two year liveaboardaversary (and postscript on sleazy captains)

Thursday marked two years since the pets and I moved aboard. I've heard most liveaboards only last a year and a half before they give up, frustrated, and move back ashore. I feel like I should be so much farther along on all the projects, but nonetheless it doesn't occur to me at all to move ashore. Ambrosia is the only home I've ever owned, the only place that has been truly mine.

practicing my sugar skull makeup for halloween

So, what next? I am somewhat loathe to state any plans because people relish pointing out when one doesn't achieve the deadline or follow the stated plan. But I'm just drawing really broad brush strokes right now and I don't owe anyone apologies or explanations if they change. In the most general sense my plan is that of most every liveaboard I've met: to sail off to that mythical destination called South. For some that's the Carolinas. Or St. Augustine. Perhaps it means Ft. Lauderdale, Miami, or the Keys. For many it also means the Bahamas and the Caribbean. In my case I can see myself heading home to Miami for a bit, on to Key West to look for work fishing or slinging drinks. Ideally, taking a few months to hop around the Bahamas; if I find remote work, perhaps the island-hopping is indefinite.

While I have a few close friends in Annapolis there is nothing to hold me here. I don't know that the prospects for work are any better anywhere else, but they are very meager here, so "career," whatever that is supposed to be, certainly doesn't tie me down. In the end, I'd like to leave the US entirely and for good. I think it will take some time to find a job overseas and secure a visa that lets me emigrate, but this is no longer a land of opportunity and I need to find someplace else to get a chance to start over and build a life. In the meantime, I may as well take advantage of having a slip that includes electricity until Spring. I have work to do on the hard, but don't expect to have the funds to get hauled before winter sets in here. Thus, my thinking is that I'll leave Annapolis and initially head for an area where yard rates are more reasonable and spend a bit of time on the hard making repairs and upgrades before continuing down the ditch, heading South, wherever that is. 

I had thought I'd have contract work in DC for the next few months and while it's a terrible grind commuting four hours round-trip, I would just try to keep my head down and save money. I need to save up a lot for the repairs and upgrades I need aboard, and more urgently the pup dog needs an $800 surgery to remove a rotten tooth. But of course the project I was working on that was slated to last two to four months instead lasted just seven working days. It gets tiring being down to the last penny all the time, but at least I'm not trapped in a horrible marriage or slaving away in an evil law firm. Though I'm poor and have little hope of that ever changing, I'll take the strain of poverty any day over the life I was trapped in before.

As the situation quickly deteriorated on my trip to the Cooks, I didn't dish all the details in real time. So, here's the postscript on sleazy captains and the sordid tale of my brief visit to beautiful Aitutaki.

Regrettably, I doubt I will be willing to crew for any single guys for quite a while. I have been too trusting and too generous in thinking guys who are wildly outside of my age-range and/or seriously not my type understand that and won't be sleazy. And even if a guy is of an age I might consider, that doesn't mean I'd have any interest in sleeping with him. What part of the 30-second rule is so hard to understand? I guess I just have to be rude and tell guys bluntly as soon as I meet them, "Dude, I am never going to sleep with you. If you still want to have a drink, hang out, sail, fine, but you have been friend-zoned, period." Perhaps I'd be willing to crew with a couple making a passage, but I've even had bad experiences (though not yet when sailing) with what appear to be swinger couples with an agenda just like the creepy solo guys. Maybe I have to find a nice gay couple to crew with so I know the guys really don't have any agenda with me. I still want to be able to work on a fishing charter, but after the last charter gig I will definitely have to bluntly tell the captain that he'll lose a hand if he lays a finger on me. I know there are decent guys out there, but the sleazebags sure do give all guys a bad rap.

As for the recent trip, I absolutely never thought the captain had any expectations since he's plainly too old for me, so incredibly not my type (which I also explicitly told our mutual friend), and he knew I quit the fishing boat because of the handsy old captain. I wasn't sure if he was either trying to or did hook up with our mutual friend, but he referred to her as an "ex" to someone in conversation, which surprised me. In the Cooks he was constantly trashing her and her boyfriend, saying how jealous the guy was that he was there, and how it was a nightmare staying with her, what a disaster it was staying on her boat. This from a guy with zero personal hygiene and no working head on his boat; ugh. But he'd definitely like to get his hands on some of her boyfriend's money since the captain is broke, in debt, and living off credit cards. He was scheming how to get the boyfriend to invest in his daysail / fishing charter in the Cooks; hopefully the guy will steer well clear of the captain and not get scammed. 

So, how did the trip unfold?

When I arrived in Aitutaki on Monday and we got to the house, the captain showed me a little twin bed, which he said I could use, then showed me the big bed where he sleeps, and said I'm also welcome to sleep there. I actually laughed out loud at that suggestion and made it clear I'd be on the twin alone. That was such a ridiculous proposition that I mostly took it as a joke but that was the first indication that he might have expectations beyond the crew and cook role I had signed on for. It was cool at night in Aitutaki and I asked about a blanket. The captain said there was only one blanket so if I wanted to use it I had to sleep in the bed with him. I said that's nonsense and took the blanket. He bitched and moaned the next evening about how cold he was and wanted the blanket back. I argued that there couldn't seriously be only one blanket in the whole house and to find something. He took the good blanket and gave me a light bedspread he found in another room. Fine. Being old and highly unattractive is unfortunate, but not a character flaw. Being a manipulative sleazebag is a serious character flaw and pretty much sums that captain up.

Tuesday we had to run all over the island with a borrowed pick-up buying groceries and hauling things to the boat. He was supposed to return the truck the night before and when we ran into the owner of the truck the guy was pretty pissed off and told the captain to move all his stuff out of a house where he was storing things. The captain ended up just bad-mouthing the guy the rest of the day and decided to keep the truck all day and not move out his stuff. How he would have ever fit all the junk he has onto that catamaran anyway is a mystery and he certainly was no where near being ready to sail to Tonga. 

The captain only appeared to have three "friends" on the island after some six months: (1) the American ex-pat guy he borrowed the truck from, who didn't exactly seem to like the captain; (2) a Samoan guy married to a local but who was out of town for an extended trip; and (3) a local auto mechanic who always looked very annoyed by the captain any time we went by there to borrow things or use his shop. The captain would put on a front of being buddies to anyone we came across and as soon as they were gone he'd be bad-mouthing them or gossiping about them. The actual locals never seemed genuinely friendly to him and likely the only people who really tolerated him were outsiders who had happened to marry a local.

