My View from Mill Bay
From the Short Story Vault
Oh this is rich:
This is even richer:
The End of Bilingualism? Trudeau government will recognize French as the official language of Quebec.
He is bent on destroying Canada.
Richest BS:
Wow pic.twitter.com/q6sQYb80kS
— DIGITAL (@DIGITLSPARTN) June 14, 2021
His arrogance knows no bounds.
Is that his new squeeze? Rules are for thee and not for me.
Unreal.
SJ…Out
Another thing about Clyde and Brian:
Two days later Clyde and Brian called on me to help them secure “Before the Wind” to their assigned berth out on the outer breakwater. This spot was ideal for them as they had the Ala Wai surf on their doorstep and were products of the Southern California surfing lifestyle.
I kept in touch with Clyde and Brian over the next few months. I was not attuned to their every day activities as they had their own agenda and each other for company. I did partake in some of their exploits to earn some extra cash, some of which are stories unto themselves. I do not know how he did it but Clyde latched on to a Honolulu Harbour automotive rep that used Clyde, Brian, myself and others to deliver Japanese made cars off of the sea transports to the various car dealers around town. Honolulu, Oahu, did not have auto carrying transport trucks that we take for granted in CONUS or in Canada. These cars had to be offloaded and driven individually to the dealers. On a good day we could ferry about fifty of them. We were paid about three bucks and hour and became very familiar with Datsuns, Toyotas, and Hondas, which we liked the best.
Clyde also took it upon himself to offer “Before the Wind” for sailing “adventure” trips to the other islands. I helped him with one of these jaunts to the pineapple island of Lanai. This was a weird but hilarious sail as it turned out. Clyde did not have a clue as to what he was expected to do for this family of four from Omaha Nebraska. No matter as he winged it and his confidence and charm ruled the day and won over Mrs Omaha, as I liked to call her. She thought Clyde was a cutie. I was brought along for maturity, surely not for my sailing prowess. I barely knew how to tie a bowline.
The sail to Lanai was an overnighter, about 130 nautical miles. As we sat on the upper decks in the middle of the night, the Omaha family were in the bunks below, asleep I had hoped but probably seasick. Hoped for, I say, for Clyde, Brian and I didn’t have an inkling as to where we were. Besides, we were there, under a canopy of stars, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Hawaiian nowhere, discussing our predicament and laughing our guts out. At one point we could see some dim lights coming from the island of Molokai – Saint Damian of the Lepers fame.
Praying and hoping and hoping and praying that when the sun rose the island of Lanai would show itself. A transistor radio was of no use to us here nor was a plastic sextant. Our plan was one of dead reckoning: not for us or for the Omaha family in some religious context but in the physical guesswork of time, distance and compass bearing from the Ala Wai, Oahu to a small bay off of Hulopo’e Beach. We reckoned on our luck and luckily for us, and the Omaha family, Lanai appeared over the distant horizon with the morning sun. By noon we had reached our destination.
Clyde did provide food and drink as such but from the mindset of a seventeen year old. Nutrition and wellness were an afterthought. Yet Omaha did not seem to matter, especially for Mrs Omaha. Her blond bouffant hairdo had fizzled out by this time, no makeup and she kicked off her heels for the more practical bare feet. Mr Omaha was still wearing his pastel blue pants, pink shirt, white belt with matching white shoes – you know – the ones with the buckles on them. Yet he was still smiling after what had been a rough night for all of them. I will not go into anything more as this adventure is a story unto itself. Needless to say we survived the dangerous beach surf while tendering the family from the ketch to the beach. We were able to deal with the sand flies and the fruit flies and the other tropical critters at our picnic area and we made it back to Oahu and the Ala Wai in one piece and nowhere worse for wear. Expecting Clyde to be hit with a law suit for sailing malfeasance, the Omaha family rewarded Clyde and Brian with a bountiful “beny” breakfast at the Ilikai Hotel the next morning, in addition to the cash for the cruise. I will say this that for all of the miserable wretchedness that this family had to endure for four days they will never forget their Hawaiian vacation for as long as they live.
