the best laid plans

It really doesn't get cuter than ducklings. Well, unless it's baby bunnies. I never see bunnies here... I think all the foxes get them. Growing up, I had pet ducks and a rabbit. Plus mice, a rat, a chameleon, and many fish. I think I've always preferred non-human animals to people. I suspect I'll be better suited to an anchorage full of wildlife than a marina full of people, noise, rickita-rackita, gossip, and uninvited advice. Four months into an annual contract at this marina and I regret it. If only I had followed my own advice to never, ever sign an annual slip lease again.

The plan was to fix the engine controls last weekend but things didn't fall in place. I crawled down into the engine room a few weeks ago to water the batteries and luckily the stamp on the transmission cable was somewhere I could get to to read it. I ordered new control cables, 9 and 12 feet, and upgraded from "red jacket" to Teleflex "extreme." The big difference: the extreme can tolerate a 4 inch bend radius rather than 8 inches for the red jacket. I don't want to put any tight turns in the cables but knowing they can handle a little tighter curves is nice. Yesterday the diesel mechanic I've befriended came by to help me install the cables.

The thing that is both incredibly frustrating and interesting is that these sort of projects are puzzles about how to put all the pieces back together. I had a cup full of screws that had come out of the binnacle and steering mechanism, but couldn't tell you which one went where. I was trying various screws on the housing that holds the cables tight inside the binnacle, and we discussed why each one would or would not make sense. Then I was digging around inside the cup and "eureka!" a big, short screw and washer with remnants of white paint. Clearly, this was the one that had been on the binnacle when it was painted. One section of the puzzle solved. Off to a good start! The mechanic was not expecting me to be much help so I think he was surprised when I had grease up to my elbows and shoved my (conveniently smaller) hands down the binnacle to wiggle pieces in place while he pushed the steering column back in.

It became even more of a two-person job when my greasy, slippery little hands managed to lose ahold of the string tied to one of the chains that runs to the steering cable. It was one of those slow-motion moments when all you can do is stutter... no... no... no... and down, down, down it went into the dark recess of the binnacle. We spent what seemed like an eternity trying to hook the chain with a wire but ultimately had to disconnect the steering cable and use the slack to push the chain far enough up the binnacle that I could see it to catch. I held onto it with both hands and didn't want to let go! We had to call it a day, but next Saturday we should be able to get it finished up and get this poor boat out of her slip! And whereas I learned nothing about the steering system and engine controls when they were disassembled, now I know exactly what is going on inside the binnacle and will be better prepared when I need to troubleshoot or repair these parts down the line.

A friend of mine dropped by for a couple beers and made the mistake of getting drawn into conversation with an overly loquacious kid from a boat passing through. The kid never stops talking and takes your presence in the cockpit as an open invitation to chat. He also likes to keep one foot on the dock and put the other on the boat. I realize he's just a kid, but one would think a liveaboard kid would have decent boat etiquette not to touch others' boats without permission. The dad doesn't do anything, but gratefully the floppy-haired guy who appears to be crew rescued me and cut the kid off this morning and took him to their boat. But this evening, no rescue in sight and the kid just kept yammering. I guess it's hard being a liveaboard kid without regular school friends and such. As he kept chattering on I was saddened to see how early the stereotypes develop. He asked where my friend was. I said he's back at his house where he and his girlfriend live. He asked where the guy who owns the boat is. I looked at him quizzically. "What boat?" I asked. "This boat," he said, "where's the guy who owns this boat?" Sigh. "This is my boat. I own the boat. It's me, the dog, and the cats." He looked sort of confused. We mermaids sure are a rare breed; and dumb guys all too common.

I was planning on working right up to my departure. The project I'm working on might last this next week, but fingers crossed it will continue as close to my departure date as possible. I've got to cover bills while gone and would like to be able to enjoy myself a little. If I can scrape enough together I may get the GoPro I've been wanting so I can get some action shots and video to keep you all posted on my journey. I'll be out of contact during passages but should have access to Internet here and there to upload posts.

A friend is going to boat and cat-sit while I'm gone and I think pup dog will go to another friend's house for "sleep away camp." I know they aren't human, but they are still my "kids" and they are closer to me than any people in my life. I just hope the "sitters" can show them compassion and attention, because they hate being separated from me and from each other. Look at how adorable they are holding paws while napping. I think my friends are worried I won't come back, but even if I were in paradise I couldn't leave my loyal pack behind. But to give everyone a little peace of mind that I'll return, at least for a bit, I've got my return ticket in hand. So, two weeks from now I'll be on a plane heading for sailing, snorkeling, fishing, and most importantly, adventure. 

fish on!

