Sistership

The Westsail Sistership next door

They parked a nice looking Westsail 32 right next to Emma and me last week. Today a marine surveyor showed up to do an inspection for the new owner's insurance.

“I don’t know if they set it right there to inspire me or to taunt me,” I said.

“Well, yes, she’s a pretty boat,” he replied, “She’s a Westsail 32.”

“Yeah,” I smiled, gesturing toward Emma, “ … same hull.”

“Oh my goodness! Would you look at that.”

Emma was neglected enough that I could afford her and lately I've been sanding 3 or 4 mysterious

layers of paint off her hull. I don’t blame him for not recognizing her. He went on to tell me what a solid ocean-capable design I had - very rugged boats he said. I explained that I had found her in Miami with no engine and brought her here because I knew the marina and the people who ran it.

“How did you get her up here,” he asked.

“We sailed her -- about 120 miles; overnight. It was a glorious sail.”

“With no engine! Gosh, that’s brave,” he exclaimed, “You’ve got to have a certain confidence in yourself and your boat. Well done.”

I didn’t tell him that it was the first time I had ever sailed her. It is only unusual to sail a boat with no engine because most skippers wouldn’t do it. It is not so brave; not some heroic endeavor. People were sailing boats without engines for thousands of years. It had to be done and Pete and I did it.

He inquired what engine I had bought for her and raved when I told him it was an old Perkins 4.108.

“That’s perfect; a wonderful engine for her,” he said.

And as if by magic, just as we were talking, the marina guys pulled up with my Perkins engine to drop it in the boat for a dry fit. The surveyor had a couple Westsail questions for me during the afternoon and we chatted a few more times. I helped him find the other boat’s fuel tank and took a good overhead picture from up on my boat for his report.

I can’t wait to get Emma back in the water. We are going to be one hell of a team.

The venerable Perkins 4.108

Aveling & Porter Steamroller

Frank Perkins and Charles Chapman were working on a high speed, lightweight diesel engine at Aveling and Porter, a British agricultural engine and steamroller manufacturer when the company went out of business. The two engineers were convinced of the potential for diesel engines - a new technology in the early 1930s -- and started F. Perkins Limited in June 1932. The company became Perkins Engine Company Limited, is still producing diesel engines today and is now a subsidiary of Caterpillar.

After World War II, Perkins found they needed to make smaller engines to fit the smaller post-war cars of Great Britain. They successfully began a period of development and technical advancements in the 1950s that led to their engines running a variety of cars and delivery vans; even an Alfa Romeo. The venerable 4.108 engine came along in the latter part of that decade and found success in the agricultural equipment sector. At one point, a 4.108 was installed in a VW Transporter leading to a three year contract for a slightly larger engine while VW developed their own.

In the 1960s the marine business discovered the 4.108 and the engine’s real legacy was established. Between 1958 & 1992, 500,000 4.108s were made; many tens of thousands found in medium sized sailboats of the era. One Perkins powered Francis Chichester’s round the world Gipsy Moth IV; the first solo

Chichester & Gipsy Moth IV

circumnavigation along the old Clipper Route. The last contract Perkins filled for the 4.108 was for auxiliary power to run the air-conditioning in British Tanks during the Gulf War.

Used everywhere from tractors and agricultural pumps to British tanks and sailboats, the Perkins was known for its rugged durability and reliability. I crewed on a boat where the owner had spent nearly half again as much as he had paid for the boat to resurrect the boat's Perkins engine rather than replace it with a newer one. We pushed that engine hard all the way down the East Coast and it never even hiccuped. I kind of joined a cult on that trip. I now own the same brand sailboat and I found a Perkins 4.108 to power her.

When I found the Perkins it was too early for my project, but it had been lovingly rebuilt as a hobby project. It was torn down, cleaned up, individual parts painted or replaced, and rebuilt with new gaskets and seals. All that and it was only $1500 more than the rusty, dusty Perkins I’d have had to rebuild myself. And I suck as a diesel mechanic. I jumped on the deal and arranged for the engine to be stored here at the marina. At the time, I thought it would only be several weeks before I could get at the installation.

Fourteen months and two hurricanes later, we are measuring the engine bed to finally get my Perkins 4.108 installed. The poor thing started out just in the door of one of the shops here, but was then moved out under a carport-type of shed. We had no direct hits last season, but hurricanes Irma and Maria came close enough to strongly affect our weather. I had been stopping by infrequently to oil any bolts or fittings that had got the stain of rust on them. There was a panic when I had removed the transmission thinking it was best stored onboard Emma for the time. Luckily, I had told one of the ladies in the marina office so when the marina guys started puzzling about the missing trannie she settled them down. My engine hadn’t really been “put up” properly. Life got in the way and circumstances beyond my control caused a much greater delay than I had imagined.

Part of the delay was that Emma’s engine space had been stripped and used for storage. I had to purchase, install and plumb two fuel tanks; purchase and install thruhulls; buy a sea-strainer and all the

plumbing bits for raw water, fuel etc. But Emma and I are nearly ready. Recently, I had tried turning the engine [reminder: I don’t know what I’m doing] and was nearly distraught that it felt stuck. I didn’t [and don’t] have any idea if there is a spectrum between “stuck” and “siezed.” I had gotten a great deal, but had still spent a pretty penny on the engine. Many depressing thoughts of expensive repairs or starting over with a new engine were spinning through my brain. The marina folk had a simple idea: we should start this engine of yours before you spend the money to install it in your boat. Brilliant. However, the marina mechanic was backed up and it took nearly a month to hear from him. Just enough time me to start thinking that the reason I wasn’t hearing from him was that the news was so bad.

