Falcon's Log 8

Falcon's Log 8

March 30, 2009 - Seafood Shack Marina - Cortez, Florida

I have reached the bottom of the poured lead in the section beneath the engine. In this job, that is the equivalent to popping
your head up in Peking. I have dug to China. Now, with my new, shortened handle 8 pound sledge and the tired but trusty 3
pounder, I will continue on, but now, instead of hanging upside down and struggling painfully for every ounce, I can stand up
and drive the long chisel straight down into the lead and peel off a slice at a time as if it were bread.

The yellow color in the first photo is the fiberglass bottom of the keel. It is a
full three inches thick there, mainly because the sides of the keel are 1 1/2
inches thick and the laminates alternately overlap at the bottom of the
keel. It is brutally strong and I am glad for it. While I don't intend to go
aground, the road to Davy Jones' Locker is paved with those intentions. In
the second shot you can see where I am working a slot in the lead right
next to the break. The going here is MUCH better than before and, even
though I am going back and forth right now between the lead and the
computer - I just jumped up to get a shot of the two hammers, and
slammed the chisel another three inches deeper all the way across. I had
to shorten the handle on the new sledge to get a good swing inside the
boat. It is awesome and much easier on my ailing elbow - when I use both
hands. It's a little rougher when using one hand.

Last Wednesday we had a dock party with Kim and George over from Regatta Point Marina. I was sort of pushing it because
I was trying to get George to push his boat off the dock and do a bit of cruising while he's still able. Unfortunately, the Chemo
he's on now got him so sick that he wasn't able to even try. He and Kim did make it over, however, and we had a good feast.
George can't do beef anymore (cholesterol) so I went to Star Fish and got a few pounds of Salmon and Mahi Mahi. It was a
tad pricey, but not bad and everyone had plenty. Angie and Richard brought a couple of baskets of fresh, chopped
strawberries, shortcake, and whipped cream, and I mean to say 'yummy'. Sandy and Eddie cooked hot dogs, bratwurst and
hamburgers, and Sandy made the best baked beans I've ever had. Everyone else brought something and we ate like pigs.

Above left is Angie, Kim, George, and Barbara
from Dulcinea. On the right is Angie's Richard,
Eddie with his back to us, and Ken and Sandy
telling about the fish they caught. (Not really
THAT big).

It turned out that not as many people showed
up as were expected, so I had to step up, with
others, and work diligently on that strawberry
shortcake to finish it off. Double yummy.

I am getting back to work on the lead. At times
like this I have a tendency to begin calculating
in my head as I work, defining a certain goal
and reducing it to numbers. I set a final goal of
400 more pounds after Espin took the last 300
for Volkaar. Getting to the fiberglass required
mining out fifty-five pounds, leaving 345. Cast
lead weighs 708 pounds per cubic foot, or
0.41 pounds per cubic inch. So, 841 more
cubic inches, or just under 1/2 of a cubic foot.
I'm almost done. Not done in my head, btw.

March 31, 2009 - Seafood Shack Marina - Cortez, Florida

Yesterday, after a long, grueling day that left my arms,
elbows and shoulders, - oh, yes, and my back to some
degree - tired and sore, I managed to extricate 55 more
pounds of lead from the keel. I made three cuts that
trimmed up the nasty, uneven and sloped ends of the keel
lead and left them flat and vertical. This morning, the first
try resulted in 20 pounds in the first half hour, and as you
see, a line started for the next session, about to start in a
few minutes. This will result in about 30 more pounds.
There is light at the end of the tunnel. I now have 130
pounds on the dock and 270 left to go.

I know this is the worst possible log there could ever be,
and I would spiff it up if I could, but right now, this is all I've
got.

I think I will re-write the re-capture of Falcon that was in
the old 'Sailing Tales' pages and insert it here.

~~~~~~ Falcon 33' Horne ~~~~~~

After living aboard the tiny O'Day and the leaky and cramped
Warner, I knew I'd found the lifestyle for me. I also knew I
needed more space, a bigger, better boat. Research into the
subject added about a hundred more books to my already
oversized library and I spent the majority of my spare time
learning and designing, sketching and shopping, and of
course, wandering through the forests of masts in coastal
New England boatyards and marinas and attending every
boat show within reach. I finally found a place in North
Kingstown, Rhode Island, where a man was collecting old
molds and selling hulls. Hale Pauley.

