7 Signs That I May Be Anal-Retentive

1. I have a picture of a Flemish coil on the wall in my dining room.
   
   
2. I have kept an accurate running diary since 24 December 1990, with details of how long I ran each day, route, weather etc. etc. etc.
   
   
3. I once wrote to the editors of the Oxford English Dictionary to point out an error in their definition of "water".
   
   
4. I have a copy of every version of the Racing Rules of Sailing going back to 1981.
   
   
5. I once wrote to Dick Rose to point out that there was a logical error in the wording of one of the US Sailing Prescriptions to the Racing Rules.
   
   
6. I've just looked up "anal-retentive" to see if it needs a hyphen.
   
   
7. I always leave one blank line at the end of every blog post. Never less than one. Never more than one. Just one. I have no idea why.
   

Romilly

Tillerwoman and I went for a walk this morning along the side of our river, the Sakonnet, and came across a boat for sale on a trailer on someone's front lawn. To be honest this is not an unusual sight in these uncertain economic times but this boat really caught my eye.

At first glance it looked like a classic wooden boat but on closer examination I realised it was constructed of GRP, but in a way that avoided that "plastic boat" look. And the spars that appeared to be wooden were really carbon fiber. Hmmm.

It was a Nigel Irens design, a Romilly. I'd never heard of it before. A 22 ft. lugger yawl. Cast iron centerboard. Small two-berth cuddy cabin. I guess you could call it a family day sailer but it would be a pretty cool family day sailer.



Hmmm. I envisaged sailing around the bay with family members. Hopping over to Jamestown or perhaps a longer trip around Buzzards Bay. Sleeping on the boat overnight would be like camping for sure but that would be half the fun.

As I examined the boat and dreamed of what I would do with a Romilly, Tillerwoman was making comments like, "The beds must be be very small," and, "It won't fit in the garage." She doesn't find boats very romantic, it seems...

I was tempted, very tempted. This would be a fine boat for taking grandchildren for sailing trips. The asking price was more or less equivalent to four new Lasers. But even so....

We carried on with our walk. I must resist the temptation. Repeat to self, "I am a Laser sailor. I am a Laser sailor. I am a Laser sailor."

Sakonnet River

Today, the last Sunday in September, is World Rivers Day.

Celebrate World Rivers Day and celebrate the greatest little river in the whole world, the Sakonnet River.



The Sakonnet River is only 14 miles long and, strictly speaking, it's not a river at all; it's a tidal strait. But all the modern maps and charts call it the Sakonnet River so I'm submitting it as my entry for World Rivers Day.

The Sakonnet is my river. It stretches from Mount Hope Bay (aka My Bay) in the north to where it meets the open ocean at Sakonnet Lighthouse on Rhode Island Sound. On the river's west side is Aquidneck Island, and on its east side are the mainland Rhode Island towns of Tiverton and Little Compton. It is the easternmost of the three north-south waterways that form the southern part of the Narragansett Bay system.

Of those three passages it is arguably the most beautiful, being bordered on both sides by some of the most rural scenery in Narragansett Bay. And, of the three, it is certainly the least crowded with hardly any commercial traffic, except for the occasional fishing boat, and usually only a handful of pleasure boats. For most of its length the river is between one and two miles wide. In the northern half of the river the water is usually flat, but near the mouth of the river in a southerly or southwesterly breeze there can be some long rolling waves that create perfect downwind surfing conditions. All in all, one of the best spots in the world for dinghy sailing.



US Sailing obviously agrees with me. The last US Olympic Trials for Lasers and Laser Radials were held near the mouth of the Sakonnet, launching from the nearby sheltered cove of Third Beach. This was also the site of one of my best regattas last year, Not Throwing in the Towel, and where Fat Boy and Little Man had some fun in awesome waves a few weeks later.



The middle section of the river is dominated by the peninsula of Fogland which sticks out from the eastern shore like a huge fist on a skinny arm. This provides two great options for small boat launching. Fogland Beach on the south side of the peninsula is a gently sloping pebble and sand beach perfect for launching a Laser off a dolly. But if the winds from the south are too stiff to make it tricky to launch from this side, then I just drive over to the rocky north side of Fogland where I can launch into a sheltered cove. Accounts of sailing both sides of Fogland can be found at Fogland Fartlek and David Atlas, J.S. Marshall, R.H. Douglas, Walter Palmer 79th Sail.



