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Tait’s New Seamanship, 1913

seamanship bookI don’t know why I am fascinated by this battered yard sale sale acquisition but I can’t stop delving into marine knowledge of another era.  The book is a highly detailed manual of everything one needed to know to become a serious sailor in 1913. Well-thumbed, taped together, the book contains study notes, in real ink, browning at the edges, of its long-ago owner, one Francis Walsh of Nova Scotia.

Francis owned this book just before the First World War. Perhaps he went straight to the navy and used Tait knowledge to help Canada win.

From the book I learned how to deal with accidents during squall, how to adjust a sextant, how to send up a topgallant yard and rig out a jibboom, how to stow jute or cotton cargo, how to put out all lights and ban hobnailed boot with metal nails when powder or dynamite is coming board.  Using a hand lead line, the helmsman must call out, “by the mark 5” when at 5 fathoms.  (Mark Twain took his pen name from riverboat soundings.)

Rocket apparatus to rescue crew from another vessel in distress.

Rocket apparatus to rescue crew and passengers from another vessel in distress.

At the back are the Master’s Civil and Legal Duties and Board of Trade requirements. There is a fine of £500 for carrying passengers on more than one deck below the waterline. Should scurvy break out, issue a double allowance of lime juice and preserved vegetables such as cabbage and onions. Sighting of a derelict vessel must be reported to the Lloyd’s agent at the next port of call. A large red flag must be displayed on a destroyer or gunboat when submarines are exercising in the area.

An early barometer.

The original wind scale made by Admiral Beaufort in 1805 has become obsolete in consequence of the changes in the rig of ships. With a hydrometer is found the draught which a ship should be loaded in fresh water of any density so as to have a given draught in sea water.  In a heavy squall to the windward under reefed sails, lower away and furl the upper topsails. Use a clove hitch for hitching ratlines to the shrouds.

Communication is a big concern for all vessels.  Morse Code, for example, is laid out, letter by letter,  ready for learning, only a part of skills to learn.

Just a sample of the dozens of flags and flag combinations a sailor must know to keep the vessel safe.

British semaphores as opposed to French semaphores. A whole alphabet can be done by flags. How ships talked to each other before wireless.  At night they used lanterns.

Lots of other useful information abounds.  A fathom is six feet, a league is three miles, a ton of fresh water is 210 gallons, a cable is one tenth of a nautical mile. A ship’s coal consumption varies with the cube of the speed. The diameter and lenses of anchor lights should not be less than eight inches. The amount of water a vessel displaces is equal in weight to the vessel and cargo. A single vessel approaching a squadron of warships would be well advised to keep out of the way.

A vessel in distress can fire a gun or explosive device at one minute intervals, display a square flag above or below a ball or sound the fog signal continuously.  Did the Titanic sound its foghorn for help?  It must have had a big one which surely would have carried to ship it could see on the horizon.

Study notes of Francis Walsh who faced a stiff exam.

And so the fascinating  information goes on and on. I sincerely hope Francis passed his tests and eventually rose to captain.  If he learned everything in Tait’s he would certainly be well qualified.

Books are Here!

 

I am so pleased to announce I have two historical novels just out. The Tomorrow Country, in a second edition, deals with the tumultuous beginnings of the British Home Children emigration movement sending destitute children to new lives in overseas. A fiercely warring crew of do-gooders, social climbers, crooks and rebel misfits battle it out to create Canadians-in-the-making. Lots of intrigue and hustle here as ambitions clash amidst the vast social upheavals of nineteenth century Britain.

The Accidental Bootlegger continues the story into young adulthood in the 1880s and is set in rural Prince Edward County, Canada where the Home Children face risky new challenges that could tar them  to the neck with scandal should any choice go wrong.  It is a tale told with humour and delight, involving a practically useless Englishman, a malevolent pig, an amorous circus sharpshooter, a sinking schooner and a village full of irate women who will do their duty if it kills them. You don’t want to miss the action!

A lot of research went into these books and a lot of effort into making them a lively read with new adventure at every  corner.  After all, it is really only reader enjoyment that counts.

Both books available at Books & Company in Picton, the Demorestville Café, and on Amazon. Enjoy!

 

 

Summer is Turkey Vulture Time

Check out my six foot wing span.

I seem to have my own little flock of turkey vultures.  There are five of them and no matter how far they fly, they inevitably return to their favourite spot to rest and watch the neighbourhood.  That is the roof ridge of my barn. From there they eye me speculatively though I am still far too fresh to be lunch.

 Years ago there were no turkey vultures to be seen so, like other newcomers to the county, they were quite a novelty.  Now there are plenty of them wheeling about in lazy circles, scarcely needing to flap a wing.

Atop the barn, they stretch out their up to six foot wingspan to bask in the sun.  Large as the birds are, up to two and a half feet tall, they weigh only about three pounds.  A great help, I imagine, for that effortless glide.

Taking note of future lunch possibilities.

Though I hardly see anything except some road kill, there must be enough dead creatures in the county to support this population of scavengers. With stomach acid a hundred times stronger than that of humans, they can digest just about anything with no ill effects. So turkey vulture poop is corrosive to whatever it lands upon.  They use smell to locate suitable carcasses.  They are so good at smelling that oil and gas companies inject a stinky chemical into their pipes and then find leaks where turkey vultures gather.

