Author Archives: Melissa

Get Back on That Horse and Ride!

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I’m going to do my best to write all this in one coherent post without resorting to expletives. After all, it’s too easy to resort to words like ‘Shit!’ and ‘Fuck!’ when expressing outrage, dismay, anger, and disappointment. That’s not a very creative use of language. I like to think I’m a better wordsmith than to rely on simple expletive.  And I would never take the easy way out. If I were to use words like ‘G** damn it all to hell!’ you might think that I didn’t give my posts much consideration. You would be wrong, but even so, this weekend SUCKED! And it sucked bad.

Is she worth it? We still think so.

Is she worth it? We still think so. We hope so.

The weekend started off great. We tootled down to Portland’s new West Marine where our  Garmin 820xs was waiting for us. The new West Marine store in Jantzen Beach is just lovely and electronics sales associate Dan was very helpful and solicitous of our business. We bought the chart plotter, a handheld GPS for back up (because we just like to have a reliable handheld unit), and a G2 Vision card. Yes, we dropped some money there. But we were flying high when we left and it was money we knew we would be spending anyway.

It was a beautiful, warm sunny day and as soon as we got to the boat Mike began the installation of the electronics. He was like a kid at Christmas with his new stuff and everything was working out really well. It all came together for him and that chart plotter is just glorious. We love it. Of course we have to order a special connector to get it to get information from the triducer, which is manufactured by Raymarine, but this will happen.

We’ve been through this before with Moonrise, so my heart didn’t skip a beat when Mike drilled into the stainless.

While Mike worked his magic on the electronics installations, I got on top of the dodger to finish sealing up the window there. Then I deployed the cockpit enclosure. My thought was to make sure I knew how it went together and see if it would serve a couple of seasons before being replaced. All of the snaps had been removed from the hard dodger when it was last painted, so I had to replace those. Fortunately we had a good supply, left on the boat by the previous owner. I got the thing up and we reveled in having a protected outdoor space from which to view our surroundings. To say we love that cockpit enclosure would be to seriously understate the fact. There will be a new one before we ‘leave the dock’ for the long voyage.

Interesting photo of me on the boom.

And here’s the cockpit enclosure from the inside. Notice in the first photo the boat is sporting her cockpit finery.

I’ve always wanted one of these.

Last weekend we got the genoa back on. This weekend we installed the mainsail. This was an exercise in patience and stamina as the wind was abeam and nothing we could do about that. Eventually we got her on, but we’ll wait for a quiet anchorage out of the wind to put in the battens.

By Sunday at lunchtime all these things were accomplished. We knew we’d have to wait for the connection to the transducer to get the water depth. Meanwhile we have charts, which have depth, and we were anxious to get this boat off the dock and out into the river. The new engine has not yet been commissioned. This is a process by which you put it through its paces at different RPM’s in order to break it in. That needed to happen.

The difference between a great day and a disastrous day starts with one small decision. And this one was ours. Who knew?

Notice the location of the entrance to the marina. We are just backing away from the dock. You will need this information later.

Mike was at the wheel for the 8 or 9 point turn it took to get us out of the marina. Why so many turns? Well it’s like this: our dock is right at the mouth of the entrance to the marina. It is not protected from wind or from current because of its location, a fact that has kept me up at night as I envisioned learning to handle this boat at the same time that we are dealing with significant current and the ever present significant wind in the Astoria area. You know the rule about going ‘dead slow’ in a marina? That does not work for us. If we do not pick up speed quickly, the current takes us where it wants us to go. This is also true when getting to our dock. Please remember this fact later, as there will be a quiz.

We were so happy to be out on the water again! I breathed a sigh of relief, my heart rate returning to normal as we left that damned marina behind.  A glorious, sunny and warm day, new territory to explore, and a beautiful boat to explore it with. What could be better? We cracked open a couple of cold beers and clinked bottles in a toast to our good fortune. Our plan was to meander up the river for a bit, putting the engine through its paces. Then we would find a place in the lee of the land where we could practice backing up and maybe even learn to deploy that anchor! Oh we had plans, alright. Big plans.

We do really love this chart plotter. The ‘no touch screen’ works best for us because touch screens many times disagree with my ideas of how they should work.

