Author Archives: Melissa

Nike Therapy

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When we were planning this shindig cruise/sail/travel thing, we read all the common wisdom from others who had gone before us. ‘Set a date’, some said. ‘Your boat doesn’t have to be perfect! Don’t fall into that trap!”, said others.  We’ve met a lot of people who have this dream and it never comes to fruition because let’s face it: staying is a lot easier than going. Lots of people make all these plans and never leave the dock.

You get this view at the north end of Colvos Passage

Well, I’ll tell you. We didn’t have much trouble leaving the dock. I mean, we had to. We couldn’t afford to stay and keep paying the price of moorage. So ‘leaving the dock’ was just a necessity unless we wanted to go back to work. Leaving the southern part of Puget Sound, however, has been harder than we reckoned for. In the end, we had to practice what I’ve come to term ‘Nike Therapy’. I started using that term with my counseling and coaching clients when we’d come to a place where excuses would no longer work and there was failure to move forward. You know the marketing hype Nike has: “Just do it.” That’s all. You just get off your ass and do it. Yeah, it’s not always easy but sometimes it’s the only solution. And that’s how we came to finally attain ‘escape velocity’ and get the hell out of Gig Harbor. I’m not saying the time was perfect, and our boat certainly isn’t perfect, but the time was here. It was time to ‘just do it’ and get moving.

At the end of our first day we  anchored right next to SV Cambria at Port Ludow. We had a pretty terrific day with speeds of 8.5 knots toodling up Colvos Passage. Then a stop at Shilshole Marina in Seattle where we topped off the diesel and water tanks, had an excellent visit with friends Lee Youngblood and Kathleen Scott Davis, then executed an absolutely flawless ‘get off the dock in high winds that are pushing you into the dock’ maneuver. Dang I was glad that turned out so well! Everyone knows how I feel about maneuvering this boat in marinas.

Point No Point

Still high from our visit to Shilshole we had a ripping good sail almost all the way to Port Ludlow. Great wind, tacking tracks to be proud of on the GPS, and we both began to get our ‘sailing’ legs back. It’s been awhile but the body remembers.  Oh, yes. It sure does. It remembers things like how hard it is to climb up that companionway ladder at a 15 degree heel; how things slide off the workbench and onto the floor, how cooking at an angle is a bit of a challenge, that there’s a reason why all our drawers and cabinets have latches, and the fact that our cockpit is set up for motoring and dockside living. Not sailing. Decidedly not sailing. However, the words ‘ripping sail’ here also refers to what happened to our genoa as we approached Foul Weather Bluff.

You know what I hate? I hate when I say things out loud like, “Geez, Mike, I sure wish there had been time to tend to that tiny issue with fabric on the genoa before we left.” Because when the universe hears those words, suddenly time for that very thing is manifested! So this morning we will take the headsail down and examine the sacrificial cloth on the leach; the cloth that has now been sacrificed to the spreaders. We’re not sure about the damage yet. It’s too bad I couldn’t take a photo, but I was too busy minding the steering and helping Mike get the sail under control as he pulled it in. Oh sailing. Sheer bliss that, in a moment, turns into sheer terror. It’s why we love it.

We took this in stride, grateful it happened now, in a place where we can get it fixed or get another sail or whatever needs to happen. It’s very nice not to be stressed about it, and to know that this isn’t a vacation that was just ruined. Being stuck in Port Townsend for a few days will not come amiss. We were in good spirits as I went on deck to secure the halyards that were rattling.

The other mountains. The Olympics.

So I’m up on deck minding my own halyard-securing business when suddenly a Coast Guard boat comes absolutely screaming around Foul Weather Bluff, lights flashing, siren blaring, rooster tail flying. I thought there must be some terrible emergency somewhere until I realized they were bearing down upon Galapagos at an alarming speed. Screeching to a halt close by in the power-boat rendition of a skid,   they yell into their megaphone, “SAILBOAT! STOP! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”. I almost wet myself. So many scenarios go through your mind at a time like that; a time when a machine gun is literally pointed at your boat for no good reason at all. I’m literally turning in circles on the deck looking at the surrounding area for something I’ve missed that could be causing these people to act like heathens.

I yell back (because they didn’t even have the grace to hail us on the radio) “Port Ludlow!”, but that was lost in the wind and they screamed at us again, “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”. At this point I’m wondering if someone needed to go back to kindergarten to learn some manners and my hands are just that close to begin on my hips. I’m also ready to admit that it’s possible I do have a tiny library fine outstanding, and yes, I’m guilty of driving our boat on the wrong side of that last red channel marker (are they giving tickets now for that, too?)  and one time I may have scooted under a traffic light just as it was turning red. Maybe Mike stocked an illegal amount of beer on the boat?  I promise I’ll never do (fill in the blank here) again if they’ll just let me go this time.

