The Race is On

Cheyene and Jolene

Leaves… yellow, red and brown swirl around a piling and disappear under the dock as they chase an outgoing tide.  For a moment I continue to watch the floating denizens of fall until the racket of a ski boat breaks the silence.   The quiet moment is gone.  The race is on. 

It’s the second week of October and Imagine remains on the hard as the crew rushes to complete jobs that weren’t finished over the summer.           

Weeks recovering from knee surgery, followed by some other minor medical events, made it impossible to remain on schedule.  Painting a boat isn’t as easy as painting a wall.  Too much sun, humidity, or wind dictates and narrows the window of opportunity available to get the work done.   Perseverance and determination of the crew allowed Imagine to get painted by the end of September.  The icing on the proverbial cake was when I carefully added the new lettering and homeport decals a week later.

In addition to fresh paint, Imagine now sports a new head platform, new hoses, and a tiled floor in the head.  The shower stall has been sanded and repainted.  Eighty-four feet of toe rail, the boom cradle, handrails, and eyebrow now shine bright with three coats of lacquer. 

The bottom has been sanded and wears three new coats of ablative.  The eight chain plates have been re-bedded on deck.  Five portholes were removed to repair minor de-lamination on the cabin sides.  Cracks around the four stern rain stanchions have been ground out, repaired.  We now await for a couple of dry days when fresh coats of primer and paint will hide all repairs. 

Inside, Ed installed a new bilge and shower sump pump.  He has followed wires and climbed the mast to troubleshoot why the three-year old radar failed.   He has worked on the shaft and stuffing box and also replaced the faulty refrigeration controller.  Work continues as we await a new radar unit scheduled to arrive by the end of the week. 

Minor cracks in the kayak have been fixed with a plastic weld kit.  The dinghy cover has new reinforced sections and our American flag has been repaired.  The anchor bridle and handle for a tote bag have been re-spliced.

Rain earlier this week showered me with anxiety.  Leaving port and family is always a bittersweet affair.  I’m anxious to get underway, but know how much I will miss my family.  My three-month old granddaughter, Jolene, will be walking before I return.  I will miss hugs and kisses from Lexi, Sam, and Max.   I'll miss special events of our teenage grandauther Cheyene. Phone calls and Internet photos offer some consolation, but is not the real deal.

Choosing life on a boat requires both work and sacrifices.   According to husband, Ed, there are two levels of boating.  There are the boaters and the yachters.   Ed will tell you that boaters do all their own work while yachters have people.

As far as the sacrifices, there are friends I wanted to visit this summer and didn’t.  An opportunity to work part-time had to be turned down.  Organizations interested in hearing about Imagine’s journey on a road not paved will have to wait another year.  The biggest sacrifice has been not spending more time with family.  

As the last few days before departure tick away, time picks up speed as we move to that still unknown date.  I feel the pressure of trying to tie all the loose ends together.  Sleep is interrupted as items are mentally added to lists.  How can I get everything finished and also spend more time with family?  There is an internal tug of war as I work to balance all. 

The final deck repairs shout to be finished.  The provisioning process has barely begun.  Stress increases. I picture the caulking still to be done at the edge of the toe rail and along the trim in the cockpit.  The new radar has to be installed.  Oh poo! I have to make four covers for the fenders that protect the side of the boat from the dock.  The new boat paint while dry and fairly hard will benefit from additional curing time.  

Friends on River Dance left Gregg Neck two weeks ago and have crossed the Albemarle Sound and are deep into North Carolina.  Each day on the Single Sideband Radio, Ed listens to other cruisers give daily locations.  They are underway and many already sail in southern waters. 

I take a deep breath, and then another.  I stop, regroup, take out my list and check one more item as finished.  As the colorful leaves of autumn drop one by one on lawns, roads and bodies of water, I race forward to find the current that will soon carry me south and beyond.

Operation Ivy

IVY MIKE BOMB

US Navy operations in the Marshall Islands in late1952 changed history when crew and scientists aboard the USS Estes detonated the first hydrogen bomb. At that time the word thermonuclear became part of our vocabulary.

In mid September news sources reported that the US Air Force came very close accidently detonating a hydrogen bomb over North Carolina almost a decade after the initial tests off Eniwetok Atoll.

News sources reported that on January 24, 1961 an US Air Force B-52 broke up in mid-air over Goldsboro dumping two thermonuclear bombs. The British Guardian said that only a single switch prevented the bomb from detonating after three other safety measures designed to stop unintended detonation failed.  That single switch saved the Eastern seaboard from a nuclear catastrophe. 

