1. first entry (alexandria) -wip-
NEW WRITE
I was on deck when dawn morning sun rose, a blurry silver disk low in the east. It was cool and damp. I was still in my light bedclothes but wanted to be on deck to look about and to check the anchor rode. I also wanted to sweep the deck clear of the tacks I'd scattered around before bedding down last night and place them back into their little storage tin to take below. Besides, these were practical tasks until the chai came to a boil on the little safety burner below.
The tacks were an old trick Josh Slocum had passed on to my grandfather for when those cruising alone in aboriginal waters. It turns out that bare feet are susceptible to sudden and intense pain when punctured by tacks, which will induce screams followed by splashing and cries in the water when a deck tack is encountered at night. It works as a superior alarm to gunfire in most locations.
When I finally had a few moments to settle back against the cockpit rail and reflect on what brought me to this morning anchored safe distance in the lee of this small presumably mostly uncharted island a few miles southwest of Madagascar. Today marks the first full day and first official log entry of my first real command. Though I sail alone I am still in command of a 32-foot sloop-rigged ketch, and though I feel competent that I will master her, the Indian Ocean shall be a daunting place to be learning her lines.
This is another reason I'm choosing to linger here, lay-by-and-by on anchor, enjoy these slow final sips of chai and just lay back and enjoy this warming morning sun atop the cabin top. Soon enough the breeze will freshen, I'll choose a conservative headsail, likely the heavy 110 jib, set the main for full, but ready for an early afternoon reef. This will be my first real real passage aboard 'Nalini'. Bless us all that the Good Lord can muster, for after all, He knows of the misfortune and torment that brought me from Oakland to wherever He chooses to lead me now.
I was about to roll myself over from the cabin top and plop back down to the deck when something suddenly plopped firmly and landed squarely on the center of my chest. It didn't land hard, like rock or hunk of wood, it felt more like a sail bag, or twenty-foot coil of rope. Still, it knocked the breath out of me, stopped my heart, and then caused it to race with in fight or flight surge of adrenaline. I hadn't felt this way since falling from the upper spreaders of 'Uncle Robert's 60-foot foot-racing sloop 'Orion'.
~~~
Being the lightest person onboard I was asked, not ordered, to be hoisted up the might 'Orion's" mast on a spare halyard to free the spinnaker which had wrapped around the spreader but the shackle I was attached to failed. I free-fell forty feet, just missing the deck, most of me splashed into the water and scraping along next to the speeding yacht. Most of me, except my right forearm, which glanced the starboard gunnel broke with enough sound for the entire crew to hear. My uncle was over the side directly with a flotation device attached to a length of line uncoiling behind him. He was with me in the water before I even knew what had happened;
In the same instant the Mate, Bill, took the wheel and command of 'Orion'. The crew, all old hands, and old friends acted expeditiously and as one performing their man-over-board protocol. I was rescued and aboard before I really knew what had happened. Once below deck a crude splint was carefully applied to my arm and some rum was carefully administered for my pain. Two trusted mates stood by to tend to my every need, after all, I was only fourteen, and the captain's niece.
Meanwhile, above deck, the men were racing to head up and reach back up through The Gate and across the Bay cutting in front of Alcatraz towards City to make better time. The crew was uncharacteristically late in dropping 'Orion's sails at Hyde Street Pier which they figured was nearest to Saint Francis Hospital. Both the ship and the pier were badly damaged before we were tied up, but I was already placed on a rickshaw and on my way up the hill through Chinatown to the hospital by then.
~~~~
-dp-
But this thing that has landed on my chest seemed not only soft, but warm, and now that I've calmed down, I can tell that it's breathing! Oh, god, It's an animal! What kind of animals live at sea? Could it have been trapped on board all this time? Had it come over on the tender? But wait, it was purring, and I felt sharp pin-like or maybe tack-like pricks in my chest. I raised my head and a cat was staring down at me, looking as though he, or she, had just conquered me.
Being startled I rolled from the cabin cabin top giving this stray cat just enough time to dig its rear paws into my belly and leap to the deck in front of me. The cat sat there, looking up at me, tail sweeping back and forth across the deck. I just look down at this cat, hands on my hips bewildered. How could this be? This cat looked exactly like my recently murdered father's cat, Dirty Socks. His father had an identical cat of the same name.
