A few years back, I gave my Mom an electronic gift certificate, something she could redeem online at an electronic ‘mall’. It was a lazy, last minute gift, but I thought, for the circumstances, it would do. It actually made her break down in tears, not in happiness or motherly love, but in frustration. The whole idea, even with help from my tech-savvy sister, was just too much. It overwhelmed her, her once agile mind reeling in the digital realm. Recently, my wife and I joked that the next TV we buy will be our last, simply because figuring out a new remote is just too much hassle. I don’t really need a remote that comes with an owner’s manual, has 23 programmable buttons, haptic feedback, or 802.11b/g Wi-Fi. Or a phone that takes pictures, for that matter. I don’t Tweet, and if congress is any example, I don’t want to. To varying degrees, we all let the world pass us by, just like all those true folkies who couldn’t go along when Dylan went electric.
I was always pretty good at math and technical thinking (even though that now is becoming a hassle, too), and wonder at the now 20-somethings who struggle with even the simplest arithmetic. They grew up with calculators - even on tests! – where I used a stubby No. 2 and an (even stubbier) eraser. I think the exercise served me well, but it can’t stop the onrush of time or the feeling that the whole world has ‘gone electric’. Still, I dip my toes in the electronic ‘pool’ now and then and I find that it ain’t all bad.
We recently moved (across an ocean and several state lines) but were able to keep our same phones and phone numbers, thanks to the ‘modern’ miracle of cell phones and roaming technology. We’re making it without a ‘land-line’, thank you very much, AND we’ve been spared the hassle of reprogramming our cells.
A while back, I read an article by a contemporary who was dissing the iPod; he just didn’t get what all the buzz was all about. And a co-worker, a self-proclaimed ‘audiophile’, couldn’t let go of the ‘realness’ of vinyl (like my Dad and ‘transistor’ radios back in the 50’s and 60’s). Me, an ex-audiophile of sorts, DO get the buzz and I LOVE my iPod. I recorded all my old vinyl (one last time) and now enjoy listening to tunes that I love that I’d never hear on the radio and never play myself (too much hassle), electric Dylan included. I’m hearing things I haven’t enjoyed in 25-30 years and it’s just, like, so groovy. I’ve played a little with the rating system and playlists on the iPod, and kind of set up a rotation of tunes. More favorite songs play more often, less favorite songs play less often. It’s a good way to manage a 4500-title catalog. I mix in some other little sound bites and podcasts (Bill Maher, news shows, This I Believe, 60-Second Science, etc.) and I’ve got my own personal ‘radio station’ that almost always amazes me/makes me smile/plays just what I want.
I was slow to come around to facebook, finally joining when it became the only way I could reconnect with some old friends. But it, too, has been amazing. An electronic town hall, or beach party, with only those you want in attendance. Like the old music, I’ve been able to connect with people I lost track of as much as 35 years ago! And no high school reunion dieting! One friend leads to another, and it’s amazing the ‘web’ we weave all throughout the country and around the world, with all our different connections, activities and interests.
So, yeah, I’m slipping behind and letting a lot go by. The little I’ve grasped onto, though, has truly enriched and revolutionized my life, even as it drains my bank account. Oh, well. (When I was a kid, you could get 5 GB for 25¢!!)
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Great Adventure
How I Came Adrift On a Sea of Dreams
It germinated months ago, this adventure of the sea; and really, the seeds were planted years ago in a bed of rosy dreams. I have always thought I might like to learn to sail and someday retire on a sailboat and leisurely ride the winds of fortune. My beautiful wife Jessie, who suffers from motion sickness on a waterbed, has consistently supported and encouraged this pursuit. So when, last fall, a sailing friend, Kyle, said that he had a friend who had a boat in Southern California that he wanted to sail to the Puget Sound, I was disappointed that a work conflict kept me from offering my services as a crewman. Regretfully, I said, any other time I’d be glad to help. They started out from Newport bound for home, but weather and boat problems (my future foretold?) forced them to abandon the plan and they left the boat to winter in the Bay Area, with plans to take up again in late spring or early summer. Thus, my opportunity to crew the 32’ sailing vessel ‘Serenity ' arose and I could see myself a step closer to that dream. I’d dabbled with sailing in the past, but in preparation for the trip I actually took formal sailing lessons.
The last week in April, Captain Max (the owner), first mate Tom, my friend Kyle and I all piled in Max’s Chevy van Friday after work for the overnight drive to the Bay Area, Kyle and I doing most of the driving. We arrived at the marina at about 8:30 Saturday morning and, after a quick Burger King breakfast, began to ready the boat for our upcoming voyage. The Serenity needed some minor repair and installation of much added safety equipment (GPS, radar, solar panels, batteries, and autopilot) and there was much transferring of this trips essentials and last trips leftovers between van and boat and boat and van. Over the winter, the boat had had engine and transmission repair and Max had a new mainsail sewn. In the late afternoon, we went to Albertson’s for provisions and felt that, with the exception of refueling in the morning, we were ready to go. Max whipped up a tasty dinner and we turned in early, as no one had really gotten any sleep the night before.
Sunday morning broke beautifully and we were waiting on the fueling dock when they opened at 8:30. We filled our 35 gallon main fuel tank and also the four 5 gallon cans we had lashed to the side rails amidship (more about these later). We also had three 7 gallon cans stowed below the helmsman’s seat, for a total of 76 gallons of fuel to drive our sailboat. Max had guessed the diesel engine used about a gallon an hour, though the boat was new to him and he really didn’t know. We were hoping to make Coos Bay, Oregon in about three days, so along with sail power felt we had plenty of fuel. We motored through the Bay and out beyond the Golden Gate before we hoisted the mainsail, all the while enjoying the gorgeous weather and spectacular scenery – it was Opening Day of the boating season on the San Francisco Bay.
As we rounded Point Bonita and headed northwest, we faced a bracing northwest wind and choppy opposing seas. We continued to ‘motor-sail’ and it took hours for the Bridge to fade into the haze. Tom laid down in the afternoon and Max finally began to develop the watch plan we had been asking about. Kyle and I would have the boat ’til 6pm, Max and Tom would split the duties watching overnight. Off the bat, we were violating the premise of pairing one of the inexperienced hands with one of the ‘old salts’, but it seemed good that they should have the boat on the fist night and hopefully we’d settle in to a more formalized rotation soon so that everyone would know what to look forward to. The first inkling that the boat might harbor some hidden problems came early in the afternoon when the fresh water pump failed. Not to worry, though, we had bottled water and we could all go without a wash for a few days. Sometime during the afternoon, the bumps and the beef sticks began to overpower my natural instinct not to barf. I ended up being sick all night, heaving over the rail as Kyle manned the helm in the afternoon, aiming at the wildly heaving head as Max plowed on through the evening. Evidently, Tom suffered the same malady and was unable to stand his first watch. Just before turning in at about 11, I went out to check on Max. He handed me the wheel, said ‘track that star’, and disappeared. The boat was bouncing a lot, but it was a beautiful (if blusterry) moonlit night and I could almost ignore my queasiness. It was a little too rough for the autopilot, so I worked at trying to keep the boat pointed at that distant star – turns out the Serenity’s compass was unlighted, so it was just me, Mother Nature, and the steady hum of the diesel.
