Mission almost accomplished

We're here in Seattle to celebrate our son Zach's long-awaited graduation from nursing school tomorrow night. He still has some clinical work to complete tonight, but he tells us there's no way he's not graduating tomorrow night, unless, of course, he kills somebody. So, we're keeping our fingers crossed, but we believe G-day is a definite go. Our other son is arriving momentarily from Florida, and Bob's sister and boyfriend are here. This is big! This is major! This is fun! We've hit Pike Place Market, ogled and eaten salmon and crab of all kinds, checked out the Space Needle, and are thinking about an underground Seattle tour. And, amazingly for Seattle, the sun has been shining. The downside is that it's really cold -- highs in mid 30s. We are staying in a 100-year-old apartment building with steam heat, so it's very cozy. This is the view from Zach's apartment overlooking Puget Sound, and we saw this gorgeous salmon at the market.

A mullet spawning and feeding frenzy

We have tens of thousands of mullet swimming around our marina right now, bumping into our hulls and leaping out of the water in pretty much a spawning frenzy. Hope you get the idea from this picture, but it really doesn't do it justice. Bob was up at the top of somebody's mast yesterday, helping him with an electrical problem, and he really should've taken the camera, because the marina looked like it was carpeted with these guys. The mullet are followed by fishermen and dolpins, not to mention a mini feeding frenzy on the part of the marina tenants. Our neighbors caught some yesterday morning and brought them to a marina party here, where they were basted with lemon and olive oil and grilled. Surprisingly fabulous.

Fresh varnish in the morning

The dew has a particular way of beading up on freshly varnished horizontal surfaces, like the taffrail. We think it's beautiful. Now that's it's cool, it's varnish time, where we undo all the damage of the hideously hot summer.

It took six months, but we are finally able to lord our weather over the rest of the country

It's taken six miserable months, but the weather is finally bearable, in fact beautiful, here. Oh, and the sunrises and sunsets are pretty great, too. Here's our marina at dawn this morning.

Is there anything sweeter than 7 and 8 year olds playing soccer?

Our grandsons, Tyler (7) and Shea (8) would be appalled to know that we think they and their teammates are sweet, but have to admit that we do. Shea's the one laughing at a recent practice, and Tyler's the one with the red hat and gloves. As goalie recently, he made a couple of great saves with them on, and is now convinced they bring him good luck and refuses to take them off.

Big thing. In our backyard. Why?

What are you and why are you here, making lots of noise while Kitty is trying to work? You seem to be installing new pilings. Are you a pile driver? Who knows, but you are coming perilously close to our boat, and you only have one small outboard pushing you along. Taking picture now, just in case you ram us.

Amazingly, you have just managed to turn your big self around and maneuver out of here. Guess you knew what you were doing after all.

And the heat goes on

Will it ever end? While my brother and family freeze in an early winter storm in Denver, we continue to swelter. We are still breaking heat records, with temps now eight degrees above normal. Folks here in our marina are gathering in the air-conditioned dock house every afternoon and doing a collective pant. The marina even ran out of ice yesterday. We do feel a little bit better just looking at this picture. Very glad we don't have to drive in it, though.

When you need enthusiastic, young crew . . .

It's a real plus to have two grandsons, ages 7 and 8, who have recently been to sailing camp. They can now take the helm and haul in on sheets like experienced sailors, and we love the help. We took off about an hour before sunset last night for the boys' first overnight at anchor. We dropped anchor in the middle of Tampa Bay, had dinner and carved a pumpkin while watching the sun go down behind St. Pete. While the pumpkin was clearly the highlight, the boys were also delighted to watch tugs and barges go by, learn to talk on the VHF radio, see fish, birds and dophins, swing from the bosun's chair, shoot pellets at a beer bottle (see below for more on the ineffective pellet gun) and dinghy over to a range mark to get a closer look at the zillions of cormorants roosting on it. We must say, everything seems a lot more special when seen through their eyes.

You again?

