A Home for R.E.D.

A Home for R.E.D.

““O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire,
and behold our home!””
–Lord Byron
This will be the official home for R.E.D. next spring:
We already belong to a club located on Lac Saint-Louis which we have very much enjoyed. Very social. Lots of great, friendly, helpful folks but we needed some good basic facilities: electricity, pump-out and such. The bonus at this new place is a beautiful heritage club house with restaurant, laundry, locker and shower facilities. Affordable, near a lot of amenities for provisioning. Well kept grounds with no sad boat carcasses lying about. Sail boats only. Courses, both group and private, offered during the season.
.…hurry up spring 2013…
Setting the Stage

Setting the Stage

In taking my thought process from where we are now, I felt I needed to look back to better understand how we both got to this point.  I needed to understand what rumblings in our pasts set this tidal wave in motion.
I’m not sure how far back to go but it may be enough to say that I love the
outdoors. Always have.  We weren’t a boating family.  My Mother had an irrational fear of the water but some of my fondest memories are of being near the water.

I started looking through old photos and the majority of them were taken on or at the edge of some sort of body of water – the annual picnics to a local provincial park on one of the Great Lakes

kATHY-AT-pOINT-pELEE

Day trips to the beach

Visits to my Aunt & Uncle’s cottage in Muskoka (accessible only by boat)

Paddling around in their canoe and fishing off the dock

A not so fond memory of extreme sea-sickness on a ferry ride didn’t dampen my love of the water although I remember that day wanting to die. As a teen, I had friends who sailed and had powers boats.

And as an adult with a young family there were always camping trips that involved canoeing

long drives along the coast

clam digging on the Fundy shore and
that long ferry ride to Newfoundland (yes, sea sick again).

from a very early age the kids – even ‘in utero’

learned to love the water

 

Several years ago my passion for sailing was sealed after spending time as crew during sailing races on the east coast.  I found the rush of the events thrilling – in those days I was usually the fore-deck monkey – when I was much younger and a whole lot more agile. The social aspect was fun too but the real pleasure for me was just being on the water – whether heading into the wind clinging to the rails at 45˚, water rushing over the gunnels or calmly cruising downwind – I wanted to be there. I also spent many happy times sailing with friends in non-racing settings.

I rarely missed the Tall Ships when they were in port

they held the dream that I would never experience

There was also the time that I had the opportunity to help sail a yacht
from Halifax to Boston for the biennial Marblehead Race.
The biggest adventure though was the two weeks spent
bare boat sailing in the British Virgin Islands.

Now that was an voyage to remember!

“I must go down to the seas again…”

“Sea-Fever”

I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)