through my fingers

Thanks to the Grog Knots app (very worth the $4.99) and the related free website (www.animatedknots.com) I can finally tie a bowline! The bunny rabbit comes out the hole, runs behind the tree, and then back down the hole. Voilá! I really want to learn how to tie the Ashley Stopper Knot but I'm still befuddled. I cut this nifty 3-foot piece of line to carry around and practice knots. Much better way to waste time than Facebook.

In other good news, I've been special ordering Full Sail Session Lager from my local liquor store. A great Oregon craft beer and the groovy little bottles fit perfectly in a koozie. And it turns out I am very good at grilling. I know, hard to believe she's single, right? Bahaha!

I worked a full-day charter, up before dawn, waiting out quite a thunderstorm but with rain gear at the ready. Planer boards were replaced by six rods with buck tail lures with pork rind. I baited the hooks, sent out the lines, and brought lines in now and then to clean off the lures. This time the fish were really biting, and we caught several fish, five of which were keepers. I was glad to see the guy having a birthday actually land the biggest one. It's nice to see people happy about their catch.  Slippery little fish kept fighting to get through my fingers, flopping on the deck as I tried to get a hold of them and measure them. I got skewered right through my heavy gardening gloves a couple times by dorsal fin spines, and tried to remove hooks quickly and humanely. I've learned the hard way that any run-ins with dorsal spines or hooks have to be treated quickly with peroxide and alcohol because the germs in the bay infect quickly and aggressively. I still can't really understand torturing and/or killing nature for fun and continue to be surprised at how many people find it entertaining. Nonetheless, because I truly want to do the best job I can, I was actually looking forward to the opportunity to filet those five fish and get practice. But that, too, slipped through my fingers.

One woman complained to the captain that she didn't like how I was fileting the fish, so I got demoted to the helm and the captain had to clean the fish, which he doesn't like to do. I understand wanting it done well and I certainly want to maximize the amount of meat on the filets. I'd only fileted half a fish before and just needed a chance to figure it out. Having several people watching doesn't exactly make it easier. But guys are always more kind, give tips here and there but usually let you learn. Women are mostly awful to other women, hypercritical and always looking for a chance to cut each other down. I tried to just put on my game face and suck it up at the helm.
 

I spent a couple of days really soul-searching, worrying I couldn't cut it for this job because I went from a tip over 22% on my first charter to 12%. I've got a lot to learn but know more than most folks and have good sea legs. It seemed like a good athletic outdoor job, getting out on the water and making use of my ability to make small talk. It's a sacrifice since I had sworn I'd never piss in a cup for a job and don't think government or employers should be monitoring my personal life. As long as I'm sober on the job what I do in my free time shouldn't matter. But any way the government can weasel into our lives nowadays it will. (This also resulted in an argument at motor vehicles about not having a street address if I decide to anchor out... they insist they must have a land-based address in case the police need to contact me in an emergency... I call BS... they just don't want to do their legwork to serve warrants.)

Anyway, a couple days later I had two half-day charters. Now of course I was really nervous about the fileting. The first charter was a group of young residents from Hopkins. They each wanted to filet a fish, dissected them, and passed around organs. The surgeon was also a fisherman from Florida so he was very sweet and patiently stood by and walked me through it with tips from a surgeon's perspective. But what a riot to have a group tip me very well and want to do the ickiest part themselves! At least now I was better prepared for the pressure of fileting up the afternoon catch. But one of those guys was a chef in Florida for 12 years and wanted to try one himself! So he gave me tips on where to cut to find a little more meat behind the head, etc. I did three, he did one, and another guy tried one. I think especially because most charters never let guests do anything but crank they really like getting to learn how to do things.

