i don't wanna wait

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

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

adventures in docking

I was planning a day cruise with friends for this past Saturday but my friend who acts as emergency back-up to handle the boat if I get in over my head was not going to be able to join us. I felt comfortable running the boat on the prior trip up until it came time to dock her in my slip in my very shallow marina. A boat adjacent to me which extends a little past his pilings and very shallow water make docking a challenge. I asked a friend I met through Cruisers' Forum for some docking advice.

We met on his boat so I could also pick up some supplies for patching the inflatable. We talked about what my docking plan had been on the prior trip, (it wasn't too far off from working), how to make it simpler, and back-up/alternative plans if winds are not cooperating or I need to stop, take a deep breath, and tackle it again. He grabbed a bunch of spice jars from the galley and set them out as pilings. One remote control was the boat in the next slip, sticking out, another remote was my boat. We noted areas where water becomes too shallow to approach.

We talked about how to use prop walk to my advantage, that it may be a seven-point turn to back into the slip, and how to use spring lines to pivot the boat into the slip if necessary. He suggested trying to just use gears rather than throttle to make the little adjustments to squiggle Ambrosia into her slip. I already had a good understanding of docking theory both from my studies and time spent on other boats over the years, but it helped immensely to play out the different scenarios and how wind, current, lines, and prop walk would factor into different docking situations. While experimenting with docking a television remote between spice jars was a huge help over simply reading or discussing theory, it's still not the same as being behind the wheel and doing it in real life.

So after the theoretical discussion and planning, last Friday I asked my friend Phil from s/v High Life to come out for some docking practice with me. One of the key aspects of trying to back into my slip, (necessary for the dog ramp to extend from the stern to the dock), is learning how to maneuver the boat in reverse. Everything seems to happen slowly on my boat, but then keeps going. I'll turn the boat to port and even when I've stopped and begun turning the wheel starboard, she's still turning off to port. It just takes time to get a feel for the wheel and when very small adjustments are needed versus when one needs to turn the wheel sharply. Whatever maneuverability one has going forward, it is far, far less in reverse.

We took her out to a little basin between the little creek my marina is on and Back Creek proper. I practiced running her in reverse and stopping the boat by changing gears. We took her out to where the Severn River meets the Bay, where wind and waves were much stronger than near my very protected marina. Trying to run her in reverse there was even more difficult. As soon as I would turn the wheel slightly the pressure of the water over the rudder would grab the wheel and spin it all the way in one direction. I would fight it back and whoosh, it would grab and pull all the way the other direction. We also played around with seeing how many boat lengths she coasts before stopping. With a displacement of 19,500 pounds, when she gets moving it takes a while to slow her back down.

We headed in to dock her. Phil suggested just "ghosting in," throttling all the way down and letting her coast. It's always easier to throttle back up than to slow the boat down in close quarters. The plan was to come very close to my slip and the boat sticking out next to me, get to where there was enough space for the stern to clear the piling to port, and turn hard aport to begin lining her up with the slip. Naturally, I was nervous to be so close to the adjacent boat, but Phil calmly fended us off the boat and its inflatable (which was drifting into my slip, of course). I left the throttle alone and just shifted between forward, neutral, and reverse to gradually edge her straight and let the prop walk help kick the stern starboard to straighten us out. It was probably a five or six-point turn and we were lined up between the outer pilings. I cut the engine halfway into the slip because I'm always scared to suck mud into the impeller in such shallow water. It's probably best to leave her running just in case, but we finished pulling her in by the lines and docked her nicely on the first try. I'm grateful to have friends to help me tackle the challenge of docking so I can do it myself; many, many thanks guys!

Docking will simply take lots of practice to be very good at, but that's how it is with most things in life. But like anchoring, getting to where I can dock her singlehanded will let me take her wherever I want. I still think it's ironic that anchoring and docking--the things that hold the boat in one place--are what will set us free. Now every time I drop the hook or bring her back into her slip, I feel myself just a little closer to the islands, to my freedom, and to all the adventures that lie ahead.

the plan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

deflated

On Monday I finally managed to drag out the inflatable dinghy that was gifted to me by the marina owner. I was forewarned it leaks and needs patching. A dockmate helped pull it out on the grass and pump it up. He poo-pooed how rough it looks and opined I'd be better off buying one off craigslist. I don't want anything that looks worth stealing and prefer not to just treat everything as disposable. Besides, the other dinks in the marina don't really look so much more pristine.