I scream back at them, louder and with more emphasis, if not attitude, “PORT LUDLOW!!”. They lower the gun. I have given the correct answer and will not die today. Now they instruct us a little more calmly that we’ll need to slow down so that this big assed submarine and its bully boat escorts can pass in front of us. Yeah, apparently our big sailboat was going too fast. (Laughing my ass off!) Hey, no problem! We’re happy to do that. I’m giving them the ‘thumbs up’ signal all the way back to the cockpit. Hell, we’ll even drop anchor right here right now in the shadow of Foul Weather Bluff if you’ll just go away and leave us in peace.

There they are.

I have a great deal of respect for the Coast Guard and understand they have an important and sometimes dangerous job. On the whole this was a humorous encounter. But really? Is this necessary? Is there some reason for terrorizing pleasure boaters going at a cool 5 knots? Hail me on the radio next time, Coast Guard. Or at least don’t treat us like criminals. Okay? Sure ‘preciate it. Also,  I’d like to send you a bill for my laundry.

We’re in Port Ludlow for today and part of tomorrow. Then on to Port Townsend the day after that. We’ve got no plans. Just taking things as they come.

Sailing Vessel Galapagos, out.

When the mountain is veiled in pink.

We’re A Cruising Blog…What the..What?

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One of our long-time readers made a comment recently. He said, ” Now that’s a cruising blog post!”. Such a simple comment, but such a moment that shifted my consciousness. It’s true! This is no longer the ‘planning to cruise’ blog it’s been for 5 years. It’s now a real live ‘we’re cruising’ blog. So strange and wonderful.

Dodging the cute little boats during one of the many sailboat races in Olympia.

I’ve been thinking about the word ‘cruisers’ lately. We have a lot of time to think about things like that now.  You know, that word has never really set well with me. I think it’s because of my age. When that word first came into the local vernacular, I didn’t think ‘cruising’ was something to aspire to. Cruisers were people who drove their cars down the boulevard in the heart of the town, hair gelled back, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, one hand on the wheel, looking for trouble. They ‘cruised’ the road, usually late at night, windows down, sound blaring, yelling at friends on the sidewalk and other passers by.  They were like wound springs, running on tension, waiting for a scene from American Graffiti, or worse. They were right on the razors edge of the law. Cruisers made me nervous. You never knew what they were going to do next.

Sure, they’re having fun. Until someone falls out of that car. These guys make me nervous!

Is that what we are? Are we spending our last gasp of young-enough going from anchorage to anchorage, looking for fun and excitement, if not a run-in with the law? Are we laid back, and gelled up? Has our ‘cruiser casual’ already gone too far? So far the most excitement we’ve had is a group of four Egyptian college students who shyly asked if they could come aboard and have their picture made with Galapagos. Now THAT was fun. Of course, I said yes. And they did and it was a great prelude to what we hope will be many fun encounters with people from completely different lands who are as curious about us as we are about them.

The closest we’ve had to a run-in with law enforcement is when we decide to stay a little longer than is absolutely proper at the public dock, because we’re having too much fun with friends to leave. Or maybe it was the time we anchored in the bay close to the work dock in Olympia. I mean, there were no signs saying we couldn’t do it. Security came by the next morning and ran us off, but too late, Mr. Man! We already spent a peaceful night. We’re back to our renegade youth when rules seemed more flexible than they probably are and asking for forgiveness is easier than asking for permission. These small run-ins used to stress me out. Now it’s just, ‘yes sir, moving right along, sir, three bags full, sir’. Then we finish breakfast before pulling up anchor. No one wants to make trouble. Not security men, and not middle aged sailboat anchorers. We are all out there just doing our jobs. Theirs is to say something to us. Ours is to let them say it, be agreeable,  and move on.

Egyptian students. We were pleased to take their photo on the boat.

Come to think of it, people who are not in the world of boating don’t always understand what you mean when you say ‘We’re cruisers’. If you consult any of what passes for a  dictionary in these times of communication by tweet,  the first definition you’ll find is ‘one who cruises’, which is no help at all and besides, isn’t there some kind of rule about using a form of the word in the definition of that word? I believe I learned that in third grade. Seems kind of basic to me. Where is the Oxford English Dictionary when I need it?

Then you’ll get definitions such as of ‘small war ship’, or ‘motor boat that is big enough to live on’, or ‘police car’ or ‘large motorcycle that cruises’. Nowhere is there a definition on the order of ‘people who go at a tortoise’s pace from place to place on their sailboat just having fun and looking for laundry facilities and free water’. So I’m trying to think of another word that would describe this ‘cruising life’ we lead now. Traveler? We certainly aspire to be ‘voyagers’, but we can’t call ourselves that yet. Explorer? Nomad? Those are over-used. Drifter? I certainly hope not. That has it’s own connotations, probably those from the depression era. Sailor? Maybe. But that doesn’t capture the whole thing. There are many sailors who are not cruisers.

Trying the Sup Board at the home of friends. We can see the draw. It’s kind of fun in an ‘oh god please don’t let me fall in’ kind of way.

