“One can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”
“One can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things, and happy in small ways.”
I’d love to tell you about Mahdee, sailing, or even working on Mahdee. Alas that’s not to be. We have been very busy preparing for the Schooner Chandlery booth at upcoming Port Townsend Wooden Boat Festival (Sept 8-10). A big box of indoor/outdoor rugs and storage baskets arrived to be part of the show. Other fun stuff is trickling in including a display of bronze fasteners from our seller, Ron, Adventure Mats, Freebags, some soap, nautical rolling pins, Q Squared NYC nautically themed melamine, brochures, paint samples, as well as other nautical bits and pieces. Nothing resembling a sail on the water is coming our way until after the festival. We’ve promised ourselves a month of wandering with Mahdee –with high hopes for October–and I’m beginning to look forward to it. Along with the Schooner Chandlery bits coming in, we also have a few parts for Mahdee to prepare for our little fall excursion.
Mahdee reference: Here’s Buttercup carrying Mahdee’s new bronze rudderstock on the roofracks in 2008 while we were rebuilding the boat.
So what about those cars? What’s the Saab Story?
Buttercup, the 1976 Saab 99 GL (above)
Well, it was bound to happen. Owners of these Swedish cars already know that the cars are fiercely jealous of each other and every other car you might happen to own–or drive–for that matter. Wesley (the 1987 900 Turbo that I’d love to throw off a cliff) is out of commission and neither David nor I have the goodwill towards that car to fix it so it’s just sitting for now whilst we contemplate its future. Buttercup, the 76 99GL, is so happy and runs like a champ (usually) during those times when we’ve given up on Wesley for some reason or other. We’ve owned both cars for almost 20 years now and we’ve gone more than a year at a time just letting Wesley sit (and hoping someone steals him) while Buttercup proves over and over again why she’s our primary car. Buttercup just loves being the only child — or only CAR in the household. Happy and reliable.
Last week we stumbled upon and then (Thursday) purchased a 1977 5 door (CombiCoup/Wagonback) 99GL with a good body from a salvage yard. Like me, Buttercup’s body isn’t what it used to be — she’s got structural rust and rather than do a big cut and weld job on her we’ve been in search of a donor body. Last year I had a donor ligament put into my ankle to tighten up things whilst the joint was also repaired — I tell Buttercup that she and I are just going through the same things as we get older. In her case, her engine and systems will just be plopped into a largely rust-free body. She seemed OK with the plan. Buttercup and I have taken several trips here and there to look over potential cars or parts of cars for the operation.
She’s never faltered. Always up for the trip.
I suppose it’s all good in theory but then when we got on with it and actually purchased the donor car, both Buttercup and the humans involved begin to rethink things. There’s always history involved.
The 1977 “Donor Body” car.
Buttercup came to us in the late 1990’s as a donor car: she was $200 and she was intended to provide a spare 4 speed tranny for our hero of a car, Pepe, the 1974 Saab 99LE that David’s family bought new and we purchased from Dad in 1982 when David, the family SAAB mechanic, was leaving home for his first post-college job. Dad wouldn’t be able to find a local mechanic to keep Pepe going without significant cost so he bought a new car and we bought Pepe. For us, Pepe ran long and strong and good. We treated him well but used him in tough backroad conditions for many many miles. We had over 450,000 miles on him when we ran across the Craigslist ad for Buttercup as she was on her way to the crusher. We got her home and realized that she was low miles, at 67,000, and could have a long life ahead of her. So, we cleaner her up, had rust patched, painted her a PPG Saab Monte Carlo Yellow, installed new rubber all around — seals, tires, windshield replaced, did new brakes and shocks and spring inserts–and she did live on and on and on. Happy days, months, years, and decades. We all recall that in 2006, Pepe quietly slipped away to the crusher himself after 500,000 good miles and a deeply fatigued but non-rusty body. He literally flexed over almost every little bump. He was ready to go.
Buttercup knows all about it.
Pepe, David’s 1974 Saab 99LE at the 2000 Saabtoberfest in Central Pennsylvania.
Now comes the 1977 Saab 99GL Combi Coupe. Good body, unknown engine/tranny — we haven’t even started the diagnosis other than to check the pistons aren’t seized up and that with a good battery the start motor has the engine trying to turn over. Funny noises from the fuel pump and we’re now in the mode of clean the lubes and fluids, change the gas, and get it ready to start.