The best possible news has come!! This last week, Walton, the engine guru, started my 4.108 just fine and ran it for half an hour. He replaced a couple minor parts and has a plan which I have approved. The projects that were giving me the most nightmares all relate to installing the engine. Walton is going to

Engine Bed

measure the bed for an adapter, install and align the engine, test the driveshaft for length and straightness, and find me a proper propeller. Yes, it’ll cost more money than if I tried to do more of that myself, but it will be way less time. And rather than learning by trial and error, I will be learning by hanging out a bit with Walton as my engine gets installed. I will plumb all the raw water and fuel lines and wire up the control panel, but I’ll have him come check my work.

My #svEmma project has felt like it was caught it in the doldrums, not moving forward, but now with some positive news and proper forward motion I am super excited and just feel much better about everything. Life is frikkin good.

Positive Friction

My former self would just not understand. I used to be a Live Music Addict. My life was coordinated for maximum enjoyment of watching good people play good music. Many times, my pursuit of that rush of watching music made came at the expense of most everything else in my life -- budget, health, etc. I don’t regret any of it; it was almost always fantastic.

I had a ticket to see Donna the Buffalo last Friday night but decided not to go. DtB is on my see-before-you-die list, but I chose to go to bed early in order to get up Saturday morning and get back to my boatwork. My former self would be pissed.

The money I spent on the ticket was long gone; didn’t matter. I actually bought it months ago when the show was first announced (It was a band on my list playing just 45 minutes away). Yet, I had work to do and decided to keep at it. Surely, I didn’t need to spend more money on drinks and food at the venue.

Boatwork on Saturday was a little frustrating as I knew it would be. Part of my motivation to stay in and get to work was to finish investigating the strange patches I had started to uncover the weekend before. As I was sanding on Emma’s starboard side before, I had run in to a couple spots that appeared to be some kind of repair using expanding spray foam.

This weekend, I sanded the stretch of topsides that included those two patches. They must be some old storm damage -- poorly repaired. In fact, what looked like foam was a layer of some kind of caulk that had reacted strangely with the paint over it. This layer was a couple millimeters thick and peeled right off as it had not bonded to the layer below it. The lower layer is more solid but had not been sanded before the mystery layer was applied over it. I believe neither repair is structural, just really bad cosmetic repairs hidden, probably purposefully, under the thick, cheap ass paint I’ve been sanding off for two weeks.

I bought the boat from a Miami lawyer. I bought her sight unseen, as is, where is. Even if I had an issue with this latest find -- and I don’t -- I’m sure the lawyer covered his bases well. It's even possible that he was not aware. I've come to disbelieve two-thirds of the legend he told about the boat. I bought Emma for $6000 and expected some surprises; even a heartache or two. Nevertheless, these two spots are really the first ugly surprise. Indeed, there have even been several very pleasant surprises. I got a hard dinghy in the deal and many sails in decent condition. Further, I knew she had no engine, but I didn’t know what was done where the driveshaft exits the boat. Whoever took care of this did a wonderful job, saving me a lot of frustration and even more money.

Emma is my girl. We’ve already been through a lot together. I’m still working on keeping all the promises I've made her. No one should expect that a relatively minor setback would change my mind or give me second thoughts. Emma is a Westsail 32, exactly the boat I wanted. For whatever reason, I found this W32, she found me, and I’m committed to her. She’ll soon be a lovely girl again, all by my own hand.

Now for the cynics out there who read that last paragraph and chuckled, this is not bluster, not some overly romanticized prattle just to cover my ass for regretting my purchase. For those cynics, here are some practical facts: I found a strong, ocean-capable vessel that needed some love -- and an engine. I have already done a lot of the work needed and I have an engine. In fact, the marina engine guru is working right now to adapt Emma’s engine bed to my engine and begin the installation. I have only some body-work type repairs to do, some painting, the inspection and replacement of rigging components and a few minor projects before Emma can splash back in the water. Emma and I will be sailing sooner than I could start over with another boat.

I could sell the running engine, put Emma on the market as a half done project and go back to work. “Back to work,” however, means slipping back into the matrix; modern wage slavery. The more time you spend in the system, the harder it is to see how stuck you really are. I am not yet totally free, but I’ve spent the last eleven years taking the red pills. I see the system for what it is and want no part of it. Emma is my third “escape” boat. I know that starting over would mean a minimum of two more years. Even with this minor setback of a couple new spots to repair, I will have Emma back in the water and sailing in less than a year. I'm not saying that she will be perfect and pretty by then, but she will be safe and seaworthy and we will be off.

Life is good; as good as before.

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Epilogue: For those of you keeping track, “in less than a year” is way past the May 1, 2018 that I had ‘committed’ to last year. For some time now, I have not been using that date in my own plans. The lucrative, so-called part-time job that I’ve had since October was no where near part-time. This has cost me a couple months, at least, which means I can't get out of Florida before hurricane season; too much yet to be done. To fix that problem, I am switching to a 7 days on, 7 off trucking gig this month.

The good is that rather than rushing toward a goal that I naively foisted upon myself, I have downshifted and will have time to do what I'm doing well and complete a few additional projects between now and sometime after hurricane season. Emma and I will both be in better shape for it. I no longer speak in terms of dates on the calendar. Emma will let me know when she’s ready. She’s as impatient to get back to sea as I am.

