On the Fulcrum Between Adventure and Insanity

Pope and I are gearing up to go sailing again. Yes. We're off to Maine this week on a bareboat charter. Just a few days after our return, we'll load up Echo II and cast off for southern shores.

Is it fun? Is it fulfilling? Or is it ... just plain nuts? How well I remember--from three years ago--the immense satisfaction of waking to a slice of pink cloud. Home-baked bread on Staniel Cay. Swimming with dolphins.

And then there were....the ocean crossings. Dozens of drawbridges. Shallow water on the ICW and the Bahamas Bank. A leaky cabin roof. Worst of all, perhaps, the mosquitos, no-see-ums, and biting green flies.

Are we REALLY ready for this again? How can I keep my endorphins pumping without Barre Fusion and Power Toning at Sport & Health? How long will it take Pope to miss the indentation in the sofa while he inhales blood, guts and tears on the Sons of Anarchy and Hell on Wheels?

Echo II awaits passenger boarding, happily bobbing in Whitemarsh Creek in anticipation of adventure in bigger water. Five tons of fiberglass, dacron, diesel, and moldy cushions, ready to deploy--as soon as we load another half ton of spare parts and supplies.

I am not bobbing. I am slogging. Through cleaning, packing, organizing, provisioning.

Stay tuned. The countdown to insanity has begun.

Elkins, West-By-God-Virginia

All too soon, Cajun and Country Week at Augusta Heritage Center came to a close. Students cleared out for home early Saturday, and I and a few other holdovers, waiting for Blues Week to start on Monday, scrambled to find easy non-musical pursuits to rest our overloaded brains.

First, into the mountains to witness the gently unfolding pink petals of rhododendron, along an Otter Creek Wilderness trail.

All alone in the mountains on a beautiful Saturday. Where are all the other hikers, I wondered?? Hearing a shout and scream far ahead, I considered: Kids splashing in an ice-cold mountain stream? Backpackers arguing with mama bear? Or...hikers encountering armed wilderness rednecks? It had not escaped my attention that signs along the trail were peppered with bullet holes.

I paused. Listened carefully. 

Prudence prevailed. Rather than running ahead, potentially to help a wounded walker, I retreated from the mostly deserted Otter Creek Wilderness in favor of a different recreation area--Bear Heaven--that turned out to be just as deserted. But this one had a view.

A quiet day; a pleasant interlude. Yawn.... No music jams tonight; just a good night's sleep in my new AirBnB lodging.

What to do in a podunk town on a sleepy summer Sunday morning? Shops closed. College quiet. Streets empty. No, wait, not completely empty...there's a classic car show in the town square.

And a bustling train station. Then it's aaaaaalllllll aboard for an excursion on a vintage (I.e., old, smelly) diesel train to the High Falls of the Cheat River. (High refers to altitude, not height of the drop.)

Traveling alone? We have a half-empty table reserved just for you, in the Parlor Car. Away from the riff-raff. Enjoy the sophisticated roast beef-and-cheese-with-mustard-sandwich buffet.

"On the left you can begin to see views of the scenic Shavers Fork River." (And--unsaid--trailer homes with outhouses, shot-out windows of wooden shacks, fancy RV parks on the river for rich people.) "As we gain elevation, you will see spectacular river views." Maybe a tad overblown. Still, a quietly pleasant  trip.

We pass the sites of former lumber and coal camps, mostly deserted because they are accessible only by train, and of course those are defunct (except for nostalgic tourist excursions.) Onward and upward. Only to come to an abrupt stop at the start of a 180-degree curve, which our tourist train cannot negotiate. "The sharpest mainline curve east of the Rockies." End of the line for "the little engine that couldn't."

Instead, a little walk in the woods. Then suddenly it's Niagara! Well, quarter-sized Niagara, maybe. And obligatory-picture-taking time.

Then it's aaaaaallllllll aboard again--back down the mountain to Elkins and the rest of the sleepy summer Sunday afternoon

Making Music While the Sun Shines

Here I am in beautiful downtown Elkins, West Virginia, on the campus of Davis and Elkins College. The sun is shining, clouds roll by in a blue sky, and Cajun and Country Week is drawing to a close.

The campus with its Victorian mansions  is lovely, the cool nights a refreshing relief from Washington, with breezes bouncing off the mountaintops.

The last jams with Cajun superstars like Sheryl Cormier, Courtney Grangier and talented youth from Louisiana are diminishing into the last throes of harmony.

What did I learn at music camp? 

-How to master songs in high C, in Cajun dialect, with French R's, employing complex rhythms, thanks to the relentless drills and ministrations of former Mamou Playboy fiddler David Greeley. Always found on the back porch, singing while the sun shines.

-Refining my language technique a bit more precisely, thanks to up-and-coming superstar and multi-instrumentalist Blake Miller.

-Walk-ups and runs on my guitar strings from country singer Lynn Healey--a lesson long overdue after 40 years of fooling around strumming open chords. We worked HARD in class!

Seriously, though, all was not serious. My fellow musicians and I shared a few laughs and the occasional prank.