Wait! why are we trying to START the engine of a car that we picked up for the body? Almost certainly THAT thought was going through Buttercup’s Swedish CPU.
The bottom line is we’re now down to NO cars until the harmonic balancer (ordered but won’t show up until Tuesday afternoon) shows up AND we manage to pull together the resources to get the job done. Since when did David and Brenda have to worry about all that? Things we once took for granted, now that we’re living aboard a boat are rather scarce: Space, time, parts, tools… in my mind, Buttercup is joining Wesley in my search for a good cliff. A friend tells me the levy roads work well. Buttercup’s in more danger: I can actually DRIVE her to her demise and enjoy a good swim afterwards whereas Wesley wouldn’t make it out of town to the cliff or the levy.
Back to resources. Time: David’s birthday is on Tuesday. I know he was probably looking forward to a nice relaxing evening but there’s nothing like a good car-fixing party right? Relaxing is over-rated. Besides, he’s always grinning when he’s up to his elbows in grease.
Let’s see…space…Ah, that would be the workshop we rented a few months ago. It is presently chock full of the new but not working Combi Coupe. Yep, the car without registration and license plates to park on the street, that would be it. We’ll just play a little roulette with that on I suppose.
Parts? On order and showing up 3pm on David’s birthday. Tuesday. Yep. Perfect. I think we even have a spare oil seal for the engine if we want to put it on at the same time.
It is possible to remove the crank pulley from a B type engined car, but not possible with the later H type.
B type pulley removal (engine in car)
1. Remove fan belt (also if fitted remove power steering and ac belt)
2. Remove engine mounting nuts and use two wooden wedges between engine and bulkhead to move engine slightly forward.
3. Lock the engine using Saab tool 8392978 inserted into the opening on the bottom of the gearbox primary housing and into the flywheel ring gear, or similar tool, I use a segment from an old ring gear.
4. Raise the car, best to use a proper car lift for this one.
5. Remove pulley bolt using Saab tool 8392961 or a good quality off-set ring spanner.
6. Remove pulley and it’s also worthwhile replacing the oil seal.
7. If using proper Saab tool, torque the pulley bolt to 70Nm if using a 400mm torque wrench.
8. And most important of all, have fun!!!
So back to tools–can you believe we own that Saab tool 8392978? yep. Not only own it but actually can find it, too. I’m feeling pretty good. We have a 27mm socket that was used so many years ago on Pepe’s project. It was painstakingly ground down so it fit over the nut with no extra depth. Ah, a test fit shows us that it might not work while the engine is still in the car. Firewall. On to the Internet shopping and a bike ride to Home Depot gives us a straight 27 box socket that might do the trick but well, maybe not. An offset is actually needed. Offset sockets can be procured via Amazon and other providers to show up…Wednesday. That doesn’t work. I have other commitments all day Wednesday and it would be really nice to not have to rent a car for those. Tomorrow morning I’ll give the local SnapOn Rep a call. They have roving trucks and it is possible that between Monday morning and Tuesday afternoon I can nab a really nice SnapOn offset box wrench to do the job. Maybe. Perhaps another tool place nearby will be open on weekdays as well.
And there you have it. Stay tuned for the rest of the story.
Yes it’s true, we are now the people who work on our old boat and we used to be the people who worked on our old house. Plaster, woodworking, repairing marble surrounds, copper flashing and mission tile roofing, replacing galvanized pipes for newly soldered copper ones, refinishing floors, repointing bricks, reglazing windows, and restoring intricate plaster crown moulding. That was then: the house. This is now: the boat. Someone really introduced us to another couple that way “those people who work on their old wood boat.” At the time it made some sense because when we were in a slip it was because we needed shore power to work on the boat more conveniently and when we were sailing we were “out there” and absent from the view of the particular fellow. It’s an interesting life–being the people who work on their old wood boat.
But right now all I can think is “Buttercup, oh Buttercup. How many ways can you make my life interesting?” David and I recently took Buttercup for a “spirited ride,” let’s call it. A Sunday, a glorious day of driving our 1976 Saab 99 on winding roads, dirt and paved, up hills and over mountains, and along the seashore just as Buttercup loves to be driven. The drive was a ‘post tuneup check’ to see how she was doing. She was to have her state safety inspection the next day and I needed to make sure she was in good form. With little bits of rust here and there, the old girl is not looking her best and it was all the more important that she pass the inspection with flying colors.
