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Gifts & Curses

April 19, 2010

A few weeks ago, a friend reminded me about the notion of memes -units of cultural ideas- and the memes got me thinking. Memes are passed along from human to human through all forms of communication: figures of speech, signs, art, the TV, bumper stickers, and through the actions and inactions of the people we “let in” to our lives. The replication of memes are said to exhibit evolutionary characteristics. They are information life-forms.

Maybe I’m taking the idea too far, but it seems to me that memes must exist within the larger spectrum of cultural desirability: from the much sought after memes of love and wisdom, to the important memes of best-practices and technology,

cruising memes

These memes may help the Bruja get to Mexico

to the cursed memes of fear, disrespect, and cultural baggage.

Memes of all types drift in from all directions and from all adjacent human souls and cultural stimulus. They can be gifts, like the treasure trove of nautical memes graciously given to me recently by the previous owners of the Bruja Dulce, or they can be curses, like a verbal or situational insult or a limiting cultural paradigm.

respect

A benevolent meme lives here.

Similar to more tangible life forms, some memes are easy to spot, like a redwood tree: “all you need is love“. Other memes are more insidious, and pushy, like a flu virus: “what were you thinking?”.

I’ve been seeing a lot of baggage circling the turnstiles of my mind lately, and for many years now you could catch me muttering such ill and viral phrases to myself, so I’ve been thinking a lot about the bad memes, the memes that propagate unreasonable doubt, self deprecation, habitual hope-tackling, and fear-based judgment. There must be hundreds of them sprouting, flowering, and reseeding themselves in my thoughts and actions on any given day. I have been wondering how to weed them out. I have been searching for a sustainable peace of mind.

I’ve also been picking dandelion blossoms in my neighbor’s yard, for work.

The idea is to get the flower before it goes to seed.

This simple act of artificial selection, which results in a satisfying and singular greenness at the end of the day, has literally and figuratively helped me to think clearly.

The first day, I picked 3 gallons of dandelions to clear the yard. A few days later, even more having blossomed, I picked 7 gallons to clear the yard. One week later, the yard was again ablaze in yellow piercings and I picked 10 gallons. It required persistence, but the act gave me strength in my back and in my legs and honed a worthy skill: quickly spotting and removing unwanted buds and blossoms.

It was good exercise. It was a good exercise. But everyone’s yard is different, and, as I’m not a professional weeder or a monk, I need to learn to do this in my “yard”, around people, and with my “weeds”.

There are no answers here, only an open search: questions, clues, and some video of me picking dandelions.

How does one find clarity without social withdrawal? Amidst a fence-less and fertile yard with love, dreams, art, family, friends, and wild exploration, the air full of ideas, memes, and information flowing like Spring, how does one select for trust over doubt, encouragement over skepticism, and hope over pain?

How does one deselect those memes that hinder, that bog-down, that crowd-out? Can I pluck them out before their little yellow angel faces go to seed? Is this done with meditation, or is it something more active?

How does one select for and protect those memes which we cherish? For instance, the words Nelson Mandela used in his 1994 inaugural address, which, as it turns out, originated in a book written by Marianne Williamson titled, “A Return to Love”. They begin, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure…”. How do I keep that idea from being crowded out by the lesser fear of inadequacy?

went to seed

Nobody's perfect.

During certain seasons, the struggle becomes more intense. Some unwanted forms blossom on certain days of the year until, through ritual labor, their replication is “nipped in the bud”.

The bad memes take root without asking permission. They have evolved characteristics which make them more competitive. They are invasive. It could even be said that they are intrinsically selfish. This doesn’t mean they are evil. Even someone who has overtly disrespected you -showered you with memes you may struggle for years to purge- is not evil. They just need to do some serious weeding- or move to a different bioregion.

Regret doesn’t work- hitting yourself over the head, chastising yourself over past mistakes is analogous to smashing the dandelions with a sledgehammer. There’s something about regret that spreads it’s own family of bad memes.

The simple knowledge of this broader dynamic is a start; to know that your nature is distinct from your nurture, and that those memes which have taken root in you are not in fact, you, but are merely living in you- and you can weed them out.

Acceptance. I accept that my garden will always need to be weeded…somehow. This is the process by which life evolves- selection, and more recently, deselection- and rather than spraying myself down with a “round up” of numbing agents -chemical and psychological- it’s best, it’s more sustainable, to get good at weeding.

About the video,

Music: “Cannonball” by Damien Rice.
All film and photographs were taken on one of four days: 3 days picking dandelions, and one day driving over the Cascades to Wenatchee and back- picking up nautical memes and sign memes.
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Dockton to Deer Harbor

April 11, 2010
dear things
Things dear to me, from right to left:
Necklace- I made from my brother’s bead collection the last time I saw him.
Penguino- A gift who whispers “vamos” with his stare- from my dear Chilean friend Gonzalo.
Illustration- Created by Sarah Musi, gifted by Karisa

A few months back I began contemplating the notion that I might spend the summer in the San Juan Islands: looking for work and preparing for a passage south to California.