At the northern end of the Sakonnet River there is a narrower, busier section between the towns of Tiverton and Portsmouth with a large mooring field, several marinas, shops, cafes etc. The tides run faster here and there is none of the more rural atmosphere of the southern stretches. I don't bother with Laser sailing around here.

The river is steeped in history being the site of an historic amphibious invasion and the home of a famous queen. On its shores are three vineyards, and I can personally recommend Sakonnet Vineyards as a perfect spot for a picnic lunch on a summer Sunday. The rural lanes on the eastern shore are some of my favorite places around here for running and cycling.

The river is popular with windsurfers (especially at Fogland) and with kayakers. One of the most interesting spots for kayakers to explore is Seapowet Marsh just north of Fogland.

The river has two yacht clubs, Tiverton Yacht Club and the Sakonnet Yacht Club. They don't have much of the kind of sailing that interests me right now, but it's good to know that they are there if I want to try something different. There is even a Model Yacht Racing Club right at the north end of the river. I ran into them one day when I was out cycling and found a dozen or so old geezers like me racing RC Solings around some buoys. Looked like they were having a lot of fun.

There are also (at least) two blogs, not counting this one, about living the good life here on the shores of the Sakonnet. Sustainable Sakonnet has a focus on environmental issues and Sogkonnite Living is mainly about cooking our delicious local produce.

How's that for 14 miles? What other river has so much packed into such a short stretch?

Thanks to Captain JP for challenging us to blog about our favorite river for World Rivers Day.

Lighthouses on Saturday

On Monday, the day after my disastrous encounter with the Little Weed, I decided that a gentle walk would be good for my injured back. So Tillerwoman and I drove down to Little Compton and went for a walk along the beach at Sakonnet Point, the southernmost tip of this part of the Rhode Island mainland.

In the afternoon sunshine Sakonnet Lighthouse, several hundred yards offshore on Little Cormorant Rock, looked spectacular. Not only does Sakonnet Light have an interesting history, it even has its own poem...

The lighthouse, like a soldier dressed,
Looks out into the glowing west,
With shining helmet, coat of mail
By day, by night, he greets each sail,
And, Hail, Sakonnet! each replies
Across the waves, 'neath arching skies.
If on these rocks you did not stand,
Death signs would mark the peaceful strand.
So hail! bright beacon of the night,
Hail, aud thrice hail, Sakonnet Light!

The walk was good for my spirits... but did my back no good whatsoever.

Off With Her Head

As I was saying before I was interrupted by the weed incident, one of my favorite local runs is around Nanaquaket Pond. One of the reasons that I enjoy running so much is that it frees up the mind to wander in all sorts of directions. Hell, you have to think about something while you are pounding out the miles.

Running along Nanaquaket Neck, the narrow strip of land between Nanaquaket Pond and the Sakonnet River, always seems to trigger off some weird chain of thought for me. Must be all the ghosts...

In the mid-1600's most of this whole area was was heavily wooded, but on Nanaquaket Neck the local Native Americans, the Pocassets, had cleared the trees and were cultivating maize, beans and pumpkins and pasturing their cattle. The leader or sachem of the Pocassets was a woman, Queen Weetamoo.

Weetamoo might have led a untroubled life with her people here on the shores of the Sakonnet if it hadn't been for those dastardly English. Relations with the colonists had started off well enough. Massasoit, the native who participated in the first Thanksgiving feast with the Pilgrims, was in fact Weetamoo's father-in-law.

But those dastardly English messed things up, as usual. Having escaped England to find religious freedom in a new land, they immediately set out to impose their particular brand of religion on others. In some places, not too far from here, the native Americans were "encouraged" to renounce their native language, ceremonies, beliefs, traditional dress and customs and to effectively become "Red" Puritans living in so-called Praying Towns where they had to live by special "Rules of Conduct for the Praying Indians" which forbade such simple pleasures as a woman letting her hair hang loose or walking around with naked breasts. Those Massachusetts people are such killjoys!

Of course the dastardly English also wanted access to the best land, and Nanaquaket Neck with its fertile gardens and pastures must have been extremely tempting. Some English dude called Richard Morris apparently "bought" some parcels of land around here from the Indians during a downturn in the local real estate market and then (by the usual political machinations one assumes) managed to persaude the government of Plymouth Bay Colony to recognize him as the owner of all of Nanaquaket Neck by 1659.

