REFLECTIONS

Reflecting on adventures past ... what an awesome life I've had!

last year ~ off the coast of Guatemala

two years ago ~ in Paraguay

Back by popular demand: "What the #@*$! do I do with all these leftovers"

Turkey Tortilla Soup

Another in a series of recipes to quench the age-old dilemma: ‘what do you do with all these Thanksgiving leftovers???’

Take the turkey carcass (if you have a generous friend like June, who gives you the whole damned thing; first pull off the big pieces to use in other mysterious ways) and break it up into manageable skeletal chunks. Take out all your aggressions from Black Friday! The long lines, the lunatics in the parking lot, the bogus newspaper ads ... and bust that puppy up; then pile the bones, skin, etc in your largest pot and cover with water.

Simmer the dickens out of it for hours on end. This is a good time to do laundry and wrap presents but not to leave the house. Or get drunk.

While we’re waiting ... here’s my list of (intended) ingredients:

• 2 cans (14 oz) crushed tomatoes (I cheated and got the kind with the mild chili peppers already mixed in)
• (1 can) black beans
• (1 can) corn
• celery, onions, green & red pepper
• cilantro
• lime
• grated cheese
• DOH! I forgot the tortillas!!!

I say ‘intended’ because I don’t know if this is what I’ll really put in there once it’s all said & done. It’s a work in progress ...

So I have chopped and sautéed one (each) green & red peppers, about ½ onion, and two stalks of celery. Once soft I added these to the broth (having dug out all the solid chunks and gently separated the turkey meat from bones, cartilage and other parts we don’t want to think too hard about) along with the two cans of tomatoes and a bunch of chopped cilantro.

Now the ‘authentic’-ish recipes seem to indicate that I need to puree this soup ... so I’ll cook it another 10-15 min. and then let it cool down (again) and puree it and get ready for the final assembly.

Warm up the pureed soup, adding the corn and beans. Right before serving, add the juice of one lime (and Tabasco if you are a sadist). Ladle into the bowl and then place a mound of turkey and cheese in the middle (*although I just mixed the turkey in at the same time as the beans and corn), then top that little molehill with avocado, chopped cilantro, and possibly a dollop of sour cream. (Is that redundant? Doesn’t ‘dollop’ just scream ‘sour cream’?) Top with the tortillas.

Now the tortillas – that’s another story. When I read about making tortilla strips I thought ‘Don’t these idiots know that Vons has tortilla chips for $2 a bag?!’ But then I made them and they are the absolute bomb; now THIS is something even my finicky teenagers will eat!!

Pour a skim of veggie oil in a frying pan over low-medium flame, then take a tortilla and cut it into slivers about 2-3” long and very skinny. Once the oil is good-and-hot sprinkle the tortilla strips in (they should start sizzling right away or the oil’s not hot enough) and let them cook a few seconds, then toss them gently in the hot oil with two forks until they are nice and brown and crispy. (You can make – and freeze - the soup ahead of time but do the tortillas right before serving.)

And that’s why it’s called ‘tortilla soup’ because the fried tortilla strips are so friggin’ awesome! The rest of the soup is just a platform (and a healthy one) for these nasty and delicious fried tortilla strip!

Turkey pot pie

Dice the turkey meat into bite-sized pieces. Gather up your leftover peas, carrots, mushrooms, pearl onions, parsnips, whatever veggies your have – and make sure they’re small eat-able bits. Remember we are only using veggies, and nothing that could be potential slimy like spinach or cabbage or kale ... and totally resist the temptation to put the mashed potatoes in the pie :-P SHOAL! Or gravy! DOUBLE-SHOAL!

If you have a really goody-two-shoes family who ate all their veggies and you don’t have enough for the pie, cook up some peas, carrots, diced celery and onions or whatever. Mushrooms, by the way, are a ‘must’ so buy some if you don’t have any leftover. (Haha if there are any men in your household check their bathroom, there are sure to be some growing there LOL)

Start your cream sauce by stirring a pat of butter and some flour over a low flame. Gradually add some chicken broth ... then maybe a little cream or half and half ... you want the sauce to thicken but not really be pasty. You might need to add more flour (watch the lumps!) or liquid – figure it out: you’re a grown-up.

If your turkey was brined and/or seasoned and basted, you probably don’t need to add any salt. Season with pepper and – ta da – tarragon: the magic ingredient.

