Adaptive Curmudgeon

The winds were mild. Sometimes dropping to nothing. Occasionally picking up and sending my boat charging ahead. Not that I’m complaining that I had motive power, but I never got the hang of intermittent wind. I couldn’t completely relax when the air was dead. It seemed the very instant my attention faded would be the instant when she started another run. I dunno’ if that’s a thing I’ll eventually gain through experience or what?

I meant the boat to operate in light breezes and chose the sail plan with that in mind. It lived up to that design specification. A breeze that could scarcely blow out a birthday candle was all she needed to keep moving.

I started circling the lake in a big parallelogram traverse, orbiting an area of maybe a mile by a half mile. I tried coaxing more from the gusts but it’s not fun for me. I didn’t like to grab too hard at the sky. Better to give the mainsheet some slack, sail flat, and avoid drama.

I don’t have any gear to measure the wind so I tried calculating “birthday candle breezes” (BCB). It felt like a steady 2 BCB wind was plenty to bring my little craft up to “stupidly faster than canoe” speed… which is just the sweet spot I’ve been aiming for. It’s pretty heartening because I used to be a canoe guy. I was fearless with them and loved them but canoes are just damn slow so my bar is set low. (Also, I’ve no desire whatsoever to go fast. If I wanted to go fast I’d have bought a damn Jetski. In my mind, “exciting” sailing takes away from the magic of sailing. The pell mell full tilt lean that sail over and hang your ass off the high side to keep the bucking bronco under control slalom just turns me off.) I mostly managed the speed of “not annoying the loons” with zero drama. Steady 1 or 2 BCB winds could handle that easily.

Unfortunately, the breeze didn’t stay at 2 BCB. It died to zero often and with no warning. Nor did it stay at the same compass point when the breeze came back.

This year has been wetter than last. The lake didn’t seem any higher than the last time I was there but the water plants seemed… softer? Experimenting I sailed my ass straight into clusters of waterborne weeds. The boat would pivot as the weeds slowed us but if the wind was anything more than minimal the daggerboard could be coaxed to tear through them. I wound up dragging some weeds on my rudder and daggerboard but I didn’t care and they soon fell off anyway. (This is just one of many “what can this thing do” experiments I’ve done with my boat.)

With a canoe and calm conditions like these I can point straight across a lake and paddle toward a target like a slow but precise laser beam. My boat caught bits of wind here and there and often moved quite faster, but measured in terms of “am I going where I want to” I wasn’t much faster than a canoe at all. Then again, another 10% of wind would have me blasting out of my own shadow… so I still think I was doing well.

I snapped a few photos and it was gorgeous on the water. However, my GoPro has been giving me issues and I don’t like interacting with my cell phone when I ought to be in the moment. So, I didn’t get many pictures.

I wish I could have someone on shore take photos of my little boat. It looks pretty, but I can’t take a picture of what I’m already in. I started daydreaming of tripods and timers but then decided the world could live without more pretty photos.

There was a lake with a little boat and it looked like a pleasant dream. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

The boat was going more or less where I asked. Maybe not fast or directly, but it was getting there.

I decided to duck into a narrow channel to challenge myself. Not the best idea. The wind went from a hint of a breeze to dead calm. I stopped moving. Also, I was getting tired. I needed to get out and stretch.

I have oars but they’re hard to use when a sail is in the way. Finally I used my emergency collapsible paddle and splashed my random way toward a likely shore. This was a sloppy foolish looking mess but there was only one witness.

A loon paused from its fishing to watch me flounder by. It seemed entirely unconcerned as I approached; probably because I was moving at the speed of a tired snail.

This loon was super chill about my boat. About an hour later something (?) tried to eat it.

I got to shore and splashed out of the boat. This was a small victory. You can be forgiven for thinking that every inch of shore on a lake is suitable for landing a tiny boat. Not so! In some places the substrate under the water is muck. Locals sometimes call it loon-shit. Some of those deposits are pretty gross… pure organic goo that goes seemingly to the center of the earth. You know how sometimes a prehistoric “bog person” comes to attention in an Irish swamp? I don’t want to be that guy!