After our first sips of our celebratory libation, I revved the engine up to about 1500rpm per Mike’s instructions. Mike looked behind us and noticed white smoke billowing out from the rear. WHAT?? He popped down into the engine room, but things looked fine and the smoke went away. Everything appeared to be working fine and the Beta Marine engine sounded and performed well. So we carried on. Because ignorance is bliss and we were happy in ours.

Next there came a loud noise of unknown origin and disturbing vibration from the general direction of the underbelly of the beast. Alarmed, Mike popped back into the engine room to check on the baby. Again, nothing appeared amiss and the engine was performing well. I mean really well! We were pushing 9 knots against a considerable current and we didn’t even have the thing wide open. We could not identify the noise and he rationalized that maybe something had been caught on the prop and had worked its way off. Hmmm. At that point, it was the only explanation we could figure but we both knew that was wrong. And so it proved.

Finally being back on the water was awesome for awhile.

Enjoying the day and the ubiquitous sea lions, and absolutely loving our cockpit enclosure, we made for Tongue Point where the chart showed an area of water plenty deep, but protected from the wind.  We planned to practice maneuvering the boat. We had noticed that the shifting from forward to neutral to reverse was stiff. Mike had already ordered a new part for the steering pedestal, but it was set to arrive this week. The shift was stiff, but it worked. As we closed on Tongue Point, we worked the shifter from neutral to reverse, back to neutral, and forward. We were not happy. What had started out to be just stiff, was now recalcitrant. After many trips to the engine room to sort out the shifting we decided we’d better get back to the marina.

It was when we were close to Tongue Point that we had noticed the bilge pump was coming on intermittently. This particular pump has a hair trigger and is likely to come on if it’s nudged the wrong way by a wave. The pump wasn’t working hard, just gurgling briefly. Still, anytime a bilge pump thinks it has a job to do, it’s worth investigating. Another pop down to the engine room to take a look. The bilge looked dry. And yet, on the trip back, the pump kept coming on. Since we weren’t sinking, Mike said he’d figure out what was going on when we got back to the dock.

I took the wheel to get us into the marina because I somehow believe that I must face my fears head on. What I’d really LIKE to do is just let Mike do all the docking all the time. But that’s not really fair and, after all, I always docked Moonrise. When Mike docked this boat for the first time, it went without a hitch. If he could do it, I could probably do it too. (Beats head against wall.) He reminded me to keep speed until the last minute so the current wouldn’t push me into the wall, and then went to get the lines ready.

Had there not been current and wind, my first try would have nailed it perfectly. But I was going too slow and the current was going faster. It pushed us too far away from the dock.  I had to back up and try over again. Had the gear shift not stuck in reverse, all would have been well. But the gear shift DID stick in reverse. I could not put the thing in forward to save my life. Or to keep our boat from hitting the large steel fishing boat behind us. I will never forget that feeling as long as I live; completely helpless to keep this thing from happening, both hands pushing with all my might on the gear shift trying to get that boat to move anywhere but where it was headed. There was no time and the shifter would not budge.  Our steel davit hit the boat behind us and my stomach dropped into the sea. Maybe it was the jolt from the impact, but suddenly the gear shifted into neutral, and another shove moved it into forward. I don’t remember getting the boat close enough to the dock for Mike to toss the line to the dock hand, but apparently I did.

In retrospect, I don’t even know if it made any noise. Trauma is like that. You record different aspects of the event as different types of memories. I remember how it felt. But I don’t remember how it sounded, or how fast I was going. I remember the Coast Guard boat fueling up, all hands watching what probably looked like the Ricky and Lucy show, but what was really a woman trying to get a boat in gear and a husband running to the aft deck to… to do what? Prevent it somehow? As if. I remember, too, the marina dock hand shouting at me to put it in forward, as though I didn’t know that’s what I needed to do. If only I could tell those people that I’m not a complete rube, that I’ve docked a boat hundreds of times, even if it wasn’t this particular boat, that it wasn’t my fault. But I was at the wheel, so it definitely feels like my fault. Definitely.

That heavy davit used to be straight. The light was on the end of the davit.

