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                                           Beside the Marshy Reeds

                                                               By

                                              Douglas G Pollard Sr.

There was a time if you had an old boat you just took it up near the marsh in a few feet of water and opened her cocks. For years you looked towards her when passing by. People came down and took pictures of her and artists painted her. Swimming boys climbed aboard her and dove from her cabin top. Millions of minnows grew up in her secret hiding places over time.  As some of her planks came loose crabs move in feeding on minnows, shedding in her safe places.  She made a great meal for worms living in her wood.  Ospreys built a nest on her cabin top. You had not destroyed your silent friend the one you talked to who never talked back.  You had given her to the community and  she was enjoyed by all.  It was a noble end the sinking of her weathered silhouette below the quiet water. When finally gone there was no sense of loss. She had put back into nature what she had taken out on her daily fishing trips.   We humans would be so lucky.

Joan in Tern

BY

Douglas G. Pollard Sr.

In the spring of my eleventh year I was shown a canoe hanging

in a shed at a farm near home by a schoolmate. He wanted to buy it and

wanted me to go halvers with him. Well my half was five dollars and I

had my half from mowing lawns. A couple weeks went by and he still

didn't have his half. I dug a ditch, got ten dollars for the job, bought a

canoe and lost a friend. I have never gotten over feeling guilty about it

either.

She was an eighteen foot Old town canoe with sponson sides

She looked pretty bad with all her varnish peeling, her thin planking was

rotted in places and both tips had rotted out and needless to say her can-

vas was shot. She had been hanging upside down in a leaky old shed for

years. Thinking back I probably got robbed at ten dollars in those days. I

think the years was 1945 and ten dollars was hard to come by.

We had a basement I could work in. I by myself under my fa-

thers directions stripped her down by removing her sponsons, canvas

and mahogany trim. I replaced the rotted sections of planking with or-

ange crate wood that was about 1/8 thick, perfect for the job and had

the advantage of being free. Her frames were still in good shape except

for the tops of them up high in her ends. We took her outside and I

scrubbed her down with lye and hot water. She was varnished inside and

had several coats of paint. It was blistered and peeling. The lye soften

things up one coat at a time. We had some old window frames behind a

shed and I broke pieces of glass out of them to use as scrapers. They

worked pretty good. I could score them with a piece of tool bit from my

fathers lathe and break them pretty much to the shape I wanted. I cut

them rounded to fit the curvature of the inside of the hull. Broken glass

is sharp on all edges so I cut myself several times everyday. One of my

older friends, A buddy of mine said I was saving her by way of

blood transfusion.

Airplane dope was bought at the local airport really cheap be-

cause it was gunmetal blue, mixed by accident and so was nearly worth-

less. Many boys in the neighborhood including myself built model air-

planes so airplane dope and its ability to tighten cloth

The canvas to cover the hull was paid for by mixing mortar with

a hoe in two separate mixing boxes for a neighbor who was building a

cement block home. I will never forget the shouts at me by the cigar

chewing old Italian brick layer. Too wet, too dry, more mortar, too dry,

keep up boy or I'll get me a wop to mix my mortar. I have never done

anything harder in my life. On Monday I had been replaced by a

black fellow nearly grown with shoulders too wide to go through the av-

erage door.

The old brick layer called me puny. I guess he was right but I

got paid enough to buy my canvas and I was too excited over that to

care.

Rebuilding the tips of the canoe was a pay grade above my know

how so my older brother who was a really good woodworker and

worked part time for Owens yacht Company rebuilt the tips for me us-

ing mahogany.

By late fall the boat was covered and paint ed. She was powder blue

with white on top the sponsons. Her interior

and trim were varnished. The lye had bleached the wood and it really

was pretty. The mahogany trim was stained and set out dark against the

really light colored interior. The contrast was a real eye popper.

I was somewhat of an artist for my age so I named her Tern and

painted a flying tern, white with yellow feet and bill on each side of her

bow.

For Christmas I was given a really beautiful set of rather expen-

sive paddles for her. My father painted them blue with the varnished

wood going down in a 'v' almost to the bottom of the blade.. They had a narrow

white band around the top of the shaft and a half inch stripe up and

down the vee with the rest of the blade natural with several coats of varnish..