Toss the turkey, veggies and cream sauce together and if you're a true masochist, make a crust ... or grab that Mrs. Smith’s pie crust you were going to use for the apple pie you never made. Add just enough filling into the bottom crust to be barely flush with the top, because it will bubble & seep so don’t mound it up. (Any extra filling you can serve on toast – this is something I think they used to eat in the 50’s so you can present it as some new ‘retro’ meal and everyone will think you’re all trendy and shit.)

Roll the top crust out thin so you have some extra pieces to decorate with. Put the top crust on, then ‘paint’ it with a mixture of egg and a teeny bit of water that’s been whipped together. Then cut out some shapes (autumn leaves ... turkeys ... skull & crossbones) and ‘glue’ these on with the egg-water, and then ‘paint’ over them lightly too.

Bake the pot pie in a 350º oven until the crust is done. Remember all the stuff in the middle is already cooked so it just needs to be warmed up.

Alas, you can freeze this until everyone has slid into complacency and forgotten what turkey leftovers are all about, and then surprise them some cold wintry night, like a pop quiz in math class. They won’t ever know what hit ‘em. Yum!

Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

Nov 12 2011 - Who brought the F-#$(*&@! bananas?!

To say our first day at the Golden Rock Regatta was stellar, would be an understatement.

Although it was hard waking up – at 7:15am, to get our passports and documents in order – and despite the hasty toss off the raft up (with two more boats still tied outside us, and none of us with our engines on) we dusted off the cobwebs pretty swiftly. The wind was blowing about 17k, the seas turquoise and cobalt; and our crew of 10 snapped to attention, practiced a few tacks and jibes, ran and re-ran the line, and readied for the start.

And even though our power winches (I confess!) died immediately after the start, and we had to grind the jib in by hand – we were doing well. Very well.

The night before we’d met the others – locals teams like “Bobby’s Marina” and “Team Statia” and Anton’s “Bad Boys of the Caribbean” (motivating us to rename “Team USA” with the much more colorful moniker “Nine Yanks and a British Ho”). After the Skipper’s meeting, at the Bottoms Up bar on the Philipsburg boardwalk we sized up the competition; talked smack; and made loud assertions and bets about who was going to win. I wondered if all the drinks they bought us were indeed in friendship? Or designed to sabotage our race …

Soon after the start, we pulled away from the fleet; kept the pressure on and wouldn’t let anyone pass. Before long we were a good half-mile ahead of our class: cockily we took pictures of the parade astern. We beat up past Marigot in absolutely delicious conditions: azure seas, on the average of 22k of wind, the cerulean sky spotted with clouds. It rained about half a minute.

Rounding the northern point, past TIntamarre Islands, we were on the home stretch, just south of Oyster Pond, when BAM! The gooseneck sheared right off the mast, leaving the boom to joust perilously amidship, as it dangled from the main.

Game over.

Our recovery was swift: we eased the boom onto the deck as we dumped the mainsail and lashed it all down – furling the jib too, so the crew at the mast wouldn’t get flogged to death. We were so far ahead of the fleet- even with our sails down, motoring gingerly, we still reached the RC ahead of the rest of our class.

I had seen the bananas this morning.’ Who brought bananas on the boat?’ I muttered. No one fessed up ... Later when I saw Mary eating one on deck, I reiterated my disdain and yet, it was poo-poo’d.

Moments later, our boom was swinging in the breeze, and we were retreating across the bouncy seas back to the Moorings Base in Orient Bay …

Nov 13

Slamming cupboards. Low, rubbly voices. The gurgle of the coffee pot, and shortly after: the heavenly smell of java. The men were readying breakfast: a sound so musical to a woman’s ears, it’s akin to the purr of a new Ferrari in the driveway, or the jingle of a Tiffany pouch full of diamonds.

Our day started back at Captain Oliver’s – the Moorings had fixed our boom, but too late for us to return to Philipsburg. So we made an early start Sunday; running quickly in the strong breeze to the start line.

It was another raucous but incredible start. Never mind that our teddy bear of a skipper is more like a grizzly at the start: all 6’ 3” / 240’ lbs. of him roaring at the other competitors. Nor that our tactician admitted the prior night (after we’d all refreshed ourselves both inside and out, at the pool at the Iguana bar) that he had once sailed into a tree. Our starts were thrilling and we left the others in the dust.

Momentarily. The mast seems to be torqued, and we were a marked 2k slower on one board – the longest tack of the 13m stretch to St Barths. Over time they climbed up, and at the conclusion we had a fierce tacking duel with two other boats, finishing within minutes of us. Alas Johan remarked we were great starters, but they were better finishers. The bravado and bets would continue well into the night.

