <br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHm32kxiOzsU1krfgzHHuHRi90WQnHV8Dsw8WDdu91JyaQc6JI2kU9xlaXkcx7QoxMedSsdT03wD3njvRbZFgry9rI4xbEEiguNnmzlMmnXWP5pg1AATJfRJnjvFDERHPyMRBZ4XSXWE/s640/blogger-image--1504614229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmHm32kxiOzsU1krfgzHHuHRi90WQnHV8Dsw8WDdu91JyaQc6JI2kU9xlaXkcx7QoxMedSsdT03wD3njvRbZFgry9rI4xbEEiguNnmzlMmnXWP5pg1AATJfRJnjvFDERHPyMRBZ4XSXWE/s640/blogger-image--1504614229.jpg"></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-14421832017402595752013-09-29T11:57:00.000-04:002013-09-29T11:57:47.054-04:00Sunday Shakedown Sail
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrahns5GGkY3u7stFj9afujbzBLpUQBjIsR9tB9lLs4AjUkjwGwp5QHHZ_dfxdjCnfziZLfR1LLPe44iqM71VJCG42iLUbLhgGe4dRw6TSqdIK6L2AD6HntGRfao_NImzdCZGXylSSbo/s1600/IMG_0978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrahns5GGkY3u7stFj9afujbzBLpUQBjIsR9tB9lLs4AjUkjwGwp5QHHZ_dfxdjCnfziZLfR1LLPe44iqM71VJCG42iLUbLhgGe4dRw6TSqdIK6L2AD6HntGRfao_NImzdCZGXylSSbo/s320/IMG_0978.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andariego's new inexpensive air conditioner</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mike Wagner</td></tr>
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On Sunday, September 22, 2013, the autumnal
equinox, I went for a little shakedown sail with two marina friends, Mike and
Willy. They both have sailboats moored at Isleta Marina. Mike is a live-aboard
with a dog named Pebbles, and works on construction for a living. Willy has a
sailboat and a place on land where he sews canvas works for sailboats and
furniture upholstery. They’ve both done work in <i>Andariego</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Mike had helped me install a small
air conditioner in the main cabin hatch. We attached rope handles to move it to
the dock finger using a winch. I don’t want to sail with a bulky ac over the
hatch. It had not been tested. I cannot lift an ac by myself but I can move it
using winches. Willy had made the ac’s canvas cover, which can be left on when
the ac is on or off protecting the digital elements from direct sunlight and
rain, but with screen canvas on the back to allow air flow without taking the
canvas off. It works beautifully. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willy Angleró</td></tr>
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We sailed from 1:00 to 4:00 p.m.
around the bay, wherever the wind blew, without a port in mind, just sailing.
The t-shirt I wore said it all: Are we there yet? Who cares? All worked well,
except we found a small rip at the head of the mainsail. Willy said he could
fix it. I had used sail tape previously, but obviously that is not a permanent
or reliable solution.</div>
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Mike took the helm for a while as
we headed toward Palomino with a gentle ESE wind. It wasn’t windy enough for
his taste, but enough for me preferring cruising to racing. Willy sailed toward
Icacos, as we made a big loop to head back to port. As I sailed back in, all
was handled smoothly, including the re-installation of the ac using the winch.
The temperature outside was in the upper 90’s but the heat index indicated 103
degrees Fahrenheit. We celebrated a well-spent afternoon with a few cold beers.
It was nice to have the ac cooling the main cabin again.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Eva's t-shirt</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-31744187423124409502013-09-29T09:08:00.000-04:002013-09-29T09:08:45.709-04:00Stars as Teachers
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6DPlw-Rzww_Md7u1D45tMVDMli3EjDb24PW0s9ZWwHKqxBXmHRfbxyqPyQOl2QkEPVRCaiU1LsQRajyF3UTJi22RZXashEkqbyaoNkn0xSDFrSUtPxGuvdL_FU0uTDqomeWU0BMwBb8/s1600/The+Veiled+Isis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX6DPlw-Rzww_Md7u1D45tMVDMli3EjDb24PW0s9ZWwHKqxBXmHRfbxyqPyQOl2QkEPVRCaiU1LsQRajyF3UTJi22RZXashEkqbyaoNkn0xSDFrSUtPxGuvdL_FU0uTDqomeWU0BMwBb8/s320/The+Veiled+Isis.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The Egyptian Goddess Isis is often
depicted as veiled, as noted in the picture of Auguste Puttemans (1866-1927), <i>Statue of Isis</i>, located at Herbert
Hoover National Historic Site in Iowa (Wikimedia Commons). Isis is by no means
the first or the last manifestation of the Mother Goddess. Her story, with
Osiris and Horus, marks the passage of the sun, moon, and planets in the
backdrop of stars. As most mythical stories, theirs evolved with humans’ first
encounters with stars. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Primal myths are the stuff of
primal astronomy – the extended metaphors our ancestors used to describe the
cyclic movement of the celestial bodies; their infinity (consistency), births
(appearances), deaths (disappearances), rebirths (re-appearances). When humans
first looked at the stars in earnest and unveiled the adage, as above so below,
they had no words to describe what they saw. Expressions of awe became
syllables, and then metaphoric stories helping us to understand the lessons
from our star teachers guiding us from dark (gu) to light (ru). They taught us
how to connect stars to the cycle of the seasons, animal migrations, plant
sprouting, climate, and spacetime. It is the story in the syllabic ancient
Sanskrit mantra, sa-ta-na-ma (infinity, birth, death, rebirth). The story
behind each syllable describes the passage of the Moon, Venus, the Sun, the
Constellations, as well as the passage of Life on Earth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The largest constellation, later
known as Virgo, became the Great Mother (wisdom, Sophia), upholding the law (Libra),
justice (Scorpio), sustenance (the Milky Way); this being only a small section
of the observable ecliptic trajectory of 12 constellations, innumerable stars and
the stuff of stars (planets, satellites, asteroids, life, dark matter). </div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> When we stopped looking at the sky for guidance to
understand Mother Earth, these metaphors degenerated into religions and history
(or twistory, as <i>The Little Prince</i>
called it), blinding ourselves from what is hidden in plain sight in nature,
trading harmony for disharmony. When was the last time you saw the stars? When
was the last time you laid down on the ground (or a sailboat deck away from
city lights) to see the passage of stars from east to west, as we move in rapid
stillness from west to east? Only when we are ready to continue the natural
evolution of our ancestors, from paupers to corporate giants, will we again
begin to unveil Isis.</span><!--EndFragment-->
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-17226675686835829082013-04-06T06:22:00.001-04:002013-04-06T06:22:56.962-04:00Missing YouI have been kept so busy at work lately--writing, writing, writing-- that I've missed logging in. I have sailed but missed writing my lately metaphysical 'Captain's Log' here. It is 6:00 a.m. As I prepare to go to Andariego, I am minded to write and commit to sharing sailing stories. May there be more entries in the coming months. Right now, I am also testing posting logs through my iPhone. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxD9foBrKhGpJn7_6wLG8EHC4OTVe6qF6XtGFTEKh9nz9C5dYUi9eclMBqNJ1jrMS10SsYky_MdbAqKPOQLEPojEjoLq0eeJNJBIZ3I27aqq2njQ2HXkQJkvkbplegaBB2_QWk9IOl0HU/s640/blogger-image--845278985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxD9foBrKhGpJn7_6wLG8EHC4OTVe6qF6XtGFTEKh9nz9C5dYUi9eclMBqNJ1jrMS10SsYky_MdbAqKPOQLEPojEjoLq0eeJNJBIZ3I27aqq2njQ2HXkQJkvkbplegaBB2_QWk9IOl0HU/s640/blogger-image--845278985.jpg" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-64242840910668971702012-12-24T20:23:00.000-04:002012-12-24T20:23:39.649-04:00Ho, Ho, Ho<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoX3LKQSjPDkPnWd57H6-9cZC_X-UhgimaIy542sPT6Xc9bzs6xHwGFUBeVwSx45FjnvdHFqaPR7esUUFGo8HSjM4zEFrGP0E6Kuzv0qYfJ0FlzE4wnelmtYLmsEOYBNoio_Um6M7-d0o/s1600/Santa+Sailor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoX3LKQSjPDkPnWd57H6-9cZC_X-UhgimaIy542sPT6Xc9bzs6xHwGFUBeVwSx45FjnvdHFqaPR7esUUFGo8HSjM4zEFrGP0E6Kuzv0qYfJ0FlzE4wnelmtYLmsEOYBNoio_Um6M7-d0o/s400/Santa+Sailor.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
To all sailing spirits who love the raw nature of the sea, the radiant light of the sun, a canopy of stars, and sharing with kindred souls.<br />
May the new year bring new shores to explore, gentle winds, and following seas.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-85846619868775892982012-11-06T10:50:00.000-04:002012-11-06T10:50:36.773-04:00Through My Looking Glass: The V-Berth Hatch<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfJgYivdUMxaPimWhOaQNhJG-KaRmRke8DF8dk3WRBtDTiss8dabomiI-nX1vFXg2jbGC4OI_ViRF7VIvgu_OG_tzaqy7A-3474b9AlA2-M_Dy-7eLqQPHvsQfVu8g6mhN_R44wkXgSY/s1600/Jupiter.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfJgYivdUMxaPimWhOaQNhJG-KaRmRke8DF8dk3WRBtDTiss8dabomiI-nX1vFXg2jbGC4OI_ViRF7VIvgu_OG_tzaqy7A-3474b9AlA2-M_Dy-7eLqQPHvsQfVu8g6mhN_R44wkXgSY/s200/Jupiter.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jupiter (Institute of Technical Science, University of Oregon, Eugene, OR)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
November 4, 2012, midnight hour,
Isleta Marina. Pleasantly
exhausted after a day sail, I went to sleep early, around 9:00 p.m., in
Andariego’s forward cabin. Sometime around midnight, the light of a star
peeking through the V-berth hatch woke me up. I checked the <i>Distant Suns</i> and <i>Star Walk</i> apps in my iPhone. It was Jupiter. Overcast skies, only a
few selected stars peeked through the veil of clouds at a time. The hatch is
small so my selection was even more delimited—but rich.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBvZ1Kdq7ZF1W8HOzYKX-A7Faap_FM-a7-aPm0QkbnsbBR0ZQm2RXDATC8rcFsFtkh50Y3dFvMF4haLSHts2lIHmZ_s7PuWSgPwRMGIH74GZhi7st9sMbtGCIoHFk-b6fTMyd3mAM4Bo/s1600/Cancer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBvZ1Kdq7ZF1W8HOzYKX-A7Faap_FM-a7-aPm0QkbnsbBR0ZQm2RXDATC8rcFsFtkh50Y3dFvMF4haLSHts2lIHmZ_s7PuWSgPwRMGIH74GZhi7st9sMbtGCIoHFk-b6fTMyd3mAM4Bo/s200/Cancer.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cancer Constellation (Wiki-The Stars in Cancer)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The first constellation I identified
was Cancer, the Crab. The moon (waning gibbous, 66.7%) was astronomically in
the Cancer Constellation. With intuitive imagination, I was able to see its
pincers and form. This fascinated me, to the point of awe, because before going
to sleep I had been reading a book (<i>The
Quest for the Zodiac: The Cosmic Code Beyond Astrology</i> (1999) by John Lash)
about the difference between the astronomy or sidereal ecliptic and the
tropical astrology ecliptic, the stuff of popular horoscopes in newspapers.
