Well, i made it. i’m finally back in the BVI. About time! Things are different, things are the same.
Busy busy busy with work. Today (being Sunday after all) i only worked a part-day. Scott and i took his little dingy Rough Rider around the point to Smuggler’s Cove, to go for a swim and play in the nor’easterly surf. The water is great! It’s warmer than what my showerhead produces, that’s fer sure.
By some strange coincidence, James rented me a room near work… the same room Kim and i had when we were here! It was a strange yet good feeling coming back to the same place. i drank an orange-juice toast to Kim, and settled in. There’s a spare bed, and room enough for friends to crash. Huzzah!
The landscape is much greener, lusher, and wilder. Pathways and shortcuts i had come to know have been completely changed or overgrown. In the spring, the plants were brownish and dry from a generally rainless winter, but after this summer of hurricanes and humidity, everything is growing like crazy here.
Things are just beginning to get going here. The seasonal regulars are trickling in, and boats are slowly getting put back into the water after a summer of storage ashore. The beaches and channels are still pretty free of tourists and bareboats. The somewhat frantic energy of The Season is in remission, and it’s a good time for working; there’s been little in the way of after-work rum-ups and hourly breaks for beer.
i haven’t gotten out to take pictures yet, but i’ll have to post some here as soon as i have some ready.
i’ll end this with an invitation to all my friends, near and far; come visit! The weather and water are great, and you’ll always have a place to crash! Happy Days!
Hey! What’s that over there?
i want to take a moment to tell you a bit about my good friend Johnny. Johnny’s a little hard to describe. Maybe if i tell you a story about him, you’ll understand.
Johnny, Djane, Slacks, and i drove over a cliff one day. i figger it wouldn’t have happened if Johnny wasn’t sitting in the passenger seat. See, the shotgun up front in a 4×4 on a dodgy road has a job to do. That job is to be the spotter, the swamper, the extra eyes, ears, and hands of the driver. In this case, the driver was Slacks, and the 4×4 in question was none other than Slack’s big black pantload Trogdor. Of course, Johnny wasn’t watching the road when we drove off the cliff.
Now, i’ve often said that we wouldn’t have driven off that there cliff if i was up front m’self, filling my usual spotter role. Djane counters that we probably wouldn’t have made it out in one piece if Johnny wasn’t up front there to provide his usual luck/unluck effect.
Johnny was filming something on the horizon, the mountain we were driving out west to climb. Johnny usually has some sort of camera glued to him, be it film or video. He just told me today that he’d found some sort of chest-harness to hold his camera so he can take pictures while biking/climbing/rally-racing/cliff-jumping/etc. hands-free. Of course, he filming when we went over the cliff.
We now have some great “impending doom” footage. My favourite shot is of the rocky creek-bottom a couple hundred feet below us, looking out the passenger-side window… framed by Johnny’s feet standing on the inside of the door. Oh yeah, that one’s worth a chuckle.
Then there’s the classic Esler Fall story. Thinking he was on belay (some miscommunication there), Johnny backed off a clifftop after a sportclimb to the top. Only slightly impeded by the drag of the rope, he fell about 50 feet to the ground. He landed on his feet, compressing himself so fully that he bounced his head off his own knee and dented the dirt with it. The spot he landed on is the only patch of actual dirt at the bottom of that climb, smack between a pointy rock and a jagged stump. I couldn’t have happened to anyone else, but then again, nobody else would have survived it. Luck/unluck again.
There’s another story from this summer, one i’m afraid to ask him about; i think the details might turn my stomach. He rapped down a couple pitches of poorly-bolted backcountry limestone with his girlfriend. Then they ran out of anchors. And rope. Johnny pulled it together and got his girlfriend off the rock, then hung in his harness on a sling for something like 66 hours before help came. Just another day in the woods. Frankly, i’m surprised he doesn’t have pictures from his time hanging up there.
