November's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913 by Michel Schumacher-book Review-Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

November's Fury: The Deadly Great Lakes Hurricane of 1913 by Michel Schumacher

I loved this fact-filled true story. My wife Jane and I have sailed the Great Lakes, their connecting rivers and locks to the Atlantic Ocean via the St. Lawrence Seaway. Our first voyage starting in Superior, Wisconsin, was on our home built and designed 46 foot sailing vessel Dursmirg. We have also transited the Atlantic, the St. Lawrence Seaway, and the Great Lakes by freighter.

We have witnessed in a November windstorm a large lake freighters broached sideways by a single wave through the Superior, Wisconsin, entry, and then miraculously straighten up in the blink of an eye to glide through the entry channel unscathed. That episode gave us everlasting nightmares.

EXCERPTS:

A “PERFECT STORM” on the Great Lakes, it would be the one that pounded the lakes from November 7 through November 10, 1913, leaving a wake of destruction unlike anything ever seen on freshwater at any point in recorded history. By the time the storm had blown out of the region, twelve boats had sunk, thirty-one more had been grounded on rocks or beaches, and dozens more were severely damaged. More than 250 men lost their lives. Eight boats, with their entire crews, were lost in a single day on Lake Huron alone.

Out on the lakes, hurricane-force winds built thirty- to forty-foot waves that mercilessly assaulted vessels unfortunate enough to be out on the water—

Similar weather conditions might revisit the lakes, but advances in science, technology, and communications have made it easier to stay out of harm’s way.

Larson described the sheer force generated by the kind of waves on Lakes Michigan and Superior and, later, Lake Huron: “A single cubic yard of water weighs about fifteen hundred pounds,” Larson wrote. “A wave fifty feet long and ten feet high has a static weight of over eighty thousand pounds. Moving at thirty miles an hour, it generates forward momentum of over two million pounds.”

The wind velocity on the open water vastly exceeded the velocities recorded on land.

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Imperfect Passage: A Sailing Story of Vision, Terror, and Redemption by Michael Cosgrove-Book Review-Five Stars

 

BOOK REVIEW: FIVE STARS

Imperfect Passage: A Sailing Story of Vision, Terror, and Redemption by Michael Cosgrove

This is a great book and a thought-provoking story packed with humorous witticisms. Make no mistake about it, this book is an emotional rollercoaster ride.

I was 32 years old and my wife Jane was 28 when we went over the horizon on our own homemade 46-foot sailboat, Dursmirg. We only had one regret….we didn’t leave sooner. We fulfilled our dream many times over and our adventures generated four books.

Michael Cosgrove’s fast moving book awakened many unforgettable memories.

Imperfect Passage is worthy of more than five stars.

Excerpts:

Playing golf at eighty is not an attractive picture. I had played with some octogenarians before, so I was familiar with how that goes. Here’s a bit of science for you: men in their eighties are weak and slow.

At sixty, it dawned on me for the first time that longevity wasn’t so much a concern as the quality of life I would be experiencing in the years to come. The picture of myself doddering in a wheelchair with oatmeal dripping off my chin scared the hell out of me. Over and over in my head, I heard: “Boy, you only have fifteen, maybe twenty years left

Sheehy hadn’t bothered to write about the eighties, or perhaps that she simply couldn’t come up with a snappy phrase for them, basically said it all. The “Easy Eighties?” I think not. How about the “Aching Eighties.” The “Ehh, Sonnyboy Eighties.” The “Amen-It’s-Over Eighties.” Have to write those down and send them to Sheehy for her inevitable sequel, The Final Passage. I bought the damn book anyway and started taking notes:

I no longer needed to perform for others; I would answer only to myself. My new mantra would be, “Think young, stay young.” If you’re not busy living, you’re busy dying. Go out and live your dream.

“Why don’t they ever go?” “Lots of reasons. I’ve heard ’em all. We’re waiting for the kids to graduate. We’re waiting for Uncle Joe to die and leave us the inheritance. Best one I think I ever heard: we’re waiting for our cats to pass away.”

I’ve seen enough of both sides of the divide to know that money and material objects can destroy the soul. Opulence can wrench families apart, and even our middle-class values no longer sufficiently emphasize togetherness, family, neighbors, human relationships. By our standards, the Polynesians are poor, very poor. But, if you asked them if they feel poor, they would laugh and tell you they are not poor but happy, very happy, with the only way of life they have ever known. I have no statistics to support this supposition, but I am sure that, given the lower rate of stress, the Polynesian people live happier and longer lives than the folks back home in the Mecca of materialism, Orange County, California.

Each crossing got a little bit easier. I’ve always been a firm believer that you can’t do well what you don’t do often. It makes no difference what the activity—sailing across oceans, solving complicated math problems, or making love.

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Stories I Tell Myself by Juan F. Thompson Book Review

 Book Review - Five Stars

Stories I Tell Myself by Juan F. Thompson

This book review is somewhat disjointed because Hunter Thompson and his entire family were totally and continually blitzed out on high times dope.

When Hunter J. Thompson was buzzed in the 1970’s, and when the world was deeply divided, disillusioned, and dropping out was a way of life for those that could, my wife and I made a very timely escape. We were having the time of our lives living aboard our home built 46-foot dream boat Dursmirg, going where the wind blew, when the spirit moved us, and the price was right.

