Wednesday, June 16, 2010
One more strory from Jens
I have met some sailors that boast they have never run aground...everyone goes aground sooner or later. You just don't want the chart maker to name a rock after you!
Story by Jens Bagh
Are You Listening?
Single handed sailing is to many a fools game and it is not without its hazards. On the other hand having a crew on board brings on its own problems as well as it increases the requirements of fuel, water and supplies to be carried. Some people thrive on solitude while others find it hard to survive without the continuous excitement and change which company brings about. Most modern human beings seem to thrive with lots of noise around them and nowadays it is hard to go anywhere without being exposed to music or noise in one form or another. By adopting this life style have we failed to learn what nature is prepared to teach us if we just kept silent and listened for a while?
One of the reasons I like to sail is the fact the noise level under most conditions is quite tolerable with the wind in the rigging and with water lapping against the sides of the boat.
However, there are times when it is necessary to use the auxiliary engine such as when coming into harbour or anchoring in a confined space and then of course the noise level increases considerably.
I had been cruising all day in moderate winds and a fairly heavy swell and towards nightfall I approached an anchorage of which the sailing directions told of sandy bottom and clear waters. Hence I had no qualms about steering into a very sheltered bay and putting down the anchor into the dark waters as I from the chart and the colour of the water assumed ample depth for my 5' draught. In most places one can hear some sounds from the denizens of the deep in the form of clicks of various loudness and frequency and here I heard these noises very loud and very clear. Shortly thereafter the boat gave a sort of a bump and I immediately realized that the water was too shallow and the boat was aground. I went on deck right away and with the anchor and capstan tried to haul the boat out to deeper water to no avail. The tide was going out and soon the boat was inclined at an angle of better than 20 degrees. I checked the tide tables and found it would be another couple of hours before the tide again would rise and meanwhile there was little I could do except to make sure that the boat rested evenly on the sandy bottom. This I did and then took to my bunk, resting in the angle formed between the bunk and the side of the boat. Around midnight the boat was again on even keel and I got the engine started and went out to anchor in deeper water, this time making very sure that I had plenty of water under the keel to allow for the full range of the tide. I have since then been accutely aware of noises coming through the hull and should I again hear loud clicks I shall immediately check the depth and the tide status for nature may well be telling me that my boat and I are out of our depths - if we will only listen!
Story by Jens Bagh
Are You Listening?
Single handed sailing is to many a fools game and it is not without its hazards. On the other hand having a crew on board brings on its own problems as well as it increases the requirements of fuel, water and supplies to be carried. Some people thrive on solitude while others find it hard to survive without the continuous excitement and change which company brings about. Most modern human beings seem to thrive with lots of noise around them and nowadays it is hard to go anywhere without being exposed to music or noise in one form or another. By adopting this life style have we failed to learn what nature is prepared to teach us if we just kept silent and listened for a while?
One of the reasons I like to sail is the fact the noise level under most conditions is quite tolerable with the wind in the rigging and with water lapping against the sides of the boat.
However, there are times when it is necessary to use the auxiliary engine such as when coming into harbour or anchoring in a confined space and then of course the noise level increases considerably.
I had been cruising all day in moderate winds and a fairly heavy swell and towards nightfall I approached an anchorage of which the sailing directions told of sandy bottom and clear waters. Hence I had no qualms about steering into a very sheltered bay and putting down the anchor into the dark waters as I from the chart and the colour of the water assumed ample depth for my 5' draught. In most places one can hear some sounds from the denizens of the deep in the form of clicks of various loudness and frequency and here I heard these noises very loud and very clear. Shortly thereafter the boat gave a sort of a bump and I immediately realized that the water was too shallow and the boat was aground. I went on deck right away and with the anchor and capstan tried to haul the boat out to deeper water to no avail. The tide was going out and soon the boat was inclined at an angle of better than 20 degrees. I checked the tide tables and found it would be another couple of hours before the tide again would rise and meanwhile there was little I could do except to make sure that the boat rested evenly on the sandy bottom. This I did and then took to my bunk, resting in the angle formed between the bunk and the side of the boat. Around midnight the boat was again on even keel and I got the engine started and went out to anchor in deeper water, this time making very sure that I had plenty of water under the keel to allow for the full range of the tide. I have since then been accutely aware of noises coming through the hull and should I again hear loud clicks I shall immediately check the depth and the tide status for nature may well be telling me that my boat and I are out of our depths - if we will only listen!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Story from Jens
Story by Jens Bagh
Don't Shoot the Old Bitch.
