What the fuck, over?
Yes, I’m one of the ones who managed to somehow make it through Google’s mysterious vetting process, and after a 6+ week wait, have been invited to open a Voice account. I’ve had the account now for several more weeks, and am just starting to discover some of the more interesting uses.
First off, since I only have one actual real phone, the multi-ringing feature is lost on me. What I have been able to make good use of is the free texting and calls to Canada, and via Sprint’s conditional voice-mail forwarding I am now using Google Voice as my default voice-mailbox and handler.
For those of you who have no idea what this means, it’s like having Gmail for your voice messages. Recorded greetings/messages can be then embedded for sharing, etc.
Another fun thing is the call widget. Embedded widgets allow website viewers to connect to your account and to your phone; click, enter your number, and Google Voice rings both parties and connects the call. For free. Well, free in the US and Canada. Well, free inside the US and for US connections into Canada.
I’m going to try posting such a widget and do some experimenting; ideally, it should work out to be a “call me collect for free for everyone” button for my many Canadian friends.
I’ve been slowly transcribing the Ship’s Log from Centaurea and publishing it to this site. The posts are in chronological order, and back-published to the days they were written on. To view them all, try this category link.
By request, a few notes for those of you not used to the format and abbreviations: The positions are given in degrees/decimal minutes rather than the older degrees/minutes/seconds. SoG stands for “Speed over Ground”, and is an instantaneous reading from the Maretron GPS. CoG is “Course over Ground”, also an instantaneous GPS reading, given in degrees true. Occasional reference is given to degrees “C”, which is a reading from the steering compass. This compass was never properly/accurately swung aboard this vessel, but seemed to conform to the usual 11-15 degrees of west deviation found in that part of the world.
Speeds are given as “kts”; knots, while distances are given in “nm” (nautical miles).
Our initial course was pretty basic: due north from St. Croix, passing through the Virgin Islands, then on a generally NNW rhumbline direct to the mouth of the Chesapeake. Of course, as you read through, you’ll see that we are diverted from that line towards Bermuda… A “rhumbline” is simply the shortest straight-line distance between a starting and ending point (actually, it’s a little more complicated, but this explanation serves for the purposes of this log).
The bits in [brackets] are added as i type this out, for some clarity. Passages marked [CJ] were Cory’s entries into the log. As I finish up transcribing the log, I’ll add in some further anecdotal information, as well as the transcripts from MSC Malaysia and RCC Bermuda.
Yes, it sure has been… and I’m feeling so very behind on all of it, blogging-wise. Several great tales to tell, some with bittersweet endings, and some, well, made inconsequential by subsequent events.
I ought to try and flesh these stories out a bit and get them written down, but seriously… The best parts deserve telling in person; if you’re the sort of person who I need to tell, you’ll hear it all eventually anyways. For now, the Cliff Notes:
Launched the boat. After 3 years of relentless complete refit work, living in the boatyard, on the hard, Centaurea hits the water. Then comes The Caper; never having sailed the boat at all, ever, I quit my job, round up a friend, and sail off soundings to the island of St. Croix. All the usual last-minute stocking/storing/staging/staggering about happens there, and with Slacks in the pocket, we head offshore for the Chesapeake. As many of you know by now: We Never Make It.
Heinously storm-damaged, jury-rigged, dis-masted, transmission seized, another nasty front on the way… picked up by container ship, landed on Bermuda… still haven’t found the grief that is supposed to come; maybe just too stunned, maybe in denial, or maybe just finally relieved to have all ties to James and that fucking boatyard finally finally all cut away.
So. Bermuda. A few days spent in recovery, Slacks sent home, then jetting off to Troll Farm in PA to check out the new digs: some good, some better than good, some mostly overwhelming, but more on that later.
Back to St. Croix to pick up the next boat… and an 8-day float-plan turns into an 18-day trip north, stopping in every scabby Bahamian port along the way to beg entry and fuel. The whole trip graced by either no wind at all, or rippin’ T-storms; I feel like a lightning magnet once again, and sustained 40-knot winds offshore now feel “normal” (amazing what you can get used to, eh?).
Bermuda dollars in the billfold. Wavy-edged Bahamian coins in the pocket. Back here on the farm, but not for too long; heading down south sooner than later to Charleston to grab the boss’s boat and keep hopping north.
And today? Today I keep phoning on the phone, arranging HVAC contractors to get AC in my new house. Oh yeah, I have a new place to live… a ways from the sea. Not giving up on sailing, oh no, but seeing that I have an opportunity to allow something other than boatsboats24/7boats in my life.
The new job, the new digs? Almost too much to express; I still wrinkle my brow at every possible explanation, at every query of, “What do you do?” or, “Where do you live?”. I’ll try to tackle these again, anon, another post.
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