I really don't give a ....

I like to think that I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I might have even said that out loud to a trusted friend. In the last ten years, I’ve certainly been living my life like I don’t care. Still sometimes it feels like I’m stuck in some perpetual transition without much to show for it. When I get into a funk, I feel like I’ve been talking shit all this time. Ten years later and I’m still just that guy who quit his office job to sail off on an old sailboat but ended up driving a truck just to work on the damn boat.

A trucking schedule hasn’t helped my unease. My neighbors in the boatyard were a little baffled each time I showed up for only a couple days a month. Today, all of them have launched their boats and are gone. Very few friends or family have seen Emma. I get uptight about visitors. In fact, on a couple occasions, I’ve responded in a bafflingly shrill way to a friend’s simple inquiry about stopping by.

Either I don’t care what anybody thinks …

        … or I do.



Now, the fact is that most days I’m damn proud of where I am, but I can’t always sustain that pride. Driving a truck down the highway can be a never-ending, monotonous slog. The sheer detachment from my chosen lifestyle eats away at my confidence, intentions, and motivation. I’ve been away from svEmma for far too long. It makes me antsy, and especially antsy to start the work on her, just to get something done -- anything.

It’s also true that I’ve never quite had the money to do what I’m doing. I’m perpetually living on the edge which adds its own layer of anxiety. When I cashed out my 401(k) in 2007(!!) and used some of it to buy an old sailboat, I thought I was loaded. I was going to fix her up and be gone by the fall. Yet I was going broke in less than two months and that boat, the first of three, was nowhere near seaworthy yet. Since then my boat habit has been supported exclusively by earning the cash as I go along.

When I bought Emma, I spent all the money I had. Then I quit my job and moved to Florida. The funds to do the work to get her back in the water have had to have been earned once I got here. This last year I’ve hit the highway hard to earn that money. When she’s nearly ready to launch again, I may have to work a while for cruising money.

The road hasn’t completely distracted me though. I have made many decisions that need only be implemented; rigging, sails, wiring, lighting, layout, plumbing, upholstery etc. Even though poor Emma looks a lot like she did last July when the travelift set her down out back at Riverside Marina, I’ve been acquiring parts and supplies all along. Diesel fuel tanks are in place, but need to be strapped down. My good ol’ 50 horsepower Perkins diesel will be the first big project; it only waits to be installed. The cockpit is removed for all the engine related tasks. I also already have thru-hulls, hose, fittings and a sea strainer to hook up the engine’s cooling system. I have a 3 burner propane stove with an oven to install in the galley. Part of the main salon ceiling is already removed to facilitate rewiring. A composting toilet is in place and just needs to be permanently installed.

There … a deep breath. I feel better already. A stolen moment of peace on the road and suddenly, I have a new perspective on my anxieties. How could I have kept up this effort for ten years, through three boats and driving all over the country, if I actually cared what anyone else thought? [Editor's  Note: it was 16 years and 4 boats by the time I truly started wandering.] It seems to me, just as likely, that I was feeling exasperated at the prospect of having to explain myself and my choices all over again. It has been a fun story to tell, but any story can get stale in the retelling. I’d like to talk less and do more. I may not have been anxious at all; at least not recently. Without a doubt, one of the keys to my success is more than a positive attitude, it’s my bulletproof attitude. I really don’t give a fuck.

Now some may think that that was uncouth, even melodramatic. Others may think I’m just using the word for shock value, or that I’m acting out due to some past trouble. I submit to you that the humble f-bomb is simply idiomatic to the 21st Century. It’s also the most appropriately suitable and succinct word for the spiritual freedom I’m trying to convey.

I am human and I can feel emotional jolts in daily life. It’s not that I don’t feel anything. The fact is, however, that there is nothing outside of myself and what I want to accomplish that affects my daily life. No one else has a vote. It would not matter if my boat burned down where she stands; or if I launched her and she sunk; or if I only got a few hundred miles from Fort Pierce and lost her in a storm. As long as I am still alive, I would simply go back to work for a time and find another boat. This is it. This is the plan. Nothing else matters. No other fucks are given.

I know that I have the capacities and the stamina to accomplish what I aim to do. However, because I am doing this right now, because this is my plan -- I am self contained and self actualized. There doesn’t ever have to be anything other than this right here. I am a happy man. Full stop.

You may think that I really am anti-social; maybe even an asshole. You’re proving my point. Instead of accomplishing what *you* want, you’re spending your precious time worrying that I’m a sociopath who likes to use the F word. Fuck that. Get over it and live *your* life. Most people live behind a layer of self-doubt, gossip, and confusion. They care what other people think, they care about what other people have, they care about trying to impress other people, they care about doing what other people would want them to do. There are people I love and admire, of course. Nevertheless, in my opinion, because I strive to live without those typical everyday worries, I have more direct and intimate relationships with my friends and family. There is none of the self-referential voodoo of obsessing over past or future. Pure love is only experienced in the present moment. Please watch Sarah Knight’s TEDx talk below. "It’s just the tip of the fuckberg."

Now I have to go sit somewhere and consider if the reason it took me eight days to get this post up was just my schedule ...  or if I was worried about what you would think. Fuck.

The first week of October will be my last on the road for a while; perhaps for good. I’ll be working on Emma full time for a few months. My complete focus will be on getting her prepped and launched. I haven’t ruled out a part time job so that I don’t spend boat money on food, but we’ll see. Emma will finally be my major priority.