There are times when customs of different cultures conflict in the most unexpected manner, conspiring to produce reactions which may have deadly results. Once in the Arctic an old bitch came close to be the death of me. As bitches go she was not unusual but as she grew older she developed some strange quirks in her character. When husky bitches no longer can have litters of their own, they sometimes attack younger bitches or their puppies which needless to say results in fighting between the dogs and upsets owners who see their stock destroyed. The Inuit know of this apparently common trait among husky dogs and are prepared to deal with it in what to white men may seem a very ruthless manner. The law of the land is clear, if a dog owner cannot control his dogs and if they repeatedly attack another team then the attacking dogs are killed.
Well, this old bitch had once attacked and destroyed a young puppy and clearly was no longer mentally stable. I told the station handyman to get rid of the beast somehow or other. That he prevaricated and never got it done should have put me on the alert but it didn't. A few days later there was a frightful racket outside on what was otherwise a beautiful winter's day and it transpired that the old bitch had started another fight by killing off a second puppy. Well I was not prepared to have this go on indefinitely so I grabbed a gun and went out and shot the old bitch and I don't think she even heard the gun go off. Everyone else in the vicinity did though and the next thing I knew was a young fellow coming at me with a gun. The gun clicked, a misfire, and then he grabbed his gun by the barrel and took a swing at me with a will. I used my own gun to fend off the blow which resulted in his gun breaking in two with the butt end hitting me in the face, splitting my lower lip wide open and knocking me to the ground. I thought this behaviour a little unreasonable and got up and pacified my attacker by holding him in a rather painful grip. He conceded the error of his ways and promised to be more reasonable in the future.
Only later did I get a more complete picture of the whole affair. He had arrived in the arctic very young and had few friends. When the whole world seemed to go against him, he sometimes retired to the carpenter's shop and sought comfort nesting up to the old bitch which to him was the only friendly creature around. And I had shot the only true friend he had ever had.
I did not press charges for attempted murder or for causing grievous bodily harm, for if truth be known then in some obscure way I felt after hearing the full story that I was as guilty as he.
It is hard to keep ones head when an old bitch loses her mind but whenever I am tempted to make a rash decision there is a scar on my chin reminding me that a little mature reflection may save a lot of grief later on.
Don't Shoot the Old Bitch.
There are times when customs of different cultures conflict in the most unexpected manner, conspiring to produce reactions which may have deadly results. Once in the Arctic an old bitch came close to be the death of me. As bitches go she was not unusual but as she grew older she developed some strange quirks in her character. When husky bitches no longer can have litters of their own, they sometimes attack younger bitches or their puppies which needless to say results in fighting between the dogs and upsets owners who see their stock destroyed. The Inuit know of this apparently common trait among husky dogs and are prepared to deal with it in what to white men may seem a very ruthless manner. The law of the land is clear, if a dog owner cannot control his dogs and if they repeatedly attack another team then the attacking dogs are killed.
Well, this old bitch had once attacked and destroyed a young puppy and clearly was no longer mentally stable. I told the station handyman to get rid of the beast somehow or other. That he prevaricated and never got it done should have put me on the alert but it didn't. A few days later there was a frightful racket outside on what was otherwise a beautiful winter's day and it transpired that the old bitch had started another fight by killing off a second puppy. Well I was not prepared to have this go on indefinitely so I grabbed a gun and went out and shot the old bitch and I don't think she even heard the gun go off. Everyone else in the vicinity did though and the next thing I knew was a young fellow coming at me with a gun. The gun clicked, a misfire, and then he grabbed his gun by the barrel and took a swing at me with a will. I used my own gun to fend off the blow which resulted in his gun breaking in two with the butt end hitting me in the face, splitting my lower lip wide open and knocking me to the ground. I thought this behaviour a little unreasonable and got up and pacified my attacker by holding him in a rather painful grip. He conceded the error of his ways and promised to be more reasonable in the future.
Only later did I get a more complete picture of the whole affair. He had arrived in the arctic very young and had few friends. When the whole world seemed to go against him, he sometimes retired to the carpenter's shop and sought comfort nesting up to the old bitch which to him was the only friendly creature around. And I had shot the only true friend he had ever had.