At that time Florida had four notorious anchorages where like minded boaters congregated, St. Augustine, Miami/Dinner Key/Coconut Grove, Marathon/Boot Key and Key West. Our friend Nira used to claim; “There are so many junkies in Monroe County (the Florida Keys), that you could become one by osmosis”

This is where we encountered Hunter J. Thompson, the drug fiend and mischief-maker. One Sunday evening a group of Bubba Schill’s friends gathered aboard his old Nova Scotia sailing schooner for his weekly one pot eating extravaganza. We were among them laughing, joking, and enjoying being down in the
Florida Keys… As usual it was a boisterous happy group. Suddenly there hanging on the gunnel of the sailboat was this strange dripping wet person wearing diving goggles. This person finally got our attention, and he exclaimed; “I screamed, hollered, and nobody would come and get me so I swam out.” This was the notorious Hunter J. Thompson!

I might add here; neither my wife Jane or I used any mind altering drugs except alcohol.

Read the book.  It is a real peek into the real world of that day and time, both enlightening and tragic.

EXCERPTS:

He was portrayed as such by Bill Murray in the 1980 movie Where the Buffalo Roam. In 1998 Terry Gilliam directed Johnny Depp in a film adaptation of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which, though it did capture more of the complexities of the book, still presented Hunter primarily as a drug fiend and mischief-maker. Which he was. He was an alcoholic, drug addict, and a hell-raiser, but he was also a brilliant writer and craftsman of the language, facts that are still overshadowed by his Wild Man persona. This is the persona most people think of when they hear the name Hunter S. Thompson, if they know the name at all. And that is a shame. He was first and always a writer in the best and highest sense of the iconoclast, more buffoon than satirist. He was portrayed as such by Bill Murray in the 1980 movie Where the Buffalo Roam.

In 1998 Terry Gilliam directed Johnny Depp in a film adaptation of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which, though it did capture more of the complexities of the book, still presented Hunter primarily as a drug fiend and mischief-maker.

Which he was. He was an alcoholic, drug addict, and a hell-raiser, but he was also a brilliant writer and craftsman of the language, facts that are still overshadowed by his Wild Man persona. This is the persona most people think of when they hear the name Hunter S. Thompson, if they know the name at all. And that is a shame. 

The fact that at fourteen I was taking acid, and worse, that my mother was actively supporting it. I also remember hearing that someone once asked Hunter at a lecture how he would react if he found out his son had taken acid. He responded, “I’d beat the shit out of him.” I did not talk to Hunter about my drug use then or in fact ever. And he never asked. He didn’t want to know.

For all the progress we had made over the past eight or nine years, our relationship was still filled with tension and I was exceedingly wary of him. Though I didn’t hate him any longer, I was still angry with him for being so difficult, unpredictable, volatile, unreasonable, and selfish. He was often such a bastard.

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My Exaggerated Life: Pat Conroy by Katherine Clark - Five Star Book Review

 BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

My Exaggerated Life: Pat Conroy by Katherine Clark

In 1972 as fate would have it my wife and I first encountered Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, on the maiden voyage of our dream boat Dursmirg. This was one of the Sea Islands with no bridge or telephone and had just gotten electric. The population was 85 and eleven were white. Pat Conroy had just been there, written his controversial book The Water is Wide and monumental change was about to change this place forever.

It was an enchanting place still locked in a forgotten century with more ox carts than automobiles.

We fell in love with the place and even wrote a book about it, Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg.

We were so very lucky to to find this once in a lifetime place and the timing was right.

This biographical story of Pat Conroy is a classic and a real gem...we loved it!

Excerpts:

When someone once asked him why he collaborated with me on this book, Conroy replied, “My vanity got the better of my false modesty.” Although I love that response, I believe he was being—as usual—comically self-deprecating. A more serious and true answer to that question can be found I think in The Lords of Discipline, when the protagonist Will McLean reacts to the cruelties and injustices he experiences by vowing to himself: “I shall bear witness against them.” Conroy himself suffered cruelties and injustices throughout his life, from the time he was a child beaten by a violent and abusive father. The man who emerged from the crucible of chronic trauma was a warrior of words, determined to bear witness to the wrongs inflicted on the innocent and vulnerable by the corrupt and powerful. Pat Conroy never stopped being such a warrior, never ceased in his mission to bear witness against all kinds of evil, both individual and institutional.

There was a time when I had blood surging through my veins, when I was young and could not do enough good for the world. So Bernie and I applied to the Peace Corps. When we never heard from that, Bernie found out about this job on Daufuskie Island.

It was the first year of teacher integration, and the county was in a bind. They needed some white schoolteachers on this all-black island, which had two black teachers there already. So Bernie said, “Pat, why don’t you and I go over, rent a house and live there?

In the world of literature I don’t like bindings; I don’t like handcuffs; I don’t like readers who point and say you cannot go there; you are not allowed to go.

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December 20, 2022: Our 53rd Wedding Anniversary

 

December 20, 2022: Our 53rd wedding anniversary.

I married my very best friend. She makes me happy and is so much fun with her extraordinary Swedish cynical humor.