I was more proud of those paddles than any thing I have

ever been given by anyone. We had a warm week in January and my

father and I went canoing. And I learned to properly paddle a canoe.

We boys paddled that canoe all over bear creek and every other

nearby piece of water that summer.

The following winter my brother told me that if I would help my

uncle dig the basement for the house he planned to build in the summer

he would buy me a sail and buy the lumber for lee boards and a rudder

and I could help him build them.

Two months of that summer were spent digging a basement.

About 4 feet down we hit blue moral clay. It was sticky and a mattox

bounced back at you. A piece always stuck to the blade and often as not

fell on our heads. I got strong that summer and my paddling

speed grew by leaps and bounds.

In the fall my brother and I went to the railway station in Balti-

more and picked up my brand new lanteen sail. The spars were sitka

spruce and my brother and I put four more coats of varnish on them be-

fore bending the sail. That sail was forty sq. feet and I couldn't believe

how big it was. I was secretly scared it would turn my boat over when

the very first puff of wind hit it.

By Christmas the lee boards and rudder along with mast step

were getting there last coat of varnish. My father being a machinist

made the bronze hardware needed for the rudder in his spare time at

work.

That summer I was thirteen and slowly expanded my horizons

by crossing the Chesapeake bay to the Eastern shore to camp. We used

the sail for a tent but it showed up so well that we were afraid of railroad

bums sneaking up on us at night so after the first trip we took army pup tents that

belonged to my friends they were olive drab colored and set back in the

woods were harder to see.

The following year I was quite good at handling the canoe and sailing. That summer was the highlight of my early teen years as I took a day sailing trip with a young lady.

I was mightily smitten by a girl in my class that I had gotten to

be good friends with. On our third movie date I asked her to go for a

sail with me. Now canoes and sailing were definitely the romantic thing

in those days and she agreed, but I had to ask her mother. Mrs. Pergavie

called my mother and asked her if I knew what I was doing on that boat.

My mother told her I sailed a lot and that I had come home every night.

She told Mrs. Pergavie that she had never gone sailing with me, So said she,

You have to make up your own mind.

Mrs Pergavie thought a long moment and finally said, “no I'm

afraid not”, and that seemed to be that.

A week later on Friday night I walked Joan home from a school

dance. She had made hot chocolate and we sat at the kitchen table talk-

ing.

Mrs Pergavie walked in and said, “Joan you can go sailing but if

you aren't home by 5 pm your Dad and I will have to come looking for

you. She turned to me and said if you know whats good for you and you

want Joan to ever go with you again be back by 5:00 and not one minute

late”.

I agreed without even thinking about it.

Come morning I knocked on the Pergavie front door and wait-

ed. After what seemed a really long time Joan opened the front door and

invited me in. Old dog Rex sat on the porch step and panted. I was disappointed,

she had on a pair of blue jeans and a tee shirt with a sweat shirt over top.

Not the short shorts and halter top that had kept me awake half the

night.

It was Saturday and her father was home and he grilled me.

Does the canoe lea k? I told him no. Did I know how

to get the water out if we turned over? I told him how I did that and that

I had done that a couple of times though I had not yet turned the boat

over by accident. Did I have a compass? Yes I answered. What would

you do if you got hit by a gust of wind. Let the sheet go I said. I always

sail with the sheet in my hand except in the small creek near home.

He said you'll do. You kids have a good time and be back at six

this afternoon.

“Mrs. Pergavie said five,” I replied. I stood waiting for an an-

swer as he read the News paper. Without looking up he said five, six ei-

ther one.

“We'll be back at five,” I said as Joan came in from the kitchen

and handed me a picnic basket.

We loaded the canoe with a picnic lunch she had brought along.

We had two paddles, two Gray Navy cork filled life preservers a wooden

bailing scoop, a fisherman's knife, hatchet and an old tin alarm clock. I

desperately wanted to keep track of time. I had a boyscout pocket com-

pass and in the bow stood my part German Sheppard, collie Rex. He

was our early warning system and horn as he barked excitedly at any-

thing closer than about a half mile. We each had a jacket and I brought

a rain slicker for Joan.

We sailed out of Bear creek through the # 26 street car bridge,

past Sparrows point ship yard and then eased along just east of Old Fort

Carol.