It must have been Wednesday morning when the Samoan guy's son told the captain that they had a plan to get the island council to approve him to stay. The plan was for the captain to sign half his boat over to the Samoan and/or the son and be partners in the business so the council would consider the application to be made by a local. Personally, I'd think that was a steep price, giving up half your business and boat to be able to stay. But I guess if it's the place you really love and want to be, it'd be worth it. Ah, but it turns out the captain has a different plan. He said that whatever paperwork they did in the Cooks saying he'd signed anything over would be irrelevant because he wouldn't be changing the ownership documentation with the US Coast Guard, so after a few years he'd just sail away and the locals wouldn't get anything. So, one of the few people he was supposedly friends with and he'd happily screw him over once he got what he wanted. Maybe they were both planning on screwing each other over, but it was pretty clear the captain had no moral compass whatsoever. I feel so sorry for Aitutaki if the island council approved him for a business. He'll just milk the place and the tourists for everything he can and then move on. 

On Wednesday the captain was being pissy and I suspected perhaps he was mad that I wasn't sleeping with him. He would constantly be in my personal space and trying to touch me, which I really hate. When he came back from lunch on Wednesday he left me on the dock when he took the dink to the boat, and that was just the beginning of the snippy, petulant behavior. It was Wednesday or Thursday evening that he cornered me, put his arm around my waist, and said he "wasn't opposed to some female companionship." Eewwww. I pushed him away and told him he was totally in the friend-zone, which definitely pissed him off. Thursday evening I was going to try to watch the traditional dance at the Tamanu resort, but the captain's inability to ever stop talking or invading my personal space was too annoying and I called it a night by 9:00pm. 

It was pretty clear by Friday that the captain planned to stay in Aitutaki so I had been trying to find another boat to join to sail on to Niue and Tonga, or even Auckland if possible. Unfortunately, not having a cell phone and very limited Internet access made it too difficult to connect and coordinate with the few other boats in the harbor. Friday night we went to a local bar, Crushers, with a little dance floor inside and picnic tables in the sand outside. As obnoxious as the captain was, I had just been trying to slide away from him whenever he got in my space and just bit my tongue for the sake of being peaceable. Walking to Crushers, however, I had had it. He kept touching me, goofing off, rambling on, and doing anything he could to get attention. I finally told him that being around him is like babysitting an 8-year-old, to please just shut the fuck up and walk. 

Naturally, he was all piss and vinegar but once we were at Crushers he was acting nice because he wanted people to think we were together. I did whatever I could to not have to sit next to him and was relieved when Mary and Patrick, a couple from another boat in the harbor, arrived and I could chat with them. Mary clearly felt bad for me being stuck with the captain. Mary and I were on the dance floor and a local guy came up and asked if I "was the girl running on the island [that] morning." Yes, indeed, the one and only runner on the island, that was me. When I was dancing the captain came up and was trying to dance with me and I kept evading him and finally had to just yell at him to get the fuck away from me. The owner of the bar invited Mary, Patrick, and I up to a rooftop deck where a few other people joined us and we hung out for hours having an impromptu jam session. Thankfully, the captain didn't know where I was and went home. I ended up crashing at a friend's, a few houses down the road from the captain's rented house. How nice to have indoor facilities and a good night's sleep!

Saturday morning I strolled in and said good morning, but the captain was chilly. He left to work on the boat shortly after I arrived. I took some time to actually enjoy the beach a bit and then investigated the Internet access at the nearby resort, (where I met Carol and Nikki, both of whom ended up generously opening their homes to me in Aitutaki and Papamoa Beach, respectively). I figured it was going to be very difficult logistically to find another boat to join and researched flights to get to Auckland. It's much pricier to get from Aitutaki to Auckland than to get there from Niue or Tonga. Even though the captain was a scumbag, I would most likely have suffered through a passage if it looked like he was actually going to relocate. I wouldn't travel half-way around the world and leave someone hanging. But it was pretty clear at that point he planned to stay in Aitutaki. And while I wouldn't want to leave anyone short-handed, I don't know that I'd have felt safe trapped aboard with him for any length of time. 

When I got back to the house Saturday afternoon the captain had a total hissy fit. He said that it wasn't working out and he didn't think I was ready for 1000 miles of open ocean sailing. Complete bullshit, of course, which I told him. I've got more mental and physical aptitude in my pinkie than he'll ever have. (And it'd be 800 nm consisting of one day sail plus two 36-hour passages, but whatever.) But I agreed that we should definitely part ways as soon as possible. He said he thought I should fly out on Monday. He lied about the cost for a ticket to Auckland and belly-ached about it, trying to push it off on me. He said I should just make something up to qualify for the travel insurance to fly back to the States early. He explicitly told me to commit insurance fraud. Wow. I told him I'm obviously not going to do that.

I headed back to the nearby resort for happy hour and some more Internet access. Nikki asked if I'd found a boat and when I said I hadn't, she generously invited me to stay at their house in the Bay of Plenty when they got back to New Zealand. The locals were insistent that the captain had to pay for my ticket to Auckland and seemed pretty disgusted that he was trying to push it off on me. I asked about a cheap hotel for the following night, but Carol invited me to stay at her home instead. I dreaded going back to that house with the captain, but thankfully it was the last night I had to put up with him.

On Sunday morning the captain was under the gun to move out of the little house and onto his boat. I told him that I just needed my plane tickets to Auckland and I had a place to stay that night, so we could just part ways as soon as he handed me the tickets. He was clearly pissed off at me, and then the real reason he wanted me gone came out. He went into a tirade about how it was totally "disrespectful for me to be sleeping with someone else when I was living under his roof." I burst out laughing. How completely ridiculous. We were roommates, period, sharing a little rented shack. I'm an adult American woman, no one makes rules for me and no one owns me. Even a really stupid American guy should know that. He was acting as if we were married and I'd had an affair. This guy is seriously disconnected from reality. There's not a universe in which I would have ever dated him but somehow he created that little fantasy world in his head. He went on about how all the locals are laughing at him and talking behind his back about it, blah, blah, blah. And the really funny thing about it: I didn't actually sleep with anyone there, though I certainly could have. He stormed off on his little scooter to get online and find plane tickets.

