Isla Mujeres to Guatemala January 28, 2005

 Isla Mujeres to Guatemala  January 28, 2005

Indiana's Cliff Cooper and Florida's George Huffman were aboard as crew.  Both are experienced sailors and pleasant companions. 

We arrived at Isla Mujeres, Mexico at 2100 hrs on Fri the 21^st. after an easy 3 1/2 day passage from Santa Rosa Bay, next to Ft. Myers Beach, where we had anchored the first evening after running down the river.

The paravanes have saved our behinds as they truly reduce rolling by 80%, as “advertised”.  For example, right now I am typing with the keyboard in my lap in the pilot house perched somewhat precariously on the wooden bar stool navigator's chair.  We are taking 6-8 ft. waves directly on the beam and it would be impossible to ride on this heading without these flopper stoppers (f/s), as known in the vernacular.  We have figured out how to deploy and recover the stainless steel birds and the 30 foot very heavy thick wall aluminum  poles.

…….Owwwwww!  The stool rocked right off the sole and I landed on my back with the chair still in one piece, computer keyboard now minus a space bar, and a cut on my right heel (not another cut!:-).  So much for 80% reduction in roll…but that wave would have turned us turtle without the f/s!

There’s always opportunity for “excitement” aboard Simba.  As we began the entrance to Isla Mujeres harbor, the computer went down so we lost our GPS chart map showing us exactly where we were and identifying all the confusing flashing lights.  We turned to the paper chart.

Owww! (rocked again).  Entering a strange port, especially at night, is always high pulse rate time.  Fortunately the entrance is quite easy (if you’re cool) and we anchored to the west of the main harbor where our paper chart indicated there was plenty of water.

Next morning we went ashore.  The guys went off to explore and I visited the  immigration , customs and sanitation department offices.

My leg wounds received at Bert's in Ft. Myers were healing very slowly, and still looking quite mean.  In addition, the first morning there I discovered a small rash in a personal area, so I checked into the island health center.  There I eventually found a wonderful young doctor who gave me a prescription for the latest malady and told me to come back later with a urine sample to see if what caused the rash had entered my system.  Next day after a long stay in the waiting room, the good doctor strolled in, greeted me like a long lost friend, looked at the lab results and said my system was clean, and said I should drink 3 liters of water a day.  OK, I can do that.  BTW, I was appalled at the poor condition of the island health center.  It needed paint and plaster.  In one bathroom the sole sink faucet was not even connected.

Talked to Bert on the radio aboard Vagabond, a steel trawler like Simba.  He was then six hours out from Isla Mujeres and planned to spend several days on Isla.  I had looked forward to sailing in tandem with Bert, but Cliff Cooper wanted to get back home rather than spend a week to two more on the boat cruising down to Guatemala.  I sent him off to Cancun on the 0530 ferry and then George Huffman and I weighed anchor as we decided we didn’t want to hang out at Isla any longer.

We cruised South to anchor in the dark off of the island of Cozumel, which offers some of the best scuba diving in the world.  We could see McDonalds and Hard Rock Café signs glittering ashore – yuck!  Next day we sailed to the ancient Mayan town of Tulum and spent a night there.  We loved the temples and other buildings. We snorkled but the reef was virtually dead and saw no grouper or other game fish.

 Next day we made it to the very large and shallow Ascension Bay.  In the afternoon we set out in the dinghy to find healthy reefs to snorkel, but the wind and chop made for slow going.  We finally gave up and turned back to arrive at the boat at sunset.

Sailed to Xcalak (pronounced Ishcalak with accent on first syllable) the next day,  We  ran overnight and arrived at 0430 hrs. so had to idle offshore until the sun rose so we could see to get thru the reef.  We found it very arid and hot once one hit the two streets paralleling the shore.  We ate twice at THE little restaurant in town, Conchelita,  run by two nice gals from Canada.  Turns out there are a number of Canadians there.  Two motorhomes were parked in the dusty lot near the small town dock.  One was a converted greyhound bus with a Detroit Diesel 671 like the two I had on my cruise boat Voyageur.  The American owners park and live on the dusty waterfront all winter.   Not for me, but I guess the price is right.  One family flew several kites -- gotta get a kite or two for the boat from Maine.