I had a slatted back rest and Joan used it as she set amidships on

top my jacket. The canoe ribs were hard on a persons back sides with

out some padding. Joan was having a good time. She drug her fingers

through the water as as we sailed along movie star style smiling and

looking cuter than I could ever have imagined she could be with water

all around and a white sail reflecting warm sunlight across her slightly

sun tanned and freckled face. Her red hair looked aflame in the bright

morning sunlight.

It was almost 10:00 am when we passed Fort Carrol and we

weren't making as good a time as I thought we might. I was beginning to

be concerned about time . I needed time to paddle home if I had to and

I didn't want to be late even though I had an ace up my sleeve where

that was concerned if I needed it.. The breeze was light and the tide was

running with it so there was only a little ripple running on the water.

There were rolls of clouds marching slowly across the sky with rows of

sunshine in between. The day was beautiful and perfect.

Finally after a long thoughtful silence by both of us. I said Don't

you want to know where were going. I had told her father when she was

out of the room but she had not been curious enough to ask After a

moment of silence she awoke from her daydreams and said, “where”?

I said, ”Off to your left you see that clump of trees .

“Yes” she said pointing at them.

“Alright! Just to the left of that is a big white boulder as big as a

football field. You see it” I said with with a huskiness in my voice I did-

n't recognize. “I thought we could eat lunch on top of it I spotted it last

month when we sailed down to Annapolis.

“Oh it's beautiful”, she said, “Look how the sunlight is reflecting

off of it. It's lighting up the trees and water all around. Looks like some-

thing out of a king Arthur and his knights story But why aren't we head-

ing for it?”

“Tide's going out so we are heading up if were lucky the tide will

take us right to it.” I replied with authority.

Joan turned around to face me and moved the back rest to the

forward thwart she looked at me several seconds and finally said, “Your

different out here than you are in school.”

I lost my bearings and sailed off course and my heart was pound-

ing in my ears my face felt flushed. God I hope she can't hear my heart

beating I thought.

“Your like a man out here”.

A good thing it was that my shirt didn't have any buttons on it

they would surly have popped.

I suddenly realize I had taken on a terrible responsibility bring

the small and thin girl out here in a canoe. I felt like I wanted to protect

her from something, anything. I looked around frantically for something

to busy myself with.

I took a look at my clock to see if it was time to pick a new point

to sail toward. I had been changing the point I was sail toward every ten

minutes. I would take out my compass bring Tern on course and see

how far she had been pushed down the river. Then I would pick a land

mark up river and sail towards it. I had reached a point where I was no

longer moving down river but was holding a true course across to White

Rock .

The old Smokey Joe ferry passed by us on her way to Love point

on the eastern Shore She rolled us pretty good and I believe old Rex was

feeling protective too. He set up a snarling barking fit at the ferry and

jumped overboard swimming barking and choking toward old Smokey

Joe. I rounded up slaked the sheet and paddle to him. Coming along side

of Rex I grabbed him by the collar and a big hunk of fir and pulled him

aboard. I held on tight so he wouldn't shake until a lot of the water had

drained off. He stood blinking at Joan, until she said, ”Please let him go

Doug, he looks so pitiful”.

I let go and he soaked both of us.

Joan was good natured about it and she sat and petted the wet

stinking dog until he decided to go to his perch in the bow.

He sat looking at me and every time I glanced at him he dropped

his head looked away. I believe he thought I was mad at him.

Soon we were passed by a tug pulling a barge that Rex set up a

fuss about. Then finally a ship. The ship completely cowed him and he

set ducking his head nervously and went to Joan to be petted.

We sailed in silence while Tern glided through the water a steady

gurgle at her lee board as she picked up speed in the increasing breeze. I

eased the sheet a little and let her luff slightly. She maintained her speed

and heeled a little less. Joan sat studying the distant smoke stacks of the

Sparrows point steel mills. I watched her from the corner of my eyes as

I pretended to study the set of the sail. My mind wondered to the com-

ing romantic picnic on our blanket high atop the big round stone just

ahead where a combination of my irresistible romancing, the beautiful

black silver lined clouds and the small breaking waves would surly melt

and weaken any reluctance she might have.

After a long silence Joan said, “My God Rex stinks. You don't

think he went in the boat do you?”

I laughed and said,”No he'd rather bust than do that, but your

right he does smell pretty bad!”