The hull I went down to investigate is actually the one in the
background of this picture. It is a 47' full keel offshore sloop
design with a pretty forward underbody and a disturbingly ugly

aft underbody. In the era that this hull was designed some
Naval architects held to a theory that concaved lines just
forward of the transom fooled the ocean into thinking the boat
had a longer waterline than it did, resulting in a higher hull
speed. They were comically wrong. At the time, I didn't know
what the ugly lines were for or why they were there, I only knew
it was ugly and wrong. Now I know why. One of the old sayings
I'd heard by now was what old-timers called 'blow of the eye'. If
you see a hull and it looks wrong to you, it probably is, and you
don't need to be a naval architect to know it. The old pastime of
wandering through boatyards and looking around pays
dividends. Anyway, Pauley wanted way too much money for it
and it slipped from my short list of possibilities.

In the picture to the right, I am seen standing on the bow of one
of the examples of the 47 footer Pauley was trying to sell me.

After crunching all the numbers again, I knew my
finances would not support building the 47 footer and
opted for a hull out of the mold in the foreground of
the upper picture. It was described as a "33 Foot
Replica of Slocum's 'Spray'", with a 12 foot beam and
5 feet of draft. The mold was built by 'Hans Otto
Horne', somewhere in Florida and sometime around
1953. I just got a hull and designed my own version of
a schooner.

All about getting the hull and building the boat is in the
'Building Falcon' section so I'm not going to get into
that here. She looked about the same as in the photo
to the right and very nearly in the very same location
in the same Marina when I had to return to Boston and
retrieve her.

When I left Winthrop and moved to Florida, I filled Falcon with personal possessions and parts and equipment and brought it
to the new marina in East Boston where I'd stayed for four years, the Boston Boatyard and Marina. Although there was a new
manager in charge, I knew everyone else and he seemed okay. That assumption proved to be a serious mistake. He had no
room up on the hard, so we made arrangements to leave Falcon in the water for a while, and as soon as space on land
became available, she would be hauled out and the Brownell Boat Hauling Company would transport Falcon to wherever I
was in Florida. All in agreement, I prepaid rent for four months, got my receipt and headed off to Florida.

When I knew it was time to have the boat hauled and pay more rent, I called and they said there was still no room, and could I
just send a check. The rent was only about $90 a month for winter storage, so I sent checks and they returned printed
receipts. I expected the boat to be out by June and arranged with Brownell for the haul, only to discover that Falcon was still
in the water, and they had no intention of hauling it out. I spoke with the manager on the phone and soon realized what was
happening. He had gotten in bed with the very slimy Dan Curtin in Winthrop, and together, they'd decided to steal the boat.
He told me that he saw the boat as 'abandoned' and that if I wanted to keep control of it, I would have to pay the transient rate
of $1000 per month. I reminded him that I had all the cancelled checks, as well as his mailed monthly receipts and that I
hardly thought a judge would agree with him. He simply said that his call was that Falcon was abandoned and he was
sticking to it. I told him I'd send a check for the $1000 to cover the next months rent.

Instead, I pushed $2500 or so into my pocket, a few desperate essentials and a good three blade propeller into a carry-on
bag and headed to Boston. When I arrived, I went directly to Christine's house. Christine is my best friend and was my office
manager when I had a yacht service in Winthrop, a little town on the north shore of the entrance to Boston Harbor. She drove
me around to buy a bunch of tools, a battery, food and water, and a lot of other things I figured I need to rescue Falcon.

Chris was a bit nervous when we approached the security gate
and the guard, but relaxed and laughed when he greeted us
warmly and waved us straight in. He was completely unaware
that the manager was trying to steal Falcon. We quickly
unloaded the car and brought everything to Falcon, still in the
same slip I'd left her in six months before.

I saw the chain and lock securing the bow eye to a dock cleat,
and the comical 'Impounded' notices they'd printed up on the
office computer, but it was Chris who noticed the second
chain, attached from beneath the center of the dock to Falcon's
prop. If she hadn't seen it, I might have missed it until it was too
late and I'd ruined the prop. That chain was fat with barnacles,
proving that they'd attached it as soon as I'd left the boat and
never had any intention of hauling or delivering it. These
people are the first order of scum in Boston Harbor. Christine
began to get nervous again and I had a lot of work to get done
before I could leave, so we said 'good-bye' and she went home.

Wait just a minute here! I found an old postcard published by the scumbag "The Boston Boatyard & Marina", with my boat
almost dead square in the center of the picture.

The red asterisk in the center is on Falcon, while the one at the far right is on a boat that is in the slip where Falcon was
when they were trying to steal her. You can see the view of Boston was great and I really did like the location. It's too bad the
management fell in with Dan Curtin, but the weak-minded will follow fools. The yellow asterisk is on my friend Dana's boat,
who apparently no longer wishes to call me friend because of my conflicts with his father, Wally Rogers, years before Wally's
death. Too bad, Dana is generally a pretty good guy. There is a bright green asterisk on a power boat to the far right of the
picture. That boat is in the slip where Falcon was double-chained.