On the drive we found all was good with Buttercup except we noted the rear shocks had seen better times and further since the ball joints I’d ordered from Rock Auto had arrived, it looked like we’d be spending a day working underneath Buttercup sometime very, very soon. We’d just need to find someone to do the alignment. As an aside — Rock Auto has amazing deals on car parts for, shall we say “elderly” cars. A further aside, Buttercup did pass her safety inspection just fine — more or less an emissions check, the inspector must still make sure brakes, lights, and all the rest work. Lucky for Buttercup they are not as picky as we are and they didn’t do the big sideways jiggle/push/pull thing we do on the front wheels or they’d have noted the tiny bit of a giveaway that her right front ball joint wants to be replaced and they didn’t take her on a spirited drive or they’d have known her shocks weren’t up to snuff. Fine for normal driving but not so great for rutted country roads.
Gone are the days where one can get a selection of good shocks for any USA-based pre-1978 Saab model 99. Having owned our 1974 Saab 99 Pepe for his last 34 years and 400K of his half a million miles (1982-2006) and Buttercup since 1998, I know a little thing or two about shocks for the model. Before we owned Pepe, David’s father owned the car since it was new. David had cajoled Dad into many things that were lifetime warranted to the purchaser — and since David did all maintenance for Dad on Pepe, that meant David owned the lifetime replacement guarantee on let’s see…a JC Penny (later Firestone) battery, lifetime alignments, and even lifetime warranted Koni shocks. We used those on Pepe for about a decade during which we re-valved a few times and then gave up. The lifetime warranted Bilstein shocks? I blew through those on our Saab 900 in less than a month. Replaced and ruined again within weeks. Let’s not talk about the 900 for now.
Back to shocks for the 70’s era 99 models. For our Mexico jaunts in Pepe, we used different springs, lifting kit/spacers and I obtained Bilsteins meant for a particular import truck with the same vertical pin shock mounting system and a little different range of motion. Alas while that was good for our ’74 99 for many back road excursions in the 80’s and 90’s it likely contributed to every shock mount point being ripped apart (on the road) and rebuilt (in a local welding shop nearby) a few times…even those trusty (lifetime warranted) shocks were rebuilt a few times and swapped out with the Konis on Pepe until finally I gave up on them when we said our farewells to Pepe in 2006 (RIP.) Buttercup, with her original 1976 axle is stuck with those same old-style shock mounts. When we got the car, we put the Koni shocks on her, or maybe it was the Bilsteins — whichever ones that were not on Pepe. A few years later we threw some KYB shocks on the car thinking “we’ll find something different, later” and so now is “later” and we see that shocks for this car are available from only a few makers.
Though David reminded me that KYB really just means “keep your Bilsteins” I had decided I’d just get some decent KYB shocks for Buttercup and probably just needed to find a local sale. It’s so hard to justify more than the basics for Buttercup when we drive so few miles and well, we try to keep the maintenance funds together for Mahdee’s much larger appetite. These old ladies vie for attention, that is for sure.
Yesterday when suddenly Buttercup’s passenger rear side started making a clunk-clunk-clunk over rough road spots, I thought “hum, I’ve heard that noise–the shock bushing just popped off top or bottom of that shock.” David and I both have a lot going on right now and I hate getting dirty anyway so I also thought “I have an excuse to get someone else to replace these shocks! I’ll take the car by the local auto parts place” where I’d recently seen they have a model of decent KYB shocks “and I’ll have them put a set on the rear of Buttercup.” I texted the same to David. He came back with “sure, ha!” implying the shop couldn’t do the work. I won’t say he jinxed it but I will say he was right.