A week ago, at Island Meadow Farm on Vashon Island, in a house where farming, art, food, and music mingle like humble voices in a passionate choir, I was given a gift. The lovely illustration of a deer- rooting, leafing, and flowering- is entwined with life.

Four days ago, on a ferry back to Vashon Island, feeling the pain of change after a difficult goodbye, I became deeply unsettled. I began to plot my reasons for a departure from Dockton. I thought of additional points that I’d like to make while I’m in the San Juans for the Summer: live cheap, work-trade for farm-fresh food, ride my bike, look for interesting outdoorsy work, and photograph and explore new areas.

That night, back on the boat, it dawned on me that Orcas Island was the place. The west-side is rolling, pastoral, and sprinkled with farms, the east side sports Mount Constitution and Moran State Park, and the whole island is central to the San Juan Island Group. So, I picked up my Waggoner Crusing Guide and opened it up to the San Juan Island section prepared to sort through a variety of options.

Kairos and Avalon

"Kairos" in Deer Harbor in 2006. The canoe-sterned sailboat beyond is named "Avalon"- another meaningful term for me.

Immediately, I knew. In the general description of Orcas Island, the first mention of a destination is Deer Harbor. “…excellent anchorage throughout the bay”, “Deer Harbor Marina”, and “…village of Deer Harbor” all jumped off the page at once. I had been there once before, during my week-long cruise-and-learn in May of 2006. I remembered it was a nice place with hot showers and a beautiful small wooden sailboat named “Kairos“.

In the next moment, the gift I had been given came to mind and all at once I recognized an overwhelming feeling that I can only describe as “good”. I had a “good” feeling about it. I am learning to trust these feelings.

I shut the cruising guide 30 seconds after I had opened it, having read no more than one paragraph. The next day I made some phone calls and discovered a private marina in Deer Harbor with a 41′ slip available for affordable month-to-month rates. Eric, the harbor master, told me that it was required that I be “a nice guy” because everyone else there was local, low-key, and very nice. I told him we had a deal.

I plan dropping anchor in Deer Harbor for the first time on April 25th.

chart of the san juans

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Float Plan

April 10, 2010

wander

A float plan is a well-established form of emergency pre-planning for voyages taken on the water. I take the idea seriously, and will be filing float plans both on this site and with loved-ones on land. However, sitting here below decks in my own world of associations, marveling at the series of events that led me to this moment, this place, this unpredictable circumstance, and reeling at the notions of what may be floating over the horizon in the future, an abstract look at the term “float plan” fills me with a feeling of kinship to it’s seeming self-contradiction: float. plan.

The quote, “Not all those who wander are lost” speaks to the same contradiction. Floating yet planning, wandering yet not being lost, being open to possibility and meaning yet being precise about making “good” choices. These contrasting and symbiotic ideas have always been precious to me. And as it turns out, that quote didn’t originate on the back bumper of a VW Microbus following the scent of synchronicity down the highway, but from a poem within a novel by J.R.R. Tolkien. The idea was precious to him, too.

Everyone can have their own ideas about fate and free will and everyone can draw their own conclusions about choice and it’s meaning. The best-laid plans for some may be the wild fringe for others and a meaningful sign to one person may be an mere coincidence to another. The point of diversity in perspectives must be for it to mingle, and evolve. Detailed posts from this Float Plan will be for that- to offer up my process of choosing for minglement- and the log itself will be a potential resource for the Coast Guard.

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Victoria the 1st

March 27, 2010

Past Voyage – September 2007

Seattle to Victoria, BC

Seattle to Victoria, BC and back

Dates: September 20th – 27th 2007
Departed/Arrived: Seattle, Leschi, WA
Crew: Dad, Pam, Chris, Jenna, and I – in various combinations
Main Stops: Port Townsend, Port Angeles, Victoria BC
Point: First two-week sailing vacation in the Pacific Northwest inland waters.
Distance: +/- 250 nm
 
 
 
 

Northbound

Point Wilson

Point Wilson- At the narrow mouth of the entire Puget Sound, known for strong currents confused seas.

The first clip shows my Dad and I sailing close-hauled in the 12-15 knot westerly wind streaming down the Straight of Juan de Fuca on the Fall Equinox, 2007- Day 2 – en route to Port Angeles, 15nm west of Point Wilson.

We were beating into a sturdy late-Summer on-shore breeze, tacking west trying to make a line to Port Angeles. Shortly after that clip was taken, after coming about- as the sails were filling, catching the wind energy and pulling it through the rig to create forward motion- my Dad and I had a good scare. I looked up to see the Bruja’s stout, relatively new aluminum mast bending impossibly far to leeward. The upper shroud was loose and had come off the spreader on the previous tack. Here is a rendering of the scene burned into my mind:

Mast Bend

An approximation of how much the mast bent without the upper shroud.

