friends and neighbors

Pretty sunset view from the cockpit

Just because we both live on boats doesn’t mean we have to be friends. Yes, you read that correctly. That may be common sense to many people; just because you live ashore doesn’t mean you’re friends with every other person who lives in a townhouse or a McMansion. But some folks clearly feel that every other liveaboard is his de facto friend. It’s true we share a common thread in having chosen an unusual lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean we have anything else in common. I’m starting to think some people actually become cruisers to gain a gaggle of new friends to have potlucks with. Personally, I can’t even wrap my head around that.

I had over 200 make-believe friends on Facebook, with whom I’m probably actual real-life friends (say, people who would definitely know if I were pregnant or getting married), not acquaintances, with less than two dozen, a good chunk of those being gals I’ve known since I was 14. (I deactivated my Facebook account March 8 and the world hasn't stopped spinning; indeed, I think I like the world a little better now.) Rather than cultivating friendships, I’d say Facebook gives the illusion of relationships that do not exist and impedes real-life cultivation of the handful of meaningful relationships we can actually sustain. No one has several hundred friends. We probably all know several hundred people by name and possibly by sight. But we are not friends with all those people. Our society seems to have confused the concept of having stood next to someone in line at the grocery store and being friends. But the cult of networking tells us we must be viral and have some connection to everyone out there. It is a dangerous fallacy. A handful of meaningful relationships is a much more powerful network than LinkedIn and Facebook accounts hundreds deep but full of merely superficial connections. In any event, I may be forced to return to Facebook at some point, but I'd certainly prefer to have a handful of real friends and leave it at that. If anyone on Facebook really missed me they could always come here and find out what I'm up to. Or, y'know, text me to meet up in real life for a pint of beer.

Anyway... I didn't really understand why random people who also happen to live on a boat think we have some deep connection, but now I realize it's because the "potluck cruisers" want to be friends with everyone. I had already realized that many of the single liveaboard guys will adhere like a barnacle to every liveaboard mermaid they meet. Miraculously, I have finally met a few who are not barnacles and don't think I'm their personal mermaid, which is really nice.

Foggy day at the dock

I've been at the new marina for almost six weeks now. I've only met three of the other liveaboards so far. I haven't met any of the girls, but one or more of them somehow manages to leave a lake in the dressing area of the bathhouse. She must step out of the shower and stand there dripping everywhere, (eeewwww), rather than drying off in the shower stall. I've mostly resigned to not being able to dress there post-shower because the water all over the floor will get my pants soaked when trying to get them on. Someone has basically commandeered one shower stall by leaving their bar of soap and scrubbie there, as if no one else needs space to put their toiletries and as if I really want some random chick's germs just hanging out there all the time. One of the gals also has a conniption if she can't easily get a paper towel out of the dispenser. She leaves a huge pile of paper towel shreds all over the floor. I guess this is just further confirmation that liveaboards are crazy. As is the fact that these things bother me so much.

Parking spaces adjacent to the slip

Despite the gals needing some coaching on personal hygiene and shared public space, I am enjoying the new marina. Twice someone has rescued a wayward sock I lost in the washer or dryer and left it out for me, which was nice. I am trying to move to a different slip that I'm hoping will be more private, but the dockmaster is still figuring out who is coming back and where everyone will fit. The current slip is along a bulkhead with parking spaces right there and the parking garage behind me. Being a light sleeper, the noise of the cars in the garage wakes me and one night someone parked right next to the boat and ran their engine from 2:30am to 3:30am. I couldn't figure out what the awful noise was and why the whole boat was vibrating until I pulled back the shade on a port light and the headlights were shining right on me. They must have seen me because by the time I was topsides the car was off and they were gone. Then one day a little girl came over to the boat and kept pulling it against the bulkhead. I fear that as the weather warms up and people mill about ogling boats, someone will make the mistake of boarding and get a shock when I come out with a 12-gauge. So, I'm hoping a slip on another pier will be less likely to have strangers walking up to the boat and put me a little farther from the parking garage.

