winter is coming

Yes, I'm missing Game of Thrones. When I grow up I want to be Khalesi. Fierce, fearless, and all about freedom. But even if you're not a Game of Thrones fan and the reference is meaningless to you, winter really is coming here in Annapolis.

This will be my third winter aboard, so I've figured out tricks for getting through it and know to brace myself for low tides and slippery docks. One of the suckiest things is the water from the tap being so cold your fingers hurt to the bone when doing dishes. This winter I may try putting dirty dishes in a bucket and taking them daily to the bathhouse to wash with the piping hot water there, like several other folks in the marina do. The past couple of days have been lovely and kissing the 70s again, but a couple of nights before required sleeping in flannel pajamas. I officially declared it "winter aboard" when it was only 55 degrees inside when I got up and cold enough out that I walked the dog wearing my flannels. The other sure sign it's winter aboard: the cats are all about snuggling up with me on the bed. Yep, they think of me as their space heater just like I joke that they are mine. 

All of a sudden I'm having to think about when dock water will be turned off. I'll need to link hoses to reach the winter water line that is sunk in the mud so it doesn't freeze. The day before yesterday I had a massive laundry day, and when I was making the bed I realized it was probably time to put the heated mattress pad back on the v-berth mattress. Yesterday I went to my storage unit and got my oil-filled radiator just to be ready, as well as a down puffer coat. I can't find my three pairs of winter boots, so that has me a little freaked out. I'll end up finding them shoved far behind and under something and coated in mold, no doubt.

The other thing I haven't been able to find since my return from New Zealand: my fav purple Prada sunglasses I wore throughout the trip. I didn't have room for them in my carry-on so I popped them in the middle of my checked bag. Someone seems to have stolen them from the duffel somewhere between Auckland International and Baltimore-Washington International. Rats. I keep hoping to find them among the craziness aboard, but I think they really were swiped. [Update: I was putting away my favorite lavender Keens and there was something stuck in one. Huh? Oh, joy! Oh, lucky day! Yes, I stuffed my beautiful sunglasses inside one of the Keens for protection! No thieves, after all. Faith in humanity not as diminished as had been thought. Yay!]

Boat show starts tomorrow (OK, today now that it's past midnight) but I'm too broke to go. Just the admission cost would be half the cash I have left and I won't be able to even buy a sail tie at the show (I only bought some sail ties at the show last year and at the Spring show I didn't buy a thing). I couldn't care less about looking at boats there, honestly, it makes no sense to me other than to make fun of how ridiculous and un-boatlike the interiors usually are. I only go to the show to walk the tents and see all the gadgets, ask vendors questions. But the reality is the "boat show deals" are rarely much of a deal and for most gear you are better off just buying from Defender. I guess the boat show made sense before the Internet, but now, it's really just spending $20 to walk around and buy $12 Painkillers. I have orange juice, cream of coconut, and rum aboard, so perhaps I'll just make my own painkillers and watch the show from the cockpit...I'm right across the creek from the insanity of it all. (A really strong Painkiller #4 is 4 oz rum, 4 oz pineapple juice, 1 oz OJ, and 1 oz cream of coconut. Oh, and a whopping 487 calories, which won't hurt quite as bad as the hangover all that sweet stuff will give you.)

I'm really stressing about having fallen behind on my running. I had kept it up very well until my last hectic week in New Zealand and since I got back it has been hard getting back in the groove, especially the two weeks that I schlepped into DC. Now I'm under the gun to get my mileage up in time for the 50K in December. Gratefully, I had an awesome base before I left on my trip, but I didn't want to have to claw my way back to it or be trying to lose weight while actually training for the race, but I need to get down at least 10 pounds to really run it well. So, we'll see. I just have to get back to my mental state where I knew down to my core that getting in my run was the single most important thing I do any day and it can't be set aside. That can be hard, even for someone like me who can really put her head down and tough it out. Sometimes, lately too often, I give in to the temptation to sleep in, have an extra beer or glass of wine, and let myself eat too much junk. So I have to buckle down and get back in my groove before I lose any more ground. I knocked out 5 miles today, but I wish I'd have gotten up at dawn and run 10. But the 5 matters, and I do feel better having gone out for a good run.

