Whales as Swim Instructors - May 27, 2010

WHALE WATCHING

DIVING DEEP

THE MONO-FIN

LOOK MA - NO HANDS!

BOTTOMS UP!

Whaling, whaling over the bounding Maine.

Actually the ocean today is not very bounding – not even very bouncy. And we’re not even in Maine- we’re in P-town on Cape Cod. We have just embarked on the whale watching ship Dolphin IV with about 150 other passengers including sister-in-law Josephine and her friend Peter. The sun is bright and temp in the 80’s. Looks like smooth sailing. But just in case, the Dolphin Fleet operators are offering free Dramamine at the snack bar before departure. Peter and Jo avail themselves but Rena and I are good.

It doesn’t take long to spot the whales. Humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) are feeding all around us as soon as we reach Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary. I’ve seen whales many times before but they never fail to impress. One female has a calf but she keeps her distance and it’s not easy to get pictures.

We enjoy several displays of cetacean behavior including blowing, breaching, fluking and the famous ‘tails-up’ dive maneuver. The whales seem to enjoy their diet of krill and are very, very frisky.

Seeing all these Humpback shenanigans reminds me of my newest obsession. Swimming with a “Mono-fin”.

About 10,000 years ago or so, people got tired of falling in water, sinking to the bottom, running out of air and dying. Finally, someone got the bright idea of imitating dogs, horses, goats or what have you, and began paddling arms and kicking feet, and managed to get back to dry land without drowning. She called it swimming. This doggie-paddle technique did work, if somewhat awkwardly. However, the paradigm of swimming on all fours has not changed noticeably over the last ten millennia. The basic stroke is still called the Australian crawl. (And even Michael Phelps who can swim rather well, would appear to the unbiased observer to be ungainly while doing it.)

Now, imagine if pre-historic men and women chose to imitate the dolphin, the shark or the whale instead of the dog and the goat. Imagine further that they had the technology to fashion fish-tails out of sticks, skins and bark. Just think how much better and more graceful swimming would be today!

All that is water under the bridge, of course.

Not until the tail end of the 20th century did the folks at the Finis corporation actually design an artificial terminal appendage based on a cetacean blueprint which enables homo sapiens to undulate effortlessly through stretches of water without drowning- The Mono-fin!

The Mono-fin is a plastic swim-fin shaped like a whale's tail with a place to snug both feet together at the base. The fin is held in place with a strap around both heels. Once firmly strapped-in, one has successfully converted from a crawling terrestrial to an aquatic power-swimmer like the dolphin, the whale or Mr. Phelps after he makes an underwater turn!

No need for any other appendages to propulse through the liquid medium - just use your strap-on artificial tail. Also, no need to coordinate breathing and strokes. When you feel like breathing - push hard with your 'tail' until you 'breach' the surface, leaping out of the water, blowing out the old air, sucking in the new and diving under again in one fluid maneuver. Just like a humpback whale!

I went to the local Aqua-spa last Wednesday to get a one-hour lesson in this new way to swim. That and some practice is all it takes! For Father’s Day I’m giving myself a present of a Mono-fin Wave (the blue one). I’m looking forward to using my new toy in the Powow River and in the Atlantic this summer. (UPS tracking assures me that my tail is in the mail!)

By the way, the Mono-fin is great exercise for abdominal, back, thigh and leg muscles. (Hip action in the Samba and Rhumba is also enhanced.)

The only down-side is a possible encounter with real whalers while Mono-finning the Seven Seas. An accidental harpooning would be distinctly unpleasant. I will just have to risk it, I guess!

Now if only someone would invent the artificial blowhole, I would be all set. I suppose I could mono-fin underwater on my back and use my nostrils for a spout – hmmmm. Sounds like another mad-science experiment for Daktari!

DAKTARI

Chez Sven, Wellfleet, Cape Cod- May 26, 2010

WELLFLEET STREET

FISH PEDICURE

GLOB OF OPHYRIDIUM VERSATILE

BEWARE STAIRS!

Cape Cod is basically where all the soil from the melting glacier that scraped Vinalhaven down to bedrock was deposited in one giant ridge of sand. We drive 5 hours from Rockland, Maine to Wellfleet, Mass where we are staying two nights at Chez Sven bed and breakfast.