Peaceful co-existence might still have been possible if it had not been for the unfortunate incident in 1662 when Weetamoo's husband Wamsutta went off to Plymouth to discuss some treaty issues with the dastardly English and then mysteriously died on the way home. The conspiracy theorists in the local population immediately assumed that Wamsutta had been poisoned by the dastardly English, and Weetamoo was naturally pretty ticked off about the whole situation. Apparently nobody thought to call in CSI to solve the case.

Wamsutta's brother, who went by the rather quaint name for an Indian of "King Philip", was pretty pissed off too and some years later things erupted into all-out war between the local natives and the dastardly English. King Philip secured naming rights for the war and, somewhat selfishly, decided to call it King Philip's War.

Weetamoo led a band of 300 warriors in King Philip's War and for a while things were going well for the home team. But then the dastardly English got their act together and started beating the natives by pioneering such counter-insurgency strategies as no-bid outsourcing to military contractors, bribing the opposition to change sides, and running up a huge tax deficit for future generations.

Weetamoo was drowned in the Taunton River in 1676 while trying to escape from the dastardly English. When her body washed ashore in Swansea they chopped off her head and displayed it on a pike in Taunton for a while. This was not as brutal as it sounds as it was fairly standard operating procedure in those days among the dastardly English to chop off the heads of kings and queens they didn't like, often while they were still alive...

Where was I? Where am I? What the hell is this story doing on a sailing blog?

Oh yes, I was running along the same ground where Weetamoo and her people grew their beans and pumpkins all those centuries ago. I thought you might be interested in the story. I mean, how many other small New England towns have their own headless queen?

Cheat the Chiropractor - Get High on Your Laser

Thanks to everyone who kindly suggested remedies for my recent back injury. Given the title of that post, Little Weed, I guess it's not surprising that a couple of commenters suggested that "a little weed" might indeed provide some relief for my condition.

Hmmm. I suppose it might work. And, as chance would have it, I do have the good fortune to live in one of the US states where medical marijuana is legal. On the other hand, it does not appear that "painkiller for lower back injury sustained doing light gardening in order that patient may go Laser sailing" is yet on the list of conditions for which a prescription of cannabis is approved.

I might have to lie to my doctor to obtain the weed.

According to Wikipedia (which is never wrong) cannabis has been found to be helpful for patients suffering from a variety of conditions including "alcohol abuse" and "obsessive compulsive disorder". Hmmm. Maybe I could fake alcohol abuse or OCD... or both?

No wait. I don't need to fake anything. There are several members of my family who would probably come with me to the doctor and confirm that I am indeed suffering from both of those two conditions.

Sounds like a plan.

So if you are a member of the Newport Laser Frostbite Fleet and, when the season starts in a few weeks, you see this old geezer in the corner of the boat park at Sail Newport furtively smoking a joint, do not call the cops.

It's legal.

It's for my back.

My doctor says it's OK.

Little Weed

When I was a little lad growing up in England in the early 1950's, one of my favorite TV programs was Bill & Ben The Flower Pot Men. This was in the classic days of television, before color ruined everything and things started going downhill all the way to Tom DeLay on Dancing With The Stars.

The real star of Flower Pot Men was, of course, not Bill or Ben, but the much more complex and interesting character Little Weed. I always had a soft spot for Little Weed. I don't know how she tolerated for so long those idiots Bill and Ben talking in that ridiculous Oddle Poddle language.

Perhaps my youthful fondness for Little Weed is responsible for my attitude to weeds now. At the side of my house for the last two years I have been cultivating an amazing garden of American native wildflowers. People come and look at it and say, "What are all those weeds doing there?" And I say, "Those are not weeds. That is my prized collection of American native wildflowers."

Some of my native wildflowers were growing wild in that patch when we bought the house; others are from a collection of wildflower seeds that I sowed; some are perennial wildflowers that I bought as plants. Some, I confess, are plants that I "liberated" from the vacant lot next door where they were growing wild. My collection is coming along very nicely.

Unfortunately some of my "American native wildflowers" spread more vigorously than others. At this point they become known technically as "weeds" and must be removed. So, on Sunday afternoon I went out to my American native wildflower garden to remove some weeds. I saw a little weed that needed to be removed. I leaned over slightly, grasped the little weed's stem and tugged gently...

