The time I took a woman to lunch at someplace she had never been before.

This was during one of my trips from Kodiak to Washington and the trip is a blur. I remember parts and pieces clearly but seem to have forgotten the purpose. I do know it was before the time I took my boat north.

Wait a minute. I had bought my boat and it was on the hard in Port Townsend. I was running an errand for a fishboat skipper. He needed a couple of parts and time was running short. He had already been sent the wrong part and in frustration had called the parts place and said he was sending someone to pick it up. 

Twice he had gotten the wrong part delivered via overnight air and frustration had set in.

He had handed me a round trip ticket to Seattle and $100 cash and told me to match the part that was in my seabag. I took off like a shot and caught the bird to Seattle. I was met there by a business partner of his who drove me to his place and handed me the keys to a car and I took off for the parts house.

Trips like this were not common but they were totally not unheard of. Time was short and season openings wait for no boat. 

The parts place didn't have the exact part I needed in stock but could get it by noon the following day. It was early and I had nothing to do. 

  It was about noon and I was in a supermarket picking up some traveling chow and met a fairly attractive woman that appeared to be interesting. She seemed mildly bored so I struck up a conversation with her. She had mentioned that the handful of men that she had dated were predictable. It was always the same dinner date in the same type places.

I laughed and told her I'd take her to lunch somewhere she had never even though of. She looked at me with curiosity and decided I was probably not a hatchet murderer and accepted. We paid for our groceries, hopped into my car and fifteen minutes later we were entering the cafeteria of a hospital. She was surprised to say the least and I explained that when I was 'on the road' I would occasionally walk into a hospital cafeteria for a change of pace. The food's generally edible and it's bright and airy instead of some dank candlelit dungeon that seemed fashionable at the time.

We talked and she was interesting. She seemed to have completely forgotten where she was. She was a divorced suburban housewife with the almost obligatory liberal arts education that meant she was not looking at much in the employment market. She was a few credits short and had planned to finish when she realized it would be a waste of time and money. Instead opportunity had come knocking and she had landed a job that paid the bills.  

She asked me what I did and I told her I was a fisherman and when she asked about it I told her that explaining it was something that had to be experienced to understand. "It's not like being the guy on the fish stick box," I said.

She said it sounded like a lot of physical work in a constantly changing environment. I told her it was.

Then I grinned. "Did it ever occur to you that at some point in your life you would find yourself in a hospital cafeteria across from a homeless fisherman that barely finished high school?"

She looked stunned and looked around for a second. ''You're homeless?"

'Pretty much. I presently crash on a fishing boat in Kodiak. In about three months or so I will be living on my sailboat which is now on the hard in Port Townsend." Then I explained what had brought me to town.

(Little did I realize then that it would later take me 3 months of sailing to get the boat to Kodiak.)

She asked me what brought me to town and I explained that I was picking up a part and told her about the remarkable lack of success that had been experienced in getting what was needed.

Suddenly she laughed and shook her head and said to me, "You're right. I never in my life thought that I would find myself in a hospital cafeteria having lunch with a homeless Alaska fisherman. I also never thought I'd accept a lunch invitation from some guy I met. Next time you're in town maybe we can do something together."

We traded contact information. Her eyes raised when she read 'Piccolo. General Delivery Kodiak AK 99615' I saw her surprise and told her that I seldom got mail but when I did Joey who worked in the PO would tell people I knew and inside a few hours I'd get word and  run up and get it. (one of the joys of living in a small town)

After lunch I dropped her off at her car and we parted company. Then s a Hail Mary I went to the parts place and found out the part was due in early. I told the clerk I would take a nap in the car. A half hour I was summoned, went in and confirmed the part and called the car owner. Then I got on the horn and called Alaska airlines to see if I could get out that evening. I had the car owner drop me off at SeaTac and flew into Anchorage, dozed off in the airport and caught the morning flight back to Kodiak.

The skipper was a happy camper and if he was happy then so was I.

Later when I returned to Washington to pick up my boat I considered calling her but decided against it. I was up to my ears in getting a boat ready for a long trip and figured I didn't have a whole lot of time. That was coupled with the fact that once she was in the water I still had to teach myself to sail. 

Besides there was really no serious chemistry there. She had been an interesting person but there was no real spark there.   

Looking back on it I'm still glad I took her to lunch because at least she was interesting and is a good memory to look back on.

There were a number of other off the wall impromptu dates here and there and my advice to the younger guys is think outside of the box. 

e

 

Does this rag smell like Chloroform?

 This goes back about 40 years ago when I had some time off and a friend's car. I had maybe 10 free days and a free shitbox to tool around in. The owner told me to leave it as I found it and if anything major died on it to just yank the plates and VIN tag and ditch it somewhere. He suggested pushing it off a cliff.

Yes, I really did live like that and had friends like that. It was during the tumultous decade after I got out of the army. 

The car was a real crap can that should have been in the boneyard a decade ago, but it ran and IIRC (If I Recall Correctly) I only had to adjust the points once in the 10 days I had it. When I was done with it I left it as I had found it, out of gas and the carburetor drained and unhooked the battery cables.

Anyway, I was doing pre sailboat buying recon and scouting around the marinas. I wanted to see what was out there and what I could buy with cash. I wanted some idea of what I was in for.

I had seen some interesting but not inspiring boats at Shilsole in Seattle buy nothing totally inspiring. I was headed out of Seattle because south of it was Tacoma and more city. I wanted to start looking for a place to hole up for the night as motels were expensive in the city. They were also free if I could find a remote spot because I had my sleeping bag with me and the (alleged) vehicle was a station wagon and I could crash out in back. I could catch as catch can a shower. Many if not most marinas had showers available to liveaboards. Generally, they charged a buck so every couple of days I could clean up.

It was getting kind of late in the day and on I-5 headed north. I was keeping my eyes peeled for a good place to park and sack out for the night.  It was still early.

