Crab-yaking

Our good friend Tony Mooney and I went kayak crabbing yesterday.

The tide was starting to come in when we arrived at the north side of Alsea Bay near the old Bayshore Inn. Tony had gone out the previous day and caught a bunch of nice Dungeness Crabs, so he kindly called and asked if I'd like to go along for a repeat trip.

We unloaded our boats and gear and packed everything down the bank and over the exposed barnacle covered rocks to the water's edge. I was going to try using a fishing rod with a baited loop snare on the end of the line and Tony was using the two large sized crab traps that he easily handles from his 12 foot, ride on top kayak (ROTK). My little 9 foot sit inside kayak (SINK) however, is too tippy to pull that much weight out of the water, even with the pontoon outriggers I made for it.

The north wind and incoming tide proved to be more than I could handle, by the time I'd get set up with my dinky rig I'd be on my way out to the middle of the bay, have to pull it back in and paddle like crazy to get back to where I'd started. I finally gave up and decided to just take pictures of Tony as he worked his crab traps.

We paddled to the shoreline, Tony packed my ineffective crabbing gear back up to his truck and we headed back out. He has his own super-secret time to let his traps set, or “soak” as the old crabbers say, and the trip to his truck had extended it quite a bit. He strained and grunted as he hand over hand pulled the heavy trap up to his kayak, and with a great heave flopped it onto the deck between his legs. It was loaded with crabs.

I snapped pictures while he separated and threw back the usual females, and small males from the writhing, snapping, pinching mob, until he narrowed it down to two large male Dungeness Crabs.

“I don't even have to measure these!” he yelled. (To be legal they have to be male and 5 ¾ inches across.)

“That's a good start!” he yelled, as the wind commenced to blow me back out into the bay. Every time I'd quit paddling in order to take a picture I'd lose ground and have to paddle furiously to get back in position again. Tony had the same problem but he's in better shape and a lot younger!

My arms started to give out around noon and I headed for the shore. About that time Tony's mom drove up and he came in to show her the four crabs he'd kept so far. While we watched he went back out and pulled his traps several more times, ending up with six crabs total.

It was quite a workout for me, but I enjoyed every minute of it.

Google Carol

Yesterday I downloaded “Google Earth” to our desktop computer. With our dial-up connection it's painfully slow, but if you're patient it works.

I started out by zooming from the earth view down to the west coast, then to Oregon and then on down to Waldport. After waiting for the blurry images to finish downloading and sharpen, I scrolled along the Alsea River and Highway towards our house. When I saw Eckman Lake sliding into view I realized that I'd gone too far, so after waiting for things to catch up I started backtracking.

When I thought that I recognized the empty, grassy lot across the street from our house I stopped and began zooming in. Sure enough, there was our house from above, I could even see our pickup parked in the driveway! I zoomed in even closer but things got pretty blurry and stayed that way.

I noticed an option called “Street View” so I put a check in the little check box and watched as the view morphed into ground level. The camera view was on the highway in front of our neighbor's house looking south.

I clicked on the arrows to rotate the scene and suddenly there was a picture of our neighbor, Fran walking up her driveway!

I went in to the kitchen and got Carol to show her what I'd found. “Go a Little further and see if you can see our house,” she said, leaning over my shoulder. I clicked my way down the highway a couple of notches and began rotating the camera view. “There's the driveway!” I said, “There's our mailbox! Holy crap! That looks like... it looks like...like you!”

As the fuzzy picture sharpened there was no doubt, and Carol pointed at her image. “Fran and I had been talking at the mailboxes, see, I've got the mail in my hand!.”

It's an amazing, wonderful technology, but more than a little bit spooky. Is Google the modern equivalent of Orwell's “Big Brother?”

Tiki Bar

Carol and I decided to get a canopy for our patio so we could spend more time outside on hot sunny, (Ha!) and the more likely, rainy days.

We found some 10' X 10” nylon canopies at Wal-Mart for $97.00, bought one and set it up over our patio furniture. Several weeks later they went on sale for $69.00. Oh well!

I saw a project on the Popular Mechanics web site for building a “Tiki Bar” and thought that it looked pretty cool, so I talked Carol into letting me partially enclose the canopy with roll-up blinds and make a bar for ice and drinks.

We found an old 78 RPM record cabinet at a yard sale that was the right height for the bar and I had salvaged a heat lamp table that I made for the restaurant years ago for the bar top.

We hung the blinds from the canopy frame and we now have a cozy enclosure that we can open or close when we want.

Big Fish

This morning I decided to go fishing.

