Author Archives: Melissa

My Little Sea Pony

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The morning dawned bright, with the promise of heat. At the marina, it stretched out before me, a blank slate begging for a plan, so as to not slip away without being defined by some sort of satisfaction of a job well done. The time had come to wash the teak and apply a few coats of Semco finish. Mike had gone on a few errands, I had a book loaded on my phone to listen to. I was ready to begin.

Really low tide. Blue skies. Warm. It doesn’t get better than this in August. Aside from the smell.

As I got out the teak wash and a bucket, Mike appeared, back surprisingly early from his errands. He looked, I don’t know, like he had something on his mind, maybe. There was definitely a ‘look’; an urgency he radiated. But I was not sure how to read that.

“I need to tell you something.”

These are the words that tumbled out of his mouth, apparently without his thinking about it. Let me just go on record here: if you are married to someone who is waiting patiently (like yourself)  for the next round of cruising, crossing her fingers that nothing in life will prevent that from happening, if you have adult children, or aging parents, or either of you has had to address health issues, or basically, let’s get real, if you are in any kind of relationship at all… do not begin a conversation with the words, “I need to tell you something.” That generally precedes a telling of some kind of thing that means: “Life as you have come to enjoy it, is about to change, and not necessarily for the better. That peaceful, calm existence you have had for maybe two days is about to end early. The day you have been dreading and didn’t even know it has arrived.”  ‘I need to tell you something’ is right up there with ‘We need to talk’ in terms of popular conversation starters.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I cried, “What?? What happened? What’s going on?”

You may think I over reacted. and perhaps so, but there is precedent to that, as any parent knows. My mind immediately goes to something happening to one of our kids. If it’s not them then it’s one of the moms, a bad report from some doctor, or maybe someone has vandalized our car, our house… all of it crashes around jockeying for position in my head. I’ve lived long enough for any or all of those things to be true. Anyhow, now Mike is irritated that I have taken his warning incorrectly, but my stomach remains unmoved, on the ground, waiting.

Then he lays it on me:

“I’ve decided I have to give you a birthday present a day early. I don’t want to leave it in the car, and I don’t want to store it in the basement at the house. So I’m just giving it to you today….and then you can decide what you want to do with the rest of your day”.

I did not throttle him.

This? This is what “I’ve got to tell you something…” means? This is what was causing ‘the look’? Dear sweet Lord in his small fleece diaper. I am giddy with relief. I shift gears as I pick my  shaken stomach off of the bench seat and replace it in my body, the cascade of stress hormones making my hands only a little bit shaky. The ground is suddenly solidly there under my feet again. I can definitely get on board with early presents! Whew.

‘OOOH, a present? A day early? Is it a PONY?’

I have always thought getting a pony for my birthday would be right up there with scuba diving with manta rays. Plus we have a running family joke about getting ponies for special occasions. I’m not exactly sure what I would do with a real pony, but my daughter in law would probably take that off my hands.

That time Claire came home from Europe (or some other exotic local) and we surprised her with a backyard pony.

“I’ll give you hint’, he says, eyes all a-twinkle.  “It’s about 10 ponies.”

“An engine! You got the engine! and it’s here and now we can get out on the water in the new dinghy! Is it in the car? Can we get it and go out today?”  All thoughts and plans of refinishing teak vanish with not even a whimper. I was practically jumping up and down.

It was, indeed, the engine, which is a Yamaha 9.9 HP 2 stroke he bought at the engine sales and repair place near the marina. We wanted a 2 stroke because of their simplicity.

And this is paired with our new dinghy! We bought a True Kit Inflatable Catamaran dinghy from New Zealand. And we couldn’t be more pleased with it!

New dinghy and engine, in the back of our old Mexico van.