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In the meantime, enjoy 'Positive Friction' by Donna the Buffalo: 

Better Than Homeless

Riverside Marina is really a boatyard. That sentence could have ended -- ‘really just a boatyard,’ but boatyards are important to sailors. For a vagabond like me, Riverside is an inexpensive place where I can do my own work. Often at a capital-M marina, there is only a small category of work that a skipper can do on his own. Most boatwork must be done by hiring marina staff or approved contractors.

There are a couple hundred boats here. Many are here for major refits like my Emma. Some, on a schedule, are here for a few short weeks of intense work and then go right back in the water. Many Canadians spend winters in the Bahamas and store their boats here each year for the summer hurricane season. The property used to be a cement plant and boats languish in the back of the lot, in the gravel, with fading For Sale signs swinging hopelessly from the lifelines. Many more poor, neglected boats here will never get back into the water. Some are literally rotting into the ground.

The “marina” part of Riverside is a man-made cut into the mainland north of Fort Pierce. This cut is lined with docks and, before hurricanes Irma and Maria, docks extended out into the water on each side

Before the storms

of the privately maintained channel. The remaining docks are occupied by a hodge-podge of boats, power and sail, in varying degrees of seaworthiness. Deep in the marina are a couple rough boats tied to the wall. Each day I walk by and marvel that they are still afloat.

Both boats are occupied by gentleman who would probably otherwise be homeless. Apparently, however, they are paying the slip fees and have enough to eat (and drink). One boat appears to be a Dreadnaught, a first cousin of the Westsail 32 like Emma. I actually haven’t seen that guy in some time. The other boat is a 1970s production boat with some curious modifications and no mast. I’ll call the guy that lives on the second boat Dan. I used to park just above Dan’s boat in the lot. At the time, I was coming and going at all hours of the night. I’m not sure he always appreciated that, but whenever I saw him during the day we would wave. I’d say “Good Morning” and he’d answer “It’s a beautiful morning” with special emphasis on the ‘bee’ of beautiful. I never heard many other words from Dan.

After Irma & Maria

A couple days ago, I was just starting a boatwork day, when I realized that I needed more gloves. There is a fiberglass supply shop very nearby. I grabbed my trash (always multitasking) and hiked out of the boatyard toward the dumpster and then my car; perhaps a hundred yard circuit. The last leg took me along the main driveway and past the two sad derelicts. Dan was sitting in his cockipit in the morning sun. He was the vision of a certain archetype Floridian: boonie hat, nicotine-stained mustache, old t shirt, ragged shorts and flip flops.

“Good Morning.”

“It’s a bee-utiful morning.”  And then unexpectedly, “Are you going by AJ’s?”

I’m not sure I had ever heard two sentences right in a row from him. After the jolt of it, I presumed that he meant the little gas station up the road.

“Sure,” I said, “I’m off to buy some gloves. I can take you that far.”

Just then I stubbed my toe on an uneven board in the dock. With a two-step and a twist, I managed to remain standing. Dan was struggling to stand up and step out of his boat on the same dock.

“I’ve been looking for that nail sticking up.” Dan said.  As he slowly joined me on the dock, I got the

The basin

idea that he was already half in the bag that morning. There was an empty case of Bud Light on the floor of his cockpit, but he was walking, so I assumed that couldn’t have all been from this morning.

At my car, I moved the sunshade to the backseat and grabbed a couple loose bottles off the floor to make room. Dan folded his lanky frame and joined me in the car with an awkward, hesitating motion. As the wind blew through our open doors, I got a pretty strong shot of dry sweat, stale urine and maybe that last beer or two. I had assumed he was living on the edge, but poor Dan was living more roughly than I thought.

On the way toward the store, Dan asked how my boat was coming along. He asked if I was getting gloves for fiberglassing and chuckled when I said I was stripping paint. He knew what that was like from helping friends with their boats.

I took the back way on Old Dixie Highway and drove up the hill toward U.S. 1. Dan corrected my navigation as I wasn’t quite right about where AJ’s was. I use the little gas station across the highway coming home from work, but AJ’s is the party store on the other side; nearer to the boatyard.

Couple hundred boats

Dan climbed out of my car and stood on unsteady legs. “Well, I would wish you a wonderful day,” he said with a smirk, “but with all that paint stripping, I know you’re not going to."

He marched toward the store with a carefully clumsy, day-drinking stumble that kept perfect time with his uneven coughing laughter.

I couldn’t help but smile myself that a guy like Dan, just barely better than homeless, was enjoying a laugh thinking that he was going to have a better day than I.

Out of Gas

One day last week, I had gotten up early enough to make a big breakfast. Dispatch had flipped (flopped?) my schedule to afternoon. My start time was 11:45 AM, eight or ten hours later than usual. Breakfast was going to be one of my favorites; a chickpea scramble with a skillet full of veggies.

Every good day starts with coffee, but especially a big breakfast day. I poured four cups of water into the pot and lit the burner. Next I turned on the inverter and set up to grind my beans. After a couple of buzzing pulses in the coffee grinder (one that I had found on the boat when I bought her), I sloshed some water in the french press and dumped yesterday’s spent grounds into the chopped-open milk jug that serves as my sink -- sink drain actually. Finally the fresh ground beans went into the press to wait on hot water.