Protocol demanded we formally clear out of Mexican waters and Xcalak is the last port north of Belize, where we are headed next.  We were told Jorge, the port captain, was a  friendly guy and could process our paperwork quickly.  However, Jorge was away all weekend and even Monday morning we were advised he might not be back until that afternoon.  So fagettabout them papers, we’re outahere!

Set out thru the reef Monday morning (yesterday, the 31^st of Jan., and found the sea quite rough.  I was a bit too casual in preparing for departure; among other things I did not close the portlites so suffered wet bedding in two staterooms.  Thank goodness for the watermaker and the clothes washer.  The appliance can also dry clothes but it takes forever and its fun to fly laundry from lines up on, what George has christened, the Promenade Deck.

We had planned a short run down to Ambergris Cay to check into Belize at San Pedro, but the large seas likely rendered the cut through the reef dangerous, so we sailed on to anchor in the dark behind a cay off the large channel into Belize City.  We had no interest in visiting that port so left this morning (Tues) to sail down the very wide and very CALM! inner channel to Placencia, a neat-sounding little town where we can also check in.  Cruising today, without stabilizers flying and with some portlites open, is like being on Long Island Sound.  We love it.  Have time to make repairs and catch up on sleep, etc.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

We’re leaving here by late morning to go out to the barrier reef, some 15 nautical miles out, where we will snorkel and spend the night.  We may spend the day there tomorrow, if the reef is rich with life.  We’ll next head for the Rio Dulce which is only 6 hours away from there, and cross the much-dreaded off shore sand bar at 5-6pm which will be high tide.

We’ll head up the river to and anchor somewhere and then get the “lay of the land”.

Duckworth Steel Boats, Tarpon Springs,Fl Oct 22, 2004

We were so bold as to attempt to run up the narrow shallow channel into Tarpon Springs in the night.  Naturally we got a bit lost and ran aground, but found a fuel dock to tie up to and did the final quarter mile to the shipyard in the morning.  The yard builds and renovates large fishing boats, including the Viking Starships of Montauk Point, LI which brother Richard knows well.  Bert has used Junior Duckworth’s facility for Vagabond for years, and swears by them.  I came here to finish up some tasks Mike Herring of Mobile had begun, and to have a bunch of other tasks performed which required superior design and assembly skills. 

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Spent November and most of December at Duckworth’s.

Replaced original hydraulic anchor chain windlass with a custom made electric.  Bert spec'd the motor and gearing and Duckworth assembled the unit.  The utility of steel was proven once again for they simply took a torch to cut out the deck plate containing the old windlass and welded in place another on which they had mounted the new.  These people proved to be artists in designing and fabricating the rig.

I installed a five-unit air conditioning and heating system engineered by Bert. I placed units in two staterooms, one between galley and pilot house, and two in the saloon.  I am particularly pleased with the one I installed under the settee.  I hollowed out its back and ran the duct through it and on up to vent near the ceiling behind the window curtain. Flagship Marine of Florida built the individual units.  I wired and plumbed the system.  Cold water is pumped via a thru-hull fitting into a heat exchanger and then voided overboard.  Bert being Bert and an engineer, specified a 2 hp swimming pool pump which produces a jet shooting ten or more feet out the side of the boat.  While some gawkers have studied Simba's beefy 30 foot paravane outrigger poles and asked if she were a shrimper, I fully expect that someday when I am running the a/c system a spectator will ask if she is a fire boat.  A second pump forces fresh water to circulate through the system; Duckworth designed and built a steel atmosphere tank.

I wanted two anchors to be ready at all times so Duckworth installed a second anchor rode channel.  I also had them weld an eye on the bow at the waterline to which I attached a 3/8 inch nylon line and chain hook to absorb anchor rode shock.

The starboard engine had been difficult to start from the onset of this adventure a year ago, so I had it overhauled by George Bell, a marvelous mechanic and fine human being.

A Rough Ride Across the NE Corner of the Gulf October 19, 2004

I left my good friends and long-suffering hosts, Sara & Steve McCoy, my welder friend Mike Herring and family, bike-riding buddy Ken Holland, and departed Dog  River Marina, Mobile, AL for Tarpon Springs, Florida with West Marine’s Gail as crew.  Here our trip on the intracoastal waterway was easy as there was plenty of water under our keel.

Then we went into the Gulf of Mexico at Panama City, Florida, to "cut the corner" and run direct to Tarpon Springs.  Although the forecast was for calm seas, during the night the wind came up and produced 2-4 foot waves right on the nose of the boat. Such small waves are normally duck soup for a boat of Simba's size and deep draft, but they caused the boat to hobby horse.  Again, for Simba, a small problem – right?

