Between Christmas and New Year's

Happy New Year's Eve Day!

We had our first real snow on West Island yesterday. I waited until the afternoon to shovel and clean off the car...big mistake. It was icy and hard as rock by the time I got out there. The good part about its being so hard is that it's still pretty out there, not slushy and muddy. The bad part is that it's so hard to do clean-up. I hope it warms up enough to clear it all out so next time I'll be smarter about it.

I hate it when the old snow is hard as cement under the new snow, it creates a nightmare for shoveling. Been there a few times, a few years, not looking forward to it again.

Guess I was just playing "on vacation." I don't usually get to sleep half the day away, putter around the house, and not do anything. Not for long, though. Tomorrow I cover the Polar Plunge at Fort Pheonix in Fairhaven (10 a.m. sharp), and then it's back to the grind getting next week's issue ready.

I hope you all had a great Christmas, or other holiday if you celebrate something else. I also hope you were able to be around young children. I feel so blessed to have spent some time with a bunch of young cousins of all ages, from newborn to college aged.

One of my cousins, who has four children from 1 year to 10 years, moved into a new apartment just a few days before Christmas. What fun to be part of that chaos!

A bunch of my other cousins showed up at my sister's on Christmas Eve for a very short, but very intense party: kids back from college, the working young'uns off for the holiday, the rest of us just having a blast (that's a 70s word for a really good time). All in all, it was a great Christmas, hope you can all say the same.

Now, it's onto the new year. I hope 2013 is prosperous and fun for all my readers.

Stay positive, people, there are enough grouches out there.

I start the new year without the big fir tree that has been in my front yard since I moved here 18 years ago. We had to take it down in September. It was pretty much dead and a danger to the house and other trees. What a shock it was when it was gone. Wow. So much light. So foreign.

Some people tell me it looks better, the yard is bigger, and we all have more light. I don't know. I've decided to go through one whole year, four seasons, before deciding if I should replace it. It provided a lot of privacy, and it was where my fairies stay when they visit. I felt terrible destroying their little inn, but I had no choice. The gnome trees are still intact, though, and look pretty healthy.

The fir tree was pretty old, although we didn't count rings....hmm....the trunk it still out there. Now, if I were a really GOOD writer, I'd run out there, scrape off the snow and count rings. But, it's too cold out there. I'll wait for the thaw.

The tree was old when I moved here, I've been here for 18 years, and it took about 20 minutes to take it down. Twenty minutes to destroy years and years of growth.

Before and after pics...

Big difference, huh? Still not sure I like it. Have to decide what to put there, though. I can see right inside Isobel's house now! And when Gail's mother was hanging out on the porch yelling into her cellphone at 6 a.m., I could hear every word. I even went flying out the door to see what the problem was. Never heard her when the tree was there. Ah well.

Also said "good-bye" to Dusty, the old CB350 I had. He served me well. We (my sister and I) got him when my cousin's husband died in the 90s. The bike had been sitting in the basement collecting dust for about 8 years, my cousin told us (hence the name). And it didn't have a mark on it, except that one little dent "that you put on it, Beth," she told me.

"In 1978?" I responded with surprise.
"Yup."
Oh....figures.

Here's a picture of old Dusty, leaving my house for the last time.

The 1971 Honda CB350 was a toy for Jess, my cousin's husband. We're not sure, but we think he got it new and we think he got it just so he could take it apart to see how it worked. Those Hondas were very cheap in the day.

So, when I visited them on Bainbridge Island (which isn't really an island) in Washington state in 1978, Jess let me ride it. It was before the casino on the island. It was sparsely populated, very rural, and everyone knew everyone. I didn't have a motorcycle license, but Jess just balked at that.

So, I took the bike out for a bit, reveling in every second. What a feeling! I didn't have a bike back home, but I had ridden dirt bikes before.

I pulled away from their house, accelerated up the road a piece, took a right, up a hill, to a very quiet intersection. I slowed a bit too much on the turn, and...yup, you guessed it. I dropped the bike. I was a skinny little thing back then, about 100 lbs (don't ask how much I weigh now). I was only 21, no need to work out or anything. Just a skinny kid. I watched that bike go down, ever-so-slowly, not able to stop it. It was just too heavy.

Shoot...now what?

No cell phones in 1978.

Not a human in sight on Bainbridge Island in 1978 in the middle of the morning.

Not a house in sight.

Can't walk back, too far.

Will just have to pick that sucker up.

Somehow, I managed it. Got back to the house and there was Jess, with a pile of cigarette butts at his feet on the side of the road where he watched for me.

He said he was trying to decide if he should go look for me, but was more afraid we'd miss each other. Then he was trying to figure out how to tell his wife that he lost her cousin.

When we got custody of Dusty in the 90s, he went to my sister first. Then she upgraded and I got him. I only sold him recently to someone who is going to try to restore him. I hope so. He was a great little bike and I had a lot of fun with him. I only took him off the road a few years ago.

So, I start 2013 with a new motorcycle, a boat, and a few new pounds.

I still have some stories to tell about my first season with the boat, though, so stay tuned. Oh yeah, and the Coast Guard Auxiliary boating safety course. Now I know why they laughed so much at my boat posts.

Until next year, then...

Happy New Year to you and yours!

Sandy Hook and the Loss of Possibilities

I have a cousin who lives in Connecticut. She and her husband run a gourmet food shop on the coast. I emailed her after the tragedy in Sandy Hook, saying I knew it wasn’t that close to her, but that if something like that happened anywhere in Mass., I’d think of it as very close to home. She told me that it was quiet, very quiet in her shop and around town.

The quiet is very telling, isn’t it? It’s a way of sharing in it. It’s a way of showing we are all affected by it.

I couldn’t be quiet for too long, though. I spent some time with my cousins and their kids, altogether seven children under the age of 11. There’s no such thing as quiet with that crew.
But the adults knew. We said not a word, lest the older ones hear. But they knew, too. It’s the quiet that binds us.

I wish the know-it-all, so-called pundits would just shut up and be quiet, too.

I don’t want to hear about gun control.

I don’t care what his diagnosis was.

I don’t care if you think she was a bad mom or a good mom or if they were divorced or rich, or if he was a skinny awkward kid. All of those things are true of millions of people and they don’t kill anyone.
Just tell me what happened. I want to know that. I want to know how the kids are. I want to know how their parents are. Some people say the constant coverage makes the murderer a hero and people will copy him. Really? Murder little children because you saw it on TV? Surely it takes more than that.

I want TV coverage, lots of it. This is how we share the experience in the modern age. It doesn’t take three days for the Pony Express to get the word to us. CNN does it instantly. I want that. I need that in a tragedy. I want to know that other people are asking the same questions I am. Just spare me the speculation about the workings of his inner mind. And especially stop talking about “indicators” or we’ll end up incarcerating every awkward teenager who doesn’t laugh on cue or cry hard enough.

There’s a piece making its way around the Internet: “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother,” by Liza Long, although that wasn’t the original title. I was mortified when I read it. She lumps her son in with mass murders because he has violent outbursts. People who like the piece say it’s about the failure of our mental health system.

One of my dearest friends and I have been going back and forth on email about the article. My friend insists the writer is brave and honest. I insist that her son will think his mother’s greatest expectation of him is that he will be a mass murderer. She says I’m blaming his mother. I say, she’s simply hurting his feelings. She could’ve left that paragraph out and still made her point.

I’m not saying this writer is wrong. Maybe there is no hope for her child. Maybe he is doomed to be a loser. But does he have to hear it from his mother? Pray tell, how does that help? Who does that help?

I know it’s compli­cated when a child has severe problems. I’m willing to admit that my thinking is simplistic. But lots of parents with children who have violent outbursts expect their children to live full, productive lives. They know how extra hard it will be, but they keep at it. They are not clueless and in denial. They are being advocates and insisting that their children have the chance to be all they can be, whatever that may look like in the end. They would never allow their children to think that being a mass murderer was in the mix with tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor. They look instead for the spark that will grow into a light that will lead the way to a happy life. And when they find that spark, they make sure their child can see it.

