Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Maine, Ho!


Lookit! I'm sailing!

For those of you who read my last post, we've found the perfect alternative to getting one's hands greasy unless it's with melted butter. We treated ourselves to a week aboard the Schooner Stephen Taber, one of the historic vessels comprising Maine's renowned Windjammer fleet. It was a fabulous trip, and to prove it I attach photos and my own personal log.

A hearty hail goes out to the accomplished crew of this fine vessel, which you can learn much more about on their site: http://www.stephentaber.com/index.html

One other thing: Captain Noah Barnes's wife Jane is a legitimate somalier, thus the theme of the cruise we signed up for (it was Deb's idea), and my log entries, which are a great discredit to her thoughtful selections, as well as the marvelous fare prepared by ship's cook Cara Lauzon and her assistant Brooke Payne.



Passenger's Log
of the July 2009 Wine and Chocolate Voyage
aboard the Schooner Stephen Taber
(Scribe’s Note: Dates, times, details, etc, are subject to inaccuracies because, well, you know, wine was served)
Sunday, July 5th
(All points to Rockland Harbor, Maine)
All Day: Various strangers make their way to Rockland’s harbor and wedge enough gear into the bowels of the Stephen Taber to lay siege to a small nation. Except for wool socks.



Welcome Aboard!


1800: Captain’s Meeting. Captain Noah Barnes lays down the law, mixing general information with cautionary notes, obscure nautical terms, and threats of occasional crew irascibility.
Strangers disperse to various eateries in town to digest message and whatever else they might find in the way of seafood.
Back at the ship, passenger Holly memorizes everyone’s name in one shot.

Two teachers and an ex-principal are fingered among the passengers (Holly being one of them). Future homework assignments are feared.

People who are no longer strangers tuck themselves into their quarters for the night, and give up all their secrets to the megaphone-like walls of the Stephen Taber.

Monday, July 6th
(Rockland Harbor to Isle au Haut)
0600: Smell of coffee mixes with odor of low tide. It’s a good thing.
0800: Cara (ship's cook; a treasonable understatment) summons omnivores with first of many bells.
(Scribe’s Note: That’s it for the nautical time BS)

Breakfast: Blueberry pancakes, sausage links and fresh fruit.
Passengers make multiple trips to Rite Aid and liquor store for vital supplies.

Passengers wash hair on dock. We won't smell this good again for a while.
Passengers skip rope.
Captain returns from somewhere, and after sending J&E Riggins on her way, the Stephen Taber exits harbor in hot pursuit (if “hot pursuit” can be likened to the urgency of a four year old on a tricycle).

Lunch: Beef stew, and other good stuff.
Mystery ship Raw Faith is pointed out. Captain Noah, clearly irked by its presence in the harbor, saves that story for later. (Scribe’s Note: For a good time, Google “Raw Faith”)
Passengers get first taste of Maine Windjammer sailing.

Rush Hour off the coast of Maine


Stephen Taber reaches first anchorage off Isle au Haut (pronounced something like the last stanza from “Old MacDonald”).

Dinner: Stew, maybe?

Jane’s Wine Selection: (Scribe’s note. I have no palate, and have misplaced the published data sheets, yet I shall forge on): Subtle, yet erudite. Hints of mollusk.

Sunset is saluted with firing of cannon. Jumpin’ Giminee! Fire in the hole!
Apple to Apple is played.
Captain remarks that if he had a nickel for every butt that poked into his cabin…(rest of message is lost in the wind).
Passengers retire for night. Two passengers attempt to sleep on deck.
Crew continues duties with no apparent need for rest, ever.

Tuesday, July 7
(Isle au Haut to Smith Cove, near Castine)
Break of dawn: Attempt by two passengers to sleep on deck is deemed a strategic failure. Smell of coffee ameliorates assessment.

Breakfast: Scrambled eggs, and much more.
Recon missions to island (pronounceable only through a mouthful of grapes) are launched via sail (S/V Plain Jane) and motorized vessel (M/V Babe). Target sites include church, lighthouse, and latrine at ranger station.

Weather deteriorates. Passengers come to realize how poorly prepared they are.
In a spiffy maneuver, the Stephen Taber sails off its anchor, bound for Castine.

Lunch: Greek spinach pastry wedges, hummus with pita chips and snap peas. Green salad, freshly baked rolls.

Passengers volunteer for galley duty, as it is warmest part of ship.
Stephen Taber ghosts through Castine Harbor on way to Smith Cove. Passengers stare longingly at land-based accommodations.
Anchor is set, Canvas awning expertly deployed, and lovely lanterns hung. We don’t need no stinking B&B’s.

Dinner: Homemade lasagna, first mate Super Dave’s favorite. His saliva on deck creates a slipping hazard. Where’s Will and his omnipresent mop?

Jane’s Wine Selection: Delicious! Particularly the one with the interesting label.

The following comment is heard below decks by an undisclosed source, “I can’t believe I’m taking a vacation in July and I have three wool blankets on top of me.”

