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water element
Jul. 1st, 2002 08:49 amYesterday I rode a sailboat from the marina in the bay, where it normally lives, through the Ballard Locks. Wim and I had a fine digression about tiny capybaras combining Voltron-like into a large capybara when we spied some pieces of wood that needed to be chewn into smaller ones.
We went through the large lock with a whole pile of other recreational boats, and I learned how to tie up to another boat. Somehow I had thought that "locks" meant there was a series of them that one had to go through, but there is just a big one for big boats and a little one for little boats. (I had never really examined why there would be a series, but the Panama Canal has more than one lock, right?) There were confused lake fish leaping in the lock as we went in. We saw the railroad bridge close twice, but no trains went across it.
The fish stopped jumping when the gates were shut -- they probably fainted dead away when the water started coming in from underneath and making strange patterns of turbulence. We rose up and up and up, probably about twenty feet, until the water level was almost to the top of the concrete walls. Then the lake-side gates opened. There wasn't the big jerk of current that I'd been told to expect, but it slowly built up until the rope between us and the next boat was pulled very tight. It eased off maybe ten minutes after the gates opened, and we were all allowed to untie ourselves and motor off.
The biggest surprise to me was the fact that we had spectators standing up on top of the walls, spending a chunk of their Sunday just watching boats go through the locks. Maybe they're people like me, who have gone through once now but haven't seen it from outside. It seems unlikely. They did get to walk on the sea-side lock gates once they were closed, though, which had to be fun.
It was convenient that we all went through in a bunch like that, because it meant that there were groups of tall boats to pressue the bridges into opening quickly. The Ballard Bridge opened less than five minutes after we got there, and we only had to wait a little longer for my sweetheart the Fremont Bridge. There was too much noise on the water to hear the bridge-opening steel songs, though. A quieter day might be better for that. We traveled with a bright blue sailboat called the Welkin, which pleased me, and a blue and green one called the Cobalt, which didn't because it was not cobalt at all.
We putted along past my place of employment. I resisted the urge to perform a taunting dance in its direction. When we got past Gasworks Park I was surprised to realize that I knew where the the marinas were from that direction, too. (It's not something I've ever paid attention to, but I pass them every day that I bike to work and their locations relative to each other have crept into my head. When I saw Dunato's, I was able to say "it's past here but not as far as the Kalakala." Yay brain.) We found a place and tied up the boat just as it started to pour down lovely but drenching rain.
We went through the large lock with a whole pile of other recreational boats, and I learned how to tie up to another boat. Somehow I had thought that "locks" meant there was a series of them that one had to go through, but there is just a big one for big boats and a little one for little boats. (I had never really examined why there would be a series, but the Panama Canal has more than one lock, right?) There were confused lake fish leaping in the lock as we went in. We saw the railroad bridge close twice, but no trains went across it.
The fish stopped jumping when the gates were shut -- they probably fainted dead away when the water started coming in from underneath and making strange patterns of turbulence. We rose up and up and up, probably about twenty feet, until the water level was almost to the top of the concrete walls. Then the lake-side gates opened. There wasn't the big jerk of current that I'd been told to expect, but it slowly built up until the rope between us and the next boat was pulled very tight. It eased off maybe ten minutes after the gates opened, and we were all allowed to untie ourselves and motor off.
The biggest surprise to me was the fact that we had spectators standing up on top of the walls, spending a chunk of their Sunday just watching boats go through the locks. Maybe they're people like me, who have gone through once now but haven't seen it from outside. It seems unlikely. They did get to walk on the sea-side lock gates once they were closed, though, which had to be fun.
It was convenient that we all went through in a bunch like that, because it meant that there were groups of tall boats to pressue the bridges into opening quickly. The Ballard Bridge opened less than five minutes after we got there, and we only had to wait a little longer for my sweetheart the Fremont Bridge. There was too much noise on the water to hear the bridge-opening steel songs, though. A quieter day might be better for that. We traveled with a bright blue sailboat called the Welkin, which pleased me, and a blue and green one called the Cobalt, which didn't because it was not cobalt at all.
We putted along past my place of employment. I resisted the urge to perform a taunting dance in its direction. When we got past Gasworks Park I was surprised to realize that I knew where the the marinas were from that direction, too. (It's not something I've ever paid attention to, but I pass them every day that I bike to work and their locations relative to each other have crept into my head. When I saw Dunato's, I was able to say "it's past here but not as far as the Kalakala." Yay brain.) We found a place and tied up the boat just as it started to pour down lovely but drenching rain.
