My name is Patricia Elenie, and these are my stories.
Winds and the Fulmore Race
There is a sound, created as the wind touches these curved, meticulously laid out surfaces. Of course sailing is an art, and a romantic one in theory — harnessing this invisible force and moving, moving moving. Two hundred years ago, skillful sailing could win and end wars: sailing had a purpose. Does it still, other than resetting our inner compass as Cheryl would say? Patrick O’brian often wrote, through his Stephen Maturin character, about Captains Aubrey’s obsession of sailing from point A to point B in the fastest, most efficient way, be damned all wonders passed and ignored. Golden coasts, undiscovered species, landscapes seen once in a lifetime, they all float next to a ship and then behind it, buried in the wake often never to be seen again. If it is romance we are aiming for, sailing is a metaphor on the movement of life. For a while things are next to us, but just for a moment, and then they’re bobbing in our wake, out of our lives. We keep moving, so long as there is wind.
Wind is part of the story.
Photos from the Fulmore Race from Santa Barbara to Pelican Bay:
Departing Santa Barbara Yacht Club, destination Pelican Bay.
At the start with Radio Flyer, left, and Rush Street
An evening of culture in downtown LA
When I first moved to Phoenix, the downtown area was a desolate, dingy place. But when I was last in Phoenix a few weeks ago, I came to the devastating conclusion that I could no longer find parking right in front of Hanny’s. I’m reserving judgment on downtown Los Angeles until I get to explore it a bit more, and since I work at USC now, I think I’ll have plenty of chances to do just that. On Thursday, I met up with some friends downtown and hit a few Happy Hour spots before heading over to the Art Walk. After a drink at La Cita, we headed over to The Perch, which sits on the 15th floor of a building near 4th and Hill. They have a great lounge area where you can just enjoy the view and drinks. We didn’t order food, but a few things on the menu sounded delicious. The place is a bit on the pricey side, so definitely a good place for Happy Hour (which I believe ends at 6 p.m.).
We were going to start the Art Walk, but Kynan got distracted by Bar 107 where he wanted to have a picture taken with a horse (and of course some drinks). Culture would have to wait.
C-Watch is for Chelsea
Recently, I’ve been thinking more and more about former C-watcher, Chelsea. I found out she’s going through some rough times, and it made me hyper aware of the bonds and friendships we create. Chelsea and I were part of C-watch on the Corwith Cramer, and to say that we went through some incredible (and difficult) experiences together would be an understatement. Everyone on the Cramer formed part of this little family, and your watch mates were like brothers and sisters who you love but sometimes want to throw off the side of the boat, just as well to practice MOB drills.
They’re there at your worst, getting up for Dawn Watch at 3 a.m. as you tried to stumble in the darkness on deck, putting your shoes and harness on. They might even cover for you if you’re nowhere to be found, because it turns out you just fell right back asleep. They’re there when you’re doing Dawn Cleanup, and you’re on your knees cleaning the bathroom, with a squeege, a sponge with several corners missing, and a bucket wondering how did it all go this wrong? Dawn Anything seemed to be rough, except for dawn itself.
But they’re also there during the best of times, kayaking through mangroves in the Dominican Republic, and snorkeling with you through the reefs of several Caribbean islands. Your watch mates are likely to be standing next to you as the sun came up on a new day, and then as it came down, turning the stage over to the moon.
I still remember on a windy night, Chelsea and I were setting a jib or JT. We got it as high as we could by just hauling, then started cranking it up. She was tailing the line, I think, while I cranked. The wind was exerting such pressure on the sail and the lines, the seas were running pretty high, and it was pitch black, that I still remember the sound as I cranked the sail up. The mate of the watch kept telling us the sail needed to go up more and more, but the sound — the line was about to snap. Of course not. But I’ll never forget the feeling of just the two of us against this sail, knowing that if something went wrong, someone could be seriously hurt, and the sound…
Maybe I don’t talk to my watch mates very often or as often as I would like, but I still hold them dear — always will.
A home at sea
07 May 2010
My story began at sea
Sailing along from coast to coast
One day here, one day there
I stared at the wide Caribbean Sea
I may write a story to remember
Of mountains covered in the mist
I take photos trying to preserve
The color, the life, the people
Traveling creates stories full of people
Who you meet along the road
And whom you will remember or forget
Depending on what stories you choose to tell
It can be a story full of regret,
For all the stars I never saw,
For all the nights I wasted deep asleep
For all the sails I never set.
No more Sargasso screams at the rail
Or Boobies to record when in sight
No log to hove back
When the sea quiets down
What I remember from my voyage
Perhaps no story can ever tell
And in my thoughts, I found a home
For all that you could never see
A story always ends
And only memories we get to take
Hoping that the cruelty of age
Will let us keep them in some way
Busy, beautiful weekends
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Every once in a while, you come across these perfect weekends spent not only surrounded by incredible scenery and weather, but by amazing people. In my last trip up to Santa Barbara, I met Doug, who sails with Sleeper — a Lindenberg 26. He arranged for me to come up this weekend, basically for a trial run — to see if I was game enough to go on an overnight race out to Santa Cruz island this upcoming weekend.
I left a little later than I would’ve liked, so my choices leaving Santa Monica were to sit in traffic on the 405 or to sit in traffic on the PCH.
Obviously, I chose the PCH. It’s a gorgeous drive north, first through the coast and then some picturesque farmland.
I stayed with the co-owner of Sleeper, Cheryl, in her stunning Santa Barbara home. I walked through the door, and was speechless with the view.
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