I'm often thinking I'm going very slow, worried about the pace, but look at my watch and see I'm running a minute per mile faster than I thought. So my body has adjusted to a quicker pace. (Still not fast for most runners, but I'm usually running about a 10:15 average, i.e., 10 minutes and 15 seconds per mile. But in New Zealand I was running around a 9:30 consistently, so something about the air or whatever there really gave me an amazing boost.) Most of my runs in the past few months are somewhere between a 9:45 and 10:30 average per mile, (usually closer to 10:00), which is just fine for me. My personal record for a marathon is an average pace of 10:17 per mile. I'd love to run one at a 10 minute mile, but we'll see. Right now I'm focused on my 50K, which at just five more miles is a different animal. It's always good at any race to have three finish times to target: something you can live with, something you will be happy with, and the out-of-the-ballpark time. I definitely want to beat my last time of 6:40 (6 hours and 40 minutes) overall, so I can live with anything at or under that time. I'd be really happy with anything between 6 and 6.5 hours. And the out-of-the-ballpark would be a 5:30 finish, but I think that's a stretch. But stretching, pushing your limits, that's what it's all about, right? Always looking for that place, that line in the sand, "oh, this is my limit." But if you're one to just "embrace the suck" and find the adventure in every challenge, it's hard to find that thing that breaks you, that line you can't make it across. I guess that's why I keep looking for it, and I only hope I never, ever find it.

Just keep running (sailing) (cruising) (living) (smiling) (singing) (laughing) (living). and leave the naysayers in your dust (wake).

where there's smoke...

No time is a good one to be standing in a bathrobe holding a fire extinguisher. But aboard a fiberglass boat when it's 25 degrees out is especially not a good one.

Two weeks ago two liveaboard boats here in Eastport burned to the waterline. It simply gives one pause. And there's this sick irony to boat fires because a boat is surrounded by water. I don't know what exactly caused that fire, but electricity arcing at shore power connections seems to be a frequent cause of boat fires, so I wanted to do some preventive care aboard to ward off that problem. On Saturday I had planned to unplug the shore power cables, wipe down the blades, and then coat them with dielectric silicone compound. Various folks had recommended putting it on the connections to prevent corrosion and arcing that can lead to electrical fires. The package said to avoid skin contact. I wasn't sure how much I'm supposed to put on. I pulled out my copy of Nigel Calder's Mechanical and Electrical Manual to see if it mentioned applying the compound to the shore power connections. I couldn't find anything. I decided to wait until I had a little more information.

While contemplating the dangers of fire aboard, I noticed that the many fire extinguishers aboard are mounted and held in with straps. I pondered just how those straps fasten. I'd never actually removed any of the extinguishers, but if there were either a fire or an intruder (an ABC extinguisher is a handy defensive weapon) I was concerned about how difficult it would be to remove the canister from the strap when time was of the essence. 

Sunday morning I was supposed to go ice skating with friends. I do love to skate and was looking forward to it, but was not really feeling up to being surrounded by kids. I went back and forth about it but just had this feeling I needed to beg off and stick around the boat. As I was messaging back and forth with friends, I heard a strange sound, sort of a slow, deep "whomp." It seemed to come from the starboard aft-most corner of the nav desk and breaker panel. But I didn't hear anything else and started to go back to the message I was writing. Then I noticed the music was off. Hmm. Maybe I had turned it off for some reason. I turned it back on and sat down. The music started coming and going. The iPod dock runs on 110V, i.e., shore power, but also has a 10-hour battery back-up, so if the A/C power is off, it just switches over. I looked at the panel and it showed 120 volts, but the power strip light was flashing on and off. Ah, maybe something on the shelf is hitting the power strip button. Nope. Then I saw the adjacent outlet was dead. No breakers on the panel were tripped. Strange.

Nothing looked amiss. But this faint smell of sulfur, like when you just light a match, caught my nose. Something just didn't feel right. I turned off the main A/C breakers on the boat. And in that moment, I somehow instinctively popped that strap on the fire extinguisher and headed topsides. I opened the lazarette that contains the back of the electrical panel and smoke came billowing out. I didn't see flames but the smoke kept coming and the smell...like burning matches and plastic and something else I just can't describe...it was awful and I knew something was very wrong. I flipped the breakers off at the shore power pedestal and went back to the cockpit, standing over the open lazarette. I didn't want to just randomly spray the fire extinguisher in there. The smoke seemed to be dissipating, but with all the PFDs and sails in the lazarette, what if something was smoldering out of sight? 

I wasn't quite sure who to call. Someone like TowBoatUS will claim a percentage of the boat's value for salvage if you're sinking or on fire. The fire department would likely fill the boat with foam that would destroy wiring and systems. But something was seriously wrong. I called a friend who's a very experienced boater. He answered very conversationally, "Hey, how are you?" I quickly and bluntly said "I'm kind of freaking out right now. I'm standing here in a bathrobe with a fire extinguisher and there's smoke coming out of the lazarette near the electrical panel. I'm not sure who to call." He reminded me he's in Delaware. "Yes, yes, I know you can't come help me, but I figured you would know who I should call." He suggested I go disconnect the shore power cables from the boat and pedestal as well and turn off the batteries. 

Both shore power cables show damage from arcing

When I unplugged the cables from the shore power inlets on the boat one inlet had a blade that was black and scorched. The cables were clearly damaged from arcing. The smoke seemed to have stopped. I didn't see any obvious damage on the electrical panel, which has a clear Plexiglass cover. But all that smoke came from somewhere. Now all power on the boat was off, no A/C from shore power and no D/C from the batteries. So, no heat, no lights, no propane stove because it requires an electric solenoid for safety. The water around the boat is iced over. We were at least going to need a way to heat the boat.