Our third anniversary in 1972 was celebrated in St. Augustine, Florida, aboard our dream boat Dursmirg. That anniversary we also celebrated the completion of its maiden voyage and consummation of our five year building and escape plans. To complete our plan we had worked nights and weekends while going to night school three times a week and employed full time. A very aggressive time table left very little time for extra curricular activities.

We were asked if we had any regrets and I answered; “That we didn’t leave sooner.” Our friends claimed that we were workaholics and would never be able so slow down.

We proved them wrong in six months of dedicated effort.

We were also asked how we got so nice a big boat, and my stock answer was we got it for free.

“So how did you get it for free?}

I said: “We didn’t watch TV for five years”.

Our new life was greater than our wildest expectations.

Now we are also celebrating our 50th anniversary of that five year plan that marked a monumental and positive turning point in our lives.

This is not the shortest day of the year but the longest night and marks the first day of winter.

Now the good news. Going forward the days will begin to get longer.

Where we now live in tropical Yucatán twilight passes faster than the blink of the eye and there is no snow here at 21 degrees north latitude.

I didn’t start living until I met Jane. She makes me so happy and is so much fun to be with.

I am such a lucky man to have such a loving and trusted wife.

I love my Jane just as she is, 100% natural spiced with cynical humor and with her magical attribute I adore...creativity.

Jane, you still make me happier than anybody in the whole wide world.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make happy when skies are gray.

Your ever loving Bing

 

Sailing to St. Augustine: Travels of Dursmirg by John M. Grimsrud

I consider this book of adventures, laced with history and delivered with humor my best. It explains how we got to St. Augustine, people we encountered, and how they impacted and steered our destiny. Stormy financial conditions forced us to embark on investments that enabled us to use runaway inflation to our advantage. Our adventurous end games led us to new fun filling educational horizons that made our lives rewarding, fulfilled and memorable. We were totally surprised, amazed and gladdened at our destination.

EXCERPTS:

On June 22, 1972, after five years of dedicated effort, our home designed and built Dursmirg was launched. The television and radio stations plus 2000 spectators turned out to witness the sinking— some may have been disappointed.

My wife Jane and I designed and built our dreamboat, sailed away, and lived with nature, out of the sea and off the land for fifteen glorious years— mission accomplished.

For four months we had been traveling through the waterways of America, pushing east and then south all the time. It was an enchanting journey, and in more than one place we felt the temptation to stay, but there was always the thought of Florida driving us on.

December 20, 1972, Jane and I opened a bottle of Champagne that we carried on our maiden voyage from Superior, Wisconsin. We celebrated the successful completion of our five year boat building project, it was our third wedding anniversary, and our triumphant arrival in Florida. Our team of two pulled together to make it happen. We didn’t watch TV for five years and exchanged that time to build our dreamboat and learn the trades required for our escape while we still had our exuberant youth.

If you didn’t need to make any money, had a sailboat to live aboard, a bicycle to ride, and knew how to live out of the river, it was a terrific time to be in St. Augustine, and we were there.

Read more about the Travels of Dursmirg on my author's page.

Friends - DOING OF DUDLEY DOOLITTLE OCTOBER 2022 10th edition

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: This is the name I use in the sometimes hilarious, outrageous, or cynical short stories posted monthly.

A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.

These true stories are over half a century old or more.

FRIENDS - DOING OF DUDLEY DOOLITTLE OCTOBER 2022 10^th edition

On our maiden voyage of our Dursmirg in 1972 at Erie, Pennsylvania, we met a couple of Irish\Polish characters that became good friends.

We docked at the city pier in downtown Erie, an extension of the main street that looped around the famous sailing ship of Admiral Perry. (In the War of 1812, the ship made a decisive victory over the British in the Battle of Lake Erie).

Our new acquaintances plugged in our shore power to their there snack bar concession stand on the pier, and a friendship was made.

We had just arrived from crossing Lake Superior, passing through the Soo Locks, transiting Lake Huron, the St. Clair River, visiting many ports along the way including a week docked at Lonz Winery at Middle Bass Island in Lake Erie. Then on to Cleveland, Ohio, and then Erie, Pennsylvania. This was lovely September weather with apples and berries to harvest.

In Erie we invited our new friends over for beer aboard our boat. They loved our galley beer tap. The keg was sucked dry, and our new friends would take us the next day to Koehler Brewery to fill it up. But, first it was off to Nunzi’s restaurant for their specialty.

Tom was a retired policeman. He and his lovey wife had two sons and a daughter.

Tom was a throat cancer survivor, but he had lost his voice box. Miraculously he trained himself to speak, but only while exhaling. The doctors were amazed. Tom’s doctors told him that cigarette smoking was not the cause of his cancer. Why quit? He trained himself to smoke again by pinching the open breathing hole in his throat.

Later the family moved to Florida. We kept in contact and visited them several times. They made us feel like part of the family.

One spring day while Jane and I were returning home to St. Augustine, Florida, with our shrimp trawler Secotan, we docked at a marina near where Tom and his wife lived to fuel and called them. Tom’s wife answered and said to me “Things have changed, but we need to see you.” They drove to the marina. Tom had definitely began to waste away but still managed his big Irish smirk upon seeing us. He stoically told us that his cancer had returned and his days were numbered. He lifted up a gauze bandage covering up his throat and revealed what remained of his cancer ravaged throat. It was ghastly in the extreme. I shall never forget it.