Once inside Falcon, the first thing I noticed was that my two brand new Fortress anchors, still in the boxes, were stolen, as
well as a little bit of ballast lead. There was a junk sport fisher a few slips down and I knew the owner, a live-aboard drunk,
always with an eye out to steal something, and I knew where the stuff was. I had bigger fish to fry and had to shrug it off. After
disposing of the two DOA 8D batteries on board, I connected the new size 24 I'd bought purely to salvage Falcon, went
through a commissioning process and fired up the engine. Much to my dismay, the front main shaft seal on the fuel injection
pump was blowing out diesel fuel like a punctured line. I might have suspected the management in the office of piercing the
seal to cripple the boat if it hadn't been so far above their heads to conceive such a plot. I mean really, you had to see the
'Impounded' notices to know what I'm referring to. A bunch of clowns.

With no option but to fix it, I stripped off the timing belt and injection drive pulley and removed the seal, then found a
dealer/repair shop in Boston for the Bosch injection pump and made arrangements with Chris to borrow her car and go get
the seal. Two hours and $1.19 later, I was back aboard and fixing the pump. I apparently worked a bit too quickly however,
and over-tightened the toothed timing belt.

As the sun began to set, I struggled into an old wet suit that someone gave me and slid off the dock and under Falcon. I didn't
have a mask, or flippers, or gloves, but the July water wasn't too awfully cold and the work kept me fairly comfortable.

The chain coming from beneath the dock was as large as a man's calf with barnacles and growth. It was wrapped around and
around the prop and shaft in a huge ball, also bristling with sharp barnacles, and I could only 'feel' my way around. Thus
began a three hour test of patience and perseverance that finally resulted in the chain hanging straight down beneath the
dock, and my prop and shaft clear and clean. My hands were cut to shreds but there was nothing there that wouldn't heal in a
few days and I'd done much worse to them in a lifetime of hard work. I'm paying for it all now, whenever the weather is cold
and damp.

Exhausted and with a full day tomorrow, I turned in and slept like a log. In the morning, I walked through the gate and down to
the American Ice Cream shop in East Boston Square where I had coffee and breakfast and talked to many old friends who
were delighted with my story of rescuing Falcon. None of these people have any love for those I was scrapping with, so I had
no fear of being ratted out. Back aboard Falcon, after another friendly chat with another guard, I started securing Falcon's
spars, which were strapped down to the deck, and mounting and connecting a cheap set of running lights, engine controls to
the helm, a bilge pump, and basically preparing the boat for a long haul. At this time, it was my intention to make it to Mark
Simonetti's dock behind his house, then scrape the bottom, change the prop to the one I'd brought with me, provision a little
more and head south to Naples, Florida.

With everything set by the middle of the afternoon, I relaxed and ate and waited for the activity around the marina to die out. I
was hoping to slip away without drawing attention and apparently with good reason, considering what happened later. I
quickly cut a link in the forward chain and twisted it so that the chain still appeared intact, but I could drop it off the boat in a
moment. At 8 PM, I started the engine and let it warm up while I untied all the lines and took the power cord aboard. I actually
started backing out, jolted to a stop, came back in, jumped to the dock and ran forward to separate the stupid chain, (note the
CHAIN being stupid and not the knucklehead who forgot to drop it), then back aboard and out of the slip.

As I started forward and turned for Boston Harbor, someone on the next boat started screaming that, 'That boat is
impounded! You can't take it!'. I distinctly remember telling him to go screw himself - or something like that - , that it was my
boat. I throttled up and headed for Winthrop and Mark's dock.

Falcon was incredibly slow. I couldn't move above 3 knots. The growth on the bottom must have been horrendous.

This was Boston falling away behind me when I
noticed both blue and red flashing lights coming
toward me from way back there. The blue lights were
coming straight out of Boston, and the red were
coming from the right, or somewhere in Charlestown
or East Boston. I have to admit I was disgusted and
cursed the growth on the hull. If I'd been able to make
7 knots, as I should, I could have already passed
Logan Airport and I could be disappearing into the
darkening channels and coves around Winthrop, but
no such luck.

I kept looking back as they drew closer and kept
looking for an escape route, but there was simply
nowhere to go. This stretch of the Boston Harbor main
channel is open and exposed with shoal areas
adjacent to the airport and nowhere to go but straight
out. Suddenly, as I watched, both boats throttled

back and turned off their flashing lights - at exactly the same time. Go figure. I wouldn't find out the real story here until
Newport, Rhode Island, almost a week later.

