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.

Flat calm and not in the boat

Well, I don't think I have the time or the discipline to post every day, but I'm going to try. If you didn't see yesterday's (Sunday's) post, just click on "older posts" on the bottom right.

Yesterday I won some Portuguese sweet bread at the West Island Improvement Association's annual clambake. How yummy is that? The clambake was great. The clams were a little sandy, but they gave us extra broth to counter that. They were so tasty, and cooked just exactly right! Having mussels thrown in is always a nice touch, too.

I had not planned to attend; I usually don't go to that one. But, a couple of my neighbors had an extra ticket, so I took my camera and notebook, and we walked up the street. They even bought me a beer. Thank you Beth & Tim.

Of course, I thought it was at 4 p.m., not noon, and they showed up with the ticket while I was eating breakfast....stopped one meal and headed out for another.

What a country!

Unfortunately, I had planned on going to the Farmer's Market to take a picture of Pumpkin Head Ted playing. I need a cover story for this week! Or, at least a cover photo.

Anyway, back to the clambake. This is Bakemaster Paul Innis handing me my plate of soft-shell clams, mussels, potatoes (both white and sweet), linguica (or chourico, not sure), a piece of spicy fish, corn on the cob, and a lobster on top.

After the meal, there was a raffle. I won a choice for mine. The dry scallops were gone, so I grabbed the fresh Portuguese sweet bread, opened it up and pulled a chunk out of it before I even got to my seat. At my table we ate some chunks and could tell it was baked fresh that day. Someone suggested I make French toast with it. Instead, I took it to my mother's cottage up the street, where my sister and her husband are staying on vacation. I knew if I kept it at my house, I'd eat the whole thing plain, or eat the whole thing as French toast all at once the next morning.

So my brother-in-law, who is Portuguese and a pretty good cook, suggested that he grill it in butter. I thought, "oh no, what was the point of bringing it here?"

This morning, I hopped on my bicycle and headed over there to try my first grilled Portuguese sweet bread. Oh my, I had three pieces. That's a lot of bicycle riding to work that off.

Then I jumped back on the bike and headed towards the center of town. Normally, I take the bike path extension and then head to Mattapoisett. But this morning I had forgotten to take water with me, so I scooted up (okay, not scooted, pedaled heavily) up unpaved Little Bay Road to Friendly Farm Convenience on the corner. I grabbed a bottle of Poland Springs and then headed towards the center.

I decided to try to find Doug's Props. My neighbor Frank had told me that Doug's was around there somewhere and after we adjusted the motor we realized the prop really was slipping (no, I haven't written those details yet, but I will). I had called a couple of people, but apparently, Doug's is the place for small prop repair and replacement (Scandia is the place for commercial boats...we all know THAT).

Doug was there, took the numbers I had taken off the prop and gave me a price. He said he'd be by in about an hour to remove the one from my motor so he could compare and be sure what he ordered would be okay.

So I pedaled back along the bike path, to the Little Bay Extension and along Sconticut Neck Road, stopped briefly to talk to Billy who was working in his yard and then back to West Island.

The extra high tide was just beginning to recede, but the marshes were still under water. A few people were jogging, walking and biking along my same route, and we all had a friendly nod and "hello" or "good morning" to each other. Do I love this place or what?

At Hoppy's Landing, Tim the Shellfish Warden and Shellfish Deputy Richie were putting up new signs at Hoppy's. Wish I had my camera with me, but I was still playing hooky.

The water was flat-calm, the Elizabeth Islands looked close enough to almost swim to. Going over the causeway to the island, the quiet, calm water worked its magic, just as it does in a car. Unfortunately, I had played hooky on the weekend, so I needed to get back here and work, which, obviously, I'm still not doing. Bella Vista Island, although gutted like a grapefruit by the new owner, still looks great from the Causeway, the boats in front not moving at all in the stillness.

I feel immensely lucky that I get to live here year-round. Every time I go over that causeway, driving, biking, or walking, I thank my lucky stars.

As I worked on this blog, Doug stopped by to take the propeller off my motor and took it back with him. He said he'll have the new one tomorrow.

