Month: February 2007

  • Back On the Water

    I noticed that my old sailing club placed in the top 5 for their collegiate division.  I am so awed!  This was a club that had like all of 5 members back in 1997, and 5 broken down boats.  Now they have over 40 members and are competing with the best of their division.  What a nice change!  Just as Iowa does, they prove that really good sailors can come from cornfields.  How awesome is that!

    Another commodore once told me that sailing clubs cycle.  Even here in Texas, some locals tell me that there used to be a pretty big sailing population in my city.  Now, for some reason, it has died down.  He says there used to be catamarans on the local lakes all the time.  How interesting.  Perhaps I will revive sailing down here, too.  There’s certainly enough wind for it!

    I really think my local university could use a sailing club.  Apparently, there is one, because when I do a web search, I come up with a reference to this mythical group.  Obviously it’s not very active anymore, if at all.

  • The Corryvreckan Whirlpool


    from http://www.bruichladdich.com/corryvrechan_whirlpool.htm

    Corryvreckan Whirlpool

    To the North of
    Jura is found the fearsome  Corryvreckan whirlpool. A natural phenomenon which
    is visible from the shore. An evil place.   Twice a day the ocean tidal surge of
    water is funnelled between  the long coast of Kintyre and the equally long Isle
    of Jura; the  bulge of water is squished through a  shallow and narrow channel
    between the North Coast of Jura and the Island of Scarba at 9 knots. With the
    floor of the channel shallowing from 200 metres to 60 metres and  at the same
    time a rock pinnacle, like a finger, rising up  from the sea bed to 29 metres
    from the surface, there is no surprise that the whirlpool was once described as
    a ‘conflux so dreadful that it spurns all description. At the distance of 12
    miles a most dreadful noise, as if all the infernal powers had been let loose,
    is heard … and an eddy is formed which would swallow up the largest ship of
    the line.’ It is further amplified when  the  strong current flowing from the
    east meets very strong westerly winds.

    The author, George Orwell wrote his novel “1984″ while living on Jura near the
    Corryvrechan. When on his boat in the Gulf of Corryvrechan he was drawn into the
    whirlpool and his boat capsized. Luckily, he and his crew escaped death. Others
    have not been so lucky. Folklore has it that near this channel the local
    villagers were attacked by Norsemen and their homes were looted. The locals
    lured the marauders back into their boats and led them into these dangerous
    waters. Using their local knowledge of the tides and eddies, the local mariners
    were able to row ashore at the very last minute, whilst their attackers were
    swept into the jaws of the Gulf of Corryvrechan and were sucked to their death
    in the whirlpool.

    Another legend is that a Norse prince wanted to marry the local chieftain’s
    daughter. The Chieftain was not amused and  asked for advice from a wise old
    woman.  She  recommended that the prince prove himself to the chieftain  by
    mooring his long boat in the Gulf for two days and two nights.  If he succeeded,
    he could marry the girl.  The Prince  thought this was a no-brainer; especially
    as he was advised to have four warps  made from the hair of virgins – this being
    the strongest form of rope known to the Gods. The boat held its position  during
    the wild flood and ebb tides that occurred during the first day, but towards the end of the
    second, during the  final fury of the flood tide, one warp broke, the ship  was
    taken by the whirlpool,  and the prince was drowned.  His body was washed up
    near by the small bay of Ban a
    Mhuc where an ancient scull was found last century.  And the warps?  Well
    apparently one of the virgins lied.
    The sound is highly dangerous, and for experienced sailors only in  a well found
    boat,  with strong engine, and  only between the period of slack water (30
    minutes) between tides – and on CALM day. A walk from the end of Jura on a
    strong westerly wind, at flood tide is well worth the effort.  Alternatively
    Gemini  water taxi  (click) can take you close enough.


    ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819–61)
    The Bothie of
    Tober-na-Vuolich
    (1848). Book IX.

    As at
    return of tide the total weight of ocean,
    Drawn by moon and sun from Labrador and Greenland,
    Sets in amain, in the open space betwixt Mull and Scarba,
    Heaving, swelling, spreading the might of the mighty Atlantic;
    There into cranny and slit of the rocky, cavernous bottom
    Settles down, and with dimples huge the smooth sea-surface
    Eddies, coils, and whirls, by dangerous Corryvrechan:

    Comes
    back, swelling and spreading, the old democratic fervour.

    from http://www.bruichladdich.com/corryvrechan_whirlpool.htm


    NOTORIOUS
    WATERS     

    At
    the mouth of the navigable Loch Etive are the Falls of Lora, a dramatic
    seawater waterfall which unleashes awesome power on a spring tide
    ebb. At the fringes of the patch is the infamous Corryvreckan whirlpool,
    created as the tide pours through the channel between Jura and Scarba
    – regarded as un-navigable by the Royal Navy. To the south and
    north of our patch, lifeboat cover is provided by our two flank stations
    at Islay and Tobermory. In addition to assisting vessels in difficulties,
    Oban lifeboat is often tasked to assist at police or medical incidents.
    There is certainly no shortage of variety to the work of Oban lifeboat.

    from http://www.obanlifeboat.co.uk/patch.htm


    Excerpt from George Orwell: A Life
    By Bernard Crick

    from http://www.smithsonianmagazine.com/issues/2001/august/literature_orwell.php

    In 1947, Eric Arthur Blair took a short break from writing his
    novel, 1984, which he would publish two years later under his
    pseudonym, George Orwell. His novel, a profound attack against
    totalitarianism, would send waves across the world, introducing
    such terms as “Big Brother is watching you” into the popular
    lexicon.

