Splashdown 2014, and Some Other Important Commentary

Just over 43,000 pounds. That’s how much she weighs dry and unloaded. I just shook my head and thought, ‘Man. I was really hoping for about 10,000 pounds less. This is one heavy boat.’ Even though I knew that SailboatData.com, which says our boat weighs 30,000 pounds, was probably wrong, I didn’t think they would be THAT far off. She is a big girl. Mike went so far as to refer to her as ‘fat’ but I corrected him firmly and said she simply has big bones. Like many a diva, our boat is an Amazon. A blue Amazon. And today we took her for her first spin with us at the helm.

Going down, back to the water.

This day has kept us both awake at night for weeks now. As Mike began to see the light at the end of the long tunnel of work known as ‘repowering’ we both began imagining all the worst kinds of things that could happen when we finally found ourselves on the water in Andromeda. Would we need to deploy the anchor in order to keep the current from whisking us off to sea? (I blame Mike for this dark fantasy.) Would we careen into the fishing boat Sophia as we tried to dock this behemoth of a boat? (This was my own worst nightmare.) Would we crash into the dock ourselves and hurt Andromeda and possibly people standing by watching, mouths agape? Certainly we knew how to handle our Cal 34, Moonrise, but she was a completely different animal. I just wanted this day to be over.

With a 1:00 splash time, we were at the boat and ready. I had asked the gods for a dry spell and, indeed, the clouds had parted to reveal blue skies. I had said my prayers for protection and assistance as I always do and as the engine on the travel lift started up I heard the high pitched screech of eagles overhead. Two adult eagles were flying in tandem just over the boat, talking back and forth to each other, flying close together. Eagles are my special totem and they never cease to thrill me. When I see eagles after a prayer, I consider that my sign that things will be fine. Soon there were six eagles circling high over Andromeda. Excellent! I began to feel at peace and stop worrying. My stomach began to unclench.  While there was a brisk breeze, it was not an unusual breeze for Astoria. Things would be good.

As the travel lift approached, Steve, the lift operator, approached us and asked if we’d like to trade positions with another boat that was going back in the water. We wanted to be able to hang at the dock generally getting the feel of the boat and maybe do a few touch and go’s before returning to the marina. If we didn’t trade positions, we’d need to move out of the way more quickly to make room for the next boat. We chose to trade, and went to the Portway Tavern for lunch.

Our son, Andrew, is a sailor and, obviously, an iphone owner. He came with us to help should any of our dark fantasies come to fruition.

If you go to Astoria and like hamburgers, you cannot go wrong with the Portway Tavern, which hails itself as the longest continuously ‘serving’ tavern west of the Mississippi. Perhaps it is. I know they used to serve more than drinks because there used to be a brothel upstairs. Now they serve delicious food (their fish and chips is something to write home about, too) and you get a side serving of poltergeist activity to spice up your meal. That’s right. According to the cook, there are several resident ghosts who make their presence known by playing little tricks like putting the bread on the floor overnight, or sliding a chair across a room unannounced. When we were there one made its presence known by toppling a bottle of liquor off the bottom shelf behind the bar, onto the floor. Just one bottle, mind you, and it didn’t break. No harm done, but the look on the cook’s face was priceless. We then we got to hear the ghost stories. Makes for a very interesting lunch. There are also several dozen women’s bras hanging from the ceiling. So food, entertainment,  and atmosphere. You can hardly shake a stick at that.

During our time out for lunch the wind picked up smartly. Now we had tide and current going out, and wind coming in. Super. Steve said they were expecting 50 knot winds by nightfall. Probably should not have waited and had lunch. But with six eagles giving us the ‘go ahead’, who knew?

Andrew is first aboard.

The splash went well, the engine started strong and Mike and I were both, in a word, AMAZED at how well that engine pushed that boat through the water. She might be ‘big boned’ but she is nimble as can be and handles like a dream! Our gut feelings about this hull were right on. Regular readers will know this is our first time ever having this boat out on the water, much less being in control of her. We are just a pair of wild and crazy people who bought a boat without ever giving her a test spin because, well, she was the right boat for us. We were both just exclaiming over and over about how responsive she is and how great the three bladed prop is (I’ll never go back to a folding prop), how you can stop her so quickly, how graceful she is on the water… we kind of went on and on. We could feel her coming to life underneath our very feet. Here’s an embarrassing video or two, with plenty of talking over wind. Enjoy.”

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Here’s the one Mike did. It’s equally wonderful. I know you want to see them both.

