Author: Lou Carreras

Marine carving as a trade was an outgrowth of my family background and my professional interests in boat and shipbuilding arts. I have an abiding interest in all things maritime, and my blog is as much about Maritime life as it is about marine carving. Like most sailors,​ I love sea stories
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The Devil

As Halloween approaches, I’ve decided to bring some of my seasonal stories back “from the grave,” so to speak. This one was from October of 2022. Although strictly fictional, it is based in part on some real events, attitudes, and behavior.

You’d be hard-pressed to find any seafarer, fisherfolk, or plain coastal types without some horror tale on the water. It just goes with the territory; salt water envelopes most of the world and is dangerous. 

Lurking beneath that calm tropical paradise you’ve vacationed in are currents, tides, rips, rocks, tidal flats, and reefs. These might all be known hazards, but that doesn’t mean that they are less deadly. Circumstances and bad luck can be the dividing line between inconvenience and tragedy. And that’s just the stuff you can make plans to avoid or correct.

There’s just a ton of stuff you can’t plan for: rogue waves, sudden squalls, or engine failures that put you at risk on lee shores. Then there are collisions with unseen objects and illness at sea. I could go on, but I think you get the idea. It’s no wonder that hidden in every sailor is a tiny little superstitious knot. It might not be as apparent as a refusal to sail on a Friday. Or no bananas on board, or not whistling while you set sail, but it’s there. But without a doubt, the most dangerous element at sea will always be the human element.

Name Changes? Oh No.

Where I lived on the coast, it was considered bad luck to change the name of a boat. But, if you did, many boatyards followed procedures that seemed more like heathen rituals. They sure didn’t come from anything Baptist, Catholic, Congregationalist, or Methodist.

Libations would be poured to Neptunas Rex and Davy Jones. Coins under the masts would be added. After repairs, they are carefully put back or eliminated in exchange for a completely new set. And of course, the boat would be thoroughly cleaned fore and aft. Sometimes this would not be enough.

Thrice Warned

One of the Allens from over to the cape purchased a very smart lobster boat third-hand. He did this against his wife, father, and brother’s wishes. He’d been thrice warned.

The boat had started life as a workhorse lobster boat built by a well-known builder out of Boothbay. She’d worked the waters of the mid-coast for years as the Hattie Carroll. Then, about 1974, she’d been sold to a New York City Banker. He had her gutted and fixed up as a fancy boat to tour clients around during the summer. She was what we call a lobster yacht these days. 

Then, without any to do, he’d had a signmaker slap some vinyl letters on her. The new name was ” The Cheek Of The Devil” in a fancy script. The boatyard had suggested that a bit of ceremony would be nice. But he wanted what he wanted, so he got it. No ceremony, but it was the talk of the harbor. Using the Devil in a boat’s name was not typical and not thought lucky.

He didn’t enjoy his boat long. A fire started offshore, and all aboard went into the bay. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been enough floatation devices aboard for all the guests, so he yielded his floatation vest and drowned. 

The boat survived with severe fire damage but was salvaged and put up for sale.

The Devil

She lay in Spinney’s yard for two years before being sold. I wouldn’t know if the reason was the fire, the owner’s death, the name, or a combination of all three. But she sat in the back of the yard, nevertheless. To locals, it was the Devil.  That should have been enough to discourage any local from buying it. 

History and name suggested that nothing but ill luck was involved in that boat. Wash it in a bathtub of holy water from Saint Jerome’s, or do whatever hocus pocus you wish, and none of that would help. My father-in-law, the Cap’n, put it succinctly enough, ” I wouldn’t allow any of my kin to sit in its shadow, much less step aboard.”

Lobster Boat Races

The Devil sat there until Jacob Allen went looking for a cheap boat with fast lines that he could pour a high-power engine into for lobster boat racing. The Devil fit the bill. And over a long Maine winter, he worked to rebuild the boat into his dream of a fast racer. 

During the spring, his trial runs seemed to indicate that he’d be a contender in any race he entered. Unfortunately, Jacob was not the type to go full speed ahead, only at a race. He’d run circles around other lobster boats in the local harbor gang he belonged to. He took pleasure in almost swamping small craft he considered to be in his way. Jacob wasn’t well-liked.

Jacob was known to infringe on the territories of nearby lobstermen. He was closely watched until, one day, he was caught. The first time you get caught, you will likely pull your traps and find a half hitch in your line. It’s a warning that your trespass has been noted. Do it again, and the penalties will go up. 

The Devil proved as successful as Jacob believed it would, and victory was frequent. Now I do not know how plush the prizes are these days, but back then, it was peanuts. You raced for the joy and pleasure of it. Jacob also raced because he loved to rub other skippers’ noses in how fast the Devil was. In a family of quiet Mainers, he inherited all the ego.