In this case the substrate was nice clean sand but it was littered with fallen tree trunks. It looked like a great place to fish but I’d left my fishing stuff back at camp. I slotted between two hull eating logs only to bonk my mast into an overhanging tree branch.

No worries. The little boat can handle a tree branch or three. I dropped the useless sail, tied up the hull, and then checked my knot like three times.

I was in a place where I’d be stuck for ages if the boat drifted away. I thought about this as I walked up the steep slope and away. When I was a teenager I could swim across a mile of lake easy enough. Now? Definitely not a mile. With a sore wrist? Best not to even entertain the idea… I went back down the slope and tied a second line and knot.

I was on a narrow spit of land. If I know my geography I’d say it was a glacially created esker… though it could be just coincidence. The area had been sheltered from fire and nicely drained due to the steep slope so it was a righteous little pine patch. There was another lake on the other side of the esker… the two bodies connected by the narrow channel where I’d gotten stuck in dead air.

The moss was so deep the walking was more like maneuvering on a green mattress than soil. I’m sure the place would have been inhuman a few weeks earlier during mosquito season. Thank God it had frozen them out a few days ago. There was nobody but me and the loons. It was beautiful and shaded and deep green. Yoda would have liked it there.

The loon I’d been watching was idling not far from my boat. Another loon showed up. I began scanning the opposite shore with my binoculars. Lots of fallen trees, the other side of the esker (maybe) showed logs that seemingly dropped steeply down into dark water. If I was a fish… that’s where I’d be.

Just then the first loon went absolutely berserk! I’ve never seen anything like it. It suddenly started squawking and tearing a hole in the lake and thrashing around. Loons don’t take off fast but this one flapped into the air like it had been punted. It looked for all the life of me as if something from below had grabbed it.

There’s basically nothing in this environment that can pull down a full sized loon but I know a pike will hit on anything if it gets the idea in its fishy mind. Did a big pike see a black loon foot and decide to go for it? I didn’t see a pike but unless there are Canadian alligators nearby I have no other theory. I don’t think I’ll skinny dip there!

After a snack and some water I was eager to get back. The sun was setting faster than I’d like. Unfortunately the wind was just nothing. A butterfly flapping it’s wings would be an improvement. I was at least a couple miles from the dock and my truck. This would be a challenge!

The boat isn’t hard to row but there’s a sail and rudder and daggerboard and rigging and you can only squeeze so much into the tiny area. I got clever. I tied up the sail to the boom and hoisted the fluffy mess with the haulyard. It was slightly above head level. To keep the boom more or less centered I tied the mainsheet to the rudder. A few years ago I installed little cleats and lines so I can clip the rudder port and starboard so it tracks mostly straight. Then I pulled the daggerboard and lifter the rudder mostly out of the water.

On paper it was genius. In practice, it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t ideal. My oars could do the job but it was clumsy at best. I rowed out to more or less the edge of the narrows. The wind picked up so I stowed the oars, and re-rigged as a sailing vessel. I caught a breeze and made some headway, but then it was gone.

The water turned glassy. Shit! Then it turned to 1 BCB and I sputtered into motion again. Unfortunately, I had to tack back and forth trying to inch toward the landing. It worked, somewhat. I’d move at walking speed on one tack until I was about to hit the shallow weeds near the wrong shore. Then I’d tack the other way at half walking speed until I was in the middle of the lake. Lather rinse repeat.

I worked across the lake and got 95% of the way to the landing. Then the wind died for well and good. The water was completely smooth… not a breath of wind. There was nothing I could do but repeat all my rigging efforts and row the last couple hundred yards, which I did.

Back at the dock I tied up, retrieved my utility trailer, and used the Dodge to sink it in a lake. I drifted the boat onto the trailer and got soaked to the knees. I drove up onto shore and by then the sun was really low. I retied everything so it would be safe it if got windy, unhitched the trailer, and left it there. Then I headed to camp.

