Category: A Very Short Story

From the Short Story Vault

I Don’t Have a Title Yet…Part 3

If any of you have an idea for a title to this new story I am developing, let me know in the comments.

Part 1 and 2 were past posts.

The Ala Wai harbour and marina were huge. Hundreds of yachts, of various sizes and shapes: Sloops, Cutters, Ketches and Yawls. Double Enders, where the bow and stern have the same pointed aspect, Tahiti Ketches, Catamarans, and Trimarans. They were all here. No power boats. They were all berthed separately across the main channel near the Ala Moana Park. I guess they wanted to keep the stink-potters separated from the true believers.

I left G dock, walked a way over through a parking lot that abutted a park area, then a small landlocked lagoon. Not really a lagoon as it was landlocked but it was known as the Ilikai Lagoon, part and parcel of the Ilikai hotel – a local landmark as it turned out and I do recall its centrally located exterior elevator that took one from the hotel’s lobby to the top of the “I”, all the while allowing one to see the calming beauty and blue turquoise pastels of the Pacific Ocean, the Ala Wai Harbour, the Ala Moana Yacht club and the like. This exterior run was also made famous by the Jack Lord version of Hawaii “book-em-Danel” 5 Oh. The Ilikai was just many of a long line of Waikiki luxurious beachfront hotels that stretched from the Ala Moana Yacht club, skirting their way as fringes of the beach only stopping its progression by the iconic Diamond Head volcanic caldera. Luckily, not active but extinct, the sides of which was covered from its base about a third of its elevation in tropical green hues of a lush carpet like vegetation blanket, like moss, then abruptly transitions to that easily recognizable dark brown blackish coloured and bare volcanic rock that permeate the many volcanic islands of the South Pacific. The rock sides were not smooth but interspersed it seemed with symmetrical lines or cracks, seams and what appeared to be vertically oriented valleys that were all too apparent on many of the mountain ranges and rock formations on these volcanic Hawaiian Islands and those other mountainous gems of the South Pacific. It appeared as if those seams were hardened rivers and streams of lava slides or floes of long ago.  On its crown you could just make out the diamond like cluster of rock cuts at the leading edge of this ancient rock.

Waikiki Beach is not the beach one would expect. Yes it beckons one to the lush, tropical and welcoming warmth of the island of Oahu but its texture is rough; its colour a dull greyish taupe and its lustre anything but that expected in the tropics. This very narrow strip of sand was not blindingly white or soft or smooth to the touch but a rough textured morass like field. Shipped in I was told. From Norway? No way. Australia? No way. Manhattan Beach California? Yes way. And on further inspection, as I didn’t want to explore too much or wander too far from Krofune, I noticed that the line of hotels didn’t quite make their way all the way to Diamond Head but were buttressed by a beautiful beach park where many of the locals, mainly older men, played chess or checkers under the watchful eye of a statue of Duke Pana Kahanamoku, Mr Aloha, who had just recently passed, himself a great surfer, Olympic gold medal swimmer, and well respected international Ambassador of these Hawaiian Islands.  All of this would have to wait for another time as I was anxious to get settled in Krofune. Besides the hot and high afternoon sun was beginning to make its mark on my as yet acclimatized skin.

Another great tune from the Allman Brother’s Band. Dickie Betts on lead guitar. He saved this band after Duane died way too early.

SJ…Out

I Don’t Have a Title Yet…Part 2

If any of you have an idea for a title to this new story I am developing, let me know in the comments.

Part 1 was yesterday’s post.

 

“Hello.” What does one say when one comes calling at a sailboat? ”

“Ahoy there?” That sounds too cartoonish, like Popeye to Olive Oil.

“Anyone home? Onboard?” Nigel?? I knew his name.

Nothing. Silence except for a slight clanking sound coming from a loose halyard somewhere on some boat somewhere in the harbour and the relentless caw of the seagulls. Nothing. I was beginning to sweat in the mid afternoon sun. There was no breeze to speak of, no cool northeast trade-wind that I had read and heard so so much about.

It was bright, blindingly so. The same acuity sensation one gets when exiting a theatre on a hot summer’s afternoon. I made a note to myself to get shades as soon as possible.

