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Stockton
Don Goes A Yak'n - 3 continued
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Some recap: After about 6 months of denial, Captain had to admit his search to replace his canoe was sabotaged by the Hobie Adventure kayak. That ‘yak brought together sailing (which Captain had done but not found appealing in a canoe) paddling, touring (Captain’s real love), and pedaling (which Captain was already doing for exercise on land). Prior experience with whitewater kayaking and one kayak tour, all in sit-inside kayaks, left no fond memories. Sit on top – ah, a different thing. Trips to dealers to fondle the merchandise followed. Captain looked at Ocean Kayaks, and many other brands, but the darn Hobie Adventure just crowded them out of contention. Newport was Captain’s maiden saltwater voyage. Surf was too rough to try, apparently, but the large swells and fishing turned out to just whet Captain’s appetite for saltwater touring and fishing. Captian's
log: Just got my first digital camera 6-7-06: Olympus Stylus 720 SW. Still trying to figure out how to take and post decent pictures. [Crew (aka darn cat) feels decency is overrated and intends to pose au natural, regardless of Captain's standing orders against all such don't ask, don't tell behavior.] 7-9-06 : Captain shreds Carrot, lands on Island . Crew (aka darn cat) waved his tail in amusement as Procurement Officer tried not to run. PO’s red face and scuttling feet as he all but jumped into his vehicle and left – no fled – the base and his briefing with Captain were classic: military intelligence had lived down to its name again. The only question now was what would be the fate of The Carrot. Captain emerged from his office to walk the perimeter. Crew knew the signs: Captain’s pace was deliberate, almost mechanically precise, and his body language was too controlled, too quiet. Crew knew this was the same “quiet” found at the center of hurricanes. Captain was angry, deep down angry, the kind of quiet angry that would lead first to almost meditation-like calmness and then to the kind of resolute, often surprising, even radical, action that endeared Captain to those in the ranks but infuriated The Admiralty. The storm flags were flying. Crew knew Captain was ultimately responsible for signing off on the purchase of The Carrot and now regretted it deeply. The mango-colored Hobie Adventure hanging in the transport bay was barely two months old, Captain had not begun to customize it for its appointed mission, and now it was clear that a newer design, the Adventure Island , was and always would be superior in design and mission suitability. Captain was angry. “Well, Crew, merchants will be merchants, won’t they?” Captain asked rhetorically. Crew knew not to answer. “The dealer said nothing new until 2008. The Hobie rep said nothing new for a while and easy trade-in later. Both said buy now. And I signed off in May. Two months later and, well, you know, the Island is supposed to be available in September 2006.” [Crew: You don’t really want me to comment do you?] |
Captain made an inarticulate sound somewhere between a disgusted grumble and muttered curse, and then made the throwing-away motion that Crew knew meant “Fire away, how could your comment make things any worse?” [Crew: Will you ever be able to look at The Carrot and be satisfied that you have equipped those you send into harm’s way with the best tool for the job under the circumstances?] Captain stops pacing and stares at Crew: “Old friend I can always count on you to cut to the chase, can’t I. ?” [Crew: don’t forget the pounce and bite!] Captain laughs; Crew knows the decision has been made – what would it be? Thursday, July-27-06 Carrot gone; Captain ponders duty The Carrot, Crew's (aka darn cat’s), name for Captain's mango color Hobie Adventure, exchange took place in the dead of night. Captain drove Taurus transport the almost 4 hours south to Tulare for rendezvous at just after 2300 in the Black Bear restaurant parking lot. Helped load The Carrot onto Steve’s Explorer, a quick bite to eat, and RTB. As he drove through the night Captain couldn’t help thinking about being on the beach again, between boats. His thoughts returned to a dilemma: he had a duty to give full reports to The Admiralty but should he report about The River? It is a small resource not suitable for the pressures of naval maneuvers, but it is squarely in Captain’s area of operation. Should he share his favorite places; the almost never-fail fishing spots? What about Captain’s bass tournament partner? Should Captain get his permission to “tell all?” Maybe just give notice, because after all Captain is the one who introduced the area to his partner? Then again, plenty of other people fish the area already. Development has encroached on much of the area and every year bank fisherman carve new paths through the once impenetrable walls of blackberry bushes. Time has robbed The River of much of its “secret” charm and productivity. So maybe a few pictures and words wouldn’t be so bad? But then again, The River has been an ace in the hole for a long time, even as it declines. What to do? Maybe just a generic description so others can enjoy The River without a specific identification and a detailed map? Captain pilots the Taurus into the transport bay somewhere about 0300 and sleep-walks into headquarters. Crew (aka darn cat) waits not so patiently at the rear entrance; spots Captain and meows the password. Captain stops to take Crew’s salute, and to make sure the mess is open for the trusty night scout. Captain finds he is too wound up to head to his rack and waits until Crew has finished his chow. What would Crew advise about reporting The River? [Crew (aka darn cat): perhaps The River only runs through Captain’s head?] |
Captain notes at least The River has been a faithful fishing companion, not like some scaredy felines he could name. [Crew: Tertiary stability tests may intrigue Captain, but it just looks like an overturned kayak to me.] Captain notes that only happened once, on the first shakedown cruise. [Crew: I read the after action reports, Captain, every cruise has been a shakedown cruise as far as I can see, and I am not a swimcat volunteer.] Captain thinks Crew should test his ego against the drowned-rat look. [Crew: If I get wet I will climb you like a tree!] Silence - the only possible answer to all such serious questions - falls over the base. Friday, July 14, 2006 7:51 pm Location, you ask? Northern (Superior) California: about 40 miles south of Sacramento, 90 miles east of San Francisco, 25 miles north of Modesto. The 1849 Gold Rush gateway to the Motherlode of the Sierra Nevada foothills. The most inland sea-going ship port in California, on the eastern edge of the San Joaquin-Sacramento river delta. Historical home of the Bank of Italy that rescued a struggling San Franciso bank after the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906, which became the Bank of America. Home of the Holt family (at least the co-inventors of the caterpillar tread driven farm, construction, and military equipment (tanks, etc.). Home of the Grupe and Spanos real estate families and companies. Originally Tuleburg, locally believed to be the Mudville of Casey-At-The-Bat fame, my home town, now called - Stockton. Monday - August 21, 2006 Captain is glad to be back online, but can only report the wait for the AI is difficult. Upgrades and restoration of the 'yak tender Crasher III continue but are no substitute for on-the-water time. The base computer went down to a couple of viruses and a 'bot. Repairs took the technical ranks a while; data okay, software and hardware re-installs a pain. Crew (aka darn cat) just returned from a night mission smelling like a sewer and sporting that always attractive drowned-rat look. [Crew: You try staying dry while running off a couple raccoons invading the perimeter of an ever-changing tidal slough on a moonless night!] Fortunately Captain is up late trying to restore the base computer to normal operational readiness, so the backdoor challenge (huh?) and password (yowl!) went smoothly. Crew seemed unusually friendly but it may have been Captain's terry-cloth bathrobe. [Crew: I love you for yourself; don't mind the damp muddy paw prints and I am sure that smell will come out after a couple of washes and a day or two of outdoor drying in the sun and delta breeze.] Crew crashes in a kitten-tight ball, nose covered by tail, in Captain’s terry-cloth covered lap – thoroughly displacing the computer keyboard. Situation normal. |
