solitude, freedom, and starry nights

I'm not anti-social. I simply choose to be social on my own terms, when, where, and how it suits me, rather than society forcing its social expectations upon me. The ringer on my phone is off 99.9% of the time, I respond to texts and emails if and when I feel like it, and I don't feel obligated to answer when someone knocks on my hull. While many people see running as a social activity, I prefer to run alone. Going out for a run is my meditative time, my time to both focus and let my mind wander, and sometimes my spiritual space.

My willingness to go out and be social definitely ebbs and flows. Although I enjoy new adventures, I am also inclined to be a homebody. Before I moved aboard, I could easily spend a week without ever leaving my house, just letting the dog out into the yard to exercise and throwing a ball all over the house for her. I am perfectly happy to putter around in my pajamas reading, writing, listening to music, watching television, cooking and baking, and napping whenever the moods strikes me. This past Fourth of July I stayed in all day and night happily watching the entire first season of Game of Thrones. I recently went on a three-day binge of the latest two seasons (i.e. 24 episodes) of Homeland. But I can easily do without television, and just entertain myself with writing, reading, or working on a variety of half-finished projects.

Some people simply cannot handle silence or being alone. The Most Annoying Dockmate Ever (well, so far) is this kid who simply has to be constantly talking. He lives alone on his teeny tiny boat and although he is now two slips over, one can hear him on the telephone around the clock. Aside from the fact that virtually everything that comes out of his mouth is misinformed or insulting, what is most annoying is the inability to just be quiet. A lot of people are plagued with this affliction. Just because you are in a car with someone does not mean you have to engage in conversation the entire time.

Other people cannot handle being alone. They don't necessarily have to chatter on the entire time, but they either don't want to be left to entertain themselves or don't like going places alone. I'm used to doing most things on my own, whether eating out, running errands, going to a movie or museum, or traveling. I don't mind my own company, and enjoy being able to change my plans without conferring with anyone. I can also enjoy doing those things with others, but it's not a deal-breaker for me the way it is for some people.

When I overhear people checking in with their spouses and significant others it makes me so grateful that is not part of my life anymore. I don't have to check in, be anywhere any particular time, or answer to anyone. Well, I do have to answer to the pets, who need to be fed and cared for. Sometimes even that responsibility somewhat overwhelms me, but they are my pack and I am so thankful to have them; they are worth sacrificing a bit of my freedom for.

This rant was partially inspired by someone making the mistake of dock-mothering me.  Twice dropping by uninvited, once with a snow shovel, though I already have two aboard. Calling me to say the pump-out boat was out, as they are every Saturday, which I obviously already knew since I hail them on the magical VHF radio when I need them. Emailing me to tell me what the tides would be. Seriously? That's pretty much where I snapped. I tried to be kind, said I know he just wants to be helpful, but: don't dock-mother me.

I had made the mistake of mentioning offhand that I had taken the boat out and the tide was too low when I returned for me to get the boat all the way back into the slip. In the winter there just isn't much water in my marina and I was threading a narrow needle to get out and back in at high tide, but there just wasn't enough water at the bulkhead end of my slip and the rudder stuck in the mud. As with many people who are poor listeners, the dockmother must have heard not a simple statement of fact, but a desperate plea for help that simply wasn't there. I waited 24 hours for a better high tide and easily pulled her in to where I wanted her; pup dog could once again happily use her ramp to board and disembark.

The rub was that this guy just presumed to plan to come over and pull the boat in (cringe), and to tell me the tides, as if I don't know what the tides are doing (guess what? there's an app for that... indeed, I have several!). I know I sound overly sensitive. Perhaps I am. If it was just one of these things, I'd concede that. But taken as a whole and in combination with other past behavior, I think he was out of bounds. I should have stopped him in his tracks the first time he dropped by my boat unannounced. He had a very bad habit the year before of just boarding the boat next to his. I know that because I was sometimes on that boat when he did so. Sometimes the owner of that boat and I were in a state of undress when the dockmother would step aboard and say "hey, what are you guys up to?" It really pissed off the guy that owned the boat, but I don't think he ever said anything. So, it's an issue of boundaries. The dockmother doesn't respect them enough and I'm very aggressive in defending mine. Not a good combination.