Hey, check out my other two books, Great reads and I could use your support:
SJ……Out
Another short excerpt from my latest story. Continuing with Clyde:
Luke gave me and Clyde another beer. ”
“And then what happened?” I asked
“Luke here was willing to come with me to Hawaii. It was not a difficult choice for us to abandon school for a tropical paradise. No choice at all. An easy decision. Off we went and where pray tell after that, or this? Who knows, or cares. We live for the day man. Luke and I are livin the dream, out for adventure…an excellent adventure…right Luke?
Luke smiled but said nothing.
We left Long Beach thirty five days ago.
“What? And you just arrived today?” Even I knew that that was almost twice the time it should take to make the transit across.
Clyde laughed. “We WERE getting low on provisions. Down to hard tack and non perishables. We had a stack of stashed shit from our New Zealand trip that was still stored onboard. We fished too and caught a few. Yeah, it was getting tense but we managed…didn’t we Luke?
“Yeah man.” Luke responded after a slug of beer.
“Yeah.” Clyde continued, looking over at Luke for concurrence. “Navigation was a sore point with us…and money.” We didn’t have a lot of either. I got a large scale chart of the Eastern Pacific…three actually… and the islands, bought a plastic sextant for 50 bucks and learned how to take a noon day latitude shot. We noted the latitude of Oahu from the chart and off we went. Initially we sailed west by southwest by compass until we reached the latitude line of Oahu…around twenty one and a half degrees north latitude. Once there we sailed west straddling the twenty one degree latitude line all the way.” he paused to take another draft of his warm beer.
I shook my head in disbelief. This was comical and foolhardy…but an amazingly interesting account of questionable bravado, as only a seventeen year old could possess
“Then what?” I asked
“Wind was not our friend. We were not making good time. Seas were calm most of the way across. The only indication we would have had that we were getting near was from our VHF radio but that was nothing but static squelch almost all of the time. That made sense as that frequency range was only as good as a line of sight distance from the top of the main mast.
“So we took out our transistor radio. It was one of those long radios that were popular in the mid to late sixties.” Luke brought it out to show me. It was silver in colour with a metal mesh front hiding the speakers and an enlightened display panel showing four frequency bands across the top. On the very top of the radio beside the handle was an antenna that could be raised and lowered and extended in a line up to about 50 degrees from the horizontal.
“Good thing we had batteries otherwise we would still be out there flopping around somewhere.” He shook his head. “Once powered up we would hold that radio with its antenna extended at about a 30 degree angle from the horizontal and then point it across a wide arc of our visible horizon. Sure enough, over time, we picked up a radio station, especially during periods at dawn and dusk. A great deal of interference and a static mumbo jumbo of voices and songs were picked up. We would point the radio across the axis of where the signal strength was coming from. Its intensity would increase as our orientation changed and over time we picked up one of Oahu’s AM stations. We set a course along the axis of the signal, checking it out for confirmation every few days. Sure enough, we picked up the light at Makapuu Point on the southern eastern end of Oahu and knew we had made it. After a few more days we arrived here at the Ala Wai.”
“Wow.” I said “Holy shit man. You guys are some lucky dudes.”
“I know.” Clyde said. “Rudimentary and basic perhaps but it worked…in time.”
Luke nodded his head in agreement but offered nothing to the story.
I checked the time. I had to go. I’ll see you guys later. I am just over at G35. If you need a hand when you get your assigned berth lat me know.
“Will, do.”
“Thanks for the beer Clyde. Thanks Luke. Great to meet you guys. See ya around.” and I left.