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I had taken up my usual position at the helm as I used to do on Moonrise when we docked. I was always the ‘driver’, so I just assumed I would be the ‘driver’ this time, too. But then I thought maybe Mike would want to dock her for the first time, as he has worked his butt off on that engine and really deserved it. Also that way if he crashed into the dock it wouldn’t be my fault. Who am I kidding?  Although the current threatened to push us into the marina faster than we felt comfortable, with the powerful engine and reverse thrust, Mike handled her like a pro and came up alongside the dock like he’d been docking her all his life. Andrew stepped off and tied off the middle cleat and she was secured. The rest was easy. And it was done! She was back in the water, we’d had our first small adventure, and now we cannot wait to take her out and play in a quiet location so we can learn the anchoring system and practice handling her. A day that darkened the quiet recesses of our minds for weeks turned out to be just grand after all.

Finally a chance at the helm.

And before I go, I want to give a shout out of thanks to my friend Behan Fravel Gifford, co-captain of S/V Totem and long time blogger. I’d also like to thank my friend Cidnie Carroll, author of the blog Our Life with Ceol Mor. They are “co-captains” (admins) of a wonderful group of women on Facebook called Women Who Sail. Here’s why I’m thanking them:

Our daughter, Claire, is traveling in Europe and the U.K. and a couple of days ago while in Amsterdam she was robbed while she slept in a hostel. Her iphone, passport, credit cards and money were under her pillow. The thief approached her in the wee hours of the morning, slid his slimy hand under her sleeping head, and took everything. He was probably a very experienced fellow. The police seem disinclined to follow up too much.

Although our daughter was not physically harmed, thanks be to God, it is more than a little bit unsettling to be a young woman in a foreign country without any form of identification, and with no one you know. She knew how to take care of business since she is an experienced traveler and an adult, and she had copies of all her documents. But I really wanted someone to take her under their wing; someone from her own country, someone with a small connection to home, even if a thin one. At 4:30 in the morning, after hanging up the phone with Claire, my first thought was to post this issue to the WWS Facebook group. I wrote a rather rambly post asking if there was anyone in the Amsterdam area who would be willing to give Claire a hand. Cidnie saw the post and immediately made it a ‘sticky’, ensuring that the post stayed at the top of the page so everyone would see it. She also posted it to her Facebook page.

I finally fell back to sleep and while I was sleeping the women in other time zones were putting the word out. There were so many responses of support and help that it would be hard to name everyone individually, but I’d like to thank each person who posted and let them know that their support meant a lot to me.

One of the many offers of help for Claire came from Behan and her cousin, Kate, who is a graduate student in Amsterdam. We three connected via Facebook messenger, and I forwarded Kate’s contact information to Claire. I understand they were to meet and have coffee today and I am eternally grateful for that.

It is a new experience for me to be a member of a group that simply jumps into action when one of its members needs help. This is a true community of women, and Behan and Cidnie are both admins, a sometimes thankless and always difficult job.  Thank you so much, Behan and Cidnie, for your generous spirits and for being leaders in the cruising community. Thank you also for understanding that being a mother does not stop when your children turn 18, or even 28.  Your own children are young, and yet you ‘get’ it.  And thank you, Women Who Sail, for being an awesome group of women. I will fly my burgee with pride.

Home for now.

Home for now.

 

It’s Our Wedding Day!

Who knew 32 years ago that we’d be where we are now? That marriage would be so kind to us; that in spite of all the adventures we’ve had what with remodeling houses and raising kids that we’d be looking forward to this new kind of grand escape with Andromeda? We are so amazingly lucky to have 32 years of history to take with us into the future. And I am such a lucky woman to be married to a man I would choose again today, and who puts up with me so completely. Thanks, baby! I love you so much!

I still love his hair and his hands, and I hope I still have that wide-eyed-wonder look.

I still love his hair and his hands, and I hope I still have that wide-eyed-wonder look.

Gods of Scotland: Game. Match.

Just a quick update to say this weekend Mike got the steering set up again so now we have a wheel that turns the rudder. He’s such a smart man. Now he needs to do some kind of fancy thing with the transmission so we’ll know where forward and reverse are located. It’s coming along, folks.

One of many lovely castle ruins.

 

When we last left our tale, we were heading toward the Isle of Skye in a late winter snowstorm having just found out our ferry sailing had been cancelled. We had been automatically rescheduled for the sailing the following morning and were determined to keep the gods from stealing our happiness. Get yourself a hot beverage (with a shot or two included) and let’s continue the story.

We arrived on the Isle of Skye and it was just as wild and wonderful as I had been led to believe. Truly I could spend months there and be content it is so beautiful and has so much to offer in terms of archaeological sites. I was really keen to see some Iron and Bronze age sites and apparently these are common as dirt on the Isle of Skye. We saw exactly one of these, sort of. More on that later. I know you can’t wait to hear it. Try to contain your excitement.