Also related to privacy and freedom from meddling, I've been more upset lately about the lack of Fourth Amendment rights aboard. I am constantly amazed at the number of boaters who do not realize they have no Fourth Amendment protections aboard when it comes to the Coast Guard boarding a vessel. It's been the law for over 200 years but that doesn't make it right and it should change. The anemic lobbying efforts out there to protect boaters are ineffective and are prone to roll over to state and federal wishes rather than take a stand and offend the powers-that-be. If you're living aboard or cruising in the US, we really need to start organizing and fighting in court, at the ballot box, and in the legislative process; being polite has not worked and never will. For more background on our lack of rights aboard and what it means as a practical matter check out this SAILfeed post and this thread on Cruisers' Forum.

Now that I may be heading to Florida, I'm particularly concerned about rights aboard. Florida is notoriously anti-liveaboard/cruiser. Florida pretty much views all people living on their boats as derelicts, homeless, pumping sewage overboard. Quite frankly, the people I know who do illegally pump overboard are the very wealthy. Most of us impoverished folks on our boats are sort of hippy green environmental types who don't pollute and have a low carbon footprint. But god forbid the facts ever get in the way of Florida and others trampling on us. *Sigh* They also like to say we don't pay taxes so we shouldn't get any services. That isn't actually how our system works in this country, but just because someone does not directly pay property taxes does not mean they are not paying them indirectly (just as a tenant does) or that they aren't paying plenty of other taxes, such as the exorbitant sales taxes in Florida. In Florida's attempt to rid their waters of boats with people living on them, a few areas of the state are in a pilot program to allow local government to "regulate" (read: eliminate) anchoring in their waters. One of the purported goals of the program is to increase access to the state's waters, but since the actions taken under the program involve replacing anchorages with paid mooring fields and instituting rules and regulations aplenty in the mooring fields and government docks, the regulations are actually an impediment to using Florida waters. In the Keys, the pilot program requires having proof that one's boat has been pumped out in the past seven days. Seriously? It takes 5 or 6 weeks to fill my holding tank. I understand that some boats may have smaller tanks and/or more people, but a weekly requirement is extreme and intrusive. I couldn't believe it when I saw that Miami's Dinner Key mooring field requires pump out every 72 hours. Wow. These people are just far more involved in my bodily processes than can possibly be reasonable. Most liveaboards don't pump overboard. But even if they did, it is a drop in the pollution bucket. Our waters are polluted by shore-based waste treatment overflow, agricultural and golf course fertilizer runoff, et cetera. I would at least have more respect for Florida if they would just state the truth: that they are trying to outlaw poverty. My stomach sort of turns at the thought of going back to Florida. I haven't had time to research the federal case law, but I hope the guy who is challenging the pilot program kicks some local government ass.

OK, rant over, for now.

So, how did I end up only partially docked in my slip the other week? I dragged a friend out for a quick one-hour anchoring lesson. I motored out into the cove before Back Creek proper. We discussed the various steps I should be taking in preparation for anchoring solo. I got the boat stopped and we went to the bow. I measured out about 60 feet of rode and cleated it off. My friend showed me how to figure eight all the rode on the foredeck so it is free to run once I lower the anchor. I dropped the hook and we backed down to set it. Then came the "fun" part. Rather than motoring up to the anchor, I pulled us there with the rode. I had a hard time pulling the anchor in, so in the spirit of learning and doing it myself, my friend showed me how to run the rode back to the jib winch and I slowed grinded it up. Definitely a workout for the arms and back. Once the anchor was pretty close I went up on the bow sprit and tried to lift it out. The problem was that this anchor was mounted on a bracket on the bow pulpit, so I needed to lift it around the bow sprit and up onto the bracket. Easier said than done, trust me. I had some tough moments with my broken finger not too pleased with the process, but finally managed to do it. My friend suggested using the larger Bruce anchor in the future; it is mounted beneath the bow sprit so it will be simpler to bring it up solo. He also suggested setting up a remote release with a snap shackle tied to a small line that I can pull from the cockpit to drop the anchor and then back down on it once the rode has run off the deck. We were going to do another practice round but I nervously looked at my watch and suggested that we were one hour off the highest tide and should get back before it dropped too far. Well, you know the rest of the story... But I did do a very nice job docking her; no fending needed and (knock on wood) never even bumped anything.

