Saturday, October 28, 2017

Volvo Ocean Race: Vestas wins Leg 1 Scuttlebutt Sailing News

Above Stacey Jackson is one of the two women among the nine members of the Vestas Wind crew which won the 1,450 nm leg 1 of the round the world Volvo Ocean Race.

The Volvo Ocean race 2017-2018 began a week ago.  Thanks to a rule change that allows larger crew if women are included on the team every boat has at least one women.  And SCA - Scallawag has five women and five men.

Like its predecessor known as the Whitbread it is a race to the southern ocean, then a circumnavigation of Antarctica.  the premier one-design ocean race.  It has the intensity of club round-the-buoys racing: but the buoys have names like Cape of Good Hope and Cape Horn. - gwc

Volvo Ocean Race: Vestas wins Leg 1 Scuttlebutt Sailing News: (October 28, 2017; Day 7, 14:09 UTC) - Vestas 11th Hour Racing have won Leg 1 of the Volvo Ocean Race, crossing the finish line in the River Tagus in Lisbon.  Skippered by Charles Enright the boat carries both U.S. and Danish flags.

2017-18 Edition: Entered Teams – Skippers

• Team AkzoNobel (NED), Simeon Tienpont (NED)

• Dongfeng Race Team (CHN), Charles Caudrelier (FRA)

• MAPFRE (ESP), Xabi Fernández (ESP)

• Vestas 11th Hour Racing (DEN/USA), Charlie Enright (USA)

• Team Sun Hung Kai/Scallywag (HKG), David Witt (AUS)

• Turn the Tide on Plastic (POR), Dee Caffari (GBR)

• Team Brunel (NED), Bouwe Bekking (NED)
Background: Racing the one design Volvo Ocean 65, the 2017-18 Volvo Ocean Race began in Alicante, Spain on October 22 2017 with the final finish in The Hague, Netherlands on June 30 2018. In total, the 11-leg race will visit 12 cities in six continents: Alicante, Lisbon, Cape Town, Melbourne, Hong Kong, Guangzhou, Auckland, Itajaí, Newport, Cardiff, Gothenburg, and The Hague. A maximum of eight teams will compete.

Sunday, October 22, 2017

Favorite fish food - Bunker, Menhaden, Pogies

Image result for menhaden fish
Bunker, Menhaden, Pogies - they're swarming all around our area.  Thousands in schools are favorites of foraging blues, striped bass, and whales.  Further north in the warming Gulf of Maine they are importing bunker for lobster bait.
I have seen waves pushed up by bunker fleeing marauding packs of bluefish.
This excellent short documentary tells the story. - gwc

Foraging the High Seas: a Menhaden story from Red Vault Productions on Vimeo.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Smithsonian Announces Artists For Obamas’ Portraits: See Their Work – Talking Points Memo

Smithsonian Announces Artists For Obamas’ Portraits: See Their Work – Talking Points Memo

Barack Obama chose Kehinde Wiley to paint his portrait for the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery.

Michelle Obama chose Amy Sherald to paint hers.

From lobsterman to oysterman -A Fisherman Tries Farming - The New York Times

Oyster farming has been growing in Maine.  Up river and in salt ponds they are said to be sweet.  Closer to the open sea they're briny.  Joe Young's spot above looks just like the Wadsworth Point public lading near us.  There on the Friendship River  a friend Barrett Lynde had the seed beds for Gay Island Oyster.  -gwc

A Fisherman Tries Farming - The New York Times

COREA, Me. — The boats start up around 3:30 in the morning, stirring the village with the babble of engines before they motor out to sea. They will return hours later, loaded with lobster.
Joe Young’s boat has not gone out lately. Instead, he puts on waders and sloshes into the salt pond behind his house, an inlet where water rushes in and out with the tides. After a lifetime with most of his income tied to what he finds in the sea, this lobsterman — and sixth-generation fisherman — is trying his hand at something new. He is farming oysters.***

Sunday, September 10, 2017

"Marco Island got pummeled by #Irma Liam Martin on Twitter:

Liam Martin on Twitter: "Marco Island got pummeled by #Irma."

There's a lot of good footage of Irma- but this video of straining palm trees on Marco Island capture the force better than anything I have seen.


Monday, September 4, 2017

1967 - India - on the coast of the Arabian Sea Coast

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Ruins of Portuguese fort, Bassein (Vasai), India
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Fishing boats - Bassein  (Vasai) India
Like many people back then I got married straight  out of college.  We joined the Peace Corps.  It was 1967 and the peak of the Vietnam war.   At that time married men and grad students were exempt from the draft.  I do not claim that the two year exemption was unwelcome but it wasn't draft dodging but curiosity, desire to see something of the world, and doing some good that motivated me. 

