One year ago today: June 12, 2014, we stop traffic.
Five years ago today: June 12, 2009, Pudding-Tat.
Ten years ago today: June 12, 2004, royalty, you know.
More celestial navigation, that’s what we need. And it has to be learned fast as there is no option for a drawn-out program. Thus, Agt. M and I drove up to Ft. Lauderdale to search for plotting charts. We held the club meeting under the gazebo and spent considerable time piecing together information on the globe, shown here, to try for a better understanding of the printed material. Many people probably think they are familiar with maps and the globe because they can find the Great Lakes or something. Think again.
We shot the sun with the angulator but the sextant proves difficult to use when the sun is almost directly overhead. Noon is prime time for a shoot because that is how most of the nautical tables are listed. And the morning and evenings have been overcast for the better part of two weeks now.
Author's note 2015-06-15: in the end, the amount of calculations became uninteresting to everyone except me. Agt. M is more likely to build a telescope than to use one.
Being up in the neighborhood, we decided to stop along Las Olas Boulevard for a coffee. That led to a dish of ice cream material called gelato, but more like flavored yogurt (for him) and one tiny cookie (for me). That was $15.50, which explains why the crowds like the good old days are not that much in evidence any more. But we were playing Yuppie so we looked at art work, cheese cultures, bling, real estate pictures, wines, chromed binoculars, and a variety of menus at prices that killed our appetites.
Details? You want details. Okay. The art work was blown glass that resembled sea shore items, waves, and sailing ships. Nice. The rest of the art kind of resembled the cheese culture. And bling, they had medallions and wrist watches in the $2,000 range. Nothing in my colors. But there was a condo for sale “under two” said the blurb. In the fine print, indeed, it was $1,999,999. It looked a little too Mediterranean for my tastes, I mean fountains in the front yard? Much, much too ostentatious. No bicycle rack.
We were bent on a coffee, so we found an Italian bakery, shown here. It was nice and they had top notch equipment. Shown here is us trying to decide which of sixteen flavors of ice cream was best. Of course, I can’t eat or even taste any, but the fun is deciding. Something called “specialatta” (special?) and coffee, it reminds me of my first real girlfriend, Judy. Her friend, Nora, used to put Italian ice cream in her coffee. That was a lifetime ago. The coffee here was $5 per cup.
Next, we tried for some of the plotting charts but hit a record summer downpour, welcome to summertime Florida. This flooded the inside of the car, which in turn ruined the 12-volt electric motor I found last week. Seems Agt. M knew about the leak but forgot to tell me. Fortunately, I had bought a waterproof case for all the navigational instruments now accumulated. But it was a close call.
That’s a big day for me, we got sidetracked by all the pretty women up in Broward. By comparison, there is nothing in this neighborhood except the gorgeous Romanian, Hungarian, and Russian women who walk into our bakery. But you can’t talk to them—and I’ve tried. (That's a joke. None of them want to get married because I asked them and they said no. Now laugh.) I am the easiest person in town to talk to. Ladies, if you think I can write, wait until you hear me talk.
Ft. Lauderdale is different, it is somewhat more touristy and the women are consequently more approachable. Up there, I’ll talk to every one that even glances at me. I never could understand men to chicken to break the ice. Still, that is a big trip for me and I’m heading right back home for an evening with a good book and a documentary or two.
Also, navigation classes may not be as popular as I thought. The reason is, and this is based only on what I was told, many people in the classes are there so they won’t lose their licenses to operate boats. I was bemused until a few of the guys explained they had been nabbed by the Coast Guard for a variety of infractions from too close to the shore, intoxication, bow waves, and general mayhem. The navigation course, which they must attend and pass, could thus be described as a bit of rehab. Of course, if it ever happens to me as a fine or punishment, I’ll take it as there is no official record anywhere that I have already studied navigation. Who said privacy isn’t valuable?
ADDENDUM
The world knows the story how three old biplanes, named Faith, Hope, and Charity, defended the island of Malta against the entire Italian Air Force. Since we know this cannot possibly be true, I took another look. Once again, I run into that other cover story, that the Brits had broken the enemy’s secret codes—and that must be the biggest lie of the century. It is ridiculous that not one Axis power during the entire war ever suspected a thing. But let’s get back to those three airplanes.
First, Malta is situated near the end reaches of Italian aircraft, which, by the way, were designed like Ferraris and were increasingly powered by imported German engines. But they reached Malta with only a few minutes flying time, while the British Gladiators flew over friendly territory and if forced down, the pilot often walked away. It turns out there were many more than three airplanes.
There were sixteen in crates, unassembled. They were cannibalized for spare parts, so there were always three flying no matter how many the Italians seemed to shoot down. The rest is propaganda. Within a few months, the British were flying superior land-based fighters to Malta off the deck of an aircraft carrier than stayed back out of the range of the German bombers now in Sicily. And the British set up a radar station. I again come back to the code-breaking.
It is evident the British always staged a patrol plane overflight of any convoys or battlegroups they subsequently attacked. The reconnaissance pilots were told to report their sitings in plain text, knowing the Germans would intercept the messages. But it strains the imagination that 63% of the supply ships to Rommel in North Africa were sunk without any suspicion from the Germans.
It is claimed they thought the British maintained 900 patrol aircraft to be able to always be in the right place at the right time. Nonsense. No German actually thought that. What a crock. Now, approaching 75 years later, there is still plenty being kept secret about how the British got away with it. They were not and never have been a match for the Germans, so something funny was and still is going on.
Trivia. The first British airplanes to arrive in Malta were high-tailing it away from southern France after the Germans kicked French butt in 1940.
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