welcome to the circus

The other day I was doing dishes and pup dog was in the cockpit relaxing in the sun. I saw her tail begin wagging wildly and thought my friends might be arriving for our little cookout. When I peeked out there was a girl crouched down on my dock as close to the boat as she could get with her mother in the background trying to frame a good photo of the girl with pup dog behind her. Sigh. I wanted to say, "Hey, we're not a circus! This is my house! I don't come take photos of you sitting on your porch or in your backyard." I know, I'm a curmudgeon. It's just that there are times when you're in the mood to be friendly and satisfy the tourists' desire to see some "local color," and there are times you just want to be able to enjoy a glass of wine on deck without being bothered. I'm considering making signs for the boat that say "The Circus is Closed" and "The Circus is Open; Pet Photos $5 each." (It's tempting to at least monetize the annoyance, but then I'd be a commercial enterprise in violation of marina rules.) I had hoped to move to a slip on one of the docks that has a gate and a sign noting the pier is private. Unfortunately, it doesn't sound like any slips over there will be available until the fall.

You can see that the pets are very stressed out living aboard. Clearly, they handle the pressures a little better than their mom does.

I'm not sure if it was the serious rocking and rolling from high winds or that the litter box was due to be cleaned, but one of the cats mutinied and at 5:00AM Friday morning I was unceremoniously awoken by a giant puddle of cat pee on me and my blankets. It was a surprise since it had been well over a year since we'd had any out-of-box peeing. But oh, yay; laundry time! (A four-part attack of detergent, Oxy Clean, Borax, and Nature's Miracle due to the particular noxiousness of cat pee.) Washing the boat bedding is a serious pain because the mattress protectors, sheets, and heated mattress pad are all made for traditional rectangular beds but mine is a huge triangle that is also very difficult to access, so making the bed is sort of a project in itself. Naturally, one washer and one dryer stole coins from me and wouldn't run. The other dryer has been out of commission for several weeks. I ended up having to schlep my wet laundry to the icky laundromat nearby to use the dryers. Why can't marina laundry just work and be simple? If college dorms can figure it out why can't marinas?

I knew that the condensation from the winter would be bad so I had to brace myself for whatever ick and mold might be along the sides and beneath the mattress. The mattress itself did not appear to have any mold and was completely dry underneath, to my great surprise. The condensation did lead to mold on the teak, which I wiped down with a solution of tea tree oil and water, and the laminate appears to be nearing its useful life but I don't have the budget for gutting the entire interior of the boat anytime soon. I took the opportunity to prop the mattress up on various items so that it had full air circulation around it, sprayed it down with the tea tree oil solution and with Febreeze, cracked the hatch, and aimed a couple of fans on it. I spent two nights on the settee, for which my back definitely did not thank me, and then put the v-berth back together, leaving off the heated mattress pad until next fall. There is still a ton of mold from the winter to battle, but I'm just going to keep working my way aft through the boat until I've got it all under control.

So many projects... so little time... I have this bottomless list of projects aboard, some of which I need mechanical assistance with, some of which I just need to buckle down and make happen, and some of which I won't be able to tackle anytime soon since all the funds saved up have been bled into the worthless car. Yet it's all I can do to stay on top of basic laundry and dishes. Honestly, I'm not doing a good job staying on top of those and feel overwhelmed by them most days. But I am running my ass off, which is important. I've worked up to a base of 30 miles per week, which will be my routine until late August when I begin increasing mileage in preparation for my 50K trail race right before Christmas. The running is keeping me sane and slimming me down, so even though I'm in hopeless debt and broke as can be, I'm feeling and looking good. Let the world keep throwing shit at me; they haven't brought me down yet.

I went out on another fishing charter but again no fish. I'm starting to feel like bad luck. But on three of the four times I was out with friends trying to catch something I did, and I reeled in four fish among those three trips. Although it's obviously less "work" on the charter when you don't catch anything, I need to learn to fillet the darn things and I need to impress the customers so they'll throw more cash my way. But at least I'm getting out on the water. 