Parking garage right behind me

It took 6 months before I had a cat overboard incident, and a year-and-a-half before a man overboard. The young sumthin sumthin I occasionally hung out with (I hadn't seen him in two months) called me over and over in his usual inebriated state and I accidently called him back when I was just trying to see the call log. I warned him he shouldn't be driving but he insisted on coming to the pub where I was having a beer with friends. At least there I convinced him to eat something and killed some time, though he shouldn't have been trying to have a philosophical discussion with the adults at the table. When we were walking to the boat he asked if I wanted to get married, which gave me quite a belly laugh. He kept saying "You look so cute in your Helly Hansen jacket." And I kept correcting him that it was Gill; I'm not a gang-banger or a snotty-yachty, so you won't find me in HH. Ugh. Naturally he had only one thing in mind when we got to the boat but my pack always comes first and the dog needed a walk. I was already quite annoyed with his drunk nonsense and pawing at me. I really just wanted to tuck him in and not have to deal with him. He insisted on coming along while I walked the dog and then said there was no need to pick up the dog shit. Seriously. That's just bad karma. "Yes, I do have to pick it up." I told him. Then he didn't want to hold my hand because I had just picked up dog shit. With a plastic bag. Yep, when he opens his mouth, stupid just falls out in abundance. Sigh. Then he took forever getting in and out of the boat and one of the cats got out. Cars speed through the garage and there are just a lot of dangers being in a much more commercial location, so I try to monitor closely any off-boat forays the cats undertake. He was a baby about me telling him to hurry the F up and not let the cat out again. I can be very patient but when it's the last straw, I'm done. When he didn't shut up as told, I was done and told him to leave. He had kicked off his shoes as soon as he was aboard and complained I was kicking him out without his shoes. I quickly grabbed them and put them up on the deck for him. He took his shoes and was yelling at me and complaining he didn't know where his car was. A whole two blocks away in front of the pub. And he has plenty of friends in town he could call to stay with if he didn't want to drive home.

It turned out it was early enough (11:00pm) I could get to bed almost on time so I started setting up coffee for the morning and getting ready for bed. Then I heard a ruckus topsides and felt the boat move. It seemed he was back without permission. I threw open the hatch: "What the fuck!" I heard calls for help and came out to find him in the water between the dock and the boat. He was holding onto the stanchion at the boarding gate with one hand and holding the toe rail with the other. He claimed he came back for his phone and keys (perhaps he'd left them on the dock or on deck). I convinced him to loosen his grip on the stanchion so I could get the keys off his finger and throw them in the cockpit so they wouldn't fall in the water. I quickly threw him a line that runs through a snatch block and to the dock so he'd even have extra leverage if he used it to pull himself out, but he wouldn't even try. He was freaking out and I told him he needed to stay calm. Panicking just uses up body heat. And even though the water was cold, he was a 6'2" guy standing in just 5' of water. I grabbed the ladder out of the lazarette and hung it over the side for him. That's when one of my new neighbors arrived to help. He'd been out in the cockpit of his boat on another pier and heard the commotion. Of course our "swimmer" said he wanted my dockmate to pull him out, not me. It's unlikely either of us alone could have pulled him out easily since he's 6'2" and 200 pounds. My previously-torn rotator cuff certainly wasn't happy with me for helping get him out. We pulled him up and sat him on the dock. He'd been in the water only a couple of minutes. I fished his shoe out with my net and gave him his keys. Although I was quite done with his stupidity, I was going to offer to put him in a hot shower and throw his clothes in the dryer or drive him to the ER if he wanted. But before I could make the offer he was walking off and was yelling belligerently at me. It was about 11:10pm. Not long thereafter I received a series of malicious text messages from him accusing me of trying to murder him. Seriously? He was trespassing and fell in the water. If he'd come back 10 minutes later I might have been gone walking the dog and maybe no one would have heard him call for help. By 11:29pm he was getting arrested for DUI, an open container in his car, some eight charges in all. It'd be nice if he'd learn a lesson about being responsible and considerate of others in the world, but he's an entitled little rich kid who will likely find a way to weasel out of it and not change a bit. But at least I learned that I have neighbors here who will rescue wayward socks from the dryer and wayward boys from the water.

