The Halfway Back Blues

This is Part Two of a 3 Part Series.

As a bit of foreshadowing, a month or two previous I had felt the campervan transmission slip slightly. I checked and added some fluid at the time. When I rolled into Wilmington after 600 miles, I felt a little slip again. Half of the fluid remained from the previous month, so I added the rest. Both times, a little fluid seemed to bring the van, named The Moose by Mom, back to normal. However, a visit to a transmission shop was in order when I got back to Florida.

Right now, I’m on the road hiding out from COVID and earning a little money. Most weeks, I’m running up or down I-95; Florida, Georgia, the Carolinas. So the last thing I wanted to do was head down I-95 to get home. At the end of the last blog, I peeked at the map and headed out of Leland, NC on US-17, south toward Shallotte, Myrtle Beach, Georgetown and Charleston.

US-17 runs from Winchester, Virginia to Punta Gorda, Florida and is called the Coastal Highway. In the Carolinas it is near the coast, but not very coastal. My dreams of following the ocean back down to Florida were not going exactly as I had planned. I’d never been through Myrtle Beach and was shocked by the Vegas-style schlock and pulsating consumerism. Does any city, anywhere, need two PGA Golf Superstores? Out past Myrtle Beach, the scenery improved; low country scrub and southern Americana.

After Myrtle Beach, there was a sign for a  state park, but it was mostly swanky suburbs and golf resorts down through Pawley’s Island. Just before Georgetown there was a stretch of wilderness and I was starting to think about lunch.

In my head, Georgetown is a favorite place, but I’ve only been there once. A little more than five years ago, I was crewing on a Westsail 42, headed from New York to Panama [that story starts here]. In Norfolk, we had picked up the Captain’s father, who had caught a bug on the way up. He was really sick all the way through the Virginia/Carolina wilderness. At Georgetown, we pulled in to take the father to a doctor. It was Memorial Day and that meant going through the process at the local Emergency Room. 

The Waccamaw River flows south from up near Conway. Just before Georgetown, the Waccamaw is joined by the Great Pee Dee River, which wanders all over the Low Country but never gets very great. To the west of town, the Sampit River comes almost due east and joins the other two rivers to become the estuary of Winyah Bay. Previously, the Sampit had made hairpin curve before dumping into the bay. This was indigo and rice country in the colonial and antebellum years. Large slave plantations were established and many rivers and creeks in the area were diverted with complex earthworks built to support the trade. At some point, the Sampit made a shortcut into the bay and turned what had been the main channel up into downtown Georgetown to a quiet bayou. 

Georgetown is the second largest seaport in South Carolina. Exports were originally indigo and rice, then lumber and steel. A couple mills loom over the bayou, right next to downtown. The paper mill still operates and, depending on the wind direction, offers the usual pungent, pulp smell. The steel mill has been through a few owners in the last decades and I’m not sure it’s currently running. Heritage tourism is a big draw these days. The streets of the older side of town are quaint in all the ways you’d expect. Hurricane Hugo paid a ferocious visit here, but the bayfront has recovered and is touristy in an understated genteel kind of way.

During the previous trip, while the Captain and his dad were at the hospital, I got a chance to wander around Georgetown; cobblestones, old buildings, bookstores, and seafood restaurants. I bought a book and enjoyed some lunch. The father got some meds and we were off the next morning. 

On this trip south, I made a pass in the campervan but was uninspired. Call it a hangover from passing through the grinding tourism of Myrtle Beach, but I didn’t stop to hike around seeking seafood. Furthermore, I didn’t want to try and park The Moose on the narrow, old streets. On a residential street, a couple blocks clear of the tourists, I paused under a spanish moss laden oak tree and looked for some lunch options. I had a craving and Lamar’s Fish and Chips caught my eye. 

Lamar’s Fish and Chips was out past the Piggly Wiggly and the McDonald’s, in the westside neighborhoods that are modern, not antebellum country club. The hospital where the captain had taken his father was not far away. A block off the main drag, just beyond an abandoned CVS store, Lamar’s was a nondescript cinderblock building with a mansard looking cap on its facade. Inside, a counter was off to the left, the dining room on the right, closed for COVID with chairs atop tables all moved together. 

I ordered the fish and chips special, whiting; ten minutes. The bathrooms looked open, so I made a pitstop. In no time at all, Lamar emerged from the kitchen with my lunch. Steam wafted from under the clamshell’s lid as he asked what sauces I needed. Hot sauce. Thank you. He asked me where I was coming from and how I’d found his place. I told him I was on the road, headed south, craving seafood, and that I’d found him on Google Maps. 

“Well, I’ve been frying fish for forty eight years, I should know what I’m doing,” he said.

“I can’t wait to find out.”

“You’ll be back,” Lamar assured me. 