I knew there were more than one marinas in Everett so I pulled off I-5 at the exit and stumbled around until I found one of them. It had a great view and there was a bar/restaurant so I figured I'd stump in and have  myself a brew. The place was clean, airy and was practically empty. There were probably a total of four people in the joint, two guys at the end of the bar talking business and two women at a table talking about something. One of them was about thirty and after watching her I figured she was one of those nervous types. No interest for her on my part. The other woman was in her mid to late 40s and appeared to be somewhat interesting. Curiosity got the best of me and I wanted to check her out because there was just something interesting about her that I couldn't quite figure out.

When I got out of the army it was a double whammy for me. In a period of a week I had lost my employment and been handed a divorce decree. I took it pretty hard.  Getting a job was a snap. There was a housing boom going on and I became a framer. 

The last thing I was looking for was a fertile 20-something to remarry and have a bunch of kids with. One word about a biological clock ticking made this freight train take a dirt road. The other thing I avoided were the younger "I want to go to the club" airheads. Most of them just wanted some sucker to take them to the new cool place so they could go shopping for Prince Charming at someone else's expense. I wanted to start dating again but not in the traditional sense. I wanted to meet interesting woman and have fun. 

In short I was dating strictly for fun and made no bones about it.

And I was sitting in an almost empty bar looking at a woman that looked interesting. There was something interesting about her. I thought things over and decided to take a chance. I my little plan turned into a horror show the only thing that would happen to me was I would get told to leave by the bartender. Most places don't call the police unless there is actual violence or a refusal to leave when the bartender give you the word. Just then I had brainstorm. A few feet down in the bar well there was a bar rag. I snatched it up and wrung it out under the bar.

Then I took it and went over to the table and a plain tone of personal curiosity held it in front of the older woman and innocently asked her, "Does this rag smell like chloroform?"

With a thoughtful look on her face she sniffed near it and replied in a thoughtful tone of voice "I  think it's nail polish remover."

It was obvious the knew how the dark humored game was played.

The younger one had turned completely ashen faced and her eyes showed sheer terror. She looked like she was facing being shanghaied by a Barbary Pirate and be carted to be sold to an A-rab and forced to be a white slave. I admit I had a hard time keeping a straight face with the look on her face. 

"Oh," I said innocently and returned to my barstool and waited to see what happened net. I didn't have to wait for long.

A couple of minutes later she headed to the women's room and I noticed she had taken the long route that passed by my stool. As she passed by she whispered "My friend's leaving. Stick around."

She left the ladies room and walked her friend out and parked her drink on the other end of the bar. She quickly returned, grabbed her drink and sat down next to me. "You scared the daylights out of Darlene," she said. "That will be all over work tomorrow. "

"Hope that won't get you into hot water," I said.

"Certainly not," she said. "I'll just explain that I met a charming young man with a good sense of humor and she'll look like an idiot. It happens quite a lot there with her. She's a scared mess."

We exchanged names and our drinks were low, I asked her if she was hungry. 

"I'll do you one even better," she said. "My sons are coming over for dinner and I have to leave to start cooking. Care to join us?"

When I'm in on the road one of the rules is never refuse an offer for a meal. Needless to say, I accepted. She wrote her address down in case we separated and I followed her home. I noticed she paid attention because when we got separated by a stop light she pulled over ahead and waited. I was mildly impressed. She had a brain in her head.

We entered and there were her two sons in the living room. She looked at the pair of them and said, "I scraped up a starving orphan after work. Meet Piccolo. He was just too charming to be left behind after he asked me if the rag he was holding smelled like chloroform." Her voice was so cheerfully sarcastic." She continued. "Julia was aghast. She turned as white as a ghost when he asked me that."

Both sons laughed. the younger one asked me if I came from a family of serial killers. I rolled my eyes and grinned. I saw that dark sarcasm ran in the family. I felt right at home.

"Actually I'm a commercial fisherman," I replied. 

"That explains a lot," said Carol. 

The sons asked me a few questions and I offered to take them for a tour of a fishing boat if they wanted. I explained that maybe we couldn't board unless I knew the owner but could point some things out. 

Over dinner I learned that both sons were pretty much out of the house and that one was a college student interested in electrical engineering and the other was an apprentice machinist. 

I noticed that Carol had pretty much let go of he babies as they became men. She treated them like men which is somewhat unusual because too many mothers often don't seem to know when to let go. They seem to want to keep their babies forever. As a mother it looked like she had done a hell of a good job with the pair of them. I found out she'd been divorced for about ten years and raised both of them through their teenage years. She must have been a pretty tough woman to do that job so well. Those are rough years. I later asked her about it and she said it was fairly easy. She gave both of them responsibilities and held them to task. 

The boys ate and discussed a few family things and wandered off. I went out to the station wagon and fished a bottle of cognac out from under the front seat and poured us both a strong belt.

That's when I was completely up front with her. I told her my life was a chaotic mess and that in a little over a week I was headed back to Alaska to return to the water. I told her I was reconnoitering for a future sailboat purchase.

She gave me a warm smile and said, "I can't compete with that but I've always wanted a fling with a sailor. Why don't you operate out of here while you're in town." That was a surprise! I took her up on her offer.

She went to work every day and I took the day to scout around until I left about a week later. On the weekend after work we had fun doing simple things together. We caught a movie and laughed together. Another night I gave her and her youngest son a tour of a purse seiner. I got lucky and gave them the complete tour because when the skipper and I played 'who do you know?" We both knew a couple of the same people in the business and he welcomed us aboard. 

One night she asked me what I had seen in her when we met.

"An imagination, a sense of humor. Fact is I don't want to start a family. It's not time for me to start a family. What drew me is that you simply looked interesting. I wanted some decent company that understood life. You more than fit the bill."

As planned I returned back to Kodiak and found my fishing gig had fallen through (Murphy was an optimist) and snagged a carpentry gig for a while.

We wrote for while and off and on and the following year when I returned with cash in hand I called and found she was seeing someone else when I called her to let her know when I found my boat. 