And that is the way it was for Clyde and Luke: two young guys out for adventure with not a care in the world: getting by on their wits. Clyde was the leader of the two, a natural, and I could detect why. He was charismatic. People were drawn to him. He possessed a maturity for his years that was evident but hard to define. He was one of those individuals in life that you meet from time to time: one of life’s characters without being so. It was just the way he was. An ingrained character trait: friendly, funny, confident and street smart. Even though he was young in physical years he had much of life’s experiences under his belt. He was anything but risk averse as he was eager and willing to take chances for all of the rewards, graces and gifts that life had to offer. Who, in their right mind would consider sailing a forty five foot ketch from Long Beach to Honolulu on a whim without so much as a second thought? Yes Clyde was one of life’s characters and heaven only knows that the world needs more characters. On top of that he had a very unique and wonderful name.
SJ…Out
They must think we’re stupid. Of course they do. You voted for them didn’t you?
Jason Kenny, Premier of Alberta, is caught having a rooftop lunch during Covid restrictions sans mask and sans social distancing. Caught, he defends his actions in stating: “But it was a working lunch.”
There is no such thing as a working lunch Jason, or a free lunch, unless of course you are eating a big bowl of green garden salad at home with the kids. Crunch, crunch, crunch….or working for the government.
“C’mon Johnny, eat your greens.” Dad said.
“I’m workin on it pops.” Johnny said. Dad beamed with pride. He was so proud of his son. “He will make a good government employee some day. Set for life.”
Meanwhile:
COVID-19: Alberta moves into Stage 2 of reopening — Here’s what you can and can’t do.
Sales of green salad skyrocketing.
Sad as it is authorities think they found the graves of 215 indigenous children at an unmarked grave site in Kamloops BC, run by the Catholic Church. Our federal government’s response? Let’s have a national day of mourning and remembrance – Sept 30th. It will be a national statutory holiday – but only for federal employees. Yeah that’ll do it. Less work for the feds is what we desperately need.
Trudeau travels to Gee 7, NATO, as Canada grapples with Islamophobia, residential schools. Great! He is out of the country and can do no harm to us.
NATO – Not Another Travel Order, or the international cocktail circuit.
Sad as it is about the Muslin family run down by a disturbed madman in London Ontario, Hazmat Singh, leader of the federal NDP, calls Canada a racist country. That would be all Canadians. No Hazmat, I am not racist. You may be but I’m not.
In response Hazmat calls for a national day of mourning for all Muslim Canadians. It will be a statutory holiday on 30 October, the day before Halloween, but only for Federal employees. Yeah, that’ll do it. One less day to destroy the country…huh Hazmat. But more chocolate candy.
In light of the indigenous graves found in Kamloops, Trudeau reiterates that Canada, and Canadians, have committed genocide. Calls for a Canadian genocidal day of mourning. It will be a statutory holiday but only for the Federal employees. It will be on November 30th.
Killing it man….
At a press conference, someone asked Trudeau about the 22 Canadians killed on 9/11 by the Muslims. “Can we have a national holiday in remembrance for them?” she asked. “Say on December 30th?”
“Next Question” Trudeau responded.
Another reported jumped in…”Hey, what about the 10 Canadian people of Toronto who were killed by a Muslim man who ran them down with his van. Can we have a national day of mourning for them and a statutory holiday in which the Feds have a day off…say on January 30th?”
“Next question.” Trudeau responded.
“Wow, he sure is a virtuous guy.” A female reporter from Ontario gushed after the PM’s comments. Her colleagues from Quebec and the maritime were also in a state of prime ministerial rapture after the PM’s comments. “Canada should enact a national day of celebration and admiration for Prime Minister Justin Trudeau.” they beamed. “Say July 32nd.
Celebrities react to the 215 Indigenous children’s bodies found at a Canadian residential school. Being more virtuous than the rest of us these celebrities are calling for a Celebrity Day of Mourning in Canada. It will be a statutory holiday held on the 30th February or the day after the Juno awards, but only for them as they will be hungover from post Juno partying.
Canada’s opinions of U.S. markedly higher with Biden in White House, poll suggests. “Yeah, well, yeah, most of the Canadian electorate especially in Ontario, Quebec and the Maritimes, is braindead, just like Biden.”
Canada proposes to settle indigenous lawsuit after discovery of children’s remains….”How much?” someone asked. “And what did these children die from?”