They don’t match.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Technically, you have to move one
constellation back to get the actual constellation in the sky (not the
horoscope sign) where the sun was on your birth date. Astronomically, mine
would have been Cancer, a water element, rather than Leo, a fire element in the
popular horoscope. Coincidence?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
After cloud curtain calls in the
hatch theater stage, I recognized Gemini, the Twins. Outside the ecliptic, I
identified the little dog, Canis Minor. Then there was Orion, the Hunter, with
his three shiny stars for a belt. As I dozed off, after Jupiter’s wake-up call
in the midnight hours, I saw Aldebaran, the brightest star in Taurus, the
bull’s eye. Sixty-eight light years away, Aldebaran, the red star, is a
reminder of my life’s passage, and that looking at stars is to look into our
past, individual and evolutionary. As one looks into the deepest depth of the
universe (the self) even through the hatch of a small sailboat on a cloudy
night, the book’s question invokes mental shivers: “How is humanity living through
me?” (Lash 99).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The ‘writing-in-the-sky’ was not
clear to me but at some deeper level, seeing the moon in Cancer after reading
about it made me understand something I cannot express with words—a most
difficult confession for a PhD linguist. In semiotic terms (a branch of
linguistics that studies the meaning of signs), this is something that I want
to pursue in my sailing adventures. Perhaps I can call it, <i>astro-semiotics</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">I’ll finish this entry with a quote from
Empedocles, a pre-Socratic philosopher: “A wanderer exiled from the great
origins, in former times I was already a boy and a girl, a bush and a bird, a
mute fish in the sea.” (Lash 89). I am a wanderer rediscovering the language of
the stars. </span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-36136347146960514202012-04-07T22:25:00.000-04:002012-04-07T22:25:44.113-04:00Night Sail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpmJzBAOw10oSpJf2hvlERX00cWtGT66YcyckSd2UfioDs4V5aKopVE_KmXuVUxXNbACr26zSsGywOm6XX1_j0mlSm6KxyGeg7Hz1yodWMWK4GW0AjHuH4lCgdDvDxxnrquXpxRByHLM/s1600/522155_10150658419550954_652150953_9436583_322533850_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpmJzBAOw10oSpJf2hvlERX00cWtGT66YcyckSd2UfioDs4V5aKopVE_KmXuVUxXNbACr26zSsGywOm6XX1_j0mlSm6KxyGeg7Hz1yodWMWK4GW0AjHuH4lCgdDvDxxnrquXpxRByHLM/s320/522155_10150658419550954_652150953_9436583_322533850_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><link href="file://localhost/Users/evadelourdes/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style>
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">On Friday, April 6, 2012, there was a full moon rising. It was the tail-end of a small craft advisory. The wind was still a little fresh with remnants of the north swells that had played some havoc the day before. It was perfect for a night sail. I checked the moon rise time in my AyeTides iPhone application; 6:42 p.m. AST. Sue, Mike, and I sat in <i>Bona Roba</i> (Sue's sailboat), and on a whim decided we had one hour to get <i>Andariego</i> ready for a night sail. We walked from dock A to dock B, and set to the task.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">We left the dock at Isleta Marina sometime after sunset, which was at 6:37 p.m. The sun set behind dark clouds. It was dark, and indigo hues with silvery sparks engulfed us as we raised the mainsail and unfurled the jib. We left Isleta Marina to our starboard, as we headed to the lights at Cayo Lobos. The moon made her grand entrance between these two points; big, round, aflamed in yellow-orange tones midst indigo blues.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">A balm for our sorrows, deceptions, as well as a toast to life, happiness, and all that is divine in us all. Impossible to capture this in a photo, Sue nonetheless made an attempt to photograph it, as we sailed so fast, bobbed up and down with occasional cockpit splashes, and danced with the waves and the wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Times;">There is something very special about sailing at night. The Fajardo Lighthouse becomes a guiding star, juxtaposed to the moon's mesmerizing lighthouse-like beam reflected on the water. Andariego's red and green tenuous headlights and orange glowing compass light were bearing witness to the three souls on board. A moment in time, a wakening call, the light in the darkness of our being.</span></div><!--EndFragment--> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-32576770864596561042012-03-04T21:36:00.002-04:002012-03-06T20:50:04.818-04:00Vive la Différence!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjoCROsqDU8LSQyzdkJKSZX8gkVU25iu9xSQ37mo9JLbMdR4qjm4iNjXVLPrDbV4v6Ohv0FrfeizmNTtIgWnqIPlIgEN8gvL9xGRNjFxhRnL7FA7CB65gsmb3NaVicnQXV8cVsyibIhY/s1600/426165_10150593506340954_652150953_9209945_1086406268_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjoCROsqDU8LSQyzdkJKSZX8gkVU25iu9xSQ37mo9JLbMdR4qjm4iNjXVLPrDbV4v6Ohv0FrfeizmNTtIgWnqIPlIgEN8gvL9xGRNjFxhRnL7FA7CB65gsmb3NaVicnQXV8cVsyibIhY/s320/426165_10150593506340954_652150953_9209945_1086406268_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="Body1">There is a difference between sailing with men and sailing with women. My attempt is not to state that one is better than the other, but that they're different and enjoyable in their own way.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQoIU3FYJX-t9WQpsIbTYwsIa2KKJYOt7AP_LcAkDhy5rLX05QI3MaeYzEXtWZomPF3i5YhU2Aa3jgkPlqdWpMmEY1BNF39VPNlus-k9pLvpIi7tGHPDqWB9TS8auqoYU_1Rg5H62fnY/s1600/IMG_0682.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaQoIU3FYJX-t9WQpsIbTYwsIa2KKJYOt7AP_LcAkDhy5rLX05QI3MaeYzEXtWZomPF3i5YhU2Aa3jgkPlqdWpMmEY1BNF39VPNlus-k9pLvpIi7tGHPDqWB9TS8auqoYU_1Rg5H62fnY/s200/IMG_0682.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nelson, Bob, and Fred</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="Body1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sunday, February 25, 2012.</b> Sailing with Men. There was a small craft advisory warning, ENE winds 15-18 knots with higher gusts, and the seas were 3-4 feet with north swells. Sunny, threatening storms. The crew: Eva, Betty, Nelson (savvy sailor), Bob (former owner of an Island Packet 35), and Fred (twice winner of best sailor of the year award). The plan was to go to Palomino.</div><br />
<div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">Normally, I wouldn't sail with a warning, but the men were keen. They were sea knowledgeable; the only kind of men with whom to sail, especially with a warning. We left the dock at 10:00 a.m. and returned at 1:00 p.m. It was very gusty, so we tried sailing with just the mainsail. The men displayed their best sailing rhetoric, argued about the best rigging for the weather, raised voices, cajoled, and insisted that in sailing, where quick, sharp decisions require fast reflexes, yelling is a must. And they yelled, and laughed, and boasted sailing strategies, and took in all the weather could muster. The weather obliged, sending high swells, gusts, and menacing clouds in the horizon.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">Betty's body rebelled with all the tossing and turning; sea sickness engulfed her from beginning to end. A trooper nonetheless, she was a good sport, in spite of her mal de mer. The men were like athletes in extreme weather sports. Me, I learned a few strategies for rough weather sailing, which are always welcome. I enjoyed seeing how much weather Andariego could take with full sails and with the mainsail alone. For a brief moment, Andariego was heeling a good 30 degrees and we were washing boards. Though I did not enjoy the feeling (I certainly didn't want to see my keel while sailing that morning), I observed what he could take, before I requested to roll the jib, which the men did immediately. We never made Palomino.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">Fred wrote in Andariego's log, "What a treat! ... Such a clean well cared for boat. Well equipped. Very impressed." Nelson added, "Fantastico! ... It was a windy vigorous sail, and we got all we could handle without a reef. Beautiful boat too." Betty wrote, "... You were also so understanding and forgiving of these guys who yell! Thanks for the day and for your friendship." There was nothing to forgive; they were sailors having fun. I was also a sailor having fun. But then I saw a dark set of clouds in the distant horizon. I requested to return and call it a day. A great crew, they went through all the motions to head back. Nelson checked his radar connection and verified that indeed it was a strong weather front. He added in the log, "You're a good weather forecaster." As we docked, Fred missed grabbing the aft lines (the break) with the hook and I tapped the dock box with the pulpit. No damage done, but not a smooth docking. The rain started so we had our lunch in the main cabin. We hosed the boat and left Andariego immediately to catch the ferry back home.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punta Águila, Palomino</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="Body1"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Friday, March 2, 2012.</b> Sailing with Women. There was an 'exercise caution' advisory but no major warnings, ENE winds 14-17 knots, and the seas were 3-5 feet. Sunny with scattered clouds. The crew: Eva, Betty, Margarita, Sue, and María. The plan was to go to Palomino.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">We sailed out at 11:15 a.m. and returned at 5:15 p.m. Everyone was assigned a task as we were docking out: bow lines, starboard spring lines, port side, aft lines. I had to go in reverse making sure not to hit any of the concrete fingers and columns on the way. The crew was ready to fend off from their post. It was done smoothly.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">As we headed out, the food (enough for a weekend sail) was put away, waters served and the conversations started. As we passed our first green marker, we got ready to raise the main. It was jammed halfway up. In a Socratic mode of problem solving, we asked questions, checked, asked questions again, until we realized the main halyard was jammed by the lazy jacks. Sue sorted it out and Maria raised the main without a problem. Sue was behind the helm most of the way. We sailed with the main for a while, until the wind subsided. We unfurled the jib, and with two tacks, we sailed straight to Palomino. All sails down without a hitch, we caught a mooring on our first try, celebrated our sail and had a regal lunch. Margarita brought homemade hommus and grapes. Betty made her famous Gazpacho soup. There was tarragon dip and Maria's dip with pimentos. Wheat roll-ups, marzipan, pan sobao, Margarita's mojito with yerbabuena, and wines.</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Betty and Eva</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="Body1">Then we went for a swim. We talked and listened to jazz. While I was in the water floating about and enjoying the day, I looked at my watch, thinking it was shortly after noon. It was nearly 4:00 p.m. We put away leftover goodies and sailed into the sunset with the wind on our backs. A smooth sunset sail, we docked quietly, without any glitches. Betty was never seasick and remarked in the log, "Best captain, best crew, and absolutely my best ever day of sailing. I'll never forget it ..."</div><div class="Body1"><br />
