Dog days

I got curious as to why these are the "dog days of summer." A guess would have been that summer is marked by canine types hiding in any shade they can find, tongues lolling out as they pant in the heat. A good guess, but wrong.

It turns out the brightest star in the sky, Sirius, (a.k.a. the Dog Star) resides in a constellation the Europeans called Canis Major, a.k.a. The Big Dog. In the summer The Big Dog rises and sets with the sun, in other words we can't see it. Apparently those same Europeans thought the heat of the dog star, added to the heat of the sun, is what makes summer such a grueling test of sweating it out. Thus, "The Dog Days of Summer." (Turns out they were wrong but it is a better story than panting puppies.)

However they got their name weekends in the summer in central IL, living on a boat, can have one acting a bit in line with my original guess...lolling around, panting like a well cooked dog, and just looking for a little relief. For sailors that is normally found by rolling off the stern and into the water. Truth to tell though, the water temp is getting up there as well, making the lake feel more like a hot tub than a swimming pool. (Actually, given the color, consistency of the water, and the odd things floating around, it is more like falling into a bowl of warm soup. Appetizing, isn't it? It takes some serious heat to get me to jump into that, mmmm...stuff? But jump I do. For all of its delights sailing is not for the mysophobic.) An added bonus is the insects; corp bugs, Japanese beetles, and mosquitoes...hoards of mosquitoes. Mosquitoes that seem to enjoy dining on 40% DET insect (supposedly) repellent.

So living on Nomad isn't always the idyllic portrayal of life at ease. For me the worst part of the day is the few hours that lie between crawling into the V-berth and actually falling asleep. (If it isn't actually a few hours, it can sure feel that way.) For some reason hot + tired but not sleepy + very little breeze = bug bites itching like crazy. The buzz of a stray mosquito that found its way past the screens and is looking for desert, is enough to make the skin crawl. (Those same hideous little creatures make it impossible to sleep out in the relative coolness of the cockpit as opposed to being holed up in the boat.)

Morning always comes to the rescue. Nomad nods gently on her anchor. The cove is quiet, cool(-er at least), and the day holds promise of breezes and sailing. After breakfast Deb gets the inside of the boat ready for travels while I pick a foresail to start out on, sort out halyards and reefing lines, and try to remember to take the anchor light down. When ever we can we sail off the hook, which can make me smile for hours. Then we set off to spend a day exploring our little lake and learning a bit more about living on and sailing a boat. And that is the purpose of the whole exercise.

I'm not sure the Islands are going to be a favorite place for us. We may end up chasing cooler climes, foraging further north than is the normal hunting ground for "cruisers." For now the lake is the best we can do and it is (for us anyway) far better than what a lot of people get to do. Hot or not, bugs and all, it is still my favorite place.

I wonder though, how far can a mosquito fly off shore?