Month: October 2009

Stormy Weather

by Michaele Benedict

Our tiny north room, ten feet by twelve with five windows, is the place to be during a storm.

If you sit in just the right spot, you can see the waves of the Pacific crashing at the foot of Montara Mountain. You can see the blurred images of cars driving over the Slide, following the watery reflections of their own headlights on the road. It is an impressionist painting, seen through the wavery old glass windows, soft-edged and nuanced.

A battery radio and most of the candles are in here in case the power goes out. You could survive quite a while on the jam and chutney stacked atop the cupboard. The family pictures are here, as well as 20-something Byzantine ikons, in case you need a meditative moment.

Here, through some quirk of reflection in the window at right angles to the bathroom window, we can see the traffic pass by on Sixth Street, though the street itself is above sight level if you try to look at it directly.

We spend most of our time in this room anyway, since the north light is good for painting and the dining room table and my desk and computer are here.

The room is also the farthest away from the cypresses, which have a dismaying way of dropping big branches on the car and house during a storm. We have 19 of them and a 100-foot log fence four feet tall made from fallen limbs and the trees which have had to be removed. The grandfather of all cypresses, 70 feet tall and 14 feet around the trunk, grows a scant dozen feet from my piano in the front room, its root system probably spanning the entire foundation of the house.

Thanks to more tree work than I can describe, thinning, pruning, removing fallen and falling branches, storms now produce mostly wind music from the thrashing limbs and a rain of cypress cones and needles.

Our most spectacular cypress incident occurred during a December storm when I lived across the street, where there were only five or six cypresses. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by a loud noise and a violent shaking. Groggily, I turned on the bedside lamp and wondered why the ceiling had turned green.

When I put on my glasses, I saw that a cypress branch had fallen on the skylight directly above the bed, had shattered the skylight and come through the ceiling, stopping a few feet from where I lay sleeping.

It was pretty, like a Christmas tree hanging from the ceiling, and it smelled wonderful. When we went outside in the morning, we saw that we had had a very narrow escape.

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Michaele (Mikie) Benedict is the author of  “Searching for Anna”

To visit Mikie’s blog,  Writeritewrightright.blogspot.com, please click here

Email Michaele: [email protected]

DAYLIGHT ARRIVED WITH twenty knots of southwest wind. Already the ocean was littered with white caps, and these were on top of the monster swells. I had arrived at the readings that indicated I was over the head of the sea canyon. The chromoscope depth finder showed that indeed the bottom had dropped off sharply from 100 fathoms to 300 fathoms in just a very short distance. Other than the jumbled seas, the ocean was lifeless. Normally there would be an abundance of bird life — seagulls, pelicans, murres — working for their breakfasts. But this day there were no birds. It gave me a dreadful feeling in the pit of an already queasy stomach. The marine weather radio had forecasted the 20-foot swells, but it had predicted only light wind.

I slowed the boat to an idle, and set a course that would run along one side of the sea canyon. It was a course that had the my salmon troller, the Pescadero, broadside to the towering seas, and within seconds it had drawers dumped out on the floor — drawer locks that had never ever come loose before, had failed with the sharp rolls the boat was taking. At once, the two cupboard locks also failed and their contents were flung out, adding to the confusion already on the cabin floor. The boat cabin was only a twelve by twelve area but smaller with the cabinets, a bunk, a stove, and the electronics and running seat at the forward end. Clyde, my golden retriever, had found a spot under the tiny galley table and lay there whimpering.

I changed to a better course, “I don’t think we’re going to get to fish today Clyde,” I said, and Clyde stopped whimpering as if that were the first good news he’d heard on what had so far been a portentous morning.

The better course had the boat idling directly into the wind and sea; however this was the opposite direction of home. And home is where I wanted more than ever to go now.

But I knew I must remain on this course, at least for the moment, in order to could get the situation back under control: The whole thing was slipping quickly away.

I picked up arm loads of stuff off of the floor, and dumped it in whatever drawer was handy. Larger stuff was shoved into the two cabinets, and all of the compartments were then nailed closed. I had a hammer and a coffee can full of assorted nails wedged in a cubby-hole beside the stove; and used a bag of bread, lunch meat, and fruit as a wedge.

And the churning seas tossed and heaved the tiny Pescadero mercilessly.