</div><div class="Body1">We packed and cleaned up. Some had to go; most stayed. Then we sat down in the cockpit area as it darkened, sharing thoughts of the day and about sails to come. Someone looked up the mast and noticed the moon just above it, as someone else softly remarked that Andariego had an awesome anchor light.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and the rainbow welcomed us back</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="Body1"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-45450913986246607692012-02-09T23:16:00.000-04:002012-02-09T23:16:28.716-04:00A Puppy Rottweiler, Geese, Dead Batteries, New and Dear Friends<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cielito, Ceiba with Palomino in the distance</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Friday, February 3. I met with <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">dear friends</b> and fellow sailors (Sue, Margarita, Betty and me) in Cielito, Ceiba to celebrate life. From Sue’s beautiful home, one can see Palomino, the island that, little did I know, I would sail to in the morning. After an 8-hour lunch and joyful day, I spent the night in Andariego.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four sailing women on land</td></tr>
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</style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Saturday, February 4. The plan was to sail with Ángel and his young family early on Saturday morning to Luis Peña. There were five souls in Andariego. The engine would not start in the morning. After much problem-solving, that which true sailors do best, it was deduced that the batteries were faulty. Neill, in San Juan, helped us conclude that the lead oxide in the old batteries had been converted to lead sulfate, short-circuiting against its next-door serial neighbor. We took both batteries to West Marine, where their meter declared them <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">dead batteries</b> and adviced, “Replace Batteries.” New batteries later, the engine started without a problem. Our late afternoon start made us reconsider our destination. We sailed to Palomino instead.</div><!--EndFragment--><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">As we left Isleta Marina, I saw a black small head in the water. At first I thought it was a turtle, then a seal (but the last Caribbean Monk Seal spotted in these waters was in 1952, now extinct), finally realizing it was a small dog. The <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">puppy Rottweiler</b> was swimming toward Andariego, seeing us as his only salvation. Had we not passed by, he would have swam himself to exhaustion; there was no shore nearby. I went in reverse, as Ángel grabbed the net on a long pole from down below. The puppy was rescued in the net, brought aboard, and wrapped in a towel. We went back to the dock and gave the puppy to Kurk, from Andariego’s next-dock sailboat. I live with two rescued dogs at home, Desie and Falcor, but I never thought I’d rescue a dog at sea. We felt very proud, happy, and celebrated the successful rescue quite a ways into Palomino.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">We grabbed a mooring on Palomino’s north side, near the interesting rock formations, protected by the hill from east winds. Ángel, a geologist, explained how the rocks that look like stacked blocks were natural formations, shaped mainly by the rain. After a swim and an early night, scattered clouds played peek-a-boo with the moon, and played misty on me, until I secured the hatches.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkBFourYPefrZDB6oG0fyvXqqI7DzKdLcdwTOlAn1EvMwDdP6j_VQ9gAAW6SR_e5cLuNht1WvOh1DCD52K3yaIM6zzaUdnq7C7PGNZnIKI732GK-78CWQdOqZ1lWd09OTGBYeNpXnoio/s1600/IMG_0672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkBFourYPefrZDB6oG0fyvXqqI7DzKdLcdwTOlAn1EvMwDdP6j_VQ9gAAW6SR_e5cLuNht1WvOh1DCD52K3yaIM6zzaUdnq7C7PGNZnIKI732GK-78CWQdOqZ1lWd09OTGBYeNpXnoio/s320/IMG_0672.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palomino sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0px;">Sunday, February 5. The sea gremlins were not done with their mischief after rendering the old batteries useless. The engine started beautifully in the morning, but the gas stove died soon after starting it. The meter read that there was propane gas left; it was lying. The Cobb barbecue came to the rescue. Ángel managed to almost boil water in the Cobb, enough to make coffee. He made scrambled eggs with cheese for all on a flat pan on the coals. For lunch, you guessed it, a barbecue grill. Midst barbecue extravaganzas, we saw a flock of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">geese</b> flying northwest in perfect V-formation. South to north, north to south, without a stop in the tropics. What a treat to see these beautiful birds flying so high in their ancient migratory display.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">We docked in the afternoon, and my <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">new friends</b> helped to clean Andariego after our short adventure, making him look shiny and new, ready for the next new adventures.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzC-yrE3gvcshaU2YbOwBfNozrrCuMmCow0y_50TcGvcE38rSOeNdrvCggpf_eOSbPLU2IlzgpFzWhJwKcYVadnwAnW8pOXqlew-iipuT-m-nwpz2KTCZAmcrSb2MIQor_PUWrempBnXg/s1600/IMG_0675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzC-yrE3gvcshaU2YbOwBfNozrrCuMmCow0y_50TcGvcE38rSOeNdrvCggpf_eOSbPLU2IlzgpFzWhJwKcYVadnwAnW8pOXqlew-iipuT-m-nwpz2KTCZAmcrSb2MIQor_PUWrempBnXg/s320/IMG_0675.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andariego's new caring friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-65788405976806680632011-12-18T08:28:00.000-04:002011-12-18T08:28:44.757-04:00Happy Christmas Sailing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuKgDUdcxad1msW9g3BuH6F0jmcgpO6YqVCVyzxgpee_CLjVTbyU3l_mgzC6hg0HwjqFKh7Oy3X2Z7HfkVD25o9yysVjZ3NWsTS6m9-vNxf7n7zJxEw4Ymnkq_wci8DV0n2NPaVO0AqA/s1600/Sailing+Santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuKgDUdcxad1msW9g3BuH6F0jmcgpO6YqVCVyzxgpee_CLjVTbyU3l_mgzC6hg0HwjqFKh7Oy3X2Z7HfkVD25o9yysVjZ3NWsTS6m9-vNxf7n7zJxEw4Ymnkq_wci8DV0n2NPaVO0AqA/s320/Sailing+Santa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Qué el lucero de la Navidad nos guíe a un rumbo de <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pax in terra</i>,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Qué en el silencio del mar oigamos la música cósmica de las esferas,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>y nos deleitemos en la creación del universo.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Somos estrellas, peces, y naves,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">árboles, piedras, arena, y plancton,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">viento, agua, tierra, y fuego – infinito<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="color: red; mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;">Qué no olvidemos nunca ser y estar maravillados en este mundo encantado.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></td> <td style="border-left: none; border: solid blue 1.0pt; mso-border-alt: solid blue .5pt; mso-border-left-alt: solid blue .5pt; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 239.4pt;" valign="top" width="239"> <div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">May the Christmas evening star guide us towards <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pax in terra</i>,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">In the silence of the sea, may we listen to the cosmic music of the spheres,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">and delight in the creation of the universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">We are stars, fish, and sailing vessels,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">trees, stones, sand, and plankton,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">wind, water, earth, and fire – infinity<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: green;">May we never forget our sense of wonder in this enchanted world.</span><span lang="ES-TRAD" style="mso-ansi-language: ES-TRAD;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></td> </tr>
</tbody></table><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-18320343170390856512011-08-29T16:34:00.000-04:002011-08-29T16:34:56.233-04:00Irene, Leda and the Swan <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQXZWAzmvfplY7eb0aCI7Ge1VHybgfNicRvnms9ZqOZ8GjlwaahwjtI2LJyYIQnDC8fcmjuPgx3ZnJ1LEzPgo14TknsFkoqTFw9dd2XTq18yNxL7byqwXiMBai1EAhutjlbC6GGQEgDM/s1600/IMG_0602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpQXZWAzmvfplY7eb0aCI7Ge1VHybgfNicRvnms9ZqOZ8GjlwaahwjtI2LJyYIQnDC8fcmjuPgx3ZnJ1LEzPgo14TknsFkoqTFw9dd2XTq18yNxL7byqwXiMBai1EAhutjlbC6GGQEgDM/s320/IMG_0602.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andariego after Tropical Storm Irene</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> Tropical Storm Irene became Hurricane Irene, Category 1, as it crossed the island of Puerto Rico. </span>It is not about what category a hurricane is. It is about the things that come alive around you as the hurricane passes. The water nymph that enlivened the wind infused life on a distant zinc plank. Its new grown wings sent the plank directly to Andariego’s jib. It locked itself around the rope that was keeping the jib taut in its stay during the storm. Like the white skirt of a Turk dancing dervish, it twirled round and round the forestay, cutting and unwrapping its prize, searching for its beloved in the sublimity of nature. The gusty Naiad that forced the plank unto Andariego’s wings went on to other mischief. And the zinc’s lifeless form dropped to the deck, bouncing to Davy Jones’ locker. Andariego was the swan that dropped Leda from its beak, to a final resting place.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Twelve lines kept Andariego from hitting concrete docks and nearby boats. Hull intact, cabins dry, Irene went on to cause chaos on Andariego’s friends, near and far. In our marina, two boats sank and many sustained major and minor damages. All one can do is be thankful and better prepared for the next one, for the next one cometh.