Well, I hadn't done as many as I planned, but I had gotten good tips from both surgeon and chef perspectives. Now I'd be ready to impress Monday's charter... But they said "We're Chinese; you know we take the fish home whole!" Ha! Well, I'm not going to complain about not getting the practice on those ones since he tipped me very well and before we were even back to the dock. The next trip out I finally had a group with no desire to do it themselves. I was too nervous to do it underway, but knocked out all five at the dock. I went with Riverboat Bob's style where the skin is never cut clear through at the tail, which gives me a bigger "handle" when skinning and wastes less meat. They were happy with their filets and pleased to leave that task to me.

The next day I did all three while we were underway. They were clearly impressed to see me setting up my cleaning station while we were still trolling (something only charters are allowed to do). I did the first one and the guy watching commented about what a nice job I was doing and was telling the other guys to watch. I thought maybe he was joking but they were just impressed. I laughed and told him I fileted my first fish just two weeks before! No way they'd have ever guessed I hadn't been doing it for years. So from now on maybe I'll tell them I've been doing it since I was a kid.

One Sunday I had a group of six and we limited out, plus since it was now June, we kept a boat fish, too. My first time having four lines with fish on at once! I fileted all 13 while underway. I was kind of traumatized that one of them wasn't quite dead as I fileted him, so I really need to learn exactly where to put an icepick in their brains to pith them humanely. Here's a video of me fileting a fish under way.

Tips have usually been 20% or more, and guests seem to be pleased with the service, despite initial surprise to see a girly-girl as their mate. I'm not paid by the boat at all, so my tips are all I make; that is the standard arrangement for a mate. I scrub the deck, set up all the rods, land the fish, filet them up, risk getting stabbed, hooked, and cut, play tour guide, take out the trash, et cetera. I've studied oceanography and marine biology and share a lot of marine knowledge with guests who want it. I don't have health insurance or paid vacation or the ability to collect unemployment when work dries up. On Father's Day I did get majorly screwed on my tip. As soon as I saw the group coming I knew I was F'd, but every time I hold out hope that the stereotype won't be true and I give them 110%...but in all my time waiting tables and bartending, only twice have these folks tipped appropriately despite being ridiculously high-maintenance. $20. Yep, $3 an hour to get up at 4:30AM, catch these guys the biggest fish they'd seen in their lives, and have to clean a couple in a more complicated way than our usual fileting. Next time the tip will be in my hand before I leave the dock or I just head home and sleep in. If you aren't prepared to tip 20%, just don't go out. Don't go sportfishing, don't go to bars, don't go to restaurants. Keep your incredibly bad karma and spare the rest of us who are working to make a living. (OK, rant over. But never to be forgotten; I've been screwed one too many times.)

Now that the hot weather is here, the stingrays are out in the bay. Although a lot of captains call them skates, they are actually cow-nosed rays, a type of eagle ray. (Rays and skates are not the same; skates tend to be rounder and have wider tails and do not have a stinging barb.) We've hooked four while I've been aboard. I got one up to the transom to cut the line but gratefully he flipped the hook out. The others managed to break the leader...the last one was a big guy when we saw him come to the surface about 40 feet behind the boat. The rays often swim at the surface and their wingtips will break the water. We had seen a few and some charter guests were pointing to what they thought was one but when I turned to look it was a dolphin surfacing, and another dorsal fin was right beside it. Dolphin are sometimes spotted as far north as Baltimore Harbor, but it is definitely rare to see them north of the Bay Bridge as we did a few days ago. Very cool.

I've gotten much better at grabbing fish by the lip, which does just miraculously seem to paralyze them, and at getting hooks out, though I've had a couple tough ones with the hooks. Now whether I can learn how to do this with Florida fish... that weigh as much or more than me and have scary teeth... not sure, but that'd be nice. Florida charter rates are about double those here and I'd enjoy going south for the winter to do that. Even though I'm allergic to seafood and sort of a hippy chick who doesn't want to hurt nature, fishing is the first job in my life I really like. And I actually seem to be really good at it. I just have to show up on any new boat with my K-Bar strapped to my thigh the first day and make it clear that I don't fire warning shots...the first time the captain's hand touches my ass is when I start cutting off extremities. It really sucks that this is the kind of world we still live in.

