Spring Time in New England

After waiting a week for the ice to thaw, this was the first day on the water for our high school sailing team.  It's been a long snowy winter, but Spring is finally here!

It’s Time to Ban Single Use Plastic Water Bottles

College sailing has banned single use water bottles from its events. Real rules against it! Sailors must drink from re-useable bottles and hosts must provide a source of water to refill those bottles.

The New England Scholastic Sailing Association (high school sailing) has approved the same policy on a voluntary basis.

Host schools and coaches are tired of finding bottles in their sailing waters, tired of picking up the empties after an event, and tired of disposing of the mountain of trash. The bottles are frequently discarded without recycling the plastic.

My first reaction to this information was totally selfish. How will addressing this inconvenience me? I take along bottled water when I sail and buy cases of it for high school regattas. My sailing facility does not have a readily available source of clean drinking water to provide to regatta participants. Is it really a big enough problem to warrant new efforts from me?

Upon looking into it, it IS a big enough problem. In fact, it’s big enough that I’m ashamed I haven’t changed my ways before now.

Some bottled water facts:

• 60,000,000 plastic water bottles are discarded EVERY DAY in America.

• Only 23% (highest estimate I’ve found) of plastic water bottles are recycled. The rest end up in landfills or worse, where they can leach chemicals into the ground water.

• It takes ½ cup of oil to manufacture and transport each bottle.

• It requires 3 times as much water to make the bottle as it does to fill it.

• In producing each bottle, the CO2 released into the atmosphere would fill 12 balloons.

• Bottled water costs between 200 to 10,000 times as much as tap water.

• Virtually every independent study on bottled water shows some contamination from bacteria and/or synthetic chemicals.

• Many of the leading brands are not mountain spring water, but merely tap water that has been run through filters.

A simple alternative is tap water in reusable plastic, aluminum, or stainless steel bottles. Reusable metal bottles can be bought for as little as $4 each when purchased in bulk. Plastic bottles are even cheaper.

If water quality is the issue, it should be comforting to know that the safety of tap water is more regulated than the safety of bottled water. Other quality issues depend on a comparison of specific bottled products to specific tap water sources. When necessary, filters are available to upgrade the chemical and mineral purity, odor, and taste of tap water. We can almost always find a suitable tap water source.

When you think about it, you have to admit that re-usable bottles and tap water, especially when filtered, would work in almost every situation where we commonly drink bottled water. It’s hard to rationalize the need for wasteful production and distribution processes and the harmful environmental consequences of single use water bottles.

We have two fundamental choices. As the saying goes, we become part of the solution or we are part of the problem.

Every time we refill a bottle, we reduce the number of new bottles by one, and we take a step in the right direction. 59,999,999 bottles on the heap. Our reuse might encourage a friend to do the same. 59,999,998 bottles on the heap. College sailors are doing their part, and now, so are many high school sailors. 59, 998,000 bottles on the heap.



Here’s a visual representation of the rate at which plastic bottles are discarded.

The internet offers lots of information of the subject. Here are some sites and videos that make the point in 13 minutes or less.

Back2tap.com website with a 9 minute video reviewing the problems with bottled water - http://www.youtube.com/v/FjyLABrtmqA&hl=en&fs=1&autoplay=1

http://Storyofstuff.org/bottled water/ - offers an entertaining 10 minute video explaining the life cycle of single use bottles with an anti-bottled water industry tone.

Penn and Teller have a 13 minute entertaining video debunking the perceived quality of bottled water - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XfPAjUvvnIc

A short tap water vs. bottled water discussion - http://www.wimp.com/bottledwater/

Whitewater Rafting – The Out-of-Raft Experience

Concurrent with Tillerman’s Write a Review group writing project, I planned a little rafting trip as an interesting activity during a visit with my dad in South Carolina. I thought the two would dovetail nicely, and I could write a simple review of the trip and the company who ran it, Wildwater, Ltd.

It should be made clear here that Mrs. Yarg and I are complete neophytes at rafting. She has never been, and I have been only once before. I should also confess that we are not thrill seekers or adrenalin junkies. Planning and surfing in sailboats is enough for me. As a couple, golf and the nature watching version of kayaking are fine with us; skydiving and rock climbing are not.