Chez Sven is on the Old Kings Highway, which turns out to be a track in the sand going uphill into the forest. The B & B is a restored 18th century sailor’s cottage. We access our room on the top of the house by grabbing onto the rigging and hauling our luggage hand over fist up some very steep stairs.

Rena’s face blanches when she takes a look back down the way we came.
“How will I ever get down?” she asks.

“Same way you came up,” I reply cheerfully. “ Just grab the rope and let yourself down the companionway backwards. It’s what able body seamen do on whaling ships.”

“Don’t tell me we’re going to have to do this when we go whaling tomorrow?” she exasperates.

“Not whaling - whale watching,” I explain. “There’s a big difference - handrails instead of rigging for one thing. And no sharp harpoons.”

It’s about 1 PM. After unpacking we ask our hostess Alexandra Grabbe to recommend the afternoon’s activity.

“It’s hot enough,” she recommends. “So why not go for a swim in the kettle hole.”

“Kettle hole?” we ask simultaneously.

Kettles are blocks of ice calved off the receding glaciers which got buried in the outwash of sediment from the meltwater. When the buried ice blocks melted, circular depressions called kettle holes were left in the sand . They filled with water, becoming sandy swimming holes, usually less than 2 km in diameter.

Alexandra gives us printed directions of how to find Dyer Pond, the nearest of these fluvio-glacial landforms. The path is not marked but we don’t get lost. The hills are covered with white pines and some oak scrub. Delightful sharp smells of pine pitch and hot sand fill the air.

We are the only bathers today at Dyer Pond. Our own private Kettle hole. That must make us Ma and Pa Kettle! The sand bottom is very gentle on the feet and the water incredibly warm for a day in late May. Tiny fish gather round my feet as I wade in the shallows and nibble at my toes. My first fish pedicure! (It’s a Chinese thing.)

I also note some blobs of what looks like lime jell-o sticking to the kettle’s submerged vegetation and underwater logs. I pick up some of this primordial ooze and examine. It’s not frog eggs and it definitely has chlorophyll. Hmmm- unclassified jelly blobs. Later I find out that the blobs are gelatinous colonies of a single-celled Proctista species of ciliate called Ophrydium versatile. The colonies can be from 2 to 30 cm in size and are found in spring in the slightly acidic waters of bogs and ponds.

I swim back and forth across the kettle, trying not to get nibbled by perch or globbed by Ophrydia, and then lay out in the sun while Rena goes wading. Yesterday, abandoned quarries and today, kettle holes filled with toe- eating fish -- it’s a post-glacial water park adventure for Daktari.

After climbing the stairs to the crow’s nest at Chez Sven, we change into long pants and tee shirts and take a stroll on Wellfleet’s main street. There are many beautiful art galleries, a nice marina and lots of flowers everywhere. What a lovely way to spend an afternoon.

At 5 PM we meet our sister-in-law Josephine and her friend Peter for dinner in Provincetown. Whale watching tomorrow! It’s our last day of the vacation.

DAKTARI

Vinalhaven - May 25, 2010

LOBSTERING ON THE 'SHITPOKE'

OSGOODVILLE

QUARRY SWIM

QUARRY PICNIC

FIREFLIES

Today we’re on another boat - the ferry boat from our home port of Rockland, Me to the island of Vinalhaven. The Maine coast is peppered with islands, of which Vinalhaven is the largest. Vinalhaven is home to lobster fishing. As the ferry pulls into Carver's Harbor, we are overtaken by the ‘Shitpoke’ a typical lobster boat, operated by two burly men in orange pants and tee shirts.

“Why do lobstermen wear orange pants?” I inquire to no particular purpose.

“Perhaps, their red ones are in the wash.” suggests my equally speculative spouse.

Lobsters, it seems, were not always a luxury item.
In the 19th century, lobsters were considered poor peoples’ food. They were what Mainers ate when they were on their uppers and couldn’t afford beef, fowl or even fish. In Portsmouth, NH in 1857 the prisoners at the local jail went on a hunger strike to protest being fed lobster six days a week. (On Sundays they got salt beef.) De gustibus non est disputandum.

