NEED REPAIR1.The Continuous Adventures of Dirty Socks: Book Eleven, Chapter 5b

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2. The Indian Ocean -wip-

The cat, which in my mind I was already calling Dirty Socks the name I knew my late murdered father had called it, as well as my grandfather did his incarnation (what other word could I use for this version). It seemed to pay no mind towards me. It just lay there atop the mainsail on flaked on the boom, one paw pillowed under its chin, the other hanging halfway out to nowhere. On occasion it would open an eye in my direction, maybe to check my progress. Socks gave me a nasty look when she had to scamper from the boom while I unleashed the sail gaskets

It was also

It was no effort raising the small mizzen sail near the the stern, it kept “Nalini’ steady and pointed to the wind which allowed me to check things aloft. This might also be my last opportunity to strip down and inspect the bottom and scrape what growth I did that a well. Dirty appeared very concerned sitting upright on the cabin top

Weighing anchor was difficult. ‘Nalini’ had swung here on here rode for nearly a month left mostly alone by my uncle (Captain Robert) Bob. Her flukes were deep into the black sand bottom. With the rode led over the bow-roller, aft through the starboard fairlead and doubled across the cockpit wenches I let the swell do the lifting while I took up the slack with the winches and coiled the rode neat on the cockpit sole. worked free with the aid of the swell building in the channel. And ‘Nalini nare creaked nor stained at all.

had and sailing from the lee of this tiny island just southwest of Madagascar. This will be my first open passage on ‘Nalini’, a sweet-lined 32-foot sloop-rigged ketch my grandpa Tom willed to me when he passed away.

Passed away, some euphemism! Being clubbed and thrown half alive from your own vessel by a mutinous crew is hardlypassing away. Passed over the rail is more like it. Those treacherous scumbags thought in their drunken heads that grandpa was smuggling illegal pearls on the second leg of the Japanese-Seattle to San Francisco sea route.

They were so wrong, and they each hung for their crimes, one after the other, they hung. My parents and their siblings each and every one of them went to every hanging just to see that each of them stopped breathing, each of them died and was certified dead.