Like an idiot 30 years ago or so I threw out the couple hundred aerogrammes my parents had saved, so my recollection of my two years in India from 1967- 1969 is faint  particularly since I never went back (though  my son Jesse visited Bassein abut 10 years ago).

We were assigned to a town about 30 miles north of Bombay - a fringe suburb then.  Some commuted to Bombay (the town Bassein was at the end of the electric commuter rail line.)  Others farmed sugar cane.  And many fished.

Margo and I accompanied deliveries of fish to rural schools - the price of the new marine engines provided by UNICEF as part of its Applied Nutrition Program.  We visited village schools and talked about nutrition - recognizing quickly that the local diet was much healthier than an American diet.

I was assigned to a fisherman's cooperative.  The township manager sent me to find Pedru, down by the ruins of the massive old Portuguese fort.  On my way I passed a Catholic school, then a Hindu fisherman's sahakari (cooperative) society with an ice factory and fleet of trucks.  The next building was the St. Peter sahakari society.  That was a turning point for me: Bassein (Vasai) was like the Brooklyn I knew from high school in Crown Heights- divided by clan.

High points of my first year (later for the second year) were fishing trips.  I stayed out as long as five days on open fishing boats using gill nets and bag nets.  The men wore lungis.  They chanted as they let the nets out and hauled them in by hand.  The catch was iced in the hold and we stayed out until it was full.  

We ate around a single huge platter of steamed rice with a brutally hot fish curry.  The bread was sorghum - dipped in salt water to soften it!  As a special treat the boy would clean and throw on the coals a pomfret.  But more often we ate skate which had little market value. (It's good BTW.)

There was no cabin - just a canvas tarp on poles for nap time and night time between setting and hauling nets - every six hours as the current reversed direction, and the tide rose and fell 3 meters or so.  We slept back to back on the teak deck - no mattresses.  I brought a cotton Sholapur blanket with me and spent some chilly, damp nights.

My Marathi was halfway decent so I could understand the chants - especially the teasing stanzas they made up as they hauled nets with  callused hands that protected them from stinging jelly fish.

When we landed - sometimes far from shore - trucks came out on the mud.  Women with wicker baskets on their heads took the dripping wet iced fish to the trucks for shipping to Bombay markets about thirty miles south There was no highway bridge across the Bassein river, so the trucks had to go about 25 miles east to Thane then south to the city.


Saturday, September 2, 2017

Aboard the John J. Marchi - Staten Island Ferry

Northbound 15.8 kts.

Thanks Aly!

Thanks, Captain

Thanks, Evan

Friday, September 1, 2017

What Work Is - by Philip Levine | Poetry Foundation

What Work Is by Philip Levine | Poetry Foundation

What Work Is

We stand in the rain in a long line 
waiting at Ford Highland Park. For work. 
You know what work is—if you’re 
old enough to read this you know what 
work is, although you may not do it. 
Forget you. This is about waiting, 
shifting from one foot to another. 
Feeling the light rain falling like mist 
into your hair, blurring your vision 
until you think you see your own brother 
ahead of you, maybe ten places. 
You rub your glasses with your fingers, 
and of course it’s someone else’s brother, 
narrower across the shoulders than 
yours but with the same sad slouch, the grin 
that does not hide the stubbornness, 
the sad refusal to give in to 
rain, to the hours of wasted waiting, 
to the knowledge that somewhere ahead 
a man is waiting who will say, “No, 
we’re not hiring today,” for any 
reason he wants. You love your brother, 
now suddenly you can hardly stand 
the love flooding you for your brother, 
who’s not beside you or behind or 
ahead because he’s home trying to   
sleep off a miserable night shift 
at Cadillac so he can get up 
before noon to study his German. 
Works eight hours a night so he can sing 
Wagner, the opera you hate most, 
the worst music ever invented. 
How long has it been since you told him 
you loved him, held his wide shoulders, 
opened your eyes wide and said those words, 
and maybe kissed his cheek? You’ve never 
done something so simple, so obvious, 
not because you’re too young or too dumb, 
not because you’re jealous or even mean 
or incapable of crying in 
the presence of another man, no,   
just because you don’t know what work is.
Philip Levine, “What Work Is” from What Work Is. Copyright © 1992 by Philip Levine. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc.
Source: What Work Is: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1991)