Back on US-17 headed south, I munched on the fish and chips which rested on some luggage between the front seats. Out past the mills in Georgetown, I was back in the low country and near a town called Mount Pleasant I started seeing little huts on the side of the road selling baskets. These woven sweetgrass baskets are a tradition brought to South Carolina by the West African slaves who eventually established the Gullah Community in the low country. Originally tools of rice production, these baskets are now a highly refined craft. Basic baskets sell for around $30, but as they get bigger and more intricate they can sell for more than $500. I’ve discovered since then the stretch of US-17 in the Mount Pleasant area has been designated the Sweetgrass Basket Makers Highway. 

The traffic thickened approaching Charleston, and in the stopping and going, the transmission slipped again. The slip was intermittent; still didn’t seem like real trouble. I was really hoping to make it to Florida. Rather than ‘stop and go’ all the way through Charleston, I jumped on the 526 bypass. I got all the way around the city but I could feel the transmission too often. Back at US17 in West Ashley, I stopped and put in another third of a jug of transmission fluid. Once again, it seemed to help. Maybe I could make it back if I just kept adding fluid. 

I know ... I know.  

I was way ahead of schedule. My four day weekend was designed to accommodate some fixing, sealing, or tarping as necessary at the boat. Fortunately, the boat was in great shape. By some intuition, I had left Navassa midday Wednesday rather than Thursday morning. When my load assignment came in, it wasn’t until Saturday evening. I had almost two days of slack, so I thought I might find a cheap motel on the way and spend some time writing. 

Where US-17 joins up with I-95, I pulled over to look for motel options. I had my eye on Hardeeville, SC, across the river from Savannah. There is a familiar truckstop there. I picked a motel near a Chinese restaurant, but Priceline.com offered me a deal I couldn’t resist. Two nights for $70 dollars right near where I was going to be anyway. I booked it and got going toward my little writing vacation. 

Leaving the gas station where I’d stopped, the Moose stalled. That’s new, but it started right back up. Over the highway bridge, I passed a cop on the ramp and as soon as my wheels touched I-95, I heard a quiet pop and the van started trailing white smoke. I drifted over to the shoulder blowing a line of smoke like a skywriter. Under the hood, there was no fire and the smoke had stopped. I gingerly moved several yards on the shoulder, but the smoke did not reappear. It was about 4:30 pm when I started moving slowly down the highway; toward the motel about twenty miles away.  

The exit ramp ended at a stop sign; on a hill. I was worried what would happen when I stepped strongly on the accelerator to get across through the traffic. Nevertheless, the uphill left turn went fine. Down the road a half mile, I made a looping turn into the motel parking lot. There was no more smoke, no fire, but I had left a long trail of fluid which was now dripping below the Moose. I tossed a rag under the leak and checked in at the motel. 

By the time I had a key and a room, it was right at five o’clock. Neither transmission shop in town would answer their phone. Now my plan was dependent on the drip. If there was a big puddle under the Moose in the morning, I was going to need a tow. But when morning came, the rag was damp but there was no puddle. The Moose and I made the eight miles over to the transmission shop. They needed a few hours to diagnose my problems, so I called a cab. Back at the motel, the writing wasn’t flowing easily as I waited for the phone to ring. 

The news was not good. The Moose needed a new transmission. It was going to be expensive. I had to explore some options. So much for writing, now I was ciphering.  

I’ve been living in the van, first while working on the boat and now on my weekends off the road. The Moose is chock full of stuff; boat stuff, life stuff, and food. I have five kinds of flour, dry beans, rice, and other provisions. There are two expensive lithium batteries for the boat on the floor of the van’s shower. Any option to ditch the Moose would have to include getting back to South Carolina somehow to pick up my stuff. I’d have to pay storage in the meantime and trust that wherever it was stored was secure. 

My overall plan is to remain in Florida through February; depending on COVID, the economy, et al. Basically, all my options for moving forward would be nearly as expensive as the transmission. The only real difference is that after moving from the van to the boat I will get some money back out of the van when I sell it. I decided to fix the van. The shop needed a half down deposit to get started. A big chunk of my ‘boat money’ disappeared into the van.  

Now I needed to get back to work. Because I had left North Carolina early, I actually had time to arrange for alternative travel plans back to Florida. I called back the little local taxi company and arranged a ride into Savannah. My trip back to Florida would mostly be by Greyhound bus. As luck would have it, the Greyhound station in Savannah is directly across the street from a funky motel where I’ve always wanted to stay. I booked a room at the Thunderbird Inn and the trip on my Greyhound app. I tried calling an airport shuttle that I’d seen nearby to work. They flatly rejected coming to get me from Greyhound. So I left the last leg’s arrangements for after I arrived. 

The Thunderbird Inn is an awesomely funky spot; bright colors, neon, and southern hospitality. There were moon pies on my pillow, complimentary RC Cola, and mid century modern decor. In the morning with coffee in the lobby: real Krispy Kreme Donuts. Before the sun the next morning, I walked a few blocks over to the Maple Street Biscuit Company; downtown, exposed brick, old wood floors, cool people. I had southern biscuits and gravy, but gravy made with shiitake mushrooms rather than sausage. Divine.