39-incher caught on my first charter

Last Friday I got up en la madrugada (i.e. at o-dark-thirty) and worked my first fishing charter. The night before, I packed my lunch and my backpack (layers, sunblock, knife, gloves, et cetera). In the morning I made a thermos of coffee to take along. It was a rush to get ready, feed the pets, walk the dog, and get out the door.  At least the commute is only 3 blocks.

Next time I may have to get up at 4:00AM, or perhaps at--gasp--3:00AM so I can get a run in first. Since I often wake at 3:00AM anyway and struggle to get back to sleep, maybe that isn't as crazy an idea as it sounds. There is no way I would be able to get in a run after working a charter, and I don't want to slide backwards on the pace and mileage I've built up. 

We had four guys on the charter; three friends and the son of one. They were a really nice group and forgiving of it being my first day. The captain showed me how he sets up his trolling lines and I helped put everything out. Things were slow, so we added a couple of dummy lines, which have lead sinkers and lures, but no reels. We had a couple of knockdowns where a fish hit the bait hard enough to pull the line off the planer board line, but we weren't hooking anything. The guys were getting pretty disappointed. I checked some lines to see if they had jellyfish on them, (it makes the lure unattractive to the rockfish), but no jellies. For whatever reason, the fish just weren't biting.

When we needed to start pulling in the lines I started with the dummy lines. I got one in and was going to finish putting it away before moving on to the next. The guy who seemed most disappointed that we hadn't caught anything yelled to me that he thought we had a fish on. I laughed it off thinking he was just pulling my leg since I was trying to get the port dummy line put away. He insisted he thought there was a fish on. We all looked at the lines but none were down and no reels were clicking. Then he said, "No; on this line!" pointing at the starboard dummy line. When we started pulling it, a fish popped along the surface and the panic ensued! (I don't know to whom to attribute the quote, but folks say something along the lines of "fishing is hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer panic.") Since the line has no reel, you simply have to pull the line in by hand. Gratefully, I was wearing grippy gardening gloves that work well for that task and helped the guy pull it in. He was thrilled to have finally caught something and bringing it in by hand made for a special story.

Once we were back at the dock I watched while the captain filleted the fish. If there had been more I might have tried, but I certainly didn't want to do any damage to the only fish we'd caught on the trip. So, learning how to remove the hook safely when landing the fish and how to fillet it up properly are still priorities. I washed down the rods and lures, brushed the hair on the lures, put away the gear, and scrubbed down the deck and the fish box. It was a long day but I've got no doubt I'd rather be out there on the water, getting some exercise, being in the outdoors, than stuck in some office or slinging drinks. I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out to be one of the most interesting jobs I've had.

I figured I'd go out that Friday night, since I finally had more than $3 to my name. I laid down at 7:30PM for a quick nap. I woke up around midnight, and again around 2:00AM. I finally got up at 8:30AM. I guess after a week without sleeping pills and a long, hard day on the water I was pretty tired!

I must not have done too awful a job since the captain had me back for another charter the next afternoon. The group of seven young guys doing a bachelor-party weekend looked a little confused walking down the dock and seeing me there readying things. I think most mates have hairier legs and less curves than I do. The guys were suffering a bit from the previous night's festivities, and some of them napped while we kept searching for fish. Rain and thunderstorms had been predicted and kept most boats in port that afternoon. Thankfully, the storms passed north of us. But we only got one fish hooked and he ended up getting away. The guys were disappointed but some seemed pleased to have a video ribbing the groom for losing the fish. 

My big mistake that day was not keeping the planer board line taut enough when sending the board out. I was trying to hold it and pull it back, but the line whipped right through my bare hands and pulled behind the boat. I knew that was a serious problem since it could easily foul the prop. Although it hadn't caught the prop, it was tangled around the rudder. The captain tried to free it with a boat hook but we ended up having to pull the board out and cut the line to be able to pull it free of the rudder. It was only a few minutes, but pretty frantic. Once the line was clear the captain tied it back on the board and I sent it out... very slowly, and with my grippy gloves on! A serious mistake that could have ended much worse; but lesson learned, and a mistake I won't make again.

