Monthly Archives: June 2022

Love the One You’re With

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Yesterday Michael and I had what I lovingly call a “Mexico Experience”. This is defined as a field trip to some sort of marine related workshop; a trip that doesn’t go as planned, requiring us to pivot to a different timeline where things work out better than expected. Yesterday was Michael’s birthday and he gave himself the gift of a day off from work so we could toodle up to Seattle to fulfill his greatest birthday wish: to get Hiram’s exhaust riser inspected and buy Hiram a new flexible coupling.

Not pretty, but damned useful.

New readers won’t know that Hiram is our red Beta Marine engine, the heartbeat of Galapagos when she isn’t sailing or sitting at the dock. We love Hiram and take good care of him. The story of Hiram’s exhaust riser is long and filled with ‘events’, a word which, used here, means failures of the cracking and leaking nature during critical passages. Hiram’s exhaust riser has seen action in such far-flung locations as Astoria, Oregon and Bellingham, Washington. Fortunately for us, that’s as exotic as it got. The story begins here, if you have some time, but the short version is that when we bought this boat, we needed to have a new, much taller,  exhaust riser created to keep water from back flowing into our beloved Hiram. This back-flowing water would cause Michael to lose all the blood in his face and come close to passing out from sheer traumatic stress, and also all kinds of other engine-related hoopla.

Hiram, sans exhaust elbow. Don’t worry, there is plenty of clearance for those wire covers you are seeing in the photo.

Part of what eventually solved our troubles with vibration and cracking of metals  was a cheap stainless exhaust flex connector we got at O’Reilly Auto Parts. That’s right. It was cheap. It was probably Chinese stainless. It was most definitely NOT made for marine use. And it worked brilliantly since 2014: all the way to Mexico, Hawaii, and then home. We carried an extra on board; in fact we could have replaced the entire exhaust with pieces we have on board. But only now are we finally getting to that project because it has held up well. The secret shame of marine exhaust systems: cheap auto parts. But the O’Reilly has recently developed a tiny leak, so we know that underneath all the protective tape, it’s probably rotten to the core.

Sooty exhaust riser in hand, we trundled up to Seattle on a field trip to visit Broomfield’s Marine Exhaust. We like to drive to Seattle together because it means we can use the HOV lanes and we might get lucky and be able to get there and back without being stuck in wall to wall traffic on I-5. We like Seattle, but we hate driving up there, so we go together to be sure our suffering is mutual.

Anyway, we should have known we were on the wrong timeline when, enroute,  I tried to call the phone number listed for Broomfield’s, just to be sure they were open during lunch,  and it was a number that was out of service. Hmmm. Then Michael’s Google Maps showed the location in a completely different place than my Google did. These indicators are sure signs that you are not in the correct universe for your plans to go smoothly. Having arrived at the wrong location we pulled into a parking lot to park; a lot that turned out to be reserved Monday-Friday for a business we had no interest visiting.  Sighing deeply, I got out of the car and just walked the short distance to what I was sure at this point was the wrong place. At least the sun was shining.

Hiram is named after this man behind the counter in a 1930’s Chicago eatery. That’s Mike’s grandfather, Hiram, otherwise known as Red.

There I found two workmen behind a fence having what sounded like a good natured convo so I decided to throw myself on their mercy. An earthy-looking man with many tattoos but few teeth greeted me warmly. Did he know of a place called Broomfields? He did. And it had gone out of business. Ahhhh. That ‘splained the phone number and the weird address.  He used to be a welder for Broomfields and based on his apparently considerable experience he recommended Ballard Marine Fabricators, just up the road a couple of blocks.  We didn’t know any better, so we trusted the colorful toothless man and sashayed up the road a couple of blocks, exhaust elbow rattling in the back of our Mexico van, plastic dashboard Jesus swaying to the rhythm of the potholes. We were loving the vibe. Our van really blended in with the whole aesthetic down in the marine area of Ballard.

You know you are in the right place for marine exhaust when you see this sign in the window.

Yaaasss! See that accordion looking part? That’s what we’re looking for. Exactly.

A young man waited on us pretty quickly (I mean, they are alllll young these days) and he  immediately understood what we were after. Giving a critical eye to the business end of the riser where it attaches to the engine, he decided he would give us two bids: one to just have an entire new riser made, in case there is enough corrosion to warrant that, and one to replace our O’Reilly flexible coupling with a nice marine grade one like the one on the sign. He said that will last longer than 8 years and I believe him.