I found her, a heavy 24'7" Sailstar (formerly Bristol) Corsair. She was perfect for my purposes. She had been sitting on the dock about a quarter mile from the restaurant we had met in. I called her and she came and met me dockside. She was up front with me as I had been with her. She told me she was 'seeing a fella'. 

I grinned. "Ilsa, is his name Lazlo? We'll always have Everett."

It was a reference to the movie Casablanca. One evening we had watched it on TV although both of us had seen it before. This was circa 1984. She gave me a warm smile.

She marveled at the boat and expressed  concern over the size of her. I pointed out that a Pacific Seacraft Flicka 20s have made circumnavigations before. She seemed relieved.

I told her I was going to shake the boat down by moving her to Port Townsend and putting her on the hard and return to Kodiak to make money to fund the trip and probably arrive in PT in mid May leave in June. 

Then she asked me to drop her a line when I left PT for Kodiak and keep her posted about my trip. I thought about it and thought it may make her new boyfriend leery and suggested calling her son instead. 

"I'll tell him to accept collect calls," she said. Her youngest had expressed an interest in my trip so I agreed. The first time I called him he said he was keeping track of me on a map so every time I called I gave him a list of our stops. I remember looking at my watch to keep the calls down to under 3 minutes which was the initial charge.

When I arrived in Kodiak I went to Wodlingers Drug store and bought a post card. I addressed it to her son and the message read, 'Arrived in Kodiak. Piece of cake.'

We never heard from each other again and I hope she had a good life. If she's still alive she'd be in her 90s and her two sons in their 60s.

I just tucked the whole ting away as a pleasant memory.

I never used the chloroform line again.  

 

How the French Foreign Legion got me into the maritime industry

 Around Halloween 1989 I had moved to Pittsburgh and landed on my feet to an extent. I found a job framing houses. In mid December I was laid off for the winter and wanted to go visit my parents around the holidays.

I wasn't married yet but we were planning on it. Much to her credit she was frugal and wondered if we could afford it. I pulled out an atlas, laid out the route and said I would hitchhike if necessary. 

She crunched a few numbers and said we could afford a train ticket so I hopped onto the choo choo and off I went, with a change of trains in Philly.

On the train headed to Boston I met a couple of guys and we started talking and found out they were tug guys. I was interested in working on the water again so I asked if they were hiring. One of them gave me an 800 number to call and I put it in my wallet. He said I could call and find out.

It was a good visit with the family and when I got back to Pittsburgh I noticed the number in my wallet and decided to give it a try. I asked if they were hiring and the voice on the other end asked me questions on my background of working on the water. I told her I had been an Alaskan fisherman for several years. 

I was told to pick up a ticket at the airport the following day and pack my seabag and bring it with me in case they hired me. I tossed my passport in the bag as an afterthought. It wound up saving my bacon. My other half was dubious but dropped me off at the airport and wished me luck. I boarded the airplane and flew off to Philly and was picked up and taken to the tug company's office. 

I reported in and was handed an application to fill out. It was about an inch thick and started filling it out. I noticed that the bulk of the pages were for my work history. They seemed to want to know everything. If I had been a paperboy they wanted to know how many customers and how thick the paper was.

As I filled it out I started looking around at others who were doing the same thing and realized I really didn't have much of a chance. They all had seaman's papers and licenses. I had only a passport. I was screwed.

In addition to that, I ran my work history through my head, especially my decade plus in Alaska. I had broken into the fishing business by starting out on a trip by trip basis. I'd work over for someone that got injured or wanted a trip off for whatever reason. In one year I realized I had gone through about 20 different boats. 

In Kodiak that could easily be explained and would not have raised an eyebrow but something like that in the states could not be explained. It was lethal. In Alaska it meant I was in demand. Stateside they would read it to mean I couldn't keep a job.

I also knew I'd play hell trying to be honest. I was down in points and the only way I could win was by a knockout. I needed something that would stand out. Something that would draw attention to me and get me in the other room for an interview. As I sat there I saw two long faces leave.

It was time to go for broke.

I got a flash of inspiration. Between July, 1978 and August, 1983 I simply omitted everything and covered that period of time by writing in 'French Foreign Legion, Highest rank: corporal'.

When I had finished I handed it to the woman who scanned it. Her eyes opened wide for a second and she looked at me and said, "presumably you speak French."

"Oui, madame je parlez Francais." I answered. Thank God for junior high French class.

She got up and took my application into another room and returned. A couple of minutes later someone left the room smiling. He had been hired. I was summoned in next and realized I had bucked the line. There were people ahead of me.

As I entered the woman behind the desk said, "Parlez vous Francais?"

"Oui, madame, je parlez  Francais. Je suis Piccolo, caporal  la deuxieme regiment entrangre de parchutistes," I said.  I finished by saying "And I have not spoken a single word of French since I got out of Legion Etrangere almost ten years ago." 

She asked me what I had learned in the Legion and I told her that I could clean anything and clean it fast. She chuckled. "Good thing to know," she smiled.

She asked me several other questions about the Legion and I do believe she was expecting a Beau Geste tale of fighting in the desert and Arab maidens but I disappointed her by telling her I had spent most of my time maintaining much of the regimental equipment and that my few deployments had been pretty much uneventful. I figured I didn't want to lay it on too thick and have the whole thing come crashing down. 

Never set yourself up. My lie had done its job. This was not the time to get greedy. 

Besides I was concerned of the stolen valor issue. I didn't want to be a fake hero and what I had done was odious enough.

Then she asked me about what licenses I had and I said I only had my passport. When she asked for it she opened it and a piece of paper fell out. It was a lifeboatman course diploma I had forgotten about. She looked at it. I explained I had taken the class at the community college out of boredom in case I wanted to apply on the Alaska ferry system.

"Well, that's a damned good start," she said and picked up the phone and called someone. A minute later someone walked in.

"Lou, take this man to Baltimore and get him a Z-card. We'll drug test him tomorrow and he sails Wednesday. Get him a room at the Ramada."

She turned to me, "Behave yourself at the Ramada. You will report here tomorrow for a urine test and you'll sail Wednesday morning."