Yesterday I headed back out on my friend Captain Chris' boat for a day of fishing. I was hoping we'd limit out so I could get some good practice on cleaning the fish. For some reason both days I've gone out on this boat this season have been cold and foggy. All that sunblock I put on was definitely wasted, and I was glad I threw on an extra sweater. The first fish we caught was only 24" and had to be released. We had a couple of knockdowns. The only keeper was a 32" rockfish I reeled in. My arms are still sore from cranking the reel and bracing the rod. Afterwards I learned how to put on the fighting belt properly to make it easier next time. It was good to get another day of training and practice without the pressure of charter customers to impress. I can't thank Captain Chris and Riverboat Bob enough for teaching me, and I'm grateful for a chance to make some cash at it.

[From left to right in the first photo below: Tim, yours truly, and Riverboat Bob]

The only fish we kept wasn't going to fillet itself, so it was time to learn. The fish was laying there in the well with the ice. I stepped down to get it but kept asking the guys if he was really dead. I assured them that if I grabbed his lip and he started flopping I would start screaming! Even though it was staring me down with its mouth wide open, it didn't wiggle a bit and I managed to hoist it for the photos and then into the dock cart to head for the cleaning station. It measured in at 32 inches. The mate, Riverboat Bob, began the process and explained what he was doing. He finished one side, flipped the fish over, and then it was my turn. I had Bob shoot the little video below. I didn't do the most elegant job, but I got it done without puking or crying, so I consider it a success.

Yes, a living creature was harmed in the making of this video. I don't find it "fun" to kill nature; every little thing just wants to live. I recognize the hypocrisy that I am not a vegetarian, and stay blissfully ignorant of the lives and deaths of the beef, pork, and poultry that I eat. At least with fishing one does face the vitality and mortality of one's dinner eye to eye. I hope that when out fishing I can always be humane, respectful of wildlife, and show gratitude for the resource, and guide others to do the same.

jellyfish

So many challenges, obstacles, frustrations. I try, often without success, to let them roll off my back. I try to enjoy the brief moments of solitude, the dog smiling, the cats purring and content. I try to enjoy the glimpse of a turtle swimming and diving beside the boat or the wondrous beauty of a moon jelly beside the dinghy, slowly and methodically pulsating through the warm waters. I have long had an affinity for jellies, delicate yet dangerous, translucent and yet mysterious. I would like to add jellies to the seascape tattoo on my back, though unlike jellies, and unlike my beloved seahorses, I do not simply move through life with the tides and currents. Perhaps my life would have been easier if I didn't always swim against the current. But I can't help it; it's in my nature.

The AIS had been giving me warning along the way. I knew the floppy-haired sailor guy would arrive any day now. My plan has long been to shrug it off and avoid any contact, but forewarned is forearmed and better to be able to brace myself for spotting him and then doing a 180 to walk the other way. I think he was cruel but we both let contact fall abruptly and shatter into so many pieces on the floor. There is always blame to go around.

So I had prepared myself, as best one can, for the eventuality of a wayward sighting of him about town. I had not braced myself for a message from him announcing his return and admitting it was crappy to have let contact fall off the way it did. Alas, I overwhelmed him it seems. Don't you feel sorry for that rare man to be smothered by my love? I shouldn't even feel the need to keep the details of our brief correspondence private, but I generally will. My initial response, slightly alcohol-infused, was somewhat terse but fair. In the light of day and being tender hearted, I apologized for being better at expressing my feelings in writing than out loud, which likely hadn't been fair to him. Though he broke my heart I don't see any gain in harping at him about it and it will only drain me to expend my energy hating him. I offered to talk, to ignore each other, or to start a clean slate, and just leave that up to him. I could certainly have never responded at all, but life is short and as hurt as I was I did love him once, even if that affection was flagrantly squandered. I will be skeptical, guard my heart closely for some time after pre-maturely opening myself up to him. But I am glad I took the high road of forgiveness and open doors. But one should never forget. I expect we will ignore each other, but it will then have been of his choosing, not my spite, that did it. 

Oh, to be a seahorse or a moon jelly. To leave worries and feelings behind. To be carried by the whims, caprice, or grace of the sea without tiring oneself swimming upstream or against the swells. Why must it be in my nature always to seek out the struggle?

p.s. Wander over to Sailing on -- single-handed to see a woman facing grief and self-sufficiency head-on. She is certainly one forging her own way, not content to be carried by the tide.

home sweet home

Relieved to be back home. The week-long trip to Florida took its toll in excess stress and expense, and especially lack of sleep. My home may be small and cluttered, but it is my little kingdom. Leaving the pets aboard while I was gone was entirely too stressful, so the next time I have to make a trip I think they will have to be boarded somewhere, as much as I hate to move them around.

