Getting Ready The Chesapeake Bay The Great Dismal Swamp North Carolina South Carolina Georgia Florida

Roni Tails Sea Tales and Other Stories Pictures of Doublewide Mayaca Railroad Bridge

The Stories

Snow Geese
Phosphorescent Memories
Anchors Away
Mates



Snow Geese

Every year the snow-geese come to the Bay, their winter home. A friend, who is a bird fancier and sailor, suggested that we head out on Saturday the Eastern Shore to see the the birds before they left for their summer home in the far North.

We sailed most of the day, and when the sun began to get low we sailed across the Bay and anchored in an inlet known to be a landing site for these magnificent birds. We had a light dinner on the boat, read to each other from the Snow Goose and waited. We kept an eye on the sky watching for a hint of movement... and then they came. Hundreds, maybe thousands of those gorgeous, ethereal creatures, and landed all around us, everywhere... We were anchored in a cloud of birds... They settled in to take their evening meal and to dream geese dreams.

We slept outside in the cockpit with the birds, it being a crystal clear night, something quite rare on the Chesapeake. No mosquitoes on this early spring night. There we laid and talked, rather she talked and I listened.

Raised and educated in Finland she was the most independent person I have ever met, she was no small influence on this 20 year old. A nurse on the ground in Europe during WWII, and for many years after that a public health nurse in Ghanna. When she returned to the states, she opened a small woodworking shop, as she had learned the intricacies of using hand tools while living on the Gold Coast. Like so many other craftspeople of real skill and who are concerned with perfection not mass production, she was only moderately successful and found that to make a living she would have to lower her standards or get very lucky. Luck being a rare thing, she took a job with the NIH this time working in an advisory capacity. We met there through the NIH Sailing Association which had 4 19' Flying Scotts for training and for rent to members. We both learned a lot about sailing through several members who had quite a lot of experience, if only on the Chesapeake. While the Scotts were nice boats, we both wanted our own boats.

Very different people, Mim and I, but we were unightd by this passion for sailing, and for the Bay. Mim bought her Newport first, and I acted as her first mate on many cruises.

Sleeping outside brings you closer to that beginning place, the stars guiding you down paths you might miss in the daylight, sometimes getting lost in the immensity of the night sky. But with morning comes a different guide leading back to reality.

Sunday morning, we woke just before sunrise and started our breakfast which consisted of some type of hard bread, cheese and coffee... A perfect breakfast for this morning. Most of what Mim did seemed perfect to me then... We sat there in the cockpit watching the birds take their breakfast while we took ours, then there was a signal from somewhere that neither of us could hear or sense but that the birds obeyed. They lifted, almost in unison and began the rest of their journey, leaving us alone in that church of sky and water.

Top


Phosphorescent Memories

It was a lovely weekend spent on the Eastern Shore with some friends, gorging on crabs and enjoying life. But the weather was turning lousy so I decided it was time to head for home. We decided to spend the night at the Annapolis dock as we were hungry, it was cold and we were young and had understanding bosses. This was in 1969 when there were free slips right in downtown Annapolis at the wharf near the oyster boats. A quarter in the meter bought you an hour's worth of electricity. Times have changed since those days.

The night had turned wild indeed; gusty winds up to 25 knots, sleet, making the deck so slippery that if you went forward you had to be tightly harnessed to the mast and it was cold. Perfect weather for a young over confident sailor like me. Ah! All pumped up from the challenging sail, with Anemonie safely on her spring lines with bumpers in place, it was time for dinner.

One of my favorite restaurants in Annapolis was the Roma. It may still be there in some form. A dimly lit, warm little Italian restaurant, with possibly the best lasagna ever made. Of course my remembrance could be enhanced by the intervening years, as most memories are.

In we tromped pulling off our foulies, all full of ourselves and our accomplishment in our sail across the bay. Sitting at a table, laughing and joking and drinking probably too much wine we talked about our adventure, in tones perhaps a shade loud. For this we should be forgiven as our youth and excitement overflowed in those days.

Then over to our table came a man of indeterminate age, but oozing command. He placed both closed fists on the table and we fell silent as a group, he looked from one to another of us and then focused on me. I will note that I have a weakness for men of this sort, undeniably masculine with all of the outward trappings. Big, bearded, confident, weather worn and with that natural authority that some men are born with. Silence. Then he said "You mean to tell me that you were out there sailing on a night like this??" Not wanting him to think me a ninny, which I undoubtedly was, but in desperation needed to hide, I answered "Yes, we needed to get my boat over from Easton and decided to duck into Annapolis for the night." He smiled. Saved...

Without asking, but without needing to, he reached over to another table, grabbed a chair and dragged it over to sit with us, waiving for his dining partner, a near replica of him, to join us. I was thrilled down to my socks and room was quickly made for this intriguing man and his friend to join us.

He explained that he was sailing a tugboat he had converted to a pleasure boat down from Toronto to the Caribbean for a client. Since his yard would be closed for the Winter and he and his friend had nothing else on their plate, they decided to take off a bit early and have some fun while delivering this new toy to the owners.

The next couple of hours were spent in laughing and camaraderie that I have only found among people who spend their life on or near the water. Dinner over, and the staff hinting broadly, but good naturedly that they would like to go home and get some sleep, we departed to have a look at this tugboat. Sea worthy as any boat on the water, powerful and... surprisingly beautiful! A perfect home on the water. They had taken this side trip so that they could see Annapolis, Baltimore and other points of historical interest, and then would continue in a leisurely cruse to their destination.