Before lobsters became valuable - rocks were the principle product of Vinalhaven

About 10,000 years ago a mile high glacier descended from Canada and scraped the coast of Maine down to bedrock. Bedrock on Vinalhaven happens to be a very fine grained and very hard pink-grey granite which is perfect for county seats, federal courthouses and commercial buildings. So in the 1840's quarrymen from Europe were imported to harvest this granite from Vinalhaven‘s exposed geologic substrate. At one time, over 3000 workers were employed in the quarries.

When lobster became a luxury food, the quarrymen all became lobster fisherman, lobsters being much easier to harvest than bedrock. The quarries themselves have filled with water and make excellent swimming holes.

It’s over 90 degrees today and I am inclined to go for my first and earliest swim of the season. Rena and I rent single-speed bikes at the Tidewater Motel, which is the most happening place in downtown Vinalhaven.

After some hard peddling (there are hills), we pass through Osgoodville (pop.50) and pull off the road at Booth Quarry Town Park. The park is fairly basic. One abandoned quarry, three picnic tables and an orange life preserver with no rope attached. I pick up the life preserver.

“Safety first!” I reassure Rena and as I toss the circular safety apparatus into the quarry.

It actually floats!

Rena acknowledges that the bright orange ring will probably keep my head above water long enough for help to arrive, and I strip down to my shorts and dive in. The water is not exactly balmy but it’s not freezing cold either. I’m able to swim a few strokes before returning to the quarry lip and crawling out on the warm rocks.

I towel off and Rena breaks out the hard-boiled eggs, trail mix, celery and carrot sticks.
We spend some time lazing on sun-baked granite, and then clamber back on the bikes for our return trip.

All in all, it’s a relaxing way to spend a day. The sun is setting as we arrive back in Rockland. We split a dinner at the The Boat House Restaurant. Poached salmon slathered with cream cheese and chives, wrapped in puff pastry and baked-- Yum!

At night I take a hike on the golf course that surrounds our resort. The moon is almost full. I enter a small dale, where dozens of fireflies are winking a welcome. Their green/white fairy lights are a sure sign of summer! New England’s best feature is surely the slow progression of her four seasons --Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter -- each more beautiful than the next. Truly we are blessed.

Tomorrow we leave Maine for Cape Cod.

DAKTARI

Schooner Olad - May 24, 2010

SCHOONER DOCKS

WATERFALL AT CAMDEN HARBOR

THE OLAD UNDER FULL SAIL

TIDEPOOL GEESE

Today we are going sailing in Penobscot Bay.
Captain Aaron Lincoln, a trim and ruddy 40 year old with a coppery beard, welcomes us aboard his two masted schooner the Olad, built in 1927.
It’s a bright sunny day with air temp about 75 and water temp about 30 degrees less.

This is one of the schooner’s first voyages of the season. Captain Aaron has spent the winter polishing and painting the Olad until her fir spars are alight with fresh varnish, her teak deck is smooth as silk and her canvas sails a startling white. What a beauty!

I’m not a sailor but I love the sea and have always been intrigued by the physics of boats.
Specifically how do sailing ships sail against the wind.? A fore-and-aft rigged two masted schooner is the ideal boat to see just how this works.

Physics, however, is the last thing on the minds of our fellow travelers.
The first challenge for your average landlubber is figuring out where to sit.
This problem is solved for us, as I am in the loo when the call goes out to board the Olad.
After debarking from the local mews, I join Rena at the end of the line.

“Sorry,” I apologize. “A full bladder and a long sea voyage are a bad combo.”

My tardiness turns out to be our lucky break, because all the other passengers lined up ahead of us decide to line the forward railings. By default, we join Captain Aaron and the life preservers in the aft cockpit. We’re the ones with soft cushions and back rests to lean on when the deck gets slanty!

“Well bless my bursting bladder,” I whisper to Rena. “I think we’ve commandeered the POSH seats for this voyage!”

(POSH, by the way, is a 19th century acronym for Port Outbound, Starboard Home. On the long sea voyage to India from England, it was best to have a cabin on the Port (left) side of the ship because the Atlantic waves arriving from the West battered those passengers on the right or Starboard side. Vice versa on the way back.)

The Olad’s crew, one broad-beamed Maine lass named Chrissie, casts off the land lines and we motor past a waterfall, through Camden harbor and onto the open sea.

