Crawled out of my bunk this afternoon, downing pills to quell a migraine, to help a friend remove an ancient, half-century-old Aries self-stearing gear (one of the first ever produced) from Wrack's transom, along with a useless, under-sized, stainless steel boarding ladder.
Unencumbered, the transom looks a lot more elegant, even before it's patched and re-painted. The loss of weight aft will probably improve Wrack's performance in light airs (necessary in the Med') as well as her buoyancy in following seas.
I won't miss the Aries at all, although I'll look for something more efficient — and lighter — to replace it.
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It's rare that I stumble across social media posts that draw me in with fragments of an unconventional personal narrative — oblique references to disparate places and experiences, disjointed diary-like musings, images that pause the eye and provoke questions — but I spent the graveyard hours this morning immersed in @lake's feed and it felt like I was reading a treatment for some cool, intriguingly experimental, autobiographical documentary.
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After yesterday's torrential rain, blue sky — but it's still cold. There's a strong Levanter and fresh snow on the mountains north and west of the marina.
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“Find something you really love doing and mix it with something you really care about.”
– Kathleen Hanna, singer (Bikini Kill, Le Tigre) and writer.
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Drying out the boat this morning after late-night torrential rain — leaks from window frames and deck fittings.
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A hard 'poniente' — 30 knots, with occasional gusts of 48 knots, through the marina yesterday. Wrack slews and rocks a bit but remains comfortable. No rain, at least.
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Another day of fierce winds and the boat's dervish dance between its tethers.
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Windless and in decreasing visibility, Wrack motors westward on the ebbing tide through the Chenal de l'Île de Batz, north of Roscoff, Brittany, July, 2024.
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"Their ageing boat has been a sanctuary and a burden for them, floating on a sea of uncertainty as they navigate a world offering few safe harbours. What expressive lives they lead, I am always thinking. Their work—writing and photography mostly—is important, and their lives no walk in the park even on dry land..."
– UK-based writer Peter Bach on my wife and me, via @counterpunch, December 2024.
Below: an excerpt from a daybook, a b&w contact sheet (with later annotations) from 1978, portraits of the late Michael Moulin and me aboard my 24-foot sailboat just before the start of The Observer Round Britain and Ireland Two-handed Race.
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My first day back on my feet after a week laid up with a painful kidney stone and a nasty flu. I still felt like shit but the need for a hot shower couldn't be ignored anymore — nor could a chance to feel warm sun on my foetid skin (it was 20ºC here this afternoon).
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Gulf of Mexico sounds so much more poetic than Gulf of America.
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