Wrong! When I departed Mobile I had two new possessions to carry on Simba.  One was a fast, fiberglass runabout dinghy which I proudly hung from the new pipe davits Mike Herring had created.  The other was a BMW motorcycle I had purchased and ridden down from Rhode Island.  I had hoisted it up to the promenade deck and tied it down to the chocks I had had Mike install for carrying the runabout in rough seas.

The hobby horsing soon caused the dinghy to swing wildly.  We tried to secure it with lines, but one soon chafed through and we could not subdue the wild motions of the new boat and its heavy engine. I feared it might be damaged or even lost.

Sonny Middleton, the owner of Dog River Marina, had urged me to buy and squirt a product called Corrosion Block all over the motorcycle to protect it from salt air corrosion.  I had followed Sonny’s advice.  In addition to handlebar tie down straps running to the chocks, I had secured the rear wheel to the deck railing behind it.  On the intracoastal the bike didn't budge, but now the rocking was causing the motorcycle to lurch forward so hard I feared it might pull the railing loose.  I tried to add more lines to the bike but found the Corrosion Block had been washed off the bike by spray and was now all over the deck surrounding the bike, rendering it more slippery than wet ice.  I tried to crawl to the bike, wishing I had octopus suction cups on my extremities, and saw that the bike’s front wheel was starting to slide sideways.  In a moment the bike fell over, as if in slow motion, with no apparent damage.  Suddenly all was calm up there.   Without wheels to roll on, the bike was tamed like a lassoed calf in a rodeo.  I lashed it down to the dinghy chocks and crawled forward on my stomach to the security of the bimini area where the “Collision" Block had not yet spread.

This little roller coaster ride was a mind opener.  I have since installed four beefy eye bolts forward on the upper deck where there is a six inch step up.  The step serves as a bulwark against which I can strap the front wheel down hard and the rear is secured to the second pair of eye bolts.  And I'll take my chances on salt air corrosion damage over Corrosion Block from now on.  So more rock ‘n rollin for the bike.  While those davits are sure handy on rivers or in harbors, when leaving sheltered waters the runabout goes up on the upper deck where it can be fully secured to chocks without a whimper.

Any Port in a Storm Lake Michigan December, 2003

After that experience in the Detroit River where we took on more fuel than we would ever have a chance to use, we headed on north past the large homes on Grosse Pointe, that well-known dwelling spot of the very wealthy, across shallow Lake St. Clair and up the St. Clair river which separates the US and Canada, to the small city of Port Huron, Michigan, located at the base of north-south running Lake Huron.  We docked at the snow-laden floats of the Port Huron Yacht Club, a small club with smallish slips but a popular, large U-shaped bar.  We moored there three days waiting for a favorable weather window.  This was mid-December and no one, literally no one, ventures out on the Great Lakes, especially the norther lakes of Huron, Michigan and Superior, this time of year if it can be avoided.  The risk of strong winter storms is high and the relatively shallow waters make for sharp, steep waves when the wind gets up.  At this time of year I had read that  all marinas, refuges from storms and sources of fuel, are closed so we knew we might have to run non-stop for about five days.  We would head north on Lake Huron, turn west through the straights of Makinak, then south through Laked Michigan to Chicago, located at its foot. We were forced to enter the Lakes because there was no other way to get from Toronto to points south as the Erie Canal and another to the east, closed in late November.

 

We finally got our window of forecast light to moderate winds and clear skies, and off we went.  We ran north uneventfully for a day and a half.  As we neared the top of Lake Huron I found a small river on the chart with a marina located on it just off the lake.  I figured we were due for a good night's sleep so decided to venture up this virtual creek and try to moor at a slip as I was sure there wouldn't be many boats in the water.  We tied up the boat.  I saw lights on in the marina office, found an unlocked door and entered.  A makinaw-clad man quickly looked up from a ledger and said "Why the heck did you use that door when the one from the parking lot is unlocked?"  I said, Well sir, this was the closest door to my boat."  "Boat!, he exclaimed, whaddaya mean boat?  No one's out this time of year!"  I said, "Well I am, and I wonder if I might have a slip and an electric hookup for the night."  "Well I'll be darned, who would belive this!" he exclaimed.  "Let me see what you have".  We slipped and slid our way along the docks on the ice to Simba, looking proud and undaunted in the very cold night air.  The gentleman, who turned out to be the marina owner, was tickled pink to have us as guests and insisted we stay the night for free, not even charging us for electricity which had to be considerable considering we had to run five electric heaters to keep the temperature above freezing.

