Date: 15 July 2007 / Depart: 1045 Sea Ranch Marina SPI / Arrive:1315 Sea Ranch Marina SPI / Wind S –SW 06-12 / Temp: 86 deg F /  Skies Overcast / Seas: <2’ / Water: Blue

Oh Lord, when will these Saturday nights gone to the ‘Dogs end? It’s just way too much fun as the summer slips by like water past the hull….

CB was here this weekend, down from Austin. He brought his hand crafted wood-strip canoe and paddled down the upper stretch of the Rio Grande River protesting the implementation of the border fence, along with a few other angst ridden left wingers, all holding hands and singing Kum-bye-ya….

I have no time for such shenanigans, being firmly ensconced in the annual Cetol renewal project, taking care of all of the topside brightwork, and I  had Olivia’s dink in the water in order to do the rails. Cetol is a tedious job that forces you to look at lots of other things in the process.  

So he showed up here around supper time on Saturday, and we went up island and ate at Palm Street Pier. No epicurean delight, this food had to qualify as one of the most disappointing meals of all time. The shrimp salad, one of my favorites consisted of only about two tablespoons of thin runny goop, and CB and D’s meal of grilled shrimp salad was also flop …..five tiny crustaceans over a bed of iceberg lettuce with some store bought dressing.

I decided to have a rum runner to try and forget the experience.

Getting back to Olivia around 0200, CB decided to uncork a bottle of  good red tinto vino and we had a sun-uppers.

Rum runners and red wine are never a good combination.

Sunday dawned overcast with light winds, and now my never ending guilt complex was kicking in and so I decided it was not only necessary, but requisite to sail.

Battling a moderate case of Taquache (‘possum syndrome) we set about rigging sheets, hanking on sails, and stowing items in an effort to get underway. Sailing regularly is another process I like because it forces you to constantly keep things dynamic and fluid, stowing and unstowing, and so long forgotten corners and places are noticed and tended to.

Anyway, we left the dock and chugged out into a mostly smooth and beautiful bay, the morning cool with just a hint of rain shower. I had hanked on the big genny, the 175, a sail almost like a big old drifter. This sail is so huge it goes every inch up to the top of the mast, extending almost all the way to the sheet blocks.  In fact it has as much square footage as an average Wal Mart.

We’ve never flown this particular piece of canvas before, and the light air just made it seem right. There’s a little rip near the top, but hey that’s why I bought D a new sailrite awhile back. Ulterior motives.

Up goes the mizzen and main, and then the big genny with a whump….lighting in the soft breeze, as immediately we rocket ahead on a 15-20 degree heel. I just keep saying over and over; “Willya lookit the size of that sail?…..that’s one humongous piece of canvas, willya just lookit the size of that sail?….” I kept shaking my head in wonder.

Shrimping season has begun and boats are outbound from the shrimp basins in Port Isabel and Brownsville with their outriggers down, some passing each other, all taking up a considerable amount of the water as we turn west and head up the Brownsville Ship Channel. The wind is a bit funky and we tack several times before finding a reach which we stay on for about an hour.

Near the “Y” I spin the boat into the wind turning east, the sails load up, and she won’t respond to the helm as we plow towards the south side of the channel. There’s little room to maneuver here and outside the markers both sides of the bay are trecherously shallow, as several shrimpers bear down on us.  I tell the crew that we’re gonna jibe to the north than reassume the eastern tack…..and that’s just what we do, as the boat now responds to the helm. I kick back and sip my coffee, the wind playing hide and go seek, sometimes almost non existent, sometimes breezy.

Dousing the sails near the Sea Ranch Marina entrance channel, we head back to the slip. On tying up, I miss the starboard stern line with the boathook, the line is looped over a piling in the water, and I almost go over the sternrail, knocking the barbeque askew and causing the two aft stanchions to wobble. It’s always something.

We stow and cover sails, dig out all of the things that got put away in order to sail and then wander over to Diry Al's and eat a much needed recuperative meal of blackened fish tacos and raspberry tea, french fries and tartar sauce along with about fifty million tourists. I have not seen the island this crammed except during spring break, and wonder if it is due to the high cost of fuel…..people are just staying home going to nearby destinations.

The day has cleared and become hot and humid as CB with canoe strapped to the top of his Rav heads back to Austin, his new inland home. I have still not gone out in this beautiful little boat, opting instead to tool around in our ratty old grey hypolon dink with its smokey 6 horse Evinrude….a ride requiring much less effort.

Later, after an equally much needed late afternoon siesta, I wash the boat, stem to stern, scrubbing every inch, and as always she cleans up nicely as I make a mental note of all of the things that I need to do, cosmetically. Things like renew the non skid, touch up the topside (Brightside) paint, clean a few corroded parts, get that new bimini installed etc….

I stand back surveying the cleaned and shining boat. There’s only the stern platform, stern and port side rub rails left to Cetol, and I’ll scratch that one off of the neverending list of things to do.

The grand finale to the day was an hour at Schlitterbahn floating around with about a thousand other people….not unlike being on the freeway. At least it was wet and I closed my eyes blocking out the people, cooling off in the fresh water.

Coming back to the gleaming boat, I saw a family standing out on the County dock, young kids gleefully throwing bread to a vortex of swirling, yelping seagulls.

I have had a strict no-seagull policy for many years. The things never dump on the people feeding them.  No, they strafe the handiest adjacent objects; cars, peoples and RECENTLY CLEANED BOATS.

None the less, I always think that I’m being sort of a curmudgeon to folks, especially tourists with kids when I holler at ‘em; ” Hey! Don’t feed the freakin seagulls, they cr@p on everything…they’re really just feathered cockroaches with wings!”

But hey….I figure it’s an educative process, and like some educations it can be sort of hard.

They stop feeding the seagulls, and eventually move off, their experience undoubtedly shattered by the grumpy old sailor with the sparkling clean boat across the harbor who yelled at them and their kids.