That was when I knew I had won by a knockout. I had the job!

She got up and as I was leaving she shouted, "Hey, Jeff! Guess who we got working for us now? A real, live French Foreign Legionnaire!"

Everyone looked at me and inwardly I cringed because I knew I was going to have a whole trainload of questions to answer when I got to the fleet.

We drove to Baltimore. Along the way I had my picture taken and entered the exam center there. It was here the passport saved my bacon. The Coast Guard needed more ID than a simple driver's license. I whipped out my passport. The petty officer took one look at it and said I was good to go.

An hour later I had an entry level Z-card in my pocket. I knew it was a valuable document and even if things didn't work out for the tug company I had a very valuable credential and could find decent work elsewhere. 

The next day I peed in the cup, filled out the necessary tax papers and hung  out, making myself small but available and about noon I went back to the hotel. I did not hang out at the bar. I knew a trap when I saw it.  When I called home my other half was stunned and happy for me. She knew if I got my foot in the door I'd run with it and do well.

The following day I set sail on a tug as an entry  level ordinary seaman.

I didn't get home again for five weeks.

55555555555555555555555555

Aftermath. 

Six months later the tankerman trainee program opened up and I didn't have enough time in company to be eligible. If I recall you had to have two or three years. I asked to take the test, anyway and the instructor humored me and let me take it.

I was already aware the program was going to open and had one of the tankermen coach me beforehand and I wound up getting 100% on it. I had taken the test after I had finished my tour. After it was graded I went home.

About a week later I got a call from the instructor. He was embarrassed. "I just got asked why I didn't accept the only guy that got 100% on the test. Report here in a week to start the course." It proved to be another knockout. I reported in as requested and did well in the course.

I had saved all of my fishing sea time on the proper forms and when I went to the Coast Guard to test for my tankerman's endorsement I sat for not only the tankerman's test but the whole battery of Able Seaman's tests and on top of that, All the tests for my 100 ton master's license, complete with a sailboat and towing endorsements! I passed them all and was issued a new Z-card and a license certificate.

When I turned all of this in to the office they were stunned.

In under 11 months I had almost doubled my pay! 

A couple of years later I had made a friend in the office. I had gotten another application and filled it out and quietly handed it to him and asked him to replace my original, citing I was tired of all the questions.

He quietly did and I never heard about it again. He also removed the note stating I was fluent in Mandarin Chinese. How the Mandarin Chinese note got there is another story.

Some time later the company folded and I found myself working for another outfit. I got lucky again. I was nervous as hell and interviewed poorly but got hired on the say-so of another person I knew from the old company.

The application if I recall was fairly simple and I filled it out honestly. By now the internet was up and running and I knew things could be researched easily enough. After the interview and hiring I drove home and met the most interesting person I have ever met in my life which is yet another story.

I have never been laid off or missed any time other than an injury.

This has been an excellent career for me.

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Leaving Port Townsend

29 Jun 85.

Underway: 0700. Set sail and under sail left PT for Friday Harbor.

Hung over skipper puked 0800, relieved by mate and went below and rested. By noon I felt fine. This was the aftermath of trying to drain a barrel of beer the night before. I believe we did manage to empty it.

1300: Fired up the Honda as the wind had dropped off to little or nothing.

1500: Fetched Friday Harbor. 

We ate ice cream upon arrival.

We met a friend's ex husband and he showed us around and the house he built. 

My mate's navigation skills are excellent but they should be. He's a licensed commercial pilot.

Friday Harbor is full of honeys
Beaucoup Canadian vessels
Sort of reminds me of Provincetown, MA with all the overpriced shops and little artsy craftsy stores. The place is mobbed with people coming out the wazoo.

San Juan Channel was a tide ripped place.

What's her face didn't show up on time so we left without her. Actually she very well may have arrived on time. We left early so as to be underway before she got there as she is a confirmed pothead and no matter what she's going to bring her dope with her.

Normally I would not have cared but we are crossing international lines and I don't want my boat impounded.



30 Jun 85

0750 the friend's ex husband woke us up. He showed us a house he built. He does excellent work. I like him.
1400 Left Friday Harbor headed to Bedwell Harbor in Canada on a beam reach. 

While underway we swapped the jib blocks around and rerove the jib sheet. It's the way we want it now and we're in better shape than we were when we left PT. Friday Harbor was a pretty good port for the night.

We need a chunk of lead or iron as a skellet for the anchor rode but the friend's ex gave us a piece of cherry we can use as a tiller extension.

1830: Karen Lee has taken a Canadian motorboat in tow. We're headed to Bedwell Harbor to the customs office.

1930: Customs. We got a blast  of shit about taking a Canadian boat in tow before we cleared customs and I politely shot back that according to International Law the Safety of life at sea over rode the rules he was following. He caved in and agreed.

1940: Karen Lee has been issued a cruising permit by the Canadian government. Number B-XXXXXX.

15 miles (?) to the good.

2100: Mate decided to stay aboard and I went ashore to make an ass of myself or something along these lines.

2345: Returned to a spit shined boat and a lit anchor light.

Log sketchy here. I think we anchored out for the evening, most likely to avoid dock fees. as there is a position here. There is also a note that we had arrived on the eve of the Canadian Fourth of July, Canada Day. Leave it to us to arrive at the party on time!


1 July, 85
0900: Left Bedwell Harbor.
2000 We beat out brains out against a NW wind. No wind. Some wind but not a steady wind. We anchored in Clam Bay that was some kind of a little nook between two islands. It looked like a high tide small boat passage.

Sketchy log note: Kuper is an Indian reserve and the scenery is gorgeous. Tomorrow? on to Nanaimo Harbor on Vancouver Island.

By the way, I am going to start sleeping in the starboard quarter berth so we can actually use the table for meals like civilized people.

I haven't worn shoes all day. Shoes-no shoes- what a wonderful feeling. I checked my feet in PT and saw my jungle rot acting up between my toes. A few days on the boat will sure help things. What is nice is the soles of my feet are pretty clean.