Wheeling effortlessly in the sky.

When freeze up comes and smells go away, the vultures set out for southern climes. The sure sign of spring here is the first sight of those dark silhouettes back doing circles in the sky.  Perhaps there is a bonanza of thawing winter kill awaiting them that the foxes and coyotes have missed. They will indulge in a little romance, make a nest on the ground and get on with raising the next generation of county vultures.  Or perhaps youngsters to keep spreading northward.  Meanwhile, they are welcome on the barn ridge and keep watch so long as they remember I am not quite edible yet.

An Old Friend Shows Up Again

I have ridden my bike past this butterfly milkweed for years. It is a roadside survivor, living dangerously just out of reach of that mower that trims the road edges. Rooted in road bed gravel, it copes handily with winter salt and summer drought and never seems to spread.

Its copious nectar provides a feast for local butterflies. Its milkweed leaves are the only kind that can sustain the caterpillar stage of the monarch butterfly. Its solitary splendor here outdoes every other roadside blossom and there is not another like it along the miles I ride. I’m very happy to say hello to it again this year and encourage more milkweed on the land.

It’s Turtle Time Again. Drivers Take Care.

When spring comes, turtles go on the move, some with wanderlust, some looking for better homes, many seeking the ideal place to lay their eggs.  Unfortunately their paths too often involves crossing a road.

Mature snapping turtle about to dig a nest in roadside gravel.

Mature snapping turtle heading for a busy road.

Turtles and cars have a speed differential, resulting in flattened turtles and drivers oblivious to the damage that have just inflicted.  Or not so oblivious.  Drivers have been known to deliberately target some slow turtle trudging across the pavement. Turtle lovers put up a road sign asking drivers to be careful.   In the dark of night some jokester removed the “Don’t” from the plea so the whole sign had to come down. So much for consideration!

 

Snapping turtles especially like open gravelled spots to lay their eggs which makes them partial to road shoulders. If they do succeed in digging a hole to lay their eggs, they then have to make the perilous journey back to the marshes where the lie in wait under water, looking like a rock, until some unaware fish or frog swims into the lightning snap of the turtle’s jaws. These turtles can live over fifty years and don’t lay eggs until they are ten to twenty years old.  This makes the road death of even one of these mature females on the road a significant loss. 

Female snapping turtle, probably about thirty years old, laying eggs in a nest she has just dug in roadside gravel. Not the best of places.

Turtle nest after it has been raided by a skunk or raccoon. Only eggshells left.

Loss seems to be the word since, in recent years, I have seen a marked decrease in turtles attempting the road.  So fewer turtle nests, fewer little turtles to carry on.  Even fewer snacks for the skunks and raccoons always waiting to dig up turtle eggs as soon as they are laid.

Little painted turtle gets a lift across the road and is saved for another year.

So what can be done?  At the very least, stop and help a turtle, small or big, across the road.  Help it in the direction it is already heading or it will just turn to the road again.  Wish it good luck as it waddles off into toward an unknown destination. And hope to see baby turtles someday soon ready to carry the species on so you can still see turtles another day.

 

 

The Cranes of Wild Winter

Well, it’s January in Canada, full winter, and the family of sandhill cranes that nest in the pond are still here!  Sandhill cranes are migratory.  According to the bird info, cranes in this region ought to have flown off to Florida long ago. These ones must have missed the memo.

Three day blizzard with 90 kph winds and fiercely blowing snow. How did the cranes live through this?

Most surprising, they have just weathered the worst blizzard Ontario has had since 1977.  A three day extravaganza with blowing snow, winds howling up to 90 kph and snow drifting to shoulder height. All the roads were closed because the snowplows couldn’t cope.  Electricity failed. Nothing ventured out until the wild weather finally calmed down and people could dig their way into daylight.

The morning after the winds died down. Massive drifts and ground covered with snow

With the pond frozen solid, I can’t imagine how the cranes rode out this vicious wintry blast.  They must have huddled together somewhere without food for the better part of a week.  All the hungry small birds swarmed the bird feeders the moment the wind died back.

After a few days of above freezing temperatures melted much of the snow, the cranes appeared foraging as usual. What a hardy lot!

All sensible migratory birds should have been long gone. Even when, after the blizzard, the temperature took a sudden turn upward and hung at 5 to 7 degrees Celcius, making the snow begin a rapid melt.  Large swathes of bare ground began to emerge.  And, as soon the pasture grass was clear, there were the three cranes, poking about as though it were a summer day looking no worse for the wear.

How I would like to know how and where they huddled during the blizzard, not getting their long legs frozen off.  Another avian mystery. With at least two more hard months of winter ahead, I will be very curious about whether they care to weather more storms or finally hear the sunny climes of Florida calling to join their relatives where the living is easy and snow unknown. 

 

Looking at Little Things

This month our camera club challenge was macro photos, taking close ups of  small things outdoors. It can be tricky to do as close up photos tend to have a narrow depth of field, meaning that only part of something is in focus. A bee’s eye is looks at you sharply but its yellow rear end remains a blur.