My friend suggested I call a marine mechanic he knows to see if he could come take a look, but he wasn't in town. That guy gave me the name of another mutual friend of theirs, Rob Simkin. I explained to Rob that while whatever had burned appeared under control, I couldn't wait to address the issue because I live on the boat with pets and we need to get the boat safely heated. Rob really came through; here I was a perfect stranger, kind of freaking out, but he gave up his Sunday afternoon and was at my boat in less than 90 minutes.

The shore power inlet that was on fire

Rob removed the shore power inlet that looked damaged. The guts were scorched and melted. I complained about how awful that burning smell is and he explained that there is a lot of smoke under the coaming, so the smell probably won't go away soon. The other inlet looked OK, but since it was older and rather than take any chances, I agreed we should replace them both. While I went to West Marine (twice) and Fawcett's to find the parts, Rob went over the electrical panel to check for damage, tightened up loose wires, and replaced some old connectors. He also began tracing the wires for the battery charger since I have long wanted to move it over to the "main" shore power line in case I am in a marina with only single 30 amp service; then I can forgo the water heater and HVAC that run on the secondary line and have all my "core" house systems on the main line.

The plan at West Marine was to pick up two new inlet assemblies and one or two new shore power cables. Each of those is about a hundred bucks; yep, ouch. I found that instead of having to buy the entire assembly, including the metal casing and closure, I could buy just the "guts" of the inlet. The price difference is substantial: $90 versus $30. The problem was that the guts-only package didn't include the white end cap. I got them anyway, and then headed to Fawcett's to see if they had the end caps. They didn't, but they had sets of the guts with a cap included. I bought two of those, and returned the others at West Marine. I also picked up a new "Eel" shore power cable at West Marine. For the second cable I'm using a short cable I already had, but I will replace it shortly with a longer one because if the tide falls too much and it "tugs" at the connections I may be back to standing there with a fire extinguisher.

Note half the guts are just gone or melted

As it turned out, the inlets I had bought at West Marine were Marinco and the ones from Fawcett's were Hubbell. It'd be way too easy if these fittings were standardized... so of course the Hubbell ones and the Marinco ones do not have their screw holes in quite the same spots. They're off just a smidge enough that they can't play nice together. And it turns out that one of my inlets was Hubbel and one was Marinco. Sigh. And so, I headed back to West Marine (trip three). I tried fitting the white backing cap from the old assembly onto the new inlet guts, but the cap was too melted on one side, so I sucked it up and bought the $90 complete inlet assembly for the Marinco inlet.

Naturally, for one of the inlets the wire was a few inches short after cutting off old connections. So, Rob headed to West Marine for that trip since he knew exactly what wire was needed. The entire process (replacing the inlets and moving the battery charger over to the main line) took a little over four hours. The last hour we were there in the cockpit as sleet/hail then turned to fluffy snow. Rob patiently explained to me what he was doing and why, pointed out key aspects of the electrical panel for me, and explained certain things prior owners had done that I'll likely want to change as I upgrade the system. I probably need to make a sketch and then jot notes about what everything is.

By the time everything was put back together and I could turn on systems, and heat, again, it had fallen to 40 degrees inside the boat. The pets were about ready to mutiny. I gave them all kibble, and having only had a string cheese and a yogurt all day myself, I headed down to the pub. My dieting/running has been going very well. I'm down a reasonable and safe seven pounds in six weeks, and down 2-3 inches everywhere that matters. But I decided that on days that you have a boat fire you get to eat and drink whatever you want without guilt. The burger and fries were exactly what I needed, but the nachos a couple hours later and copious amounts of beer... yeah, not so much. I took the melted inlet with me in a ziploc bag so I could play show-and-tell with the other liveaboards at the pub. After that near miss, and knowing I dodged a scary bullet, it was good to be able to decompress and commiserate with liveaboard friends. It's really nice to know that if I'm in a jam I have friends I can call for help.

I definitely feel that something was telling me that the shore power needed attention although there weren't any outward signs that it had a problem. It's eery that I had been concerned with arcing and the fire extinguishers just the day before. It's eery that I had this gut feeling I needed to stick around the boat that morning. If I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have a boat, or two loving cats, or a tail-wagging pup dog right now. When I'm tucking myself in the v-berth for bed, telling the pets goodnight and that I love them, I put my hand against the hull and tell the boat we love her, too. I know it's not good to become too attached to a particular boat and that it's not a child, a lover, or a pet, it's an object. But at the same time, I do love her; she is our home and in many ways my salvation. We rescued her, and she rescued us. So it may sound like so much mystical jibber-jabber, but I think she was telling me something was wrong and it saved her life and ours yesterday.

