Jack the Skipper Part III - A Story by John Mickman

As a greenhorn on a the commercial shrimp fishing boat out of Kodiak, Alaska, the skipper of the boat I was fishing on, Jack, was really putting me through the paces. This was just a summer job for me, and he didn’t like me much – or so it seemed…

At 4:30 AM, I woke up Jack with a cup of fresh coffee, and after growling a few choice profanities at me, took his place at the helm and told me to get breakfast started, but we would lower the shrimp trawl in about 15 minutes, and eat as soon as we were towing it across the bottom.

So that first trip began with Bert and me on deck, and Jack ruling the boat with an iron fist at all times. Because Jack knew Bert's dad and uncle, Bob and Evan Parker, and they had personally hired him, Bert began to be treated pretty well. But I caught hell no matter how well I did my job.

Trip after trip, he wouldn't let it go, actually, it got worse, not better. Jack was the Skipper, Bert was the Engineer and I was everything else. My work was never done. Cooking, cleaning the galley, the Head, the deckhouse and the wheelhouse (more clean than they had ever been I was certain), mending the shrimp nets both at sea and in the harbor, planning the meals and doing all the shopping when we were back in Kodiak to unload.

At those times, back in Kodiak, I barely had time to run up to Paul and Sam's house to do my laundry. After the cannery guys had the shrimp unloaded, I had to clean and scrub the hold 'surgically clean' so the next load of shrimp wouldn't rot. Then, put the water tight hatch cover back on, then to the ice dock to get ice, then to the fuel dock to take on fuel, then back out to the fishing grounds.

I was getting tired. We'd fish until about 11 PM, then have dinner, I'd clean the galley while Jack and Bert went to bed, then get everything ready for cooking breakfast before falling asleep. Being the cook, I got up first, started a pot of coffee, started the engines to get them warmed up, then when the coffee was ready, I'd wake up Jack.





The Sogn's anchor as we steam out of Jap Bay.

Then, my favorite part of the day would begin. While on these shrimp trips, we'd anchor up in Jap Bay where it was always flat calm, and at 4 AM, the sun was just lighting up the sky and the seagulls would begin flying around the boat. I'd go to the anchor winch on the bow, and when Jack gave me the word, always with a few choice adjectives, I'd start hoisting the anchor, making sure the wire rope, and then the chain, laid down nicely on the huge anchor winch drum.

I always brought a nice hot cup of coffee up there with me, and after Jack pointed The Sogn out to sea, I'd light up a cigarette, drink my coffee and watch the world come alive for another day. There were always many sea lions sliding off of their rock islands, and most times I could spot a Blacktail Deer or two darting off into the woods of the near shores. When the tide is out, the table is set, and many times I was lucky enough to spot a fox prancing along the tide pools looking for an easy breakfast. It was summertime, and many days were sunny and warm.

When we were a few minutes from where Jack wanted to set our net for the first tow of the day, I'd wake up my buddy Bert, and together we'd lower the net for the tow of the day, then eat breakfast while we dragged that first tow. Jack had a good feel for where the shrimp were and we always returned to Kodiak with a full load. It was 1972, and I was averaging about $1,000 per week - good money for these days, but a fortune back then.

Headed back to Kodiak with a full load of shrimp.

There were few things in my young life more satisfying to me than coming back up the channel into Kodiak with a full load of product. Fishing is the life blood of Kodiak, and being a working part of that was about as gratifying an experience as I had ever had - or ever would.

Life was good, except for Jack, who continued to ride me every chance he could. I was doing a good job for him, but his normal tone with me was yelling and cursing. I was convinced he wanted me to quit, but I wasn't a quitter, and he had no reason to fire me. Finally, just before the last trip of the season after which I planned to hitchhike back to Minnesota to finish up school, he laid into me like he was insane for absolutely no reason at all. I snapped and told him I quit; he could just get himself another whipping boy because I was 'outta there. I went into the crew's quarters, packed my gear and started to leave. To my surprise, Jack met me on deck and apologized. I couldn't believe it; I didn't think he had it in him. But it was a sincere request for me to stay onboard and finish up this next trip. I told him I appreciated the gesture, and if he agreed to treat me as the good deckhand I was, I would agree to make this last trip. He offered his hand and we shook on it. Big mistake!

After leaving the harbor with land being a mile or two from the boat, Jack came out on deck as I was finishing getting it 'ship-shape' and laid into me with a renewed sense of vigor and a fresh new set of swear words. Unbelievable! I suggested to Jack that he must have some kind of mental problem. That didn't go over very well, and the abuse rose to a whole new level.

That was it! I told Jack to turn the damn boat around and let me off; I quit. He calmed down immediatly, and gave the same sneering smile I had seen the first day I met him back at the dock of the King Crab Cannery. "John", he said. "We ain't goin' back. If you want to quit, start swimming." He turned on his heels and went back up to the wheelhouse. The next 4 days were the worst days of my life, before and after. He wouldn't relent. It was like he went berserk. I toughed it out and we got another full load, almost another thousand bucks.

When we finally returned to Kodiak, I finished my work on the Sogn, and went up to the owner's house, Frank Tennyson, to get my final check. Frank, who had been ill, was healed and ready to run his boat again. He told me how proud of me he was, and that during the past shrimp season, we had broken all the records for the most production the boat had ever had. He knew Jack was a tough skipper, but that he had heard from the Parker Brothers through their son Bert, that I was doing an awesome job despite the unruly behavior of Jack the Skipper. Awesome.

After leaving Frank's door, I began walking down his driveway, and up drove Jack. My heart sank. However, surprisingly, Jack had an actual full smile showing and he came up to me and offered his hand; I shook it. "John", he said. "I've worked with a hundred guys on deck over the years, but I've never seen one learn as fast as you, work as hard as you, and seen anyone enjoy fishing as much as you. Next Spring, after you get out of school, you come and see me. If I'm running a boat, I'd be honored to have your work on my deck. If I'm not running a boat, I'll make sure you get a job on one of my buddy's boats."

I was awe-struck. "What are you talking about Jack. You just put me through 3 months of pure hell. You never gave me a break. I had to learn the hard way - for everything. You gave me more work than anyone else on the boat. I haven't had a dinner on shore for the whole time and I haven't had a decent night's sleep for months. If you think I'm such a good deckhand, why did you wait until now to tell me?" I exclaimed.

Jack replied, "Because you weren't a deckhand at all when I hired you, and you knew it. You were a long-haired college kid on a lark. And by God, if you were going to work on the deck of a boat I was running, I was damned well going to be sure that you earned your keep. And you did that in spades. You did a great job for me. We all had a record breaking season. Thank you."

You could have pushed me over with a feather.

Along the Alaskan highway as we hitch-hiked back to Minnesota.

I did hitch-hike back to Minneapolis with my girlfriend and future wife Su, and finished my degree in the Carlson School of Management at the University of Minnesota at the end of Winter Quarter. But, I didn't stick around for the graduation ceremony. I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do with my life, at least right then, and knew that I wanted to go back to Kodiak, Alaska to fish. I got my job back aboard The Sogn and worked on a series of fish boats, each one better than the last, until I got on a boat called The Marcy J. I stayed five years before I returned to Minnesota to start Mickman Brothers with my brother Chris.

