Maris Stella Yacht Club and Crabbing Society
Monday, March 21, 2005
Friday, March 18, 2005
An Update
As time has passed, the hill has kept sliding. You can see the deep, vertical brown patch above the black tarp; that's all newly exposed earth, and the black tarp marks the fence that used to be at the top of the hill.
You can also see a large pile of loose dirt between the two houses, dwarfing the man standing in front of it. It's there because the City of Carlsbad has moved in to put things right, apparently on a "remove dirt until there's no dirt to remove" plan. They started about 2:30 yesterday and have been working round the clock since then, filling large dump trucks that parade in and out.
(Raven's a little put out by all this, the poor puppy.)
There are vast new neighborhoods being built behind the rim of the hill, and some time ago the early phases of construction involved a lot of dynamiting, followed by the movement of a great deal of earth to create new hills and new flat areas upon which to build roads and houses. Everyone I've talked to in my neighborhood is not merely suspicious, but absolutely certain that all that work played an important part in precipitating this slide. I suspect there'll be some lawyers involved in all this before long.....
Monday, March 07, 2005
If Life Gets Any More Exciting, I May Explode
What a winter! First there was the Christmas sinus infection, then the broken rib, and now this.
As you no doubt know, I live near the top of a hill. You may not have realized without thinking about it, though, that that all the neighborhoods hereabouts are literally carved out of the hillside. Sometime back when, developers cut terraces into the hillside and built houses on the resulting level spaces. And so streets here tend to end in very steep embankments.
As you've no doubt heard, it's rained a lot here lately. Soggy, steeply slanted earth here results in mudslides and, sure enough, the very steep embankment at the end of my street is beginning to slip.
Here's what it looks like:
You can see the tarps spread over the hillside in the hope that they will cause any new water to run off rather than soak in, as well as the sag in the fence (near the top of the embankment, to the left of the house roof) where it has been undermined by the sliding earth. You can also see one of several tractors that have been feverishly digging away the mud that has already slid (at a rate, apparently, of about one inch per hour) and the rented moving van in which Russel (the unlucky owner of the most exposed house, who has lived here since the neighborhood was new) is loading his furniture in the process of moving away. What you can't see (in this admittely amateurish photograph) is the break in the vegetation near the top of the embankment behind Russel's house — a roughly four-foot (top to bottom) strip of vertical brown earth that shows not only how much has already moved, but also how much more below it has yet to come down.
I believe that my house is far enough away to be safe. But we'll see what happens over the next week or so.
As you no doubt know, I live near the top of a hill. You may not have realized without thinking about it, though, that that all the neighborhoods hereabouts are literally carved out of the hillside. Sometime back when, developers cut terraces into the hillside and built houses on the resulting level spaces. And so streets here tend to end in very steep embankments.
As you've no doubt heard, it's rained a lot here lately. Soggy, steeply slanted earth here results in mudslides and, sure enough, the very steep embankment at the end of my street is beginning to slip.
Here's what it looks like:
You can see the tarps spread over the hillside in the hope that they will cause any new water to run off rather than soak in, as well as the sag in the fence (near the top of the embankment, to the left of the house roof) where it has been undermined by the sliding earth. You can also see one of several tractors that have been feverishly digging away the mud that has already slid (at a rate, apparently, of about one inch per hour) and the rented moving van in which Russel (the unlucky owner of the most exposed house, who has lived here since the neighborhood was new) is loading his furniture in the process of moving away. What you can't see (in this admittely amateurish photograph) is the break in the vegetation near the top of the embankment behind Russel's house — a roughly four-foot (top to bottom) strip of vertical brown earth that shows not only how much has already moved, but also how much more below it has yet to come down.