I couldn’t image how St Barths could be all that different from the other islands I’ve been to – but it was delightfully so. We entered the channel to the anchorage, to a very manicured looking village. Neatly painted cays and boxy buildings, in colors that made St Maarten suddenly seem … gaudy. Cobbled streets and narrow sidewalks – with stagecoach landings here and there. Our moorage was abreast a tented affair, with crowds of chic looking people chatting, dancing, lining for food; and a loud band playing eclectic tunes from rumbas to reggae to ‘I did it my way.’

The race had been swift so once we were tied up (and re-tied up: not an uncomplicated task in the very surgy harbor) we ate lunch – baguettes and cold cuts we’d procured in French Sint Martin, we walked the six minutes to Shell Beach and enjoyed an afternoon of swimming and lounging (and I snorkeled the length of the beach and back)

Later we dined on the boat (too expensive to eat ashore) but meandered the streets in the cool breezy evening; enjoying a drink at the bistro at the end of the harbor, and another poorly ventilated pub, where one of the Chrises was nodding off in the corner ...

---

No virus found in this message.
Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
Version: 2012.0.1869 / Virus Database: 2092/4629 - Release Date: 11/20/11

Rock On!

Nov 11

Where was Steve (and his warm fuzzy blanket) - my neighbor on the crammed redeye from LA to Charlotte?  Air travel has stooped to a new low and USAir now charges for blankets and pillows ($7!) …  Blessedly, my seat-mate (in Southern gentlemanly style, complete with a sugary drawl) loaned me the scrap of fleece he has taken to traveling with. Alas he debarked in his South Carolina hometown, leaving me on the subsequent leg to my own devices: in a meat-locker of a jet – crammed with bodies in a fuselage cold enough to hang meat. The flight attendants plow through the aisle, brusquely peddling their wares (a brilliant strategy: crank up the A/C and sell blankets); credit cards, jewelry and booze (duty-free), cocktails and boxed food. I stick with Diet Coke and a granola bar made of hamster food and wood shavings I’m sure (“Kashi TLC – Almond Flax” - must stand for ‘Tough Luck Charlie’), and shivering, keep my eye on the prize.

Two hours hence I’ll be in St. Maarten. ‘Warm, tropical, rainy, St. Maarten. The forecast is not too sweet, but a visual check gives me hope: the alabaster batting that slathered the southern United States has dissolved into streaks of haze and a dappling of clouds. I am here for the sun …

… and to cover the Golden Rock Regatta – a spinoff of the wildly popular St. Maarten Heineken Regatta. Begun just seven years ago, the event was created to help promote tourism to St. Eustatius island – familiarly known as Statia, and the Golden Rock.

Three and four hundred years ago this 12 square mile patch of land was one of the busiest, most prominent trading centers in the northern Caribbean Sea. Historians say most of the munitions that fueled our American Revolution can through this Dutch port – and they were the first (on Nov. 16, 1776) to recognize our independence. To this day they commemorate that alliance with parades and festivities, and our planned loop – racing from St. Maarten to St. Barths to Statia and back to St. Maarten – will place us at the Golden Rock during those celebrations.

It’s the least we can do.

‘Especially since Statia has dwindled since that time. Her population of 20,000 numbers just about 3,000 now, with annual visitors roughly the same. A very hot issue is the threatened expansion of an oil storage facility, which will pock the tiny, picturesque island with even more tanks – and put the marine reserve at increasing risk of an oil spill. I am eager to spend some time on the island.

#             #             #

PS - I am totally digging my new (used) mini laptop. She’s no toy: full-on RAM and ports and even a dvd drive: even so she’s sturdy, compact, fast, and the keyboard feels great under my tapping fingers. She’s my new travel companion - so I have named her Gypsy. Perfect!

 

 

 

---

No virus found in this message.
Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
Version: 2012.0.1869 / Virus Database: 2092/4629 - Release Date: 11/20/11

New Zealand Update: Oil Spill Taints Start of Holiday Weekend

Nearly two miles (3k) of beach have been opened along the Bay of Plenty, as recovery of the M/V Rena oil spill continues into New Zealand’s Labour Weekend.

Traditionally the start of summer, this year’s holiday will see most of the popular coastline closed due to oil and flotsam from the container ship wreckage. The public are warned not to swim in the vicinity, nor eat seafood or shellfish taken from area waters.

Twelve miles offshore, salvage workers continue to pump oil slowly and methodically from the listing vessel, which became lodged on a shallow reef more than two weeks ago. Cold water temperatures (62F, 17C) have affected the viscosity of the oil, which complicates the procedure.