As were were going in and out of the channel I was nervous about clearing around a trimaran that has been anchored there for over a month. It is probably home-built, and certainly has a lot of DIY work, including a wild paint job. We snapped this photo as we went by. The next day I asked the pump out guys what the story was and wondered why he was still there when others had been ticketed in that spot. The harbormaster's guys, to their great credit, told me not to worry about him and that he's a really nice guy, not bothering anyone. (Talk about 180-degrees from the treatment he'd get in Florida). I had been worried about not being able to get past him when coming and going, and bitched about it a few times (shame on me), but admittedly I didn't end up having any problem and I think either way he swings in the wind I could squeak by on one side or the other.

The next day I was filling my new back-up propane tank at the hardware store and there was a guy just finishing up ahead of me. He was wearing foulies and had a bicycle with a cart attached. I noticed the bicycle had this crazy yellow/red/blue paint job and all of a sudden I realized "Hey, are you Lapisi?" His eyes lit up and he smiled and nodded. He's a very friendly French-Canadian with a thick accent. We chatted for a while. He mentioned plans to leave soon and even offered to buddy-boat south with me, which would actually be very cool. I could still be on my boat solo but have someone experienced (and experienced at doing it on the hook and on a shoestring budget) to provide some back-up and moral support. He confirmed he's got a little wood stove aboard for heat and said that despite the cold, he could never be in a marina. His boat doesn't like to be tied up like that, he said. She needs to be able to swing in the wind and he wants to be able to see all the stars. It was a beautiful little glimpse into the soul of a cruiser. One with his boat. Not wanting her to be tied down any more than he is.

"Living the dream" isn't about palm trees and fruity rum drinks; it's about not being tied up or tied down, swinging with the wind under the stars, and being free.

[Post script: I later learned the trimaran is named Lapis Lazuli.  I mistakenly thought the name was Lapisi because of a chainplate or other linear hardware painted blue and that appeared to be an "i" at the end of "Lapis." "Lazuli appears on the starboard side.]

reefer madness

Yes, I am in favor of full (medical and recreational, state and federal) legalization of marijuana, but no, I'm not talking about that kind of reefer. Boat folks tend to refer to their icebox/refrigerator/freezer units as "reefers." Mine is a converted icebox, meaning it is an icebox to which a cold plate and compressor have been added. Much of the weatherstripping on the lid had come off and replacement attempts were less than successful. The back side of the lid had no stripping at all. Around one corner condensation continually forms on the counter, meaning a lot of cold air is escaping and running up my electric bill. Eventually, the entire cold plate frosted up and condensation dripping back in from the counter top formed a large icicle inside the corner, further exacerbating the problem by preventing the lid from closing flush.

I finally got around to the project of removing everything from the fridge, putting it all in coolers on the deck, and defrosting. Once everything had melted, I used my micro Shop Vac to vacuum out the water. I used a razor blade to cut the old weatherstripping off the lid. The remaining adhesive wouldn't come off easily, but using a green scrubber pad and simple dish soap finally did the trick nicely and without having to buy anything I didn't already have aboard. Once the adhesive was all removed and the lid was dry, the real project began. I taped waxed paper around the ledge on which the lid rests and then put a large bead of silicone all around the perimeter of the lid. This method of creating a custom gasket came from The Boat Galley.

I used about two tubes of silicone, and wished I had had another or had just bought a caulking gun and a gun-sized tube. I made due with what I had. The silicone skins over in about ten minutes and cures in twenty-four hours. I waited about twenty minutes before setting the lid down on the waxed paper and then left it alone for twenty-four hours. A lot of the waxed paper stuck to the silicone gasket when I opened the lid, but it easily pulled off. Unfortunately, the way the lid hinges up from the back seems to have forced the silicone on the back edge up against the center insulation section of the lid. Although the lid is closing flush, I am still getting condensation on the counter along the back right corner. I am considering adding more silicone along those sides, but worry the same thing will happen. I'm wondering whether adding a bead of silicone along the side of either the lid or the reefer, rather than adding more to the underside of the lid, might work to seal that gap. But with that plan I am concerned about having the needed space for the lid to swing up to open. So, the project was partially successful, but will require some follow-up and tweaking.

