Well, maybe it doesn’t count as waiting since I’m here in Solomons anyway for the Research Vessel Operators Committee annual meeting and for the trips on the Rachel Carson I’ve posted about. However, it’s getting so I would very much like to know which direction I’ll be turning when I depart the mouth of the Patuxent River after the conference next Friday.
If the company I now work for (very flexibly) is selected to design the new research vessel for a nearby institution, I’ll be turning right and heading south to spend most or all of the summer in the bay. I’ll be going to meetings, daysailing, taking short cruises, and learning to deal with heat and humidity. I’ll also be nicely positioned for a much easier run south along the ICW next fall.
If another company is selected, I’ll be turning left and heading for Maine as fast as possible. After a brief pause to paint the bottom and replace the Cutlass bearing, I plan to cruise Downeast and out to Nova Scotia. I got a late start on my last cruise downeast and did a lot of rushing around so I would like to be able to take it easier this time and perhaps get to the Bras d’Or Lakes if I have good luck with the weather.
I’ll be happy with either plan, for different reasons. The decision was supposed to have been made for me and announced on Thursday but they missed the date. On the face of it, it should be an easy decision. My company is more involved with existing research vessels than any other in the nation. They do the inspections for the national consortium of operators, wrote the safety manual for them, and did 23 research vessel inspection, modification, design, and consultation projects last year alone. The business I sold them utterly dominated the design of the class of vessel being considered for over two decades. Nevertheless, we hear through the grapevine that we may not, in fact, be the front runner.
If the job does go to firm with less experience and involvement in the design of this type of vessel and located on the other side of the continent, my mystification and disappointment should fade quickly. Even without my bow pointed north, I remember longingly the feeling of seeing the tall spire of Petit Manan sticking up from the horizon as I round Schoodic on a smoky southwester headed for those far northern waters I have not seen for much too long a time.
If the company I now work for (very flexibly) is selected to design the new research vessel for a nearby institution, I’ll be turning right and heading south to spend most or all of the summer in the bay. I’ll be going to meetings, daysailing, taking short cruises, and learning to deal with heat and humidity. I’ll also be nicely positioned for a much easier run south along the ICW next fall.
If another company is selected, I’ll be turning left and heading for Maine as fast as possible. After a brief pause to paint the bottom and replace the Cutlass bearing, I plan to cruise Downeast and out to Nova Scotia. I got a late start on my last cruise downeast and did a lot of rushing around so I would like to be able to take it easier this time and perhaps get to the Bras d’Or Lakes if I have good luck with the weather.
I’ll be happy with either plan, for different reasons. The decision was supposed to have been made for me and announced on Thursday but they missed the date. On the face of it, it should be an easy decision. My company is more involved with existing research vessels than any other in the nation. They do the inspections for the national consortium of operators, wrote the safety manual for them, and did 23 research vessel inspection, modification, design, and consultation projects last year alone. The business I sold them utterly dominated the design of the class of vessel being considered for over two decades. Nevertheless, we hear through the grapevine that we may not, in fact, be the front runner.
If the job does go to firm with less experience and involvement in the design of this type of vessel and located on the other side of the continent, my mystification and disappointment should fade quickly. Even without my bow pointed north, I remember longingly the feeling of seeing the tall spire of Petit Manan sticking up from the horizon as I round Schoodic on a smoky southwester headed for those far northern waters I have not seen for much too long a time.