Now that I've gotten pretty good at the job, charters have slowed down for me. The captain gives a couple charters a week to someone else and there aren't enough leftovers for me to survive on. One charter for me this week and one scheduled for the next. So I'm going back to the dark side and taking a project in DC doing low-end legal muckwork. The project is slated to last three weeks, but they easily end early, so there's really no predicting. I can't even afford the $21 per day it would cost to drive, park, and metro in, so I'm going to try walking to the commuter bus that would be $8.50 round trip, but has limited hours it runs. The car is a piece of shit full of grelims, so I'd be nervous to rely on it for a 40 mile daily round trip to the nearest metro station anyway. The days become long, because an 8-hour workday can easily become 12 with the commute time. That will be tough on the dog in the hot boat with temperamental air conditioning, but I'll try to find a dockmate to give her a quick break midday and check that the A/C hasn't frozen up. She handled even longer days when I used to commute to Georgetown from Annapolis, but did have a whole house to roam (she actually just sleeps all day with the cats) and reliable A/C to keep her cool. Fingers crossed it works out and enough projects arise for me to cover my bills and start getting the boat repaired so I can actually take her out. One thing I've definitely learned the hard way, with the exception of a few close friends, any guy who wants to help me on my boat has an ulterior motive. From now on things I can't tackle all by myself will simply have to wait until I can pay a professional to help me. No more "favors" because those guys all seem to be angling for "favors" in return.

361 days ago was the denaming ceremony for the boat. It was also the day that Max learned how to swim. This evening as I was heading to take pup dog for a quick piddle before bed, Max wanted to follow us. He was getting ready to jump under the life lines and I told him that wasn't a good idea. The boat was far from the dock and the angle wouldn't be good. I was grabbing pup's leash and heard a splash. I guess you knew where this story was going... a dockmate saw it happen and yelled "cat overboard!" as I scrambled to get the fishing net. But before I could even get the net he was already on the dock. Amazingly enough that cat swam to the piling at the bulkhead and climbed right out. He stood on the dock for a while looking sort of confused and then ran inside. I grabbed a towel and dried him off a bit. Always an adventure with pets aboard.

Hunter has now very deliberately peed outside the box three times in the last month. Today it was on the settee. Now I'm very worried about him. The last time he was so pointed about it he was going through puberty and although no one believed me (because he'd been snipped as a kitten), I knew he was telling me something was wrong and I could see him getting the tomcat characteristics. It turned out that my instincts were spot on; one testicle hadn't dropped and was hidden inside behind his intestines. Now he has a growth (the vet said tumor and then tried to revert to "growth" so I wouldn't freak out) on one ear. There isn't any fluid inside, which is a bad sign. Tumors, or uh, growths, on cats are much more likely to be malignant than ones on dogs. I couldn't afford to send the cells for analysis. I couldn't afford the heartworm prevention for the cats and dog. I'll have to save up and see about sending him for surgery to remove as much of the tumor as possible, but it's a difficult location and I imagine they could say he'll lose the ear. My beautiful, loyal, regal King Great Jaguar Paw.

I'm definitely regretting staying in Annapolis. Only three months into an annual slip contract and I'm kicking myself. If I stay until November then the rate would end up being about the same as if I'd been a monthly transient. If I'm not doing yacht brokerage or mediation or something else lucrative that requires establishing oneself, then there's not much reason for me to be here. There's nothing for me here, nothing tying me here, no sense that I belong here. But there isn't any other place I'd be going to either. There just isn't anyplace where I have roots, feel "home." I guess I probably won't ever have that feeling. I definitely wish I had a dinghy and skill at ferrying the dog ashore because getting away from the noise and activity at the marina would be a blessing. I just wish I could've gone on a secluded mooring somewhere. I need some peace and quiet. What a waste to spend so much money on an annual slip contract... all that money and I'd have solar panels, a new battery bank, all my basic repairs and simple upgrades done, a great dink, and be able to live on the hook or on a ball. I need to get my butt in gear and get the boat in shape to at least go on some short three or four day trips around the Bay, get comfortable anchoring, and just get prepared to go... somewhere, anywhere. I just need to go. Before the chance slips through my fingers, again.