If you have been a reader, you know that on our first cruise we sported a Portland Pudgy named Penguin.  It served us really well for a number of years and we found it to be almost the perfect dinghy for tooling around the Pacific Northwest. However, our needs changed as we traveled further afield. We found that it was too slow and plodding in the sometimes rough conditions of the Sea of Cortez and Pacific Mexico. It took too long to get places, like back to our boat in an emergency. It was also really dangerous landing that dinghy in any kind of surf. To be sure, I don’t enjoy surf landings in any way, but being sideways in a hard, plastic dinghy with a wave crashing over me, hanging on for dear life  is an experience I do not want to repeat. Not to mention how heavy the Pudgy is if it gets pooped; a story for another day.

Farewell to Penguin, our sweet Pudgy. We actually do miss this little boat. She was perfect for the Pacific Northwest and she found a home with a family with kids who will use her to explore locally. I hope they are having a great time.

Carrying the Pudgy was also a bit of a problem. Near to shore, we carried it on davits, but on our ocean crossings it had to live on the foredeck. It got in the way and also the boat motion would be such that we had to keep a close eye on it to be sure it wasn’t moving around. One of the reasons we bought the Pudgy was its rating as a lifeboat, but just the idea that we would be able to deploy it from the bow of our boat in probably heaving seas makes me want to laugh; a bit hysterically, to be sure.

A fond memory of an ocean crossing. Probably trying to capture a sea bird. Note dinghy on deck.

It just was not optimal and I kept wishing we had bought this neat inflatable we had seen at a boat show long ago. That one fit in a bag when it was deflated, and you could stow it below deck. That one factor began to be deal breaker on finding a new dinghy as we began to research, looking for something that filled us with dinghy lust.  We just wanted that foredeck on Galapagos to be free and clear, and we wanted to be able to get places fast. We also needed something to carry snorkeling, and maybe even scuba, equipment. The Portland Pudgy got mega crowded on long day trips.

Enter the True Kit and its ALMOST twin, the Takacat.  Lightweight, stable, packable, they have an interesting bow design that would allow easy snorkeling or diving from the boat. After months of perseveration, we decided that we would buy one of these two models of boats. But which one? They looked almost the same.

The Takacat is available from suppliers here in the states, so that makes it a little easier to source. Luckily, there was a dealer at the boat show in Seattle this year and we were able to size one up in person. While we liked the general design features, we did not pull the trigger to buy one. Why? Somehow it just didn’t feel beefy enough for the conditions we were going to be in. It was PVC, which I didn’t think would be a deal breaker,  but there was something about the models we saw that just left us not feeling sure about them and part of that was the feel of the PVC. Also I was not crazy about the rope handles on the inside of the pontoons. They did not feel like they would offer enough purchase for me and I could see the rope hurting my hands. And the rub rail was not as solid as I felt like it should be. In addition we were not impressed with the design of the transom, which seemed like a weak spot. In fact the dealer was talking about how they were going to be changing that design.

We walked away feeling a little, well, deflated, if you’ll pardon the expression. It was just a gut feeling thing. And we have learned to listen to that. If we were just going to be in inland waters, the Takacat would have been just fine.  But we decided to pursue the True Kit and I emailed them to ask how their model differed from the Takacat.

Basically the difference is in the fabric, the beefier transom, a more pronounced upward curve to the open bow, and some details like the number of firm handholds (rather than rope handholds), the addition of an aluminum seat, and the heat welded seams on the True Kit. Overall, the general feel of the True Kit, even on line, looked sturdier to us, like it would stand up to harder use. The fabric, while not the usual traditional Hypalon, is a large step above regular PVC.

The fabric is called Valmex. While less well known in the US, it has been used more extensively in other parts of the world. Here is some information about this fabric to get you started if you are interested. It  is produced in Germany by Mehler Technologies and can be heat welded rather than glued. On Hypalon inflatables, it’s generally the glue that gives out before the fabric, as we discovered with the old Avon inflatable we were given by other cruisers in La Cruz.

We ordered our True Kit and it was quickly delivered from New Zealand, with only a brief stop at customs so they could ask for a small fee to import the boat. The fee was less than 100$.