I had the dog jump in and out of the dinghy, though we were just on the marina lawn. I figured getting her acclimated to it and comfortable jumping over the tubes and laying down inside would only help when I need her to board when it's afloat. She seems to like the dink. I can see us having some fun adventures and excursions in our little inflatable.

A little less than two hours after pumping her up, the port tube was noticeably soft. After 48 hours, it was substantially deflated.

On Thursday I hosed it off, gave it a quick wash and scrub with the deck brush and set all the floor boards aside in the sun. I pumped the port tube up again and went over it inch by inch with soapy water to find the leaks. The only places I found bubbling were at the edges of two prior patches.

Although using two-part glue for Hypalon would be the best course of action, it is a little complicated and time consuming for my taste. Having heard of positive results from using GFlex epoxy (or even 5200), I will use it for my first patch attempt. Unlike the two-part glue, it has other uses for me around the boat and is also a less hefty initial outlay. My plan is to use scary-toxic MEK to loosen the edges of the patches and clean the area. Then I will sand both sides with 80-grit sandpaper and apply GFlex adhesive epoxy. Another upside to GFlex is a fast cure time: 7 to 10 hours. If the GFlex doesn't work I can always go back and patch it with the two-part glue.

I also found two small holes worn through the bottom of the dinghy and two areas close to wearing through. I bought a small piece of Hypalon and will cut patches to apply on those four spots. If all the patches hold, the other project will be either rehabbing the floorboards or making new ones. I have some marine plywood at my disposal for the latter approach, but would need to come up with a saw and saw horses. New boards would definitely be an improvement.

Last night when I came home I found the starboard tube soft. It had been perfectly hard only six hours earlier and had held up for three days with no signs of a leak. What could have happened to it while I was gone? I was upset but tried to just shake it off and look at it as one more project to tackle. This morning when I took the dog out I expected to find the starboard tube further deflated but instead it looked just fine. And of course it then occurred to me that it was simply the much cooler night we had last night that made the tube seem deflated. With the warmer temperature this morning the air inside had again expanded to fill the tube.

My week was somewhat derailed when in the midst of cooking lunch on Tuesday the burners went out and wouldn't re-light. I guess all my recent baking ran through the propane faster than during the first quarter of the year. I couldn't just run out to refill the tank because it's old and lacks an overflow preventer. The hardware store had told me they would not fill it again. If I was going to have to spend money on a tank, then I wanted to get a good fiberglass one. The fiberglass tanks are lightweight, will not corrode (the mild steel ones rust quickly), and--in theory--one can see the level of propane in the tank through the fiberglass.

Fawcett's did not have any and the hardware store no longer carries them. So I settled for going to West Marine and special ordered one for $130. (Yes, you can get one less expensively online, but the extra cost was well worth being able to make coffee aboard this morning!) When I picked it up yesterday I was disappointed that it was green. I had definitely been expecting it to be gray. Bright green on my aft rail is not the look I'm going for. But I really should cover the tank for UV protection anyway, so I am going to find a way to be okay with it.

I don't know about being able to see the propane level; it definitely isn't very clear. The hiccup I'm most worried about is that the hardware store just went straight to filling the tank and it would only take 3.5 liters of propane. I had paid for 4.2 and the tank holds 4.7. I insisted the tank is brand new and empty and should take 4.7. The woman filling the tank asked if I'd purged it. I didn't even know what she was talking about, so obviously I had not. Of course there was a sticker right there on top of the tank telling the filler to purge the tank first. I hadn't been looking for it and she clearly didn't notice it when she hooked it up to fill. I've used the stove successfully this morning without incident, but worry about what exactly is in the tank with the propane and whether it is a hazard, bad for my stove, et cetera. But in the meantime, I'll be heating up some chicken and italian sausage for lunch and cooking up the chicken that has been marinating in olive oil, garlic, and Old Bay. Let's hope it hasn't also been marinating in Salmonella.