welcome to the circus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

april showers

A week ago Monday I had an opportunity to go out fishing. Although I'm allergic to seafood and don't really want to hurt or kill nature for entertainment, I hate to pass up an opportunity to get out on the water and I want to develop skills to serve as a mate on fishing charters. Those mates can make some good tips on a half- or full-day charter, and if I can do the job looking cuter than the usual old salts, well, I figure my tips would be even better. I've found that "soft skills" aren't much rewarded financially and are easily outsourced offshore, so I'm on a mission to stockpile some "real" skills like fishing, sewing, and fixing mechanical things. On my few trips out rockfishing I've learned how to put out the planer boards, clip in and send out the trolling lines, keep an eye out for knockdowns, bring in the lines, tidy up the reels for storage, and clean the lures. I've brought in a few fish, but I still need to learn how to safely net the fish, remove the hook, and filet it up. Although I learned a lot on this past trip (thanks Cap'n Chris and Mate Bob!) and we had 14 lines out, we didn't get so much as a nibble. It didn't look like other boats were having much more luck, though, so I don't feel too bad. The fishing gods must have sensed me typing this and in walked the captain of a local charter boat asking if I could work a charter this Friday. Fingers crossed I do well, make some good money, and get invited back for more work. I should be able to make as much in tips as if waiting tables, but with the potential for more. And it's time on the water, getting some exercise, and developing a skill I can take with me anywhere.

As you may recall, one Tuesday the car died and the following Tuesday I learned the A/C in the car doesn't work and I lost all my important keys (other than car keys). Perhaps the most important of the lost keys was the only key to the lock on my storage unit. So last Tuesday I started my errands with heading to the storage unit to pay the bill and see if they would cut the lock for me. The manager said of course they could cut the lock...for a fee. My heart sank; I'm painfully broke and whatever it cost was coming straight out of the small grocery budget. Then he smiled and said "Just kidding! Of course we'll cut it for free." I just had to sign a liability waiver saying I'm me and won't be upset they cut the lock, et cetera. Annapolis Self Storage rocks! Sparks flew, it smelled like melting metal, and voila! The 5'x5' unit is not even waist high with stuff, much of which just needs sorting, tossing, or donating.

Items I like to keep in the car were at the top in the storage unit, e.g. a trunk organizer, jumper cables, beach chair, hockey skates, emergency overnight bag, and my portable backgammon case. It was a rainy gloomy day so I hit up a fellow liveaboard and suggested I drop by after picking up my groceries and we could play some backgammon and hide out from the rain. He's very competitive, a racer. I'm not. I wanted him to have an edge since he was new to backgammon so I let him pick the black dice, which I suspect to roll doubles on a higher-than-average basis. Although he did roll doubles often, apparently I just have a gift for rolling more of them. Even when I didn't need them my double sixes kept coming up. After just three games he said he never wanted to hear me say "box cars!" again. I guess there's a hidden competitive streak in me, after all. So I promised to let him win at chess.

Having totally lost track of time hiding from the rain, it was about 1:00AM as I was finally heading home. But if it's Tuesday the universe has it in for me, and the car was dead again. I got a ride home only to find that the gasket in one of the port lights had come out of its track and what seemed like buckets of water had rained onto the settee and pillows. There's really no fixing it when wet, so I had to pile towels and a basin below the port to try to catch the rain. A couple days later I managed to get the gasket back in, though it still leaks a bit (I seriously hate the design of these port lights), but I'm still without a car. Every time it freaks out and fails it's been raining. The dealer is thinking it may need a new computer, but the part is elusive and I think they need to figure out how water is intruding and shorting it out so I'm not continually replacing an expensive and hard-to-get part. In the two months I've had the car it has run less often than it's been broken down. At this point whenever I'm about to cry I just start laughing kind of hysterically, like I'm on the verge of a psychotic break. At least I can look at the situation and laugh!