The sun set with no boats chasing me and no one else out
on the water. It would have been a pleasant sail if the boat
could have just gone a squeak faster. As it was, I wallowed
onward for three hours while Chris, Mark, and my girlfriend
Lauretta waited for me at his dock. I picked my way along
a channel I'd never been in before with a flashlight and a
wrinkled chart. At least I didn't have to slow down to be
careful - the boat was as sluggish as an overloaded burro
and I could have walked faster. They had a great time
poking fun at me when I finally arrived at about midnight.

The next morning at high tide, I pulled the boat way up the
dock close to the house and waited for the tide to go out.
When it did, I was joined by a long-time friend, Tony
Harling, who helped me scrape 2 inches of barnacles and
growth off the hull and change the prop and prop zinc.
When the tide came back in, Falcon was ready for the trip.

Mark gave me a bunch of military rations called MRE's, - meal ready to eat - and I got water and set up a few other things. At
noon on the third day, Mark hurried home and told me that Dan Curtin had pulled something shady as was sending Winthrop
cops to arrest me and impound the boat. I told Mark it was crap and he had no way to pin anything on me, but we both knew
Dan Curtin to be a snake and didn't doubt his ability to corrupt a couple of cops who would do as he said, even to having my
boat hauled out of the water, then say "Oops! Sorry! Our mistake!" and leave me to pay for the haul and launch as my only
way to get the boat back. It didn't matter - I was ready to go anyway. The wind that had howled for two days (the reason I was
still there) was down to 10 to 15 knots, so there was no reason for me to stay. I untied and headed out of Winthrop with
Falcon moving MUCH better. There was still a moderate swell outside the harbor of about 6 to 8 feet, but the seas were not
choppy or confused and Falcon is heavy and steady and I had no doubt she would manage easily.

This is the Boston Graves Lighthouse. Maybe
it's called that because it was donated by Bob
and Maggie Graves, but I don't think so. In rough
weather the waves crash and roar against the
granite ledges she is built on. The sea was
about flat on the day I took this picture, but it
was not on the day I was there on Falcon.

Five miles out of Boston Harbor, very close to
this location where this picture was taken from,
the engine stopped with an ominous 'thunk'. With
wind and waves pushing me back towards the
'Roaring Bulls', a granite ledge that hides at high
tide and roars with crashing waves at any other
time, I quickly deployed a large Danforth anchor
on 5/8" nylon rode in about 30 feet of water.
Falcon drew up sharp as the anchor snatched
bottom, leaving me about 150 feet of leeway to
the Bulls, straight behind me. Then I went to
investigate the engine.

The toothed timing belt that drove everything, including the injection pump and the cam, was snapped and dead and lying in
the bilge below the engine. Well, isn't that just a big fat kick in the nuts. Maybe those belts are a piece of cake to get when
you're in a shopping mall in Boston, but it might as well be a dozen albino one-eyed pygmy's when you're anchored out in
heavy swells near the Graves.

Oh well, I'll call the ship to shore operator and get patched through to Christine. She can get me a belt and drop it off to Mark,
who is a lobsterman, and he might be able to drop it off to me when he goes out tomorrow to check his pots. A half hour later I
am convinced my radio no longer transmits. Even the rare boat passing withing a mile or two cannot hear me. And the hits
just keep on coming.

It's only about 1:30 in the afternoon, but it IS ALREADY 1:30 in the afternoon, and if I'm going to get Falcon's rig standing, I'm
going to have to get going. I put on the wetsuit again and constructed a makeshift rope ladder to lower off the bow so I could
get to the bow eye at the waterline. Then I attached the bobstay to the bowsprit and rigged the bowsprit in it's spot on the
foredeck. Next, with the bow of Falcon plunging like a wild horse into some of the big swells, I climbed down to the bottom
rung of the rope ladder and attached the bobstay to the bow eye. As I said, the boat was plunging pretty good, sometimes
almost slapping green water with the bowsprit, so I took regular dunkings underwater. It didn't surprise or bother me in the
least, but apparently, it freaked out Mark Simonetti.

Just as I finished and began climbing back aboard, I heard him yelling behind me. He'd been out checking pots and noticed
Falcon on his way back in and tried to raise me on the radio. Concerned that he didn't get a reply, he came over to
investigate, slowly circling Falcon and calling for me. To his shock, I suddenly appeared at the bow, going in and out of the
sea like Ahab lashed to Moby Dick. He stopped his boat and started yelling to me. He was pretty wound up and swore I was
drifting toward the Roaring Bulls, though a glance told me that wasn't true. He snagged my anchor rode and motored off with
it running over a line he'd rigged across his two aft cleats. When the anchor came up, it hooked the line and he towed me
back into Winthrop, only this time, to a mooring field just a few hundred feet from slimy Dan Curtin's office. Things like this
make life worth living. Curtin is thrashing through everything trying to get me, and I show up on his back doorstep and he
never had a clue.