Dropping my kit bag into Krofuni’s cockpit I decide to have a look at what will be my home for the next few months, my foreseeable future. From the perspective of the G35 finger float, on which Krofuni was tied, I took a good look at her from end to end or stem (bow) to stern. She was, in the vernacular, a sloop rig. That is she was equipped with a foresail, or a sail properly positioned when raised ahead of the mast, then a mainsail, the main propulsion, providing the primary source of horsepower for the boat to move through the water. That sail’s foot or bottom portion of the traingular shape was attached to a boom, along a track that went from the mast to an end cleat, of a thingamajig contraption on the end portion of the boom. The boom itself was connected to the mast via a universal joint such that the boom could move from side to side and up and down. A topping lift, or a line attacked to the end of the boom then running up to the top of the mast, parallel to the backstay, or metal line that was connected to the top of the mast and a chainplate at the transom or stern, rear end of the boat, held the boom horizontal, about 6 feet off the deck of Krofune’s cockpit. The forward, or leading edge of the mainsail, the luff, was down as was the trailing edge, of the mainsail, or the leech, stuffed in a seamanlike folds to the boom and protected from the sun with a mainsail cover.

Her decks were wide enough to manoeuvre, to work the sails. Painted a sun bleached dull yellow with a non skid of flecked shells, hard on bare soles but stiff and skiff free to provide non slip protection when operating forward and outside the combed protection of the cockpit.. Up in the bow, in the confines of the pulpit, were a few sail bags secured to the forestay, ready to go, to hoist as they say with only their hanks showing in a step like fashion. Lines emerged out of those bags leading aft outside of all the standing rigging like sinewy snakes meandering in unison back toward the winches. Of course I can say this now, decsribe Krofuni as I am looking back on this, but at the time I didn’t have a clue, or a withering breadth of knowledge of the nautical world.

No sign of life, The cockpit was very large for a sailboat of this size. Deep and narrow with combed benches port and stsbd. The engine controls were abutted up against the stbd side combing in the after section of the cockpit while a manually operated “gusher” pump was situated on its forward bulkhead. Turns out that is was a gusher pump having an attached steel handle topped with what resembled an eight ball. For leverage I guess. I would become very familiar with this piece of kit in due course.

The cockpit went as far back as it footprint would allow ending at a narrow covered transom. The transom, or stern section, had a protective white railing attached, not robust enough to save one from hurling overboard but more for utility and functionality as cordage, various sized red and black “Scotsmen” floats were attached. Some 5 gallon buckets, whisker poles, fishing poles were also in situ as if this part of Krofuni was a catch-all for the rest of the boat. Krofuni’s was squared off at the rear by a stern that dropped to the vertical for about a foot then angled itself forward at about a forty five degree angle toward the waterline. The stern’s aspect gave Krofuni an air of sleekness, fine lines and speed. An illusion as it would turn out. Of course it was impossible to see how the bottom faired as the deep bluish green shades of surface water obscured visibility other than a few inches below the boot topping. The boot topping, that narrow 4 inch wide black painted strip that followed the waterline of Krofuni from bow to stern and separated her from the living and the dead. It provided an aspect that seemed to frame Krofuni synergistically.

The hatch to the gangway was locked so I couldn’t go below. This was taboo of course without prior permission, no matter that I was deemed crew. If you want to get off on the wrong foot with any skipper or make a poor first impression just climb aboard without permission to come aboard. This I knew

I threw my kitbag into the cockpit and left it there. I wasn’t worried about somebody stealing it for there was nothing of value in there except for a 35mm camera, which I had with me, on me. No, if someone wanted my stinky stuff they were welcomed to it. I then proceeded to explore my surroundings. “G” dock, Krofuni’s main street was very long with finger floats abutting both sides of the main dock. Probably up to 100 boats on this dock alone. And “G” was followed by “H” and “J”, no “I” apparently, preceded by “A” through “F”. Unbelievable!  An entirely different world than what I had been used to or even imagined: somewhat of a parallel universe to the tourist district and peons of the Waikiki district of Oahu.

This song was a huge hit in Hawaii in those days – Jessica by the Allman Brothers.