Yesterday evening I headed back to Thursday Night Races at J World. Your skipper definitely makes or breaks the experience. The entire evening was unpleasant and when they called for a third race I was disappointed that we weren't heading back to the dock. I was assigned to the jib. I quickly learned that between just not having much upper body strength and constantly nursing a torn rotator cuff, I can't pull in the jib against the wind and the winch is virtually impossible for me to crank. If I don't have the strength necessary for the jib on a J/80, I certainly won't be able to fight it on my much larger boat. A couple of the crew had to help me on every tack (of which it seemed like there were an infinite number) because I simply couldn't fight the sail in by myself. By the end one of the other crew members and I had gotten down a bit of a "system" that made it less unpleasant, but to the bitter end I was constantly left cleating the sheet and trying to grab the winch handle as the skipper buried the rail and barked, and I was scrambling to hoist myself up to the high side of the boat.

Perhaps as a marathoner I should have more appreciation for racing. Except that I don't even like running races. They are just a way to challenge myself, keep myself honest and on track with training, and it is more convenient for very long distances to have someone put out food and water for me. Racing sailboats just does not compute for me. I simply can't wrap my head around getting upset and hyped up about what is really a meaningless competition and I fail to see any fun in sailing nowhere around some marks. To each his own; I know a lot of folks are very serious about racing and seem to enjoy it. My interest in racing is entirely deflated.

One happy note to this long and tiring week: a cheerful pair of Keen sandals.

I was looking at various models at Fawcett's and asking about other colors, being picky about those sort of things, being a bit of a girly-girl and all. The salesgirl asked what size shoe I usually wear. It turns out that the largest youth size in the Keens fits me. At almost half the cost and with more "fun" colors, I was sold. These sandals are so "me," and make me think of cotton candy and bumble gum and jelly beans. They are amazingly comfortable, to boot!

And finally, as I write this Hunter has brought in an icky not-quite-dead thing. I told the marina owner yesterday that he must have mice under the shed because the cat had been watching a particular spot intently. He's been playing with it and licking it and then jumped up on the settee with it. Yuck! But he is a helluva mouser.

taking inventory

The past several days have been busy! Saturday was a bit of a milestone, having pulled out all the sails for the first time. My friend Phil from Sublime Sustenance came over to help me take inventory of my sails, evaluate my running rigging, and help me understand what all the running rigging does. The heat was brutal, but Phil cheerfully spent almost three hours helping me pull sail bags from the depths of the lazarette, lay the sails on the lawn, fold them back up, hoist and lower the jib at least three times because there's something hinky going on with the roller furler, and hoist the main.

Among the discoveries: The main has two sets of reefing points. The metal jib halyard is beginning to split in places and needs replacement. The sheet for the furler is badly worn and needs replacement. Although I do have jib sheets hung on the rail, they look rather tired and will likely also be replaced. (Ouch, all this line is gonna cost me!) Some sail bags were marked as having a 100% jib and a Genoa, but both turned out to be back-up mainsails. The one in better condition I marked as back-up number one. The other may also stick around as a back-up, but when I get around to learning my way around my sewing machine it may become sail bags or a harbor shade. I also have a storm trysail, which looks to be in new condition, and an anchor riding sail for life on the hook. There were no sail ties to be found, and several of the bungee cords being used as sail ties gave up the ghost once unhooked. (So I have a good excuse to buy pretty brightly-colored sail ties at boat show in October.) And the big blocks on the toe rail appear to be placed for a spinnaker, so I will likely need to buy additional ones to install for the jib sheets.

Even though we didn't cast off the lines, it was good to evaluate the sails, know what I have, and what I need to get. That's the first step to taking her out under sail, hopefully sooner than later.

Monday I tried to row over to Port Annapolis to visit a friend and hang out by the pool. I had to begin by bailing out the dinghy, which was half full of water from a few days of torrential downpours. When I shoved off and tried to get underway I discovered the oars are too long. Previously, I had only rowed the dink with friends, so each of us could take an oar and one would sit forward, the other aft. Rowing solo, when I extended the oars to grab each by the handle and not have them crossed, the oars did not want to lift back out of the water after each row. I had to abandon rowing and just use one oar to paddle as if in a canoe. What a chore! The wooden oar was heavy to repeatedly lift from one side of the bow to the other, and the current simply wanted to push me back from whence I came. I made it, but was very glad to just get a dink hop home with my friends towing my dink behind us.