We quickly doused the sails and gained control of the situation, but for the next couple of hours, motoring the rest of the way to Port Angeles, the world seemed like a threatening place. The relentlessness of the wind and the way it moved the waters all around the vessel reminded me of my newness to the endeavor of sailing.

Harnessing enough wild energy through a thousand parts and pieces to move 26,000lbs through a heaving mass of fluid must always be, on some level, a very serious business. I thought critically, painfully, and equally unrelentingly about the type of person necessary to make this endeavor safe, meaningful, and enjoyable. “Can I do this?” I asked myself. These times are the toughest for me. They call into question every aspect of my relationship to the vessel and to the discipline of sailing. They smart in a way which seems intolerable, but are ultimately strengthening.

The dynamic physics language of the sailing rig was the most foreign dialect spoken on the boat to me at that time. It’s like the rest of her spoke in a decipherable romance language: “Le Diesel est en dificulte”, “El Plumbing necesita la atencion” and the subtleties of her rigging came as Taiwanese whispers- quiet, but crucial. I resolved to listen better, and learn to some important verbs, like “tension”, and pronouns, like “me”.

That night in Port Angeles, Dad offered his unwavering support by helping me translate these cryptic messages, belaying me as I climbed 30ft up the mast to the spreaders with the boat hook and a rubber mallet, fixing and then tensioning the rigging. I began to recover my confidence. Repairs can be cathartic.  The next morning we motored across the Strait in a near flat calm, Dad at the helm, me, penitent on my hands and knees, scrubbing the whole teak deck and cockpit for most of the 3 hour trek. Maintenance can be atonement- I began humbly answering my doubt with a, “Yes, I can do this.”

During this crossing, I felt the long Pacific Ocean swell under and around the boat for the first time. The fast moving sinuous energy made for a beautiful waveform that sunny day- 4 or 5 boat-lengths from crest to crest, it lifted the boat gracefully and let her back down like friendly pats on the back.

Victoria

Arriving in Victoria, we cleared customs (our first time by boat) and secured a slip right downtown by the Empress Hotel.

Victoria Dad

Here we rendezvoused with family, Pam and Chris, and Chris’ girlfriend, Jenna, and took 4 days shore leave. The Bruja stayed in her slip alone while the five of us boarded a nearby hotel and explored the area.

West VictoriaThe west-end of Victoria, BC from our room

Buchart Garden Path12.5 miles NNW of Victoria the Butchart Gardens are blooming expansive

Besides a lovely day at Butchart, we had high-tea served at the Empress as if we were royalty- an odd and disconcerting thought for me, but culturing like one of our family’s dinners “at the nice table” growing up, and delicious like an indulgent colonial foraging of all the “good stuff” the royal world had to offer. At the Royal BC Museum, checking out the awesome First Peoples Gallery, I dreamed of sailing the thousands of miles of local shoreline researching the history and architecture of it’s wise indigenous peoples.

The highlight of the trip for me though, was an incredible close-encounter with a couple of gray whales on a sunny day-sail near Victoria. We happened upon the whales after all the whale-tour boats had departed. We were all alone with them, as close as 100 feet away, sailing slowly in complete silence, on an invisible breeze. It was a sweet, friendly, and intimate meeting of mammals and vessel.

Gray WhalesGray Whale Tail

Southbound

Chris, Jenna and I left early in the morning to cross the Straight and slip around Point Wilson to Port Townsend with the strong currents at our back. It was an effortless crossing- mostly sleep-able for my trusting crew. I did hoist the sails around halfway across the Straight- eight miles from any shore with low, random clouds obscuring any sign of land. Chris rose to the occasion -the heeling of the boat- and as we sailed through this watery, cloudy, foggy world, I explained to Chris what to do if I fell overboard. He listened intently, filtering the shock of imagining such a radical shift in his role. In the silence after the talk, broken only by the sound of the wind in our ears and the shushing of water off the bow, I thought to myself that a prudent captain would have gone over these details earlier in the crossing, or before we left. I felt new to my position, so did my brother- were in the same boat.

house on barge, boat and mill

Pulp mill near Port Townsend, house on it's way to a new home.

The winds were variable and the sailing didn’t last long. We motored the rest of the way- docking at Boathaven marina, clearing customs, and finding a cozy tavern in salty downtown Port Townsend before dark.

After eating, and before too much was drank, we compared how much the woody 2nd floor mariner’s watering hole was bobbing despite it’s concrete to earth connection. Six hours, countless stories, and at least as many pitchers of local brew later, we gurgled down the stairs and out into a driving rain- catching a cab back to Boathaven.

Naval sub on it's way home

Gigantore Submarine, large Coast Guard escort, and teeny Point Marrowstone

From Port Townsend to the Kinsgton Marina, we sailed for all of 30 blustery minutes before the wind settled into it’s typical Puget Sound state- tacit. During this time however we hit a blazing speed of 10 knots over ground with Chris at the helm for the first time. I’m guessing this was roughly 6.5 knots over water combined with a 3.5 knot current whipping around and along Point Marrowstone and into the Sound. The 6-hour putt-putt south offered a relaxing time to enjoy the last of the summer-ish sun, a sneak a peak into sub-aquatic US Naval life, and a chance to try out my own defenses: the frozen strawberry-flinging pirate-style slingshot Chris bought me.

