[Above photo: Super Blue Moon, dreamy in clouds.]
5 October 2023
There are so many ways to experience the water here. One would be aboard the 1049ft-long 20 deck Norwegian Dancer which was in port as I took my daily walk down to, along, and up from the waterfront the other day. A young woman jogger passing me said to her friends, “I don’t get it. Who’d want to be in a mall in the middle of the ocean?” Cruise ships apparently emit 4 times the amount of greenhouse gasses per person over a given distance travelled as do airplanes. And, outside of US territorial waters, they discharge tons of garbage and chemicals. Must have a strong lobby.
Then, there is the flock of little sailboats—Lazers, perhaps?—from Sail Maine, flitting about the harbor like terns, rounding buoys and giving experience to young sailors who may fall in love with wind over water and move to larger boats and longer distances as they can afford to.
I’ve had a number of fun experiences with my kayak, the one I got for $150 and have rehabbed. I built a seatback out of very lightweight closed-cell foam that works like a charm and can’t weigh more than 1 pound.
Lindsey and I practiced self- and 2-person rescues in front of his house on Webber Pond. The water was warm and the whole experience increased my confidence at surviving a capsize. I tried to roll, but, unfortunately, I reflexively blow the air out of my nose quickly. Not yet being at the surface, I then gasp, struggle, exit the kayak, and have felt the terror of drowning. Ugh. I think I need to practice blowing very gradually to keep the water out of my nose. In any case, it’s good to know I cannot depend, as yet, on a reliable roll to rescue myself.
I launched on the incoming tide at Clay Pits Road, midway up the Nonesuch River in the Scarborough Marsh. With tide and paddle, I moved swiftly up its very serpentine course, ducking under the Amtrak trestle, gliding beneath the Blackpoint Road bridge, and scooting around a couple of fallen trees that obstructed most of the waterway. The water was calm and the air warm. I travelled further upstream where there were no houses as the river would twist past the edge of the marsh. I saw gatherings of Common Egrets, a Great Blue Heron, a murder of Crows, a Cooper’s hawk, a Bald Eagle, and various ducks. The birdlife is better viewed earlier in the day—-and earlier in the summer. After an hour or so, I turned and paddled back against the current until the latter lay slack. It began to ebb just as I approached my take-out spot.
I spoke with two fishermen along the way. Apparently, it is wonderful striper fishing from May through August, so I may try it next year.
Lindsey and I put in at the East End launch site down the hill from my house a week ago and paddled to Little Diamond Island, up one side of Great Diamond, and over to Cow Island. There we disembarked and hiked about. While there were some boats moored offshore with people enjoying the late summer day, the island was deserted and fun to explore. We launched again and completed circumnavigating Great Diamond, landing back in Portland just before sunset.
Finally, I paddled with Jon and Ari out to Ft. Gorges, in the middle of the harbor. We landed and entered the fort, whose guns were never fired. It is skillfully built of Maine granite, with keystone arches and keyhole gun ports. We continued over to Little Diamond, then to Peaks Island and along its western shore. Rounding the southern end, we entered the pass between Peaks and Cushing islands and encountered swell from the open ocean. The outgoing tide met the incoming swell and, where they crossed a shoal, large breakers formed. We avoided them, as we avoided the busy boat traffic, including a ferry, when we crossed the harbor on our return.
All in all, I was impressed at how quickly and effortlessly my boat, at 17 ½ feet long, can travel. It is a very lightly built fiberglass boat, which makes it wonderful to lift onto a roof rack. As Jon noted, “It is really good until it isn’t.” So I bought a roll of Flextape, a strong, adherent, waterproof tape, to carry in case I hit a rock and the hull is punctured. These little precautions can mean a lot at sea. I now feel comfortable kayaking around Casco Bay, watching the water and the weather. I look about me and cannot believe that I live in such a lovely place. And it is beyond my ability to express the pleasure I feel being so close to the water and yet so safe and contained.
Just as I am not posting frequently to my blog, I am paying less attention to the nail-on-blackboard sounds emanating from our country’s political class. There is so much that is pathetic, regressive, and mendacious about it all, driven by he-who-has-been-wronged. Impeached twice, indicted 4 times (or is it more?), convicted once (Sexual assault), having to pay reparations for his Trump University scandal and his “charitable trust” scandal, he continues to point his finger at others. It reminds me of Bobby Spoon in 5th grade. He once farted loudly, then quickly pointed to the girl sitting at the desk in front of him. That level of dissimulation.
We need Democratic control of the White House and Congress so that we can begin to comprehensively address the astounding income inequality in this country. Trump’s only significant piece of legislation increased that inequality and the GOP in the House crushed Biden’s attempt to increase the tax rate on income over $400,000/ year, which would have been a good start. It seems the GOP pols aren’t really interested in lowering the national debt or assisting the working poor. Big surprise! Maybe in 2024 we can do it. The current mudwrestling in the GOP section of the House would be amusing if it weren’t so destructive. And most of the vocal minority have no legislation attached to their names. Perhaps a street or post office naming. Some just want to break things, it appears.
I read a gripping non-fiction adventure story—-a shipwreck in the 1700’s off the southern coast of Chile, murder, mutiny, cannibalism—The Wager by David Grann. I had to vacate it for a week; their plight was so skillfully recreated that I couldn’t bear to continue. Then I read The Bird Artist by Howard Norman, a beautifully written tale of the doings in a small community, Witless Bay, on the coast of Newfoundland. It also contained adultery, murder, suicide, and other desperate acts which enlivened it. It reminded me a little of Shipping News, so well did he capture the humor, irony, and tone of the place.
I think I’ll put my suet feeder out again and hope I attract just the downy woodpecker pair, not the starlings. I miss their company.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 