 

As we talked, I had seen him eyeing that black tape, pushing a fingernail underneath to try to peel back the heavy secret it contained. I didn’t think Michael had mentioned what was underneath the obscuring tape and I could stand it no longer. My internal pressure was building due to extreme fear of being judged unworthy,  and in a moment of explosive confession, I found myself telling him about the O’Reilly part, hidden discretely underneath the black protective tape he could not seem to remove easily. Would this man think we were going to be happy with O’Reilly quality? Would he think we should not be touching things like engines and exhaust systems? Would he think we were not worth his considerable experience and expertise and didn’t take our exhaust system seriously? Would he even feel sorry for Hiram?

Looking a little more closely at the business end of the elbow.

We received zero judgment for our use of a cheap auto part. Not even an eyeroll. Just a smile and low chuckle of forgiveness.  This welding man said he had seen much worse than our exhaust riser that, after all, had not failed us for several years, including three seasons in the Sea of Cortez and two ocean crossings.  He smiled and said he worked on a lot of fishing boats and fishermen will do anything to keep their boat running. I asked him if he’d met many sailors. I felt absolved.

We left Hiram’s exhaust elbow in what we believe will be capable hands (crossing all the fingers). I wished Michael a very happy birthday and we left the parking spot that had appeared directly in front of the shop, in their own parking lot. In Seattle.

Our next stop on today’s birthday field trip was Fisheries Supply and the Marine Sanitation store next door, where we wanted to look at marine lighting and marine heads. Recently we replaced our old Skipper II head with a sleek and wonderful fresh water flush electric Dometic Master Flush 8100 marine head. Woooo hoo that’s a mouthful. This new head is so beautiful and shiny and so easy to use that even our daughter, who has kind of a love hate relationship with the boat (she loves the boat but hates the toilets) said she could see herself spending more time aboard now. High praise, indeed.

It’s…..beautiful.

Aside from the electric part and the internal macerator part (yes, we do flush toilet paper, thank you very much), what I like about this toilet is that it’s a fresh water flush. We learned salt water is just too corrosive and also leaves too much calcification behind. This means higher amounts of maintenance for our old Skipper II, which is the unit we have in the forward head.  It’s getting long in the tooth, as are we all, and we were hoping to replace it with a manual fresh water flush unit. We are kind of into replacing parts lately: body parts, boat parts, it’s all the same to us. We think it’s important to keep one manual toilet just in case the fancy new one gives us trouble far away from the dock.

It’s not nearly as pretty as the new one. But it works.

So we looked, but we didn’t buy. (We do that a lot at Fisheries $upply.) Putting a different style toilet in that space is going to be harder than it looks, which means more of a project than we want to take on right now. The fresh water flush manual toilets are all pretty low profile, which means we would either have to build a platform for one to sit on or begin referring to the forward head as the ‘squatty potty’. Honestly, at this point we will just love the one we’re with and not pump sea water into it. We will fill it with fresh water from the sink and then flush away. Unfortunately we cannot plumb it for fresh water because it’s not intended to be used that way.

It was a good day, ending with our first cockpit gathering since we landed in Olympia two years ago, almost. I got the cockpit ready for partying and all the kids and their significant others came over to celebrate both Michael’s birthday and the joy we have in stepping back into our boat lives. It feels like it’s been about 5 years, but it has not even been two yet since we docked here in Swantown Marina. We are glad to be back to doing boat projects, glad to be getting the old girl spiffed up for the next trip.

Two years ago we celebrated Michael’s birthday on Kauai. I’d say that birthday was maybe the best one he ever had, even if he is thrilled at the prospects of Hiram’s new exhaust elbow. We took the dinghy around the corner of Hanalei Bay and anchored it in a tiny rocky cove. We saw our first ever Monk Seal as we donned snorkeling gear. He slid into the water without even giving us the time of day. Once we had faces in the water, we discovered we were surrounded by sea turtles. There were maybe 30 of them just hanging around, grazing and doing turtle things. Unlike Mexico where the turtles are shy and fearful of people, Hawaii’s turtles don’t seem to care that they share the ocean with us. They just go about their business.  It was a delightful day and one that stands out as a talisman for things to come.

Just a tiny alcove, just big enough to anchor our dinghy safely.

S/V Galapagos. Standing by.

 

Boat Review: 1993 Catalina Morgan 381, S/V Squirrel

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This week Mike and I are guilty. We are the worst kind of boat owners; disloyal, furtive, secretive. We’ve spoken in low voices to one another, whispering so that Galapagos would not hear us. That’s right. We are that bad. We looked at another boat.