Back at camp I was too tired to cook anything clever. I boiled water and dropped it into a freeze dried packet. It was a brand I wasn’t familiar with. The taste was incredible but the texture was awful. I think I won’t buy that brand again.

I grabbed some kindling for my little stove but didn’t light it. I just stashed it in the tent and hung up my soaked pants in case they might drip dry a little. I was exhausted. Uncharacteristically, I was in bed before the night was really in full swing. It was a great day. The boat took me more or less wherever I wanted to go. What more is there?

Note: I started today’s post with a photo of an gopher from this trip. That reminded me of a gopher story from a scamp/sail trip last year. Here’s a quote:

“Try it ya’ little bastard.” I hissed.

He didn’t back down. So that’s how it was going to be! I don’t take crap from humans and I sure as hell don’t take it from animals… I’ll throw down with a fuckin’ gopher if necessary.

This gopher joined me for breakfast and seemed happy to hang around while I read books. He had no fear of people at all.

OK, that’s enough gopher content for today. We return you now to your regularly scheduled post…

I’d heeded the demands of my aching wrist and battered joints. I’d wisely parked in a lawn chair and commenced to expending time. This would heal body (and also mind). I’ve nothing to prove to anyone so I would sit there and read from the library of paperbacks I’d bought.

“Sail?” Called my little boat, still strapped to my battered utility trailer.

“Sorry, Mr. Curmudgeon is taking a break.” I explained.

“Sail.” The little boat looked so cute on the trailer. Wrought of my hand and as practical as any sailboat that size, it wanted to get wet like an otter in the desert.

“Gonna’ read.” I grunted.

“Sail!” The boat implored.

I ignored it. Then the wind shifted. Just a mild breeze. Barely enough to fill a sail… but enough. I could smell the lake only ½ mile away. The scent drilled into my mind. So many happy memories. A lifetime of canoes, and campsites, and fish, and now my trusty little boat. I’m a lucky man. I smelled all that on the wind.

I put down my book, popped an ibuprofen, and started limbering up.

“Sail?” Asked the boat.

“Yep, lets go.”

Nobody made me do a damn thing but I’d been compelled by my own wanderlust. Ten minutes later I was at the more or less empty boat ramp. I haven’t sailed in a while and it took me a while to sort the rigging. Boom, mast, haulyard, mainsheet, etc… There’s a lot of knowledge wrapped in even the smallest sailing craft.

There was one guy at the ramp pulling out an aluminum fishing boat. I glanced in case he needed a hand but his wife was guiding him and they had an easy way of working together that indicated they had their shit together. When a husband and wife can launch or retrieve a boat working as a team; that’s a solid marriage.

Soon he was up at the parking area where I was still sorting lines. His boat had an antique Evinrude motor that sparked my fancy.

My boat caught his eye too. It was probably the only sailing craft to hit this lake all year. One thing I learned about boats is that whole eras’ and generations’ and encyclopedias’ worth of knowledge went out the window when piston driven outboard motors came into being. People sense that. They can tell something is lost. A home-built sailing craft was once mundane. Now it’s as uncommon as 35mm photography. The normal thing, now long replaced, still hints at its own magic.

We chatted about boats. Him about his motor rebuild project and I about my homemade plywood craft. His wife had disappeared. She was filleting fish.

“Your wife fillets the fish?” I was impressed.

“Yep, I’m not a big fan of fish dinners.” He didn’t see my awe.

“Any woman who’ll fillet a fish is a keeper.” I offered.

He grinned like a man who’d just been reminded how lucky he was.

I was nervous as hell. I’m always nervous when I sail. I’m not sure why but it’s a true thing. My sailboat has no motor. Once you put it on the water, it has a vote in all that happens afterwards. Just as a motorcycle is not a horse, a motorboat is not a sailboat. There’s a difference between flowing with the wind and using gas power to simply force a thing to happen. I was about to head out on a lake solo. I would have not the slightest hint of backup. (Not that I ever do.) There’s just so many things that can go wrong.

