WHEN YOU’RE THINKING about buying a boat there’s always something you think of too late. Something that will keep you awake all night the very first time you drop the hook in a beautiful anchorage.
Slap! Clang! Slap! It’s the noise of the loose wires in the mast. The incessant noise of the loose wires in the mast. The noise that drives you mad with frustration as you lie wide awake at 3 a.m. in your nice cozy bunk wanting to tear the mast open with your bare hands and strangle those damn wires that go clang with every little movement of the boat.
I have seen instructions from the experts showing how to pop-rivet a small-diameter plastic pipe inside the mast. Apparently, if you thread all the wires and cables through that pipe they can’t move around enough to make a noise.
The other way, which is a whole lot easier, is to fit those nylon zip ties used to bundle up electrical wiring. You’re supposed to use extra-long ones, so that the stiff ends protrude, and place groups of four of them together so they stick out at right angles to each other. The ends should protrude more than the diameter of the mast, so they will bend in place with enough spring to hold the wires in the middle of the mast. The groups of four need to be about 6 inches apart all the way up the bundle. You then haul the wires up through the mast on your messenger line, fix them in place, and hope for the best.
I don’t know how long this arrangement will last. I can’t guarantee that the stiff nylon ends won’t make dozens of squeaky little scritching noises in the middle of the night, which might be more annoying than a few honest-to-god hearty slaps, but people who’ve done it assure me they’ve enjoyed nothing but silence.
On a long cruise, I find that I don’t notice the slapping noises after the second or third night. My brain just tunes them out. But the first night is always hell, no matter how calm the anchorage seems, and no matter how many Dark ’n Stormies I have taken as a medicinal aid to sleep.
So before you buy your next boat, put an ear to the mast and get someone to rock the boat from side to side. Then get a quote for dropping the mast and fixing the slap. Subtract it from the purchase price. No seller with the faintest modicum of conscience will object.
More strangeness
ANOTHER strange thing happened. The number of my Followers has jumped from 29 to 36 virtually overnight. My fickle Follower who jumped ship has been replaced by seven new faithful Followers.
People ask me why I don’t show my Followers on this page, and I tell them that if I reveal my Followers then my readers may find them more interesting than me and desert me. For instance, I happen to know that one very interesting Follower has a Ph.D. in geology and sails one of my very favorite small boats, a Drascombe Lugger. I don’t doubt she’s more fascinating than me, and I know for sure she writes better than wot I can, so I’m not telling you who she is.
There is also a philosophical question concerning Vigor’s Silent Fan Club. If the chairman, Ivor Tungin-Cheaque, finds out about my Followers, and decides they are Following me as a crafty way of expressing praise for my writing, they will all be expelled from the club. As you know, members of this, the world’s largest fan club, are forbidden to acknowledge me or praise me in any way, in writing or by word of mouth. Old Medvedev has been very good about obeying this rule, and so has Mr. Obama, not to mention Queen Elizabeth, bless her little heart.
So I am playing it very cool for the moment, hoping that Mr. Tungin-Cheaque is looking the other way. I fear that a time may come when I shall have to reveal my Followers, but I leave that to Fate. The time is not now.
Today’s Thought
I never take a nap after dinner but when I have had a bad night, and then the nap takes me.
-- Samuel Johnson, (Boswell, Life, 1775)
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #151
Preparing a new boat for extended cruising costs about an additional 25 percent of the purchase price. A second-hand boat that has already been used for cruising will cost you only about 10 to 15 percent of the purchase price to be ready for cruising again.
Tailpiece
“I find you guilty and sentence you to a fine of $250 and 30 days in jail.”
“Oh, please Your Honor, please I beg of you, please reverse my sentence.”
“Very well. I sentence you to a fine of $30 and 250 days in jail.”
Showing posts with label Followers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Followers. Show all posts
January 25, 2011
January 23, 2011
A Follower goes astray
SOMETHING STRANGE and disconcerting has happened. Last Thursday I had 30 Followers. Last Saturday I had 29 Followers. Where is my missing Follower? Who has deserted the pack? What rat has fled the sinking ship?
It has taken me about two-and-a-half years to build up my Following of Followers — mainly, I suppose, because I have kept their existence secret — and I am not going to take it lightly if Followers suddenly stop Following.