The rain, south winds, and high tides converged to flood the parking garage at the marina with a good 5 inches of water. Water didn't come over the docks but it was close and the boat was high above the pier. I wore my foulies all day Wednesday and had to sit on the deck to jump down.

After what seemed like endless rains, we got some sunny, warmish weather and the dock water was turned on. I borrowed a pressure washer from a dockmate and spent Sunday giving Ambrosia a bikini boat wash. I spent four hours going over the decks with the pressure washer. The boat went from gray to white. One guy said he always found it cathartic to clean the boat like that, and I have to agree. She was just caked with grime and it definitely gives a sense of accomplishment to blast it away. By the time I reached the cockpit I was feeling rushed because the temperature was dropping and winds were kicking up. I didn't want to be caught out in a thunderstorm. Gratefully it passed us by. I spent another hour working on spots by hand and still have more to do to clean up the topsides, but she looks so much cleaner and brighter now.

Come Sunday evening I had a bunch of chicken to cook up but no one was up for coming over for dinner and drinks so I was on my own. I've always left grilling to men. Everyone needs their own "turf," their own things they are good at, skills they get to "own." Since I'm a pretty decent cook and baker, I like to be in charge of my galley. So I've always left the "killing beast over fire" Neanderthal thing to guys. I let them own that primal manly task. But being a single gal and (perhaps overly, painfully, stridently) independent, I have to do for myself these days. For a while I've been using a little George Foreman grill, which I actually quite like. However, it only fits a couple chicken breasts or burgers and if I'm cooking in larger quantities (as is often the case), it takes a long time and there is a lot of clean up. So, this past Sunday I got a fellow dockmate to show me how to light the communal grill by the dinghy dock and lo-and-behold, I grilled up my first batch of chicken by myself. Folks walking by ooh-ed and aah-ed; one family said they wouldn't have gone to Boatyard for dinner if I'd been grilling when they walked by, another guy said it smelled delicious and could smell it a block away. I'd say the real skill in it was marinating the chicken for a few days in a Ziploc bag with olive oil, garlic, fresh ground pepper, and kosher salt, but I guess my grilling abilities aren't too shabby, either.

I had been planning on moving slips but don't like the slip open on the main pier. I'd be stuck between two power boats (which cuts off breezes and could make me feel boxed in) and the view would be of a shabby boat at the marina next door. I'm going to pass. I was mostly resigned to staying put, which pup dog would probably like and would avoid drama dealing with Comcast, but the parking garage noise and being right next to another liveaboard really do bother me. There is another slip possibly opening up on a pier with a gate (so less risk of strangers walking up to the boat) and the docking situation would likely be relatively simple, but that slip would cost almost $1,000 more per year than where I'm at...money I obviously don't have right now. So, we'll see. I think I would have more privacy and peace and quiet there. It's an adjustment being in a more urban/commercial marina with all the noise and foot traffic, but I think what is harder for me is all the liveaboards, gossip, and unsolicited advice. I've got to get the boat fixed up so I can take off on some mini-cruises and get away.

Although it'd be nice to fall in love or at least find a good guy and have a playmate this spring and summer, I'm so thankful that I am not trapped in a stale or bad relationship. I'm saddened when I see someone encoupled with the wrong person, staying by default because inaction is easier than action. There is an enormous opportunity cost to doing that because the love of your life might walk right past you but not see you because you were on another's arm. I keep telling myself (and want to yell at my friends): Don't settle! You deserve better. The person you're with deserves better. No one should ever be pressured to get married or have children, nor pressure anyone else to do so. Marriage is hard. Marriage is a partnership and a sacrifice. If you don't wake up every morning wanting to be there, you are shortchanging yourself and your "partner." If you wouldn't stay if there weren't a legal bond between you, you sure as hell shouldn't be together. Too many people marry for all the wrong reasons, under all the wrong pressures. Too many women marry because they want a wedding, because all their friends are doing it, or because they think they can't have a kid on their own. If a guy truly loves me he won't need legal papers, or a name change, or a joint checking account. He'll show he loves me by being there in my bed every morning and not fucking anyone else. By being his own person, independent, self-fulfilled, seizing and sharing his dreams.