Trying to catch an airborne M&M, Chris almost nabbed this seaplane.

In Kingston, Chris began to show flu-like symptoms as he and Jenna and I ordered food at a restaurant near the marina. By the time we got back to the boat, Chris having left early, he was in a full-blown feverish state. After a thickly blanketed and hot water-bottled night, we left the marina early in the morning.

It was a battle for the first 5 minutes against a rising breeze to get out of the constricted, dead-end-downwind marina. Under such conditions, leaving the marina cleanly -not causing damage- requires a well-choreographed dance of shoving off, tugging at docklines, prop-walking, and a distinct openness to improvisation as the wind changes the rhythm and key of your departure. The Kingston Marina, above all others, has taught me how little control I have over the vessel in tight quarters when it’s windy. It is there, in the prevailing southerly breeze that I have stepped on the most toes, and tripped over my feet the most- only ever doing harm to my ego.

Cutter-rigged sailboat in the North Puget Sound

Crossing the Sound to the Ballard Locks, Chris blanketed with a breaking fever, Jenna attending to him, the Dickinson diesel-burning stove warming the cabin, we motored, mashing into a strong headwind and choppy seas. About halfway through the 90 minute crossing, in a strong gust of wind, the stove blew out, leaving the hot, unburnt diesel to smolder and, without the updraft of the fire, spew the acrid smoke into the cabin, quickly filling it. Chris and Jenna evacuated up into the cockpit and into an entirely new season: Fall. It was below 50º, windy and raining. Chris and Jenna took as much shelter as they could while the smoke in the cabin, including all the warm air, vented out.

Making it back to Leschi, Chris and Jenna and I said our goodbyes, and, as I only had my bicycle at the time, they caught a cab to the nicest hotel in Seattle before flying back to California the following day. Simultaneous challenge and support- a key role of siblings. After they left, I plugged my thick, yellow, shore-power electrical-cord back into the marina and settled back into a hotel of my own.

—————————————-

–Please, if you have any suggestions, especially with the short film of the trip- like, “It made me nauseous, slow it down.” or something of the like, please feel free to comment. I’m new at this!

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Ship Log

March 22, 2010

Story

“The Earth is a communion of subjects to be revered, not a collection of objects to be exploited.”

- Thomas Berry


Story saturates all “non-living” subjects in the same way it flows through all living beings. For an object to become a subject in our minds, it must first be given the right to have a story and then allowed for it’s story to be told. It is in the telling of each of these stories that the animate gives new life to the seemingly “inanimate” and an important symbiotic relationship is born.

All of our things- our bicycles, our houses, our backbacks or our purses- have a story. Their raw materials formed and were extracted, their form was designed and then crafted, their pedals pushed, their doors opened, their pockets stuffed with value and then toted through our lives. The relationships are complicated- the stories intricate and intertwined. It may seem obtuse or insignificant, but I believe this notion of understanding and telling the “inanimate’s” story is tied directly to what it means to be human. Our lives swim in these stories, our society is awash in them, and yet we rarely tell them or even acknowledge them- much to our unconscious discontent and unwitting peril.

One of a few core reasons for my writing here is to assemble and present the story of a single lively subject- her composition, her characteristics, her travels, and her constant evolution. I will explore the saturation points of her “inanimate” story: where it has spilled over into my own story’s flow, blurring the lines between subject and being. It will be a log, but it may often float more like an iceberg.

Off to the right, the “s/v Bruja Dulce” page will attempt to tell the story of the creation and composition of the vessel, and the Ship Log will index as much of the story afloat as possible. As long as I’m alive I hope to tell this story, though there may be long periods of time when she is still, stood on soft earth, as new chapters develop. The story afloat may continue for decades or centuries after I’m gone, and I hope for all those who tell it that much lies below the surface, for at some level, all things are animate.

If you are a past owner, a past crew-member, or if you have a story related to this Tayana 37, hull #32, please feel free to email them to: thebrujadulce@gmail.com

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Turtle Cover

March 9, 2010
Turtle Cover

-Concept-

Design Intent: Create a waterproof cover for the entire boat which could be comfortably worked under, lived under and easily dis/assembled.

Design Dates: Summer/Fall 2007

Prototyping Dates: Fall/Winter 2007-2008

Build Dates: Winter 2008 – present

Major Design Contributor: Matt W. – Killer Architect

In the summer of 2007, Matt and I were working together for Case Design in Matt’s 2nd floor, over-the-coffee-shop-office in Ballard. I had been working on the CAD framework for this “cover” project for a few weeks in my free-time when, after 5pm on a sunny Friday, I happened to verbally drop my token ideas into Matt’s vending machine-mind of good design. Within minutes his spiraling synapses had unscrewed and released a wholesome package, letting it fall freely into the collaborative chamber.