on the move

With no particular reason to head south or budget to do so, I needed to find new digs in the area. Since I learned too late that my last marina was too shallow and too boisterous for me, I have repeatedly sworn not to sign another annual contract. I figured I would find transient slips, move every few months, and just see where things go. As usual, my life is in flux, and I’m just fine with that. What I have never been good at is being trapped, tied down, locked into anything.

My understanding was that my slip had been leased out as of March 1, so I was feeling under the gun to find a new slip and get moved. One key problem I faced was most of Back Creek was frozen. Every sunny or warmish day I would stand on the bow staring at the ice and praying for enough of it to melt to let me out.

I spoke with the dock manager at a sought-after marina on the Spa Creek side of Eastport hoping to find a slip for March and perhaps April. I dropped by a couple of days later to check things out… which slips might be available, the laundry and bathhouse facilities, and find out details about what would be included in the rate. To my surprise, I was offered an annual liveaboard slip, for which there is often a lengthy waiting list. I was caught off-guard by that choice, and had to give it some thought. I crunched the numbers, mulled it over a bit, and knew it was the right thing to do. The problem: the entire annual payment is due up front and I live hand-to-mouth even in the best of times. I managed to rustle up a loan for the slip, and then anxiously awaited the arrival of the lease in the mail. Once everything was signed and official, I celebrated (duh!) and then I studied the upcoming weather to find the likeliest date the creeks would be thawed so that I could move.

Four or five relatively warm days were coming, culminating this past Sunday. Friday I filled the water tank. The ice was looking softer and receding, but still impassable. I also urgently needed the pump out boat to be able to get to me because the tank was completely full. Thankfully they were able to make it around the remaining ice so I had the boat pumped out and flirted with the hottie pump out guy I’m still crushing on. (Saw him briefly at the pub on Friday night, but he otherwise remains elusive despite regular texting for several weeks. Sigh. What's a mermaid gotta do to catch this one?!) Saturday I also had a second ammeter installed (love it!), finally got the propane line routed off the aft rail (yay!), and got a lesson on changing the oil and filters on my Perkins 4-108 diesel engine (double yay!). So, after a highly productive Saturday, Sunday was moving day.

A liveaboard friend offered to help me move the boat over to the new marina. I know I could handle her by myself, but it never hurts to have another sets of hands to assist when coming into a new marina, where I don’t know the quirks as to wind, current, and depth. The ice had floated further out into the cove and we dragged some alongside as we slowly crept along. Once I was past the ice I tried to throttle up, but the shifter didn’t want to move up any further. The engine was only hitting 700 rpm. We kept puttering along slowly, but I was surprised and concerned about the throttle not working since I hadn’t had any problems with the engine the day prior as we changed the oil, oil filter, and Racor fuel filter.