The damage was minimal, really. Our rear light is gone, our davit is slightly bent, and the big steel boat has a scratch on the paint. The davit acted like a shock absorber. The deck on our boat where the davit is attached is fine. We were very lucky. Or my angels were working overtime. We hope to keep insurance companies out of the mix. The davit will still work. His paint can be repaired. The light can be replaced. And eventually I’ll have to get back on that horse and ride it. But I’ll need a prescription for Xanax first.

That’s the scratched area, under the double ‘L’. I’m so happy this boat is made of steel.

Shell shocked from this failure on so many levels, I sat in the salon and tried to put myself together while Mike went to check on the bilge pump. I’m listening to him move around in the engine room and I hear him say ‘OH SHIT!’. Mike doesn’t generally curse. It’s beneath his nature and it’s undignified. But anyone would curse when they have just determined that the reason the bilge pump is coming on is because the shaft seal is leaking. And the reason the shaft seal is leaking is because one bolt has come completely out and another bolt came out in his hand when he touched it. The other two were finger loose. This is worthy of many curse words, most worse than what he said. Somehow the lock washers the mechanic used for this piece did not hold. In fact, they had been completely flattened. Maybe made of Chinese steel? I’m pretty sure they are not supposed to do that. Likely that terrible noise we heard was that first bolt being thrown. He found it under the engine.

The leak was considerable but not a gusher. Still, it was a solid stream of water that had the bilge pump coming on every 15 minutes or so for a few seconds.  Mike called the mechanic and told him the bad news. Then we arranged for someone to take care of Skippy for another night and Mike called in to take today off from work.  We had to spend the night on the boat because there was no way we were going to leave a boat with that kind of leak.  Mike tried everything to get the leak to stop but was unsuccessful because he doesn’t have the right tools. The mechanic, chagrined to say the least, said he’d be out there today to fix it and this time he would use nylocks on the thing. I’m sure he will. I’m also sure that from now on Mike will be checking that thing every single time we take the boat anywhere. Add ‘check shaft seal bolts’ to our checklist.

Discouraged, but knowing this would be put right, Mike continued looking into the problem with the gear shift. I went back to my settee, tired as dirt and emotionally drained. After a few minutes I heard Mike say one simple word: ‘No.’   It was almost a whisper. This word, so small and insignificant, was uttered with such complete despair that I was off my settee and flying across the salon in an instant. He was white as a sheet, standing there with an oil dipstick in his hand. He literally looked like a man who had been been given a death sentence. I thought he had somehow injured himself. But he looked up at me and said, ‘There is water in the oil.’ This is a death knell for an engine like ours. Standing there together we both felt the same way. We were just done. We felt utterly defeated.

So let’s just pause and regroup here. That’s a terrible docking experience, a stuck gear shift, a leaking shaft seal, and water in the engine oil. All. At. One. Time. And, for the uninitiated among you, these are completely unrelated incidents! (Except for the shifting and docking fiasco. Those are completely related.) Oh, and one other minor inconvenience: when I was crashing into the other boat, Mike was running to the aft deck to be closer to the real action and put his foot through the lovely cockpit enclosure. Now the back starboard panel has a huge hole in it.  Meh. That just adds insult to injury. I’ll fix the hole and we’ll use it anyhow. We’re getting a new one in a couple of years. But still. It’s just another slap down.

One more time: Our engine has 3 hours on it. It has been installed to specs by a certified mechanic. The engine started the first time and ran like a dream. And yet, there is water in the oil. I have to write it again, because I still just cannot believe it.

No damage to the beloved swimstep. How did we manage that?

Another call to our mechanic, who had the grace to pick up the phone, and now it looks like we have a warranty claim on this brand new engine. Shawn was very good at talking Mike off the ledge. He reminded us of the warranty. He was trying to make us feel better. He wanted to keep Mike from panicking. In fact, he said ,’Don’t panic.’.  But it was pretty much too late for that.

Instead, we both went up to the bathrooms to take long hot showers, hoping to wash the stench of our failure down the drain. It didn’t work, but at least we were clean. We ate Thai food and drank beer. That’s two beers in one day for me. One to remember the day, and one to forget about it.

A trip to the grocery store to get milk for my coffee the next day also found two packages of chocolate cookies in the cart. When the going gets tough, always eat chocolate. It’s been known to cure many things.

We spent the night on the boat to guard her. Then did a few small tasks to just make us feel better and re-engage with the process. Then we went home.