At that moment I said to myself; “There is not enough tobacco in the entire world to make what Tom is going through worth it.” Tom’s wife continued to smoke, and they were both gone in a short time. My dad used to say; “Nothing is so bad it is not good for something.” I never touched tobacco the rest of my life.

After thought: In a country with the very best politicians that money can buy, the tobacco industry bought lobbyists and clever lawyers raking in billions of dollar for the next 40 years, and unmercifully condemning customers and their families to torturous deaths.

Now I don’t smoke and I don’t chew. And I don’t go with girls who do.

INDEX TO DUDLEY DOOLITTLE STORIES

John Grimsrud's Authors Page

Doings of Dudley Doolittle 7th Edition - Strength of Hercules

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: This is the name I use in the sometimes hilarious, outrageous, or cynical short stories posted monthly.

A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.

These true stories are over half a century old or more.

Doings of Dudley Doolittle 7th edition 

This interesting story wouldn’t have happened without the love of my life, wife Jane. She is so much fun to be with and lightens and brightens my life with her cynical and witty Swedish humor. She even laughs at my jokes and loves me. As I say: “I am not the one who married the Norwegian.”

By 1972 with our five year plan completed, Jane and I were a team of two revved up by youthful exuberance, the sky was the limit with no dull moments.

We disposed of all unnecessary belongings, sold our houses, cars, and business. We sailed away on our just launched 46-foot sailing yacht Dursmirg. Our destination was just south, where the wind blew us, when the spirit moved us, and the price was right.

Long story short: Living aboard Dursmirg in the 1970s during the Arab oil embargo years made us into genuine sailors. Our sailing rowing dingy became an essential element in our procurement of fresh seafood, free for the taking. We lived out of the sea. Onshore excursions for shopping and recreation were by bicycle. Our new lives were people powered, going with the tide, not against it.

1978 Jane and John, Flamingo Apts.

We purchased a handyman special apartment in St. Augustine, Florida, the most economically depressed place in America at the time.

Again long story short: One day while working at our apartments renovation project a plumber wanted the building water shut off. The building was 190 feet long, three stories tall, and had 26 units plus a duplex. The shut off was a two-inch ball valve. I got the shutoff key and handled it to the plumber, then pointed out the valve. He took the 6 foot “T” handled key and gave it all the effort he had. Then he exclaimed: “It won’t budge.” My wife Jane took the key from him, and without strain turned the valve.

A fringe benefit of our new life style...we were physically fit, and it really felt good. We were happy.

A leap ahead: After two plus years of pandemic restrictions, Jane and I made our first venture out of town to visit our daughter Grisel, now 38 years old, and her husband. They live and work in Playa del Carmen on the Caribbean coast. Grisel and her husband both work in tourist related jobs. Grisel took every opportunity to increase her knowledge base becoming certificated in therapeutic treatments from health and beauty to massage. Her husband Juan is a multilingual licensed chauffer and tour guide.

During our visit Grisel insisted on giving us full body massages. I was impressed with our little girl’s physical strength. Grisel was not just strong, she was “wonder woman” powerful! No one is going to push her around.

Reflecting on these experiences of strength led me to another memory from back in the 1950s when I ran into a high school classmate in Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin.

Paul Siciliano and I were always friendly with each other. He was easygoing and unpretentious. I asked if he would like to go for a boat ride and he said: “Sure.” We zipped across the lake powered by a 60 hp, three-cylinder Scott Atwater, the fastest boat on Lake Nebagamon at the time.

We docked at my parents cabin. I had just purchased a York barbell set. It was sitting out on the patio. Paul was interested, and I asked if he would like to try it. He said “Yes.” I put 170 pounds on it. Paul pressed it over his head with ease. I was amazed and asked if I should increase the weight. He said “Yes.” Next I increased the weight to 190 pounds. This was a challenge for him but straining the bar went up and perceptively bowed under the strain. Incredible!

I didn’t want to cause him bodily injury. That was enough.

Paul casually mentioned his relative Angelo Siciliano, who changed his name to Charles Atlas and became famous with his body building programs. His advertisements beginning in the 1930s appeared in 10 cent comic books.

To refresh my memory of Charles Atlas I read about him in Wikipedia. Reading of Charles Atlas brought back not only fond memories of Paul but recollections of reading those comic books

Link to INDEX of Dudley Doolittle Stories

John Grimsrud's author’s page.

Keg of Beer St. Augustine-Dudley Doolittle

 

Keg of Beer in St. Augustine, Florida: The third short story in the series Doings of Dudley Doolittle.

A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.

These true stories are over half a century old or more.

We met this outlandish, outrageous one of a kind individual upon arriving in St. Augustine, Florida, December 1972, when we anchored our home built and designed sailboat Dursmirg our first night in town. We invited Dudley and his partner to visit our boat and have a beer. They arrived by dinghy and our friendship began over a sociable tap beer. We kept a 16 gallon keg of beer in our bilge with a tap in the galley next to the water tap that was installed before we launched the boat. It had a CO2 cylinder with regulator to keep it fresh and pressurized. All across the Great Lakes the lake water kept it cool. In Florida we had escaped the frigid latitudes that kept our bilge temperature refrigerator fresh.

