Bizarre

One morning this first week of August, I was listening to Nino Rota’s film music. It was soothing in an odd way. If you are unfamiliar with him, go to YouTube and listen to the music, and then watch the movies. He is famous for writing the scores for The Godfather and for the eccentric Italian director Federico Fellini’s movies. If you have never watched any of these, you are in for a treat.

It is Italian music at its finest, an offbeat mix of serious and comical, even farcical. It reflects the bizarre world the Italians found themselves in during the 50’s and 60’s: a time not far from the devastation of WWII.

This music is a perfect background for the world we find ourselves in; no, more the world we are trapped in. The country is barely recognizable. Our worst tendencies are sanctioned to retain power at any cost.

America has become a country that sits back and lets its young men slaughter families, friends, and children for no other reason than pure misguided hate. And to make the unthinkable even stranger, we not only continue to encourage them but also to arm them.

Fellini’s films are about the absurd. They are extreme depictions of life that seem unreal at first viewing. But after some thought the tangible world make his films tame.

In my profession, there was the constant threat of malpractice. We armed ourselves with high value insurance and even higher value preventative measures. Of course, the best approach is to strive to do the best job possible: to ignore the threat, and practice responsibly and treat everyone with respect.

I find this lacking in our leaders. They have put the country at risk by ignorance at best and malice at worse.

In my 66 years, the country has been through traumatic events: unjust wars, assassinations, riots, massive economic fraud, homeland attack, political suppression and maleficence, and environmental carnage. A short search of Wikipedia will bring up the specifics. Somehow, this feels different.

Where there was hope and enthusiasm, it seems crushed under a mass of electronic media. Other than reading an opinion piece or watching Walter Cronkite on television, I was left to my own thoughts. Ideas simmered for hours or days. Conclusions were reached, not forced by a millisecond turnaround time.

There was no stress to broadcast opinions because no one particularly cared. Friends reinforced each other, and families did what families always do (or did), stuck together despite differences.

When I tried to write a coherent conclusion to this commentary, I could not. To use logic to ferret out a solution does not seem possible. Of course, we should try but not be surprised if the effort is futile. Now that is bizarre.

August, 2019

Once

Today was one of those days; up at 5:30, a quick breakfast then the pre-cruise inspection. There was 75’ of anchor chain laid out between Cross and Mink Islands, and it needed the mud hosed off most of the chain before our scheduled departure at 6:45.

I said it was one of those days, so the reason for the 6:45 departure was to arrive at the Quoddy Narrows at the last vestige of Maine in time to reach the Lubec Narrows Bridge at 10:18. And the reason for this was (for once) to try to cross from the Atlantic Ocean to the Passamaquoddy Bay at High Slack tide when the water would be calm.

If we reached it at the proper time then the current under the bridge will be minimal. If not then it makes for a hair-raising experience, as the entire bay begins to lower itself by twenty feet and much of its water passes under this bridge.

To reach the bridge at Hugh Slack tide is the theory, alas, we have yet to succeed coordinating the variables involved. Some of these include integrating the low and high slack currents with the timing of low and high tide. Another is the time zone: Eastern Daylight and Atlantic Daylight time, which here exists directly across from each other. And then there is the lack of data concerning the current at the Lubec Narrows. All these make timing the transit difficult to pin down. So far, we have been off by plus or minus an hour.

The timing error becomes apparent as Carrie Rose is being sucked through (if it is low to high tide), or struggles to transit the two bridge pylons of the Lubec Bridge (if it is high to low tide). Of course, it is not quite that simple. There are strong eddies above and below the bridge.

If there is one thing I know about Carrie Rose, if I fully engage the throttle she will plant her stern deep into the water and go straight. I have only had to do this a few times, most notably on the New Jersey coast and now in northernmost Maine.

At this point in my boating career I should know I better, but as we say in the Tea Ceremony: One meeting, one time. Each attempt is unique. I should end this tale now but there is more. Please feel free to stop reading at any time. You will not hurt my feelings.

As I mentioned above, we left Cross Island in Maine early this morning. A horrendous dream awoke me and I got up to look around. The entire anchorage was shrouded in fog. I could barely see the glow from Sir Tugely Blue’s anchor light. I crawled back into bed and I awoke at 5:30.

The surrounding fog was gone, but this was nature being deceitful. It did not take long for the fog to enveloped us once out onto the Atlantic. To add to the fog there was squall after squall. Their only benefit being to temporarily blow the fog away.

More events took place: whirlpools, a pissed off (I did inadvertently yelled at him) hulk-like Canadian border patrol agent, and more cold rain and fog.

Now on our mooring, the rain has stopped, the winds have calmed, and the cloud ceiling has risen. There may even be a sunset, and tomorrow it is predicted to be sunny and in the 70’s. All is well.

Oh, did I forget to mention that the water hose popped off the hot water heater and sprayed 50 gallons of water over the engine room (an easy fix if you can believe it) as we approached the Narrows. I think it is time to have a glass of wine, a bite to eat, and go to bed!

July 2019