tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-135660982024-03-08T00:47:00.811+00:00Memoirs and musings from the Phibius LogDedicated to adventures small, medium, and occasionally large.Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-18570915950335506642011-07-29T09:28:00.002+01:002011-07-29T09:56:56.873+01:00Baltimore to OysterhavenAn odd motion of the boat woke me with a start around 03:30, a slight bumping and jerking uncomfortably reminiscent of her motion when floating off a trailer. Not having a functioning echo-sounder, I had relied on my charts to find a good depth for anchoring: could I have made a mistake? Perhaps even now we were going aground as the water ebbed all around us. Briongloid is a fin-keeler; she Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-6214103736416015782011-07-08T13:54:00.012+01:002011-07-29T09:27:58.961+01:00Berehaven To BaltimoreI awoke around 06:30 to find my boat still anchored in Lawrence Cove. Good start! A light breeze is raising light ripples - and is blowing our way. No engine this morning! We weighed anchor under mainsail and jib, washing some reassuringly clingy grey mud from the anchor flukes - ideal holding ground for our anchor.Soon, the very convenient direction and strength of the wind suggests the Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-36220221338116895312011-07-06T13:30:00.007+01:002011-07-06T16:30:09.975+01:00Bantry to BerehavenOn a fine July evening, microlights droned through a summer sky as we loaded Briongloid against the BBSC slipway in a couple of frantic minutes as the ebb tide sucked its way through the perilously thin margin of water below our keel, tossing kit bags, mattresses, ropes, groceries etc straight down the companionway. Then, suddenly, we were free, bow and stern lines back aboard, bow firmly set Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-3852072247598380452010-12-16T12:24:00.005+00:002010-12-16T15:23:57.915+00:00A trip to the theatreAfter a day of mildly painful "trapped wind" during which I completely failed to belch my way back to a happy belly, I fell back on the obvious remedies - Andrews, Rennies, a couple of paracetemol for comfort. After a couple of hours of completely failing to begin a healing slumber, I tried some Zydol (normally used to erase post-operative pain). My "indigestion" chuckled and nipped me a littlePhibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-91333221102156161442010-10-04T12:10:00.006+01:002010-10-11T12:09:15.691+01:00Hauling outWinter haul-out is a melancholy time; the final admission that, this year, there will be no more sailing... no more anchoring in quiet and beautiful places, no random encounters with big beasties from the deep. This winter, Briongloid will get new pintles & gudgeons, and maybe a few electrical tweaks to satisfy her owner's fantasies of hot drinks in cold places.In compensation for having to Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-29164205880163660092010-09-30T10:32:00.003+01:002010-09-30T11:14:21.117+01:00Checking the weatherLast night, a tiny light blazed above our neighbour's rooftop, far brighter than Vega or Deneb. It couldn't be the ISS (which really whizzes past) , so I knew I was looking at Jupiter, currently a mere 368.8 million miles away. I can resist anything but temptation, so I finished my chores as quickly as possible, pulled a middling-sized Newtonian reflector out of my car boot and took aim at the Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-43636979995823182612010-01-10T17:52:00.010+00:002010-01-10T20:08:30.993+00:00Glacial GalteesWeek after week, the frost has held fast; on some days, the sun can chase it from the grass, but rarely from the shade. Below the sun's reach, the ice is creeping deeper into the earth; mud has set like cement, and the ice reaches a full foot below the ground. Freezing fogs turn bare branches into a freezing filigree, every twig heavy with ice crystals. Apart from the fog, the sky stays clear, Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-62437927162620594142009-11-11T10:11:00.004+00:002009-11-11T10:44:17.250+00:00RemembranceOn a chilly November 11th, red flowers on lapels bring my mind back to a sunny August evening in Normandy, when I stood on a low hill carpeted with golden fields and striped with lush green hedgerows. On that summit stands a circle of stones, each pointing a to each nearby town or village, and naming it. Besides the name, a number has also been engraved into each stone; the price, in lives, Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-9272530416072536222009-09-10T22:54:00.003+01:002009-09-10T23:15:38.870+01:00Probable PippistrelleA furry stranger arrived in our garden this evening; he was found clinging upside down to a shrub. We watched as he began to scramble from twig to twig. Now and then, he would flutter a couple of feet, but couldn't quite get into the air.Pipistrellis pipistrellisA quick look at the small ears and nose and some leafing through my wildlife guides, I had him down as a Pippistrelle (Latin for "I Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-39702245328485609912009-09-09T22:04:00.005+01:002009-09-09T22:50:02.234+01:00Together, harmonySitting at the piano, tinkering with the motifs and fragments that might one day gel into a soundtrack, I rattle through variation after variation, evolving note by note the music I will need to accompany the landscapes playing in my memory's screening room. As a freezing desert and a distant mountain range float before my eyes, I search higher into the treble, trying for the phrases that will Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-72917461275700477422009-06-25T13:49:00.001+01:002009-06-25T13:53:46.233+01:00Not getting wreckedI wish I had read this post a couple of months ago. Reader, you cannot be too-well moored.Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-85451669667314946382009-06-15T10:27:00.001+01:002009-06-15T11:01:15.773+01:00Time traveller?Who is Alex Boote?Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-63082418255010708892009-06-11T12:01:00.004+01:002009-06-11T14:10:11.605+01:00RescueMy wife bellowed, then shot past the window, accelerating so fast that she assumed a reddish tint. I followed her out, and found her standing in front of the gate which guards our neighbour's yard, faced off against our very angry cat. Behind the gate, a very frightened juvenile starling huddled against a wall, shivering. No wonder: apart from being soaked in cat saliva, each and every Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-34937685856812698212009-05-20T18:42:00.007+01:002009-06-15T10:20:07.315+01:00The Wrecking of BriongloidThe call came late in the evening from an unfamiliar number; a voice I had never heard before told me that Briongloid (Irish for "dream") was hard aground the rocks outside her home cove. Several hurried phone calls later, I was on the road to the coast, racing through the darkness in convoy with a hastily press-ganged brother-in-law, trying beat the water to our precious boat, and take the Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-61802185965389532912009-05-20T14:12:00.007+01:002009-05-20T18:33:42.955+01:00Columba livia domesticaOur resident lap-warmer and dog-scarer was waiting at the door for his breakfast, wearing his most winning "poor starving cat" expression. The performance would've been much more convincing if he had remembered to clean his blood-soaked face...It wasn't his blood; our back garden looked as though a lunatic anatomist had been doing his dissection al fresco. A blood-mad killer he may be, but he Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-63182520102485715252009-04-06T12:04:00.006+01:002009-04-06T14:53:47.883+01:00Warp DriveEarly on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Briongloid slipped her mooring carrying mainsail, genoa, and a crew of four, and rode a rushing ebb tide into open water; her first proper sail of the season. Sails filled by a gentle force 2-3 from west-north-west, we began our first long tack west, our goal the vast arena of Holeopen Bay some 10km distant - my first proper sailing of the season.Actually, I Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-89590255870337822422009-03-30T23:12:00.006+01:002009-03-31T16:01:11.758+01:00Re-LaunchIn which the saga of the near-sinking is concludedIn brazen defiance of ancient nautical tradition, the owner of the boatyard called with the news no boat-owner expects: repairs complete on time and under budget! Briongloid would be returning to the water on exactly the promised day. ~On a calm and sunny Saturday, I found Briongloid floating calmly on the river by the boatyard, rafted to a Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-14248140358764993832009-03-06T12:06:00.005+00:002009-03-06T14:23:23.574+00:00RepairsSpring is coming fast now, daffodils and crocuses in full bloom, sunsets and dawns pushing back the night. "Any day now", the men at the yard where Briongloid lies sleeping beneath her tarp will make her hull watertight again; after that, I want her back in the sea at the earliest opportunity.So, it's time to get ready. The flowers of rust blooming on her iron keel have been ground away, Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-16736350211778446652009-02-16T14:31:00.015+00:002009-02-18T08:55:37.384+00:00Light Jet: a taste of private travelFor a recent trip to Stuttgart (work, not pleasure, although I enjoyed it so much it might as well have been a holiday), I left the world of scheduled flight, and instead of the usual 737/A320, traveled by light jet - a Cessna 525B Citation CJ3. Although I've been on private (unscheduled) flights before, it has always been for short, informal flights in uncontrolled airspace - and very Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-32523468091306921362009-02-04T12:04:00.012+00:002009-02-04T14:06:40.540+00:00Sinking, Part 3Being the third installment of a tale of a watery tale begun here and continued here. At last, Briongloid was safely on her trailer. On a snowy afternoon, I left The City early to go the boatyard and get a look the problem from the outside. I love the approach to the boatyard: it lies near the navigable limit of a tree-lined river - very scenic. This time, the tide was low, and some very Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-52795390771388272952009-01-27T12:58:00.007+00:002009-01-29T13:44:01.563+00:00Sinking, Part 2Having established that our beloved Briongloid was letting in something on the order of 40 litres of sea water every 24 hours (see Part 1), it was time to get her hauled out and fixed by the yard that fitted the loo (and the leak). So, last Saturday, I got up before the sun did to drive to the cove and sail her to the yard.I pulled up on the slipway just in time to see the sun touch the western Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-89528470668247510822009-01-26T17:03:00.005+00:002009-01-26T18:17:46.514+00:00Sinking, Part 1Briongloid was always a wet boat; ever since I launched her, pumping her bilges has been a regular pre-sail ritual. On overnight stays, I got used to pumping out in the mornings. Every now and then, I would work my way around her deck, looking for weaknesses and blasting them with sealant. Bucket-testing proved I was making progress, although oddly, her bilges didn't get any drier. After a Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-43350743242913039312008-11-23T12:33:00.008+00:002008-11-24T11:19:54.318+00:00Whale PatrolDay-dreams of craggy headlands, taut canvas, wide blue horizons - clearly, I was in the grip of a bad case of sea-fever. The fever was not reduced by a steady stream of reports that huge beasts were on the move just off-shore. This far north, the sun sinks early, and gales are frequent; I would have to wait my chance.I found a Saturday with a weather window just wide enough to slip through (Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-87390688381677473772008-11-04T14:32:00.002+00:002008-11-04T14:35:28.926+00:00Other thoughtsThis blog is for adventures; to record them, to share them, and to remind me to have them. Quite often, I have ideas that don't belong here - and so I've started a new blog which I'll be writing in parallel with this one.Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13566098.post-530432459188113582008-10-21T10:24:00.005+01:002008-10-29T10:39:18.319+00:00Sur la Cote d'Emeraude / On the Emerald CoastPicture a peerless Sunday morning in mid-October; the sky is cloudless, the air crisp. To the left, a vast sweep of sea, a rich and perfect blue, over which dozens of yachts are gliding, white hulls all a-gleam, borne on a land-breeze just sufficient to fill Spinnakers and mainsails. Some older rigs, too - the complex and gorgeous gaff-rigs of the classic yachts operated by Etoile Marine are a Phibiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13608110955562088043noreply@blogger.com0