From the Poop Deck
Seaworthy Ideas and Stuff
Paul Kurkowski
Ahoy and Happy Holidays Mates. I assume you all survived Turkey Day. Here in good old Michigan there were no weather complaints that I heard. I even got a good mow in on the same weekend. ‘Tis the Season of merriment, cheer and the colors of Port and Starboard so, be careful out there. I want see you all at the Ball and more importantly on the water in 2007.
An El Niño is forming in the Pacific Ocean and should stabilize the weather patterns of the world (as we know them). The horrendous hurricane season of last year (2005), at least in part, was blamed on the lack of an El Niño. Knowing weather people though, they’ll blame whatever they can get a chance to blame.
Recently I read that we’ll need two earths of natural resources to sustain the world population by 2040. Imagine that! It’s hard to fathom that the world’s oceans will soon be depleted of creatures to consume. Maybe as folks who enjoy the water so much, we should invest our time and monies into Fish Farming. There are some incredible plans on drawing boards for mid-ocean farms that would drift with the currents. I’m talking huge and deep-netted farms. Most farms today are inland or anchored near shore. That alone restricts their size.
The Hawaiians are the first to be credited to fish farming and their farming is reported to go back nearly 2000 years. They were the first to engineer fishponds. According to Captain Cook in 1778, some 360 ponds produced near two million pounds of seafood.
Hopin’ all your stockings are hung from the boom with care. Yep, good old Saint Nick will soon be here. See y’all soon and in ’07.
That’s it for now. Casting off all lines. Color me gone.
Paul Kurkowski “Space Hunter”
Confessions Of A Reluctant Racer
I successfully avoided racing my Catalina 25 for eight years. From the day I bought it, as I sat with the salesman and selected options, I made it perfectly clear that I never intended to race. So why was he talking about Mylar sails and two speed winches?
For eight years after the purchase I happily day sailed, night sailed, and generally cruised around. When my more intrepid sailing buddies would urge me to race, I would counter them by saying that I didn't have a macho competitive nature. Or I'd say that I had such a competitive nature that winning would become an obsession.
Both statements were true to a degree. Ever since I was introduced to sailing I was drawn to its Zen-like qualities of becoming one with the boat, the water and the wind. A contemplative state in which one could transcend the narrow limits of the modern jungle we call progress. On the other hand, being a beast raised in that jungle of social and economic dominance I have developed some instinct for the hunt and the kill.
Oh, there were other reasons for not wanting to race; money for equipment and fees, fear of hurting the boat, finding the time, finding crew, and others that I can't remember now. But the real reason was loss of innocence, a fear that the act of racing would sully the pure love I had for sailing; a fear that the reality of having to perform the very thing that I enjoyed and fantasized about would destroy the aura of romance that surrounded it in my imagination.
But innocence has its price and naiveté its dangers. So a number of years ago, when the opportunity was seductively placed before me, I reluctantly gave in to temptation, and with trembling, hesitant movements I approached the starting line of my first race.
Now, years later I curse my earlier innocence. My fantasy was like a dream in black and white compared to the multicolored reality of rounding a Windward Mark ahead of other boats. The romance has turned to passion, and in the throes of this passion all sensations are heightened. The caress of the wind upon face and neck, the sibilant whisper of the sea at the bow, the boat's response to the slightest pressure of my hand against the helm, the deck heaving over wave after wave, plunging closer and closer to the finish, then shuddering as a gust of pure, free energy from the sky sweeps us over the line.
These are the true roots of the racing obsession. The danger and competition increase sensation exponentially.
My first love, my pure love of sailing, is now less immaculate, but the insights and increased awareness I gained through racing expanded that love beyond its limited borders of fear and comfort to a place of understanding. Innocence is no longer, the fantasy not quite as fanciful, but the romance has become imbedded in the flesh of reality.
Larry Caricchio - “Zingara”