The farther we sailed the worse the stink got.

“Smells like dead fish,” I said.

About a dozen sea gulls flew off the rock as we got closer.

Then it dawned on me, “Holly crap I yelled out, the reason that

rock is white is it's covered in sea gull poop!”

Joan brought her hands up to her face and screamed, scaring

poor Rex half out of the boat again. Then she busted out laughing with

Rex setting there, head turn to one side eying her questioningly. As we

got nearer we could see fish skeletons laying all over its glistening white

surface along with a few dead gulls and eel or snake skeleton as well.

My hopes for a romantic picnic on a blanket where in that mo-

ment dashed by that disgusting sight and smell and then we were hit by a

breaking wave whose spray crossed over the Terns midsection. It was

then I realized the black clouds were coming our way. A distant flash of

yellow lightning confirmed my worst fear. We were in for a thunder-

storm.

I turned away from the rock toward shore. There was a break in

the sandy beach and the trees above it receded into the woods. It was a

little gut that went back into the woods. I headed for it. As we entered I

dropped the sail and Joan furled it. Rex jumped in and swam ashore run-

ning along side the stream. I spotted a place were there were small pines

along the shore. The bigger trees were far enough away that none could

be blown down on us And they would draw any lightning there was.

Perfect spot I thought and it was high ground. We drug the canoe up

unloaded it and turned it over on an old upside down skiff bottom. Per-

fect floor I told her. The squall will probably only last a few minutes. I

put the sail over the canoe stuck the boom under the gunnel on one side

and I figured I could hold the yard down by hand if the wind got up

and it would keep the wind from blowing rain under the canoe. We

opened our lunch and set on the canoe and ate as the wind kept picking

up.

The inevitable question from Joan was, “What if it lasts all day

into the night”? I informed her that thunder storms don't usually last

long.

She seemed satisfied with that.

And before she could question any more Lightning struck near-

by, a down pour of rain slammed down all at once and at the same time

we were hit buy a gust of wind. Trees cracked and squeaked against

each other but none came down. We disappeared under the canoe while

Rex stood outside and whimpered we tried to bring him in but he

wouldn't have anything to do with it. I held one side of the sail out with

a paddle and he got under it and laid down. I stuck one end of the pad-

dle in the sand under the edge of the old skiff and between it and the

gaff they held the sail out without my help.

I lay propped up on my elbow laying my other hand across

Joan's waist. We kissed several times and she seemed eager. I slid my

hand up along her ribs and she pushed it away roughly and said If your

going to act like that I won't go anywhere with you again. I took her at

her word and acted the gental man though I was disappointed and at the

same time felt proud for her.

After a while, the wind switched around out of the northwest

cold and clear.

I said, “Joan a cold front is coming through we are not going to

be able to go back the way we came. The wind will blow maybe until

morning and its probably going to get really cold”.

She looked shocked and bit her lip.

“It's alright,” I said.

“Alright for you I'm gonna get killed,” She looked into my face

and said, “And you might too.”

No, No its alright there is a street car track runs down along this

river to Stony point from Baltimore. We'll catch the street care and I'll

take you home.

“What about Rex? We can't take him on the street car and you

can't leave him she demanded.

“I'll tie him to the canoe then I'll come back and sail home

tonight,” I told her.

We got ourselves together tied up Rex, left him some dog food

and water and we were off.

We walked the quarter of a mile to the tracks and waited for a

street car and when it did come, I stepped out onto the track and waved

the motorman down. He stopped and we boarded at the back end pay-

ing the Conductor and getting transfers. Joan wanted to pay, so I let her

with a slight loss of pride on my part.

While riding I was thinking about that dark night trip across the

Potapsico river. I had sailed in the creek alone at night but not in open

water in strong winds. There was no doubt about it I wasn't looking for-

ward to it. I thought about leaving Rex until morning and instantly felt

ashamed. Suppose wild dogs found him, he wouldn't stand a chance tied

to the canoe. Then I began to worry about him tied there helpless.

We arrived down town on Fayette St. went into Reads drugstore

and she called her parents. She told her father the whole story all except

kissing under the canoe. I could hear them laughing as she told them the

white rock story. She told them we might be a little late and her father

wanted to speak to me. I took the phone nervously bracing for the

chewing out that was to come.