But the rigging was just about done and there was no point in procrastination. I hoisted the sail in the parking lot and it sure looked grand! I checked and rechecked everything. The guy’s wife showed up with a plate of fillets. She loved the brave little sailboat she found there.

It is nice to have help at launch and both of them eagerly offered to assist. All they did was hold the bow line while I drove my long suffering utility trailer into the lake to float the boat. With a tug it floated free and the fellow held the line while I parked the truck. (As an aside: if I were a truck company that wanted to encourage people to beat the hell out trucks so I could sell replacements… I’d give away boats. Even the tiniest boat ramp into a remote forested lake is the best chance you’ll get to trash your truck. It’s never happened to me but I’m keenly aware of the possibilities.)

I came jogging back and gingerly hopped in the little craft. The husband gave a mighty shove while the wife beamed. The wind had died and I drifted stupidly some 20 yards beyond the dock. I fretted over the daggerboard and mainsheet and spun in helpless circles. So much for departing with class.

Then the tiniest breath of wind…

…that’s the part that’s magic.

My boat only needs a small breeze to begin moving. Once it’s moving, even if it’s slowly, it’s a controllable craft; graceful even. It went from stupid plywood block to perky little craft. I shifted, adjusted the sail, and swished out onto the lake at the speed of brisk striding.

The nice couple waved to me from the dock and left. I’ll probably never see them again.

I scanned the lake from horizon to horizon. No boats of any sort. Nobody on shore. I was the only one there.

There’s more to come…

I was at a generic National Forest Campsite. I wanted to “dispersed camp” which usually has me absolutely alone. But had wisely lowered my ambitions when the pack-up and drive out phase of the trip had gone into extra innings.

At camp, people did as people always do and got up before me. Humans are herd animals. I could hear them warbling to each other and clattering about. It sounded like a thousand morons all trying to fold wet tents at once… which is basically what it was. Somewhere a cranky infant cried as it was hustled out of bed and packed into a car.

I got up and looked outside. It was foggy. There was drizzle and intermittent little showers. It was maybe 40 degrees (I didn’t bring a thermometer). Everything was soaked with dew or rain. Even inside my tent there was a certain degree of condensation on the walls. Anyone trying to make breakfast in this slop would be soaked in minutes. People around me were trying to shake off tents and stuff them in cars… they’d almost certainly have to dry out their gear in their respective garages that evening.

I was mildly hungover. Fuck this! I pissed on a bush and went back into my tent.

The clammy refrigerator feel was not at all to my liking. I felt worn out and my joints ached. I decided to light a fire in my little stove. I’d never used the stove in temperatures above 20. I was worried it would roast me out.

There’s a bit of a learning curve to use the stove. Don’t get me wrong, the stove is amazing! Great quality, superb design, but using it is a skill that takes practice (just like any other task). For one thing, the stove’s front opening is like 10” high. That seems hardly noticeable when you’re playing around with new gear but let me tell you, when you’re hung over in a foggy cold morning you don’t want to be shoving your head down near the wet grass. (I had removed the tent’s zip out floor.)

I stuffed pallet wood into the firebox. I lit it in a half assed way but it didn’t catch. No way was I going to roam around the campground looking for kindling; pine needles or whatever. I might meet people. I was in no condition to make eye contact with wet shitheads who made noise to wake me up. Instead, I threw in a handful of potato chips.

That did it! She caught and soon there was a merry fire. The draft was excellent. I throttled it down and fiddled with the tent’s windows. How much to open and how much to close? I had no idea. Meanwhile fellow campers continued to make sounds that reminded me of a penguin rookery. I opened both little windows partially to vent (but still screened in case any mosquitoes were still alive). Then I opened ¼ of one door but left the camouflage privacy screen in place. No innocent camper needs to see some drunk woodsman’s junk! (Side note: the UP2 tent has screen that’ll stop the smallest bug but it’s also camouflage and designed so you can’t see the person inside. I’d guess you’d call that “privacy camouflage”? I’ve never had a tent with that feature. It’s just one a thousand nice details.)