Beer and a Scratch Off

One of my oft-told stories comes from my days having started a plastics manufacturing business in Florida. My business partner and I were off to a good start but had to walk away from our original financial backer and carry on with no money behind us. At one point, business was slow, there was no money in our accounts and my partner was with his wife, who was in the hospital. I spent a couple weeks by myself at the shop; cleaning, making cold calls by phone and trying to occupy myself. There was no business and not much to do. I had very little money to distract myself out in the world.

In fact, on this day, I was down to a couple dollars and a few coins. We had some invoices out but I didn’t have any idea when I might see more cash. This must have been in the days after the boat when I was living in a twenty-two foot Prowler camping trailer. I remember that I was driving the tan Ford

Home Sweet Lil' Trailer

Ranger with the broken gas gauge. I left the shop, and pulled into the Super America gas station just outside our industrial park. A grocery store would have been a better place to spend my last two dollars, but I wandered around inside looking at my options. Affording something to both fill my stomach and slake my thirst was not going to be possible.

This was also post-divorce. I had a few friends around town, but nowhere to go this day but back to my little trailer at the Circus City Trailer Park. Likely, in a fit of pride, I chose not to call on a friend. There might have been a little brown rice in my cupboard, but I had eaten through my larder in the days before. As I walked past the beer cooler in the store, I had a jubilant stick-it-to-the-universe revelation. I bought a tall boy of Coors Light, a scratch-off lottery ticket and walked out. I gave my present circumstances the bird and prepared to enjoy my beer.

It was still light out, but in those days I’m sure I opened the beer right there in the parking lot. I dug through my near empty pocket and found a dime to scratch the ticket right there on the steering wheel. The greyish foil balled up and crumbled into my lap, while I sipped my beer. Enjoying every drop while it was still ice cold - the only way to drink cheap American beer.

I can get caught up in defying the universe; one part martyr, one part vagabond and two parts stubborn. But my defiant moment was practically ruined when I won forty dollars!! That’s right, sitting there in my old pickup with an open container and a few cents in my pocket - I scored. It wasn’t the beginning but a confirmation of my life’s motto: “I’d rather be lucky than good.”

I went back inside to claim my $40 and then headed straight for the grocery store. In those days, if I avoided buying more beer, I probably ate for three weeks on forty bucks.

I spent nearly five years struggling against the universe, all kinds of unique setbacks and economic factors, and a location less than supportive of manufacturing in general. It was a holy quest for which I quite willingly sacrificed greatly. The business struggles did not directly cause the end of my young marriage, but was certainly a catalyst. I lived for a couple years on fifty bucks a week, drove a cab for a while, and did all kinds of day labor and crew work. Along the way, we stole all our equipment from ourselves, got sued for $600,000, and got teased but left at the altar by several potential “angel investors.” I learned a lot about business law. And I learned to struggle and grub for something that was important to me. In fact, my former partner is still running a business from the thermoforming machine we built back in 1991.

I’ve brought that same determination to my 'wandering the seas' project. It’s been ten years and I’ve got another 10 or 11 months to go. There’s been three boats and an uncounted number of jobs in three “careers” to get here. At varying times I’ve been defeated, frustrated, elated and sublimely joyous. I’m so close now that I know it is going to happen one way or the other. One lesson I’ve learned is to differentiate and prioritize the long term goal, the steps to get there and the little pesky details. The goal and the steps are clear cut by their nature and can be written down. The real progress relies on momentum. The key is to not get bogged down; to learn which pesky daily details need conquered and which should simply be ignored.

A Day in the Life.

I have to admit that somehow I’ve wiggled myself into a good place. I am doing exactly what I want to be doing, I own the boat I have always wanted, and I’ve even fallen into an excellent job situation. Not just a good little company, but because Carroll Fulmer picked up a large contract just before I applied there, the specific fleet I was assigned to is perfect for me. They don’t pay the highest, but I get lots of miles and my schedule is uniquely flexible. Further, my boat is less than ten miles from one of the distribution centers I deliver to most often.

I rolled into town early last Tuesday morning for a couple days off and jumped into boatwork. Tuesday and Wednesday were productive days; even though I had a dentist appointment Wednesday afternoon. Wednesday evening and Thursday morning were scheduled for working on my book. All went well even though after the dentist I had to backtrack to the marina to pick up my forwarded mail. UPS tracking showed it had just arrived.

It was about 2.5 miles back to the marina and another mile back to the bus stop. All the while, I was eyeing the darkening sky. A large storm was forecast to bring heavy rain throughout the night. I was hoping to get back to the truck and off my bicycle before it hit. It is eight miles from the marina to the truckstop where I parked, and the bus does six of those miles for me if I time it right.

It’s two bus routes to my destination and after transferring to the second, it began to rain. Halfway through that route we drove through a torrential squall. Luckily, by the time I pulled my bike back off

the bus bike rack, it was barely sprinkling. I hopped on the bike and road through the damp streets, dodging the puddles and the rivulets along the curb.

Back at the truck, I organized my thoughts, my mail, and the spare clothes I had stuffed into my saddlebags. The good news was that everything was dry after the downpour. The saddlebags had still been attached to the bike out on the rack in front of the bus. Looking back on my workdays, I had got some good work done. The cockpit was lifted out of the way, the fuel returns were installed into the new tanks, and the tanks themselves were set in place in the engine room. The trouble was the great hole in the deck where the cockpit had been. I had covered the aft third of the boat with a couple tarps that were onboard but one was already torn and frayed, and the other was too cheap and thin to survive the blasting wind of the storm that had just started.

