winter is coming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

down the lazarette we go

I'm rather independent and like to do things myself. However, we don't just come into the world knowing how to do everything. I didn't happen to grow up learning to fix cars or build things. Thus, I often find myself not knowing how to do some simple repair and maintenance tasks that guys just take for granted. I wonder how they would feel if I talked to them like helpless little girls because they don't know their way around a kitchen. Anyway... for several months I have been begging people to come show me how to water the battery on the boat. At this point the water level was probably so low that permanent damage has been done. But I'm facing the reality that even when I have cash in hand to pay people to help me with my boat, the only person I can rely on to get anything done aboard is me. 

I did some research online, put on my goofy headlamp, and started pulling everything out of the port lazarette. The single biggest problem with the design of my boat is the terrible engine room access. To get to the engine, batteries, and water pump, one has to climb down one of the cockpit storage lockers, which means removing everything stored in them first. It's very difficult to reach things toward the bottom of the locker but there were various items I didn't want to step on. I was laying in the cockpit hanging myself down as far as possible without crashing in, and pulled as much out as possible. I tucked a screwdriver and wrench in my pocket just in case and set distilled water and a small measuring cup above the lazarette. 

Climbing in and out of the lockers is very difficult. The opening is long but narrow, so my hips won't fit going the direction I want. The locker is very deep, so my feet won't reach the bottom if I'm sitting on the edge of the opening trying to hop down. The sides of the locker are very slippery with condensation. Once I was in and organizing, I knew it would be much easier to have another set of hands to hand me things so I wouldn't have to keep trying to climb in and out. I texted three different guys asking for some quick help, but it was a newly-liveaboard gal on the other side of Eastport who came through. Everything about sailboats is new to her, but I assured her I just needed someone to be able to hand me things and rescue me if I got stuck in the lazarette. As I was pulling stuff out of the lockers and trying to reorganize and store items I found my sea anchor. I don't plan on seeking out the weather that would require them, but I am glad a prior owner invested in a storm sail and sea anchor.

the sea anchor

I got things cleared out and started taking a look at the battery. For some reason the water pump is on top of the batteries. That doesn't seem like a good place for it, but there was very little slack in the hoses to move it around. As I tried to prop it up more against the wall, all of a sudden the pump started running. I must have jiggled a hose clamp loose. I started yelling at my friend to run down to the breaker panel and switch the pump off. I was worried the hose would come loose and water would be spraying everywhere as I sat there next to the batteries and battery charger. Of course there are probably 40 or more switches on the panel so I'm yelling to her that it's the far right row, third from the bottom. Once it was off, I tightened up the clamps on each hose. I still need to investigate the leak between the pump and the water heater, but getting to that spot in the engine room will be a major contortionist act for another day. Since the water in the line to the pump has frozen a few times this winter--not good, I know--I relocated one of the 60 watt work lights from the engine block over to the pump, where it was last winter. That should make a big difference when the next cold snap hits, probably next week.

On to the battery. I suspected that the little black and white knobs (shown in the photo at top) were where I needed to pour the water, but I wasn't certain. I also noticed writing on them. "Keep" and then something I couldn't read. I was worried it would say "closed" or "shut." I took a close-up photo since there was no way to get my head in close enough and saw it said "keep tight." I messaged a photo of the knobs to a friend asking if these were what I needed to remove and how much water to add. Although he's sailed off to South Florida, I was lucky he was online to help me troubleshoot; thanks, Phil! I slowly poured distilled water into four of the six little ports; two were just too far for me to reach without better lighting and a turkey baster. Even using a mirror it was too difficult to see the water level, but I wanted to be careful not to overfill the cells and have electrolyte leak out. Even if they needed a little more water, they are certainly better off than they were and I'll just have to make it a quarterly chore to climb down and water the battery.