As my star set, I’d pick another and we sailed on through the night. The GPS showed that our course made good was 310 degrees, just what we wanted. You don’t move fast in a sailboat and it takes a while for the GPS to detect enough movement to figure out where you’re tracking. Certainly not a good steering indicator, the GPS summarized the track you’ve made and shows a relative position to your selected waypoint, in this case and imaginary spot in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California.
The half moon slowly set and the night became darker. It was now impossible to read the water, but I could still use a star to turn us back on course when a wave bounced us off. Soon, though, that would change. The stars disappeared into the deepening fog and all I could see was the green glow of the GPS face. It became nearly impossible to hold a heading with no compass and no visual reference points. I was proud that I was able to continue tracking 310 degrees using only the past track information from the GPS, making small corrections and heading this way then that as the sea tossed us about. Not an easy world to jump into, as Kyle discovered when he came out to relieve me at 2:30 Monday morning. He initially spun the wheel from stop to stop, trying to get a hold of Serenitys center. The boat spun wildly out of control, the mainsail luffing madly as it vacillated between preventers. I kind of half explained to Kyle the process I had settled on, and he slowly settled into harnessing the beast. Max and Tom still nestled in the berths, not knowing or unable to care. I went below to join them in some much needed rest, pausing in the head for another quick purge. Strangely, it seemed to me, I always felt better after barking at the toilet. I plunged for the V-berth, which was sleeping quarters for me and Kyle, alternately banging head and tail as I careened through the bucking boat in the dark. Settling in, I leaned against the inside of the hull for stability and hoped I wouldn’t get sick again. Again, it was impossible to sleep and again Kyle and I were doing most of the driving. I hoped, too, for better conditions and time to relax and rest.
Mesmerized by the GPS glow, Kyle was having the opposite problem and found he couldn’t keep his eyes open and concentrate on holding us on course, I was apparently the only one who heard his calls for help and went to the companionway to see what he needed. When he explained, I hurriedly slogged back on my cold, wet gear and went out to relieve him. It was 4:30 and I struggled through that darkest hour just before the dawn…………..
Kyle had said to get him up a 6:30, but I didn’t have the heart and kept on driving ‘til he got himself up at about 7:30 to relieve me. Still no Tom. Still no Max. One more puke, one more stumble/crash and again I looked forward to a long down time.
I woke – I think I was asleep – in the early afternoon to a splitting headache and a knot on my head from my previous attempts at traversing the inside of the boat, which by now was strewn with debris in a sort of trash stew. The knot and the headache were a nice compliment to my continued queasiness. And I was just in time for our ‘next challenge’. Max had told me he had decided to put in for repair and rest and – guess who – Kyle was at the wheel. The boat was a mess, but none of us had the time or the energy to care. We had come about, and were tracking northeast, the wind and the seas still not really cooperating. We had made very little headway toward our ultimate target but a least we were headed for port. It had been a very long day and a half. Tom was up at last and he and Kyle talked about trying to add some fuel to our tank, but wanted to wait a little while to see if we might have conditions improve and the boat jump about a little less. Unfortunately, there was no fuel gauge, Max’s estimate was a little off, and we ended up waiting too long. We had been motor sailing for about 30 hours on our 35 gallon tank when we ran out of gas. The wind was down a bit; the seas were still rolling, but at least with the mainsail up, Kyle could maintain steerage. We broke out the three 7 gallon cans (Max wanted to use these first because the fuel in them was older), poured them in the tank and tried a restart, but the little diesel that had run for 30 hours straight wanted a rest. We put up the jib to help the mainsail and continued back toward the coast. Everyone was weary. Max came up with a watch plan that would have me at the helm from 7 to 11, then Tom ‘til moonset at about 2:30, when Max would take his turn at the darkness. Kyle got the night off after driving most of the day. Kyle had given me some Dramamine for the quease and Aleve for the splitter and I laid down to let it all take effect. When I got up for the evening watch, I felt much better.
These were most likely the best few hours I’ll ever experience on a sailboat. We were about 25 miles off shore when I took the wheel, headed just south of Point Arena and the shelter of shore. We had been enroute for 34 hours, and were approximately 100 miles northwest of the Golden Gate. Hopefully in the morning, we’d be able to make our way around the point and into the marina at Arena Cove. The sea calmed, the wind settled into a nice steady 15-knot northwesterly and everyone settled in for a (finally) peaceful rest. I had a chance to fine-tune the sails, play with the GPS, watch a freighter pass headed out to sea, and gawk at the wonders of nature on a star-filled, moonlight night off the coast of Northern California.
Max got up around 10:30 and came out to keep me company. I saw Tom get up around the same time and thought, ‘good, it’ll be a smooth shift change’. Tom was still struggling with the willies, though, and didn’t come out ‘til after 11:30. We were inside 10 miles from shore and needed to loiter off shore until we had some light, so the three of us tacked the boat back to the northwest before I turned in around midnight. It was the calm before the storm.
I got up at dawn after a fitful rest – the kind of rest you get when you’re dead tired and the world’s coming apart. Sometime during the night, the wind had whipped to gale force, the seas got angry, and the little boat trembled. The darkness was filled with constant creaks and groans as lines tried to pull fittings from the hull, cracks and booms as the boom slammed from preventer to preventer, the sail blew full and released, and the waves pounded the hull. Max and Tom had talked about tacking back to the northeast during their watch change but didn’t, either because conditions were too rough or because Max still hoped to make it north of Point Arena when we did turn back around. Sometime during the night, they had furled the jib and reefed the main to better deal with the gale. We still needed to put in, and the sooner the better, but when I got up Max was hunkered down and the boat was hove to 35 miles off shore. As the sky lightened, Max and I decided to get under way again and head once again for shore. I took the helm and we jibed about to the northeast in the 20-25 foot seas. They had actually tacked west-southwest in the night, and the boat drifted further south while it bobbed after the heave-to. There was no way we could make the Point now, but we headed off toward the coast. Kyle came out and suggested we try the engine again, and it started. Lucky it did, it helped me keep headway as I attempted to steer into the heavy swells out of the north. Max assured himself that Kyle and I had the boat and went below.
One of the waves that had pounded us during the night broke loose the gas cans lashed to the port railing. The cans stayed attached to the boat, but hung down in the water. Now, an occasional wave washed over the cockpit and there was constant heavy spray coming over the bow or one side or the other. The boat seemed to heel as much as 60-70 degrees at times. Because of the direction of the wind and the swell, most of the spray came over the port rail. Every time it did, it carried a little diesel fuel with it from the cans hanging in the water, so I was constantly being sprayed with the mixture of fuel and salt water. Because of the seas, there was nothing we could do about it. It was all quite a handful, the wind and the breaking 25-foot swells seeming to come from all directions. Kyle attempted to relieve me at one point, but I was determined to carry on. I hoped to get us to within 20 miles of shore before I relinquished the wheel, but when Tom came out at about 10, I turned it over to him with 21.7 miles to go.