There is such a things as a boat sinking in the boatyard. A neglected boat will eventually develop leaks.

My tarped Cape Dory, 6 yrs ago. 

After a few years, the weight of rainwater in the boat can become too much for the cradle or the jack stands. Eventually, the whole thing will tip over or split open. Or more insidiously, fresh water can quickly rot any wood, structural or decorative, soaked by even a small amount. I had to come up with a plan.

Thursday afternoon, after a nap, I headed for Savannah to pick up a load. My next load was right back to Fort Pierce and as I headed down I-95, a plan began to come together. I needed good tarps and a bit of rope.

My first Florida job last winter was delivering sod to Home Depots and Lowes. Hence, I knew right where there was a hardware store with a large parking lot, just off the highway. At Titusville, I jumped off and grabbed three tarps and 50’ of some cheap line. Down to Fort Pierce, I dropped my load, hooked an empty trailer, and cut across town to the marina. I have gotten away with parking my tractor and trailer for a couple hours at a time right next to a No Parking sign on a short, orphaned side street that goes downhill from the new Federal Highway to the Old Dixie Highway it replaced. If someone ever buys the empty industrial site here, my sneaky parking will likely come to an end.

I grabbed the tarps, walked across the road and into the marina. It’s almost June, the start of Hurricane Season, and the boatyard is filling up. So many boats lying akimbo like beached whales, completely out of their element. Right next to Emma, I met Dan, a friend of Captain Tony and Carol, whom I knew online until I finally met them ‘IRL’ here at Riverside Marina. Dan and I joked about endless boatwork and compared notes about our coming engine installations. He's trying to launch next week; I'm looking at next year.

As expected, the storm I had barely escaped a couple days previous, had wrecked the cheap tarps over Emma’s cockpit. One had been slung over the boom like a tent, the other was draped over a storage tub laid upside down across the hole. The boom tent was shredded and water had collected in the lower tarp.

The lower tarp, despite being tattered and baked by the sun, now held a couple gallons of water. As I gathered the folds of the tarp and gingerly attempted to lift it, water began running out of the raggedly porous tarp. Suddenly, a fold below my grip opened up and the water dumped into the boat but was caught in the tub that had fallen below. OK, not so bad.

I lifted the tub and leveled it out the best I could to keep the water away from its rim. Just as I got it all to deck level, I discovered that someone had drilled in the bottom as it emptied into the engine room. Well, I got some of the water out.

With the tattered and wet tarps gathered and pitched overboard down to the ground, I set about re-tarping. The two good heavy-duty tarps went over the boom as a double layer tent which I tied tight from the corners. The smaller lighter tarp was stretched across the cockpit hole and over the tub which gave some shape and slope to prevent water collecting. The previous lower tarp had collected water because it was not tied down, but laid across the tub with buckets in the corners. This time I tied it tight like a rain fly.

Back on the ground, I gathered the old tarps and the trash to drag to a dumpster. I had forgotten my phone, so I have no picture of my handiwork, but I walked around Emma to evaluate her new storm readiness.

After hitting the dumpster and hiking back out to my truck, I got out of my sweaty shirt and climbed in. I turned the key, the truck roared to life, needles on the various gauges sprung to attention and I was ready to hit the road again. The onboard computer showed I’d only been off duty for an hour and twenty minutes. Good quick work to secure my girl, Emma. I drove around the block and headed north again on U.S. 1, nobody knew or cared that I had made a side trip for my own project.

Back toward Savannah and life is good.

Sunrise on the Chesapeake, 2 yrs ago. I'll be back soon.

Ten Years Ago ...

Transmission on the engine

Ten years ago, I quit my last “career” job. I had bought an old sailboat that I foolishly thought I could escape with by that fall. Three boats later, though it’s been frustrating, and more than occasionally painfully slow, the good ship, sv Emma, and I are on the cusp of ocean sailing. Toward that end I now have fuel tanks and a transmission to go with the engine that I found a couple months ago. The pieces are assembled and ready to be installed.

The next big project is the standing rigging. The engine will get dropped into the boat and the mast taken down on the same day, with the same crane. The mast will be inspected along with the standing rigging and all the related bits and pieces -- tangs and shackles, etc. I expect to replace much of the hardware bits and

Emma in the yard

all the wire rope. After that all my boat projects are small and medium sized. At some point next year, Emma will go back in the water and we can sail occasionally while the last projects are finished.

Nevertheless, it has been a slog. Many times I’ve questioned just what I was trying to accomplish. My resume is a wreck -- as if that mattered to me anymore. In the last ten years, besides trying to find the right boat, I’ve tried to find the right kind of work. Working full time, I had boat money to spare, but not much time for boatwork. When I worked part time, I got lots of boatwork done but didn’t have the cash flow to sustain it. The key to my success has been that I’m simply too stubborn to quit. And I am actually quite comfortable with my ‘bombed-out’ resume; it is a solid reflection of my dedication to the boat project over my career.

My first boat had a good pedigree but turned out to be more project that boat. It only took me six years to figure that out. The second boat was a good, seaworthy boat, but she was a little bit small. I knew I would outgrow her sooner than later, but she was going to get me out of the Great Lakes and to a few islands at least.

The first boat, a Cape Dory 28

After I helped deliver a Westsail 42 from Stony Point, NY to Florida in 2015, I knew that I had to have a Westsail of my own. I’ve told both stories previously, but after sailing Alex’s Eleanor, I found my Emma, a 32 footer, floating at a mooring in Miami. 

