Considering Aluminum Tape, and Shorebirds.

    It’s amazing how friends can inform your perspective on particular matters, especially when their insights and opinions come from their vocations. Driving around Ft. Lauderdale with my friend Kent some years ago my eyes were opened to the many commercial sites that contained contaminated soils in need of remediation. Kent worked for the State of Florida coordinating emergency responses to spills and their subsequent clean ups, and as we drove along he pointed to lot after lot of fenced in polluted properties. One had soil piled up under tarps, and another was a more serious toxic brownfield site awaiting federal aid for clean up. I remember it startled me a bit, and I remember Kent being very animated as he freaked me out, not unlike a small town resident discovering how many historic murder scenes their little seemingly innocent little berg had tallied up. As with all the other motorists whizzing by I would have had no clue if not for the kind of work Kent was in.

    That’s one example, but now come to think of it, neither of my other two are very uplifting. My friend Ali’s nonchalant accounts of keeping aircraft in the air with rolls of aluminum tape was enough to make you swallow, as was the question whether the guys who signed off on those maintenance work orders could actually read english. At least my old roommate Nick had a fun perspective. Nick worked for years on a building crew, and he enjoyed pointing out shoddy workmanship as we drove the winding streets of Tallahassee. Nick amazed me. His trained eye could catch construction crimes like crappy framing and poor sheathing not to mention wood rot from behind the wheel rolling along at 45 mph. I recall a large swanky apartment complex that had been finished a few seasons prior with tell tale signs of black mold and rotten wood in a superfluous cupola tower three stories up at least. I could’ve walked in and out of there a thousand times and never noticed it as I’m sure most of the occupants didn’t, however with Nick’s perspective I enjoyed a sense of smug superiority.

    Then there’s the insights that comes from the interests and passions of our friends. I never cared too much about cars, but I have a friend from Eastern Europe with such deep convictions and opinions on car and engine design that it’s impossible not to let his appreciations rub off on you. On our way to a camping trip we were driving behind Jody pulling his sturdy British made Drascombe Dabbler--a classic small North Sea sailboat. The idea of hanging an outboard off a sailboat stern like we do in America is an anathema to British sensibilities, so they create a well for the shaft of the motor to drop through. It looks a bit odd out of water but it is seaworthy. Laslo’s reaction was swift, visceral, and steeped in car culture. “$#@(*&^% British make engines that leak oil and their wiring sucks and they make boats with %$@%$# holes in them”.  That all came out in one torrid, heavily accented tirade.

     I tried to explain the boat had a water tight partition, but Laslo wasn’t having it. To Laslo, British made=Bad (maybe Mini Cooper excepted). German made=Good but over-rated? American made=Fine if you’re driving fast in a straight line. Italian made=what is there to say? A Ferrari is a Ferrari. Japanese made=excellent and he’s using an older Civic to win Auto-cross races. Laslo is confident his criteria is serviceable enough to cover nautical matters, and to be fair, the Japanese do make great outboards. But the point is I don’t, and can’t...see cars the same way after knowing this man. When a nice Audi or BMW slips by on I-10; where before I had no thought on it, I now smile and appreciate the design, and to some extent, maybe my friend Laslo as well. So, as a guest of this blog, I put in to be that guy to you, on a different subject of course.

                                                                  Shorebirds!

    No really. I’ll explain with an example. Maybe six, seven years ago,  I was watching two bored kids, one a toddler, in a inter-coastal waterway park in Ft. Lauderdale while Tracey was at a conference. Moral was low; bad night in a hotel as was the custom at the time. As we were milling about, our attention was drawn by a exquisitely lovely shore bird making it’s way towards us on the water’s edge. The bird had long orange legs and a sharp pointed bill. It’s coloring was a stunning pattern of black and white that looks absurdly like it was designed in a studio somewhere. It didn’t care about us, but worked it’s way up and down with it’s focus on the shallows. This bird, a Black Necked Stilt, was unfortunately named by a lazy person. Perhaps at the time these birds were everywhere, and deserved no particular notice. But this was now 2007, and I had never seen one before, and honestly, I can’t remember when I’ve seen one since.