USS ESTES

This story hit a personal note. My father, James W. Sparks Sr. was aboard the Navy ship USS Estes AGC-12 when the first hydrogen bomb, “Mike,”  was detonated on Eluglab Island  during  Operation Ivy.

  

Sparks, ME-2, who served in the US Navy, from 1951 through 1954, remembers both Operation Ivy and, the later, Operation Castle bomb tests.   “We were at attention on the deck like rows of corn with our backs towards the explosion when we felt the heat from the blast.  Our ships were about 35 miles from ground zero.  We couldn’t look at the blast, as it would have blinded us,” he said about Ivy.

Sparks added that scientists met with the sailors prior to the test explaining that they didn’t know what the effects blast would be as this was the first time for this type of explosion.  Sparks said that he was on the radiological defense team and used Geiger counters to check for radiation following the tests.

After a tour in warring Korea, the Estes received a refit before heading to the Western Pacific.  Operation Ivy was under the command of Rear Admiral C. W. Wilkins, USN, Commander Task Group 132.2 .   Joining in the maneuver were the Army, Air Force, scientists, journalists and even an actor.

Reed Hadley, of television’s “Racket Squad” narrated a documentary film produced by the US Air Force.  The film, “Operation Ivy,” chronicled events leading to the entry of the US into thermonuclear age in early November 1952 with the detonation of “Mike.” The experimental hydrogen device yielded over 10 megatons of force and vaporized Elugelab Island at Eniwetok Atoll.  All that remained was water and a 164-foot deep crater.

Operation Ivy discharged the two largest bombs up to that time.  Ivy’s testing ushered in the thermonuclear age with the highest pure fission bomb ever exploded.  “Mike” was a 65-ton stationary device not practical for use as weaponry. According to the nuclear weapons archive, “Mike’s” mushroom cloud climbed to 108,000 feet. Thirty minutes after the explosion it stretched 60 miles across with the base joining the stem at 45,000 feet.   The mostly fission powered bomb showered a high level of radiation over the atoll.  A regular fission bomb was used to create the conditions used to initiate “Mike’s” fusion reaction.  Sparks said that they used the atomic bomb to set off the hydrogen one.

Sparks and his fellow sailors aboard the Estes became part of history that day.  The destructive force from the “Mike” bomb was 260 times more powerful than the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima in 1945. Sparks said that they later learned that some of the fishermen indigenous to the area suffered from the fallout from the bomb testing in the area.

Operation Ivy’s second thermonuclear bomb was dubbed “King.”  A B-36 bomber dropped the 500- kiloton bomb over Runit Island on November 15, 1952 (GMT).  Unlike “Mike”, “King” was a deliverable bomb that could be used as a cold war weapon.  The resulting cloud reached 74,000 feet with the mushroom base at 40,000 feet.

Following Operation Ivy, the Estes was assigned to resupply government distant early warning radar installations, the “DEW Line” in the far north, under  “Operation Blue Nose.”  At anchor off Point Barrow, Alaska, the ship became entrapped in ice after a wind shift pushed pack ice inshore.  The ship was immobilized for 24 hours before she shook her icy cage.

In early 1954, the USS Estes again headed towards the Marshall Islands for a second series of thermonuclear bomb tests known as “Operation Castle.”  Castle tested a series of high yield devices designed to be delivered as weapons. According to the nuclear weapons archive, the three largest tests ever carried out by the United States were part of Operation Castle. 

An error on one test caused a bomb to be dropped in the wrong target area, according to Sparks.  He remembers that the blast was so strong that it blew out the fire engine room.  Sailors on deck were knocked over unconscious.  Sparks came to watching caps floating down along with hats of the Chiefs.  Calls rang out for the ship to prepare to get underway immediately.  He remembers being on his knees looking towards shock wave flattening out the water.  He said that the bomb was two miles off target.  It was a moment that Sparks thought would be one of his last.

A year later Russia tested its first thermonuclear device and the cold war took a menacing turn. 

It wasn’t the first time the Marshall Islands were used for testing bombs.  Atomic testing transpired in the area during the late 1940s.  Testing continued for another decade leaving some of the islands contaminated with radioactive fallout to this day.

In 1961 a heartbeat moment passed when the final safety switch prevented a thermonuclear device from detonating in North Carolina.  History as we know it might be very different had that switch failed. 

As Imagine and crew prepare for a fifth season on a road not paved, I say a silent prayer of thanksgiving for switches that work.