As of tonight the mechanic has stopped the leaking shaft seal, but neither he nor the distributor can figure out where this water has come from and, of course, the engine is completely out of alignment now anyway. There was 1 1/2 quarts of water in that engine. Mike and Shawn had run the engine for 40 minutes after putting the fluids in it initially and everything had tested fine. Mike hasn’t added any fluids since then. The exhaust elbow was dry. And he has done some kinds of tests on the engine and found that it does not appear to be damaged. But this needs to be figured out. Last night we were worried we would have to have this engine pulled. Today it looks like they might be able to replace whatever part is malfunctioning. Maybe a heat exchanger inside the engine? But until we figure it out and get the repair done, we will be at the dock. The rewards of boat ownership feel further away than ever.

I know that mechanical minds will have a lot of questions about the engine installation and what’s going on now. I’m writing this post because Mike needs to get away from this subject for awhile, even though he would be able to talk about this with more technical data. Ask your questions in the comments section, if you have any, and he’ll get back to you when his brain isn’t fried.

My current mantra is credited to my friend Cidnie: If it was easy, everyone would do it. Said in rosary fashion, tall rum-based drink in one hand, it actually helps quiet the voices in my head.

Now here are some soothing garden photos.

These are bleeding hearts. Appropriate, no?

The lovely helleborus.

The Himalayan lily.

In the rock garden.

In the rock garden. Pulsatilla.

 

 

 

 

 

Growing Pains

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Working on this boat is taking on a life of its own. Anyone who has taken on a project like this, whether it be remodeling a house or refitting a large boat, knows that feeling of being pulled into the completely organic nature of this thing. Like anything of this magnitude, all parts work together to create a whole, and sometimes it’s hard to know where one project starts and the other ends. Or maybe I’m thinking too hard about this. Maybe the problem here is that we’re just trying to do too much too fast. Whatever, because life has begun to have it’s own kind of rhythm. Work week, then arrange dog sitter, then drive to Astoria for a day and a half of work on the boat, punctuated by trips to the marine store, rooting around in the boat for supplies, and longing glances in the general direction of the water. Then afterwards, there’s that long drive home that feels twice as long because we’re both dog tired and just want the comfort of our bed.

Looking good.

So with the engine in and the boat in the water, we turn our attention to sails and electronics. Mike, anxious to get this boat out on the water in the river, was making noises about taking her out this weekend. I was sorely tempted except for one small thing: no depth sounder. (There is a transducer, but nothing for it to send information to.) If we were in our home territory where we know the local waters this would not be an issue. And yes, we do have charts of the Columbia. We have enough charts to know that the sands shift and that there is plenty of water that looks deep enough but isn’t. Call me chicken little but while I could see my way clear to going without a chart plotter, I didn’t really want to leave the dock not knowing how deep the water is, Captain Cook and historical sailors not withstanding. There is a reason I was born in this century. Between my misgivings and the weather (read: Fog and rain with high winds) we stayed at the dock, disappointed but not aground on a mud bank somewhere.

You should be able to see land behind that boat. But one of Astoria’s famous fog banks prevents it.

So Mike has been shopping for electronics and has finally made his choices. He tried to get me involved in the shopping process for the chart plotter but soon realized his mistake. Not content to stick with the Garmin we know and love, I had to begin looking at other brands because I like to get ALL the information before I make a choice. We both quickly realized that if I participated at this level, we would never purchase one. So I told him what was important to me: easy to use, not reliant on touchscreen controls, large enough for me to see, reliable – not necessarily in that order. I opined that since we’d always had Garmin and were happy with them, we should probably stick with that because we’d already know how to use the thing. Mike wanted something he could integrate with radar and, knowing my history with electronic devices, he agreed that relying on touchscreen controls in the cockpit would be tantamount to asking for trouble. So he chose his Garmin 820 XS chart plotter and all is well as we await delivery of that item.

