I spend too much time reading (and mostly dismissing) boat blogs on the internet. While logic tells me that time spent on the computer is time not spent sailing, I keep searching for a maritime muse. Somewhere out there, the perfect blog is waiting for me.
If the author of this blog only wrote one essay, it would probably start, Continue reading
“You’ll never guess what I brought home from the art museum,” our visiting friend Hazel announced. She pulled a small bundle of bubble paper from a crumpled bag and began to unroll it.
Several silky white hairs protruded from the package, then floated gently to the floor. As she continued to strip the wrappings off her treasure, it became clear that a long, cylindrical object was about to emerge.
The view from the Vista House, perched on a cliff seven hundred feet above the Columbia River, makes me feel as if the world has just been formed. Rough spires of rock emerge from broad swaths of water, dense stands of huge conifers dominate the hillsides, and a multitude of sandy islands and points disappear into a bank of seemingly life-giving clouds. Aside from a ribbon of highway that disappears into the forest, there is no sign of human habitation as I gaze eastward. My desire to be out there sailing is nearly overpowering. Unfortunately, on this particular day, I’m leading a tour, so I vow to come back with my boys for an overnighter on a deserted island, ours for exploration. Continue reading
“It seems crazy that it takes a 4,000 pound vehicle to carry a 70 pound boat,” I said as my wife helped me load Terrapin on the roof of our car for the two mile ride down to the river. Every time I took the boat out after that, this simple thought ate away at me.
We’re rushing downwind against two knots of current. One minute it’s blazing sun, the next we’re being blasted by a cold squall. The water temperature is in the low 40′s the air is nearly 50. Despite wearing long underwear or gloves, everyone is stoked because we’re out on the Columbia River.
There are tiny ships all over my house. They’re making small voyages to places near and far. Continue reading
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It’s the mid-1980s, and being a skateboarder is worse than being a nerd. To be a skateboarder is to be a loser. People wonder why you spend so much time riding around on a kids’ toy. They think that you pose a threat to society by running people off benches downtown and wrecking the atmosphere of neighborhood parks. You may get the occasional stray remark about being a surfer dude, but most people realize that surfers look a lot more clean cut than the ratty crew you hang out with. Continue reading