Although reefed, the mainsail couldn’t stand up to the constant pounding and, little by little, began to separate from the mast. By the time shore was sighted in mid-afternoon, it had completely failed, so we were riding on our little four cylinder alone. We rolled out a little of the jib to help steady the boat and added another can of fuel to the tank, just to be sure. We approached the shore approximately 7 miles south of Point Arena and attempted turn north and motor around the point, but the diesel would have nothing to do with the seas and started losing power. We had to come back around to the south and searched the charts and the shoreline for a safe anchorage. Tom could only keep the engine at barely above idle now and we decided to put out an alert to the Coast Guard, advising them of our position and situation, though requesting no immediate assistance. We stayed about a mile offshore; searching for safe harbor, but the surf was pretty high and rough and prevented us from making an approach. We just hoped the engine held out. At about 3 o’clock, we were about 40 miles north of Bodega Bay, the nearest real shelter to the south, the only direction we could travel. We decided to go for it, and for the next four and a half hours Tom motored us south, riding the wind and the waves and nursing the engine along. It was still a rough ride. At one point Max, a big man, crashed across the cabin and landed on top of me, pulling the center table out of the floor as he came. The night before he had taken out the overhead support that went up from the galley counter near the rear of the cabin. (And earlier yet, he had stepped through the flooring in the galley, where now a 1-foot square opening exposed the driveshaft.) About an hour north of Bodega, the engine started a clanking that quickly formed the three of us not driving into a precision pit crew. We thought it might be something on the driveshaft, or low engine oil. Kyle quickly checked the driveshaft and we cleared the way to the engine and broke out the oil and fashioned a funnel out of a gallon jug. By the time we got the oil into the engine, the clanking had stopped, but left us all the more uneasy.
From the north, the approach to Bodega Bay takes you around a hook that separates the bay from the open waters. Tom was trying to cut a fine line between getting too close to the rocks as we rounded Bodega Head and staying too far clear, where our wounded little engine wouldn’t be able to fight back up north after we made the turn. As we came closer and closer to shore, the boat began to surf the 10-15 foot waves that were angling to the southeast. Tom, Kyle and I were all on close lookout as we approached to within about 100 yards as we rounded the cliffs and the rocks. Tom had Kyle go forward and ready the anchor in case the diesel gave out altogether, which it seemed like it might. Once again, after our pit crew oil service, it had began the clanking, then again the clanking stopped. Just as the sun was setting, we limped into the marina. As we approached a slip, Tom pulled the throttle back to idle and the engine quit. It had been another long day and a half since we had made the decision to put in; 3 days of motoring, sailing, drifting and surfing since we had left our last tiedown. We were about 40 miles north of San Francisco.
I learned, and/or relearned a lot in those three days. As I already knew, Kyle Davis is a good companion to have when you set out on an adventure such as this. Thanks, Kyle; you may not have been glad to be there, but I was glad you were. I also learned:
The value of heaving to.
Watch out what grows in beds of rosy dreams.
Don’t leave port planning to be out at night without a lighted compass.
Take the Dramamine first.
Don’t trust a guess when fuel is critical.
How a crew can finally come together when faced with disaster.
Use the fuel on the rail first, regardless of age.
Don’t breakfast at Burger King.
Also, I learned sailing is often cold, challenging, exhausting, frightening, and frustrating. Even in the best of conditions, it’s gonna be wet. My hands were constantly water-logged, so that I couldn’t have played the guitar I brought along even if I had the opportunity. Sailing, I found, is not really compatible with my first two loves; Jessie and making music. We won’t be buying that floating retirement home anytime soon, tho’ I think I’ll continue at least with basic certification. Mostly, I learned how some dreams die hard and some evaporate like the dew on the bowsprit in the morning sun.
This 'adventure' is actually several years old now. Max ended up having 'Serenity' trucked up to the Puget Sound, where she lies today. I did complete basic sailing certification and earned a license, and I have had some great times sailing since this mis-adventure, particularly around the Hawaiian Islands. But this trip lives on in infamy, so I wanted to document it here. Sail On, Sailor......
It germinated months ago, this adventure of the sea; and really, the seeds were planted years ago in a bed of rosy dreams. I have always thought I might like to learn to sail and someday retire on a sailboat and leisurely ride the winds of fortune. My beautiful wife Jessie, who suffers from motion sickness on a waterbed, has consistently supported and encouraged this pursuit. So when, last fall, a sailing friend, Kyle, said that he had a friend who had a boat in Southern California that he wanted to sail to the Puget Sound, I was disappointed that a work conflict kept me from offering my services as a crewman. Regretfully, I said, any other time I’d be glad to help. They started out from Newport bound for home, but weather and boat problems (my future foretold?) forced them to abandon the plan and they left the boat to winter in the Bay Area, with plans to take up again in late spring or early summer. Thus, my opportunity to crew the 32’ sailing vessel ‘Serenity ' arose and I could see myself a step closer to that dream. I’d dabbled with sailing in the past, but in preparation for the trip I actually took formal sailing lessons.
The last week in April, Captain Max (the owner), first mate Tom, my friend Kyle and I all piled in Max’s Chevy van Friday after work for the overnight drive to the Bay Area, Kyle and I doing most of the driving. We arrived at the marina at about 8:30 Saturday morning and, after a quick Burger King breakfast, began to ready the boat for our upcoming voyage. The Serenity needed some minor repair and installation of much added safety equipment (GPS, radar, solar panels, batteries, and autopilot) and there was much transferring of this trips essentials and last trips leftovers between van and boat and boat and van. Over the winter, the boat had had engine and transmission repair and Max had a new mainsail sewn. In the late afternoon, we went to Albertson’s for provisions and felt that, with the exception of refueling in the morning, we were ready to go. Max whipped up a tasty dinner and we turned in early, as no one had really gotten any sleep the night before.
Sunday morning broke beautifully and we were waiting on the fueling dock when they opened at 8:30. We filled our 35 gallon main fuel tank and also the four 5 gallon cans we had lashed to the side rails amidship (more about these later). We also had three 7 gallon cans stowed below the helmsman’s seat, for a total of 76 gallons of fuel to drive our sailboat. Max had guessed the diesel engine used about a gallon an hour, though the boat was new to him and he really didn’t know. We were hoping to make Coos Bay, Oregon in about three days, so along with sail power felt we had plenty of fuel. We motored through the Bay and out beyond the Golden Gate before we hoisted the mainsail, all the while enjoying the gorgeous weather and spectacular scenery – it was Opening Day of the boating season on the San Francisco Bay.