S/V Squirrel

S/V Squirrel

Don’t get your knickers in a twist; don’t get your hopes up. We aren’t selling our beloved S/V Galapagos. (AS IF WE WOULD! I MEAN, COME ON!) But we still love looking at boats, and you’d be surprised at how much traction our boat reviews get after all these years (wow, was I NEW when I wrote those). So when S/V Squirrel, a lovely Catalina Morgan center cockpit, went up for sale by owner this week, I had to see her and do a review for the blog. Only about 100 of these boats were built, so I felt lucky there was one right here on our dock in Olympia.

Stepping aboard S/V Squirrel, my first impression was one of pleasant surprise.  Considering she is a center cockpit, and only 38 feet long, I did not expect to have room to put my foot next to the cockpit combing, much less have walkable side decks. On a lot of modern boats, it feels as though more thought is given to the living space below than to the working space on deck. I was chuffed with the easy to manage cockpit entry and easy (safe) access to the foredeck,  as well as the roomy aft deck with a great sugar scoop. Visions of access to the boat from the water, up the swim ladder,  wafted through my head, until I remembered this water is way too cold for me. Still, dinghy access would be dead easy from the stern.

 

Easy access side decks and a people-friendly cockpit.

So nice!

This boat sports an entire canvas cockpit enclosure, which is worth almost any amount of money in the cold and rainy Pacific Northwest. Such an enclosure seriously extends the sailing season if you care even a small bit about comfort. (This boat also has a Webasto heater for the interior, extending the sailing season even further.) In addition, lines are run to the cockpit for adjusting sails, minimizing the need to go up on deck. The cockpit, while snug, is big enough to sit 6 people easily, and more than that if they like one another. This boat has cockpit cushions covered in Pfifertex; easy to clean and keep dry. They could have made the cockpit wider, but that would have compromised those lovely side decks and head space below. This is one boat design compromise that paid off in all ways.

Electronics are all at the helm and the traveler is within easy reach of the helmsman. We looked at this with a critical eye as plans for re-rigging Galapagos are never far from our minds lately.

Douse the main easily with this stack pack. In addition, raise the main with the Milwaukee Power Winch

Moving forward on the deck, I noted the number of large hatches which would offer light and airflow below. There’s a Stack Pack for easy dousing of the mainsail and a Schaeffer roller furler for the genoa. This boat looks like it has a pretty straight forward sail system layout. Even a fairly inexperienced sailor would be able to get her going with a few pointers.

In terms of layout, workable systems, and moving around the deck, I like this boat. The cockpit,  while a little narrow, is nap-ready and includes lazarette storage Galapagos only dreams of having. The compromises I can identify have been done well and the overall look of the boat has not suffered. It’s so easy for a center cockpit to have that ‘wedding cake’ appearance that creates windage and can look clunky.  This boat is easy to move around on and that aft deck is brilliant for a boat this size. The boat feels like it would be fun to sail. Let’s go below.

Descending the companionway steps,  I am am transported. The saloon is light and airy with over 6 feet of head room… this is a 38 foot vessel? Let’s just say this: for a boat this size, there is a lot here and most of it is done really well. This feels like a much bigger boat. I’m thinking of a number of boats I’ve been on where all the living space amenities feel as though they have been crammed together into a space too small for an easy fit, making a boat feel not so much cozy as cramped. Not so with this boat.

I wanted to start exploring in the saloon, but then I noticed the galley and got completely distracted.  It reminded me a bit of the galley on S/V Totem, a Stevens 47 owned by Behan and Jamie Gifford. They have the best boat galley I’ve seen. Like their boat, this galley runs along the port side of the boat, making a great workable space under most conditions. On board Galapagos, we’d have to give up our workshop to make that happen, so…nope. Still, this galley on S/V Squirrel is terrific. It sports a double stainless steel sink, double Isotherm fridge, and a two burner propane stove/oven. Unless you are feeding a large group, that’s plenty of cooktop space, in my experience. We have a 4 burner stove on Galapagos, and it’s generally overkill. Still, there is room on this boat for a larger unit if someone wanted to put one there.

A view from the aft cabin.

Food storage seems just adequate in the galley but I recognize that I tend to pack our boat as though the end of the world is upon us. (And maybe it is. Who’ll be prepared when the zombies come to take us to their leaders? Hmmm?) A design compromise that interferes with extensive galley storage is that the engine access is beneath the starboard side of the galley. The Westerbeke engine lives underneath the counter and panels are removed to access it for routine maintenance. This owner has provided both extra storage and extra seating by including a storage ottoman that slides under the saloon table. It’s a nifty solution that follows the rule most boaters live by: preference is given to items that have more than one use.

