In the Future, Everything's Smaller.

I have been obsessed with an idea for half the summer.

Back in July, hhw mentioned that Jay Shafer, the designer of Tumbleweed Tiny Houses, was passing through Oregon with his own tiny house. I clicked on the link and was mesmerized. I really wanted to see it! But the best I could do from Hawaii was to talk ah and colorfulveggies into going to see it for me. To their credit, they not only went, but documented the visit and even purchased books on my behalf (thank you so much!).

The initial appeal is obvious: It's sooo cute! And it's super efficient! And it goes places! I like to go places. I sought out and consumed as much information as I could about these houses. I looked at other tiny lodgings, too, and found that Tumbleweeds were my favorite by far. I was delighted and inspired by the story of tiny house dweller Dee Williams (video, article), even though her lifestyle is a little more stripped-down than I would want. But as much fun as this research was, I expected the charm of the daydream to fade after a week or two.

It didn't. I just kept thinking about it and thinking about it. What would living in a tiny house be like? How would it make my life better? What would I have to give up? Where would I want to park it? And: If I decide I'm serious about this, how could I make it happen?

That last question is the most vexing one. I lack both the funds to purchase a tiny house outright, and the skills to build one myself. I mean really, I am not even good with a hammer. I have a major asset in the form of a house, but I believe it would be unwise to sell it -- it's an unbelievably great investment, and the market is terrible right now anyway. Then again, I put an awful lot of money into it for the amount of time I've spent there in the past couple of years. And I'm not tired of traveling yet, oh no.

So... I haven't made any decisions. But I have mulled it over to the point where I'm pretty sure that, if I could find a way to acquire a Tumbleweed without selling my "big" house, I would. My reasons include:
- save money on cost of living
- save time/effort on housekeeping
- simplify and streamline my lifestyle
- be nicer to the planet
- can leave it empty for months at a time at no real loss
- can pick it up and move to other interesting places (and back again)
- can live in community with others, yet maintain personal space
- can move on-site to assist parents if they get all feeble on me someday
- still have room for guests, if guests aren't claustrophobic

It's just an idea. But that's where everything always starts. So don't say I didn't warn you.

And if you think you might be interested in renting out about 100 square feet of your yard for any period of time, let me know!

Better Than a Day at the Office.

Bottom-fishing here works like this:

1. Position the boat juuust right.
2. Drop the lines (to depths of 180 feet or more).
3. Allow the current and/or wind to move the boat over the fish (visible on the depth-finder).
4. Wait for nibbles.
5. Reel-reel-reel the lines back up again.
6. GOTO: 1.

Today was about as nice as it gets out there. The waters were calm, and we got a couple peaceful hours in before the wind found us. The fish were biting slow but steady, maybe averaging one catch per drop (six passengers fishing). And they were nice and big. The state record for the blue line snapper (my old friend the taape) is about two pounds, and most of these were at least 3/4 of that. And there were several sizeable soldierfish, and a big pink goatfish, and a sizeable triggerfish (sorry, boot-boot).

The triggerfish is always a good thing to catch, because you can say "This is the guy who was stealing your bait" and show off the trick with the trigger. The trigger is a stout dorsal spine which the fish can lock into place; right behind it, there is a second spine which unlocks it. So the fish can lock itself into a hole in the rocks, and no other fish can pull it out. The trick is to show the passenger you can lower the first spine without letting him/her see you touch the second spine, and then ask them to push down the first one. Nobody can.

The passengers were decent, too, and that always helps. Sometimes you get people who are rude without meaning to be, and sometimes you get people who are rude on purpose. Sometimes you get guys who think that because they've fished for other fish in other places, they already know how to catch these fish in this place. (The real fishermen know that techniques are different for different fish and different waters.) Most people are pretty nice, like these were. They also followed directions well, and they seemed to enjoy themselves, which is really all you can ask for.

So, you know, not a bad way to spend an August day.

A Birthday and a Tournament.