Sadly, the more time I spend on the water, the less I like sailboats, or probably more accurately, sail boaters. It cracks me up how so many sailors say that it's the power boaters who don't know and don't follow the rules of the road. My experience has been the polar opposite. And I hear from so many sailors who when they do have the right of way feel the need to press it, won't alter their course a few degrees, when it could make a huge difference for the give way vessel. Just because you technically have right of way over a fishing charter boat with lines out trolling doesn't mean you should revel in the opportunity to cut across their lines and cost them hundreds or thousands of dollars in gear, ruin someone's charter trip, and increase the animosity between the power and sail camps. When fishing lines are out, and especially with planer boards, that power boat is going maybe two knots, has limited maneuverability, and needs to make turns very gradually. The fundamental concept behind the rules of the road is to have boats with greater maneuverability give way to those with less maneuverability. It would be so much nicer out on the water if folks would consider that and show each other some courtesy and patience, rather than acting like spoiled children stomping their feet that it was their turn. And of course all the sail boaters who hate powerboats pipe down when they need a tow or someone to throw them a wake to get off a shoal...  Sigh.  A little more application of the Golden Rule would definitely make being on the water more pleasant and safer.

I actually dread going out on the water on days there will be lots of sailboats. They commandeer large sections of the water for their races precisely where others need to transit. Because I can't read their minds I'm in a constant state of panic that they will tack or gibe nearby and force me to alter my course on short notice. I want to be out on the water with not another boat in sight. I love to be out on the water, but I can take or leave the sailing part. We all have different reasons for being on boats and would be well served to learn to respect those differences. A sailboat made sense for me because they are set up more logically to live on, I could buy more boat for the money, and it opened up the possibility of destinations I could not afford the fuel to reach. But the boat is a method of reaching destinations, its value to me is not in sailing for sailing's sake; its value is in where it can take me, what it lets me see and do, the adventures that become possible.

Dockbox update: I was two weeks without the car. The ECU, (i.e. the "computer"), needs replacing but is an elusive part. I can't trust one from eBay because it has to be exactly the year and model of my car or it won't work. I have a friend keeping an eye out if one comes available through the junkyard network. For now, I have to avoid using the car on rainy days and try to keep it parked where it will stay dry. I can't just hop in and start the car. It will just freak out and make horrific noises and not start. Instead I have to get in, put the key on the second ignition position, and... wait. Sometimes after about 30-60 seconds the check engine light will turn off and I will hear the fuel pump kick on. Then I can start the car. If after a minute that hasn't happened, I have to remove the key, wait a bit, and try the routine again. I've never had a totally unreliable car before, or one that was treated like a trash bin, or held together by duct tape. I feel like I'm trying to rehabilitate a dog that was chronically mistreated by its prior owner. My life has been a series of poor decisions but this is the first truly piece-of-shit car I've ever had dragging me down. I admit I have some bad karma but I didn't deserve this. The self-impressed guy who talked me into buying the car has been texting and emailing, but I'm going with the Thumper Rule: I don't have anything nice to say, so I won't say anything at all. What I want to say is unless you are contacting me to buy this junk heap for the $2,700 I'm into it, please lose my number. Ugh.

On the subject of idiot guys texting me, the former boytoy who fell overboard texted me twice on Saturday. Midafternoon I got a message asking if I was home and then again a little before 10:00PM. I figured maybe he wants to beg for a sympathetic witness at his trial or perhaps he's 12-stepping for a plea deal and has to make amends. But the second text asking "hey you home tonite?" makes me think he's actually so stupid that he thinks he can come by for a booty call after all his nonsense. I guess he could be that stupid. Again I went with the Thumper Rule and did not respond at all. But I was a little nervous he might drop by uninvited, so I made sure I had phone, flashlight, and hunting knife within arm's reach.

