Well Spring
19 April 2014 | Bodkin Inlet/Chesapeake Bay
Capn Andy/Springlike
Finally a real break in the weather got us down to the docks and working like mad, like a cooped up dog let out to tear around. The Hobie cat had its rudders sanded and painted arctic white, the hulls were sanded to remove mussel residue, and the bottoms painted with antifouling paint to ward off any new mussels. A new hiking stick universal joint was ordered. The temptation to take the little catamaran out on the bay was held at bay by the current water temperatures, in the 50 degree range. In a couple of weeks it will get up to the 60's and hypothermia induced heart attack will be less of an issue.
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The work on the Hobie cat was carried out by heeling the boat using the main sheet with an additional line attached to pull the boat over far enough to bring the hull up to comfortable working height. This was good exercise, kind of like roping a steer. The end result was the little catamaran getting launched for the season, yellow, with blue antifouling paint below the waterline, and sitting on its painter from a piling next to the dock. Sure is tempting.
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The next day, after agreeing with Dottie the Safety Officer that the water is too cold for sailing a beach cat, I saw some juveniles playing around with SUP's in the inlet. Well, if it isn't too cold for them... The wind was light and patchy. The little catamaran darted around in the puffs, sailing past kayakers, fishing boats, and some magnificent power yachts on their way to fuel up at Pleasure Cove. When I got out to the bay, it was flat and glassy. There was one other sailboat out there, and they furled their sails and motored. The wind was dying and we headed back to the dock. Not much excitement, but the sky was high pressure deep blue with a few contrails from aircraft way up high. As I sailed past docks and marinas, there was not much activity. Maybe the water was too cold.
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The next day I was sore and out of sorts. I spent the day watching the Masters golf championship and felt guilty not getting anything done. The news report was that a kayaker had put in right across the inlet and someone shot him. He was in pain and bled, but was able to beach his boat and the next morning got taken to the hospital where he was stitched up and released. He said after he launched his boat late at night, he drifted around looking at the stars and his iPad. There was a campfire on the shore with a late night party going on, a red flash on the water, and then he felt pain in his side. He made his way back to the shore where he passed out.
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I looked over an area between our docks and those of Pleasure Cove Marina, because it was a spot where camp fires were sometimes burned at night. There was no evidence of a fire there.
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It was a day with gusty wind, so I rigged up the Hobie again, and flew down the inlet toward the bay. It was a mixed blessing of good sailing wind, but gusts from any direction and any strength. I had to use the rudder to steer the little catamaran to keep the sail full enough to keep sailing, but prevent the capsize or pitchpole in the gusts. I thought about how a proa would deal with such conditions, without a rudder to make quick course changes.
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After a while I got fatigued and zoomed back to the dock, into the little sheltered area behind it. There were a few locals gathered there on a small sandy beach and one of them started to talk to me about the shooting. The DNR police were combing the shores of the Bodkin, looking for evidence. We surmised that the shooter probably wasn't alone, if he was part of that group with the campfire. Someone would spill the beans.
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When I was young we had a large farm and harsh winters. In the Spring there was a lot going on. We learned that the maple trees could be tapped for sap and it could be boiled down to maple syrup. Our favorite winter sled trails would melt into muddy sloshes. We could not walk through those areas. The mud would be deep over our knees. The large ice skating areas were now springtime marshes with acres of water. There were muskrats and melting water. Gurgling under the ground in some of the higher areas.
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I followed a gurgling sound that was coming from the ground in a large field where we had been sledding just a few weeks before. Downhill there were spots where the sound was more intense. Rabbit holes. Old embankments from primordial glaciers. Tree roots. Clay soil with voids. Openings of water and sound. I made my way across the divide between the fields and the brushy creekbed. There were alders and birch. Soft hummocks of soil with small trees and bushes grabbing hold. I found a rectangular place made of large stones and water welling up from underground. It flowed off into the rest of the stream. It was a natural well. A spring. Springtime.