Hunter keeps catching mice! Four last week. He dropped one on the side deck outside a port and I think I may have stepped on it when I went forward to deal with pumping out because it was partially squished and I've had a hard time trying to rinse all the mouse-guts off the deck. To keep track of his accomplishments, I've added a "mousenator" tally down on the right-hand side of the blog for anyone keeping score. I think he actually ate every last bit of this last one, which pleases me, as I do not enjoy the crime-scene clean-up. However, he was a small, feisty, cute little guy, with shiny black eyes and adorable little ears. Now all that cuteness is crunched up in Hunter's tummy. But believe me, as long as Hunter is aboard, no rodent will ever be chewing through any hoses on this boat! That cat is like a heat-seeking missile to mice. He got that last little guy within fifteen minutes of going ashore, and after dining on him he was crying at me wanting back outside to catch "dessert."

On the boating law front...boaters need to pipe up and respond to the survey on the anchoring and mooring field pilot program in Florida. (The link will take you to a page with links to the survey as well as the ordinances in the pilot program areas. Personally, the survey is poorly drafted, failing to ask the right questions or asking questions in a very skewed way.) As some readers may know, Florida municipalities began enacting all sorts of ordinances to restrict anchoring and attempt to get rid of folks living on their boats. There is a general attitude in Florida that all liveaboards are practically homeless, illegally pump overboard, and are unproductive members of society. Long before I myself became a liveaboard I battled that attitude and tried (in vain) to prevent the loss of liveaboard dockage while I served on the City of Miami Waterfront Advisory Board. In the years since I left Florida a pilot program was instituted allowing select areas in Florida to regulate mooring and anchoring. Despite its huge coastline and the importance of the maritime industry, Florida is very unfriendly to folks living on their boats and if one is a "liveaboard" forget about having much freedom or anchoring rights. Gratefully, the legal definition of "liveaboard" under Florida Statute sec. 327.02(17) basically encompasses folks who never use their boats for navigation. But to be on the safe side, once in Florida be sure to be a "cruiser," even if your cruising grounds are just from the mooring ball to the pump out station. I'm very interested in cruising down Florida way, but the anti-liveaboard attitude and excessive regulation make me want to find someplace else to go. I'm not very keen on government or anyone telling me what to do, which is probably exactly why they hate us uppity liveaboards.

My hopes of going south sooner than later depend on banking some cash from the sale of my furniture and other stuff, as well as getting necessary gear and making certain repairs. So far I've only managed to sell the three largest furniture pieces and still have a crazy amount of furniture, artwork, clothes, and shoes cluttering up my life and holding me back. I'm hoping to spend a couple days having a moving sale and just suck it up and deal with the random public coming through. One way or another, everything must go! Not only do I need the cash to pay bills, the longer everything sits around the more it costs me to store it. Having all this "stuff" hanging over my head is interfering with my marathon and ultra training and with getting projects done aboard, so I'll be incredibly relieved when it's all gone.

On a positive note, several goodies from my Amazon wish list have arrived or are on their way. From financial donations and wish list items, to helpful books and rum, I am immensely grateful for the support (both financial and moral) from friends and readers. It means a lot to me and I won't forget it. I do my best to pay it forward and help those I can. There will always be an endless supply of doubters, but anyone who thinks I won't accomplish whatever I set my mind to clearly doesn't know me at all. The plan may have some amorphous outlines, but I'll leave them squishy and keep the plan a flexible "there is no plan," because I'd rather just make things up as I go and keep everyone on their toes (myself included). Where I'm going isn't a place, there is no lat and long to head for. It isn't the state of Florida, or Maryland, or the Carolinas. I'm plotting a course to a state of mind, a state of being, a state of peace.

hoisting the sails

A week ago I took the boat out for a day cruise with friends. The plan was simply going to be a repeat of the cruise two weeks prior: motoring up to Whitehall Bay and dropping the hook for a few hours before motoring back to Eastport. I felt that with several friends aboard I would be able to dock her and have friends fend us off and handle lines as necessary. I jury-rigged a nav station at the helm by taping a car phone holder to the pedestal so we could use the Navionics chart plotter on my iphone. I loaded up charts on my laptop in PolarView as a backup.

Before heading out I wanted to take advantage of an offer to go aloft to install a Windex wind indicator atop the mast and check the sheave for the jib halyard, (I want to replace the wire cable halyard with line and need to make sure the sheave is smooth and won't cut the line). My friend Dave brought two climbing harnesses. Mike was the grinder on the winch to hoist Travis up, while Dave belayed in case of a fall. Travis likely would have climbed right up like a tree frog, but I'm glad he agreed to wear the safety harness; I wouldn't want to see him get hurt and wouldn't want the two eight-year-old girls along for the cruise to see someone go splat on the deck. I definitely want to learn to go up the mast for myself. And many thanks to Travis for going aloft for me!