I hiked back to the Thunderbird, packed my bags and walked across the street. Eight hours on the bus to Orlando included a service dog, nonstop nervous natter, COVID conspiracy, apples, China, Afghanistan, the book of Revelations, Trump, Bush, Obama, Kennedy, and End Times. It was all I could do to stay out of the discussion that never stopped from the seat behind me. I was never so glad to arrive in Orlando. 

I got a ride on my Lyft app and began to relax. If I’d have stayed on my game a few more minutes, I would have reacted to all the taillights that appeared on the ramp to the Turnpike. Instead, Cinthya, the driver, and I had a wide ranging chat while we waited through a 45 minute delay. There was a multi-car accident between us and the next exit, so there was no escape. Cinthya is from Ecuador and has one kid in college with another starting high school. She enjoys life in the Orlando area but has much family back in Ecuador; including her Mom who moved back in retirement. 

The last turn toward the terminal is a very dark, lonely country road. I could feel a rise in the tension. I quickly apologized and assured my driver that just around the corner was a giant, well lit complex with a security guard, lots of trucks, and other people. We’d had such a long chat that I think there was a bit of trust, but that trust was tested staring down a lonely country road with some ol’ trucker in the back seat. I unloaded my bags by the guard shack and hit Lyft’s tip button extra hard as Cinthya headed back toward Orlando.  

The next day I was back on the road; back to earning money. I’ve arranged with the shop to come back in a month to pick up the fixed Moose. In the meantime, I don’t really have anywhere to go on my weekends. Yesterday, in the present, I hiked a four mile round trip to visit a produce stand with a taco food truck. Tacos Carnitas, real Mexican street style -- worth every step. 

==

Editor’s Note: I was in Publix this morning wearing my Thunderbird Inn t shirt. I had thought that I remembered the Thunderbird from visiting my now ex in-laws in Savannah thirty years ago. The cashier, a lady old enough to have been a snowbird for a very long time, asked if the Thunderbird was still open. I assured her that I had slept there a week ago. She told me that she and her husband had often stopped there on their way south for the winter from Ohio. The wistful tone of her voice made it seem like also a long time ago. 

Sneaking Up To North Carolina

This is Part One of a 3 Part Series. 

I wasn’t going to post much to this blog, because I am not in Navassa working on the boat. I am waiting for all this craziness to end and the world to loosen back up. So I’m back on the road driving for a company that I’ve driven for before; hiding out from COVID and making a little money. Nevertheless, I was able to talk my way into a four day weekend and snuck up to North Carolina to check on my boat, sv Ruth Ann. I drove up in my campervan, known as The Moose.  

I’ve been suffering from a boat-related version of hypochondria. A few times a week my brain would wander off and suddenly I could imagine all the ways that Ruth Ann was suffering some damage up in the boatyard. I imagined her full of water, invaded by bees and wasps ... or mice and snakes. I pictured her leaning on her jackstands damaging the hull. Or she had fallen over sideways. It was mostly ridiculous, but after three months away, it was time to go check on her. 

I got back to the terminal near Leesburg, FL early on the last day of my week. It was easy to get organized, pack up, and head north by midday the day before I’d anticipated leaving. It had already been a full day starting in the wee hours, but I was motivated to see my boat. That evening, I made it as far as exit 49 in Georgia, near Darien. The Taco Bell there was still open, I grabbed a black bean something or other and parked the van among the big trucks out behind the BP station. I’d slept there before in my semi. 

The next morning, I was up early and ready to roll, but the Burger King was not yet open and the Parker’s gas station had no Parker’s Kitchen -- no quick breakfast to grab. So I crossed the highway and stumbled into the Waffle House. I ordered the two egg breakfast and a subscription to coffee. My hash browns are always “scattered, smothered, diced, and peppered;” scattered on the grill, smothered with grilled onions, diced grilled tomatoes, and jalapenos. I sat at the counter next to a chair covered in caution tape to promote social distancing. A scrawny dude with stringy hair sticking out the back of his Waffle House hat took my order. He looked a little out of place so early in the morning. Tattooed on his left hand knuckles was the word “King.”

He complimented me on my octopus tattoo and asked to see the treasure map tat that was peeking out from under the sleeve of my t shirt. He took more than a casual interest in the quality of my friend Emily’s work. I asked if “King” was a nickname. He said it was and told me he had just finished his tattoo apprenticeship when COVID hit and everything shut down. That explained his inexplicable occupation in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. Then he showed me a Viking motif tattoo that he had done - his first tattoo as an artist. It was an impressive big black and grey tat, well done. He was experienced enough a server that he left me to my eggs after delivering my breakfast, but he cashed me out too fast and didn’t give me a chance to tip on my card. The other Waffle House employees that morning had the patina on them of years behind the counter, I know the tattoo dude will soon learn the ropes. 

I carried on that next day, my first official day of a four day weekend, and made it to the boatyard. No one was in the office when I arrived, but there was a little pile of mail for me. When I emerged from the john across the driveway, I ran right into Sam and Amy; the yard owner and the yard manager. We had a pleasant chat and I followed Amy into the office to pay my October rent. After some more chatting, I proclaimed that I hadn’t even seen my boat yet and left them. 