That's another boat buck+ spent. But it doesn't count for the "getting the boat in the water" tally. That still stands at $732 and won't change because it has been in the water, several times.

Stay tuned to read about trip #2 with mom, trip #2 with my sister, and trip #4 with my nephew. Each one has entertaining elements to amuse you, I promise.

See ya,
bd

Glossary:
dry scallops: pre-processed scallops, usually referred to as "right off the boat." Scallops sold retail are processed by getting soaked with a solution of water and potassium. Processors are allowed to increase the weight of the scallops by 40%.

boat buck: money spent on a boat that inevitably equals $100, no matter what it is you plan on buying that day.

Little Water Buggy: The Acquisition

Before I get to the boat trip with my 82-year-old mother who had never been in a boat besides the Nantucket Ferry, I want to tell you how I got this thing in the first place, and, of course, how I got it ready to go in the water.

I've already mentioned my good friend Jimmy Mellen who died last October (see blog 1: The Launch).
Well, about 10 years ago, Jimmy stopped using his boat due to medical reasons. I became the proud owner of his motor, for a deal (exact payment arrangement to be kept secret until the end of time....or until I change my mind).

At that time I had a 16-foot Evinrude tri-hull, circa 1966, known as a "Sweet 16" in the driveway. It had been sitting there for a long time already at that point, acquired the year I was a commercial quahogger (definitely a separate blog post...or two). My friend Dave C had grabbed it for me. We picked it up at a house on West Island. Dave had said not to pay for it, but that didn't seem right, so I threw $50 on the table before we left. No one was home at the time we took it. It was sitting on the lawn of a back yard at a house on the beach side of Balsam Street. The guy who had it said he had bought it to cut the trailer out from under it. I should've listened to Dave and not left any money.

Dave C assured me he could repair the boat. Suffice it to say, that boat never got in the water, it got junked.

And the motor stayed in my shed. And stayed in my shed. And stayed in my shed.

Well, Jimmy got sicker and sicker, then into the nursing home, at which point I was his main contact with the outside world and his liaison/advocate (read: pitbull) with the medical types. I took the money he had saved and put it in a safe deposit box. Whenever he wanted money, I'd take it from the box and give it to him. It was too dangerous to keep it at the nursing home, and he was only allowed to have $2,000 maximum in his name anyway. Jimmy made it clear that the money was to be used to cremate him and he wanted me to have what was left. Honestly, as time went on I didn't think there would even be enough to cremate him. I envisioned myself at the bar taking up a collection from his friends.

Jimmy died in October of 2011. I learned then, that in Massachusetts, the closest relative has to give written permission for a person to be cremated. That was Jimmy's son, and they had not spoken to each other in more than 30 years.

Several days went by as Jimmy's body stayed in the morgue at St. Luke's. I had a conversation with the social worker who told me Jimmy's son refused to sign. I asked what would happen if no one could talk him into it. She said that Jimmy would have to be buried. I said who's going to pay for that, I had $2,600 to cremate him, no money to bury him. She said the $2,600 might be enough. I laughed: that money was to cremate him, not bury him, and I would not give up a penny of it for something that he expressly did NOT want done.

The money was, after all, in cash, in MY safe deposit box. The health care proxy and power of attorney both died with him. So, for all legal purposes, that money was mine to do with as I pleased.

I said, "I'm gonna buy a boat! Do you have any idea how much boat I can buy for $2,600 in these parts?"

The social worker didn't say anything.

"Jimmy would be so happy to buy me a boat!" I continued.

Ah well, the son eventually signed, sort of. He signed for his aunt to be able to sign and for me to take the ashes and dispose of them as per Jimmy's wishes (at Hoppy's Landing off the floating dock, of course).

Anyway, at the memorial we had for him, I was entertaining people with the story of the son not signing, the boat, etc.

"For about an hour on Tuesday, I really thought I was going to get a boat," I told anyone who would listen.

Hoppy was there, drew himself up, looked down at me and asked, "You want a boat, Beth?"

I said, "Yeah, I had that beat up thing in the yard for 10 years..." like, why else would that have been there?