Being single in Annapolis can be a drag because it's such a small town and I've pretty much seen everything on the market. I also won't just sleep around because everyone here knows everyone else and it's a gossipy little town. I tend to think I have to wait for new guys to move to the area or just plan to be single until I move on to a new locale. I can count on one hand (or more like a couple fingers) the guys here I haven't already friend-zoned. I know what I really want but it'd be so one-in-a-million to find it that I figure it's an impossibility. But at the very least I have to be firm about not settling. If there isn't that immediate chemistry, if a guy doesn't have the chutzpa to seize the moment with me, then it's not worth my time. I'd rather be alone than with someone with no passion. And if someone isn't willing to get messy, get complicated, get their heart broken, forget it. Doing dangerous or adventurous things is easy; risking broken bones or even your life is easy. Risking your heart takes real guts.

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.

don't tell me that i won't

For all the naysayers out there. This is currently my personal anthem.

There's just going to come a day that I throw off the lines and go. It won't be the first time I've just headed out, not knowing where I'm going, how I'll get there, or what will be, and it won't be the last. And I am just fine with that. I'm not living my life for anyone else anymore or ever again. I won't be enslaved to my insurmountable student debt or society's expectations. Life is just too short to be spent as a meaningless cog in the wheel, working too hard to buy things we don't need. I find it deeply sad that our economy revolves around convincing people to buy cheap plastic shit from China, filling landfills with it, and then working to the bone to buy more of it.

It isn't always pretty. It doesn't always work the first time. Things don't go as planned. That's life. But I can and will go south with this boat. We will survive, possibly even thrive. Will we have financial success? No, it's a given that is a thing of the past. But I don't care about those measures of success any more. My boat, my pack, and I, we are going to cruise away, make our own way, create our own adventures, and leave the naysayers in our wake.

Heard a little rumor that would make winter aboard far less stressful: the Harbormaster may run the pump out boat on Saturdays through the winter. I jumped for joy and begged the pump out guy to please tell the Harbormaster how important this would be for the many folks who live aboard here in Annapolis even through the winter. So, fingers crossed. I still need to get around to writing a formal letter in support of such a service.

Started to try applying some organization to the boat, though once again my efforts have been derailed due to other pressing time commitments. But I did give the bilge a once-over and vacuumed out all the spider webs, though I still need to get in there with a shop vac to remove the lowest level of water that the bilge pump doesn't reach.

Then I tried to start tackling what seem like bottomless piles of clothes and shoes. But I managed to rationalize my main hanging locker a bit and that will make further progress on that front simpler. Many of the things I need to hang, like dresses, are too long for the hanging locker anyway. I decided to move them to the back of the stateroom door, where they fit perfectly, and convert some of the hanging locker into shelves with a few stacked milk crates. I tucked cat carriers in the space behind the crates. I can't afford to let any space aboard go unused. A hanging shoe organizer fit nicely but was two cubbies too long, so I cut them off. I will probably turn the one salvaged one into a little bag for tools or something.

Last Thursday I had an offer from a very experienced boater friend to come practice docking. We previously had an in-depth theoretical discussion of my docking situation, but now he could come help in person. Although I had a zillion chores for the day, I didn't think twice about putting them aside to seize the opportunity for serious docking lessons. The first stage of the lessons was practicing stopping the boat and practicing approaching mooring balls in reverse. It definitely takes a lot more time for the boat to respond in reverse than in forward, but eventually she does. We also learned that the dog thinks mooring balls need to be fetched. I'm going to blame some of my sloppier approaches in part on trying to keep the dog from jumping overboard as I tried to steer to or between mooring balls. We made five separate approaches to dock in my slip. Two of the five were very good, went just as I envisioned, backing right between the pilings as I wanted. My friend asked me to admit that my last one was "perfect," but I feel like there isn't really any perfect docking situation. But I should accept the compliment and feel a little more confident that I am getting better at handling her in close quarters. Though three of the passes I elected to just head back out and try again, in every case with some maneuvering I could have put her in the slip, and we never hit anything, so all in all, it was a very successful 2.5 hour docking lesson. Thanks, Chris; I truly appreciate all the patience and guidance!