With a little trepidation, I drove through the yard. I wasn’t sure exactly where they had put Ruth Ann. The yard boys had moved Ruth Ann the day after I had left back in June, in order to get the boat behind her into the water. When I found her, she was standing out in the field, lonely, a little dirty, with the grass growing tall up around the feet of the jackstands. My ladder was locked on my little tool trailer. I grabbed it and climbed up into Ruth Ann’s cockpit. A sun baked, windblown tarp still covered the companionway; one of my worries.

The companionway has two small drop boards and a large louvered vent topboard. The vents are screened and the louvers will keep most rain out of the boat, but in a storm with near horizontal rain the louvers aren’t much protection. There’d been a couple good storms this summer and I’d imagined her filling with water through the companionway. I remembered debating whether to tarp the companionway or not. Ventilation is a good thing. Time away left me unable to recall my decision. Luckily, I had tarped. So, I untied the lines, folded the tarp, and removed the dropboards.  

Down below, I stood in the galley and absorbed the state of things. There were no obvious signs of moisture or leaks, no smell of mildew or sour standing water. I hadn’t finished the wiring when I left, so it still looked like an old house being remodeled. There were spare parts and components lying about, wires hanging from cupboards with switches and fixtures next to them awaiting installation. I had put all the tools away, but it was a little messy. 

The boom was off the mast and down below which had to be moved so I could get to the floorboards. Another swell of drama rolled on me as I lifted the hatch to look in the bilges. The summer before, when Dad and I travelled to North Carolina from Michigan after Hurricane Dorian, I had pumped about thirty gallons of water out of the bilges. One of my hypochodrial worries was another full bilge. I had worked pretty hard to trace and fix leaks while I was with Ruth Ann earlier this year. That work paid off when I slowly lifted the hatch and saw about a half cup of water below. The Bayfield 29 has a keel stepped mast so there will always be some drips of water that make it down the mast and into the bilge. That’s just part of the game. A half cup, I can live with. 

I talked with some of my boatyard neighbors. Most of them, I had wished for their own sakes, that they had gotten boats back in the water and left, but here they still were. Some trapped by a decent job nearby, some confronted endless projects with limited funds, others just kind of got stuck, but it was good to see them all, regardless. Boat people are my people; even boat people on land. 

I spent the night with the Moose almost under an Army fire rescue boat in the yard for annual maintenance. In the morning, I retarped the companionway and put away my ladder. Inside the tool trailer, I was glad to find very little mildew or corrosion. Before locking the trailer back up, I laid a bag of kitty litter in the back and sliced open the top to absorb moisture. With that, I was done with my check up. I had taken a couple extra days in case I needed to take care of some emergency, but it hadn’t been necessary. I was craving some seafood, but I didn’t have anything left to do in Navassa. I decided I would leave early and avoid the highway back to Florida. My current job has me practically living on I-95; why would I want to take I-95 all the way home? I said my goodbyes and headed south down US 17. 

Last Post ... for a time.

Good gracious, I miss her already.

I have announced on my social media, but not here on the blog, that I am back on the road. It’s my opinion that the COVID-19 situation is only going to get worse for a while yet. It made sense for me to get a regular job now rather than wait until the world is in even more a panic. I didn’t want to be hung out as a freelancer or out on a small boat looking for work; or worse yet, looking for food. 

The Bubba the Pirate blog has always been exclusively about my boats and boat-related adventures so this will be the last post on the Bubba the Pirate blog for a while. I have three blogs because I’m an idiot and a glutton for punishment. The other two, however, have languished recently as most of my content has been boat related. Now that I’m on the road again, I’ll be back to telling road stories. To maintain my own imagined consistencies, I’ll be posting those stories on my writing blog here. There’s lots of stories there from the road and elsewhere.   

I just posted a “I’d rather be lucky than good” story there. Please check it out. 

Sailing North

I’ve learned over the last thirteen years of boatwork that I shouldn’t talk about dates and deadlines. Despite all that, I thought I would share some brief thoughts about my near-term sailing plans. I’m trying to keep to a regular schedule with the blog, but I’ve had a few good days of boatwork which nearly made me late for my Thursday deadline. The boat will soon be back in the water. I’m not going to say how soon, but soon enough that I’m thinking about sailing; where, when and how. Two things are going to stipulate that I move north first. 

The First of June is the start of hurricane season. It will be a while after that day that sv Ruth Ann is back in the water. I have liability only insurance on the boat but anyone more fully insured is required to be north of Norfolk, VA or Cape Henry by June. Heading south would not make a lot of sense because of the season, but it will also be plenty hot for a boat with no air conditioning. My new weather philosophy will be if it’s too hot, go north; too cold, south.  

The other reason to head north is a “Sail-In” gathering. I’ve been hanging around an old fashioned discussion board on these interwebs for well over 15 years; SailFar.net -- small boats, long distances. As a matter of fact, I found Ruth Ann through that very site. You can see that story here. The second weekend of September several of us SailFar-ers are going to meet up in an anchorage south of Annapolis, MD. That is just far enough away that I am quite sure that I can make it. I’ve signed on. I’m doing something wrong if Ruth Ann is not sailing by November. 