Thief

I was helping out at Spinney’s boat yard that September. It was time to be hauling out summer people’s boats, and I overheard Spinney talking to my father-in-law, the Cap’n. They both agreed that Jacob was heading for a fall. They quieted down when I walked up. But it was common knowledge that Jacob had been robbing traps, and something was bound to happen.

Things get slower as the weather gets colder. Lobstermen spend more time repairing and making new lobster pots ( or traps), repairing their gear, and taking care of their boats. But on Halloween morning, the blast rocked the entire harbor as the Devil blew up with Jacob Allen aboard. The official report said Jacob had ignited a puddle of gasoline while starting his boat. A death by misadventure, I guess. But knowing people understood that Jacob Allen had been a scrupulous man in caring for his boat.

Murder was suspected but never proven. There wasn’t enough of the Devil or Jacob Allen left for much of an inquest. Just the mutterings of people about the enemies he’d had, and someone finally canceling a grudge hard.

At the coffee shop in the morning, there were comments about how the boat had been ill-fated from the start. Then, more quietly, someone muttered that the Devil had certainly known his own.

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Season’s Turn

The season has slowly been turning from lush, warm late summer weather to chill fall. Right now, I am enjoying yard work and clearing the garden. These become my favorite type of exercise because I know that soon I’ll be bundled against the cold, and looking to the woodpile for my exercise as I bring wood in daily to feed the woodstove.

Meaning in the Work

I hate gyms and prefer to get my exercise through “thoughtful” labor. And that is hard to do outside in the winter. Winter used to be a time for working in the wood lot. I’d be cutting down and sectioning wood that I’d later take the maul to for splitting. However, I no longer have access to the wood lot, and an aging body no longer wants to put punishing hours in bucking trees into drums for splitting. I still split lots of kindling every week, though.

Last night I sacked out early after most of a full day spent finishing the garden harvest and clearing out the debris of the gardening season. About a very small basket of late onions, and what seems like hundreds of the final tomatoes of the season. What’s left? The last small tender picking of kale leaves that are still growing, and the Brussels sprouts that are still developing. By the time I was finished for the day, I was sweaty, a bit scratchy, and definitely tired. Rather than exacerbating the tiredness into overworked muscles and strained ligaments, I’ll take a slower pace today. My wife and I will go to a bookstore with a cafe, and I’ll exercise by walking up and down aisles, and lifting a hot latte.

A main difficulty, as I age, is finding activities that keep me physically and mentally involved. My work with wood as a carver, and my garden, are large contributors. But also heating with wood. It’s not just the physical aspects of stacking and loading, but also bringing it in. Anyone with a woodstove will tell you that there is an art to heating, wisely, effectively, and safely with wood. My desire to keep the physical and the mental linked is why I find the gym so tedious. Its also why every winter I struggle to keep enough physical activities and wind up with a ceaseless search for good involving exercise.

Towards a Philosophy?

If there is a philosophical part to this, it’s best summed up in this quote from Bishop Fulton J Sheen. I may be twisting his meaning a bit to fit my purposes, but I find it relevant: “If you do not live what you believe, you will end up believing what you live.”

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Circle Line Cruise

Daily writing prompt
How much would you pay to go to the moon?
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When I was a kid, a Circle Line cruise around Manhattan always seemed to be on the agenda for a school trip. A fast search on the internet showed me that the Circle Line still exists and still takes cruises in and around the NYC environs. It’s a fun and even demure way to spend an afternoon in the City. And yes, you can take note of the capitalization of the C. It’s a habit even sixty years in New England has not scrubbed away. It’s typical for New Yorkers to elevate their home to the most rarified heights. We’re a bunch of egoists.

You’re from Where?

There is an issue, however. Last time I visited, I grabbed a cab to get into town from the airport. The cabby asked me where I was from, and I said, “From here, New York.” He laughed and said, “No way, you don’t sound like a New Yorker!”

I was so angry that I probably turned a shade of fuchsia. Upset? Angry? You bet! Although I consider myself a New Englander, there remains this deep-down acknowledgement that I am from New York City. Or as the old saying goes – “You can take the boy out of New York, but you can’t take the New York out of the boy!”

I almost had to get another cab as the discussion waxed on. Finally, I won on technical points when I told him where in Washington Heights I had lived, and which schools I had attended. Before he let me off, we had bonded because of a mutual hate of the high school we had attended – good old George Washington High School- G Dubs.

Fly me to the Moon?