"I'll get you a boat," he said.

Yeah, right, I thought.

Well, I'll be damned, he did.

A couple of months later he said he found a boat for me. I had about $600 in the boat fund at that point and was planning on getting about $1200 before I started looking for a boat with a trailer.

So I asked him how much. He said he had sold Jimmy's car and I could either take the money or the boat. I said I didn't want anything to do with that stupid car, but he insisted that I had taken good care of Jimmy, one of his best friends, etc., and I deserved the money from the car.

So I looked at the boat with my neighbor Frank. We knew immediately that the trailer would not be part of the deal: it was a beauty, and didn't fit the boat anyway. I was right, it turns out that Hoppy tried to get the trailer without the boat, but the seller insisted that he take both (that happens a lot around here, I guess). So Hoppy got the boat home, took another look at it and thought, "hey, that would make a nice little boat for Beth."

It was a 15-foot tri-hull that had been mined for parts: the steering wheel was gone, there was a big hole in the deck, and the side boards inside had been ripped out, along with a few other things. Only the telltale signs of old screws removed, hinges, and other things were left behind to pique the imagination on what they held in place in the old boat's heyday.

But it was a sweet-looking little thing to me, except for the name: "Chickaroo."

I told Frank, "well, the name's got to go, that's for sure."

And don't give me any grief about how it's bad luck to change the name of a boat. No way on God's green earth was Beth David going to own a boat named "Chickaroo." Period. After it was in my yard, my Portuguese neighbor told me that "Chickaroo" (pronounced very differently than expected), was a fish that the Portuguese like to catch. I told him I was changing the name anyway.

I told Hoppy I'd take the boat (it had a legitimate title and everything), but he had to fix the deck and he had to give me a useable trailer. He said he would.

The winter wore on and I wondered if it would happen. Anyone who knows Hoppy knows he's a wheeler and dealer, so if a better deal came along, I knew he might sell the boat. I wasn't going to put a penny into it until it was registered in my name.

One rainy day, when Hoppy wasn't lobstering, we went to Fall River and registered the boat in my name. Of course, any trip to Fall River to register a boat and meet up face-to-face with Little Miss Personality (and you all know who I mean) is worthy of a separate post in itself. I'll write one day on the ordeal of registering the old boat and the new.

Now, we waited for the weather to get warm enough for the fiberglass work. I kept reminding Hoppy: and a trailer, too, I need it to be ready to go in the water, that's what I was going to buy...etc., etc.

Well, one step at a time, he got it done: put the new deck down, had it fiberglassed.

Then he came to pick up the motor with John Bowman, the engine guy...

When Bowman saw the old motor he said, "we should re-think this, Hoppy."

It's only a 25 HP, but it's an old one (1981) and it's big and heavy, and I guess he's not supposed to lift things, per doctor's orders, because of a heart attack.

"Nah, I'll take the heavy part, just pick up the bottom," said Hoppy as he proceeded to pull it out of the shed.

I grabbed the propeller end (don't want Bowman getting a heart attack on account of MY motor) and we walked it around from the back of the house, along the side out to the truck on the street, and off they went.

Later, Hoppy told me that when Bowman took the cover off, "all kinds of mice" ran out and ran all over the place. Shoot, I thought, poor guy really could've had a heart attack because of my old motor.

"I'm surprised they didn't come out when we were carrying it," said Hoppy,

"It's a good thing they didn't," I said, remembering how we walked it all around the house out to the street. "We would've dropped it and that would've been the end of it," and possibly the end of our toes.

I never did find out what happened to the mice. In any case, it was a blessing in disguise, because the mice had chewed up all the wires, so they had to be replaced. Although that cost more, it made me feel better to know that I have new wiring inside the motor.

Now, I just had to wait for a trailer.

And wait, as summer moved along.

Then, just a few days before I was going away on vacation, Hoppy came driving down the street with my boat bouncing up and down on a trailer that clearly was not fitted to the boat.

Hoppy was done "screwing around" with the boat, he said. It was a decent trailer, but needed some work.

