Spring Sailing 2021: Part 10: Ticks And Treats

[Where was I before events in the winter of 2022 poleaxed the story arc of memories from the spring of 2021? Oh yeah, I was in heaven; snoozing in the sun on a distant shore to which I’d sailed in my own boat. We begin again…]

I was justly proud of myself. I’d sailed under less than ideal conditions yet had managed enough skill to get by. I’d made the boat go where I wanted, stayed dry, and had fun. The boat had done as instructed; a credit to it’s design and a humble nod to adequate construction. I had maintained control; at least up to some basic definition of “control”.

In hindsight I realize I’d sailed past a stuck canoe and a frustrated motorboat without undue drama of my own. I was miles from my start and had paddled or towed only a tiny bit.

For a novice sailor in a tiny homemade boat, I was doing well.

Way back years ago, when this whole sailing idea took root, this was my plan. I’d sail to where I wanted to be, enjoy nature in some quiet cove or island, and return.

In this, the most pessimistic of times, I have a word of encouragement. Almost everything that matters is just as reasonable and probable now as it was long ago and as it will be years from now. Such it has been since time began. In my case, the day’s journey was about a boat and water… things as old as mankind itself. This is a good thing to keep in the forefront of your mind. One can succeed at a personal goal even as society shoots itself in the foot while shrieking that all is lost. Never forget; you are your own universe.

Also, when you succeed, take time to rejoice. It is just as important to recognize when you have succeeded as it is to acknowledge when you have failed.

Sailboats encourage philosophy.

I’d done what I wanted to do… well not all of it. My initial goal was to sail somewhere and camp there. This aspect seems less important with time. My tent was still back near the Dodge. Once I might have been appalled as the indignity but now I’m OK with it. Regardless, I’d done each part of the challenge.

I may level up to doing them sequentially, and maybe I’ll spend a few days at a time “at sea” while camping; or perhaps not. I certainly appreciate potable water from a tap as opposed to sipping filtered lake water. Further, my fat ass is quite happy with my big American sized cot. Tastes evolve with time.

Still basking in the glory of it all, I sent off a few SATCOM messages. “I’m at location X, all is well.” I snapped a “selfie” with me and my bag of chips. I thought about fishing from shore but the wind made it seem unwise. Maybe I need to carry a harmonica? Could I learn to play one? Do I care to?

Ah the happy thoughts of a happy camper.

Soon I was back to my normal self. There is always “work” to do and things to learn. I never go anywhere without “scouting”. That is, I try to check out things so I have firsthand knowledge for future use. Does this camp have plentiful firewood? Does that ridge have a breeze to ward off mosquitoes?

This campsite was great. It had a lean to… which is sweet! It also had an outhouse which is a good thing. And it’s on a trail. Suppose I nuked my sailboat? I think I could hike my ass right out of here.

I wandered a quarter mile up the trail. There was another campsite, it appeared occupied so I stopped and filtered back into the woods. There are two sorts of people in the forest; the most common sort is the fellow who’ll charge ahead to meet any other person they see, the less common sort will pass by with a polite but silent nod; or without being noticed at all. I didn’t want to disturb people who are having their own fun time.

The trail leading the other way was a bit rocky; “carting” my boat here is an impossibility. Oh well, it was not bad for hiking or backpacking. Within the realm of a macho portage but not for a nutcase with a sailboat. The way here is the obvious one… across two lakes and a shallow winding strait. Good to know. I will return.

A less welcome observation; the trail was infested with ticks. I don’t like those little fuckers. Ticks carry diseases and get a little up close and personal with one’s bloodstream for my comfort. Depending on the location, you might pick up Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever or Lyme Disease or who knows what else. Also they’re, and this is a technical term, “icky”.

Lucky for me I’m prepared for such things. I habitually wear tick-proof clothes. I was wearing treated jeans and socks. Treated clothes are not cheap but they’re not outlandishly expensive either. They’re worth every penny. Several times I saw a tick brush off a twig, land on my jeans, and immediately hop off. It’s like having a magic spell against ticks. Nice! If you can afford them, I heartily recommend tick proof garments.

Even so, the bastards were everywhere. I got two in my beard!

I had plans to hike the whole trail, from docked boat to vehicular access. Instead I recorded the trail on my “don’t hike there in spring” mental list. Back at the campsite I did a tick check that wouldn’t be appropriate in mixed company. You do what you gotta do. Nature is like that. I found two more. None had “bit”, they were still crawling around when I flicked them to their certain doom in the lake. I hope a trout eats ‘em!

I hated to leave. I was at the summit of a proverbial mountain and didn’t relish going back. I took many photos. I dug into my stash of “treats” and ate all sorts of beef jerky and whatnot I save for special celebrations. I even tossed a few bits of cracker to a few fish hanging out in the shade of my little boat. But the sun was heading for the horizon. I couldn’t wait forever.

With reluctance, I shoved off. Something interesting happened on the trip back… nothing. No shit! I can’t remember a darned thing about it. It’s like mother nature threw every sailing lesson at me on the way out but on the way back it was all easy peasy. I don’t remember fretting over reefing the sail. I don’t recall if I kept it reefed or not. I don’t recall a walk of shame in the narrows on the way back. I think I might have sailed right through without ever stopping? Who can say. The only witness was me and I don’t remember.

For the sake of clarity, and because I have no evidence to the contrary, I’ll assume I sailed all the way back like a boss. It’s my memory (or lack thereof) so why not?