Swab the poopdeck ya Scurvy dog! (CB)

CB 11 February, 2007
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After the last story about the raccoons on Blake Island, which by the way took place about two years ago, I thought we should venture back over to the island see if the situation had improved any since we had been there last. Unfortunately for you the reader, it had, and the Ranger is alive and well. There were no raccoon related incidents this week. Actually, we had this weekend trip planned long before I posted that story, but what a lovely segue.

The plan was to sail over Friday night after work and meet up with our friends on their boat Ghost. There were a few other boats from the marina planning on going over as well, so it was shaping up to be a pretty fun weekend.

My buddy Dan and a friend of his Erin were going to crew over and stay with us for the weekend on our boat and we were giving another friend of ours, Rich, a ride over as well. He was gonna stay aboard Ghost and crew back with them on Sunday. We had a great time on the island, drank alot, ate way too much and did some hiking/Geocaching and I went clamming for the first time. Oh and our alternator died on us as well, which made for a slightly colder, damper weekend than it should have been, but it’s nothing a couple boat units and busted knuckle or two can’t fix/replace.

Hang on….hang on, Ya know what, that last paragraph made me change my mind as to what this post is gonna be about. Actually not the whole paragraph, but one word used twice in a certain context changed my mind. The word I’m talking about is the word “crew”. Go back up and reread the first two sentences of the previous paragraph…seriously….go ahead, I’ll wait…….

…….

Done? Good.

Now did you notice that I said that our friends Dan, Erin and Rich were going to crew over with us and Rich was going to crew back on Ghost? Crew! Our friends were going to crew over with us. Not join us, not ride over, not hangout on our boat, but crew. They had gone from a chill little weekend to being unpaid crew on a boat. What the…?

In real life I’m a 39 year old Network Engineer that goes to work in an office in the year 2007. But the second I step aboard my boat or tell a story that involves mine or a friends boat, I immediately become a salty one eyed sea captain from the year 1807.

Back when we had a house it was: “Hey come on in, make yourself at home! Beers in the fridge.” Now it’s: “Welcome aboard, go below and stow your gear in the aft cabin. Rums in the locker…..Beer? It’s still in the fridge” (which is in the galley instead of the Kitchen). I said I became a salty sea captain, not lice eating Neanderthal.

Tell someone to tie a loose rope off!? HA!, That would never happen, not on my boat. It’s “Could you sheet in the Jib a bit” or “heave on that halyard”. Step off the boat and I’ll be the first to ask you to hand me that pile of rope, unless one end is attached to the boat, then it’s a line. Weather its the bow line, stern line or midship spring line all depends on which one I need and believe me, when I ask for it, i’ll let you know exactly which one and which cleat to make it fast to.

If were riding around in my jeep, I’ll turn a corner and not utter a word. I could careless if your ready for it or not or if you spill your Big Gulp all over your lap, but when I decide to change direction on the boat and the sails are up. You will know well ahead of time. First I’ll pose the question, “should we tack”? Or “I think I’ll tack”, which means some crew member (Friend) will grab the leeward working sheet (rope tied to a sail) and wait for more orders from the Captain (me…yeah right). Then comes “Ready about!?”, which means “are you ready for me to turn the damn boat”. This is followed by the command, “Helms a lee” or “I’m turning the damn boat”. Then “Break” which means, they let go of the leeward sheet (rope) and they or another crew member grabs the formerly loose windward sheet (rope) and hauls (pulls) it in tight as it becomes the new leeward working sheet (rope). On our boat we also say at the last minute, “Grab the burrito!”. I’m not sure of the prevelence of burritos in the 1800s on sailing vessels, but this one is our stupid inside joke.
At this point I’m content, but the other captain on the boat (Tawn) will then call for the sails to be sheeted in and trimmed so all tell-tales are flying (this make boat go faster). She’s grew up racing boats. If you translated this to 1800s captain styles. She’d be the rich and successful merchant captain with a fast sleek ship that got all the cargo from point A to point B in the fastest time possible. I would be the rum soaked pirate capt’n that bounces from port to port looking for nothing to do. This is what makes our boat work as well as it does.

Left is port. Right is starboard. A window is a porthole but it’s pronounce portal. The steering wheel is the helm but it could be a tiller. We piss in the head. Try that on land and your probably gonna get your ass kicked, depending on whose head it is. A knot is a unit of measure, not a tangle of rope. On a boat, each tangle of rope (knotted line) gets it’s own individual name and each one has a purpose. Land is “the hard”, and we go gunkholing on weekends, tying not to gunk to many hulls.

On land I could careless about little details such as these, but somehow on a boat it all makes sense and I get into it. And as far as I can tell, power-boaters are not as afflicted by this as much as sailors are.

There is not a reason for or an answer to this post, but come down the dock sometime and we’ll splice the main brace (have a drink) and I’ll tell you all about the sailing lexicon, or at least as much as I know or can make up.

Posted in CB, Palarran, Tawn, Weekend trips | Leave a comment

Raccoons becoming AGGRESSIVE!!…. Part II (CB)

CB 6 February, 2007
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When we last saw our hero’s they had just returned from a bonfire party and had just laid down to a peaceful nights sleep

Click here for Part I

…………

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…..what is THAT??!!!”

I have a very, VERY short list of way I like be woken up in the middle of the night. This way is NOT on that list.

What is what? I reply, wanting to go back to sleep.

“That! On the table…Oh shit! RACCOON!!! It’s a raccoon” She said, pointing towards the table about 7 feet away from my head.

I’m now scrambling awake, trying frantically to untangle myself from the little beddy time burrito I’ve rolled myself into while I slept. I’m having a hard time of it, but manage to get myself rolled over and propped up on my elbows. Sure enough, there he was sitting on his dirty little ass, leaning back against the wall, eating from an open can of Planters Party Mix peanuts.