I looked at the estimated cost and almost just bought the shocks and took them to the workshop to install myself. But I hate getting dirty. I have mentioned that? It’s always dirty, gunky, yucky work to get the nuts loosened up and off of the top and bottom pins of the shocks. It’s sometimes really difficult to do, as well. Wesley is playing “garage king” in the workshop while we wait on an electrical part so the logistics of getting Buttercup into our workshop would involve me PUSHING Wesley out of the way…no, no, not going to happen because then I’d have to push Wesley back inside the workshop, too. The car is heavy and there’s a lip on the concrete sill that I would find difficult to deal with. Therefore installing shocks on Buttercup would mean doing the work outside the workshop door rather than inside. Outside on the pebble-strewn, dirty, gritty asphalt. Nope. Not going to do it. Nope. And David was tied up all afternoon with other things–so much the more perfect excuse to just pay someone to do the work. The only things Buttercup has ever had anyone besides David and I do? a couple wheel alignments when we’ve replaced tie rods or ball joints– and we had a gas tank lining installed once. Lifetime warranted lining, I might add. Old habits die hard.
As I was filling out the paperwork for the shop to replace the rear shocks, I wrote details of the noise and then wrote “please report whether the top and bottom bushings were in place on old shock rear passenger side and if both are in place, please do careful inspect the rear suspension, panhard arm bushings, shock mounting points, and related that might produce a clunking noise from that area.” No work on the front suspension requested. I knew they’d be likely to note the right front ball joint and was in enough of a hurry that I didn’t want to deal with a full suspension inspection by them. Because Buttercup still has her reverse lock intact, I also gave them the standard Saab bit about “key between the seats, car must be in reverse to remove key, reverse lock is annular ring around shifter knob, pull up on ring while clutch is depressed to put shifter into reverse. Only try to remove key once the car is in reverse. Do not remove key if you cannot get car into reverse. Just leave key in ignition if you experience any problems.”
I sat in the waiting room an hour, anxious and unexpectedly worried about that reverse lock–playing the game of odds: will they break it or not? Thinking how ridiculous it would be for this car to have survived 41 years of driving without the reverse lock being broken and having it get broken now. The service manager came out to the waiting lounge, handed me the paperwork and said “we can’t fix your car.” I said “fix? what fix? do you mean install? Do you not have the shocks? You cannot install the shocks?” and he said “No, we can’t fix you car. There’s too much wrong with it.” I asked “what’s wrong? Is a shock mount to the body ripped out?” thinking that even though the shock itself seemed fine, my worst fear was true and I’d have to find a local welder for the work. “No mam, there’s just too much wrong. ” Now I was perplexed. I asked to speak to the mechanic to find out what “everything” was. After all, I already knew about the ball joint… maybe he was looking at the front end, not the rear suspension. I actually knew that we should replace the brake pads sometime in the next few months. We do that as a preventative though. Brakes are not suspension…he couldn’t be thinking about brakes? The hard to find MetalMasters are on back order and will be here in a few weeks. My mind went automatically spinning through the logistics of going ahead and bleeding the brakes at the same time as doing the pads. Solid rotors made for different pads. I really like the vented ones. No reason to change them though. But I really like the vented ones. Finding a place to take the old brake fluid. Does O’Reilly’s do that? How about the US Coast Guard Auto Hobby Shop? But bringing myself back to reality, today! The brakes would be no reason to say “too much wrong” and not install new rear shocks.
The mechanic, a small Hispanic fellow, came out and said “the car, it pulls a little to the left when I push hard on the brakes but other than that I could find nothing. I don’t work on old cars. You should take the car to the people who work on old cars.” I ask him “what about the bushings on the top and bottom of the rear passenger shock?” and he says “the bushing is there.” And I say “did you see any other missing bushings? Panhard arm or nearby anything?” to which he says “no.” And I ask why he didn’t go ahead and replace the shocks. I learn that again “I don’t work on old cars, you should take the car where they work on old cars.”
So an hour wasted and I still don’t know what is causing the clunk, clunk, clunk. As I got in the car I noted the key was in the ignition, turned to the position to keep the radio on, the car was in 2nd gear. Guess the guy didn’t read the instructions but thankfully he didn’t break the reverse lock. I look at the time and realize David is likely on his way to the boat very soon, riding right past our workshop, so I text David to meet me at the workshop and I drive the few blocks there. Took a look under the car. Missing shock bushing as suspected. Drove the two blocks to the O’Reilly Autoparts store to purchase something to use for shock bushings thinking “we have these things somewhere… but it would take more time to find them than to buy them.” A four-pack of generic bushings is $4.49 plus tax. One bushing needed. Three spares for the glove compartment. I wonder if I’ll remember they’re there in a few years when they may be needed? Jackstands and chocks in place, David laid in the gravel and grit on the asphalt and got gunky greasy fingernails while installing the cheap bits of rubber. He has a big loopy grin on his face. He’s happy–but won’t admit it–that the mechanic didn’t work on Buttercup. I wonder if he even notices the dirt?