We all need to let our young people know that they have possi­bili­ties, because they do. They have all the possibility of America. Our politicians need to stop talking about our decline and how our kids will be miserable and hopelessly mired in debt.

If this man had seen possibilities in his future, would he have thrown it all away to become infamous? His fellow classmates say he was brilliant, maybe even a genius. Why didn’t he become a Steve Jobs or a Bill Gates? That’s the possibility of America. Why didn’t he believe that he could be president? That’s the possibility of America. Why didn’t he get a great job in New York like so many of his neighbors? That’s the possibility of America.

If the corporate life didn’t appeal to him, why didn’t he start his own business. Pet rock anyone? This is America. Anything is possible. If the suburban colonials of his hometown didn’t appeal to him, why didn’t he understand that he could go anywhere in the 50 states by just...going? No papers, no passes, just a ride. So many possibilities awaited him, on the ocean, in the great big country out west, in the mountains, in the cities.

So many possibilities. All wasted. All gone.

Twenty small children killed. Six women killed. He killed his mother first. That surely will mean something to the shrinks. But what? And does it matter? Will it help prevent another young loser from doing the same thing?

Possibilities. They need to know that they have possibili­ties. No matter how screwed up they are, or how unintelligent the tests say they are, or how off-the-charts-brilliant they are, or how awkward they are, or how hard they find it to read, or how hard they find it to sit in one place, or how much they hate their lives, they need to know that there are possibilities for them.

We have to make those possibilities real for them. No more leaving people behind because they can’t do something just the “right” way. Everyone can make a contribution of some kind. Just ask anyone who works with the so-called disabled.

We all have possibilities.

It’s time we started pointing them out to those who think they have none, so they stop stealing the possibilities from innocent little kids whose possibilities were still as wide as the world itself, whose sparks had not yet even been defined.

What’s next, asked Dr. Baldwin (page 4). There is no next, he said. “I don’t know what can happen lower than this.”

Surely, we can map out greater expectations for our young people than aspiring to be the lowest of the low.

Little Water Buggy: Fishing on the Briny

The gray-blue beast that is my Atlantic Ocean. I can't tell you how many times I've referred to it as that, in my letters to the editor, in op-eds, in conversation. It's funny that it never occurred to me to use that expression in the blog until my last post. Maybe I was just afraid to remind myself of what a beast the ocean can be. Rather strange. Rather Freudian. Dontchathink?

Anyway, I'm starting to lose track of the trips! That's a good thing, I guess. It means I'm getting out there in the boat. I really should get on the stick (or keyboard), though, and start writing up each trip right away.

No matter. I'm thinking the world won't come to an end if I mix up a loading-the-trailer episode with a backing-into-the-driveway episode.

Back to our series...

It's "cavitation" not capitation! Thank you Andy J for letting me know that. Cavitation: 1. successive formation and collapse of bubbles in liquids by mechanical forces, as from a ship's propeller. 2. a pocket formed by this action [from the Oxford American Dictionary].

Except...that sounds like what a propeller's SUPPOSED to do, doesn't it? Ah well. Onto the next adventure.

We went fishing! Tammy S and her friend Scott W brought all their fishing gear and know-how and we went fishing. They usually fish off the causeway or from shore somewhere and wanted to get out away from the land a bit. I wanted to catch fish...to eat them.

So, we made plans to get out there. They came by with all manner of poles and bait and gear and loaded up that little boat. Then we headed out the driveway.

I backed the trailer down without much drama and Scott helped me figure out how deep to go and all that. Scott's a big guy, so he helped. Plus, he's had boats before so he was able to combine know-how with strength. Again, getting it off the trailer wasn't a big deal.

I was still pretty shaky on the motor, though. But, by that point, I had stopped trying to figure out how to back all the way to the dock and swing the back around and all that. I backed off the trailer a little way and then flipped the motor into forward and swung around back to the dock. There's a pretty high rock just to the south of the ramp, but it's got a bunch of seaweed on it, so even though it's usually submerged, you can see it easily enough.

I swung around and we tied up. I moved the car and we were off.

Ever since I started hanging out at the landing with Jimmy and those guys, they told me the closest and best place to fish near Hoppy's Landing. You want to know where it is, don't you? Well, to be honest, I just typed up a description and then deleted it. It's every fisher for himself (or herself) out there....the guys told me, but I'm quite sure they didn't want me blabbing it all over the Internet. Come see me in person and I'll tell you where it is.

Anyway, we anchored out there and started fishing for stripers and bluefish. Unfortunately, something kept stealing our bait. A good guess was scup. So we faced a choice: head out to deeper water and try catching the bigger fish, or switch bait and tackle to go for scup. I like scup just fine, so we switched.

In a matter of just a few minutes we had a keeper (at least 10.5"). I didn't have anything to measure (oops), but Scott fishes all the time, so he just kind of measured it out by his hand.

Then he said....are you ready for this? Hold your breath...

"No blood, it can go back."

Excuse me? Go back where?

In the water. We don't keep them.

Say what? You don't keep what?

The fish. We don't keep the fish. We throw them back.

THROW THEM BACK? NOT FROM MY BOAT! I thought you said you had a cooler with ice and everything.

Yeah, for drinks. We have drinks in the cooler.

Don't you dare throw that fish back. 

Okay [looking a little scared, all 312 pounds of him].

So, he grabbed the anchor bucket and filled it halfway with water and threw that baby in.

I fish to eat, not to play.

But play we did, too. We had a great spot. We caught 18 keepers and a bunch of smaller ones that we had to throw back.

While we were out there, I took a moment to look around and take in the scene as we sat anchored in one spot, fishing and just chatting a little. The ocean stretched out to the Elizabeth Islands, people were on the beaches, kids were jumping off the causeway (shhh...don't tell the harbormaster), the hot sun shining from above, the cool ocean below. We were pretty close to shore. Honestly, if we sank, we'd probably only have to swim for a 100 feet before we would've been able to walk to shore. But we were still on the water, and it was a beautiful thing.

Until that idiot/moron/fool/jerk/bully/asshat of boater swamped us. We were not in the main thoroughfare (if there is one there), there was plenty of room off to the east for the big boat to head into Hoppy's Landing without coming within 100 feet of us. And, there was NO reason for him to be going that fast, unless it was to knock us around on purpose. We could see him coming from a distance, but at his speed there was no way to pull the anchor so we could maneuver out of his way.

We watched him come, in 20 or 30 very long seconds. I put out may hands and said "what are you doing?" I couldn't see the captain in his little cabin, but the other people on the boat, particularly one person on deck near the stern, looked right at me with a "what's your problem" look. I was pretty damned mad.

They flew by us just a few feet away, and a huge wave from their wake dumped a bunch of water onto our bow. Scott, the big guy, was sitting there fishing and got soaked. Tammy and I were in the middle of the boat. That poor Little Water Buggy took a bit of a nose dive into that wave, but then to my relief, it popped back up. The water slid to the stern and we were okay. I was watching Scott and the water. By the time I looked up to catch the name of the boat, they were way too far away. I don't know how fast they were going, but they kept up that speed. We kind of hoped they would get hung up on the sandbar for some kind of poetic justice, but they didn't. They did send those bigger boats at Hoppy's to straining against their mooring lines, though. The amount of water wasn't as much as it had seemed when it came over the bow. It settled into the little well near the plug, but didn't need to be bailed out.

I can't even tell you how angry I was. Those little creeps on that boat never even looked back to see what their wake did to us.

On that same day, several other boats went right by us, all much bigger than us. Some had been tooling along at a speed, then slowed down when they saw us. Some had been just chugging out from shore anyway, and kept it slow until they passed us.

I learned in my USCG Auxiliary class that anchoring for fishing does not make us the stand-on vessel (the one that does not have to get out of the way). Really? Really? So, who makes up these rules? How the heck am I supposed to get out of the way if I'm anchored? On the other hand, all boaters are responsible for their wakes. Big deal, that'll show HIM as we get tossed around and dumped.

So, what I've learned so far in class is that it's all just....don't hit each other and you'll be fine. That's okay, USCG Auxiliary. I knew that part.