While we are on that subject of the engine being beneath the galley, engine access is one of the weak points of this boat. Realize that I say that from the position of a person who owns a much larger boat with an entire engine room with 360 degree engine access. We’ve been in the position of owning a smaller boat with really tight engine access and we can never go back to that, so let’s get real about how I measure access and put that in perspective. This is one of those areas of compromise in boat design that can be pretty important, especially if you do your own engine work. Routine maintenance should not be an issue on this engine in this space, but anything further than that might be more difficult. If the engine is in really good shape this is less of an issue. Michael reports that the water pump has good access, an important point.

This access panel is behind the companionway ladder. It’s pretty easy to get to.

Not content to trust my own judgement on this topic of engine access, I sought the opinion of local diesel engine maven Meredith Anderson. If you don’t know Meredith, then you probably don’t live in the Puget Sound area. She is a local expert on all things diesel engine and we are lucky enough to live on the same dock. She is one of the only mechanics we have met who would be allowed to touch Hiram, our Beta Marine 60. Only the best for Hiram. She’s done some routine work on S/V Squirrel’s engine and has this to say about the access;

“Engine access is there, but somewhat mediocre when it comes to serious repairs. Routine maintenance is easily accessed.”

That jives with my impressions and on my second look-see at this boat I was able to see the access with panels removed. Overall it’s better than what we had with our Cal34. We had a much older Westerbeke with thousands more hours on it than this one and we cruised the hell out of that boat. It’s true that Michael will always default to the position of a large, unhappy shrimp when reflecting on our time with that engine, but since this engine has better access than our beloved Cal (still miss you sometimes, Moonrise) and is much newer with around 1200 hours on her, well… you see where I’m going with that. 

These panels are actually really easy to take off.

Back in the saloon, well, it’s lovely; just a beautifully laid out cabin. It sports a classic oval-ish table which can be removed. With the table stowed in the dedicated space in the forward cabin (and very cleverly, I might add), that settee can be extended to create a ‘double’ berth. To starboard are two seats with a useful table between them; also with the ability to be transformed into a single berth. Multiple opening ports create visual space, increase airflow, and offer good natural light. There is a navigation desk that is adequate to the task, but are you really going to use it for that?

Personally, on a boat that is intended primarily for coastal cruising, I’m not sure why a navigation area is included, especially as all instruments are in the cockpit. Perhaps it’s just tradition; like it’s not really a sailboat if you don’t include a navigation table.  If I were cruising this boat, I’d be using that big oval table for charts so Mike and I could look at them together. We’re still old school about paper charts on board because they offer a big view of the area and they are great for overall cruise planning. But unless we are offshore and are tracking our position on paper (which we enjoy doing since it’s the only way you can tell you are actually going anywhere), we don’t use our own nav station on board Galapagos for actual navigation.

This table stows easily on special brackets in the forward cabin. The settee then can be pulled out to form a double. The ottoman offers seating and also storage. photo by owner.

Lower this table and add a cushion and you have an additional berth. These ‘chairs’ are very comfortable! photo by owner. Note the tidy electrical panel. Very easy to access.

In order to keep that uncluttered feeling, stowage along the hull above the settees has been minimized. This means that the saloon is visually the full width of the boat. On a coastal cruiser, this compromise is fine and it does make this boat feel like a bigger boat. Coastal cruisers are unlikely to be loaded down with year-round gear and supplies and that level of storage is unlikely to be needed. The current owner uses pretty baskets to store small personal items in the saloon. If I had to choose, I’d go for a more open looking saloon under those conditions.

Moving forward, we get to the classic V berth, which is decently sized for a 38 foot boat. Two average sized people could sleep up here if they liked each other well enough. And it has its own ensuite head, of which I am dead jealous. Do we have an ensuite head for our v berth? We do. We have a 1970’s head and it looks like it. I have mixed feelings about that. Probably I’m going to do something about it someday. Probably. 

The heads on S/V Squirrel are sleek and shiny, smooth fiberglass that is easy to wipe down, easy to keep clean. There is no teak trim that needs maintenance. The part of me that likes things to be visually uncluttered in a head really likes that. The part of me that doesn’t like to spend too much time cleaning really likes that. But the part of me that likes easy access to things like waterlines wonders how I would change out a faucet if I wanted to.

On our boat, it’s a simple matter to get to the hoses to the toilet and sink. Replacing those might not be easy, but it’s simple in theory and in access. This boat is a different animal. Probably it’s easy, but I just don’t understand how it works. Those shiny, smooth fiberglass panels had not been invented when our boat was built. The idea of being able to just spray down an entire room, wipe it dry, and call it good is so appealing that it would be worth finding out. Poor 1975 Galapagos. She does have a lot of nooks and crannies. I understand how she feels.

