Some days...

are better than other days. My first inclination for a title today was, "Good Old Boat? No such a thing!" Kintala just flat kicked me black and blue this weekend. There was the water heater hose, the sump pump shorted again, I started fixing interior damage from stepping the mast, inside the lazarette was a rat's nest of discarded and tangled up wiring that would embarrass the hammest of ham handed amateurs, and the line to work the roller furling was completely shot and only 30 feet long. Just how does both a survey and a rigging inspector not spot such a thing? ($85 for a new line - thank you very much.)

Then this morning dawned with a promise of steady Force 5 winds, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and Kintala has one sail that can be set. Water systems, interior parts, wiring strung by circus clowns on acid...none of that need stand between Kintala and the lake. After all the help provided by friends at the marina it would have been major weenie to go it alone...Al, Bill, Gary, Joel, Mark, Pam, and Spero all jumped on board, lines were tossed, I pretended to know what I was doing, and off we went.

Once clear of the point Kintala put her bow into the wind and up went the little cutter jib. (I plan on sneaking up on this boat a little bit of sail at a time; which works out well since, at the moment, all we have is one little bit of sail.) On a beam reach with 20 to 25 knots of wind showing at the mast head and nothing but this single scrap of canvas flying, both the GPS and the speed meter agreed; we were making nearly 5 knot over the water! Holy mother of go-fast Batman! This thing is a Good Old Boat after all!

Captain at the helm on the first sail

4.6 knots on that little foresail!

Plenty of room for friends

On a completely different note...
No one who knows me would never accuse me of being particularly patriotic. "My country right or wrong," seems the lamest of excuses for allowing evil to pass. Right now we are letting a lot of evil pass under the bridge without much comment. In 1973 I was 18, and in one of the last groups to have a number pulled for "the draft," though by then it didn't mean anything. I was anti-war then (when it was cool) and I am anti-war now (when it is not cool). I figure war is about the dumbest thing human kind has invented, and if we don't uninvent it soon, it may well be the end of us.

But the idiot things we do as a species are one thing, and the incredibly brave, unselfish, and heroic acts of some individuals is quite another. My Dad served in Korea and was at Inchon. Deb's Dad was a Korean vet as well. I have a brother who did 12 years in the Air Force where, as a SP, he traded fire with the bad guys during terrorist attempts on various bases. They did their time and came home. But uncounted graves lying all around the world are testimony that not all get that chance. The war of my youth was 'Nam. Twice in my life I have stood in front of the Wall in D.C. - the one with 58,272 names etched in its black facade. Both times I sobbed like a child, overwhelmed by horror, humbled by the sacrifice...that place literally hurts my heart.

I went sailing today, spent time with friends, rode a fancy motorcycle back to the city, came home to people I love. But this is a day that belongs to the memories, and the honor, of those who didn't come home.