I was a little ticked off because I knew it meant I would have to rely on Frank and Scott to get the trailer to fit the boat. It had some clamps and rollers that needed to be replaced, the tires were too far back and the winch was too far forward. Not that I knew any of that. I just knew it was bouncing up and down as Hoppy drove along with it.

At one point, as I apologized to Frank profusely for dumping the project in his lap, we both laughed, realizing that his lap is exactly where it would've landed if Hoppy had "taken care of it," anyway.

Frank and Scott are the trailer guys on West Island. That's just the way it is.

So, they fixed the trailer, balanced it out, put the motor on, put the whole thing back in my yard, and said...now you're all set.

Um...really?

Now what?

Doesn't it need a battery, and a gas tank and stuff like that? Don't you have to mix the gas with oil or something? And, um, how does the gas get to the engine? Shouldn't there be hoses or something? And, er, tell me again about that "tilt" thing? Please?

Next up: Getting it ready to go in the water.

Wacky Regatta #2

I suppose it could get wackier than this, but it's highly unlikely. The West Island Wacky Regatta (www.NeighbNews.com) brought together a fun-loving group from up the street and around the block.

The rules are that you have to assemble your boat (and I use the term loosely) on the beach. You can't use any materials that would normally be used on an actual, real (read: floating) boat. You can make a paddle, but it can't be store-bought.

Ah, the ingenuity.

And the contestants are....

Here's "Cooler Sailing" first launching for a test float (hopefully). That's Cody getting things ready for his mother. Not sure who the captain was, but I'd say it was Donna.

Here's our winning vessel with both our intrepid sailors floating, floating, 

Ummm...sinking, sinking....

Luckily, they both know how to stand up.

Here we have the USS Lonestar, created by our visiting family from....(you guessed it) Texas! They used a closet door and tied gallon jugs to it for flotation. Shocked, they were, shocked I tell you, when they discovered that we all knew they had rescued the door from a neighbor's trash pile to use it for their boat.

This is West Island: we know what you are doing, even if you don't.

Okay, let's see if this baby floats.

 Okay, let's see if it floats with someone IN it.

Ah...success. Let's move on and see what "Flower Power" looks like.

But will it hold two people?

How about a few adjustments? Is that a drill?

Cool.

Never did figure out if that flower was for propulsion or just lookin' good.

Behold the "Don't Tread on Me" or...maybe it's the "Bob & Randy." Think I got that mixed up in the paper. Ah well. LOOK OUT! That's Bob J. He'll cite you for violations of US Coast Guard safety stuff. 

Speaking of safety...can you get that cigarette a little closer to the combustible aerosol spray?

And...it FLOATS!!! (See, Bob, he's got his anchor.)

And..they're off...

And the winners are:

Captains Donna and Cody, with Herb, the proud papa and grandpa. Their win was attributed to the super-duper kicking power of Cody. 

And the booby prize goes to Flower Power. Sorry...

To see more photos of the second annual West Island Wacky Regatta, visit the Neighb News on Facebook: www.Facebook.com/NeighbNews

Stay tuned for more fun stuff from my little patch of paradise.

Little Water Buggy: The Launch

I'm not dead, drowned, or totally embarrassed, just a little embarrassed.

I finally got my Little Water Buggy in the water. My sister was supposed to go with me, but opted for a bike ride when that big, black cloud appeared in the distance clipping along in our direction.

I had my little 15-foot tri-hull all hooked up to the car and had loaded it, for the very first time: battery hooked up to the motor, full gas tank (read: heavy). Oh yeah, always hook the boat up to the car first, before you start loading heavy stuff into the back, or the thing actually tips back and hits the dirt....luckily the back end was on the lawn, not the driveway.

Since I hadn't ever launched the boat, parked the boat, or even hauled the boat, I figured I'd practice with it on the trailer. The guys make it sound so easy: if you want the trailer to go left, just turn the wheel right. Wrong. It's way more complicated than that. Just hold the steering wheel on the bottom instead of the top. Yeah, right.

I figured I'd scoot out to Hoppy's Landing and just drive around, backing it in and out of spaces and that kind of stuff. Meanwhile, the big, black cloud passed by without spitting a single drop of water on us, or kicking up one little breeze.