I packed all my things up and hid out at the resort. I obviously wanted to minimize the amount of time I had to be around him. I managed to just pop back to the house and get the flight confirmation numbers from him and when I returned later to get my bag he had left. Naturally, he got me the very most inconvenient flights possible just to be a jerk. Oh, well. The girl who arrived to clean the house said that last time he left it was "very messy," but I told her I had cleaned the kitchen and swept the floors, so it shouldn't be too bad. Carol picked me up and her family welcomed and spoiled me and made sure I got to the airport the next morning. 

Hopefully karma will deal the captain the hand he deserves. Although one very ugly American did his best to ruin my trip, I met countless amazing people, saw great sites, and enjoyed the adventure that presented itself, even if it wasn't the one I had planned. And in the end, I still think the world is my oyster. But perhaps it's best if I'm "the captain of my own ship," as my friend Mike likes to say, so I don't have to worry about any more sleazy captains.

milestones

A lot of milestones this time of year. Yesterday marked two years since I closed on Ambrosia, the first and only home I have ever owned. It is bittersweet insofar as I feel I should have made so much more progress on boat repairs, sailing skills, and miles under keel than I have. But I live hand-to-mouth and there is only so much one can do on such a constrained budget. I either have time or money, but never both, and both are necessary in order to afford equipment and make repairs. So I plod along and do the best I can. If that isn't good enough for someone, they can, well, fuck off. Apparently a lot of people relish giving me crap about being in a floating apartment and not sailing my boat enough. But they aren't cracking open their checkbooks to fund the repairs so they can shove it. And to the great disdain of many sailors, the sailing just doesn't really matter to me. I don't live on a boat so I can daysail around the Chesapeake. I live on a boat so I can be rocked to sleep by the sea and so I can experience endless locales. Cruising for me has nothing to do with raising the sails and everything to do with reaching a peaceful anchorange in Paradise and then a bustling port full of a cacophony of sounds, smells, flavors, and new adventures to embrace. It's great that some people love just sailing around even if they never get anywhere in particular. But they aren't better than me and I'm not better than them. There are a myriad of reasons people choose to live aboard and/or cruise and people would be wise to respect that and be more open-minded, but, yeah, people are stupid. I've been connected to the water my entire life and can't imagine being land-locked, but boating for me is similar to loving a roadtrip but disliking driving (which is also very true for me). I love the personal/spiritual journey, but otherwise it's all about the destination and that adventure. The actual transit, whether by boat or car, involves time, stress, and money, I can't relax or have a cocktail, so it's work. That part is something to be endured so that I can get to some interesting new destination. I guess I'm quite the opposite (and thankful for it) than all the folks who enjoy their sail to the Bahamas and then never spend a dime ashore because they are too cheap and would rather eat all their Costco provisions from Florida and/or who are too scared to leave their boat and venture around the islands actually experiencing anything. Okay, I do think I'm better than those people, so sue me.

Last night I had a strange nightmare that most of the lines on the boat snapped and the boat lurched and rolled when only a stern line held it in a storm and I was flung in the air, trying desperately to hold onto the bow railing. I was tossed about but survived and the pets were all okay.

Another big milestone today: Hunter's first swim. After a long day commuting to DC for junk project work, I got home, walked the pup dog, and took a shower. Shortly after I got back from the bathhouse I heard Hunter wailing. He only makes that kind of loud, guttural cry if he's in a fight or hurt, so I popped my head out the hatch and called to him, but I didn't see him. Then I looked down. Halfway between the dock and the water, there was Hunter, soaking wet and bedraggled, clinging to the piling by his claws and wailing. I immediately talked to him so he knew help was there and jumped off the boat. At first I was going to try to get him to grab the mat I had tied off to a line just for this purpose, but figured if he had any more climbing in him he'd have kept climbing up the piling. I had to lay on the dock and hang over the edge to reach him. He was slippery and thin, and I was worried about him sliding out of my grasp. But I got ahold of him and started pulling him up. He leapt to the dock and ran right onto the boat. The cabin sole was soaked and he tucked into the very forepeak, trying to lick himself dry. I kept trying to towel him off, but he resisted. Eventually his brother came in and helped him dry off, likely explaining that he's "been there, done that" twice already and everything would be okay. Just a mintue or two after I pulled Hunter up a dockmate came by asking if I'd gotten him out. He had heard the cat crying all the way at the other pier and come to help. It's a good thing that cat has a set of lungs on him and I'm grateful there was a dockmate alert enough and who would care enough to come help. I feel bad for Hunter, but it's a lesson better learned at the dock in early fall than while under way or in the winter. He's a brave kitty and I'm glad he's got a good survival instinct. 

In just a few days it will be my two-year anniversary of living aboard. I'm grateful to say that I can't imagine living any other way and I don't regret moving aboard at all. Are there things I may have done differently in hindsight, of course, but working within the financial, logistical, and tempero-spatial constaints I have, I think I've done well, adapted well. While living aboard is definitely not for everyone, it suits me. I've also found that I have a lot more inner strength, stick-to-it-iveness, and determination than I or others gave myself credit, and--as when long-distance running--I know I have an amazing reserve of resiliency to draw on to get through just about anything life throws at me. My recent adventure was quite an adventure, though not at all the one I had planned. But I rolled with it, made the most of it, thoroughly enjoyed myself, challenged myself to leave my comfort zone, and found that my "centeredness" really does give me the balance and strength to do and survive anything.

A postscript/portmortem on the sleazy captain will come shortly. For tonight, I am thankful for my boat; every night I tell her that we love her, that she has saved our lives and we are working to save her, too. I am thankful for my pack, who love me even if they fall overboard, who put up with all the crazy I put them through. And I am thankful for all the amazing people I have met along the way in this cruise through life that has been anything but a "cruise." 

Here are a couple of snaps of the new ink now that it is all healed. I love the piece and hopefully I will make it back to the land of the long white cloud sooner than later and for the long haul.

me, myself, and i (+ project: port lights)

Well, actually, it's me, pup, and the cats. My intrepid crew. Although I would prefer to make the trip south with just my pack, enjoying the solitude, making our own adventure, and setting our own pace, it would certainly be simpler and faster if I had crew along to help. Going solo means being stuck at the helm the entire day under way, with no one to take the wheel for even a few minutes here and there so that I can piss or make coffee or check on the pets. I will likely need to bring every item I'll need for the day up to the cockpit with me and forego drinking much coffee along the way. It also means no one to help me watch out for crab pots, to help me with anchoring and docking the boat, or to help with getting the dog in and out of a dinghy to go ashore.