I believe that my house is far enough away to be safe. But we'll see what happens over the next week or so.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Rats Redux
Racing! Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!!! San Diego Bay! Nine boats. My first time skippering a 'big boat'. Kyle (Krabby) as my krew. Dave was skippering another boat with his friend Seth (& Seth's 2 young sons on board for tactical advice) as crew. Race#1; K & I are very nervous but we get a good start and half way up the first leg we are in first place on starboard tack with all other boats below us on port. Time to tack...we come about, set the jib sheet and it doesn't want to hold. The wind is pretty strong and Kyle just can't handle the jib. Consequently the lead slip slides away as we flounder on mainsail power alone until I jump forward and bring in the sheet. How did all those boats get ahead of me that quickly? We sail out the course and finish in 7th. Ouch! At least we didn't finish last. I think Dave finished fourth. Race#2; Another good start but with the wind a little too strong for us we (I) don't sail the boat so well and some boats get past me. Still we reach the upwind mark in 3rd place. We get passed at the finish and settle for a fourth. We've improved. We are happy. Dave finished first. Race#3; A pretty good start but I stink at steering. I turn the tiller over to Kyle and suddenly we are moving better. We take a fifth as we are passed again on the downwind leg. But, we are o.k. with fifth. Dave takes a second or third. Race#4; We go for a pin-end port start as the wind has shifted and now favors that start. Dave also recognizes the port start advantage and follows us. Twenty seconds after the gun we are way ahead of the fleet but with me at the helm again and steering poorly Dave passes us from underneath and sails off. I turn the helm over to Kyle again and look at us go! We round the upwind mark in third place. This is a 3 leg race with the finish being at the end of an upwind leg. We round the second mark in fourth place and just inches ahead of the fifth boat. Dave has fallen to a close second place and splits tacks with the first place boat in an effort to challenge it for first. But by going to the left side he has opened an opportunity for the third and fourth place boats to pass him. With Kyle steering we don't catch the third place boat that has now climbed into second but we do hold off the fifth place boat and we cross in front of Dave who is now on a port tack! We need to tack to cross the finish line and barely cross the line in front of Dave who is finishing on starboard. Third place us, Fourth place Dave who yells out "Rats" as he crosses the line. On the day, Dave/Seth & boys take 3rd overall...Ross/Kyle take 4th.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Rats!
Not only an expression of Charlie Brown-esqe pique, but also the name of the animal causing that pique. Apparently there's quite an extended family of them running around in my attic. And while it's unfortunate that rats thrive wherever there are humans, it is fortunate that if we're going to be plagued with them, at least they're very, very stupid.
[Thoughts going through the rat's brain] "Ummm, that peanut butter smells good. Wonder where it came from? Well, who cares, it smells really good. And I wonder what that machine is that it's attached to? Well, who cares, because it smells really, really good and, wow!, it tastes really good too, and..." WHACK!
So I've killed three in the past couple of days, and I look forward to the day when I no longer hear the pitter patter of little feet above my head.
But....
The last one took the bait while I was sitting more or less directly beneath it, and come to find out, they don't just get their necks broken and die quickly and quietly. With all the thumping, I thought it might have been a puma, or at least an opossum. Now it happens that I place the trap just inside the opening to the attic, and that opening is (in the typical fashion) a two-by-three-foot rectangle above my bedroom closet covered by what should probably be plywood but is, in my case, some of that dimpled white foam that ugly ceilings are so often made of. Not strong stuff. And, in my case, a moment's carelessness (while I installed an ethernet cable leading from a router in my bedroom to a computer in Emma's bedroom) resulted in the removal of a corner of that piece of dimpled foam — an approximate equilateral triangle with legs of about three inches — plenty of room for a little beastie to fall through. And in truth, while I watched I saw at least the tail come into plain view.
Now, I don't like the idea of confronting an animal that, although trapped, is very much alive and really pissed off ("But, I was eating peanut butter! How can this happen?"), no matter how small it is in comparison with me, so I immediately called Raven into the room as a first line of defense. For awhile, there continued to be more bumping around in the attic than is likely to occur in a WWF contest. But it stopped. And I was left to wonder — has that thing shuffled off the mortal coil, or has it escaped and run away, or...is it just waiting for me? I happen to have bought an air horn a while back, in order to make a lot of noise on New Year's Eve, so I waited awhile and then blasted a coupe of jolts (Raven didn't like that), got no response from the beastie, and went up into the attic to discover I could add another notch to my belt.
HHHhhhhhhhhh........ (That's me letting out a deep sigh.)
