Where does a song come from?

For some people, the muse is like a friendly roommate, someone who is constantly in conversation with them, who knows them, how they think, what motivates them.  We call these people "musicians".

For me, the muse is more like a crazy uncle who blows into town rarely and unpredictably.  And when he does come it is often at an inconvenient moment - he drops his load and then is gone again - for a long time.

Last nite my muse came while I was asleep.  He gave me a vivid dream, so vivid in fact that it awakened me, of a song in D minor.  But this morning all I can remember is the chords and part of the chorus.  I got out my guitar and firmed it up, and then wrote down what I could remember. 

Maybe he'll stop by again tonite.

Where does a song come from?

When guitars and cars collide

What happens to the guitar player/auto mechanic who cuts himself on his left hand little finger (anyone who has done work on cars knows that this is not an unlikely event)?

Well, first he lays off the guitar for a while - he needs all the fingers on his left hand to make music (or at least to attempt it, in my case).

Then he probably picks up the guitar prematurely, when the healing seems to be complete.  But playing the guitar involves pushing a tightly stretched, very fine wire against a block of wood.  Without a callus on the fingertip, this can be painful.  On a freshly healed cut, it results in blood on the fingerboard when the cut reopens. 

Then there is more waiting.  And while there is waiting, the calluses on the other fingertips, an adaptation by the body to playing the guitar, are slowly going away.

Finally, tentatively, he tries again.  But now, tho his fingers know what they need to do, they are soft and weak, like those of a guitar virgin.

Starting over.

When guitars and cars collide

One of those evenings

In a summer when there has been significant whining (I admit: some of it mine) about the cold, and where there has been the open collection of weird statistics, like how many minutes this year the temperature has been above 80° (78, but who's counting), this evening is a wonderful, rare jewel.

The temperature is 78°, there is just enough breeze so that it is enormously pleasant outside.  Our slip-mate has taken off somewhere, leaving us with the added bit of privacy that my guitar playing should have, truth be told.

I wish that all of you out there could be experiencing this, right now, with me.

And now, instead of typing on the computer down here below, I am going back out there to enjoy it.

One of those evenings

Inside the guitar

While enjoying myself, sitting in the dentist's chair this morning and participating in a necessarily one-sided conversation with the hygienist, she related a story to me about some friends of hers who had lived on a sailboat in Alaska...  It seems that one nite, they were repeatedly awakened by unusual sounds, but were unable to locate their origin.  Finally, after three trips up on deck in the cold and dark, they discovered a heron, which had managed to wedge its head in the rigging somewhere.  (I think I have shortened this a little, but then there may have been nitrous involved.)

Now, that's an interesting boating story, but why do I bring it up here?  Two reasons, both related to my ongoing effort to bring you the experience of living aboard a sailboat.  First, it is the  nature of things that when you are asleep on a boat, you are not really completely asleep.  A small part of your brain remains on duty, paying attention to those senses which still operate.  This ever-alert sentry takes note of unusual motions of the boat and unusual sounds, and presses the alarm bell when something is detected, waking up the rest of the brain.  People on shore rarely experience this sleeping awareness, although it is frequently mentioned in detective novels ("Dirk awoke suddenly, fully alert.  Something had alerted him, bringing him to full awareness in the blink of an eye.  What was it?  Then, he heard it again: the quiet sound of a footstep on the stairs.")

And second, living on a boat is akin to living inside a guitar.  The mast is the neck, the shrouds and stays are the strings, the hull and deck are the body of the guitar.  Anything happening to the rig is greatly magnified down below.  A loosely tied 1/8" flag halyard, occasionally bumping into a nearby stay when the wind blows sounds like a maniac pounding on the rigging with a hammer.  A bird caught in the rigging?  You are not going to sleep thru that.

The story has a happy ending.  They were able to untangle the heron and free him to fish another day.  And now I should probably go up on deck and see what it is that is tapping against our mast.

Inside the guitar

Resistance (was) futile

Backpack soft case

I couldn't resist.  I ordered an ideal boat guitar for myself.

It came in just under a week, shipped by FedEx in a huge box surrounded by lots of padding; it arrived in perfect condition.

Inside the box was the advertised backpack softcase containing the folded guitar.

• First surprise:  it is light weight! 

In fact it is amazingly light in weight compared to my Hohner and semi-hard case.  You (literally) can lift it with one finger.  Easily.

• Second surprise: A quality backpack

This is not just a guitar case - it really is a quality backpack, designed from scratch to hold the guitar.  The surface that contacts your back when you don it has extra foam padding and is covered with breathable mesh.  For hand-carrying, there is a padded handle on both the top and on one side, should you prefer to carry it that way instead of wearing it on your back.  And there is a huge zipper pocket to hold music and easily your laptop as well.