We motored out of Back Creek and before I knew it, Travis was preparing sails to be hoisted. I explained I hadn't planned on sailing her today and that the jib sheets were actually in the trunk of my car. He just grabbed some spare docklines off the rail and used them for one jib sheet we'd need to run to the other side when tacking or jibing. So, before I knew it Ambrosia's sails had been hoisted underway for the first time since I bought her.

My intended destination of Whitehall Bay would be a lengthy cruise under sail because it was pretty much dead upwind. We headed across the Bay toward Kent Island a while with the intention of tacking and heading back across toward Whitehall Bay. Everyone was a little nervous when Travis announced he was going below for a nap and leaving us to sail her ourselves. I had only had one half-day sailing lesson, but gratefully my friend Lane also knew enough to generally keep us out of trouble. While I was below somehow our remaining crew managed to do a few 360s with the boat, but no one was hurt during accidental jibes and everyone just seemed pleased to be out enjoying the Bay.

We eventually chose to just head to a simpler destination south off Bay Ridge and drop the hook for lunch, swimming, and fishing. With that downwind target, we even ended up sailing a little bit wing-and-wing--with the jib out to one side and the main out to the other. At some point we got up to 5 knots, not exactly flying, but just right for a relaxing sail with friends.

We got her docked without incident. Unfortunately the jib is a hot mess on the furler because I think the "spinny thing" (that's a highly technical sailing term) was supposed to go to the top but is shackled to the furling drum. I need a calm day to unfurl the jib, drop the sail, and rehoist it with the head of the sail attached to the "spinny thing." And though I'll still be a committed barefoot sailor because it gives better traction and warning of impending slips, I did manage to smash my pinky toe into the pump out fitting and bleed all over the deck. My toe was a painful mess for several days but now seems to be healed up alright. Poor Hunter puked twice, but then found a low hiding place and curled up there for the duration. Max tends to lay on the settee looking a little loopy. I sure hope they both get their sea legs soon.

All-in-all a great day on the water and good times and plenty of tequila once back ashore. I'm thankful for all my friends here in the Annapolis area, and glad that life afloat lets me meet new kindred spirits. And I can't help it, I have a weakness for floppy hair, it's in my nature. (And don't worry, that's not "the floppy-haired sailor guy;" when I said game over on that one, I meant it.) Travis wisely told the two eight-year-old girls never to fall in love with a sailor because he's here one day, and gone the next. It's true and good advice for shore-based folks to follow. As for me, I can't imagine being with anyone tied down to land...I need a guy who understands why I live aboard, who wants to cruise away and chart our own course in life wherever and however we please. As one friend said when I was left behind last fall...next time I'll be the one cruising away leaving some guy crying on the docks. Indeed. I certainly won't be waiting around to find a sailmate and soulmate; you never find love when you're looking for it. You bump into it when it's least expected. Until then, all I need is my anchor and sails, for they will set me free.

don't drink and dink

Be forewarned, this is a serious post. "Don't drink and dink" sounds cute and tongue-in-cheek, I know, but drinking and boating is something people just don't take seriously enough. Please read on. I'm not going to judge you for drinking ten Painkillers and being ridiculous or silly, I promise. I just want us all to get home safely and be able to enjoy the water (and roads) without getting hurt.

When I discuss potential marinas in Annapolis folks always suggest a couple that are lovely, but a drive away from everywhere I want to go out. I explain I don't want to drink and drive, and I also don't want to cab it. I would rather just live in walking distance of my watering holes. The standard response is that I can just dinghy back across the creek so I won't have to drive. Really? Somehow I think that driving a dinghy home drunk at 2AM involves as many if not more perils as driving a car home drunk. Yes, one is less likely to get caught... but my concern is not just that spending a night in jail rather sucks, but I also want to arrive home safely, without hurting myself or anyone else.

So, what inspired this post? Maryland legislator Don Dwyer can't learn the simple lesson not to operate motorized vehicles when inebriated. After a drunken boating collision a year ago on the Magothy River, he just got arrested for DUI and over a dozen other charges after driving home drunk from Baltimore. Read the Capital Gazette article here and Washington Post article here. Naturally, Dwyer blames his drinking on marital problems (hey, idiot--it's the other way around, I promise you).