Aaaaaargh. I felt a stabbing pain in my lower back and collapsed in agony. Felled by the little weed.

Three days later I am still in pain. This feels like exactly the same stupid injury that I did to myself two years ago while attempting the foolhardy and dangerous act called "putting my socks on". I wrote about it in Old.

I hate Little Weed.

Americans Invade Rhode Island

One of my favorite local runs is the loop around Nanaquaket Pond starting at Stone Bridge. There's something especially refreshing about running by the water and this run offers plenty of water views... of the northern end of the Sakonnet River and of Nanaquaket Pond, an almost-landlocked saltwater pond.

As I said, the run starts at Stone Bridge. Or at least it's where there used to be a stone bridge. Unfortunately, back in 1954 a hurricane came through here and demolished our stone bridge which connected Tiverton (on the mainland) to Aquidneck Island (aka Rhode Island just to confuse it with the colony and future state of the same name). Now, all that remains of the bridge are two stone piers.

Way, way back before anyone built a bridge here, there was a ferry crossing, known as Howland's Ferry, the site of an important event in the Revolutionary War. I'm sure you must have heard of it.

Anyway, back in the summer of 1778 the British were occupying Newport over on Aquidneck Island. I expect they were doing what tourists always do in Newport... hanging out at the beach, visiting the mansions, getting stoned in the bars on Thames Street etc. etc.

Meanwhile the Americans (aka the good guys) were camped in Tiverton doing whatever American soldiers do when they have too much time on their hands. On 9 August 1778 the brave General Sullivan led 11,000 American troops across the Sakonnet River at Howlands Ferry and marched to attack the dastardly British in Newport.

Unfortunately the aforementioned General Sullivan didn't have access to Accuweather and didn't know that a hurricane was about to hit the area. (What is it with this place and hurricanes? Did I make a wise decision to move here?)

The Americans were relying on the French fleet to land some more troops to help in their attack on Newport but the Frenchies got spooked by the hurricane and buggered off to Boston to mend their petits bateaux. In the ensuing Battle of Rhode Island (you must have heard of it) the British, with some unfair help from a few German Panzer Divisions, drove the Americans off Aquidneck and back to sunny Tiverton.

A completely unbiased local historian has written of the Battle of Rhode Island, "Even though the Americans totally failed to take the island, and were in full retreat when the battle occurred, it is often considered an American victory." Yeah right.

Where was I? Where am I? Oh yes, I was telling you about my run. But there is even more history on the rest of my route, so I will save that story for another day...

Shocking News

Anyone who follows sailing blogs is well aware of the mysterious hit-and-run commenter known only as "O Docker". He has been leaving comments all over the sailing blogosphere since bursting on to the scene in May last year with a comment on the EVK4 superblog fantasizing about the "lush life" he leads on the O Dock of Berkeley Marina. Since then his wisdom and wit have become legendary among readers of sailing blogs. I am convinced that the rise in popularity of my own blog in the last year has been driven totally by people who come here only to check out O Docker's brilliant, quirky comments.

In April of this year O Docker won the prestigious Sailing Blog Reader of the Year Award for his funny and provocative comments on various sailing blogs and his active participation in group writing projects.

Now the inscrutable O Docker has taken a bold new direction. He has started his own blog O Dock. Sailing bloggers are trembling in their Sperry Top-siders. How will we withstand the onslaught of the competition from this king of the keyboard, this professional punner, this doyen of the double entendre, this ace of alliteration?

Please do not read O Dock. It will be seriously addictive. You will embarrass yourself in the workplace by spitting coffee through your nose as you laugh at O Docker's jokes. Your spouse will become suspicious of your involuntary chuckles as you recall his witticisms. You will leap out of bed each morning as soon as you awake in order to see if O Docker has written another masterpiece of mischief. You will lose all interest in lesser blogs such as this one...

You have been warned.

Olympus Stylus 1050SW 10.1MP Digital Camera

An excellent example of the quality of photograph that can be achieved with the waterproof Olympus Stylus 1050SW 10.1MP Digital Camera. Note how well it captures the contrasting underwater and above water light, the variety of blues and greens, the slightly blurry look caused by the water and the bubbles...

Don't you agree?

Photo from Latitude 38 via Tim Zimmerman (Wetass) on Twitter.