Seascout-Net Mail Archive for April of 1999: Re: New Years Log Entries
Re: New Years Log Entries
Fri, 23 Apr 1999 16:08:38 EDT
Here is what was submitted, I know Ship 90 in Pennsylvania had mentioned
placing the three top entries on a webpage, but I do not know if it ever made
it or on which webpage:
"To the Wise and Honored Judges
Below is our Midwatch log entry submission for '98/'99. Kindly note the
submission is made under Connecticut Yankee Council poetic license #5101 and
also bear in mind that Shakespeare came from a place called Stratford.
Yours in Sea Scouting,
Amy C., Ord.S.S.
Auri B., Ord.S.S.
Becky M., Lm.S.S.
With the support and advice of the Officers and Crew
Sea Scout Ship 101 Viking
"We sail to the ends of the earth."
SEA SCOUT YAWL THOR'S HAMMER
OR A LESSON ON LOP's
Date: 1 January 1999
Latitude: N 41 degrees 10' 54"
Longitude: W 73 degrees 07' 30"
Ah, distinctly I remember
It had been a cold and drizzly December
and each separate lantern flickering flung the waves on, then overboard.
Eagerly I wished the morrow
Vainly I had sought to borrow
>From the dreary skies of sorrow -- sorrow as the eagle soared. . .
For the fierce and radiant creature who the ocean washed ashore.
A lesson there for evermore.
A few clouds cast down upon our 38 foot yawl
Icy crystals which did float and crawl
Briefly the moon pondered the dusty, scarred cabin floor
The frigid wind swept down the dock s'more
Over our two marconi masts rigged aft and fore
The laughs and shouts from the shore
A night like this, never experienced before
It chilled me to the inner core.
Tied up upon the Housatonic
The saltmarsh wind, a bitter tonic
My watchstander's cough chronic, we were tied "steerboard" side to
No sails set, nor engines running
Liberty for all, no dockside sunning
Zincs hanging o'er the transom, spring lines numbered three and two.
Elsewhere doubled bow and stern lines, one, and yes, four
Were the only noises from the shore?
Ah, my recollection of a bitter winter night
The line secured sound and right
Held stem tight, for Thor's Hammer strong and true
A stern line, and hefty spring lines more
Finger pier, with lines a little chaffed, a little wore
An ebbing tide and the bell rings only numbered two
Bow upriver, helm secure, a dozen yards from Stratford's shore
A quiet watch, nothing more.
'Twas a midwatch dreary
While I'd pondered windswept and weary
O'er a navigation problem bleary -- problem quite confounding
>From for'd there came a tapping
On the forehatch a raucous whapping
That sent me form my logbook flapping, then unsteadily bounding
For safety, I scrambled breathless and fullbore
A radiant apparition ahead, then aft I tore.
His beard covered with seaweed and frost
All alone I was lost
What would be the cost, yet icy water all around
He bellowed like a lion raged
It could not have been better staged
Oh how my pulse it raged -- raged, so to the cockpit I bound
What did he want, this haunting, wet and frozen warrior of yore"
He bellowed, "I am Viking, hear me roar!"
Jeweled was his helmet and belt
Around him wound a gray wolf's pelt
Horror-stricken's how I felt, he crisscrossed with fish hooks and line
His cheeks were hollow and gaunt
Wild eyes and broken teeth he did flaunt
Encrusted with barnacles, flotsam and jetsam him did entwine
His mouth expelled hot steam, "Run not," he wheezed, " but ease my chore."
Skin kind of mountain bike tire gnarly, submerged long years before.
I turned suddenly to my ferocious Viking
"Chill, dude, this is not to my liking,
>From fore to aft sent hurriedly hiking. Why, oh why, this incursion?
This vessel, well, by Norse gods she is protected
By unrestful spirits she should not be infected
With your sword our chart table you have dissected, I be majorly upset by
this strange excursion
"Disturb not with your rap, this boat named for Mjollnir, Hammer of Thor"
He rubbed his chin, scowled, and looked quite sore.
"Young Vike-ling, I come up from my watery grave
My background -- some say makes it is hard to behave
An effort to a few studious Sea Scouts save, there are LOP problems quite
Few more daunting than taking a proper fix
With a handbearing compass you'd like to deep six
>From this Skippers get their kicks. Young Vike-lings I go yearly a-haunting
A simple error, years ago, my long boat smashed ashore
And against the rocks my shipmates open tore.
"So to us, Sea Scouts, what is your warning?"
Says I, hoping for the advent of morning
Of hope now forelorning. "Remember three sights must be taken with angles
You will get hopelessly befuddled
Your plotting become hopelessly muddled
The sweat at your feet deeply puddled, without fixed location ahead you do
Said this Norse dude whirling and flashing. "Remember that one rule, less or
Then Thor's Hammer's clock chimed eight bells, signifying o'clock four.
I closed the logbook with a slam
Over the liferail to the pier, on the lam
Lightning struck with a blam, my words to the Viking did screech
"Four hours did I serve. I stand relieved; the watch it is yours.
In prose make future log entries for Hammer of Thor's
Your rule we'll abide on matters or cours', so we won't broach on the beach."
And my approaching Sea Scout relief a surprised look wore.
Quiet, again the eagle above us did soar.
So Sea Scout sisters and brothers, heed my cry
>From Norse ghosts most prudently fly
(though their advice on fixes buy.) With pelorus take each sight
Three LOP's at angles large
Before all ahead you charge
Or wreck your day smacking into a barge. Make it proper, make it right.
Will for heeding Sea Scouts disaster therefore be in store?
Quoth the Viking, "Nevermore."
Ah, distinctly I remember
It was that cold, cold December
And each separate lantern flickering brought the waves on, then overboard
Eventfully had approached the morrow
Vainly I had sought to borrow
from the dreary skies of sorrow -- sorrow as the eagle soared...
For the sad, fearsome, and helpful Viking whom the ocean washed ashore.
A lesson there -- yes -- for evermore.
THAT BE IT, THERE AIN'T NO MORE
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