Even the aft head sports a way to get a quick shower.

If you’ve become convinced I am saving the best for last, you’re right. The crowning glory of this 38 foot boat is the aft cabin with its centerline queen bed. I bet the designers and sales people started drawing the interior of this boat with this cabin in mind and then did what they had to do to make it work.  I can only imagine the conversations around the old designer’s table at Catalina Morgan as they figured out what compromises would need to be made in order to create a space where two people could sleep side by side without crawling over one another. For so many couples, the crawling thing is just a deal breaker. And as one gets older and trips to the head in the wee hours become more the norm than the exception, sleeping together on a boat becomes just too difficult. The romance aboard a boat where one partner is squashed into a curved hull is, believe it, short lived. Hats off to Catalina Morgan for this aft cabin design.

Ta Da!

Obviously, this bed layout works best in quiet water. If you are in a rolly anchorage this bed is not going to work for two. Maybe not even for one. But a real strength on this boat is the number of other berths available, two of them being the settees in the saloon, which are in the center of the boat. So there are some choices here and choices are high on my list of ‘must haves’ in terms of sleeping arrangements on board. This boat is a coastal cruiser, and in the Pacific Northwest there are almost unlimited choices of quiet anchorages where this cabin would be absolutely a dream. I have it on good authority that a person will sleep like a small child in this bed.

One aspect of this cabin I would want to be sure to keep an eye on is that opening hatch at the head of the bed. Although I do love me an opening hatch of almost any kind, at that angle, I’d be concerned about leaks over time. According to the owner, it’s not an issue on this boat. And, in fact, it was a rainy day when I first viewed the boat and I didn’t see leaks anywhere. If you want to see leaks, walk on down the dock to Galapagos. We have a couple of leaks you can take a look at, in case you’re interested. Squirrel is a dry boat. Galapagos used to be dry. Then we sailed her long and hard. Now she needs work. Even though this is a 1993 boat, she feels much newer.

An entire hanging locker for each person. A whole locker!! Plus shelves with a great number of good sized baskets. On. EACH SIDE! (I’M LOOKING At YOU, GALAPAGOS.)

As though the centerline queen wasn’t enough of a calling card, this cabin also has a lot of storage on either side of the bed. In fact, if Galapagos will pardon my saying so, at 47 feet long, she has way less storage in the aft cabin than this 38 foot boat. Way. Less. It’s almost as though Ted Brewer didn’t think anyone sailing our boat would actually be wearing clothes. Perhaps it’s because the boats were built in sunny, warm Greece where clothing might be optional. But whatever the reason, it’s a very real shortcoming aboard our boat and that was brought into stark focus in this aft cabin on Squirrel. I’m fine with not having the centerline queen, because frankly we probably wouldn’t get to enjoy that most of the places we go. But all that storage just made me dead envious.

A lot of attention and space was given over to the ensuite head for the aft cabin.  There is a  separate shower area as well as the same sleek and easy to clean look as the forward head. This head can be accessed from the main cabin, walking through the shower area. We also have a walk-through shower on board, but this one is nicer. I can’t believe this, but I failed to get a photo of the aft head. I was too distracted by all the storage in the aft cabin, I think; still struggling with feelings of resentment toward Ted Brewer and his naked sailors in Greece.

When viewing this boat, it’s important to remember (for me) that this is a coastal cruiser. If I were looking for a boat to take sailing down to Mexico, across to Hawaii,  and beyond, I probably would not choose this boat for a number of reasons. However, if I wanted to explore the Salish Sea, or even go as far as Alaska? I would absolutely be interested. None of the drawbacks I noted would be deal breakers under the right conditions. And the living quality on board is stunning for a 38 foot boat. Honestly, I’m wondering why more of these were not built.

If you are in the market for a boat this size, I hope you already have your financial ducks in a row and your surveyors lined up (because you would not buy any boat without surveying everything, would you?). I would not be at all surprised if there is an offer on her by the time I hit ‘publish’ on this post.

This is also a great boat name. Imagine saying, “Squirrel Squirrel Squirrel” over the radio.

Afternoon Gin

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I’m sure there’s a name for the drink I’m having here in the cockpit, watching the Terns hunting small fry in the fairway. A delicious concoction of pineapple juice, gin, and TopoChico, shaken, not stirred, it’s a fine way to end the day. Heavy on the gin, please.

I’m sprinkling this post with photos of the remodeled house. Because I don’t want to do a whole post on that.

