Category Archives: Preparing to cruise

Sloops, Ketches, Cats, and All That Junk

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I’m going through another one of those phases dreamers and planners go through. You know that phase where you allow the mind to wander off into the hinterlands of possibilities and then come back with a few good ideas? That’s the phase I’m talking about. The combination of a curious mind, hours of downtime, and access to ‘The Google’ means that I’ve been engaging in what is becoming known around here as ‘self medication’.

Usually that means I’m looking at boats on Yachtworld, Craigslist, and Sailboatlistings. Okay, well, yes, I’m doing that, of course, but one can only look at the exact same boats for so long before they begin to run together in one’s proverbial mind. So I started focusing on rigs to expand my search criteria.

Here’s the deal: I’m looking for a boat that can take us anywhere we want to go. Anywhere! It has to be comfortable, it has to perform well, and it has to be easy to sail. I am not getting any younger, as proven by my recent birthday. The steps we need to take in order to get this plan off the dock will take a few years, making me that much older when we start out. We want to sail places like down the coast of Chile, Easter Island, the Galapagos and beyond. By the time I get to do that, I’m probably going to be pushing 60. Yikes!

So it occurs to me that I should be looking for a boat that will be easy to sail not only now, but in the future as well. Otherwise, I might not enjoy it as much as I’d like to, and there will be too much of my relying on Mike and his man body (which is also not getting any younger, I might add.) In addition, it’s not so easy to sell a boat in ‘this economy’, so this makes it more important than ever to choose the right boat to begin with. So I’ve been doing some research on different rigs, particularly the cat rigged boats with unstayed masts, and the junk rigs, which also have unstayed masts.

Initially the idea of an unstayed mast filled me with trepidation. But as I began to educate myself more about them I began to change my mind. I like the idea of having less sailing hardware to worry about, and I’m reading that these boats are very easy to sail and do well in all types of seas and weather.  The junk rig has not caught on in the U.S., but it’s making quite a showing in Europe where there is an active Junk Rig Association. Apparently they are now making sails that allow the boats to really give the Bermuda rig some stiff competition.  And for sheer beauty on the water there is nothing to compare. Last year I bought the book Voyaging on a Small Income, by Annie Hill. The title says it all and I recommend reading this book if you, like us, are among the 99%.  The Hills are definitely of the ‘go simple’ opinion. [amazon_image id=”1888671378″ link=”true” target=”_blank” size=”medium” ]Voyaging On A Small Income[/amazon_image]

This boat is currently for sale in Sydney, BC. I'd love to see it.

Mike has always admired the cat rigged Nonsuch sailboats. Alex Kimball, the man who did the painting of Moonrise, owns a very beautiful Nonsuch and he and his wife live aboard the boat. They plan to take her down the coast of Mexico and through the Panama canal, then continue on to Europe. At a raftup last spring we were able to go aboard Alex’s boat and let me tell you: that is one beautiful vessel. The decks are completely clear of trip hazzards, too. When I heard they were planning to go ocean voyaging in the boat, my ears pricked up. I began to think outside the Bermudian box.

Then, on our recent ferry trip over to San Juan Island, I saw the loveliest boat on the water. It was a cat ketch rig and it was just beautiful. Maybe it was the Freedom 33 cat ketch that is for sale up on San Juan Island. Need to tack? Just turn the wheel. The sails tack themselves. Who knew?

Isn't this lovely?

I don’t know why these boats haven’t caught on around here. According to what I’m reading, they are simple to sail, well balanced, and economical. It’s not like these rigs are new. They’ve been around for ages. The junk rig has the added benefit of having sails that you can make yourself if necessary. In the UK, they race junk rigs alongside Bermuda rigged boats so I guess they are not exactly slow if you have the right sail shape. Alex Kimball’s Nonsuch beat the pants of lots of other boats in one of the Puget Sound Cruising Club ‘races’ this spring. I suspect the lack of popularity has something to do with boats being designed to the rules for racing or something like that.