Less than 20 percent of roughly 1,300 tons of oil has been transferred from Rena to the storage ship Awanuia – however workers expect to continue unabated until it is done.

-more-

Three Writes and a Wrong

Stretched out on the trampoline of our 44-foot cat, listening to the crescendo and decrescendo of the water sloshing past the hull; we’re reaching along at a relaxed 7 knots beneath a warm sky dotted with a flock of lamb-like clouds.

Although the equinox was a full week ago, and today is the last day of September, we have been clinging to summer. But here, beneath a sky foretelling of rain, with temps forecast to dip into the 40s (40s!) we can no longer deny the arrival of Fall. The days are shorter and night chill - and the bay deserted. All but the working boats are tucked away ... save for a lonely sloop beating toward us from the opposite, and Captain Wadey Murphy taking a few lingering tourists on his skipjack for a bay tour.

The infamous Bobbie G (Grieser) and I – along with a smorgasbord of friends and family popping on and off at various ports of call – are enjoying this autumn cruise through the Eastern Shore; we are joined at this juncture by other journalists Susan Colby and Peter Baker , which has earned our trip the moniker “three writes and a wrong” ...

Look for the story next Spring in SAILING.

9-30-11 Cambridge, Md.

---

No virus found in this message.
Checked by AVG - www.avg.com
Version: 10.0.1410 / Virus Database: 1520/3930 - Release Date: 09/30/11

The best ever ...

I didn’t want to come in from the rain. It was soft and sweet and as I climbed up the stone stairs through the grassy sloped lawn to the inn, I slowed my pace to enjoy the evening downpour that enveloped me in the dark.

This has been the most provocative week: stimulating memories of my youth, and piquing new ones; journeying up the majestic (and currently very muddy) Hudson: sailing, exploring, meeting family and friends – old and new, and absolutely delighting in the entire experience.

There is way too much to report on, as I sit at my antique desk in a stately (and – I swear – haunted) mansion overlooking the Hudson at Tivoli, very late at night. An eclectic blend of antiques and curios of all eras, plaster-framed mirrors of gigantic proportions, and neophyte still lifes and portraits punctuate the high walls of the inn – the latter with pasty irregular faces and eyes that follow you eerily around the room.

So I’ve just returned from a side splitting and raucous evening at the Black Swan Pub, where we marched into the kitchen to introduce ourselves to Edwin (Ed-weeen) the Costa Rican, who sold me on a $10 plate of pan fried tilapia, rice, beans, and a green-bean egg-foo-yung-y concoction which I washed down with multiple glasses of the local IPA, called Hurricane Kitty. Our rowdy group, clustered around a table and overflowing to the bar, competed handily in the weekly Trivia Night contest, finishing third, before breaking up and hastening back to the mansion (or boat) in the soft mist.

But now it is pissing rain; I am debating a late-night of writing (I have well overdue assignments) versus slumber, in a four poster bed so high I need to climb up from a chest at the foot of the bed and commando in. Sleep, I believe, will win -- but not before I declare this one of the most awesome trips I’ve ever been on ... remembering however that I said that about the last, and the prior, and the one before that – until I sleepily concede that every trip I go on is ‘the best ever’ and I think that is a damned good way to live my life.

Save the Sharks

In Thailand, a group of divers plans to release sharks into the wild September 3, to help reverse and spotlight the decimation of the species.

It seems ironic, considering “Jaws” mania has only increased over the years. But the fact remains: although a handful of people around the world will die in shark attacks each year; sharks are slaughtered in the millions, by humans ...

... continued here

Finned sharks lay to waste in Thailand.
Photo courtesy DIVE TRIBE

The fullness of life explodes ...

A wild weekend, marked by several events ...

The Pacific Voyagers had arrived in LA; a majestic fleet of Polynesian sailing canoes – ‘vakas’ – having journeyed all the way from New Zealand! With twin amas 75-feet long and thick wooden spars, they look as powerful as the burnished crews who sail them – tugging at the massive steering paddles, hoisting the blood-red sails.

Thirty miles south Sea Dragon had picked up a mooring can in Newport Harbor. Equally impressive – and nearly as long – she’s a sturdy but elegant modern steel-hulled cutter rigged sloop, designed for round-the-world racing. (In fact: it is a reunion for this yacht and me, as I did the web coverage for the 2000/01 Global Challenge and greeted her and her sister ships into seven ports around the world! A touch of déjà vu embraces me.)

Despite their different appearances and venues however, they come bearing the same environmental message.