One thing I think we often forget is that we are not responsible for anyone else's happiness. We are each responsible for our own happiness and only when we love ourselves, are independent and complete in ourselves, can we truly love someone  else, seek only to lift them up, not pull them down or revolve around them. I don't want to be the center of anyone's universe (well, other than pup dog's). It's too much pressure. And it isn't love, it's obsession or dependence; there's a very big difference between those things and love. Jealous people, like drunks and addicts, don't truly love. They lack the self-value and self-confidence to do so.

I consider having some fun here and there, but I know I won't be satisfied with that. Even if it's just a physical thing, and especially if it's just a physical thing, I don't want to be with anyone that there isn't just this immediate, gut, pheromonal desire to rip each others' clothes off. I deserve that kind of passion. Anything less than that is selling myself short. So I have to stick with my mantras: Don't settle. Just keep running. Be the lioness, not the gazelle.

spring is in the air

Spring seems to be arriving at long last. It's coming in fits and starts, but last week's three-day cold snap is alleged to be the last (knock on wood). This spring is definitely in like a lion so let's hope it's out like a lamb. 

Buttercup has been in swimming twice. Easter Sunday was a good day for it after a long walk and some reflection on how much we could use some renewal and rebirth about now. Her Easter swim was a puppy play date with another boat dog, who was having a birthday. Buttercup also got her first dingy ride, and did a good job. I'm truly blessed to have such a loyal companion with a sweet temperament. She has her moments of being stubborn or scared, but so do we all I guess.

I'm trying to clean up the boat but of course every day it feels like two steps forward and three steps back. So much of the organizing I have to do involves upending everything and so piles seem to be in a constant rotation from dinette, to settee, to nav desk, to sole, and round and round we go. But I keep telling myself I'm almost there, just one more turn of the rubik's cube and it will all fall into place; right? It seems to be about all I can do to stay on top of the usual loads of laundry and dishes, much less to make headway on the real organizing and the real repairs. But I am working on renewing and maintaining my focus on myself and my projects so I just need to get in a groove and make it happen.

I know for certain one serious leak is coming from a shroud/deck/chain plate connection. I fear there has now been water coming in at some of the others as well. I am going to act on the assumption that all are suspect and in need of proper sealing. That will be a significant project to cut away the toe rail at each shroud, fill in as much as possible around the chain plate with epoxy, and then seal the top with butyl tape. Once I manage to tackle that project, I will have to come up with a strategy for addressing the water damage. Water has come through behind and under lockers in locations that are inaccessible without removing the internal cabinetry--which may or may not even be possible. Well, I can obviously remove it, but whether I can do so without destroying it is another question. I clearly cannot afford to entirely refit the interior of the boat. However, I fear the cabin sole is soft and moldy where water has sat in these inaccessible locations. I'll tackle what I can with tea tree oil and airing out and fans to dry things out, but much of the damage will remain a mystery until I can take on the larger project of gutting the interior...something that may never be within my micro-budget. Even though the endless list of projects and repairs can be frustrating, overwhelming, and sometimes demoralizing, I am excited to tackle projects and do my best to bring the boat back to her former glory. She's a good, solid boat and the blood, sweat, and tears will be worth it when I'm sipping a cocktail enjoying the sunset or sunning on the foredeck anchored out.

Dockbox update: The air conditioning doesn't work in the Civic. Seriously? I drove my old Benz 560SL without A/C for a couple of years in Miami because I was so broke; that is a special hell I simply can't face again. Anyone want to take this baby off my hands...gee, I'm only in $2,700 so far. Ugh.