I got my veggies organized; onion, mushrooms, zucchini, poblano pepper. For some reason, the sight of a half zucchini on my cutting board prompted me to immediately chop it up -- way out of sequence. Getting back to my routine, I started measuring the chickpea flour for the scramble. I’m really hooked on this simple recipe. It is what I think is proper vegan cooking. The scramble becomes a familiar context but avoids the contradiction of plant-based foods trying to replicate the texture and flavor of an animal-based food. If you’re going to avoid animal products but cling to the forms like scramble eggs or hot dogs or hamburgers -- have you really accomplished the switch?

As I was measuring a quarter cup of chickpea flour, the reverie of my slow-paced, peaceful morning was interrupted by a familiar sound.  The tone of the flame under the coffee water shifted. The slightly more airy, less roaring sound meant that I was running out of propane. There are several boat projects ahead of the galley on my list, so I am still cooking on a two-burner campstove fueled by those little green propane canisters. I can get 8 or 10 days out of each container, depending on how and how often I cook. But when I hear that particular sound, I know I have about three minutes of reduced heat before the flame goes all the way out.

Standing in the galley, in pre-coffee stupor, I remembered that the two gas canisters I had just bought were still in my car. It was late morning but on a morning after a cold snap. Not only was more gas about 100 yards away, I wasn’t dressed yet and it was in the low 50s outside my cozy cabin. The breakfast plan had to change.

I gathered the chunks of zucchini into a container and tossed it in my cooler. It was time for “boatmeal.”

Not mine. 

In about five minutes my bowl was layered with old-fashioned oats, banana slices, cinnamon, flax meal, raisins, apple slices, pepitas and a few dried blueberries. I had just enough coconut milk in the cooler to pour over the bowl and let the oats soak. With some coffee and the soaking oats, I sat down to breakfast.

There is nothing new about boats and interrupted meal plans for me. Twenty-five years ago, I had decided to celebrate a good week while I had been scrimping and scraping starting a business. On the way home from work I picked up a couple cans of beer, some pasta, a jar of sauce, a nice little loaf of bread and even some parmesiano-reggiano and a little grater. I drooled in anticipation as I rowed out to my home, the boat I was living on in the anchorage off downtown Sarasota. It was when I climbed aboard with my provisions and settled in for the evening, that I realized that I didn’t have any water on the boat. My two empty jugs still sat on the floor next to the companionway steps so I would remember to take them to shore with me that morning. I wasn’t going to be making any pasta that night.

Rowing back to shore for water at the end of a long, hard week was just not in the cards for me. I drank my beer, tore chunks off the loaf and dipped them into the sauce in the jar. All the while the sun had been going down over Lido Pass. Before my improvised supper was done, the stars began to twinkle over the lights of downtown as the dusking of the day faded into black. The worst part of the evening was that I could have used one more beer to go with all those stars.

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Images used without permission.
First image from here.
Second image from here.

Rhymes with Part-Time

Man(!)  ...  it’s hard to break free of 'the system.' Just getting and maintaining a decent part-time job is not easy.  So it turns out that the dispatch office at my current gig and I were not using the phrase “part-time” in the same way. I’m a “lease driver,” basically like a temp; because I’m not guaranteed 40 hours a week, they call me “part-time.” Which would be OK, except in their minds, I am available to work as much as they need me to. I’ve been working 45 or 50 hours a week since Thanksgiving. It is a pretty lucrative gig for part-time, so I was hanging on, thinking that it would get back to part-time; my idea of part-time. I kept talking about wanting to get back to part-time, but they either didn’t understand or thought I was crazy. 

Finally, I got with the lease/temp company and re-asserted that I was only available three days a week. This created some confusion and consternation with my local dispatch. At first, I was told that part-time was not available. Nevertheless, I didn’t blink and eventually they decided that they’d rather have three days a week from a guy they know is reliable and capable, than five days from someone they don’t know. This was a big deal for me. Nineteen bucks an hour is a pretty good gig for a vagabond sailor. 

In the meantime, I did get a little bit of boatwork done in the last couple months. I’ve been part time a week and a half and the boatwork has accelerated. Here’s a quick review of the projects finished in December and January. 

Built Battery Boxes

And lids

Wired batteries in new space

Grinding coffee with inverter

Drilled a couple big holes

Installed seacocks

Reinforced some shelves

Replaced a rotten shelf

Installed solar ready vent

Practiced thermos cooking

Sequel to Five Crows, an Eagle, etc.

This strange afternoon on the road was the perfect sequel to my recent post: Five Crows, an Eagle, a Skunk and an Umbrella.

I was having a pretty normal work day. My route that morning took me to a store in Fort Lauderdale and two in Plantation. I was done and heading back to Vero Beach when I passed a car carrier as he came down a ramp onto the highway. Those carrier guys are all a little crazy, so in short order he was passing me.

He had just got into the right lane ahead of me, and a couple cars were already working on passing us, when an eagle flew up out of the median and across the left lane. As it was headed into the path of the other truck, I subconsciously chanted “no, no, no!”

Right at the last moment, the eagle jerked back over the cars, but seemed to drop something. In the

spastic course change, he even looked over his shoulder like “Damn, man. I dropped it!”

In a matter of seconds, I drove by a fish lying right on the dotted line of Florida’s Turnpike. I haven’t been a fisherman in a long time, but it was a nice looking fish, if I could make such a determination at 65 mph.