Duncan Morrison, skipper of Haunui (the pan-Pacific vaka – 15 island nations are represented among the fleet) tells how they left Auckland and saw very little refuse ... a tiny bit more as they neared the equator ... and then, just north of Hawaii, the deluge began. Every 10 meters – 2,000 miles from shore – there was plastic trash. Refillable lighters and disposable razors. Plastic cups and bags. Bottles. Closer to shore, acidification is destroying the coral reefs. Their bilateral cultural/environmental mission calls on people to unite and halt our careless ways ... before the ocean becomes a lifeless sea of debris.

Aboard Sea Dragon, they do research on this type of debris, and skipper Dale Selvam shows me a kaleidoscope of plastic fragments in a vial. Trolling the five oceans (for Five Gyres/Algalita Foundation) they skim the seemingly pure, crystalline waters of the distant seas ... alas their fine mesh net is cluttered with chunks and particles of the partially degraded plastics which now saturate the waters. Yes: our oceans are plastic chowder.

Despite the apparent differences there are more similarities: both skippers are Kiwis. ‘In New Zealand we’re raised to take care of our home,’ says Dale. Neither was an environmentalist – or ‘tree hugger’ as he calls it – before embarking on their eye-opening expeditions, but having seen what they’ve seen, neither one cannot image returning to existence as it was before.

The people I’m meeting, opportunities I have, and work I’m doing are mind-boggling. Life is moving at such a breakneck pace, I need a helmet. It’s invigorating, compelling, stimulating ... and a bit consuming. Transcribing and researching 'til 1AM, interviewing, shooting, working 24/7 – I am beat.

But I am blessed. What a thrill to be able to make a difference in this world – even if only conveying the good works, challenges and needs of others, while ‘double-dipping’ my way around the world, using my Sailing gigs as a vehicle to drive Ecology.com stories. Last month I was working in Belgium, next month it’s San Francisco, New York and Annapolis. And from there (fingers crossed) the agenda continues at a blistering pace: San Francisco, ‘Statia, Guadalupe Island, Belize, Grenada ...

I adore the people I meet, the stories I hear, the passion in the voice of an individual following his dream or pursuing her mission. Friendships are made, networks are woven. After much talk and a beer, Dale and I discover we have mutual friends in England (Valeria), Peru (Andy) and Uruguay (Alejandro). The world feels small, and with that realization, our problems no longer seem too great to tackle.

Look for stories from me on Sea Dragon / Pangaea Expeditions and the Pacific Voyagers, on Ecology.com and Sailing magazine, soon.

On another note: our favorite bow monkey, Jeff ‘Sneddog’ Sneddon, slipped from this earth this morning, after a long and incredibly valiant fight with cancer.

Jeffrey was a close friend and playmate – he taught me much about working the bow on big boats, including how to yell just as loudly and vociferously BACK at someone who is screaming in your face (with great joy and laughter!). We were friends on and off the water, and later when he met and married Sharie, she became a friend (and a Nauti Chica) too.

I was fortunate to spend a chunk of Friday night sitting next to Jeff, holding his hand, whispering, “Remember when (giggle giggle) ... ” as I retold ‘oh shit’ sailing tales and reminded him how much he was loved. What an incredible blessing that is, to have the chance to say goodbye to someone you love. I can only say: TAKE IT, when it is offered to you! It was an incredible gift to me; a reminder how sweet life is, and that the honey is not the places we go or the things we accumulate, but the loved ones we share them with.

May God welcome you with loving open arms Jeffrey. (They have amassed one heck of a sailing team up in Heaven, is all I can add ... )

It’s been a while since I blogged – and I shouldn’t even be up writing tonight, having been scolded righteously about burning the candle at both ends. However I cannot but live life at 120% (hey – THAT’s a compromise!!) so I promise more is to come, as the fullness of life explodes in front of me. XOXO

Hitting the top of the fun meter

OWAC* always puts on a great conference - one day of meetings, seminars, workshops; a mini-trade show; and lots of networking with peers from all walks of life and media. From agri-tourism in the Central Valley, to a Jeep tour of the Kalahari, we have an amazing breadth of talent and subject matter ... but before long it always reverts to the old guys weaving their fish tales ...

On the second day we are hosted (generously, and very genuinely too - in Lake County) with 'activities' and later I'll get into the absolute thrill of soaring over Mount St. Helena, bouncing through the vineyards, and sailing across Clear Lake (I think I whacked the top of the 'Fun Meter' Monday). But Tuesday morning found us (the sky clear but I, a bit foggy) gathered for breakfast at the Lakeport Yacht Club, saying our farewells and passing out business cards. This has been a successful and exciting event for me (a little fattening too!): Lake County is gorgeous and I have tons of fodder for new stories (including one I already pitched and got okayed on the drive back!).