Thanks to the magical musical wisdom (and humor) of our Michigan friend John, I learned some new guitar grooves: the "air mordant," which quickly leads to the "dominant fifth." (Which John demonstrated. Or are those just cramped fingers, from clutching too many wine glasses?)

The mini-lesson quickly led to a blistering critique of John's potentially bogus musical research by ultra-serious jam leaders Patrick and Terri (or was that just the whiskey talking?). 

It led also to a look of pure unembellished admiration (or was it stupefaction?) from fellow Michigander Frank...

...who promptly put thought into action, trying in vain to coax a reluctant mordant from his stand-up bass.

Ah, the joys of being schooled in music theory and then putting it to the test. Every afternoon and evening people gather on the porch, patio, meadow, lounge, wherever, to make beautiful music while the sun shines and sets, once again, over the hills.

Yoga in the Park, June 21, 6:30 pm, Oronoco Park, Old Town Alexandria

Y'all come! People of all ages and abilities welcome; bring a mat. FREE class. Giveaways. A local celebration of the United Nations-designated International Day of Yoga, held in conjunction with events worldwide on that day.

A Sailor's Life: Work Work Work Work Play Work Work

Are we ready yet? What month is it? Is there a Dark 'n' Stormy on board?

Captain Pope and First Mate Amber, getting the boat shipshape and ready to sail out

Holiday Hill Marina in Edgewater, Maryland, on a sunny day in June; sailors working on boats everywhere

The 2016 sailing season is well underway at our marina on the west side of Chesapeake Bay--and I have finally begun to set foot on our sailboat, Echo II. Captain Pope has worked on her almost every day since February, on the hard and later in the water: new rigging, new antenna, new batteries, rewiring radio, upgrading GPS, fixing leaks, engine maintenance, cleaning holds and tanks. He finally took her out in June, for a couple of single-hand races.

All work and no play, as long as it's on his baby Echo II, makes Pope a happy man

Being only the first mate, and a fair-weather and mildly reluctant sailor to boot, I've been on the boat only five times since the boat went in the water in April. My jobs: cleaning mold and stains and bilge, inventory, unpacking from winter storage, provisioning, sewing, hold the wrench or pass the screwdriver for Pope.

Scrubbing ceilings means hours of reaching overhead, soap dripping in your eyes

Laying on my back in the tiny v-berth (remember those blog posts back in Fall 2013 about living aboard a boat?) to get to the tight spots where mold grows thick and black

If you remember from my early blogging days, my fantasies of living aboard a boat in Paradise didn't last long after a few weeks of rockin' and rollin' and cleaning and repairing on our way down the coast toward the Bahamas. It was a lot of work! It's easy to forget when she shines so brightly in the sun, resting calmly on her mooring in Whitemarsh Creek.

Echo II looking bright and shiny with her new jibsail

I like it when she's sitting still! It's the sailing--and heeling--in strong winds that make me cringe and sometimes go below and hide under a pillow.

Why can't I stay calm like this confident mariner? (Because she has nine lives!) Boat cat at Holiday Hill Marina; lives aboard one sailboat but is adept at hopping on and off all of them

Pope will confirm there has been little letup in my fear of boating and sailing. Last week he took me along for a brief spin down the Rhode River in order to clean the bottom in slightly cleaner water. Mission aborted: water too cold. But not before causing me one or two minor panic attacks, though: anchoring near a shoal, anchor chain tangled, scanning the water anxiously for my submerged partner.

Where is the rest of Pope????

Ah, there he is, still breathing but too cold for serious underwater scrubbing!

In return for doing most of the work, Pope has most of the fun. Of course, he loves the whole life; he's a lifelong sailor. Since his father lived on a sailboat (shipwrecked off the coast of Florida with Pope aboard), it's in his blood--unlike the sheltered urban upbringing of his landlubber partner and first mate. He does 90% of the sailing, 85% of the work, and 5% of the worrying (that's my job).


Keeping Echo II on a mooring instead of in a slip at the dock means he also has to travel back and forth in a kayak to shuttle tools, parts, and provisions, bringing the boat to the dock only to pick me up when I come to the marina to help out.

Using a little boat to get to the big boat; who needs weight-lifting when you're carrying 10-pound drills and 40-pound kayaks?

In return for my 10% of the sailing and 15% of the work I get to attend parties. Socializing is a big part of the boating life, and the part that has made my adventures and worries worthwhile. Last week, after a long day of scrubbing in the hot sun, we cooled down with a brew at Eastport's "Latitude Adjustment Party." It was an annual send-off for mariners leaving the next morning for the annual Annapolis-Bermuda race. Cross half an ocean? No thanks; I like being in sight of land.

Don't let the empty tables fool you; these sailors are seriously drinking in preparation for days at sea

Mike Lange's Tiki Barbarians band features an island sound, a la Jimmy Buffett

This weekend, Pope returned from a single-handed race on Echo II with a bent stanchion an a few new bumps and loose screws. And so the work continues. And for what adventure are we, especially Pope, spending these seemingly endless days working, working, working, without pay and mostly without play?

Funny you should ask. Just today, I heard someone mention the possibility of another winter in the Bahamas.