“Hello Mr. Pollard” he said.

“Ah,” Was all I manged to get out. I was taken aback Nobody

ever called me Mr. Pollard before.

“Mr. Pollard,” he said again.

“ Yes Sir,” I answered dreading what was coming next.

“I'd like to sail home with you tonight if you don't mind,I mean

if your willing”? he asked.

“Be glad to have you sir,” I said hopping relief hadn't crept into

my voice, “But it's going to be rough have you sailed before?

“ Oh Yes,” he replied I sailed me families boat in Scotland all

around that rocky coast as a lad. I'd like a lot to take me own trick at the

helm as well, if you were so inclined.

“I'd be glad to have you Sir,” I answered with true enthusiasm. I

was really beginning to like this man. Joan had told me that her father

played Bag pipes and dressed in kilts of his clan in Scotland. I conjured

up a mental picture of him short, bow legged and broad shouldered

dressed in kilts marching down the street playing bagpipes. It could have

come right out of a painting.

“ OK, You two wait where you are and Joan's mother and I will

pick you up and we'll drive to the boat.” he said with a charge of excite-

ment in his voice.

Joan said she would call my parents and let them know I would

not be home until late.

Her father and I watched the car until it was out of sight.

We went to the boat and I introduced Mr. Pergavie to Rex and

we loaded then shoved off.

Mr Pergavie sailed all the way back and I was glad to have him

do it. The wind had swung around and was hard on our bow. When we

started out we were in three foot seas but they got smaller as we got

closer to the north shore of the Potapsico River. It was a good thing to

as we took green water a couple of times and I was glad for the scoop.

We tacked our way into bear creek sailed under the highway

bridge and turned to port heading for home port. The place were I kept,

Tern was a creek called Snake Hole by the Local folks. Back in the sail-

ing ship days sailing ships were anchored there to set for a month or so

to kill the worms in their hulls. The creek was too fresh for the worms.

Mr Outabridge the owner of the property where I kept Tern

turned on the outside light so we could wash her down and stow her in

her shed.

Mr. Pergavie and I walked together to the point where I was to

go one way, him another. We stopped under a street light and he took

my hand grabbing my fore arm with his other and said. “Mr. Pollard I

sure did enjoy my sail with you like nothing I've done in years”.

“I enjoyed it to,” I said. Usually I'm teaching the other boys to

sail and there all over the place. Your the only one I ever sailed with and

I learned some things from you. It was fun.

Crossing our driveway I could hear the big Air king radio play-

ing soft music in the living room. I looked in the window and dad was

setting in his chair, mom on the sofa and the girls were setting on the

floor close to the radio.

Rex and I were glad to be home.

Joan Pergavie and I dated through the winter and in the spring

they moved away. We wrote letters a few months and finally they slowed

to a stop.

The End

Osprey with Love

                            Osprey With Love


     I bought Osprey from Robert Vest in the 1960's  Shew was designed by S.S. Crocker and Built By Herman Lund in Erie Pennsylvania on Lake Erie.  For My family she was a home away from home.  We drove the 80 miles from Richmond to  Gene Ruarks Marina in Deltaville Va.
    We sailed on weekends Vacations and stolen days  winter and summer whenever we could get away.  She was seen in those years in creeks and small towns up and down the bay From Baltimore to  Norfolk. On winter weekends we sailed across the bay often to Eastern shore and sometimes Tangier island.  Her wood burning Shipmate kept her warm and cozy even on Bitter cold nights.  This young family broke bread to reset and read by lantern light.  My Wife Gerogene raised in the Virginia Mountains took to the sailing life like a frog in a pond.
     Osprey on a failed trip to Bermuda suffer a broken Mizzen mast and a broken rudder we limped int the Chesapeake bay. To her credit we sailed with a half a rudder and a mizzen that with some jury rigged stays was able to sail and steer with ease.  We ran on engine son me but with the engine shifted on the bed we snapped the drive shaft inside the transmission.  After a year of repairing the things that broke and all the things our lessons had taught us might break we headed out again.  No thing without flesh and blood has ever been held so high in any families esteem and love than Osprey.
       We sold her at a time when my business would not allow me to maintain her.  A young couple lived aboard her for a time and she was sold again.  The New owner had the misfortune of having he main mast blown out of her and she is now reduced to a few rotting timbers in a Carolina marsh. She lives in ours and our Children's memories today.              Doug