stuck in the lazarette under a heavy, moldy sailbag; yuck

Once the battery task was done, it was on to the starboard locker. It was full of loose PFDs, random stuff, and two big, heavy sail bags. Both sails are just old mainsails. I'm probably due for some new sails, but since that's likely going to run about $5,000 I don't see it happening any time soon. The old back-ups, however, will likely be turned into harbor shades or other sewing projects. But now for, I needed to get them out of the way of the engine room access. There's no getting around filling these lockers to the brim; I absolutely need the storage space. I sure wish the design had made them internal quarter berths, but I've got to work with what I've got. Therefore, I'm trying to at least consolidate loose items into bags and bins so that I only have to pull 5 big things out of the locker, instead of 20 little things, every time I need to get to the engine room. It sucks having to store sails in these lockers, where they are exposed to condensation and may get moldy, but there simply isn't any space inside to store them... I've still got a car full of stuff and a few items in storage that have to find a place aboard... it's a process, not an easy one, but worth it in the end. Despite all the challenges, I really couldn't imagine not living aboard.

feng shui (project: organize and paint)

I bought some dry erase boards in hopes of mounting them and using them to help stay organized and on top of things. Naturally, the one that I mounted promptly fell off the wall in less than a day. One laid on top of the pile of crazy consuming the nav desk and said "Get your space organized and zen and your mind will follow." Guests aboard looked at it, looked at the crazy piles of stuff everywhere, and laughed.

But your space and your insides do seem to reflect and influence each other. I aspire to make the boat clutter-free, with nice matching cushions and such. I had bought cotton net bags to hang for storage and after initially buying a set of multiple colors decided I should go with all natural off-white ones so it doesn't look like some Deadhead rainbow inside the boat. But the reality is that the colored ones are me and the plain dull ones are what I aspire to, but will never be. Similarly, wind chimes on a boat are nutty and mine are very hippy-dippy. I have this theoretical vision of the boat without them, just clean lines, dull and "yachty," but I simply couldn't do it. I have to have my wind chimes that say "breathe" and "namaste" with a simple bell beneath them. Yes, I'll have to toss them in a drawer when sailing, but the little tchotchkes make me feel at home, they say something to me or remind me of some trip or time in my life that I'm not ready to forget. I know they are just stuff, just things, but I've lost, sold, and given up so much, I can't quite let go of the little I have left.

There is still more to be done and it will always be a work in progress, but here are some "before" and "after" shots of the cabin. Yeah, don't judge me; I'm doing the best I can.

The galley is still a work in progress, and let's just not talk about the nav desk yet. That's on the "to do" list for later today... or tomorrow. The real "project" aside from cleaning and organizing was painting the cabin. The painted area had been horribly moldy when I bought the boat. Although the mold has long been dealt with, the black stains left behind were not going to come out. I bought some anti-mold paint and had it tinted. The first coat came out bright white rather than the soft cream I was going for. It had this stark "production boat" feel I couldn't live with. The light color also made the nice headliner, which is a bisque color, seem dingy.

I set aside enough of the original color to do a base coat on the other side so that both sides would match and then took the 3/4 of a quart back to the hardware store to see if they could re-tint it for me. They had to experiment and just sort of make up a color, but it worked. It's not a shade I would've originally chosen but I actually love it. It's sort of a clay color; not quite tan, not quite gray, with a hint of green. It definitely makes the cabin feel warmer and looks much classier than the shabby mold-stained walls I had before. I spent a few hours cursing prior owners for the tacky rope light and gazillion screws they put in the walls to mount it that I had to remove before I could clean and paint. My plan is to run a piece of line where the rope light had been, using some of the gazillion holes already drilled there, so I can hang the net bags between port lights for more storage space for small, lightweight things like hats, gloves, and sunglasses. We'll see; these ideas usually take a few iterations of brainstorming and tweaking to get worked out. I also took some natural-colored cotton fabric and spray-glued it to the Reflectix "curtains" in the larger windows that don't open. It's nice not to have all that shiny silver everywhere making the boat look like a space ship. However, the mast still looks like a big shiny silver disco pole... for now.