As we rounded Point Bonita and headed northwest, we faced a bracing northwest wind and choppy opposing seas. We continued to ‘motor-sail’ and it took hours for the Bridge to fade into the haze. Tom laid down in the afternoon and Max finally began to develop the watch plan we had been asking about. Kyle and I would have the boat ’til 6pm, Max and Tom would split the duties watching overnight. Off the bat, we were violating the premise of pairing one of the inexperienced hands with one of the ‘old salts’, but it seemed good that they should have the boat on the fist night and hopefully we’d settle in to a more formalized rotation soon so that everyone would know what to look forward to. The first inkling that the boat might harbor some hidden problems came early in the afternoon when the fresh water pump failed. Not to worry, though, we had bottled water and we could all go without a wash for a few days. Sometime during the afternoon, the bumps and the beef sticks began to overpower my natural instinct not to barf. I ended up being sick all night, heaving over the rail as Kyle manned the helm in the afternoon, aiming at the wildly heaving head as Max plowed on through the evening. Evidently, Tom suffered the same malady and was unable to stand his first watch. Just before turning in at about 11, I went out to check on Max. He handed me the wheel, said ‘track that star’, and disappeared. The boat was bouncing a lot, but it was a beautiful (if blusterry) moonlit night and I could almost ignore my queasiness. It was a little too rough for the autopilot, so I worked at trying to keep the boat pointed at that distant star – turns out the Serenity’s compass was unlighted, so it was just me, Mother Nature, and the steady hum of the diesel.
As my star set, I’d pick another and we sailed on through the night. The GPS showed that our course made good was 310 degrees, just what we wanted. You don’t move fast in a sailboat and it takes a while for the GPS to detect enough movement to figure out where you’re tracking. Certainly not a good steering indicator, the GPS summarized the track you’ve made and shows a relative position to your selected waypoint, in this case and imaginary spot in the Pacific Ocean off the coast of California.
The half moon slowly set and the night became darker. It was now impossible to read the water, but I could still use a star to turn us back on course when a wave bounced us off. Soon, though, that would change. The stars disappeared into the deepening fog and all I could see was the green glow of the GPS face. It became nearly impossible to hold a heading with no compass and no visual reference points. I was proud that I was able to continue tracking 310 degrees using only the past track information from the GPS, making small corrections and heading this way then that as the sea tossed us about. Not an easy world to jump into, as Kyle discovered when he came out to relieve me at 2:30 Monday morning. He initially spun the wheel from stop to stop, trying to get a hold of Serenitys center. The boat spun wildly out of control, the mainsail luffing madly as it vacillated between preventers. I kind of half explained to Kyle the process I had settled on, and he slowly settled into harnessing the beast. Max and Tom still nestled in the berths, not knowing or unable to care. I went below to join them in some much needed rest, pausing in the head for another quick purge. Strangely, it seemed to me, I always felt better after barking at the toilet. I plunged for the V-berth, which was sleeping quarters for me and Kyle, alternately banging head and tail as I careened through the bucking boat in the dark. Settling in, I leaned against the inside of the hull for stability and hoped I wouldn’t get sick again. Again, it was impossible to sleep and again Kyle and I were doing most of the driving. I hoped, too, for better conditions and time to relax and rest.
Mesmerized by the GPS glow, Kyle was having the opposite problem and found he couldn’t keep his eyes open and concentrate on holding us on course, I was apparently the only one who heard his calls for help and went to the companionway to see what he needed. When he explained, I hurriedly slogged back on my cold, wet gear and went out to relieve him. It was 4:30 and I struggled through that darkest hour just before the dawn…………..
Kyle had said to get him up a 6:30, but I didn’t have the heart and kept on driving ‘til he got himself up at about 7:30 to relieve me. Still no Tom. Still no Max. One more puke, one more stumble/crash and again I looked forward to a long down time.
I woke – I think I was asleep – in the early afternoon to a splitting headache and a knot on my head from my previous attempts at traversing the inside of the boat, which by now was strewn with debris in a sort of trash stew. The knot and the headache were a nice compliment to my continued queasiness. And I was just in time for our ‘next challenge’. Max had told me he had decided to put in for repair and rest and – guess who – Kyle was at the wheel. The boat was a mess, but none of us had the time or the energy to care. We had come about, and were tracking northeast, the wind and the seas still not really cooperating. We had made very little headway toward our ultimate target but a least we were headed for port. It had been a very long day and a half. Tom was up at last and he and Kyle talked about trying to add some fuel to our tank, but wanted to wait a little while to see if we might have conditions improve and the boat jump about a little less. Unfortunately, there was no fuel gauge, Max’s estimate was a little off, and we ended up waiting too long. We had been motor sailing for about 30 hours on our 35 gallon tank when we ran out of gas. The wind was down a bit; the seas were still rolling, but at least with the mainsail up, Kyle could maintain steerage. We broke out the three 7 gallon cans (Max wanted to use these first because the fuel in them was older), poured them in the tank and tried a restart, but the little diesel that had run for 30 hours straight wanted a rest. We put up the jib to help the mainsail and continued back toward the coast. Everyone was weary. Max came up with a watch plan that would have me at the helm from 7 to 11, then Tom ‘til moonset at about 2:30, when Max would take his turn at the darkness. Kyle got the night off after driving most of the day. Kyle had given me some Dramamine for the quease and Aleve for the splitter and I laid down to let it all take effect. When I got up for the evening watch, I felt much better.
These were most likely the best few hours I’ll ever experience on a sailboat. We were about 25 miles off shore when I took the wheel, headed just south of Point Arena and the shelter of shore. We had been enroute for 34 hours, and were approximately 100 miles northwest of the Golden Gate. Hopefully in the morning, we’d be able to make our way around the point and into the marina at Arena Cove. The sea calmed, the wind settled into a nice steady 15-knot northwesterly and everyone settled in for a (finally) peaceful rest. I had a chance to fine-tune the sails, play with the GPS, watch a freighter pass headed out to sea, and gawk at the wonders of nature on a star-filled, moonlight night off the coast of Northern California.
Max got up around 10:30 and came out to keep me company. I saw Tom get up around the same time and thought, ‘good, it’ll be a smooth shift change’. Tom was still struggling with the willies, though, and didn’t come out ‘til after 11:30. We were inside 10 miles from shore and needed to loiter off shore until we had some light, so the three of us tacked the boat back to the northwest before I turned in around midnight. It was the calm before the storm.
I got up at dawn after a fitful rest – the kind of rest you get when you’re dead tired and the world’s coming apart. Sometime during the night, the wind had whipped to gale force, the seas got angry, and the little boat trembled. The darkness was filled with constant creaks and groans as lines tried to pull fittings from the hull, cracks and booms as the boom slammed from preventer to preventer, the sail blew full and released, and the waves pounded the hull. Max and Tom had talked about tacking back to the northeast during their watch change but didn’t, either because conditions were too rough or because Max still hoped to make it north of Point Arena when we did turn back around. Sometime during the night, they had furled the jib and reefed the main to better deal with the gale. We still needed to put in, and the sooner the better, but when I got up Max was hunkered down and the boat was hove to 35 miles off shore. As the sky lightened, Max and I decided to get under way again and head once again for shore. I took the helm and we jibed about to the northeast in the 20-25 foot seas. They had actually tacked west-southwest in the night, and the boat drifted further south while it bobbed after the heave-to. There was no way we could make the Point now, but we headed off toward the coast. Kyle came out and suggested we try the engine again, and it started. Lucky it did, it helped me keep headway as I attempted to steer into the heavy swells out of the north. Max assured himself that Kyle and I had the boat and went below.