Wooly Bear, What Wll WInter Wear?

School buses are running again.  Football, soccer and field hockey practices are in full swing. Fall decorations have made way into stores and roadside stands.

While the clock ticks down towards fall, fearless wooly bear caterpillars stop their munching and inch across highways as vehicles blow by.  Some of the critters will actually make it across roadways to find a spot to hide under debris, rocks or bark where they will wait out the winter. 

Some say that the nearly two inch bristly reddish brown and black striped caterpillar can predict how much cold and ice will come with the winter winds.  The banded wooly worm, as it is sometimes called, hatches from eggs laid by the Isabella Tiger Moth.  The yellowish adult moth lays a few dozen small white pearly looking eggs on old posts or trees in late spring and summer.  After hatching the small hairless larvae busily munch on nettle, dandelion, clover, sorrel and other common weeds.  As the larvae mature, the wooly bear grows and distinct hairy bands develop.

It’s the amount and the color of the hairy black and reddish brown bands that are said to predict whether winter will prove mild or not.   There is no definitive scientific evidence that guarantees the accuracy of predicting weather with wooly bears. The theory behind this weather prediction phenomenon goes something like this.  If the black stripes on either end of the critter are longer than the middle reddish stripe winter will be long and cold.  A wide center reddish or brown band indicates that winter will be mild.

So… based on a small sample of woolly bears that have come across my path recently I will take a stab at forecasting a winter weather outlook.   Some had wide black bands and some had wide reddish brown bands.  In fact they all looked different.   So which ones are right?  I’m going to go out on a limb and say that winter will be mild… or not.

 

My guess is that the woolly bear caterpillar is probably as accurate as predicting winter as Punxsutawney Phil is at predicting how many weeks of winter are left on Groundhog Day. 

The Farmer’s Almanac reports that some people take to reading the wooly bear to extremes.  Apparently there are 13 segments on a typical banded wooly bear.  Some believe that each band represents a week of winter.  Orange and brown segments are said to predict the mild weeks, and the black ones forecast bad weather weeks.

The almanac also reports that some weather sleuths look at the thickness of the wooly bear hair.  Thick fuzzy worms indicate a cold, snowy winter and a not so hairy worm means a milder one.  If you think that confuses the issue there are others who look at the direction the wooly bear is traveling for weather forecasting.   If the caterpillar heads north, it will prove to be a mild winter.  A crawl towards south and it is time to break out the shovels and rock salt.

The modern folklore of predicting wintry weather by following the wooly bear began in 1948 with Dr. C.H. Curran, curator of insects at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City after he drove to Bear Mountain State Park to look at the woolly bears.   Curran collected as many caterpillars as he could in a day.  He determined the number of reddish brown segments and hazarded a forecast with a reporter friend at the New York Herald Tribune.  Curran’s experimentation continued for the next eight years as he worked to prove scientifically the folklore weather rule that had been passed on through generations around Bear Mountain.  

When wooly bears begin to seek out hiding spaces for the winter, it is certain that fall is right around the corner and winter will follow.   The wooly bear doesn’t care. Burrowed down in a hidden spot, its body secretes a substance to help it survive the winter freeze.  When warm weather arrives the caterpillar begins a munching frenzy before spinning and encasing itself in a chrysalis.  A short time later a dull yellow and furry tiger moth with small black spots emerges.  After a brief period of mating and laying eggs the moth’s lifecycle will end. 

The transition from summer to fall comes with fanfare in rural South Jersey.  There are many events that celebrate both communities and the season.   The Woodstown Fall Festival is held the last Saturday in September throughout the town’s historic shopping district.  Along the streets scarecrows take shape as local businesses and individuals compete in a challenge to come up with the best display. Vendors, food, music and history make this a family friendly event.

Meals on Wheels Giant Pumpkin Carve draws thousands of visitors from the tri-state area each year as professional and amateur artists come together, turning giant pumpkins into spooky works of art.   On September 28, music, hayrides, food, and spooky fun celebrate the farming heritage, the cultural and artistic heritage of Salem County while raising important funds for a crucial service to elderly residents.

The following week, October 5, fall festivities continue with Elmer Harvest Day.   Roadside stands begin to break out the cider and crisp apples.  It’s a great time to get out and take a walk, work in the yard or take the grandchildren to pick out a pumpkin.  Fall is refreshing season, one to enjoy.  Winter will be here way too soon… so predicts the wooly bear.