Their graveyards are way better than ours. Stirling Castle in the distance.

Since we had a complete change of plans, we needed a place to stay for the night. No problem, said my well-connected Claire. We would get to Uig (reminder: You-Ig) and find an internet cafe and sit and have tea and she would find us a place by using her trusty computer. There are loads of bed and breakfast places around. Coolio. Really, the new ways with all these electronic gadgets are so much more convenient than the old ways of using a big phone book and a pocket full of change. Sounded like a good plan to me. I am such a sucker sometimes.

Uig has one road to call its own. It goes to the ferry landing. Also, apparently most things are not even open until spring. In certain parts of Scotland, they go into hibernation during the winter, not that I really blame them.  Hotels close down. Services become scarce. And there is no internet anywhere to be found. No open cafe, no nothing. And no cell phone service, either. Just like the old days! We passed through town, noticing many interesting looking bed and breakfast places, all with ‘no vacancy’ signs hanging up. I believe this to be lie. What they should actually say is ‘closed’ because it’s winter.

This is the cute Uig Hotel. Quite a nice place to stay.

Again throwing ourselves on the mercy of the Scots, we pulled into the charming Uig Hotel, just across the street from a cool looking old stone tower overlooking the sea. The wind was so fierce we couldn’t open the huge wooden door to the hotel but we got the attention of the owner inside, got out of the weather, and explained our situation. Really, I can only imagine how pitiful we looked, like something the cat dragged in and tossed around a bit.  They had battened down their hatches to the storm and were fully booked for the night, since we weren’t the only displaced ferry travelers. Hotel owner Anne sat us down in front of a roaring coal fire, put a pot of tea in front of us, and went to discuss our situation with her husband. They decided to open up a back building of the hotel that they called ‘The Lodge’. It wasn’t generally open until spring, but since we were in need…We took it, sight unseen.

The Uig tower, circa 1860 so not old by Scotland’s standards.

Claire settled down with a pot of tea and her book by the fire but I had been sitting all day and wanted a walk. I had discovered that there was a ‘fairy glen’ (I am not making that up) on the road just next to the hotel and decided I would see that during a lull in the rain. And it was totally worth it! I communed with the sheep and took in the vistas, climbing to the top of a rock hill (with the help of a few native fairies) for a better view and a small sense of achievement for the day. By the time I returned to the hotel Claire had received an additional text informing us that the ferry had been cancelled for the following day, sealing our fate. We would not see the standing stones on this trip, and I was pretty bummed out about that. Score one for the gods who said ‘no’.

Entering the Fairy Glen.

From the top of the rocky outcropping in the Fairy Glen. You can just barely make out my car down by the water.

And yet, I found that it was okay because the Isle of Skye is fantastic. What would I see, besides looming stones, on the Isle of Lewis that they didn’t have here? Probably not much. We changed plans. We would buy a map the next morning and set out to spend a day exploring that part of the island, then drive up to Inverness to spend the night. I had a lovely bath in the tub at the hotel and we read books and turned in early, exhausted from a day of battle.

The following day the wind was even stronger, if that can be believed. As we drove down the road, the car shook and shuddered with it and I was glad that the roads were not icy. The weather did make for spectacular water action as waves crashed against the rock lined shores. Determined to see some ancient ruins, I had circled a few things on the  map including an iron age subterranean structure and a fossilized dinosaur footprint. There was also an interesting sounding castle ruin overlooking the sea. Be still my heart! It would be a good day. We pulled up and parked next to the sheep field that housed Iron Age ruin (called a ‘souterrain’) , read the sign, and decided it sounded interesting enough to walk across the field and take a look.

She tried, but even Claire didn’t want to crawl through 10 inches of water and mud into a small underground chamber. Shudder.

This was an underground storage facility accessed by a narrow tunnel and a tiny door. Claire is in love with tiny doors and small spaces so even she felt like braving the wind and rain to get to this place. The sheep moved away from us, their baleful stares following us as we minced across the field, hoping to step on tufts of grass above the water line. There is a reason why sheep are okay out in the mud and rain and people are not. And that reason is footwear. Washington clay has nothing on muddy Scottish sheep fields.  By the time we got to the souterrain, we were anxious to get back to the car and on higher ground with better drainage.

Sheep looking askance at us. They are on top of the structure.

And don’t even think for a minute that we got to explore that ruin. It was filled with several inches of water. So even if we’d had the audacity  to duckwalk our way through the little tunnel (which I don’t, by they way, because I positively loathe small underground spaces) we would have been up to our arses in water and mud. No. Thanks. But by God I saw that ruin on the outside and no one can say I didn’t! I was laughing as I got back into the car. Claire wasn’t, but I was. Definitely. Onward to the castle. The wind was fierce. It was a day to feel alive!