Back in the day when Paul Bryan wrote his blog about life aboard S/V Kelly Nicole, he used to write these posts he called Morning Tea. I stole the idea, except called mine Morning Coffee. But unfortunately, I still have a job for a couple more weeks and I don’t have time to write in the morning while I drink my Nescafe’. So Afternoon Gin will have to do. These are going to be posts where the mind wanders with little restraint. It’s hard to tell what will come up but I will try to manage a loose theme. Maybe there will be some mild ranting and expressing of opinions. We’ll see. If I get to the point where stomping around and spitting is called for, I’ll try to dial it back.  It’s a little like dreaming on paper; a way to get back into the swing of writing. And I really need that.

Get yourself a drink of some kind and sit back for this post. Relax a little.  I feel the spirit moving in my hands so here goes.

Do you ever wonder how living aboard a sailboat, sailing from port to port and across the wild blue sea would change a person? I tell you what: it’s hard to explain. There’s a longing to be away from all people, from all land, from all the telenovelas of life. There’s a bone deep, visceral feeling that to not ever sail on the open sea again is to die a poor death, with a life truly unfulfilled. I have stopped expecting anyone to understand that if they’ve never found themselves drifting through a high pressure zone, sails down, just loving the flat, clear water. I know I personally did not understand it when other people talked about their experiences, until I, too, had been across the ocean on a smallish boat. It’s so far outside most people’s boxes of life that people just cannot relate to it. And that’s just fine. In the end, this experience is deeply personal anyhow.

A different view of the living room. Want to see what the house looked like before? Go Here.

As a rule I feel like if I ever die at sea, so be it. I’m not predicting it will happen, and I will do everything I can to mitigate that, but at the end of the day, if it does I hope people will shout for joy that I didn’t die in a hospital bed hooked up to all kinds of shenanigans. When you are in your 60’s you start thinking seriously about your own mortality as it stares you in the face from the bottom of the hill you’ve crossed over. And when you are on a long voyage, you have a lot of time to think while staring sightless into the deep turquoise of the water. Maybe too much time.

The kitchen was a complete tear down. I salvaged the original fir floors in here. We love a kitchen with workable spaces that are small enough to keep clean; another thing learned while living on a boat. For more on Edison House, go HERE.

Here’s another thing: after our years of cruising, and there were not even that many of them so I imagine this will only get worse after our next go around, my bullshit meter has a hair trigger. Office drama? I do not have the bandwidth for it. People looking to gain a little power in their otherwise powerless existences by lording it over me or my kin and/or coworkers? Sorry. Go bother someone else. Just get the heck out of my energy field. Be gone.  Personal drama? It weighs me down in a way that makes me wonder if I’m just over drama of all kinds.

Honestly, the finesse with which I used to put up with interpersonal BS on all levels is now replaced by a zero tolerance zone. As I type that last line I realize it’s a lie. I have never put up with that stuff willingly. I learned at my father’s knee to call bull crap when I saw it. And the idea that I would have some finesse at dealing with small but power hungry people in a work situation is kind of laughable, actually. So maybe it’s just that I had a little more tolerance for it before but now, I absolutely do not. I understand what drives it, and I ‘get it’ why some folks need to exert control over others. But I simply don’t have the bandwidth to tolerate it anymore in my own life. I think it’s kind of related to the dying at sea theme (again, not throwing down any gauntlets for the Universe here. Just making a point.)  If I have X number of decent years left on this planet, being around people whose way of being in the world doesn’t align with mine is not how I want to spend that time.

This has made it sometimes very hard to work for a corporation that contracts with a school district. (Read: Two huge layers of expectations and needs, not to mention the layer of the school itself.)  But all corporations are the same under the skin. They are made up of people. And I am so appreciative of my supervisors and colleagues during this arduous time of having an extremely easy job for which I am very grateful but also for which I am completely unsuited. This is the only job I have ever had where I threatened to quit more than one time and I actually meant it and would have been relieved had it come to pass.

The last time I offered to quit my team lead didn’t even respond to my impulsively scribbled email offering my head on the proverbial platter. She knew to give me time for that bullshit meter to cool down. She’s great.  I learned a lot during my tenure at this job. Mostly I learned that I am still living the emotional trauma of my military upbringing. I thought I was a bit more resolved about that. Not totally, but a bit.  Apparently I was wrong.  I think it’s hardwired into me. That’s kind of unsettling. I believe in reincarnation, so I hope I can get that resolved before I die. I really don’t want to repeat that lesson again.  Maybe cruising will help.

I have two more weeks to work and as easy as this job has been on the actual ‘work’ level, I’ll be glad when this part is over. My only caveat is that I really loved working with the high school students. I can take or leave the middle school (mostly leave, if I’m honest), but I feel like many of the high school students I counseled really benefitted from our relationship and that makes me glad. I am proud of them. Most of them are personally courageous and as a group they know way more about life than ever did at that age.