While I was on my once-weekly errand-running by car, I lost the keys to my PO Box, office, marina mailbox, and... the only key to the lock on my storage unit. Yeah, what a fun day off driving around without air conditioning retracing all my steps while staring at the ground praying for keys to magically appear. But with all this bad luck, something good is bound to come my way, right? Yeah, it never seems to turn out that way, but perhaps I'll be pleasantly surprised.

In the midst of being broke, and having car problems, boat problems, and such, running has been the one thing going my way. By the end of this month I'll have run almost as much so far this year as I did all of last year. I've run 100 miles in the past 30 days and I'm running faster than I have in a couple of years. While my "long" runs right now are only ten and twelve miles, rather than the fifteen to twenty I used to run each weekend, I am running them strong, and at--for me--a decent 10:00 to 10:30 pace per mile. It's always hard to lose weight while increasing mileage because, well, running makes me hungry. But I know it is a tried-and-true recipe for slimming down and getting stronger if I keep running and don't reward myself with more pizza than my metabolism can handle. I can feel my legs and lungs getting stronger, breaks getting shorter and fewer, and if I stick with the program I'll be back in distance running shape by the time I need to gear up for the Seashore Nature Trail 50K that I'll run in December. I would love to set a new 50K personal record as a Christmas present to myself.

So, I need to keep my new year's resolutions top-of-mind and focus on taking care of my pets and myself. Our little pack is what I've got and we have to stay strong for ourselves. I also need to remind myself of my resolution to stop spending time doing things I don't want to do or with people I don't want to hang out with. Social pressures to be polite and friendly make those ones tough, but I always regret an evening lost that I could have spent relaxing on my own, enjoying the company of someone I do want to hang out with, or giving my pets the attention they always crave. And sadly, I'd just rather catch up on Game of Thrones than hang out with most people. C'est la vie.

So I need to keep up the running, stay focused on taking good care of the pets, give the boat the attention she needs, and not let myself be (too) distracted by boys. It would be so nice to be in love during the springtime, to have someone to bake for and play with, have someone to just lose track of time with, but I have to remember to keep focused on taking care of myself because no one else will. 

dockbox blues

My boring old 2002 Buick drove reliably throughout our 15-month relationship. But a dead O2 sensor took my gas mileage from about 25 mpg to about 16. Although the heat and A/C worked, the fan for them gave up the ghost. And leaky doors left items on the floor soaked and the windshield often fogged up... and once, iced over on the inside (which was the final straw that ended of our brief relationship). These mounting repairs would be separate from the hefty front-end damage ($1,500-2,000) from when she was impaled on a guy's bike rack in a fender-bender. Since it was purely cosmetic damage I rather wore it as a badge of honor, or a warning... don't park too close or cut me off... I've got little to lose. But I just couldn't swallow the idea of spending a bunch of money fixing up the Buick. I had originally planned to sell her and use the money for my diesel fuel to get south. But now that I would be sticking around Annapolis I would probably need to keep some reliable wheels to get around. I took the Buick to the wholesaler and let her go. Between what I paid to buy and register it, and what I got in insurance proceeds and sales price, it cost me $500 + insurance + gas to drive the car for 15 months. Not bad, really. Hindsight is 20/20 of course, and I should've held onto her, but I'm too young to drive a Buick!

Six weeks ago I bought a 1992 Honda Civic with over 200,000 miles on it. It's the first car I've ever owned that is actually being held together with duct tape. Um, yeah, I'm an idiot. Just about every text message or phone call I have had relating to the car is overloaded with expletives. I made the huge mistake of taking a friend's advice and recommendation on the car. My gut was that it looked rough and the previous owner was simply a walking lobotomy. To say that every aspect of buying the car was a nightmare of delays and bungling is an understatement. At $1,000, I felt I was probably paying about twice what it was worth, but in reality he should have paid me to take the car. Sigh. On day two it had a freakout and the ignition lock would not release. I wiggled the steering wheel. Locked and unlocked all the doors (that was the magical trick with my old Benz' electrical gremlins). I called AAA only to have the call continually drop. At last, for no particular reason, it finally stopped beeping at me and let the key turn.