I Don’t Have a Title Yet

Perhaps some of you could come up with one:

I arrived in Honolulu early afternoon, after a 10 hour flight from Chicago. Clearing immigration and customs I ventured out to the arrival promenade. It was a broad and wide boulevard that was sheltered by a translucent canopy of tropical plants and banyan -like ferns that dropped away from the hot and high noon tropical sun. Immediately I sensed from my surroundings that I was awash in the tropical greens, blues and turquoise hues of this tropical isle. The air smelled of a sweet scented and natural perfume and nectar while a warm tropical breeze seemed to embrace the psyche. You could almost feel the tension of a hard northern winter ease itself out of every pore of your body.

Calling a cab I travelled down the Nimitz Highway. Only in America – an eight lane highway in the middle of Paradise, through Honolulu, the waterfront, harbour, Aloha Tower, Ala Moana district with its large seaside park and huge but modern outdoor mall then into the concrete canyons of the Waikiki tourist district with its wide Kalakauwa Boulevard, Sky-scraping hotels, vistas, gawdy bars, tacky shops, pizza joints and squawker’s dens with Diamond Head in the far background maintaining its everlasting watch over Waikiki. It was all too surreal for someone like me who had just arrived from the cold arctic wasteland of the Great White North in a way among the towering palms, lagoon and sand of Waikiki. Turning suddenly into a parking lot adjacent to the Ilikai hotel we came to a stop. This was it. I paid the fare, got out and surveyed my surroundings. A yacht harbour, the Ala Wai, with its accompanying Ala Moana Yacht Club.

Krofune lay at berth G35 at the Ala Moana Yacht Club, Waikiki, Honolulu Hawaii in the Ala Wai Harbour. She seemed somewhat tired looking from her long and laborious 19 day jaunt from Vancouver to Oaha. Her 35 foot wooden frame and lines of stripped mahogany clinkered planks, painted white, seemed worn and somewhat riddled through with expansion cracks, flaking paint, opened joints and waterlogged seams. She seemed to me to lay there at G35 in a forlorn, abandoned, and unpretentious state, in somewhat of a sad and lonely profile, feeling out of place among the 40, 50, and 60 foot sailing yachts of the Ala Wei Harbour and Yacht Club. Those sleek, modern and expensive yachts seemed to overpower and intimidate Krofune as she lay there unattended in her 35 foot berth.  It was as if that 1900 nautical mile sail from Vancouver had been but a bad dream robbing her and draining her of all of her energy and power. She looked tired, forlorn and beat.

Krofune had had a mad capped crew on that trek. My brother-in-law, Sid, the owner;  a Brit, who was professional sailor named Nigel, hired by Sid for his professional nautical acumen; Nigel’s useless tit of a girlfriend, and a couple of other hangers on who knew nothing about sailing but much about the stoner life. Useless! And, to make matter worse, Sid suffered from chronic case of sea sickness. And while he loved sailing dearly and always dreamed of taking Krofune home to Japan, all of his sailing experience to date had been in relatively sheltered waters. The open Pacific was much less welcoming and forgiving for someone like Sid who was prone to the sea malady and was always in a constant state of heaving. Alas for Sid, the dream of sailing to Japan was not to be.  He decided at Honolulu to call it quits

Most sailors do get sea sick. If they say that they don’t they’re bullshitting. But most sailors get over the motions sickness fairly quickly and adjust and adapt to the fluid environment.  They get their sea legs. But some, like Sid, never get over it. So it was that Sid had to abandon this venture. His vision of coming home like some prodigal sailor’s son came crashing down on him like a tsunami drowning his dream. He asked Nigel to carry on with Krofune from Hawaii, and to sail her to her new home in Nagoya Japan.

Tits had left and the other two stoners flew back to CONUS – literally and figuratively.

And that’s where I came in. Nigel and I would take Krofune to Japan!

Love this song. RIP Leslie West, lead guitarist for Mountain. Their only real hit but a doozy.

Those were the days my friend.

 

SJ……….Out

OJ

“Hey Bev, pass the orange juice will ya.”