Meanwhile, why get only the chart plotter when you also want and need a new radio? You see how this project grows like the chickweed in my garden? Look away for a moment and it’s in full bloom everywhere.  So we are now the proud owners of a new Standard Marine AIS system that I understand is pretty cool. Even as I type this post he sits by my side, joyously thumbing through the owners manual, breaking into my thoughts on occasion with a tidbit or two about how wonderful this is going to be. You know, sadly, my eyes tend to begin to glaze over when he talks about it but I understand it has remote microphones and a big loud speaker so we can signal to other boats in the fog. How much fun is this going to be? I’ll let him tell you all about it so I don’t steal his thunder too much. Please ask ALL the technical questions you want in the comments section and he can wax poetic about his new friends. And mine. Yes, of course, they are also mine. After all, it’s a community property state.

We’ve got a practically new autopilot the previous owner installed shortly before selling the boat (I know! Ow! We totally know how that feels.) So all that’s left is the radar. We already have radar on the boat and it actually works, although it looks like it was probably built the same year the boat was built: 1975.  I’m pretty sure we’ll be getting new radar as well, so these systems will be integrated at the helm and below. Woot! We will be in electronics heaven, at least we hope so.

Less exciting but worth it in the end, is the new transmission shifting system he has ordered. When he was putting the steering system together he and the mechanic noticed how tight everything was in the steering pedestal. They were not amused or satisfied. The gear shifters are original, as is the system attached to them. He was going to replace this system eventually, but I convinced him that ‘eventually’ was now. Since he wants to mess with that steering area as little as possible, once seemed better than twice, so a new system is coming.

The offending area and old style system of cables.

This is the part that will be replaced with a new system that will allow more room because there will be fewer cables. The shifting should be smoother because nothing will be impinging on anything else, at least that’s the theory.

While Mike perseverated over his choice of electronics, I was itching to get a look at the sails. That’s right, we’d never seen them. Just like we’d never sailed the boat, or even had it on the water when we bought it. We saw that they existed and knew that unless they were new, we’d be replacing them before going on a long voyage anyway. So if they were serviceable until then, cool. These sails are so large I need a dolly to move them in their bags. They take up a ton of room so I really want them out of my garage and back on the boat where they belong.  Laid out on the gravel at home I was glad to see they were in good condition. The foresail has been repaired once but the repair is well done and is holding nicely. The main is in good condition also, and the mizzen sail looks practically new. When we are ready to go offshore for a long period of time, we’ll have them checked over and will buy new if we need to. Until then, these are going to work just fine.

We got the head sail put back on the boat and saved the other two sails for next weekend.

Mike guides the sail while I crank at the winch. Wait. Did I get the hard part of this bargain?

While we were on the boat this weekend we got a pleasant surprise visit from Kurt Yoder, Steve Yoder’s cousin. He popped in to say hi, talk house batteries with Mike and get a look at Mike’s engine room. I was so glad he did because he was the voice of reason on replacing the house batteries. Mike had a plan to replace them so his charging system would be more streamlined. But when he tested one of the Lifeline AGM batteries to see how much charge it was holding, it was holding at 98%. These things are really pricey and also weigh about 100 pounds each, so replacing them falls under the adage of ‘if it ain’t broke don’t fix it’.

In the man cave with Kurt Yoder.

Seriously, these things are about 9 years old, a fact that you must call the manufacturer to discover because it is hidden in the esoteric lettering system etched on the side of the battery. Is there some reason why you need to be a member of a club with a secret handshake just to figure out the date of manufacture on your marine batteries? Why can’t they just use the actual date like regular people? So they are well past their replace date. But they haven’t been used heavily as there is no refrigeration on the boat. We ran the house on battery power only while aboard this weekend and the batteries held fine. Maybe they will poop out when we get a refrigerator in there, but until they poop out, we don’t need to replace them. We figure we’ll have to replace them anyway when we go on the long voyage, so why replace them now? This is called ‘knowing when to stop’ and our bank account really appreciates it.

Some kind of code that is actually a date of manufacture.

You may recall that our boat came with a liferaft. Good thing we didn’t consider that a selling point because it was supposed to be serviced by 2003. Which it wasn’t. But the real hilarity was revealed when Mike went to remove it from the boat and found that it weighs 120 pounds. I am not making that up. He actually put it on the scale at home. I think he used the halyard from the mizzen sail to get the thing off the boat. What makes me laugh is the directions for using this thing:

Just lightly toss this into the sea when you have an emergency. No worries!