Anticipating doing the review, I began writing in my head. I found out later that that review had already been written by an Atlanta newspaper and appears on the Wildwater’s website, http://www.wildwaterrafting.com/. It contains all the basics:

• Wildwater Ltd. is widely considered one of the best commercial rafting outfits
• The trip has laughs, excitement, and splashy outdoor fun
• The guides are young Bohemians with an encyclopedic knowledge of the river
• All safety precautions are taken – PFDs, helmets, safety talk about feet first swimming and safety ropes
• The Chattooga is designated a "wild and scenic" river
• Rapids have colorful names like Corkscrew, Last Supper, and Deliverance

And everything in that review is correct. But our experience of the trip was more aptly described by our guide’s term – out-of-raft experience.

It all begins with the reservation when they ask which trip you want to go on. The question is: Class III rapids or class IV rapids? Our knowledge of rapid classes is limited to Meryl Streep running a class V in The River Wild. We don’t want that. One of the kids working in the office says, “You want the Class IV. Class III is a little boring.” Class IV it is.

I looked up the definitions later and this is a Class IV (italics are mine):
Class IV/Advanced..... Intense, powerful rapids; turbulent water; may involve long, unavoidable waves, holes or constricted passages demanding fast maneuvers under pressure; may require "must" moves above dangerous hazards; risk of injury to swimmers is moderate to high; group assistance to swimmers requires practiced skills

Other fun facts not fully appreciated at the time of registration:

• This is the river on which Deliverance was filmed
• The Chattooga contains the steepest section of river commercially rafted in the Southeast
• What I used to think of as small waterfalls are more properly classified as Class IV rapids

All through the safety talk, I am thinking these commercial rafters sure take all the precautions and cover all the bases, but overdo it a bit with a “scared straight” tone. Insisting that we wear PFDs and helmets to cushion falls in case we slip while walking on rocks while not rafting seems a bit much.

The first part of the trip on the river meets all expectations. There is excitement, splashing, and good wet fun. The guy next to me, Don, seems to have been rafting many times and wants all the excitement he can get. With a bump on a rock that is far from extraordinary, Don flies out of the boat into the cool water and seems to enjoy the unfettered ride until the burly guide deftly plucks him back into the boat.

Our guide’s path down the river seems a bit less expertly chosen than Meryl Streep’s or even Burt Reynolds’ and Ned Beatty’s, but I try to make some allowances for reality being different than movies. After getting stranded on submerged rocks a couple of times, and having the guide jump out to wrestle the raft free, Don says “I don’t think he’s the best guide.” After some casual questions from Don, the guide reveals that this is only his second year of rafting, but reassures us with a description of the rigorous training program for guides.

We follow rather simple paddling instructions as the guide does all the brain work and steering. “On this next rapid,” he explains, “everyone has to lean as far as they can to the right.” As the raft seems to climb a rock sideways just before a several foot drop off, we all lean hard right to counterbalance the tilt of the raft. The raft then does a 180, making right left, and we find ourselves leaning hard to the low side of the raft causing both Don and the guide to hurtle into the water. Unpinning himself from between the raft and the rocks, the gasping guide struggles to get the raft marginally under control as we do a spin or two while hauling in the swimmers.

Mrs. Yarg and I exchange concerned glances. We are beginning to worry that the brains and skills of the operation may not be as brainy and skilled as these two trusting neophytes had hoped.

I always thought of whitewater sports as an exercise of skill and grace through a turbulent and chaotic situation. I also thought the object of the game was to thread the raft between the rocks without hitting them. Apparently I was wrong. I have a new respect for the ruggedness and abrasion resistance of inflatable rafts.

As we approach what appears to be a rather long but manageable set of rapids, we watch the boat in front of us intentionally doing 360s down the rapids. As we enter the whitewater, the guide asks if we want to do 360s too. Mrs. Yarg succinctly says “no,” at which time the guide starts spinning us. At about 270 degrees, we roll up on a rock, and Mrs. Yarg and I are ejected over backwards into the river. Repeated capsizes in my Laser have taught me to remain calm in these dunking situations, but the ensuing rapid horizontal movement I experience is new and unsettling. I come up grabbing at the first thing I see which happens to be Mrs. Yarg who, fortunately, has succeeded in latching onto the raft. After floating at high speed with feet up to repel sharp objects and a few ricochets off sunken rocks, the subsequent yanking haul in doesn’t seem so bad. I suggest to the guide that perhaps 360s should be limited to a horizontal plane.

Unlike a sailboat capsize, I don’t see any of this coming. One second I’m in the raft, and the next second I’m upside down in the water. The thought that there are real risks involved in this is finally starting to sink in.

Now the guide is starting to preface his instructions for the upcoming rapids with “There is no reason to fall out of the raft, but when you do…” followed by instructions on which side to swim toward (as if one were in control) and where the rescue ropes will be. Rescue ropes? Yikes!