Out of the box, it’s really easy to set this boat up. You tube has a number of videos of the True Kit folks setting up the boat, taking it in rough seas, showing it off, etc. Yep, they do know how to make a sale.

Right out of the box. Inflate the pontoons a bit, drop in the floor, inflate the floor, then finish inflating the pontoons. Fast and easy.

Et voila! So far, it’s a very dry ride, as the bow lifts a bit even when not on a plane. Water runs out the back at the transom, keeping the inside of the boat dry. Considering we were always wet in both the Pudgy and the old Avon, we’ll take our chances with this.

So on a day that I was supposed to be cleaning teak, I found myself zipping around the bay in our new dinghy flying fast and free, and discovering that neither of us yet have the skills to get a boat up on a plane and feel safe. This boat planes beautifully, but wow. We are sailors. We aren’t used to going that fast!

Woo hoooo! And that’s why we like beefier handholds. This is exactly the position I was imagining when looking at the Takacat and I would not have been happy with the rope hold they provide. This is where experience the second go around really makes a difference in decision making.

I got to go first as the driver because it was my birthday. The engine started right up and soon we were off, skimming across the bay. As Mike took his turn at the engine, I lounged in the front end of the boat. Another benefit I will enjoy. I just layed right down and stared up at the water. There was plenty of room. “Sea Pony”. I said. Its name is “Sea Pony”.

I’ll be painting another octopus on the new engine cowling, just like we had for the smaller engine we used for several years. But I’ll be sure there is a place for a turquoise sea pony with flowing pink hair.

Digging these fancy ponies! Our bathtub was home to many over the years.

 

 

Cheap and Easy Boat Tricks: Fancy Shower Wall

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Bang! Bang! Hammer pound hammer. Bang!

“What’cha doing in there, Michael?” I asked, from the comfy settee in the salon.

It was an innocent question, but I imagine he could hear the irritating anxiety in my voice; that tone which, while seemingly benign, transmits to my long-married spouse long-suffering spouse that I am concerned about his vigorous level of activity with a hammer or whatever tool he is currently wielding from his considerable arsenal.  It’s a tone that says, if not explicitly, then definitely implicitly, “I’m afraid you are going to break something in there. And then we’ll really be in the soup business.”

I know my beloved husband enjoys it when I bring into the conversational milieu what amounts to the obvious. It’s not like he isn’t already afraid he will break something. It’s just that I personally am more averse to breaking things. Especially on the boat. At home, I will break with impunity because I feel like there is nothing I cannot fix, or I cannot get Michael to fix, which sometimes, in my mind, amounts to the same thing but technically is not the same at all. On the boat, somehow breaking things seems more serious. Or maybe just more of a pain in the ass in general.

“I’m trying to get this damn faucet off in the shower. I bought the same unit to replace this leaky one and this one just doesn’t want to come off. What’d they use? 5200? I can’t believe it’s not just coming off as easily as it should. Stupid (mumble mumble mumble).”

“Oh, I see.”   My tone is mild, almost disinterested. I try valiantly to infuse my reply with the blandness of a bowl of cold oatmeal, unsweetened, no milk. But I can feel my anxiety rising. I mean what am I supposed to do? Stop him? Tell him the obvious? I wait, focusing on deep breathing. Willing him to be careful.

In a moment, the anxiety cascades as the cursing begins. Words of profound expression of the irritation type peel forth like church bells (?) from the tiny cubicle that is our on-board shower; words which are harbingers of, if not doom, then at least projects to come. Indeed, he had broken something. Sighing deeply and mentally adding another project to the on-going list that is Galapagos’ refit, I lumbered up off the settee, pregnant with gloomy anticipation,  and stepped into the shower room to view the carnage. Mike stood, unblemished faucet in hand, shards of razor sharp formica scattered on the floor; the formica that lined that wall of the shower.

“Huh.” he said, sounding confused. “I guess it was just stuck in some weird way. Should have come right off.”