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir01i1W_LYkcx6pAgfvem15JuWV66zWNWIJFy7A1XUry1sQGUgHMprHJ-kPC1GvLAejNGf3giGmh7JtKlQWWzhTfBwKNGqF0fXNe785Lu66FqprebFRCSlmIyP6RFk0mEd8K9eTrFEFjc/s1600/Bubacco-Leda-and-the-Swan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir01i1W_LYkcx6pAgfvem15JuWV66zWNWIJFy7A1XUry1sQGUgHMprHJ-kPC1GvLAejNGf3giGmh7JtKlQWWzhTfBwKNGqF0fXNe785Lu66FqprebFRCSlmIyP6RFk0mEd8K9eTrFEFjc/s200/Bubacco-Leda-and-the-Swan.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leda and the Swan</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-62656631912043240752011-08-01T23:23:00.001-04:002011-08-02T09:20:00.837-04:00The Sound of Sailing<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDNSmjfTJgYE_LKN3PdnjgBwGTgi9DqMZb6qsBepABMapGYIIefr30UUHK2Va6_hTh3bWZ7AzTfLg9AOVO3bFZBPgvAVnt5DYwQk5ifIHZonBb5zYOCcybbIC-Dbz8gNGvRk6-6eZpU_E/s1600/IMG_0563.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDNSmjfTJgYE_LKN3PdnjgBwGTgi9DqMZb6qsBepABMapGYIIefr30UUHK2Va6_hTh3bWZ7AzTfLg9AOVO3bFZBPgvAVnt5DYwQk5ifIHZonBb5zYOCcybbIC-Dbz8gNGvRk6-6eZpU_E/s320/IMG_0563.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sailing past Cabeza de Perro</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Friday, July 29 to Sunday, July 31, 2011. Friday afternoon Marisol, Fabián and I prepared <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> for a weekend sail to Punta Arenas, Vieques (19 nautical miles). Clean linen, food, water, music, solar chargers, general check-ups and cleaning. We had an early night, to get up early at 6:00 a.m., have a leisure morning and set sail at 8:30 a.m. Sue, the captain of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bona Roba</i>, a beautiful Hans Christian classic, joined us for our sail Saturday morning—three women and a young man.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijO3qKtedMOSdsqbwK0Q69Noy2_WPdrIPQToz0t6aVc6OJL6xfKUfCvKvJV2dEF_7RmpwbUaPsNAktAZY6b2FXDMGfRs4BLKqgK94iTpzbepDhch3x5k0u8K6c9n5k5HQk_NmXmE2Vatc/s1600/IMG_0565.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijO3qKtedMOSdsqbwK0Q69Noy2_WPdrIPQToz0t6aVc6OJL6xfKUfCvKvJV2dEF_7RmpwbUaPsNAktAZY6b2FXDMGfRs4BLKqgK94iTpzbepDhch3x5k0u8K6c9n5k5HQk_NmXmE2Vatc/s320/IMG_0565.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marisol on the lookout</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">We set sail at 9:30 a.m., blue skies with distant thunderheads, east winds from 12 to 16 knots, and a pleasant beamy sail averaging 4 to 5 knots, had us there in 3-odd hours. The wind blew through the fishing rod stainless steel holder and made a gentle whistling sound. The wind was whispering sweet nothings through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>. The sound of the wind on the sails, the rush of the water against the hull, and aft foamy crescendos rivaled Mozart’s Jupiter in that allegro vivace first movement.</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"> As we approached Punta Arenas, we found a faulty mooring and opted to anchor nearby on a sandy spot, facing Monte Pirata. A police boat went by twice, perhaps wondering where the men were … ha! On our last sail, we moored on the first try, and later on we watched a sailboat with a French name and 4 men give up mooring after 3 tries. After we anchored, our 13-year-old young man was hungry, and the barbecue was started. Fabián checked the anchor 3 times; any excuse to snorkel further than the 3 feet distance from the sailboat required. Sue made a super salad with mango dressing, and Marisol made barbecued spare ribs. Lots of water, some spirits and Kenny Chesney’s key lime pie song, Jimmy Buffet’s 5-o’clock somewhere, and Martinique’s Compagnie Creole’s k-dance rhythms reminded us of friends not present—Neill, Bob, Brenda, Margarita, Michael, Silvia, Ramón, Tessie, Francisco, … We toasted to us and those unable to share the sunset from Punta Arenas. Dark clouds covered El Yunque rainforest, yonder in the rainy Puerto Rico mainland.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpff6_R_TKWEGhLuX97sYF_HfVF9Sh9H-W3MftCLTwX_23tkA5T4WFygLJs640RdJkK-5u2G3OJC_k4WASGSxAUNqj-iwzUDQgbxUmGP9HKGtA6ArbUr5WrgC1NZOZsha8t_N74T-Ohus/s1600/IMG_0567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpff6_R_TKWEGhLuX97sYF_HfVF9Sh9H-W3MftCLTwX_23tkA5T4WFygLJs640RdJkK-5u2G3OJC_k4WASGSxAUNqj-iwzUDQgbxUmGP9HKGtA6ArbUr5WrgC1NZOZsha8t_N74T-Ohus/s320/IMG_0567.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sue at the helm</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">As the night drew near, Fabián signed-off early to his cabin (all that anchor watching), and we three females laid down at the bow’s deck to look at the stars; we played Chopin’s Nocturne in B flat minor. A moonless night, we saw infinite numbers of stars and the Milky Way. Sue was at the starboard side, Marisol at the port side, and I was in the middle. Feet towards the pulpit, a choir of crickets joined Chopin, along with the music of the spheres. I was recently reading a book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Song-Spine-June-Leslie-Wieder/dp/1594574707?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Song of the Spine</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1594574707" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />: Sound healing and vibrational therapy</i> (2004) by Dr. June Leslie Wieder, in which she states that: “Astronomers have recently discovered that a black hole in the Perseus star cluster emits a B-flat sound wave 57 octaves below the middle B-flat on a piano.” Chopin must have known something. In that primordial B-flat, we were connected to the sound of the universe.</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"> Sunday morning was Mozart’s Jupiter symphony, energizing us to welcome a glorious sunrise. I prepared coffee and we joined the morning in the cockpit, along with distant neighbors, a catamaran, a sloop and a couple of even more distant motorboats. The weather announced yet more distant rumors of a possible hurricane Emily forming, 2-3 days away. We opted to leave at 11:00 a.m. after swimming and tidying up. Marisol brought up the anchor (so proud of her), and everyone took turns behind the helm. A superb sailing team! On the sail back, we were threatened by 4 squall-like fronts, which we luckily avoided swiftly. As we approached our bay entrance, the wind died down, and we were running at 1.8 knots. A sailboat named <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Adagio</i> passed us. Adagio is a slow musical piece, appropriate for our finale. No hurry, but for that looming black cloud I wished away as we approached the dock. Molto allegro, Jupiter’s fourth and last movement, very happy, sums up the sound of sailing.</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8wqHkNcafmn8WwHVHfaex5esn9r29Qf20SGIVK6WBBP74Az0ofiS2nqxIHartWMEHULLehyphenhyphen5_A6oqem6MJl3EmgORu_6w2u0JTxiZX1c5T1FMlwdKk1VoqArBaKJmB3lYzB9ZaiZeO4/s1600/IMG_0568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF8wqHkNcafmn8WwHVHfaex5esn9r29Qf20SGIVK6WBBP74Az0ofiS2nqxIHartWMEHULLehyphenhyphen5_A6oqem6MJl3EmgORu_6w2u0JTxiZX1c5T1FMlwdKk1VoqArBaKJmB3lYzB9ZaiZeO4/s320/IMG_0568.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bliss at 13 - Fabián</td></tr>
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</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-53071283562888710242011-07-23T09:55:00.000-04:002011-07-23T09:55:09.089-04:00Sailing in the New Planet<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Capturing Sunset from Palomino Island--Fabian and Brenda</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>July 18-20, 2011. The planet is changing. To some, it has already changed, and we must adapt. In Bill McKibben’s book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Eaarth-Making-Life-Tough-Planet/dp/B0057DARLM?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Eaarth: Making a life on a tough new planet</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0057DARLM" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></i>, we are reminded that, “it suddenly rains harder and faster than it has ever rained before … global warming is no longer a philosophical threat, no longer a future threat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no longer a threat at all</i>. It’s our reality.” In Puerto Rico, it has been raining since spring, unheard of before, and as I write this, there’s a thunderstorm outside. </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Testing the Cobb BBQ</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Monday afternoon, Marisol, Fabián and I went to Andariego at Isleta Marina to get ready to sail early next morning. We drove in the rain. We aired the sailboat as we prepared cabins, galley, and checked the engine, rigging, hull, and so on down the checklist. As the evening approached fast, we started the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cobb-Premier-Portable-Stainless-Smoker/dp/B000GGTYIW?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Cobb BBQ</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B000GGTYIW" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />, finding a niche for it on the helmsperson’s seat, under the bimini. I’ve used the Cobb before for sailing, but this was the first time in Andariego. I bought this grill in a West Marine in Connecticut many years ago. They don’t sell them anymore, but they are available directly from the South Africa/Florida website. They’re very good on a boat, because they don’t get hot in the bottom or sides, and they use very little charcoal. We used local vegetable charcoal from Adjuntas. Marisol was the chef on this trip, which she performed exquisitely. We barbecued three times in our overnight sail to Palomino.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxT2c4Ti6ATO6zrUmcaLG7DtQJn0bJ5zJTQXuv0ErN3SawvFoGSSH1WeN5RDGON08bSsgWkiY4OUG00BKu8fI6YJYWrfRfQJZ0lVNYYutTNkYNH3_wi9OQchV_D_821XCH-A8RIN5k5z4/s1600/IMG_0557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxT2c4Ti6ATO6zrUmcaLG7DtQJn0bJ5zJTQXuv0ErN3SawvFoGSSH1WeN5RDGON08bSsgWkiY4OUG00BKu8fI6YJYWrfRfQJZ0lVNYYutTNkYNH3_wi9OQchV_D_821XCH-A8RIN5k5z4/s320/IMG_0557.