Today is Alfhild's birthday. In celebration of this event, I am finally getting around to posting the comics she e-mailed me, and I thought I'd share them with you here. They indicate (accurately) that she leads an Eventful Life.

July #1 & #2
July #3

August #1 & #2
She outsourced her third August comic to her cousin Hans. I sincerely hope it's fictional.

* * *

Last weekend was the Lanai Rendezvous fishing tournament. This is an annual event that draws sport fishermen from around the islands. My cousins compete every year, and place frequently, as did their father before them.

We set out before dawn on Friday, trolling lines out, heading on past Lahaina, past the farthest point I'd ever been on any charter. That first day was 12 hours of motoring, amazing scenery, amazingly smooth water... which still amounted to a bit of bouncing around.

We hooked a marlin that morning, our first this summer. I got to reel up the line while Cousin K sweated it, taking in and taking in whenever the fish gave him the opportunity. (That's legal in this tournament.)

Cousin M and Cousin K gaffed and clubbed the fish. When they smacked it in the head, its dark sides turned iridescent, instantly. The two of them hoisted it onto the swim step (a low platform behind the stern of the boat) and lashed it there. I stared at it for a long time. It had a strong smell that was nothing like what people mean when they describe something as "fishy-smelling." It smelled wild and salty and clean.

We went on, north and then west, around the east end of Molokai, looking for fish or indications of fish: birds or things floating on the water. Any sizeable piece of trash in those waters, say a broken styrofoam cooler, attracts microscopic sea life, which attracts larger sea life which, ultimately, attracts very large predators. We caught one more fish, an aku (skipjack tuna), that day.

The northeast shore of Molokai is steep and green. There is a tiny island there, a jagged rocky tooth sticking high out of the water, topped with a grove of a kind of palm tree found nowhere else in the world. There is a house perched high on a cliff that can only be reached by boat. There is a village called Kalaupapa, in a national park, which is inhabited by about 25 patients with Hansen's disease (leprosy), and about 25 park caretakers. Kalaupapa is accessible by air, by sea, or by steep mountain foot trails. It is off limits to anyone who is not a federal employee unless you have an invitation from a resident.

Could we use the mooring ball in the tiny harbor at Kalaupapa? With the gift of our one aku, and the proper name-dropping (sometimes I think my cousins are only two degrees of separation from anyone in the state), we could. It's not everywhere you can trade a fish for a parking space.

We didn't set foot on shore, but camped on the boat: Cousin M, Cousin K, Cousin K's girlfriend, and me. I lay on the afterdeck across from the marlin, which had been zipped into an insulative fish bag with a lot of ice. It was quiet on shore, but the wind and water and boat conspired to make little slappy and clunky noises all night. Half-aware of my surroundings, I dozed until I heard a splash and loud breathing next to the boat. We all jumped up to see what was going on: Had someone fallen overboard? Did we have a visitor from the shore? No, it was an inquisitive young monk seal: a rare sight.

Zooming away from shore as the sun came up, we continued west around Molokai, with a detour by the appealingly named O Buoy. The buoy has the same effect as a piece of floating trash: it attracts things, and other things that like to eat them. The waters around the buoy were rougher, but we caught several more aku and a couple of ahi (yellowfin tuna) there. Farther on, we caught a small mahi mahi. Now we had four out of the five fish recognized in the tournament, and we crossed our fingers for a clean sweep: all we needed was an ono (wahoo).

But time was short. We had to get the fish in and weighed by 5:00, and the ono felt no such pressure to take our lures. So we swung out around the west side of Lanai and pulled into Manele Bay, already crowded with other contestants, vessels rafted together, fishermen calling to one another. For many of them this is an annual reunion. Here we were met by Cousin M's girlfriend and by my Auntie, and by Cousin K's girlfriend's folks. After weighing the marlin (191 pounds, and not smelling so good anymore), K and M were lost in the crowd, greeting old friends and comparing stories. I walked down the road to the beach, where I scrubbed my crusty self under the cool trickle of a beach shower. Even with low pressure and limited privacy, it was one of those transformative showers, where you feel like a completely different person afterward. Maybe you know what I'm talking about.