I used to look at used sailboats online like some guys look at porn. I still bump into used boats through some of my sailing-related Facebook groups. Every once in awhile, I’ll see a bargain, or a well equipped boat, and feel that tug of doubt. Do I have the right boat yet? Why am I doing all this work on land? Why am I not sailing? Eventually, the answer always comes back to “yes.” I absolutely have the right boat for me.

My second smaller boat, Bella, had the advantage of being in the water. I sailed her like crazy in 2014! Escaping with that boat, a 27’ Albin Vega, would have been like living in a nice camper. Doable, certainly. Emma, my current boat, is a big, heavy girl. She is roomy and stable with an unquestionable reputation for

Bella, photo by Sherry

safe, long distance ocean sailing. Living aboard her will literally be my retiring to a nice apartment. Further, refitting Emma -- all this work -- is the perfect expression of my used boat philosophy.

The reality of my situation is that I was never going to afford to spend tens of thousands all at once on a boat. Further, a used boat will always come with some surprises. Surprises can be tedious, and more often than not expensive. One oft-quoted rule of thumb is to plan on spending half again what you just paid for a used boat to get her ready for serious sailing. The more you spend on a used boat, you might expect fewer surprises. However, they wouldn’t be surprises if you could expect them. Even brand new boats can have surprises. I just read about a recent batch of brand new catamarans with immediate osmosis issues in the hulls. I bought Emma so cheaply, all these numbers, ratios or rules of thumb are not much use.

Rowing out to Eleanor, 2015

Even now with an engine and transmission bought for her, I only have about $12,000 invested in my boat. There are boats out there, of course, for $10,000 or $12,000 that can be sailed away today. The purchase price, however, does not include the cost of the proverbial surprises. It’s a bit more than $4,000 a year to keep her at a dock or in a boatyard. I’ve not added that into the total investment as is would be a wash between my boat or another.

Rather than spend 10 or 15, or even $50,000, I bought the best hull I could find; a well proven design in good shape. When I re-launch her, she will almost be rebuilt: new engine, new rig, new bowsprit and boomkin, new galley, new cushions and upholstery, and a refreshed interior. I’m not saying I can beat every surprise, but nearly all of the typical surprises will have been addressed. When she’s back in the water, I will have around $22,000 invested -- along with gallons of sweat equity. A Westsail 32 was recently listed for sale here in Florida. That boat is well equipped and a couple years younger than Emma. They are asking $52,000.

My Emma in Miami

This is my philosophy: buy the best hull you can find and refit her well; take care of the potential surprises. Especially, if you can do most of the work yourself. When Emma and I take off, I will have a rock solid boat under my feet. I will know the boat and her systems inside and out. I can’t wait to show her around.

Grunge Rock Hero to Homeless

I’m hitting the road hard lately; saving boat money. To that end, I am only home three or four days a month. If someone gave me a car, it wouldn’t be worth paying insurance or getting plates on it. Nevertheless, I still need to haul stuff around.

My world is actually pretty small when I’m in town. My storage unit is right up the hill from the marina. Pictured above is my garden wagon. The real work was the trip up the hill with a cumbersome rolled up inflatable dinghy topped with Emma’s mainsail. I didn’t get a picture of the trip up the hill, but the sight of this stuff reminded me of the morning I was knocked down from Grunge Rock Hero to Homeless.

Twenty six years ago, I was starting a business in Sarasota and I used to tell people I was a biathlete. I was living aboard a small sailboat and had sold the old car that had defaulted to me in the divorce. The boat was anchored off Bayfront Park in downtown Sarasota. Each morning I had to row to shore and then ride my

bike to work. The same lock and chain kept the bike and then the dinghy attached to a palm tree.

I always had an army surplus knapsack on my back; with a change of clothes, a book or two, and room for grabbing groceries on the way home. It was dirty work in the shop, so the change of clothes allowed me to go out with friends after work, or accept the occasional dinner invitation. It was always worth it, but going out usually meant leaving the bike at the shop to ride along with someone. The next morning would be complicated as I had to ride the bus as far as I could and then walk into the shop,

We were working our asses off in the shop, so my standard uniform in those days was a t shirt, cut off BDU cargo shorts; topped with a flannel shirt in the winter. My business partner, Don, had a couple kids. His daughter was into the lateset music and thought that I would fit right in with the Grunge Music scene coming out of Seattle. Flannel and Army Surplus were all the rage.

It was a similar uniform that got me into some amusing trouble. After one of those evenings, when I left my bike at the shop, and then got dropped off at the boat after dinner with friends. The next morning I walked to the bus and rode it north out of town. The last bus stop on US-301 was in front of an old motel turned apartments with an ancient trailer park out back. From there I had to walk about a mile to the shop. US-301 was a divided highway with a wide median and lots of weekday morning traffic. I sauntered into the shop, a little late, greeted my partner and got a cup of coffee for our morning planning ritual. Not long after sitting down, the shop phone rang.

“Pro Form Technologies, this is Todd.”

“Three people this morning have told me about my ex-husband walking down the highway looking like a homeless person!” The all-too-familiar-voice of my ex-wife filled my ear and half the room. Don smiled.

Before I could stop her, I heard all about how my walking down the road in my best Grunge Rock Hero look was ruining her life. When she paused for a breath, I said “You don’t get to do this anymore” and hung up the phone.

Well, that’s the way my ego-infused, fallible, human-male brain remembers the day. At this stage in my life, I can understand her frustration. She worked in a large office; the software division of a large accounting firm. We had attended several corporate events together so a lot of her coworkers knew me and I knew how nasty the office politics could get. On top of that, she had moved to Florida to be with me and neither of us had any family or close friends in the area. Just a few years later and now she had no reason to be where she found herself. I get that, now. And if I really did hang up on her, I feel bad about that too.