    His experiences during this short break nearly prevented him
    from writing again. To complete the book, Blair had taken a home on
    the Inner Hebridean island of Jura. That summer, he invited his
    young nieces and nephews, including 3-year-old Ricky, out for a
    boating expedition. Unexpectedly, they came upon the Corryvreckan
    whirlpool and disaster soon struck. Of the incident, his biographer
    Bernard Click writes, “Orwell’s bravery, stoicism and eccentricity
    come across, but also his lack of common prudence, indeed excessive
    self-confidence or recklessness in practical matters . . . . to
    take children in an open boat across such a famous tidal
    race—legendary in the Western Isles—without being sure of the
    tides, could appear almost crazily irresponsible.” The following
    account appeared in a local newspaper and was based on an interview
    with Orwell’s nephew Henry Dakin. Eds.


    “[W]hen we turned round the point there was already a fair
    swell, the boat was rising and falling a lot, but we were not
    worried because Eric seemed to know what he was doing and he did
    spend a lot of time mending and caulking the boat, and we had an
    outboard motor. But as we came round the point obviously the
    whirlpool had not receded. The Corryvreckan is not just the famous
    one big whirlpool, but a lot of smaller whirlpools around the
    edges. Before we had a chance to turn, we went straight into the
    minor whirlpools and lost control. Eric was at the tiller, the boat
    went all over the place, pitching and tossing, very frightening
    being thrown from one small whirlpool to another, pitching and
    tossing so much that the outboard motor jerked right off from its
    fixing. Eric said, ‘the motor’s gone, better get the oars out, Hen.
    Can’t help much, I’m afraid.’ So I unshipped the oars and partly
    with the current and partly with the oars, but mostly with the
    current, tried to steady her and we made our way to a little
    island. Even though that bit of it was very frightening, nobody
    panicked. Eric didn’t panic, but nobody else did either. Indeed,
    when he said he couldn’t help you very much, he said it very calmly
    and flatly. He was sitting at the back of the boat, he wasn’t
    particularly strong, I was younger and stronger and sitting near
    the oars.

    We got close to a little rock island and as the boat rose
    we saw that it was rising and falling about twelve feet. I had
    taken my boots off in case I had to swim for it, but as the boat
    rose level with the island, I jumped round with the painter in my
    hand all right, though sharp rocks painful on the feet, turned but
    saw the boat had fallen down. I still had my hand on the painter
    but the boat had turned upside down. First Lucy appeared, Eric
    appeared next and cried out, ‘I’ve got Ricky all right’. Eric had
    grabbed him as the boat turned and pulled him out from under the
    boat. He had to swim from the end of the boat to the side of the
    island, still hanging on to Ricky. He seemed to keep his normal ‘Uncle Eric’ face the whole time, no panic from him or from anyone.
    And they were all able to clamber up on to the island. . . . So we
    were left on this island about a hundred yards long and I could not
    see all of it because the rocks rose in folds—we were left with the
    boat, one oar, a fishing rod and our clothes. Eric got his
    cigarette lighter out, never went anywhere without it, and put it
    out on a rock to dry. We had not been there three minutes when he
    said he would go off and find some food. A slightly ridiculous
    thing, it struck me afterwards, because we had had breakfast only
    two hours before and the last thing that any of us was thinking of
    was eating or of hunger. When he came back, the first thing he said
    was, ‘Puffins are curious birds, they live in burrows. I saw some
    baby seagulls, but I haven’t the heart to kill them.’

    ‘I thought we were goners,’ he concluded. He almost seemed to
    enjoy it. We waved a shirt on the fishing rod about, and after
    about one and a half hours a lobster boat spotted us and picked us
    up. Picked us up with some difficulty, because he could not come up
    close to the island because of the swell and had to throw a rope
    across and we clambered along the rope one by one, Eric taking
    Ricky on his back.

    The lobsterman landed us at the north of the island and we just
    walked about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes and came across
    Avril and Jane working hard hoeing in a field. They said to us, ‘What took you so long?’”


    Letter from Orwell to Sonia
    Brownell in April 1947: “I do so want to have you here … we can go round
    to the completely uninhabited bays on the west side of the island, where there is
    beautiful white sand & clear water with seals swimming about in it. At one
    of them there is a cave where we can take shelter when it rains …”


    TEXT SOURCE
    The Complete Works of George Orwell,
    edited by Peter Davison
    (London: Secker & Warburg, 1998)

    from http://www.netcharles.com/orwell/pics/jura/8-wbay.htm