I wish we had gotten the name of that boat. I'm not sure what I would've done with the information, but you can bet your last cent it would appear here in this blog.

But, alas, we didn't.

We also didn't sink. And that's a good thing.

So, we kept fishing, and catching scup: 18 fish, 3 people, that's six each. Not bad for a couple of hours of work. Except Tammy and Scott didn't want theirs. Turns out Tammy never even ate a scup. But we fixed that.

I knew my sister-in-law would be thrilled when she learned we had 18 scup. She's from Lebanon and really appreciates fresh fish. My sister and her husband were still staying at the cottage on Goulart, so I knew we'd all enjoy the harvest from my Atlantic Ocean.

So, I took the 18 fish to the cottage. My brother-in-law cleaned them and my sister-in-law cooked them.  She fried them in the fryolator. She didn't even scale them, just have to peel the skin off after and....oh, they were yummy. We had all kinds of cool side dishes, much of it made with vegetables from their own gardens.

Now that's island living.

Little Water Buggy: With Nephew Sam

Okay, I admit it. Sometimes I just stand in my driveway and look at my Little Water Buggy. I sometimes peek over my shoulder to make sure no one sees me doing it. I mean, really, it's just a little 15-footer with the steering wheel cut out and no seats, no cushions, no sideboards, and no....some other stuff that was obviously cut out. Not sure what that stuff was, but it's all gone. The motor is 31 years old and only 25HP with a torn up prop and a Parkinson's shake, and it does a thing the guys call "capitating" that I can't find in any dictionary...at least as it relates to boats.

But it's all mine. It's in my driveway, and I think it's a thing of beauty. (Shh....don't tell Hoppy how much I like the thing.)

So, where were we? Ah yes...trip #4, with my nephew Sam.

I told you all how I had that beat up old Evinrude "Sweet 16" in the yard. When it first got there, my sister's kids were very young (all three under the age of 10 I think). They used to crawl all around it, jump up and down on it. They were very excited for me to get it in the water. So was I.

I imagined being the cool aunt who introduced them to fishing off the boat, puttering around the bay, and learning to appreciate the great grey-blue beast that is my Atlantic Ocean.

The kids even took the basic boating class, the one for free that was offered on West Island. They knew more about boats than I did. They got their boat licenses. You only need one if you're younger than 16, I think. They were.

As the years went by and the boat didn't get in the water, the kids got older and my great plan to be the one to introduce them to boating and fishing on the ocean, and exploring the bay just sort of grew away with them.

Then the boat got junked. The kids all became teenagers, two of them driving, the third one almost driving.

Finally, I got the little water buggy in the water. My nephew Sam, the middle child, was heading off to college, and none of the kids had been in the boat yet. I texted him (the preferred method of communication for the under 25 set), and told him it was his last chance to get on the boat. We made plans for the day before he was leaving for college.

When he got to the house, I was pretty much ready to go. It was a little later in the morning, but the wind hadn't picked up yet, so we took off.

Launching the boat was easy with someone helping. I still had a little trouble shoving it off the trailer. I still hadn't gotten the hang of really shoving it hard. The old motor still kept trying to pop up in reverse, but I was ready for it, and held it down as I backed off the trailer.

I parked the car as Sam stayed on the dock with the boat. As I walked back toward him, I became vaguely aware of a weird sound. I couldn't really identify if, I just knew it was a bit off. It was a warm day, people were on the beach, the boat ramp had the usual sounds, but there was something else.

As we untied from the dock I recognized the sound, but hoped I was wrong. I realized it was a motor getting revved up, and again, and again, and very close by: someone was stuck on the sandbar.

Oh, the countless times that Jimmy and I sat by the shack drinking a beer and watching people get stuck, and unstuck on the sandbar.

As I puttered by them, they waved me down and called out.

Uh oh. You want ME to help YOU?

Surely you jest. Do you know who you're talking to here? Er... I don't mean that in the way it's usually said. Honest. I mean, you really ought to be careful who you ask for help.

Besides, you're two feet from the dock....you'll be fine. Just fine.

Their boat was a lot bigger and heavier than mine. Their motor alone weighed more than my whole set-up. Two people were on the boat, older, Asian, and speaking with accents. Neither one was dressed for IN the water. The back end of their boat was sitting firmly aground on the sandbar. Somehow the motor was still in the water and they were cranking it up to move the boat. Wasn't happening.

They asked me to throw them a line.

Okay, new situation, not sure what to do, but I knew I wasn't throwing anyone a line.

I looked at my nephew and told him we had to help them. I mean, really, we were only a few hundred feet from the dock. It's not like I was leaving them stranded out in the sea. But I still thought there was some sort of rule, or at least understanding, that I wasn't supposed to leave them there.

Although I admit I was tempted to just chug off waving and smiling and saying, "beautiful day, isn't it?"

But I didn't.

I started circling in the mooring field, still a little shaky on the tiller, the old motor being a good boy and doing just what it was supposed to do. But there was no way I was going to try to pull that boat off the sandbar with my Little Water Buggy.

All I could think of was my poor little 25 HP, 1981 motor getting burnt out trying to pull him off the sandbar. Honestly, how does that happen? I'm no expert, but the sandbar as you leave Hoppy's is so obvious. The water is a different color, you can see the bottom. It's marked with a big red buoy. How do you miss that?

Maybe they steer like I do. Remember the mooring line (see post 1).

The man asked again if I'd throw him a line. I didn't say anything. I just pictured that big boat flying at me as it broke free of the sandbar and headed straight for my boat. Remember reverse? I can't DO reverse. I'd get all smashed up. Suppose he doesn't let go of the line? Suppose he ties it on his end?

Anyway, I have an extra line, a long one. I thought maybe we could throw that to him, and then we could let go on our end. All the while I'm explaining my hesitation to my nephew and circling in the mooring field.

We could just keep circling here talking to them until the tide comes up.

Or I could call the Harbormaster. Yeah, I'll call the Harbormaster. Sam, get my phone please, it's in the dry bag.

My nephew suggested that he jump off, swim over to them and push them off.

No, you'll never get back in the boat. I have no ladder.

The 18-year-old athlete assured me, "Oh, Aunty. This boat is so low in the water. I can get back in. We swim off Uncle Andy's boat in Maine all the time."

Okay, but stay away from that huge motor in the back, it'll chop you to bits (as the big motor continued to rev on and off, on and off).

So he jumped off, swam over and started to push the boat from the side. As soon as they saw him swimming towards them, they turned off the motor. That was good. Now, I don't know how big that boat was, maybe 20+ feet. The rail was above Sam's head as he pushed. And that boat wasn't going anywhere.

Then a couple of teenage girls from the beach walked along the sandbar and helped. The three of them were able to push it off. Sam swam back to our boat and we took off quickly, before they got stuck again.

Trip #4 and we helped someone else. Go figure.

Then we headed out to the point, but changed our minds and headed back under the causeway. I let Sam take the tiller and we headed out around Bella Vista Island. It was a clear day, with a bit of a breeze, but not choppy. We decided to head all around West Island, something I hadn't done yet.

Sam handled the boat really well. I kind of enjoyed sitting on a crate and just watching. It was definitely different. At some point I just had to notice how comfortable he looked sitting on the console (the part I think vibrates too much) and kind of hunched over just a tad, with his hand loosely on the tiller as he looked forward and we talked.

He kept the speed constant and steered with confidence. Not the up and down speed I do with the boat swinging all around from port to starboard as I figure out anew how the backwards action works each time I grab the tiller.

Why do you look so comfortable at the tiller?

Oh, Aunty, Uncle Andy and Randy have boats in Maine. We've been using them since we were little.

Oh. I knew that?

Anyway, Sam saw the lobster buoys out there and we talked about how he can get a 10-pot license. I told him it was way beyond my energy level, but if he wanted to try it next year, he could use my boat.

We chugged along the east side of West Island. Someone was out there fishing. He said he was having no luck, and we believed him because he didn't look too happy and he was pulling up to leave.

We stayed close to the island because it was getting a little windy. There are lots of rocks, though, so you have to be careful if you get too close.

