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like bubblegum.  And the transition from the previous three posts to this one is abrupt:  battleship gray to petunia pink.  Like cement to hybiscus . ..  or (later).  Now pink’s not a color you’d imagine to find on this blog.  But why not?  It’s a beautiful color.  Of course, when I commented on my Colorado sister’s wearing a pink helmet as she rappelled down a cliff, she stopped: “It’s faded red,” she announced, fighting gravity until I relented, abandoned using the P word.

Anyhow, a lot of ships seem to use this bubblegum-color faded red bottom paint, not

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that you’d know it from their names.  Golden Charlotte?  The only gold here might be around some parts of crew anatomy.  Call her Pinkblue Charlotte?  I love the oxidized anti-fouling painting on this tanker above carrying a deckload of limestone skyline and wearing Robbins Light as stern illumination.

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Golden Venus . . . have to be careful here.  Would I even want my Venus to be gold?  Wasn’t  that a large part of Midas’ malaise?

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No, I’ve no idea if Caribbean has any pink parts (like ex-Thornton Bros’ engine block?) , nor do I know if the surface under  the

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sand does.  But, beyond the tow, it’s FR8 Pride, with that same hue of bottom paint:  pink!  Something’s going on here.

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King David of Scorship . . . looks more pink than red to me . . . no matter what my sister wants to call her helmet.

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All fotos, Will Van Dorp.

And back to the transition similes:  gray to pink . ..  like flying through a fog only to be engulfed by a massive venus flytrap, overcast light on still water supporting a lotus bloom, graysilver wrap around some wild carnations, alpine blossoms eking out an existence among rock, or seeking shelter from a torrent on Lexington Avenue in Bloomingdale’s lingerie department . . . (Did I write that on THIS blog?  Can I do that?  Does my editor allow this?)

Y . . . it’s not yachts, although they fascinate me.  Especially ones someone has “owned”

aaayxxlike Beija Flor . . .  Here’s the boat story, and the skipper story.

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More accurately, what fascinates me is the ability of some to stumble onto and grow accustomed to extreme wealth, i.e., spending more in a year on vacations than I might earn in one decade, vacations on yachts like the next couple that follow.  When extreme yachts pass through the sixth boro, I pay attention.  Take Showtime (ex La Bella, Camille, Xilonen, Neninka, Kallista . . . she goes through a lot of owners, eh?) below, just sashaying into the Kills as if she were pushing fuel.  She is, sort of, well, carrying a lot:  10,000 gallons in the tanks to fuel her 2700 horsepower, just a little less than Zachery Reinauer‘s 3000 hp.  Showtime was for sale in January for a mere $4.9 m.

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This 125′ loa is San Diego-registered, Mage . . .

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A 1929 Ditchburn commuter, High Tea is/was? for sale for a much merer $800k.  The green-blue arched building in the background is the Governor’s Island ferry terminal aka Battery Maritime Building.

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Elisa . . . foto taken of her in America’s playground at the Newburgh waterfront.  Check this link for Elisa at another yachting playground in the Med:  150′ loa and 3 gallons per mile

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Moored at Chelsea piers is White Cloud, 220′ loa, 6000 hp, and 37,000 gallons fuel capacity!

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But not everyone needs so many feet, horsepower, and fuel storage to enjoy the water;  this fishing yachtette lives over by the K-Sea yard, and the naming seems to have taken an influence from her business neighbors.

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And I didn’t catch the name of this one. but because it lives in the marina (forgot the name) in the petro-district of Bayonne, it gets close enough for some frottage with tankers the likes of Fr8 Pride.

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Youthful folks, no matter their age, enjoy the water with no need for yachts;  now there’s a secret never to lose.  No need for anything but water!  Nothing, although company is always a plus.

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What asserts itself stronger and stronger in my life is the awareness of water’s attraction on me.  When I go to the water, either to be in or on or just near it, I recognize my yearning for it.  Water heals, inspires, challenges . . .  the verbs could keep flowing.  I yearn for it, and I’m glad to know I’m not alone in that.  Yearn yearn yearn . . . wasn’t there a song like that.  Oh well, some of you poets out there could rewrite the lyrics a bit.

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Today’s NY Times had a Noah story.  I call it that because it’s about a boatbuilding project designed for personal salvation:  four “homeless” men in Poland meet at St. Lazarus home, where a charismatic priest creates conditions to spur these down-on-their-luck men to build a small ship to sail around the world.  Lost men (and women) sometimes need a ship to save themselves, to reconnect with their lives.  Here’s the link to story and slideshow.    Cast off all lines and yearn for challenge, for resuscitation.

All fotos by Will Van Dorp.; Beija Flor, today and all others yesterday.  Click on a foto to enlarge it.

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