But to get to the prompt. Go to the moon? Why would I do that? I’ve already been to the top of the Empire State Building. I’ve groveled around in the dives of Greenwich Village in the old days. And been a habitue of SoHo before it became a playground for wealthy and dumb elites. Go to the moon and visit what clubs/ Socialize with whom? And see craters, when I could take the cruise and see that magnificent skyline?

Besides, go to the moon and suck in recycled air? Do that when I could stand in Midtown at rush hour, and breathe in the fumes of a New York City traffic jam?

No, I think it’ll be the Circle Line cruise. It’s also cheaper.

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Flashback Friday – from October 24, 2022



November is almost here!  

This time of year, I start perusing the catalogs and websites for small gifts for Christmas. I know what you are saying – “Lou, you are one of the people who complain about “Holiday Creep”…hypocrite.” But I’ve had reasonably concrete evidence that the good stuff goes first. So he who hesitates misses the good stuff. It’s no secret that outstanding small items are in limited supply. So the real aficionado needs good timing. I prefer PBS, Lee Valley, and museum shops. 

Pulling a successful small item hunt off is not an arbitrary plow through dozens of catalogs and websites. Instead, it’s an intricate dance because there are early offerings and later offerings at some. So first, you need to know your vendors.

My goal each year is to reach the finish line before our Thanksgiving here in the States. So no Black Friday rushes, no attempts to get those late shopping days deals.

I used to shop up till Christmas Eve. I think I spent more and enjoyed the holiday less. There will be enough craziness without shopping pressure. Making the rum-soaked fruitcakes and the Christmas Poppyseed Bread are my duties. My wife is a night shift nurse, so planning and preparing holiday meals are my jobs, as she’ll almost certainly be working. I can do without more craziness.

So, Happy shopping. And don’t blame me if those lovely little goodies you eyed for four weeks are gone by the time you order. The early shopper gets the goods. 

This time of year, I start perusing the catalogs and websites for small gifts for Christmas. I know what you are saying – “Lou, you are one of the people who complain about “Holiday Creep”…hypocrite.” But I’ve had reasonably concrete evidence that the good stuff goes first. So he who hesitates misses the good stuff. It’s no secret that outstanding small items are in limited supply. So the real aficionado needs good timing. I prefer PBS, Lee Valley, and museum shops. 

Pulling a successful small item hunt off is not an arbitrary plow through dozens of catalogs and websites. Instead, it’s an intricate dance because there are early offerings and later offerings at some. So first, you need to know your vendors.

My goal each year is to reach the finish line before our Thanksgiving here in the States. So no Black Friday rushes, no attempts to get those late shopping days deals.

I used to shop up till Christmas Eve. I think I spent more and enjoyed the holiday less. There will be enough craziness without shopping pressure. Making the rum-soaked fruitcakes and the Christmas Poppyseed Bread are my duties. My wife is a night shift nurse, so planning and preparing holiday meals are my jobs, as she’ll almost certainly be working. I can do without more craziness.

So, Happy shopping. And don’t blame me if those lovely little goodies you eyed for four weeks are gone by the time you order. The early shopper gets the goods.

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Still?

Daily writing prompt
What alternative career paths have you considered or are interested in?
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Yes. Still. That was the answer to his amazed response that, at seventy-nine, I was still working. My Pulmonologist is a great guy to talk to, and I kind of enjoyed surprising him with this nugget of information. Currently, I work as a station manager for a small Access Television organization. They call me the executive director, but I insist that now that I am part-time, I have little time for being executive and have to spend my time keeping the business running. There is no time for the annoying game of filling organizational slots on a table of organization.

In addition to this employment, I am still carver in chief of my small marine carving studio. About my continued work activities, I fall in line with a longer line of Carreras’, who just kept at it. If you are capable, willing, and interested, age can be just a number. Then, too, there can be a need. Income is nice when you need to buy stuff.

Now, this gig in television is only one of the ways I transformed myself for the world of work. I’ve been a folk performer, surgical technician, anthropologist, Teamster, UPS supervisor, Government program director, and lots of other things. Need, as well as opportunity and interests, have driven career directions. I am sure that many of you reading this are nodding your head. You do what you have to do to keep your head above water.

Career expectations? I don’t know. Next year, when I turn eighty, I might consider a new frolicing detour into other types of employment. Raconteur? Philosopher king? Maybe bull shit artist extraordinaire?

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Food, Glorious Food!

Daily writing prompt
What food would you say is your specialty?
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Part of the pleasure of growing up in New York City was the variety of available cuisine. And no, I don’t mean expensive restaurants. It could be good stuff off the cart Downtown. Find a spot against the street lamp and gobble it down. Visit the delicatessens and sample the wares, or visit one of the neighbors, and get stuffed with dessert treats from Italy at Christmas time.

If you wanted to restrict yourself to one cuisine, one tradition, you had to do it by an exercise of sheer willpower. What a waste!