Like all worthy castles, our destination was at the top of a bluff of rocks. The wind was at least 60 miles per hour with gusts up to 70 or so according to the nice man at the Uig ferry station (where I went to get my refund). We sat in the car for a minute and thought about this and frankly, we decided neither of us wanted to die on that particular day, so climbing around on rocks overlooking the sea in that kind of wind was probably not the wisest idea. We would not explore the castle. Insert sad frowny face here.

However, I did want to just take a small peek at it and try to get a photo. Getting out of the car, I was very careful to hold onto the door handle lest the wind gust strongly. Which it did. Very strongly. It ripped the door out of my hand and flung me to the ground like so much litter. I wobbled onto my back in the middle of the road, legs waving insect-like in the air. I distinctly remember thinking ‘I’m falling. Better just go with it and roll’. So I did. And thus rolling from bottom to shoulder, enabled my entire right side to become soaked, if not bruised. I felt strongly that flinging me to the ground was a dirty way to play and that there should be some sort of rule about this kind of thing. Alas, the gods play by their own rules, and they make them up as they go along. I remember playing with kids like that. I didn’t like them very much.

Since I didn’t get a photo of the castle over the sea, here is a different castle on rocks.

One would think that by now we’d had enough and cried ‘uncle’. But one would be wrong because I had exactly one day on the Isle of Skye and who knows if I would ever get back. My plans for standing stones, castles, and iron age ruins may have been thwarted, but there was still a fossilized dinosaur footprint to see and I will go a very long way to see fossils of any kind. Just ask my kids. They will tell you. Onward through the maelstrom. The footprint was off the beaten track and in the lee of the land, therefore protected from the wind. In fact, it felt almost windless. An interpretive sign showed where to find the footprint and explained that it could easily be found at low tide.

If you have shouted ‘hurrah!’ for that, please stop shouting now, although I do appreciate the effort on my behalf. The tide was coming in, and was already covering the rock with the footprint visible. I did not see it. By this time I didn’t actually expect I would. However, not to be completely vexed, I was able to explore the pebbly beach and collect a few stones for people back home. Some of the rocks had small pockets of crystals in them, and some were covered with pyrite! I was in heaven what with rocks, a bit of sunshine for a few minutes, and no wind to speak of. We need to take these small graces from the heavens when they are offered, and be grateful.

See that line of rocks in the center? Somewhere under the water to the left is a dinosaur footprint that I didn’t see.

I would like to say that as we drove away from the island everything resolved itself and the sun began to shine on this trip but that would be a complete lie. We passed Urquhart Castle ruin on Loch Ness. It was closed. Access denied. We pulled into Inverness and Claire did find a dandy little hotel that had a room available. There was a huge party of revelers with Mardi Gras masks on, loudly partying their way into taxis just underneath our window. I found St. Andrew’s church on the river. Closed. On a Sunday. Claire found the little store that she had shopped in on another trip and wanted to return to. Also closed, even though every indication was that they were open on Sundays, even the sign on their door.  Nope. Those gods ruled Inverness. Whatever. I enjoyed the beautiful historic buildings and just walking with Claire along the river.

We decided it was time to start for home in Dunfermline. Our Google said it was a three hour tour. Google is not from Scotland. Google is completely unaware that roads to not travel a straight shot, nor does Google plan on my missing a turn at a roundabout. Sure, Siri will reroute us, but Siri doesn’t care much about whether that route is through high mountain passes with even more snow. So our three hour tour ended up being about twice that long, especially after a stop to see a castle ruin on the Glenlivit estate. It was only 8 miles off the road. How could I pass it by?

On the way home. Lovely!

On the Glenlivit estate. So worth the extra time! Just look at those snowdrops.

By the time we pulled onto the M90 for the last leg of the journey, it was pitch dark and pouring rain and I just wanted to get home safely.  I was tired, and visibility sucked. We garnered our forces and persevered, getting home with only mild bruising on my hip and not a scratch on the car. Ok, perhaps the car doors didn’t close as easily as they should have after the wind whipped them around a bit, but you couldn’t tell this by looking. I do not consider that as ‘counting’ against us.

In spite of our little rumbles with the gods, we had a great time and saw so many beautiful and cool things that I was filled to the brim with happiness.  Final score? Truthfully, I forgot to keep score. I withdrew from the battle and just had fun. For the record, I consider this a win.

A few more photos because I have about 500 of them.

Linlithgow Palace.

Linlithgow Palace and St. Michaels, another church I wanted to see that was closed.

Village of Crail, lest you think I took no photos of boats.

How it’s done when you have a twin keel, which all of the boats in this marina did.

Dunfermline Abbey and friends.

Dunfermline Abbey and friends.