My original idea was to bend some poles, attach them to the boat stanchions, and precision cut some canvas- make a barn. Matt’s suggestion was to sculpt and suspend a floating canvas shelter with an overhang- craft a shell. His input was fundamental to this project and his ongoing collaboration through the first winter was critical in keeping the design clean and functional. Thanks dood!

Fond of turtles, and thus shells, wearing my turtle t-shirt that day in fact, the design quickly took shape and I never looked back.

-Schematic Design-

We used the 3D model I had created from digital photos using photogrammetry to start the collaboration. The modeling bounced back and forth between AutoCAD, and Sketchup utilizing the best of each.

The rough-hewn shape of the shell as seen from Sketchup.

AutoCAD 3D was necessary to move the model from the photogrammetry output to Sketchup as well as to make accurate working planes and measurements. In this front view wireframe, the unintended turtle-like characteristics are evident.

The morning after the shell design was hatched, I found this guy on the sidewalk along Lake Washington boulevard. Synchronicity, as opposed to “X”, often marks the spot. Nature has much everything to offer for designers.

-Design Development/Prototyping-

A very special custom “bracket” was necessary to support the shell from the existing lifeline stanchions.

I spent weeks designing and fabricating this bracket system from common hardware store and boat store stock.

The finished bracket:

In the end, I employed aluminum flat-bar, sweated-copper fittings, various 516 stainless-steel parts, a length of cord, and the round-seizing which I enjoyed learning from the Marlinspike Sailor book that came with the boat. As I had to make 16 of these assemblies, I got a lot of practice tying the round-seizing.

-Design Development/Tool Making-

The use of Easton 7075 anodized aluminum poles was critical. They are light, super strong, and it is possible to pre-bend them to allow for small radius arcs. After an expensive and inaccurate flirtation with factory pre-bent poles, I purchased straight poles from the local and knowledgeable folks at Tent Poles for You, and built a machine to pre-bend them myself.

Turtle Cover Overview

My specification drawing to Easton for the pre-bent poles. My mistake was that many of the poles ultimately did not need a pre-bend.

Hence, the need for a machine which would both custom pre-bend as well as un-bend some of the bent poles I had ordered.

Using pulley-wheels from the climbing section at REI, aluminum flat bar, and some stainless steel hardware- the middle wheel cinches in and permanently bends the 1/2″ tube as it is shoved through. To buy a similar machine would have cost me $1000. This one cost about $50 in materials and took me a few days to design and build.

Works like a charm. There’s something primordially satisfying about creating a machine that works.

My mechanical drafting professor would cringe if he saw this drawing, but, as I was also the machinist, all was fair game.

-Construction Prep-

This project was my introduction to the art and science of fabrics and sewing. My industrious friend Ken and my Mom showed me some basics and the rest was a trial by fire. I did a fair amount of practice and some fabric mock-ups of specific sewing details before starting in on the actual cover.

I annihilated my first $20 Goodwill Store sewing machine within the first few bobbin-loads – first stripping and replacing the plastic gears in the low-end Singer then toasting the motor while trying to stitch through too thick a stack of hardy marine fabrics.

Amazing machines, even the cheap ones- a sign of an industry as old as industry itself

My second $20 Goodwill machine is a champ. It’s a Nelco- Japanese made, no gears, all cam-shafts, simple, indestructible

Below is a small mash of video showing the boat as metal shop, machine shop, and sewing shop. This is all video from early 2008. It shows the Bruja Dulce harboring creative and industrial ferment- the 15 amp AC shore-power cord from the Leschi Marina supplying loud music, ample saw-power, and ample lighting. Nowadays, generating and storing my own power, the boat is quieter, cleaner, and more prudently lit.

-Construction-

I began sewing the panels of the turtle cover in July, 2008. I really didn’t know what I was doing. I had considered making development drawings from precise measurements to cut the panels of fabric. I learned quickly however that craftsmanship in fabrics must be defined first by a keen tactile technique and not by an incredible 3D model and accompanying set of 2D drawings- there are just too many variables involved.

In a nutshell, I started at the front:

Then pulled, clipped, and marked each panel of fabric on each pole and sewed it up.

It may sound easy but it’s not. No. It’s not easy. There were a ton of details- all which needed creative refinement.

Here’s one:

Using standard “common sense fasteners”, this detail allows each fabric panel to attach alone or in tandem around a support pole- a critical feature for a long list of reasons.

-Result-

I love my shell. Waking up in the V-berth, looking up through the hatch, seeing a brightly lit, airy, waterproof skin between the boat and the Pacific Northwest winter makes me feel a little more secure. There’s still a couple of smaller panels left to sew, but three quarters of the Bruja Dulce’s leaky teak deck and exterior woodwork have been mostly dry all winter, nothing has broken or ripped this whole nasty season, I can assemble or disassemble the cover by myself in 30 minutes, the wind, one of my main concerns for this structure, has yet to cause a problem and thus the entire concept, as far as I’m concerned, is sound. I am considering how I might make a kit out of this project- something other sailing seamsters and seamstresses could use recreate this project for their vessels.