Soon I was on the road again; weaving along the lakefront, past orchards and vineyards, and the bucolic scene of a mare resting contently with her foal, beneath a tree. Melissa had suggested a more scenic route south (raising the 'scenic' bar from about an eight or nine, to a ten) and I turned off on the appropriate road, leaving the valleys and hills behind. Climbing through the pines on sun-dappled roads that were so winding, I'd describe them more as 'interminable switchbacks sewn end-to-end' - I spent the rest of the morning enjoying the sunshine and crisp air.

Eventually the route dropped into Napa Valley. The land lost its untamed beauty and became more manicured - even contrived - but this too was easy on the eyes. Mother Nature can dish out some hellacious weather, but by contrast I also find nature to be the most comforting of sights too.

I followed my directions to Napa and my dear friend Molly's house. Greeted by Molly - looking like a beautiful, luscious peach, in her sixth month of pregnancy; and Franklin - a most handsome, young but tall boxer, who doesn't so much wag his tale as gyrate his whole rear end; we spent some delightful (and well overdue) time catching up.

And then (who is surprised here?) I worked on the book until the wee hours HOWEVER
it
is
done!!!

TADA! (More on "David Gallup: California's Channel Islands" another time.)

Heading back to Seal Beach now by way of the Golden Gate Bridge and further south Rte 101, through Paso Robles and my old stomping grounds. Weather clear and gorgeous; anticipating another glorious ride home.

* Outdoor Writers Association of California

Clearlake. Clearly.

What a gorgeous place!

After the bland expanse of Highway 5, I delightedly took the turn to Route 20. I am definitely a road-less-traveled/scenic-route kind of girl, and eased onto the country road; a winding lane skirting Cortina Ridge and cutting through Grizzly Canyon - where bright yellow signs warned of elk crossings. Off the beaten path indeed.

The smooth green hills fell steeply to the roadway and the uneven lakeshore, which was spotted with small towns reminiscent of another time: where gaggles of little girls clutched flowers - or in one case a puppy, while young boys furiously peddled bicycles while gripping fishing poles ... past blooming lupine, poppies, buckwheat, and massive bushes dripping with dollops of candy-sweet lilacs; or emerald valleys where livestock (sheep, horses, cattle) grazed in the perfect 70-degree afternoon.

For now however, I'm locked inside the conference hall (encouraged though to write & shoot & post, as we are in fact Outdoor Writers Assoc. of California) adjacent a calliopean smoke-filled casino. What a contrast to the beatific, bucolic atmosphere outside.

Road Trips

California was an expanse of limey green swathed with mustard, ‘til I got over the Grapevine. Then it was ... not hideous, not pleasant; just ... benign. It wasn’t my eyes, but my nose that sensed the divergence in the atmosphere: from truck fumes, to earth whipped up by dust devils; from pungent manure, to the glorious honeyed perfume of blossoming orange groves.

I kicked on the cruise control and blew up the freeway; cruising along the "5" under cornflower skies. The Central Valley was the color of toasted whole wheat bread - and about as flat. It was warm, and so dry, my hair stood on end, glued, by the static electricity, to the ceiling of the car.

Around mile 300 I started to see signs of life: at least more life than just the sticky orange bug splats plastered to my windshield. Soon I was in Stockton, my stop for the night on my way to the conference in Clearlake.

Just two weeks ago I was on another such expedition. “Road Trip!” The simple phrase conjures up a wild patchwork of images and thoughts: travel, adventure, new sights – sounds – flavors - experiences. We had our share of these ... plus tedious passages through monotonous stretches of road striped with lanky pines and swamps, entertaining only because of the moronic billboards defiling the way; of spats over speed limits and tunes (when it comes down to rap vs. elevator music – country becomes the common denominator, although it was a treat hearing Dad ‘croon’ to the oldies). We were charmed by southern cities like Charleston and St. Augustine, and dined in pubs, fast-food huts and seafood havens; we sniffed (and snapped off samplings of) the blooms of spring, craned our necks at lighthouses and steeples, shopped for treasures (‘small’ being the optimal feature, in the cramped car) ... hunted for alligators and cheap accommodations; and watched gas prices climb while the trees grew bare -- as we crept steadily north.