Apparently--and this actually turns my stomach--prosecutors in the drunken boating case have reached a plea deal that involves no further jail time. Seriously? Seven people were injured in that boating accident. Dwyer himself had to be hospitalized. This is NOT a situation where he had a couple hefty glasses of wine with dinner and then blew .08. His BAC was three times the legal limit. Read the Washington Post article on that incident here. Both boat operators were charged in that collision and apparently both failed to follow rules-of-the-road, but only Dwyer was charged with alcohol-related offenses as well. This guy shouldn't be operating motor vehicles on or off the water, period. When prosecutors just give a slap on the wrist they are endangering my life. It terrifies me that I am sharing the Bay with an idiot like this, not to mention the countless others who are only emboldened by the laughable "punishment" being doled out.

At my marina, at least two, (probably more), boats come back to their slips with virtually every person aboard trashed. Always loud and obnoxious, with volumes of beer cans in the recycling that actually shock me (and, trust me, that takes a lot). But sometimes staggering and slurring right when they step ashore. Who exactly was at the helm? And, no, these are not just power boaters. It scares me that I'm out on the water with these people.

I admit I have come back to the boat, both on foot and on another's dink, with little recollection of getting back aboard. I'm not proud of it, but it does happen to most of us now and again. And I am not judging folks who party to the maximum, and I'll just brush it off if others want to judge me. But we can and should judge behavior that objectively puts others' lives at risk.

Unfortunately, there is such a taboo around DUIs that virtually everyone denies that they ever drive when they shouldn't. I think that is usually just lying to ourselves, but it is also partly that people simply do not understand BAC (blood alcohol concentration) or how many "drinks" for BAC purposes are really in every "drink" you have. It isn't the most beautiful or easy-to-read BAC chart, and uses too many European measurements, but the one from Wikipedia doesn't have any axe to grind, as do most sites posting BAC information. (I am absolutely not a fan of MADD or other temperance movements.) This chart is much easier to work with, but comes with the message that any alcohol in your system makes you unsafe to drive.

For their own safety, everyone should know their BAC table. As a woman, I can have two drinks the first hour and one drink an hour thereafter and (theoretically) be just under .08. (And I really don't think you want to be anywhere near .08 and get pulled over lest you plan to spend the night in jail.) If I'm flabby, my BAC will be higher; if I'm muscular, it will be lower. Yes, the fat guys we would think could handle their liquor actually get drunk faster than the lean, muscular, fit guys. I rarely drink liquor when out if I'm going to be driving because no bar in Annapolis pours a drink with 1.25 ounces of liquor. Think two or three times that. Not many wine pours are only 5 ounces, and the volume is very difficult to judge because of the diverse wine glasses used in different restaurants. And a pint of beer is not one drink. A 12 ounce beer is one drink, so a pint is 1.33 drinks. I actually count my drinks very, very carefully if I am in a position where I will be driving.

When I took friends out for a cruise Saturday before last I did drink. It isn't illegal to drink while underway and I don't think it's irresponsible per se. But how much did I drink? Six drinks spread out over eight + hours, and with plenty to eat. Food does not prevent alcohol from reaching the bloodstream, but the right food (fat and protein) does slow it down. My BAC was probably about .04. Some people will take the view that anything over 0 is too much. I understand their reasoning, but I think that is extreme. But I do take my responsibility at the helm seriously. The safety of my friends and crew (including my pets) depends on it. It's good seamanship. I want to have fun on the water and hope everyone can, but, yeah, it's better not to drink and dink.

dead flowers

Dead Flowers is my favorite Suzy song. And it happens to be on the best Stones album, Sticky Fingers, sandwiched between my two favorite Stones songs, Sister Morphine and Moonlight Mile. Crazy memories of crazy days.

Somehow in my many, many moves that CD disappeared and had not made it into my ipods. Yesterday I splurged and bought it. It's strange how some songs feel--like a baby blanket, strangely comforting, familiar, crossing the space-time continuum, seemingly entangled with one at a molecular level.

Seven months aboard today. I bailed out the dink and finally got "street legal" by putting my registration numbers and sticker on the hull. The port side looks, uh, not-so-great. But the starboard side looks pretty decent. I just need them on until I can afford to get around to federally documenting the vessel, then I can take them off and just display state registration stickers on the mast. But at least now I won't constantly stress that I'm going to be ticketed over it. 