I pulled my little 9 foot kayak on it's home built, lawnmower wheeled cart the short distance to our local lake.

The water was like glass when I stepped into the boat and tried to slide into the put-in spot. Usually I can slip right in, but unfortunately some idiot had rolled some big rocks in the groove I had cut through the water plants and I high centered. After a lot of struggling and cussing I got out and moved the kayak off of the rocks, getting my feet wet in the process.

It took fifteen minutes or so for me to paddle out to my favorite spot. The north wind had come up and was already starting to raise a little chop on the surface, but it wasn't too bad yet. I positioned the boat so the wind would blow me within casting distance of the sweet spot, which is an underground spring that I discovered several years ago.

The trout hang out there because it's the coolest spot in the lake, especially in the summer. I found it one day when I was checking the water temperature with a digital aquarium thermometer. One small area was about 10 degrees colder than the rest of the shallow lake, and not surprisingly it was the same spot where I have been catching fish for years.

While I was retrieving the 3^rd or 4^th cast of my little home made spinner, the lure just stopped dead in the water. Thinking it was hung up in some moss or water plants, I raised the rod tip and pulled harder. It was then that I noticed my line moving through the water. I set the hook, and a gigantic trout came blasting out of the lake right in front of the kayak. I got a good look at it before it snapped my 4 lb test line and it was huge. I've caught quite a few 2 and 3 pound Rainbows out of the lake and this fish was at least twice that size. As I sat there with my mouth hanging open, the fish started a series of acrobatic jumps trying to dislodge my tiny spinner, which was still hanging from it's jaw, like Gregory Peck hanging from the side of Moby Dick.

I retrieved my line, and with my hands shaking way more than usual, tried to tie on a new lure. The giant Rainbow made another jump, coming all the way out of the water and landing with a giant splash which caused me to drop the spinner into the bottom of the boat where I couldn't find it. Finally I just put my rod away and paddled back to the dock.

It was a fast and furious fishing trip.

Dueling Laptops

About a month ago my brother's grand daughter Amanda, brought over her Gateway laptop computer for him to fix again. JC had repaired it before, but this time it was really dead, and at first it looked pretty hopeless. He went online and looked up all of the information he could find on that particular Gateway model and discovered that evidently a lot of other people were having similar problems.

There were some broken ones for sale on E bay, so taking a chance, JC bid on them. He ended up with some that worked, but had been dropped and had a broken display screen or case, and several that were just as dead as Amanda's was. Soon his workbench was covered with torn apart computers and he began to see a common problem - overheating. He swapped bad parts for good parts and after buying a rebuilt mother board on the Internet, and several setbacks, he finally got one working.

Later, sitting on his deck sipping some wine, we looked at the cooling system on one that he'd disassembled and we talked about the poor air circulation and how it could be fixed. He finally decided to try cutting a 1-3/4” intake hole in the bottom of the case right under the cooling fan. I thought I could do it with a hole saw on my drill press, and suggested covering the opening with fine mesh hardware screen. We also discussed trying to fabricate some higher legs, to allow more air to be sucked in through the bottom.

In the meantime JC had picked up a few more of the same model in various states of disrepair, and he thought that with a couple more rebuilt motherboards, and if we could fix the overheating problem, he could end up with four or maybe even five nice, working laptops. He also found some glue-on fold up legs online and ordered four sets.

We drilled the intake holes in all four cases and JC began assembling all of the tiny laptop parts with the tinier, itsy-bitsy screws. He got to be an expert at tearing one completely apart and reassembling it in about twenty minutes, and he could almost do it blindfolded, (or at least without his magnifiers.)

After running into more problems getting Windows Vista running, a weird problem with cordless mouse drivers, and updating the seemingly endless Windows updates, he started turning out cool running, working laptops. I was very happy when he gave me the first one.

Now we set at the table on his deck, each with a laptop in front of us, playing with our toys. We can even email each other. Actually, as hard of hearing as JC's getting and as weak as my voice is becoming, email's not that ridiculous.

Shoe Guardian

In the evening when I relax on the couch to watch TV, I take my shoes off and set them on the floor by the coffee table. For some strange reason Taz thinks it's his job to watch over them. He lays down beside them, sometimes using them for a pillow, and goes on guard duty. If anyone reaches for them he growls and snarls at his fiercest, forcefully pushing their hand away with his head. The problem is, he won't even let me have them. Oh, I could take them away from him but after all, he's just doing what he thinks is his duty and I wouldn't want to hurt his feelings.