Mom and I chatted up vendors at the markets. Coco and I broke into hysterics fashioning fart-y noises, under the high-pressure hand dryers in the rest stops. Dad sang (I will mention that I got inherited my Dad's voice, which is not saying much. At one point Coco asked, 'Who sings that song Opa?' to which he replied, 'Peggy Lee.' 'Let's keep it that way,' she retorted.) At night we pulled into tidy hotels and unloaded everything from the car: luggage, suit bags, coolers, electronics ... One night Mom, tired of carting around a jug with the last two inches of vodka from the Florida house, transferred it into a small bottle of OJ for easier transport. Unknowingly (so he says) Dad drank it for breakfast. “The orange juice was a little zippy,” he remarked. We didn’t let him drive that day ...

Each night we played cards or watched TV until everyone collapsed (except for me – who insisted on wifi and worked well into the early morning on the book). Then we started all over again each after breakfast: rotating through the positions in the car – from front to back, straddling coolers and gear – taking the driver’s seat, or the prime napping location: shotgun. By the time we got to Donna’s (after crossing the expansive Chesapeake Bay Bridge and Tunnel) we were eager to stretch our legs, and enjoyed a long weekend of Little League games and Ballet lessons, dog walks, restaurants and pubs, before the final stretch home.

All in all it was a miraculous experience; three generations laughing and loving and exploring the Eastern Seaboard.

On the bright side ...

We are just over 100 miles from our destination -- Cabo. Not quite the intended plan ... but we are making the best of things.
Tops on the list of reasons to head back south:
4) the fishing will only improve
3) our clothes no longer have that 'fresh Mexican laundry smell' (definitely not :-P) so we can take them back to the lavenderia
2) I might actually get to intercept my sister Vicki on her way to La Paz!
and (drumroll please)
1) I sound like a jetsetter, saying 'This is my third visit to Cabo in two weeks;

This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using OCENS.Mail software.
Please be kind and keep your replies short.

Halfway to Halfway

April 2 - The seas have laid down considerably, enabling us to bump up the rpms a bit and make better spead. We passed the halfway point to our halfway point (Turtle Bay) which is promising (yes, I can do the math & know it's 1/4 of the way, but this sounds so much better ... ) The skies remain gray however -- if it's sunny where you are: we don't want to know!
Our daily excitement continues to be chores, refueling, and fun-with-freeze-dried food & provisions. Scott doctored up his cup-a-noodles with some Spam Lite, which was allegedly very tasty; Angela carved up a perfectly ripe cantelope; I served up some celery sticks schmeared with garlic & chive cream cheese. Yes, this is a gourmet cruise! We are 'fishing' (although the fish seem unaware) and veer towards kelp patties to tempt lurking dorado with our cedar plug. No luck yet.
If someone can tell us whether the tracker is working, that would be great. Also we got wind of (pardon the pun) a weather system north of Turtle Bay in a few days (we expect to arrive Sunday around midnight). Other news from home appreciated.
All well except for me: I have a @#($& cold :-P Greetings from all on YIPPEE - BC

This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using OCENS.Mail software.
Please be kind and keep your replies short.

Approaching Mag Bay

The wonderful things that make YIPPEE so ZIPPEE also make her a slap-happy girl going to weather, so we're making just 5-6k SOG up the coast. The scenery is mostly monochromatic: grey water, grey sky, with promising pocks of blue sky here & there. Last night was extremely foggy and damp; no moon or stars (that we could tell) but some spectacular bursts of bioluminescence in the water, which is always a cheery sight. Hoping we may see some whales* now that we're approaching Mag Bay (*but at a favorable distance!) Boat & crew all doing well. Keel well-greased hahaha.

This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using OCENS.Mail software.
Please be kind and keep your replies short.

Let the layers begin!

March 31 6:30PM
Burning embers edge the cloud bank to port; the rugged peaks of Baja to starboard are draped in rosey gauze. We are traveling north, at last, aboard YIPPEE KAI YAY on our delivery home from the Cabo Race.
As promised we had a good 20k on the nose right out the gate. Sue cheerfully saw us off, but turned back at the frothy arches. Once past Cabo Falso it started to wane and currently we have about 9-10k alas still on the nose. The sea state is lumpy (which has not deterred our sleepers below, however) and we're getting ready for our first night back at sea. Cold, damp, chllly - but all feeling well: including YIPPEE. ~ BC

This e-mail was delivered via satellite phone using OCENS.Mail software.
Please be kind and keep your replies short.

Serious Fun!