Eventually we got to be friends again and for a time we spoke on the phone every month or so. Life has a way of moving on. It dissipates and it complicates. Each of us had got into a situation where we haven’t been able to talk for several years. Just recently though, I heard from her long enough to discuss that life was pretty good for each of us and that neither of us had any regrets or hard feelings.

I’m good with that.

Emma's Engine! Emma's Engine!!

I was in town for the delivery of Emma’s engine and had some time to kill. The anticipation had me up early anyway, so I hiked over to the boat with some tools I’d bought. First order of business, the sloppy caulk all around the cockpit well. As I was scraping at the caulk, my gaze fell on the crappy lines on Emma’s mainsheet traveler. The traveler adjusts the lateral position of the line that controls the mainsail; the main sheet. A line from each side runs through a couple blocks, so that the traveler can be adjusted under load. The faded, fuzzy red lines were probably the oldest pieces of rope on the boat, and the port side had an ominous duct tape patch. Emma deserved better and I had to remove the eyesore. 

Just beyond the traveler, hanging off the aft corner of the cabin, was the staysail sheet; the second oldest piece of line. I walked forward to loosen the other end. While I was up there, I snugged up the staysail boom and tied it tight. Back in the cockpit, I pulled the sheet through the blocks and flaked it at my feet. It occurred to me that I needed to measure all these lines for replacing them. The long staysail sheet could be used for something but the ratty traveler lines were pitched over the side and onto the ground. 

I sat and contemplated the scattered knives and scrapers that I had been de-caulking with. Over my head, the mainsail was still flaked and covered on the boom. When Hurricane Matthew threatened Emma last year, I had wrapped the mainsail cover like a roman sandal with a good piece of line. Looking up from where I sat, I wondered why I had left it all baking in the sun. With that I was resolved to take in the sail and stow the good line. Once I got started, all the running rigging, including the halyards, came down. The mast will be brought down for inspection and repair in a few months anyway. Emma is under bare poles now. 

I hung the mainsail cover, damp with dew, over the lifelines at the bow and decided to break for lunch. My food was in the truck, so I walked out to the front of the marina where I had parked and made a peanut butter sandwich. Just as I was cleaning up, the phone rang and Emma’s propulsion had arrived. The courier/mover guy had pulled into the gate and dialed my number and when I looked out the window, the engine was right below me. 

The guy I hired to pick up the engine describes himself as a Craigslist Entrepreneur. I got a couple quotes but just had a good feeling about this particular guy. In fact, his wife came along on the trip. Her sister lives nearby, so they have often driven past Riverside Marina. They would like to buy a sailboat and sail around once they retire and had always wanted to look around inside the marina. Now they had an excuse, and were getting paid to come!  

I was really happy to finally see Emma’s engine in person. It is a beautifully repainted and rebuilt Perkins 4.108. The Perkins is old school simple and rugged. And even better than that, the couple who brought it to me are super nice people! We spent quite a while chatting about boats and sailing; and wandering around the boatyard. They walked all the way back to see Emma and I explained my reasons for wanting her and why everyone has their own reasons. Different boats are for different cruising/sailing styles.  

It was after they had left when I finished stowing my mainsail and all the lines. I also took a bunch of

measurements of my engine bed inside the boat and the motor mounts on the engine. It’s not going to just drop right in but it will fit fine. Nothing is that easy; although this engine was an option on later models.

Later that afternoon, I celebrated and rode over to my favorite joint for a beer and my favorite: blackened mahi sliders; that’s three little, fancy fish sandwiches for you yankees up north. On Thursday, I went up to Marine Connection Wholesalers to look at fuel tanks and then rode over to the grocery store. By the time I took a nap and hit the road again Thursday night, I had probably done 6 or 8 miles on the bike. Lord knows I could use more miles like that rather than sitting on my ass in a semi truck. 

Now I need a couple fuel tanks and a transmission. Well, and an updated drive plate too. The fuel tanks have to go into the boat before the engine or they won’t fit. I bought the engine four or five months too soon, but it was a great deal on exactly the engine I wanted. Also, it was a hobby project of a dedicated mechanic. He tore it down completely, sandblasted and repainted individual parts before putting it back together with new gaskets and seals. It’s practically like having a new engine; pretty too.  

If you’re watching the narrative on the blog lately, this is exactly the engine I wanted to install in exactly the boat I wanted. I don’t know if I’m stubbornly patient or patiently stubborn. It may have taken me ten years(!) but I am lucky to be right where I am, doing exactly what I want to be doing.

Won't be long, honey!

Actual Boatwork Getting Done

Trucking to support my boat habit

Though I have only scheduled a couple days a month at home, I managed to get some actual boatwork done in this week while I was in town. My schedule was to be home a couple days next week, but trucking is really slow between the holidays and so I took them this week. While I’m concentrating on filling in the boat budget, I’m not putting any pressure on myself to get things done. Mostly, I fiddle around when I’m home. I’m not sure what got into me this week but I was motivated to get busy.

I have written before that the depth sounder on Emma was a useless and flaky. There was a little Hawkeye depth sounder attached to a door hinge so it could swing out into the companionway. The transducer, meant to hang off the transom a small boat, was unceremoniously glued inside the hull

under the starboard bunks. Further, the transducer was glued a fair distance above the keel on the

Flaky Hawkeye mount

curve of the hull. Hence, it was pointed well to starboard. The transducer works like most people imagine sonar does; a pulse is sent from the transducer and the depth is measured by how long it takes for the pulse to return. With it aimed off to the side, the pulse will either measure too much depth or the pulse will simply not return.

