Happy Halloween!

Now, run for your lives!

Sailing in Decline?

Who Cares?

OK, before I piss anybody off, here's my take on this. All my life I've been involved with activities of one sort or another and people have worried in two basic ways. First - our [activity] is being over-run by a bunch of yahoos. None of us are going to be able to enjoy it.

An example of this is the explosion in the surf industry from when I started in the seventies and could go to places like Salt Creek and Trestles and have a peak to myself for an hour or two, to where I now see dozens on every little peak from sunrise to sunset at those same spots. I'm not telling where I go now to avoid the crowds; I'm sure they'll find me soon enough without my providing GPS coordinates.

Mountain biking used to be a solo pursuit for me and I was happy to occasionally see the odd mountain biker (and we are odd, make no mistake) on a hill-top somewhere. Some try and turn the growth that has occurred in this sport into a positive, talking about how the influx of new mtn bikers has resulted in more well-maintained trails, but I find myself seeking out new and more remote spots, that usually require me to drive further out into the wilderness.

The other worry is that our [activity] is dying out. Nobody appreciates it anymore and we need to save it.

Down with this sort of thing, I say.


I know it's a big dang ocean and I'm on not likely to run into too many folks out there, but I'm not convinced that more folks jumping in to sailing will make my sailing more enjoyable. I know it may bring our costs down; is that the hope? But I'm hard pressed to find other reasons to want to encourage the growth.

Maybe the racers want more competition? I can see where that may be a need.

Maybe I'm late to the party; prior to my recent arrival in the wind-powered boating world, there may have been a gilded-age, and some of what I'm hearing from you sailor-types, is similar to the surfer's taunt, "You should have been here an hour ago..." However, I'm happy with what I've found and I look forward to a lifetime of learning and experiencing all I can in the wide-world of sailing.

So, what's my point here? I guess that maybe we all worry about what's happening more than it requires. We have patterns in our minds and fit them to what's going on. The pattern with sailing seems to be, I love it, why is it not the most important thing in the world? People should be as focused on this as they are on [insert latest pop fad here]!

I also believe we fall prey to the illusion that we have a more significant influence over what's happening on this rocketship ride around the sun than we really do. We may be responsible for global warming as a collective, I believe that, however, life unfolds in the way it does and you can put yourself in the path of something major, but you probably can't make anything major happen if it's not gonna happen on it's own.

Would you help this man?

Not sure I want to get involved with this ...



Now they are trying to play on my sympathies ...



Hmm, rule of nines, that would mean that he's missing a couple of appendages, or something ...

Erotic Funky Trombone

We here at Love & Coconuts say, "Up with this sort of thing!"

Update: nice link to a fellow trombone enthusiast, provided by the Docker @ O, which is something like The Story of O, only with more Flemish Coils.

ahem

No racing at all
So far, this fall

But here's a little rhyme
To pass the time

Minimal sailing = minimal blogging

:(

Fall Racing Series

The fall racing series starts today and runs each Sunday for about six weeks. I'm going to try and race a couple of them, even though our boat is certainly not that competitive. We don't have the sail acreage, nor the boat shape to make it much of a racer. In fact, in all but the most incompetent hands, it's a pretty stable boat.

It's more sailing, however it sorts out.

Our First Race Starts ...

The forecast called for eight kts of wind tonight, right around the time the races were meant to happen. I showed up early and launched L&C under a steady 5 kt breeze. Unfortunately, it was blowing out of the South, which is not ideal around here.

Jared came down just before six and said Nathalie with an H was most likely on the way. She's riding her bike to work in support of Bike-to-Work Month here in Portland. I guess it could be an international bike-to-work month, but here in Stumptown it gets a lot of press and ends being a competition with prizes to the company with the most participants.


Jared predicted that Nathalie would tell us how much her butt hurt when she finally showed.

She showed and we launched in a light, 3-5 kts.

We made a couple of tacks, working on our sail handling and weight distribution; we discussed the strategy for racing, at least as much as we knew about it, and then made a run downwind.

Winds became even lighter and shifted to the North briefly. The thermal South was dying out on us in a hurry.

By the time the buoys were in place and the horns blew, the winds were dropping to very light.

We decided to go with the Thistles. Our plan was to follow the fleet and get some experience on a race course. Since the rapidly disappearing wind seemed to be the most important factor tonight, going with the first group away, while there was still a breath of a breeze, was the most attractive option.

The race committee shouted at us, recommending that we go with the last fleet. We answered back, "We are a Thistle. We are seventeen feet."

They laughed and said something like, "Whatever floats your boat," which turned out to be prophetic. As we crossed the start line the wind died completely and it was all we could to hold our spot ten meters inside and upriver from the start buoy. Whatever floated our boat was all we had going for us tonight, 'cause there was nothing propelling it.

Eventually, after much hornblowing, I noticed a blue and white checked flag on the RC boat. I let the crew know that it was all over and we started sculling our way back to the dock.

As I stood in the back of the boat sculling, J and N with an H nuzzled each other near the centerboard and I serenaded the young lovers.

Poor kids.

So, our first race got across the line, the start line. But that was it.


Thankfully, Weenies on the Water showed up in time to feed us after our hard work.

We ended the night by filing a protest with the Race Committee. While preparing for the race we realized we were in distress and put out a general call for aid. The nearest boat was a Thistle helmed by Shannon the Real Sailor. Despite out dire straits, he refused to pass a beer over to us.

We managed to limit the damage and limp back to the dock, but I'm certain that all sailors will see this as one of the deepest transgressions on the Corinthian spirit; a tragedy that could have been avoided with the lightest bit of concern for fellow sailors.

Shamelessly, the aforementioned transgressor, unapologetically lobbied long and hard for one of our beers up on the cliff, post-"race."


As we walked away from the thinning, post-race gathering, a nearly-full moon rising across the river, the lights of Oaks Park twinkling on the water's surface, the squeals of roller coaster riders drifting across the glassy Willamette river, Nathalie with an H said, "My butt really hurts."