The first thing that Dudley said was; “the beer is warm.” Before the evening was over there were 12 dinghies tethered behind our boat to partake in our hospitality. As I have said before people that are free with their drinks have lots of fair weather friends.

I noticed that Dudley who had remarked about the “warm beer” didn’t leave until the last drop of beer came out of the tap.

A brief look at what brought Dudley to the anchored out life: He was born in North Florida in what was then jokingly called St. Augustine, Georgia. Dudley was conscripted into the military during WW ll. After surviving the war Dudley returned to North Florida, got married, had three children, and a happy home life. Tragedy struck. His young wife, age 38, died of cancer and Dudley couldn’t cope. He dropped out, hit the road and wound up in California when the pot smoking free loving anti-Vietnam protesters were experimenting with high times mind altering substances.

Long story short:

Dudley returned to St. Augustine and purchased a 42 foot Nova Scotia sailing schooner for $300 dollars. His bargain boat had a significant problem, it was on the bottom. The number one rule of boating is the water is supposed to be on the outside.

Omitting the details, he resurrected the vessel, cleaned it up, and moved aboard. His partner Linda got a shop manual for the engine and miraculously got it running...a challenge for a seasoned mechanic.

Their new anchored out home turned out to be a bargain with some determined toil that opened up a totally new world of adventuresome if not slapstick semi-calamitous adventures.

Dudley's brother had this to say; “Dudley tries to piss in four corners at the same time, hell, he ought to know that I am the only one that can do that.”

In summation:

Dudley was a real character, and a chip off the old block!

When his mother was ninety years old she went off all her medications, called the family together for a mock funeral that was a party and an all you can eat extravaganza.  She announced to all:  This party is my funeral, when I die you don't have to show up!

Dudley used to say "being crazy kept me from going insane."

It is too much of a story to tell it all here now but this audacious tale with highlights and photos can be enjoyed in the book, Sailing to St. Augustine, available in paper or digital.

My preference is the digital book which is not only cheaper but delivered into your hands instantaneously anywhere in the world to your computer or reading device, and is much easier to read with its adjustable font size plus brightness, contrast, built in dictionary and more. So enjoy this new traveling companion.

Happy trails to you. John M. Grimsrud

John's author's page on Amazon

Looking Back Fifty Years - Launch of Dursmirg

 

Looking Back Fifty Years

It is fifty years since we launched our self-designed and home-built 46-foot sailboat Dursmirg. Building and sailing Dursmirg was a life changing experience. Our reward was fifteen of the very best years of our lives. Now we can look back at where the world has come to in the past half century.

Our adventuresome life aboard Dursmirg became even better with every unrelenting passing escapade.

This was in the era before the internet. There was no email, only snail mail. Self-sufficiency was the key. I made a rain catcher and never went to the dock for drinking water. We had solar hot water, a wind powered generator, refrigeration achieved by converting an absorption refrigerator to run on lamp oil.

Fresh seafood prepared exquisitely by my culinary dream girl with her secret ingredient: creativity.

We became extraordinary sailors because of the Arab oil embargo. Silently going where the wind blew us, when the spirit moved us, and the price was right.

We lived out of the sea and off the land. With no motor vehicles we used bicycles, and we sailing and rowing dinghy. Sailing up the anchors and getting under way was quick, easy and enjoyable no engine used. We also had the ability to fabricate necessities. The sewing machine had a hand crank. We went snorkel diving for salvage, plus lobster and conch hunting. We combed the beaches for fun and collected usable items like bottles for our home-made beer and wine production, lumber for crafts and carving, wood for our fireplace-smoke oven, and the list goes on and on.

We were asked what kind of fruit we used to make our wine, my response “free fruit.”

Life is an adventure, and we are always looking for a new frontier.

Since the launch of Dursmirg fifty years ago technology with its innovations has rapidly changed the world.

For a look into the sailing life of self-sufficiency today, take a look at this video: Living on a Self-sufficent Sailboat for 10 Years.

The basic thoughts of self-sufficiency, and freedom this lifestyle yields are still there.

My conclusion upon looking back is that now I could design and build the perfect yacht for living off the grid with a minimalist lifestyle incorporating many new Cyber age innovations.

Remember that youth only comes to you once. Spent it wisely, and with someone you love and trust.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt

 

Book Review – Five Stars

Book Review - Five Stars

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt

Too good to be true, but it is true! We first read this American classic 25 years ago, and we loved it!

The book has special meaning to us. In 1972, on our maiden voyage to Florida aboard our home designed and built dream boat Dursmirg, I had a disabling accident while passing through Thunderbolt, Georgia, a suburb of Savannah.

As I was dashed off to the hospital by the marine patrol, my wife, with the help of a fisherman. docked our boat in the raging ebb tide at the Savannah Yacht Club’s floating dock.

Long story short: The manager, Mr. Palmer, and his staff were all extremely friendly and helpful to us.

The reporter from the Savannah newspaper, Latham Davis, came to do a feature story of our adventuresome journey. He gave us a guided tour of Savannah complete with lots of history and tremendous suggestions of must see and do things such as eating places like Miss Wilke’s Boarding house and historical sights.