This Prelinger owned video Is so beautiful that it seems a shame for it to be setting in an archive.  So here it is.  I changed the music as I felt the the film maker didn't have the opportunity to get Creative Commons music to use as we do today. I hope that the music I used was better suited. We should all thank those that create art of all kinds and allow us all to use it.  All my video and writing will be will be free for anyone to us and I am presently getting it ready to be licensed under creative commons.    Doug

I posted this not because I think anyone is interested in My vacations. I know some who like the sea and the rocky hills. I know some who like ships, boats  and rocky coast lines.    All of us like a lobster or two. We slept in a canvas Camper and picked blue berries from a sea side  field. We rose with the sun to eat our fill of blueberry pancakes.  The four of us hiked the trails and set talking beside the rocky coast.  We  witnessed  the  power of a raging  Atlantic and felt is power through our rocky perch. We Watched the gentle  rise and fall of a restive Sea.   It was the best of times.

Low Cost Voyaging

This video is dedicated to the many of us that spend so much money and labor in the interest Low Cost Voyaging. Busters struggles failures and successes so much remind some of my own I had to laugh. I laughed not so much at Buster but at myself! But then that is what good comedy is all about . So to all would be Low Cost Voyagers I say, If you can't laugh at this Stay home. Doug

The Dream of Every Young and Old Sailor

We'll here it is!  The dream of every young and old sailor. To find himself on an Island of beautiful and innocent you ladies. That's the dream that crewed the ships of England and the world. The only thing wrong with this video is the girls aren't naked and they forgot the two G's.  Girls and gold!   The plight of the poor sailor who was so ill used as to be too tired to swim away, was only hinted at.  The Gold nowhere to be seen!    I remember seeing this in the movies probably in the 1940's.  Doug

The Moron Brothers

Now here's some fellers that knows a little sumpin about messin around on the water. Play a little music, sing a little, fish some and fry'em. Then they eats'em. Not a one of'm knows nothen about catch and release. I'd Guess! They don't worry none  about runin lights. They poops in a pot and I bet the throw it in the woods.  No water pollution worries for them??   From the looks of the shanty they built I bet it took a dozen cases of beer to make her as crooked as she looks.   Then theres a guy in a little push boat boat with an outboard on her. She ain' got no numbers on her, so I bet she ain't registerd with no inland game and fisheries.   Can't say I blame them not for not signen up with some body named Inland Game and Fisheries.  Heck they ain't inland they's on the water. Any way's!

Kate 2 Sailing

Now here's as fine a lass  as every plied the waters of the Piankitank river in Virginia. A fine mistress she is and not demanding of the pocket book either. She is the same Kate I show  under Construction here.  This long video turned out to be sadly brief due to a camera malfunction.  Since the whole taping thing was impromptu we were lucky to get what we did, I guess.  We had almost no breeze and I found myself pleasantly surprised and bragging of her light air speed and agility. She moved so easily in such light air that I came to the conclusion that she has no need of a motor. Only in a dead calm, would one be considered and with no wind to row against a few splashes of an oar will get you home in good time. There is not an ounce of ballast aboard her and yet as in the video a crew member scrambles forward without just a hint of heeling from his weight out on the gunnel. Stiff indeed! If there was ever a boat that don't need a motor it's Kate.
  She has been a joy to me from the moment I tacked her plans to the side of my  shed and drew her first lines on wood.  Kate is of the design Elver,from  the drawing board of Steve Redmond who is online. Thanks Steve.

Sailing Ships and sailing Men

As a boy in the 1930's, I knew sailors. Most came home and swore off sailing ships for ever.

Drawn to a wild Baltimore waterfront life, they blew their wages on booze, women and gambling. They were shanghaied or signed onto a ship just to have a home for a time. It was not the sea they were drawn to, but instead, family.

A man, known to do his share high up on the yard arms, had respect.

On land, they were lowly and even tramps. Upon the sea, each a respected seamen! To stand his watch, furl canvas in rain and sleet then lend a hand on the bitter end of a sheet, a new boy on board rose to man and mate.

Good people these, though not in a way most of us would recognise.

Among us modern sailboat sailors we may swagger and tell of hanging on with one hand and reefing a flogging sail with the other.