Depending when I get Ruth Ann launched, I will have some time to wander the U.S. East Coast. The world is still a strange place right now, but the Chesapeake Bay area seems to be opening up. I have always wanted to gunkhole around the Bay. I could get there in four or five days. So if there were no hurricanes brewing in the Atlantic when I left, Ruth Ann and I would have plenty of time to make it there safely; even offshore. Heading north, offshore makes sense with the Gulfstream Current helping. Coming south, it would make sense to use the Intra Coastal Waterway(ICW). 

I might jump from Masonboro Inlet to the Chesapeake or go straight out the Cape Fear River to round both the Frying Pan Shoals and Cape Hatteras on the way. After a rest in Hampton or Norfolk, I’d jump offshore again to the Delaware River; likely taking a break at Cape May. After that I could jump again and head to Atlantic Highlands, NJ. This is the place where Alex and I were stuck for several days waiting on the weather to jump around the State of New Jersey going south. A significant place in my sailing history; the start of my first ocean sailing. That’s likely all I’d have time for. 

There are family and friends I could see along the way. And watching the calendar, I would head south

in time to make the SailFar Sail-In. If I had made it as far as Atlantic Highlands, then Ruth Ann and I would have to go offshore again to get around New Jersey. This time at Cape May, I would head up the Delaware River to get to the C&D Canal. Across the canal to the top of the Chesapeake, I could then sail southwest, down past Aberdeen and Baltimore, sneak under the Bay Bridge and then head for the Rode River anchorage and meet up with my fellow sailors. All of that might take two or three days; anchoring at night. 

Once the meetup was over, if I’d made it that far, I’ll have to be looking for some way to earn some money; the proverbial cruising kitty. Frankly, it’s likely to be cooler than I prefer in mid-September near Annapolis. I’ll be ready to head south; down the ICW.  Down the Chesapeake to Norfolk, VA, then into the Elizabeth River and the ICW through the rest of Virginia and the Carolinas. From Charleston, or Port Royal, I might jump offshore to cut the corner to Jacksonville. I would like to visit the backwaters of Georgia; Darien and Brunswick, but Georgia is becoming a less friendly place for cruising sailors like me – like Florida. But … I have contacts, and friends, in Florida. I’ll likely head there to make a little money and ride out the winter. There are three or four situations in Florida where I could walk right in and have a job again. That counts for something. I could save money even while living out of a marina or a mooring field. We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted. 

Two Piles

Not so long ago, I saw some good advice in the Tiny Liveaboard Facebook Group. Someone suggested that in preparation for moving aboard a small boat one should make two piles. One pile of all the things that you don’t really need; things that you haven’t even touched for months. In the other pile place all the things that you feel you can’t live without. It is important to take time to carefully consider each item and which pile it belongs in. Most important of all, once you have everything carefully sorted -- throw away both piles.

I lived aboard a very small boat in the 1990s, and I should have known how little I could have brought with me. Still, I showed up in North Carolina after cleaning out my space in Dad’s basement – AND – having emptied a storage unit in Florida near my last boat project. I have a small trailer here full of stuff that I thought I couldn’t live without. Some of what I have is boat-worthy, but not much. I did actually find a couple kitchen items that I threw in a box years ago that have become quite useful in the campervan galley while I’m waiting to use them on the boat. But many of the things in my pile(not yet two piles) are things that I valued some time ago. I am a different man and a different sailor than I was then – and I’m working on a different boat.

Some decisions are easy and quick. I opened a box recently and couldn’t decide if it had been apartment stuff, truck stuff, or boat stuff. It had been years since I had laid eyes on any it. Just looking at the top layer, I knew none of it was needed in my life today. I also knew that handling each individual thing would be such a temptation to keep some of them. I closed the box, picked it up, and marched right to the dumpster. Such a satisfying clunk when it all hit the bottom.

My issue is books. I am a voracious reader and I’ve been collecting books for a long time. Some were resources to have on a boat. Others were books that I was looking forward to digesting when the pace of my life slowed; like “The Essays of E.B. White.” Many were just my favorites; favorite books, favorite authors, favorite topics. I just can’t take them all. I probably could not have taken them all on my last boat which had almost double the displacement as Ruth Ann.

Nevertheless, I have made some recent progress in lightening my load. I’m loath to confess that a few books went into the dumpster too. It was a shameful thing to do, but in this time we’re in, the schedule I’m on, and as isolated as I am right now – it was just a cold, hard fact of my life. Lots of goofy trinkets I’d been saving are gone. Duplicate items and things that I know now that I won’t need are gone. There are three tubs in the nose of my little trailer that I have yet to go through. At least two of them have more books! A great majority will be replaced by ebooks.

Then there are tools. I have a pretty good collection of tools for a vagabond. Many will be necessary to properly maintain my boat. As I work on her now, I’m sifting for which tools I really need and which I could do without. Some of the bigger things are going to be hard to stow. My sewing machine will not only allow me to fix my own sails and do my own canvaswork, but I should be able to make a little money doing the same for other boaters. A shop vac, even a small one, however, is not likely to make the cut (I currently have two).