Here are some photos and notes from the Florida Keys trip.

Relay Team Van 1 members in Key West

Here I am at Mile Marker 0

I did very little shopping on the trip because the budget has crashed and burned. But I did buy these little mementos, as well as a Conch Republic deck of cards. I couldn't pass up the 7 Mile Bridge shotglass since that was my last, hardest, but fastest leg of the race.

The one thing I wanted to do in the Keys was snorkel. During my years in Miami I snorkeled often, whether in a swimming pool, Elliot Key, Key Largo, Marathon and Duck Key, Looe Key, the Bahamas, or Barbados. I wanted to head out to Looe Key but the dive shop I booked with did not get enough people for a morning snorkel trip. I prefer morning to afternoon for snorkeling and knew the weather would be getting rougher, so I scrambled to find an alternative. I ended up rushing to downtown Key West by cab to make a catamaran snorkel cruise. It only offered an hour of snorkeling, but I figured that would be better than nothing.

I've never been a strong swimmer, but got generally comfortable snorkeling and always preferred to be without a flotation vest, but they are often required on commercial snorkel trips. I never dive below the surface, content to float along above all the action below. While the 70-degree water temperature may sound warm to northerners, I couldn't really imagine comfortably swimming in less than 75-degree water, and 80 is much better. I knew I would need several minutes adjusting to the cold water before attempting to snorkel, and just getting used to it again since I hadn't snorkeled in several years. I had mostly been spoiled going out on days the sea was glassy, but I remembered a couple of trips with little waves and how sore one gets from having to swim in those conditions. It was pretty choppy on this trip and I had a feeling I wouldn't want to be in the water long. I made the mistake of turning my back to the breaking waves and one broke over my snorkel--so I got a mouth full of seawater when I was expecting air. I choked and panicked. As would be my luck, it was the one hot guy on the cruise that was nearby to save me. So humiliating. I never want guys to see me as a damsel in distress; I want them to see me for the strong, independent girl I usually am. He and a girl with him tried to calm me down and helped me get back to the catamaran. I put air in my flotation vest and was going to try using a noodle float, but getting continually bounced around by the waves just wasn't fun. I opted to enjoy taking sun on the deck and getting a little cruise. At least I am comfortable aboard; several folks around me were complaining about being seasick.

My view taking sun on deck

I am loathe to swim in the murky Chesapeake, but will have to force myself to get in the water and get comfortable with my snorkel and fins again. I also need to practice holding my breath and swimming under water. If I get caught up in crab pots and foul my propeller, I don't have anyone else to come save me, so I'll have to learn to do it for myself. But I'll still be looking forward to someday being back in the clear Bahamian waters for a pleasant snorkel watching colorful fishes--hopefully sans sharks and barracuda.

The night before the snorkel cruise our group went out and about in Key West. One of my friends had had enough to drink that we could convince her to get a henna tattoo, and we were waiting there for her to get it done. Rather than stand on the crowded sidewalk I wandered into the little t-shirt shop to kill time. I was quickly confronted by a store employee asking if I needed help. I explained I wasn't really shopping and just waiting on my friend getting tattooed. As we stood there chatting, (okay, I'll admit here he was really cute, and I don't usually go for blondes), somewhere in the conversation my being from Annapolis came up and he mentioned stopping in Annapolis recently when sailing his boat down from New York. Naturally, my eyes lit up and I told him I'm a liveaboard. He looked so familiar that I wouldn't be at all surprised if he stopped into Davis' Pub in Eastport and I had been checking him out there. I belly-ached a bit about the travails of winter aboard and he encouraged me to sail down to Key West right now. I balked that the weather window is long past, but he brushed off that notion. Even if the weather cooperated, I don't have the resources to sail away yet. But I said I'd likely be down there in the fall and listened intently as he described the costs and amenities for living aboard in Key West. He had moved ashore, but advised that many liveaboards in Key West do not sail and are only aboard because they cannot afford an apartment there. Apparently, actively sailing liveaboards are more likely to be found up in Marathon. When I needed to get going with my group I introduced myself and got his name, but he said he wouldn't be there anymore by the time I arrive if I wait until fall. He's heading off to meet his brother in Nicaragua and make a circumnavigation. I should have told him that although the oceans are big, it's a very small world; you never know when you'll meet again in some nearby or far-off anchorage.