I got the most pleasant surprise the first time I saw the shell endure 20-25 knot gusts. Instead of collapsing and tearing itself apart, it gracefully inflated. I will be curious to see the wind speed which first begins to cause it harm. Here’s a couple clips:

When I first started college at San Jose State- a few handfuls of years ago- I was an Aerospace Engineering major. This lasted for one whole semester. The only reason I could give for this intuitive choice was that I wanted to work in wind tunnels. I know this “wind-tunnel” is not exactly what I was thinking of, and the work I have to do on deck in the tunnel is far from anything I could have imagined doing back then, but I like the idea that just maybe some aspect of that former self is finally being expressed. The universe works in mysterious ways.

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Work Log

March 8, 2010

I am about to publish my first post detailing a piece of physical work that I have created. I wonder sometimes if posting my work here is too much towards the fringes of “Point of Sail”. I am reminded, however, that along with reflection, ideas, and stories, my work too is an important and integral point.

On this site, off to the right under “Pages”, there is a link to my Work Log. This page will index a growing list of the relevant projects I have designed and built and other interesting work I have done. I will keep it organized chronologically and categorized by the type of work. Each listing in the “Work Log” will link back to a detailed post as soon as I create one.

If you know someone who might want some design, drafting, prototyping, or building done in the various genres I work in, feel free to pass this “Work Log” link around: pointofsail.wordpress.com/work

I can work remotely, or sail my office, tool box, and workshop to remote (coastal) places to work locally. email to: thebrujadulce@gmail.com

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Not docked in Dockton – Stoking

February 14, 2010

So now I have some time on my hands. My work at Case Design seems to be drying up in a new and more earth-cracking way- the blazing economic desert of the Great Recession and the greater sand-storm of the Great American Housing Market Delusion of the Oughts have finally found their way through the optimistic and enigmatically still-open front door of the Columbia City Loft-office. I’m still rooting for this small design/build firm- wishing for camels and full canteen or two. Until then, my epic commute over the water to the city will slow to the occasional call or errand. And my other work, ideas, hopes, plans, and dreams may now have a chance and a legitimate reason to undergo further development.

The Bruja and I have no plans to move for at least a couple of months. During this grace period my focus will be to look for meaningful work and to prepare for a passage south to California at the end of this summer. The writing and logging of work and ideas I do here will be somewhat central to my focus. I hope it may help me find new work, or that new work may find me here, or that somehow, just by the virtue of this process of sharing, it will help catalyze something meaningful and valuable to me and to the world.  Architectural design and drafting will always be of interest to me, and I will of course take solid paying work if it comes, but I hope to find work in other fields, in other scales of space and detail, and in revenue streams far far away from the American housing and construction design markets.

And so….. hopeful and uninhibited, I offer a dizzying glimpse of some of my work, some of my ideas, plans, and some of what I’m thankful for- all aboard a mash of video racing from Dockton, to the north-end ferry terminal, to California. If you are prone to motion sickness, consider moving your head back from the screen. Otherwise, enjoy!

Farmstand photo courtesy KLC, Music: John Butler Trio- “Better Than”

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Not docked in Dockton – On the Road

February 13, 2010

The Bruja Dulce has been anchored 150 yards off the public dock at Dockton Park for nearly one month now. One could say, but might choose to refrain from saying, that she’s parked, not docked, in Dockton Park.Dockton Park

This is not the first month I have stayed here. I spent the end of last summer and most of last fall here in these calm, protected waters. The park facilities make living aboard relatively easy and absolutely free. There is much to say of this place and my neighbors here. They are rich with story, drama, history and discovery. For now, here is a link to an article about the Quartermaster Harbor water quality, or lack thereof, which recently put a photo of the Bruja Dulce, deep in the background, on the front page of the local newspaper.

The flat, 30-foot deep, muddy bottom in Quartermaster Harbor is ideal for long-term secure anchorage. It is secure enough, and the boat is self-reliant enough that I felt reasonably ok leaving her alone for one whole week while I, not alone, made a road trip down the interstate to Oregon, California, and back.

Quartermaster Harbor

I brought a lot of booty back with me from this journey, all of which was freely given and deeply-impacting despite being physically intangible:

  • I serendipitously received the second two parts in what turned out to be a three-part trio of wise pearls from Piper in which “start where you’re at” is just the beginning- I will string the other two later, all in good order
  • I acquired, also from Piper, a raw food recipe for a simple and amazing breakfast: one part each sunflower seeds, rolled oats, and dates, two parts water, let sit overnight…it is so alive it will softly speak your name in the morning.
  • I picked up a virtual cornucopia of unconditional welcome, encouraging words, and wise and inspiring ideas from my dear friends amidst the incredible ecosophic environment at Skyline Harvest- not to mention much heartfelt, in a good way, cooking, baking, and food gifts
  • I nabbed some much needed Brother time in the rolling, dare I say voluptuous East Bay California hills of our youth
  • Still not alone, I earned the “30 hours in a car together and still grew fonder” merit badge as outlined in the Love Scout handbook

And through it all, I carried back with me an ever growing worry for the boat, my home, on it’s own, as much as 750 miles away, at anchor in Dockton.