One of the waves that had pounded us during the night broke loose the gas cans lashed to the port railing. The cans stayed attached to the boat, but hung down in the water. Now, an occasional wave washed over the cockpit and there was constant heavy spray coming over the bow or one side or the other. The boat seemed to heel as much as 60-70 degrees at times. Because of the direction of the wind and the swell, most of the spray came over the port rail. Every time it did, it carried a little diesel fuel with it from the cans hanging in the water, so I was constantly being sprayed with the mixture of fuel and salt water. Because of the seas, there was nothing we could do about it. It was all quite a handful, the wind and the breaking 25-foot swells seeming to come from all directions. Kyle attempted to relieve me at one point, but I was determined to carry on. I hoped to get us to within 20 miles of shore before I relinquished the wheel, but when Tom came out at about 10, I turned it over to him with 21.7 miles to go.
Although reefed, the mainsail couldn’t stand up to the constant pounding and, little by little, began to separate from the mast. By the time shore was sighted in mid-afternoon, it had completely failed, so we were riding on our little four cylinder alone. We rolled out a little of the jib to help steady the boat and added another can of fuel to the tank, just to be sure. We approached the shore approximately 7 miles south of Point Arena and attempted turn north and motor around the point, but the diesel would have nothing to do with the seas and started losing power. We had to come back around to the south and searched the charts and the shoreline for a safe anchorage. Tom could only keep the engine at barely above idle now and we decided to put out an alert to the Coast Guard, advising them of our position and situation, though requesting no immediate assistance. We stayed about a mile offshore; searching for safe harbor, but the surf was pretty high and rough and prevented us from making an approach. We just hoped the engine held out. At about 3 o’clock, we were about 40 miles north of Bodega Bay, the nearest real shelter to the south, the only direction we could travel. We decided to go for it, and for the next four and a half hours Tom motored us south, riding the wind and the waves and nursing the engine along. It was still a rough ride. At one point Max, a big man, crashed across the cabin and landed on top of me, pulling the center table out of the floor as he came. The night before he had taken out the overhead support that went up from the galley counter near the rear of the cabin. (And earlier yet, he had stepped through the flooring in the galley, where now a 1-foot square opening exposed the driveshaft.) About an hour north of Bodega, the engine started a clanking that quickly formed the three of us not driving into a precision pit crew. We thought it might be something on the driveshaft, or low engine oil. Kyle quickly checked the driveshaft and we cleared the way to the engine and broke out the oil and fashioned a funnel out of a gallon jug. By the time we got the oil into the engine, the clanking had stopped, but left us all the more uneasy.
From the north, the approach to Bodega Bay takes you around a hook that separates the bay from the open waters. Tom was trying to cut a fine line between getting too close to the rocks as we rounded Bodega Head and staying too far clear, where our wounded little engine wouldn’t be able to fight back up north after we made the turn. As we came closer and closer to shore, the boat began to surf the 10-15 foot waves that were angling to the southeast. Tom, Kyle and I were all on close lookout as we approached to within about 100 yards as we rounded the cliffs and the rocks. Tom had Kyle go forward and ready the anchor in case the diesel gave out altogether, which it seemed like it might. Once again, after our pit crew oil service, it had began the clanking, then again the clanking stopped. Just as the sun was setting, we limped into the marina. As we approached a slip, Tom pulled the throttle back to idle and the engine quit. It had been another long day and a half since we had made the decision to put in; 3 days of motoring, sailing, drifting and surfing since we had left our last tiedown. We were about 40 miles north of San Francisco.
I learned, and/or relearned a lot in those three days. As I already knew, Kyle Davis is a good companion to have when you set out on an adventure such as this. Thanks, Kyle; you may not have been glad to be there, but I was glad you were. I also learned:
The value of heaving to.
Watch out what grows in beds of rosy dreams.
Don’t leave port planning to be out at night without a lighted compass.
Take the Dramamine first.
Don’t trust a guess when fuel is critical.
How a crew can finally come together when faced with disaster.
Use the fuel on the rail first, regardless of age.
Don’t breakfast at Burger King.
Also, I learned sailing is often cold, challenging, exhausting, frightening, and frustrating. Even in the best of conditions, it’s gonna be wet. My hands were constantly water-logged, so that I couldn’t have played the guitar I brought along even if I had the opportunity. Sailing, I found, is not really compatible with my first two loves; Jessie and making music. We won’t be buying that floating retirement home anytime soon, tho’ I think I’ll continue at least with basic certification. Mostly, I learned how some dreams die hard and some evaporate like the dew on the bowsprit in the morning sun.
This 'adventure' is actually several years old now. Max ended up having 'Serenity' trucked up to the Puget Sound, where she lies today. I did complete basic sailing certification and earned a license, and I have had some great times sailing since this mis-adventure, particularly around the Hawaiian Islands. But this trip lives on in infamy, so I wanted to document it here. Sail On, Sailor......
Friday, April 17, 2009
Smiling Potatoes of Death
I had a friend who, unwittingly, started me on what is turning out to be a life-long ‘hobby’ years ago. Jon Anthony was a lawyer by trade but, more importantly to me, he was also a drummer extraordinaire. He was, in his college days, a member of a touring band. I’m a mediocre guitar player and singer and together we made various attempts at forming a rock band, never getting that far because of various pressures of work, family, etc. A bit quirky, Jon – seriously, I think – insisted that our band would not be successful unless we named it the Smiling Potatoes of Death. I just didn’t get it, and said I could come up with a thousand names better than that. Thus the on-going hobby. Jon stuck to his guns, though, and nothing I could come up with could compare (in his mind) to the SPoD. I don’t play publicly much anymore, and am long past dreaming of fronting a successful band (actually was in a couple of pretty good ones, but that’s another story), but every once in a while I still stumble across what I think might be a pretty good name for a rock band. Sometimes I even remember it and write it down.
Jon passed away last year, and the drumming world is poorer for it. But my quest for a better name goes on. Another friend once suggested Lukewarm Shit (not quite HOT, I guess), and we always joked about the crowd we’d attract if we put up posters around town about the next appearance of a band named Free Food. Following is a pretty long (but not-quite-complete) list of band names I've come up with, which I will continue to add to occasionally. Feel free to offer suggestions. And Rest In Peace, Jon Anthony.
Jon passed away last year, and the drumming world is poorer for it. But my quest for a better name goes on. Another friend once suggested Lukewarm Shit (not quite HOT, I guess), and we always joked about the crowd we’d attract if we put up posters around town about the next appearance of a band named Free Food. Following is a pretty long (but not-quite-complete) list of band names I've come up with, which I will continue to add to occasionally. Feel free to offer suggestions. And Rest In Peace, Jon Anthony.
Smiling Potatoes of Death | Lost Souls Balloons Slow Roll |
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Overloading
So now, the complaint is that the President is doing too much! Overloading, they call it. Too much thinking about education, or health care, or energy, or the environment; too much time wasted that should be focused on the economy. Of course they think he’s doing too much, these defenders of Vacationer-In-Chief George Bush.