The triangular sails on the foremast fill first, receiving the wind at an angle and scooping it behind the two larger quadrilateral sails - one on the back of the foremast and the other on the mainmast. This current of fast-moving air flowing in front of the big sails creates a vacuum. The vacuum sucks the large sails forward giving them a pleasing curved shape while propelling the boat forward against the wind. It’s exactly the same as the moving air over the curved top surface of an airplane’s wing lifting the entire plane up into the sky. The powerful forces of moving air overcome the clutching drag of seawater. Soon we are scooting along into the wind at about 7.5 knots or 10 MPH.

It’s all physics and the result is so beautiful it takes my breath away. A sailing schooner close-hauled to the wind is a miracle of grace and a pleasure to behold.

Captain Aaron loves his work. He bought the Olad 6 years ago and is now her indentured servant.

“In nine more years the mortgage will be paid and I’ll begin to make some money,” the Captain proclaims cheerfully.

“What do you do in the winter season?” I ask.

“ I used to sail the Olad down to the Florida Keys or the British Virgins and do the same job there,” but now I’m married with kids and so I stay here and work on the boat.
“My wife’s not a sailor,” he adds a bit wistfully.

All kinds of questions spring to mind. “How exactly does that work?”
But it doesn’t seem the time to discuss why opposites attract and whether Captain Aaron’s spouse is jealous of his lust for the sea. Family dynamics is not my favorite field of physics.

We play tag with a bank of thick fog which alternately conceals and displays the lovely Maine Coast. The deck slants in the brisk wind, sometimes at 25 or even 30 degrees. (For comparison, a black diamond ski slope is rarely more than 22 degrees.)

It’s a jouncy, fun ride. Luckily, neither Rena nor I are prone to seasickness!

“Here’s something interesting,” says Captain Aaron. “Do you see that wide beach over there just beneath the fog bank?”

We both stare at what looks like a generous expanse of sand.

“That’s an optical illusion,” explains our Captain. “The low fog bank acts as a giant lens that bends light and makes far away objects look closer. The beach is really quite narrow and only appears larger because it’s magnified by the fog.”

We enter the fogbank and can see nothing on either side.

“How do you tell which way to go in this fog?” I inquire.

“ Well,” replies the Captain. “ The compass always works. But right now I can see the sun overhead so I just tack until the sun is about 90 degrees from my present line and as long as the wind holds true, I’m moving on approximately a straight line.”

“Then, there’s always GPS,” he adds - glancing at the electronics to his left, as if the 21st century is something of an unwanted companion for sailing captains. (Celestial navigation is yet another lovely pinnacle of applied physics which has fallen out of favor thanks to satellites and the electronic age.)

“Will we see any wildlife along the coast?” we ask.

“Our last trip we saw dolphins and seals. Sometimes we’ll even see a whale!”

We, however, see nothing but the sea and the birds.

“Do you see those birds with white backs?” asks our captain.
“Those are Eider ducks. They were hunted almost to extinction for their soft down but now they are fairly plentiful again.”

The mention of Eider down brings back memories. My first research paper ever was written in 3rd grade and was on the Eider down duck! I remember the World Book Encyclopedia where I did my research. Also, a down mattress in a small hotel in Switzerland. But that as they say is another story!

We arrive back at port all too soon and Captain Aaron shows off by not starting the Olad’s motor. She arrives at the dock under full sail with nary a scrape or a bruise on the schooner’s pristine finish. Just like the old days!

On the way to the car Rena and I agree that sailing is not a sport for us.

“Too boring,” says Rena.

“Yep,” I agree.

“Unless you’re either the Captain or happen to love physics,” I think to myself.

DAKTARI

Rockport, Maine - May 23, 2010

VIEW FROM OUR ROOM AT THE SAMOSET

ANDRE THE SEAL

OREO COWS

“Today is our first free day on the Coast of Maine. We are staying at a lovely resort ‘The Samoset’ in Rockport. It's in the middle of a golf course - the Pebble Beach of New England.

As the morning fog lifts, we hop into Rena’s metallic orange Suzuki (the one with the beach sandal car magnet on the door) and head ‘Down East’ along the Coast. ‘Down East’ and ‘Up to Boston’ are the two cardinal directions of the Maine seacoast. This can be confusing to the average tourist since Maine is North and Boston is South, so going ‘Down’ to Maine from Boston seems paradoxical. Just remember that we are in sailing country and that the prevailing westerly winds make sailing downwind (‘Down East’ to Maine) a breeze and tacking upwind (‘Up to Boston’) an uphill struggle. Got it? Don’t worry it takes a while.