I have not publicized my Followers because I was going to wait until I had a reasonably decent number of them to boast about, say a couple of hundred, before I revealed their existence. But now my hand has been forced and I have had to humiliate myself in public, revealing such a weensy band of Followers. I bet Oprah has 29 million Followers, not just 29 — though I imagine they would be of much lower class than my Followers. Volume is not everything, you know. Quality of Followership counts, too.
Frankly I have no idea how my small but gallant band of Followers came about in the first place. There is nothing on my blog or website that invites readers to Follow me. I was always rather nervous about being Followed in any case. It sounds too much like Stalking, and a man of great sensitivity like me soon begins to see Followers lurking on every dark street corner, and begins to wonder if he should buy a large semi-automatic pistol to protect himself and his family.
At first, when I discovered their clandestine presence, I imagined there had been an outbreak of spontaneous Self-Following. But throughout my months and years of blogging the number of Followers has gradually increased. One here, one there. Long period of nothing. One more. And so on. But always in an upward direction, always increasing.
So now, having reached 30, we suddenly slide back to 29. Who is this backslider? Where are you now? I will not tolerate this nonsense. What insubordination is this? Either you Follow or you don’t join in the first place, dammit. Are you some ignorant foreigner who over-estimated his ability to read good plain English presented with immaculate style and wondrous phrasing? Or have you simply taken leave of your senses?
I demand answers. Return to Followship immediately, whoever you are, rotten ex-Follower. I am not to be trifled with. I am der Leader of der Followers. Und I vant 30, not 29. Remember, I haf vays to make you Follow. Even if it means jumping out ahead of you.
Today’s Thought
He who betrays his friend shall never be
Under one roof, or in one ship with me.
— Swift, Imitations of Horace: Odes
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #150
How often have you seen the word “portal” on a boating bulletin board? The correct word is porthole, which is an opening in the hull or cabintop to admit light and air. It’s also known as a port. The framed glass that makes the hole watertight has two names. If it can be opened, it’s a portlight. If not, it’s a deadlight.
Tailpiece
“What are you so excited about, Clara?”
“My Daddy’s got a new car.”
“Great. Is he excited, too?”
“Yeah, he spent all last night painting it and changing the license plates.”
It has taken me about two-and-a-half years to build up my Following of Followers — mainly, I suppose, because I have kept their existence secret — and I am not going to take it lightly if Followers suddenly stop Following.
I have not publicized my Followers because I was going to wait until I had a reasonably decent number of them to boast about, say a couple of hundred, before I revealed their existence. But now my hand has been forced and I have had to humiliate myself in public, revealing such a weensy band of Followers. I bet Oprah has 29 million Followers, not just 29 — though I imagine they would be of much lower class than my Followers. Volume is not everything, you know. Quality of Followership counts, too.
Frankly I have no idea how my small but gallant band of Followers came about in the first place. There is nothing on my blog or website that invites readers to Follow me. I was always rather nervous about being Followed in any case. It sounds too much like Stalking, and a man of great sensitivity like me soon begins to see Followers lurking on every dark street corner, and begins to wonder if he should buy a large semi-automatic pistol to protect himself and his family.
At first, when I discovered their clandestine presence, I imagined there had been an outbreak of spontaneous Self-Following. But throughout my months and years of blogging the number of Followers has gradually increased. One here, one there. Long period of nothing. One more. And so on. But always in an upward direction, always increasing.
So now, having reached 30, we suddenly slide back to 29. Who is this backslider? Where are you now? I will not tolerate this nonsense. What insubordination is this? Either you Follow or you don’t join in the first place, dammit. Are you some ignorant foreigner who over-estimated his ability to read good plain English presented with immaculate style and wondrous phrasing? Or have you simply taken leave of your senses?
I demand answers. Return to Followship immediately, whoever you are, rotten ex-Follower. I am not to be trifled with. I am der Leader of der Followers. Und I vant 30, not 29. Remember, I haf vays to make you Follow. Even if it means jumping out ahead of you.
Today’s Thought
He who betrays his friend shall never be
Under one roof, or in one ship with me.
— Swift, Imitations of Horace: Odes
Boaters’ Rules of Thumb, #150
How often have you seen the word “portal” on a boating bulletin board? The correct word is porthole, which is an opening in the hull or cabintop to admit light and air. It’s also known as a port. The framed glass that makes the hole watertight has two names. If it can be opened, it’s a portlight. If not, it’s a deadlight.
Tailpiece
“What are you so excited about, Clara?”
“My Daddy’s got a new car.”
“Great. Is he excited, too?”
“Yeah, he spent all last night painting it and changing the license plates.”
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