As my old buddy Tony says, 'Life is good'.

Jack the Skipper Part II - A Story by John Mickman

In Part I of Jack the Skipper, I had just been 'hired', working for free aboard the shrimp trawler, The Sogn. Now I had to earn a permanent berth aboard on the best shrimp boats in the fleet.

John Mickman with the MV Sogn in 1972

The Sogn was a wooden hulled, herring type seiner, built after WW II. She was 72 feet long and was half deck and half deckhouse with the wheelhouse atop the deckhouse on the forward half of the boat. A well maintained boat, The Sogn was white with turquoise trim. The shipbuilder that made this class of boats had a trademark of adding a laminated, iron wood guard on the side of the bow on which the anchor came up to protect the hull. This was a heavy duty work boat with huge wooden beams and ribs throughout. As The Sogn's wood 'worked' in heavy weather, I thought how perfectly named she was, as she would 'sing' as each sea pounded against her hull.  

This first trip on The Sogn was an easy one because there were four of us on deck, Ron, Rick, Bert and me; a full deck crew was only 2 guys. But, the big challenge for me was to prove to Jack that he should pick me instead of Rick as Ron's permanent replacement. I worked hard and knew the basics of the job. I helped chop ice in the hold for Bert who was Jack's official 'Ice Man'.

Bert was a couple years younger than me, maybe 19 or so, and had been fishing since he was a little kid. His family had been fishermen way back since they invented fishing, and his dad and uncle (Bob & Evan Parker) owned an old schooner named The Tom & Al. The Parker Brothers had fished up and down the Pacific Northwest for 50 years and knew every nook and cranny. They were a hard working, hard drinking pair and had more stories than they could remember. Bert had even hunted whales on The Tom & Al as a boy, and had operated the harpoon gun on the bow numerous times years before. Wild stuff; the Parker brothers had a reputation all up and down thousands of miles of the North Pacific coastline. Nobody tangled with the Parkers on purpose, and if they did, they all wish they hadn't.

Bert Parker with his Dad & Uncle's boat in the background, The Tom & Al

However, Bert Parker was a young, lanky kid and a hard worker, with a quick laugh, a crooked smile and a full shock of wavy blonde hair. He and I got along great and he really appreciated help chopping the ice in the hold - a truly thankless job.

After arriving at the fishing grounds, just inside of Two Headed Island, Ron and I lowered the shrimp trawl to the bottom of the bay; this went without a hitch. I joined Bert in the 'hold' and helped him chop ice into flakes in preparation for icing the shrimp. After we had enough ice chopped, I went into the galley made a batch of 'drop biscuits', drizzled a healthy dose of butter over the top of them and passed them around to the crew with a fresh pot of coffee. We had about an hour to kill after Bert and I had chopped enough ice, and we all lazed around the deck, chewing our biscuits and washing them down with coffee. The sun had come out, and we were all enjoying the day. Then Jack yelled down, "Lets pick 'er up boys - see if we got anything."

Ron enjoying a lunch of raw shrimp.

Ron and I ran the winches together to left the net off of the bottom and when we brought the first 'tow' to the surface  it was a good one; about 3,000 pounds of shrimp. The gear on The Sogn wasn't heavy duty enough to handle that much poundage all at once, so we needed to 'split' the catch several times to get it all on deck. This took awhile, but it went smoothly, and after about 20 minutes, we were able to get the net back in the water, fishing again. During this whole time, Rick had to stand off to the side because he didn't have a clue as to what was going on. I helped Bert ice the shrimp down in the hold, while Ron and Rick shoveled them through the 'man hole' hatches. With 4 guys, this was easy work.

Jack was ever vigilant. While we were 'towing', he could engage 'Iron Mike', the auto-pilot we had on board, and walk across the top of the deck house from the Wheelhouse and watch what was happening on deck. He had a very colorful, profane vocabulary, and he used it skillfully to make his points. "Who taught you (swear word) how to fish? Pick up the pace down there or I'll have some other (multiple, adjective swear words) to work on my deck. C'mon, let's get going down there you (embarrassing swear word)", Jack yelled down to us.

 Although he was trying, Rick just couldn't get into the rhythm of shrimp fishing. He was making mistakes, and one time almost crushed my right arm to pulp between the port side stanchion and one of the huge net spreading, steel 'doors'. Ron saw what happened, and read Rick the 'riot act'. "The most important thing is that we all get back to Kodiak in one piece", he yelled at Rick. "You better pay attention or stay in the galley mister". This was really a very close call for me and a good lesson. I learned to watch carefully, listen hard, pay attention and move fast at all times on the deck of this, and the many other boats I was to fish on over the years.

I was Jack's designated cook, and did the best job I could, thinking up meals I thought Jack would like. Obviously I hadn't done the grocery buying, but the galley was pretty well stocked. The stove was an old fashioned, flat top wood burning stove that had a small oven and a large griddle on top, but which was fired with diesel fuel instead of wood. It was hot by the firebox and warm on the other end. It was pretty hard to cook on this antiquated creature, but I did the best I could coordinating meals so that everything was finished at about the same time.

The way eating works on a fish boat is that when the cook finished making the meal, he then calls the crew in to eat. While they eat, the cook goes into the wheelhouse to 'watch the wheel' while everyone else enjoys their hot meal. When the skipper finishes, he comes up to the wheelhouse and the cook (me) goes back down to the galley to eat a (now cold) meal. I didn't care or complain; I had every intention of getting this job.

Jack never gave me any encouragement or instructions. However, Ron was a good instructor and Bert gave me many tips as well; neither of them cared for Rick very much. After three full days, we had filled The Sogn with a full load of 75,000 pounds of shrimp and began the 8 hour trip back to Kodiak from the 'Two Headed' fishing grounds near the South end of the Island. During that trip, Jack announced that Rick would have to get off the boat; I was hired as a deck hand, albeit at a half share percentage until Jack felt I was worth a full share.

John & Rick in the hold - covered in shrimp.

The crew of the next trip was comprised of Jack the Skipper, Bert the Engineer and me as Deckhand and chief cook. Just after we threw off the dock lines and headed out into Chiniak Bay, Jack came out from the Wheelhouse, walked across the top of the Deckhouse and looked down on his lowly crew."OK you sons of #@##$". Jack yelled at us. "Get that deck shipshape and I want to have dinner on the galley table by the time we get to Cape Chiniak. What are you guys looking at; get to work!", after which he turned on his heels and strode back into the Wheelhouse.

"Jeez Bert, I sure wish Jack would mellow out a little bit?" I said as we turned to.

"John, Jack is the Skipper, he doesn't need to be a nice guy. He is the final word on everything, like a King of something. We just need to try to be one step ahead of him all the time so he doesn't have a excuse to yell at us," Bert offered.

"Yea, well it isn't very fair", I replied.

Bert started laughing, "Fair hasn't got anything to do with it John. You're at sea now; different rules."