I did not press charges for attempted murder or for causing grievous bodily harm, for if truth be known then in some obscure way I felt after hearing the full story that I was as guilty as he.
It is hard to keep ones head when an old bitch loses her mind but whenever I am tempted to make a rash decision there is a scar on my chin reminding me that a little mature reflection may save a lot of grief later on.
Stories from a friend
Recently I have had the pleasure of making a new friend. Jens arrived at our dock less than a year ago after some amazing sailing adventures. I asked him how, after sailing much of the world how he found our place in Brentwood Bay? I believe he met some other cruisers in Mexico that recommended Brentwood as a good place to rest up and keep the boat. Jens sails a Bristol Channel Cutter built in 1994 and has sailed it as far as Northern Europe and back.
I have always enjoyed talking to Jens and listening to his stories. He has a rhythm to his storytelling that grabs you and puts you right in the situation.
I asked him to let me read some of his stories and I'd like to share them with you.
Enjoy
Story by Jens Bagh
Traffic Light of the Fairies.
I am not averse to physical fitness but regard the current craze for jogging with some detachment and cannot help wondering whether something is not being lost in the headlong rush towards that elusive goal, physical fitness.
Everyday I meet people jogging along the local pathways puffing, panting and the glazed look in their eyes precluding any recognition of their fellow creatures or intelligent observation of their surroundings.
A poet wrote: “What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare”, and it certainly is true that we deprive ourselves of some wonderful experiences if we do not occasionally withdraw from the daily rush and the noisy crowds to reflect a little in a quiet spot.
Once it was my good fortune to spend some time on a very isolated coast where signs of human habitation, past or present, were scarce indeed. Wildlife there, though never abundant, was remarkably tame and after a little while one felt in complete harmony with nature. Water was clear and unpolluted and fresh water was readily available from many small streams running down the hillside being fed from higher laying melting snow. In short, the whole place breathed peace and tranquility and had someone suggested that this was the last refuge of the fairies or the wee folk, I would not have been surprised. Little did I realize that the place was so overrun by fairies that they had to have traffic control and even had a traffic light installed on the island.
I do not suppose I was meant to see it and apart from my wife, who saw it at the same time as I did, I never heard anyone else mentioning it. Not that people on that part of the coast were averse to telling tall tales when they did meet - far from it – but possibly the fear of ridicule held them back, because after all, who has ever heard of the traffic light of the fairies!
We first saw the cave entrance as a dark spot on the coastline as we sailed through the narrow inlet to the natural harbour formed by the island, but as the entrance was a difficult one with several reefs blocking direct access, I was preoccupied with steering the boat and did not pay much attention to the shoreline as such. The day was a beautiful one, a clear blue sky overhead and just enough wind to set the waves astir and turn the sea into a pool of shimmering silver. When we had the cave entrance just about abeam and approximately half a cable length away, my wife suddenly exclaimed, “Look, there is a light in there”! With reefs all around us I wasn’t much disposed to do anything but to try to get us into some relatively open water but as soon as I could I turned my head and said “Where”? My wife pointed in the direction of the cave and I saw a diffuse green light coming from the inside of the cave. Then my wife said in a voice which clearly indicated her distress “But a moment ago the light was red”! I could hardly believe my ears, the hair rose on my head and shivers went all up and down my spine. I imagine I sounded more than a little testy when I said, “You mean to tell me that when you first saw that light it was red and that it now has turned to green”? That is right she said! Here we were – more than a thousand miles away from the nearest place known to possess a traffic light and my wife was seeing one changing in front of her very eyes! This obviously was something requiring further investigation. I reduced the speed of the boat, brought it about and we returned the way we had come. Sure enough, the light changed again from green to red and even going through yellow on the way. By this time my hair was standing straight on end but I was determined to see this thing at close quarters. I reduced speed to dead slow and gingerly steered the boat towards the cave mouth keeping a sharp lookout for underwater obstacles on the way. Next time I looked into the cave mouth, the light that greeted me was shimmering silver and it suddenly dawned on me what we had been privileged to see. Water leaking through the cave ceiling had set up a fine spray a little inside the cave. With the exact elevation and direction relative to the cave entrance and our distance from the shoreline we had only been able to observe one of the spectral colours of the rainbow at a time as we sailed by.