….She was ok.

In fact, inspecting upon my return in the unusually bright late-day winter sunshine, solarit seemed she was better than when I left her 7 days prior. This was 7 times longer than I had ever left here alone at anchor before. It was a breakthrough for both of us. It seemed like, just maybe, she needed a break from me…….understandable, even for a boat.

The batteries, which I had worried might be struggling to run the bilge pumps, which might be struggling to pump the water out, which might have been rushing in the boat from a leak in some piece of plumbing, which might have come from the imaginary problem in my mind, were in fact, fully charged. The sun was beaming but low in the February sky and the charge from the solar panels, despite being weak, was actually being diverted- it was unnecessary. She’s a good vessel: smart, experienced and well equipped.

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Where the wild things are

January 31, 2010

Still anchored in Andrews Bay on Lake Washington, 72 hours and 1 minute since the hook was set in the mud, down below in the cabin, the day slowly sliding over like the east-bound blanket of Pacific stratus overhead, I feel the Bruja rock in a way that is uncharacteristic of a passing wake or a gust of wind. I perk up, the motion stops as fast as it started, I dismiss it, and then return to the important business of being. Seconds later it happens again, the rocking- a nudge?
-knock knock knock!- It was the sound of solid, confident knuckles on the 3/8″ thick glass-reinforced laminate cabin top.

“HELLO!?”

The voice was capitalized and the exclamation mark was clearly before the question mark in the manner of only one branch of government, the authorities. Climbing up into the cockpit I see the black shoes squarely planted on my starboard deck and the blue uniform of the officer pan slowly down as I rose to meet him face to face. The police boat was perpendicular to mine, the big aluminum-framed box mounted on it’s bow with the thick rubber bumper kissing my starboard rail.

“You know you can only be anchored here for 72 hours.”

His voice was kind, informative, lacking a puffed-chest intensity. He was smiling. I think it was because my hair was messy.

“Oh… ok, I was wondering about that. I didn’t see anything in the Wagonner Cruising Guide about stay limits here. Good to know.”

I said, speaking truth to power, sort of.

“One of the local residents called us in. They were worried because you’ve been here for a while. Last year someone was anchored here for days and days in the winter and it turns out they were dead.”

“Whoa.”

I imagined how the Bruja Dulce must have looked from the front yard of a Seward Park waterfront residence: anchored in the weekend-mariner bay beginning on a Sunday evening, all alone, three-quarters covered in canvas- like a pitched tent, a tapered hoop-house, ready to bob out the winter in boat-hobo-style.

Bruja at Seward Park from shore

The Bruja off the Seward Park shore

“Well…. I’m still alive. I left my slip in Leschi three days ago. I’m moving to Vashon Island. Is it ok if I leave tomorrow? I need to find another crew member to get me through the locks.”
“Yea that’s ok. Tomorrow…”

He wrote down my name and my newly planned departure date. I had been hoping to return to Vashon soon anyway. The impermanence of my time on the lake was making me feel uneasy. I wanted to feel at home again. However, the notion of running the gauntlet of Seattle’s waterways, motoring out and down the Sound on a Thursday in mid-January on such short notice, and hopefully, making some meaningful stops along the way struck me as …. a little wild.

To be clear- by wild I do not mean: baseless, hazardous, crazy, raving mad, godforsaken, or rampant. These definitions must be stripped from your mind as best they can for the remainder of this story. Only one definition fits just right: wild: in a natural state.

And so it was- two hours after the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen over Lake Washington with wild-embracing and precious crew safe onboard, the anchor was weighed.

reflection

Pilings & log boom, floating bridge, and purple pool at sunrise Jan. 7th, 2010

Departed: Jan 7th 2010, 09:30 – Andrews Bay/Seward Park, Lake Washington, Seattle WA

Stops: Blake Island State Park, Port Orchard Marina

Arrived: Jan 10th 2010, 14:30 – Dockton Marine Park, Quarter Master Harbor, Vashon/Maury Island

Crew: Karisa and I

Point: Head “home” to Dockton, glimpse the Pacific Northwest in the wild

point of sail- where the wild

Seward to Dockton - Where the wild things were

Saying goodbye to the lake for possibly the last time by water, we had a chance to extend a warm yet securely-distant welcome to Bill Gates as he was arriving home on his seaplane. I’m not sure the actual rockstar of the techno-group “Your Operating System” was inside the plane himself, but there was a good-sized crew on the dock waiting to greet the plane as it pulled up.

Hi Bill!