Wednesday, July 8th
(Smith Cove to Buck’s Harbor, via day trip to Castine)

Weather continues to remain damp and cold, as per captain’s prognostication. Spirits are girded by rosier outlook for the days ahead, and further bolstered by the first of two scheduled on-deck shower days. We are humans again.

Breakfast: Something nice and stick-to-one’s-ribbish.

Stephen Taber ties up at Castine Town Dock. Passengers de-board for a wet slog around town.

Lunch: A hale and hearty soup, as I recall. Probably freshly baked bread too. Scribe smells a Food Network special for Cara and Brooke (Cara's assistant).

Word gets out that seaman first class Alison has a male friend who is a crewman aboard the Victory Chimes. This rapidly devolves into the planning of a wedding ceremony by passengers with nothing better to do.

Stephen Taber anchors in Buck’s Harbor, within small cannon range of the Victory Chimes. All hearts are aflutter.
A search party attempts to conscript aforementioned male crewman aboard Plain Jane. The valiant effort is thwarted by an enemy with no sense of whimsy.
Holly takes sheers to Super Dave’s head. He cleans up quite nicely. Might there be any female crewmen aboard the Victory Chimes?
Someone notices that Brooke is pretty as a peach. What the hell is in this water, anyway? It is recalled that casks were once the property of Jack Daniels.

Dinner: All the scribe remembers is he spills oil and vinegar dressing on what are probably passenger Evan’s only pair of warm pants. Scribe considers completing vacation aboard the Victory Chimes.

Jane’s Wine Selection: Bold and haughty, with an end note of oil and vinegar.

Young able seaman Will, who has been gleefully fouled by all manner of grease, muck, flotsam and jetsam for the past several days, is finally undone by a dab of fine chocolate in his hair. He runs maniacally about the deck, then shoves his head into a bucket of seawater.

All aboard are entertained by the musical talents of Captain Noah Barnes on lead guitar and vocals, First Mate Super Dave Clemens on Steel Guiter, and Ship’s Cook Cara Lauzon on violin, or fiddle, if you prefer.

Captain and cook serve up something together

Thursday, July 9th
(Buck’s Harbor to unknown island near Stonington, by way of Wreck Island)

The weather has broken. The harbor is beautiful. Boats are gorgeous. Alison is still single.

Breakfast: Huevos Rancheros, I think.

Crew continues to encourage group participation for duties the crew are perfectly capable of performing all by themselves.
Passengers hypothesize that Cara is in fact an identical triplet, having been reportedly spotted stoking the galley stove, manning a jib sheet, and commandeering the yawl boat all at the same time.
Initial bull seal sighting is revised to that of a floating log.
Young Will heads aloft to lower the topmast for a close pass under Deer Isle Bridge. Booyah, Will!

Shore Leave

All are put ashore at Wreck Island in preparation for crustacean feeding frenzy.

Alison models wedding gown designed and fabricated by Cara and Brooke from recycled petroleum products.

Passengers collect seaweed and lobster-demolishing utensils along shore.
Passengers hike to elevated fern grove to walk off expected caloric intake. Nan conquers the high plateau overlooking all of Maine. Dennis plants his ass on an unseen, slippery rock.

Lunch: More lobsters than should be allowable by federal law are consumed. Butter flows freely. No bibs are worn. Next, for heaven’s sake, come the Smores. (Note to captain: Forgo purchase of new anchor chain, and instead look into the acquisition of a defibrillator.)

Anyone for thirds?


Stephen Taber leaves Wreck Island, having left only footprints and a devastated arthropod population.

Wind is sprightly. Captain is content. Fred contemplates rigging a trapeze to increase ship speed in heavy air.
After several aborted island approaches (during which attempts captain is heard disparaging the invention of GPS), a suitably uninhabited anchorage is spotted near Stonington.

Dinner: Somebody help me here.

Jane’s Wine Selection: Seductive, yet coy. A briny nose mated with a full stern.

Cara creates plastic stemware sunset art. Check this out, Cara: http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8602472107022912201

Friday, July 10th
(Unknown island near Stonington to Pulpit Harbor)

Second and final communal shower is taken. This risky procedure is again performed without loss of life or limb.

Anchor is weighed, sails are raised. Super Dave once again shows why he’s Super Dave. Two-six, six-two, whatever, heave-ho, make it burn, blah blah. Wondering what Jane’s wine selection will be like this evening.

Breakfast: I can’t remember, but I’m sure I had seconds.

Crew, unsatisfied with grueling workout on deck, perform masochistic health club reps in full view of passengers, in order to shame us.
Young Will announces for thousandth time on trip that somebody is standing in a bad place.
Several passengers suffer nervous breakdowns trying to keep Alison in sharp focus.
Landing parties beach at Stonington Harbor. Passengers storm the well-fortified flea market at top of hill. No prisoners are taken, but all manner of gewgaws are plundered.
Certain passengers wait for a taste from the slowest lobster roll vender in Maine. Expecting to be admonished by the captain for holding up ship’s progress, the passengers are instead dressed down for treasonous conduct toward Cara and Brooke.