As we stood there admiring the boat, he turned to me and asked if I would like to ship on as crew. Everything in me screamed that I should say yes, cast all caution to the wind, call my boss and say "Sorry, I'll be out for a few months late", leave it all behind and change my life in ways that I could barely imagine. I was young and had fallen, in a few short hours, in love with a man who was at least twice - three times? - my age. Who had experiences and background that I would be lucky to have the half of at life's end. But, for reasons I cannot to this day understand, through the wine, the romantic notions and my youth, and whether to my benefit or detriment, I declined.

The next day from the deck of my boat I watched the tug leave Annapolis. What I was left with is this story, and of course, all the what-if's that leave trails behind me like a phosphorescent trail in still warm waters.

Top


Anchors Away!

Whew, now I can laugh and have another story to tell someone else's grandchildren.... So here's the story of when Jan dragged anchor in the Little Alligator River, North Carolina.

There I was, all snug in the shelter of a small island. Good thing too, as there was a 25 knot headwind thrumming in the rigging. But Doublewide and I were all safe in 4' of water with the anchor firmly set. I go below to check for my dinghy repair kit. Coming back on deck, I note that the trees on the lee shore are becoming more distinct - by the second! I glance down at my depth gauge and note that 5' of water has become 4'... back at the trees, down to the gauge... Oh my God I am dragging anchor! How could that be? Expert, vastly experienced anchoring wizard that I am? I ponder this for about 3 nanoseconds all the while the bank of cypress trees with all their greedy roots are reaching out for Doublewide's stern... AND the water is getting shallower (shallows are MADE for catamarans, right?) AND I am single handing, and I have blown all the hydraulic fluid from my drive leg pump - AND one of the pontoons on my dinghy has mysteriously deflated.... AND I BROKE A NAIL! Time was clearly not doing its job!!!! (Aside: Time's Job is to keep one thing damned after another from becoming every damned thing at once.) I could feel the tears welling up... what's a girl to do??

However in a select group of females of the hominid species, lacrimation is simply not an option, I am one of those females. Besides ruining makeup, if no men are present, it is a complete waste of time. So instead, at the first hint of tears a physiological reaction known as "Hulkus Reactus Incredibilus" takes place. Typical symptoms: split shirt, green tinge to skin, vocal emanations usually associated with the male of the bovine species, bad hair (oh wait, that's normal, never mind my hair).

Having nobody handy to pick up and toss overboard, I dispensed with the warm-up exercise. Thinking on my bare feet; within 5 seconds I had started the engine, raced forward and hand over handed 50' of anchor rode, resetting the anchor several times on handy roots. But this opportunity gave me the leverage to pull Doublewide forward, and away from that lee shore. Now centered over the anchor I give one mighty roar and yank it, its chain and its thoroughly fouled trip line (and free bonus root) 15' into the air, grab it with one hand, place it gently on the deck, while at the same time taking a sweeping bow for any unseen observers, give one more roar for effect and jump the 25' to the cockpit. The engine, which I had cleverly started before my circus act, engaged in 'go' and me and Doublewide are OUT OF THERE!

Cost: Egg on Face about $1,000,000. Stay in Marina $45.00. Torn Shirt $5.00 (Walmart special). Story telling rights: Priceless.

Top


Mates

    I wish I could claim the idea for this story was mine, but alas it is not an original idea. I read a story similar to this maybe 30 years ago. A friend of mine, Elzi, and I were sharing a bottle of Shiraz one night and she mentioned that she was fascinated by the werewolf myths and I said that I knew a good story... so I wrote this recollection for her.
Our marriage is bound to be a perfect one. Well, once I solve a teensy little problem. I've found someone in the city that claims to be able to help me with an odd malady that I was left with as the result of a macabre inheritance. You see, my father was a Werewolf. When he died the spirit of the Wolf passed to me.

You have probably read some of what has been written about our kind, and some of it is close to true. We are enchanted creatures, living by day in a human form, and during nights of the full moon we slip quietly into our 'other' form; that of a large Arctic Wolf. This can be a major embarrassment if you are entertaining human companions during 'that time of month'. Occasionally, I have forgotten that the night is upon me and I've had to quickly excuse myself from a social setting and, well, you can imagine.

So, now you know everything about me. Almost. As I said, I fell in love and was married. Not with one of my wolfkind, but with a man, a man that loves me completely and promises he loves me 'as I am' - no matter what. If he only knew what I really was, I wonder what he'd say?

So I've found this woman who has given me hope in the form of a musty smelling brown powder she claims it will cause the spirit of the Wolf to vanish. The stuff stinks and I am a picky eater - in my human form. I buck up my courage and wash the powder down with some milk. It is not all that bad, really.

Now I wait, the full moon is tonight, will this work, or not? It is our first full moon as a married couple and I do not want it to be our last. He lays beside me asleep. I left the window open in case the magic has failed. I see the light of the moon start to brighten the sky. I drift in the darkness and sleep a little. I wake to find the full moon framed by the open window and I rejoice, I look at my hands and I am human! I reach over to touch him, the bed... is empty... the curtains blow gently, I see a tail disappear over the sill.

Top




Getting Ready The Chesapeake Bay The Great Dismal Swamp North Carolina South Carolina Georgia Florida

Roni Tails Sea Tales and Other Stories Pictures of Doublewide Mayaca Railroad Bridge