The cove I'm in, and from the looks of it all the way across Back Creek, is frozen over and covered with snow on top of the ice. Can I just say I'm ready for spring now? The water pump keeps freezing up, so I haven't had running water aboard for a couple of days. I keep flipping on the water heater trying to generate enough heat in that section of the engine room to thaw the line, but it's getting pretty frustrating. Both sinks are full of dishes and taking them ashore will be a total pain in the ass, but likely the only option at this point. The few days of warmer weather can't arrive soon enough. Last week we had two dangerous winter liveaboard incidents here. First, a liveaboard downtown slipped on his icy deck and fell in the water; luckily other liveaboards heard the splash and, together with the fire department, rescued him. Second, two boats in Eastport burned to the waterline and were destroyed; luckily no one was aboard either at the time. These are things my nightmares are often made of nowadays.

I put silicone at the area around a shroud that had been the apparent source of a leak. Unfortunately, that isn't solving the problem. I think melting snow and ice are now getting through from underneath the toe rail. Another Gulfstar 37 owner is solving this problem by removing the toe rail. The replacement toe rail has breaks at each shroud, so there is no way for water to sneak under the toe rail at the chain plates. A very nice solution, but I'm concerned about how costly that change will be.

I missed a week of running with all the snow and bitter cold, but all that cleaning, organizing, and painting was still a decent workout. This week we're back on track and pup dog was a trooper running six miles in the bitter cold with me. I had the benefit of Yaktrax but we had to stop frequently to pull snow and salt from between pup's pads. It feels great to be running again and although the dieting is tough right now, I know it won't be as hard once my mileage is back up and my metabolism is faster.

A few weeks ago I had called the pump out boat but they were frozen in. The following Saturday they were socked in with fog. So the next Saturday I tried again. The tank wasn't yet full, but another couple weeks and I'd be in a jam. But I was in luck, it was actually a relatively nice and warm day for this winter full of polar vortexes and such. When the boat pulled up I was surprised to see the cute floppy-haired guy who'd been running the boat over the summer; I hadn't seen him since fall arrived. It's hard to explain or pin down why, but when I see him I perk up. I'm sure you've had that happen; someone who just makes your eyes light up, your posture straighten, a smile spread across your face. That's what I think of as the power of pheromones; mother nature just saying there is chemistry there. To me, it's an absolutely necessary, but not sufficient, condition to being with someone. If you don't have that spark right off, it won't ever come. I could definitely be wrong, but I feel like the chemistry is mutual.

He asked about the pup dog, which was sweet. I told him I was planning on leaving soon to head south, and he said we had to stop talking about getting a drink at the pub and make it happen. I scurried below to fetch a card and gave it to him. Time to walk the talk if he's for real. The older guy on the pump out boat was probably rolling his eyes and looking at his watch as we chatted away while vacuuming the shit out of the boat. A handful of hours later he texted me. But it's been 10+ days of texting back and forth and...  that's it. I don't want to play games but I also don't want to scare him off--not everyone can handle my bluntness and the subtleties of sarcasm and teasing don't translate well by text so I try to avoid them. But, seriously? If you've asked this mermaid for a tour of her boat and she's saying "hey, let's get together," just make it happen. I'm always catching sailors I'm not trying to hook and when I finally have one I want on my line, I can't seem to reel him in. Sigh.

pup waiting for me to come ashore

ice kept creeping closer to the boat

the tide got too low for the ice eater

The loose working plan has been to leave Annapolis as of March. I believe my slip has already been rented out. I was thinking that I'd just be underway for a week and then stop somewhere for a month or two to work and keep doing that until I ended up somewhere I wanted to stay longer. Of course, I still have a lot of work to be done on the boat to be able to head out, such as get and install solar panels, but even with cash in hand I can't get guys in Annapolis to show up to do the work. Everyone here just wants to curl up for the winter and drink. But as I am used to in this life, the brief upswings never last long. The work in Miami dried up a little over two weeks ago. Back I go to looking for research gigs or, more likely, waiting tables. Fingers crossed I line something up within the next two weeks as I never have much of any financial cushion. Looks like my big cruise this winter will probably just be over to Spa Creek. I'm disappointed, of course. But the devil you know is better than the one you don't; right? I just need to make the best of my time here and my friends here and keep living the dream.