Last spring as I helped prep and deliver a Westsail, we found that the Westsail hulls are too thick for a depth transducer to work from the inside; even with a proper set up. When Emma’s flaky transducer seemed to be working at one point down in Miami, I tied a piece of bronze pipe to a flag halyard as a lead line. The actual depth I measured was at least four feet shallower(!) than the readings from the Hawkeye. Yesterday, I removed the silly hinge mount, unstrung the wire from its run through the cabinetry and knocked the transducer off the inside of the hull.

Yanked transducer and nut

When Emma was hauled here in Ft. P, lo and behold, I found another transducer from outside the hull. I located it from the inside this week. This one was a proper through-the-hull transducer. I have to assume that it wasn’t working. Not only was it replaced with the elaborately useless Hawkeye, but they snipped the wires so close to the bronze that it would be impossible to rewire even if it could be tested. I yanked it out too.

The seacocks in the picture are not mine but a picture from the web. My cockpit drains each have an identical Groco seacock. The one to port was open but not operable. I took it apart and fixed it. They are old school with the rubber cylinder inside and no longer made. This type of seacock is prone to

Someone else's seacocks

weep a little bit of water. I may replace them, but keeping them would be a couple hundred dollars I don’t have to spend. I’ll do some research. They are robust which seems good.

I also took up the floor in the main cabin to inspect the bilges and the tankage underneath. I’ve only been able to spy a small area from the access hatch for the tanks. The floors are sturdy, but just plywood. Right at the bottom of the companionway is a section of the original planked floor which looks salty but is well worn. Into the main cabin, the floors are plywood all the way forward to the V berth. I would like to redo the floors with a little more care.

The "Beam"

In taking up the floors, I found a small “beam” placed between the hull beams. This kind of stuff drives me a little crazy. I don’t know what the intended use of this “beam” was, but it is two pieces of wood with plywood gussets and a whopping four screws. It may have been intended to help hold the smaller piece of floor in place. However, when I stepped on it, I thought it was rotten. It isn’t rotten, but the four screws holding the pieces together are just not enough to be structural. It just bends there.

I don’t know much about Emma’s history. Two owners back was quite a vagabond I understand. I can’t really blame him for the seemingly slapdash approach to boat maintenance. He must have been really living on the edge and for that I can commend him. However, I’m now having to catch up and fix this approach. There was some creative salvaging going on to keep the boat going. Things like this “beam,” the extensive wiring done with old school 22/4 phone wire, the odd color choices of interior paint, the 2x4 boomkin and its 2x6 cousin, the bowsprit. Even the interior lights which are blindingly bright LEDs look as if they might have been stolen out of a call center office. I am just thankful to have been able to find her and bring her back to fashion. Granted I am aiming for “Shrimp Boat Finish” rather than “Bristol Yacht Fashion,” but Emma will soon be a lovely girl again -- and safe and seaworthy too.

Main, Staysail and Yankee

Patience Grasshopper

[Editor’s Note: The author owns the box set of Kung Fu show episodes]

December has been hard on my brain; and my heart. I didn’t spend much time with Emma in November and December and my brain started to wander. Three months into my boat fund building schedule was starting to wear on me - I only see Emma a couple days a month for now. I started to think that I could afford a better-equipped boat for the money that I’m going to spend on Emma this year. After abstaining for months, I started looking at used boats online. There was a boat nearby that has been on the market a while but hadn’t sold. The owner already lowered the price a couple times and was probably willing to make a deal. The boat wasn’t exactly what I wanted but was well equipped. And, in my patience-deprived brain, I could be sailing again -- this year!

I got to spend a couple days with Mom and Dad in November. They brought me some boat things

Can't beat the Mahi Sliders! 

that I still had in Michigan. After running me all over town doing errands, we had lunch at my new favorite place, 12a Bouy. It was wonderful to hang out a while as I hadn’t seen them since moving in February.

I had been worried that Emma had termites or something, and on an errand with Mom and Dad I picked up a box of insect bombs. In two places down below, small amounts of what looked like sawdust kept appearing. I had swept the dust from the forward bench of the dinette and from the top step of the companionway, only to see the dust had reappeared on my return. The fear of what insect damage might be happening aboard added to the doubts about my plan.

It is a difficult thing to keep your mind, and your efforts, focused on a long term goal. Even with a prioritized project list and steady work, there will be moments when doubt will creep in. When those moments soak into days, doubt sets up camp and stays. My goal remains to spend as much time as I can cruising under sail -- sailing.  And yet here I am again with a fair stretch of boatwork ahead of me. Nine years of working toward my goal of sailing, I am still working on a damn boat. Nevertheless Emma is the best, most ocean-capable of the three I’ve owned. With her, here on the Atlantic Coast of Florida, I am closer than I have ever been to achieving my goal. Nevertheless, my vagabond heart complains that I am still not sailing; still not doing that one thing that I want to be doing.

Pete at the tiller

Pining for sea time does make me appreciate the wonderful sail from Miami. Sailing at night is like going to church for me. It was a great sail and Pete was good company and great crew. I can’t wait to get back on the water -- on this beautiful cutter that I own.  