Perhaps the biggest benefit to all this work minimizing doesn’t pertain to “things” at all but to my life. In making decisions about what things I might need, I’ve had to repeatedly consider exactly what my life is going to be like. How would I know what types of things I should keep if I hadn’t already considered, in detail, how I was going to live?

When I first started this plan to escape on a boat, it was mostly about bikinis and booze; chasing the former, encouraged by the latter. For a few years now it has become more about a quiet lifestyle; more like a personal retreat than a party. I’m looking for peace and a simpler life. I’m looking forward to days with nothing pressing when preparing coffee and a simple but delicious breakfast might take a few hours to accomplish. I am already very content and know my priorities and aspirations very well.



I am currently buried in boat stuff. Two weeks ago, I ordered a bunch of stuff for Ruth Ann. It’s all arrived now. I’m set for boatwork chores well into June. Barrier coat and bottom paint should go on the hull next week, if the weather cooperates. While the weather is not cooperating, I have been rewiring the boat working inside. I have solar panels, wire, brackets, fittings, lights and lithium batteries to install. By the time you read this I will have gone up the mast to remove the last shackle of the furler. While I’m up there I’ll measure the stemballs, a mast fitting, so that I can order them. I’m hoping that the mast will come down in the next week or so. That depends on the schedule of the boatyard. I am so close to getting all I need done that if the boatyard doesn’t have time, I will do as much as I can by climbing the mast. Stay tuned!

The Other Boat

Boatyard Neighbors at Sunset

An unusual thing happened that made me notice something else had settled. It was apparent that I was just perceiving what had already baked in; was already done.

Hanging around a boatyard is being with my tribe. We have disparate opinions about politics, power vs. sail, and all sorts of things, but we can talk about boats for days. I was describing to my neighbor a trip I had taken down the U.S. East Coast, crewing on Eleanor, a Westsail 42. [The telling of that whole story starts here.] I had said that if money was no object and I could have any boat, I would likely choose a Westsail just like Eleanor; even though they haven’t been produced since the late 1980s.

This neighbor occasionally tries to convince his wife that they should have a sailboat rather than their curiously beautiful British workboat turned cruiser. Just then, he remembered having looked at a boat nearby that was like the one I described. He thought it could be had for cheap.

It turned out that he had seen a Tartan not a Westsail, but another beautiful, solidly-built boat about forty two feet long. It was a ketch just like Eleanor and had been featured in a magazine at one time. Apparently, it had been partially sunk but rescued by a skilled salvage crew. She had been saved, preserved, and now spends her days motoring a bit around Georgetown, SC. The story was, the salvager didn’t really know what to do with her and was getting bored. She might be headed to the scrapyard. Or … an ambitious sailor might be able to have her for the scrap value of the lead in her keel.

I saw pictures, recent ones. I received the phone number. I read the article.

Pic from the magazine, not current.

She is still beautiful; even after some trauma and benign neglect.

Not so long ago, a previous version of me would have spent the next few days sifting through the details, doing the math, and daydreaming big plans. I often did this without any real thought of trying to purchase some prospective boat. But other times I would sink into detailed planning, get emotionally involved, even discuss options with an owner, and end up heartbroken when I couldn’t pull it off.

I haven’t seen this boat in person and there are several red flags about her. Set aside that the used sailboat market is not so soft that someone else would not have grabbed a feasible project by now. I don’t know the story or the extent of the sinking. The sails are supposedly shot, but there might be another set. And a bigger boat is always more expensive; to maintain, to dock, to run. None of this, however, would have slowed me down before. Hell, I bought a boat in Miami that had no engine, from Michigan sight unseen, and subsequently sailed her over a hundred miles in the Atlantic to get her to a yard where I could work on her.

I was never really turned on for some reason, but the magazine article was chock full of other details that were not positive. The article was titled “The Geriatric Ketch” and was all about how the previous owners, an older couple, had set the boat up to assist them in continuing to sail in their autumn years. The boat bristled with gadgets and labor saving devices, like electric winches. There were modifications to the keel. Every sail was on a furler. I don’t even like furlers, but that might not have stopped the previous me. That me would have likely been obsessed with the idea that a beautiful, fixable forty two foot ketch could be had for round about $9000.00. It seemed strange, but even after all that neighborly boat talk, I was unfazed. I couldn't have cared less.

I had read the article on my phone from a lawn chair in the shadow of the boat that sits right behind my Ruth Ann. I’d been sanding all morning when I struck up a conversation with the neighbor. I set the phone down just as the sun climbed over the building behind us; splashing afternoon sun all over my boat. I’m working hard to bring her back to her glory and that work stood out in the bright contrasts. The port side of the hull was mostly smooth again. She was generally clean and finally looked like someone was taking care of her. No streaks of dirt from the rain. No moss in the shadows. No sun-eaten ropes hanging around. Halyards were coiled and stowed. They only bang the mast in the strongest wind. Her transom is clean waiting for a proper name and hail. The teak that I had stripped, sanded and oiled glistened darkly, relishing its renewal.