We put David’s bike in Buttercup’s trunk and drove together to Mahdee. The clunking is completely gone. I mused on the way home thinking of what the mechanic said “you should take your car to the people who work on old cars.”
We are the people who work on old cars.
A couple weeks ago, David and I took Mahdee out for just a little Sunday morning jaunt between rain showers. Funny how a few minutes of inattention can turn into days of repairs later… Yes, somehow a bit of wood had managed to get beneath the shipping bowsprit in such a way that when the spar was lowered into position, the stresses applied managed to split the foot of the bowsprit. Is there a good thing? well, when the spar is in use, it is in compression upon a pin forward of the damaged area so the damaged wood isn’t loaded up at all. Bad thing? it added another repair to our list of “things to fix” and this one required sooner rather than later.
Before going further, let me get into a little discussion of the bowsprit’s purpose. Many people wonder why schooners tend to have bowsprits. So what is its purpose? To bring the effort of the furthest forward sail, the jib, the proper distance forward to get rid of any unbalanced helm–weather helm–caused by the schooner’s large mainsail but not so far forward as to create lee helm. That probably sounds like a bit of gibberish to some of our friends. For our non-boating friends, I’ll explain further: When sailing a boat with an unbalanced helm, it is somewhat like driving a car that needs wheel alignment. You can’t let go the wheel lest the boat quickly spin up or downwind depending upon the balance of the sails. The boat’s underwater hull shape, heel angle, as well as position of the sails in use at any given time can create the unbalanced “weather” or “lee” helm. The wind’s force on all the sails aft of the boat’s fore-and-aft center of gravity (CG, a pivot point and there are more than one CG since we have a fore-and-aft CG as well as a vertical CG and just to confuse things a bit further, sometimes people call the center of effort of the sails the CG as well) tend to point the boat up into the wind, to weather, whereas the wind force in the sails forward of the CG tend to make the boat fall off away from the direction of the wind, to lee. These windward and leeward tendencies are called “weather helm” and “lee helm.” When sailing downwind, we love to have lee helm as it keeps us pointed properly and so we can put lots of headsails up and leave the mainsail down, enjoying the ride. Other points of sail are not so easy for balance for most boats. On the day I videoed my solo watch (see embedded video here), you may note the wheel doesn’t turn at all — it is locked into a single position but we’re gloriously sailing downwind. This is because I only have up the foresail and staysail, both have center of effort forward of the boat’s CG and creating just enough lee helm that when the waves push us around a bit, the wind in the sails keeps us pointed running downwind.
Since the hull shape makes a boat’s in-water resistance change the exact position of the CG, it isn’t really obvious and visible at all. The CG on an individual boat can vary with the boat’s loading. Loading can move the boat’s CG fore and aft–a heavy bow with too much anchor chain or heavy stern with too many fuel tanks and batteries for example rather than exactly as the naval architect intended will change the fore-and-aft CG. Even before we load her, Mahdee tends to be a bit stern heavy and has a cutaway forekeel forward and a deep keel aft so her tendencies are a bit…aft…to start — Crocker’s calculations of CG show her CG a few inches forward of the aft-set mainmast — and then we seem to have a bad habit of loading her up with full fuel tanks aft, supplies midships, and while we try very hard to load up the forecastle with extra anchors and whatnot, we must admit we contribute to the weather helm situation if we’re not careful of how we load her pre-voyage. Her ideal load is with mostly empty aft fuel tanks coupled with a lot of spare water cans sitting in the forecastle. Note “forecastle” sometimes spelled fo’c’sle is pronounced “foksol” like… “folk soul” by most people.
