Stuck in Aruba with the busted boat blues again

Paardenbaai, Aruba, 4-FEB-2022 – Yes, I’m still here.

There is a frustration with blogging in a world that is changing. If I can get the words down in a specific moment in time, then I can edit them at my leisure. I didn’t get this written last night when the world was at a momentary stasis.

That moment passed and by this morning things changed.

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Congress Pressures Social Media Companies, James suffers; I feel like we’re stapled to the dock.

Renaissance Marina, Aruba, 28-JAN-2022 – There is an invasion of thoughts and observations as I’ve sat here on a dock for two weeks. The cross-cultural jump feels tectonic, like the two plates of the earth that are my life and experience shearing against each other and moving me to this Neverland.
If you stay with me for this, I’ll try to build the three-dimensional terrain that I find myself parachuted into.

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Waiting for parts in Exotic Locations

Renaissance Marina, Aruba, 20-Jan-2022 – The parts were in Miami last we heard. From there they should have gone onto a ship and then come to Aruba. Directly? We don’t know. How many stops along the way? We don’t know. How long might the parts sit in customs? We don’t know.

I’m on an Oyster 485-03: a 48.5 ft British-made boat, built in 1993 in Wroxham, Norwich, Norfolk, UK.*

Some background: The owner of the boat is James Evenson who I have known virtually for five years and in person the last two years. After the literal breakup of the catamaran Zingaro, James with the help of his Patreons and through a Kickstarter campaign purchased this boat in Curaçao.

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Other people’s boats

SEATAC, 17-JAN-2022 – I was speaking to John Riley not too many weeks ago. I was telling John that being away from my boat meant that I don’t have much to write about. John said, write about other people’s boats.

And so I shall.

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Communing with the dead: reflections from a landlocked sailor

Port Townsend, Washington, 14 December 2021 – It’s only been three months since we left Caro Babbo at Northern Enterprises in Homer, Alaska. They have been a long three months.

In those months, Jennifer and I flew from Homer directly to Berlin, Germany; I sailed a boat from Port Angeles to Oakland; I worked on my house in Atlanta and hosted a dinner for six; I made a new friend or two and collated and scanned the first of the dozen or two boxes of papers and photographs from my parents’ house.

The first box contained more than 1000 photographs, the majority from the 1920s through the 1940s. Until we get into the 1950s, everyone in any of those photographs has passed; I knew almost every one of those people. By the time we get to the 1950s and 60s my cousins and I are being born. For the most part, we are now older than that aged population whose lives I see progress through the decades of photographs as the pictures enter the 60s.

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Dancing with somebody new…

Port Townsend, WA, 30-OCT-2021 – Should I be careful about what I wish for? Should we all?

Bluewater sailing: having the expertise and being known for it. That’s what I wanted, and perhaps, possibly, because I write about it, I am becoming known for it. Do I have that expertise? Well, that’s a different question.

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Caro Babbo Sleeps

Mitte, Berlin, German, 13-SEP-2021 – The return to Homer was smooth and uneventful. We sailed when we could, three times, perhaps. Each time Caro Babbo coming into her own, sailing faster than I remember, reaching hull speed easily. This may be because we were in fairly protected waters each time, but most likely we had current helping us.

For the entire trip, we saw only three other sailboats. The first was a marina-mate from Ko’Olina marina on Oahu. Yes, it is a small world.

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Airplanes and Nail Polish

Homer, AK, 16-JUL-2021 — I’m here. I’m in Homer getting Caro Babbo ready to ”Splash” at the end of the month.

Splash is a very visual word and a bit joyous, making a big splash is what many of us want when we make it big. When launching Caro Babbo that is the last thing we want to envision. Splash is a sail boat falling from the TravelLift into the water, a crane tipping over and other very visual mishaps that must be pushed from my imagination.

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Count down to Homer

Port Townsend, WA, 23-Jun-2021 – In 22 days I will board a Delta Flight from SeaTac airport to Homer, Alaska changing in Anchorage. Rental cars are scarce; I will pay $125 per day for a three days rental car in Homer. In Anchorage, there are none – Jennifer and I paid $13 per day for a rental last September.

I am flying to Caro Babbo. The surge of returning has taken a long time to build in me. I once saw an interview with Norman Mailer describing the effects of using a testosterone gel. He said he hadn’t felt that way in years. Norman is long dead, but returning to Caro Babbo sharpens my senses and gives me purpose.

There is never the return to her that doesn’t have some apprehension. It is the not the uncertainty in the back of one’s mind when seeing a lover after an absence: Have things changed? Will I still be loved?

No, returning to a boat, our boat, is the apprehension of returning to a house that has been shut up: Will everything still be there? Will there be damage?

Maybe it is closer to returning to a loved exotic car. All of the above for a house, plus will it start? Can I get parts for the repairs I must make?

Unique to a boat: once I get it running, will it sink somewhere with me aboard? Will the rigging fail and Caro Babbo become dismasted?

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Two Caro Babbos, Two Johns


Scottsdale, AZ, 29-MAY-2021 – There are two pictures of Caro Babbo that have special significance to me. The first is Caro Babbo at anchor on our first trip north along the inside passage. In the scheme of things we didn’t go very far, only as far as the top of Quadra Island, but to us it was an unimaginable adventure. Caro Babbo is at anchor. Her transom is nearly naked and, in my mind’s eye, not even her name is there, but it is, so this picture must be from 2014. There is no windvane, there is no EPIRB, nor outboard engine. She is uncluttered.

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