In terms of probabilities, the chances of seeing a sight like this is small indeed and I shall feel forever fortunate in having been allowed to see the traffic light of the fairies.
JOB, (East Greenland. 1969-1971.)
I have always enjoyed talking to Jens and listening to his stories. He has a rhythm to his storytelling that grabs you and puts you right in the situation.
I asked him to let me read some of his stories and I'd like to share them with you.
Enjoy
Story by Jens Bagh
Traffic Light of the Fairies.
I am not averse to physical fitness but regard the current craze for jogging with some detachment and cannot help wondering whether something is not being lost in the headlong rush towards that elusive goal, physical fitness.
Everyday I meet people jogging along the local pathways puffing, panting and the glazed look in their eyes precluding any recognition of their fellow creatures or intelligent observation of their surroundings.
A poet wrote: “What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare”, and it certainly is true that we deprive ourselves of some wonderful experiences if we do not occasionally withdraw from the daily rush and the noisy crowds to reflect a little in a quiet spot.
Once it was my good fortune to spend some time on a very isolated coast where signs of human habitation, past or present, were scarce indeed. Wildlife there, though never abundant, was remarkably tame and after a little while one felt in complete harmony with nature. Water was clear and unpolluted and fresh water was readily available from many small streams running down the hillside being fed from higher laying melting snow. In short, the whole place breathed peace and tranquility and had someone suggested that this was the last refuge of the fairies or the wee folk, I would not have been surprised. Little did I realize that the place was so overrun by fairies that they had to have traffic control and even had a traffic light installed on the island.
I do not suppose I was meant to see it and apart from my wife, who saw it at the same time as I did, I never heard anyone else mentioning it. Not that people on that part of the coast were averse to telling tall tales when they did meet - far from it – but possibly the fear of ridicule held them back, because after all, who has ever heard of the traffic light of the fairies!
We first saw the cave entrance as a dark spot on the coastline as we sailed through the narrow inlet to the natural harbour formed by the island, but as the entrance was a difficult one with several reefs blocking direct access, I was preoccupied with steering the boat and did not pay much attention to the shoreline as such. The day was a beautiful one, a clear blue sky overhead and just enough wind to set the waves astir and turn the sea into a pool of shimmering silver. When we had the cave entrance just about abeam and approximately half a cable length away, my wife suddenly exclaimed, “Look, there is a light in there”! With reefs all around us I wasn’t much disposed to do anything but to try to get us into some relatively open water but as soon as I could I turned my head and said “Where”? My wife pointed in the direction of the cave and I saw a diffuse green light coming from the inside of the cave. Then my wife said in a voice which clearly indicated her distress “But a moment ago the light was red”! I could hardly believe my ears, the hair rose on my head and shivers went all up and down my spine. I imagine I sounded more than a little testy when I said, “You mean to tell me that when you first saw that light it was red and that it now has turned to green”? That is right she said! Here we were – more than a thousand miles away from the nearest place known to possess a traffic light and my wife was seeing one changing in front of her very eyes! This obviously was something requiring further investigation. I reduced the speed of the boat, brought it about and we returned the way we had come. Sure enough, the light changed again from green to red and even going through yellow on the way. By this time my hair was standing straight on end but I was determined to see this thing at close quarters. I reduced speed to dead slow and gingerly steered the boat towards the cave mouth keeping a sharp lookout for underwater obstacles on the way. Next time I looked into the cave mouth, the light that greeted me was shimmering silver and it suddenly dawned on me what we had been privileged to see. Water leaking through the cave ceiling had set up a fine spray a little inside the cave. With the exact elevation and direction relative to the cave entrance and our distance from the shoreline we had only been able to observe one of the spectral colours of the rainbow at a time as we sailed by.
In terms of probabilities, the chances of seeing a sight like this is small indeed and I shall feel forever fortunate in having been allowed to see the traffic light of the fairies.
JOB, (East Greenland. 1969-1971.)
MV Reliance
After working on Reliance for over a year we returned her to her slip in Victoria. Those of you who have visited the shop in the last year would have seen her reconstruction. If you didn't we basically re surfaced everything on the outside of the boat. The final result speaks for itself. Erin, Dave, Theresa, Mike, Courtney and Jean all deserve gold stars for doing such a great job. There are some pictures of the details and some video of us taking the boat back to the States to clear customs.
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