My friend and I were brainstorming what the problem might be and I was studying the instrument panel, when I took a green day mark a couple feet to the wrong side. I promptly went from 8 feet of water to 4 and ran aground for my first time. I could have easily backed right off of the shoal… if I had any throttle. I hit the BoatUS app on my phone and it automatically sent my GPS coordinates to the tow service. A boat went by and my friend kept signaling to them that it wasn’t his fault, it was all me. Ha! Yep, it was my bad. It was a beautiful sunny day, I wasn’t in any particular rush, and we were just nudged into mud, so I didn’t see any reason to worry. Everyone runs aground; that’s just part of boating. The wind started kicking up and blew the bow off 90 degrees. At the same time a gentle wake came and lifted us just enough. I saw the depth sounder go from 3 feet to 5 to 7 and quickly put her in reverse. Even if I couldn’t throttle up, I wanted to at least try to back into the channel. And just like that I backed her up, did a 360, and headed out. I let the tow captain know I was no longer aground but opted to go ahead with a tow due to my lack of maneuverability from the impaired throttle. The wind on the Severn and on Spa Creek was much friskier than on Back Creek. There were also gobs of little sailboats out for the Sunday afternoon frostbite races. Because I’d be motoring, they would have right-of-way and would be zig-zagging all over right where I needed to go. But if I was under tow… well, they would all have to give way to me. Knowing your COLREGS comes in handy! Naturally, it was the same tow captain who towed me last September and then towed a friend’s boat when I was aboard helping him move it for a haul out. I’ll admit it’s a little embarrassing to be on a first-name basis with the local tow captain. C’est la vie.

I got tucked into the new slip. I had planned to dock stern-to but the neighboring liveaboard warned that the slip would get shallow at the far end and that gawkers in the spring and summer would be able to look right down into my boat if I didn’t come bow in. I hadn’t considered the latter issue, but the new marina can definitely have a fishbowl feel, so I’m glad I took his advice. Pup dog is having to adjust to jumping from the deck to the dock at the boarding gate amidships, rather than using her ramp, but she’s been a trooper and adapting with less fuss than I expected. The cats are peeved that I haven’t let them outside yet, but I’m scared they will get lost or hurt in this much more commercial marina with a large parking garage. (It doesn’t help that this morning my neighbor said there has been a dead cat floating around the marina since January and to let him know if I see it so he can fish it out. He said it’s black; I would’ve thought it was Max and freaked out. The whole thing makes me sad.)

So, how are the new digs? Well, let me just say I love bottomless hot water even more than bottomless mimosas! At the old spot there was 15 minutes of hot water, then it went completely cold. I have long hair and long legs, so I could never both shampoo my hair and shave my legs in the same shower at the old marina. And after a run in the frigid cold I would need 15 minutes of hot water just to be able to feel my fingers and toes again. So, I am loving having all the hot water I want, with great water pressure, and facilities that are cleaned daily—by someone other than me! There are two shower stalls, which are separate from the two bathroom stalls, as well as two sinks with shelves, electric outlets, and a courtesy hair dryer. So, yes, I’m feeling I made a serious upgrade.

I also have laundry at the new marina so now I can toss in a load whenever rather than having to drive to a laundromat and pay a lot more than the marina charges. I also have covered, card-key-access parking and generally get a spot right next to my slip. The dock management team are very nice and gave me a welcome bag with a t-shirt, floating key chains, wine key, baseball hat, bathhouse key, and my parking card. Another, and likely the biggest, benefit of the new marina: water under my keel so I can go sailing! I’m even closer to my local haunts, so that’s nice, too.

Oh, and did I mention that ELECTRICITY IS INCLUDED?! So, although I’m paying a mere $17 more a month at the new marina than I was before, I’m actually saving at least $100 a month because I don’t have to stress about whatever mysterious astronomical electrical bill will arrive every quarter, or randomly a month later. My electric had averaged about $85 per month all year until this winter. The bill for the last four months: $615! Since I was freezing my ass off on the boat and trying to run the heat as little as possible, I can only assume I am being charged for the ice eaters that benefited all the boats and the docks. Very, very glad I won’t have to worry about that anymore.

More later about the engine and such, since the mechanical matters deserve their own post. But really pleased to be moved to my new spot. Many thanks to everyone who helped me get her ready and be able to move into our new slip. I'm very hopeful we'll be happy there and that we have fair winds ahead.

to insure prompt service

A couple of days ago I had the Harbormaster's mobile pump out boat come by. I had only used the pump out boat once before and at that time two other boats in my small marina also wanted pump outs. I just paid my $5 for the pump out, but it sounded like the other boats tipped the guy. I didn't know what is expected or appropriate, so when I got pumped out the other day I tipped the guy a buck. That's 20% of the $5, but I felt it might have been chintzy and wanted to know the etiquette for tipping in that situation. Oh, did I forget to mention the guy is cute and chatted me up a bit? Regardless, I know well what it's like to depend on tips, so I wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing.