     That’s the thing about shorebirds (I’m lumping in gulls, herons, terns, etc.). They’re wild beautiful creatures that may range over many thousands of miles, breeding and/or migrating from places we can barely fathom, and they pass through our landscape, and stroll right in front of us at the beach or near the dock at some waterside restaurant.  Depending on their adaptions to their environments and resources, they display a amazing array of shapes and colors, then just like that, they go on about their way, and we may not see them again for twenty years, if not ever! A experienced birder who spends a ton of time in the field may say, “Nah, a stilt’s pretty common”---to him maybe, but not to me, and not to someone who doesn’t get out as much as they’d like.

    And even if you do see a group or individual for a while, their patterns can change, and then you’ll be left saying to someone, “Remember when we used to see those lovely birds down by the docks?” Case in point, I grew up in Miami Springs, a small tree filled suburb near the international airport. Growing up we got excited if we saw anything besides a dove or a mockingbird or grackle. My friend Ali still lives there with his wife Azita, and a few years back he called and said “we have these amazing small finches with all these colors.” It turns out they were painted buntings! Now they frequent his feeders daily, and to Ali they’re as normal now as the neighbors, but their feeding patterns could change.

    So to wrap it up, as you move around; keep an eye out, because you never know what you’ll see, and even if it’s just the same flock of Ibis or gulls, keep your other eye out, because there’s a lot of inter-species hanging out, and often there’s something cool and different mixed in with them. That’s when it’s time to get out a bird guide, and when you open the book and start flipping through the pages, you get an sense how amazing and rich the varieties of birds there are. Some you see in the pages may be fairly infrequent visitors, or even fairly common, but it may be a special moment for you the first time you see it in the flesh. A special reward for paying attention. So there it is, my ‘shorebirds are cool’ pitch, all birds of course, and wildlife in general, as is seen in there area where you live. The things you see and become interested in can become part of your narrative, and that’s interesting as what you have there may not be what we have here, and incidentally you can see some amazing shorebird species even deep into the interior of the country.     

    I can’t say good bye from the weather rail every time, right now the boat is wrapped up under a tarp in the barn, and by the way, the ‘weather’ rail is the side of the boat from which the wind is blowing. When you see a bunch of guys hanging way out on the side of a sailboat, trying to keep it from capsizing, they’re on the weather rail. See, I brought it back to boats, and oops, it's time for another cup, so here’s to you!

On Naming Boats, Pisa, and Spraypaint

   

   I know two things about boat names. One, sailors don’t name their boats things like ‘Reel Magic’ or ‘Playin’ Hooky’ and the like. We use classic names like ‘Melissa’, or ‘Orion.’ Bird names will do, other animals, and even figures out of history or mythology are painted on a stern. Secondly, unlike powerboats the name goes on the stern. My rudder post cuts the name in half and still I wouldn’t put it on the side. The only sail boats that can flaunt that rule are double enders, as they have no stern; Catamarans and canoes being two examples.
   
   My sailboat is a 19’ flat bottomed plywood skiff named ‘Tramontana.’ That moniker is a bit above her station, her being of a workboat lineage. Tramontana is the name of a breeze in the Mediterranean. I pulled it from the Patrick O’Brian novel Master and Commander, and no matter what other alternatives I came up with I kept circling back around to Tramontana. I recently found the passage that must have caught my eye, but it didn’t reveal much. I think I simply liked the name, and ending in an A, it’s of the female gender and ripe for boat naming.  
  
   I bring this topic up as it relates to a couple close friends of mine in Charlotte, Jim and Paolo. Jim I look forward to sailing with some day. Paolo stated flatly that he’s never getting in my boat, and that was before I had some close shaves. Anyway Paolo is one of the people I was talking about in my intro (those friends who prefer to stay on dry land). He actually told me a story of watching his uncles’ small boat being destroyed by a storm and strewn along a beach in Italy where Paolo is from. Perhaps that left an impression. 
  
   Jim and Paolo always endured my talk of boat building with a benevolent patience, but when I shared the name I had in mind I threw Paolo for a loop. “Tramontana? That’s the name of my neighborhood in Pisa!” Paolo said with amazement. I was amused to hear that, but I didn’t realize the connection it had for him till he filled me in. In prepping for this post I recently asked Paolo a few questions, and he sat down and wrote the following. I include it because it’s a cool piece of culture and history which has nothing to do with sailboats.


   The word tramontana (Tra = Between or In-between, Montana = Mountainous ) has historically used to indicate a cold, northern wind that enters Tuscany from the gaps created by the Alps; hence the word "in between the mountains". It is a Mediterranean wind that was well known by sailors, and before them  even by the ancient Romans. In fact the term tramontana derives from the Latin "Intra Montes or Trans Montes, which translated into English would sound "in between the mountains, or beyond the mountains".

