Fifty posts plus, "To infinity and beyond".

I passed fifty posts this week, and I want to say a couple words about this. On a rainy weekend last October, I was milling around on the internet looking at blogs, and pondering a particularly odious example of boat building, that had just been giving me fits all week. I thought to myself, I can write a blog, and I always have something to say, which my wife Kate will aver to. So I down loaded Google's Blogger, and spent the weekend getting this less than perfect piece of software to work, and published my first post.

I had no idea at the time how much I would enjoy it. Over the years, I have written thousands of pages of technical proposal materials, that would end up in the hands of various aerospace companies. A simple rule of thumb was one pound of proposal paper, per million dollars sold. Now sell a $20,000,000 system, and see how many banker boxes it takes to deliver 10 copies to the client. I was good at it, and fast, although keeping engineers engaged in the proposal writing process is a lot like herding cats. Writing for myself is a truly a pleasure, and better than a good bourbon, at least before five.

So I wanted to thank my wife Kate for her patience, even though she says at times I have turned her into an "Internet Widow", Ben Ellison for the the kind words and link, Dick Reston for his editorial insights, and his always erudite conversations with me, George Flavell, for finding all of those typos, and of course, all of the readers.

Although I don't mind the technical writing, It's the whimsical stories that are far more enjoyable. I hope that the occasional whimsy, doesn't detract from what can be the more important issues sometimes being discussed. So below are some of the stories I had the the most fun playing with.

Bob and Carol, and Ted and Alice buy a boat, a Goofus and Gallant story.

After I wrote that, so many people asked me, much to my surprise, who Goofus and Gallant were.

Goofus-and-Gallant explained

Although I didn't write this, I think it is a true nautical gem, and I thought it was perfect for Thanksgiving.

The yarn of the Nancy Belle

And....

RIP LORAN

One final personal note here. My dad is a civil engineer, and turned 83 a few weeks ago. His health is good, and he will always be smarter, and wiser than I. As a kid, the family always had some sort of boat under construction. This has included a Piver trimaran, various Bolger vessels, a John Marples 35" Searuner, a 40' cold molded catamaran, and many others. Although he can tell you where you are, within a couple of hundred feet with a sextant, and a current copy the Nautical Almanac, the Internet is not one of his fortes, and he has never read my blog. So with this post, Happy Birthday Dad, thanks for the education, and a copy of this, in book form is heading toward you.

Thanks everyone,  Bill Bishop  

A Nautical Poem by W.S. Gilbert

This is a little known nautical poem by W. S. Gilbert, of Gilbert and Sullivan fame. I read it as a kid, and never forgot it, much to my wife's chagrin. Amidst all of my bemoaning about what boat builders do, I thought on Thanksgiving day that it would be nice to wend down another path.  It is about nautical dining you know.  Enjoy

The Yarn of the 'Nancy Bell'

A Nautical Poem by W.S. Gilbert

'Twas on the shores that round our coast
From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone on a piece of stone
An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,
And weedy and long was he,
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,
In a singular minor key:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
Till I really felt afraid,
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
And so I simply said:

"O, elderly man, it's little I know
Of the duties of men of the sea,
But I'll eat my hand if I understand
How you can possibly be....

"At once a cook, and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig."

Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which
Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid,
He spun this painful yarn:

"'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell
That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,
Which has often occurred to me.

"And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned
(There was seventy-seven o' soul),
And only ten of the Nancy's men
Said 'Here!' to the muster-roll.

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig
And the bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig.

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,
Till a-hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot
The captain for our meal.

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,
And a delicate dish he made;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite
We seven survivors stayed.

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,
And he much resembled pig,
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,
On the crew of the captain's gig.

"Then only the cook and me was left,
And the delicate question, 'Which
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose
And we argued it out as sich.

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,
And the cook he worshipped me;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed
In the other chap's hold, you see.

"'I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom,
'Yes, that,' says I, 'you'll be,' --
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I,
And 'Exactly so,' quoth he.

"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me
Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook me,
While I can -- and will -- cook you!'

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt
And the pepper in portions true
(Which he never forgot) and some chopped shalot,
And some sage and parsley too.

'Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,
Which his smiling features tell,
' 'Twill soothing be if I let you see,
How extremely nice you'll smell.'

"And he stirred it round and round and round,
And he sniffed at the foaming froth;
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals
In the scum of the boiling broth.

"And I eat that cook in a week or less,
And -- as I eating be
The last of his chops, why, I almost drops,
For a wessel in sight I see!

"And I never grin, and I never smile,
And I never larf nor play,
But I sit and croak, and a single joke
I have -- which is to say:

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold,
And the mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,
And the crew of the captain's gig!"