 

The next morning we ran under high, long Mackinac Bridge connecting Michigan's lower and upper peninsulas, and west across the Straights of Mackinac.  By noon we had entered the northern tip of Lake Michigan.  The wind began to increase steadily and mid afternoon I was doing my darndest to find a port to put into fearing we would otherwise have a most unpleasant night.  The only place that looked like it might provide some shelter was a mere blip on the chart named Port Inland.  It had a breakwater behind which it appeared we might take shelter.  We needed to turn north toward the port, but the waves were now six to ten footers out of the southwest and had a lot of punch to them.  I was leery of turning broadside to them, as if one caught us right it could heel us over dramatically.  And, to be truthful, all afternoon the heavy spray from the waves had been causing an ice buildup on the deck which I knew had to have raised our center of equilibrium, not a good thing.  I knew we would roll dynamically if a wave caught us wrong.  So the trick was to keep pointing into the waves at about a forty five degree angle, and then when I could see a smaller wave coming, I could put the helm over quickly and take it astern rather than broadside.  There was only one hitch to this plan...I had to be able to find that smaller wave but now my visibility had dropped markedly.  Not only was there spray constantly hitting the outside of the pilot house windows, but condensation continually threatened to completely cloud the insides.  I had purchased two clip-on twelve volt fans at an auto parts store in Detroit and had them both oscilatting back and forth and blowing air at highest speed on the windows which up to now had kept the condensation at bay.  However now, perhaps because of a sharp drop in temperature, they couldn't keep the windows clear.  I had a crewman wiping them with a towel also, but it was impossible to have a continuous good view of the seas.  At what I thought was a good opportunity, I swung the wheel over.  The boat began to roll to starboard, and rolled...and rolled...to the point that both crew, very experienced on much larger boats at sea, shouted out with alarm.  I spun the wheel back to right the ship and you could hear the breath exhalations of relief from the men (I, of course, had to make on as if such extreme rolls were just a matter of course for me...)

 

It was now growing dark and I simply had to change course.  I strained to see through the pilot house windows, and finally saw what I hoped was a smaller wave and again put the wheel over.  This time the wave was smaller and only caught our port quarter toward the stern, so while we rolled hard again, we managed to stay upright and were now pointing for Port Inland.

 

The chart showed a red light on the end of the breakwater, but due to the poor visibility we couldn't spot it with the glasses.  We had to rely on the accuracy of our GPS-driven Nobeltec moving chart plotter to get us to safety.  We could see the boat-shaped icon representing Simba moving straight for the breakwater and, as we slipped past the rock barrier, we finally saw the flashing red.  Almost immediately the boat stopped rocking and ahead we could see numerous white lights at ground level and , some rising at angles high into the night sky.  We decided we were entering a huge sand or gravel storage and distribution installation.  A couple of hundred yards ahead we saw some kind of dock and made for it.  But when we were still a good distance away, the boat began to slow of its own accord, and soon came to a halt.  Perplexed, as I still had the engines in gear at a quarter throttle, we shone a spotlight on the water...to find it was a slurry of ice!  I put the gears in neutral and told the crew we couldn't dock but would have to anchor.  Not a problem, except the anchor and windlass were now covered in four or more inches of ice.  I broke out a fire ax and crow bar I had in the engine room lazarette, and the crew went to work chopping away at the anchor and chain.  I remember thinking it's a good thing our deck was steel!

 

When we were first brought to a halt the ice slurry was undulating with the motion of the small waves inside the breakwater.  But after a few minutes of work I glanced overboard again and saw that the motion of the slurry had stopped and that we now were in fact surrounded by a solid and thick sheet of ice.  I raced to the pilot house, slammed the gears into reverse and gave the engines full throttle. There was a horrendous grinding noise from the stern as the three foot diameter propellers began chopping the ice.  I held my breath, envisioning a long cold winter iced in at little Port Inland,  Michigan.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Simba began to move rearward as the props ground away.  We inched backward it seemed for ever until, with a mighty surge, we broke free.  The crew managed to chop and pry the the anchor, windlass and chain free as I backed down the open water to the breakwater where we swung around and successfully dropped the hook.