Could the all be from a long line of mousers?
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
I was on deck when dawn morning sun rose, a blurry silver disk low in the east. It was cool and damp. I was still in my light bedclothes but wanted to be on deck to look about and to check the anchor rode. I also wanted to sweep the deck clear of the tacks I'd scattered around before bedding down last night and place them back into their little storage tin to take below. Besides, these were practical tasks until the chai came to a boil on the little safety burner below.
The tacks were an old trick Josh Slocum had passed on to my grandfather for when those cruising alone in aboriginal waters. It turns out that bare feet are susceptible to sudden and intense pain when punctured by tacks, which will induce screams followed by splashing and cries in the water when a deck tack is encountered at night. It works as a superior alarm to gunfire in most locations.
When I finally had a few moments to settle back against the cockpit rail and reflect on what brought me to this morning anchored safe distance in the lee of this small presumably mostly uncharted island a few miles southwest of Madagascar. Today marks the first full day and first official log entry of my first real command. Though I sail alone I am still in command of a 32-foot sloop-rigged ketch, and though I feel competent that I will master her, the Indian Ocean shall be a daunting place to be learning her lines.
This is another reason I'm choosing to linger here, lay-by-and-by on anchor, enjoy these slow final sips of chai and just lay back and enjoy this warming morning sun atop the cabin top. Soon enough the breeze will freshen, I'll choose a conservative headsail, likely the heavy 110 jib, set the main for full, but ready for an early afternoon reef. This will be my first real real passage aboard 'Nalini'. Bless us all that the Good Lord can muster, for after all, He knows of the misfortune and torment that brought me from Oakland to wherever He chooses to lead me now.
I was about to roll myself over from the cabin top and plop back down to the deck when something suddenly plopped firmly and landed squarely on the center of my chest. It didn't land hard, like rock or hunk of wood, it felt more like a sail bag, or twenty-foot coil of rope. Still, it knocked the breath out of me, stopped my heart, and then caused it to race with in fight or flight surge of adrenaline. I hadn't felt this way since falling from the upper spreaders of 'Uncle Robert's 60-foot foot-racing sloop 'Orion'.
~~~
I was asked to be hoisted up the mast on a spare halyard to free the spinnaker which had wrapped around the spreader but the shackle I was attached to failed. I free-fell forty feet, just missing the deck, most of me splashed into the water and scraping along next to the speeding yacht. Most of me, except my right forearm, which glanced the starboard gunnel broke with enough sound for the entire crew to hear. My uncle was over the side directly with a flotation device attached to a length of line uncoiling behind him. He was with me in the water before I even knew what had happened;
In the same instant the Mate, Bill, took the wheel and command of 'Orion'. The crew, all old hands, and old friends acted expeditiously and as one performing their man-over-board protocol. I was rescued and aboard before I really knew what had happened. Once below deck a crude splint was carefully applied to my arm and some rum was carefully administered for my pain. Two trusted mates stood by to tend to my every need, after all, I was only fourteen, and the captain's niece.
Meanwhile, above deck, the men were racing to head up and reach back up through The Gate and across the Bay cutting in front of Alcatraz towards City to make better time. The crew was uncharacteristically late in dropping 'Orion's sails at Hyde Street Pier which they figured was nearest to Saint Francis Hospital. Both the ship and the pier were badly damaged before we were tied up, but I was already placed on a rickshaw and on my way up the hill through Chinatown to the hospital by then.
~~~~
-dp-
But this thing that has landed on my chest seemed not only soft, but warm, and now that I've calmed down, I can tell that it's breathing! Oh, god, It's an animal! What kind of animals live at sea? Could it have been trapped on board all this time? Had it come over on the tender? But wait, it was purring, and I felt sharp pin-like or maybe tack-like pricks in my chest. I raised my head and a cat was staring down at me, looking as though he, or she, had just conquered me.
Being startled I rolled from the cabin cabin top giving this stray cat just enough time to dig its rear paws into my belly and leap to the deck in front of me. The cat sat there, looking up at me, tail sweeping back and forth across the deck. I just look down at this cat, hands on my hips bewildered. How could this be? This cat looked exactly like my recently murdered father's cat, Dirty Socks. His father had an identical cat of the same name.
Could the all be from a long line of mousers?