Well, of course it should have. I accepted this with resignation. We would now need to remodel the shower.

Now all that formica will need to come off. He’s used to my taking these photos.

To be fair, I had wanted desperately to remodel the shower. But I didn’t feel like I had it in me. I mean, just the thought of removing all the almond toned formica which was, after all, still doing a good job even if ugly, made me want to take a deep and immediate nap. I had come out of the bunny hole of imagination that was images of our freshly remodeled shower stall dancing in my head,  and had made the logical and grievous but self-preserving decision to leave well enough alone. If it wasn’t broke, I would not fix it!  I would withstand the ugly shower stall in the service of our expansive to-do list. I would give up the beautiful for the functional. The almond 1980’s walls would have to do.

If you know me at all, you know this decision was difficult and I had perseverated on it for weeks, perhaps  months. I hated those shower walls. I love things to be functional and easy. And I also love them to be attractive. I want to enjoy the experience of looking at them and as much as almond/beige fiberglass is used in our boat, it’s not really my aesthetic and I’ve changed it wherever I could. I mean, have you seen our boat interior? It’s not boring. I firmly believe that beauty and function can be had together on board a sailboat and I live to prove that to be true.

But I had given up my idea of redoing that shower stall. Until Michael entered the shower with his little hammer. Or whatever it was he was using. It was now broken. I would have to fix it. At least this time it was Michael doing the breaking and me doing the fixing, and not the other way around.

All fiberglass removed from that section. Doing only one wall allowed me to make this project fun instead of drudgery. And having a focal wall meant I could go a little crazy with pattern and color that would have been ‘too much’ for the whole space. FYI, this shower is not original to the boat, as you can see. That area on the bottom used to be part of the mid-ship cabin berth. The berth was made narrower in that area so that the shower could exist. The unintended but dandy consequence of that is that the mid ship cabin is now a really good sea berth without adding any kind of lee cloth. You can just tuck behind the shower and wedge in with pillows. Very comfortable, indeed. What you see in the photo is the old front of the berth, and wood covering up what used to be drawer space.

In order to deal with my grief over the free time I was about to lose, my mind went through the usual list of things that would need to be done. Find formica that would match or at least look good enough. Maybe a bright color would be cheerful. Figure out how to get it home without breaking it.  Figure out how to cut it myself without Michael’s help because he still works a full time job and if there are projects that I can do myself, I try to take those on as much as possible. I probably COULD replace the formica myself but the lead time to doing so was not going to be fun and I was not looking forward to the process.  Figure out which saw to use, which blade to use, which glue to use. Cut it without breaking it or cutting myself.  I began to feel tired just thinking about it. I figured I would just buy a sheet of whatever the hardware store had on hand and call it good. I just was not engaged with this project at all and had stopped caring about whether I enjoyed walking through that shower 50 times a day.

At the hardware store I quickly discovered that it would not be that simple. They no longer stocked any flat sheets of formica of any kind. It was all special order. And everything they had that was easy to order was, in a word, BORING AND UGLY. It all looked like it wanted to be natural stone but just could not pull it off. But I needed something waterproof and easy to manage.

i briefly considered ceramic tile but abandoned that idea due to weight and the vertical nature of the application. I was worried it would break. Also just the idea of using a tile saw was pretty much a deal breaker. I don’t even know where mine is.

I wandered into the flooring section, eyeing the vinyl laminate flooring. Interesting, but way too heavy. Still, the seeds of creative opportunity had been planted by the ease of application of those strips of vinyl.  Suddenly this was not a project I was loathing. It was an opportunity to replace that hideous almond formica with something more updated, something less completely mind numbing, maybe even a little fun and kicky! Would it be possible for me to actually love my shower? My mind wandered back to the heavy vinyl flooring. Hmmmm. Vinyl. Hmmmm. I metaphorically drummed my fingers on my imaginary table, thinking deep thoughts about vinyl and its waterproof nature.