Despite my preference for being on my own, it isn't that I haven't tried to round up crew. I am loathe to ask for help but I sucked it up and asked virtually everyone that made any sense, many who did not, and random strangers, to boot. Between the cold weather, an old boat, and the furry crew, I guess folks just don't see the appeal. Clearly, they haven't had my butterscotch brownies.

A smattering of people think I can do it and tell me to just cast off the lines and get going. Most think there is no chance I can do it on my own and that I'll be heading to certain death. *Sigh.* I'm not talking about taking my boat solo past Cape Hatteras (the "graveyard of the Atlantic"). We're talking about 21+ day trips down the intracoastal waterway. It's a slow bird-watching trip with lots of time spent idling waiting for bridges to open. Yes, I'm worried about various areas with notoriously strong current since I haven't had to deal with much of any current here in Annapolis. Yes, I will have to time tides because the water is shallow in the ICW and I don't want to run aground constantly. Yes, I will have to wait out weather at times and carefully plan my weather for crossing the Albemarle Sound. But as I have said before, stupider, drunker people in less seaworthy boats than mine have circumnavigated and made it home alive. Surely I can make it down the ICW in one piece.

It's disheartening the lack of faith people have in me, but I guess that's why I'm a single girl on her boat with a furry crew. It's me and my pack, we're used to being on our own and just having to believe in ourselves and keep on keeping on.

I'm probably most concerned with anchoring, docking, and locking through by myself. Those are the times that a second set of hands really comes in handy. But I'll just have to buckle down and practice the anchoring and docking as much as I can before I go. Unfortunately, being aground in my slip much of the time during winter means I can't get my boat out for that practice and no telling whether I'd have enough water under my keel to make it out of the slip when I got a decent weather window to head out. Yesterday I picked up my new Gill offshore foul weather jacket. When I bought bibs and a jacket at Annapolis Performance Sailing, I had wanted to walk out with everything that day. The women's jacket that fit me was in red, which isn't my thing, so I went with a men's jacket in graphite. After further consideration, I decided having a jacket with arms that extended a couple inches past my fingertips was not going to work out. And this gear isn't exactly inexpensive. The guys at APS were great and readily exchanged it for me, called to press Gill to get the new ladies' graphite one shipped out, and gave me a Black Friday discount that hadn't been applied earlier. APS may be racer-oriented and on the pricier end, but every experience I've had there has been great. They patiently answer my questions and never talk down to me because I'm a "girl," (a universal experience at West Marine). OK, I'll admit it doesn't hurt that they have some cute young guys working there... anyone who reads this blog knows I have my weaknesses...

The pre-departure punchlist is rather lengthy and I was set back on progress by a cash flow crunch, several days of snow and rain, and being stood up by my handyman. I'm eager to leave, ready for an adventure, tired of Annapolis. But my current thinking is that I'll try to stay in the general area for another couple months to knock out work on my boat where I know vendors. Heading out in March would still be chilly, but if spring comes early it could be quite nice, days for the transit would be longer, and I may be able to line up a crew member to help. The latter is tough. I'd absolutely prefer to make the trip alone and not have to be in tight quarters with someone, getting on each other's nerves. Even the dearest friend can grow tiresome quickly with no way to take a break from each other. But if the right cute, young, floppy-haired guy came along...

Sunday night's mix of snow and sleet left about a quarter-inch of ice all along my pier, plus icicles on the boom and lifelines. Good thing I had plenty of ice melt to put down.

We're about a week into a new litter "system" for the cats. I told the cats it's not just any litter box. No, they are fancy, important cats that get a "system." The Tidy Cats Breeze had been recommended on The Boat Galley via a cruiser with cats. Naturally, it uses special litter pellets and pee pads to lock you into ongoing purchases, but I found those things on Amazon at not unreasonable prices. The box has a grate in the bottom and the pee goes through the grate and into a pee pad in a tray below. After one week the pad was totally full, but there wasn't any cat pee smell at all. I'll likely change the pad more than once a week since I have two cats aboard. The pellets are sort of large and hard. The poop doesn't stick to them at all so you just scoop out the poop very easily and the box is clean. No gritty litter getting kicked and tracked everywhere. The cats seemed unsure at first and we had one "out-of-box incident," but it looks like I have compliance now and this system is noticeably less smelly. One very important benefit: instead of going through 30 pounds of bulky, hard-to-store clumping litter a month, this will use just one or two 3.5 pound bags of pellets. Much lighter to carry aboard and far easier to store.

Project Screen and Gasket Replacement: I bought new gaskets and screens from Beckson several months ago but hadn't gotten around to replacing them. All the screens were ripped and a few of my port lights would leak when it rained. I happened to have an afternoon that was sunny and dry, with snow and rain expected the following days, so I decided to tackle the project. It doesn't seem like a tough project and the only tool required is a wooden mallet. But the frustration level over those gaskets can get pretty high. They just don't want to go in the little groove. Then you get it in and when you think you've finished the last corner you step back and one of the other corners has popped out. Arrgggghhhh! OK, deep breath. As the guy at Beckson had told me, the first one was definitely the hardest and they would each be progressively less hard (I can't really say "easier" with a straight face). For one port I had an internal rain shield so I can leave the port open for ventilation without rain coming in. It's basically a piece of smoked Lexan with a screen at the top half and two louvers to keep the rain off. I expected the gasket project to have been an utter failure and rain to be gushing in everywhere. But to my pleasant surprise, only the port in the head leaked. I tightened down a couple of the dogs and voila, leak stopped. Where I actually see water coming in on most of them is at the screws, which has nothing to do with my gasket replacement project. Once I get some nice weather I'll go topsides and put a little silicone over the screws and a bead of silicone along the bottom and part-way up the sides of the ports even though it's probably overkill. Here's a "before" with a crappy-looking ripped screen, and then an "after" with a shiny new internal rain shield installed. Definitely a classier look.