The downside of driving for a living is the 12 hours a day in my own head. Rolling down the highway this last month, one moment I was configuring an offer on another boat. The next moment, I was staying with Emma. For a natural born, daydreamer, such vivid thoughts are all consuming. The flip-flops are disruptive and painful. The grinding indecision even affected my sleep.  

The upside of driving for a living is the 12 hours a day in my own head. I deactivated my Facebook profile in August in order to take a personal retreat into my analog life. It was a chance to concentrate on accomplishing things that I really wanted to be doing. These projects included reinvigorating my

Who says truckin' ain't pretty? 

meditation practice, writing more often and finishing several books I had with me in the truck. It was this time, gaining control of life in my own head that may have allowed me to think openly about whether I was on the right track. In the end, I believe that the unencumbered time in my analog life helped to solve my conundrum.

After taking a deep breath, I fell back on the careful analysis of pro and con that I learned from my coach back in 2006 and 2007. This new task was a welcome replacement to a brain flipping and flopping aimlessly down the highway. Realistically, comparing how well equipped an unknown used boat might be with the funds I might invest in Emma’s refit is just apples and oranges. There are so many potential hidden problems on a used boat that any comparison without a close look or a real survey is empty conjecture. Emma needs a lot of work but, for me, she is a known quantity. The Westsail 32 is exactly the boat that I wanted after helping to sail Eleanor, a Westsail 42, down the East Coast in 2015. Emma is everything that I want in a boat; a heavy displacement, full keel, transom-hung rudder, commodious, ocean capable, liveaboard sailboat. The fact that she is rigged as a cutter is a welcome bonus.

After the highway-head analysis, the fact that Emma is the devil I know tipped the scales in her favor.

Sailing north in July

There will no longer be any unknowns when I have finished. I will know her intimately and everything required to make a safe and comfortable voyage -- anywhere in the world -- will be aboard. We might not have radar or pressurized hot water, but my original plan never included those things anyway. Mindless comparisons don’t hold water.

There will always be surprises buying a used boat. The scale, and especially the cost, of used boat surprises cannot be known, of course. By definition, comparing the money I plan to spend refitting Emma to the asking price of some other used boat ignores these potential surprises. Just a small number of surprises could drastically change this already faulty sense of equivalence. Further, none of the boats I looked at aligned very well with my stated criteria.

Whatever your passion is, whatever path you have chosen to pursue, eventually you will be haunted by doubt. Blazing your own trail was never for the faint-hearted. If you are on your path, you don’t have to be distracted by doubt. Accept that it was inevitable and that you can work through it. When the moment is right, take a deep breath and drop into your analysis. For me, nothing beats writing out all the pros and cons.

It’s just as important to be reflective as it is to be ambitious and persistent. Your analysis should be thorough. It’s OK if you end up deciding to make a change. Your plans should never be so rigid that you can’t steer toward your goal in changing conditions. And plans should also be open enough that if it becomes apparent through careful consideration that you need a new plan, you will need to let this one go.

I have a good plan and a great boat. Emma may be a diamond-in-the-rough, but she is mine. Looking at the current asking prices for Westsail 32s online, I could spend twice what I plan to and still break even selling her in the middle of the price range.  Sometimes, I just have to write it all out to remind myself.

Livin' the Life, summer 2016

You can be Happy and Free

Rowing out to Eleanor, Spring 2015

When I got to Florida my plan did not come together nearly as fast as I'd hoped and, subsequently, it got expensive. I bought the boat sight unseen from Michigan, quit my job and moved to Florida. Before I moved from Michigan, I had a job in Fort Pierce where I wanted to keep the boat. When I got here, I got a storage unit. I didn't think I needed a place to stay as my plan was to sleep on the boat. That first job was so busy when I first arrived that I couldn't get the boat ready enough to move her. Boat money was going into my gas tank to drive to Miami to work on the boat when I could, and for a room in a cheap motel whenever I couldn't.  I wasn’t home every night and the cheap motels really only added up to about what it would cost to have rented a room. Nevertheless, if I'd been able to move the boat to Fort Pierce sooner, I wouldn’t have spent much money on rooms at all.

I'm on my third job in Florida and I've found the right place. I've taken an Over the Road trucking job where for the next several months I'll be mostly just driving; home a couple nights a month. When I get my boat budget in the bank, I will quit the road to concentrate on the boatwork, with just a local part time job for food money.

Along the way, my Lincoln Town Car died; had to be put to sleep really. I hadn't moved the boat yet and still needed haul stuff. I had been driving around with a rolled up inflatable dinghy in the backseat and the trunk

My Emma in Miami

chock full of stuff for the boat as well as my trucking life. I had just a few hours to find a replacement vehicle and made a crappy deal on a old S10 pickup, but it had a cap on the bed and I could haul all my stuff. Just to make matters worse, the night Pete and I sailed Emma to Fort Pierce, someone broke into the pickup at the marina and got my backpack, my laptop and my checkbook.

In a stroke of luck that restored my faith in humanity, I got the bag back; minus the laptop, the checkbook and other random contents, of course. It’s a strange feeling of violation to know that stuff is missing but not know exactly what stuff is missing. A guy, nay a saint named Glenn was working construction down in the Grove and found my bag in the bushes. He called and emailed from the business card inside and then brought the bag to his office in Delray Beach, much closer to me. Though with a new job and no wheels, it actually took me some weeks to get down there to pick it up. He must have wondered about me.
[Editor's Note: E.M. - the Snoopy thumbdrive lives to tell another tale!]