We thought we were way off away from the beach as we rounded the southern point. I was rock spotting and was really surprised at how many rocks are so far out there. My neighbor George had tried to explain to me how there is a whole big line of rocks heading out to the big buoy out there (it has a name, really it does....I'm taking a course...really I am).

We didn't hit any rocks, but it was quite the education to see how far out they go.

People were on the beach, a few boats were out, but I don't remember any close calls or anything.

As we rounded the point, the wind and waves worked against us a bit. We headed back to Hoppy's and we were broadside to the waves, so we had to keep turning into them and back again. We got a little wet, but the Little Water Buggy handled it just fine.

The motor, however, started making that noise that Hoppy had mentioned.

"I think something's wrong with your motor," said Sam.

As he cranked it up while we were fighting the wind and waves, it made a bit of a weird noise and seemed to stop accelerating.

I decided I'd get a new prop and we'd have to drop the motor down closer to the boat like Hoppy said to do.

So, then we got to the dock. Sam was still at the tiller.

I asked him if he wanted to load the boat on the trailer. It was his last chance.

"I can do it, Aunty. I know I can."

Okay, then, let's see it.

Dave the Harbormaster showed up as I backed the trailer down.

He said he just wanted to watch the show.

I told him Sam was going to load the boat. Dave seemed disappointed. He thought I was chickening out, I think. But it really was Sam's last chance to do it before leaving for college the next day. Besides, I want to get as much experience as possible at this stuff. I'm not trying to get out of it.

Sam made a couple of tries at it. The motor popped up out of the water as he hit reverse while Dave and I watched from the bottom of the ramp.

Glad I warned him about that reverse thing. My poor transom. That's the next project.

Sam drove the boat up onto the trailer, mostly, and we struggled with it to get it straightened out and winched up. He did a great job, though, for the first time. Ah, to be 18 and so sure of oneself.

I pulled the car up, pulled out the plug, Dave drove away.

I stood there looking at the boat, just a little crooked on the trailer, and decided to back it down again so Sam could shove the stern over a little. There's a little lip on the bottom (yes, it has a nautical name, my neighbor even told me what it was, but....who remembers?) that keeps getting hung up on the skids.

So, I drove it back into the water, Sam shoved it over, and I felt better.

Then I pulled it up and realized: I forgot to put the plug back in!

Yes, on trip four, I forgot the plug. Luckily, the boat was still attached to the trailer.

As we drove away, the water emptied out, and no one would ever have to know.

Now, the last part of our adventure is always getting the boat into the driveway. It's a tight squeeze, and I have to get all my neighbors to move their cars.

We can do a backing-the-trailer-in-the-driveway blog separately.

Little Water Buggy: Don't Get Blown Up

So, what did we learn on our last trip, boys and girls? We learned to leave the little plastic bin with the lights and the horn out in the open, not behind my legs under the console next to the gas can and the battery.

Speaking of the gas can and battery. My neighbor, friend, and USCG Auxiliary member Bob J decided I would get blown up because the battery and the gas can were under that little console thingy. I told him I wouldn't, but apparently, the stories are plentiful. I assured him I would get a cover for the battery and strap it down. He didn't believe me.

He got a cover for me. We discussed the ways to strap it down. I promised I'd do it, really.

He didn't believe me.

The concept is this: battery makes sparks, gas fumes ignite, gas can blows up, person falls out, boat gets hole, sinks. Generally, a really bad day on the water.

I'll do it, really.

So, one morning I walk out and there's a boat hook in the boat, and the battery has a cover. Okay, that's cool, but I can't figure out how to strap it down. I misunderstood what he said about how it was designed, I guess. I explained that I thought there'd be something to attach to the boat that the strap would go under. Suffice it to say that we didn't understand each other.

Later that day, as I was sitting at Frank & Scott's, Bob drove by and said the battery was all set, secured to the boat. Cool.

I took a look at it, and the first thing I thought was: how did he do that without tipping the boat over?

Then I looked at it and thought, "why don't men ask if they are going to help?" Okay, no big deal. He strapped it down in a little bit of a different place than I would have. We moved the hoses a little and it's fine. Just fine. No biggie.

But how did he do that without tipping the boat over?

He put one of the ubiquitous five-gallon buckets under the back of the boat, with a piece of wood from my wood pile on top, so when he got in the boat, it couldn't tip back because it hit the bucket. Beautiful in its simplicity.

Why didn't I think of that?

Bob also decided I needed a new anchor and line. He had given me one, but he decided it wasn't good enough. He gave me one that twists around to grab the bottom and releases easier. You just go in the other direction and it releases. He also added some chain to it. Then he told me to keep the other one so I had a spare, because, apparently, that's what boaters do, they keep extras of stuff.

Do my guys take care of me or what?

I thanked him for the hook. He said it would be easier for me. I had noticed that Frank & Scott have an old boat hook on their skiff. Theirs has a big old metal hook that looks like something out of Peter Pan, though. Mine is a modern, plastic hook on the end of a stick painted white. Ahem.

So, ready to go again. This time, my other sister joined me with the dog. She's got a little Chihuahua mix named Charlie, and he was eager to go, too.

We got started a little late, again. The wind was starting to pick up. I've discovered that it's important to go early in the morning, while the wind is calm. Being a late riser, I guess I just never noticed that, even though I've lived on the island for 18 years and at the family cottage for a year before that. Or, maybe I just never needed to know, so....it just didn't compute.

Now, my sister has always wanted a sailboat. She even rigged up a little sail on a six- or seven-foot row boat once. She lives right near the water and has usually opted for something she could just drag down to the water, or carry across the street to the beach. When we were teenagers, we had our first trip on a sailboat with our friend Cathy and her boyfriend/husband-to-be. Here's why I didn't go on a boat for 20 years.

Glen had a 14-foot sailboat. We were going to Quick's Hole, although they just kept calling it "Quicks's." Honestly, I still don't know if they are two places or one. I'm taking a course though....really.

Anyway, Quick's Hole is one of those openings you see in the Elizabeth Islands as you look south from the beaches of West Island, Wilbur Point, New Bedford Harbor, etc. On a clear day, the islands look close enough to swim to, but they most definitely are not. On a jet ski, you can reach them pretty quickly. I haven't tried to get to them in my little boat. Most people tell me I shouldn't, that it's too rough. Of course, I didn't know any of that in 1971 (or thereabouts). Hell, I'm not sure if I even knew those islands were called the "Elizabeth Islands," and my name is Elizabeth. Go figure.

Anyway, neither my sister nor I had ever been on a sailboat and we were really excited. I daydreamed about gliding along the water, the sail pushed out by the wind, Glen guiding the boat skillfully as we got closer to the beaches of the islands I had never been to.

Right, sure. Remember what I said about that wind kicking up in the afternoon?

Anyway, I got seasick almost immediately. I always got carsick, but it never occurred to me I'd get sick on a sailboat, gliding peacefully along towards islands that looked so close you could almost touch them.

Well, I vaguely remember a bigger boat that one of Cathy's sisters had. They were joining us on this trek. I remember the two boats getting very close to each other as they passed some Dramamine to Cathy, who passed it to me.

We got to Quick's Hole with no other mishap than my stomach flipping around. Got to the beach. I felt better after a few hours on the ground, swam, got a tan. I suppose I ate something, but I don't remember. I do remember dreading the trip back. Can't we just call a helicopter? No train? No Cape Cod Tunnel?

Anyway, we headed back. I don't know what time it was, but those afternoon winds had kicked up fiercely. The ride back was absolute torture.

Fourteen-foot sailboat, waves crashing over the sides, Cathy bailing water, me leaning over the side trying to decide if I should try to throw up or try NOT to throw up, and Glen, standing up, grasping the tiller in both hands, straining to control the boat and screaming "holy moly, here comes another one. WOOOHEEE!!!" as he turned the boat into four-foot waves.

I didn't know if I wanted to kill him or myself more.

Why they didn't just let me go on Cathy's sister's boat is a mystery to me. Maybe they were continuing to Martha's Vineyard. Maybe I figured it didn't matter, that I would get sick anyway.