You could with effort, drag the same story from these square rig sailors, though they wouldn't say they were high in the air above mountainous waves reefing and tying as they rounded the notorious capes, driven by snowy squalls. To be 200 ft in the air in gale winds with a sails snapping and booming making every attempt to throw the watch to deck. Cut from heavy cloth, these men who worked, lived and died at sea.

A seaman I knew and was influenced by, was a Mr. Outabridge who fell from the main yard cracking his skull. He supervise the repair of it and inspired the character Doc in the Novel, Of Mooncursers and Other Spun Yarns By Douglas G. Pollard Sr. on sale @ Lulu.com .

My mothers brother Talmage Williams right after World War one was shanghaied aboard a sailing ship in to the far east. After a two year stint when his ship had not made a U.S. Port. He signed aboard a steam ship to Baltimore. Left in port at Tripoli where he had gotten drunk and spent a couple weeks in jail for getting into a bar room brawl. That was his last duty under sail. Arriving home he lost his seaman's papers for a year for jumping ship. During world war two he stayed at sea almost constantly. He made the one and only Mermanske run through the North Sea hauling gasoline. They were close on the German coast and suffered bombings for several days. Talmage said they watched ships burning in the distance every night and all hands fully expected to die on that trip. It was by luck that they  never heard wine of diving German Stuka dive Bombers.

To find men like this today you have to look to our men fighting on the sands of the middle east. So, every Generation has it's men.

vacume quater

Vacuum quatuor from SHIROPPO STUDIO on Vimeo.
Taken from Vimeo

Hills and the Sea

This Prelinger owned video Is so beautiful that it seems a shame for it to be setting in an archive.  So here it is.  I changed the music as I felt the the film maker didn't have the opportunity to get Creative Commons music to use as we do today. I can only thank those that create art of all kinds and give it to the public to use free of charge. I would be hard pressed to write and perform music to put in video. It's great to earn money with art but it's also nice to give it away to all.  I am slowly putting my work out there for all to use most anyway they like.    Doug 

The Shanty Boat

This video is for all my shanty boat friends. This is where it all began with a man named Hank. He left on one of these flat boats up on the Ohio, where he drifted with a load of corn and hemp. He went down river to New Orleans where he met a Creole Women that he couldn't shake off. They raised the roof and moved aboard. The boat looked like the shanty he lived in with a squaller of kids back at home in old Ohio. He called her his shanty boat and with a hint of Irish he called the gal, his shanty women. Now one night Hank came home drunk with a desiring look in his eye. The Creole Lass, asleep in her bunk, awoke and shouted toward the winder. "Who is that at my shanty boat winder awearin' eyes that I cannot see." Now Hank with a sly disguise in his voice, replied, "It is Willy your own true lover". Just a thing to make her laugh. “Oh please come in”. said she, in a beckoning way. Now that was a blow, and Hank replied with a report from his Smith and Wesson. With a wound in her breast, the lass slid from the bunk with a questioning glance stood with help from a shaken Hank. He held her in her dying embrace. With a tear in her eye, she drove her blade right through his aching heart.

So, if it's a shanty boat you want and you take on board a Creole women. Don't be sneaking home at night calling in a strangers voice. This story was told to me by William Masoncup. Hank was his Grandfather.     Doug

Wolftrap to key West

The above video is in the public domain. 

We sailed aboard Wolftrap down the Florida Keys in 1987. Georgene and I spent a couple weeks around Key West and had a good time there. Wolftraps crew saw every sunrise and sunset, and wandered the island most hours in between. We spent a few evenings ashore but spent most lazing in our cockpit listening to music wafting across the water. The island's lights were dazzling from the seclusion of our off Island anchorage. Life was beautiful beyond belief and so we drank a toast of rum, orange or grapefruit juice and a sprinkle of tonic water most evenings. A time in our lives fit for the gods, but savored by us lowly but fortunate mortals! We met two young hippie couples with small children who were living in tents on a Key and were building cruising catamarans. Their dream was to cruise the world. I have often thought of them over the years. On such occasions I catch myself secretly smiling with an imagined assurance that they succeeded. I admired their grit I guess. Their children have children of their own likely by now and I wonder what their lives are all about?  We don't allow our children to grow up hippies much these days

Key West and North

Wolftrap South By North

Sailing aboard Wolftrap from Key Largo to Key West and North to the Alligator River.  As a music video she gives some idea as to what the videos will be about, and previewing Wolftrap's entire adventure.  South by Northmay not  actually be a possibility but who Knows??      Douglas Pollard

WolfTrap South

This is a preview of video that will be posted of Our adventure of going south from Virginia to the Bahamas and Florida keys.