I dropped an email to a friend whose judgment I trust so I could get his advice and view on tipping for pump outs. He definitely tips and tips well; generally $5 on a pump out. He has sailed, but is primarily a power boater. Feeling comfortable now that tipping is called for, and that a $3 to $5 tip for pump out, depending on the service, is a reasonable range, I could have (should have) just moved on. But being curious by nature, I decided to see what the forums had to say about it. And true to form, the forums pretty much make my blood boil.

The reputation that power boaters tip much, much better than sail boaters appears to be very well grounded in reality. When searching on Sailnet for "tipping pump out" and "tipping marinas" not one relevant search result even appeared. Cruisers Forum had a variety of threads on tipping launch drivers and marina staff or dock hands, and on tipping in US marinas.

Apparently tipping is customary, appropriate, and expected along the US east coast. (I seem to remember my ex tipping dock hands twenties when we were running his brother's 54-foot yacht in Miami and the Keys.) It sounded as though tipping is less common on the west coast, but that dock hands being around to help is also infrequent. The Canadians, Brits, Kiwis, and Aussies mostly showed themselves to be not only cheap, but incredibly resentful of tipping just about anyone, ever. Even when they know very well that it is expected in the US. Not tipping or tipping very little may be the custom in their countries, but it is very bad karma to bring that attitude to the US. I read ridiculous posts along the lines of "employers should simply pay a good wage" and "I don't tip because I only frequent businesses who pay their employees well." Yeah, right. I seriously doubt anyone is out there asking just how much the dock hands are paid before they book a slip at a marina. And who exactly gets to be the arbiter of whether someone's wage is good, livable, or fair?

Make no mistake, in jobs where tipping is traditional--restaurant staff, hairdressers, taxi drivers--tipping isn't "optional." It is part of the price you are expected to pay for the service. If you can't afford to tip 20% then don't eat or drink out.

Many people don't seem to realize that most waiters in the US make effectively nothing. In the Annapolis area servers and bartenders make $3.63 an hour. (Apparently federal law allows it to be as low as $2.13 in some places.) One's "paycheck" is zero because that whopping $3.63 an hour is all withheld for taxes. Whether you tip or not the server has to pay taxes as if you did because the restaurant declares tips for the staff based on the server's sales. The server may also pay 2.5% in credit card processing fees, and usually tips out 10% to the bar and another 15% to the busser.

I saw one post saying it's not fair to have to tip a server since all they do is carry some food, that someone else cooked, to your table. Wow. There's a lot more to it than the time a server spends with you at your table. They arrive hours before the restaurant opens to clean, prepare the dining room and service areas, cut fruit, cut bread, educate themselves on that night's soup and specials, et cetera. Most servers really are there to provide you a high-quality professional service that not just anyone can provide. They almost certainly know and care more about cuisine and wine than 99% of their customers. The ability to stay organized under pressure, timing meals, dealing with rude, difficult, or mean customers, knowing about the food preparation or being willing to check with the chef to accommodate customers' peculiar allergies, diets, or preferences, those are not skills that everyone has and they are not easy to teach. It can be back-breaking work carrying large trays of food and kegs of beer. And it can be soul-sucking work when after recommending the perfect wines and catering to the table's every whim, you find a measly 15% tip.

Tipping actually makes a lot of sense for paying servers and bartenders because the server at a breakfast diner and the server at a fine dining restaurant probably shouldn't be making the same wage. Having it keyed to the cost of the meal often reflects the difference in skills and education needed for the role. In fine dining customers expect the server to know wines that may cost as much as the server will make that night. You would probably be shocked by how many customers I've had who didn't know French or haute cuisine terminology for food and needed me to explain it. Even more frequent were customers who use the wrong bread plate or don't know how to place their silverware to indicate they are ready for the next course. Fine dining is a dance that requires both the server and the customer to know the steps to be truly successful.