So I don’t get why I’m not seeing tons of these out on the water. Could it be part of the herd mentality that keeps people from thinking outside the box?  I’d really like to get on a few of these boats to find out. If you’ve ever sailed on one of these kinds of boats, or you know any one who has one, please post. I know just enough about this to be dangerous, but I’d like to know more. What else am I going to do while Moonrise is still on the market?

From the Junk Rig Association site. What's not to love? Go there and check them out.

 

 

Access Denied!

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This kind of traffic is reason enough to move.

We should have just turned the truck around and gone home. This is what I was thinking as we sat in gridlocked traffic on the entrance ramp to I-5. We were driving our friend’s big 1992 Ford 250 pick up truck down to the marina to pick up Puddler. Puddler needs a bottom job and our friends, Chere and Edwin, who leave their truck at our house in exchange for our occasional use of said truck, will be selling this truck at the end of July. We felt anxious to bring Puddler home before that happens and today was a ‘free’ day. We had nothing else planned.

As we approached the freeway we saw that traffic was stacked up in the right hand lane for a least a mile but was moving freely in the other two lanes. Apparently there was an air show at McChord AFB and hundreds of people thought they might actually drive to the show to see it, meaning that traffic would be impacted for miles. We were entering the freeway just before the exit to McChord, so everyone who wanted to go past that exit was in the left two lanes. Mike had to make a split second decision about whether to turn around and go back, or whether to brave the entrance ramp to the highway. He chose the latter. It occurred to us both that the Universe was trying to tell us something about how this day was going to go, but the siren call of Puddler’s need was simply too powerful. We soldiered on. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

After sitting at a dead stop, teeth grinding, for a full 10 minutes, slowly a couple of cars on the ramp bravely worked their way around the traffic, inching up to the front to cut over into the lanes that were moving. Smart people, I thought. They get where they are going, which is NOT, apparently, to the air show, and free up space on the ramp for other cars whose drivers want a place to sit and nap.

Me: “Look, honey. That car has made it past all of these suckers going to the airshow and is now merrily driving down the highway unencumbered! What a smart person!”

Mike: (as he is inching his way forward to do the same thing) “Oh, sure and everyone sitting in this line thinks he is a complete ass because he has cut in line like he is more important than they are.”

Me: “No, they don’t. He isn’t going the same place as everyone in this line. He is making room for others who want to go to the airshow. He’s getting out of everyone’s way.”

Mike: “Well, they don’t know that. They just think he is self-important and should wait his turn like everyone else.”

I wait silently while my spouse does the intelligent thing by colluding with another driver to cross the small grassy median between the ramp and the lane of stacked up traffic. They both make it just fine and the other guy is off and running, but there is now a disturbance in The Force around my husband, who apparently feels guilty because other people are still sitting on the ramp. This disturbance has attracted the attention of our local constabulary. Literally out of nowhere a very loud robotic voice shouts ‘MOVE OUT OF THE WAY! THE MEDIAN IS FOR EMERGENCIES ONLY AND IS NOT FOR YOU TO DRIVE ON!!’   Guiltily, Mike gets out of the way for one of  the Washington Highway Patrol’s finest, who drives by without even a nod in his direction, likely on his way to his favorite lunch spot. If that cop could see Puddler’s bottom, he’d agree that this IS an emergency and stop harassing reasonable people who are just trying to get out of everyone else’s way and move on down the road.

As we manage to reach the speed limit, we sigh with relief and say a prayer of thanks to the traffic Gods who took care of that little hurdle. We decide we’ll park down at the Thea Foss Park at the end of the waterway, walk to the marina, and row puddler down to the public ramp for dingies and kayaks.

We sail by this little park every time we leave the marina.

We are almost there when Mike gets off the wrong exit and we are stopped by road construction. I sigh heavily. Mike rolls his eyes and takes his foot off the brake to accelerate. We’ll have to turn around and go back. Then we hear the noise. It is coming from the engine compartment, I think. It’s sort of a grinding noise, with undertones of  ‘death rattle’ and light notes of burning rubber smell.  I glance at Mike, who I fear is on the verge of hysteria. He’s either going to laugh maniacally or begin cursing. His jaw is set. He pulls over, opens the hood and does some man  stuff. Then closes the hood and decides it was probably the brakes; that they need new pads, and that whatever was making that deathly rattle has gone away now. A veil of denial descends upon us and we both agree that all we want is to get safely to the marina, collect our little boat, and go home.  We carry on.