All of this, of course, while true, means that I haven't been sailing enough and so have too little to write about. That's to be resolved soon: On Sunday there's a Capri 22 race, the first in which two of the Christie brothers will contend against one another. More to come.....
[Thoughts going through the rat's brain] "Ummm, that peanut butter smells good. Wonder where it came from? Well, who cares, it smells really good. And I wonder what that machine is that it's attached to? Well, who cares, because it smells really, really good and, wow!, it tastes really good too, and..." WHACK!
So I've killed three in the past couple of days, and I look forward to the day when I no longer hear the pitter patter of little feet above my head.
But....
The last one took the bait while I was sitting more or less directly beneath it, and come to find out, they don't just get their necks broken and die quickly and quietly. With all the thumping, I thought it might have been a puma, or at least an opossum. Now it happens that I place the trap just inside the opening to the attic, and that opening is (in the typical fashion) a two-by-three-foot rectangle above my bedroom closet covered by what should probably be plywood but is, in my case, some of that dimpled white foam that ugly ceilings are so often made of. Not strong stuff. And, in my case, a moment's carelessness (while I installed an ethernet cable leading from a router in my bedroom to a computer in Emma's bedroom) resulted in the removal of a corner of that piece of dimpled foam — an approximate equilateral triangle with legs of about three inches — plenty of room for a little beastie to fall through. And in truth, while I watched I saw at least the tail come into plain view.
Now, I don't like the idea of confronting an animal that, although trapped, is very much alive and really pissed off ("But, I was eating peanut butter! How can this happen?"), no matter how small it is in comparison with me, so I immediately called Raven into the room as a first line of defense. For awhile, there continued to be more bumping around in the attic than is likely to occur in a WWF contest. But it stopped. And I was left to wonder — has that thing shuffled off the mortal coil, or has it escaped and run away, or...is it just waiting for me? I happen to have bought an air horn a while back, in order to make a lot of noise on New Year's Eve, so I waited awhile and then blasted a coupe of jolts (Raven didn't like that), got no response from the beastie, and went up into the attic to discover I could add another notch to my belt.
HHHhhhhhhhhh........ (That's me letting out a deep sigh.)
All of this, of course, while true, means that I haven't been sailing enough and so have too little to write about. That's to be resolved soon: On Sunday there's a Capri 22 race, the first in which two of the Christie brothers will contend against one another. More to come.....
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Somerville Gates
For those of us who cannot make it to the big apple this week for one reason or another, click here
Friday, February 18, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Mom, Lance & Carlee
Three big winners in the news. Carlee, the German Short-haired Pointer, Best in Show winner of the Westminster Kennel Club. Lance Armstrong declared today that he would attempt a 7th Tour de France championship. Mom earned the title of Queen of Argentine Rummy, by dominating the competition in last week's California A. R. Tournament of Champions.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
A new World Record
Who cares about football! In "Other Sports" today,
LONDON, Feb. 7 (AP) - Ellen MacArthur has endured stormy seas, 65-mile-an-hour winds, a broken sail, burns, bruises and exhaustion - even a close encounter with a whale. The payoff is a solo around-the-world sailing record.
MacArthur, a 28-year-old Englishwoman, completed the 26,000-mile circumnavigation at 5:29 p.m. Eastern time on Monday by crossing an imaginary finish line between Ushant, France, and the Lizard peninsula in Cornwall, on the south coast of England.
Her final time was 71 days 14 hours 18 minutes 33 seconds, her control team said.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Boy, Do I Feel Guilty
After all, there you east coast folks are, suffering the cruel torments of winter, even fur-coated cats huddled up for warmth. You send photos and reports of boats buried almost to the point of being lost under snow. And what do I do about it?
Go sailing, of course.
"What?!" you say. "Aren't you injured?!" Well, yes, I suppose so, but I had signed up for a race some time before I fell off the ladder, and I was really looking forward to it, and I'd had almost two full weeks to recuperate. And besides, it's not like I would be crewing; as helmsman I was just going to sit in the stern and hold a tiller. All of which is to say that I guess I'm feeling a fair bit better than I was.