I rearranged the furniture here at the Blue Pelican, my lovely little enclave which is upscale and serene (and gated) but still within walking distance to St Martin Yacht Club and Simpson Bay. Now, with the desk dragged upstairs and abreast the picture window, I can look out at the lurching palms and stormy sea – thankful I declined an extra day of sailing today AND that I hadn’t yet left on my johnnycake expedition (recommended by fellow sailorchicks Kim St. and Karen C.) as the rain has just come howlingin. (Looks like Via & a granola bar for breakfast today.)

My first morning here it poured too (the ocean is now obscured by the driving rain) as I was about to depart ... as soon as the sun broke through I bolted: a nice 20 minute stroll up and down the hill (wow, the rain is pummeling the rooftop in thundering waves of intensity right now). Despite several warnings from friends abroad, the most dangerous thing I’ve experienced during my morning promenade has been the threat of bottomless puddles – and the rattletrap cars that go rushing through, splaying mud everywhere ... (it is raining so hard the drops are ricocheting off the patio like machine gun fire!).

Being on foot is the best way to scout out an area though, and I’ve already discovered a French bakery that transforms into a pizza parlor at night ... an Indian restaurant (Bobbie G & I had curry there last night) ... a deli ... and scores of brilliant bougainvillea with tiny birds flitting about ... plus I’ve met all the parking attendants and security guards along the way (except the one at the top of the hill who is perpetually asleep). But not today: today I am holed up at mi casa transcribing tapes (well I guess the technology is chip-based now ... but ‘transcribing chips’ sounds like I’ve lost my mind to a bag of Doritos), doing some background research, and generally getting ready for the next three days of racing!

I have TOTALLY SCORED on an awesome mix of rides (in fact, I had too many and nearly added today, the Commodore’s Cup – thank God I didn’t – to ride on a Class 40 [from South Africa] or a Dufour 40 [from Guadeloupe]) – and am overwhelmed by the wonderful friends and strangers who have hooked me up and/or invited me to sail. I’m reminded again what a small world it is (although a sailor I met in Golfito asked ‘IS IT a small world? Or a big life?’) and how, if everyone stretches their fingers out just a teeny tiny bit and extends themselves a little, we are all connected in a brilliant and delightful way!!

Well the rain has let up – it is still breezy but I’m eager to venture out on my ‘day off’ (it is NOT a beach day :-P ) so ‘best to finish up my SAILING post and head off to find some johnnycakes and fun ...

See my official posting here ; check out the official Heineken Regatta page here and more pix on FB here

~ Betsy

PHOTOS OF MY FLAT @ BLUE PELICAN

Budget Marine Match Racing

BLOG IS LOCATED HERE :-)

"Welcome to the Mob ... "

My toes are frozen, as I await my flight in the chilly (but not nearly as frigid as the plane) Atlanta airport – but relief is in sight. In about 15 minutes I’ll be boarding my flight for St Maarten, and the Heineken Regatta! This will be my third Heinie ;-) ... and hopefully most fun, as I’ll actually get to SAIL this time, and not simply watch from a press boat.

The first time I went (also working) I was on my own; photographer Mark Pepper (we later covered the BT Global Challenge together) took me under his wing and showed me the wily ropes of this hedonistic regatta. The days start a tad prematurely for my tastes – trade winds crank on early so sailors start to stir at the crack of dawn, for races that begin at 9ish and fill the day. Then it’s party all night, with just a pinch of sleep in between, before you do it all over again. There are top name bands, plenty of cold ones, and scores of those charming Dutch men. Sounds like just the ticket ... !

Heineken calls itself “Serious racing, serious fun” so to prove that point, I’m going to sail on three different boats on the three days of the regatta. One “serious race” boat, one “serious party” boat, and one ... yet undetermined lift – on a cat or a classic. I’ll be comparing rides, for a SAILING feature. Oh yeah – we call this ‘work’ (big SMILE :-D)

Iris helped hook me up with on the funzone boat, joining the Lynch Mob with Eric Lynch (AKA Stinky Finger) and Capt Bob. As Eric explained to me off the bat

“A long time ago I would put together ‘groups’ to go on the Windjammer sailing trips. Once a group got over 12 people, Windjammer asked for a group name. Off hand I said LYNCH MOB and that stuck. Then I started to rent the entire 250 foot boat (70 people) and word got out that the LYNCH MOB was coming and the crew was lovin' life because we partied hardy and tipped well. Now, the LYNCH MOB (custom logo) goes everywhere; sailing, air races, white water rafting, skiing, climbing mountains (Mt Whitney recently), F1 races around the world, etc, etc. Bob has some LYNCH MOB shirts. You only get one if you go on the event. Welcome to the Mob.”

Looking forward to wearing the shirt J More from St. Maarten ....