So, if you get where you’re thinking you’re having a bad day, remember my friend the fish. First, she was snatched out of some peaceful pond by an eagle, determined to eat her. Yet instead, she gets dropped onto a major highway, where she’ll bake in the sun on the crummy pavement until some car runs over her. Poor fish.
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Road fish image from here.
Fish drop image from here.

Boat Rich, Cash Poor

Moon over the boatyard.

Long ago, I decided that I'm not interested in getting ahead, I just want to break even. It's a good thing because I tried to go broke -- again. It's okay, it's part of my plan but I got caught up short; shouldn't have but I got distracted. First confession: I took too long to adjust my lifestyle from full time to part time. Worse yet, full time life on the road is different than just full time. Life out there is more expensive and less convenient. Because of all that, it's harder to recognize that you're eating out too often. I love cooking for myself but more than occasionally, while I was running here or there, I rationalized stopping at one of my favorite spots.

Earlier this month, I had a plan. My overarching philosophy is to spend whatever I need to spend, to continue the boatwork; while holding back enough for next months rent.

I have a fairly large check coming -- drivers escrow. The last company I worked for held back 50 bucks a week, up to $750, to cover minor damages to company equipment or their deductible in the event of something more serious. If all went well, the driver gets the escrow back upon leaving me company. I don't know if I'm getting every nickel back but I have a receipt from when I turned my truck in that shows the initial inspection was fine. I'm hoping, of course, for the entire balance.

In my memory of the drivers handbook, I was supposed to call 45 days after my termination to request the return of the escrow. Forty five days was the Monday of Thanksgiving week. I decided the Payroll Office would be busy enough that week that I would call the following week (I am too nice to a fault).

Two things became excruciatingly important a couple weeks later. One: I had counted on the arrival of the escrow monies in my plans. And two -- of course -- I forgot to call that next week.

Everything was going along fine. I was buying boat stuff and preparing for the engine install. I made a new dropboard for the companionway out of some decent plywood. Then I had to think about paying my rent. Wait a minute!! According to my plan, I should have had a lot more in my accounts then I did just then. The escrow!

When I called, I found out the escrow return would have been automatic but an email they had sent me, the day after I quit, was missing a letter in my email address. Its all straightened out now, just needs to be processed, but in the meantime I am squeaking by.

This is actually the plan. When I bought Emma, I basically spent all the money I had

Home Sweet Boatyard.

on her (she was that important). When I quit my Midwest job, the last two or three paychecks were just enough for me to move and get established in Florida. I had a job in Fort Pierce before I left Michigan. That Florida job paid for her mooring, and then storage, while I was saving up for the refit.

I bought a 50 horsepower diesel engine, new fuel tanks, and all the bits and pieces to install all of that. And in October, I switched to part time. I have a great gig that is going to fund the rest of the refit. It would all be going swimmingly if not for the couple grand I spent at the dentist in the last 4 or 5 months.

To twist an old saw for my own purposes: I'm boat rich and cash poor (this month). This is just exactly where and how I want to live. I continue to doggedly pursue my righteous cause. Don't worry about me, find your own cause.

Dollar Bill on the Bulletin Board

Grandma and Granddad were teachers, and in retirement they spent their winters at an RV resort in Nokomis, FL. When they arrived, Grandma would pin a dollar bill to her bulletin board to send the first grandkid who wrote them at their Florida address that year! We kids seemed to forget the surreptitious reward over the summer for the first several years, but it later became a competition. I might have had bragging rights one year or two.

I’ve had a dollar pinned to my imaginary bulletin board on Emma, but time’s up - the contest is over. And, dear reader, I really shouldn’t be telling you this anyway because no one called me on it.

Last week, I posted a picture on Instagram and Facebook bragging on my engineering skills in cutting a

new dropboard for Emma’s companionway and a funky shaped shelf for the engine room. Using a couple three foot lengths of aluminum angle, a trio of spring clamps, and a couple c-clamps, I had set-up a straight-edge for my saw. I even used a metal yard stick under the plywood, so that the pressure from the clamps wouldn’t mar the nice birch plywood.

It was just then that I snapped and shared a picture.

I made a smooth straight cut with my little cordless circular saw. The 18-tooth carbide blade easily cut through the ¾” plywood -- and my metal yardstick!  Ugh.

Just as I was getting into the meat of the plywood, I heard the little ‘clink-clink’ as a 2” chunk of the ruler fell on the ground at my feet. Ah, well -- we can’t all be carpentry engineers.

And actually, I’ve been using the little 2” ruler offal. It’s a perfectly convenient size for measuring the ⅞” offset for the base of the saw.

Five Crows, a Bald Eagle, a Skunk, and an Umbrella

Two posts ago, I described my travels to Annapolis for a couple seminars. I stayed at an AirBnB which was about 2.5 miles from where the seminars were held. I decided to walk it; though I did get a ride home on Friday. The last part of my morning walk was down Edgewood Road; a pretty major road with apartment complexes on either side leading out to a cluster of marinas and marine service vendors at the water.

On Saturday during my walk home, a woman coming the other direction in a Prius, slammed on her brakes as she got even with me and screamed: “There’s a bald eagle! That was a bald eagle!! Did you see it?”

I hadn’t seen her eagle that time, but on Sunday along the same stretch of road, I saw five crows chasing a bald eagle with a limp squirrel in its talons. The eagle really is a majestic bird when it is flying for all its worth!

And … that wasn’t the strangest thing to happen on my walks.