All I know is: a 14-foot sailboat is not my idea of a fun ride to the Elizabeth Islands.

It took days to get over that ride. I swore I'd never go in a little boat again, and it was years, 1990-something before I went on anything besides the ferries to Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. Except for a very pleasant, calm ride on my cousin's sailboat in Seattle, just a few years later, in 1978. THAT'S what sailboats are supposed to do. That was a 30-footer, in calm Puget Sound. But I digress.

Back to our third excursion on the low seas with the Little Water Buggy.

So, my sister and the dog and I were all prepared to go. I pushed the boat off the trailer a little better than I had each time before. I got it to the dock okay, and with Chris there to grab the line, it was easy. I moved the car and we were off. I was still shaky, though.

Anyway, the wind was kicking up out of the southwest, so we headed under the causeway to the north side where it was calmer. We buzzed around Bella Vista Island, scooted around the Fritha for a closer look, and just enjoyed the different perspective. I was still getting used to the tiller, and the engine was still vibrating a lot. We had noticed that the transom had a little soft spot on it where the right clamp was, so one of my neighbors was going to reinforce it with a big, thick piece of brass, but he hadn't done that yet.

My sister sat on a crate and held the dog. He didn't like the sound of the engine, it was just a little too loud for him.

So, we headed back after awhile when the wind was started to pick up. As we approached the causeway opening I was a little nervous because of the wind. I told Chris to get in front to direct me or push me away if I got too close.

She maneuvered into position.

"No, I can't see!"

Hmm....that won't work, then, will it.

Do I have to describe the look she gave me?

I got through okay and tied up to the dock. It's so much easier with someone else on the boat to help.

I got the car, backed the trailer into the water, and proceeded to have an impossible time getting the boat on the trailer.

This time, no one was around. The wind had picked up too much. Everyone else had the sense to be gone already. Chris saw someone she thought I knew drive through Hoppy's Landing and she went to get him. I'm glad he was gone, though, because he might've been one of those guys who ACTS like he knows what to do and then wrecks your boat.

Anyway, we both got soaked up to our shoulders trying to push the boat on the trailer. I had driven it up as far as I could but it kept getting skewed to the north/starboard side. There's a little lip on the bottom of the boat that just keeps getting hung up on the skids. It was really close, though. We just didn't have the strength to do it. We kept slipping on the slimy bottom, too, so that didn't help. I moved the trailer in the water more, out of the water more, just couldn't get that boat on straight (I told you I don't do straight well).

I just stood there, looked at Chris and said, "I don't know what to do now."

So, these were my options as I saw them: drive home with the boat a little off kilter, since I was only going to West Island anyway; call TowBoatUS (how embarrassing would that be, but...I'm covered for that!!!); run across the street to Earl's Marina and ask young James or another young'un for help; call Frank.

No brainer: Call Frank.

Got the answering machine. Shoot.

Then Chris remembered that our sister and her husband were just up the street at the cottage. Why didn't I think of that?

We called, and George came with his friend Joe, and it took them all of five seconds to get the boat on the trailer.

I said, "Oh, c'mon. How did you do that? That's just not fair."

They shrugged, but Chris said she saw that Joe wrapped his foot around the tire of the trailer. Hah! I'll remember that.

The best part is that when I called my sister, all she said to her husband was that I needed help. He thought we were out on the water. He and Joe went to Hoppy's Landing having no idea how they would help me out on the water. They were relieved to see the boat was on the trailer, just a little crooked.

George bought me guides for the trailer after that. I'm supposed to be able to drive between them and they will maneuver the boat onto the trailer. Not exactly, but...

George also bought me a new hook for the winch. I forgot to mention that the day I took mom out, the hook fell off into the water. Luckily I found it, sitting there at the end of the ramp. The winch came with one of those clamps that you have to unscrew. Everyone said that was a pain. I only used it once and agree, it was a pain. I think Bob J gave me a different hook, but it only had one big opening instead of one to hook onto the cable and one for the boat. It was also old and rusted; it didn't snap back the way it was designed to, so it fell off the first time I used it. I tied it on with a string after that and George must have noticed it. Anyway, I keep the old one in the little plastic bin with the lights and the horn now. Just in case. Pretty soon I'm going to need a bigger plastic bin.

Until next time then...

Little Water Buggy: Travels with Mom

So, the second time I took out the boat, I took my mother for a putter around the cove. Now, I really had planned on using the boat at least two more times before taking mom, but, at 82, her schedule trumps. She tends to change her mind, so if she says she wants to go, we GO.

I found her a nice little powder-blue life jacket that she loved. She was ready to go.

So I told my sister to keep mom at the cottage while I tied up to the dock. I knew that if mom saw me have a hard time just launching the boat that she'd never get in it with me. She had never been on a private boat, except to sit on my brother's. She never actually went OUT on one. The only boat she ever went anywhere on was the Nantucket Ferry. And that was a long time ago.

When I got to Hoppy's Landing, Sandy and Joe were walking out to the floating dock to fish. I know them from the paper and around town. They are very nice people, friendly, and I was happy to see familiar faces there.

Turns out Joe was a charter boat captain. Who knew?

Anyway, he asked if I needed any help. I told him it was only my second time launching, so if I could throw the line to him that would be great.

I managed to get the boat off the trailer (with some difficulty still), and started to back it up to the dock, quickly realizing I needed to go forward. I mean, the stupid outboard-tiller-sitting-back thing is all backwards anyway. Trying to back up with that backwards setup is just ridiculous. So, I backed off the trailer and then went forward. Besides, that motor just LOVES to pop up in reverse. I really need to figure out how to use that clamp-down thing from INSIDE the boat.

This time, I wanted to tie up on the other side of the dock, the north side, so I could leave the ramp side open. I was going to call my sister after I tied up and she was going to drive my mother down. I didn't want to hog the dock too long. They were only about 1/8 mile away, but still....for the guys who use that dock, that's all the time they need to launch or load. They're so fast at it (grrr....)

So, with Joe directing me, I managed to get the boat around to the other side of the dock. Unfortunately, I ended up facing the dock head on, not alongside it. Joe kept saying that was good. I thought I knew what he was going for but I didn't know how to do it.

He grabbed the front of the boat and said, "that's good, Beth."

I, from behind, with Joe directly in front of my boat, said, "but I don't know what to do now, Joe."

He said to give it a little gas and turn the tiller whichever way (I'll be damned if I can remember which way) and that would make the back end of the boat swivel around.

Okay, that's what I thought he wanted.

So, I gave it just a tad of gas and turned the way he said, and the back end of the boat just swung around towards the dock while Joe held it by the rails in front.

How cool is that?

Then the front of the boat kind of started climbing up the dock a tad. Joe told me to cut the power.

Well, now, I told you...everything is backwards on a boat and this stuff doesn't come as second nature to me.

Yup, you guessed it....I turned the throttle the wrong way. Gave it the gas....revved that baby right up... VROOM!

My Little Water Buggy just climbed right up that dock like the Great White in Jaws after Quint. Straight for Joe.

Picture it from the tiller: the bow of my little boat heading right up out of the water, just Joe's head visible above it as he held onto the rails trying to push it back.

Oh, my God, I'm going to kill Joe. With Sandy right there watching the whole thing.

I turned the throttle back the other way, shaking, waiting for some admonition or laugh, or something.

"Looks like you've got a pretty good motor there, Beth," said Joe (or some such similar thing).

Do I love this town or what?

So, I jumped out, all shaky legs and hands, moved the car, and called my sister.

Meanwhile, the wind started to pick up, bringing a little fog with it. My sister and mother got in the boat. Joe suggested I stay in the mooring field. I told him the plan was to go under the causeway, to the north side, where the water was calmer. He suggested I avoid the tight quarters of the causeway opening.

We headed out to sea, but it was too windy. My little boat was getting bounced around.

Now, the other thing is, the boat doesn't have any stationary seats yet. I'm just not sure where I want to put them. I have two, but they are in the shed until I make the big decision.

Meanwhile, the plan had been to put a couple of beach chairs right up against the back console (which is what the gas and battery are under). Unfortunately, after we got the motor on, I realized I needed that whole back section to steer. So we put two chairs on the deck, but they could slide around a little. It wasn't really rough enough for that, but the chairs aren't really secure, either.