Privacy camouflage screen.

I fretted. Would I roast out or would I…. Zzzzzzzzz

Almost in mid sentence I was out cold. Sleeping like a baby. I was warm and toasty like I was being baked in fresh bread.

I was out for hours. By the time I was fully awake it was nearly 10 am! Now that had been a good snooze!

It had been good timing too. The skies had cleared, the fog had dissipated, the drizzle had quit, and the tent was bone dry inside and out. Even more importantly, 80% of the campers who’d annoyed me at dawn were gone. What’s with that? Why do people struggle to find time to go camping only to break camp at dawn in the rain?

Not my circus, not my monkeys.

I percolated coffee and took some Tylenol. Hopefully it would help with the sore wrist. I’d greatly exacerbated it over the previous day and then layered it with the subtle flavors of a mild hangover.

I tossed bacon and eggs on the picnic table and dug through my canned goods. I found a can of “tomatoes ready for chili”. No idea what that was. I assumed it would go with eggs. I also found an onion which, inexplicably, I’d put in the cooler.

God loves us and the reason I know this is that my breakfast was amazing. The tomatoes had some spicy stuff in them (probably red chilies?) that made my eggs soar! I started with bacon first, to grease my little iron skillet. Then I poured most (but not all) of the grease on the fire. Time to be happy I wasn’t quite in grizzly country. (There are black bears in the area but they’re avidly hunted. Also every redneck in the county is armed to the teeth. Thus, the bears behave with all due decorum. There’s a lesson in that.)

In the bacon grease I sautéed some diced onion, then I added tomatoes, then a bit later I added the eggs. I’d have added the bacon which I’d cooked to perfection. But I’d already gobbled the bacon down while cooking the eggs. No regrets, it was delicious! Between the percolated coffee, the perfect bacon, and the ideal egg concoction I wound up feeling like a king. It was the best meal I’ve had in weeks!

The winds were calm (too calm for sailing) and my wrist wasn’t happy. Plus I was just generally beat. Rigging the boat is work and sailing it is both mental strain and physical effort. I’d brought paperbacks to read and a screen tent (unnecessary since it turns out the mosquitoes have been mostly froze out). Maybe just read?

In the end I was simply too inspired by my surroundings and tasty breakfast. I brought out my little Alphasmart NEO and typed some more of Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. And you thought I wasn’t thinking of y’all?

Pending review and maybe some finishing touches I think the next chapter might have just come together! Could anything be more appropriate than fiction typed by a hungover guy sipping coffee at a picnic table?

Stay tuned…

Having burned a week’s pay before my first cup of coffee, I grabbed my tent and headed for the truck. I was immediately crushed. There was ¼ ton of shingles in the truck bed! Shit!

Bad wrist or not I had no solution but to empty the truck. It didn’t take long but wore me out something fierce. Then I loaded the truck with my heavy Russian Bear Market UP2 tent and the accompanying woodstove and all sorts of stuff that’s overkill for mild autumn weather.

Not a backpacking tent.

Screen tent and oars for scale. (I didn’t need the screen tent. The mosquitoes are mostly dead.)

It seemed like a whole lot of gear but there’s a method to my madness. I like to test things before it matters. Especially because a complex tent that could burn down with me in it has a bigger learning curve than my simple summer tent.

Not only that but bringing a sailboat entails a whole different level of “gotta’ have it” equipment. The boat has a million little components. Forgetting any one of them will kibosh the whole attempt. Life vest, oars, detachable rudder, etc… I racked my brains trying to remember all the stuff I’d need.

I almost forgot the mast! It had been sitting on hangers in my shop all year just patiently collecting dust. (As an aside, the mast is one of the things I’ve built of which I’m most proud. If you’re the sort who pines to build a boat… begin today. It’ll be one of the best things you’ve ever done.)

Mast lashed to cargo rack.