It turns out that the complete out-of-raft experience includes rescue ropes – beautiful thick yellow ropes thrown by skilled, heroic young men. Yep, you guessed it. The next launching at the second of the famed Five Falls is pictured below. My new best friend, Don, can’t resist diving over me as he, Mrs. Yarg, and I share a triple out-of-raft experience.

As I surface, I realize I am running the rapids without the benefit of a raft. I’m happy to see Mrs. Yarg surface nearby, but no blue rafts or rest stops are ahead on this highway. A golden voice comes out of the trees and shouts, “Catch this!” as that wonderful yellow rope drops two feet in front of me. Without needing additional encouragement, Mrs. Yarg and I lunge for the lifeline, me at the end and she, mid rope. I thought sure that she would provide the pivot point and I would be whipped into the jagged boulders at river’s edge, but our knight in shining PFD runs along the rocks to gradually slow us down until we reach a reasonable take out point. I have never seriously practiced throwing a coil of rope even though I know it might be useful in sailing rescues. I now have a new found regard for this awesome skill.

Nursing scrapes and bruises where thigh met rock and snorting the river water out of our noses, Mrs. Yarg and I shakily anticipate our next attempt to survive the fun we’ve signed up for. Standing on the rocks at the shore and looking at the waterfall I am about to go over is stimulating the fear instinct in me. I am not going to give into it, but all trust in our leader is shot, and the remaining two of the Five Falls are approached with some dread. The guide tells us that he will exercise all caution on the next two, and our approaches will be “textbook.” Why the hell didn’t we try textbook before this?

When there is real trouble ahead the guide hollers “Get down!” and we all duck toward the center of the raft. In this last section of the trip, we continue to cower with heads down long after the “get down” period is over. Somehow we survive the rest of the trip without incident. The guide's official final score for our five tourist raft is seven “swimmers“. (He doesn’t count himself, and the tourists’ count is higher.) I can see from his face that this is well above average. In talking to other guides I find out that the swimmer tally is highly variable, but I am left with the firm impression that the swimmer number should not exceed the passenger number.

In the end, it seems there are several versions of Wildwater Ltd. and their rafting excursions. I guess that’s what outdoor adventure trips are all about. I think that before my next trip I will share with my guide the view that the sport is more elegant when the driver avoids the rocks rather than hits them and when he keeps the passengers in the raft rather than out of the raft. I’m sure an occasional “out-of-raft experience” is an integral part of the sport, but surely there must be a more reasonable balance between swimming and boating.

Dock Owners vs. Canadian Geese, Sea Gulls, et. al.

Canadian Geese are certainly not popular in my neck of the water. Their most serious crime seems to be …..is there a delicate way to say this?…..their incredible talent for producing feces. If there were a machine to produce the stuff, it would be hard to build one more efficient than a Canadian goose. An offshoot to this propensity is the potential for increasing the bacteria count in the water to a level such that swimming is not healthy. In their defense, except on golf courses, they do not seem guilty of actual verbal or physical assaults to humans near the water.

Sea Gulls have a similar, though lesser, ability, and are therefore easy to lump into the same category as geese.

Many self respecting property owners are not willing to put up with such foul behavior, and they have many weapons with which to wage war against these pests. The fake owl seems to have become a useless and obsolete weapon, but a new iteration of the same idea is the fake floating swan. From a distance, they are pretty convincing. Had me fooled the first time. I wonder if geese and gulls can figure out that they never move.






The primary beach protection is a short fence a few feet from the water line running the length of the beach. I love to kayak around the lake and see a small group of geese gathered on the land side of one of these fences. It seems that geese can attack by air as well as by sea.




The favorite for docks seems to be a device something like a helicopter rotor. It turns about four inches above the surface of the dock. It consists of a stiff wire on a pivot in the middle with small, red plastic wind catching devices on each end. These rotate with any appreciable wind and would presumably cut any presumptuous goose off at the knees. As long as the owners don’t attempt to walk on their own docks, these contraptions work fine.





A more sinister scheme involves the use of string in a web pattern. It looks like any birds foolish enough to come in for a landing would get entangled in the web with dire consequences. The threat of such a catastrophe seems sufficient to deter all wildlife.




A more appealing approach is the floaty toy alligator tied to the dock. Even birds hailing from North of Tallahassee instinctively know they should not be messing with gators, and having not ever seen a real one, the inflatable produces sufficient fear.






A far more innovative design has the look of a large hawk-shaped bird flying in random patterns about eight feet above the dock. Essentially, it is a kite disguised as a predatory raptor. It is suspended on a string, attached to a tall bendy fiberglass pole. It is a really clever and elegant design.