Anyway, I turned the boat around as soon as we could clear the rocks off Long Island and we headed under the causeway. I told my sister I'd just go slow. If it looked like I was going to hit the sides, she could just push us away. Remember, it's just a 15-foot tri-hull, low in the water.

I got us under there just fine and it was so calm on that side. Of course, there were a bunch of kids jumping off the causeway, but they had the good sense to wait until I got through.

Maybe they could see I was new at this.

We puttered around Bella Vista Island. It was the first time my mother had seen it from that perspective. We've had the cottage since the 60s, but you really need a boat to see it up close from that angle. We remember when the house got built. We remember the island before this new owner started gutting it like a grapefruit. The house is still a sight to behold, though.

My sister and my mother had a cigarette as I puttered very slowly. We invoked the memory of my late Aunt Terry, who would've just loved the whole concept. We didn't have any mimosas, though, kind of a necessity with an Aunt Terry memory.

Next time, we promised ourselves, we'll have mimosas.

The fog started to roll in, but it was still light. Shoot, I've only lived on the island for 18 years. I've seen that fog roll so fast and thick you couldn't see 10 feet within 10 seconds, but, for some reason, I thought, "no problem." My sister was there, she could go to the front of the boat and direct me, right?

Except...when she was at the front of the boat, I couldn't see.

Ah well, live and learn.

So, we started to approach the causeway. The fog was thick. Really thick. We puttered slowly, my sister and I trying not to sound nervous so mom wouldn't be nervous.

"You have lights?" asked my sister.

Um...yeah, but they're in the little plastic bin behind my legs under the console next to the gas tank and the battery.

Hmm....probably not a good place for them.

Do you remember which boats we passed on the way out?

We could see the causeway itself, but not the opening.

Oh, wait, there are the kids jumping off, there's the fence....that's the opening.

Phew.

"Do you have a horn?" asked my sister.

Um....yeah, but it's right next to the lights in the little plastic bin behind my legs under the console next to the gas tank and the battery.

Hey, wait, I have a whistle on my kayaking life jacket....oh, no, I gave that to my 10-year-old cousin for a hiking whistle (to scare away the bears).

Okay, no problem. Approach the causeway slowly, the kids on the bridge see us, are waiting. No one coming through on the other side. That's good, I understand it's kind of interesting if two boats  "commit" themselves to going under at the same time.

Don't even think about that. Let the other guy hit reverse. My motor pops up when I use reverse. Don't tell mom!

Okay, under the causeway, kids waited to jump. They waved, even said something, but we couldn't understand them.

Man it was foggy.

Apparently, when we got through on the other side, Sandy & Joe clapped.

Okay, so now I needed to get back to the dock. Remember the first time? It took four tries.

Well, I'll be honest, I don't remember why or how I did it, but we went back to the north side. Maybe someone was using the other side. Maybe it just seemed easier. Mom got out of the boat and Joe and I moved the boat around the dock using the lines. I learned then that my $2, 15-foot lines from Ocean State weren't long enough. Went back and bought more 25-foot lines.

I went to get the car, and my sister's husband showed up just about then to greet us (and pick up mom and my sister).

When I got back to the dock, after mom had a few minutes to talk to Sandy and Joe, mom said, "You didn't tell me this was only the second time you took the boat out!"

I didn't hide that fact. I thought you knew.

Oh well.

Anyway, my brother-in-law helped me line up the boat with the trailer. I did a terrible job of getting it on the trailer, but my brother-in-law George helped and we got it done. I kept cutting the power too soon and the wind and tide just pushed that baby off kilter. Somehow, though, George managed to get it on there and make it look so easy.

So, the second time out and I still didn't get the stupid thing on the trailer.

Mom told me later she'd pay to put seats in.

She wants to go out on it again.

So, how cool is that?

Little Water Buggy: Don't forget the plug.

So, after getting the boat in the yard, I needed to get all the stuff to get it in the water.

I sent an email to everyone I could think of asking for some of the stuff I needed: gas tank and hoses, anchor and line, battery, oar. Then the stuff I would need eventually, like a ladder, radio, and a couple of other things....can't remember now.

Oh, right, a drain plug....don't forget the plug.

Oh, the reasons I should write this stuff right away.

Anyway, I got a free gas tank, oar, anchor and line, and even a battery. Then, after I ran the boat a couple of times, one of my neighbors decided I would get blown up because the battery and the gas tank are in the same little cubby hole in the back, so he got me a box for the battery and even tied it down for me. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, Frank and Scott, whose herculean efforts made it possible for this thing to go in the water in the first  place, gave me a plug off the wall. I had mentioned that I thought it was a 1", but not sure. Frank just grabbed one off a hook in his garage and handed it to me. They both suggested, strongly, that I put the plug in from the inside, not the back. Harder to get to, but worth it. They said the churning of the water could loosen it. Seen in more than once, etc.

Just screw it in, they said. FIRST THING YOU SHOULD DO.

No problem. I can do THAT.

So, I trucked on over to my house next door and shoved the plug in through the back, just to make sure it fit. Well, it just went in and then out.

Hmmm....must be too small.

I walked back over, where they were eating outside in their screen house. Ah, neighbors....

It doesn't fit, it's too small.

You have to screw it in.

But it doesn't fit.

Scott walked over with me and explained that it's on a spring or some such thing...I don't know. It goes in easily, then you turn it to the right and it opens up and tightens.

Oh.

"I told you I don't know ANYTHING," I said.

Ugh....

Okay, now I had my gas tank all filled, with the oil mixed, and I lifted that baby into the boat. Hell, that was heavy. But I can do it.

I jumped in the boat, put the tank under that little console in the back, hooked up the hoses. I  had read all about how to do that earlier when one of my neighbors gave me a hose/pump, but no clamps. I ended up buying the whole set-up, it was just about the same price as buying the clamps separately and it was all connected. Much easier. Been back and forth to Benny's and West Marine more times than I care to count.

Anyway, hooked it all up, then jumped in with the battery.

Slid the battery in the back and....whoa....Little Water Buggy, the whole thing tipped back right into the lawn.

Oh, my pittery-pattery little heart. My hands were shaking already and I didn't even have the thing in the water yet.

I jumped out and took a look at it. What a sight to see that boat in the dirt, with the front of the trailer up in the air. (I should've taken a picture, but it just didn't seem like a Kodak moment at the time.)

I walked back next door and said, "Hey, Frank. I think that trailer needs a little adjusting."

God bless his little soul. He didn't laugh at me, just walked over, took a look and said, "they all do that, you need to hook it up to the car first."

Oh, good. Okay.

Now, meanwhile, he had told me that I would need a 2" ball hitch, not the 1 7/8" that everyone expected. Hell, how do I know that? I had U-haul put the tow package on the car and had an old ball hitch from the old car that my mechanic George B had put on. I looked at the thing and saw a "2" but had no way of knowing if that was 2 INCHES. Damn guys. Why can't they just be clear about these things?

So, I just started asking everyone everything. One of my other neighbors assured me that the "2" meant 2 inches. George B came by and gave me a great lesson on my motor, especially warning me that it would pop up in reverse if I didn't clamp it down. Apparently the pin to lock it down was gone...but, then someone else found it...it's there, I just don't know how to use it from INSIDE the boat. No matter, it's better NOT to lock it down for going forward in case you hit a rock, that way the motor will pop up and get less damage...one little, itty bitty piece of information at a time.

Okay, so, hook the trailer up to the car and get back in. Screw in the plug, hook up the battery. Get a big bucket of water to put the engine in so I can start it in the driveway first. Don't want to get out there and have it not start...EVERYONE said that.

Won't start. Won't start. Won't start.

Frank.....

Hoses backwards.

Shoot...after reading all about how that big arrow tells you which way the gas flows TO the engine, I had hooked it up backwards.

Thank you, Frank.

Engine starts. Shut it off. Move the big bucket of water.

Are you sure you won't go with me the first time, Frank? Scott?

You'll be fine.