Clyde could not get any further into the corner under the table, and he was shivering now uncontrollably.

I took a handful of 16-penny nails out on the deck and proceeded to nail the several hatch covers on tight. Spit was blown right out of my mouth; eyelids were curled back by the velocity of the wind, and pellets of saltwater pelted like bullets from a gun: it was blowing 50 knots, all of a sudden, and the sea no longer had just white caps for it was one solid mass of white water, and the swells had grown to telephone-pole-size — about 30 feet tall.

I had never been on the ocean in conditions this bad, and wished to not be thhere now. But I had to get the boat, and myself, back home. This was a must do.

“I should have listened to everyone,” I said to Clyde on the way back in the back door and into the relative safety of the cabin. And none too soon — a mountainous comber, the size of a battleship, dumped so much green water onto the back deck that if I had been out there, I would surely now be washed overboard.

* *

I ALWAYS FELT like an intelligent man. Not complex, and nearly always stable. But on the trip back in, my thick eyebrows were raised, and a normally relaxed face was at a hard stare; tension obvious in my lower lids. The corners of my lower face were drawn back, and normally full lips were stretched taut.

“I’m sorry Clyde!” I was scared shitless, and Clyde was actually crying real tears; the pathetic dog had become too afraid to whimper any longer. I had given him a piece of lunch meat, which was still there on the floor uneaten. And every time I put a small bowl of water under Clyde’s nose, he ignored that too.

The Pescadero pitched from one side to the other in the following sea. I rode the throttle looking, meanwhile, out the back window at what was coming up on my stern. When another big mountain would loom, I’d slow down and grab the wheel — taking the boat off auto-pilot for a moment — so I could hand-steer while literally surfing down the face of the tremendous swells.

One towering monster picked up the stern then buried the nose of the boat, then spun the boat around so fast that I was sure that this was it. I said to Clyde, “This is a wicked storm, Clyde, and we’ll be damn lucky if we can get us home.”

The situation was out of control and I, sweating profusely, was hanging on by a thread. My heart pounded every time the boat tipped and rolled, and breath came in gasps; I was dizzy and claustrophobic — I suffer from fear of heights, besides close spaces — and I’d puked in the small sink several times when the boat rose to the crest of a giant swell. Normally the boat’s cabin would not trigger my close-space phobia, but today, with the back door nailed tightly shut the familiar symptoms were on me like a bad flu.

And I was dead tired from bracing for every pitch of the boat: this was like a wild and demented carnival ride…

—A modified excerpt from “John Dory and the Wicked Storm” by Rob Tillitz, author of “Bootlegger’s Cove” and “Eyes like Half Dollars”

Who’s got the best windows to watch this week’s GREAT STORM from? Vote & Email me: [email protected].

Sam’s Chowder House (Highway 1, between Miramar, Princeton & Across the Road from El Granada). Beautifully remodeled, formerly the site of “Cannery Row” “Ida’s.” Every seat in the house gets an ocean/harbor view out of the Big Picture Windows. Great Storm Watching

Miramar Beach Inn (Miramar Beach) Originally an early Prohibition-era roadhouse with a red-haired madam.. To watch the rain and wind, ask for a window seat. Window seats are limited but worth it for storm watching.

Moss Beach Distillery (Moss Beach) Originally a late Prohibition-era roadhouse with a bull ring motif on the floor of the bar. Big windows overlooking the famous Fitzgerald Marine Reserve, lots of vast ocean views. Ask for a window seat.

La Costanera (Montara Beach) Originally a circa 1950s restaurant owned by the Torres family, who also built the Distillery. When pummeled with wind and rain, Montara Beach is a scene to behold from the big floor-to-ceiling windows.

Mezza Luna (Princeton-by-the-Sea) Originally the Ocean Shore Railroad era Princeton Inn, a hotel. The most historical building in Princeton. Sit by the window and you will catch delightful views of the harbor.

Crab Landing (Princeton-by-the-Sea) New restaurant located in what was the center of Prohibition activity–and in the 1940s a small “Cannery Row.” Great storm views of the boats bobbing in the harbor from all the seats in the house. Big Windows.

Vote now! Which one’s the best to watch this week’s GREAT STORM from?

What’d I miss?

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Coastsider.com’s Barry Parr says:

Interesting question. I was trying to think of a less-expensive setting.