Seeing that there are other floppy-haired sailor guys out there was good for me. "The" floppy-haired sailor guy has utterly blown me off after knowingly, recklessly, and purposefully making me fall in love with him. But he cut me down more than he ever lifted me up. I am so thankful I did not cave in to some of his requests since all those sweet nothings were apparently...nothing. He occasionally proclaimed that he cared about me, but actions speak louder than words. I would never treat someone I cared about the way he treated me, and even someone I lacked or lost interest in would have been treated with respect. I can count on one hand the men, (well, perhaps all were and are boys...), whom I have loved romantically. My love is a rare thing the floppy-haired sailor was a fool to squander. But such is life. The heart wants what it wants, often without rhyme or reason. Although I am heartbroken, I know I deserve better and someday I will find my partner to raft up with. The challenge is that I don't think I could be with someone land-locked but the sailors may always sail away.

Key West was in our rearview and the last three of our running group headed for Miami. Along the way we stopped at Bahia Honda beach where I attempted to rescue a Portguese-Man-O-War left stranded on the beach. I had photos of it, but the lens on my phone's camera had some schmutz on it that left all those photos blurred. We then stopped at Robbie's in Islamorada. We browsed the little stands with art, clothes, and knick-knacks. Had a drink at the waterside bar. Fed the tarpon.

Great egret

My new flip-flops

Rachel fed the tarpon

Great egret

The pelicans were very pushy

Great egret; gracefully perched

Me and Rachel at Robbie's

three months aboard

For those of you who may have had a line on how long I'd last on the boat, today marks my three-month anniversary of moving aboard. Like the extreme tides we've been having, I've had some highs and lows even in this short time afloat. Living with pets aboard is a challenge that complicates life when simplicity is often the goal, but the cats seem to have adapted well and the dog is managing, though she certainly dislikes the narrow finger pier after slip-sliding down it on Christmas.

A flurry of activity from the neighbors when I tossed some bread off the bow this morning.

I had looked seriously into living aboard a few times prior to this adventure and although it would not have worked in those particular times, places, and circumstances, I wish I had taken this leap of faith much earlier in my life. But better late than never. It is certainly not the lifestyle for everyone, nor the romantic one many imagine. Gratefully, I went into it more focused on managing systems, winter challenges, and repairs, and less focused on sunsets and palm trees.

Among the less glamorous aspects of my life aboard, I disposed of a large bucket full of rotting fish and line that had been left some months ago on the dock and which pup dog had repeatedly gotten into. One night she threw up pieces of line; very dangerous. This was definitely a task I should have donned a face mask for to dull the smell, but going into it, I did not know quite how bad the contents of the bucket would be. The photo really doesn't capture the full ickiness of it. Yuck!

On the upside, this little milestone date was marked nicely by my first somewhat "real" meal cooked aboard: veggie patties and quinoa cooked on my propane stove. I first tried out the Kitchen Aid tea kettle for a cup of coffee; the kettle never whistled because the lid leaks steam, so it will likely be returned and replaced with a better quality one. Having the stove working ends the feeling of "camping" that I had anticipated would last about three weeks, but turned into three months.

Good fortune also came to me by way of an inflatable dinghy being gifted to me. I'll have to patch a leak and come up with an outboard for it, but it will be a nice addition to my nascent fleet and a good addition for mobility around town. I am also still looking forward to a hard sailing dinghy I am being given, as well. It will let me get comfortable with fundamentals of sailing and a "feel" for the wind on a simpler scale than my boat. I guess my deposits to the karma bank are paying off.

Liveaboards are different. Both "different" meaning "odd," and different because of what they do and don't take for granted, different because they have to be especially adaptable, creative, and patient. The tide will go up when it will, and no amount of pulling, pleading, or money will change that. And even though some liveaboards are loners, for the most part they seem to be an especially communal bunch. No matter how skilled one is, there will always come a time he or she needs someone else to catch a line. The liveaboard friends I have made in this short time are priceless.

I don't think becoming a liveaboard has changed who I am. But I do think it has unshackled me from the trappings, "things," and roles that somehow begin to define us and box us in. I lost my real self a long time ago to the expectations and demands of others around me. Somehow moving aboard let me break free from that curse and be the bare-footed mermaid I always have been.

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.