Down at the park the weather is fine and we enjoy a brisk walk to the marina, only having our way blocked a couple of times by a huge gang of Harley riders and more construction. We enjoy a pleasant row down to the park from Moonrise and arrive just as some kayakers are launching. As we pull Puddler out of the water, a man from their group offers to help pull the dingy up the considerable slope to the curb. Excellent! Things are looking up! Mike goes and gets the truck and we load Puddler into the back, ready to go! We love how easy it is to hoist her up into the bed of this behemoth and just shut the gate. She fits like a proverbial glove! Mike inserts the key into the ignition and turns the key. Click. We look at one another. He turns it again. Click. We are parked sideways in a loading zone.

In my mind I think ‘Great. The starter has gone out.’.  Now I know why we should have turned around and gone back home before we ever thought about getting on that highway. Shades of a 1964 Ford Fairlane begin a slow dance in my memory. It’s all coming back to me now. 1980. The Ford. The Starter. The trip from Hell. My frozen feet.   This must be what it’s like to have flashbacks. That’s a story for another day. At least that Ford was red.

Puddler fits so very nicely in the back of this truck! If you are going to be stuck with a non-starting truck, this is the view you want.

At Mike’s request I rummage around behind the seat and find some jumper cables. I know they are not going to help, but it’s worth a try. A couple drives up with a large aluminum canoe on top of their newer truck ( also a Ford, I might add). Roger and Erin Legg from Tacoma are bringing her family canoe down for a little paddling and Roger agrees to help Mike see if the car can be jump started. Of course, it cannot. So they do some other man type stuff under the hood, trying to find some kind of voodoo magic that will work, but finally agree that it’s something about the starter. I could have told them that, but men, after all, have their own ways of knowing.

Roger chants man voodoo words while Mike spits into the engine. Erin acts as their 'familiar'. The magic does not work. The Ford does not start.

The crescent wrench Mike found in the glove box failed to work its magic on this starter, no matter how many times Mike struck the thing with the wrench, and no matter what 'magic' words he shouted.

We chat for a bit and I find out that Erin is a student in the School Counseling program at University of Puget Sound and, since I used to have student interns from that program, that’s pretty cool. She used to teach English in Prague and since we have a daughter who longs to have a job where she can travel, that’s pretty cool, too. Mike and Roger have histories with the Air Force in common and they both look like they know something about cars. At least old cars.  We exchange contact info and help them launch their canoe. I think to myself that if we’re going to be stranded with a huge, broken truck in a loading zone with Puddler in the back, feeling like a couple of Okies,  at least it’s nice to meet friendly people with whom we have something in common. It’s always best to try to find something good in these situations.

After contacting our friends and their insurance company, we decide I would row Puddler back to her place by Moonrise. Her bottom, while foul, will have to wait for another day. Mike will stay with the truck visiting with passers-by until the tow company comes and our friend, Chere, picks us up and takes us to lunch. The tide is with me and I have another pleasant row back down the Foss Waterway, back to Moonrise and a little time to myself on the boat.

I'm supposed to be looking forlorn, but what I'm really thinking is 'Excellent! On the water at last!'

Lunch with Chere was delightful. It was great to visit with her as it’s been too long since we had coffee together. So what if I overindulged in carbohydrates? Just another nail in this day’s coffin.  We drove back to our place and Chere stayed to walk around the garden for a bit and finish our visit. Mike retired to the bedroom for his much-needed nap. When Chere left I made myself useful by loading up the car with a bunch of crap to take to Goodwill. After a day like this it’s nice to end on a positive note. I figured the day was done, nothing else could happen. I was well on my way to putting this day in perspective until Mike joined me in the garage and said one thing:

“I have food poisoning.”