When I got the boat moved, the S10 was really falling apart; after a month. The transmission linkage had slipped, the brakes were leaking and the power steering pump went out. I was not happy and the truck spent over a month back at the car lot getting fixed. The weeks without a vehicle were enlightening. I realized that I didn't need a car. I managed to make a deal with the devil and got the car lot to keep the truck. I got about half my money back if I count not having to pay for the repairs they had already done. Further, I don't have to put gas in it, don't have to maintain it and I don't have to insure it; such freedom.

I cannot afford a good car while dedicating the funds necessary for fixing up the boat. Further, a bad car is an expensive option. Moreover, the lifestyle that I aspire to does not require a vehicle. I have new, stronger criteria to hold my options against. It also happens that the current job allows me to operate without a vehicle. I am happily carless, saving boat money and shopping for a bicycle.

One of the reasons I've rambled on is that I am motivated to show that I am doing this on very little money. What I invest in the boat, I am earning as I go along. The important thing is the clarity of purpose I have reached. Anyone can pursue their dreams, develop and live a lifestyle that is of their own choosing.

What other people think you should do, or worse -- what you think other people think you should do is pure bullshit; immaterial to your happiness. Much of the stress and discontent that people feel in our culture is a latent dissatisfaction with the “matrix” that we live in. It doesn’t take very many small decisions to get trapped in the system. "The system" is a web of social pressures to conform; to follow along like sheep. Decisions that feel inconsequential and seem normal because everyone else seems to be making them are deadly and evil.

Living the life with Emma

Human beings were not made to be conformists. I understand that one's freedom can seem inhibited by marriage, kids, mortgage and debt. These are stones in the path not fences. I accept that my situation is not like anyone else's situation. However, the work can be done to pursue your dream regardless of where you are today.

It is not a compromise to work with your vision to fit it into the resources you have at your disposal. You have already compromised your life to the social pressure to conform. Fulfilling your dream in some way that is possible to you is not only realistic, it is life affirming and will set you free. An old saw says "don't let the perfect be the enemy of the good." In the same way, don't let a huge unrealistic dream be the enemy of living a life of your own choosing.

I want to show that it can be done. It doesn’t have to be a sailboat. In most cases, it shouldn’t be a sailboat. Your passion is as unique as you are. Whatever it is, pursue it. If it seems unaffordable or unattainable, keep

Swiss Mountain Roller Coaster, Spring 2016.

working at it, nibble away at possibilities and reimagine your priorities until you find a way to do it. Yes, it can be done. It might not become exactly what you are imagining today but if you get your intentions and motivations whittled down to their essence, there will be a way to accomplish your goals with what you have access to. You can be happy and free.

Sticking to a Good Plan

I was on a night watch as we jumped from Charleston to Jacksonville; avoiding the shallow Georgia ICW. The full moon hung over the horizon like an old silver coin. The moonlight shattered against the Atlantic and glistened across the waves like a trail of mirror shards. It was holy and sublime. I was smitten.

It had been building inside me for the whole trip. I had been impressed with the boat’s construction as I helped Alex with the final preparations and launch of Eleanor. We were sailing her from Stony Point, NY on the Hudson River down the East Coast to Fort Pierce, Florida. This was actually my second night watch offshore guiding Eleanor, a Westsail 42, as she sailed with confidence and comfort. As she gently made her way across the sea, all I really had to do was mind the autopilot. I decided I never wanted another boat. I had to find a Westsail of my own.

With a little more patience, financial and otherwise, I could be sailing already. Yet instead of already hanging out in the Bahamas, or wandering the Chesapeake, I have a couple years of boatwork ahead of me … again. All because of that life-changing trip aboard Eleanor. So like any other heartsick fool, I've made some rash decisions to get what I want. If my life with this boat is a poker game, I'm all in. This is, however, the way to get it done. I am living the exact life that I want to live. Everything, absolutely everything, is contingent on getting Emma to sea. There is no longer any room for things I don't need or want. Beside that as philosophy, my new home is a floating ellipse, just 32 by 11 feet.

After some searching, I found a Westsail 32 that I could afford. That meant that I found one that needed a lot of work. The owner then had supposedly bought the boat from a young vagabond. The boat, a work in progress, had been swinging from one of the better mooring locations at the Coconut Grove Sailing Club. The club is kind of swanky. He called it a “drinking club with a sailing problem.” However, my impression

was that the club considered the boat an eyesore and wanted the Westsail out of their mooring field. I met the owner just at the right moment when he was fed up with the Westsail project, had found another boat, and just wanted to get rid of her.

I told the story before but someone put a link to the Miami Craigslist on the Westsail Facebook page. The short version is that I got a Westsail 32 for $6000 floating on a mooring in Miami. W32's, polished and painted, have been selling for over $20,000; some for much more depending on how they are equipped.  Essentially, I bought the hull; anything else that works is gravy. Well … and she has no engine.

I could have waited a little longer, saved more money, and bought a boat that seemed more ready. The truth of the matter is that I will never be able to buy a new boat or even a recent one. Therefore, no matter what older used boat I bought, I would inherit a certain number of problems and things that needed fixed. I have a lot of work to do on my Westsail, but I am starting with a  rock solid hull of a proven design; no compromise. When I am finished with the Emma's refit, I will know her intimately and will have personally fixed or replaced everything necessary for safe voyaging. The Westsail 32, like the WS28 and WS42, is a proven ocean capable ship that has been sailed all over and indeed around the world.

So, I could have done it differently, but I am doing it the best way I know. I have the boat and the plan and I'm living the dream. All it takes is sticking to a good plan; see the next post. Thanks.