Tonight's dinner: Tristan Jones Special. Canned corned beef and spuds. Bland. We forgot the ketchup.

I wish we had a gun and seasonings like we did on the XXXXXX (a boat i fished commercially on)

The three gallon gas tank finally ran out. Gas is running us about $1.25/day figuring we used a gallon a day. If some good wind would come up we'd be in great shape. We set anchor under sail---sailed up to the anchorage, luffed and dropped the hook. We looked great.

I wish I could score a job doing something. Zero cash is a drag. It's a good thing the Canadians didn't ask to see how much cash we had or we'd have been refused entry.

Canada day was great. As I said earlier, leave it to us to hit the Canadian Fourth of July.

You know, there are about 10 million little things that make a sailor. Not all of them what you would think. This came to me as I was trimming the wick on the anchor light. I have to become a man of many talents. Who else but a cruising sailor uses a kerosene dioptic lens anchor light?

24 miles to the good.


2 July, 85.
0700: 
Little John's surprise for breakfast. It's salt cod, spuds, onions and crumbled bacon mashed together. It's good. As I write this it reminds me I have not had that in decades. Maybe I'll make some soon.
1000: underway. Left Clam Bay.
1330: Fetched Nanaimo. Groceried up, fueled, each had an ice cream cone and the mate bought ice for some reason I do not remember. We're going to go somewhere else. Sailors have more fun.
1730 Left Nanaimo. A shame. I was running around shopping and found the people friendly and the woman pretty. The whole town was in a good mood. I really wanted to go and meet the locals and see the sights.
2000 We are tied up to a Canadian Navy buoy of some sort for the evening off of Winchelsea Island. Some sailor said it would be OK if we did this so long as we hung an anchor light so whomever could keep an eye on us.

We have trolled the past 2.5 hours and the Honda acted a little funky at an idle. We twiddled with it. The charger says 12.5 volts which is good. The charger built into the Honda is great! 

The scenery is breathtaking. I love it. The only bummer is we motored today. Motored in a sail boat. Not a bit of wind.

Nanaimo was great. I'd love to stay a few days. Partly because of pretty girls. Part of it was the scenery and part of it was just why the hell not! God, I wish I had a year to make this trip!

Canadian cookies. Oreos taste the same but here they don't come in a cellophane pack. You don't have to devour the whole pack because they are resealable. The again. the little clip really doesn't work worth a shit so they might just as well used a cellophane bag.

Oh yeah! We shot through the Dodd Narrows and it scared the hell out of us. For a full minute and a half I had no control whatsoever of the boat. All I could do was try and make an effective response. I'm OK so I musta done good, huh?

25 miles.

Later back in Kodiak a few months later I was told I was lucky I didn't get shot for tying up at Winchelsea. He said it was some kind of ubersecret Canadian Navy thing and said that most likely I was covered all night by a machine gunner.

3 July, 85.
0845: Woke up and cut loose under sail as we were tied to a Navy buoy used to tie up a ship of some sort. It really wasn't a Kosher thing to do.
1500: Still under sail and have not fired up the iron jib. About 1230 the mate got the idea to run up the working jib in addition to the Genoa and we Mickey Moused it to take advantage of the following wind. The rig isn't in Chapmans but it worked pretty good.

This is a pretty good time to tell you that I had no experience sailing before we left Port Townsend. We were both learning along the way. I had a book that showed the various points of sail and we'd look at it when the wind shifted.

Speed? 4-4.5 knots. Wind speed? about 6 knots. 
1830: fired up the iron jib abd continued to Tuxedna Island.

Note here. I can not find the island on Google which probably means I didn't spell it right in the log.

Little nook. up and down and sleep is gonna be easy. Went ashore, met some locals and had a beer with some on the beach.

Tuxedna is a little Kodiak.

30 miles.

4 July, 85. Hey, Mate! It's the ruddy yank Fourth of July!

0800. Up and about.

By the way we are navigating with the Marine Atlas and a chart of Vancouver Island. NOTE: If memory serves the afore mentioned atlas is kind of a comic book designed for trip planning and not serious navigation. Back then we did what we had to do.

Onward and upward! Underway.

1700: Pasting! We had seven bells of shit knocked out of us a few hours shy of Campbell River. God, it was funny! A career as a sailor can be yours at the Colombia School of reefing down mainsails! It was a Chinese fire drill.

Today we went through the Genoa, the working jib and even bent on the storm jib. We reefed down to the second reef.

Learned a lot. Spending the night in Campbell River. Seven bells of dog snot.

Broke spinnaker eye(fixed), bent whisker pole and thank God we had on harnesses.

Spent night in Campbell River.
43 miles


5 July,85.
A day of repairs (about a dozen minor ones)
Fixed tiller handle
Fixed spinnaker pole
Fixed hole on Genoa
Replaced screw in eye.

Sure had a hard time finding things on short notice in a faraway place.

Fixed spinnaker pole
Plug for outboard well installed
Jib halyard bungee installed. 

I helped a pretty girl move her houseboat. She was an expat and I believe she was there as a former spouse of a Vietnam war draft dodger.

Log says we had pizza and beer for dinner. (If so, it's pretty damned likely she bought it because we were really scratching our asses financially. We were not quite broke but we were really counting our pennies)

Sailor's Nirvana.

PS Missed scoring a job by a couple of hours.


6 July 85
0500 Up. On to Seymour Narrows
2000 CQR'd anchor along W. Thurlow Island.
We had gone through the Seymour Narrows, a real treacherous piece of water. Back to the log.

I took a snooze today for a bit. Took advantage of the tides where we could and sailed our asses off for a total of 36 miles to the good.

We're in a mass of tidal riffs and all sorts of other good shit. The tide shifted on us and we found a couple of good eddies and we had to tack like an SOB
The Seymour Narrows was a letdown. It was like glass and we just meandered through, mainly under sail. I'm sure glad it wsn't the ruckus the Dodd Narrows was.
By the way, I'd like to rebatten the jib and move some rails around to stretch the leech of the jib tighter by changing the angle of pull back from an acute angle to about 45 degrees. Fifteen inch sliding rails would be great.