In the mornings after he growls me awake at four and we go outside to pee, he hurries back to my shoes and goes on guard duty again. I have to wear slippers until I can fool him or trick him away from the shoes long enough to grab them and put them on. One day he got back before I could put them both on, and I had to hobble around in one shoe until he finally relented.

I have no idea why he does it, or how he knows that it's four o'clock every morning and comes in to wake me up.

He's just being Taz and I wouldn't try to change him for the world.

Indian by the Lake

On my walk a couple of days ago as I approached the lake, I could see someone walking back and forth along the highway guard rail. As I got closer I saw that it was a woman looking out on the water, singing and chanting, while she shook what looked like a beaded bag with large feathers attached to it. She was dressed in modern clothing and she had long black hair.

I couldn't help staring at her from across the highway, and when she suddenly turned and looked at me I realized that she was an American Indian. I waved and weakly said, ”Hi!” She smiled, shook the feathered thing at me a couple of times, turned back to the lake and resumed singing, shaking and pacing.

I tried to watch her, but after stumbling a couple of times trying to walk backwards, I went on my way. I could hear her sing-song chant long after I passed the lake.

Later while I told my brother about her, I wondered, did she bless me or curse me?

Roshelle

On Saturday we went to our grand daughter's graduation from Newport High School. When we saw her and her classmates enter the crowded gymnasium in their cap and gowns we were filled with pride. It seems like just a short time ago we were watching her graduate from the 8^th grade, and all of a sudden she's getting ready to go to college.

Roshelle received eight scholarships to help pay for her college education, and she plans to go to OSU in Portland.

We know that her dad would be proud!

Ecky

I saw the creature as plain as day, but later I became afraid that it was a hallucination. (Hallucinating is one of the Parkinson's disease symptoms that up until then, I hadn't had to deal with.)

I walk along the north shore of the lake every day, trying my best to get some of the only known thing to slow the progression of this disease – exercise. I usually walk to my brother's house, about a mile, with a steep trail through the trees for the last hundred yards. It gets my pulse rate up and I'm usually pretty winded when I climb up the steps to his deck.

The creature I saw that windy spring day, (I hesitate to call it a monster, because that conjures up images of Godzilla, or the Beast From 20,000 Fathoms,) surfaced about 50 feet out from the rocky shoreline, raised it's head on a slender neck, water plants trailing from it's mouth, and looked straight at me. It's tail poked out of the water at least ten feet back. I Looked frantically around for a fisherman, or someone who could confirm what I was seeing, but there was no one, and when I looked back there was nothing but a swirl on the wind tossed water.

I searched my brain for an explanation. Otters, Beavers, Nutria and diving birds, all came to mind and were quickly discarded. I had seen it too clearly. It's head was larger than a football and it had a neck, which meant it couldn't have been a Sturgeon, which is the usual explanation for some of the other Oregon “lake monsters.” That left me with two possibilities – either there was a creature of some kind in Eckman Lake, or my Parkinson's had progressed to the point where I was starting to get visual hallucinations.

Eckman Lake is a small, shallow, 50 acre lake created when the construction of highway 34 dammed up Eckman Creek. It's fed by the stream on the south end and empties into Alsea Bay at the north end, under the highway. It's a short two mile trip from the Pacific Ocean to the lake, and during the winter, high water and high tides flood it with bay water, allowing Salmon and Steelhead to swim through the lake to their spawning grounds upstream. Larger creatures could easily enter the lake at that time, but in the summer it's warm, mossy and full of water plants.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, hoping for another glimpse to prove to myself that I wasn't seeing things. The choppy surface of the lake revealed nothing. Eventually I turned and resumed my walk, shaking my head and wondering if I should tell anyone what I'd seen. By the time I reached JC's house I had decided to keep my sighting, or hallucination to myself, at least for a while.

As usual, my brother brought out a couple of glasses of wine for us, and we relaxed under the cool shade of the awning over his deck. We talked about the usual things; our computers, the news and the weather. While we talked my mind was racing with worries about my incurable disease that seemed to be progressing into another phase. I had almost convinced myself that what I'd seen had to be all in my mind. What next, I wondered, Pink Elephants?

On the way home in JC's car, as we passed the lake I turned in my seat and searched futilely for anything unusual, but there was nothing. A man and a little girl were fishing from the bank close to where I had seen, or thought I'd seen, a prehistoric creature, a plant eating dinosaur.

Later that evening I sat down at the computer and googled “aquatic dinosaurs.” I quickly found out that I should have searched for “aquatic reptiles,” as all dinosaurs were land dwelling. I found several that were fifteen to twenty feet in length and had long necks, but they were all fish eaters. “Ecky” as I fondly named it, seemed to be a plant eater. Whether it was a creation of my dopamine deprived brain or an actual survivor from an ancient era, thoughts of Ecky kept me awake most of the night.