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selkies--Marisol and Brenda. Palomino's hill</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Early next morning, Brenda joined us. There were overcast skies, but it was clearing up in the east, and we set sail at around 8:30 a.m. It was a bit blustery and choppy, so we reefed the main. Three women and a child (well, a 13-year-old young man), we zigzagged into the wind to Palomino. Fabián was a little seasick, but by the time we moored, at about 10:00 a.m., his cheeks were rosy again. We grabbed a mooring, first try, right behind Palomino’s mountain for protection. We had ALL the Palomino moorings to choose from; one of the advantages of sailing on a weekday. Fabián spied, using binoculars, a big pelican in a nest high up on the hill. S/he was magnificent on her perch. We saw turtles and their favorite treat, jellyfish. There were seagulls, brown boobies, plus the chickens and roosters on the hill. A large fish remained under Andariego for the length of our stay. We threw breadcrumbs overboard and fish came by, but not in the profusion they came when I was younger, when it was actually scary to be surrounded by such a large ball of fish. The planet has changed: “We need now to understand the world we’ve created and consider—urgently—how to live in it.” McKibben’s message may sound depressing at first, but as we understand and embrace the reality, we just might learn to live with and not against nature. He further states: “Maturity is not the opposite of hope; it’s what makes hope possible.” I see hope in Fabián’s eyes. He was another sea creature in the water. We joined him in the fun. We basked on Andariego as seals on rocky mounds. Selkies rising from the sea to assume women forms on land.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Andariego uses a solar panel to charge and start the engine. We use small solar lamps after dark, and charge our cell phones with solar and wind chargers. Somewhat un-tethered from land oil-based energy sources, weaning from oil seems difficult but not impossible. I say somewhat, because Grendel, the engine, still uses oil and diesel. There are hardy sailors out there who have rid themselves of the engine on board, living aboard and sailing on wind and solar power.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tuesday night it rained, but just past midnight, the moon peeked in through the hatches, as if telling us that there is still beauty in the tough new planet. We must also become tough, but with a gentle heart.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Wednesday morning we sailed back unto the darkened, cloud covered Yunque rain forest. At 9:30 a.m. we were back at Isleta. Brenda had a land appointment. She made a comment on how smoothly and quietly we docked. Everyone had an assigned task—bow lines, aft portside lines, starboard spring lines, with me behind the helm. Calm under pressure is a call for the new planet. McKibben notes: “This is the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">current</i> inventory: more thunder, more lightning, less ice.” It is important to learn about this new reality from books, but it is equally, if not more important, to witness it and live it directly with nature.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last barbie bites</td></tr>
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</div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-88462769104448422392011-07-17T20:35:00.000-04:002011-07-17T20:35:49.573-04:00An Unexpected Sail<!--StartFragment--> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0BmS7BoHwyVlD_ciSaj2ZwdQ_kUEDJhuFlazLtKU7BBIe2Ur8gX6DJfcz3SD1FkqIFo0Zu51vALeizEhJiGHkHZ5ctg-4j9j0B5oEQlCUi7pwlCnHPum8v15CEMzPtNAv3yuOIwbjAM/s1600/IMG_0550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw0BmS7BoHwyVlD_ciSaj2ZwdQ_kUEDJhuFlazLtKU7BBIe2Ur8gX6DJfcz3SD1FkqIFo0Zu51vALeizEhJiGHkHZ5ctg-4j9j0B5oEQlCUi7pwlCnHPum8v15CEMzPtNAv3yuOIwbjAM/s320/IMG_0550.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fabián's First Sail</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Friday, July 15, 2011. It’s been raining so much, with lightning, thunder and heavy winds that it has been hard to squeeze in a good day’s sail. I decided to take some engine parts and equipment to the sailboat anyway, under the rain. I asked Marisol and her 13-year old son Fabián to help me with the stuff. When we got on board, at about 2:00 p.m., the plan was to turn around and get back home before 8:00 p.m. The sun peeked out and beckoned. And then I thought, why not shake the sails out, go for a little spin, and the wind beckoned.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Fabián had never been sailing. Polito was near the dock. He joined us, why not? Andariego beckoned. We went out, just to go out, shake the sails, and come back. We passed green can #3, raised the sails, rainwater oozed out of the canvas covers. There was very little wind. We laughed as we close-hauled at 1.5 knots. Fabián went up to the pulpit and played Titanic lover boy with arms spread. We laughed at his excitement. He explored Andariego, touched this, asked that, and I loved seeing a 13 year-old’s first sailing experience.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">When it comes to sailing, there are those who love it and those who hate it, and no in-betweens. Fabián loved it. We couldn’t just turn around, so we sailed to Icacos Island. We anchored. He used my snorkeling equipment and discovered the keel, checked the anchor, and checked out the fish as he swam around Andariego I don’t know how many times. The water beckoned.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">On a beam and a broad reach, we sailed back. I showed Fabián how to fix on a land point, the compass, the wind marker, the tell-tales, how to focus and yet look around. I let him have a feel for the helm, thinking he’d give it back in no time. He not only took us back to the bay’s entrance, but he sailed like a natural. I was amazed at the depth of concentration of a 13-year old boy on his first sail ever. Pure magic. We made it back home close to midnight. Sailing beckoned.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-87158042756426376102011-07-07T12:18:00.000-04:002011-07-07T12:18:27.795-04:00Grendel and Grendel's Mother<!--StartFragment--> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uruguay and assistant</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Grendel and Grendel’s mother were misunderstood monsters in the Anglo-Saxon epic poem, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beowulf</i>, considered among the oldest literary pieces in the English language (Old English). Those misunderstood, mysterious creatures that delve in caves, dark and underground, surfacing only when they cause problems, most often provoked by humans, which can lead to danger or even death. I think of Andariego’s propeller shaft as Grendel, and the engine as Grendel’s mother, both intertwined as Grendel.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZwWpSm1jG3dB-3mK6uZZ6PrIj7nlOLwEEmhRneVjAi5_dluS-4o6oUCHlM781yk5G9kQBM0DdQz2RFxOmmcVj0K0Hybl1rBS84nDK18WC8LoW5NnuNieTN3PrCGEu9if0Nh4qLrSaIs/s1600/IMG_0530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlZwWpSm1jG3dB-3mK6uZZ6PrIj7nlOLwEEmhRneVjAi5_dluS-4o6oUCHlM781yk5G9kQBM0DdQz2RFxOmmcVj0K0Hybl1rBS84nDK18WC8LoW5NnuNieTN3PrCGEu9if0Nh4qLrSaIs/s320/IMG_0530.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andariego hauled out at Isleta Marina</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Tuesday, June 28. Andariego was making a strange bumping noise when accelerated gently in reverse or forward. It was hauled out for a check. The bushing and PSS (packless sealing system) in the propeller shaft, Grendel, were replaced, and the problem solved. The propeller shaft starts, as an umbilical cord at the end of the engine’s dark cave in the sailboat’s gut and travels deep underwater as the monster’s long arm, ending in the propeller. While hauled out, Andariego was in Salomón’s care, as he said, “…con amor y cariño” (with love and care). Andariego’s bottom was cleaned, and the sides shined. It’s pending a super deck wash, due to little water pressure in the marina. In the epic poem, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beowulf</i> cut off Grendel’s arm, provoking the wrath of Grendel’s mother. No need for such drastic measures.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbatpGpd9A3RCEYSi2fYQx0lxhgR-A-1LvhyPBCNa30SotC9VZV-00Vt8bnj8BkKk3z-X-9Vsr2RFi8rRvb-pY5jYuLNal2AeCO0pnVRLVJRfLV4M_-_2Jz8465UWDT2yJyvt0Umeo-Ls/s1600/IMG_0527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbatpGpd9A3RCEYSi2fYQx0lxhgR-A-1LvhyPBCNa30SotC9VZV-00Vt8bnj8BkKk3z-X-9Vsr2RFi8rRvb-pY5jYuLNal2AeCO0pnVRLVJRfLV4M_-_2Jz8465UWDT2yJyvt0Umeo-Ls/s200/IMG_0527.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broken transmission dipstick<br />
and filthy filter</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Saturday, June 25. Grendel’s mother, the engine, so attached to her child, had her periodic maintenance. No need to wait for her to attack. The pre-emptive measures were: oil and diesel filter changes, gaskets, oil change, impeller, and replacement of a broken transmission dipstick. Two hours later, the engine mechanic, a very savvy old timer, Uruguay (nicknamed after his country of origin), asked me to start the engine. He stood there listening, as I stood behind the helm watching him and wondering why he was taking so long. He was listening. After a pregnant moment he said, “Suena bien.” (She sounds well.). How sweet the sound! If I could only learn to hear Grendel’s subtle sounds, like Uruguay! He is truly an engine guru.</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> A little TLC (tender loving care) may appease the monsters for sometime. We’ll visit their dark realms again some 300 engine miles from now, or in a year, whichever one comes first. Or then again, before, if they decide to attack.</span><!--EndFragment--> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-9-dq8GJw2eB1NtfKY-R1zp8uD7sWblcAGTqXJo_87nz6lih3t2UnO4V2HuAfBVhUNJKwbgkS0C3alRyXyeX0gnQv-u6M0sA4qa2egSmlF0RqPC2w_BeXAZZd7aEJ5WZqKB0S5Gd2wo/s1600/IMG_0526.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-9-dq8GJw2eB1NtfKY-R1zp8uD7sWblcAGTqXJo_87nz6lih3t2UnO4V2HuAfBVhUNJKwbgkS0C3alRyXyeX0gnQv-u6M0sA4qa2egSmlF0RqPC2w_BeXAZZd7aEJ5WZqKB0S5Gd2wo/s320/IMG_0526.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grendel appeased</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-29514436624002593672011-05-13T20:15:00.001-04:002011-05-13T20:28:28.031-04:00Sailing with Friends<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvq-eXtSNQQrxtmyfD1FOu2As6-Xm9fF6sqTmptWIK_KxuaG5GVh3TBdQ3qrzSpM3BT88k_OKNz0HekETQFEQs2egyV3vjLojzU07mObynXJMTyFdwfFxmv6F7z1beidj_wp8rULMFag/s1600/Brenda2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvq-eXtSNQQrxtmyfD1FOu2As6-Xm9fF6sqTmptWIK_KxuaG5GVh3TBdQ3qrzSpM3BT88k_OKNz0HekETQFEQs2egyV3vjLojzU07mObynXJMTyFdwfFxmv6F7z1beidj_wp8rULMFag/s200/Brenda2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brenda and Eva</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">My friend and work colleague, Brenda, joined Marisol, Polito and me for a Sunday sail to Icacos. We were lucky to find a mooring, just as another boat was leaving it. It was one of those lazy Sundays where we mucked about in the sailboat, splashed in the water, talked and enjoyed the silence of contemplation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;">We left Isleta Marina at 11:30 a.m. and returned at around 5:30 p.m. (4/23/11). A wind from the east, 10-15 knots, and seas 4-5 feet, made for a pleasant Caribbean blue seascape. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> blended with the wind and the sea, and we merged in the aqua-blue rendering. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tao-Sailing-Ray-Grigg/dp/089334138X?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Tao of Sailing</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=089334138X" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></i> (1990) by Ray Grigg, describes the silent power of the sailboat. “The sailboat itself is an image of this special way of being. It is resourceful, adaptive, silent. From the silence of its weight and shape comes a power that is peaceful and strong, serene and exciting, a belonging that does not trespass or counter the breathing wind and sea. So the ship moves in accord with the energy that is attendant, affirming itself and its harmony with the Great Mother.” We belonged.</span> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVx9BoYhuV5ZucZBeIgh9X0GDrqELQrKKBAqI-uE6Cy2aFxaVPIkMhG7ZG0zll4R7Y3bkXfa2jymnZ7rYh0LHHAXYu_WnfJzAK8ZbyOus908nEQ6dLJIJWWF9ukpID5dXrsZ0RsPGgSY/s1600/Andariego+marina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhVx9BoYhuV5ZucZBeIgh9X0GDrqELQrKKBAqI-uE6Cy2aFxaVPIkMhG7ZG0zll4R7Y3bkXfa2jymnZ7rYh0LHHAXYu_WnfJzAK8ZbyOus908nEQ6dLJIJWWF9ukpID5dXrsZ0RsPGgSY/s320/Andariego+marina.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Andariego</i> at Isleta Marina</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=089334138X" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-65891217505771336322011-05-07T23:29:00.000-04:002011-05-07T23:29:55.592-04:00Here, there be monsters!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWEnu4Zb8vll81tjZiuPeLmsOHEKPGN_habs-4BbMo7mlOOh_L3GMg5hcZwUcmmJqN82OavnBK55NmIRll9ouj1WzvETgm89bPbK_0ZpnQ7iJj1yaJ-UBa8sjpI_EPibenP5H67rH0Zk/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguWEnu4Zb8vll81tjZiuPeLmsOHEKPGN_habs-4BbMo7mlOOh_L3GMg5hcZwUcmmJqN82OavnBK55NmIRll9ouj1WzvETgm89bPbK_0ZpnQ7iJj1yaJ-UBa8sjpI_EPibenP5H67rH0Zk/s320/8.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>To all sailing mothers, Happy Mother's Day!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and famous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that people won’t feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it is in all of us. And when we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” (Maryanne Williamson. Used by Nelson Mandela in his 1994 inaugural speech.)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>"It's fear of the unknown. The unknown is what it is. And to be frightened of it is what sends everybody scurrying around chasing dreams, illusions, wars, peace, love, hate, all that -- it's all illusion. Unknown is what it is. Accept what is unknown and it's plain sailing. Everything is unknown -- then you're ahead of the game. That's what it is. Right?" (John Lennon)<br />
<br />
"Nothing in life is to be feared. It is only to be understood." (Marie Curie)Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-26916614327596904012011-03-26T14:10:00.000-04:002011-03-26T14:10:50.570-04:00Viento en Popa<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFOpSzWG883GNXJnkq9zKNHCk40r1s7Sry2ZigW5X0lWSjDcP94wisdtkkMr6OzXl39Xd5RTCMI3SPssaRR7AcHLJouW4ImZpFbgPkBtgfqjddCdzTOHXzMP4Vjyuui_nM9ihZb7nQCo/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFOpSzWG883GNXJnkq9zKNHCk40r1s7Sry2ZigW5X0lWSjDcP94wisdtkkMr6OzXl39Xd5RTCMI3SPssaRR7AcHLJouW4ImZpFbgPkBtgfqjddCdzTOHXzMP4Vjyuui_nM9ihZb7nQCo/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">There are basically seven points of sail. Each one is determined by the direction of the wind with respect to the direction of the sailboat. Where is the wind hitting the boat and how do I adjust my sails best to catch the wind? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viento en popa</i> is Spanish for, literally, wind on the poop. According to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Oxford-Companion-Ships-Sea/dp/0198606168?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Oxford Companion to Ships and the Sea</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0198606168" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></i>, the word “poop” is from the Latin <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">puppis</i> or stern. Now, it is used to mean a raised deck in the aft (stern) part of the boat, where “the master normally had his cabin.” As a verb, “a ship is pooped, or pooping, when a heavy sea breaks over her stern.” Picture a tidal wave hitting your sailboat from behind. You are pooped!<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0198606168" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiELaTMph2mDb3Kn8owYoR2e-nuaQwylcnYrY0Cn_hMUDyY8GlzqxnQbaukOu8kciXAhzq3bMY1OcgQMJAFAwDHf8W58PuO_hIWjcI-JeVnEWx8TqsG9zIVLTDvxw_dnQv4FHtWsIqf3k/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiELaTMph2mDb3Kn8owYoR2e-nuaQwylcnYrY0Cn_hMUDyY8GlzqxnQbaukOu8kciXAhzq3bMY1OcgQMJAFAwDHf8W58PuO_hIWjcI-JeVnEWx8TqsG9zIVLTDvxw_dnQv4FHtWsIqf3k/s200/010.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andariego<br />
wing-on-wing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">In English, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">viento en popa</i> is known as a run. You are running with the wind. You and the wind are going in the same direction. It is like that Irish well-wishing expression, “May the road rise beneath your feet and may the wind be always at your back.” That was true for ancient mariners who, with their square rigging, could only sail on a run. They had to have the current and the wind going in the same direction as the sailboat; basically they had one good point of sail.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Sails went from square, to lateen, to the Bermuda rig, and the latter happened right here in the Caribbean. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Oxford</i> states, “The ultimate development of the fore-and-aft rig was the introduction of the Bermuda rig, first developed in the West Indies at the start of the 19<sup>th</sup> century and brought to Europe for use in sailing yachts in the years just preceding the First World War (1914-18). It is now the most widely used rig in all sailing yachts, and during the last twenty years has been significantly developed on aerodynamic principles to provide greater driving power with a smaller overall sail area.” How cool is that, right in our own backyard.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27TdaM-SU1014D6d-q1RzydxcnXhLj2sooaetQ7K6fJ-ILrIDqeDbBddhx3yDlxQgLYWGHY8kCag9wkWlKLzPuPVtllu_wUsvdCdOKsJeyWYpzui59bIOc4FtX8Cd08DP3m3rSJHqjKE/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj27TdaM-SU1014D6d-q1RzydxcnXhLj2sooaetQ7K6fJ-ILrIDqeDbBddhx3yDlxQgLYWGHY8kCag9wkWlKLzPuPVtllu_wUsvdCdOKsJeyWYpzui59bIOc4FtX8Cd08DP3m3rSJHqjKE/s200/001.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Polito, Marisol, Eva (me)<br />
Silvia took all the above pictures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">Friends joined me in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> to celebrate the changing of the season. Spring is just around the corner and northerly swells blend with eastern trades. After a lovely day in Palomino, we returned to Isleta Marina on a run. A beautiful way to catch the wind on a run is by setting the sails wing-on-wing. The jib and the main are juxtaposed, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> is an egret (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">garza</i>) gliding, white wings fully spread, chest proud, mates joining in the eternal sound. The ancient mariner in the Spanish Main yet calls out: ¡<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Viento en popa</i>!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghF96i7qnhe7drIuleKttdcryo3ZFq8iOcbYXDZlUz1o1513kJepnDoFoCgnn8bQbh0QLnPzvwfMjKbpvWTILx6uDNLrcxypuDCwbXqfGnbJT7TOF2JecB0Yk-nz3gN4gBWYxxfh0qQ90/s1600/white-heron-flying_12626_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghF96i7qnhe7drIuleKttdcryo3ZFq8iOcbYXDZlUz1o1513kJepnDoFoCgnn8bQbh0QLnPzvwfMjKbpvWTILx6uDNLrcxypuDCwbXqfGnbJT7TOF2JecB0Yk-nz3gN4gBWYxxfh0qQ90/s200/white-heron-flying_12626_600x450.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Egret or White Heron (La Garza)<br />
wing-on-wing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-49701690370419522112011-02-23T17:51:00.001-04:002011-02-23T17:53:15.554-04:00January Seascapes<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrEApndmtCG7-6_ymQWh4cSNff_8yJuXfLJHazHc84CbOdxzDcgPVXe7l6H3Sv10iVvP7hL8S5amOk_K-qSdBeIQML0_Qs0fTeoTx3qjS1wxTdwFvmvg7h23PUfv3mFPS1KkIgcJ0UOY/s1600/Eva-A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrEApndmtCG7-6_ymQWh4cSNff_8yJuXfLJHazHc84CbOdxzDcgPVXe7l6H3Sv10iVvP7hL8S5amOk_K-qSdBeIQML0_Qs0fTeoTx3qjS1wxTdwFvmvg7h23PUfv3mFPS1KkIgcJ0UOY/s320/Eva-A.jpeg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me (Eva) at the helm</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">One would have thought that after acquiring the sailboat, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>, I would have been writing more, not less. The fact is, I have been working on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>’s upkeep and sailing. In between sailing and upkeep, there’s been my university teaching work, research, writing, and added community work with Puerto Rico’s Sierra Club chapter. I know, it’s not an excuse. Following are some highlights of sailing Antilia (my mystical name for Puerto Rico). My virtual sailboat is no longer virtual; his name is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>. January was a month filled with visits from friends and family. The first half of the month Jeanine stayed at my home, visiting from Las Vegas, Nevada.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jeanine is my soul sister from Avignon, with whom I’ve spent wonderful days with family in <span lang="FR">Provence</span>. She went sailing with me. To those in Provence I say: <span lang="FR"><i>Je pense souvent a vous avec tendresse. Je n’oublie pas votre merveilleux accueil et les bons voyages que nos avons fait ensembles. J’espère pouvoir vous accueillir un jour à Puerto Rico de la même façon</i></span><span lang="FR">. </span>Jeanine gave Andariego a French version of his name, <span lang="FR"><i>le Vagabond de Mer</i></span>. I love it.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>January 6-7</b>. Jeanine and I stayed onboard <i>Andariego</i>. She slept in the forward cabin. I slept in the aft cabin with its three portholes opened. I did a full self-reiki session (60 minutes) before sleeping. As I sat in easy pose looking aft, I could see the harbor lights dancing in the water. I was comfortably rocked to sleep by gentle dock waves at Isleta Marina.