Took a leap of faith and removed the microwave from the boat. It is incredibly handy for reheating food, but I only use it an average of once a week. The microwave took up a lot of space for such a lightly-used item. The galley feels more open without it and now I have more counter space to clutter with other things. And one less item demanding electricity. Some day I'll get off the damn grid.

How is it that I left the hardware store with one little bag, but the bill was over $70? Ouch. But I picked up paint for the salon, the boat numbers, some hooks and eyes, a new sprayer and quick-connect system for my dock hose, and--priciest of all--some 303 to re-waterproof my Marmot gloves and an old but beloved Columbia anorak. I did not accomplish as much as I would have liked today, but getting the numbers on the boat and re-waterproofing stuff was good progress. The anorak is huge. I get lost in it. I wondered what size it was and was surprised to see that I had bought a men's large. Then I remembered this was my go-to jacket in Miami's monsoon seasons. I bought one big enough to wear over my backpack full of law books to keep everything dry. I probably looked like a hunchback. I could barely keep my bicycle from toppling over because the books were so heavy, (I once lost that battle and have been scared on a bike since that wipe-out).

I considered continuing the boat-project day, but I am working the next couple of nights and wanted to pop over to a local restaurant to meet a fellow liveaboard. Ironic to meet someone living and working only a few blocks away, but who found me through this blog on the enormous world wide interweb. It's a very big world, but also a very small one. Particularly in the community of folks living aboard, whether docked or cruising. Philip and Sabrina are planning a southbound cruise; check out their blog Sublime Sustenance.

It's also nice to meet other liveaboards who are closer to my age. I have liveaboard friends of all ages, but we all have times and occasions when we want to connect with folks closer to our own age. Even the curmudgeonly floppy-haired sailor wrote me about how pleased he was to have Thanksgiving dinner with others heading south and to encounter three other under-40 sailors, which he said was a rarity heading down the ICW. My shore-based friends whom I party with, go out to see bands with, they are all in their twenties and thirties. My running friends are primarily, but not exclusively, in their thirties and forties, but many have young kids and, therefore, have limitations on their social lives that come with that stage of life. Although I plan to eventually cruise the Bahamas because I've been there some, because I know what islands I'd like to see and why, I get the impression it draws an older cruising crowd.

I have a feeling I will venture off to other islands, off the beaten path, chart my own course, make my own adventures. I've never been one to follow a guidebook. I traveled alone in Brazil before the Internet was available as a resource (or crutch), and years before I ever owned a cell phone. And perhaps as I wander I'll find a young, fit, adventurous, floppy-haired sailor along the way. But whatever happens and wherever my adventures take me, I'll always be sleeping under strange, strange skies.

five months and counting

This past Saturday marked five months living aboard. I must not have been focused on that mini-milestone since it didn't occur to me until having dinner with friends who are soon-to-be-liveaboards and I asked "Is today the 2nd?" Indeed, it was, they confirmed.

That is one of the challenges I face living aboard and not having a traditional Monday-through-Friday office job: the days rather blend together. Instead of Mondays and Tuesdays I think in terms of "the day the tide was really low," "the day it never stopped raining," or "the day I filled the water tank." I guess that's not entirely fair, since I do remember certain days of the week have a great food or drink special at this or that local pub or eatery. I couldn't care less about the Wednesday night sailboat races, but I sure do love the "Wednesday night race tacos" at The Boatyard during the season. And just as the days seem to blend together, the day often passes by as I clickity-clack on my laptop unaware of the day slipping into night because my port lights are all covered with insulation. Thus, I tend to have a day or two a week where I don't head ashore to shower until five or six in the evening, and sometimes, like today, simply shower and get right back in my jammies. Like boaters who don't admit running aground, liveaboards who deny they have days like this are simply lying.