Dinner tonight is Tristan Jones (canned corned beef) chili and it's good, too.

We hit the Johnstone Strait at about the right time as far as the tides went. I think we'll have fair tides for the rest of the week.

Had we left a week earlier we'd have clawed and fought the entire way and made maybe a quarter of the distance. Also we ought to add battens to the working jib.

I cut the reefing lines and boom vang lines and halyards to a more reasonable length and whipped the ends. I marked the reef points on the mainsail halyard. These are little things that might save our asses later.

21 days in PT was plenty. Campbell River was a nice visit and leave it to us to us to et moored next to the (name hidden), a salmon troller crewed by a 14.5 year old boy, two women and three dogs.

Thank God they were simply hard working fisherman instead of weird feminists.

We also met XXXXX, a gal divorced a year ago with 2 kids. They were a trip. She built a nice houseboat. What a pretty, sweet woman she is. She was born in the States and moved here and became a landed immigrant at 18 back in '73.

Margot (one of the salmon troller women, not her real name) called her country a sattelite of the US. While we were eating a Shakey's pizza, drinking a coke and watching MTV I had to agree. It's a shame and all but when I come to Canada I want to see Canada and not northern Detroit ot Northern Seattle or whatever. I want to see CANADA. 

What a flavor this place had back in '70! (I visited Ontario then) 
I'd have loved to see it in '55! The British Isles and Canadian flavor. Margot attributes thus to all kinds of shit-people being too comfy, laziness, the USA being too greedy etc. Not much (Canadian) national pride. 

By the way, there's another thing bugging the piss out of me. For the past two days we tried to find the Campbell River warfinger. We couldne't screw around any longer  as we had made our repairs and had to go on to catch the Seymour Narrows tide.

We left our address with Margot and so they can bill us for our slip and I hope she squares things away. She said she'd call the Port McNeill warfinger so they could collect our money there.(at McNeill)

I sure hope so because I am not looking to be boarddby the RCMP unless it's by Sgt Preston personally and King better not shit on my deck!

I guess all the floats are federal so it's no biggie unless  it's a major paperwork shuffle.

Still, things don't sit good. I like to pay my bills

I wish I had done this years ago.

Watch this space.

It will likely be a very, very long post and it won't happen overnight.

I recently found the logbooks of Karen Lee, my sailboat. They are very, very sketchy and it has been decades since I have seen them much less remember all of the details. I believe if I check charts I can rattle the details out of my moldering brain.

The first trip was between D-Day and mid September 1985, starting at Port Townsend and ending in Kodiak.

The second trip was between Kodiak in mid August,1986 and ended  at Friday Harbor, Washington about Halloween.

As I sit here an awful lot of parts of both trips run through my mind and I can't seem to remember what happened on which trip but with the logs and charts I believe I can figure things out.

Kodiak. Early May, 1985.

I had purchased the boat in January if memory serves and took her from Everett to Port Townsend and put her on the hard with several months storage paid for and returned to Kodiak to drum up a little scratch to be able to afford to take her to Kodiak.

Between working and scrounging I was able to drum up both cash and equipment from trades, good deals or friends giving me their cast-offs. One of the problems I saw was getting all of this stuff down to Seattle which looked to be expensive. Air Freight rates were terribly expensive.

Through the friend of a friend of a friend I was introduced to a young pretty Native girl who worked at the airport for I believe it was Alaska Airlines. She didn't drink very much so I believe we discussed things over either a cup of coffee or maybe lunch. I remember the conversation but not what we ate. I do recall she was pretty stocky and likely could move a safe if she wanted to.

She asked me what I had and I told her I had anchors, heavy chain, about 600 feet of anchor rode (rope) and pointed out that to save space the anchors could easily be disassembled. I also had to carry the usual clothing, a LORAN-C, a survival suit and God only knows what else.

I guess she was kind of excited to be involved in my voyage. A lot of fisherman were interested, too. This woman came from a fishing family so I guess she was interested, too.

She looked at me and simply said, "Green duffel bags. Carry the LORAN with you and put all of the stuff in green duffel bags. Break it up so they are not too heavy and then give me an idea of how many duffel bags you have. I'll figure something out."

"What will this cost?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "In fact, if you give me a ride to work I'll give you a bunch of green duffel bags. I don't know where they came from, probably from my brothers but they are taking up space in my closet."

I took her home to change into her work uniform and she was good to her word. She came out carrying what appeared to be a full duffel bag and threw it into my truck. "There are a bunch more in this one," she said.

I dropped her off and on the way back pulled over and looked at my new treasure. I now was the proud owner of six green duffel bags.

At that time 87% of all Alaskans traveled with none other than Army surplus green duffel bags. Practically every fisherman or logger carried his trash around in a green duffel bag and needless to say, the most commonly lost piece of airline luggage was the proverbial green duffel bag.

More than once I heard somebody claim that there was a humongous hanger full of lost luggage in Anchorage and it was kept in a hanger that was floor to ceiling chockablock full of green duffel bags.

The plan she and I came up with was that I would bring the duffel bags in with a few of my pals and they would hand them to her one by one and she'd put a tag on them and send them off into the airplane. I was to check in a couple of hours early and the guys could come in one by one and drop the bags off. I would finger them to her as they arrived.

I bought my ticket through a travel agent friend and she knew the score and got me a deal. The deal was actually a ride to Hawaii with a stop in Seattle. I would get off in Seattle and the fare was actually a lot cheaper than a direct Seattle flight. I never did figure out why.

On the appointed day in May I arrived at the airport with a few of the guys. They each carried a green duffel bag to the check in and it was taken by the young woman. A tag was put on it with my ticket number and she hefted it effortlessly and tossed it in the cart and it disappeared. They must have been damned close to 80 pounds apiece yet that little stock Native girl hefted them effortlessly.

I boarded carrying the LORAN-C and we took off and landed in Seattle where I disembarked. At Kodiak I had made arrangements to get off in Seattle with an open ended one way trip to Hawaii.

