Spring It On Me
Spring It On Me
|Throughout the winter our resident sea otter fed on the mussells attached to our dock in the Seward Town Marina.|
On the fourth day of last October, our steel cutter, the Roger Henry, was already buried beneath the snows in the harbor at Seward, Alaska. Today, on the ides of April, we remain beneath that white mantle with no indication of a let up.
Just beneath the obligatory weather complaints of the local sailors I detect a hint of parochial pride. One old salt asked me if we would be in this area during the third week of July. I said no, we should be long gone by then.
"Shame to miss our summer," he replied.
Another diehard advised us "Up here, we quit sailing when the wind speed is equal to the air temperature."
For the mental exercise I went up and down the scale searching for the optimum convergence. The best I could do was 33 degrees of Fahrenheit and 33 knots of wind. At that point one is just above freezing and just below gale force winds.
Diana and I are plugging away at the long work list that, in spite of our best efforts, seems to miraculously grow in a Biblical fishes-and-loaves fashion.
Diana is tending to our beloved but seriously ill cat, Halifax Of The North, laying in provisions, refurbishing the medical kit, restocking the ditch kit, washing the winter bedding, cushion covers, and rugs, cleaning the bilges, and digging out the safety harnesses and tethers. In her spare time she is varnishing the galley.
My progress is not quite so apparent as hers. The engine is still out, the control levers are broken, the transmission is yet to be repaired, the roller furling lies in a pile of apparently unrelated parts, and two large boxes of engine room insulation still clutter our small main salon.