I visited the opening of La Costanera, and it looks like the view of the storm should be spectacular from the bluff overlooking Montara Beach. It has been close to ten years since I’ve been in that building. I visited the Charthouse once and that was plenty. But with the new menu, I think plenty of Coastsiders will be rediscovering this setting.

If you don’t mind getting wet and blown about, the bluff above the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve might be an interesting choice. It was the setting for a spectacular storm scene at the beginning of “Memoirs of a Geisha”

to view the scene, please click here: http://coastsider.ultralocal.com/gallery/index.php?album=Memoirs_of_a_Geishaℑ=IMG_2620_001.jpg

Barry Parr: coastsider.com

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Deb & Michael Wong from Spring Mountain Gallery Says:

Jennifer Castner says:
Hi June!

Not that I’ve been to Costanera yet, but that’d be my pick for best storm-watching location.

Hope the storm lives up to at least some of the hype!
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Sharon Bertolucci (President, Cypress Ridge Appraisal Service, Moss Beach) says:
Hi June,
I don’t really know, unless you want to sit in your car over on Vallemar Street in Moss Beach, or over by Maverick’s in the car?! You got them all that I can think of,,,,,,oh maybe by the new restaurant in Montara!
……….Where the HMB Brewing Company was the other Ida’s only it was a much smaller building then…….Take Care stay Dry!
Have Fun, watching the storm!
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Anonymous says:

The best place to watch the storm is from a boat, close enough to see the shore, but far enough out to have a 360 degree view. The second best place to watch the storm is from the Oceano Hotel and Spa. There are two rooms with windows on two sides. I don’t remember their numbers but they are around 315. If the storm gets vigorous enough, you may even get some water from under the door.

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Artist Susan Friedman says:

Hi June,

I think the beat place to watch the storm in my Studio on the Mountain curled up by the fire….Best,   Susan
Studio on the Mountain

www.susanfriedmanphoto.com

Tonight on Madmen

June Asks: Who’s having a better time?

Mr Francis to Mrs. Draper: “I don’t know what you want, Betty.” I give her points for throwing the cash box at his head. Too bad he ducked. Mr. Francis, the right hand man to the politician, Rockefeller, says to a fantasy- frustrated Betty–who had worn a beautiful dress with a low cut back at a fundraiser she hosted, and that he, Francis, strategically did not attend– “You had to come to me.” He closes and locks his office door. “Why?” asks Betty, who’s looking for revenge and the locked door could be the excuse.  “Because you’re married,” he said.

or

Don Draper to Sally, his daughter’s teacher: “What does it matter to a person like you?” And what kind of a person is Sally? Well, she’s single, spouts existentialist lines,  lives above somebody’s garage, and when Don walked in, he said: “Nice place.”

June Admits: This is familiar terrain. I’ve been down both of these roads before.

To view Taschen’s book offerings, please click here

To view the definition of “Beyond Art,” please click here

I want to scream and throw my shoes at this tv commercial: Not only is it terrible and insincere using these middle-aged stars to hype the product with the “If you wanna be me, be me, be you, be whatever”twangy  tune in the background, but it’s a very poor attempt to copy Apple’s really good, older  commercials introducing iTunes, and featuring the face, height and  unusual voice of R&B singer “Can’t Get Enough of Your Love, Babe,”  Barry White. (I miss Barry White, don’t you?)

Please. Please, Please, pull this commercial off the air. It’s almost as bad as the one for the Palm Pre but at least the strange looking woman holding the Palm Pre elicits some mystery which is worth a few cents of my time.  I wonder how she really spends her day.

For more info on the “My Touch,” please click here

If you want to know more about San Francisco’s history, you will GREATLY enjoy this new book: San Francisco in Maps and Views by Sally B. Woodbridge, with an introduction by David Rumsey. There’s an interesting section about Leland Stanford’s efforts to change the 1880s Market Street railroad system to cable, thus encouraging travel out of town to the Peninsula. Stanford University opened its doors in 1891, with David Starr Jordan appointed the first president. Jordan, who had a special interest in marine biology,  was an early visitor to the Fitzgerald Marine Reserve in Moss Beach, where invertebrates thrived and fascinated beach-goers.

To read the story, please click here

Story by John Vonderlin

Email John: [email protected]