The sail, yard, and boom are all wrapped up and stuffed in a sewer pipe I mounted to the truck roof. I hadn’t opened that pipe in a year! For all I know there’s a dead rotten mouse in there that ate half the sail before it died. Rather than open it and inspect it and risk crushing disappointment, I just trusted that I’d made the sewer pipe carrier very well and left it closed.

Having loaded everything in the truck bed, I hitched my trailer to carry the boat and…. SHIT!

The trailer was filled with crap shingles from the roof project. Before my wrist gave out I’d removed a couple hundred pounds of old shingles and dumped them in the trailer!

Ok Curmudgeon, you can deal with this. Just be patient and get ‘er done…

Also, one of the magnetic trailer tail lights was nuked because of course it was. I apparently dropped a load of old shingles on it. So I drove to the dump planning for only left turns and hoping the cops wouldn’t give me shit. I emptied the trailer

Then I swung by where I get my pallet wood for free. (I’ve been bringing nail free “processed” pallet wood on campouts and it’s a genius solution.) They’d “cleaned house” by burning it all up. The horror!

Then I stopped at a NAPA for magnetic lights. $91 for magnetic lights? Fuck them!

By now I was getting a teeny tiny bit frustrated. “Fuck everything,” I seethed, “I wanna’ get out of here!”

Back home I still had to flip the boat myself… alone… with a sore wrist.

It wasn’t easy and it wasn’t fast but I did it. It was one of those “easy for two guys, physics conundrum for one strapping young lad, damn near impossible puzzle for a one winged injured geezer” problems.

Halfway there…

It doesn’t look bad for it’s age and sitting outdoors and uncovered all winter.

It took almost two hours to get the boat’s cradle into the utility trailer, the mast lashed to the truck roof, the boat flipped over, moved to the trailer, slid onto the cradle, and strapped down (the old straps are pretty shot). I arranged the defunct lights as if they worked. (I was hoping for plausible deniability; “Gosh officer it worked when I left my house.”)

I grabbed what’s left of my palette wood and rolled out. I decided to camp somewhere simple. No “adventurous” dispersed camping after the day I’d been having!

En route to the campsite (it was a long drive!), I bought new straps and new lights and a toolbag to hold them. All three added up to less than $91!

I also picked up a bottle of liquor. I didn’t care how much it cost, I damn well had earned it.

I didn’t bother installing any of the lights or straps, I just put the parts in my truck. “Gosh officer, I just bought new lights and plan to install them once I get to camp.” (Which would be true, in case it actually matters.)

I had brought a 99% empty cooler (The cooler had one packet of home raised bacon and an onion. Nothing more!) Amid my gear I’d brought some random canned goods, my “don’t leave home without it” supply of coffee, and a few dehydrated meals.

I stopped at a grocery store for fresh provisions. I had a revelation… people buy meat. I almost exclusively eat that I raise or hunt. I sometimes forget the simple obvious solution of buying meat. I wanted something simple and tasty so I picked up $15 worth of beef kabobs. (The price per pound about floored me. I don’t get out much and inflation never sleeps!)

I also grabbed some eggs, a bag of ice, and a pack of cookies. I didn’t have any specific plans but I had enough components to “wing it”.

I really wanted to stop at McDonalds. I was starving. But it was getting late. There was no time left if I wanted to get to camp in time. I’d been loading shit into and out of my truck for hours!

I ate potato chips and drove. Driving wasn’t helping my sore wrist but what are ya’ gonna’ do? I got to camp before the sun set… barely.

In a rush lest I lose all remaining light, I erected my tent. I even installed the wood stove (unnecessary but one needs to practice these things).

In case you’re a camper too I’ll offer handy details; I’d setup possibly one of the most bad ass tents in creation; a Russian Bear Market UP2 with the Caminus M woodstove.