If you're an Annapolis-area boater and need electrical or yacht management help, check out Simkins Yacht Management. Rob is a USCG licensed captain and an ABYC master technician. Good at what he does and "good people." A big thanks to Rob, to Fred and Steve for recommending him, to fellow liveaboard Jay "Thumper" at West Marine, and to the liveaboard ladies at Fawcett's.

bienvenidos a miami

It's been a hectic couple of weeks since my last post. A project took me on short notice back to my old home: Miami. I had to get packed and make arrangements for the pets on the fly. I quickly called my local vet to see about boarding the cats since I wouldn't be able to leave a heater running to keep them warm while gone for several days. I'd be departing the next day, and the vet's office said they'd be open until 7PM, so I'd drop them on my way to the airport. Pup dog would stay with a friend. I didn't want to leave so much stuff visible in the car while it was parked at the airport, so I brought several items aboard, including a black ballistic duffel I planned to use on another upcoming trip.

I packed frantically, somehow fitting everything for five days in a little roll-aboard and satchel, with room to spare. I was running late, of course. As anyone with cats knows, catching them and putting them in carriers is an art. I managed to get them in their little black carriers, loaded my suitcases in the car first, and then went back to collect the cats. I set the carriers on the deck and locked up the boat. When I picked up one carrier I said to myself, "Gee, this is really big; how is the cat filling up this entire thing?" Then, "$hit, f*ck, f*uck, f*ck! It's a suitcase!" Yep, I left one cat carrier below and was about to drop off a black duffel bag at the vet. Of course the lock was a hassle to get back open and when you're in a hurry everything takes ten times longer or at least feels that way.

OK, cats in the car, on the way to the vet. Breathe. I'm running late but it'll be OK. Breathe. I race to the vet and pull up in front. I scramble out of the car and set the carriers down on the sidewalk. I look at the door and my heart sinks: Closed. Hours, Saturday 8AM to 1PM. It's 3:40PM. I have a 5PM flight. I now need to be at the airport in 20 minutes, but am a 30 minute drive away, have to then get from the parking to the terminal, and... I still have CATS!!! I started hyperventilating. The cats will freeze to death. I will miss my flight. Arrggghhhh! I call the friend who will be watching the dog. He agrees to feed the cats daily. I drop them back on the cold, unheated boat. I had a light bulb on top of of the engine block but plugged in some other lights for the cats to maybe let off a bit of warmth. I tell them I am so, so sorry.

I raced to the airport. My flight was departing at 5PM. I arrived at the parking lot at 4:22PM. I told the shuttle driver that I was having a panic attack, that my flight leaves at 5PM and I don't know what to do. He tried to keep me calm and rushed us to the terminal. I ran in frantically yelling to the gate agents to just tell me what gate I need. I run to the security line. Of course I forgot that this is BWI, not MIA. There are only about 3 people in line instead of 100. I get through security and run to my gate. I look at my watch: 4:30PM. Miraculous. People were just coming off the plane, so it'd still be 15 minutes before they even board. After an hour of heart palpitations I ended up being the first person on the plane; I relaxed in primera clase and enjoyed a couple glasses of wine.

On less than 24 hours notice my awesome friend Heather (pictured below) fetched me at the airport. We went to Catch of the Day for dinner and drinks. It's a great super-Latin spot with cheesey singers and people dancing on the outside deck. I had baby churrasco with chimichurri, black beans and rice, fried yuca, and some delicious tostones. I do miss Miami food.

I was back in my old stomping grounds in Coconut Grove, where I lived much of my many years in Miami. Breakfast on Sunday morning was right by my hotel at Berries in the Grove; I love the wraps there but somehow didn't end up having a wrap either time I went on this trip. Well, change is good; right? The Sunday afternoon crowded craziness in the Center Grove hadn't changed a bit since I left. Heather met me at Scotty's Landing, where I had a nice big Rum Runner, we watched the boats, and enjoyed the breeze. Scotty's is a nice locals spot right on the water. My one complaint is that they actually say on the menu that they aren't responsible for well done orders; so, I avoid the burgers there and stick with mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, and the like. (I refer to this style of food as "deep fried crap in a basket," but that's not to say it isn't good.) OK, my other complaint is that the live music was often Jimmy Buffet cover band stuff. I may be a boater, but I'd rather chew glass than listen to Jimmy Buffet. We saw a bunch of jellyfish at the adjacent fuel dock; I rarely saw jellyfish when I lived there, though they are abundant in Annapolis.  Scotty's is also next to City Hall, where I spent so much time my last several years in Miami. So, some interesting walks down memory lane.