Upon landing I headed towards the luggage carousel and got there early enough to run outside and make a quick deal with a cabbie. I made several quick trips outside with the duffel bags and considered myself lucky that all of them had arrived intact.

The cabbie took me to the nearest car rental place and I unloaded there and gave him a hefty tip that he thought was more than fair.

Back then in order to rent a car you needed either a credit card or the airport would rent one if the person had a bona fide airline ticket for them to hold as a deposit. The ticket to Hawaii was accepted and I rented a small car, crammed all the stuff into it and took off to Port Townsend and my boat. I don't recall the hour I arrived but I recall it wasn't too late. The bars were still opened.

My first order of business was to return the rental car. It was somewhat expensive. I could have returned it somewhat locally but realized the redistribution fee was pretty hefty. It was cheaper to return it. 

In the bar I ran into some more totally dumb luck. I ran into a woman that had business in Tacoma and had to pick up a car her parents had given her. If I drove her down she would give me a ride back. $hithouse luck struck again!

The following morning we left early for Tacoma and she proved to be pleasant company for the ride down. It was uneventful and when she got the car she followed me per our agreement to the airport where I turned in the rental and got my ticket to Hawaii back.

The ride back to Port Townsend proved to be miserable as she had failed to tell me her parents were riding back to PT with us. When we pulled up to where her parents were the first thing her mother did was take one look at me and ask her daughter "Who's this bum?" She was a nasty old broad.

The daughter replied that I was the gentleman that had taken a day out of his busy schedule to take her down to pick them up. The mother wasn't mollified. She proved to be a Class One bitch and the ride back was long and tension filled. Fortunately her father was halfway decent. There was also a brief stop along the way back to take care of some vehicle related paperwork. We arrived back in PT mid afternoon. I spent the rest of the afternoon locating showers, laundromats, and various shops and stores that proved to be useful. I also bought a few groceries.

The next morning was spent looking things over, making lists and plans and figuring out what I actually needed and didn't need. I started outside on the hull first and carefully checked out the sea cocks and determined they needed to be re-bedded and gone over. It proved to be a good decision because when I pulled one out it broke. 

I bought a gently used replacement for a reasonable price and reinstalled it along with a check valve. It was the galley sink drain.

The inlet and outlet for the head were gone over, replaces and capped off from the inside. I also managed to score a pair of fairly clean 5 gallon buckets. One would be used to replace the unused head and the other I cut down to use on the trip as a galley sink. I then secured the galley sink sea cock. I also made a call to a local sail maker. I had contracted them to make me a new main and a storm jib. They offered to show up the following morning.

I poked around and sacked out on board and sure enough, they were there fairly early. They had both sails with them and fitted them. They fit but they said there was some touch-up work to do. They showed up the next morning with both sails ready to go. I stowed them for later use.

The next few days were a blur and I was pretty damned busy. I mounted and wired the LORAN, went over the electricals and the Honda auxiliary engine, a 9.9 hp outboard in a well. It got an oil change, a new plug, and a general going over. 

Some unemployed semi homeless guy appeared out of nowhere and offered to scrape my hull if I'd pay him a very small amount and feed him. I agreed but planned on firing him if he screwed up. Instead he did an excellent job and I fed him a pretty good steak dinner in addition to his small wage.

I really couldn't afford to hire anyone but he needed something to do and feeding him was no real major expense. He had made himself affordable.

Incidentally I got a blast of crap because I paid him so little. I shot back that I was also feeding him and giving him a place to stay and get cleaned up. I was treated to a belligerent "Yeah, well..." and I pointed out it wasn't any of his business to begin with. 

There was a pretty good greasy spoon that had decent breakfast specials and I generally ate there mornings. I became a non local local to the couple that ran the diner.

It was late in May when my crew of one showed and started in on things. He arrived full of excellent ideas and I simply handed him some cash and told him to make it happen. He spent it wisely on good marine hardware and he rigger the boom with cheek blocks and cleats so I would not have to leave the cockpit to reef the mainsail. It later probably saved my hide in a huge blow the following year.

One day he unbolted the grab rails and quietly drove off. He was gone the next day but returned the following day with new grab rails and first rate hardware and went to work installing them. They were well made out of good mahogany and were a lot stronger than the old ones.

While he was gone I slapped on a couple of coats of anti-fouling and had the harbormaster put her in the water. I also named her Karen Lee and her hailing port became Kodiak, AK.

Posting her hailing port of Kodiak proved to be a wise move. It opened a lot of doors for us along the way. 

She floated well on her lines. I also grubbed her up with enough chow to last us several days. Money was running low so I grabbed a huge bag of rice and checked our fishing tackle. I recall I also snagged a bottle of scotch. I also smoked at the time so I grabbed a couple of big cans of Top roll-your-own. It used to be cheap at the time and a can lasted quite a long time if you didn't chain smoke.

In the evenings we drank a little beer and chased girls with varying degrees of success. Draft beer was pretty inexpensive and therefore affordable. By days we poked around here and there making things and fixing stuff. 

About three or four days before we left we gave her a shakedown and discovered a problem with the outboard well and when we returned we scrounged some aluminum and an old inner tube and fixed that. It only cost us a few stainless steel machine screws and a pair of wing nuts in addition to a couple of bucks to have someone weld up the piece. 

The greasy spoon people had offered to buy us breakfast on the day we left because we had been pretty good customers and had been in there as a pair of happy people. I was always happy working on an adventure.

If I am not mistaken the place opened at about five. We ate there, they wished us luck and we were on our way with a destination of Friday Harbor which was about 30 nautical miles away.

We cast off our lines, looked ahead and set sail for Friday Harbor and arrived mid afternoon. We called a mutual friend that lived there and he came to the dock and looked at our boat and he got pretty wide-eyed. He had figured it was going to be at least a 35 footer instead of the 24 foot, seven inch vessel she was. His attitude changed when he stepped aboard. She was a hell for stout fully capable ocean going vessel.