   The northern side of the Tuscan city of Pisa, which is literally split in two by the Arno river, is known as "Tramontana" because of its geographical location, which is north of the Arno river. The southern side of the city of Pisa, located south of the Arno river, is known as "Mezzogiorno", which translated into English would sound "Midday". Mezzogiorno or Midday is a term that has been historically used by Italians to refer to the direction "South".

   So the name of your sharpie - Tramontana - is densely meaningful: it is refers to the wind that propels her at times, it refers to the fast, razor sharp northern wind , and it refers to the northern side of the City of Pisa, to which I emotionally and physically belong. Also, it refers the party of "Tramontana", which is one of the two antithetical parties (Tramontana, and Mezzogiorno) of the historical game known as "Il Gioco Del Ponte" or "The Game of The Bridge", played in Pisa once a year since the 1100's.

   Since the Middle Ages, the two sides of the city of Pisa (Tramontana, and Mezzogiorno) would engage in a war-like game as a way to practice combat skills. Each of the two sides would try and conquer the other side. More recently the "fight" would culminate right on the "Ponte di Mezzo" (Bridge In the Middle), which was the central gateway over the Arno river. The fight would involve militia and special weapon called targone or mazza-scudo (mace-shield), which was a narrow wooden shield that could also be used as a mace to push, swing, and ricochet blows. Written documentation from 1407 describes this game, so that tells you how old the tradition is.
   Until the year 2008, the Game of the Bridge took place on the last Sunday of June, every year. From 2009, it takes place on the last Saturday of June, every year at 8:00PM. Each side of the City of Pisa is subdivided into 6 magistracies representing city districts for a total of 12.  Saint Mary, Saint Francis, Saint Michael, The Satyrs, and Calci under Tramontana. Saint Anthony, Saint Martin, Saint Marc, The Lions, The Dragons, and the Dolphins under Mezzogiorno.

   During WWII, the original Ponte di Mezzo (Bridge in the Middle) was bombed and destroyed. The game was interrupted until the new Ponte di Mezzo was built. A "tamed" version of the war-like fight was introduced. The physical fight of two armies over the Bridge in the Middle was replaced with a tug-war involving a monumental carriage that requires a total of 40 men (20 on each side). The 12 magistracies fight of over the bridge with a fierce tug-war, which can last a few minutes. The historical record is 22 minutes and 25 seconds in 1992 when San Michael and the Dolphins fought each other; St. Michael won that particularly fierce fight.

   Awesome no? These guys went at each other with cricket bats just for the pure fun of it! (The targone looks like a cricket bat). I’m sure there was lots of gambling as well. To put it in context one could compare it to the melee’ competition folks are familiar with in medieval jousting tournaments. The classic Ivanhoe comes to mind.  The modern version of the fight, the pushing of the carriage, is another one of those amazing European events like the Palio of Senia or the Running of the Bulls in Spain. I couldn’t find any good images of the spectacle but here’s a link if you want to see it.

http://gioco.amicidelgiocodelponte.it/pisa-battle-on-the-bridge.php

   The carriage slides on rails, and twenty men on each side endeavor to shove the thing to the other side and knock over a flag. It was fun to hear Paolo tell stories of the rival’s attempts to give themselves an edge as the competition has developed; people discreetly using bars as levers, and magnets on the rail to encumber the other side!

   Paolo sent home for a Tramontana flag and here you can see the targoni crossed behind a helmet. 

Blue, black and white I believe are the colors of Paolo’s neighborhood, and these colors fly in the parades that precede the competition. Kent Reetz and I flew this flag on a sail at Cape San Blas, but it was really too large for my mizzen mast and not being made of heavy canvas it would've been whipped to shreds. Paolo sent me a link with different flags of the Pisan neighborhoods, but I was unclear at the time just who went with what flag. Some of the images were very strange, and the true Tramontana crest, the helmet being central, seemed to not fit quite right with this area. I was attracted to the sun image particularly; sun=Florida, and the half cross indicates Pisa, which I thought looked good together. I settled on that.

    So, it should have seemed obvious I was picking as my pennant the flag of the opposing neighborhood- being a sun and all. Mezzogiorno=midday, but I was too far along when I learned this to stop, and Paolo was magnanimous about it, plus no one at the boat ramp in Wakulla county has pointed out the incongruity either, so now the lovely (at a distance) hand sew pennant flies on the leech of my mizzen sail.

