Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Setting Out 2018

There is a hummingbird outside my back sliding glass door. Stuck to the glass is a thermometer with a decal image of a male cardinal. The hummingbird is probably disappointed that the bright red spot is neither a flower or a properly marked hummingbird feeder.

After a chilly, foggy and very breezy morning, the air outside is warm and heavy and still, contrary to the small craft advisory and marine forecast. It was in the earlier conditions that I left the harbor this morning to set a boatload of gear. I told Clayton where I was headed, and that I was just looking for now. Leaving the mouth of Matinicus Harbor, the seas were rough, but just manageable enough to take a look, then try one string, then pair by pair, empty out the boat. Close Enough rolled around in the chop and I did a few dance moves, but never got to that point where it felt out of control. Visibility was shutting in as well so I needed to keep an eye out as I still have no plotter, haven't checked out the radar for the year and wasn't willing to add the variable of not seeing or being seen.

I had a fix on Wheaton and Tenpound Islands and western ledge and felt like that was enough to keep me oriented.

The visibility went out for good at just about the same time as the last pair of traps pulled down the 25 fathom lines 'out front,' which is Matinicus language for not very far from shore and to the east.

I was feeling pretty good for having persisted as I tied up and paddled in to Steamboat Wharf. I should not have stopped to chat with real fishermen. The early results are pretty discouraging for them, which most likely means dogshit for a tourist like me.

Maybe it was the last drive in this part of the work cycle, or too many days in a row of hurrying through other work to get here and of wailing on my back and hands, but my heart was sinking thinking it was all to just pay for bait and fuel.

Was I the hummingbird trying to get sweet stuff where there's none to be had?

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Boat Time!

Boat ownership is not for the faint hearted or sensible. It is always an adventure. Just like jumping out of a perfectly operational airplane or handlaunching fireworks or other things we should know better than to do.

After 6 and a half years, I am no longer terrified of my boat or all the hundreds of parts that are waiting their turn to rust out, short out, give out or fall out. Now I am only very sad when these things happen. It is not the boat's fault that I get sad. It is my inability to absorb the basic lesson that shit breaks. Boat shit breaks more. It is a life lesson that I comprehend cognitively, but not emotionally.

Those things being said, yee-fuckin haw!!! Close Enough is back on the water, having come across from the very good winter home with the good folks at J.O. Brown & Son, Inc.

The crossing was no big deal, except for the fact that my plotter blanked on me and I had to get through Ledbetter Narrows and Hurricane sound by fuzzy memory. It's way easier than I'm making it sound, I'm just trying to act big.

On the run to Matinicus from North Haven, reaching the end of Hurricane Sound is still a little thrill. The rocks are a gateway to big water and the trip home.

It was also cold. WTF, hands take turns in the pocket or on the wheel it's freaking May 12 already kind of cold. Both hands were numb by the time I got into Matinicus Harbor. I was numb earlier in the day for looking out the window and not dressing properly with ski gloves and a gortex parka.

After mooring, I did my usual wiggling of wires, connecting and unconnecting and just plain hoping for a different result on reboot. The plotter was not having it. Based on the display, it was convinced I was a few hundred yards up onto Nantucket Island.

Plotter or no, I was determined to get a couple of boatloads of gear set. That meant setting the strings which hug the shore well enough that I can find them without waypoints. At one point, rounding the corner to the back side of Tenpound Island, I looked up and realized where I was. My plotter inside was happy and spot on.

Monday, April 16, 2018


I recall April on Matinicus as a mixed bag weather and workwise. There would be sweet days in the yard, underrunning rope or patching traps with tunes playing and birds singing. There would be rainy windy days to stay inside and avoid paperwork.

My April on Matinicus this year- which I worked so hard to be ready for- has been an unmixed bag of rotten weather; days spent watching sleet bounce off my deck or watching it rain sideways. Today featured a low of 32 and a high of 34 with 40-something mile an hour winds all day long. This is not what I pounded my way through months of office work to earn. I have not even begun boat preparation work, which I'm usually done with by now.

I spent Sunday neurotically cutting wood which I did not anticipate that I would be unneurotically baling into the stove the very next day. I thought I was being obsessive in sawing and splitting up the chunks which it turns out are half gone already.

I feel as though the entire calendar has slid a month to the henceforthward. Cold wet springs last til about the first week in July, and late summer goes to Halloween. I want my April back.

I also guess I should not read google news. There were several articles about the slowdown in the big-ocean circulation that keeps Ireland from looking like Northern Labrador and keeps the cold water churning  and upwelling nutrients southwest into the the Gulf of Maine. This slowdown could, according to scientists, deprive Western Europe of warm ocean currents, make Africa drier and hotter and create harsher winters here in North America. Thus is created the monster I am calling Apruary.

Apruary is bad. My crocuses were pressed not in a poetry book, but in a layer of ice outside my door. All my spring work is now late. Staring out the window makes no difference. Staring out any other other window is equally fruitless. It is 360 degrees of wind, rain and cold foulness.

Is this a good month to discover my old oil fired boiler is now an oil chugging smoke machine? Well, yes it is. When I got up, as much as I felt stingy about using heating oil, I saw the gale bent trees and the 32 degree temperature and figured my son and his buddy should have a habitable environment and that the old boiler should be fired up every once in a while.

There was initially a bit of an aroma that I wrote off to not having run the heater for a year or so. Then, after I had gone out to the shop in many layers of insulation to paint the very buoys I usually painted in shirt sleeves, Ryan came out in sock feet and asked if I was aware of the house being full of smoke and the chimney puffing gray, gooey smoke.

After consulting my expert panel, I set about pulling apart the boiler, vacuuming out the gobs of soot and figuring out how to detach the burner unit from the boiler. There was a disintegrated gasket. There were pieces of what looked like a liner of the boiler chamber. After reassembling the pieces, I was discouraged enough to not bother trying to fire up the old beast.

Now I need to bring out a professional to resuscitate the system or buy a different and simpler heater to keep things tolerable and comfy for my baby and me.