Ah, but the port lights still looked pretty junky from the inside because I have pieces of silver Reflectix insulation in each of them to keep heat in and condensation down. I had commented on how nice the little inserts over a friend's ports were and she told me they just bought place mats at Michael's and then cut them to fit as sleek little "curtains." I happened to have some place mats with an interesting texture and which seem to be some kind of heavy duty paper or possibly bamboo that may hold up for a while. The color isn't my first choice, but I figured this was a good way to experiment. So...

Take some 3M Super 77 spray adhesive (note: expect this to make a major mess of your nail polish if you forget to put on gloves... ask me how I know), add green place mats, and let's see what happens!

That third photo is a different little project I just tackled, too. I read a comment on Cruiser's Forum saying that an aluminum mast is a heat sink sucking all the warmth in the cabin up and out. I had my heater running on high next to the mast. I felt the mast and it was very cold. Hmmm... I had a huge roll of Reflectix laying around so why not. I wrapped the mast in the insulation and duct-taped it, then slid it around so the duct tape is hidden. I think I'll take an old sail and make a cover to zip or tie around over the insulation instead of having this shiny silver disco pole in the middle of the salon.

OK, back to the "curtains." I sprayed each piece of Reflectix on one side with the adhesive and then pressed it down on the place mat. Then I just followed around the shape of the insulation to cut away the excess place mat. I'm actually quite pleased with how this came out. I'm not huge on green, but it's OK for now and I may just make another set from an old sail or other fabric I like. I have four other larger windows which don't open, and now I just need to cover the insulation in them the same way. Guess it's time to start hacking up that old sail!

Off to a holiday party tonight and tomorrow is the lighted boat parade here in Annapolis. The lights are pretty but this will be my fourth year and I expect it will be the same decorations I've seen for the last three years. It sure would be nice if they required the entrants to change things up.

bundling up

The marina thermometer: Brrr....

Friday held a few "firsts" of the season. First time this fall for donning my Uggs, wearing gloves, and turning on the oil-filled radiator space heater aboard. Pup dog had curled up in a tight ball on the settee and gave me a plaintive stare with those big brown eyes. "Okay, fine. I admit it's cold in here; I'll put on the heat!" It was 60 degrees inside the boat and only about 45 outside. And that wasn't even the overnight low. The heater brought it up to a cozy 65 or so. As friends can attest, I keep the boat a pretty chilly 55 to 65 degrees. Since I have metered electric, I am cost conscious and opt to bundle up inside rather than face enormous electric bills. The space heater is also running off the main shore power line, so it takes about half the total amperage I can run on that line at once. Running it on high around the clock may trip a breaker, (or much, much worse fry the shore power cord and lead to a boat fire), so I try to run it at a lower heat setting and not use it 24/7 if I can avoid it. I know "winter" technically doesn't start until after mid-December, but to me "winter aboard" begins when one needs to turn the heat on. Friday I also hailed the pump out boat and was told the boat would be out of service for the next five days or so for repairs and maintenance. I sure hope that's all it is and they aren't taking the boat offline this early like they did last year. Fingers crossed the harbormaster keeps the boat running at least weekly through the winter. Further proof that winter aboard is here: condensation on the window frames this morning. Let the winter battle against mold begin.

The next tidbit isn't even worth mentioning, so I only do so as a little post-script to one storyline for those who have followed along from the outset of this journey. Friday I was walking along over the Spa Creek bridge engaged in two different sets of private messages and typing away furiously. (Yes, I know, texting and walking is bad...but I was messaging about important boat stuff if that makes it any better.) I glanced up so as not to walk into either vehicular or pedestrian traffic and briefly saw the floppy-haired sailor guy about to pass me. "Hmm. It's [him]." And I simply went along walking across the bridge, engaged in my correspondence, and otherwise went about my business. No reason to acknowledge him. He simply isn't on my radar. I have so many things on my plate, so many stressors, and so many wonderful people lifting me up and supporting me. To me, he just isn't there at all; just a blank. And that's just fine. I am not going to feign friendliness or friendship with him, and I also don't see any point in giving him a lecture or telling him off. He doesn't deserve any effort from me positive or negative, I'm just too busy keeping my life moving forward.

Keeping my injured middle finger buddy-taped.

Friday I also heard from the captain who asked me to crew from Los Angeles to the Marshall Islands. I had mostly written off seeing that trip happen since I hadn't heard back from him. He'd been out of touch due to a family emergency. I had been so excited about the passage and disappointed to set that plan aside. I still think it's an amazing opportunity to develop my sailing skills and confidence and to see parts of the world I wouldn't take my boat as long as I have pets aboard. He's now targeting a late November crossing so I'm cautiously optimistic that the stars will align and I will be able to go have an amazing adventure this winter. Whether it is smooth sailing or a terrifying ordeal, I think there's no doubt I would learn a lot about sailing and about myself so it's an opportunity I need to seize.

Buttercup working on her T-bone.

The two other liveaboard boats who have been my neighbors the past few weeks have now headed south for the winter. Brilliant cast off on Friday afternoon. They gave me an old halyard that I'll repurpose--perhaps I'll finally make rope mats for the companionway steps--and a 2.5 gallon jerry can for gas, which will be a handy back-up for the dinghy. This morning we waved good-bye to Eleanor Q. Buttercup will be sad to see them go. Frank would toss the ball for her regularly and they brought her an enormous bone from a T-bone steak last night. You can follow their adventures here. Unfortunately, within only a few hours of their departure a different boat I had hoped not to be neighbors with again returned to the slip next to me. Sigh. Another reason to never, ever sign an annual slip lease: ultra-annoying dockmates.

The Eleanor Q leaving her slip.

Frank and Mary Marie heading south.

ashore no more

At last, I am free from my office! It took weeks of selling things and moving things in dribs and drabs, having to paint when I definitely had an understanding I would not need to, and delays due to a week of rain at the most inopportune times, but I am moved out. I made a sad pilgrimage to the county landfill to push the then rain-ruined antique desk down the hill (if only I had had time to take it to the LMS before the rains came after the awful Goodwill incident). Bags upon bags of clothes, shoes, housewares, books, and board games went to the local Annapolis Lutheran Mission Society on West Street. Everyone there was incredibly friendly and helpful. My art collection went to the Anne Arundel County SPCA for use in silent auctions and/or to brighten their walls.