Like the Pope, Canada refuses to make a formal apology to the Indigenous People.
But…but…Canada apologizes to the Italian community for their forced internment during the Second World War. “Yeah, but…but the Italians invented spaghetti. What did the Indigenous invent? Have ya ever tried Bannock Billy.”
In light of this indigenous scandal, every Canadian Prime Minister from John A Macdonald to Jean Chretien is culpable and should be held accountable for their actions (Indian Act of 1969) or inactions and every statue to their name and legacy should be toppled. In fact:
This will never end until the entire country of Canada is turned over to the Indigenous People to own, to manage and to govern.
And in response:
“Let’s have a national statutory holiday to celebrate Indigenous Canada. Say on the third Saturday of August. It will be for all non federal employees.
Crazy but sad Canada.
Ode to Trudeau:
SJ…Out
Another excerpt from another book I am working on:
One day in November, mid morning, while I was reading the sailing directions of some of the islands and atolls of the south and central pacific I heard a commotion topside. I left the confines of the cabin and rose out and into the cockpit and the bright mid morning sun. There, in the channel just to the east of me and adjacent to Holomoana Blvd, was a large Ketch transiting slowly toward the end of the channel with its turning basin. This was an area used by the yacht club’s boat owners to tie up and load up supplies prior to a sail.
I could not see anyone on deck. They appeared to be out of control. No engine noise could be heard. The large mainsail was reefed to an extent that the main looked like a very small sailcloth. It was the only means of propulsion for the boat, as no other sails were up. Everything appeared to be secure. They must be in danger or need assistance, I thought. Without hesitation, I left Akaru and ran down the dock through the dock’s access gate and across the parking lot as fast as I could. Crossing under the concrete awning and overhang walkway of the Ilikai Hotel I stopped in an area that was situated at the entrance to Kahanamoku Street but on the channel side of the street. I waited with nervous anticipation to provide assistance for this vessel, as I was still a novice with these things.
Suddenly a small man appeared topside. He saw me and waved. He did not seem to be concerned in the least as to his current situation, unlike Skip. To him, everything was under control. The mainsail came down and this young man walked back to the helm, ready to manoeuvre the boast under its potential energy and latency. Another crew appeared, walked up to the foredeck with a mooring line. He saw me and smiled, and waved, giving me a military-like salute. I had never seen these guys or this boat around these parts before.
The boat altered slightly to starboard and then, with a hard turn of the wheel the boat came around to port to present a starboard side aspect to the concrete pier. The bow was pointing north which would provide easy access to the channel when time came to depart. Even though the seaside of the pier was fitted with rubber tires as protective fenders, the boat had its own white fenders fitted to fend off for further protection. The crewman forward threw me the mooring line, which I caught and secured to one of the cleats forward. The helmsman and crew worked the boat in tandem with its momentum and mooring line until such time that the boat was secure, starboard side to.
“Thanks man,” the crew forward said to me. He was very young I thought with long black hair parted in the middle and falling down both sides of his head to his shoulders. It was thin, stringy like with no body to speak of. Perhaps his hair had not seen water or shampoo for many days, even weeks. It had a matte look to it. He was dressed in beige shorts with a dirty white tee. He was well tanned, not tall but medium built. Not an ounce of fat on him…bare feet on the teak decks.
The helmsman threw me a stern line, which I secured. This guy was also very young, but with a shorter mop of hair that appeared thick and wavy with the texture and look of steel wool. It fell back tightly in form from his forehead across the top of his head and crown and then flared out and down over his ears and the nape of his neck. It was of a colour that I could not discern: not blond of any shade nor was it brown. It seemed to be a mix of a light brown colour highlighted with a tinge of sun bleached blond, maybe even grey, and extremely dense in texture, almost like the hair of a Blackman.
Yet he wasn’t black. His complexion was fair. He had a face full of freckles. Indeed his exposed skin held a mass of freckles but it was not sun burned or damaged. He had a weathered but healthy look about him. His eyes were of a bluish grey, dull, but in sharp contrast to his skin tone. Like his mate he was of medium build. No deck shoes.