 

None of us wanted to eat then, or even doff our gear.  Flooded with relief that we wouldn't be spending the winter in Northern Michigan, we all had now had only one thought in mind: "We're finally safe so let us us sleep, blessed sleep!" 

An Unforgettable Salute June, 1990 Atlantic Ocean

It was the summer of 1990.  The aura of glasnost had warmed relations between the US and Soviet Union.  Iraq had invaded Kuwait and Soviet leaders applauded the moves our country was making to counter it.  

I was sailing my 48 foot aluminum sailboat, Simba, back to the US from Spain.  I had a crew of two to help.  The first three days we were in dead calm and had to motor.  Then one night we were listening to the 11:00 PM daily Coast Guard weather forecast out of Portsmouth, Virginia on our shortwave radio.  Although it was June, the most favorable time to cross the Atlantic according to the historic weather information sources I had consulted, we were warned that an unusual dangerous storm was forming over the Eastern US and was likely to come straight across the Atlantic at us, arriving in two days.  The storm was predicted to gain force and have hurricane force winds.  The diameter of the low was predicted to expand to 1400 miles, a very large storm indeed, and one we were unlikely to be able to avoid unless we took quick action.  I turned the boat due south and kept that heading for two days, not wanting to have anything to do with this huge storm.

We successfully avoided the low and, when we finally turned west, we were treated to a strong breeze out of the north northwest which enabled us to make a fast 8 knots directly toward Maine, our destination.
 

We held this course, and enjoyed the favorable wind for seven days.  However, one of the crew developed a urinary tract infection which rendered him virtually comotose, so the other crewman and I had to run the boat.  We reduced sail every night as a precaution against a sudden wind force increase, and stood watch, on the lookout for wind direction shifts and other ships.  Even though it was June, it was cold at night, out on deck at the wheel and handling the sails.  I remember cursing one night at the discomfort I felt, shivering in the strong wind even though wearing sweaters and foul weather gear.

One afternoon as we approached Sable Island, east of Canada, my active crewman called down the companionway to me that we were being followed.  "Followed?", I shouted back as I dunned my foul weather gear, "What do you mean?"  He explained that a ship, the size of a small freighter, had been sailing south when he first saw it, but had changed to our westerly course and was slowly approaching us from astern.  He asked if he could hail the ship on the VHF. 

He hopped on channel 16, announced that he was aboard a sailing vessel headed west, and gave our approximate lattitude and longitude.  He asked the identity of the motor vessel following our boat.  Over the VHF we heard a babble of voices for a half minute or so, and then an authoritative deep voice asked for the name and nationality of our vessel in broken English.  At this point my crewman gave me the mike.  I said "Captain, we are the American sailing vessel Simba with a crew of three, bound for Islesboro, Maine."  Again we heard a babel of voices in a foreign language and then, "Shimba, Shimba, you only three out here?  Is true? Brave Americans you! Brave Americans you!"

After another chorus of background voices, the captain said "We are motor vessel Skapeta, scientific research ship, with 150 scientists and 150 crew."  After more background chatter, the captain said, "Shimba, Shimba, is.... okay we come closer?"  I said "Yes, please do."  The ship, approximately 300 feet long with three decks, came within a few hundred yards of us and then, "Shimba, Shimba, is okay we pass you to...(background babbel)...to schtarboard?"  I assured the captain he could do so, and slowly the ship drew abreast.  It was only some 50 yards to starboard, and we saw that apparently all the scientists, men and women, plus most of the crew, were lining the railings.  They were waving and applauding and cheering us, honoring us with a marvelous celebration.  First stunned, we then waved enthusiastically and shouted back inane greetings like "We love you too, we do!"  Suddenly the Russian ship's horn let out a mighty prolonged blast...and then two more.  I reached inside the doghouse, grabbed my little compressed air horn, and gave three weak "bleeps" in reply.

Skapeta forged ahead a half mile or so and then turned south onto her original course.  Only then did I become aware of how grubby we looked. We were unshaven and clad in soiled foul weather gear.  I shouted to the crew in dismay, "And we didn't even have our colors flying!"