When I was young, my father worked as a superintendent of an apartment building in Manhattan’s Washington Heights neighborhood. The building was a United Nations of cuisine. You could walk down a corridor on any floor and smell the aromas of any number of cuisines.

World World Wide

I was early on introduced to goodies from Central Europe, Norway, Germany, the Caribbean, and Asia. And no, I did not care for some of them. I was not into excessively hot stuff, and Lutefisk was never something I cared for. But my father, the Merchant Seaman who’d sailed the world, was insistent that I try it all. It was as much a part of being an educated person as a formal education, he insisted.

What sort of effects did this early exposure have on me? Well, it was wonderful preparation for my career as an anthropologist. An informal rule in our trade states that people you can’t or won’t eat with you don’t become close with. Food is an extremely important factor in creating social bonds.

I may not be able to win a trivia contest on international cuisine, but I can pretty much sit down at any table and enjoy the menu.

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Today’s Politics and Abusive Relationships

The other day, I realized that as a country, the United States has become trapped in an abusive relationship. How would I know? I was in a few before therapy helped me realize that being abused was not how I wanted to live my life. Subsequently, I was able to extract myself from the abuse and built a healthy relationship with a wonderful woman. But I remember all the anguish of abuse.

Watching the news and reading the papers recently, it seemed to me that as a nation, we have gotten involved with a classic abuser. There is ongoing ridicule, gaslighting, intimidation, neglect, verbal abuse, and threats. There is no cranny or nook deep enough for you to avoid what gets thrown at you.

Watching clips of the news, I recalled similar behavior from a woman I thought I loved. Like many in the country these days I felt that my abuser could and would change. I accepted my guilt for the things I was told were wrong with me. And most important of all, I could not believe that it was her, not me, who was violently wrong.

The day I confronted my abuser and ended the relationship was a great day of liberation for me and a day of anger for my abuser. She claimed that no one had ever walked out on her. I mentioned to her that there was a first time for everything.

Viewing the polls, I realize that broad segments of the population have yet to acknowledge the cost of the abuse, despite economic and personal losses. It’s incredibly hard to acknowledge that you are abused, confront the abuser, and leave them.

I can assure you of one thing. They need you lots more than you ever needed them. Leave.

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One Liner Wednesday!

It is a blessing for a man to have a hand in determining his own fate. ~ Edward Teach, AKA Blackbeard.

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Bang

Daily writing prompt
What major historical events do you remember?
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I was camping the weekend that we got the news that JFK had been assassinated. About the only thing I remember about that ri is sitting around the campfire listening to the news on someone’s car radio.

We cut the trip short. We all wanted to get home to our families as soon as possible. Some people even speculated that there would be other killings and that life as we had known it was ending. It was but none of guessed the way in which it would change.

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Gone to See the elephant

Daily writing prompt
What’s the biggest risk you’d like to take — but haven’t been able to?
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I’ve said this before: risk-taking is relative. I had friends who were scared witless over doing something that I’d done with no qualms, like hitching from Boston to Indiana just to see a girl I knew.

Calculating Risk

Hitching seems low risk, until you get run off the shoulder of the road by a drunken idiot who thinks it’s fun, or someone tries to steal your pack or guitar. And right up there are the creeps who are sexual predators and think you are their pet. There is all the walking. Yes walking. You know, you walk between rides, you walk to find good places to stick the thumb out, get away from the fuzz ( police to the uninitiated). And talking about the fuzz, there are the sadistic bastards in their ranks who will chase you off the road, shake you down, and worse.

On the other hand, I was scared of things they did casually, like crossing the knife-edge on Maine’s Mount Katahdin. I finally walked across it, but crept on hand and knees more often.

Then there is sailing—plenty of opportunity for risk-taking there. I sailed extensively with a mad old coot who always pushed the envelope of safety. But, of course, where he’d grown up on the coast of Maine, he’d had a tiller in one hand and the mainsheet to a sail in the other since age nine. He knew how risky some maneuvers were and the tricks that made taking them work. Knowledge and practice are important in risk-taking. There is risk-taking, and then there is taking a calculated risk that your skills and knowledge can handle. I could try some things he did, but not having all his experience, my chances of success were not the same.

It’s All Relative

As I said Risk taking, and how we perceive it is relative.

By my fiftieth year, I’d had to take plenty of risks. Not because I love risky behavior, but because I had to. I also learned how to moderate the risk to acceptable levels. Only fools dive right in.

As the result of a life full of career, relational, and fiscal changes, I am not interested in seeking big risks to pile on top for the idle jest of saying, “There, see, I’ve done it. I’ve already been to see the elephant on a multitude of occasions.

What about you?