When we use the foresail and staysail alone as we do in big winds when we’re trying to be cautious and importantly trying to not tire out our double handed crew, the jib on the bowsprit stays in the nets. But when we raise the mainsail, the jib is a requirement and the bowsprit a very important spar aboard Mahdee. So after the “crack” and “oops” sounded simultaneously, we knew we had to repair the bowsprit asap. I decided I would paint the ‘sprit while it is removed since it has a few rubbed spots and dents in need of care. It was painted in 2009 and the last time it was touched up was in 2012. After the damage, it rained all the following week. Good friends from DC visited the next weekend and we explored local house museums, eateries, and parks with them for three days. Then with Buttercup and Wesley vying for attention and smog checks coming up, time flew by with us elsewhere diagnosing car issues and focused on their needs. Buttercup’s smog check completed and Wesley stuck non-opp and waiting for parts, we were finally ready to do the bowsprit — three busy weeks had flown by and last Sunday evening was the first moment we could have at it with the bowsprit. The sun was setting and knowing the next few days would be very busy and then rainy, David said “now or never.”
Our rig has twin forestays at the stem, so taking the shipping bowsprit off doesn’t impact the rig as it does on many boats but it still was a bit of a jigsaw puzzle to bring the ‘sprit onto the foredeck without taking all the hardware off of it. I was game to remove the hardware, David, not so much. He dislikes doing anything he perceives “unnecessary” and he perceives removal of the hardware as that. Of course, as the person painting, I think of the ease of painting the ‘sprit with no hardware as much better than masking off hardware and dealing with wood-to-bronze interfaces. With time fleeting and the sun lowering, David’s method ruled because it really was a matter of doing it then or waiting for some indeterminate time before we’d both be available to do the removal together.
It took a bit of digging to retrieve the beat up plastic sawhorses from beneath the fenders, lines, oars, paddles, and other stuff we store in Mahdee’s forecastle. The 105 lb CQR was removed and the chain brought inboard — I ran the trusty electric windlass so it took up the load and kept me from having to do any heavy lifting. Then, the bowsprit shrouds called “whisker stays” were removed from the tip, the jibstay released, and netting released from a few spots. We’d lowered the bowsprit over the marina dock so this was all done by David working on the dock with arms stretched high overhead — almost not quite able to reach the fasteners and clips releasing it all but with no step stool or ladder, the only choice.
Then the bowsprit was swung up vertically again to allow us to remove the big bronze pin, a bearing surface, at the aft-most foot of the sprit. Pound, pound, with a hammer and old screwdriver used as a punch, the pin slid out of the bronze sleeve we’d made for it during our bowsprit repairs in 2009. With the jib halyard attached to the front and the staysail topping lift to the aft end of the bowsprit, David skillfully threaded the heavy bowsprit between the twin forestays and onto our wobbly plastic sawhorses while I cringed and kept the aft end from swinging wildly around. Once settled onto the sawhorses, an extra line was wrapped onto a cleat on it and attached to a nearby pin rack on the fore-shrouds to keep the ‘sprit from swinging inwards and smacking the foremast if the sawhorses failed, and we both let out a big “whew” and sigh of relief that we’d not damaged Mahdee while bringing the spar inboard and we still have a half hour of fading light.
It is bit over 17 feet from the stem to the breakdeck and the spar sits along the entire distance. Amazingly long. When shipped into the vertical position or lowered out the front of the boat to hang over the water, I never realize how truly long that spar is. The few times we’ve entered marinas without it shipped inboard, I’ve worried about thwacking a dockbox or another boat, of course!
David had a busy week away from the boat, so on Monday I glued up and clamped the damaged area and was quite pleased with the tight seam. On Wednesday I added a bit more waterproof wood glue–Tightbond III–to a couple small cracks and then ignored the spar during the winds and rains of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Now to sand and paint the bowsprit before re-mounting it on its hinge pin and attaching all the fittings to it so it can be used again while sailing.
We have huge numbers of photos and videos. Typically we just store them and do not do a thing with them. Today, I was replying to a question in a sailing group and I wanted to find a photo of a particular thing: our round fender in use as a stern anchor rode marker or crab pot marker. This photo would be useful to my reply. While in search, I found the funniest non-action video: David and I standing on deck watching a tree float by the boat while anchored bow and stern and tied to the side of Georgiana Slough.
At the time, we were concerned that the large log–actually it was a tree–would puncture the inflatable Tinker Traveler dingy. It missed. Then we became sure that it would foul on the anchor marker fender. It did, temporarily, but then continued floating on down stream. While caught, David conjectured that it might come back and ram us — always looking for the potential excitement. The beginning of a slow October day in the Delta captured on video. I wonder what else we have in the terabytes of image and video files?