The Gates' residence- someone arriving at the "back door"

ballard bridge

The Ballard bridge giving way

The Montlake, University, Fremont, and Ballard bridges gave way as they usually do- requested by one long and one short blast from my bicycle pump-fillable air horn. The small lock drained it’s fresh water quickly, lowering us down, accompanied by the friendly banter of the Army Corps of Engineer’s attendants into the colder, salty, greener sea, slipping away nearly unnoticed from the vivacious but pained hum of the city and into the open Sound.

So as you can see from the chart we made it to Dockton after a stint at the Port Orchard marina. This was cool because their showers are hot and pressurized like a fire hydrant, and a good fraction of the US Navy was docked one half of a mile across the water in Bremerton- which wasn’t so much cool or hot as it was baffling in it’s wild expression of power, fear/bravery, technology, and insane numerology- my estimates and guesses:

Bremerton Naval Base

Naval Base Kitsap - photos courtesy of G. Alfaro - Chilean counter-intelligence agent

5 aircraft carriers, 15 destroyers and other ships, 20 submarines, 10,000 workers, 100,000,000,000, dollars spent and spending- right there, much of it merely a deterrent force, rendering it some of the most advanced and expensive exercise equipment in the world. Karisa had the clarity to question how all this might be used for positive development or regeneration, turning over the vast and steamy economic pile I was wallowing in like she does Hazel the cow’s manure: in meditative composting fashion. I have always thought that exercise equipment should be used to generate something- positive charge, positive change…..either, both, whatever.

But more to the point in this sail was the intermission and waylay -our catch and release- at the green heart of the Sound.

Blake Chart

Blake Island- Green-hearted, Wild, Lovely

blake

Blake Island trail- Seattle urbanity beaming across the water

Among all the islands I have been to in the Pacific Northwest waters Blake Island offers the most potent shot of wildness in the saltiest urban-rimmed glass. The island is entirely forested, undeveloped, and unoccupied save for a small campground and museum-compound on the northeast tip and a veiny system of trails.

The island can offer a misty, mossy, and quietly growing/rotting mix of bright but unsaturated colors. A typical winter day of slow-moving stratus and drizzle, the natural state for this bioregion, creates a flat mirror skin on the water reflecting a deep wild blue despite the grey sky. The trees struggle to bring richness to the word evergreen, and the fungus among us makes for the brightest and most interesting pallette.

rot moss mold roots

stumped rooted mossed

Another day might offer, in the pouring rain, with one sensibly-booted and one maniacally flip-flopped pair of feet, a monster trek mud bog event- each step a wild Blake smooch thanking these country-loving souls for attending. On a day like this the colors are even more muted by the static of water drops. The views and sounds are as much of your raincoat’s hood as they are of the environment around you. Nevertheless, a day like this is glimpse, a journey, into a natural state of living.

Another day yet might illuminate the hidden spectrum and textures that lie dormant when the North Pacific cloud river is otherwise flowing overhead. A long winter sun break here is an event that penetrates into and reflects on and off of all things. Everything becomes interesting. Everything seems wild.

leaf

Unfallen leaves, hollowed by the season- photo courtesy: KLC

Olympic Sunset

Sunset over the Olympics- looking west from Blake

January on Blake is a special time. Even starting at two, you could typically count the number of people with it’s soft earth under foot on the working hand of a drunken sawyer, or Mickey Mouse. There is always one park ranger but other than that, maybe no one. Experiencing such solitude despite a seven mile line of site to a city of 600,000 people, many of whom are plenty adventurous, makes me question if the masses know something I don’t: Is it wrong or foolish to be here? Where is everyone? Is there a big storm coming? Or simply put: that primordial question, the one we can’t live with or live without: should I be afraid?

On this island we are so close to the mainstream but by the virtue of a stalwart vessel have become so deeply deviant. The feeling is far from unfamialiar to me. Not because I live on said vessel and have anchored off this shore before but because the feeling is archetypal- straying, inspired, homing-in, going where the wild things are. Lately I have experienced a deep daily dose of this deviance- following wild genies that conjour crazy dreams for my life, for our society, for the world, feeding a wild creative hunger whose appetite doesn’t discriminate between paid work, valid endeavors, and fruitless concoctions, and more recently, embracing a romanticism whose natural state is startling, mystifying, and sometimes terrifying in it’s intense beauty. All of this takes me to this same remote shore. Such is the deep nature of an island- always connected beneath the surface, only showing up on a chart when it rises high enough to emerge, through fearless unseen forces, to foster a new identity, a new remote shore. It’s hard to tell what will grow and evolve above newly broken shorelines. Precious islands, ideas, and relationships all must bare their raw earth to the elements to find their true nature. Life has it’s way of trusting itself. I find myself seeking that same trust. On this island at least there are no natural predators to me or my companion. If only for that reason alone, although infinite others exist, the answer to my question is “No”, I should not be afraid.

Blake shore and Bruja

Securely anchored off the Blake Island shore

dockton residents

Securely anchored off the Vashon/Maury Island shore. Dockton resident liveaboards, from left to right- Mike, Guy, me, and Jim

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