Of course I will.

Well, I threw the crate with the two "boat" life jackets in the car, but couldn't find my C02 life vest (the kind that inflates). I figured I had left it at Frank & Scott's after we had all gone on the kayaking trip (oh, another story to tell).

That day a big old cloud had come across the island (see post one: the launch), so I was just going to take the boat to Hoppy's Landing and drive around and get the feel of the trailer, try to figure out how to back it up, etc.

I decided, though, to go by Frank & Scott's first to see if they had my life jacket. I took the left, headed down Bluepoint, which is not paved. Oh, my pittery pattery heart again. Having not been around boats, or...realizing at that point...having never even been in a car that was hauling a boat, I was totally unprepared for the cacophony that came from the back. I looked in the mirror and the boat was still attached to the trailer, both jumping up and down on the road. I slowed to a crawl, found Scott at the garage, asked for my life jacket, which he had, then..

"Is it supposed to sound like that?"

Scott walked to the trailer, pulled it up and down and assured me it was secure and okay.

That wasn't my question, exactly, but...I guess my question was answered.

"You sure you won't come with me this first time?"

Guess not.

I turned towards Hoppy's Landing, shaking like a leaf in autumn....oh...this was a good idea, right?

See post one, "Little Water Buggy: The Launch," for what happens next.

From the top of the town...climbing the wind turbine.

Oh, the cool stuff I get to do in this job.

But, oh, my aching bones.

Even before the wind turbines had been constructed in Fairhaven, I was begging the developer to let me climb to the top. I had been invited to the one in Charlestown during a media event and the plan had been to climb to the top of that one, which has a 50-meter tower. Fairhaven's are 80 meters.

Unfortunately, it was too windy in Charlestown that day, so they wouldn't let us climb up. They said the sway of the tower was more than six inches and so it was too dangerous. We could get motion sickness, too. I was okay with the decision.

Anyway, the WTs in Fairhaven went up and I kept reminding everyone how I wanted to climb. The event needs to be coordinated, the weather needs to cooperate, and the developer needs to get a bunch of extra workers around to help us with our gear, etc. It costs him money, no doubt about it. The turbine can't spin if we're all climbing up, and then he's paying all these extra people to hang around and baby sit us.

Anyway, he contacted me and said he was planning a day for the media and for town officials to climb to the top. The date for the climb was set for Friday, 8/24/12. Right, of course. After the hottest two months I'd ever seen. I hadn't ridden my bicycle in weeks!

Ugh....climbing those towers is no easy task.

Imagine: the metal ladder is about 2.5 feet away from the wall, you're all harnessed up with about 8 pounds of stuff, it's hot in there, and you have 262+ feet to climb, one ladder rung at a time.

(That's Heidi's yellow hard hat way down below, although I didn't know who it was at the time. She forgot to close the hatches on the way down so I couldn't tell if she was coming up or down. It makes a great picture, though.)

I started riding my bike right away, but I only got about four rides in before the big day.

No biggie. I climb mountains (well, not every week or anything), so I know how to keep going. I know about pacing myself and all that. I know how not to give up.

I had already talked to a bunch of people who had climbed these things. They all said the same thing: the first section is a piece of cake, the second section is harder, the third section is really hard, and at the fourth section, you just can't believe you'll make it.

After the first section, I thought I'd die.

I think they were taking bets on top that I wouldn't make it. Rob, one of the young'uns helping us get harnessed up and started on the ladder must've realized I was having a hard time. He came up to the second level (or was it the first) and gave us water. He just flew up and down that ladder, God bless his young and in-shape little soul.

He told me that if I got to a point where I decided it was too much, that I should just come down, that there was no shame in it. He didn't, however, say that he knew of anyone else who had, actually and for real, decided NOT to finish the trek.

No matter, I looked that boy in the eye and said (in my most lethal tone): I am going up.

I'm not sure, but I think he backed up just a tad. We were in the tower, though, not a whole lot of room to maneuver, so it was hard to tell. He absolutely looked skeptical, though, and a little worried. Guess he thought this old lady would have a heart attack or something. All I knew was: I was going up.

So, this is the mistake I made. I went up the first section too fast. I also didn't lean against the wall at all. I used my arms too much, too. I thought the first section would be easy, so I just climbed, one foot after the other, no break, like going up stairs.

Bad idea. The key to hiking is to find your pace. Same thing with this. I needed to find my pace.

I thought I'd die after the first section. I could barely push the metal hatch open. I stopped and wished I had water. It was very hot in there. I took out my little notebook and wrote: I'm having a really tough time, first section, the easiest...shit!

My arms felt like rubber, too. I decided that I just went too fast, so I went a lot slower on the second section. I still used my arms too much, though. I leaned against the wall a few times, too, and that helped. When I got to the second landing, Heidi was waiting for me. I think she was worried about me, too, but she was also resting. I told her my arms were killing me, and she said not to use my arms so much, that she was leaning her back against the wall and using her legs more.

Duh...that's what they meant about the wall, huh?

Meanwhile, Rob came up and gave us both water. He went back down twice and came up as I recall. Just like nothing. Oh, I felt sooooo old.

On the third section, I leaned my back against the wall, took my time, one step at a time, and...lo and behold, the third and fourth sections were EASIER for me, not worse, than the first two sections.

Go figure.

Frank was on his way down as I was on my way up. I told him I was already having a tough time and asked him if it was worth it. He said it was, and I was glad to hear it. Although, like I said, I was going up no matter what.

When I got up the fourth tower section (see below for specs), it was actually split into two sections. Not sure what that was about.

We weren't allowed to climb with our cameras, those had to go up separately, but I had taken a small digital that fit in my pocket (that was the rule...it had to fit inside a pocket). I took a few pictures inside, but not as many as I should have. I missed a few key points, but, ah well.

Anyway, when we reached the nacelle, which houses the generator, we had to scoot around by the space between the generator and the outside wall of the nacelle. It's only a couple of feet and there's a big gap between where the floor ends and the outside wall is. There are all kinds of gadgets around, and it's a bit of an obstacle course. I slipped. Yup. My foot slipped off the steel floor and I fell right into the hole, my leg smashing up against the steel. What a beauty of a black & blue mark I got from that.

I looked at Yang, the Chinese electrician who was at the top to help us, and asked him if anyone else had done that.

"No, you only," he said a little worried.

No big deal, just a bruise. Point me to the top!

(This is the generator that we had to kind of squeeze around.)

The next step was almost comical. I can't believe I didn't get a picture. It's hard to explain. The round generator has a few steps on the underside and up the side, then two handles above the head that we had to grab while our feet were still on the other rungs, making us lean backwards with our arms way up grabbing the handles on top with our feet on the side of the generator. Then, we had to push our butts back to sit on the edge of the next level. I swear if I was one inch shorter I wouldn't have been able to reach. I would've had to fly through the air.

Then we had to climb up another part of the generator that also had a rung to climb on (although I had to jump up to reach it). Then poke the head through the hatch and out into the air.

Pictured: Heidi and Sumul at the top of the turbine. The south turbine is behind them, and then West Island.

The big "claws" came into use then. We had been given a lesson on the ground on how they worked. At each stop along the way, we were supposed to hook the claw onto the ladder if we were unhooking ourselves to rest on the landings. So, by the time I got to the top, I was pretty good with the claws.

At the top, the idea was to hook the claws on the safety hooks first, then climb up, hook the claw to move along, etc.

Heidi and I actually switched places on top of the nacelle, passing each other 265+ feet in the air. Oh my heart.

At first it was a bit harrowing, but then I took a step and felt the no-skid surface beneath me. The nacelle top was very sturdy, with almost no give at all, and it was wider than I thought at first. Before long Heidi and I were walking around and taking pictures from every angle and just saying, "wow."

The day had no wind, which was good because it would've been very scary up there if the wind had been pushing at us. The other wind turbine, the south one, wasn't moving at all, so the wind had to be under 7 MPH.

The morning haze obscured the far view, which was a little disappointing. I was hoping to see the Falmouth wind turbines, which you can see from on the ground on West Island. But we couldn't see them that day. I also think the angle wasn't quite right.