I had arrived in Annapolis Thursday evening and as I settled into the house, I met Storm, the house dog.

We became fast friends. I really miss having a dog. Friday morning I had a leisurely bagel and coffee with my host. As we chatted, I was scratching Storm behind her ears and I had a friend for life.

In the last quarter mile of walking to the first day of the seminar, I came across an umbrella beside the road -- open. Just the week before I was walking back from the grocery store as the fringes of Hurricane Maria passed by and the wind bent one whole side of the umbrella I was using. I was in the market for another.

The umbrella on the side of the road was a nice one; well built, not cheap. And it was one of those that collapsed down to about a foot long. As I moved the umbrella around, opening, closing and collapsing, I caught a whiff of skunk. Was it the umbrella … or something on the wind? Just to be sure, I sniffed the umbrella.

Yes -- standing on the side of Edgewood Road, Annapolis, MD, under a stand of pines, midday Friday, for all the world to see, or anyone else attending the same seminar, I sniffed an umbrella.

I decided it must have been the wind and I stuffed my new umbrella -- courtesy of a benevolent universe -- into the front pocket of my backpack.

The seminar started at the Port of Annapolis Marina and we finished the day at Chesapeake Sailmakers’ sail loft. The seminar was packed with twenty two sailors of all shapes and sizes with boats from all categories attending. I met a super nice couple from New York. They had driven down in their sleek red Tesla and gave me a ride -- me and my backpack -- from Port Annapolis to the loft. In fact, they sort of adopted me that day and gave me a ride back to the AirBnB on Friday evening too.

Back at the house, I went upstairs to my room, threw down the backpack, checked my email and began thinking about dinner. Storm came up to greet me and poked her nose, and then the rest of herself, through my un-closed bedroom door. I heard her coming in and turned to greet her. She came through the door and crossed the room sheepishly wagging her tail like crazy.  Until, that is, she got even with my backpack, when she froze and started sniffing at the front of it. I shooed her out of the room and with some trepidation, I retrieved the umbrella.

Precious Umbrella, an auspicious Buddhist symbol

After having been closed up in my backpack all day long, I could REALLY smell skunk! I don’t think the umbrella took a full, direct hit from the skunk, but I think someone must have fended off a glancing skunk spray somehow. Luckily, I had brought a couple trash bags with me. The forecast had called for rain and if it had, I would have kept my notebook and everything dry in a trash bag inside the backpack. I wrapped the umbrella tightly inside a trash bag and put it back in the backpack. Since Storm already knew it was around, I didn’t want to put it in the garbage at the house. On my walk to the seminar the next morning, I found a trash can along the way and got rid of my precious umbrella. I thanked the Universe for thinking of me, but I passed on that particular one.

Tweaking the Plan

Based on my most recent overall plan, I hit the road really hard for the last 14 months. I was staying out in the truck three weeks at a time and socking money away for the boat refit budget. I planned to focus on the boat full time all winter and stretch what savings I had as far as I could. This month, I tweaked the plan.

Part of that original plan had me going back to work at some point early next year. By my calculations, try as I might over the last year, there wasn’t quite enough cash to finish the boatwork I wanted to do. In addition, if I was going to take off sailing, I was going to need some cash for that as well. Further, I have never done well with a wide-open schedule. I was a bit concerned about maintaining my discipline and momentum on the boat project.

I truly believe that when you are finally on the right path -- when you are living your most authentic life -- things start to come together just when you need them. I was watching for part time trucking jobs on Craigslist and there was an ad that would pop up for a week or so and then disappear. I really thought it was some kind of scam. Part time or full time, home every night, not drop & hook, but a little bit physical. It sounded too good, I had to find out more.

My first few calls went unanswered, but I finally made contact and the whole thing came crashing together just before and during my long weekend in Annapolis. I actually did my drug screen for this Florida job in Glen Burnie, MD while I was up there. It is totally legit and fairly lucrative for a vagabond like me. I started last week and will be making retail store deliveries off a trailer with a lift gate; three days a week, sometimes four.

Nevertheless, I worked 41 hours last week as I finished up training and started going out on my own.

Nestle is evil. 

My first solo load was to a store in Miami Beach. In addition to the standard store stock on rolling carts, I had six full pallets of bottled water. It was sink or swim time. Each pallet was almost 2000 lbs. and I had to get them to the back of the trailer and down the lift gate with a pallet jack.

Were they trying to kill me? Indeed, there were a couple moments I wasn’t sure I had the strength to finish. But I did, dammit! I was looking for a job with more exercise and I got it, boy!! The dispatch office manager said that if six pallets of water didn’t run me off -- nothing would. True that.

I’m committed now anyway. This part time gig will carry me all the way through to when I take off sailing. I won’t have to stop and go back to work. With a slightly tighter weekly schedule, I’ll be more disciplined and get more boatwork done. Emma will be a better boat and we’ll have the cash in hand to be able to stay out there longer. The last part of the plan I had to change -- I was never going to own another car, but this new gig is 20 miles away.

My little beater Corolla. 

Learning the Ropes in a Sailor's Town

So … this weekend I learned the Rogerson Variation of the the McDonald Brummel splice for high modulus polyethylene fiber cordage! Woo! I attended the 59 North Sailing seminars on rigging and sail repair. Hanging out with a bunch of sailors can never be bad, but the intense learning we did along the way made for an incredibly productive time.