Tuesday was my first real sailing lesson. Well, I took some lessons many moons ago at Community Boating in Boston, but quickly met an instructor who would just take me out on the bigger keel boats and heel us over dramatically. Let's just say it was all flirting and no learning. So, yesterday I headed to the other end of Eastport and had a 3-hour "TrySail" lesson at J World. It was a LivingSocial deal I couldn't pass up, and for the basics getting started it's usually better not to let your dad, boyfriend, or close friends teach you to drive. The class can be up to four people but I lucked out and got a one-on-one lesson. Because I already know most of the equipment terminology we were able to jump quickly to points of sail and understanding wind direction, and got away from the dock pretty quickly.

I was a little surprised to be at the helm from the outset. The instructor did all the sail trim, but only took the helm a couple of times when we got in tight quarters and needed to act very quickly. I was very nervous about how far heeled over we were but the instructor promised me that even if we put the sail flat on the water at 90 degrees, the keel would pop us back up. We came out of Back Creek, sailed around the Severn River, went into Annapolis Harbor, and then reversed course to return to Back Creek. Most of the time was spent heeled over, at times even burying the rail. At one point the instructor noted how much more comfortable I'd gotten with how much we were heeled; I didn't tell him I was keeping my eyes on the tell tales and on my course so I wouldn't look down and notice the gunwale grazing the waves!

I have no sense of direction and often can't even get right and left correct. So the points of sail and judging wind direction was something I was prepared to be mostly awful at. There wasn't much wind at the dock, but once out in the river it kicked up quite a bit. The instructor's tips for finding the wind and knowing when you are directly into the wind, both by judging the wind on your face and by the reaction of the sails, were very helpful. By the end of the lesson I could tell him accurately whether we were close hauled or on a run and had started making adjustments on my own when the tell tales started lagging.

One regret of the day is that when I headed out in the morning I was running late and forgot my phone. It's not that I needed to make any calls, but it would have been cool to turn on my Navionics app and track my course tacking and gybing through Annapolis Harbor and all. So, next time I have to remember to do that!

Although I am glad to get a good lesson under my belt and look forward to going out and becoming a competent sailor, it is still a mode of transportation to me, not an end in itself. I know how to drive, but I don't "enjoy" driving. Driving is simply something necessary in life to conveniently get to places one wants or needs to go. I want to go to far away and interesting places without breaking the bank on diesel, therefore, I need to be able to sail and be able to singlehand my boat. And whether under power or under sail, I will gradually build my seamanship knowledge and skills (which, sadly, are already better than some more experienced boaters I encounter). I would jump right in and do the 5-day basic keelboat course if I had an extra thousand dollars laying around, but I don't. Although racing culture is not my thing, it is a free way to get more experience, so perhaps I'll start signing up to crew for J World's Thursday night races.

In other news... a little update on the air conditioning situation during this brutal heat wave. Although my air conditioning blows cold, the V-berth is always 5 or 10 degrees warmer than the salon. I've tried various and multiple fans both in the V-berth and to pull cool air from the salon and blow it into the V-berth. Nonetheless, I toss and turn with it too warm to sleep comfortably, when only 6 feet away the salon is 70 degrees. Yesterday I picked up a small Vornado fan, which is supposed to create whole-room circulation due to the particular design of the blades et cetera. Vornados are about double the cost of other fans the equivalent size, but I decided it was worth a try. Well, within a few hours the V-berth was cooled off to the point I actually needed to sleep under a blanket! It seems to be pulling the cool air in from the salon but also re-circulating the warmer air from the V-berth out. Every little victory counts!

love and the singlehander

Not that kind of singlehanding... singlehanding a boat. Now, I have to clarify that I am not technically a singlehander yet, insofar as I do not yet run or sail my boat without a more experienced boater aboard to keep me from screwing things up too badly. But I am a single gal living on her boat sola, (well, with two cats and a dog), and planning to be able to singlehand my boat this fall come hell or high water. So, I write this from the perspective of the single liveaboard and Valentine's Day seemed an appropriate day for this post, (although personally I don't wax nostalgic over this Hallmark Holiday).