When she ran, she was a zippy little drive. But, alas, she was temperamental and unreliable. Just 3 weeks in she didn't want to start when I was leaving work. The check engine light came on, the battery-not-charging light came on, and an awful buzzing emitted as she strained. But after a few tries she started up. The next morning it was the same drama, but she finally started and got me to work. But that evening I was out of luck. She sat in the lot for the weekend and then was towed to the shop Monday. I got rides from co-workers for several days. But now it was urgent that repairs be made since my 30-day temporary registration would expire that Friday. But a whole work-week should be more than enough to get her going and through safety inspection. Naturally, the prior owner and our mutual friend had been more than confident it would fly through inspection (since the prior owner didn't understand the difference between a Maryland safety inspection and emissions testing, well, 'nuff said). A week and $1,000 in work later she did pass inspection, but she only ran a couple of times before dying again. Of course that $1,000 happened to be every last penny I had and desperately needed for boat repairs. So when I got in the car yesterday stressed about how much I could spend on groceries and then she wouldn't start, I just broke down. I pummeled the steering wheel with my fists and screamed and cried. $2,500 into the car between purchase, repairs, tax, tag, and title, and the car doesn't run! Arrggghhhh!!! 

My karma clearly sucks and the universe is getting even with me. Saddling me with a money pit unreliable car when I need to pamper my beloved boat. I begged my mom for back-up if another big bill was about to come crashing down and had the car towed to the dealership. At least I have a friend working at the dealership so I feel less likely to get overcharged and jerked around. It was my only day to run errands and get groceries and now I was out of luck. I should've just taken a deep breath and dove into boat projects but the gloomy rainy day was conspiring against me. I drowned my sorrows in potato chips and a Hershey bar and a strawberry laffy taffy, watched a couple bad movies, took my sleeping pills and went to bed early. I told my pets and my boat that I love them. And though the tide had sunk like a stone overnight in the heavy winds and it was not even 40 degrees out, I was determined to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning and got in a five mile run to start the day (and make up for the prior days' junk food binge). 

When the dealership called and told me I just need a new main relay I was pretty incredulous. The other shop allegedly put in a new one, and then a new fuel pump. But the dealership says she's fixed and the bill was shy of $200. I don't know if the other shop simply ripped me off or not on the relay switch, and I don't really have the fight in me to get into it.  Luckily, I had a friend willing to drop me at the dealership and I retrieved her. She started up fine and didn't let me down as I ran a couple errands before heading home. Fingers crossed she keeps running.

I had wanted to name her, but couldn't settle on anything. I'm tempted to call her "bad karma" but it's bad luck to name a boat anything like that (e.g., a hole in the water, money pit, etc), and I fear the same may hold for cars. Maybe I'll just call her "dockbox." Even if she doesn't run, I guess she can be a very expensive storage facility. Sigh. How about Bluebell? Blue Bunny?

I was going to say the moral of the story is never buy a car through a friend, but I actually got an excellent deal on a reliable car from my friend who sold me the Buick. But he's an actual car-guy. So, the moral of the story is to trust your gut. If you think you're being ripped off you probably are. If you think something isn't worth the money, it probably isn't. If you think someone doesn't have your best interests at heart, they probably don't.

Next up: I need to get that throttle cable replaced so I can (1) move to a new slip with (hopefully) less adjacent car noise but more annoying tourists taking their pictures in front of our boats, and (2) get this vessel out on the bay for some much-needed (if not deserved) fun and adventures.

friends and neighbors

Pretty sunset view from the cockpit

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

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

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

Foggy day at the dock

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

Parking spaces adjacent to the slip

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

Parking garage right behind me

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

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