Just then a familiar voice hailed us on the VHF: "Shimba,Shimba, is there...(babble babble) is anyting ve can do for you,... food, schlupplies?"  I thought a moment and replied, "Captain, thank you so much!  As a matter of fact after such recent heavy weather our boat is a mess.  Do you suppose you could spare us three young ladies to offer assistance?"  There was silence, then babble, then apparently laughter -- but no girls.  A minor disappointment in an amazing day.

    

A Christmas Present for Simba Dec. 26,2010

I have been here in the St. Marys boatyard for six weeks or more and have relied on library books and an occasional DVD for entertainment.  I have had no TV as there is no cable here, and have been too busy to miss it.  However, work has slowed during the holiday season and a few days ago I realized I would not be able to see any college bowl games on New Years Day.  Bummer!

Almost no one used TV antennas in Brunswick.  The nearest stations were located far away in Jacksonville and Savannah.  But it occurred to me that here in St. Marys, some thirty miles closer, one might be able to pick up the Jacksonville stations.  With the idea percolating in my mind, I had Xmas eve dinner on friends' boat here and they had a TV. Hey, look at that! The TV was several years old, and the picture a bit grainy, but it served to prove to me that I should get a marine antenna like theirs and test it on Simba.

Christmas day I itched to get shopping, but obviously couldn't but planned out where I would locate the antenna and got West Marine's number to call the next day, which I did.  It was Sunday but they were open.  The West Marine store I called didn't have what I needed, but another store in the city did.  I drove down and bought it, woofing down a hot dog, soda and sundae at the nearby Costco to make this a truly worthwhile trip, and returned to the boat.

Although the wind was up and so cold I had to wear gloves, I climbed up on top of the aluminum bimini with a drill tools and installed the antenna base on the radar arch, some 40-50 feet off the ground.  Thirty feet of wire came with the antenna but it was four feet short of reaching the TV in my saloon, so I drove eight miles to Lowes to get more.  It's a good thing I did, because Lowe's no longer carries the R59 wire as it has been found inferior for digital TV.  (About a year ago the FCC suspended analog broadcasting so it's now all digital.)  I bought plenty of approved R6 wire and returned.   I installed connectors on the wire ends.

It was now dark out, and the wind even higher, but of course I had to test out the antenna and see if I had any kind of picture on my glorious wide panel TV.  With a small LED flashlight I climbed up on the bimini again and attached the new wire to the antenna disk.  Warning myself not to fall at this point, so close to a possibly successful conclusion, I carefully climbed down to the "promenade deck". 

Inside I hooked the antenna wire up to a pre amp and turned on the TV.  I went through the steps required to change the TV input from cable to antenna.  I used the clicker to move up the channels.  From 2 to 6 I got nothing but grainy grey. But at 7 the screen came alive with color.  I had TV!  More than that, I had a magnificent picture.  I was astonished.  The picture was better than the cable in Brunswick.  It was as good, perhaps somehow even better, than the cable HDTV at my sons.  Wow!

MERRY CHRISTMAS, SIMBA!

Really Big Thanksgiving Day Potluck Dinner NOVEMBER 25, 2010 ST. MARYS, GA

My Turkey Day dinner was a cruisers' potluck dinner held at a local restaurant, supplied by scores of folks and attended by probably over 300 people.  People who cruise are not the weekend sailors u see at marinas, who often do as much drinking as sailing.  These are, in the main, interesting doers who are seeking adventure.  I sat with a couple who have sailed from Australia, and a Nebraska couple who are a long way from the cornfields or wheatfields and having a ball.  The latter couple sold their home two years ago and have been liveaboards ever since.   They worked the Annapolis boat shows the past two years, for a paltry sum, and said they had a ball meeting and working with others also devoted to the nautical life.  They must be in their 50's or older and are in great shape and appeared very happy, as were the Aussies.  I met several Canadians who were in their 30's-50's and was impressed how attractive and well-spoken they were. 
Boaters were asked to bring a dish for 8, so there were tons of food, and what I ate was delicious.  When I met one of the organizers last week at the regular Friday morning cruisers gathering at another restaurant, I did my best to look helpless while saying I wished I could bring something, and she awarded me the task of supplying 250 name tags (someone else was assigned this task also, perhaps another 250 I imagine!   This Thanksgiving week fete has grown like topsy.  The beautiful St. Marys harbor was decorated with at least 50 newly-arrived yachts of all shapes and sizes.
As the day was magnificent, I had bicycled the five or so miles to town and relished the opportunity to ride some of the meal off on my return.
Cap'n Lynn