Back at the boat, I got on the interwebs and the idea occurred that perhaps there may be vinyl tiles I could use. Remember those nice asbestos tiles of the 1930’s and beyond? Twelve inches square, easy to cut, easy to work with, and they lasted forever. I could not do asbestos but perhaps a modern alternative? They would certainly hold up, but they were heavy. I was back to vinyl.

A quick google search and my patient process was rewarded. Peel and stick vinyl tiles. These were stick-on tiles that are meant for backsplashes and small areas. They were not what I wanted and were actually too light weight, but they were an interesting concept. I  posted a question about them to the Women Who Sail group, asking if anyone had experience using them. I was concerned they would not hold up to the heat in the tropics, should we ever actually get down there. I was right. The reports from other sailors were that the glue would not last in tropical heat. Also I was not jazzed about the patterns they offered. I moved on but could smell success getting closer.

I searched further and found these lovely peel and stick floor tiles, which were just the ticket. They were heavier than the backsplash versions, but still lightweight enough for my purposes. I mentally gave these the green light.  The only concern I had was that, like the stick on backsplash tiles, these probably also used glue that was sensitive to heat. So I needed to solve that problem. A few more searches for alternative uses of these tiles and I found what I was looking for. Loctite adhesive would play well with the adhesive on the back of the tiles and also would hold up to heat as high as 140F.  Considering I would be using these tiles well outside their intended use, that was as much of a guarantee as I was going to get.

Note that our boat stays pretty cool relative to other boats we have been in. The shower is also inboard from the hull so there is protection from direct heat. If we get to over 140F degrees inside the boat, we will have bigger problems than melting glue. The decision was made.

I ordered 4 boxes of tiles, way more than enough, but at a bit over 12$ for 10 square feet, I could afford to play and make mistakes. I also purchased some plastic molding to use to cover seams. That was less than 10$, so let’s just say 10$ because I can’t find the receipt. The glue was 12$ per tube, and I used 1.25 units, but I already had one on hand. I also had a tube of interior caulk but that would cost about 8$ had I bought it. All in, I paid well under 100$ for supplies, even with today’s inflationary prices. And remember, I way over ordered that tile. I only needed two boxes, and most of that second box is left. That brings the cost for the tile I actually used to less than 25$.  I have enough tiles left over for another project in the salon, when we get to that, and maybe one in the aft head.

Before I got started, I experimented with the glue to be sure it was going to play well with the stuff already on the tile, and that it would create a tight bond. I glued a tile to a piece of scrap wood with a slick varnish finish on it and let it set up for the recommended 48 hours.  I was satisfied with the result so I got started.

Tools and supplies. That’s our formica countertop that we had installed before we left the dock the first time. I absolutely did not install that myself.

Tools and supplies I used:

Tiles
Glue
Razor knife
Straight edge
Small hammer
Piece of wood
Wet paper towels for wiping extra glue off
Scissors to cut some of the smaller tiles that had irregular shapes. The tiles cut easily with scissors.
Interior bathroom caulk
Molding of choice if you need it

Tools I wish I had used but didn’t have:

Rubber mallet
Seam roller for flooring
A fine toothed mastic spreader
The hands and knees of a 30 year old

After prepping the area I experimented with the layout. I’ve done a lot of tiling in my life so I am aware that this part of the process cannot be rushed. Getting these tiles placed correctly the first time would pay off by making the rest of the process smooth. Some people use things like measuring tapes for this part, but I am more of a ‘hands on’ type of tiler. Those numbers mean nothing to me.

Cutting the tiles is so much easier than I thought. I liken it to cutting sheetrock, which seems like it would be difficult and messy but is actually dead easy. Just score the paper on the back and give the sheetrock a good sharp push with your knee. It breaks along the scored line. So satisfying.  These tiles get scored on the front with the straight edge and razor knife, then you just kind of fold them and they come right apart. Very easy and satisfying. You don’t even have to push hard on the razor knife, which my hands really appreciated. Just score the surface.