One of my favorite running routes.

Friday I managed to get my buns in gear and run 14 miles. I'm behind on marathon and ultra training, but not too late to get there. I just need to be better about getting in all my "short" runs during the week. They are easy to put off but they are the backbone of training and getting one's legs strong, so I need to get in a good routine to stick with them. It's just a challenge as my schedule is a juggle, but the running is my "me" time so I can eat food I enjoy, get slim and sexy, and generally keep the stress from running me down. The 14-miler wasn't beautiful, though the weather and scenery were, but I knocked it out, took a nice steam afterwards, and wasn't sore the next day. (This week's long run: 16 miles.)

Saturday morning I jammed some Slightly Stoopid and danced around the boat as I baked brownies. Two dozen each Butterscotch Brownies and Cocoa Brownies. The oven is small, so I can only bake one pan-full at a time. I moved the rack up in the oven so the flame wouldn't be so strong on the bottom of the pan, flipped the pan halfway through so the side getting the heat from the flame wouldn't overcook, and timed them very carefully. Definitely the best batches aboard so far and generally very good batches overall. Half of the brownies went in a care package and half are aboard. I need to start giving them away lest I eat them and undermine my hard work running!

I started gifting cookies and cake to local bands and bartenders a couple of summers ago as preventive medicine for my chronic habit of collecting broken, defective, wayward, or hapless guys and trying to nurture and fix them. By giving away my yummy baked goods I could satisfy that drive to nurture, and have a better chance at avoiding taking in the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of men, the sad-puppy-at-the-pound guy. I admit I have a hopeless weakness for floppy hair; blame it on my first love and my first lover. Being aboard and having less ability to churn out baked goods en masse, I got out of the habit of nurturing through baking and started relapsing into collecting the broken or wayward boys. I really have to get my act together and stop selling myself short. I deserve nothing less than a guy who is going to make damn sure he rocks my world. And I really should hold out not just for that, but for something real and meaningful. Eventually, I'll find a kindred spirit to cruise away with this mermaid. Until then, I'm busy having my own adventures and charting my own course.

Thirty-plus hours of intensive sailing lessons on a 26-footer is not the same as handling my 37-footer. So although I have learned a lot and feel far more comfortable sailing, my boat remains a challenge. Saturday afternoon was supposed to be a nice day sail with friends. Come Saturday morning, however, no one could make it. It was my first chance to sail my boat myself, my first chance since my basic keelboat course, and possibly my last Saturday off work for the foreseeable future. When no one could or would come out, I was crushed. I let myself be pretty upset and disappointed for a bit and then set about salvaging the day with errands and boat chores. Then at the last minute I heard from friends wanting to go out for a sail.

We got a much later start than planned due to schedules and a couple hours of struggling with the jib furler and then just the usual details of taking the boat out, e.g., unplugging from shore power, removing the dog ramp that is tied to the boat and the dock, dropping the dodger so I can see, and removing loose items from the decks. We motored out of Back Creek, having to dodge several sailboats anchored pretty much smack in the middle of the creek where all the boat traffic is trying to transit. I headed out a ways to find a place where the marine traffic was lighter so we could hoist the sails without having to worry so much about avoiding collisions.

After a slow start we managed to get moving, and eventually got up to 5.6 knots under sail. The boat clearly likes sailing a beam reach. However, we had wanted to sail upwind to the south and drop the hook. But try as we might we never could get her close hauled. I suspect a good portion of the problem is that the jib wouldn't trim in beyond a beam reach. The very aft blocks we used for the jib simply wouldn't allow the trim we needed. I had wondered why there were some blocks shackled at the bow to some anchor rode. I also never understood how the cars on the traveler attached to the toe rail could be for sheets since the opening on the cars faces athwartships rather than fore and aft, so they wouldn't be any good at "guiding" the sheet the way some guides along the side deck keep the furling line in order. After Saturday was done and gone I had an "A-ha!" moment in the middle of the night. Those blocks almost certainly need to be shackled to the cars. Then I can adjust the cars on the traveler as needed to help me get the best angle on the jib for the conditions. I'll have to verify that that is the case, but I mostly trust my instinct on that one.