Conservative MP Bev Oda was forced by the Liberals to resign over the fact that she paid 16$ for a glass of OJ (at the time about 6 Pounds) while in London England attending a conference. Meanwhile:

“We should all be allies in the fight against climate change because climate change knows no boundaries,” Wilkinson (True-dough’s Liberal Environment Minister) said. “Leaders cannot put their heads in the sand to try and pretend this change is not happening. They are expecting their government to help.”

“No, no, no they expect you, the electorate, to put your heads in the sand so that you won’t see just how corrupt and hypocritical Liberal MPs are.”

In an earlier release, Wilkinson’s environment department disclosed it had spent $683,278 attending a 2019 United Nations Convention on Climate Change that was held in Madrid, Spain. On that voyage, $178,282 was spent on airfare, taxis, and a chauffeured car…and Orange Juice.

Meanwhile under the government’s only essential travel directive Wilkinson and his staff have racked up more than $100,000 in flights this year.

This is insane. This from the UN Org that says lockdowns don’t work.

The World Health Organization is telling families gathering for Christmas to wear masks and social distance during Christmas dinners. 

As reported by the Daily Mail, the WHO admitted that people attending Christmas dinners wearing masks “may feel awkward,” but such practices would “contribute significantly” to saving lives.

Says WHO. Who? The World Health Organization stupid.

Who’s up first, why’s on second and I don’t give a fook is on third.

Madness!

Here is my take on the vaccine priority

If you give it to 90 year old’s first the morbidity rate falls 2.5%. If you give it to the older 80’s next the morbidity rate falls 28%. If you then give it to those over 60 the morbidity rate falls 75%. So, get going with those over 60 years of age first and you have this virus licked.

Denmark outlaws sex without explicit consent with unanimous passing of new law on rape.

So how does one respond to: “But honey I have a headache tonight.”

A Few Good Them: Woke Canadian judge says lawyers and their clients must state their pronouns when introduced to the court. Ze what?

No more boys or girls? America’s oldest medical journal says birth certificate sex designations ‘HARMFUL for trans’ and must be ABOLISHED.

In California, Christmas caroling is now punishable by 25 years in prison, as it’s detrimental to the public health. In addition to being a potential super-spreader of COVID, Governor Gavin Newsom says he “hates singing” and wishes people would just “cut it out with all the jolliness and joy.”

Canadian government told to change the name of the Trans Canada Highway. Its just not inclusive enough.

I got arrested for driving a Trans-Am…the car  that is.

STASI anyone? ‘Tis the season for snitching? UK home secretary encourages people to dob in neighbours for breaking Covid Christmas rule.

I got to get out of this place.

SJ…Out

 

 

 

I Can’t Make This Stuff Up.

Insanity

An LGBT activist has called for ALL children to be put on puberty blockers until a decision is made as to what gender they are going to be.

Yes, really.

Zachary Antolak began as a gay man but now identifies as a lesbian woman named Zinnia Jones and is in a polyamorous relationship with another lesbian named Heather and a ‘trans woman’ named Penny.

What better example of obvious mental stability to decide which chemicals to bombard your children with?

But, in Nice Canada, we go one better:

Canada to standardize key gender, diversity terms to advance representation goals for businesses, non-profits:

Canada to standardize key gender, diversity terms to advance representation goals for businesses, non-profits

The Standards Council of Canada (SCC) is seeking a consultant to officially standardize the definition of words on the topic of gender and diversity.

A Request for Proposal (RFP) was posted by the SCC earlier this week in support of the Government of Canada’s 50 – 30 Challenge, which strives to “increase corporate diversity” by increasing “representation” on the boards of Canadian organizations:

The 50 – 30 Challenge asks that organizations aspire to two goals:

  1. Gender parity (“50%”) on Canadian board(s) and senior management; and
  2. Significant representation (“30%”) on Canadian board(s) and senior management of other under-represented groups, including racialized persons, people living with disabilities (including invisible and episodic disabilities) and members of the LGBTQ2 community. The program and participants recognize that First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples as founding peoples of Canada are under-represented in positions of economic influence and leadership.

Before gender parity and diversity goals can be achieved, “key terms” must be standardized and officially defined.

Code for Whitey need not apply. Can’t they see the discrimination inherent in this policy?

Sign me up as I am a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. I need help I tells ya.

Oh yeah, and send me money.

Wow, whoa.

SJ…Out