But enough ranting about tipping. The bottom line is one should tip, and tip well. It makes a difference. It will insure you prompt service the next time around. It's good for your karma. If you're a sail boater and usually thrifty, be the one to stand out and tip well.

Sail boaters have a well-earned reputation for cheapness and they should not be proud of it. That is not to say it isn't admirable to get by on a tight or small budget, to make the most of everything one has, or to fight for a good deal. Frugality can be admirable; frugality is about not being wasteful of anyone's resources. It benefits both the individual and the commons. Cheapness, on the other hand, is a character flaw. Period. And if a potential romantic interest is cheap, run don't walk. Cheap people are often not just tight-fisted with their money, but also with their time, energy, and physical affection. The last thing anyone wants is to go on a date or hang with a friend who invariably complains about the cost of things or has to find the cheapest deal available. Somehow, money and prices always come up. Quite the opposite, I had a friend who would arrange at the outset for the bill to be taken care of. The last thing he wanted at the end of a wonderful meal was to ruin it with discussion of money.

taking it day by day

I love this quiet, serene view at my marina.

Unfortunately, it can sometimes be a loud, boisterous place strewn with empty beer cans and trash now that the boating season has arrived. If dinking around with the dog weren't such a hassle and I could live off solar power, I think I'd rather live on the hook than in a marina. Well, if I didn't need to leave the boat often and had a very squishy schedule. Having tight schedules and living on the hook might get to be rather frustrating.

I think my priorities for my next marina will be (1) a deep enough slip that I'm never aground, (2) privacy / quieter dockmates, and (3) laundry on site. Lacking those things right now is a real drag. Note the low tides that continue although it's spring.

At the bottom left of the photograph is the toe rail around my deck. Although the top of the toe rail gives me a few more inches, it can be very slippery to step there rather than the deck. I share the narrow finger pier with the boat you see in the background. When the tide is low like this I have to climb onto the finger pier on my hands and knees, basically hugging the pier to pull myself up. Then I steady myself on the white pedestal, (the shore power and cable connection), to stand up, turn around, and walk down the pier to shore.

But the current spot does provide a somewhat safe environment for the pets to wander off the boat under supervision; I know they will all miss that in a more commercial location. Max enjoys rolling around in the sun on the warm shuffle board court. Nonetheless, I would definitely move if I weren't in an annual contract right now.

Buttercup loves to swim and fetch large pieces of driftwood at the pocket park beach at the tip of Horn Point.

ablutions

During winter it was very convenient to have all my "lotions and potions" and such stored in the bathhouse so I didn't have to schlep everything from boat to bathhouse in the cold, rain, and snow. But now that spring has arrived and more people are frequenting the bathhouse, I decided to relocate. I had had a fancy lip balm stolen. Then someone hanging out taking sun decided to take a shower, rifle through my stuff, and left my towel hanging over the curtain rod (the only place it would dry), getting my towel all wet right before I needed it.

I value my privacy and take poorly to boundaries being violated. Rather than let it keep irritating me I decided to simply relocate myself and create a new routine. The bathhouse shower never had enough hot water for me to both wash my hair and shave my legs anyway, and it's still there for me to use when I need to.

So I joined the fancy gym a few blocks away on a one-month promotional deal. I know other liveaboards who swear by showering at the gym. For a little over a week I've been going to Annapolis Athletic Club, where they have towel service, provide the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and I can take a steam or sauna. I haven't tried the sauna yet, but have been enjoying the eucalyptus-infused steam room. Although pup dog is missing running with me, she can't run as far as it gets warmer so I've been hitting the treadmill at the gym, which is easier on my knees and lets me get back to a consistently faster pace.