Call me a peacenik, hippy, or what you will, but I find that I am a conscientious objector in this war. I don’t like cleaning up after geese and gulls any more than the next guy, but do we really need this attempt at species cleansing? Can’t we share the lake with the indigenous wildlife? The geese and gull haters need to realize that their attacks are not surgical; all species of birds are affected by their assaults. Those who frighten off geese and gulls never have the pleasure of seeing other birds. I am visited by many different species of ducks, the occasional cormorant or kingfisher, and my favorite, great blue herons. Although I am not a placard carrying animal lover, I am not willing to accept collateral damage in a war against goose poop.


I would rather have the blue herons and put up with some mess. With that being said, I see six geese, who somehow got an advanced copy of this posting, out there on my dock right now... taunting me. Damn, I need to go clean my dock.

Ducks in a Row

Living on a lake and having a modicum of common sense and competence in water safety, makes me an accidental rescuer from time to time. Usually it is inept sailors for whom the difficulties of conditions exceed their overestimated sailing skills. Occasionally it is happy go lucky boaters who become swimmers separated from their craft or unable to get their boat right side up. Two weekends ago was my first wildlife rescue.

Late morning, as I was headed out to the dock for a few peaceful minutes of gazing at the water, I seemed to startle a family of ducks. The parents were uncharacteristically small at about 12” long, probably a pair of grebes, so my wife speculates, but the eight ducklings were mere 3” balls of fuzz. They may have been out for their very first swim. They were definitely way off the scale for cute, fuzzy, little animals. I slowed my advance to give them time scurry around the dock and down the lake, out of harm’s way from humans.

Around noon, as I was giving the cute, fuzzy animal sighting report to Mrs. Yarg, I noticed that about twenty yards past my driveway a car had been stopped for several minutes. The driver was out of the car, staring at the ground and walking around in little circles. The nosey neighbor part of me couldn’t resist seeing what was so interesting about a little patch of road. As soon as I was out the front door, I could hear the driver on his cell phone asking if any DPW workers were around and working on Saturdays. As he continued, he reported that some ducklings, undoubtedly my ducklings, had fallen through a grate and down into the catch basin.

When I arrived along with another nosey neighbor, the driver relayed the story of stopping for the crossing of the ducks, and then watching in horror as one duckling after another disappeared through the grate behind their parents who continued to march toward the wetland across the street.

Mobilized for rescue, each man produced a long pry bar, or reasonable facsimile, to use in grate lifting. (Why each man, especially the driver, would have these tools handy, I don’t know.) Nets of various sorts were retrieved from cars and basements for use in fishing out ducklings. Something resembling a lacrosse stick seemed to be the best tool.

We should not have been surprised that the ducklings would be frightened by an assault from humans with sticks and nets. Only two were captured in the initial assaults, while the others swam down the pipe toward the catch basin on the other side of the street. This necessitated the opening of a second catch basin, a narrowing of the street for passing cars, the directing of traffic, and an extended fishing expedition for the remaining ducklings. Many of us got at least one duckling save to our credit, and eventually all were rescued and escorted across the sidewalk and into the wetland. The parents waited just out of sight for their missing ducklings, and quacked frequently from the safety of the wetland so that the little delinquents could find them.

The humans left the scene feeling good that cute, little, fuzzy animals were saved, and that we humans had accomplished an act of kindness.

Today it was reassuring to see a duck family with uncharacteristically small parents and eight considerably bigger ducklings.

Nice story……….but really, how can those ducks be so stupid? Why do the parents walk over a catch basin grate? The grates are at least 300 feet apart; what are the odds of randomly walking across one? After one or two ducklings drop, shouldn’t someone re-evaluate what’s happening? Don’t ducks have some survival instincts? Was it attempted infanticide? Shouldn’t DSS take those ducklings away from their parents?

Are there morals to this story?
Ducks need to think outside the row, humans need to think outside the box and the boat?
There are pitfalls to being a follower?
Ducks are Daffy?

Collectaholism

Today’s topic is another debate on the eternal question, “Can one have too many small boats?” (At least it is not one of those Tillerman inspired lists, although I suppose I could set it up that way if I really wanted). When sailors give the obvious answer - “you can’t,” I think they are talking about having five or six. It’s easy to justify that many few. But with each additional boat, the rationale becomes sketchier, so maybe the question should be “Is there any straight faced justification I can offer for this boat that will offset the pains of maintenance and visual blight of off season storage.”