“Thanks man, appreciate it.”
“No problem.” I answered. “Where ya from? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Just arrived this morning.” he said. “We’re from Long Beach. My friend here is Luke Wainright. My name is Clyde Cece (Cease).”
“Hi, I’m Jim. Jim Turnbull. I am Canadian, from Toronto.”
“Great.” he said and then. “You wanna come aboard? Have a warm beer?” He laughed. That is one thing we took plenty of but our coolers and refrigeration gave out a long time ago. Added to that we are not of legal drinking age but who gives a rat’s ass in the middle of the Pacific huh?
I laughed at that.
“Oh yeah? How old are you guys?”
“Seventeen.”
My jaw dropped. I looked at Luke then back at Clyde.
“Holy shit. Really? Where is your Dad?”
“No dad. At least not here. Just Luke and I. It’s a long story. C’mon aboard and make yerself at home and I’ll tell ya all about it.”
I did, and it was…a long story.
It seems that Clyde convinced his dad to let him take the boat to Hawaii.
“My dad taught me all that there is to know in handling a sailboat of this size.” He said. “I sailed across the Pacific to Australia with him and his girlfriend when I was about fourteen years old. That took us two years. It would have been a shorter cruise had it not been for a tragic misadventure on a beach in New Zealand.
“How so?” I asked.
“It had been a stormy and blustery day. Not too rough but uncomfortable. We were about two miles off the beach. My dad decided to heave to: to normalize and reduce the haphazard, lurching movement of the boat in these conditions. Comfortable now so he and his girlfriend decided to go to it in the forward berth but under a haze of booze and weed. They became inebriated and were soon comatose. They left me to my own devices. I was asleep in one of the quarter berths.” Clyde looked at me rationalizing. “There is plenty of room and privacy in a boat of this size so this was not a problem for me or for them.
“Suddenly a few hours later, I awoke to a series of thuds and a long shuddering sensation, almost a vibration, that went trough every beam and joint of “Before the Wind.” The sensation was subtle but intense enough that it bored its way through the hull and into my very being. I got out of my berth and went topside. I could not believe what I was seeing. Trees, dunes, sand and surf. But…but…what? I was confused. I should not be seeing trees or a beach, or sand dunes. But there they were before me.
“A mill of people were on the beach watching things unfold. No doubt they wanted to see the boat breakup. But “Before the Wind” was a strong, full length keeled ketch. This incident was nothing but a bit of annoyance, embarrassing perhaps, for a boat of this size and shape. Having a full keel “Before the Wind” sat almost upright on the beach in the shallow surf supported by a full length iron keel. Luckily there were no rocks or a reef, just a sandy bottom. It was comical to see the sails flapping in the stiff breeze, while the boat remained upright, lodged in the sand. In time my Dad appeared, wrapped in a blanket, none the worse for wear, shook his head in disbelief and then after a few choice words disappeared below deck and back into the forward berth. He kept his girlfriend out of the sight of the onlookers. In a few days time a tug appeared and at high tide was able to pull “Before the Wind” off of the beach and back into deep water.”
“Wow,” was all I could say. Luke remained silent. “And no damage?” I asked
“Nope, good as gold.” Clyde said
He continued his story.
“We stayed in New Zealand for a few months and when my dad was satisfied that “Before the Wind” remained seaworthy, we began the slow trek home arriving in Long Beach about 6 months later. There we remained, tied to home and day sailing or the odd weekend trip to Catalina. My pop had had it with the offshore. But he trusted me and my skill level and ability, so when I asked him about this trip he agreed without any real discussion or hesitation.
He looked at me long and hard and said. “Sure Clyde, why not.” He threw me the keys and the rest as they say is history.”
“Wow, great story.” I said
A Chicago cover group from Russia: Leonid and Friends
Introduction:
And I’m a Man:
Great stuff. Sure beats the crap coming out today. We need another form of the British Invasion.
Read some of my other books:
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Enjoy the day:
SJ…Out