At the Savannah information center we were told: if you go to Macon they will ask you. “What’s y'all’s religion? If you go to Charleston they will ask you, “What’s y’all’s grand pappy’s name? When you come to Savannah they will ask you, What do y’all want to drink?

It became apparent that we were entering a world apart, like none other.

Over the years we revisited Savannah every chance we got. We still have life long friends there. A very good friend Bubba Schill some years later came to visit us and had this to say: “Bing” (my nick-name), “Before you die, you must go to Savannah, Georgia, for St. Patrick’s day! It’s an alcoholic's dream come true!”

Back to the book review:

Recently a good friend who owns the English language book store in Mérida, Yucatan, Mexico, mentioned that John Berendt, author of the book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil had just visited her store, Between-the-Lines and signed her copy of the book. This rekindled our interest to reread the book. My wife can no longer read print books so she downloaded the audio book. We enjoyed the narration. We hadn’t laughed so hard in years. It was a superlative work of wit and writing! Even better than the paper edition.

Doings of Dudley Doolittle. Adventures - St. Augustine, Florida

 

This is the second in the Doings of Dudley Doolittle series. It is set in the early 1970s, a time of political unrest.

The country was deeply divided over Vietnam, inflation was running away, and the free-love movement was smoking it up while experimenting with mind altering substances.

Jane and I had just completed our five year plan of building our 46-foot dream boat, liquidated our home, business, and everything that would not go aboard our dream boat Dursmirg.

We sailed away to warmer latitudes.

Our first winter in Florida with our sailboat, and no cars, only bicycles, we had dodged the bullet that wounded the nation. We were just beginning to live with nature, and it was great!

We found a place to dock our boat in St. Augustine, Florida. It was no frills, but it was our only option.

We bicycled everywhere: shopping, to the beach, and exploring the multitude of interesting attractions in America’s Oldest City.

1972 Florida

The Vietnam War was raging and a lot of the people we met on other boats had had enough of some of the government policies that were dividing the country and making many enemies of the United States worldwide. The Arab oil embargo was beginning to have its affects on the economy. At this time in Florida construction ground to a halt, and condominiums that were half completed were being sold off board by board, and even the fixtures that had been installed were sold to forestall foreclosure.

We met some newcomers to St. Augustine when two small sailboats came to have their boat bottoms painted at Uncle Harry’s boatyard where we were docked. Harry made them a special deal if both boats would agree to be pulled at the same time on his marine railway. Steve and Lum had a 25-foot wooden sailboat and Dudley had a 23-foot homemade molded fiberglassed plywood sailboat.

Sure enough, crafty Uncle Harry got both boats up at the same time.

Harry may have given a special price quote, but he was an expert at padding the bill. I actually saw grown men cry when Uncle Harry totaled up the yard bill on some shrimp boats he had worked on.

We got to know the interesting newcomers with their fascinating and unique stories.

Soon we found ourselves departing St. Augustine with Dudley Doolittle, a long, lanky and lean jug band musician with a cannabis grin. We were headed for Fort Lauderdale aboard his 23-foot sailboat. Dudley was relocating for carpentry work.

This was new water to Jane and me. lWe hadn’t been any further south on the Intracoastal Waterway than St. Augustine. All our trips south along the Florida coast had been offshore.

Dudley, Jane, and I took an early departure from Uncle Harry’s boatyard. We were making fantastic time the little sailboat. We had a strong tail wind that put this little boat up to its hull speed. I had no idea that Dudley couldn’t read a navigational chart when I turned the helm over to him and went below for my morning coffee. Soon we abruptly came to a halt on a sand bar. I came out on deck to find that we were at least one hundred feet from the navigable channel and solidly aground.

We tried all the usual tricks of carrying out an anchor, heeling the vessel over and attempting to sail off. We weren’t going anywhere soon, and we would have to just wait for “Mother Nature” to bring the high tide waters back to us. Then we could float away.

The strangest part of this whole ordeal was that while we sat aground we were still in full view of the downtown of the Old City even though we had an early morning departure from St. Augustine. Aground our first morning out of St. Augustine, the boat was painfully heeled over at low tide.

By afternoon we were sailing again. The wind hadn’t let up. We were making record speeds, and it appeared that we would be able to get close to Daytona Beach by dark. This was an exhilarating sail with only the jib flying. We had attained hull speed and were leaving a sizable wake behind us.

We had just passed Matanzas Inlet. I was at the helm when an extra burst of wind took the mast away faster than I could blink my eyes. The sail and half of the mast were gone! We quickly slowed and were bobbing along with the flood tide. Dudley felt totally defeated at this point and wanted to just give up and return to St. Augustine. I told Dudley that we were less than a mile from Marineland where there was a marina, and he had all of his carpenter tools aboard so we could repair the mast there and continue on. I must have been pretty persuasive because we got Dudley into action. We folded the broken mast and rigging, retrieved the sail, and stowed the lines. We used Dudley’s outboard motor to get to Marineland. We rented a slip and set out to look for the materials needed to do the repair job. While we walked the grounds of Marineland, we soon spotted just the right sized piece of wood to plug the two pieces of the aluminum mast together.