And that is where we stand. At least I ordered the fish.

 

 

 

 

Another One Bites the Dust

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File this under ‘how to save money so you can buy a boat’, ‘downsizing’, or ‘preparing to cruise’, whichever you prefer. Mike and I are trying to live more frugally lately and this means that at times we have to make choices. Suffice to say I ran smack up against my definition of self, otherwise known as ‘ego’, this week. Turns out this whole idea of saving money is making me a pretty cheap date.

Recently 3 seemingly unrelated things happened: We sold my Mazda van, and our daughter moved to an apartment in Seattle, on her own once more. She left her 1994 Toyota Camry behind forever, sitting in our driveway. Then our son came home for the summer. I had been driving his cute little Toyota Matrix, a car both versatile and attractive. Astute readers will see the handwriting on this wall by now.

This is what I usually drive. Cute, versatile.

When a son returns home for the summer, he wants his car and because the car belongs to him (and I promised he could have it back) I am currently without vehicle. I need to get to work. We considered our options, including riding the bus (but I have to find a way to the bus stop) and buying a scooter to be ridden in the summer. Cute, but not very versatile. Trouble is, we don’t want to replace one vehicle with another. That’s not part of our plan.

“But wait!”, you may think. “Don’t you have the old Camry?”. Oh. Yes. We. Do. Let me tell you about this car. We bought it for $5000 when our daughter was a Junior in highschool. She has driven it for 10 years. Driven it only. Not actually cared for it. It has 270,000 miles on it (Long live Toyota!). It has had several minor skirmishes with various fences, gates, and other vehicles and apparently we don’t believe in spending money fixing cosmetic things on old cars.  Think of the damage as war wounds. The windshield is cracked, the doors don’t lock properly, the windows will roll down but then won’t roll up, steering is decidedly wavy, the dashboard is cracked, and it leaks like a sieve… as in there was a small lake on the passenger’s side of the car and Mike actually found large mushrooms growing in the back. I am not making this up.

The Camry was a fine looking automobile. That's past tense.

 

Understand, we have never driven new cars, believing a new car to be a profound waste of money. We do not even drive late model cars, as a general rule. We pretty much see cars as a means of transportation. We like them reliable, safe, inexpensive, and fuel efficient. So we don’t really think of cars as being reflections of our true selves, but there’s a limit and I thought I’d reached it when faced with this transportation issue.

I contemplated driving the Camry. Mike had spent considerable time and energy drying it out and cleaning it up. But still, it’s a car from 1994. I don’t even remember that long ago. I don’t think Andrew even existed yet.  I thought about clients and colleagues sizing me up as I pulled into the parking lot in this ‘vehicle’. I thought about the fact that as a middle aged woman, I am already part of a segment of the population that people don’t take very seriously, as though my usefulness as a human being is nearing its expiration date. (If you think this isn’t true, you are either not a middle aged woman, you are not paying attention, or both.) In short I was thinking, ‘What will people think of me?’. I ran smack up against ego, once more! Damn! Will it never end? Where is the part of me that gives less than a rat’s ass about the judgments of others? I know she’s around here somewhere…

I contemplated driving the car to the park and ride, taking the bus to work. It would actually be fine as it stops just a few blocks from my office and I would enjoy the walk. That was the plan for today.

Then I found myself driving to the park and ride in pouring rain, without an umbrella. I would get soaked walking the few blocks to my office. Unacceptable. So I drove to work. And you know what? It wasn’t bad. I studiously ignored any looks from other drivers. Maybe there weren’t any. I’ll never know. There is a sunroof and great visability in that car; much better visability than the Matrix. And the sound system is terrific! I pulled into the parking lot with my hearing aids vibrating to ‘Another One Bites the Dust’.

Can I allow my self-imposed persona of the professional woman who drives above-average looking, versatile cars give way to the part of me that wants to be frugal for the sake of living the rest of our lives on our own terms? Yep. I can. I’ve always been a bit of a rule breaker, even when I’ve made the rules myself. Another one bites the dust, indeed!

My new ride!