On another note, newly back in land life I quickly discovered that shopping for clothing is almost the most boring and absurd thing on the planet. I cannot believe I ever loved it as much as I did. What a lot of wasted time and money. The buying of clothing is WAY over rated. And this is a shame because at the tender age of 63 I can wear clothes I could only dream of wearing in my 40’s, even in my 30’s. It should be true that I dress for the geriatric runway each and every day possible but I feel really resentful that I even have to wear clothes, much less that they would need to somehow be pleasing to others. This entire year of working I have worn maybe 4 outfits. A year of in-person work. 4 outfits. Just let that sink in, all you clothes horses. It’s possible 4 is an exaggeration. I can’t be bothered to really count. I could go cruising for at least a year on the money I have literally thrown away on useless clothing, most of which I wore only a few times.

And don’t even mention makeup to me. I have discovered tinted mineral based sunscreen. Hoo Rah! SPF 50, baby, and an evenly toned complexion. Moving on.

View of the living room from the kitchen. The plant’s name is Fred and he has lived with me for decades.

When I got my current job, I immediately hit the Goodwill  to find stylish over-priced used clothing. I am always amazed at what people get rid of.  I bought some really cute skirts and envisioned myself being the cool counselor, dressed for secondary school success. I would be fashionable and kicky and fun. I would wear skirts and leggings and arty looking flats. I would look French, but I would not necessarily BE French. The students wouldn’t be able to wait to see what I wore that week. I would be both professional and approachable, which, as a woman, is damned hard to pull off at any age, much less the age where your bullshit meter shows on your face, with or without a mask. That plan did not work out. The skirts still have the tags on them. Glad I didn’t pay retail. (As if I ever would.)

Before we went sailing you could not have pried me away from my vast wardrobe. It filled the closet AND the chest of drawers!  I tell you what: that is not the case at this time. I have one shelf of clothing and one drawer. I have one smallish basket of overflow because the clothes we wear in cold weather take up more room and God knows we may not even have summer this year so I have to keep those handy. I have, I think, 6 pairs of shoes, including tennis shoes, everyday winter shoes, and a few pairs of sandals. That is way too many shoes and I look forward to ditching at least half of them. I’ve already started. I probably have too many socks as well. Those will be going. Laundry is not how I want to spend my time. While some people may pity me, I assure you I absolutely do not miss having a lot of clothes. I do not want to take care of lots of clothes. It bores me and wastes vasts amounts of what time I have left on this planet. These kinds of belongings that I have to care for day to day weigh me down.

The little dining room off the kitchen.

Also, why do people wash their clothes after wearing them one time? Is it just easier than putting them away? Try wearing the same clothes each day for a week. I bet it reduces your stress. It’s ok. Just throw them on the floor at night and put them on the next day. I guarantee you that no one is going to say, ‘Hey there, Bill. Did you just throw that shirt on the floor and put it on again? Are those the same exact grey pants you wore yesterday?’. I mean use common sense. You don’t actually have to go feral.  If you’ve soiled your clothing in some way, go for the washing machine. But as a rule, I bet you are over washing your clothing and wearing it out faster. Oh wait! Then you have to go shopping sooner! I see how that works now. That’s very clever! I wonder if the washing powder people and clothing manufacturers are in cahoots somehow?

And in that same vein, how many showers does the average person actually need? The amount of time and resources wasted taking daily showers is tremendous! If you smell bad after one day there is something wrong (unless you have a physically laborious  job, of course).  Maybe you have too much stress and the stress hormones are leaking out. Maybe your diet is wrong for you. If you constantly feel dirty, maybe that’s a mind over matter issue you need to speak to a therapist about. (I’ll probably be taking your insurance soon. Everything is confidential, you know, and, quite frankly, we’ve heard it all.)  Anyway, living on a boat at sea or even at anchor will quickly recalibrate your need for everyday long showers (brought to you by the folks who manufacture and sell body products). It’s possible to be both clean and frugal with water. We know this. Fight the machine! Question authority! Be clean and tidy but not fastidious! Challenge the expectations of the Society of Beige! You’ll never go back.

Tiny downstairs bathroom. Just don’t splash around in the tiny sink and get soap all over the Italian plaster and all is well.