That’s right, it couldn’t be easier. Just lightly toss it over the back rail and you are good to go. Maybe they are counting on the strength of adrenaline to hurk this thing in an emergency. Am I missing something here? That’s 120 pounds we don’t need to be carrying. The jury is still out on whether that will be replaced. I don’t know if the newer ones weigh this much, but if they do I can’t imagine how anyone would get the thing off the boat in a big sea.

In yet other news Mike got started on replumbing the aft head. We haven’t had a holding tank to use so we’ve had to go up to the marina bathroom when the need arose. Remember we took about 30 feet of old hose off the boat when stripping things out of that engine room. We were glad to see it go. Now we have to put some of it back, but he’s got a redesign in mind that should suffice until we decide about remodeling that area of the boat.

And the name of the boat? Still undecided and we’re having fun coming up with ideas. I have a list of words going and we add to it whenever something strikes our fancy. Occasionally Mike throws one out that I just have to decline, however. His latest attempt was ‘Ford Fairlane’. Here’s why:20140327_2

I’ll tell you the story about that car sometime.

 

 

Streaming the Consciousness of Names

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Now that Mike is finished with the engine refit and we have the boat back in the water, we get to enjoy a rare weekend of downtime. During this soggy March in Washington State, the wettest March on record (oh, ululations of profound joy, right?), downtime really means no driving down to Astoria and no big projects. Just taxes and catching up on indoor projects we’ve left unfinished. Like the curtains. Today I am staying by the warm stove finishing up the dyeing process for the salon curtains and, once again,  thinking about boat names.

Why does it seem like naming a boat is about as hard as naming your first born child? Now that Andromeda is coming to life after her long sleep and heart/lung transplant, we need to conjur up a new name for her. The name ‘Andromeda’, while beautiful, does not really suit me.  Mike likes the name better than I do, but it’s important that we both feel equally good about this name, and this boat. This vessel represents a complete change in how we live our lives and how we see our near future. Just as we are letting go of unused ‘stuff’, clearing out our lives in preparation for the new life we are creating, she needs to be released of whatever has outlived its purpose as well. This includes her historical names. She must be purified in a way, and made ready for the next phase of her life, too.

One of the pieces of clutter to be released: this ancient emergency beacon. We will buy a new one.

One of the pieces of clutter to be released: this ancient emergency beacon. We will buy a new one.

Our first boat was named ‘Saucy Sue’. Like the name of our blog, this was a reference to BlackAdder, the BBC TV show of yore. ‘Saucy Sue’ was a perfect name for our Catalina 27. She was decidedly ‘saucy’ as she bounded along at a right good clip, heeled over well, sails flying. The name conjurs up pictures of someone small and cute with attitude and that pretty much describes that boat.

The Sue being extra saucy!

The Sue being extra saucy!

Our second boat was the Cal 34, ‘Moonrise’.  There was a vintage ’70’s plaque in the salon when we bought her; name firmly burned into the wood in fancy script.  Mike wasn’t crazy about the name, but her name (and her diesel stove) were what told me she was ‘our’ boat. As soon as I saw the plaque I knew. We looked at other boats, but we always came back to her. Probably because he wanted me to love the boat as much as he did, Mike agreed we would keep the name. Her name always made me feel serene, and this is how I generally felt on that boat. Actually, I remember that the minute I set foot on that boat, the stress would start to drain from my body.

Moonrise at sail with a reefed main.

Moonrise at sail with a reefed main. She was such a fun boat.

Our family actually owns two boats, one of which is kept in Bellingham and sailed by our son, Andrew. Andrew’s boat is an Ericson 25 and is named ‘Danger Kitten’.  I love the way he came up with that name, allowing the personality of the boat to emerge before he named her. It’s been the perfect name for this wee boat that is sometimes a challenge to sail safely in windy Bellingham. Keep her in mind if you are looking for a small boat, as Andrew will be selling her in the future to get something a little more appropriate for the kind of sailing he wants to do.  She is a fun boat and he loves her.

Little boat, big attitude.

When we started looking at boats for our next adventure I payed close attention to the names of the vessels. It wasn’t deliberate, it’s just something noticeable maybe because it tells me something about the person who owned the boat before and what they expected out of the boat. I am partial to names that imply mystery, are archetypal in some way, or bird names. Mike likes names that are lyrical, or have some sort of personal significance.