Dudley got busy planing the wood plug to “force fit” into the mast while I took over the job of milling the two metal mast pieces so that they would fit together almost like they had come from the machine shop. Besides the mast repair, we had to shorten all of the standing rigging that included the six shrouds plus the fore stay and back stay. The chain plate where the back stay had been fastened was badly rusted. We drilled a new hole in the chain plate where the metal had a little more meat. When Dudley had the plug neatly fashioned and ready to install in the two mast parts, we took the mast up to a sturdy cement wall. The three of us took the mast like a battering ram and drove the force fit plug into place. It was an impressive repair, and when it was together we again saw Dudley’s face beam with pleasure. By the next evening our diligent efforts had paid off and the mast was ready to step (install).

Just like we had an appointment that had been previously arranged, here came Steve and Lum from the boatyard in St. Augustine. They were both good sized people, and that was what we needed to stand that mast up. Steve and Lum were truly surprised that we had only gotten twenty miles in our first day, so we had to relate our incredible story to them. At the present speed we might be to Fort Lauderdale by Christmas.

Most of the rest of the trip we had to use the engine because of the lack of wind, but we had a very good time. One night we stopped on the Indian River and had a wonderful experience at a fishing camp dock. The bartender was a jovial character. When he found out that I was of Norwegian descent, he made sure that we had the time of our lives. We had cherry-stone clams raw on the half shell with hot sauce. This was our first time to ever imbibe this delicacy. Jane was skeptical at first but after one plate full, we were addicted to them.

The bartender was also the chef, and the next morning he insisted that we come in for his special $1.00 breakfast with no questions asked. He served us a more than ample breakfast. We were so stuffed we could hardly get back aboard the little boat. The fun and laughter of that evening lingers on in our memory.

These special unplanned happenings is what makes adventure traveling to special to us.

What a way to arrive in Fort Lauderdale! We seemed to be going right through the front yards of the classiest homes in town. The town was just dripping in opulence. lThe homes with huge yachts tied in their front yards and Cadillac’s and Rolls Royce’s out back made a real contrast to poor little St. Augustine. We tied up at a very nice marina in Fort Lauderdale, Pier 66, on the 17th Street causeway, where Dudley had a carpenter job waiting for him. This was as downtown as you could get. The reason the marina was named Pier 66 was because of the Phillips 66 fuel facilities.

The amount of boat traffic past the marina was unbelievable. The one bridge between the ocean inlet and us had a novel feature. The bridge opened for large vessels and sailboats but on a restricted basis. Next to the bridge tenders house was located a large clock that resembled the type used at sports fields. This one told the number of minutes remaining until the bridge would open. What I liked about this system was that after the bridge had opened it would be fifteen minutes until the next opening. But if you arrived at the bridge and the clock had counted down to zero minutes it would then open right up. At night when there was little or no boat traffic, any boat that approached the bridge would not have a wait.

During the time we were docked at the marina we did get to sight see in the neighborhood and the biggest attraction was the super-sized yacht of Aristotle and Jackie Onassis. We did check out the other marinas and discovered that they were even more palatial than the place we were at.

One big surprise was that we happened to see our friends, Don and Betty Currie going through the 17th Street bridge in their boat Ione. This is the boat that had just towed us on our boat Dursmirg from Superior, Wisconsin, to Duluth, Minnesota, when our boat was launched. We had recently visited Don and Betty in the Florida Keys when we invited them to come to St. Augustine.

Our last night on Dudley’s boat in Fort Lauderdale was interesting to say the least. We had an idea that Dudley loved to smoke up his “weed” but we didn’t have any idea that he would carry a sizable stash of the stuff. He had enough to get the authorities attention for sure. With one of his big ear-to-ear grins, he pulled out his screwdriver and unscrewed a metal flame deflector from above the galley stove and down came a big carefully wrapped bag of his clandestine stash.

While we were all asleep that night, Jane happened to roll over in her berth and put her foot on the cabin floor. She discovered that the boat was filling with water. The marine head (toilet) had inadvertently not been shut off after its last use, and water began to siphon in and slowly flood the boat. Of course, the lower the boat got in the water, the faster the water would flow in. Needless to say this event required a couple of hours of intense work to rectify.

Dudley’s mother drove down from Jacksonville to meet us and give us a ride back to St. Augustine. She obviously had plenty of money judging by the luxurious car she drove and the elegant clothes she wore.

Upon arriving back in St. Augustine, the big news was that the authorities had swooped down on Harry’s Boat Yard and made a “drug bust.” They missed the one big haul they could have made on Dudley’s boat, but they did find a potted marijuana plant on Steve and Lum’s boat, for which they were fined $100.00. Steve and Lum were not in the business but occasionally smoked a joint. They preferred to grow their own. It was healthier and free of pesticides! The Sheriff’s Department got a bust, and they made news!

May 22, 1973, our anchor was up, and we proceeded through the Bridge of Lions heading north in the Intracoastal Waterway, leaving St. Augustine, Florida, after our first whole winter away from snow and ice. A wonderful new world of experiences and changing tacks awaited us. We were sailing through life into those strange and uncharted waters where we would have one of the most precious commodities of all, the time to enjoy life to its fullest.

We continue our adventures in our book Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg.