Looks weird, doesn't it?

Zip open the specially contoured top, and there is the guitar, perfectly happy but looking broken.  The strings are stuffed in the sound hole, and the neck rests on a specially formed padded support to prevent it from scratching the guitar top.

Nearly invisible hinge joint

Remove it from the case and unfold it - the hinge goes slightly over-center so that it is not difficult to hold against the string tension.  While holding, tighten the thumbscrew.   The neck is a little floppy when it is folded, but once unfolded and locked down, it is as rigid as your guitar.  The hinge joint is almost invisible when the guitar is unfolded - a good design well executed.

Strings are captive at the nut

The only other deviation from normal guitar design is that the nut is not simply notched to take the strings.  Instead it has bored holes to keep the strings from going too far astray when the guitar is folded.

Keeping in mind that this is intended for use on our boat, I bought the VAOM-02.  This is a little smaller than a full dreadnought (it's an orchestra model), but it has a full sized 1-3/4" bridge and 25 1/2" neck.  What this means to me is that I won't bang it into things as much while moving around the boat.

• Next surprise: It is easy to play

I'm not sure why this might be, but I would swear that this guitar is easier to finger than my Hohner.  And I'm not talking about the action here - I mean it is as if the strings have less tension or something.  Regardless of the reason, this guitar is a pleasure to finger.

And it sounds good.   No, it sounds really good.  Of course it would sound even better if played by somebody who knows what they are doing, but then we can't have everything, can we?

Final assessment (now based on actual physical appraisal):

This is the ideal boat guitar.

Resistance (was) futile

The ideal boat guitar

Tho guitars are not heavy, they are awkward, and on a boat, it is usually difficult to find a good home for one.

Steve, one of the guys in my guitar class (you knew I've been taking lessons for years, didn't you?) has been showing up at class with the perfect boat guitar - a Voyage-Air folding guitar.

This thing is amazing.  Folded and in its soft case, it occupies about the same space as one of those bags designed to just fit in an airplane overhead compartment - as a matter of fact it will fit in an airplane overhead compartment.  To ready it for play, you just fold the neck back and tighten the thumbscrew.  And amazingly, Steve usually has to do very little tuning - certainly no more than I do when getting ready for class, and the ubiquitous electronic tuner (when, oh when, are they going to become standard built-ins?) makes this a trivial task.

Model VAOM-02,
from their website

And aside from the storage advantage, it has another.  Because of the mechanical aspects of the instrument design, the strings slowly but surely distort the guitar, pulling the neck up, as the wood inevitably yields to the load imposed by the relentless pull of the strings.  But since the Voyage-Air is only under tension when it is actually being played, "neck dive" should be essentially non-existent.


Finally, a rarity in the musical instrument world, the Voyage-Air is not expensive.  And from personal experience I can tell you that it sounds good - certainly better than my old Hohner.

The ideal boat guitar

Guitars and boats

Guitars and boats go together pretty well, don't they?



Found this on Boat Bits

Guitars and boats

Memorial Day Weekend, 2010: Nautical

The weather here in Seattle for Memorial Day was not nice: highs in the low 50's (lows in the 40's), fog, and rain. (I know that some of you out there in the world have been in full-blown Summer for a month already. I don't want to hear about it.)

Jane and I decided to make the best of it. We had a very nautical time.

We cast off out docklines Thursday nite and headed for our favorite close-in anchorage, Port Madison. As there was no significant wind, we drove. That has a benefit tho: we have a Red Dot heater, which heats the cabin using the engine cooling water. As soon as the cabin began to cool off after anchoring, I lit the Dickenson. Jane made us a huge taco salad for dinner.

The next morning was a lazy one. First, the cabin was down to 56° F, so I got up early and lit the Dickenson, and then tucked back under the covers while it did its work. A lot later, we got up and had a couple of lattes, and then even later I fried up some eggrooms (fried eggs & fried mushrooms). Then some reading, and finally lunch. All of this was because the tide would not turn in our favor until 12:30 at Agate Pass. Having forced laziness is actually a good thing on the first day of a vacation - it gets the mood in place right away.

We motored thru Agate Pass to Poulsbo after lunch. We didn't leave the boat after anchoring tho, as it was raining hard. So we had another cozy nite down below. I cooked us some cheeseburgers on the grill between rain showers, and there was more reading. I spent an inordinate amount of time working with a new wireless antenna for the computer. Again, the Dickenson kept us toasty.