Well, Bert and I turned to, and got the deck ready to go to sea, during which time I turned up the heat on the galley stove and let some steaks marinate. Dinner was ready just before we began rounding Cape Chiniak, and I climbed up the latter to the wheelhouse and told Jack the deck work was complete and his dinner was ready. He instructed me to keep a course between Uyak Island and Kodiak Island - right down the middle. "Got it Jack", I told him as he brushed by me on his way down to the galley.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, but at this time of the year it doesn't actually get dark until about midnight. The sea was a little lumpy, with a good sized chop on top of a rolling ground swell coming in from the Southeast, but The Sogn was a pretty good sea boat in moderate weather, and the ride was pretty comfortable.

I had brought a cup of coffee up with me and lit up a cigarette. Not bad I thought; Jack doesn't seem to like me much, but that's OK, I can deal with it. As I watched sun play on the surface of the water, a small school of Dahl Porpoises came alongside and began swimming back and forth across the bow of The Sogn. Cool.

After 20 minutes or so, Jack returned to the wheelhouse and told me to eat dinner, then get some rest; Bert was going to take the first Wheelwatch. My dinner was cold by then, but there was plenty of it, and I was hungry. After cleaning up the galley, I sacked out in my bunk for about 3 hours, when Bert woke me up to take my 4 hour Wheelwatch. I started a fresh pot of coffee and then relieved Bert. "So when we get to the Two Headed fishing grounds, do you think we'll get some more sleep Bert?", I asked with a big yawn.

"You're kidding right?" Bert replied. "By then it'll be 5 AM, time to start fishing again. I'm going to get some sleep. See ya in a few hours", he said as he went below to the crews quarters. I only got 3 hours of sleep that night, the same as most nights for the next 3 months.

End of Part II. Watch for next week's conclusion of ‘Jack the Skipper’ and find out about the surprising ending of this tale!

Jack the Skipper Part I- A Story by John Mickman

PART I:
This story is third in a series of some of my adventures working as a commercial shrimp and crab fisherman in the North Pacific and Bering Seas in the 1970's and '80's. I had taken a quarter off from my senior year at the University of Minnesota, and hitchhiked to Kodiak, Alaska with just a hundred twenty dollars in my pocket. At this point in the series, I had just gotten back from my first trip on a shrimp boat, The Pacific Pearl, that my buddy Tony Jones had helped me get.

The Pacific Pearl

Tony Jones' older brother Chris arrived in Kodiak to take the second deckhand position on the old wooden shrimp trawler, The Pacific Pearl. After spending almost two months trying to find a job on a fish boat,  I had been secretly hoping Chris wouldn't arrive and that I could sign on to work with Tony. However, after meeting Chris I quickly changed my mind. Like Tony, Chris was an a great guy and the three of us became fast friends. After the shrimp were unloaded off of the Pacific Pearl, I helped them take on ice for their next shrimp fishing trip and watched them steam out of the bay while I watched from shore, once again without a job. (A year later, the Pacific Pearl sunk in Shelikof Straights and two men were lost.)

However, now I had a couple of new things going for me; I had experience on a shrimp boat and dozens of shrimp boats were now fishing. Certainly one of them could use another deckhand!

Kodiak, Alaska Harbor in 1972

So, I continued my daily route, covering the harbor, cannery row, Sutliff's Marine Hardware and the fisherman's bars - multiple times each day. It is a full time job getting a full time job, and I was on the docks by 7 AM and stayed with it all day and evening for another two weeks. I always wore my hip boots and now wore what we call a 'Halibut Hat', to keep the perennial drizzle off of my head. Although I had met over a hundred fishermen, no one knew of any jobs. It was becoming difficult to hear the same rejections time and time again, dozens of times daily.

One chilly, wet day as I walked along the dock of King Crab Cannery, a shrimp dragger named The Sogn had just finished being unloaded; I knew because I had been there earlier in the day while the cannery guys were unloading her. However, this time one of the deckhands was straightening the deck in preparation for another trip. It was low tide, so this guy was about 20 feet lower than I was while standing on the dock.

I called down over the noisy din of the cannery operation behind me, "Hey, do you guys have a full crew?". The guy sized me up as he craned his neck up to see me; yet another young deck hand looking for a job. After looking me over, the guy yelled up to me, "Yeah, we're one man short. Do you have any experience?"

I couldn't believe my ears; these guys actually needed to hire a deckhand! "Well sure", I called back. "I've fished with Dick on the Pacific Pearl!". The guy stopped what he was doing and said, "Dick is a good skipper. Come on down on deck." Oh man, this was it; if this conversation went well, I might get a job!!!

The MV Sogn - A combination shrimp dragger & crab boat

After scrambling down the ladder to the deck of The Sogn, the guy held out his hand and introduced himself as Ron Tennyson, the boat owner's son. Ron was a couple of years older than me and kind of hard looking, but had a real easy manner.  "Come on in the galley and get a cup of coffee", Ron said. "Let's get out of this weather." After he poured a couple of strong cups of 'ships coffee', we each fired up a cigarette and Ron explained the situation. "My dad is in poor health and hired a guy named Jack to run the boat for him. I'd run it, but I'm already committed to working on a salmon seiner in a week or two, so someone has to take my place on my dad's boat. Jack has promised to give a chance to another guy named Rick, but Rick doesn't have any experience like you do. I think you'd be a better deck hand than Rick. I wish you'd been here earlier", he explained.

Unbelievable! After working at keeping tabs on all the boats I could for almost two months, there had been a job opening and I didn't know about it -  and now it might be too late. I had an idea. "Well, I do have experience on the Pacific Pearl and I know I'd do a great job for the boat. How about if I went out for free this first trip and Jack can decide who he wants to keep; me or Rick", I suggested.

"Boy, that's a good idea", Ron said. "Rick is going out for free too because of no experience. I think Jack will go for it. He will be back aboard in a couple of minutes. Why don't you wait around and when he arrives and I'll talk to him about it?"

"OK, sounds like a plan. If Jack wants to talk to me, just let me know", I said just as I saw someone coming down the ladder from the dock. As this new, older guy walked past me on deck, I tried to say hi but he brushed by me without acknowledging my existence. Not a good sign, I thought to myself. 

After Jack the Skipper went into the galley, I stayed on deck, kind of close to the split Dutch Door of the galley to listen for Ron to call me in. I couldn't hear much of what Ron said, but I could hear that Jack was upset because he was yelling at Ron. "By God Ron, I'm the skipper; you have no authority to hire anyone when I'm in charge. I'm the Skipper and no one can hire crewmen except me. Just because your dad owns the boat doesn't give him the right to hire my crew." Ouch, I thought to myself. This may not work out after all.

Then Ron started yelling and he argued that Jack had hired an inexperienced guy and his guy (me) was obviously better because I had experience fishing with Dick on the Pacific Pearl.