I took a 4 mile run that felt like 6 because of the heat and humidity. But it was so beautiful running through the Grove and right by the water. A route I have run countless times before. Passing over a wooden foot bridge I looked down and saw lots of needlefish; they seem to be everywhere there. On my run I passed a cute floppy-haired guy walking his dog; maybe there's potential in Miami to find a floppy-haired sailor who wants to go adventure on the seas with me. We'll see.

One night I spoiled myself with dinner at Le Bouchon du Grove. I stuffed myself on a basket of amazing bread and drank half a bottle of rosé from Provence. When I asked the waiter to tell me about the Chicken Fricaseé he was clearly enthusiastic about it, saying it was the best item on the menu. But it has bones. I don't like to deal with bones. I asked about the filet mignon in a green peppercorn sauce. His reaction was lackluster. I know from personal experience if your server tells you to order something, trust them. They see what gets devoured and what gets left behind. So I "lived on the edge" and got the chicken. It was delicious, served with a creamy cheesy risotto. Easily enough for two to share. I tried my best to finish it but just couldn't. The waiter offered to wrap the rest to go. A while later he returned to my table and looked at me quizzically; where was my chicken? I said it never came back. He looked for it but it had disappeared. It really wasn't a big deal, (and turns out I did not have a mini fridge in my hotel room as I had convinced myself), but he gave me a complimentary glass of lovely dessert wine nonetheless.

Despite this post being filled with my gustatory conquests in Miami, I was there to work on a project and work I did. People have this image of Miami as a vacation hotspot where everyone is on island time and lazing by the pool. The reality is that people who would be "rich" in many American cities, the doctors, lawyers, and accountants, are the Miami middle class. And the hours they work are New York hours. Intense, fast-paced, long hours. Locals don't have tans because they spend their time running from air conditioned house to air conditioned car to air conditioned glass office building, day in, day out. That Monday I worked from noon until 4:15AM. Got to sleep at 5AM. Back up at 8AM. Out the door to catch a train downtown at 9AM. When our meeting wrapped at 6:30PM it would have been nice to call one of my friends working on Brickell to grab drinks. But no chance any of them could slink out of the office before 8:30PM, so I didn't even try.

When I was walking from the Metrorail to the meeting that morning some guys were walking just behind me and I hear "Hey, fancy-dress lady, you erasing that tattoo?" "Yeah," I explained, "but it won't all come out." His friend says "Yeah, you can't have that now you're in the Brickell life." I looked at them and laughed, "Oh, no, I left all this bullshit behind," I said, waving at the skyline of awful glass towers. "All these people," I told them "they work too hard to buy shit they don't need." The friend says "Oh, you live off a lot of savings now." "No, no; I'm just poor." He seemed to think that's bad. "Being poor is good," I explained, "it keeps life simple."

Miami is so many things, so many contradictions. So fake. So focused on money. Everything is about shopping and conspicuous consumption. No one can ever have enough. But then there is all the natural beauty. The tree canopy. The water. The needle fish and wild peacocks and iguanas. When I lived there balance was impossible to find. Values become warped. I love Miami. Its beauty, its vibrancy, even its seamy underbelly. But it is a place one has to fight every minute to maintain balance, a grip on what is real and important.

These little Cars2Go are all over Coconut Grove

Tropichop and fried yuca from Pollo Tropical... yum!

I had been planning to crew on a major Pacific passage and had the opportunity while in Miami to catch All is Lost, about a singlehander lost at sea in the Indian Ocean. When the movie ended Heather grabbed my arm and said "Don't go!" The couple sitting next to us said, "We're not going sailing tomorrow." I enjoyed the movie and Redford, but there are 100 or more things any serious sailor would've done differently. We debriefed about the movie over eats and drinks at a new-to-me spot in the Grove that Heather recommended: Lokal. Definitely worth the trip. Burgers are their specialty, but the blue cheese wedge salad was amazing.

Sailboat Bay view from Coconut Grove Sailing Club

Sunset on Spa Creek

Totally unrelated to seeing the movie, I did pass on the Pacific trip. It's not the right trip right now. Other opportunities will arise. Nonetheless, I am likely casting off shortly. Despite the cold and blustery weather, I am trying to mentally, physically, and financially prepare myself to head south for a while. Trying to rustle up some crew to help me make the trip. Trying to get various equipment installed and little fixes taken care of. So now I am consumed with trying to figure out marinas, mooring, a reliable dinghy, moving, and boat insurance that will triple if I stay south of latitude 36 come June 1.

It doesn't have to be forever. I won't ever let myself be tied down, it defeats the purpose of living on a boat. And I can't go back to the Miami grind. But it's time for some adventures, a change of scenery. I feel ready to move on from Annapolis for a while. It was a necessary stop, a respite where I could heal and center myself. And there are so many things I love about Annapolis. But "home" will never be a metropolis or a village for me; home just means something very different to me now that I'm aboard; my boat is home, and so home is anywhere, and everywhere. My boat is this vast potential to call "home" wherever the wind and sea allow.