There are Gators in Those Hills

Mike, Nala and Gator

Who would ever dream that gators lurk in the rolling foothills of Pennsylvania? You can find them wedged in between the Allegheny Mountains on the western horizon and the Appalachian Mountains in the East.   And, who would have thought that a tiki bar could be found in that same geographic area far from any beach, lake or tropical destination? Believe me, both gators and tiki bars can be found in the rural Perkiomen Valley. You can find them wedged in between the Allegheny Mountains on the western horizon and the Appalachian Mountains in the East.   And, who would have thought that a tiki bar could be found in that same geographic area far from any beach, lake or tropical destination? Believe me, both gators and tiki bars can be found in the rural Perkiomen Valley.

The same arthroscopic surgery that slowed Imagine’s refit progress gave me bonus time to visit my daughter Suzanne and husband Mike.  They recently purchased a 10-acre horse farm in Upper Frederick Township, Montgomery County.

The farm came with seven barn cats led by “Howard” a debonair black and white tuxedo cat who insists on jumping into cars just because he can.  The former owner of the farm, a veterinarian, made sure that all the cats were neutered and spayed. 

With an army of cats brushing against my legs as I hobbled towards the bam, I spotted the first gator of the weekend. It was a big green one with an open roof and cargo area.  It’s used for feeding the horses and getting around on the farm.  The John Deere utility vehicle is used with a drag to smooth the riding arena and pull weeds from the stone pathways that crisscross the farm.  I rode while Suzanne hauled gardening supplies and cruised around the property.  Each time the gator begins humming the horses begin to flick their tails make way to their paddocks where they look for some attention.  How can you not stop, get out, and pet all five of the horses.  That green gator is one supercharged vehicle.  Capable of going 35 mph, the green machine allowed me to explore the entire farm without having to hobble very far.

Assorted chickens have free run on the farm and seem to love to play dodge the gator.  The hens love to roll in the dust behind the front porch and peck at bugs in the manure pile.  A peacock from a nearby farm screams each morning making up for the missing wake up crow of a rooster.   The previous rooster became chicken potpie when it drew blood and began chasing children. 

Speaking of chicken, I would soon learn that gator tastes like chicken.  Not the green gator that works on the farm, but the scaly one that can be found in the swamps and backyards of Florida and the bayous of Louisiana.  Along with sister-in-laws Nancy and Gwyneth, who visited Suzanne on their way to a birthday party near Wilkes Barre, we decided to go to a well-known tiki bar for dinner.   I was skeptical of a tiki bar located at a small ski resort.  There were no palm trees or turquoise water, but there were alligator kabobs.  What Suzanne failed to tell us is that patrons have to cook their own dinner, or that we would be leaning in our chairs on the side of a hill with a ski lift as a backdrop. 

The bar waiter took our order for tropical drinks and explained that we could proceed to the deli-esque counter to order and pay for our food.   From there patrons move to the grilling pit to cook and season food with a myriad of spices.  Along with various kabobs and cuts of meat, fish, or chicken comes a pre-baked potato and a garden salad.  The waiter recommended the alligator kabobs.  Nancy, a one-time resident of Louisiana, pipes up, “Tastes like chicken.”   The counter staff also pushed the alligator kabobs with, “You’ll love it. It tastes just like chicken.”

Since I had no idea how to grill gator, or how well done it needed to be cooked, I elected to choose a shrimp kabob.  At the communal grill pit, a dozen or so patrons flipped steaks and turned kabobs.  They opened the foil of pre-baked potatoes adding cheese, chives and other condiments before reheating the spud over the grill.  While there were a lot of gator kabobs in the counter, I didn’t spot any on the grill.   I’m guessing that gator meat must be more of a novelty than a popular delicacy this far north.

While the joint didn’t quite fit my definition for a tiki bar, it was a great business concept.   Overhead must be low… no waitresses or cooks to pay.   Putting together kabobs and placing some meat entrees into a display case doesn’t take talent.  Bar waiters take drink orders and can cover triple the customers.   A bartender or two make the drinks.  Patrons pay for all food in advance for the experience of grilling it themselves.  They also eat outside sitting on inexpensive plastic furniture leaning into a slope.  No floors to maintain.  It’s a good way to bring revenue to a ski resort in the off-season.

It was a cool brisk weekend in the foothills.  I watched as Suzanne put mulch around newly planted mums.  Fall is right around the corner.  As I sat in the green gator with the wind brushing my hair, one of the farm chickens chased behind.  Hmmm, I wonder if the other gator really does taste like chicken?  Maybe next time I’ll give it a try.