I organized all my make-up, first aid supplies, and miscellaneous beauty items in the lockers in the head. I put teacup hooks in several pre-drilled holes beside the mirror and hung necklaces and earrings on them. Although the navigation station and dinette areas remain an unmitigated disaster of jumbled items precariously stacked, the head is in order and everything is easily found. At least a couple of spaces on the boat are organized; little by little I'll get there.

five months and counting

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

fighting the kraken in the bilge

Today I bought this nifty anti-alien techno gun so that if that kraken in the bilge ever gets out, or the boat is attacked by aliens, or I just need to clean up the dog hair and kitty litter on the cabin sole, I've got it covered.

The floppy-haired sailor guy has a beautiful blue one (jealous) and when he showed it to me my eyes bulged and I oooh-ed and aaaah-ed, grabbed it, and said "This is for killing aliens, right? bang! bang! bang! bang!" Yes, he thought I was "bat-shit crazy," but come on, it looks like an alien-killing-machine not a "dust buster." I'm already impressed with the vroom-vroom suction power. With how much the pup dog sheds, I don't understand how she isn't bald. Perhaps I can even use it on the saber-toothed grasshoppers who keep invading the privacy of my new bathhouse. Those grasshoppers are enormous and they scare the bejezzus out of me, jumping all over the place and hopping in my bag of toiletries. Look out grasshoppers, now I'm armed and dangerous!

Also got a package today from Amazon with nifty new stuff for life aboard: (1) Cap'n Fatty Goodlander's "How to Inexpensively and Safely Buy, Outfit, and Sail a Small Vessel Around the World," (2) solar lights recommended by The Boat Galley, and (3) a small solar panel charger for cell phone and other small electronics.

The solar charged toys have to charge for a couple of days before I can use them, but I'll update with how they perform once I've been able to test them out. I feel so dependent on shore power right now, but aspire to increasingly be able to go "off the grid."

making moves

A terrible cold side-lined me for a week, causing me to miss a marathon (which was also to serve as a final long training run for the upcoming 50K). Friends warned me to be particularly careful about the cold now that I live aboard; being in a cold, damp boat can turn a cold into "a quick cab ride to pneumonia" as one friend put it. Now that I feel mostly recovered, I am under the gun to catch up on the many, many projects before me.

One useful exercise I did work on while nursing my cold was a list of all the fixes and upgrades I need or want to make on the boat. There are over fifty entries on the list so far (from small items like changing to LED light bulbs to larger projects like removing and re-bedding all the chain plates). Project Gitrot is in a holding pattern at the moment due to a few wet days and considering whether the rot is simply too extensive to fill and a new mahogany threshold should be installed instead. Only a few days away from two months' aboard, I would really like to have my propane stove and oven up and running as soon as possible, and will try to push that to the forefront in the next couple of days. It seems like a simple enough exercise, but never having even used a gas grill before, I have a healthy fear of making any mistakes with the propane, so this is a project I want some help with.

So far this week has brought some big changes. On Monday I sold my Honda Element. It was, as the floppy-haired sailor had put it, my only asset of any real value. It is very hard to be in such financial straits that I have to sell my car to pay the bills, eat, and make some core boat repairs. But such is life. I reconciled myself to it, and was lucky to have a friend who helped me get through the process quickly, maximize my sale price, and move on.

On Tuesday I signed the lease for my new slip. I am very excited to move! I have the slip as of January 1, but am hopeful the owner will let me come over a little early and get settled in. We'll only be four blocks from our current marina, so still able to enjoy being within walking distance of so much and still have the sense of neighborhood Eastport offers. No long icy docks to walk down; just a short stroll to the bathhouse; currently no competition for the bathhouse; nice grassy lawn for pup dog to play (and piddle); a longer finger dock that may allow me to use the actual boarding gate rather than tying the lifelines back; a better shore power set up; almost certainly an easier in and out of the slip so I can use the boat more; a quiet, scenic view.