When I got to Hoppy's Landing, no one was there except the Harbormaster, Dave; the sky had cleared, the gentle breeze was not the least bit threatening, and I decided to take my chances.

Dave gave me the official safety check, and made a couple of suggestions, but nothing that would keep me out of the water. Then he helped direct me as I backed the trailer down the ramp.

Really glad he was there. Even with him directing me, I put that trailer in the water on an angle I have never seen anyone do before at the big, wide, commercial ramp. But hey, it was in the water.

The guys had all insisted I would need to use the tilt function on my old trailer because the trailer is too big for the boat....okay, maybe I should've started this blog with how I got the boat and got it ready for the water in the first place. Nah, I'll do a prequel. If it's good enough for George Lucas, it's good enough for me.

So, while I'm backing the thing down, John shows up. Now, I don't know John very well, just through newspaper stuff. Our relationship is cordial, but professional.

Anyway, I looked at him and said, "You can't watch this, go away."

But really, I was joking. I admit, it was nice to have them both there helping me. It would've been much more stressful. It was tricky getting it off the trailer. The little bugger just didn't want to go. I cranked up reverse a little and the motor popped right out of the water, just the way George B. had told me it would. Thank you, George! I would not have known that and I surely would've thought I had broken something. Anyway, I held down the motor with one hand and revved with the other. No luck. That baby wasn't going anywhere.

So, John and Dave said I'd have to use the tilt function. Of course, no one told me that while it's in the water, on an angle, that the pin to release the tilt would be all jammed up. I couldn't have pulled that pin out if you paid me. But that ended up being a blessing in disguise. I backed the trailer down a little more and then pushed the boat in the water.

That was easy, why didn't I think of it?

I probably would've been a little leery about giving it such a shove if Dave and John hadn't been there. They didn't interfere, they just told me what I needed to do and had the patience to let me do it myself. I'm also glad I didn't have to use the tilt function. I mean, really, who designs this stuff? Tilt the trailer? Tip the boat into the water? Really?

It was nice to have familiar faces there. John gave me his cell phone number, telling me he'd be out on the water at the same time so I should call him if I had any trouble. The harbormaster gave me his cell, too. Gotta love a small town.

I also think I would've lost the boat in the water if Dave hadn't stopped me at the beginning and said, "okay, have you thought about how you are going to do this?"

I said, sure....I'm going to unhook it, push it off and then jump on.

"You might want to re-think that," he said diplomatically.

Um....okay.

Got it. Keep the boat connected to the trailer, jump in, lean over and disconnect it, while you're IN the boat. That way, if it floats off, you're not chasing it through the water, you're already in it.

I knew that.

So, they helped me get it tied to the dock, I think....that part's a blur. Of course they helped me. Why wouldn't they? Only my tired old forgetful brain cells know for sure.

Then I took my shaky hands back to the car and parked it, and called my sister to tell her I had changed my mind, but her cell phone was off.

I was on my own.

That's okay, that was the point of this whole venture: to be able to putter around by myself, communing with the ocean.

So, I hopped in, turned the engine to slow, and proceeded to get pushed around the mooring field by wind and waves. I totally ignored what was behind me as I concentrated completely on turning this way and that, so I had no idea if John and Dave were watching when I hit the marker buoy and almost got tangled up in a mooring line.

All of a sudden, the mooring line was under me and the engine was going over it. What? How'd I get here? What do I do now?

I watched helplessly, never thinking that I should put the motor in neutral and pull it up: Just like every other ding-a-ling (or weekend warrior as ML Baron likes to call us neophytes) who doesn't know what she's doing on the water. Ah well.

As I watched the mooring line pass under my boat and wondered how utterly embarrassing (and dangerous) it would be to get tangled up in a mooring line, divine intervention saved me. Either the hand of God, or my old friend Jimmy Mellen* just gave that big old boat a tap, the mooring line went just a tad slack, and my propeller chugged right over it.

Phew....50 feet off the ramp on my first trip...that would've been awful.