I picked up a mooring and Mark dropped me off at his house and I told him about the belt on the way. I met Chris at her
apartment after work and stayed there for the night. In the morning, she gave me a ride to a couple of places for a new belt, a
new radio, antenna, some wire, and I forget whatever else. She dropped me off at the public launching ramp where Falcon
was sitting on who knows who's mooring. It took about half an hour for me to hitch a dingy ride out to Falcon and once there I
commenced timing the engine and setting up the new radio and antenna. When everything was set I tried to start the engine.

No dice. Dead battery, and I mean - DEAD - battery. I was dumbfounded. There had been nothing left on, no drain, nothing.
Dead battery. Brand new, and no backup. So, out to the cockpit I go, to sit in the cool July breeze and stroke my grizzled
face. I remember something Mark Twain said, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in Maine." Then I remember
another saying, "This ain't the end of the world, but you can see it from here."

I'm grinning and feeling good. I've got a pocket full of cash, and I'm going to buy someones second battery from them - any
minute - I can just feel it. In just a few minutes, one of my old friends and customers comes along. I am ashamed to say I no
longer remember his name, but he sailed a beautifully restored classic wooden sailboat of about 24 sleek and varnished feet,
and he saw me and stopped to shoot the breeze. We brought each other up to date and I asked if he had an extra battery I
could buy, and I offered a crisp new $100 bill. He scoffed at the money and handed me a brand new size 27 deep cell marine
battery, explaining that he only had the one, but he only used it for running lights and the radio and had no use for either on
that day. I tried to pay him again, assuring him that I was not tight for cash. He just smiled and pushed off and said it was
worth the battery to know he was sticking it to Curtin by helping me skedaddle. I thanked him and he left.

A few minutes later, the engine came to life and announced some bad news. One cylinder was banging like an old lady on a
steam pipe and she was only running on three. So, the broken belt had bent a valve. Well, after ten minutes of trying this and
trying that, I dropped the mooring and once again headed out of the harbor, only this time, rather than take 'President Roads'
channel out to the Graves Light, I stayed close along the shore and wove through the harbor islands.

While these are often seen as bleak, barren, storm-swept islands, that's only because they are. Still, they are a fun place to
go in the summer and hundreds of people can be found out here partying in good weather. Myself, I think of them as
someplace I can swim to if this engine completely disintegrates and sinks the boat, or if an asteroid suddenly plunges through
her. The list of bad things left to happen is getting short. Besides, I like these islands and enjoyed this route very much.

It was not long before I realized that leaving the radio
on with the engine threatening to detonate at any
second was ridiculous, as I couldn't hear it at all over
the racket.

For the second time in as many tries, I'd left Boston
later in the day than I'd hoped. Still, it was a beautiful
day and I greatly enjoyed the run south to the Cape
Cod Canal. The tragedy happening in Falcon's
mechanical heart actually sounded less terminal at
higher RPM's, so I was able to push her along at
about five and a half knots comfortably, though
noisily. I reached a great anchorage just before the
canal behind a jetty on the north side of the
entrance. The canal actually goes more east to west
than north to south, and it's something like 10 miles
long, but plenty wide and deep.

Unfortunately, I did not have the desire, or perhaps wits, to take pictures of most of this little adventure. Perhaps it was
because I generally felt more 'under siege' than vacationing. This picture is the closest I have to that anchorage on that
evening. I do have a few pictures of Conanicut Marina in Narragansett Bay, however. I was more relaxed there and it was
more of a take a picture' kind of atmosphere. I awoke before dawn but snoozed until first light, then fired up the engine with a
sigh and a prayer, raised anchor and headed through the canal.

A lot of Cape Cod looks like this from the water, but not so much from the canal. There are steep sides and high banks
through most of it, but there is a spit very much like this on the north side of the exit into Buzzards Bay.

I'd been in Buzzards Bay before when it was windy and found the exit of the canal to dump you into some nasty chop.
Gratefully, this was not the case on this day. It was fabulous and I could only have enjoyed it more if my engine wasn't trying
to commit suicide, or if I'd been sailing.

As I neared the southern end of Buzzards Bay, the swell began increasing and a stiff wind of about twenty knots gradually
turned to hit me right on the nose. Out of the bay I was in deeper water and now travelling due west towards the entrance of
Narragansett Bay running north up into Rhode Island. The swells grew to about 6 to 8 feet, but it was a crisp and beautiful
day and Falcon plunged onward and into it. I took a little water on the deck, but mostly spray and nothing I found particularly
scary. Of course, the thought of losing the engine in this location was daunting as the wind and waves would drive me back
towards Cuttyhunk Island and Martha's Vineyard, both with brutal rocky shores.