So, to the race details. Last Saturday, we had another of the Capri 22, around-the-channel-markers, all-over-San-Diego-Bay races — something like 10 to 12 nautical miles. My regular crew was notably absent; given that he was taking his Basic Keelboat class, one has to assume he will be not only absent from my boat, but also a competitor from now on. Cool! Fortunately, I was able to replace him, temporarily at least, with my first-string crew, a true old salt, the pro from Dover: Emma.
The early going was inauspicious: a so-so start and less-than-perfect sail trim left us in sixth place out of nine boats at the first mark. The second leg, a reach, saw no changes in position. But the third leg was long, and about five degress off a true run. The three lead boats — for what reason even they couldn't say later on — went way over to the left of the course. The next three of us took a straight-line track for the mark, Emma and I got our boat cookin', passed the two boats sailing with us, and reached the next mark in first place.
The next leg was even more directly down wind, and at this point the wind, previously brisk, dropped to almost nothing. Our speed (and everyone else's) varied from one to one and a half knots. (There was also a need to make way for a tug pulling two enormous barges, but that affected everyone about evenly.) Eventually the wind picked up again but, as tends to be the case on downwind legs, filled in from behind and brought everyone up to us before it started us moving again. We rounded the extreme downwind leg in second.
From here it was several miles of close-hauled sailing to the finish line, and Emma came into her own. (Although for the sake of accuracy I have to say that she also winged the jib beautifully on the downwind legs.) Every tack saw a crisp set of the jib, Emma haulin' hard, cleatin' down, and getting herself out on the rail. Midway along, the race had come down to us and one other boat, skippered by a guy named Jon Miyata. He was a little ahead, and time and again we would near the point of passing him only to be trapped in his wind shadow and fall behind.
Now Jon and I have sailed together on several long-distance ocean races and know each other well. So, naturally, as we battled one another we exchanged a bit of good-natured trash talk. At one point I warned him that if he paid too much attention to keeping me slow, someone might come from behind and pass us both. And sure enough another boat (call it the "mystery boat"; I don't know its skipper) did begin to move up; Jon, perhaps with my warning in mind, broke off to cover him; with our air suddenly clear we surged ahead and won. The mystery boat finished about 10 seconds later, and Jon about 10 seconds after that, consoled in the knowledge that any race is a good race when you finish ahead of Steve McNally (who was a distant fourth).
A fine way to spend a January day. Come to think of it, I don't feel so guilty after all.
Go sailing, of course.
"What?!" you say. "Aren't you injured?!" Well, yes, I suppose so, but I had signed up for a race some time before I fell off the ladder, and I was really looking forward to it, and I'd had almost two full weeks to recuperate. And besides, it's not like I would be crewing; as helmsman I was just going to sit in the stern and hold a tiller. All of which is to say that I guess I'm feeling a fair bit better than I was.
So, to the race details. Last Saturday, we had another of the Capri 22, around-the-channel-markers, all-over-San-Diego-Bay races — something like 10 to 12 nautical miles. My regular crew was notably absent; given that he was taking his Basic Keelboat class, one has to assume he will be not only absent from my boat, but also a competitor from now on. Cool! Fortunately, I was able to replace him, temporarily at least, with my first-string crew, a true old salt, the pro from Dover: Emma.
The early going was inauspicious: a so-so start and less-than-perfect sail trim left us in sixth place out of nine boats at the first mark. The second leg, a reach, saw no changes in position. But the third leg was long, and about five degress off a true run. The three lead boats — for what reason even they couldn't say later on — went way over to the left of the course. The next three of us took a straight-line track for the mark, Emma and I got our boat cookin', passed the two boats sailing with us, and reached the next mark in first place.
The next leg was even more directly down wind, and at this point the wind, previously brisk, dropped to almost nothing. Our speed (and everyone else's) varied from one to one and a half knots. (There was also a need to make way for a tug pulling two enormous barges, but that affected everyone about evenly.) Eventually the wind picked up again but, as tends to be the case on downwind legs, filled in from behind and brought everyone up to us before it started us moving again. We rounded the extreme downwind leg in second.