So, one of the first things I learned was that there is such a thing as too slow. You need a little power to actually maneuver.

After that, I just puttered around getting the feel of the motor, Jimmy's old motor that still has that Parkinson's shake. Everything worked fine, but I was really glad no one was around. A boat came flying into Hoppy's and I was scared out of my mind that I wouldn't be able to maneuver out of his way, but he was way over to my port side as I was heading out.

I thought I gave the point and that rocky shore a wide berth out there as I did figure eights and circles, and just tried to figure out where to sit, how to sit, and finally realized I have to stand. The old tri-hull is designed to use a steering wheel near the windshield, but someone cut that out. So I have an old 25 HP Evinrude with an extension on the tiller. I can't sit on the port side, because the tiller angles to the left, so there's not enough room to turn that way. I can't sit on the right, because then the tiller is too far away. Can't sit in the middle, because the whole thing shakes like crazy. So, I stand up. I'm told that's a West Island thing to do anyway.

The only problem with it, really, is that it uses up space that two people could use to sit.

On the way back I saw that big rock at the end of Long Island and realized how close I had gotten to it and all the other rocks on my way out. I couldn't see it at all as I left but it was ominous as I headed back in. The tide must've gone out a little. But I'm glad I saw it because you really need to know where that thing is!

A couple of big boats were just tooling around out there making wakes. My little boat got tossed around a lot. I still wasn't sure about how to maneuver the thing but I started to get the hang of heading into the wakes head on.

Is a tri-hull easier to capsize or harder? Just wondering...

Then I headed back, and not a soul in sight. I figured that was good because I was sure that loading the boat onto the trailer was going to be ugly, and I didn't want anyone to be waiting for me to do it (okay, I didn't want anyone to see me TRY to do it).

It's a funny thing. My sister insists that women our age do not try new things that are this far outside of their comfort zones. On the one hand, I surely get that. I was a bit shaky, I admit it. On the other hand, I was never one to really care what people think of me, and at 55, I care less than ever. But, women are trained to be careful, and it is ingrained since birth that we are NOT to make mistakes, especially mistakes that might hurt us or someone else. It is designed by society to keep us in our places: we must have a man to help us with these things or we should just be happy not to do them. 

I try not to be like that.

Anyway, back to our story. 

I made about four attempts to get to the dock, each time ending up about halfway and at the wrong angle. Then I looked up and there was Hoppy at the end of the ramp with his arms out....what are you doing?

I said, "I'm trying, I'm trying."

He called out to go wide and come back in straight. He doesn't understand that I don't do "straight" well at all, but it worked. I almost fell off the dock when I jumped on, learning that I should grab the line on the dock and pull the boat towards it, not jump off with my line in my hand. Watching those kids at Earl's Marina, that young and fit James, et. al., as they jump in and out of boats and crawl around them like cats, is lots of fun for those of us old enough to be their mothers, but it is not wise to imitate them.

The learning curve is going to be tough on this one....one little itty bitty piece of information at a time.

So, Hoppy asks if I let the motor out all the way. I said no way, I'm still learning how to steer the stupid thing.

So, he says "jump back in, I'll show you."

So, I got back in and grabbed that windshield with all my strength; I know he likes to dump people. Anyway, it wouldn't have worked. He said the prop is slipping, or capitating, or some such other thing I never heard of. But that's okay, we'll get another prop, we'll drop the motor closer to the boat. Meanwhile, it chugs along just fine for my speed.

Then he loaded it onto the trailer for me. Guess he couldn't bear to watch me try to do it, and he wanted to get out and do what he had to do.

The good thing is that he motored right up onto the trailer, which the other guys said could not be done. They all said I would have to walk it up and crank it the whole way and use the tilt function. Hoppy said baloney to that!

I know I'm no Hoppy, and I won't be motoring up to the top of the trailer, but I won't be touching that stupid tilt pin anytime soon, either. 

So, that's my story....day 1.

*Visit http://www.neighbnews.com/ and click on archives and find the 11/3/11 issue, page 3, to learn more about Jimmy and see an old clip of him in an interview for an oral history project of the fishing industry.