Gh. Still no funnypants aboard that fit. SOoooo it's back to the Bob-pants that I accidentally stole last year. Ripped knees, blowouts and all. I guess this is kind of appropriate, given how ragged and useless my sailoring is right now. I can't tell a Clew from a Brace anymore.. thank gawd their insurance-company insists that I go through aloft training all over again. Good excuse for a brush up on gasket-coils and all that.
But in contrast to my general wretchedness, today we had some Sea-Cadets aboard for the transit to Brownsville! Lots of smartly dressed little ones that will someday fill the belowdecks of something steel and gray in the Persian Gulf. We had them swab the decks, which they enjoyed FAR too much for their officer Den-Mother's comfort.
Going through the locks was interesting, and a little unnerving, as the freshwater drained out and we lowered down, the big slimey walls climbed up higher and higher and higher towards our stiffly braced crow-jack (that big mainmast yard without any sails on it), we all started getting a little nervous, and started glancing skyward for shearing noises and falling blocks. But Rob (Mate) was frosty and it all went fine. Later he admitted that he'd panicked a little too when they went UP into Lake Union.
Later we met the Suquamish and asked permission to enter their waters. We and the Cadets strung together bead offerings and traded with some tribespeople rowing along side of us. It almost felt like we were clearing the air, and attempting to make up for past transgressions (a legacy of the original Lady, maybe?).
And.. then the suck. We went sailing, and I don't remember a damn thing.