And, of course, he has to focus on more than one thing at a time. That’s a prerequisite for the job, isn’t it? Here’s what the President himself said about the issue the other day, “I know there are some who believe we can only handle one challenge at a time. They forget that Lincoln helped lay down the transcontinental railroad, passed the Homestead Act, and created the National Academy of Sciences in the midst of Civil War. Likewise, President Roosevelt didn’t have the luxury of choosing between ending a depression and fighting a war. President Kennedy didn’t have the luxury of choosing between civil rights and sending us to the moon. And we don’t have the luxury of choosing between getting our economy moving now and rebuilding it over the long term. America will not remain true to its highest ideals – and America’s place as a global economic leader will be put at risk – unless we not only bring down the crushing cost of health care and transform the way we use energy, but also do a far better job than we have been doing of educating our sons and daughters; unless we give them the knowledge and skills they need in this new and changing world.”
It’s all tied together, after all. Health care, for instance, is a tremendous drain on the entire economy. While we spend over $2 Trillion dollars annually - almost 16 per cent of gross domestic product - our return is much less than any other modern, industrialized society. Most Americans obtain health coverage through their employers. As the economy continues to falter, however, more people lose their jobs (and their coverage) and more employers find it difficult to sustain the now greater-percentage costs. Then, of course, there are the roughly 45 million - and growing - uninsured Americans who, apart from the social costs of their situation, also represent a huge drag on the health-care economy. And don’t get me started on how health care costs have affected the bottom line of such American institutions as General Motors. It's all tied together.
John McCain’s advice – from a self-described non-expert on the economy, don’t forget – is that he’d ‘like to see more focus’ on the economy. These days, John McCain would like to see more focus on just about anything. Do you really think Mr. Obama would accomplish more by doing less? And McCain’s focus now?: earmarks! Come on! There's a bigger picture here. Get over the earmarks, Mr. McCain, and get with the program, or a pock on us all.
And, of course, he has to focus on more than one thing at a time. That’s a prerequisite for the job, isn’t it? Here’s what the President himself said about the issue the other day, “I know there are some who believe we can only handle one challenge at a time. They forget that Lincoln helped lay down the transcontinental railroad, passed the Homestead Act, and created the National Academy of Sciences in the midst of Civil War. Likewise, President Roosevelt didn’t have the luxury of choosing between ending a depression and fighting a war. President Kennedy didn’t have the luxury of choosing between civil rights and sending us to the moon. And we don’t have the luxury of choosing between getting our economy moving now and rebuilding it over the long term. America will not remain true to its highest ideals – and America’s place as a global economic leader will be put at risk – unless we not only bring down the crushing cost of health care and transform the way we use energy, but also do a far better job than we have been doing of educating our sons and daughters; unless we give them the knowledge and skills they need in this new and changing world.”
It’s all tied together, after all. Health care, for instance, is a tremendous drain on the entire economy. While we spend over $2 Trillion dollars annually - almost 16 per cent of gross domestic product - our return is much less than any other modern, industrialized society. Most Americans obtain health coverage through their employers. As the economy continues to falter, however, more people lose their jobs (and their coverage) and more employers find it difficult to sustain the now greater-percentage costs. Then, of course, there are the roughly 45 million - and growing - uninsured Americans who, apart from the social costs of their situation, also represent a huge drag on the health-care economy. And don’t get me started on how health care costs have affected the bottom line of such American institutions as General Motors. It's all tied together.
John McCain’s advice – from a self-described non-expert on the economy, don’t forget – is that he’d ‘like to see more focus’ on the economy. These days, John McCain would like to see more focus on just about anything. Do you really think Mr. Obama would accomplish more by doing less? And McCain’s focus now?: earmarks! Come on! There's a bigger picture here. Get over the earmarks, Mr. McCain, and get with the program, or a pock on us all.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Living On The Bubble
We’re living on a ‘petroleum bubble’, with human population far outstripping the world’s ability to continue to sustain us. Even as we fruitfully multiply, our lifestyle is killing us, along with every other inhabitant of the planet.
The United States leads the way, of course, in consumerism and consumption. Although the U.S. has only 4.5% of the world's population, it consumes more than 29% of the world's annual output of renewable resources. The U.S. actually has the resources to sustain less than half of its current population of 300 million. If all 6.8 billion humans on Earth were to share the world's resources equally, Americans would have to reduce their consumption by about 80%.
About that bubble: Currently, about 1% of the U.S. labor force works in agriculture, as opposed to about 42% around the world; U.S. agricultural workers employ 1,542 tractors per 1,000 workers, the world average is 20 tractors per 1000 workers. The energy of the oil allows increased production which allows increased, unsustainable consumption. Even if a new, clean, renewable energy source were found to run the tractor, the bubble would have to burst.
Energy exploitation and industrialization have afforded us all an inflated standard of living and, of course, none of us want to give that up. But a World Wildlife Fund report says that humanity as a whole is now consuming over 20% more natural resources each year than the earth can produce.
The human population of Earth reached 1 billion in 1804, 2 billion in 1927, 3 billion in 1959, 4 billion in 1974 and 5 billion in late 1986. In 1999, the human population of Earth reached 6 billion. Today, it stands near 6.8 billion and is expected to reach 9 billion by 2050. It is estimated that when agriculture was invented, humans, their livestock, and pets together accounted for less than 0.1% of the total vertebrate biomass on Earth. Today, this group accounts for 98% of the earth's total vertebrate biomass, leaving only 2% for the wild portion.
Results of our population boom and increased consumerism affect just about every aspect of human existence, from crime to war to extinctions to global warming to homelessness to ozone depletion to floating plastic islands to depletion of resources, inadequate fresh water, increased levels of air pollution, soil contamination and noise pollution, deforestation and loss of ecosystems, irreversible loss of arable land and increases in desertification, increased chance of the emergence of new epidemics and pandemics, starvation and malnutrition, discharge of raw sewage, and on and on.
For example:
1 in 4 mammals now alive will be extinct within the next 20 years. 90% of the big fish in the oceans have been destroyed in the last 20 years.
The hottest 10 years on record all occurred since 1990, with 2005 the hottest year ever. Global climate change is expected to cause sea levels to rise and change the amount and pattern of precipitation, likely including an expanse of the subtropical desert regions. Other likely effects include Arctic shrinkage, glacier retreat and resulting Arctic methane release, shrinkage of the Amazon rainforest, increases in the intensity of extreme weather events, changes in agricultural yields, species extinctions and changes in the ranges of disease vectors.
Within 35 years, 75% of all the coral reefs on earth will be dead. Within 50 years, they will all be dead.
We have already destroyed half of the world’s rainforests. If deforestation continues at current rates (~78 million acres per year), scientists estimate nearly all tropical rainforest ecosystems will be destroyed by the year 2030 and that by 2050, there will be no rainforest remaining on Earth.
'Dead zones' have long afflicted the Gulf of Mexico and Chesapeake Bay, but are now spreading to other bodies of water, such as the Baltic Sea, Black Sea, Adriatic Sea, Gulf of Thailand and Yellow Sea.