I moved to within half a mile of the most prominent land features to the north and found it helped a bit with the size of the
swell. As I neared Narragansett Bay, the swell diminished to about half and the engine blew with a sickening squeal and a
thud. I went forward and dropped the first anchor, which quickly snarled in some kind of giant steel net stretching southward
from the point of land north of me called 'Land's End'. I cannot tell you how much that irritated me. I pulled my arms off against
the wind and swell until I was as close to over the top of the net as I could get, then I cut the rode and let the anchor and 80
feet of rode fall to the bottom of the ocean. I quickly rigged a second Danforth on the 520 feet of 5/8 inch line left on that
brand new rode, and anchored successfully in 100 feet of water.

Whew. Well, the spunky little motor did well to get me this far. I took out my camera and took a picture of Land's End, as
perky and joyful a name as anyone could hope for in such a place. The first picture is Land's End. I think the other was taken
in or near Cape Cod Canal. I really don't know. It was years before I thought to sort them out.

I relaxed in the cockpit, thankful to have already installed the bowsprit so that I didn't have to go back into the water, but
realizing I had quite a chore ahead of me as far as standing up the two masts, rigging the booms, then sorting out which of
the old sails I might be able to use to make way. I had about twenty sails aboard, none of which were cut or intended for
Falcon, plus a few torn and damaged sails that people gave me because I was closer than the dumpster. I figured that one
way or another, I'd get her to sail.

I turned on the radio for no reason other than that I could now at least hear it, and the very first sound I heard was the local
Coast Guard hailing me. You could have knocked me over with a feather if I wasn't already stretched out on the cockpit seat
eating an MRI. I responded and they sounded greatly relieved to hear from me. It seems Lauretta got concerned and gave
them a call. They asked what my situation was and I stated clearly that I was about up to my ass in alligators. They asked if I
needed assistance and I told them that I did not. I said that my rig was lying down on the deck, so I couldn't sail, and my
engine had converted itself to a greasy heap of scrap iron, so I couldn't motor, but I was enjoying the peanut butter section of
an MRI and a beautiful sunset.

They asked if there was water coming aboard and if I had a life jacket on. I said no to both and they asked if I wouldn't put on
the life jacket just to make them feel better, so I did. Then they asked what I was going to do, and I said that it was my
intention to wait for morning for these seas to flatten out some, at which point I would set up my masts, rig the boat and sail
off home to Naples, Florida.

There was some silence, and then they asked that I leave my radio on so they could check in with me from time to time. Oh
yeah, I did tell them that the reason I never answered their hail earlier was due to the noise the bad engine was making.

A minute later, Sea Tow called me and said they'd come out and tow me in. I said 'No, thank you.' The guy sounded insistent,
making some vague reference to 'hazard to navigation' and 'my own safety' and other salesman-like drivel. I asked him 'how
much?' He replied '$125 an hour'. I said, "And you'll have some forms for me to fill out that give you salvage rights to my
vessel and liens and other things you pirates do, right?" He got nasty and swore at me and I told him to go do something to
himself, but I forget the exact words except that I'd recently made a similar statement to some guy in Boston Harbor. Anyway,
the Coast Guard piped in and told us both to clam up and watch our language. Sea Tow didn't say anything. I agreed and
apologized. I got another call from the Coast guard a half hour later. A standard check-in thing.

About a half hour after that, I got a call from a Coast Guard Cutter, a 41 footer I think, and they were within sight of me. The
sun was just below the horizon now but there was still enough light for us to see each other. It seemed like there were three
crews aboard the boat and I got the idea that the heavy weather had kept the recreational boaters in the bay and the entire
Coast Guard Crew on duty for the holiday was sitting at the dock with nothing to do, so this Captain decided to bring them all
out to learn a little Coast Guard business. He asked if I minded if he trained his Seamen in a rescue/tow situation. Great
googely moogely! Not a bit, Captain! Anything you want!

They did all the things they were supposed to, a couple of times over as the Captain coached and criticised exactly how they
launched the small boat, attached the tow line, secured the line and re-boarded the cutter. I hauled up my own anchor
(wheeze puff puff wheeze) as fast as I could and steered Falcon as she was towed about 15 miles to Narragansett Bay and
to a mooring field in pitch darkness. The only way I knew where we were was a spotlight on the cutter illuminated moored
sailboats and empty moorings. They brought me to one and I tied up, then the Captain brought the cutter alongside and
asked if his young'uns could each do a standard inspection of the vessel. After a free three hour tow? Anything you want,
Cap. I got my documentation and chatted with the Captain while the kids all ran through and over Falcon filling out their
forms. I told him about the situation in Boston, taking the boat, and the flashing lights behind me. He called the Boston Coast
Guard on the radio and asked what they knew about the situation. Now, here it is.