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>January 9, 2011</b> (1330-1730). Ramón, Silvia, Jeanine and I sailed <i>Andariego</i>. We sailed to Icacos and Palomino, and passed close to Ramos Island. NOAA’s weathercast was 9-14 knots, waves 3-5 feet, with isolated showers. Ramón and Silvia were impressed with <i>Andariego</i>’s sailing performance. Jeanine doesn’t sail. In fact, she doesn’t even swim. She wore a life vest at all times. She sat on the port side of the boat as we raised the sails soon after leaving port. Her expression of awe as the white wings went up is unforgettable; an audible in-breath and in the out-breath, “My god, they are so big. They are so beautiful. Take a picture. Take a picture.” And I saw <i>Andariego</i>’s sails, again, for the first time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Upkeep</b>. <i>Andariego</i>’s head (toilet) pump stopped working properly. I have had to buy a new kit to replace the pump. Installation is pending. The present pump works in dry bowl but not wet bowl. The third-world-technology remedy is to bring buckets of sea water to clean the head after use. No fun. The joys of sailboat ownership. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycRUTTUavcF4C08AXxxEcivM7lBlSsoMr6g_pU4rTz_mw3O32LmXleZtZAspY7SdIrHCCTDP4mQ6ZYAQ9wCijVjM8dL3NbZ6-nRxB1vmSagmKTcxX-zdjcRzVfPlUE2L5GIJWUne6tCs/s1600/J+and+S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhycRUTTUavcF4C08AXxxEcivM7lBlSsoMr6g_pU4rTz_mw3O32LmXleZtZAspY7SdIrHCCTDP4mQ6ZYAQ9wCijVjM8dL3NbZ6-nRxB1vmSagmKTcxX-zdjcRzVfPlUE2L5GIJWUne6tCs/s320/J+and+S.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeanine and Sylvia</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Just before Jeanine flew back to her home, Sylvia arrived from England. She is my husband Neill’s sister. She had never been to the tropics. She could not believe the noise the crickets and coquis made at night. I gave her a coqui pin as a souvenir. She had seen palm trees before, she said, in Italy (yeah, right). She had never been sailing, though she’s been on motorboats and ferries. Her son lives in a houseboat on the Thames River.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>January 23, 2011</b> (1130-1600). Ramón, Silvia, Sylvia (Sam), Neill and I sailed Andariego. The seas were choppier due to north swells, according to NOAA, and the wind was gusting around 15 knots. Sam is an excellent swimmer. She sat in the starboard stern perch seat. She never once complained but I could tell she was feeling a little queasy. She did all the right things—sight on the horizon, drinking water—and managed not to get seasick. I wish it would have been a bit calmer for her. She still enjoyed the sail and the company. We sailed a similar route as on the Jan. 9, but we spilled more air from the sails to keep the sailboat from heeling more than 15 degrees. It was a bit tricky to do, but we managed it. Around lunchtime we did a heave-to near Palomino but because of gusty winds and following seas, we were still moving a little over one knot towards Isleta Marina. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-sGk9uskxyLcMUB-3u-tMTHkMMEQsHxqQLNfthZtylO-wcMru9JpmHdER56sHXMvTfjTJ2Tf60ujsflL7DW1V0mQsHREAKkCYfbC6Gn2ssshRJK9S_GTdaD9udl6sgHiHnOdD320M3A/s1600/all.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-sGk9uskxyLcMUB-3u-tMTHkMMEQsHxqQLNfthZtylO-wcMru9JpmHdER56sHXMvTfjTJ2Tf60ujsflL7DW1V0mQsHREAKkCYfbC6Gn2ssshRJK9S_GTdaD9udl6sgHiHnOdD320M3A/s320/all.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramón, Neill, Eva, Silvia</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Upkeep</b>. While sailing, Neill noticed that the portside inner stay was wiggling like a snake while we were sailing on a beam reach port tack. I was shocked to see that. The stays hold the mast up. They are defined in the book, <i>Sailing Fundamentals</i>, as “Shrouds (sidestays)—wires that run from the masthead (or near the masthead) to the sides of the boat to support the mast and prevent it from swaying.” (p. 35). The headstay and the backstay, plus the two sidestays make up the four stays that hold the mast in place. We tacked to a starboard tack and sailed back to Isleta Marina.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sailing-Fundamentals-Gary-Jobson/dp/0743273087?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Sailing Fundamentals" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=0743273087&tag=saila-20" /></a>We ordered a tensiometer ($80.) from West Marine to fine tune the stay. None were available in local stores (not a hot ticket item). In the meantime, Capt. Michael is our tensiometer. He tightened it with a screwdriver and a pair of pliers, hard-shaking the stay after tuning, to adjust up or down. I re-taped it after he put back the two clips that hold the tension adjustment. <i>Sailing Fundamentals<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0743273087" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /></i> states: “The shrouds, forestay, and backstay support the mast. The strong metal fittings that attach these wires to the mast are called tangs. The other end of each shroud and backstay is attached to an adjustable device called a turnbuckle. The turnbuckle allows the shrouds and stays to be adjusted to the proper tension.” So, if I understand correctly, I taped over the tang and turnbuckle clips that hold the stays in place.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There’s a linguistic metaphor here. The stays are violin strings on a mast that vibrate to the touch of the wind. They play ethereal music to Ocean’s rhythm. Birds provide piccolo tweets, gusts percussion on sails’ skins. Dolphins dance to <i>Andariego</i>’s <span lang="FR">pas de deux</span>. But who’s that playing pizzicato on the stays?</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVYwEoRNbqMCw6lOZtmuB9KaoJoVFeBYpCEoyjjdegZYbB_fRZKsFk4DFx5MMi8JUHHpf1N6UBstZXzQB-reEFoLOE7fxL_uWstZBk02_Ztef4CgyB0RADxTxvvel19UgeDyr0fUhyphenhyphenP0/s1600/Ramon.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVYwEoRNbqMCw6lOZtmuB9KaoJoVFeBYpCEoyjjdegZYbB_fRZKsFk4DFx5MMi8JUHHpf1N6UBstZXzQB-reEFoLOE7fxL_uWstZBk02_Ztef4CgyB0RADxTxvvel19UgeDyr0fUhyphenhyphenP0/s320/Ramon.jpeg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leonardo di Caprio?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-30749319888294813622010-12-27T15:53:00.000-04:002010-12-27T15:53:20.665-04:00Getting to Know You: December 11-12, 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTMLe5Oq-Tz9z5PBiHeYDjeNGVk5SUQCzdsPeDyIUM8Yex1rxwSit1GkAlRMLr3Jm9QjLyI2CPRITi4TxEoT_UZepVCb8dChijEJzsF4dcQ5LTOm3TIOMBMug6UECLqVF_Gf9SQhmcnQ/s1600/IMG_0165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTMLe5Oq-Tz9z5PBiHeYDjeNGVk5SUQCzdsPeDyIUM8Yex1rxwSit1GkAlRMLr3Jm9QjLyI2CPRITi4TxEoT_UZepVCb8dChijEJzsF4dcQ5LTOm3TIOMBMug6UECLqVF_Gf9SQhmcnQ/s320/IMG_0165.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">On Saturday, December 11, my son drove me from San Juan (N) to Ponce (S), so that I could join Richard in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>’s delivery voyage to Isleta Marina in Fajardo (E). The north to south drive crosses the Cordillera Central, a spinal chord of mountains that traverses Puerto Rico from west to east, coastal valleys at both ends. There was heavy fog this morning in the mountains dividing San Juan and Ponce. As the Sanskrit <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maya</i> (illusion) curtain, the fog lifted as we approached Ponce.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIDtzvKHt2KN3oy6A1vpITiNrDXZZi9fXH8d_9GdGGvi9Yf6z6QrUFaEnXfXKJu21tdID2iq-M9ENxy5Bz6pAfOk2UvGrSkKGdoaJyncH3b71GGpKD__n-NcIGEELjBf0BAvpO-6nWUg/s1600/IMG_0398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQIDtzvKHt2KN3oy6A1vpITiNrDXZZi9fXH8d_9GdGGvi9Yf6z6QrUFaEnXfXKJu21tdID2iq-M9ENxy5Bz6pAfOk2UvGrSkKGdoaJyncH3b71GGpKD__n-NcIGEELjBf0BAvpO-6nWUg/s320/IMG_0398.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Richard</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Richard,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>’s best friend for five years, was at the yacht club (Club Naútico de Ponce) waiting. Here I was, staking claims to the sailboat, contemplating that I could become as good a friend to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> as Richard. He knows so much about the sailboat, every nook and cranny; and me, I’m just getting to know him.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Him? In English, all boats are “she.” In Spanish, and French, sailboats are “male” (el bote de vela, le bateau à voile). The noun, andariego, means ‘male wanderer’ in Spanish. The female version would be ‘andariega,’ that would be me. Accustomed to referring to boats as female, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> has become somewhat hermaphroditic with some friends and family. I cannot but think of him as a companion wanderer, bearing with me in my initial clumsiness. As in ‘Bearing Witness,’ the Collective Soul song, Andariego, “I’m bearing witness to you … I’m just gathering all my eyes can see … you’re my destiny … every day I conquer, with your love …” Getting to know you, I am.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSONmovNoK_WaYGA_P0CDLDTEOCqvOZeK5PBjmkGUkK5z2LqZmIwyD2hyAWDw-n-AWQlloUAAmXosxbS_43UMcxRjsl4DlLVaMYOFKF3VYpbOnyRvbafME-fuYC-KK47hDYMK1oUWoFI0/s1600/IMG_0401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSONmovNoK_WaYGA_P0CDLDTEOCqvOZeK5PBjmkGUkK5z2LqZmIwyD2hyAWDw-n-AWQlloUAAmXosxbS_43UMcxRjsl4DlLVaMYOFKF3VYpbOnyRvbafME-fuYC-KK47hDYMK1oUWoFI0/s320/IMG_0401.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, sailing past Caja de Muertos Island, near Ponce</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">We set sail from Ponce at 9:10 a.m. and anchored for the night in Bajos de Patillas around 4:30 p.m. We were moving east with east winds, so we motor sailed with the mainsail. I was introduced to Sinbad, the auto helm. I had never sailed the south side of Puerto Rico. It was breathtaking to see the full Cordillera Central in an eye-full, as Taino-Arawaks coming to Puerto Rico from South America may have seen it from their canoes, an island-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">cemí</i>, with its three cardinal points. We sailed past Ponce, Juana Díaz, Santa Isabel, Salinas, Guayama, Arroyo, to Patillas. I wrote in my journal: “Bajos de Patillas is a well secluded anchorage. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i> is such a friendly little boat. The sun is setting fast as I peacefully watch four sailboats anchored nearby. Behind them, a row of palms covers a strip of land that juts out from the hills in Patillas. Beyond those hills, the mountains of Maunabo. Me, I am sitting in Andariego’s cockpit listening to small waves crashing the shore and the coquis and crickets coming alive at dusk. It is becoming more difficult to write as everything turns grey. I am peacefully happy with Andariego. I hope that he’ll be happy with me also.