The average American generates four pounds of solid trash per day, for a grand total of 1,460 pounds per year. Americans are the number one global trash offenders. Every day, we dispose of approximately 200 million tons of the stuff, much of it petroleum-based plastics and other non-bio-degradables.
Combine the predicted 50% rise in human population and the concurrent increase in demand for food with 35% extinction of other mammals by 2050, the 90% extinction of fish by 2050, the 30% predicted decrease in agricultural production and you have the equation for mass starvation.
Thus, the bursting bubble. On the one hand, the burning of the midnight oil, in and of itself, is destroying our planet. On the other hand, the energy provided is allowing us to multiply at alarming rates, eating ourselves out of house and home, even as we continue to burn more and more oil. To reduce, reuse, and recycle are stopgap measures at best. Development of alternative energy sources that further our ability to ‘grow’ only compound the problem. The problem, simply stated, is WAY too many people. We can reverse our population trends and truly learn to live within our means. Or the world can do it for us.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
The Hawaiians
They were wayfinders, traveling in double-hulled canoes into unknown seas. They were skilled travelers over the open ocean at a time when Europeans were still clinging to coastlines. They came from the South Pacific; The Marquesas, perhaps, or Bora Bora or Tahiti, on voyages of discovery over thousands of miles, just as their ancestors had made the journeys of discovery to those islands.
Having only tools of wood and stone, they sailed an area of millions of square miles and discovered and populated islands spread out over a quarter of the surface of the planet.
They learned to recognize the wind in the color of the sea, the presence of land in the color of the clouds. When they set foot on these strange, beautiful, uninhabited islands, sometime around 1700 years ago, they became The Hawaiians. By the time of western contact some 1500 years later, they were a thriving civilization with a population estimated to be as large as 800,000.
The Hawaiian Islands are the most isolated land forms on Earth, lying in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean. In Hawaii, you are literally further away from anywhere else than anywhere else.
The islands are also said to be the most prominent geological feature on the face of the planet. The islands are the uppermost part of huge volcanoes formed on the ocean floor. A chain of islands that stretches all the way to Kure Atoll, beyond Midway, were actually formed over the same spot on the surface of the Earth, where a hot spot has existed on the sea floor for about 80 million years.
The islands sit on a huge tectonic plate which is slowly moving northwest. As it moves, it drags the islands along with it; everything moving to the northwest at approximately 3½ inches per year. As the islands string out to the northwest, they get progressively older. That kind of explains why this southern-most of the islands is the youngest in the chain.
The northwest movement also explains why the only active volcanoes in the entire chain are the three that form the south side of this island, and the submarine volcano Lo’ihi, off the Big Island's south coast. All the other volcanoes that formed the other islands have been pulled away from the hot spot on the sea floor and have become extinct.
Two of the largest mountains on Earth, Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, are here on the Big Island. By the time they reach the surface of the water to become islands, Hawaiian volcanoes are already over 19,000’ tall. Mauna Kea, the tallest of the Hawaiian peaks, rises to 13,796’ above sea level. All told, Mauna Kea rises over 33,000’ from base to peak, and, according to the Guinness Book of Records, is the tallest mountain on Earth. Mauna Loa falls about 120’ short of Mauna Kea, but makes up for it in shear volume. Mauna Loa, which means ‘long mountain’, is about 80 miles long and 30 miles wide, and is over 18,000 cubic miles in volume! It could easily swallow, for instance, the entire Sierra Nevada mountain range along the West Coast of the U.S. mainland. Spread out over this entire island, 18,000 cubic miles would cover the entire island to a depth of about 4½ miles.
The two mountains are pretty much responsible for shaping our local weather. Typically, clouds form out over the ocean through evaporation and ride in over the eastern side of the island on our fairly constant easterly trade winds. The clouds stack up against the slopes of those two huge volcanic peaks and linger here on the eastern side, making Hilo the rainiest city in the U.S. Generally, clouds are blocked from getting to the western side of the island. On the western side, they get less than a tenth of the rain we get here in the east. Of all the islands, The Big Island is the most ecologically diverse. There are 13 distinct climatic zones identified throughout the world, and the Big Island has 11 of them, with natural environments ranging from the desert plains of Ka‘u to the rain forests above Hilo, to snowcapped mountain peaks.
Before it was a part of the United States, Hawaii was an independent nation and a kingdom. And before all these islands were united as one kingdom, each of the individual islands were individual kingdoms. It was Kamehameha, a native of this island, that first brought all the islands together under one rule. That’s probably why they’re called the Hawaiian Islands, since Kamehameha was from this island of Hawaii. Kamehameha is still a pretty revered character here in Hawaii. Throughout the islands are statues of the king and things named in his honor. June 11, Kamehameha’s birthday, is even a State holiday here in Hawaii. We call him Kamehameha the Great. Kamehameha was the first in a string of monarchs that ruled these islands for a short 98 years, between 1795, when he first brought them together under one rule, and 1893, when they fell under the rule of the United States.
Instrumental in Kamehameha’s conquest of the islands was the introduction of western weaponry, unknown to the Hawaiians prior to the arrival of western man in 1778. The first westerner to ‘discover’ the islands was a British sea captain by the name of James Cook, who arrived in Hawaii in 1778, around the same time as the American Revolution. Hawaii and Great Britain established very strong ties throughout the following years. Kamehameha was able to mass a cache of guns, cannons, and ammunition and had several British naval officers as tactical advisors. Great Britain even adopted Hawaii as a protectorate, and Hawaii adopted the British national flag and the British national anthem for the fledgling kingdom. ‘God Saved The King’ was the official anthem of the Kingdom of Hawaii for the first 50 years of its existence, and the Union Jack, basically in whole cloth the way the British fly it today, was the official flag of the Kingdom for the first twenty years. In 1816, a British naval officer designed the flag we still use today, still incorporating the Union Jack as part of the design, still reflecting the strong ties between Hawaii and Great Britain.
A monument to Captain Cook, in Kealakekua bay on the west side of this island, remains a sovereign piece of British territory to this day.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Privilege of Paying Taxes
In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes. Thus wrote Benjamin Franklin, way back when. In latter days, Marvin Gaye made it ‘taxes, death and trouble’. It’s been said that taxation with representation ain't so hot either!
Many today are ‘tax anarchists’ or ‘tax protesters’, believing Government has no right to ‘their’ money, and in fact is illegally confiscating it (US Constitution aside). Some refuse to pay taxes, some engage in schemes using onshore and offshore trusts in order to hide income, some attack the IRS and its’ agents. Some advocate ‘targeted’ taxes, paying only for those government programs they approve of. Will Rogers said ‘tax has made more liars out of the American people than golf has’. The role of the government, according to the Constitution, is to establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty. Some things become a common burden, being for what is considered the common good. I, for instance, never had children, yet I pay taxes which, in part, provide for public education. I get no direct benefit from this, as I have no kids in school, but indirectly society (and therefore, my life) is improved. So OK, here’s the money.