But Sunday was quite the event going for a mini-cruise across the creek. I had spoken with someone at a local marina and he agreed to let me bring my boat over to get pumped out as they made the rounds to their liveaboards. The City of Annapolis treats its liveaboard community like dirt so the city's pumpout boat "breaks" early and often. Even if it wasn't "broken" I trust the city would winterize it as long as possible rather than at least breaking winterization once a week to service the many, many liveaboards who stay through the winter here. Many of those liveaboards shrinkwrap their boats to keep snow off the decks and aid in insulation, so even if a dockside pump-out station was open those boats could not get to it. Why does it matter? Well it's all kinds of illegal to just pump overboard. I've heard the fine is $5,000. And, you know, it's kind of wrong and all. But have no illusion, the minor amount of waste boaters might dump into the Bay is pretty much de minimus. The runoff from chicken farms on the Eastern Shore is the culprit for the Bay's pollution. And when storm water causes the waste treatment plants to overflow into the Bay... sigh.  But despite science and reality the liveaboards are scapegoated and get constant wagging fingers about how important it is not to pump overboard. Too bad local, state, and federal government show virtually no interest in making year-round, publicly accessible pump out facilities available (whether dockside stations, pump-out boats, or pump-out trucks) so that complying with the law was not an amazing pain-in-the-ass. So, I was jumping up and down ecstatic at the prospect of cruising over to a marina that has a golf cart with a giant shit-sucking vacuum on it to pump out the boat.

A friend brought his daughter along for the "cruise" and we worked on departure preparations, including disconnecting the shore power and cable and removing the dog ramp, and even tried to start the engine. I wanted to be as prepared as possible before my friend who helps me captain the boat arrived; I am always on "Miami time," i.e., 15 minutes late, so I wanted to have things ready to go for once. But the engine wasn't starting right up and I wasn't sure how much throttle to give it to get it to turn over. For an hour he didn't have much luck either. I had been a bad, bad diesel owner and hadn't started it up in two and half months. Diesels hate the cold and hate to sit. I should be starting the engine and letting it run a little weekly. The four of us crossed our fingers, said little prayers, begged and pleaded, but the engine smoked and sputtered. I was close to giving up but headed below to make coffee for the older folks and cocoa for my friend's daughter. At last the engine turned over and we all jumped and clapped, and I gave a huge sigh of relief. Here we were on a blustery Sunday morning, winds blowing 15 to 20 knots, occasional snowflakes falling, but warming our hands with mugs of coffee or cocoa and off for a pump-out cruise across Back Creek!

It was great to have all of us aboard. My friend's daughter is great with the pup dog, so she was in charge of getting pup to the bow or back to the cockpit and keeping an eye on her. One friend at the helm while two of us handled lines was handy on arrival and essential when we managed to turn around in the fairway so that we could leave the dock moving forward. Reverse has much less maneuverability and we needed as much control as possible with the winds blowing us toward other boats.

I only took the helm for a short jaunt on the return. The winds were something to contend with and I still get nervous when I get particularly close to boats that look like they exceed my insurance policy limits. Over on Spa Creek I expect there were many boats out for the frostbite races, but I only spotted one other boat (also a sailboat under power) transiting Back Creek.

When we returned the tide had fallen enough that we couldn't get the boat far back enough in the slip to re-attach the dog ramp. For a couple of days the pup had to be lifted on and off, a precarious undertaking. She knows I'm not really strong enough to lift her securely and balks. At one point I had to sit, pull her onto my lap, and then lower her down to the boat. Even now that I have the boat closer the ramp keeps falling off as the boat shifts in the wind and tides. I am going to need to relocate the ramp and modify the solution so that it remains more stable.

After lunch we took a look at the shroud where I suspected a bad leak. When we pulled up the cover to see the chainplate connection through the toe rail, we discovered what looks to be plenty of dry rot. This cold and damp time of year is not ideal for addressing these problems, but at least some stop gap measures would be better than nothing. To use Git-Rot one really should dig out all the rot and get the area dry. That simply isn't possible right now. We went ahead and mixed the Git-Rot and started pouring it down beside the chainplate.

 

The void would seem to fill, then drain, fill, then drain. It drank up the entire batch. We topped off the remaining gaps with 3M 4200 sealant/adhesive and then coated the cover as well. We weren't really sure if that was the source of the leak, but it certainly needed attention and will get more thorough remediation in the Spring. A half hour later I looked over at the area on the cabin sole where the leak would manifest and lo and behold, the Git-Rot was coming out. I may not know the path that leak is taking behind the scenes, but at least now I know the beginning and end points. It's ironic how love of the water brings us to our boats, but the water quickly becomes the enemy we constantly battle to keep outside!

What's the moral of the story in this post? I guess that even when the weather is cold, windy, and gray, even when engines sputter and leaks abound, any time you can cast off the lines with good company is a good day. Living aboard is a challenge, nothing is easy, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.