Easily cut to size.

I wanted enough glue on the back to go around the perimeter, creating a water tight seal, and then enough to spread out and hold the middle. The goal was to allow the tiles to still fit flat on the wall so they would butt together without a ridge, but then be able to squeeze glue out around all of the edges and then smooth it like caulk with my wet finger. That way all the seams would be glued. The two things that would compromise the integrity of the installation would be water and heat. This would help keep water from getting under each tile.

It would have been helpful to have a small toothed mastic spreader for this. Alas, I got too mad at the price tag of said spreader at the Lowes Depot (a name I have stolen from someone else who I don’t remember but I will use it forever now) and stomped out without it. I would do the installation with out that. Likewise I would love to have had a seam roller, but they were 40$ and I could feel maniacal laughter bubbling up at the thought I would actually spend 40$ on a tool I don’t actually need. Absolutely not. There are other ways.

Sure could have used that fine toothed mastic spreader. Oh well. See that wine? Also super cheap. Mike says it’s very good. I take his word for that.

So, glue on the back of the tile, I put the first tile in place. This is where a rubber mallet would have been handy, but ours is at the house. So a small hammer and piece of wood to protect the tile and spread out the pressure of the hammer worked just fine. I tapped and tapped, getting the glue to come out around the edges, smoothed it with a fingernail so the next piece would butt flat against it, and then let the first tile set up for a day. That way I would not be moving it around as I installed the other tiles. I used the level to check that the tile I just installed was the same amount of level as the top edge of the shower, which was my reference point. Amazingly, that top edge was actually level, which is saying something on a boat. Now I had one tile to be my reference for all the others.

Level? Check.

After the first tile was in the right place and set up, the rest of the tiling went quickly and smoothly. The main thing is to always make sure there are no ‘lumps’ of glue that have not been spread out and use the hammer or seam roller (for the wealthy) to smooth them out if you find them. If I could find my little rolling pen that I thought was on board, I would have used that.  I found that running my hands over the surface of each tile would let me know quickly if there was more tapping and rolling to be done. If the tap/roll action moved the tile out of place a little bit, I used the piece of wood against the edge of the tile and tapped that gently until the tile moved back into place. These vinyl tiles are really easy to work with and quite satisfying. Use damp paper towels to wipe off extra glue that comes up through the seams.

Fingers will find any glue lumps easily. Make sure the corners line up perfectly. Make sure the edges butt together smoothly and there are no ridges.

After leaving the tiles to set up for 48 hours, it was the work of maybe an hour to cut the plastic molding and attach that using the same glue. I did not screw it down. Just glued it. It weighs almost nothing. Then I caulked using interior bathroom caulk that you can clean off with water if you get to it before it sets. After doing around the edges I put some on my finger and pressed it into each seam between tiles, just for extra water security, then wiped the excess with a damp paper towel. We always wipe down the shower after we use it anyhow. So this installation will not require extra effort on our parts. (Honestly, those seams are so minuscule that this was more of a psychological thing than an actual physically necessary thing.)

Finished!

We are quite pleased with the result and will be using these tiles other places in the boat as projects emerge. I feel pretty sure these are going to hold up, but if they somehow don’t we haven’t lost much and meanwhile, we can be on to bigger projects. We have a list.  It is long.

S/V Galapagos, radio off.

 

 

 

Afternoon Gin (and Tonic)

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If I’m going to have posts, plural,  named Afternoon Gin, I suppose I need to write more than one.  Lately I’ve been monitoring my gin intake and have decided that I need to cut back. This is a sentence I never thought I would need to write. But the delicious nature of the gin and tonic as a beverage, and the subtle yet real pain relief I get in my upper back from having one at the end of the day conspire to make me understand, for the first time ever, how a person might become accustomed to a drink every day. Not to worry. I will not be sliding into the unconscious medicinal use of alcohol. I’m just saying that for the first time ever I understand how such a thing might be possible for people.