Lunch: ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS, as per usual.

Debster (not my wife, though it certainly could have been) suffers undisclosed emotional trauma while visiting the head.
Captain and crew navigate tight entrance to Pulpit Harbor under full sail, then proceed to show off for an hour or so, maneuvering a giant schooner about as if it were a small racing dinghy as they weave through tight mooring field.
The good ship Heritage shows up, providing an anchor for all. Crews of Stephen Taber and Heritage affect a raft-up that would make NASA space crew gnash their teeth in envy.

Hardest working crew on the Eastern Seaboard

We share the harbor with, among others, the Victory Chimes. Hmmm…
Excessive fun is had by all. Crew let’s hair down. Alison is nowhere to be seen.

Dinner: Fabulous antipasti platter, rolled beef with red pepper and basil, string beans. (Obviously scribe’s mate has now become involved in log.)

Jane’s Wine Selection: Gave me a headache the next morning. Must remember to share in future.

Saturday, July 11th
(Pulpit Harbor To Rockland)
Passenger John emerges from cabin for sixth straight day perfectly quaffed. All aboard continue to be amazed.

Breakfast: French toast and bacon; my favorite things. However, wine from previous evening puts serious damper on morning appetite.

Super Dave, having tired of his duties as First Mate, turns to retail on afterdeck. Credit cards are swamped from heavy sea duty.
Tensions flare as end of trip is neared. Fisticuffs are narrowly averted due to cowardice on behalf of combatants. I’ll just say this: Fred started it.
The Barnes family is reunited at the dock, where sexiest kiss since Grace Kelly planted one on Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window is witnessed between Captain Noah and Jane.
Boxed wine resembling over-filled catheter bag is surreptitiously left on board for whomever.
Passengers of the July 6th Voyage gather their belongings and sea legs, and head for home.
But not before several ex-passengers have one more lobster roll, the king club sandwich that threw down Bobby Flay at the Brass Compass. Watch for that show in September. In your face, Bobby!

Sunday, July 12th
I can’t remember.

Monday, July13th
Crew of Stephen Taber gets up at crack of dawn and starts the whole process over again with another bunch of clueless landlubbers


Fair Winds!

Monday, August 10, 2009

Pretending To Be Sailors


The Laura Lynn, being left alone. Lovely, no?

Deb and I have a lovely sailboat. We really do. And occasionally we motor her out onto the Long Island Sound to prove to our audience (there is always an audience) and ourselves that we really are sailors. If that sounds a little paranoid, it’s because you don’t own a sailboat yet.

These cloth-driven gizmos are a handful. It takes some coordination just to get onto the things without the need for a 911 call, and I happen to be losing my youthful coordination faster than I’m losing hair on my topsides. A stubbed toe is practically mandatory, and at this point I’d rather stub an entire leg, which Deb has done (see photo), than fall off the boat trying to board if someone is watching. But that’s the testosterone talking. There is no better entertainment on the water than watching somebody else pretending to have mastered the art of sailing while I’m catching some rays at the mooring. I may look like I’m relaxing, but the binocs are always standing by.


Not quite so lovely

I’ve seen men who have most certainly crushed the empires of fellow titans of industry, stumbling around on their knobby old knees, lunging like special ed students (I’m old enough to get to use the reference) for their pick-up sticks. I’ve listened to trophy wives cut these captains down to size when the gals have finally had it UP TO HERE with the Captain Bligh routine. Sailboats will reduce your average Ghengis Khan to a simpering Mr. Rogers in a matter of moments, given the right wind conditions.

Listen, I'm trying to relax here!

The thing about trying to sail is there is so much to do before you’re actually sailing, and so many things that can prevent you from psyching yourself into doing those things, that the far more expedient course of action is to load up two large glasses of chardonnay and walk down to the dock to admire your boat’s lines from shore. It’s a major accomplishment just to launch the dinghy in order to enjoy said vintage from your own cockpit.

Then there’s the engine and sail prep. Jesus H., whatever happened to place key in ignition, twist and go? Here’s what happened, Mario. You left that scenario far away on land. But you can still smell it, can’t you? Over the reek of low tide and bilge rot.

No, a whole other set of circumstances comes into play out there on the water. Now you check the oil (when was the last time you checked the oil on the Chevy?) and the belt tension (both of them), and the fuel filter (for sediment and water) and the coolant level. And your lovely wife, who doesn’t know 10W-40 from extra virgin on land, makes sure you didn’t leave a step out. She’s the one who remembers things now. Did you open the engine seacock, Ahab?

Then, even though on land you’re a rational creature, you cross your fingers in earnest because you need all the help you can get. Because presently you could blow up and sink, or hit something hard and sink, or have a system failure and sink, or just sink right there where you are for no apparent reason, snifter in hand, in seas shallow enough that the salvage costs might just be manageable, given the proper insurance policy.
It’s your call.



Maybe we should just let her be.