Before I begin relating this epic tale of men & one woman versus "The Perfect Sea" I must give credit to those who participated and to state that if it were not for these brave souls this tale might not have been told:
Steve Holtzman (navigator & co-captain) & spouse Robin Holtzman (water Tender), Peter O'Sullivan (co-captain & pumper), John Ernst (minister to the woe begotten), Chris Wood (boatswain), Kiran Nimmagadda (deckhand), Steve Pietrolungo (siton-topper), Frank DiSabatino (consigliary). George Kulakowski and close friend Winnie Kummer preferred the privacy of a harbor paddle.The morning was overcast with only a slight wind. However, a ray of sunlight lit up the launch as it spotlighted the new, mango toned solstice being shouldered to the water's edge by the oldest of the "OFFC."
John was the first to break through the 3-inch surf and began performing figure eights waiting for the remainder of our group to get underway. It was a flawless launching and by 9am, or thereabouts, we were on our way.
The sea conditions were perfect with only a slight swell and a northwesterly roaring at nigh on to 5 knots, and the water temperature a balmy 71 degrees.
Initially Gina was not visible to the naked eye and so we navigated by the old rule of thumb, dead reckoning. In a short period however, Gina appeared on the horizon as some strange industrial apparition. A blight of mans' making, despoiling the pure beauty of the sea.
John, paddling his 19-foot extreme, was the first to arrive and continued his figure eights as the rest of the contingent followed.
After a full hour of paddling it was time for a respite and calorie loading. And with "loading" there is always the need to "unload."
Robin loudly announced that she had a need to pump some water over the side and asked all but Steve (her spouse) to paddle a few hundred yards away and face leeward. Not that long ago Steve had participated in a "guiding clinic" under the very capable tutelage of one Wayne Horodowich in which one spent several hours learning how to assist self conscious paddlers of the opposite sex unload their bladders.
Now this was a movement (unintended pun) for Wayne, Steve and Robin to be proud of. Steve gave specific directions which robin acknowledged and ignored. They then placed their crafts bow to stern and Steve leaned over and grasped Robin's boat. Robin daintily removed her spray skirt, pivoted 90 degrees to the right and at the same time slipped her legs out of the cockpit and fell into the water emitting a fairly noticeable unfeminine "sh--!!." Minutes went by, robin concentrated. Steve hummed "row, row, row your boat" (later he admitted that is the only song he knows) and Peter the pumper, silently steered his boat close to Robin and unloaded a few pumps of salt water in her direction. More shrieks.
Finally the job was done. Robin smoothly reentered her kayak with Steve's silent assistance (he has learned) and Robin smiled, all the way, on the return paddle.
We all paid homage to the seal family perched on the buoy and then we headed back to home. The return trip was slightly more interesting due to more wind and a following sea.
In no time at all we were back at CIH and undertaking the ritual of placing our boats on the wee stools, washing them down with fresh water and manicuring their hulls. Thence off to the local greasy spoon for a portion of rice & beans & burritos.
We lovers of the sea give thanks to Nemo, god of the seas, enabling us to Spend a few wondrous hours sharing the joys of paddling with like minded friends, feeling the wind in our faces and the salt water spraying across our decks.
As the man wrote, "Down to the sea in ships."
Len Goodman
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