What I much preferred was a dolphin hook, three-sixteenth metal and three inches between barb and shank. The whole of this you can almost hold in the palm of your hand. We lost a couple of staysails, and a couple of flying kites ripped out of their gaskets, and one lower topsail blown clean out of the bolt ropes. It was in the Indian Ocean that we got mixed up with my one and only cyclone. There is, as a rule, plenty of warning when a cyclone is cruising about, and no excuse for anyone to be caught out. For instance, long before there are visible indications from the weather, the barometer will give ample notice, as it did in this case.
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I heard nothing more from him, so that was another out of the way. The next trouble started though going up Portsmouth Harbour at 16 knots, exactly the same speed I used in Dover, or anywhere else for that matter. What I didn’t know, was, that the rigid maximum for Portsmouth was 8 knots.
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Fiery Ohio derailment raises railroad safety questions
Another thing that helped me make my decision was the fact that on the passage home I had a whole-time does of malaria. This in itself was not so bad, but unfortunately we had a doctor—thorough good scout—who said he believed in allowing patients any amount of latitude to follow their own inclinations. Whether it was because I made a particularly bad patient, I don’t know, but the fact remains that he allowed me to have iced drinks, lie in my pyjamas, and have my boy fan me; take cold baths—in fact, do everything I ought not to have done. The ultimate result of this was my temperature soared to 106.2°. Down the coast, 105° is usually fatal, and on this day in particular, one of the crew passed out at 105°. I was swept up on the beach, but it was far too steep to get a foothold, and in consequence I was carried back with the next backwash out into the surf again.
Climate and weather
Rolled over a few times, then up on the crest of the next; a lightning sweep to the shore, crash on the beach, and back once again with the undertow. Had I been of a steady disposition and stayed in Elder Dempsters, where I started in steam, no doubt I should have got to the top of the tree very quickly, but for one thing I was not steady, and for another, it was only the tallest tree that would satisfy me. Time and again I took to the beach on some hair-brained stunt or other, just wasting time; spending months shooting or fishing, until funds petered out. Then off to the sea again, in the first company that would take me. Get through an examination, and then have another glorious binge—not a boozing binge—for I’ve a whole-hearted contempt for the chap who takes more than he can hold. It was a bitter pill, but I swallowed it with the best grace I could find and became a “steamboat sailor,” so that frequent term of ineffable contempt, would now apply to me!
The pitch and heave to the following sea rapidly grew worse, one could feel her difficulty in rising and getting away from the seas racing after her, and threatening to overwhelm her. An hour or so later I felt that horrible and unmistakable feeling of a ship pooping. A sea had broken over her stern, and she shuddered horribly as it tore its way along the decks, crushing and smashing everything in its wake. A round of the islands and we loaded up in New Orleans for home.
The question was, should we shove off and try making Dunkirk with the possibility of a night in, or take the safer course and ask permission to moor up in Dover. There was no doubt whatever of permission being readily granted, in view of the weather conditions. But I knew full well that if during the night it should clear up—and quite likely it would—we should get the pertly authoritative “M.K.” and have to shove off forthwith. What added a certain amount of zest to our midnight blind was the fact that only a few days before the Gypsy, another of the Flotilla had been making a similar dash in daytime, and had made a collection of some of those nets with her prop. Shores had been placed, and the water was just leaving her when it was discovered, by the then scattering crowd of dockies, that she had a nice little bunch of grapes hanging, all entangled, from her props. The grapes, in this instance, being mines, still attached to bits of net.
By the series’ end in 2012, they were bringing in $100,000 per ep. Their friendship was over and their alleged hookup remained a mystery. While the two are on good terms today, The Situation did confirm to Life & Style that he didn’t speak with his castmate for several years after the show wrapped. The Daily Beast also reported that MTV had rented out the pizza place the cast worked at during the season and that all of the customers were extras.
Newark New Jersey’s largest city — City near New York that is home to Newark Liberty International Airport, the New Jersey Performing Arts Center, Newark Symphony Hall, Prudential Center , and the Newark Museum- the state’s largest. “It was insane, I did not expect it,” Salsano told THR at the time. “I was like, ‘Why are they so mad?’ If you look at the credits on the show, it’s all Italian kids from the East Coast. This is our heritage; this was us as teens.”
It was supposed to have an all-male cast.
The first thing was to get a fire going, and in this country one always carries a bit of birch bark. This will burn and burn brightly under almost any conditions; very nearly under water. With this, and a few pine branches, it is always possible to start a good blaze, and if one can get hold of willow then you can have all the heat you want, and no smoke. It was the only way to hope to hold off the snow and get any degree of comfort. First came the Dreadnought’s picket boat with a four striper on board. The coxswain watching our evolution, sees not the grass line, which he neatly picks up with his prop, and stays put.
That was in return for all the hot air Bill and I had to put up with when away from water, and I must admit I got a certain amount of fun out of pulling their legs, anyway. There was nothing for it but to hang on, and wait for whatever was going to happen. Everything was well secured to the raft, and this proved fortunate, for as the river narrowed down, it humped up so that quite reasonable sized breakers formed, curling up against the race of the stream. We had just time to fling ourselves flat on the raft, and hang on for dear life, while the thing plunged madly down the rapids. Fortunately, the passage was short and sharp, but by no means sweet.
The hook, buried in a nice chunk of fat white pork about the size of one’s fist, trailed out astern, made a most attractive bait, with no sign of hook or line. The next thing was to throw out a few scraps of pork, to draw him and his pilot fish close up towards it. Personally, I never favour the recognised shark hook, a massive great thing, with a lump of chain attached; in fact, in all my time at sea, although I have caught scores of sharks, I never caught one with the recognized shark hook.