This morning, we rose late, and after a couple of lattes (seeing the pattern yet?), we put the dinghy in the water and headed over to town. Instead of our usual stop at Sheila's Bayside Cafe, we tried a breakfast at Tizley's Pub - it had been recommended to us by Brent and Jill on Ambition, our next door neighbors at the marina, not least because they make a killer Bloody Mary. It lived up to its billing - Jane had an Irish boxty, and I had bangers, hash & eggs, with the obligatory Bloody Marys. It's an upstairs place, with balcony seating, tho no one was out there sitting in the rain.

Then we wandered around town to the galleries, bought 3 lb of licorice, some antique plates at one of the antique stores, and a matted old-timey Poulsbo poster. We stopped at the used book store and bought some books, and in particular, a book which will go to Fred, published by Sampson Marine, the maker of Fred and Lynda's boat, s/v Black Opal (shhh... don't tell him). We finally ended up at the Hare and Hound - a pub built by an Englishman and named after one that was across the street from him in England, when he was growing up. They had a fine selection of beers, and wanted us to try them all.

Then back out to the boat. For dinner tonite, Jane made us a wonderful coconut chicken with jalapeños and basmati rice. After I finish this post and wash the dishes, there'll be some guitar and some more reading.

Tomorrow, we'll head back to Port Madison - the tide in Agate Pass has us exiting sometime between 04:34 and 12:42. We'll not be able to continue our years long annual tradition of watching the Indy 500 while at anchor somewhere, because with the digital TV "improvement" we no longer get enough signal. But we'll listen on the radio, which takes Jane back to her girlhood.

Monday, we'll return to Shilshole at the 13:50 slack water.

I'd say the trip is a success... and in fact, it is hard to not have a success with a 4-day weekend.

Memorial Day Weekend, 2010: Nautical

43

It's not a bad number.  In fact, it is Scott's age, now.  From my perspective anyway, he's in his prime.  He is a pilot for Horizon Airlines and a flight instructor besides.  And he is getting good on his guitar!

On Monday, Angela from Ghost invited everybody up and down the dock to come to Scott's birthday celebration, and even the NCAA contributed, providing part of the entertainment (too bad Butler lost).  And Zach and Ellie chimed in, first helping to decorate the cake and then to deliver it to the celebrants.

Boy, Ghost is big inside.  She is the same kind of boat as the one featured in Captain Ron - the movie set made it look like a suburban house inside, but Ghost is not far from that (except, of course, for the stand-up engine room).  I think Jane and I counted at least 15 people in the saloon and seated at the dinette (I think all of these folks were present at the same time):

• Rich & Echo from Veja Du
• Fred from Black Opal
• Brent & Jill from Ambition
• Doug & Ruth from Angelique
• CB & Tawn from Palarran
• KC & Elaine from Hawkwind 
• Scott & Angela from Ghost
• Zach & Ellie from Ghost
• Bob & Jane from Eolian

I was reminded by another blog posting this morning that there is never enough friendship in the world.   Well, this evening went a long way towards addressing that...  it was an evening filled with friendship.  Thanks Angela and Scott for bringing everyone together!

And Happy Birthday Scotty!

43

Choose Two

Last nite, my friend Jim came over for dinner. He brought his guitar and a couple of bottles of wine. Jane took care of everything except the meat.  My responsibility was the meat - only the meat.  So, I put two racks of short ribs on the grill to slow smoke them.

Slow smoking means to cook them at basically the desired end temperature. That is, if you want the pork to be 180° at the end, you cook it at 180°... with lots of smoke, and for a long time. I have been very successful with this technique. Until last nite.

Last nite, there were the additional distractions:

• we got to playing guitars,
• and there was the aforementioned wine.

Let's just say that after 2½ hours, I remembered that I was supposed to be cooking dinner.  The ribs were done.

I mean they were clearly done.  They were black on top (which they should be), but...  they were not glossy black - they were a kind of flat black.  And they were crunchy.  I had trouble sticking in the meat fork to belatedly take them off the grill.

Jim was a gracious guest.  He ate 2 or 3, as did Jane and I (what else were we to do?  There wasn't any other meat...).  They were horrible.  I was terribly embarrassed.  And Jim left early - probably to go eat dinner somewhere - I wouldn't blame him - I would have if I could have.

So:  Two resolutions:

1. Between wine, guitars and cooking, from now on choose two.
2. We got some more ribs.  Tomorrow I will do them up properly, and deliver them to Jim's house.
   

Choose Two

Happy Thanksgiving To You!