I was bit dismayed to discover that those brilliantly clear scientific photos of insects, etc. are created from dozens of photos, each with a different body part in focus.  The photos are then combined on a computer and, presto, a completely sharp result. 

Of course, for this to work, the insect has to be dead and professionally cleaned. Can’t have it wriggling or smirched with dust while its portrait is being taken. All this is far beyond me.  I just aimed my trusty little Sony up close, cropped out the extras and served up the result.

House mouse making a run for it after being freed outside behind the barn.

 

Salamanders found underneath the wood chopping block. They escape very fast.

Could be a magic shell hidden in the gravel. The elves inside refuse to come out.

This bull tab of a crushed roadside can has long since transferred its power to some long ago buzzed up driver slurping behind the wheel.

Look at me dance! Caterpillar with lots of feet shows off its fancy moves.
Insects having a pollen party on a wild daisy.
Hairy fellow on the march. Don’t touch.

Trench in the Snow: A Mystery

On my daily hike, I came upon a track in the snow I had never seen before.  It was more like a trench than a track and gave me pause.  Could there be an anaconda slithering about in winter?  Or some scary beast dragging home its kill.

Places where the creature stopped sliding on its belly and took a leap.

 

The track came from the far frozen beaver pond, across the pasture, through the fence and across the road.  Bravely, I followed it right to the edge of the escarpment where, without hesitation, it plunged straight down the precipitous slope.  If I went any further, it would be a high speed luge ride interrupted by several tree trunks all the way down to the marsh.

There was nothing for it but to consult my nearest nature guru who looked at my photo and laughed.  It is an otter, he told me. They slide on their bellies in the snow. They are pretty fast sliders.  Hence the trench.

Otter enjoying the snow. Photo from Wikipedia.

 

That was a relief.  Now I must speculate that the otter had been spending its winter in the beaver pond and decided on a change of scene.  Perhaps it had eaten all the fish under the ice and was moving on to better hunting in the marsh.  Perhaps it had to leave home because mama was about to produce a new family of kits and kicked it out.  Since otters like to be social, it might be hoping it could find some new pals down among the reeds.

I’ll keep watch for it when I cross the little bridge over the marsh creek and also see whether it left any relatives behind at the beaver pond. And I wonder what kind of truce they have with the beavers and muskrats there.

 

Some Fave Photo Fun in 2021

Trolling through my photos from the recent past, I came upon some favourites, either direct from the camera or played with via Photoshop, an endlessly entertaining tool.  Let’s have a look at a few.

I learned how to fake looking at a scene through a glass ball. If it were a genuine crystal ball, the scene inside would be upside down through some mysterious magic of real glass. Someone in optics might know how that works.

 

Two of the turkey vultures who like to sit in the barn roof. Sometimes there are six or seven of them. This pair checks me out for possible food value. They are almost big enough to carry me off.

 

The once loved old house is abandoned and the lady who lived there long buried. Yet she can’t bear to have her flowers neglected. Her ghost faithfully makes sure they still bloom.

 

Trying out a little Gothic moodiness on a curve in the road. It definitely needs a dark, sinister figure flitting across in a cloak.

 

A bit of surreal colour floating over the stormy sky. Is it modern art? You decide.

 

Some trees along the fence line take a fantastic flight into a troubled sky. Hope they survive the journey.

 

I just wanted to see what I could do with a squirrel and a bottle. Put them into panic mode, apparently.

 

Rascal caught in the act of draining the hummingbird feeder. Raccoons, squirrels and chipmunks slurp up the nectar like tipsy boozers madly hooked on the sugar high.

Trying Out Miniature Photography

Our photo club sets new challenges every month with the goal of pushing our skills.  Last month it was trying out tabletop or miniature photography, also an excuse to stay inside in nasty weather.  I had never done this before nor did I have any knowledge of proper lighting, right shutter speed and a dozen other necessaries for success.  Nevertheless, I gamely set about gathering assorted props from around the house and setting up on a table. Here are my first attempts at this specialized art.

I began with a minimalist effort, a small statue with a desk light behind it. I’m hoping it might pass for high art, ha ha.Next I found a straw figure and decided she was the Fish Goddess worshiped by pair of wooden mannequins. She is suitable pleased about their adoration.  Perhaps she will give them her fish.

After the goddess, I tried an old bath towel with a couple of toy gazelles. I slipped an evening sky behind them and called it “Sunset on the Veldt”.

Growing bolder, I found a couple of novelty bird houses the birds would have nothing to do with and tucked a miniature car between them. Add some dark trees behind and presto, a scene from “The Grapes of Wrath”. 

These successes occasioned a party.  With help of an empty wine bottle and some fuzzy friends, I constructed a more grown up version of the “Teddy Bears’ Picnic”.

To do this right really requires a mini studio complete with studio lights and lots room to move around it.  Also lots of imagination and that photographer’s best friend, Photoshop. Then you get to play All Powerful with worlds, okay toys, at your mercy. A very sweet ego boost– so long as you don’t look up.