The Osprey That Would Not Leave the St. Petersburg Municipal Marina was waiting for us when we returned. Back when we previously lived here (2000-05), he was interesting, adorable, wild, cute, fascinating. Now he frequently turns the business end of his enormous avian self toward our boat and lets loose what only ospreys can deposit after eating stinky fish all day. It's us vs him, and we've declared full-on war, which in our case means a hose and wimpy little Airsoft pellet gun. Poor Capt. B tries to "shoot" him with plastic bb's that launch a whopping 15 feet into the air and drop, ineffectively, into the water. Hey, dude, don't you know winter's coming? Why don't you head to South America or someplace other than the mast on the boat right next to us?

It may still be hellishly hot here . . .

. . . but the boat work must go on. We'd put off a few things "til October, when it's cooler." Yeah right. Here Bob, with relief, finishes painting the bulwarks. It may seem crazy, but sometimes the best way to get at parts of the boat is to just stand in the wobbly dinghy, which is what he's doing here. In the sun. With a heat index of 112. And no shade.

It's been so hot here that they're having trouble making ice for the upcoming hockey season.

Bivalve hits the lecture circuit

For the first time ever, B publicly revealed last night why on earth anyone would go cruising in a little sailboat at a meeting of the Bay Sailors. They had asked him to explain himself, and he was delighted to tell them why: it's the people, events, places and the opportunity to learn new skills. That's all. And even though we're back in our home marina right now, we continue to marvel at the community of boaters. Kitty was talking to Pete, a new resident here, who sold his boat in Guatemala last spring and just got a new one. The new boat's a project, but he says whenever he asks anyone here where to buy whatever, they usually just insist on driving him to wherever he needs to go. He was amazed. We weren't.

Happy (hideously hot) Equinox!

Kitty didn't manage to take a picture of the sunrise this morning, which is too bad, because on the autumnal equinox the sun is always nicely lined up right at the end of our main dock before it starts heading south again. However, this picture of Equinox in her slip here at the St. Pete Municipal Marina illustrates something else, and that would be how *&^^%ing hot it is here on the first day of fall. Chain locker open? Check. Hatches and ports wide open? Check. Awnings still up? Absolutely. Predicted high today? 92. Predicted humidity? 75%. We are still trying to reacclimate to summers here after being away for four plus years, but it ain't easy. Capt. B keeps muttering something about how next year we're for sure going to Maine . . .

Circuses have clown cars

Boats have chain lockers. There are only three kids in ours in this picture, but there were four at one point yesterday, when three kids on our dock came to play with our grandsons. They love to go down there with a flashlight and have us close it up. It's amazing how long kids can amuse themselves on a 36-foot boat, including playing with the Caframo fans (so harmless, you can stick your hand into the blades, which kids seem to love) and hanging from the handholds down below. And always, always, the ride in the bosun's chair, which no kid, no matter how young or supposedly height averse, can resist for long.

Hey, this works better than what they were putting in the IV . . .

While looking for ways to pass the time with her head down, Kitty saw a great column by Robyn Blumner of the St. Petersburg Times about being initiated into the cult of The Moth. Have you heard of it? We hadn't. Anyway, it's this storytelling place in New York City where people get about 10 minutes to tell a riveting tale of . . . whatever: death, prison, sex, green cards, Burning Man (and we know some of you like that). Whatever it is has to be true. There is apparently a theme for the evening, and storytellers talk without notes. And, joy of joys, you can listen to bunches of them for free via their podcasts. They're incredible. Riveting. Amazing. And very effective as a sedative for people who don't like lying down for a week. Highly recommended for you cruisers on night watch as you head south.

No, actually that chart looks like the time space continuum . . .

So, if you look at the dot in this grid with one eye and most of the lines are wavy like in the other image, this is a good sign that something's very wrong with your vision. It took Kitty an embarrassingly long time to figure this out after a couple of months of mysterious vision problems, but once she finally did it was off to an ophthalmologist in Key West, followed by a retina specialist in Miami, followed by another one in St. Pete, followed by surgery last Wednesday for something known as a macular hole. If you have a really strong stomach, take a look at this video on the website of her fabulous doctor, Steven Cohen. The surgery went beautifully and only took a half hour. The recovery is a pain in the, well, eye, and requires keeping your head down for 40 minutes of every hour for a week, followed by about three months before your vision comes back in the bad eye. So, her 20 minutes are up and she must go put her head back down, but that's what's going on with us. Capt. B is being the best seeing-eye husband ever.