Although we mostly just headed back and forth across the bay on a beam reach, it was a lovely sail. Pup dog had to be restrained repeatedly because she has such a strong instinct to fetch that she wanted to jump in and fetch every crab pot buoy she saw. When sunset was nearing we readied to head back in. We got up some speed so we could tack and head back. Try as we might we could not get tacked across the wind. I'd get us up to 5 knots, the wheel would be hard over, and the boat would just stall out head to wind.

No worries, this is what engines are for. I would've liked to sail her closer to the channel before powering up, but we did want to get in before dark. We dropped the sails and I hit the "start" button. Nothing. No vroom-vroom, no straining or coughing. Just nothing. I ran up and down the companionway checking the battery monitor and my electrical panel and trying the start button again. How the starter had just given up the ghost I didn't know. Well, no worries, this is what unlimited on-water towing from TowBoatUS is for. I was definitely disappointed to have my very first time sailing her myself end with being towed in. The sense of defeat. The public humiliation. I might have fussed and trouble-shot a little longer if I were alone, but I didn't want my crew to be worried, so I decided it was time to "get my money's worth" for that tow policy and call it in.

I called another liveaboard friend and let him know my cell phone battery was getting low and if the tow couldn't put us in the slip, we might need a dinghy hop. He graciously offered to monitor VHF channel 16 in case we needed to hail him for help. Night came on quickly and despite the stressful and unplanned circumstances, I tried to enjoy this night sail as best I could. We rehoisted the main to try to get ourselves to shallower water where we might anchor while waiting for the tow, or at least get out of the main shipping channel. But the boat pretty much sailed us and we ended up under the Bay Bridge. At just that time the tow boat was hailing us on the radio. I told him we were under the bridge and heading north. He asked if we were under sail or drifting. I paused a second and then shouted, "Both!" There was radio silence for a minute while he clearly had a good belly laugh at this wayward drifting sailor. But we managed to get north and thread a narrow path between the shipping channel and the shallow areas where we could run aground. The tow boat caught up with us, reassured us, and we were quickly heading home. The most harrowing part of the trip for me was when as we were under tow and moving pretty quickly Hunter came out the companionway and almost jumped overboard. Poor seasick kitty still has not adjusted to sailing and wouldn't take his Dramamine. Had he jumped, it'd have been virtually impossible to find a grey cat in the black night water or to stop quickly enough and turn about while under tow. Lesson learned that the hatch needs to remain closed when the boat is under way.

About halfway home I happened to look down at the pedestal and the gear shifter caught my eye. It was one of those time-standing-still moments when all the snippets of a story flash by in sequence and... "a-ha!" I chuckled to myself then turned to each side and smiled at my crew. "Don't kill me," I said, "but the gear is in forward... and the engine will only start in neutral." We all paused for a second and then laughed hysterically. We decided it'd be best to just let the tow boat get us to the slip and then check my theory after we were docked. We got tucked into the slip and the tow guy gave me some paperwork and very sweetly, very concerned, said he hoped the engine was going to be OK. Once he had left, the engine started right up without a hitch. Well, I'll NEVER again forget to check that she's in neutral when I'm starting her, will I?

A huge shout out and thank you to my hardworking and patient crew, Lane and Eli. It wasn't a perfect cruise, but it was an unforgettable one.

So my first time sailing Ambrosia was also my first night sail and my first tow. C'est la vie. No one was hurt, we never hit anything, and it was all an opportunity to practice and learn. It isn't always pretty. It doesn't always go as planned. But don't tell me that I won't.