Brion Toss, renown rigger and author, was the speaker Friday afternoon and Saturday. We dove deep into rigging with his talks, a couple dock walks, some hands-on knots and splices, and an incline test and critique of a student’s boat at the marina. There was only two math formulas, but all kinds of juicy, red meat, technical information about keeping your mast up and control of your sails.

Nearly everyone has furling gear on their boat. Some of both the rigging and the sail repair seminars

Rigging Shop, Port of Annapolis Marina

began with the assumption that all of our boats had furlers; at least on the bow. One great moment for me came when I confessed in front of the class that I don’t like furlers. “Am I a fool or a luddite?” I asked Mr. Toss. He didn't flinch and seemed to sympathize with my philosophy.

Most of our ‘class time’ was in the shop at Chesapeake Sailmakers. Chuck O’Malley, founder of the loft, spoke to us on Sunday. He went over materials, methods, and designs early, and in the afternoon talked at length about lifespan, damage, abuse, and repair of sails. Chuck says he doesn’t make “white triangles,” he makes sails. Developing a relationship with a boat and her sailors, Chuck brings his knowledge and experience to bear and offers just the right solution. “Up to the point where the boat will still notice the difference.”

I came away with all kinds of new knowledge and some new friends. Details of rope and wire and Dacron; knots and splices and sail shapes are still oozing out my ears -- my brain is full!! Yet, I know exactly what I’m going to do with my rig and have a great idea to make my main sail track buttery smooth.

And(!) I got to chat with Matt Rutherford, he was the first to sail non-stop around the Americas. He sailed an Albin Vega, like my Bella, non-stop from Annapolis, up and over the top of Canada, down the Pacific Coast to Cape Horn, around and up past South America and back to Annapolis. He now does ocean research for NASA and the Smithsonian aboard his 42’ steel schooner.

The seminars were almost three miles away from the house where I got an AirBnB room; a fabulously funky, little artist-owned, art-filled bungalow. It was really enjoyable to walk more than five miles a day, all weekend. I also had some great seafood and got to hang around a great sailor’s town. It’s been incredible, and soul satisfying, how much of the small talk at the next table, in the store, even just out on the sidewalk was about boats; most often sailboats.

Two and half years ago, Alex and I spent a night at anchor up Weems Creek in Annapolis on our way south with his Westsail, Eleanor. Now I know a couple even better places. I’ll be back. Emma’s gonna love to visit.

If it was easy ... Part 42

Last month I was in town and cleaned any non-essential things out of my truck in anticipation of quitting. At the time, the gasket material for my portlights had come in, so I got a small boat project done too. Last week, I indeed ended my Over-The-Road driving career. 

The company I had been driving for bought me a bus ticket home after I dropped my truck off at the company headquarters. It was late on a Wednesday when I got back to Fort Pierce. The city bus was shut down for the evening, so I grabbed a taxi to the marina. The cupboards were pretty bare aboard Emma and I was too tired to walk a mile to the grocery. The rain started almost as soon as I was settled. The first couple days I was at the marina it rained and rained. This helped me identify that a few of the leaks I had blamed on the old gaskets were actually coming in around the ports. 

The next morning, still raining, I went through a few cans in the galley and chose Clam Chowder for breakfast. By midday, the sun had peaked out and I walked up to the store. Something like normal life was making a start. 

I've found a pretty ideal part-time job -- good pay and 3 days a week, but 30 miles away.

First, however, I am spending an extra long weekend in Annapolis learning about sail repair and rigging. The new job wants me to start as soon as I get back. So, I spent my first couple days as a local resident shopping for a car. This entailed a four mile round trip walking into town on Friday and then a 2 mile walk back on Saturday morning to buy a car with my debit card. And(!) I had planned on never having another vehicle. 

After securing a car, I wanted to seal up my ports before I left town. With a little more than two days to spend, I tore all 14 bronze ports out in the main cabin. The cabin walls were in good shape despite the leaks. I cleaned up the surfaces inside and out; and then set out to clean up the ports themselves. Old caulk and wood fiber came off with relative ease. It was the drips and slops from careless interior painting that caused the most work, but I managed to maintain most of the wonderful patina of the 45 year old bronze beauties. 

When I got ready to re-install the ports on the morning of my last day in town, I discovered that my caulk was solid in the tubes. The label said “do not store above 80 degrees.” Apparently, a year inside a locked boat in Florida was too much. I ran to the boat store; and the post office on a side errand. It’s just my luck that right after pledging to get back to ‘plant-based’, I discovered the closest USPS counter inside a restaurant that makes a fabulously decadent Cafe Con Leche! 

Just after 4:00p, I was finished with the ports and wandered over to the marina office. Some special black caulk, for my next project, had arrived. Also, I wanted to let them know my ‘new’ car would be hanging around for a week without me. Back at the boat, I removed the rattling shade tarp and called the taxi again. 

This time, however, my little local taxi guy was not available. I called Yellow Cab and they have given up on Fort Pierce and shut down. So, I schlepped my heavy duffel and book bag a mile to the city bus. I just missed the 5:30p bus. In fact, I saw him diappear down Jaunita Avenue. As I sat there, in the sun, waiting on the 6:30 bus, I realized that this later bus was only going to get me to the Central Transit Station before the buses quit running. So, lord help my ex-taxi soul, I installed Lyft on my phone and had a ride in 10 minutes. Charmaine took me out to the Motel 6 where I had a wonderful hot shower and slept like a mummy in a king-sized bed the night before I traveled. 