We think we got outta Key West just in time

We'd been back in St. Pete only five days when the first tropical storm came through. Equinox rolled and heaved all night, and we couldn't figure out what was going on, since we knew Tropical Storms Ana and Bill were still a good distance away. We found out this morning that Tropical Depression 4, which is right on the verge of being upgraded to Tropical Storm Claudette, popped up overnight in the Gulf while no one was looking. It's now barreling up toward the panhandle, and we're about to get some crazy thunderstorms. We haven't had to deal with hurricanes in five years, so are trying to get back up to speed. Here's a video of the high tide and all the boats rolling around here this morning.

No, we're not lost at sea

We're at the St. Pete Municipal Marina, right back where we started from. We have been getting settled in, and have just now thought about blogging. We did leave Key West Sunday morning and, as we untied from the mooring the wind, which had been from the southeast for a month, mysteriously shifted to the north. We were agape. What? Are the gods angry with us? So, it was mainsail-assisted motoring all the way, with the occasional bashing into weather. But we still got back to St. Pete in 36 hours, which amazed us. We had a great sunset Sunday night and beautiful stars until the moon came up. Very calm seas and mostly pitifully small amounts of wind. The best wind we got was after we came through the Skyway bridge and got into Tampa Bay. Then it started honking, and raining and being generally annoying, but only for an hour or so. We are thrilled to be back home. We have so many friends who've left (and, yes, you people know who you are, and we love you anyway), but still so many great friends here. We were so delighted to get a slip (thank you, marina staff) and to be in at least semi-protected waters for the rest of hurricane season. Oh, and then there are the adorable, beloved grandsons, but you don't want to get us started on them.

Farewell, Key West

The peak of hurricane season approaches and some idiot in the mooring field just put a 5,500-watt generator on the deck of his boat, which sounds like a 747 getting ready to take off. These are both important signs that it's time for us to move on, after our lovely, relaxing midsummer's pause here in Key West. We topped it all off with fresh -- and we mean right off the boat fresh -- Florida spiny lobster, cooked the Conch way, which means grilled and served with corn and red potatoes. All of Duval Street was closed off for Lobsterfest, and we just went from one outdoor bar to the next, from one restaurant grilling lobster outside to the next, eating and drinking as we went. First Mate Crustacean was deliriously happy, as you can see. We're headed back to the arid north (that would be St. Pete) tomorrow at 0600 and hope to get there Tuesday sometime.

This weekend's debauchery

was the Battle of the Bars, where teams from just about every bar in town compete to see who can come up with the best costumes, tap kegs, blend margaritas, serve beers to their teammates and recycle everything the fastest. It was the usual Key West clothing-optional swillfest in 145 degrees of heat, where the judges can be bribed, but it all goes to charity. Ah, young livers at play. Up next weekend -- Lobsterfest. First Mate Crustacean is salivating already.

Ok, so Bob didn't win . . .

the Hemingway lookalike contest, but we had a great time. All of the 150 guys who entered are celebrities, if only for a weekend. People flock to have their pictures taken with them, and they just hate it, can you tell? Bob thought the "woop-woop" girls were actually the celebrities (they chant woop-woop three times every time a first-time contestant, aka a "virgin," is announced on stage) and was delighted to have his own picture taken with them. The running (well, strolling) of the bulls and the Papas Saturday afternoon down Duval Street was another highlight (you can see Bob below the right elbow of the guy holding the sign).

While we hope you'll agree that Capt. B. acquitted himself quite nicely in the 15 seconds he was given to persuade the judges, the competition was absolutely fierce. There was even a father-son combo entry, with one of them a younger, Paris era version of Hemingway. The winner's secret weapon was the sweater he wore. In July. In Key West. Talk about suffering for your art. The only way to win, apparently, is to enter about eight years in a row, so we'll have a big decision ahead of us next July.