She was my ship to steer and I was now the captain of my destiny and held someone else's life in my hands. It was a serious responsibility and it didn't rest lightly on me.

This has been written by memory and it's reasonably accurate, considering that 1985 was almost 35 years ago. I have eliminated a little of the shananigans that took place. Actually we did spend most of our time nose to the grindstone but there were a couple of nights we raised a little hell.

Besides, my niece and nephew and their kids read this and I don't go there with them. There is nothing worse than being a parent and having to tell your kids that "Just because your Uncle Piccolo did it doesn't make it OK for you to do the same dumb thing!"

Even if YOU did the same dumb thing!


Update.

I have finally dug out the log and my memory was wrong about some dates. I actually arrived in Port Townsend on D-Day and left it on 21 June. 

So much for a 30 something year old memory.

I'm not going to rewrite the above. Suffice to say it's reasonably accurate in what happened before we left.

I have gone over the log and it actually covers a lot of what happened in Port Townsend. There was a certain amount of drunken debauchery that took place there and I am not going to get into that. 

After I am gone my nephew is welcome to read through the original.

Life in the tipi was interesting.

Just before I was discharged I had a Volkswagen Beetle, a complete 18-foot Cheyenne tipi, a flintlock rifle, a set of buckskins, a tomahawk and some other basic assorted gear and the dream of living in the woods for a full year.

It’s been over forty years since I did this but even now some of what happened I remember like it was yesterday and some of it has blurred with age.

I left the tipi to hitch hike to Alaska.

I’ll post about living in a tipi some day but until that enjoy my hitch hike to Alaska tales of woe and derring-do.

These links are to another blog I write, they are good and cover the trip on the end of my thumb to Alaska. They are in order and are fairly long reads.

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/first-part-of-three-getting-to-alcan.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/i-dont-remember-time-of-day.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/ah-yes-shelby-montana.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/dawson-creek-to-kodiak-on-end-of-my.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/fourteen-years-i-have-been-writing.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/it-wasnt-all-depression-suicide-and.html

https://piccoloshash.blogspot.com/2010/12/number-of-people-have-asked-me-how-i.html

Someone asked me the favorite line I ever used on a woman with success.

I was in the Everett, Washington area and had just bought my boat and stumped into the nearest bar to have a drink to celebrate. The place had a beautiful view overlooking the harbor and was a bit too much upscale for my tastes as I preferred waterfront gin mills or other dives. 

I was sitting there with a draught beer and was looking across the bar and I noticed two women and started observing them. The older of the two looked to be about forty and while she wasn't obviously on the prowl, she might take a reasonable offer. 

I wasn't really in the mood to play the game or do the dance so I figured on giving it one good shot, win or lose. I figured the direct approach would be rebuffed instantly just by the way she carried herself. I'd just get slapped and rightly so.

The younger one I had no interest in. She clearly had a stick up her ass...WAY up her ass. I wanted no part of her whatsoever. None.

I assessed the situation.  If everything went to hell, I knew I could leave in a second's notice. 

If i got kicked out of the place, no biggie. I didn't like the place very much to begin with and that would pose no loss. I had been kicked out of far nicer places than this before and it really didn't bother me too much.

On the other hand, a gut feeling told me that this was exactly the thing to do.

My beer was almost finished so I would not be leaving a whole lot behind if I did get the boot.

I was in my element now because I had something to win and nothing to lose. Most people don't understand this. They don't seem to realize that there are times when there is simply nothing to lose.

The late Janis Joplin sang the "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose," and she was actually right. When you have nothing to lose you can do just about anything. Any smart cop will tell you that. Beware of the man that has nothing to lose.

There was no law in the books against what I was going to do. Even the laws of human decency were not really being broached and if they were it was only a small misdemeanor.

Truth is, I had no desire to spend time with a woman that had little or no sense of humor.

When the bartender was occupied elsewhere I reached over the bar and snagged a bar rag and stashed it. The woman in question actually saw me do it and said nothing. I gave her a quick wink and she returned it with somewhat of an interested look. Then she looked at me for a second with curiosity and then turned to the woman she was with and resumed talking.

At that point I got off of my bar stool, headed over to the pair of them and looked at the woman of interest. "Excuse me," I said.

She turned looked at me and asked me what I wanted. With a very serious tone and aura about me I hald out the bar towel and asked her, "Does this rag smell like chloroform?"

She immediately knew the game and how to play it. It's called 'You laugh, you lose'. She took the rag, gave it a quick sniff and replied, "Why, yes it does. There's also some ether in it."

"Thank you," I replied and returned to my seat and quietly returned the rag.

When I sat down she gave me a very amused look as her friend started babbling away. I could hear a word here and there as her friend babbled away that I was some kind of a killer dope fiend rapist. I was now the ghosts of Charlie Starkweather and Charles Manson combined in her mind. 

While she babbled on and on my prospective date looked at me, smirked and rolled her eyes. She was clearly quite amused with what was going on.

I was mildly surprised. While I was mildly surprised the girlfriend was as animated as she was, I was pleasantly surprised at the sheer amusement of the older woman. She obviously thought what I had asked her was funny. It was funny watching her try and calm her friend down.

She was as confident as her friend was scared. Then I had a thought. In addition to the pair of 38s she carried I wondered if there was a gun in her purse. If there was I wasn't bothered by it.

The two finished their drinks and got up to leave.

There were two ways around the bar, the long way and the short way. The short cut went past me and the long way was all the way around. One didn't pass my bar stool.

The younger woman took off like a shot going the long way around to avoid me. The older woman walked past me and when she got to my stool she slowed down and said quietly to me, "Stick around. I'll be back in a few minutes."

I was looking out at the harbor and didn't see her return. She sat down next to me and surprised me when she spoke. "You are a sick puppy," she said. She told me I had scared the holy hell out of her friend and it took her a while to get her calmed down. We chuckled.

I told her that I was looking for a sailboat and 

The two of us ended up hanging out together for several days when business took her away. It was a pretty good deal, really. We had fun together for over week.