The word that comes to mind to describe him and they way he was eating those peanuts is, chillin, we was simply chillin. Kicked back, lazily eating one nut at a time. He would grab one, look at it and pop it into his mouth. Not a care in the world. The picture would be perfect if he had an cold bottle of beer in his other hand. Instead that hand was resting on his plump little belly.

As I’m watching this show unfold, I vaguely hear Tawn say “I’ve got a plan”.

“Huh?”

“I’ve got a plan.” She whispered back.

“A plan for what?” I countered.

“A plan to get that raccoon out of the boat”.

Weird as it may sound, until just then, I had not really considered that we actually had a problem. I’m not sure what I was thinking, or if I was thinking at all. I had not even thought about how we were going to get this little bastard out of our boat and more importantly our dwindling party mix supply. And I just know he was picking out and eating just the cashews and leaving the stupid regular peanuts…greedy bugger.

“What is the plan?” I asked.

She quickly and quietly proceeds to tell me the plan. It involved her stealthily crawling out of the forward hatch (to safety), which was directly above our heads. Then quietly walking to the rear of the boat and lifting the canvas tarp that was covering the companionway, she would then yell at the raccoon. Which in, Tawn’s mind, would force the raccoon to run out the way he came in.

Now, in my mind, which I might add is a little more in tune with that of a wild animal’s than Tawn’s apparently is, I instantly pictured a very different, very scary scenario. One that involved me and a pissed off raccoon, hopped up on free peanuts, locked in mortal combat. All in the cramped space of a V-berth on a 27 foot sailboat, and I with the distinct disadvantage of being rolled up in a blankie burrito with nothing but my head sticking out.

“Sweet lord, NO” I began to say. But it was too late; Tawn had already disappeared up and through the hatch.

I could hear her walking across the deck. My eyes locked on the raccoon, one thought raced through my mind….could this raccoon become aggressive? I had nothing to write on, no way to warn others of the horror that was playing out on the island. So with what could only be described as super human strength I somehow tore wiggled out of my blankie burrito and did the only thing I could. My last desperate chance at survival….

I grabbed the only weapons at my disposal, two pillows. I readied myself and just as Tawn was lifting the canvas tarp, I leapt to my knees and constructed an impenetrable fortress made of pillows. I had effectively sealed myself off from the fury that was about to be unleased.
Peeking out over the top of my wall of pillows, I can see the raccoon has abandoned the party mix, probably ran out of cashews. He’s on his feet, glancing first at the opening he came in through and then at me and the open hatch directly above me. “Oh good” I thought. The hatch is open. Maybe he’ll scurry up and out of the hatch. Then it hits me, “How high can a raccoon jump?” Without access to the internet, I have no way of knowing. But I’m pretty sure it would not be high enough for him to get from the floor up to the open hatch. He’d have to clamber up my pillow wall. The thought of that little skittering bitch clawing and wiggling up the pillows that I’m frantically trying to keep stuffed in the opening to the V-berth gave me the freakin willys.

It was at this moment that Tawn yelled, the raccoon spun around. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but my best guess is, my little girl scream must have been more frightening and shrill than Tawn’s was, and the raccoon opted to flee out the way it came in.

And as quickly as it started, it was over.

I realize you read this whole thing hoping for a little man vs. raccoon action, but it just did not turn out that way.

Later that night, I woke up. I heard voices and went up on deck. And there floating just above the deck I saw him. It was the ghostly image of the ranger, smiling and nodding his approval. He turned and smiled to a floating Obi Wan Kenobi, and Yoda……………..uh….I’m sorry, actually, that didn’t really happen. I just wanted to give you a better ending.

Oh and in case your wondering, according to this site: Fun raccoon facts, raccoons can jump about 2 feet.

Posted in CB, StrangeCrew, Tawn, Weekend trips | Leave a comment

Tawn really does have crappy luck. (CB)

CB 2 January, 2007
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It was dumping snow all last night, so we thought we would wake up to absolutly tons of the white stuff on the mountain and a days worth of fresh tracks…..This did not turn out to be the case. We woke up to rain….lots and lots of rain. Undeterred we got up and got dressed, finished off the last of the bag of McDonalds breakfast sandwiches that Reed had purchased a few days before and headed out to face the mountain.

It continued to rain, and on top of the mountain the wind was blowing so hard the resort had closed the top lifts. So we decided to grab a cup of coffee in the nearest coffee shop and weigh our options.

Conditions did not improve, so we decided to not go riding today. Instead we wandered back to the condo and packed our stuff for the ride home to Seattle. Everyone was bummed, but Tawn most of all, since she only got about half a day of riding in. :(

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Blackcomb POW POW!! (CB)

CB 1 January, 2007
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Booze did not fix Tawn Elbow. :( Her arm was hurting to much to risk snowboard today, so she hungout with Luke and Tye, while Dan, Reed and myself headed up Blackcomb Mountain for a day of snowboarding. And holy shit what a day it was. It had snowed almost two feet of powder overnight. I was exhausted from the day before’s snowboarding and the drinking as well. But all that was blasted way by the “Pow Pow”. Best run on the mountain was “In the Sprit” a blackdiamond tree run. Holy shit, is all I can say.
Both mountains were awesome, but I perferred Blackcomb over Whistler.

That night we went down to The Dubliner, an irish pub in the Village. We had a good night of boozing and listening to what ever cheesy request music the musician was playing. I will say he was very reluctant to play anything requested by me. I’m not sure why, but it made for some good comedy. He finally did give in and play “Whiskey in the Jar”.

Posted in Adventures, CB, Tawn, Weekend trips | 2 Comments