A year ago, I needed 10 justifications, but already this year it’s up to 13. Hello. My name is Yarg, and I’m boat collectaholic. I think there is an excellent reason for each and every one of them, but 13 does seem a bit excessive. This may be the wrong support group if I really want to quit, but I’ll trust you, my reader (should that be plural?), to tell me if I’ve gone too far.

Let’s start with the rowing craft- two kayaks and one rowing shell. Kayaks are for peaceful paddling with the Mrs. or for the Mrs. and her friends. The rowing shell provides a great way to exercise. All have been used already this year, and all store easily on a nice rack.

The two Sunfish are quite old and very heavy, but my wife will sail with me if we both go out in Sunfish. Boats that are good for a marriage are a must have. I couldn’t get much money for them anyway.

Five (or six, depending on how you count) Lasers might seem more than necessary, but I can explain. One is almost new and is my summer boat. Another doubles as my son’s summer boat and my winter boat. Winter sailing offers no way to rinse off salt water, so I can’t subject a new boat to that. The third is leftover from my buy, fix, and resell episode. It’s named “Loner” and is loaned to new Laser sailors and out of towners as a fleet building aid. The fourth is my “original” Laser and is being kept just in case I can get my wife to sail with my son and me. (She tried it once – this could work out.) The fifth is really just a hull that my son found washed up on the beach and no one has claimed for almost a year now. (Don’t ask me how someone can let their Laser float away on a small lake, and not go looking for it for a year.) But that hull is better than the “original” Laser hull, so I think I should keep it just in case. Or maybe its owner will come claim her. The sixth Laser belongs to my niece, so it shouldn’t really count. She’ll use it a few times this summer, so makes sense to keep it here near the water.

The 19’ Flying Scot is what I sailed for years before I met “original” Laser. It’s minimum legal weight and fast, so it would be a shame to part with it. I sail it a couple of times a year, and even finished third in a light air regatta a year and a half ago. I look at it as my retirement boat in case my knee gives out again or if I just get old, and it has potential as a father and son boat. And every now and then I really miss a spinnaker.

The latest acquisition is a small power boat that I used for coaching this spring. It’s great to have a coach boat set up the way you want it, and I confess that zipping around in a power boat is more fun than a sailor should admit. I suspect this one is going to be a challenge come winter. Sunfish, Lasers, and kayaks keep a nice low profile and can hide behind bushes, but for the power boat I guess I’m hoping that a big green tarp will be environmentally friendly, whereas a big blue tarp would be an eyesore.

I’m done collecting boats. No more. I have said that in the past, but I think I’m really through this time. Unless…. I stumble on a late model Sunfish rigged for racing. It would be fun to do some racing in the New England Sunfish fleet – nice people – terrific sailors.

I know many of you have a seldom used boat that you just can’t part with sitting around the yard. How do you justify it?

You know you’re in trouble when…

Every once in a while, you find yourself headed down a road where you can see impending disaster ahead, and it’s so obvious that all you can do is find the humor – like a pile up at the leeward mark. One of those instances occurred for me a couple of nights ago.

I was waiting for my hearing at the local Conservation Commission. In and of itself, this was an enterprise destined for disappointment. As the applicant, I knew I wanted to build something that this board of environmental guardians was bound to hate, and they would either impose expensive and odious limitations on it or crush my idea all together. In this instance, I realized that I was pushing all the limits, but I felt that I had come so far that I should at least have my say. I wasn’t expecting much.

As I was waiting, they began their session by addressing the applicant ahead of me. An aspiring eagle scout wanted to build a canoe rack for the town, located on the town’s beach, at no cost to the town. The apprehensive kid could barely speak in front of the Board of Zealots (and he wasn’t even aware of the zealot part). He had a very nice three page PowerPoint handout describing his project, but it was painful to watch him try to explain it. Somehow his intentions were finally understood (it was only a canoe rack, for God’s sake), and then the questions started. Would he be using pressure treated wood? Isn’t that full of arsenic? No, they don’t use arsenic anymore. Maybe you should use cedar? How many holes in the ground? Do you have to dig holes? How far from the water? Thirty feet, right at the stone wall. Could it be farther away? We’d like to have it fifty feet from the resource area. Know what? You should meet the agent at the site and review the location. Do you want to wait until there isn’t two feet of snow on the ground?

On the site there is a small beach, then a stone wall, then a hill. Where did they expect it to go? Up the hill? The canoe, water, rack relationship most of us would expect was not taken for granted.

As I felt sorry for kid, I thought to myself, “You’re in trouble when they tell an eagle scout that his donated canoe rack is too close to the water.”

Imagine what they said about my proposed boathouse being two feet from the wetland.

Yarg