I was nervous, no one has asked me just HOW MUCH experience I had - less than one day. When Ron called me to come in the galley, I was nervous. As I closed the lower half of the Dutch Door, I got my first good look and impression of Jack. In one word; ferocious! He was about 35 years old, had jet black hair, dark chiseled features and had an enormously strong looking upper body. His sleeves were rolled up exposing the most muscular forearms I had ever seen; they looked like Popeye the Sailor's forearms . He wasn't that tall, maybe 5' 10", but he had an extremely commanding presence. "So you've fished with Dick on the Pacific Pearl. Is that right?", he growled at me with one of the most intimidating looks I had ever seen.

"Yeah, that's right", I said. "Tony Jones was the other deck hand."

"Well the strike just ended 2 days ago", Jack said. "How long were you on board?".

This was the dreaded question. "I just fished one trip with them, but there were only the 3 of us on board; I know all there is to know about handling the deck work of a shrimp dragger. I was the Iceman, and we didn't lose one shrimp. I know Dick will give me a good word if you want to ask him", I said to Jack and looked right at him in the dim light of the galley.

"Ha", Jack said with a sneer to Ron, "You've only made one trip, and a short one at that. I don't call that experience. You're only a beginner. You're also a college kid aren't you. We're working men in this fleet; we do this for a living. I've already hired another guy".

After over two months trying to get on a boat I was not going to let this guy back me down. I used all the recently learned fishing lingo I could remember and told him he would never find a harder working deckhand than me. "I'll go out on the first trip for free", I suggested to Jack. "I know there is another guy you're looking at. Why don't you let both of us go out and decide for yourself after the trip, who will make more money for you?"

Jack said, "You're a long haired, hippy kid just looking for a summer job. I'm not interested."

That's when Ron jumped back in. "Jack, I've got to get off my dad's boat after next trip, and although you're the skipper, this is my family's boat. I want to see the best man get this job; it's important to all of us. Give this guy a chance. I'm going out on this next trip and we'll just see who the best guy is. Come on - doesn't that make sense", Ron said in an extremely convincing manner. It sure sounded good to me!

Jack pulled out a Lucky Strike and lit it with his well worn Zippo lighter. After taking a deep drag, he announced, "OK, we'll take the college kid this trip, but understand Ron, this is my decision, not yours. Fair enough?" Ron agreed.

So, the deal was struck (although I couldn't think of a more negative way to get a job). But, no matter; I had a job (even though I wasn't going to be paid). What neither Ron nor Jack knew was how motivated I was to prove myself. I had no idea who this other guy Rick was, but I knew he wasn't going to out-work me, and although I didn't have much experience, I knew the drill of a shrimp dragger. I was going to be the permanent deck hand on The Sogn, not Rick. There was no doubt in my mind.

Jack looked at me and said, "I don't like this idea, but I'm willing to give you a shot John. Get your gear; we're leaving for the ice dock in 20 minutes." Jack had a certain way of smiling at me, and this was the first time I saw it; the smile was more like a sneer - like he knew something that I didn't know - but should. I really couldn't read this look at all. Yet.  

"OK Jack", I held out my hand. He shook it with a vice like grip while looking at me with his spooky smile and told me I'd better hurry; he wasn't going to wait for me. I left the galley of The Sogn, scrambled back up the ladder and ran back to Paul and Sam's house to get my gear. I hadn't been this excited for a long time. Even though I was going to do it for free again, I HAD A JOB AS A FISHERMAN!

When I returned to The Sogn, the other guy, Rick, was on board as was the Iceman, Bert Parker. The engines were already fired up, and Jack told us to throw off the lines; we were underway.

Watch for next week's edition of 'Jack the Skipper' and find out if Jack chose me or Rick to work the deck of The Sogn.

Three Teaspoons of Sugar - A Story by John Mickman

All of us knew her as 'Sunny'; she was one of the mom’s in our neighborhood when we were growing up. I don't know who gave her that nickname, but it is the most appropriate name possible for this wonderful woman. Sunny's open and welcoming smile was easy for her to come by, and it brightened the days of many during her lifetime.

Sunny at the Garden Center in 2007

I had a tough time with arithmetic in the second grade. When I told Sunny about my problem, she taught me and her son Cris, my best buddy, how to play cribbage. I soon became an expert arithmetician; to this day I am good with numbers and this skill serves our family business well. Sunny always drank a lot of coffee, and during this training I thought I should drink what Sunny was drinking. She smiled, and I smiled back; then she poured me a cup of coffee. It took 3 teaspoons of sugar to please my young taste buds.

Sunny made wreaths for our family wreath business. She was never one of the ladies that my dad had to send his wreath coach to; Sunny's balsam fir Christmas Wreaths were always beautiful, and they graced the homes of hundreds of families each Christmas during the '50's and early '60's.

My best friend Cris was her son. Her son Brian was my brother Mark's best friend. The four of us were a consummate four-some, fishing at the 3rd Spot on Rice Creek for bullheads, planting trees on my dad's tree farms and running 'The Route' for the Wreath Business. Three of us died before our parents passed away; there is no greater grief a person can know than that. Although Sunny wore her grief heroically, these losses changed us all. But finally Sunny's smile returned and her ray of sunshine made these senseless young deaths easier for all of us to bear.

The loss of Sunny will leave a huge hole in the lives of many. Don't we all wish we had a smile that could light up the room like hers? Few people have given me gifts like Sunny gave me. I miss her each time I ladle 3 teaspoons of sugar into my daily cup of coffee...

Shared with others with the blessing of Sunny’s daughter, Diane (Archibald) Lee

Written December 4, 2010

Water Responsible - Mickman Brothers Irrigation and Lawn Sprinklers

During the summer months, up to 70% of our household water use goes out to water our lawn and landscape. This is why it is so important that your irrigation system is operating at peak performance. It’s also important to have Mickman Brothers' IA Certified Irrigation Technicians do the job right. Many common problems, such as poor head pressure, misplaced heads and worn nozzles can be fixed and updated with newer irrigation technology.

Here is a link to a great article from last Friday’s Anoka County Union (6/10/2011) about saving water, improving your system’s performance and the importance of consulting a certified Irrigation Professional like Mickman Brothers. Give us a call today and see what a difference we can make.  763.434.1487

Jeff Sutter
Managing Director, Irrigation Division

Taking a Different Tack; Part II - A Story by John Mickman

Last week the story left off at the end the sailing trip aboard the 37’ sloop Morning Star. Brother Jim and I had experienced a hard sail against the wind the previous day, and today we had wanted to get an early start.

The alarm went off at 5:45 AM and I rolled out of my bunk and started a pot of coffee. Going out on deck, the sun was not up yet but the sky was beginning to show a gun-steel grey and the low clouds were streaming past Morning Stars rigging, hell-bent for high water. I looked at the anemometer and it read 20 knots of wind, right there in the harbor. Hmmmm...

Back in the deckhouse, Jim was heating water for his tea while he finished putting his sweater on. "Looks like you're about ready to go Jim" I said. "Let's fire up the engine and get the rigging ready to go while we're waiting for the caffeine to get ready." By 6 o'clock we were throwing off the lines and heading out toward the breakwater.

As we glided through the water under power, a light rain started coming down which the wind was driving in sheets. Jim and I both squinted into the weather, watching for the navigation buoys that would guide us out of the harbor. When we reached the tall, stone rip-rap breakwater, a hundred pelicans were standing in a straight line across the top, beaks into the wind with wings tucked tightly to their bodies. The anemometer now read 24 knots.

