Cruising Dinghy Sailors
Cruising dinghy sailors sit lightly on the planet, resting gently on the surface of its waters and then moving on our nomadic way.
Article by Roger Barnes
SLEEPING OVERNIGHT IN A CAMPING DINGHY, surrounded by the dabbling and splashing of the creatures of the foreshore, there is always a deep sense of being part of the natural environment. But there is also often a feeling of apprehension. A little dinghy with its cover up seems so small and vulnerable out in the wild. It is not like being safely tucked up in bed at home.
Inevitably then, you wake in the night to find your boat snatching at her rode. You open the tent flaps and peer out. The beauty and splendour of the night sky overhead, deep in the dark of the countryside, is breathtaking. But your concerns are more pragmatic: is the anchor dragging? You check the bearing on the distant lighthouse. It has not changed. Your boat has not budged, so you snuggle back down into your sleeping bag, reassured.
Later, something wakes you again, so you prop yourself up on your elbow and look out once more. The noise of burbling water under her hull has ceased. She has settled on the mud now, and her hull lies rock solid. The moon is high in the sky and the mud banks gleam in its light. You lie there for a while, watching the scene, and listening to the hissing and scuffling in the mud all around, where small life breathes and feeds.
The last time you look out, your little vessel is once more afloat. Dawn has risen and the sun is burning off the morning mist. The water steams around your dinghy and fog lies in the hollows of the surrounding fields and woodlands. On the foreshore, the seabirds are following the rising tide up the mudbanks.
The last time you look out, your little vessel is once more afloat. Dawn has risen and the sun is burning off the morning mist. The water steams around your dinghy and fog lies in the hollows of the surrounding fields and woodlands.
Soon you will need to catch the ebb tide down the river, but there is just time for a quick breakfast first. Opening the galley box, you put a kettle of water on the stove, then fetch the milk out from the “cool store” in the bilges. The first cup of tea in the morning is always a precious ritual: no matter how disturbed the night, the first sips of the hot liquid bring contentment with each mouthful. Meanwhile, you have put on some eggs, and the heat from the stove is beginning to heat up the inside of the tent and take the chill off the morning.
Soon it will be time to emerge from the sleeping bag. Once breakfast is over, the sleeping gear is packed away and the tent is struck. Then the sails are hoisted and the anchor raised. The dinghy hesitates for an instant as she feels the wind, then she turns on her heel and slips away down the channel, leaving the seabirds still feeding on the bank. There is no longer any sign of her presence in the overnight anchorage.
Cruising dinghy sailors sit lightly on the planet, resting gently on the surface of its waters and then moving on our nomadic way. We appreciate the peace of the natural world, and all who share our respect for its flora and fauna. •SCA•
From the Dinghy Cruising Association's "President's Welcome"
In the state park campgrounds in Puget Sound, raccoons have learned to work zippers. In one case, on Jones Island, I believe, a deer and a raccoon approached a tent. The deer distracted the people by acting cute, while the coon unzipped the back door and fetched out a bag of food. The two animals then shared the spoils. Truly admirable teamwork.
Another time, I approached a beach where a couple ahead of me were standing with their backs to their tandem kayak while doffing their PFDs and spray skirts. A raccoon meanwhile undid the buckles on the forward hatch and pulled out a bag of cookies, which he made off with.
Once, when we had hung our food dry bags in a big madrona tree, we could hear raccoons quarreling over the treasure;. In the morning we found a food bag on the ground with the buckle end opened, a hole torn in the bottom end, and food gone--except for Twinkies; even a raccoon won't eat Twinkies.
There was a rumor that someone had killed raccoons on James Island (another state park); the rangers wanted to know who had done this, as they hoped to hire him (or her) to deal with the problem on other islands
But raccoons are nothing compared to spider monkeys in the Belize zoo, who will grab a bag of chips right out of your hands.
Roger Barnes is a treasure.