plotting a course to somewhere

Yesterday the outdoor thermometer at the marina was at 30 degrees when I took the pup out at about 7:30AM. By early afternoon the temperature had risen to just shy of 60 degrees. But once night fell the cold set right back in and come 8:00PM we were at the freezing mark. I pulled out one of the work lights, plugged it in, and set it on top of the engine. There is a light socket in the engine room, but I haven't figured out how to switch it on; it would be much easier to use that than to run work lights in there. I filled the water tank today though the marina owner said he won't turn off the dockside water until it gets consistently colder. I go through a tank of water in about two weeks, so it would be nice to at least get to the next fill-up before having to run a hose from the bathhouse. The boat is pretty chilly and an upgrade to a heated mattress pad will need to happen sooner than later. I could just sleep on the settee in the salon, where it is warmer, but it's so much nicer to be able to stretch out in the large v-berth.

Tides are my enemy now. The tide dropped so far yesterday I had to go loosen up lines that needed to be tightened the day before because the winds were whipping. Those same winds blew the water out of the bay and left us pretty dry in the marina. I could see the barnacles on the exposed portions of the bottom and the few inches of rudder sticking out above the waterline.

Pup dog does not like going ashore when we have very low tides because her ramp is at such a steep angle. I sat next to the ramp yesterday to reassure her and told her it'd be fine. I may have spoken too soon. Just when her front paws hit the dock the ramp slipped backwards towards the boat and off the dock. It's tied to some eye-bolts so it won't fall into the water, but it does end up hanging down several inches below the dock when it falls off. I kept telling her I'm sorry but that she's OK and she's so brave. I tightened up the aft spring line to keep the boat from moving forward and tightened up the stern lines, as well, though the boat wasn't really able to move around much being stuck in the mud. When I tried to get her back aboard she just looked at the ramp, looked at me, and then laid down in the grass in protest. She gave me a plaintive but determined stare telling me she was terrified of the ramp, didn't want to be in trouble with me, but also had no intention of moving an inch. Poor girl. I got some treats, showed her that I was holding the ramp and that it was firmly planted. After some coaxing and false starts, she scrambled down the ramp to plenty of praise and treats.

I usually ignore the many emails I receive from West Marine but yesterday's one-day-only deal was too good to pass up. 25% off the chart plotter I had been coveting. Touch screen. NMEA 2000 plug and play. Built-in GPS. Pre-loaded with US Coastal and northern Bahamas charts and able to take additional charts via SD card. Once I can afford an anemometer and a radar, they are easily hooked up to the unit. I may route my depth sounder's data to it or I may wait and add a newer transducer later on to add the sonar to the chart plotter display. So, I raided a good chunk of my little "cruising fund" built up from the sale of most of my worldly possessions, but having a real marine chart plotter will be a major convenience when cruising. And once I add on radar I will feel more comfortable on the water at night and in heavy rain or fog. This is my biggest single purchase for the boat since buying the boat. Now I just have to install it!

I'm still not sure where I'll be at the end of this month. I should be running a marathon after Thanksgiving and an ultra in December for which I am woefully undertrained. I may be here, running, drinking "special cocoa" with peppermint schnapps, wintering over in Annapolis. I may be sailing to Hawaii and beyond. I may be donning foulies to take the boat to southern climes. I simply don't know. And that's just fine by me.

spring is around the corner (right?)