From here it was several miles of close-hauled sailing to the finish line, and Emma came into her own. (Although for the sake of accuracy I have to say that she also winged the jib beautifully on the downwind legs.) Every tack saw a crisp set of the jib, Emma haulin' hard, cleatin' down, and getting herself out on the rail. Midway along, the race had come down to us and one other boat, skippered by a guy named Jon Miyata. He was a little ahead, and time and again we would near the point of passing him only to be trapped in his wind shadow and fall behind.
Now Jon and I have sailed together on several long-distance ocean races and know each other well. So, naturally, as we battled one another we exchanged a bit of good-natured trash talk. At one point I warned him that if he paid too much attention to keeping me slow, someone might come from behind and pass us both. And sure enough another boat (call it the "mystery boat"; I don't know its skipper) did begin to move up; Jon, perhaps with my warning in mind, broke off to cover him; with our air suddenly clear we surged ahead and won. The mystery boat finished about 10 seconds later, and Jon about 10 seconds after that, consoled in the knowledge that any race is a good race when you finish ahead of Steve McNally (who was a distant fourth).
A fine way to spend a January day. Come to think of it, I don't feel so guilty after all.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
Spring is in the Air
January 28th and the wildflowers are blooming like crazy. The rain we had in December and the warm, sunny days we've had in mid-January have colored the hills and canyons with bright reds, yellows, purples and whites.
And, by the way, I've joined the Harbor Sailboats club. Tomorrow I begin the 2 day 'basic keelboating' class. Once I complete the class I am o.k. to compete in the racing program and with Kyle as my crew start collecting some club trophies. Starting gun, here I come!
And, by the way, I've joined the Harbor Sailboats club. Tomorrow I begin the 2 day 'basic keelboating' class. Once I complete the class I am o.k. to compete in the racing program and with Kyle as my crew start collecting some club trophies. Starting gun, here I come!
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
I'm OK, You're OK?
Sunny II and Dave's boat (Kaigon? Saigon? King Kong?) have weathered the storm nicely, as they are sitting comfortably in the garage. I can't quite say the same for Sunny I and Red Weather, although at least they are visible.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
and more expected
live from new england... sometimes when the wind blows it's a complete whiteout.
spring seems a long way away. cher is still visible but "the snoopster" (miata) is now completely buried.
spring seems a long way away. cher is still visible but "the snoopster" (miata) is now completely buried.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Question of the Day
When your car needs to be fixed, you bring it into the shop, leave it for a few days, and rent another while the work takes place. Why can't they do that with human bodies? "Yeah, I'd like to rent another body while mine's in here for healing. Could I get the 25-year-old stud model? And by the way, there's not really any hurry on the repairs...."
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Dave Makes a Decision
That's it! No more physical labor ever! If it's worth doing, it's worth having done by a qualified professional.
These thoughts ran through my mind yesterday about 0.75 seconds into a fall from a ladder — about 10 feet.
The good news: No head injury, and I wiggle my toes and fingers just fine.
The bad news: Broken rib and chewed-up lower back. (Nothing that won't heal in time.) Ah well, I guess I'll be taking an indefinite sabbatical from my Aikido studies....
These thoughts ran through my mind yesterday about 0.75 seconds into a fall from a ladder — about 10 feet.
The good news: No head injury, and I wiggle my toes and fingers just fine.
The bad news: Broken rib and chewed-up lower back. (Nothing that won't heal in time.) Ah well, I guess I'll be taking an indefinite sabbatical from my Aikido studies....
Friday, January 14, 2005
I can't sail in them, but . . .
Vema III; Mouette; Nyala; Northern Light; Nereus; Vim; Seven Seas; Columbia; Dorothee; Constellation; Intrepid; Valiant; Courageous; Enterprise; Spirit of America; America II - All of them 12-meters and all of them designed by Sparkman & Stephens, who just happen to be a tenant of ours at 529 Fifth Avenue. I met with them yesterday and just walking around, looking at the plans/models/photographs, was awesome. There was a photograph of one of their yachts under sail - it goes for a cool $10 million. The spinnaker alone costs $25,000 (apparently they were out one time, sailing it with the owner in heavy winds . . . they recommended taking the spinnaker down . . . the owner disagreed . . . a few moments later, the spinnaker ripped to shreds . . . oops!). I made a preliminary offer on it - they said they'd consider a trade in of the sunfish!
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