Annapolis sunset on Spa Creek

A chilly 22 degrees in Naptown

Hard aground

It was 45 degrees on the boat when I got home. Chilly, to be sure, but certainly survivable, particularly with cuddle cups to curl up in. But the cats wouldn't even look at me the first few hours I was back. Nonetheless, it wasn't long before they both crawled on my lap for a snuggle and all was forgiven. At least now I know I have someone who would stay aboard with them so I wouldn't have a repeat of the stress about whether they were OK.

Following up on my last post, kudos to my local True Value, which readily swapped the oil-filled radiator for a new one, despite my not having a receipt, box, et cetera. Unfortunately, the replacement heater died within 30 minutes. Rather than try for a third, I returned the replacement and used the credit toward a DeLonghi oil-filled radiator, which is keeping the boat toasty warm. (It actually got up to 75 last night and I had to turn it down because that is too warm for me!) The heated mattress pad continues to be fantastic; highly recommended for anyone wintering aboard. I have also been gifted a heated blanket, but haven't broken it out yet.

This past Saturday a fellow liveaboard on the other side of Eastport called me: "The pump out boat is running. It's heading under the Spa Creek bridge right now." I quickly got on the radio to hail them. The buildings between us made the connection spotty and they asked me to call on their cell. They put me on the list to visit as soon as they came to Back Creek. Yes, I clapped and jumped for joy because the pump out boat is running in winter! It's a liveaboard thing.

When I'm very stressed I tend to have these recurring nightmares that I'm surrounded by sharks. I've never actually seen one in the wild, but I have a paralyzing fear of them. I can't even swim in a swimming pool without looking behind me to make sure there aren't any. Seriously. Sometimes the sharks are circling and I have to get the cats, dog, and myself to shore from a sinking dinghy. Gratefully, I haven't had the shark nightmares in a while. But lately I'm having a new set of recurring nightmares. We're on the boat and awaken to find that someone has untied all our lines and set us adrift. It's too cold out to get the diesel engine started. I'm trying to navigate the boat adrift in a maze of a marina without colliding with anything. Who would be so cruel to us to set us adrift this way?

cold

The oil-filled radiator I bought last winter already gave up the ghost. That was the one heater safe to leave running when I'm away from the boat so the pets aren't shivering and systems stay above freezing. I had to borrow back a small space heater I had given a friend. We're getting by with it, but I don't feel safe leaving it running when I'm not aboard. I may try taking the oil-filled one back to the True Value to see if it is still under warranty, but it'll probably have crapped out on day 366.

It's hard to see because of the boat's shadow, but if you look carefully you can see the rudder extending above the water in the first shot below. In the second shot you can see that the water is at the boot stripe above the bottom paint toward the bow, but the bottom is more and more exposed moving aft.  I have a boarding gate amidships, lined up just before the end of the finger pier. It's a long walk down that narrow little pier late on a gusty night.

I've been checking the depth sounder frequently to get a sense of how low the water levels are getting already.  A couple of nights ago it was at 4 feet. Last night it was so low that the sounder simply wouldn't give a reading at all, just a series of dashes on the screen. This morning we were at 3.3 feet. The downhill walk in the boat is noticeable and small loose items quickly roll toward the bow. The boat is resting on its keel in the mud, tilted forward, and with the rudder sticking a few inches out above the water. Farther down the dock, the "dinghy dock" is high and dry and the slip beside it has only a couple of inches of water and only on one side of the slip. A neighbor has left his small powerboat aground and doesn't seem concerned.

Last night was perilous and stressful, for both me and pup dog. I measured the distance from the deck to the finger pier: 36.5 inches. Even when sitting on the pier there is still a good distance from the bottom of my feet to the deck, and just too far to reach even if I scoot to the edge and stretch my foot forward. I have to summon some courage and all at once reach down for the stanchion aboard with my right hand as I push myself off the pier with my left and try to firmly plant my feet on the deck. If I slip and fall between the boat and the pier I'd only be in a few feet of water, but I would probably sink in the mud, the water is already very cold, and I may hit the boat or pier on the way down. With no one else in the marina, no one would hear the commotion or calls for help. There aren't any ladders along the dock, so I'd have a hard time getting out of the water and back ashore. It's much easier to handle getting on and off the boat in these conditions during the day because the visibility seems to make it much less psychologically challenging. On the other hand, during the day it's more likely neighbors are chuckling to themselves watching me pull myself up, laying flat hugging the narrow pier, inchworming to pull myself up the electrical pedestal, steadying myself to turn around, and then carefully walking down the pier to get ashore.

Once I got safely aboard last night that was it; I was in for the night. It is just too frightening getting on and off the boat in these conditions. But as I worked away on the computer the pup dog sat at the base of the steps staring at the door. I put down a piddle pad in the head and told her she absolutely wouldn't be in trouble if she went there. She would sniff it and then just sit down and give me the saddest look, with her ears back, begging me to take her out.