Take a Ride On a Steam Side wheeler

We are taking a ride on a steam Side wheel ferry boat. The narration is a bit hoky but it was done for elementary school children, so just overlook it. The experience is great. A ride on the Hudson river in company with steamships, tugs and a few small boats as well as kayaks and a sailing canoe that are about the on boats they are not steam powered.

This reminds me of cruising on the Tolchester. A ferry from Baltimore to Tolchester on the Maryland eastern shore. We went over there to the beach and amusement park.

On another occasion I remember fishing with my father at seven foot knoll, a shallow oyster bed out in the Chesapeake Bay. It was late at night and the Tolchester came close by. She was lit up all over and people danced in her saloon and foredeck while refrains of a sweetly sung song to an instrumental tune wafted across the silent water. In a short time two sailboats sailing side by side on a beat to windward heeling slightly moved slowly toward the east. Their running lights lit them in an eerie glow. I had sailed on sailing sharpies but these were fine small sailing sloops and it was at that moment I fell into a life long love.

At about age nineteen I took a young lady aboard the Tolchester on a midnight cruise. We cruised down the Bay and returned to Baltimore just after sunup. We drank, ate and danced the whole night.
In the hustle and bustle of the Baltimore water front we walked wobbly kneed down the gang plank.

Fort Lauderdale Speed Boat Race

This video is a race we watched while anchored at Las Olas Bridge in Fort
Lauderdale Florida.  We had stopped here before going to the Abacos.  I put this in here because I am still working on a video from Great Bridge South.
I started taping this from on top the bridge. Across the waterway they had set up a barge and places along the docks for paid spectators. What I am saying here is said in the video but with a lot less detail. I began taping the race and a surly looking fellow walked up and said you can't tape this race because it's syndicated. I wasn't sure what that meant but remembered the Bowery Boys in the Saturday movies as a kid calling the mob the syndicate.  I was sure this guy was one of them as he had on a pinstriped suit in the daytime in South Florida.  I stopped taping until he turned and walked away. I began taping again.  A policeman walked up and told me the same thing.  I left and went down on the grass that I thought was private property  and began taping. Two Cops come up on Motorcycles and told me to leave. I suggested that I was on private property.  I was informed I was not.  I walked over to a break water in front of a house and continued on. In a moment the lady came out of the house and asked what the heck I thought I was doing?  I told her, Videotaping that speed boat race.   Git, was her reply. I did!  I went down onto the bow of my boat and began recording looking through the underside of the bridge.  A police man standing on the bridge scowled at me.  In a few minutes a police boat pulled up and anchored in front of me blocking my view.  I threw one of my anchors out off the bow and pulled my boat over from behind the police boat while still being attached to the mooring buoy.  The policeman got on his radio and talked for a long time.   I tried to listen to what was being said but he turned his radio down. I thought they might send a boat to board me.  I called the Coast Guard on the radio and the told me that as long as I was tied to a city buoy they could do nothing but that they would call the police on my behalf.   I was not bothered further. I taped the rest of the race. About a week later we were in a good position to watch the Christmas Boat parade.  Now let me tell you something. They really do it up big.

Wolftrap to the center of the World and beyond

The above map shows Wolftrap's course on the First day of the trip to the center of the world. It started at Sarra' Creek across the York River from the battle fields of Yorktown. The first Night out was at anchor In the Elizabeth river At Hospital Point.

This is the first of a series of videos on Wolfraps trip from Virginia through the inland waterway and over to the Bahamas and Florida Keys. We spent a total about ten years down that way and 15 years living aboard in all.  We didn't live aboard Wolftrap all that time but also aboard Kate, a Fantaisia sloop.   Wolftrap was far and away the finer sailboat.  Kate was without a doubt the nicer live aboard boat though she had many vices as a sailboat, some unforgivable.  Still there was some affection there. After all you can even learn to love a mean dog.