Moby Log!

Call me Rickmael.  Some weeks ago--never mind how long precisely--having little or no money in my purse, and nothing to interest me on shore, I got a call from our neighbor Keith.  "Thar be a huge log out in Chatham--I can see 'er with me naked eye!"  Say no more--Jen and I jumped in the skiff and headed out to look for this monster!

Looking for the monster log!

Thar she be--all harpooned and hooked up fer towin'--you can see it daren't get much calmer than this in Chatham Strait!

 

Towin' the monster through Warm Springs Bay back to the lodge, 'ere we lose her to a storm or to 'er mate!

We put that thar log into a holdin' pattern to wait for a higher tide in yonder days.

 

Pullin' the log in closer to the wood shed at high tide.

 

' Pulled 'er in until she grounded and waited fer the tide to drop. 

 

Waitin'  fer low tide--me shown' off this massive catch!  Arrrrrg!

Cuttin' the root ball off took many turns with the chainsaw--Arrrrrg!--on either side o' the log.

Now we be a' crackin'!

 Thar she lies.

Me  thot that thar root ball be a stickin' 'round.

 

But she been diverted to a higher use!  "Wha's that thar cormorant doing on yer log?"  "Looks like the ol' breast stroke!"  (For the record--this is an immature double crested cormorant--much larger than our garden variety pelagic cormorants.)