Just before we broke out from behind the breakwater, I turned our bow into the wind and Jim hoisted the mains'l. On the way up, the sail was flapping like crazy. "Keep going Jimmy", I called out as he cranked the windless as fast as he could, which raised the sail. "The batons have cleared the skipjacks so just go full bore!", I exclaimed trying to minimize wear and tear on the sail because it was flapping so hard. "OK Jim, just 3 more feet, 2 more feet, 6 inches more. That's it. Make 'er fast", and Jim secured the halyard brake and took the mains'l halyard off the windless. Next Jim spread the fores'l as I turned the boat to port. When the wind caught both these sails, Morning Star began to fly on her own and I shut down the engine. "Yeee-Haaa..." Jim shouted as the wind seemingly lifted the boat half way out of the water. "We're just flying along John".

I smiled at Jim, a little less exhilarated; the anemometer read 32 knots as we broke free of the harbors' breakwater. The morning's forecast hadn't been any different from the previous evenings; 25 knots 'till noon, then 30 knots - but it was only 6:30 and we already had over 30 knots of wind. To make matters worse, the wind had not let up over the night, and the seas had continued to build. There were 8 foot sea's, plus the odd rogue wave to over 12 feet. Big weather for our 37' sailboat.

Morning Star

But, Morning Star is a tough little boat and parted the seas nicely as we sailed along. I advised Jim that we may need to put the weather on our tail and return to the harbor if it got too much tougher, but for the time being we'd keep plowing along.

The other bad news was that the wind was still from the NNW - right from the direction we needed to go. So we began our close coast tacking, back and forth sailing rapidly, but never in the right direction. After an hour, we had only gained about 3 miles of distance toward Dana Point, even though we were making about 5 knots of speed.

As the wind continued to build, now at 35 knots, Jim and I decided to take a different tack: "We just aren't making enough headway Jim. I think we need to head off-shore about 10 or 12 miles and hope to catch the wind off our portside bow enough to blow us up to Dana Point", I said. Jim agreed, but offered that he hoped we wouldn't need to get that far off shore, "At 5 knots that 10 miles is going to take 2 hours John, and we'll be going in the wrong direction. We won't get any further away from Dana Point, but we sure won't be getting any closer. Don't you want to be back in a harbor by noon?" he asked.

"Yea I do Jim, but we aren't going to make it by trying to tack back and forth all day. I think it's worth a shot. If we don't like the way it's going, or the weather gets too tough, we can always change course and let the wind blow us back to Oceanside", I said. "OK John, let' come about then. A different tack - coming up!", Jim shouted.

Jim is a great guy to go sailing with, as we can bounce ideas off each other until we arrive at the best decisions. Hopefully. And being my brother, he has the same sense of adventure and 'brinkmanship' as me. We're both always ready to take a calculated risk - usually with a backup plan in place. "OK Jimmy, coming about", I yelled through the wind as Jim went forward to work the rigging.

John, at the helm of Morning Star

When we got on our new course, just a tad north of due west, we picked up another knot of speed to 6 knots. Our 10 mile goal would take us about an hour and a half. Morning Star was knifing through the building seas nicely, but the further out we got, the higher the seas became. When we were down in the trough between two seas, we could not see over their crests.

But Morning Star was doing great and the wind was steady, now at over 35 knots. As Jim and I talked about the wind and the water, we watched as multiple squalls out to sea raced along, most of the time missing us, but not always.  When one of the racing squalls hit us, the wind would pick up a couple of knots and the rain would come down sideways, peppering our faces with hard, cold pricks. Very irritating.

When we were about 8 miles off shore, Jim went below to make a pot of tea to warm up a little bit; I'm not much of a tea drinker, but a nice hot cup of tea sounded good to me too. As we were passing through yet another squall, I squinted through the rain and noted what looked like a sea racing toward us that was much bigger than the others. "Rogue Wave!", I yelled out to Jim down in the galley. "Hang on!"

Years ago while fishing the North Pacific on the King Crab boat the Marcy J, my buddy Chris Jones and I often talked about the different effects of wind on the water. We came up with a grading system that seemed to work pretty well and we always knew what the other was referring to. Flat calm was when the surface was still as a Mill Pond; not a ripple. This condition is rare and we only really saw it when the barometer would drop precipitously before a SW gale. It would become very calm - and scary if we were fishing way off shore.

Then there was a rippled surface, then waves, then seas and then ground swells. After a couple of days of 40 knot plus winds, the ground swells are the ones that grow to 40 foot plus monsters. The distance between the crests of huge ground swells can approach a hundred yards or more depending upon the height of the swell. The problem is that in big weather, there are ripples on the waves, waves on the seas, that can approach 20 feet, and seas on the 40 ground swells. When a big sea and a huge ground swell break together at the crest it is an unfortunate place for your boat to be. This whole living thing moves at breakneck speed and no vessel will slow it down; the ship needs to move with the sea or she will break apart.

I've never found anything more exhilarating than being at sea in a storm - big or small. The energy of the wind and water as they move past you and your vessel is incalculable. If you're on a good boat, it's fun. If you are not, it will be terrifying.

They call them rouge waves, but this one was a 20 foot sea, and it came screaming up to us at breakneck speed. As Morning Star climbed up the steep side of this sea, there were large waves upon her surface that were breaking, and their froth was being lifted off the water and into the air; 'smoke on the water'. I glanced at the anemometer; the needle bounced off 40 knots of now screaming wind. This was sailing!

The boat was cutting through these smaller waves nicely, but as we neared the top of this sea, a large wave joined with the sea and they combined to break together into a foaming broth of cold sea water. I held on to the wheel tightly as our bow went through this breaker - not over it - cascading water across the whole boat. Heavy spray hit me hard across the face and chest in a refreshing burst that nearly took my breath away. As my eyes cleared, I saw our bow and the front third of the boat clear the top of the sea, becoming airborne, and then come crashing down the back side as we raced down to the trough again. I worried that the bow would bury itself into the next oncoming sea and have a tough time recovering, but when we hit bottom, Morning Star's bow bobbed up like a cork; no worries.

When the commotion died down, I called down to Jimmy; we needed to talk. "OK Jim, that last sea was a big one and right at the wrong moment the wind hit 40 knots. I've decided that is the line; if the wind sustains 40, we're coming about and heading back to Oceanside", I said with about as much conviction as I've ever mustered.

Jim thought about it and offered, "How about if we came about and got the wind on a starboard tack? She might handle quite a bit better. I hate to turn around when we've gone this far", Jim said. I replied that we weren't far enough off shore to tack back yet, and we'd have to climb just as far into the wind, just from the other side of the boat. "Nope", I said. "We will stay on this course for at least another 15 minutes, then take a look at our position. I don't want to have to climb up these seas like this all day."