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Ship-Magic-Liveship-Traders-Book/dp/0553575635?ie=UTF8&tag=saila-20&link_code=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Ship of Magic (The Liveship Traders, Book 1)" src="http://ws.amazon.com/widgets/q?MarketPlace=US&ServiceVersion=20070822&ID=AsinImage&WS=1&Format=_SL160_&ASIN=0553575635&tag=saila-20" /></a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=saila-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0553575635" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />Are sailboats alive? Robin Hobb wrote a trilogy, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Liveship Traders</i>: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ship of Magic</i>-1999,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mad Ship</i>-2000, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ship of Destiny</i>-2001. A fantasy saga with living ships that think, feel, and act on their own volition. People become part of the living being of the ships as they live, cry and bleed, becoming symbiotic and one with them. The liveships are sentient beings built of wizardwood. Andariego’s heart of glass, fiberglass that is, feels no less sentient.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lVGXA8YbTC8QWteGeYu9fMwYa3ggQYD399hyphenhyphenuh037Xv9Nms0KUN2X-KgF5bUdsVd-1qrb1g0WwEwnwY0Lyi8I-AGzJb1hTCVLfN_OQ0PvudrSlyOSdpof8P0NWmAYeOCBKkdpIBhzLE/s1600/IMG_0413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lVGXA8YbTC8QWteGeYu9fMwYa3ggQYD399hyphenhyphenuh037Xv9Nms0KUN2X-KgF5bUdsVd-1qrb1g0WwEwnwY0Lyi8I-AGzJb1hTCVLfN_OQ0PvudrSlyOSdpof8P0NWmAYeOCBKkdpIBhzLE/s320/IMG_0413.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise in Bajos de Patillas</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">On Sunday, December 12, the sun rose behind Patillas’ palm trees and fellow sailboats. Maunabo’s mountains rose majestically behind Patillas. The Cordillera de Luquillo, with easternmost El Yunque, peeked behind, and guided our way past Yabucoa, Humacao, Naguabo, Roosevelt Roads, and Fajardo. We went past Punta Tuna, Caribbean waters nearly 2,000 ft. deep, the depth sounder stopped registering. Unusually favorable currents and seas dissipated our worry of arriving after nightfall. We docked at Isleta Marina at 1:30 p.m. A baptismal light rain enveloped <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Andariego</i>’s new berth. Richard and I, along with family and friends, toasted to new and old friends. I went back alone to check docking lines, seeing a little bit of me looking back. Getting to know me.</span><!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303844420843140700.post-23667566784496970992010-12-08T09:25:00.000-04:002010-12-08T09:25:56.445-04:00Swimming with Dolphins<!--StartFragment--> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUq6Vq-3HY_NjctU8QGfeO_pA7Bdu7EeRnJnhJoJv7cZKlkRazomzSe4fnxn40guOmKgFpQv7McslkJ4LGyYLpmZEk7Y40y3rysxVtbYX8hvsQueowyTskZ8i2t1BK3uVWEOQUGRoKy4/s1600/IMG_0407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUq6Vq-3HY_NjctU8QGfeO_pA7Bdu7EeRnJnhJoJv7cZKlkRazomzSe4fnxn40guOmKgFpQv7McslkJ4LGyYLpmZEk7Y40y3rysxVtbYX8hvsQueowyTskZ8i2t1BK3uVWEOQUGRoKy4/s320/IMG_0407.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">North Swells</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>November 26-28, 2010. Thanksgiving Day was spent with family and friends. Early on Friday morning we set sail to Vieques to spend a weekend with sailing enthusiasts. Four ships were sailing but at the last minute 8 of 16 people had to cancel and our fleet was reduced to two vessels, <i>Bebe</i> and <i>Bebe II</i>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was aboard <i>Bebe</i> with Bob, JJ, and Diego (10 years old). <i>Bebe II</i>’s crew was Angelo, María, Iván, and Marie. Fajardo’s public parking lot was full, and I had to park in a field, apprehensive that if it rained a lot, I might find my car buried in mud three days later.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There were gray skies and very windy conditions. NOAA had a small craft advisory; NE winds, 15-20 knots, north swells, and waves 4-6 feet, with isolated showers. The sea was very choppy, making it difficult to load gear on the ferry to Isleta Marina. An old salt on the ferry said it was not a good day to sail. That did not help. NOAA stated that this pattern would prevail for the weekend. I had thoughts of joining the 8 who had cancelled.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0kc8pBSmKiYSWgLuqAAoDABcItPCc3ABIsqr-9QEavEFH3tyrzq9SUyM2qa5OEP59G9dRsEmVh45Wsb7f-deiEMtQBjhRXPkVxg3CAbhLJVVJ1uBOXfJOfoPZqJ-zW9ShXoSN-17zz4/s1600/IMG_0399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig0kc8pBSmKiYSWgLuqAAoDABcItPCc3ABIsqr-9QEavEFH3tyrzq9SUyM2qa5OEP59G9dRsEmVh45Wsb7f-deiEMtQBjhRXPkVxg3CAbhLJVVJ1uBOXfJOfoPZqJ-zW9ShXoSN-17zz4/s320/IMG_0399.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dolphin fin</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We sailed east to Vieques, double-reefed. Early on our young guest suffered mal-de-mer. We arrived at Punta Arenas, Vieques, at 3:30 p.m. Diego’s challenged spirits awakened to Monte Pirata’s green, a quiet anchor and four visiting dolphins. They were playing and frolicking with a young dolphin between us and Punta Arena’s shore. You can just make a dolphin’s fin captured by my camera lens, posing centerfold under Monte Pirata’s watchful peak. Diego and I speculated how the mountain got its name. We envisioned buccaneers rushing into this safe harbor after pillaging Spanish crown ships in Puerto Rico’s mainland, hiding their prizes in this secluded waterway. The dinghy, kayak, swimmers and snorkelers joined the dolphins. Bob claims to have heard them singing underwater as he snorkeled to check the anchor.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I prepared Margarita’s curry chicken with coconut milk and rice, with María and Marie’s help. Everyone enjoyed their meal, accompanied by an orange-pink-lavender sunset and Ottmart Liebert’s nouveau flamenco guitar. We rafted our sailboats for dinner and an evening of sail talk, sprinkled with comments on our diverse land jobs (law, medicine, linguistics, business entrepreneurships). The stars hushed our chatter. The number of stars visible overwhelmed our newer sailors. I played with my iPhone’s Distant Suns application; identifying Orion here, Jupiter there, and the all time sailor’s favorite North Star, centerpiece of the counterclockwise star performance. We un-rafted for the night, and drifted into sleep under the quiet resonance of our starry night.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_mvpYz7ah_pjjslNR-dSluT0qTxqCOU_K4_EgB0MFuiTX-poywmBFtQ0ONcgeT5IwlJGIbnW7QfgGhy39qR4Li-3ZKcsCkbnF2Dm8Oi8KiBvH8ZgqLlPP_xsllR1WUJ28TtfSseo8Wo/s1600/IMG_0404.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht_mvpYz7ah_pjjslNR-dSluT0qTxqCOU_K4_EgB0MFuiTX-poywmBFtQ0ONcgeT5IwlJGIbnW7QfgGhy39qR4Li-3ZKcsCkbnF2Dm8Oi8KiBvH8ZgqLlPP_xsllR1WUJ28TtfSseo8Wo/s320/IMG_0404.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marie and Iván</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Come Saturday morning, we rafted together again for breakfast and, as a team, decided the day’s agenda. We opted to stay and spend a water fun filled day at Punta Arenas. We saw a large turtle swimming near the sailboat. Some went to explore the shore’s colorful reef, the beach, the flora and fauna. There was good chemistry in the sailing team, though 6 in the team I met for the first time on this cruise. Something about sailing attracts kindred souls together.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I noticed that there were no fish around our sailboat as I snorkeled. Not long ago, I had seen many while anchored here. At the far end of the sandy point there is a distant underground cable and tower. I wondered about its correlation with the lack of fish present. The reef explorers saw the usual reef tropical fish. Younger generations like Diego may not know the feeling of diving into these waters from a sailboat and being surrounded by fish schools. It saddens me to witness Jacques Cousteau’s 1960’s predictions on the depletion of our ocean’s fish from overfishing and pollution. I recently purchased his documentary collection from TMC (Turner Movie Classics) and plan to share episodes with my students. His message is still timely. We did not listen then. Now we need to listen and act.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hZEiqKCMcxV7Ct3TlPydrOcWsFfL34LaT05P2hr5Loe0jOAA9vGd3YsMk97H-9SWOmcGYXAX9DoXkn-R0HmzegpUzGmcAxr0LJQao-rc9-cYppJrCGlAL6zcN2vrM67oWlvaJtauAO8/s1600/IMG_0403.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hZEiqKCMcxV7Ct3TlPydrOcWsFfL34LaT05P2hr5Loe0jOAA9vGd3YsMk97H-9SWOmcGYXAX9DoXkn-R0HmzegpUzGmcAxr0LJQao-rc9-cYppJrCGlAL6zcN2vrM67oWlvaJtauAO8/s320/IMG_0403.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Diego and JJ</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>JJ was in charge of the Barbie (Barbecue)—hot dogs, hamburgers and salad. I heaped on the salad. The rainclouds hovered above Puerto Rico’s distant mountains, while we basked in Vieque’s sunshine. An afternoon of water sports and messing about with boats, we readied for yet another spectacular sunset and starlit skies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sunday’s return was as predicted, with north swells and windy conditions. We started off with a reefed main and no jib. Midmorning the winds subsided and we unfurled the jib. We arrived at Isleta Marina at about 4:30 p.m., with graying skies and squall threats, but we managed to miss them.</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: Cambria; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A lesson learned in this cruise is to become greater advocates for the sea. Nature does not end at the shore. What happens at sea affects our land survival, and vice versa. Something as simple as switching from individual disposable plastic bottles to a refillable stainless steel glass is one small step towards walking the talk, or should I say, sailing the talk. I wish for young generations to know fish and to be able to swim freely with them and dolphins. Just for today, I am thankful.</span><!--EndFragment--> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJjxmtN2rsNEF3ENGJA9lIpF6QkPwTIhZhQFXSm6zdO8cHtN8xP0OVRyS4sAmFgANX_MPQtd1_P8hM7oAZ08qwn5R3QJDfLjXoXkBt8gPbLeyi664AoGP0IKLf7MkQydrmK-J_2fNdEs/s1600/IMG_0405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJjxmtN2rsNEF3ENGJA9lIpF6QkPwTIhZhQFXSm6zdO8cHtN8xP0OVRyS4sAmFgANX_MPQtd1_P8hM7oAZ08qwn5R3QJDfLjXoXkBt8gPbLeyi664AoGP0IKLf7MkQydrmK-J_2fNdEs/s320/IMG_0405.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angelo and María</td></tr>
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