The past few weeks trying to get out of the office have been a stressful whirlwind. I'm glad that many of the finer furniture pieces went on to good new homes. I've even been invited to visit my beloved dining table, credenza, and the hope chest my grandfather built for my grandmother, to see them in their new home. Good friends make moving a slightly less painful experience and they really are priceless. My friend Denise kept me company and helped with my moving sale, making the stressful process go much more smoothly. My friend Phil is busy preparing for his own southbound adventure, but helped me load furniture into the truck nonetheless. And I can't thank my friends Mike and Dave enough...not only helping out with moving stuff, but painting the office for me while I sorted and bagged and loaded. Indeed, when I had to leave in a frantic rush to get to work, they stayed behind to finish painting!

I'd like to think I am 100% "ashore no more," but in truth my car is filled to the tippy-top with stuff, the cab of a friend's pick-up is filled to the brim, and I have commandeered about a 3' by 6' plot in a friend's dining room for boxes, bags, and an oriental carpet. Other than a lamp being shipped to my mother and boxes of photographs and CDs that a friend will store, everything else must eventually make it aboard. There are boxes of legal files that need to be sorted, scanned, and tossed. Galley items, candle holders, linens, and too many clothes. The first step will be cleaning and organizing what is already aboard, maximizing the storage space, and tucking everything away somewhere. There is an amazing amount of storage space aboard, but much of it is difficult to access (e.g., large, deep storage lockers beneath the v-berth) or blocks access to necessary areas (e.g., the engine, batteries, and water pump). Little by little I will get there. There is still a lot of work and sorting ahead, but I am incredibly relieved not to have to drive across town to the office anymore and to no longer have that monthly expense hanging over my head.

I still hope I can mediate, as it is very rewarding to help people in conflict move forward in a positive way rather than drain themselves and their bank accounts in litigation. But without a steady stream of clients it was simply impractical and financially burdensome to maintain an office and hope for clients to come. I can always rent conference room space if and when I need it. I still dream of finding a niche cruising the Caribbean and mediating the divorces of couples who retired and sailed away, only to discover that their marriage didn't survive the passage.

Friday I walked around at the boat show, drank Painkillers in the rain, and bought some sail ties. I was mostly nonplussed by the show, but it was fun to walk around with a friend and have some cocktails. I definitely have the itch to sail off and have some adventures, and when I saw one friend at the show I told her I'm not sure when or where I'm going, but I doubt I'll be tied to the docks here in six months. Friday night I got to meet folks from near and far at a Caribbean cruisers reunion. A couple who split their time between a home in the Annapolis area and living on the hook in St. Lucia graciously invited me to their annual boat show party and, as is the norm, the cruisers happily shared their tales, welcomed me, and encouraged me to sail away on an adventure. It's a big world out there to explore, but the cruising and liveaboard communities are small, so it is wonderful to meet folks here who I will likely run into in some far-off anchorage in the future. And I even met someone who is only about ten slips away from me, so it really is a small world.

Still much to prepare, many repairs to make, affairs to get in order so I can head off on my adventures. I am growing wary of heading south in the cold, blustery weather and may wait for warmer, sunnier days to head out. Now that the smell of fall is in the air, I'm not sure I want to miss fall and winter here. I enjoy a little snow, wearing hats and gloves and boots, going ice skating. Is winter aboard hard? Yes. But so are hot, muggy summers in Florida. (The weather is the single biggest thing I hated about Miami during all my years there.) I am still in this state of flux, preparing, edging closer, and itching to go. But still, the plan is that there is no plan. The key goal right now is to truly be ashore no more so I am free to go.

flux

Everything seems to be a moving target, constantly shifting, leaving me in flux. I am ready to move on, move forward, have an adventure, find balance in the midst of the turbulence. But so many things seem to keep holding me back as I try to break free.

I have been trying to get moved out of my office since I can ill afford the expense of it, haven't had any clients in months, and detest driving across town to go there. Friends would help me move but they are only free on the weekends, when of course I have to work. I had hoped to sell more items to have some spare cash to go without work a month or two while sailing away. The garage sales were exhausting and while I am happy that many items are off to new homes, so much remains requiring sorting, decisions, and disposal. When I ready myself to spend a day tossing, lugging, moving... I get downpours. Items I am trying to sell or donate will be ruined if I move them in an open pick-up in the rain. So I must regroup, reschedule. The volume of stuff I set aside to save will fill the boat to the brim, so I may be living among stacks of books and random clutter for a while...not that I don't already! The stress of moving, which I had hoped to never do again, is wearing me down. I try to remind myself of the relief I will feel when I am done with that office for good.

Yesterday a friend met me at the office to load some larger items into the truck so that I could donate them to Goodwill. I was sad to see the nice large desk and little dresser go, but glad at least they would help someone else. Unfortunately, Goodwill refused to take the desk, though it's not clear why since it was a nice solid piece, antique, probably oak, quality made unlike the junk that gets churned out today. They were going to take the dresser but then realized one foot had popped off. Its screws were intact and the foot just needed a touch of glue, but I hadn't had time to do it since it would need to set. But instead of just saying they couldn't take it, they berated me and gave me a ridiculous rash of shit, going on and on until I drove away. An older woman was there dropping off clothes or something and chastised them for being so mean to me about it and failing to appreciate the dovetailing and craftsmanship in the little dresser. At least she saw some beauty in that poor little dresser before its demise. The downpours began overnight with the desk in the back of the pick-up and so now the desk, too, is ruined and I won't even be able to find someone who might adopt it. Probably needless to say, but hell will freeze over before I do any business whatsoever with Goodwill. There are many, many more worthy charities out there. My collection of original artwork will be too difficult to sell, so I will donate it to the Anne Arundel SPCA for silent auctions or to brighten their walls, (and they said they certainly want the set of connecting dog gates that Goodwill refused). Any clothes and shoes I can't consign and various housewares items and books will likely go to the Lutheran Mission Society.

A little over a week ago I began seriously looking into joining a boat as crew for a major passage...from Southern California to Hawaii and on to the Marshall Islands. Although the trip would come right in the midst of when I was planning my own voyage, the opportunity to undertake a lengthy passage and see the south pacific was worth delaying my own plans for several months or another season. I began turning my life upside down. Planning for how I could cover expenses while gone with no income, planning for how my pets would be taken care of. Immense inconveniences all around and guilt over leaving, and likely separating, my pets. I had found someone possibly willing to rent my boat with the cats aboard, which would make the trip financially feasible so that slip fees would be paid in my absence and the cats would not be uprooted. A friend offered to take in pup dog and even bring her by to visit the cats so the pack would not feel so disconnected.