Tuesday evening after dinner, while I was tuning up my guitar and getting ready for my guitar class, I heard a tapping on the hull. I stretched up, and Fred and Lynda from Black Opal were outside on the dock. I rushed up on deck, and was met by them, singing:

Happy Thanksgiving to you!
Happy Thanksgiving to you!
Happy Thanksgiving dear Eolian!
Happy Thanksgiving to you!

And then they gave me a lovely gift pack with a Thanksgiving-themed paper plate and napkin, and two heavenly Harvey Wallbanger cupcakes! It was a reverse trick-or-treat... Umm... a thank-and-treat! Then they went on to do other boats.

As you might have noticed, it was necessary to sample one of the cupcakes in order to make the quality assessment so I could report to you. I may have to repeat the testing in a minute. Just to be sure.

I am thankful for wonderful friends.

Happy Thanksgiving To You!

Fall Morning at Anchor

This last weekend we made a quick jaunt over to Port Madison. We drove over using the engine, rather than sailing, since there was no wind. We had a wonderful afternoon at anchor (I worked some more on my Betsy Ross project). My eye was attracted to this dock ramp, which the years have given organic curves.

The evening cooled off rapidly, so we made a roast porkchop dish with cabbage in the oven, and got free cabin heat besides. It all went very well with the wine and guitar later.

When we woke up in the morning, the gift from the oven was still giving. All the moisture from the propane burned in the oven raises the relative humidity inside as well as giving heat. Over night the heat dissipates, but the moisture remains. It was 56 degrees inside, so I fired up the trusty Dickenson diesel heater, and we had it up to 70 in a jiffy. Bonus: the combustion air needs of the Dickenson inhale the moisture and expel it out the stack, so aside from the heating, there is also a net drying due to the air exchange. The windows cleared right up.

Slack water at the marina was to be at 14:15, so we needed to leave at about 12:45 to arrive at the slack (avoiding difficult currents at the dock). However, there was a competing need - the wind was forecast to rise to 20 kt in the afternoon, and we wanted to avoid docking with that much of a headwind if possible. So we decided to leave early, and hoisted anchor at 10:00.

It turned out to be a wonderful sail back across the Sound - we had wind off the beam at 12-18 kt, and Eolian scooted along at 6+ kt under just the yankee. It was great that what could be the last sail of the year was so wonderful (yes, I was feeling maudlin again...)

Due to our excellent speed, we arrived earlier than planned (but had the high wind anyway), and so had to manage the docking maneuver with both a 20 kt headwind and with significant current pushing us off the dock. In some ways it was easier, since I had to use the motor a lot just to counter the push of the North wind, and this meant that I had the use of the directed thrust from the prop and rudder available a lot more than usual. Curtis and Cynthia from Wind Dancer next door caught our lines, which was a big help.

I guess I am ready for the season to be closing, tho we may yet steal a day or two if moderate weather hits on weekends.

I guess I am ready.

I guess.

Fall Morning at Anchor

Call me Betsy

We spent Saturday night anchored in Port Madison. It was a lovely evening, and the harbor was essentially empty due to a big Latitudes & Attitudes rendezvous over in Poulsbo. Ah, peace and quiet - that's the ticket.

As the evening was a little cool, we elected to cook something for dinner that would add some heat to the cabin... so we had corn bread and clam chowder. Both were from pre-packaged mixes (you add canned clams to the chowder). In fact, I was a little stingy with the water in the chowder, so it turned out more like an etouffee. And there was merlot. And guitar.

The next morning (after eating the leftover cornbread, of course), I started a project (I can't help myself). It seems that the stitching on our dodger and bimini, which we had newly made 6 years ago, is starting to go. Not the Sunbrella canvas, but the stitching. Aside: Why can't they make thread out of the same stuff as the Sunbrella? The stitching always fails first.

I have about 25 feet of stitching to redo; about 10 is done so far.

I have a far greater appreciation for Betsy Ross sewing together all those stripes...

Call me Betsy

I love this time of year!

I sat on the deck, back against the lifeboat and facing west. It was warm and calm. I had my guitar, a big glass of wine, and a spectacular sunset. Still playing with the same set of chords, until my fingers said, "Stop!"

Really - does it get any better than this?

I love this time of year!

Annual Maintenance: Brightwork, step 3

This morning was perfect varnishing weather. It was dry enough where there was no dew, so I was able to start varnishing very early - while the wood was still cool, and before there was any wind.

I got coat #3 on the port side (shown) and coat #2 on the starboard side. That's it on the port side - it's as good as it is going to get for this year. Tomorrow, I'll get the last coat on the starboard side., and then the caprail will be done for another year.

To keep from going to seed this afternoon, I'll pull the tape off of the port side.