Although today is a gloomy, rainy Tuesday, this past Sunday showed us a glimpse of Spring around the corner. Sunday was over 50 degrees and sunny. I turned off the heat, opened the hatch. Pup dog fetched a tennis ball ad nauseum. The cats came out and sniffed all around the docks, chewed some grass, rolled on the pier and the decks in the sunshine.

Perfect weather for...boat chores! And I am such a good friend that I let a couple of my friends in on the fun! We filled the water tank plus a dozen gallon jugs for drinking water (between water for my coffee/tea and for the pets, we use a little less than a gallon a day). Cut down the Christmas lights that had been zip-tied to the bimini top. We were going to try putting sealant around a deck fitting where I suspect a leak, but the sealant wouldn't come out of the tube. One friend really wanted to bail out the dinghy (seriously?) but I convinced him that insofar as I had the galoshes I was better prepared. They laughed as I bailed out the chilly water and kept saying "Yep, living the dream...I'm living the dream..."

Somewhere in the midst we managed to drink a few mimosas. You gotta love friends who bring the champagne, orange juice, and beer and also happily help with the boat chores; priceless! One of the guys installed the oar locks I bought at Bacon Sails (one stem is a little too wide...) and the keepers I was gifted by a good friend, then he rowed the dinghy over to a running light so we could remove the bulb I think needs replacing. I got talked into taking the dinghy over to the pub...only a four-block walk but a long way to row, especially against the wind. But it was fun to get out on the water nonetheless. I let the guys row her back after eats and drinks and I walked the pup dog home.

Yesterday was chillier, but still sunny. I managed to finish some of the chores I had set out to do Sunday: relocating fenders from the lifelines to the cars on the traveler--easier to move and no longer weighing down the lifelines. I also tied a fender between the boat and the dinghy so the dinghy wouldn't bang into the boat in the wind. Today we're actually rocking in our slip. I keep thinking someone is boarding the boat because we've been aground so much from the low tides lately that I'm not used to the boat moving in the wind anymore! The higher tides are bringing me almost level to the dock at times, what a change from being four feet below the dock and having to climb out onto the finger pier on my belly. (The neighbors will miss seeing me laying on the finger pier in my pajamas, holding on for dear life. Hopefully that's not on YouTube...yet...)

Yesterday I also managed to drag myself out for a run. Just 3.5 miles, not the usual 6 or 6.25, but better than not going. Good to clear my head. I feel I've rounded the bend from the damage the floppy-haired sailor guy did. Although I'm not looking right now and it may be awhile before I'm willing to open myself up again, I am glad that I can smile and laugh and dance again. I know that all my friends who say he was never good enough for me anyway are right. But it's still raw enough that I dread his return to my home port and my local pub. But the best revenge will be to leave him in my wake.

four months aboard

Today marks four months living aboard my boat, a 1976 37' Gulfstar coastal cruising sailboat. As I write this I am, perhaps crazily, sitting where I spent most of my time during my first several weeks aboard: outside in the cockpit. Although the temperature hovering around freezing means I have traded flip flops for Uggs, I have a nice cold beer to help keep me warm. As I look back on this brief period that feels so long, I am filled with one overarching regret: that I did not embark on this journey twenty years ago.

But that I followed a path that was never right for me is a decision that cannot be undone. What I can do now is live my life to the fullest, be as free as I possibly can, plot a course away from the grid, toward freedom, independence, and adventure. I still hold hope that along the way I will drag anchor into a like-minded soul who wants to raft-up together for this journey. Love is very rare to me, but I would rather hold out for it than ever settle again.

Skeptics were in no short supply when I announced in early August that I was going to buy a boat and move aboard. Within two months I closed on my boat and moved in. I joke to other liveaboards that the dreamers in online forums with their five, ten, or twenty year plans to move aboard and cast off the lines are really on a forty-year-plus plan and the closest they'll get to living aboard and cruising is a Viking funeral. No boat will ever be perfect, or ready, or have enough equipment or supplies. I wanted to be the master of my domain and of my destiny, and so I jumped in. I knew that life aboard had long been meant for me; in that, I have never doubted myself for even a moment. I never even planned to be a cruiser any time soon, do not yet know how to sail, yet now it pains me to be tied to a dock. I cannot wait to cast off the lines and let my real life begin.