I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately. We have only one car, and we like it that way. Overall, cars are not only expensive, they’re a pain in the ass. In fact, the car we have is the same old Mazda van we drove down to Mexico a few years ago and left to languish in a field during the hot Mexican summer one year. That may have been an unfortunate choice for the car, which has always felt delicate since then. Lately we have been planning a road trip of some length and the car needs some work, so I have been carless while it is in the shop.

View from a bridge in Olympia. If you drive this bridge, you don’t see the rainbow railroad tracks.

Did you know that the average car payment is now over 700$? I read that on NPR so it must be true. All I can think is, “Oh, hell no.”

Here’s an interesting result of being carless: when I dropped the car off a couple of days ago, I locked the door and handed over the keys to the mechanic, put on my hat and sunglasses, and set off to walk the 3 miles back to the boat, doing errands along the way. I felt positively free. That’s right. In a city of cars, in a culture where one is actually judged by the type of car they drive, I felt free as I walked away from our old Mazda van with the “You are a God Damn Magical Unicorn” sticker on the bumper and the plastic dashboard Jesus in the cabin. It occurred to me to wonder if I would still feel that way if it were over 100 degrees outside. Probably not. Walking three miles in 65 degrees is easy. In the heat, it’s a long way. I may enjoy walking, but I’m not unAmerican about it.

You do see a lot more of city life when you walk places. This is a mixed blessing. I avoid grown looking men on tiny bicycles. Sometimes this means I cross the street more often than is strictly necessary.

Also, there are three excellent bakeries within two miles of Galapagos. Three. One of them French. Two of them are uphill on the way, but downhill as you are eating your fattening (I mean flakey..) pastry.

Enjoying other people’s gardens on a walk.

Then there are people in cars doing questionable things. No, not that kind of questionable thing, although once in California I saw something going on in a car that I absolutely wish I had not seen. I mean, could they not have waited? Was having middle aged people walking close by the car part of their excitement? Was it a shock value thing? Or were they just so narcissistic that they thought people would enjoy watching them exhibit themselves? Maybe they thought we were too old to know what they were doing. We weren’t, more’s the pity. Or maybe they were just so, again, narcissistic that they felt like their exhibitionism was their right.  These were people I did not wish to know. I am glad to have left them in California.

And that makes me think about the time I was in another grocery store parking lot and came upon a man quite thoroughly enjoying himself with his pants down and his car door wide open. I’m pretty sure he was not targeting me with his need to have people witness his pathetic self. But I happened to be there. It’s one of those times I thought, later of course, of all the cutting things I wanted to say to him right in the moment. But the moment passed, fragile with shock, filled with disgust,  and I went away wishing I had passed by 5 minutes later. Or maybe 20 minutes. He seemed to be having trouble.

And they smelled good, too.

No, this was a different kind of questionable thing. I was standing at the crosswalk outside the Thriftway and yacht club down by the water, waiting to cross the street. I noticed the traffic coming out of the parking lot was stopped, even though the light was green. Then I noticed why. The first car in line, a white 4 door Jeep of late-ish vintage, was being driven by a man in his early 40’s or so. He had dark hair, looked like he was well groomed, kind of sporty looking, and had a big golden retriever, or maybe it was a yellow lab. I got confused about the dog because I was distracted by the fact that he was pointing his phone directly at me and taking my photo. WTF, dude? Why are you taking a photo of an older woman in a blue hat and sunglasses,  pulling a little grocery cart packed with the gleanings of her errands, and walking back to her boat? I am not a tourist attraction, mister. It was…unsettling. I mean, why? What’s he going to do with that photo? Do I want to know? And if he makes money off it, should I not be offered my cut? Is he a fricking weirdo? I gestured wildly at him as he put his foot on the pedal and turned left. I hope he saw me. Or maybe I hope he didn’t. I’m not sure, actually. I don’t carry a gun. Maybe I should. No. I definitely should not.