She had overheard our conversation about the other boat. Her trailboards quivered and her shoulders sagged against the jackstands that held her upright. I could sense that I had confused her. We have made so many promises to each other. But I felt nothing about that other boat. There was no swell of curiosity. I couldn’t even bring myself to play with the details just for the sake of playing. I didn’t look up her displacement, what kind of keel she had, or the price of scrap lead.

All I could do for Ruth Ann was get back to work. I picked up the sander, grabbed a fresh sanding disc and snapped on my ear muffs. She’ll know soon enough.

Ruth Ann is a bit small; storage is going to be a concern, but she’s mine. She is a great boat for places like the Bahamas, Chesapeake Bay, and Pamlico Sound. She can probably cross an ocean too, and she and I are going to work on that for the future. I know just what she needs and there isn’t that much. Ruth Ann and I are very close to setting off. There’s just no sense in starting over on another project; no matter how luxurious the possibilities are. And besides I can feel that I am committed. I wasn’t sure of that until now, but this is it. She and I are the plan.

This might not sound like much of a revelation, especially to a landlubber, but it feels significant to me. The analogies to falling in love are obvious but too cute. I’ve been committed to this lifestyle but have never been committed to a particular boat [‘obviously’ some of you groan]. Surely part of it is that I’ve never been as close as I am today to actually being able to push off and start to wander.

In thirteen years, I’ve never been this close to my dream. I can feel it! For the resources I have and the plans I’ve made, Ruth Ann is just about perfect. We can work together to handle whatever isn’t. Depending on how the world turns out in the near future, Ruth Ann and I will be cruising the U.S. East Coast this summer. And if this pandemic situation relaxes enough, we’ll be in the Bahamas for sure next fall and winter. Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, Haiti, Jamaica, even Colombia and Panama are all also within the realm of possibility. Stay tuned.

I’ll be ordering barrier coat and bottom paint by next week. The work continues.

Fortunate One

Shine On You Crazy Diamond

In the last post, I talked about gratitude. I am in a really privileged position. My life has changed very little with all the lockdowns and other pandemic precautions happening. North Carolina is under a stay-at-home order like most other states, but boat repair facilities are considered essential and are exempt. I am therefore riding on the coattails of the shop here at Cape Fear Boat Works. I can still get the supplies I need; though I’m paying to have most stuff shipped in so I can maintain my isolation. Trips to town are much rarer and I’m relying on my reasonably well-stocked pantry to get by.

My gratitude is leavened by the unknowns of the situation our world is in. I haven’t slept well the last couple nights. It may be all the pondering possibilities, but it might be the coffee too. I started my day today with green tea. The day started a little slow and I settled down. To reduce my own anxieties, I’ve decided that I can keep doing what I’m doing if our status quo goes all the way into August. If the country is still locked down past August and I can't sail anywhere, I might find some work and pause to save some money rather than just burning through my cash while waiting. If I am on the water, on the boat, toward the new year I’ll have to pause somewhere anyway to make a little money. Pausing to work occasionally while living on the boat was always the plan.

I’ve had some good productive days lately, but today I didn’t really want to do anything. After a slow start, and leaning heavily on my gratitude attitude, I did get to work and sanded for a few hours. Sanding over my head is hard work and a few hours is nearly as much as I would have accomplished on a good day.

The divots where I ground out the blisters on the port side of the hull are about 95% patched and filled. An order of peel ply got hung up in the postal system, and I couldn’t finish. So, I started sanding the patches and have a solid third of them sanded smooth. There are lots of projects, so with the delay on hull work, I expanded my focus. I re-bedded a couple blocks on the cabin top that were weeping a little in heavy rains.

The mainsail has full battens and was just rolled up and stowed below. I removed the battens and stretched it out on the lawn to check it out. I had not used the main at all on the trip up from Little River, SC, so I haven’t had a good look. It was purchased relatively recently and is in good condition; still stiff and crispy. I was happy to find that the hull number and a proper Bayfield logo were on the sail. Afterward, I folded the sail and rolled it up tight so it will stow better.

The Canadian company that supplied hatches and ports to the Bayfield Boat Yard is still in business. I ordered new gasket material for the portlights and now had time to work on the “windows.” The frames were removed, cleaned up, regasketed, and rebedded. While cleaning the portlight frames, I brushed my hand pretty well with a brass brush spinning in a drill motor, so I got to practice some first aid too. It’s doing fine and was really only like road rash from spilling off a bike or something.

One of the biggest projects was the head (that’s the bathroom to you landlubbers). I am a proponent of composting toilets and purchased a C-Head just like the one I had on the Westsail in Florida. With a composting toilet, there is no need for a holding tank and the odors associated with them. Ruth Ann’s old tank had to go. I could use the storage space it was taking up.

Blehhhhh

The downside was that the holding tank was not empty. I disconnected a hose that would have emptied the tank into the sea and filled a half dozen tall kitchen garbage bags with about a gallon of sawdust in each as an absorbent. The full bags were gently placed in the dumpster. Then I removed a bunch of hoses and the old toilet.