On Wednesday I bought my new-to-me car, a clay-colored Buick Century. Where my Honda was hippy-dippy, covered with bumper stickers, and let everyone in town know where I was, the new car is entirely under the radar. I am already loving the car. Big comfy seats, an easy, smooth ride. A huge trunk to use as a dock box. I had the car detailed so I'll feel like I am starting fresh. Now I need to remove the couple of stickers on it with a blade and some WD-40, load it up, and cover the back seat for pup dog to chill.

Today I have a friend coming by to look at some boat issues and hopefully help me identify parts I need to purchase. Tonight is the marathon training group party; it will be great to see some friends I haven't seen much of (or at all) in the past couple of months, but bittersweet that I missed my marathon on Saturday.

Here's another of my neighbors. He hung out all morning catching fish.

Life aboard is very different than being ashore. But at the same time, it is often just different versions of the same things we once had on land. Instead of deer and fox in my yard, I have heron and otters. Instead of mowing a lawn, I scrub the decks. And, to my great chagrin, instead of the damn gumballs from the sycamore all over my deck and yard, I have bird poop all over the deck from those damn birds perching on my spreaders.

perhaps not everything survived the storm

Had met a floppy-haired sailor guy a couple of weeks ago, and, although very different in some ways, I had thought we clicked on some deeper level. He thinks I'm "bat shit crazy," (and the feeling is mutual), but neither of us seemed to mind. As any of my friends know, I am fiercely opposed to "dating," which I consider a form of torture. I have had an occasional moment of weakness, but have generally stuck with my solitary life for the past few years, without regret. For the first time in three years, I was surprised to meet someone I might care for, might want to become entangled with. Naturally, it would be my luck that he would be leaving town soon for the islands. At first I thought "how nice to find someone with a natural expiration date" so as to avoid entanglement. Unfortunately, he rather grew on me and I became quite fond of him. But such is life, and winter is only long when one is lonely. I had thought there was a mutual affection. He said he'd keep me up all night playing music until I fell in love with him. When I protested that I needed to rise early and run, he said "What's more important, falling in love or running a marathon?" I just want to have both.

But it seems some gust during the storm blew us apart. He went from caring to icy without explanation. His departure has been accelerated a week. I had been looking forward to the next couple of weeks just enjoying each others' company, arguing politics (ok, I actually hate politics), listening to music, hopefully getting to cook aboard together, literally and figuratively. But I've gone from sweet nothings to radio silence. I did try to tie a bowline around him, but he wriggled away in the nick of time.

Add to some heartache that I've been missing my father terribly. Nine months since he died and I still want to pick up the phone and call him, the only person who always supported me no matter what.

Headed for the marina shower late in the evening today, a glass of wine in tow. Seemed like a safe time not to be holding anyone up if I drained the hot water (which doesn't last long anyway). Kept the window closed and decided to throw caution to the wind and sing in the shower. Singing seems to be my only solace when I am wrecked--whether heartache or grieving the loss of my father, or as in these past days, both. Got through my triptych relating to the sea: I cover the waterfront (Billie Holiday), Never Been Gone (Carly Simon), Sea of Love (akin to the Cat Powers version). Could not even get through the first verse of Amazing Grace before breaking down. I seem to have been caught up in a storm surge of sadness. Once I had applied all my lotions and potions, donned my pajamas and down coat, and opened the door, there was a guy sitting on the floor outside the bathroom waiting on me. He'd probably been there long enough to hear me singing and crying; a major downside of semi-communal living.

Normally rather "girl versus food," today I ate two pieces of string cheese, Amy's cheese enchiladas, and two (about to be three) glasses of pinot grigio. All in, about 1000 calories and far less than I normally consume. Forgetting to eat is never a good sign for me. I will have to make an effort to get back on track with both running and eating. Perhaps I will break down and eat some Goldfish crackers now before bed.