I told her she wouldn't like it. I told her she should just go on the pad. I finally broke down and took her topsides. She balked at the ramp, as I knew she would. But she had to "go" badly enough that she finally went up it. A huge mistake I really must not make again. Once she was ashore she refused to come back down the steep ramp. I can better ensure the ramp doesn't fall off the dock if I am on the boat holding it than if I try to hold it from on the dock. And I didn't want to risk getting on and off the boat again. I begged and pleaded with her. I commanded her sharply. She would try, and then whimper pathetically and lay down. Lights were on in the marina owner's house, so I called to ask for help. But they were already in bed. I tried calling the club across the street but just kept getting voicemail. When we heard the car there start and drive away we both knew for sure we were just on our own. If I didn't have any friends close by I could call at 10:30PM to help us, I certainly didn't have any at 11:15PM either. Any friends I might have asked for help were long asleep.

I thought propping the ramp on several cushions to raise the end about 8 inches, flattening the angle of the ramp, was pretty ingenious, but pup dog still wanted no part of it. I tried to ply her with treats and with a bowl of kibble. I kept pleading and commanding. Even when I broke down and cried she just whimpered and refused to come down the ramp. At one point she ran down the dock and then toward the gate and barked very loudly, very aggressively, imploring the neighbors (who never so much as nod a hello) to come help us. I finally resigned myself to going ashore. I wasn't sure if I'd have to put the heat on in the bathhouse and have her sleep on the bathroom floor (I should've taken some towels for her, just in case), or if I'd actually be able to shove her down the ramp. She tried to get away and I had to pick her up, legs flailing, and set her on the ramp, begin shoving her butt, and hold onto the ramp as best I could to keep it from retracting and falling off the dock. She balked at the end of the ramp because she had to then hop down into the cockpit, but she finally did it and then inhaled the bowl of kibble sitting there. She knew I was pretty mad at her and I knew she was just scared and didn't want to be in trouble. I gave her a big hug and told her she was brave and smart, but we just can't do that again. Somehow we managed to get through the process this morning, but the tide was a couple inches higher and the light of day seems to make it less scary for us both. Still, I have got to train her to use the Astroturf door mat on the deck. It's increasingly tempting to move the boat as soon as possible even though I have to pay through the end of the year at this marina.

Note the snoozy counting sheep on the label.

On the upside, our heated mattress pad arrived yesterday. I unpacked it, read over the instructions, and then tried to make the rectangular pad fit in some logical way on my almost-triangular mattress. I set each side on high and let it get started. A note mentioned that it will not feel hot to the touch. That was a little disappointing. But the note reassured that once in bed, the warmth from the mattress pad would be noticeable and relaxing. I don't know if the pets were able to feel it through the duvet, down comforter, and top blanket, but under the covers it was definitely cozy. A few times I wanted to kick the covers off a bit, but then the cold air would nip at my toes and I'd tuck myself under the blankets again. The instructions say to keep it away from pets and not jump on it to avoid damaging the wires...yeah, no way around a 55 pound dog jumping up and down on it several times a day, so fingers crossed it holds up. So far, definitely worth the $110 investment.

Circa 8:30AM this morning, weather report:

Outside: 32 degrees.

Inside: 55 degrees.

Engine room: 50 degrees.

Time to brave the cold again to shower ashore. Can't put off washing my hair any longer, that walk coming back from the bathhouse is gonna be chilly! I might prefer a warmer climate soon, but even with the daily challenges I wouldn't trade living aboard for anything.

ice on the water

This morning the floating dinghy dock was aground and surrounded by patches of ice.

Although outside it was a mere 16 degrees, light bulbs and heaters had managed to keep the engine room about 45 and the cabin about 65. As I walked along the dock in early afternoon it had warmed to 20, and some of the neighboring ducks swam over to see if I had bread (not today, sorry). Only five slips down from me the ducks were dodging chunks of ice floating in the water.

I see the ice eaters plugged in, but they do not appear to be running, so perhaps they are off at the breaker on the shore panel boxes. I can't plug in the one in my slip unless I unplug one of my shore power lines, which would mean losing my needed battery charger and my rooftop heater.

Tonight we are supposed to get snow. It is likely to come, mostly because I took down my tarps yesterday. Surprisingly enough, the bungie-corded tarps stayed through 20-knot winds and higher gusts, but the dodger frame would not stay put and kept collapsing down. I think the only way to keep it up is to put the dodger back on, but the eisenglas is torn and yellowed and it has to be folded down to see well when underway. The wind whipping through the tarps was pretty noisy, I'll admit. Now that I have a smaller 8 x 10 tarp, if I expect a lot of rain and want to protect the HVAC unit I can just tarp over that somewhat simply.