Warning: These are not normal tents! Russian Bear Market doesn’t sell “weekend at the park” equipment and it doesn’t charge Walmart prices. Don’t even think of clicking on the link unless you’re prepared to see prices that will bend your understanding of space and time. Add that to the price disturbances of yet another dipshit land war in the area that (fortunately) froze out both Napoleon and Hitler’s plans for world domination. Then layer in the inflation of the Bidenverse. Eventually you’re looking at numbers that will break your heart and kick your soul in the nuts. Also, this gear is massive overkill for a “normal” person. If you’re the sort of guy who wouldn’t rule out hunting polar bears while camping solo on an ice floe in Greenland… well then click away. If you think you’re tough because you wear REI hiking socks to the mall, steer clear!

This is a badass tent. Overkill compared to regular equipment; perfect for my plans.

The UP2 setup is not the sub 15 minute brilliance my summertime system but it’s impressively fast; especially considering I wasn’t so much setting up a tent than deploying a fabric fortress. I think I took 45 minutes in total (counting the stove and chimney). I could probably shave that down to half an hour with a little practice; maybe even faster.

Having finished the tent, stove, cot, bedding, and other details, I tossed some pallet wood into my trusty folding stove (outside and not in the tent!) and lit a match. I poured a cup of liquor, sipped it, and took a deep breath…

The world was new again.

I’d made it!

I’d persevered until the mundane world gave up fucking with me. I could almost hear my soul breathing a sigh of relief.

I lit my lantern and let the fire die down as the sun set. I sat in a little circle of light in the vast dark forest. I’d attained a moment where no other concerns were pressing on me. I was at peace. (*Note, while my tent is astronomically expensive and may go higher. Meanwhile, the lantern I bought this spring has gone down in price. Go figure.)

The kebabs were delicious. I cooked them on my grill with almost no effort. I ate in the dark and began to recover. I’d brought enough kebabs for two nights but ate them both right away.

I’d made is. I kept thinking how grateful I was to be there. Escape velocity had been attained. How lucky I am that I didn’t give up.

I didn’t light the fire in the tent’s woodstove. It wasn’t necessary. I kept drinking bourbon and eating steak until the moon rose. Then, perhaps a bit tipsy, I crashed on my cot. It doesn’t necessarily make sense that you’ve got to drive far away from your house and sit in a lawn chair next to a fabric shelter to attain peace… but that doesn’t make it less true.

Stay tuned…

A moment of peace.

Absolutely everything went wrong. Cascading stupid shit hounded me for several weeks. I was (almost comically) derailed at every juncture. I soldiered on. Eventually, it all worked out.

Is there no better summation of life?

A couple weeks ago I was all set to go camping… and then didn’t. Everything went pear shaped. The dog had a minor medical issue, the roof had a leak, one of my vehicles had a breakdown, and I inflicted a minor injury on my wrist. The universe just wasn’t going to let it happen. My plans were solidly curbstomped.

The good news is I found a roofer guy to fix my roof. I’ve been calling all over creation for years. Nobody works anymore. Shortly after my roof leaked (turning things from “gotta’ be done eventually” to “urgent”) someone called back! He came to my house and helped me nail a tarp over the leaking roof. (Classy!)

I was given instructions to buy what seems like too much materials and he left. (It’s only a small area. I think he over-estimated materials but what do I know?) Over the weekend, in lieu of camping, I made the purchase. The guy was going to come by sometime in the upcoming week so I had to hurry! I left the shingles in my truck.

While I cooled my jets waiting for the roofer guy I attacked another long delayed project. My boat has been languishing on sawhorses since Memorial Day! I put a shade tarp over the boat and used the minimally sheltered area to slather a coat of oil based topside paint on the hull. My injured wrist complained but I solved the situation through denial and ibuprofen. The coat of paint (including the many thistles and bugs that got stuck in the paint) should help keep her safe from the creeping decay that takes out so many plywood creations.

I only did the bottom of the hull. I figured when the guy came to fix the roof later in the week I’d ask him to help me flip the boat. Then I’d do the rest.

Dude ghosted me!

I decided to go camping/sailing on the next weekend even if the boat was only half ready. The roof was under a tarp and that was “good enough”. More importantly there wasn’t much I could do about it. Also, I needed some outdoor time. I hadn’t been sleeping well and needed headspace.