While constantly stressing about the financial, logistical, and pet care issues, I was simultaneously exhilarated at the prospect of the passage. Two, perhaps three, months at sea with one stop along the way. That is a lot of time to be seasick, face terrifying swells and winds, be in tight quarters with strangers, manage crazy sleep and watch schedules, and be generally out of contact with the world. But it is also a lot of time to learn, to find balance, to challenge oneself, to find one's breaking point, to see the stars and sea all around. Most friends encouraged me to find a way to make it happen, to seize the opportunity and go have an amazing adventure. I tried to focus on the upsides, so much opportunity to learn both about sailing and about myself, getting to snorkel in Hawaii and the Marshalls, living life simply, out of one duffel bag.

But my questions about the passage, e.g. how the boat is outfitted, what gear and safety equipment are aboard, have gone unanswered. I had said that it was something that would either come together or fall apart within the next few days. The time when I can secure an affordable plane ticket to LA will soon pass. The lead time needed to deal with any vaccinations and passport issues is fast closing. And so the exhilaration has turned to disappointment and I am coming to accept that this amazing trip simply won't come to pass.

Sunset at the Naval Academy Bridge on the Severn River

Nothing ties me here anymore. My current job is more work for less money and not covering my bills, but certainly adding to my headaches. Having a job one simply dreads going in to is such an awful feeling. I have friends here, but I trust the close ones will come visit me along my journeys and will be here for a pint at the pub upon my return. And of course there is no love interest in the picture. So a marathon in November and an ultra in December are all that really tie me here now. I've paid for the races but it seems silly to stay just for that. Well, my slip lease runs to year-end, so that ties me here unless released from it, since I can't afford to pay for the slip once I'm under way. I worry that I won't be able to pull it all together, finish repairs and such, in the next three weeks. I would head out later, in the cold of January, but worry about nor'easters making it a tough trip. So, the plan is to go. It's not clear when. It's not clear where. The plan is that there is no plan. I just want to live my life barefoot, in a bikini, snorkeling in crystal blue waters, digging my toes in hot sand. On this gray, rainy day, that dream feels so far away and everything remains in flux.

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.

cat and mouse

Under the gun to pay bills, it was just my luck to have two shifts cancelled so far this week. I tried to make the best of the unexpected time off and schlepped an enormous bag with three loads of laundry to the little laundromat downtown. No one ever seems to hang out in the laundromat waiting and it seems like a nice enough spot that no one will steal my panties, so I went across the street for a couple pints. I brought along homework. (See photo.)

I was studying up on battery systems aboard because I was meeting later that day with a friend to discuss my power needs so I could plan out battery bank upgrades and my solar power requirements. I still need to sit down with an Excel spreadsheet and run all the numbers on my load requirements both at a marina (with the luxury of shore power) and on the hook. I'm hoping that a couple of solar panels will suffice to keep my batteries charged if I try living on a mooring ball or so that I can cruise south and spend a few nights on the hook for every one in a marina. No way I could afford a marina every night heading south.

My friend bravely climbed in the lazarette to peek at the current batteries. Looks like I have a small sealed battery for my engine start, and then two large flooded batteries for my house bank. I knew that one of the house batteries is dead, so the plan will be to replace both with a series of golf cart batteries (which I should be able to lift) instead of the huge marine batteries I have now. Looks like I need to add some distilled water to the working battery, so I brought a gallon back to the boat and now have to crawl down and figure out how to fill it. I'm sure it's not that complicated, but since I've never done it before I'm always nervous about screwing something up. Not sure when I'll get around to an upgrade on the battery bank, as it isn't in the budget right now, but I at least want to know what my power needs are and try to get a sufficient solar array in place.

Another liveaboard friend met up with us and we headed to Vin 909 for dinner. It's the top Zagat-rated restaurant in town, doesn't take reservations, and serves up great, affordable food in a mellow atmosphere. I insisted they let me choreograph the meal for us all to share. A friend selected a bottle of merlot for the table. We started with a selection of three cheeses (served with apples, walnuts, crostini, and a tomato jam). Then came a margarita pizza. For thin-crust, this is the best pizza in town, bar none. (At at $9.50, a steal.) We still needed a little something before dessert, so a plate of warm olives and almonds with crostini was the third course. We finished with the not-to-be-missed butterscotch pudding. If you're in Annapolis, drop by Vin in Eastport for some eats.

When we got back to the boat we might have had a couple too many shots of Myers Dark rum. One of the cats went missing and despite looking everywhere in the yard, calling him, and banging the food bowls, he wouldn't come home. The cats have always been inside-only until the past few months. Although they have claws and aren't tiny, they don't know about the dangers of the world...cars, foxes, other cats, bad people. I broke down in tears because I couldn't find him. I left ports open so he could jump in, though it meant the other cat could also get out. When I woke at 7AM I shot of out bed: "Hunter!" I looked everywhere, but he wasn't on the boat. I went topsides and clanged the cat bowls and he came running. A huge sigh of relief. I have no idea if he catted around all night or slept aboard, but thank god he came home safe and sound.

Now I've clearly created monsters; they cry at the door if I lock them in. It's finally cool enough that I can avoid running the air conditioning if I leave the ports open for a breeze, but that means they jump in and out through the broken screens as they please. If something happens to them, I will blame myself forever. I am trying to tell myself that they are happier than they ever have been; chewing grass, lounging in the sun, rolling in dirt, and killing things. If their lives are shortened by going outside I will be crushed. But perhaps their lives will have been fuller, happier, more adventurous. Not unlike my own. I think of the conversation between Dory and Nemo's dad in Finding Nemo; he says he promised Nemo he wouldn't let anything happen to him, but Dory wisely notes that not having anything happen isn't very fun for little Nemo.

Once the cat drama had subsided I headed to Baltimore to see my sister, who was in town on business. We spent the late morning and early afternoon at the National Aquarium. Seeing all the beautiful reef exhibits just fuels my desire to be where the water is clear for snorkeling. I always thought the water in Miami and the Keys was terrible compared to the Bahamas and Barbados, but compared to the two inches of visibility in the Chesapeake, South Florida water is crystal clear. I remember running from downtown Miami over to Key Biscayne and easily seeing the barracuda hanging out in four to six feet of water. The aquarium is huge and as we went through the Amazon exhibits my sister recounted various fish and other wildlife she'd seen as a child living in South America. Of course, I loved seeing the jellyfish exhibit again. They are such interesting and beautiful creatures. And naturally, we had to take pictures standing in the Megalodon jaws.