Later there was a dinner, and awards. Our marlin, which I had been assured was not really that big for a marlin, turned out to be big enough to win second place. "The evening is just beginning," a stranger with a few beers in him told me, and I nodded politely. Then I picked my way back across the obstacle course of boats, unrolled my sleeping bag on the deck, inserted earplugs, and closed my eyes while the party shifted into high gear around me: fireworks, voices talking and shouting, competing stereos, bright lights, footsteps back and forth across the boat. In the morning we would get up and take the last leg of the journey home, but now, floating on the din, I set my consciousness adrift and was at peace.

Here It Is, It Is a Post.

oh man why did I say I was gonna post every day for... whatever, WHATEVER

Today was a day I thought I would have a lot of free time and it did not work out that way at all, and now it is late and I am tired. So instead of a long post telling you about the fishing tournament last weekend, I will give you my itinier... itineri... schedule for the next couple months:

- On September 3 I fly back into Eugene. That is really soon! 12 days to be exact.
- Then I will drive back to Portland for maybe almost a week. During that time, I plan to finish insulating my heating ducts while infringing on my renters' privacy. I am sorry that I will probably not have time to hang out with hardly any of you, Portland friends.
- Then I will drive back to Eugene (my parents are really good car-sitters, plus it's an excuse to see them) and fly from there to Chicago!
- Then I will fly from Chicago to England with my friend Mitch!
- We will be in England for almost two weeks, during which time we will see London, Portsmouth, Wales, and a lot of buses. Then we will fly back to Chicago.
- Then I think we will go to the Feast of the Hunters' Moon in Indiana. I have a friend who blacksmiths there every year.
- Then my friend who blacksmiths will marry my friend who left Starbucks for the sea.
- Then I will go to Nashville and spend a week with Nashvillainous types (the Bombadil family).
- Then I will go back to Chicago and hang out with Mitch and some other old friends.
- Then I will come back to Portland via Eugene. It will probably be the middle of October by that time.
- And then... I don't know. I might look for work in Portland, or I might try to get work picking cranberries near Gray's Harbor. *shrug* Right now I'm just happy to have this much planned out.

Hawaiian Chieftain vs. Marjorie Ann.

HC: 65' square tops'l ketch (steel hull)
MA: 25' cabin cruiser (fiberglass hull)

HC: 8-17 crew, up to 42 passengers
MA: 2 crew, up to 6 passengers

HC: primary activity = sailing
MA: primary activity = fishing

HC: 3 hour trips
MA: 4 hour trips

HC: usually wishing for more wind
MA: usually wishing for less wind

HC: reveille at 7 or 8
MA: alarm clock at 5

HC: commute a few steps
MA: 1/2 hour commute

HC: shower every 1-3 days
MA: shower 1-3 times a day

HC: sleep in small bed in large compartment with other crew, on the boat
MA: sleep in large bed in spacious private room, off the boat

HC: heads are fixed, peeing over the side is discouraged (in daylight)
MA: head is removable, peeing over the side is encouraged

HC: very particular ways of doing things just so
MA: entirely different ways of doing things just so

HC: the one right way to do things changes with different officers
MA: the one right way to do things changes with different officers

HC: whistling on the boat is bad luck
MA: bananas on the boat are bad luck

HC: get paid less to work more hours than any other job I've had
MA: get paid more to work fewer hours than any other job I've had

Resolution.

I am going to post every day for the next four days. That's [counting on fingers] five days in a row.

No, really. I'm gonna!

Three on the Third: Earlier Than July's!

I made some comics (and I even posted them before the 10th this time). See many more wonderful August 3rd comics at the Three on the Third Website, including (ohmygoodness) three brand-new talented artists!

Now that I've offloaded the Three on the Third info on another site, I should probably blog more about other things, like my life and stuff? Hmm.

Let me get back to you on that.