When the marina called the boat in 'stolen', the Coast Guard naturally monitored the radio. The State Police asked if they
knew who had stolen the boat and by this time, they were already in hot pursuit. Well, the marina rightly and properly
responded with my name and the name of the boat. Next thing you know, up pops the Coast Guard on the radio, informing all
chase vehicles that the boat is documented, and a documented vessel cannot be reported stolen by someone who is not the
owner, while the owner is actually aboard the vessel. A private agency cannot enlist public agencies to capture property on
US waters without a criminal act having occurred, and if the police board the vessel, the Coast Guard will intervene.

Go Coast Guard. You guys are my heroes. The Captain told me all about it, the youngsters finished their inspections, we all
said goodbye, goodnight and good luck, and I went to sleep.

These pictures are what happens when you forget (for
a year or two) that you have exposed film in your
camera. It was actually a beautiful, sunny morning. The
bridge is the Jamestown Bridge linking Newport, Rhode
Island to Conanicut Island in the middle of Narragansett
Bay. This is what greeted me in the morning, much to
my delighted surprise. The next three pictures sort of
comprise a counter-clockwise sweep of my
surroundings.

There was a huge marina and an even larger mooring
field, most of which was filled with sailboats. This was a
big holiday weekend and it looked and sounded like it. I
could hear music playing in the streets and a hundred
boats plied the waters of the bay. Almost dead center in
the picture is the heavily fendered launch that serviced
the moorings for the marina. I didn't know that until later.

Further south along the coast of Conanicut Island
were large slips for bigger boats, mostly power and it
appeared, mostly commercial charter craft. Straight
south from Falcon in the last shot is the sea of masts
stretching for a couple of miles. It's like a slice of
sailboat heaven here. I went below to stash the
camera and then back to the cockpit to figure a way to
get ashore and get a cup of coffee. Just as I emerged
from below, the power launch was coming along side
and the smiling operator asked if I wanted to go
ashore.

"Well, yeah!" And I jumped aboard. He told me where I
was and asked where I wanted to go. I told him to the
marina office to pay for my mooring. He dropped me at
the dock and said the office was right there in a little
shack partway up the dock.

I thanked him and went into the neat little office and
waited in line behind some other people.

When it was my turn, I stepped up to the counter and
said, "The Coast Guard towed me in and put me on
one of your moorings last night, so I need to pay for
the mooring." The kid behind the counter, who looked
to be about 16, asked me, "Are you from 'Falcon'?" I
nodded and said "yes."

"The owner says not to charge you. He said he'll be
in and later and you can talk to him then."

Awesome. I thanked him, and was a bit curious as I
left the office. It slowly occurred to me that someone
might have been listening to the radio on the previous
evening. Someone who also has no love for SeaTow.
I counted my blessings and kept my mouth shut.

I wandered across the street and quickly found coffee
and breakfast. I had a great time in Jamestown over
the weekend. Sidewalk cafés, live bands, restored 12
Meter ex-America's Cup boats, and even two restored
'J' Boats, I think 'Endeavor' and 'Resolute', but don't
hold me to that. I met the owner, Bill Munger, who
could not have been a nicer guy and offered me the
use of his new inflatable to get back and forth to
Falcon.

He advised me that I was not likely to find the kind of
resources around Jamestown, or even Newport, that I
would need to repair or replace my fragmented
engine. He was right, there was no way I could fix the
engine and continue. On the first working day after
the weekend, I arranged to have Falcon hauled out
and stored just long enough for me to arrange a
Brownell overland haul from Jamestown to Royal

Yacht Services in Naples, Florida, where I worked at the time. I paid for the haul and storage on the spot, thanked Bill for
everything, and quickly prepped Falcon, then took a bus to the airport and flew to Naples.

April 1, 2009 - Seafood Shack Marina - Cortez, Florida

Falcon sank last night. Okay, no, April Fool! Did anyone believe it? No really, you can tell me.

This is what a bucket full of keel-mined lead looks like. You can
leave it out on the dock without worrying, because if anyone is big
enough to snatch it up and run away, you're gonna want to let him
go without trying to stop him. I need two hands and a deep breath
just to lift it high enough to slip onto the scale.

Yesterday I managed to get another 30 pounds out and this
morning 21 pounds more. The bucket on the dock is full to the top
and weighs a little over 180 pounds. 220 left to go.

On a sad note, I heard last night that Espin's Mother passed away
yesterday morning while Espin was driving up to be there. He'd
gotten a call the day before saying that she was quite ill and may
not last much longer. The drive from here to there is ten hours or
so. He'll be there for a few more days, I'm sure, and try to comfort
his 94 year old Dad.