Hunter wide-eyed peeking into the galley as I cook

Me and pup dog

That is not to say it has been smooth sailing these past months. We live in constant financial strain and I have shed many tears over frustrations with the pets, the boat, and the heartbreak of the floppy-haired sailor guy. My holding tank is full and all the pump outs are winterized. I struggle to get on and off the boat safely when the tides leave my boat stranded, aground, my deck three feet below the finger pier. My new marina offers me more privacy and peace, but lacks any wireless internet access...I used up my phone's high-speed data and have not been able to get online (and update this blog) when I want during the past two weeks. I am still trying to solve the internet challenge. I have to schlepp to a laundromat or use the laundry at my office across town. Living aboard with snow and ice on the decks and docks is no treat and presents many dangers. I seize any day where it hits 50 degrees to fill my water tank and several gallon jugs with water. I check my NOAA Weather Here Free, Tide Prediction, and BlueFin Marine Weather apps obsessively, often planning sleep schedules, errands, and showers around when the tides will facilitate getting on and off the boat. Today I bought canned beer only because it fits more easily in the icebox-turned-fridge. Yes, I sacrifice to "live the dream."

Living the dream?

Where's my fruity rum drink!

Yesterday I kept sensing that I was walking downhill aboard. I set a battery on the galley counter, but it stayed. A few hours later I still sensed it and tried the battery test again...it quickly rolled toward the bow. It was a very disconcerting feeling. I was worried about damage to the keel and the safety of the boat. I reached out to an experienced liveaboard friend who offered another set of eyes and assured me it was simply a result of being aground in my slip. The depth sounder read 3.6 feet; my draft is 5. Some five or six inches of rudder stuck out above the mud, but at the bow the water was just kissing the boot stripe. I dislike being worried about the boat because I need more experience, but at the same time, I am pleased that I am so attuned to the boat's balance that I sensed the bow tipping forward long before any loose items did. My boat and I, we are going to know each other well and be together a very long time.

My view from the hatch door yesterday morning

Snow-covered decks

Gonna have to bail the dinghy out when the snow melts

Living aboard is not easy. It is not something to do on a whim; it requires compromises, creativity, and flexibility. I have much to learn both about my boat's systems and about sailing, but I know far more than most people anticipate and absorbed more than I thought during a decade tossing lines and drinking rum runners on Miami power boats. As much as some old salts act as though only they were blessed with the celestial knowledge of sailing, it really is not rocket science and where there is a will there is a way. But I entered this process in a trial by fire...my one-month anniversary aboard I got to ride out the edges of Hurricane Sandy and at four months aboard I face more snow and ice. Luckily, and from what I have seen unlike many of the dreamers, I went into this adventure focused on systems, hull soundness, winter survival, and a boat that serves my near-term purposes of coastal cruising and life aboard (not distant whisperings of circumnavigation). If one is focused on palm trees, sandy beaches, and fruity rum drinks, I think he or she may be ill-prepared for the realities of life aboard. That is not to say I do not see those tropical delights in my not-too-distant future, but they will be a happy side-effect of going into life aboard with my eyes wide open to the many challenges--and the opportunity to surmount them--so that I may be rocked to sleep by the sea.

Although the floppy-haired sailor guy (ab)used this song to seduce me, it rings true to my heart and I can finally listen to it without tears. My real life will begin out on the water, with the waves crashing over the bow. Waiting For My Real Life to Begin

fill 'er up

Well, linked my hose with the marina one, the connection spraying water everywhere. Filled the tank plus 10 gallon jugs. The water tank was happy to be filled but when I turned on the faucets...nothing. Fresh water pump is dead. I guess we know what tomorrow's priority project is.