But about this ‘my’ money argument.... come on! In reality, government has created the environment in which you make the money, and (whether you acknowledge it or not) government programs have helped ‘promote the general (and your) welfare’. Surely your income is derived somewhat from the benefits of, for instance, mail delivery, interstate commerce, or electricity! All these made available courtesy of the government. Do you like 911 service, having your kids in school, that bridge across the river, or police and fire protection? Thank your fellow taxpayers.
The electrification of rural America changed the landscape. Electric lights and modern appliances made life easier and farms more productive. Electricity also drew industry to depressed regions, providing desperately needed jobs. Financed by the American taxpayer.
Government-subsidized air mail revenues were crucial to the formation of the first airlines as they struggled to develop and provide passenger service. Financed by the American taxpayer.
The Interstate Highway System (patterned, by the way, after Nazi Germany’s autobahn) has contributed significantly to the national economy, helped ensure national defense, and improved the quality of life of all Americans. Financed by the American taxpayer.
All these programs had their detractors, but are only a few examples of how government intervention has created the environment in which most of us succeed (government, by the way did invent the internet!).
So in this tax season, as you labor over your IRS Tax Form 5695, or Form 8863, or 4952, or 1098-C, don’t bemoan the paying of taxes, but be grateful you live under a form of government that has allowed you (and millions of other ordinary citizens) to enjoy the highest standard of living the world has ever witnessed. As President Franklin D. Roosevelt put it, ‘Taxes, after all, are dues that we pay for the privileges of membership in an organized society.’
Many today are ‘tax anarchists’ or ‘tax protesters’, believing Government has no right to ‘their’ money, and in fact is illegally confiscating it (US Constitution aside). Some refuse to pay taxes, some engage in schemes using onshore and offshore trusts in order to hide income, some attack the IRS and its’ agents. Some advocate ‘targeted’ taxes, paying only for those government programs they approve of. Will Rogers said ‘tax has made more liars out of the American people than golf has’. The role of the government, according to the Constitution, is to establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty. Some things become a common burden, being for what is considered the common good. I, for instance, never had children, yet I pay taxes which, in part, provide for public education. I get no direct benefit from this, as I have no kids in school, but indirectly society (and therefore, my life) is improved. So OK, here’s the money.
But about this ‘my’ money argument.... come on! In reality, government has created the environment in which you make the money, and (whether you acknowledge it or not) government programs have helped ‘promote the general (and your) welfare’. Surely your income is derived somewhat from the benefits of, for instance, mail delivery, interstate commerce, or electricity! All these made available courtesy of the government. Do you like 911 service, having your kids in school, that bridge across the river, or police and fire protection? Thank your fellow taxpayers.
The electrification of rural America changed the landscape. Electric lights and modern appliances made life easier and farms more productive. Electricity also drew industry to depressed regions, providing desperately needed jobs. Financed by the American taxpayer.
Government-subsidized air mail revenues were crucial to the formation of the first airlines as they struggled to develop and provide passenger service. Financed by the American taxpayer.
The Interstate Highway System (patterned, by the way, after Nazi Germany’s autobahn) has contributed significantly to the national economy, helped ensure national defense, and improved the quality of life of all Americans. Financed by the American taxpayer.
All these programs had their detractors, but are only a few examples of how government intervention has created the environment in which most of us succeed (government, by the way did invent the internet!).
So in this tax season, as you labor over your IRS Tax Form 5695, or Form 8863, or 4952, or 1098-C, don’t bemoan the paying of taxes, but be grateful you live under a form of government that has allowed you (and millions of other ordinary citizens) to enjoy the highest standard of living the world has ever witnessed. As President Franklin D. Roosevelt put it, ‘Taxes, after all, are dues that we pay for the privileges of membership in an organized society.’
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
We The People
‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness’….. a beautiful distillation of the American Dream and the American Promise, is it not, as penned by Thomas Jefferson at the outset of our American Journey. A journey in pursuit of the perfection of the dream and the promise. We’ve come a long way, opened a lot of doors, and secured life, liberty, and pursuit for untold millions. Who could not revel in the liberty? Who would not want to participate in the pursuit?
Millions have flocked to our shores to join in the dream, some legally, some not so much. All born on American soil, whether a child of a 10th generation American or of an illegal immigrant, are automatically granted U.S. citizenship. The Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, ratified in 1868, states, "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." Sure, we want to share the blessings with ‘… the tired, the poor,the huddled masses yearning to breathe free…’, but our porous borders allow tens of thousands to step around our official immigration policies, and new ‘citizens’, born to illegals (and often called ‘anchor babies’), help seal their parents’ resident status, legal or not. Discussion of impact aside, should we allow this bestowing of citizen rights to newborns to continue to draw illegals to our country, somehow stepping to the head of the line, or should we consider amending the 14th Amendment? Food for thought………………..
Millions have flocked to our shores to join in the dream, some legally, some not so much. All born on American soil, whether a child of a 10th generation American or of an illegal immigrant, are automatically granted U.S. citizenship. The Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, ratified in 1868, states, "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside." Sure, we want to share the blessings with ‘… the tired, the poor,the huddled masses yearning to breathe free…’, but our porous borders allow tens of thousands to step around our official immigration policies, and new ‘citizens’, born to illegals (and often called ‘anchor babies’), help seal their parents’ resident status, legal or not. Discussion of impact aside, should we allow this bestowing of citizen rights to newborns to continue to draw illegals to our country, somehow stepping to the head of the line, or should we consider amending the 14th Amendment? Food for thought………………..
Monday, January 26, 2009
Opening Act
Hey-
Welcome to 'TalkTalk', where we'll explore how one blog can save the world. We'll eventually turn this into a Podcast, just wading in here. The blogosphere has created a cacaphony where all are heard, but little rises above the din. Is politics the solution, or is politics the problem? Is blogging the solution, or is blogging the problem? If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem... In 'Working Class Hero', John Lennon said '...keep you doped with religion and sex and TV....'. We can probably add the 'net and blogging to that (I don't think John would mind). Still, the power is unavoidable, unmistakable. Howard Dean brought politics to the internet on a large-scale platform, Barack Obama capitalized on it and used the power to attain perhaps the most powerful office in the World. And he uses it still.... check out change.gov, for instance. If people get the kind of government they deserve, we must be better people than we were 6 or 8 years ago. So, to bloggers everywhere, whether you've got anything to contribute or are just adding to the din, Blog On!
Welcome to 'TalkTalk', where we'll explore how one blog can save the world. We'll eventually turn this into a Podcast, just wading in here. The blogosphere has created a cacaphony where all are heard, but little rises above the din. Is politics the solution, or is politics the problem? Is blogging the solution, or is blogging the problem? If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem... In 'Working Class Hero', John Lennon said '...keep you doped with religion and sex and TV....'. We can probably add the 'net and blogging to that (I don't think John would mind). Still, the power is unavoidable, unmistakable. Howard Dean brought politics to the internet on a large-scale platform, Barack Obama capitalized on it and used the power to attain perhaps the most powerful office in the World. And he uses it still.... check out change.gov, for instance. If people get the kind of government they deserve, we must be better people than we were 6 or 8 years ago. So, to bloggers everywhere, whether you've got anything to contribute or are just adding to the din, Blog On!
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