If you are afraid of getting wet, you shouldn’t go sailing, bicycling, or be a plumber.

Story 1: The Cowboy Wanna Be

Story 3; Keg of Beer St. Augustine

John Grimsrud's author's page.

Hein Zenker

"The Goddess of opportunity may give us a chance only once in our lifetime; we couldn’t afford to miss it. With thirty-odd years of age, the time was right. We (my wife and I) built ourselves a boat – not very big; 20 feet – and off we were on the greatest adventure anyone could hope to experience."  Hein Zenker



We received word yesterday that an old friend of ours, Hein Zenker, passed away on October 19, 2019.  Our friendship with Hein and his wife Siggi goes back many years.  Siggi passed away two years ago.  Now they are both gone, but many wonderful memories of our times with them remain. We are honored to have had them as friends.  RIP Hein and Siggi.

Siggi and Hein Zenker on Thlaloca Dos signed our logbook on February 15, 1976, while Dursmirg was anchored at Boot Key Harbor, Marathon, Florida.

Without a doubt, the nicest looking boat to pull in and anchor at Boot Key anchorage was Thlaloca Dos. This precision built sailboat was sailed by the saltiest sailors of the group, Hein and Siggi Zenker. However, they were unassuming and immediately very much a part of our dropout anchorage community. They fit in to it naturally. In no time at all, they struck up friendships with all of the boaters in the harbor.

Hein Zenker on Thlaloca Dos and Bubba Schill aboard his Jaeger hit it off like life long friends and soon discovered that they both had something in common. Both served their country during World War II, but ironically they had been on opposing sides, Bubba in the American Navy and Hein in Germany’s Merchant Marine. They were each victims of geography and political leaders that had whipped the world into a monumental state of hate and terror. The chemistry that Bubba and Hein felt for each other was one that I am sure could only have been conveyed by the indelible scars left on their youthful souls and then carried throughout their lives.

Hein and Siggi could look at the world and especially this little collection of social outcasts that made up the Boot Key anchorage with empathy because they had both survived World War II Germany from within and gone on to fulfill a dream that took more determination, dedication, and forceful self-motivation than I had ever seen.

As a matter of fact, with only a couple of exceptions, all of the live aboard boaters that made up Boot Key anchorage back in the mid 1970s did not come to boating with financial backing and each carried their own load in life.

Some were world-class sailors and others couldn’t even tie a nautical knot, but one common thread bound us together and that was that we all were in this boating life for the adventure and freedom of sailing over distant horizons.

Oh, by the way!

In the world of strange coincidences, this next little story unfolded:

Back in St. Augustine, Florida, in the spring of 1973, after Jane and I had just spent our first winter living aboard Dursmirg, which we anchored for some time in Matanzas Bay near the St. Augustine City Yacht Pier, we met a young man living aboard a small sailboat. That spring we were the only two boats anchored in Matanzas Bay. We thought the longhaired hippie looking young man was strange because of his profession, which we had never heard of before. He was a computer programmer who daily commuted to Jacksonville to work, leaving his boat Thlaloca anchored in the bay.

The thing we did not realize at the time was the significance of that little boat with its strange name.

We would later learn the incredible story of the vessel’s monumental maritime achievement plus become close friends with the very people that actually built the boat and then went on to sail it into world history. The builders were Hein and Siggi Zenker and their historical feat was to sail their 20-foot Thlaloca around the world. It was the smallest vessel to do so at the time.

Hein and Siggi started building their little 20-foot sailboat in Iron Bridge, Ontario, Canada, and finished it in California where they launched it to begin the Australian leg of their round the world cruise. Siggi later told Jane and me that that trip was 95% misery. When I asked Hein about his navigational skills, he said that he did not have any at the time, but that he figured he would have plenty of time to study and besides he also figured that he could not possibly miss anything as large as the continent of Australia.

Reviewed by John M. Grimsrud

West! Sail West, Man! Around the World in Twenty Feet

By Hein Zenker

This is a story about real people that not only dreamed the impossible dream but also lived it to the fullest. The husband and wife team of Hein and Siggi Zenker tell their extraordinary story in riveting first person fashion that will leave the reader enthralled.

Jane and I became good friends and neighbors to these real life adventurers that did as we did and put the work-a-day world behind them, built their own boat, and sailed away. They did it ten years before we began our voyage of Dursmirg.

We are deeply impressed by their book and happen to know that the stories of their adventures within are very true but cannot fully relate the dynamics of their powerful free spirits.

To us, they are the kind of people that make the world a better place and knowing them has forever added to our hope that dreams are there to be lived.

Apathy scuttles many a dream boat.

A couple of quotes from the book:

“Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checked by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat.”

“Crouched deep in the cockpit, I remained there for a long time and observed the foaming seas and listened to the howling gale. And for the x-time, I pondered why apparently sane people venture into this mess repeatedly.”

“Are we the only dreamers? Blinded in believing we are at home in an element, which in reality is out to destroy us, by forces we are unable to control nor understand. Fortunately “dreamers” are optimists who do not cease believing in their power to prevail-like the man in the cartoon, floating on a raft in the middle of the ocean, catching wind in a net.”

I rank this book with the best of the best sea stories I have ever read, need I say more?