One of my big stressors right now is trying to sell my furniture and other belongings. I need to get out of the office I rented; my lease is finally up and I've only had one client in the past year so time to let it go. I also need to gather as much cash as I possibly can if I want to cruise away soon rather than being stuck another year. I haven't managed to get any interest from local friends in buying any of my stuff, so I started putting things on craigslist. Unfortunately, far and away most of the responses are scammers. When someone texts me, when I said to call, and then asks for pictures and the asking price, both of which are in the ad, it's pretty obvious they are scammers. And if not, they are clearly too stupid to bother dealing with. Sigh.

Yesterday new neighbors pulled in two slips over. They apparently only work three weeks a year, for the Annapolis boat show. So, for the next few weeks I'll have liveaboard neighbors again. I hear my main halyard slapping against the mast in the wind and hope they don't hate me already! Guess I better go tie it out before they complain. They've been living aboard for 11 years now and the wife said she's too old to live in a house anymore. Yep, we liveaboards are just cut from a different cloth.

I was catching up on reading when Hunter jumped down into the salon. He stood very still and I had a bad feeling. Yep, a big, juicy mouse in this jaws. He gently set it down. Ick! And not quite dead. Double ick! I scrambled off the couch and put on shoes before he could start eviscerating it next to me. He played with it a bit. He kept talking to me: "Meow-row;" "Look mom, I brought this for you;" "Meow-Row;" "Look mom, I am a mighty warrior." I told him he is a good kitty, a mighty hunter, but could he please stop bringing mice and cicadas inside the boat. Please. Then the crunch, crunch, crunch of little bones! I plugged my ears. Luckily, he grabbed it and jumped back topsides. Unfortunately, he ate half of it on the deck and there it sits, covered up by a blood-soaked paper towel. Ick, ick, ick! This is when I really wish I had a guy to come clean up icky dead things for me. This is when it's hard being a single girl on her boat. I almost hoped the dog would finish it off. I'm going to spare you all photos of the remaining ickiness. But if anyone is volunteering to come clean up the crime scene... I'm not too proud to accept a little help. And I pay in rum.

Lately life also feels like a game of cat and mouse. Constantly chasing bills, stalking a series of goals that always seem shifting, elusive, just out of reach. But like Hunter, I am a mighty warrior. I decided a few years ago that no longer would I be the gazelle in this life. I am the lioness and I am going to catch my dreams.

i don't wanna wait

I don't want to wait another year to live my life. I can be fairly certain I won't be less broke. The future ahead is all shoestring, and I'll just have to find a way to make it work. Nothing ties me down to any place any more, so it seems crazy to stay stuck, aground, just waiting.

Of course there is always more to do, more preparation, more repairs, more gear. We'll just have to see how much progress I can make and take it from there. I did start putting together my wish list of equipment that would make cruising away a reality. There is just so much to see and do and explore, so many adventures to be had, new things to learn. I have to find a way to get myself unstuck from this Chesapeake mud.

the plan

The plan is actually that there is no plan. Strangely enough, I am very pleased and relieved with this development or realization.

It's ironic that learning to anchor is what sets you free. Wouldn't anchoring imply being tied down? But instead it means you have the freedom to go anywhere you have enough anchor rode to let out. There's mud on my anchor and somehow that means cruising away is that much closer.

I had hoped to head south after boat show this fall. The telecommuting gig I'd been developing not working out seemed to have nixed that plan. But the reality is that, as a practical matter, I simply have to be able to anchor and dock the boat solo, and then I can cast off the lines. As a technical matter, I do have to solve the issue of loading/unloading the dog from a dinghy and get some solar power as well. From a financial perspective, there's no reason I can't hop my way south, gradually reaching Florida and then the islands, and pick up simple unassuming jobs along the way. I have friends here in Annapolis, have put down some shallow roots, but Annapolis will be here whenever I return. The same regulars will be at Davis' Pub, the usual suspects will still be around, and good friends will come visit me as I chart new adventures. So, the plan is very loose and flexible, but that is a good thing. There will come a day when the time is right...would it be nice for it not to be in the middle of winter, sure, but you just never know when the stars are going to align. I didn't move aboard to be stuck in one place...isn't the point to go see the world and have some adventures? We may have to do it on a shoestring, but that usually makes it far more interesting anyway.

Yesterday marathon and ultramarathon training began in earnest with a modest 10.4 mile run. Long runs will quickly build to 20 miles over the next six weeks. I am officially registered for the NCR Marathon in late November and then the Seashore Nature Trail 50K in December.

I have no idea who these folks are who keep this water station stocked, but I think I will have to send them a thank you note. On hot days I wouldn't make it through my run with only what my handheld water bottle carries. These folks have some very good runner karma. I wonder if they realize what a difference they make for strangers running through their neighborhood.

I hailed the pump out boat this afternoon. I still can't get used to them calling me "Captain" on the radio.

It was the same guy who has been to the boat before and as usual he was friendly and helpful and asked how things are going aboard for me and the dog. When it came time to pay for the pump out I handed him $10 for the $5 pump out and explained that previously I hadn't known the etiquette for tipping on pump outs. I told him that feeling that a measly $1 tip last time wasn't right, even if it was 20%, I had asked a friend about what's customary and did some research on the boating forums as well. I told him I wrote a whole blog post about tipping for marine services and that even if most sailboaters are as cheap as they are reputed to be, I did not want to fall into that category when it came to tipping dockhands and such. It sounds as if it certainly is a big portion of their pay and much appreciated, and I'd rather be known to treat them well and get prompt service.

In the next few weeks I'll be getting my Basic Keelboat certification. I'll likely be able to singlehand the boat under power before I can singlehand her under sail, but I'll get there before too long. Still working on lining up someone to go up the mast before I change out my running rigging, but before long we'll be hoisting the sails and heading out. I wonder if I can teach the pup dog to grab a sheet and unfurl the jib?

If the trunk of your car looks like this, you might be a liveaboard.