I roll with things a lot better than I used to (except see above re: interpersonal and work drama). This is how I survived the renovations of Edison House over the last year. Meh. All things must pass. I still get my knickers in a twist with big transitions, like moving and having a chaotic space kind of stresses me out, but overall I do much better with that than I used to pre-cruising. I’m, if not content, then certainly accepting of waiting to see what happens next rather than perseverating on controlling the future, which I have learned from hard experience is not actually a thing that is possible. Occasionally I catch myself in a rabbit den of worry and the old anxious brain starts taking over, but overall that’s way better than it used to be. I think the weather systems over the years of cruising taught me that. And all the break downs we had. The dramatic breakage of the boom. The potentially deadly backstay failure. The unfortunate hitting of the charted rock in the Sea of Cortez. Those things are lessons you will never learn in a book. I look back at those  times and feel proud of how we handled them. What’s a little hole under the boat? If we aren’t sinking, we keep going. I’m ready. Let’s go.

I could sit and watch these Terns hunting for hours. Scratch that. Cruising didn’t change that in me. It’s one of the reasons I went in the first place. It was never about the people, or the cultures. Sorry. I know it’s polite to say that I want to visit other cultures and learn new languages. And sure, those things are interesting to me. But the languages I’m really most interested in are those of the octopus, the fish, the whales and dolphins and tiny creatures. The culture I am interested in mostly is the culture of the coral reef and the reefy rocks. I’ve spent my entire adult life studying humanity.  It was, and forever will be, about the animals in these travels.

People said it couldn’t be done, adding a complete bathroom upstairs. Um. We did it.

Tiny Japanese Soaking tub. Actually a perfect size.

Cruising brings into focus that age is not just a number. It’s a real measure of how long we’ve been on the planet and the wear and tear on all our systems. Boats age. People age. Boats need to have parts maintained and replaced. So do people, apparently starting in their 60’s. When you turn 60, all systems seem to begin failing. We have been grateful for our very good medical insurance through Michael’s job with the State Patrol. We’ve used it a lot. We’re trying to get as many body parts fixed,  healed, repaired, and replaced as possible before we cut the dock lines again.

The breakdown of body parts creates a feeling of urgency about the next trip. It surely does. I remind myself that people get good healthcare (and way cheaper) most places in the world. Mexico taught us that.

People who say a person is (insert number here) years ‘young’ are going to get an eye roll from me so hard a 13 year old would go blind. When, exactly, do we start saying someone is ‘years young’ instead of ‘years old’? (Uh oh. There goes the bullshit meter!)  I’ll tell you when: it’s when we don’t want to call attention to the fact they are getting old. That’s also when mature women begin being called ‘young lady’ in grocery stores by random men. (Just stop. Don’t do it. You mean well, but you take your life in your hands. If you don’t believe women are witchy enough to curse your very soul, just call any woman over 50 ‘young lady’ and then look directly into her eyes. I’m warning you only because you are probably a nice person overall.) To be old in our country’s youth culture is a bad thing. So basically we condescend by saying so-and-so is 75 years young! When we do that, we pander to a culture that would pretend people do not get old or who would dismiss them when they do.

Bodies age and boat life will bring that into focus in ways that land life will not. There is no sense in denying it by inserting one word for another with a little wink of the eye. That kind of marketing just doesn’t work.

We cannot afford to pretend we are in our 40’s out there on the ocean. We must have systems that will accommodate our aging selves and this is entirely doable on a sailboat . We will be re-rigging the boat this season with our aging bodies firmly in mind. We may be getting older but we are  not going to be going quietly into anyone’s dark, still, night or whatever. We’re just going to need a longer winch handle. And maybe a beefier block and tackle. We’ll let you know.

Edison House, built in 1926

Seeing the Neowise comet from the middle of the Pacific on a clear night, just the two of us, is worth all the money and all the work and all the discomfort. All of it. Whales looking us in the eye as they keep pace with the boat, all of us moving north together. Also totally worth it. Being called ‘Adventure couple’ by the Chinese captain of a large ship in the middle of the sea. Worth it. The soft calling and cooing of Elephant Seals echoing off cliff faces in the dark of night. Worth it. Swimming surrounded by Mobula Rays in the Sea of Cortez, in the dusk of a long day. Totally worth it. Coming face to face with a quiet Monk Seal in crystal clear water. So very worth it. Swimming with dozens of Green Sea Turtles on Mike’s 60’s birthday in Hawaii. Totally worth it.  Having a seahorse swim into my face mask to say hello. Incredibly worth it. Even losing a backstay and ending a perfect, idyllic sail home. Worth it.  Uncomfortable , sleepless nights. Worth it. Scary water. Also worth it.  Let’s go.

The gin is long gone, the rain is coming. My friends the Terns are going home for their long sleep. We’ve got a seal in the fairway. Everything is peaceful and filled with gratitude for another day aboard the boat.

S/V Galapagos, Standing by.