In the end, we agreed that we needed to hold onto our present course until we could get a good tack, on a more favorable course, right into Dana Point harbor. The gods were with us because the wind never hit 40 knots again, it stayed at about 35 knots or a little more. We were really having a great time, telling stories, adjusting the sails, watching each sea carefully to make sure we 'hit' it right and checking our gear. Sailing in heavy weather is a busy pursuit.

We finally reached a point just over 10 miles off shore, that a course back toward Dana Point looked favorable. "Stand by the come about Jim", I yelled over the still screaming wind and spray. "OK skipper, I'm ready to go", Jim yelled back after getting his lines ready. I turned the wheel to starboard and Morning Star responded, instantly turning her nose back toward the NNE - back toward land.

This different tack took us on a course just upwind from Dana Point; perfect! And with a little less 'up hill' sailing to do, our speed picked up to almost 9 knots; a perfect course. We were slicing through the water as the seas, now coming on to us from about the 10 o'clock position, lifted us gently up then set us down just as nicely. We were making almost twice the speed as we had been earlier in the day - and the day before. Brother Jim and I were elated as I checked our course, speed and time to destination; just about an hour. We would be in Dana Point by noon. Perfect.

Brother Jim, hamming it up at the helm!

At about that time, a large squall cleared and we saw Dana Point for the first time. We couldn't quite make out where the harbor entrance was, so I referred to the iPad Nav app and had Jim adjust our course accordingly. Then, about a half hour before reaching the harbor, a hole in the clouds broke open and showered the small harbor area with wonderful, golden sunshine. Grinning, I looked at my brother and said,  "Look at that Jim. They turned on the lights for us". Jim started chuckling and gave me a big hug. "What a great sail Johnny", he said as his crazy helmet raked across my ear and his grizzly whiskers sanded the side of my cheek.

The closer we got to the harbor, the sunnier it became, and we shed our jackets and sweaters and basked in the warm sunshine. It felt wonderful. When we arrived behind the breakwater at Dana Point, the wind died down to less than 15 knots and we took down the sails as we motored slowly up the calm waters of the channel. We watched as the people on shore enjoyed a day in what appeared to be a wonderful park. How nice and relaxed they seemed.  But they had all missed a wonderful sailing trip up the coast with my brother Jim and me. As I thought about how lucky my brother and I are to be able to spend time like this together, I had to brush a small tear from my eye.

A month ago, they found another tumor growing inside of my brother Jim's brain. Here we go again. Please say a prayer for brother Jim.

Sometime later, I thought about how much this sailing trip reminded me of any number of times in my life. You know, things just don't seem to be going well, and whatever you do, they don't seem to get any better.

I've been there many, many times. I would find myself taking short tacks in a direction that was not working. Then, a big, new idea occurs to me, one that would involve some degree of risk, but what the hell, the other ideas weren't working anyway; why not try it.

So, I take a completely different tack, making the commitment to a big course change. I've never regretted the things I've done; I only regret the times when I didn't try something ‘that could have been’. Jimmy too...

Planting Your Tomatoes: Mickman Brothers Garden Center

Tomato plants in the garden.

You've chosen your Tomato varieties based on:  growing habits, disease resistance, uses, color, flavor, etc. and after much careful consideration you've chosen the very best!  Now, let's get them growing in the garden!  Take the time to ensure proper light, tomatoes like at least 8 hours of sunlight per day; soil condition, do you need to add any compost or other nutrients to the soil; and irrigation, they need to receive water on a regular schedule to prevent disease.

Plant tomatoes deep in the soil.  Their stems have the ability to grow roots when they're buried, making the plants stronger, which is important if you've chosen indeterminate varieties that grow tall.  There are two good ways to plant tomatoes: by digging a deeper hole, or by laying them on their side.

Pull off the leaves at the bottom.

If you choose to dig a deeper hole, just make sure part of the tomato plant is still above ground.  Pull off the leaves on the part of the stem that you'll be burying, leaving the leaves on top intact.  Pop the pot off (unless it's in a plantable pot) and place in the hole, bury with the soil and water in!

Laying the tomato plant on its side is pretty easy too.  The trench needs to be big enough for the root ball on one side, and long enough to fit the tomato, again leaving part of the tomato plant above ground.  Just turn the tomato plant up at the end and hold it while you fill in with soil, the stems are fairly flexible.  Planting a tomato on its side gives it a lot of support as well, and the roots will be able to absorb a lot of water and nutrients with the added root surface area.

Planting a tomato in a trench.

Add cages or other means of support to your tomatoes right after planting them so you don't disturb their roots or break off stems after they've matured.  You can see in the pictures that my husband constructed some interesting 'tomato troughs' from some 1x4 unfinished pieces of wood.  They've worked really well!  Other support structures include the popular tomato cage, or bamboo stakes. 

Next week, we'll get your tomatoes on a regular watering schedule! 

Sara Laning
Mickman Brothers Marketing (and Gardener)

Taking a Different Tack - A Story by John Mickman

This story is dedicated to my brother, Jim.
Part 1 (of a 2-part story):


Morning Star moored in San Diego

At 8 AM, standing on the deck of Morning Star, our 37' sailboat, brother Jim and I watched the dark, grey clouds as they raced above San Diego Harbor. The breeze in the harbor was a steady 15 knots, and we knew that the wind 'outside' -around Point Loma - was probably blowing 20 knots plus. The good news was that the forecast predicted that it wouldn't get any worse as the day wore on.

Our plan was to sail to Dana Point, 65 miles up the coast that grey March day, to meet our cousin Heidi and husband Tim for dinner. We had planned to get an earlier start, but I dropped buddy Bill off at the airport, and the drive had taken a little longer than expected. Because neither Jim nor I had ever sailed into the Dana Point harbor, we wanted to arrive before dark that evening – and 65 miles is a pretty good poke for a sailboat, unless we had some very good sailing weather.

After readying the rigging, we fired up the engine, backed out of the mooring slip and motored out of the marina. After clearing the harbor, we hoisted the sails and began our south run to Point Loma which we needed to 'round' before we began our sail north to Dana Point. It was kind'a chilly, and a light drizzle began to spit at us as the northeast breeze continued to build.

"Hey Jimmy", I called out as we neared the point. "This early in the season I think we can cut pretty close to the point without having to worry about running into any thick kelp beds". Each summer at least one sailboat would be caught up in the thick, heavy strands of kelp and become disabled. Brother Jim agreed. "I'll stand watch-out on the bow and look for any early kelp beds. If I see it getting too thick, I'll let you know." If we cut close to the point without having to run 2 miles off shore to avoid kelp before 'rounding Point Loma, we would save at least an hour of sailing time.

The gamble paid off as Jim guided us past many kelp beds that may have fouled our rudder and propeller. However, by the time we were able to set course north for Dana Point it was after 9 o'clock. The good news was that it was blowing a pretty steady 20 knots from the NW, just enough off of our port bow to allow for good cruising.

After the sails were properly set, Jim and I reviewed our timetable. "We have 65 miles to go, and even at 6 - 7 knots, it will still take 10 hours to get to Dana Point", I said. "This is going to be close even if the wind holds." We were both squinting through the windborne drizzle at the steel grey Pacific Ocean. Although our visibility was less than 2 miles, our radar told me that there were no other small boats for at least 5 miles, and no ships within 20 miles. Jim reported the readings of both the anemometer (wind speed gauge) and the wind directional indicator with the comment that if things don't change, we should be able to make our rendezvous with cousin Heidi for dinner.