A little over a month ago I had the realization that I don't think I could be with someone shore-based. It seems unfair, perhaps irrational to discriminate against an entire class of men because they live on land. (Because they are...stable?) But somehow I don't think anyone but another liveaboard could truly understand me. There is something fundamentally different about us liveaboards. We are simply not "wired" the same as everyone else, for better or for worse. Among both coupled and single liveaboards, (but especially among the single ones), I have heard many references to the relief they felt in moving aboard and ending the attempt to fit into society's expectations. So many of us seem to be nonconformists, unconventional, dancing to the beat of a different drum. How do all of us misfit toys find our match? Having loved and lost in my life, being now in the shadow of heartbreak from the floppy-haired sailor guy, I still think my odds of finding my soul mate and sail mate are better with another liveaboard and are better out on the sea than on land, online, or in a local pub.

I half-joke that most of the guy singlehanders out there are socially awkward, broken, and defective and have sailed away from society for that reason. Unfortunately, stereotypes like that arise because there is more than a bit of truth to them. Myself, I have to learn the lesson to stop picking the sad puppy at the pound, the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree of men, because as amazing as I may think I am, I cannot fix them. I already have a "project boat," and need to wean myself off taking on "project men," as it never ends well. And perhaps I am a bit broken and defective myself; I readily admit that I am bat-shit crazy.

But I think there are plenty of singlehanders, male and female, who are simply adventurers, philosophers, introspective, fragile yet brave, endlessly curious about the world around us, and who decide to sail away and lounge in the sun, ponder the universe beneath the stars, be rocked to sleep by the sea. As one liveaboard friend said, others either understand those feelings or they don't; you can't explain to someone else your exhilaration at something or the sense of being in the womb sleeping in the forepeak with waves lapping against the hull. The one key personality trait highly correlated to successful long-term romantic relationships is openness to new experiences. The reclusive curmudgeons who live and die, uncompromising, by their ingrained habits will seek each other out. And the adventurers, who want to see new sights, taste new flavors, experience new sensations, they will find each other. I think cruising liveaboards of the latter contingent far outweigh the former and hopefully I will find my fellow adventurer along the way.

Are singlehanders lonely? Perhaps some are; but one can easily be a hermit ashore or heartbreakingly lonely in a crowded room. I have been both. Being alone does not mean one is lonely. We are fundamentally social creatures, and it seems many liveaboards maintain active contact with the world whether through sundowners, telephone, or internet. Online forums are bursting with single sailors, so they must not all be holed up, living as total recluses on the hook. I've heard that singlehanders talk too much when they get the chance because they are starved for conversation. I've heard that singlehanders fall into alcohol abuse. These things may oft be true, but need not be. Plenty of folks ashore, with spouses and children, fall into the same traps. Are there plenty of "loners" among singlehanders? I assume so. They likely became loners because they did not fit into society's mold and learned to entertain themselves, to enjoy their own company. Making space in your life for solitude, for self-reflection, meditation, prayer--whatever form it may take for a particular person--that is very different from being anti-social. And perhaps that is why so many singlehanders are misunderstood.

Will I face more challenges in finding my love at sea? I expect I will. But moving around will let me see more of the world and meet more people. I am comfortable in my own skin and comfortable being single. Do I want to singlehand all my life? No. I do want to find my soul mate. But right now I am skeptical and guarding my heart closely. I would rather buddy boat with a lover for quite some time before I would be willing to share my home or dock my boat awhile and move onto his. I have settled before and will not make that mistake again. I am prone to writing messages to myself on the bathroom mirror with dry-erase marker. They usually say: "Just keep running." "Do not settle!" "Be the lioness, not the gazelle." Finding a sail mate who "gets" me may be a bit of a challenge, but I am strong, and brave, if too tenderhearted. I wish I had a chartplotter for my heart, but eventually I will drag anchor into the man of my dreams. Until then, I'll just be a barefooted mermaid on her boat, setting her own course, and living life to its fullest.

Visit The Monkey's Fist to find other posts on this topic.