So far, the day's entertainment has been next door. Curtis dropped a key in the water, and so donned his diving gear to retrieve it. Following that, since he was already in the water, he cleaned our speedo transducers and his prop.

Then there was beer.

And then red wine and enough guitar so that I should have quit long ago (at least that what my fingers tell me). I hope the neighbors aren't getting too tired of me working on variations of C, Am, Am7, Bb, F and G. Those of you who know me (and know music) will recognize that as a departure from the blues.

At least I'm playing inside.

Annual Maintenance: Brightwork, step 3

(The) Last Night

I don't know if our weather here in Seattle has been gaining any national publicity... but it has been delightfully warm. All week, there have been gatherings on the dock every evening, but last night, for me anyway, was the culminating one. Perhaps because, very unusually, there was no wind.

We had Roy from Mabrouka, Fred from Black Opal, Doug and Ruth from Angelique, Curtis from Wind Dancer, Scott, Angela, Zack and Ellie from Ghost and Jane and I (did I leave anyone out?), all sitting in collapsible lawn chairs (de rigure for dock gatherings), talking and drinking wine, etc. Finally I got my guitar out and we passed it around and around. It was still warm when things broke up finally at 10:30.

The weather is now predicted to change, drastically. We are told to expect a "marine push" tomorrow, with temperatures 25- 30 degrees lower.

(The) Last Night

The Rhythm of Life

The rhythm of life off the dock is different than it is on shore. It is, most importantly, much slower. And, unlike ashore where man-made urgencies and deadlines control everything, it is simpler, interwoven inextricably with the rhythms of the Earth: tide and weather.

This last holiday weekend, after so long on the dock, we got a refresher course.

Barring the need to rise early in order to make a long passage with the tide, or to beat a weather front (not usually a good plan...), this is how a typical day away from the dock goes for us:

Whenever:

(In practice, this seems to be 06:30 - 07:30) Rise. Check the water depth, and the positions of the other boats in the anchorage. Turn off the anchor light. Check the temperature in the freezer (since reworking the temperature setpoints in the refrigerator last fall, the refrigerator is no longer on the critical path for refrigeration - only the freezer). If the charge state of battery bank #2 can handle it, and if it is needed, turn on the refrigeration. Enjoy the absolute peace. I like being awake before everyone else.

Whenever + 15-30 minutes:

Turn on the inverter and make two lattes. The sound of the espresso maker serves as Jane's alarm clock. If it is nice, move to the cockpit and enjoy the lattes while watching the birds in the quiet harbor.

+ another 20-30 minutes:

Make another pair of lattes. While working on these, listen to the NOAA weather on the VHF, get a gander at the tide book, and talk about where we will go today. We usually have a Grand Plan (like "Go to the San Juans", or "Go to Poulsbo") but these are purposely vague. Consider tidal currents, wind, impending weather, etc... and make a destination decision. This could be a confirmation of an earlier decision, a confirmation of the Grand Plan, or something entirely different.

Until time to go:

Monitor electrical state of the batteries. If the departure (and the engine-driven battery charge while we hoist anchor and drive out of the harbor) is a long way off, it may be necessary to run the generator, but we try not to do this until say 09:00, when everyone is pretty much awake in the anchorage, so everyone can enjoy the morning peace. Cook/eat. Read. Talk. Play guitar. If crabbing season is open: crab.

Departure:

Tide, weather and all other things being equal, we try to get to our next anchorage before 16:00. That way, we are not rushed in the evening. Hoist anchor, drive out of the anchorage, and hoist sail (if there is wind).

Under Way:

We love the peacefulness of being under sail. Other than the sound of the wind and the water as the boat makes its way, it is silent. Occasionally (like last weekend), we are joined by a dolphin or a porpoise for a while, or sight some Orcas, or even a grey whale, and feel privileged and in awe. I have lots of pictures taken under way of the ever-changing canvas of sea and sky.

Arrival:

Drop sails. Drive into the anchorage, survey, choose a spot, and drop anchor. Shut down the engine. Drink a ceremonial Anchorage Beer, and watch the next boats coming in to anchor. Cook/eat. Read. Talk. Play guitar. But now add: drink wine, wine cruise, or visit other boats if we see someone we know. If there is a town, there will probably be a dinghy trip to shore. If crabbing season is open: crab.

Late:

Check water depth, and the positions of the other boats in the anchorage. Turn on the anchor light. Check the temperature in the freezer, and give it another shot of runtime if necessary.

Retire.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

It usually takes 2 or 3 days to get me slowed down to the pace of the Earth. Until I get there, I am anxious and somehow unsatisfied.

But when I finally synchronize, there is an amazing peace.

The Rhythm of Life