One of the boats we really loved and didn’t buy was a Westerly Sealord named ‘Spellbound’. I love that name because it invokes the feeling we all get sometimes when we are out on the water and the beauty of it hits us just right. It holds us spellbound.  There was another boat of that name in our marina; a big traditional Islander sailboat painted bright yellow. It had been neglected. It was also named ‘Spellbound’ and it had a little yellow dingy named ‘Little Misspell’.  Good thing we weren’t ready to buy or I may have been interested because the name of the boat drew me in. She would have been a major project.

There is another boat in the same marina; a Norseman 447. Beautiful boat! It has circumnavigated several times, i.e. it needs a ton of work, but OH, that hull! The name of that boat is ‘Serenity’. That name tells me how the owners viewed this boat, and what they expected from her. We would probably get along, those owners and me. It’s still for sale, by the way, and the price has come down considerably. Someone will get a great boat if they have the money to put into it. It’s a boat with a cool history, and it would be worth repairing and refitting.

Then there was ‘Flying Gull‘. I love the name, I still love the boat. That’s the name of the big Sparkman and Stevens sailboat we almost bought a year ago. It was a boat meant to break hearts and it certainly broke ours. We do not regret our experience with that boat, but I will always have a sore place in my heart when thinking about her. If we were going to sail only in this area or up the inside passage, that boat would have been pretty much perfect.  And the name? Think about how gulls just ride the wind effortlessly. They are awesome to watch. Who wouldn’t want a boat that could fly like a gull? To be honest, when I look at photos of that boat I still want to cry. Even though I do love Andromeda and am very pleased that we bought her. Flying Gull will always have a place in my heart. I have to look away.

Flying Gull. The boat that broke our heart but prepared us for Andromeda.

Andromeda has had several names. She has been ‘Aquarius’, and ‘Walhachin’, at least. The name ‘Walhachin’ is engraved on an owner’s plate just above the ladder into the cabin. The name ‘Aquarius’ is still written on the propane tanks.  We know the previous owner named her Andromeda because this name had special meaning to him. But he did not perform the naming ceremony and I have never felt as though this boat felt like an ‘Andromeda’ to me. That’s a feeling that is hard to put into words, but there it is. Perhaps she is confused about her name.

Sailors are a superstitious lot, but if people have believed for centuries that boats have ‘consciousness’, then there’s a reason why. Although ‘Andromeda’ is a perfectly beautiful name and is also associated with a rather picturesque galaxy far far away, for me, the word ‘Andromeda’ brings up images of a young girl tied to the rocks as a human sacrifice to the gods, then rescued by her hero. Um. This is probably not the best image to associate with a boat; this image of human suffering. If feels heavy to me, like it’s a name that has to be lived up to.  I’d like a name that implies playfulness and a lightness of spirit,  a name that brings up images of being easy on the sea, of adventure, exploration, and of gratitude. It needs to be different from most other boat names, but also easy to say and easy to understand.

Andromeda looks somehow brighter after her new engine refit.

I like bird names such as ‘Osprey’, ‘Pelican’, and ‘Puffin’, but none of them are really right for this boat. She is blue, so ‘Bluebird’ comes to mind, but she is really too big for that name. I’ve also thought of ‘Blue Swan’, but her sister ship is ‘Black Swan’, so that might be weird. It also might be cool. I don’t know. There is a boat in Astoria named ‘Peacock’. That’s a pretty cool name, too.

I feel grateful that we had the means and opportunity to buy this boat as she is so much more than I ever thought we would have. And she is graceful to look at and I love the color of her hull. So I think of the name ‘Grace’, then ‘Gracie’ which is a more playful version, then ‘Gracie Blue’ which kind of rolls off the tongue. Mike likes the name ‘Fetching’, but I’m on the fence on that one. Seems more suited to a sleeker, lighter boat, although I admit that when we finally had her on the water, she was quite ‘fetching’.

I figure that like most things, the answer will come to us when it’s ready. We’ll just get her out on the water, bring her to life, and let her speak to us. From her heart to ours, the right name for this part of our lives will emerge.

A sweet little Westerly we looked at in Vancouver, BC. I have no idea what this name means.

A sweet little Westerly we looked at in Vancouver, BC. I have no idea what this name means.