Morning Star under sail

With the wind off our bow by about 25 degrees, we had the sails as close hauled as they would go and we were making about 7 knots of speed. The wind had not laid down the previous night, so the seas were high - and building. Our sailboat, Morning Star was a 37.5 Hunter Legend with sloop rigging. She has a glass hull and a heavily weighted, winged keel which allows us to sail in shallower water. This keel design also gives us a smoother ride in tough weather as the keels' 'wings' act as stabilizers and and takes some of the bounce out of the ride. Whenever two sailboats are going the same direction it is a race (whether you like it or not), and time and again Morning Star has proven to be a very fast boat for her size. This trip was going to be a pretty good test for Morning Star as I had never had her out for an extended day sail of this sort with this much wind and sea.

By 11 o'clock the wind was blowing a steady 25 knots, gusting to 28 or so. The seas had continued to build and were 6 -8 feet, with some cresting at well over 10 feet. Not too bad, and Morning Star was proving to be a tough little boat. Unfortunately, the wind began to climb more to the north, and with the tack we were on, we were being blown off course, closer to the coast. "Stand-by to come about Jim", I yelled through the now screaming wind. "We need to get more off shore."

After adjusting the mainsail a tad, Jim readied the foresail lines and reported that he was ready. "OK, coming about", I called as I spun the wheel to port. Morning Star responds well and we immediately began the swing to the new, more westerly tack. As the wind blew the foresail to port, Jimmy pulled 'er in with the windless winch. "Snug 'er up tight Jim. We need to sail as steep a course as possible so we don't lose any ground on this tack", I commented. "Yup, got 'er", Jim reported back as he ground the wench handle tighter and tighter. "How do you like that John?", he asked when he thought the foresail was properly set. "Looks about right, Jim. Let's try that for a bit and see what the wind does."

So, off we went - in the wrong direction. Tacking a sailboat can seem to be a contrarian exercise to an inexperienced sailor because, unless the wind is blowing in the correct direction, you find yourself never really steering in the direction of your destination; our current predicament. You need to 'tack' back and forth as you sail 'against the wind'.

"Jim, I'm going to call Heidi and tell her we may not make it tonight. Unless this wind changes soon, there is no way we're going to make it all the way up to Dana Point. Take the wheel.", I said. Jim took the helm as I hunched under the dodger to get some protection from the weather. I called Heidi on my cell and told her we may not make it that day, but if not, could they meet us tomorrow night? 'Sure', Heidi replied. "Either night is good for us."

Cousin Heidi

Heidi is a pretty good sailor in her own right and asked how bad is was. "Well, if it doesn't get any worse, it's a pretty good sail", I reported.  "We're making good time, we just can't hold a good course to Dana Point. The boat is sailing nicely and Jim and I are having a good time. I'll call you at 2", I said to Heidi, and then hung up. "OK Jim", I said, "Heidi is still open for dinner tomorrow if we don't make it up there tonight." Jim responded, "That's great, it kind of takes the pressure off now that we don't need to get all the way up to Dana Point tonight. Good deal!"

So, we sailed on as the wind climbed even more toward the north - the direction of Dana Point. As the day wore on, the wind speed steadied at about 25 knots, but the seas were really building. To maintain our 'general course' direction toward Dana Point, we tacked back and forth every 20 minutes or so to keep from getting too close to the coast or too far out to sea.

Three years ago, Jim developed glioblastoma - brain cancer. They had to open up his skull and scoop it out, and then he underwent radiation and 18 months of chemotherapy. He beat the odds by 95% and made an amazing recovery. But he needs to protect his head bone; to that end he wore a Chinese military helmet he acquired when he and his fiancé hitchhiked across China in the 1980's. It looked kind of goofy on a sailboat, but it worked -  protecting his head from numerous bumps from the boom when we came about during the trip. Every day is a blessing for Jim and he lives them with gusto.

At about 1 o'clock, Jim was below deck changing into to some warmer clothes as I watched a pretty good sized 'rouge wave' racing toward us. I yelled down to Jim that it was coming, but he was way forward in his stateroom and didn't hear me. As it approached, I changed course and headed right into it so it didn't hit us across our beam. A big sea like this reminds me of a giant, taking a deep breath, and I felt the tremendous energy of the sea as we climbed to the top of the large ground swell. When we reached the top of this large sea, the bow section of Morning Star came out of the water, then came crashing down the back side of the swell. "Yee-Haw", I yelled out as we raced downhill to the fast approaching trough. We’re having fun now!

Shortly after that, Jim crawled back up the latter-way to deck and commented on the increasingly rough ride. He had made a cup of tea for himself and gave me a nice hot cup of coffee. "This will warm us up a little bit", he said with a smile as we balanced our hot broths to keep them from spilling onto the deck. "Thanks Jimmy. This tastes great; just the right amount of sugar", I said.

Brother Jim is a really good guy who is always in tune with others. Of all us kids, he was definitely the best one to become a physician. He is a great listener and one that rarely forgets anything, and he was honored to be chosen as one of the 'Top Docs' in the Twin Cities a few years back. His specialty is as a Pulmonologist, and unfortunately, many of his patients are very ill. It is very cool when I meet a new person who asks if I know Dr. James Mickman." I always reply, "Jimmy? You bet. He's our middle brother", I say. Then, more often than not, the new acquaintance will say something like, "Well your brother saved my wife's (brother, husband, mother, father...)  life last year." Pretty heavy. It's nice having a brother like my brother Jim.

Sometimes I wish I had more of Jim's empathy. I chose to start a small business with brother Chris many years ago, and I'm afraid the rigors and constant stress of our company have taken their toll on me. I think I'm a little too focused and goal oriented to be a good, empathetic  listener – although I try. If I make a mistake, someone's tree may die; if Jim makes a mistake, a person could die. Jim deals with this pretty well and is very good at comforting people. On the other hand, I'm pretty good in an emergency situation.

As I took deep gulp of my coffee, I checked the deck navigation system to verify our current position; to my dismay, it was dead! "Jim, something happened when that big sea hit us; we don't have any GPS or Radar!", I called out. Jim came around the helms station and looked at the now black screen and said, "That's not good. I wonder what happened?"

I looked over the starboard rail toward the coast and said, "My guess is that there was a bad electrical connection somewhere that just got knocked loose. I don't think we'll be able to find the problem in this weather. We can't see shore, but I know where we are - at least for awhile". I knew there were no ships anywhere within 20 miles, and we still had visibility of about 2 miles; we were about 4 miles off shore at the time.

In addition to being a good doctor, brother Jim is also an excellent sailor and he wasn't too concerned - but we both knew this could work into a pretty good problem if conditions deteriorated. "So, do we have a new plan John?” Jim asked as we continued racing in a WNW course - heading offshore.