Donny and Barb were scheduled to leave today - loosely - but it
appears they may need another day or two here. There is just too
much still to do to make the boat ready to travel.

Today is a good day for me to do laundry. If I get just one more
good slab of lead out, I'll be over the 200 mark and convince myself
it's all downhill from here. I'm already feeling a little bit like that. You
know, light at the end of the tunnel and all. Good stuff. I won't talk
about the long list of other lobs waiting once the lead is done.

April 2, 2009 - Seafood Shack Marina - Cortez, Florida

I have not gotten back to the lead yet. I did my laundry and picked up Donny at the car rental when he dropped his rental car
off. I've spent a lot of time hanging around and talking with Eddie, Randy, Joe, Sandy, Celeste, George, Eric and probably
some others, ate in the Seafood Shack twice, emptied the trash in the bathrooms for Paul, who had to take an extra day off to
get something done and that's about it.

Donny gave me his old mainsail and I'm hoping I can make a main for Falcon out of it. I will use the phrase 'cautiously
optimistic' and hope that's appropriate. The sail plan for Falcon is very simple and straightforward and does not leave much, if
any, room for speculation. The gaffs and booms outline the main and fore sails and the jibs are small and restricted. It's a
schooner, not a racing sloop.

The wind has again picked up to 'howling in the rigging' and Donny and Barb had to put off leaving today. They are looking
forward to getting under way tomorrow, early. I stopped by Dulcinea long enough to chat a bit and have some warm custard
fresh from the cooking, with pecans. It was yummy. Then Donny made me watch how great his new head flushes. It IS
admirable. Installation was a long hard process that I worked on with him.

Sometimes schools of Mullet swim around in the
marina. They eat plankton, so catching them on a
hook is pretty rare. These fish are 12 to 18 inches
long.

I have been having some minor headaches with the
computer. All of my own doing. I can sometimes
overload it with overlapping programs to see which
ones I like best. I've been doing that recently and also
installing some huge programs I've been waiting
forever for. I just got the premium website analysis
software (I think) on the market, WebLog Expert, as
well as the new Corel X4 Graphics suite. I've been
working with several Adobe products, and while I
cannot fault them for effectiveness in their design,
they are cumbersome and difficult to use. It is true,
that if I had a couple of years of intensive collegiate
classroom application, a could kick ass in Photoshop
and Illustrator, but I don't, and I can't spend the time.

April 3, 2009 - Seafood Shack Marina - Cortez, Florida

Donny and Barb left today for parts South. Donny is exhausted, I'm sure. I spent yesterday working on the computer and
sorting things out, getting ready to install a dual-boot set-up so I can start running Linux Ubuntu and rid myself of the hidden
spyware Bill Gates installed in Windows. In case you don't know it, windows has secret files that automatically send all your
incoming and outgoing email's, all websites you visit, all searches you perform on line, and pretty much anything they want, to
the federal government. If you think it's just honest scanning for terrorists, your dreaming. And if you think I'm either paranoid
or kidding, do your own searches, and notice how all the relevant information is on foreign sites that the feds can't shut down.

The list of jobs, large and small, that I have to address once I'm done with the lead, is daunting. Let me see.

Before I put the engine back in, I have to pull the engine instrument panel and seal it. It leaks water inside if the rain is driven
from the right direction and that rain then runs down over the engine-to-panel connection terminal strip. Has to be sealed, and
it's much easier to do with the engine out. Next, install the cockpit speakers - just easy with the engine out. Paint the bilges
beneath the engine, and all around the engine room, with something light blue. Install some of the engine room sound
deadening material I've been carrying around forever. Make and install a screen device to rest below the engine to catch
things that fall before they end up in the bilge, 4 feet down. Install the engine fuel filter and fuel lines. Finish plumbing the
engine overhead section of the rainwater catch plumbing.

THEN install the engine again. Not too bad. As soon as the engine is back in, I need to install the two fuel tank vents, drill a
couple of drain holes in the aft storage lockers, epoxy in some fiberglass reinforcing tape, then paint the interior of all six of
the aft compartments, using some non-skid on the bottom of the 4 forward ones. Then I can store in those what I intend to,
extra anchors, line, golf clubs (yeah, I know) and extra sails and well protected winter blankets. I'm sure I'll find something else
that belongs there, but I'm not going to pile in a bunch of crap that I have to dig through any time I need something.

When that area is done, or being done, I can finish the water system and install the floor, the head, and finish the holding
tank, head and shower. Seems like I'll almost be done. But I'll still have to finish the interior of the saloon, make a chart table,
an electrical panel, an aft galley, and, oh yes, lest we forget, a set of sails.

My back hurts. (Just thinking about all the work.) Catch you later.