There’s a nip in the air and summer is fleeting. I would only get a few more chances before sailing season was gone. Mindful of the upcoming snow, I decided to test some winter stuff when it’s “that’s nice to have” rather than “fuck up and you freeze” weather.

As an aside, I live in the north and the winters are brutal. Each fall is a special time. I sniff a chill in the air and get the reminder; memento mori. “Remember that you die.” Maybe it’s not a happy thing but it’s an important thing. I feel like brutal winters serve a purpose. They teach me to live while I can; perhaps a more mellow climate would have me frittering life away with my engine idling and my transmission in park? In this case, I had a choice between homestead chores and recreation; with winter approaching I simply had to go! There will come a time when such decisions are already made and part of an irreversible past. When they plant my ass I wanna’ know I enjoyed the world as much as my limited lifespan allowed; the roof is just a roof.

I planned for a mellow extended weekend. Perhaps sleep late before hitting the road? Alas, I was rousted out of bed with before dawn. The phone rang: “I’ll come over for a check. Be there in five.” I had no idea who the hell it was.

Trying desperately to guess which of many workers on several stalled projects had called me, I stumbled to the coffee pot. It wasn’t the roofer guy nor was it my mechanic (who went off on a Jeepin’ Week). Who else was on the list of people who ghosted me?

It was the window guy. He’d vanished in late spring. He’s a good fellow. I have some windows that are shot. (Actually all of my house windows are shot.) I’ve been trying to replace windows a bit at a time as I can afford it. I pick some windows each year and hurl money until they are fixed. Damn but it’s expensive! Perhaps in a decade or so they’ll all be done. Doing it all at once would break me!

The window guy had taken measurements on some (just a few!) of my windows, planned an order, claimed to have made the order, and then vanished… for months!

I expected the delay. In the modern world of post “just in time delivery” windows are custom made by faeries in magic-land. They certainly aren’t made locally and lets face it… is anything physically made by anyone anymore? Since nobody has a regular job, regular things like windows aren’t made in the ample supply we took for granted in “the before times”.

Delightfully, the order had finally arrived. The materials were at a nearby lumber yard. Now the dude’s was urgently rushing to pay for materials he’d ordered months ago. Back in the old universe, as recently as 2019, I’d have placed an order myself, paid with credit card, and gotten delivery in a jiffy. Regardless of anyone’s opinion about it; the world of business collapsed up here in the hinterland long ago. We’re edging into Mad Max territory but with a lot more congeniality and fewer oiled up Australian body builders. Also, it feels like the Mad Max warriors of the wastelands had a larger supply of welders and infinitely better mechanics than what’s available for my homestead.

Getting windows in under a six month wait is good news. It’s no longer “ridiculously slow” and drifts into “thank God it happened at all”. Unfortunately, the guy showed up at my door with his arm in a sling. Literally, like “fell off a ladder” broke. Daaaaaamn! I’m not the only guy dealing with injuries. We both hope the windows are installed by snowfall. He did a similar job a few years ago and his workmanship is excellent.

So yeah, I started the weekend by sleepily handing a check to a not-quite stranger and hoping it goes towards windows and not meth. Trust is a part of all transactions… so I’m stuck trusting. I’m reasonably assured it will work out. If not, I’ll go to his house and kick his ass. If my check bounces I assume he’ll do the same to me. (I wouldn’t have it any other way.)

I miss the old world of receipts and prompt delivery according to written schedules but it’s unwise to wait for what will never be again. One must deal with the society that is, not the one that once was and has fallen; nor should we wait for the imagined future that will never arrive. Rome on the Potomac has fallen as surely as the true Rome of yore did in the 5th century; might as well roll with it.

Before y’all get pedantic on me about the window guy, both of us are doing taxes and such. It’s completely aboveboard… and so are the lumberyard and window factory. We’re all legit people. It’s just that nobody has the “float” to do it smoothly and orderly like the old days of 3 years ago.

Stay tuned…