The marsh that you see on the bike path is beautiful, no doubt, but from the top of the turbine it was spectacular. The Nasketucket River winds its way out to Little Bay through a green marsh, with the houses and farms of East Fairhaven straight up to the east. The wind turbine's blades were pointed north, so we had  unobstructed views east and west.

This is the picture I used for the cover of this week's Neighb News.

From the top, we could see the Wood School construction site, West Island, the water tower on Boston Hill Road, the farms in East Fairhaven.

It was incredible. Heidi and Sumul and I just kind of hung out taking pictures of each other and the scenery. Heidi's camera is much better suited to zooming in on things and she got some great shots. Visit us at www.Facebook.com/Neighbnews  to see more pictures.

Kasia also took some pictures for the Neighb News. Her camera can take panoramic shots and they are unbelievable. Not sure how well they'll look on Facebook, but on our website, you'll be able to donwload a PDF that has three of them on page 13.

Okay, so now we had to go down.

That was much easier. I just put my back against the wall and slid down. The clip got stuck a few times, though. That happened on the way up, too. That was a pain because a couple of times I thought I wouldn't be able to get it loose and I'd have to wait to be rescued...Rob...where are you? How embarrassing would that have been. Anyway, others had the same complaint. I think Ariel and I were especially peeved about it, though, because we were so tired. We did NOT need to be wasting extra energy on that stuff.

I also managed to bump into our town officials at the top of the WT, too. See Facebook for pictures.

Anyway, when I got to the ground I was sweaty and really beat, but very happy I had done it.

Sumul emailed that he heard I was "injured" and hoped I was okay. I told him the black & blue mark was nothing, but losing my Cedar of Lebanon pendant really hurt. The chain broke and the cedar is gone...gone...gone.

Ah well. Live and learn.

I'm hoping to go up again. Maybe after I've had a chance to ride the bicycle a bit. Maybe for the fall colors.

Like I said: the cool stuff I get to do in this job. It's one of the best things about it.

Until next time...stay tuned for more boat adventures, coming up soon.



WT Specs
The bottom section is 12.47 meters (40.9+ feet) and weighs 102,000 pounds; the second section is 16.785 meters (55+ feet) and weighs 100,000 pounds; the third section is 24.01 meters (78.7+ feet) and weighs 95,000 pounds; the top section is 24.135 meters (79+ feet) and weighs 60,000 pounds. The nacelle, at 135,00 pounds, houses the generator and is another 12 feet or so high.

The two Sinovel SL 1500/82 wind turbines in Fairhaven can produce 1.5 MW of electricity each. The towers are 80 meters high and the blades add an additional 41 meters for a total height of approximately 397 feet.

I can't believe we still have to protest this stuff.

I cannot believe we still need to address the unrivaled ignorance of total idiots like Rep. Todd Akin (R-MO) who said women can’t get pregnant from rape — he called it “legitimate rape,” presumably meaning she was really raped and not fake-raped. The levels of insult are like an onion: they just go on and on.

When will the attacks on women stop? When will this crap be over? I can’t believe we are still arguing this bullshit now in 2012. I had so much good, local stuff to rant about this week, yet here I am, forced to address the idiocy of someone who is in a position of power, real power, over women’s lives. It cannot be ignored because this guy is on the SCIENCE Committee in Congress: That’s Congress with a capital “C.” The United States Congress. ARRGHHH!!!! AND, he has a good chance of becoming a senator, of the U.S. Yes, THE U.S.

This omnipresent degrading of women is not new. It’s just so disheartening that it still goes on. Hell, people, we had a serious contender for the presidential nomina­tion for president, and a woman vice presidential candidate; we’ve had women in space, running big corporations, winning gold medals.
Yet society still has a million ways to try to make women feel just a little “less.”

(SPOILER ALERT...PARANORMAN THE MOVIE)
In the movie “Paranorman,” the gay reference at the end has people talking. That was okay in my book (but you knew that). What WAS disturbing, were the heterosexual interac­tions: the pretty cheerleader always having to push away the groping teenage boy. And everyone laughs.

Why do they laugh? Why do they think it’s funny? Because it’s against a girl, that’s why. Well, it’s not funny. This is the kind of stuff that sets the tone for women feeling they have less of a right to the integrity of their own bodies. Men are allowed to grab and we’re supposed to laugh it off, just push them away, no big deal. But it is a big deal. Men need to cut the crap. Boys need to cut the crap. Just stop it. Why is that so hard? Because society helps them NOT stop, that’s why.

As a Catholic, I grew up thinking that abortion was not an option. Period. And that it should not be an option for any woman anywhere, ever.

Then I got old enough to understand what that really meant, in a very personal way, for girls...not boys, of course. My political feminism started then, I think, although my feminist thinking probably started when I was five and told I shouldn’t do something because I was a girl. It just wasn’t fair. And that’s all feminism is, really, just trying to make it fair.

It was still a few years, though, before I heard the word “feminist.” “Women’s libber” was the catch-phrase before that, but it wasn’t serious enough to me. I knew I wasn’t that. Everyone who used the term laughed as they said it. When they said “feminist,” they sneered with contempt. That, at least, was serious.

Meanwhile, at my Catholic school, they were actively teaching us that women could not get pregnant from rape, and, at the same time, that rape was often used as a weapon of war to change ethnic make-ups in countries and in regions where civil war was raging among different sects.

I immediately latched onto the contradiction, but no one else seemed to notice. To be honest, I don’t recall if I ever said anything in class about it. I suspect I didn’t.

But just because I may have been silent about it, doesn’t mean I was stupid. I suspected then that it might all just be a ploy; a ploy to keep women down; a ploy to make girls feel their aspirations did not count as much.

I started to figure out that it was just part and parcel of the methods used to make us believe that everything was always our fault.

The horror of rape or near-rape is so real, so difficult, so all-consuming, and so long term. To then think of the horror of getting pregnant from it and having no recourse whatsoever because the law now claims your body. And just for good measure, let’s add the guilt of making it your fault for getting pregnant, not the rapist’s, because you must’ve liked it or you wouldn’t have gotten pregnant in the first place. So bear that child, no matter how young you are; the course of your life has changed, through no action of your own. It’s your destiny. It’s your biology. You must live with it. It’s God’s will.
How does one feel like a worthy human being when all that is being thrown at her? As if being an adolescent isn’t tough enough.

Then I heard, or more likely read, the word “feminist.” Thank you, “Ms. Magazine.” Thank you, “Our Bodies, Ourselves.” Thank you, Gloria Steinem. Thank you, Marlo Thomas.

They just made it so clear, what I had known but could not articulate. It is so simple, so fundamental, and so under attack: women cannot be equal if abortion is illegal. It’s that simple. It’s that clear. It’s that necessary. It is step ONE. Anyone who does not acknowledge that is either being dishonest or is just not thinking clearly. No one is saying a woman HAS to have an abortion, just that she can and that the reasons for it are no one’s business but her own.

The Todd Akins of the world, if they had their way, would make it impossible for a woman to get an abortion, even to save her life. Because? Because women don’t count as much as whatever a man has biologically placed inside of her, against her will or not. In 31 states, rapists have the same parental rights as real fathers. Can you believe that?

Men are not held back by their biology: humans have transcended their biology since the beginning of time. The only reason we are at the top of the food chain is because we did not accept our biological limitations. If we had to rely solely on our biological strength, the species would have disappeared a long time ago. If MEN had let biology define THEM and limit THEM, we could not speed along roads at untold miles per hour, fly in the air, or reach the moon.

God, or nature, did not give us wings, but that did not stop us from flying.

Biology won’t stop women either; so step aside, Mr. Akin and those of your ilk, you’ve really pissed us off this time.

We are, simply put, tired of this crap. We want to get to the business of living life and aspiring to greater things, instead of constantly being dragged back to fight off laws attached to our bodies, making it impossible for us just to live life and aspire to greater things.

So keep your laws off our bodies. Get out of our vaginas. Get out of our lives. Take your self-righteous, pompous idiocy and go fishing or something. Just get the hell out of the law-making business. You suck at it.