Maybe we need to make up a word. Its definition would be: people who travel by boat, on purpose, looking for life to be full of interesting and entertaining happenings, good people, good coffee, good night’s sleep, and good weather. Or maybe just: People who travel by sailboat, leading a life that’s full. Got a word for that? Bring it.

And while you’re here: Do you, or someone you know, want to be ‘cruisers’? And if so, have you been looking at Galapagos with an eye to having a boat like this sometime? ( I mean, why wouldn’t you? She’s pretty great.) You’re in luck. A sister ship has just come up for sale down in Florida. SV Gromit is for sale again. Just back from the Caribbean, she’s ready to go again and make your own. Here’s a link to her For Sale page.  There are not many of these Olympic Adventure 47’s available in North America. If you are looking for a stout boat that can take you anywhere, give her a look. And as fellow owners, we’ll be there to give you a sounding board and the benefit of our experience as you make her your own.

SV Gromit

This Cruising Life: Olympia Morning

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Olympia is the kind of town where blueberries grow in the public landscapes. If we visit later in the year, we’ll be able to graze as we walk.  We like Olympia. It’s a liberal town where artistic expression is appreciated on both the personal and collective levels. Public areas that are beautiful as well as functional are valued and kept groomed. And it’s not a bad cruising destination, either. We’ve been at the work dock at Swantown again getting our fiberglass repair done and our mizzen mast stepped. We’re kind of glad to be back.

This artistic door is the entrance to the food bank close to the downtown area. The other door is equally beautiful.

Monday we discovered that we’d run out of propane on the main tank, so on Tuesday morning I went on a little cruiser adventure to find more. “Cruiser adventures” illustrate how our new lives are different from the old, usual lifestyle we used to embrace.

The Google showed me that Acme Fuel was less than a mile from the dock; one of the benefits of being in a working port town. Great! I was going to be getting my exercise, something I can no longer take for granted, much to my dismay.  I deployed the Magna Cart, attached the aluminum tank, inserted earbuds for my book-for-the-road, grabbed my parasol,  and set off to find Acme and their unlimited amounts of propane and propane accessories at low, low prices.

The burbling stream in the background is part of the children’s museum so I deemed it unseemly that I should play in it.

One thing about Olympia is that people have a very flexible attitude toward clothing and personal accoutrements. I appreciate this and noticed that I got barely a second glance from others as I trundled down the road, one hand on the tank laden Magna Cart, the other holding my little silk parasol to keep the hot summer PNW sun off my delicate skin. It’s nice to know that there are places close to home where my increasingly cruiser-casual wardrobe doesn’t cause anyone to bat an eye, much less cross the street in distress to avoid me.

Rounding the corner by the Hands On Children’s Museum, which, quite frankly makes me want to borrow a small child for a day just so I can play with all the cool stuff and go up in their tiny lighthouse, I spied a large Acme propane tank behind a fence. And yet, how to get passed that fence? And where was the Acme office? My googly map told me the place was close to the corner of Franklin and Thurston streets. The large tank with the friendly sun logo was close to the corner of Franklin and Thurston street. I walked the block, but no office was in sight. I saw other tanks, but they were way too big for Galapagos.

You see the big tank, too, right?

I was feeling chagrined and on the verge of getting confused, if not lost, when a representative of Cruiser’s Karma stepped lightly out of a nearby, cleverly concealed doorway, propane accessory in hand. He was a youngish man, which most men I see are, nowadays, dressed in average every day clothes. He smiled broadly, teeth gleaming in the morning Olympia sunshine. Was that a starry twinkle I saw in his eye?

“ Good morning! You must certainly be looking for the propane place! I work there and am walking there now. Please allow me to carry your tank for you. Come this way.”

These are close to his actual words. I was slightly dazzled. I am now at the time of my life where when youngish men ( or any age man, really, or any woman for that matter) with gleaming teeth and twinkling eyes come stealthily out of concealed doorways and offer to carry a feather-light tank for me (because ours are aluminum and are light as a feather) I just say , ‘Thank you kind sir!’ and hand it over. I will not make any fuss at all about being able to carry it myself or any of that nonsense. If he wants to carry my tank, he can carry my darned tank. I retained my parasol.

We crossed the street and a gravel parking lot to an obscure one-story building with a small, neat propane station in the front. In less than 5 minutes, and about 10$ later, I had a filled tank, a nice conversation about propane,  and was ready for the walk back to the boat. He never even had to take the tank off the Magna Cart. He was that good.

Not an unusual scene in Olympia. Just your run of the mill dog in a side car.

I dropped the tank off at Galapagos and carried on for the rest of my walk. The city has put in a nice path along the water. I walked the path, secure in the knowlege that I’d done my ‘one thing’ for the day, stopped at Batdorf and Bronson for coffee, and walked back to the boat. This cruising life. We could be loving it.

The famous Dancing Goats of Batdorf and Bronson. Their coffee is pretty good, too.