Johnny is a hell of a guy, and a hell of a photographer. He’s back to South America this winter to finish his epic Pan-American journey to Cape Horn on his vintage BMW motorcycle.
If you already know Johnny, please feel free to “comment” and post a story of your own.
I just noticed that someone had arrived at one of my blogs from a web-search for “hold fast” tattoos. It’s something that seems poorly documented online, so I thought I might talk a bit about traditional sailor tattoos.
Tattooing is an incredibly ancient form of art and self-expression. From the earliest age of sail, sailors traveling farther and farther abroad had begun to encounter indigenous people who had tattooed themselves for years. Sailors often got tattooed themselves as a form of souvenir, to show where they had been. Even today, sailors tend to be somewhat superstitious, and generally very aware of symbolism. Tattoos are a most intimate way of associating a symbol (and accompanying meaning) with yourself.
Many “traditional” tattoos have their roots in the history and customs of sailors. The “hold fast” tattoo i have is extremely traditional. It has since been adopted by other tattooing subcultures, but the original intent was to prevent sailor’s hands from slipping on lines, or to secure yourself to the riggin’ when working aloft in weather. To many sailor-folk, the meaning of “hold fast” is obvious enough, but those whose ear’s aren’t trained to it, it might sound a contradiction.
On board, a line (a rope to you lubbers) is “fast” when it is firmly and positively secured. In traditional sailing vernacular, many line- and sail-handling commands have been extended to include persons as well. To “belay” a line is to secure it with a series of turns (wraps) around a cleat, pin, bit, or kevel, stopping it from further motion. Likewise, to call out “Belay that!” might just as well apply to a person doing some undesirable activity, or to stop a previous order from being carried out.
Many other traditional sailor tattoos have their origins in superstition. One great example is the pair of tattoos of a pig on one foot, and a rooster on the other. The implication is that both these animals fear water, and that they will keep a sailor’s feet from sinking into the depths, speeding them back to land all the sooner. The ubiquitous nautical star is variously representative of the polar star itself, or of the compass card; both are to help the sailor find (and keep) their way.
Other sailor tattoos are celebrations of particular milestones. A fouled anchor on the forearm signifies that the sailor has crossed the Atlantic. Small blue stars on the hands signify trips made around Cape Horn. I have read references to turtle tattoos for those who have sailed across the Equator. I also seem to recall something about those traditional swallow tattoos on the shoulders being markers to show the crossing of the Tropics Of Cancer and Capricorn.
I occasionally encounter people with these tattoos who have little idea of their cultural and historical significance. I usually take a little time to try and explain it to them, as I feel that sailing traditions are extremely important to us all. Having my hands tattooed makes me a bit of an ambassador, I guess. My own tattoo artist felt very privileged to be able to “put a real sailor tattoo on a real sailor”.
If you’ve encountered other traditions or histories relating to sailor tattoos, please comment!
i was blowing through Victoria a years or so ago, and called up my friends Galadriel & Flash to see what was happening. After getting over the brief shock of hearing i was in town Galadriel asked me, “Do you want to go see a local indie dyke bluegrass band?” Well, who can turn down an invite like that? And so, i was introduced to a great band at one of the best live shows ever. i gave Galadriel $15 and a couple more weeks later a copy of Triangle Mountain by Barley Wik was in my possession. At that point, the band was selling the CD themselves, at concerts (they ran out that night), or through friends and supportive fans.
Just this week, i was brainstorming with a friend while mixing up a few minidiscs, and i recalled Barley Wik, and it dawned on me that Kimber still has my copy! She returned clothes that i’d given her, but not that disc. Worth a good laugh, i tell ya! Well, i can’t blame her; they’re that good, and she always really did like that album.
i see now that they’ve released a second offering, Dusty Lullaby, which i shall have to get ahold of if i can. Maybe two copies; i can think of at least one person who’d appreciate it for Xmas or somesuch…
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