The next morning was bright and sunny, so I put my fishing gear in my kayak, put the wheels on it and pulled it to the lake. Ten minutes later I was paddling out past the boat dock where a couple of old timers were sitting in lawn chairs and lazily fishing. I considered asking them if they'd seen any large green reptiles, but thought better of it, and just waved. One of them yelled, “Going out to get the big one, eh?” I sincerely hope not! I thought.

I paddled out to my favorite spot where a cold water spring attracts trout, especially when the lake warms up in the summer, and fished for a while. Every splash from a diving Kingfisher or a rising trout would startle me and I finally stowed my fishing rod, leaned back and let the gentle wind blow me slowly toward the south end of the lake, watching for any sign of Ecky.

The problem with believing that there really was a large beast of some kind living in the lake was that it was just too shallow. With polarized sunglasses I could see the water plants growing on the bottom in most places.

I shaded the reflection of the sun with my hand, and through the murky water I watched the bottom slowly glide by as I drifted. I caught glimpses of trails cleared of plants, like underwater highways, and some of them seemed too big to be made by otters or beavers.

As I neared the upper end of the lake I paddled my way through the winding inlet to a large culvert which allows the stream to pass under a gravel road. It was at least ten feet in diameter and mostly submerged in a deep hole. As I sat looking at it I realized it would be a perfect hiding place for my creature. The hair stood up on the back of my neck when the thought crossed my mind that it could be in there, looking up out of the darkness at me.

I carry my camera with me now on my walks, but I haven't seen any creature to take a picture of, on the other hand though, if it was a hallucination I haven't had any more of them.

Every day at the lake when I see someone fishing or kayaking, I wave and ask them how they're doing, hoping that one day someone will answer with, “You won't believe what I just saw!”

A Day With The Grand Kids

Don and Dianna had to go to the valley to trade for a new truck Sunday and they asked if we'd watch 7 year-old Shelby and 13 year-old Austin, while they were gone.

It took a little while to get grandpa and grandma going, but once we entered into their world we had a lot fun with them.

Shelby had some bubble blowing gear and we went outside to try it out. The bubbles were so colorful that I got my camera and took several pictures of her and grandma surrounded by tiny bubbles.

I remembered that I still had a “Pop Pop” boat that our grand son Christopher and I had built years ago. Austin and I set up a kiddy pool and launched the little steam powered boat. It runs on candle power, but the little “tea light” candle we had wasn't hot enough to make steam. We tried adding more candles but it got too heavy and sank. We finally used a fireplace lighter to generate enough steam to drive it slowly popping around the pool.

After lunch we all gathered around the computer and looked at the bubble pictures I had taken.

Austin's a reader, and he likes scary stories, so I showed him a werewolf story I had written about ten years ago, for a website I did called “Web Tales.” He read the first couple of paragraphs aloud while I watched, and I realized that he can read faster than I can. I left him to the first chapter and joined grandma and Shelby in the kitchen to do some coloring on plastic sheets that are supposed to end up looking like stained glass...kind of.

When we tired of coloring Shelby asked if we could play T-Ball. Don and Dianna had packed a bag with all of the equipment so Shelby and I went out to set it up. She had to show grandpa how to assemble the stand and then she pointed at the back fence and told me to “Go out there! No, farther!”

I walked part way and watched her tee up the ball, tap the ground with the bat and take a mighty swing. The stand must have been set too high because she knocked it about ten feet and we had to re-assemble it. We adjusted the height and started again. “Go out farther!” she yelled.

Not expecting much, I was surprised when she smacked a high fly ball almost to the back fence. “I got it!” I yelled as I ran, keeping my eyes on the ball. I should have kept one eye on the ground though, because I tripped over Taz and crashed onto the grass. “Home run!” Shelby yelled, running around imaginary bases and sliding into home plate.

Grandma joined us and we had a grand time running after each other around the bushes. The base line, being imaginary, was pretty flexible, which meant to tag a runner out you had to chase them all over the yard. Shelby hit several homers over the fence and we had to move the T-Ball stand farther back.

Austin came out after reading all seven chapters of my werewolf story and he gave me a compliment that meant more to me than if I'd won the Pulitzer Prize. “You're a good story teller, grandpa!”

Don and Dianna showed up a little while later and watched as I ran after Shelby, almost tagging her out until my pants started falling down.

After showing us their new truck, they packed the kids and their gear up and headed home.

Silence ensued, and grandpa and grandma were totally pooped.