Sewing the pennant was a learning experience, considering I chose possibly the hardest possible design to try to hand sew using really thin but stiff material (it was a mix of sun resistant stuff and an old tent rain fly). I brought it everywhere and poked away at it for a year. I now know why flags of the Civil War often looked so heinous. They used what materials they had at hand, and nobody in camp could sew. Plus the enemy was continuously shooting holes in them I suppose. I also had help with it from several people who took it for a time. Otherwise I’d probably still be poking at it.

   Spray paint....that is in my heading. But this has gone on long enough, so painting the name on the stern will have to wait for another post. That’s the boat building part of the blog I look forward to.

   As a postscript I want to share a few things about my friend from Italy. Paolo Batoni is an research engineer who attended the University of North Carolina. He currently develops Deep Ultraviolet (UV-C) technology, and has had a part in bringing to market the world’s first UV-C LED water disinfection system that can be used in labs and applications where mercury needs to be avoided. He is also continuing to develop hand held battery or solar power operated water disinfection systems utilizing UV-C LEDs that in the short term can be used in underdeveloped countries and scenarios where in line voltage is not available. 

    If you do a quick search of his name on Wikipedia, you’ll see not Paolo, but his direct descendant Pompeii Girolamoi Batoni, an 18th Century portrait painter whose work hangs in galleries around the world. Hannah and I found a Batoni at the National Gallery in DC, as well as a couple at the Met in New York. Paolo and Jim have also found them at the NC Museum of Art in Raleigh, and at the Getty Museum in L.A. Oh, Cleveland too! I happen to have found a photo I snapped, so enjoy!

                      .....and from the weather rail.....(I’m holding up my coffee cup) Here’s to you!

St. Marks on a cold windy day.

                                                         December 28, 2012

    A nice aspect of living in Tallahassee is the close proximity of the beautiful St. Marks Wildlife Refuge. St. Marks lies along the coast from the Aucilla River west to the Ochlockonee River, over thirty miles of coastal marsh and inland habitats. The road to the historic lighthouse winds between freshwater and brackish ponds on both sides which are managed for overwintering waterfowl and thus it’s common to see clusters of birders gathered in the cooler months spotting for shorebirds and ducks, hoping to see something special, a bird species out of it’s normal range especially.
   This winter the buzz is all about Razorbills and Scoters. These are two species our family saw on a trip to Novia Scotia two years ago on an outing to see Puffins. These are high latitude ocean going birds that nest in rock outcroppings and resemble penguins, except for the flight ready wings. What explains their presence in Florida? Food resource patterns, Hurricane Sandy? Who knows.
   On arrival it pays to check the wildlife viewing log located at the visitor center looking for entires by Don Morrow and Jim Cox specifically, two accomplished area birders that visit the refuge often, and there by Don’s name the two birds were listed. Rick, Mom and I stopped by the Mounds pool and were treated to the site of hundreds of Redheads (ducks) and Lesser Scaups. A few folk were banging away with enormous telephoto lenses aimed mostly at the Gators nearby on the bank, but one family with a son around the age of eight or nine was watching the reeds close by with binocs and an open birding book.

Sora

   I was watching them too while flipping through our bird book trying to identify a smallish shorebird with long legs and a short raised tail which it flicked from time to time. “It’s a Sora!” The boy cried, so I searched the guide and there it was. Here was a birding prodigy in the making. I watched the boy move up and down the lake side book in hand with great enthusiasm calling out species while the parents quietly took photos with a small pocket camera. Another bird we couldn’t decide on he helped us with as well, an American Bittern. These are two species while perhaps unremarkable in other parts of the country are notable to see here.  Both birds we would have miss attributed had it not been for that boy. I wonder if they brought him to St. Marks as a treat, being from Cairo Ga., which is about two hours form the coast considering traffic. Finally whatever order governs large groups of ducks must have asserted itself because at some point the multitude gathered and formed a T with the foot setting off towards the far bank in a perfect line while those at the top waited in the queue!

    The razor bills turned out to be a miss. People were meandering around and I could hear folks asking after them but the consensus seemed to be they’d moved off. Still, the Lighthouse Pool was stuffed with waterfowl, mostly American Coot, but mixed in there were Buffleheads and an American Widgeon. Good fun page turning in a field guide for folks who only get to see these winter vacationers once or twice a year.