The next town Down East from Rockland is Rockport. It is one of many small Maine fishing villages in which life goes on relatively unchanged. Rockport’s one claim to fame is Andre the Seal. André was a harbor seal who spent his winters at the New England Aquarium in Boston and his summers in Rockport Harbor. Every spring for over 20 years the Seaquarium would release him and André would swim north to Rockport (150+ miles). It was always a high point for local residents when he reappeared. During his lifetime Andre was made the honorary harbormaster of Rockport.

A book was written about the famous seal in 1986 “A Seal Called Andre” from which in 1994 a mediocre movie ‘Andre ’ was made. In the film Andre was played by a sea lion -of all things. It was a crushing blow to all his fans in Maine and Boston. One of my favorite films was also filmed in Rockport - “In the Bedroom” (2001)

I stop at harborside to take a photo of the Andre statue.

“What a lovely spot!” we both exclaim. I find out later that in 2008, Forbes magazine voted Rockport the number one ‘prettiest town’ in the USA.

I also learn that the early economy of Rockport was the manufacture of lime for building. We inspect the kilns where limestone was heated to disassociate calcium carbonate from carbon dioxide creating quicklime (calcium oxide). In 1817, 300 casks of lime were sent to Washington, DC for re-building the U.S. Capitol which had been damaged by the British during the War of 1812. I picture tall schooners at night in the Gulf of Maine sailing past Rockport and seeing the landmark red glow of the enormous lime kilns from far out to sea.

Rockport also has a unique herd of Galloway dairy cattle. The herd is at Alemere Farm which is owned by the Maine Coast Heritage Trust. A dairy herd owned by the taxpayers! The cattle are known as “Oreo cows” and are a popular attraction. What fun!

DAKTARI

Road trip to Maine - Rockland May 22, 2010

A GIFT FROM THE GODS?

READ THE FINE PRINT

Rainbow Around the Sun

Rena and I are on a road-trip – our first since South Africa in 2007. See Buchu Bushcamp

We are off early on Friday morning - our destination Rockland, Maine.
On the way into town, just outside of Rockland we pass a good-sized lake and on the
right is a house with a yellow jet-ski for sale.

“Rena,” I inquire sweetly. “Don’t you think it would be nice to own a jet-ski?”

“ARE you out of your MIND?” she shoots back. “What would we do with that?”

“Well, I am retired, and retired men generally need lots of toys to keep them happy. And I don’t have even one.”

“What about the rider mower you just bought?” she asks.

“Mowing the lawn is not play,” I respond definitively.

“You could’a fooled me. You tear around in that Snapper like Emerson Fittipaldi.” she demurs. “What about that long scrape on your baldspot.”

“A mere flesh wound,” I aver steadfastly. “I thought the crabapple was tall enough that I could
scoot right under.”

“Well you didn’t make it,” Rena assures me. “I hate to think what you could do to yourself attacking the ocean waves in a Sea-doo.”

“I guess that means no jet-ski, then,” I surrender. (Have to pick my battles and this one looks like a sure loser.)

Nevertheless, the next morning I get up early, early and go back to the lake where I see the yellow jetski sitting by the side of the road. It’s still there.

I pull into the driveway and there's a sign on it: "For Sale - $125.00"

"Exactly in my price range," I chortle to myself.
I am sooo excited.

I jump out of the car. The Seadoo is kinda chewed up looking.
“Probably due to previous adventures on the rockbound coast of Maine,” I surmise.
But at that price I figure, "What the Heck!"
Joy seems eminent and won’t need to be postponed!
I run over for a closer look.
Now, I can read the fine print on the sign:

"For Sale -- $125.00 -- Hull only -- No motor."

It’s all a big Coyote trick, and I fell for it – hook, line and sinker.

When I get back to the resort, the sun is burning through the early morning fog and guess what?
It’s completely encircled by a thin rainbow.
I've never seen anything quite like that before.
(And I even took a photo of it! )

I think my luck is gonna change. The Sun God intends better things than Coyotes in my future.

DAKTARI