I hiked with the same duffel from the motel over to the Love’s Truckstop where Greyhound picks up. All went well, up through Jacksonville, then Savannah but came to a screeching halt in Fayetteville, NC. There we spent 8 hours locked in limbo by a missing driver. It was a good test of patience and equanimity, but in the end Greyhound did me right. This evening I’ll get to Baltimore and then they’ll send me in a taxi to Annapolis. If all those T’s get crossed, I’ll make it to the start of my seminar tomorrow. 

I am attending a couple seminars put on by Andy and Mia of 59 North Sailing. One is on sail repair and the other is on rigging -- the next big project after I install the diesel engine. Life is good. If it was easy, everybody would be doing it. 

In a few days ...

I might actually miss the ol' Mack. 

In a few days, the next facet of my journey begins. I’m ending my Over-the-Road driving career. Emma, my Westsail 32 cutter, will be my home and my full-time job. I’ve been hitting the road really hard for the last year saving money for Emma’s refit. 

The last month has been intense. Besides preparing to quit trucking, there was a little storm, named Irma, that came by. I rode out the storm in Jacksonville and Emma is fine. 

It’s a difficult decision to leave this company. I have a great dispatcher and everyone in the office is helpful and committed. Last month, when It became clear that Irma was going to come to Florida, I asked the weekend dispatch crew for a Fort Pierce load if one came up. Five hours later, I was on my way. 

After a ‘drop-and-hook’ at the warehouse in Fort Pierce, I ran across town to the marina. With the truck parked along a side street, I spent an hour and a half buttoning up Emma. I pulled down some shade tarps and tied down the hard dinghy. I put the cockpit back in place, sealed it with some weatherstripping, but didn’t screw it down. When I crawled down the ladder, she was as prepared as I could make her. 

In the week before the storm, I was running loads around Florida, South Carolina and Georgia. Each time I stopped somewhere, I checked the National Hurricane Center website. The early forecasts had Irma raking up the east coast of Florida or just missing and heading toward the Carolinas close offshore. With a storm as big as she was, neither of these options was good for a guy with a boat on the Treasure Coast. At least, my boat is ‘on-the-hard’ not in the water. The forecasts began leaning to the west. In the end, Irma tore up the Gulf Coast instead. This was good for me and my boat, but not so good for my friends and family over there. 

When Irma was clawing across The Keys, I delivered a load south of Valdosta. Dispatch asked if I

Fisherman's Wharf, Ft. Pierce, after the storm

wanted to ‘bobtail’ home; toward the storm! I guess this made sense to ask drivers who had homes and families. I opted to run to Jacksonville and hide. 

By the time I was dropping and running, Jacksonville was out of the forecast cone for the eye of the storm. I didn’t have enough hours to run any further. It turned out to be a good position to restart right after the storm. I got to a Pilot Truckstop and parked between a couple big trucks. We were all somewhat protected by the highway embankment nearby. Shortly, the Pilot sent all their employees home. Soon after that, the power went out in the neighborhood.

My truck rocked and rolled as the outer storm bands came across northeast Florida. A couple times, a blast of wind really shook the truck, but I never felt like I was in danger. I looked out a few times, but in the rain and wind, it didn’t make much sense to get out and walk around a closed truckstop. Palm trees look very strange when all the fronds are folded over to one side. I ended up leaving before the station was open again. 

Once freight started moving, my first load was for a Home Depot near Fort Lauderdale. It felt good to be helping in a small way. The morning after the storm passed, my Marina posted that “all boats are standing.” It was ‘mostly’ true. Later that day, a couple good friends, locals, texted me pictures of Emma still standing. It was a great relief. Another couple, new friends, had offered to do the same. I’m mighty lucky to have made several good connections in Fort Pierce; even without really having been a ‘local’ yet.

Yikes!

Emma is fine. There was 25 gallons of rain in the bilges because the cockpit wasn’t sealed. One non-critical tarp was ripped off. The scariest thing was that Emma wiggled enough in the wind that the jackstands had moved a bit. I’ve already pumped her out, cleaned her up and tightened her stands. Life is good. 

In the days just after the storm, I was driving around Florida, Georgia and Alabama. I didn’t see much structural damage, but there were hundreds of trees down. As I drove down I-75 and up I-95, the highway crews had already been out cutting back literally miles and miles of trees that had fallen onto the road or shoulder. Everywhere I went the shoulders were littered with piles of wood chopped up quickly by chainsaw. Fresh cut log ends poked out of the woods; some still within inches of the traffic as it whizzed by. 

Knowing that Emma was fine, I stuck with my months-old plans and submitted my two week notice at work. I’m going to focus on Emma. My

Emma, doin' just fine.

project plans are a little richer than the boat fund as it stands. In addition, I’ve never done well with a wide open schedule. So I am looking into part time opportunities that will keep me disciplined, but won’t interfere with my boatwork. One way or another, I have plenty of boatwork to do. With a small, steady income over the next months of boatwork, I may be able to afford some extra things for Emma and a couple cameras for recording my wandering.

I’m really excited!! The first week of October I’ll be living aboard Emma where she sits in the gravel and spending as much of my time with her as I can. In addition to boatwork, I’ll be working the 'road' off my fat-assed trucker body. I can't wait to cook for myself again!!! I can't wait to eat actual vegetables and give up road food!! I can't wait to be plant-based again!! I can't wait!!!