We've been in heavy weather sailing a couple of times together, the last time being offshore near the Virgin Islands. That time the winds were blowing the same, at about 25 knots, and the warm rain was coming down in virtual sheets. With this limited visibility, we had run over a crab pot buoy which became tangled with our rudder and propeller, turning this crab pot into an anchor. To get clear of this the crab pot, Jim volunteered to dive overboard in the maelstrom to clear the line from our sailboat. He was successful and everything turned out OK. Things can happen fast in a storm at sea, and we were both pretty tuned in to the conditions at hand on this 'salty' day.

With a smile, I asked Jim to take the helm as I went below decks to get my iPad. My backup was a navigation app on the iPad on which I had loaded the southern California coastal charts. This is a great tool, as is also has a GPS locator loaded into it. As I worked the iPad, the virtual chart jumped to life on the screen, showing our current location, course, navigational hazards and available moorages and harbors.

Still smiling, I returned to deck and showed Jim the iPad screen and explained that as long as we don't venture too far offshore, we have a navigational GPS almost as handy as our now inoperable onboard 'nav station'. Jim was pleased. "Good deal John. This is great. How far offshore do you think it will work?", he asked me. "Well, I know that south of Point Loma it is good for about 10 miles, but it may be different up here. But, I'm sure it will work for a couple of miles off shore before we lose the signal which will keep us safe even if it fogs up into a pea-soup. There are no offshore reefs anywhere around here. We're good to go", I said as we sailed on.

By 2:30 it was clear there was no way we were going to make it to Dana Point by nightfall, and I called Heidi to tell her. "So where are you going to moor tonight?", she asked.

"There is a great harbor at Oceanside and we're headed there right now", I told her. "We should be there by about 5 o'clock - an hour or so before dark." We talked for a few more minutes and then I called the Oceanside Harbormaster on the VHS to confirm that there were some open slips at the transient dock; there were. The Harbormaster then informed me that they were dredging the mouth of the harbor and to be careful. Good advice!

After conferring with Jim, we came about with a new, more easterly course toward Oceanside. Just before 5 o'clock we dropped our sails outside the mouth of the Oceanside Harbor and fired up our engine. There were a half dozen other sailboats kind of milling around outside the entrance, seemingly confused about which way to enter the harbor because the huge dredging machine was blocking nearly the entire harbor entrance.

After trying to reach the dredger on the VHS radio to no avail, I chose a course to pass the dredger on our starboard side, around the churning monster vessel,  and entered the harbor - using the iPad nav app. I knew there had to be at least one large flex-pipe leading to shore to dump all the sludge and mud the dredger was dredging up, but from our position we couldn't see it. As we passed slowly by this dredger, which looked like something from a Sci-Fi film, Jim and I both spotted the big pipe that brings the dredged material to shore. To our delight, we had correctly chosen the correct course (a 50/50 gamble).The other boats followed our lead into the safety of the calm water within the harbor.

Once inside the harbor area, we found the transient dock, chose a slip and tied up to the well appointed dock. After plugging into shore power, we walked up to the Harbormasters Shack - which doubled as the Harbor Police Station, to pay the moorage fee. By that time, just after 6 o'clock, the Harbormaster had gone home for the day, and a burly policeman unlocked the door and grudgingly let us into the building.

"What can I do for you guys?", he asked in a markedly unfriendly tone, like we were bothering him. "Well, we just got into town and we're tied up in Slip #3 down there", I replied, pointing over to Morning Star. "We want to pay the moorage fee. Can you make that happen?" "Yea", he grumbled back to us and pointed to an inside door within the small building entryway. I went through the door, as the cop went through the next door down, putting him on the opposite side of a large counter in a good sized office area. The door I had entered through closed, and I heard a loud 'CLICK' as an automatic lock slammed into place. Brother Jim hadn't come through the door.

With a markedly alarmed tone, the cop called out, "What happened to that other guy?". I quickly replied that I didn't know, at which point the cop ran back through his door and I heard him yell out, "What the hell do you think you're doing wandering around here?". I heard Jim reply in a much subdued tone, "Well, I'm just trying to find a restroom. Do you know where I can find one?"

"Yeah, I know where you can find one, but you can't just wander around the Police Station like this. I'm the only one on duty and I'm already doing you guys a favor letting you in after hours. Come through this door", the cop directed Jim, with a tone that was getting more gruff with each sentence. I watched as Jim, then the cop, returned through the door on the opposite side of the counter from me. The cop grumbled something to Jim and pointed to a door marked as a unisex restroom.

After watching Jim enter the restroom, the cop turned his attention to me and asked to see my license and insurance certificate. I passed these documents over to him for examination, but noticed that he was nervously looking over his shoulder every few seconds to watch for Jim when he came out of the restroom. I also noticed that he kept his right hand on his pistol holster; I didn't know if it was a habit of his or if he was expecting to use his firearm on one of us dangerous looking, pleasure sailors. In an effort to put him more at ease, I made small talk with him as I filled out a couple of forms for him, commenting on the weather, asking about local restaurants...

Jim was in there quite awhile, but the cop was feeling a little more comfortable; he took his hand off of his pistol. "There is a small craft advisory out for tomorrow", the cop said to me. "Here is a copy of it", he said as he pushed a computer printout across the counter to me. At just about that time, Jim came out of the restroom and began to meander through the office area. The cop looked annoyed and said to Jim, "you know this isn't really a public area of the building. I'd sure appreciate it if you would get over to the other side of the counter with your brother", he said as Jim perked up and walked directly over to the door, went through it and then through the door to ‘our’ side of the counter. The lock ‘clacked’ back in position, trapping us on our side of the counter. Spooky. After paying the cop $25 for the moorage fee, Jim and I left and returned to the boat.

Once there, we popped open a couple of beers and read the Small Craft Advisory. It predicted sustaining winds before noon the next day up to 25 knots, increasing to 30 knots sometime after 12 o'clock noon. "Well", I started, "25 knots is about what we had all day today Jim. We only have about 18 miles to Dana Point, so if we get an early start, we should be there well before noon. I don't think this is going to be a problem. I think we should throw the lines off at about 6 o’clock which should put is at Dana Point well before noon." Jim agreed, "Yea that sounds good to me. And I really don't want to spend all day tomorrow in Oceanside. Let's plan on leaving early like you say before the wind picks up mid-day."

The inside of Morning Star's cabin is all dark, teak paneling and with our kerosene lamp on, it is nice and cozy. We discussed the events of the day over our beers and agreed that the boat was doing well except for the navigation system. I had taken a quick look at the wiring harnesses and they looked just fine. However, the iPad chart was really all we needed and we both felt comfortable with this back-up system. Jim and I were a little beat up and wind-burned from being on deck all day, but we felt good.

I took a last long pull off my beer as I thought about the plan, "OK Jim, let's be ready to leave the harbor at 6 tomorrow, but we'll take a look at it to and get an updated forecast. If the weather looks any tougher than we like it, we'll make the final decision at that time. Let's find a place to get dinner in town", and we left the boat to get something to eat.

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Next week find out how Jim and I made out the next day when the winds and seas picked up considerably. Did we make it to Dana Point to see Heidi – or not?