During times of intense financial stress, like now, I tend to have serious nightmares. Sometimes gory. Often involving being surrounded by sharks. A few nights ago I had a nightmare that I was sleeping in an inflatable dinghy, with blanket and pillow. I awoke to find my dinghy had drifted away from my boat and others I was anchored with. I looked down into the water and saw a small shark, very small, perhaps the size of a cat. But I knew where there were little sharks, there would be big sharks. I had no oars, but paddled with my hands a bit. The dinghy came close to shore, hit a piling, and quickly deflated completely. The next night the sounds of my hard dinghy hitting the boat and the tarps flapping in the wind kept waking me to adjust lines, but also seemed to fuel nightmares of my boat taking on water and frantic searches for sources of leaks. I keep hoping a day will come when I can sleep soundly, not worried about bills hanging over my head or intruders breaking in. That day seems so out of reach, but living in constant financial, physical, and emotional "fight or flight" mode begins to wear one down. Some day I just want to nap in the sun on the deck while the sea gently rocks us, at peace.

turning up the heat

Pardon the pun, but it is a chilling feeling as a liveaboard to look a few slips down the dock and see ice on the water, as I did this morning. This week will be one of the toughest challenges I have faced in my brief time aboard so far. Highs of less than freezing are predicted all week. Lows around 12 degrees predicted several nights. I have not winterized any systems and am concerned with keeping the engine, the raw water intake and exhaust, the holding tank, and any below-the-waterline hoses from freezing. I moved the work light from sitting atop the engine to the back of the engine room and upped the wattage from a 60 to a 75 watt bulb. I added a 40 watt bulb on top of the engine. I frequently check a thermometer resting atop the Racor fuel filter; yesterday it was 50 degrees, today it has fallen to around 45. I crawled into the engine room yesterday through a lazarette and found a socket for a light bulb, but I have been unable to locate a switch to turn it on.

Staying warm myself is less of a concern. I have warm clothes, a down comforter, the dog, and two cats to keep me warm. In my quest to circulate warmth throughout the length of the boat to protect the various systems, I am attempting to balance running multiple heaters. I am occasionally cycling off the rooftop HVAC unit so that I can run the water heater...both to have warm water for washing dishes and to generate residual heat in the engine room. I am testing the limits of my core shore power line by running two space heaters on it at once, though each is at half capacity or less. The problem is that shore power line is not linked to my ammeter, so I can only guesstimate how much strain I am placing on the electrical system. One space heater is an oil-filled radiator, kept aft near the galley, engine room, and the settee where I currently sleep. The other heater is a Vornado fan/heater on a low setting, aimed to blow warm-ish air forward to the V-berth and head. With three heaters (two space heaters and the rooftop one) running, the cabin is still only 60 degrees. I generally keep it between 60 and 65, but that rarely involves running more than one heat source at a time. Just to be on the safe side, I also had some cocoa with peppermint schnapps.

The dog ramp has been a godsend, but I'm still working out the kinks. Pup was nervous that it didn't seem entirely stable and I was worried about it falling off the boat and/or dock. (A line is tied to the ramp just in case and I have learned that it floats...) I spent some time at Bacon Sails chatting with an employee there, browsing the aisles, and brainstorming a fix to affix the ramp to the boat, while allowing it to move with the tide and be readily removable when underway. A swiveling shackle and pad eye solution looked enticing, but the cost of nice hardware was less palatable under current budget constraints. I opted for drilling holes through the ramp and using quarter-inch nylon line to tie the ramp to a stanchion and the backstay (half hitches are my friend... "two is secure and three is for sure" as the floppy-haired sailor guy taught me). The ramp is secured to the boat, has enough "give" to move with the tide, and can be removed and stowed for cruising in just a couple of minutes.

I still need to develop a solution for the telescoping of the ramp. I want it to be able to telescope to adjust to the tide, but it can compress as the pup dog runs down it... the ramp and pup almost went in the icy water but I stopped it from sliding just in time.

The tides have still been incredibly low. This morning I had to lay across the finger pier, hug it, and pull myself over and up. I went to a training event that perhaps I should have worn something business-y for, but in light of the tidal issues, they got me in yoga pants and boots. Safety first!

Last Saturday I faced the sad realization that the holding tank is full. I was surprised to have made it six weeks, but now I am forced to go ashore 100% of the time until I can get the boat pumped out. It appears that all the marinas have winterized their pump out stations, so my only hope may be getting one of the larger liveaboard marinas to let me come into a transient slip and use their dock cart pump out; I will call tomorrow and see if I can swing it. Otherwise, I am facing a couple of months without being able to use the head aboard at all. And I still need to replace the vent hose...a job that will be much less painful if the holding tank is empty at the time. I just do not understand why there isn't a pump out truck to service the many, many liveaboards who stay aboard throughout the winter here in Annapolis. Any investors out there want to help me buy a "honeywagon?"