Lola at the Coffee House

I finished building my currach last fall...It is about the most pig-like boat Ive ever been in. Its unstable, unbalanced...Right now You have to sit almost motionless in the damn thing so you dont tip it....DAMN, I really fucked up on this one. I have no idea what I did wrong. The plans were followed to the tee...

Fanny agreed to it, and had the pleasure of seeing him continue at the window with her, in spite of the expected glee; and of having his eyes soon turned, like hers, towards the scene without, where all that was solemn, and soothing, and lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded night, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke her feelings. "Here's harmony!" said she; "here's repose! Here's what may leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe! Here's what may tranquillise every care, and lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of Nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene."

"I like to hear your enthusiasm, Fanny. It is a lovely night, and they are much to be pitied who have not been taught to feel, in some degree, as you do; who have not, at least, been given a taste for Nature in early life. They lose a great deal."

"_You_ taught me to think and feel on the subject, cousin."

"I had a very apt scholar. There's Arcturus looking very bright."

"Yes, and the Bear. I wish I could see Cassiopeia."

"We must go out on the lawn for that. Should you be afraid?"

I can take the nagging.

MA-the boat is a Talaria which is about 45 ft long and its an inshore cruiser. Our last boat was more adept at the open sea. STill, its seaworthy enough for the Bay of Fundy.

The Talaria 44 was designed in 2000 by Bruce King, who based the lines on traditional Down East boats. Maine lobsterboats are known for high, sharp bows to cut through the chop, sweeping sheers and low cockpits that make it easier to retrieve lobster pots. Deadrise is minimal, for squeezing maximum speed out of the single engine, often a marinized car engine (Oldsmobile engines are popular). Why the need for speed? Lobstermen have to get out to their pots, which can be far from home, harvest the lobsters and then race back in to get the best prices. Lobsters don’t weigh much, so the boats can be quite fast even when laden with a good day’s catch.

The new arrangement plan creates a nice boat for a cruising couple who only now and then bring guests overnight. The blue areas in the drawing are sleeping or seating areas; note there’s only one fixed berth, but lots of seating. A two-cabin layout is available.

Yachts have similar needs: Folks with only a couple of days a week to go boating want to cover as much ground as they can, so speed is a given. They can’t sit home waiting for calm weather, so their boats have to be comfortable running through chop, and seaworthy in heavier weather. But unlike lobsterboats, which have cabins mostly for shelter and to stow gear, lobsterboat-inspired yachts must be stylish – they’re yachts, after all – and comfortable belowdecks. Bruce King’s Talaria 44 was all of these things, and more: Powered by twin diesels driving Hamilton waterjets, the boat was able to run through lobster pot-infested waters without wrapping a buoy around the non-existent prop shafts, and drew so little water it could nose onto a beach for a day of picnicking.

That lively ditty should have gotten everyone's toes tapping

Otherwise I'd have to get out my metal ruler.

Heres a pic of the Talaria style.

listening to spendi try to spout aboutr boats is like

'Who stuffed that white owl?' No one spoke in the shop,
The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop;
The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading
The 'Daily,' the 'Herald,' the 'Post,' little heeding
The old British man who blurted out such a question;
Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;
And the barber kept on shaving.

'Don't you see, Mr. Brown,'
Cried the man, with a frown,
'How wrong the whole thing is,
How preposterous each wing is,
How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is --
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 't is!
I make no apology;
I've learned owl-eology.

I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And cannot be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
Mister Brown! Mr. Brown!
Do take that bird down,
Or you'll soon be the laughingstock all over town!'
And the barber kept on shaving.

'I've
studied
owls,
And other night-fowls,
And I tell you
What I know to be true;
An owl cannot roost
With his limbs so unloosed;
No owl in this world
Ever had his claws curled,
Ever had his legs slanted,
Ever had his bill canted,
Ever had his neck screwed
Into that attitude.
He cant
do
it, because
'Tis against all bird-laws.

Anatomy teaches,
Ornithology preaches,
An owl has a toe
That
can't
turn out so!
I've made the white owl my study for years,
And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!
Mr. Brown, I'm amazed
You should be so gone crazed
As to put up a bird
In that posture absurd!
To
look
at that owl really brings on a dizziness;
The man who
stuffed
him don't half know his business!'
And the barber kept shaving.

'Examine those eyes
I'm filled with surprise
Taxidermists should pass
Off on you such poor glass;
So unnatural they seem
They'd make Audubon scream,
And John Burroughs laugh
To encounter such chaff.
Do take that bird down;
Have him stuffed again, Brown!'
And the barber kept on shaving!

'With some sawdust and bark
I could stuff in the dark
An owl better than that.
I could make an old hat
Look more like an owl
Than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather.
In fact, about
him
there's not one natural feather.'

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch,
The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch,
Walked around, and regarded his fault-finding critic
(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
'Your learning's at fault
this
time, anyway:
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good day!'
And the barber kept on shaving.


James Thomas Fields

Hes quite often wrong but never in doubt.

DAHMER

THE OWL CRITIC (OR"spendi's day at the bar")