I think it’s important to note that I don’t believe for a moment that any of these experiences were targeted at me personally. I mean, walking through the fields of life, you’re bound to step in a few cow patties along the way. They’re there. You can’t always see them before you step in them. These men in cars? They are just cow pies to me. I rinse off my shoes and carry on. It’s not my job to take care of their karmic debts.

I’m continuing to work on refinishing the teak dodger. Five years from now I’m probably still going to be working on that because I can only do about an hour or so at a time before I start hurting. At this point, all the wood is at an angle, most of it above my shoulders. Part of me wonders if I can just go to sea and let the old paint and varnish  wear off naturally, sanded away by salt and wind. The outside looks good. Just don’t come aboard and we’ll both be happy.

Mike removed the windlass from the aft deck. It’s a great windlass but we have only used it twice and during one of those times we determined that it was too dangerous for us to use it regularly. We were anchored off one of the islands at the mouth of the Sea of Cortez and we engaged in what is commonly known as a ‘shit show’ with that windlass. It was dark. It was windy. It was not pretty or safe. We are having to make a lot of decisions about how this boat is outfitted so we can move forward with phase two of the cunning plan. I am glad we have some experience using the boat the way we, personally, use it. The removal of the windlass is one of those decisions I hope we don’t regret, but if we do, so be it. We have other ways of setting a stern anchor if we absolutely want one, and removing it makes way for a radar pole. You can’t have everything on any boat.

We  found a really nice radar pole set up at Longship Marine, the used marine goods chandlery in Poulsbo, WA. It cost us easily less than a third of a new aluminum pole and it came with a stout davit we can use to lift the outboard. I am thrilled that it’s made of aluminum and doesn’t require polishing.  The davit is another one of those modifications we hope will allow us to sail more gracefully into our older years. See what I did there?

We got out of Poulsbo’s Longship Marine for less than 1000$. For that we got: the aluminum pole/davit system, a set of Magma Rock and Roll stainless steel stabilizers for all those rolly anchorages where other people throw out a stern anchor, a dinghy swim ladder, a personal locator beacon, some mahogany for finishing out the hatch in the galley, a huge EasyStow inflatable fender (10$! I was so excited!), and a hefty stainless receiver piece to sit that aluminum pole into (after we isolate the two metals, or course). We felt positively smug. Then we went for celebratory ice cream.

What a haul! And our Mexico van came through for us again. The pole just barely fit inside.

The removal of the windlass revealed some wet core in that area, probably as a result of the time we were docking this beast down in Astoria and the transmission stuck in reverse, causing us to hit a big steel fishing boat behind us. That was a very bad day. Anyway, Mike cut the fiberglass (it’s really thick, you guys) and scraped out the rotted wood. We’ve had some gentle heat on it since then, drying everything out really well. He’s going to replace the wood with a piece of Divinycell core material and epoxy. They had some Divinycell at the local chandlery, in their new consignment section. I hope that place takes off. It’s easy walking distance to the boat.

Oh, by the way… that bid we got for replacing the whole exhaust pipe? 1700$.  Um. Yet another “Hell No!”  from Team Galapagos. We were supposed to get two bids: one for replacing the flexible coupling and one for an entire new exhaust pipe. We got one bid, for the new pipe, then had to ask for the other bid. 450$ to replace the O’Reilly coupling. We opted to replace the O’Reilly because the pipe was still in good enough condition that we don’t actually need a new one. Seriously, do we look like people who just throw money at a problem? I mean, did he SEE our van? 2002, baby! Even our plastic dashboard Jesus is showing wear.

Scene that cannot be appreciated via automobile.

Lately my Facebook feed has been filled with ads that include recipes for yummy looking mixed drinks. It’s like the algorithm finally, after all these years, got it right.

Michael is cursing from the shower, where he is changing out a faucet. I heard banging before the many very specific words. This doesn’t sound good. I need to run.

I leave you with this dock friend.

 

S/V Galapagos, standing by. Sort of. I mean, our radio isn’t actually hooked up right now.