The holding tank, however, would not come out. The inner liner of the boat’s cabin was put it place after the tank – trapping it. I ended up cutting a tank-shaped hole and sliding it out of it’s hiding place (think of the Wiley Coyote-shaped hole he left after crashing through a wall).

The peel ply and some epoxy filler has arrived. I can get back to work on the hull. The port side is nearly done, but I have the starboard side to do next. I also ordered a colossal supply of 5” hook and loop-backed, 80-grit sanding discs. Two of the portlights are regasketed and rebedded, but Ruth Ann has four more.

The Tank is out!!

The work continues.

My Patreon page did go live on April 1. It was important to me to accomplish that when I had said I would. Nevertheless, in our current situation, I am not going to promote it. We’ll get to that when things are back to normal; or whatever is close to normal again. The page is operational and linked on the upper right of this page. I’m just not emphasizing it for now. Patreon is a way for people to support the creative projects that they enjoy. You are very welcome to support my adventures and the Bubba the Pirate Blog. And my content will greatly improve when I’m bragging about sailing rather than droning on about boat projects. For now, please consider supporting your favorite musicians and artists. They are really hurting and their livelihoods are nearly completely interrupted by pandemic precautions.

Isolation, Boatwork, and Gratitude

I can’t really believe that this is 2020; and here it is almost April already. It’s getting weird out there too. Last year was a tough year for several reasons; for me and for my family. It was also a much more social year than I've had in a while. I am isolated today, like most everyone else, but I have been in partial social isolation for 13 years. I left my last ‘career’ job in 2007. After that I was driving a truck; plying the highways ostensibly to make money for a boat project and to escape normal life. Most of that time it was just me and the truck. I went from a world filled with a couple hundred emails a day, constant phone calls and meetings to one where I might talk to someone at a truckstop or on a loading dock once or twice a day. Perhaps I was practicing for today’s pandemic world.

Right now for me, social isolation means a lot of boatwork. I’m stocked up and hunkered down at a remote boatyard in North Carolina. My pantry is relatively full and I have lots of supplies to keep working on the boat. Since my last post, I have lightly sanded the entire hull below the waterline, ground out a couple hundred blisters, installed four of six new thruhulls, stripped varnish, sanded and oiled more than half of the teak, and started engineering the removal of the holding tank.

I feel pretty safe where I am. I feel good about getting a bunch of work done. Most of all, however, I am feeling a wave of gratitude. I am very lucky to be where I am, doing what I’m doing. I haven’t decided how to write about the situation, but I don’t have to work right now. I am able to devote my time to working on Ruth Ann, my Bayfield 29. I am not suddenly wealthy, but I able to get by for now, carefully. Lately, the weather is the only thing that occasionally gets in my way.

It is a new world for me to only have boatwork to do. I have an off day every once in a while when I feel like I haven’t accomplished much. Mostly, however, the gratitude that I am feeling is what drives me; it’s the wind in my sails.

The pandemic and all the news around it put me, like everyone else, in a strange place. For a few days I was obsessively checking the news. Not a panic really but I let the tsunami of news and information overtake my time. That reaction has passed and I feel focused again. I checked in with my family and some friends. The tsunami of my gratitude is what I’ll concentrate on from here on out. There are so many people who have supported my vision. Some simply listened to my crazy plans; others supported me in more tangible ways. I am very lucky just now, right here.

Thank you; all of you. Be well. Be safe and healthy.



BTW, this entire blog post, including some image editing, was done on my Raspberry Pi 4; perhaps bound to be my computer onboard; compact and powerful.

My Patreon account will be live by April First. Patreon is a website that helps people support their favorite creatives; writers, artists, musicians, etc. I am not working right now; just working on my boat, Ruth Ann. If you enjoy reading my blog and would like to support it, Patreon is an easy way to do such a thing, even a couple dollars a month is possible, amazingly helpful, and greatly appreciated.

Writing is my main thing. I will be posting to the blog at least twice a month. There will be some exclusive content for Patrons and early access to blogs. My book, YouTube updates, and a podcast will be coming, but I need to concentrate on getting Ruth Ann back in the water. I don't want to get too many irons in the fire until she floats again.

The sailing memoir book will trace my journey from a little Sunfish sailboat at scout camp, to being on the cusp of an extended cruise on the U. S. East Coast, in the Bahamas, the Caribbean, and Central America. Look for it later this year.

Hey, Wait A Minute!!

That's me part way down.

My last term at Michigan State University was a summer term, and I lived in a house with six other guys. It was a great house and a good bunch of roommates. A girl I spent some time with in the hot tub after a party there became my first wife. I often played guitar on the back deck with a guy who had chosen med school over touring with Amy Grant. I had an oddly curved tan line – white belly, tanned chest – from those sunny afternoons with a guitar in my lap.

My parents had moved to Houghton in Michigan’s Upper Penninsula and at some point most of my housemates and I organized a road trip up there. We used my parent’s house as a base camp to do all kinds of things including some rock climbing. I had never done any serious rock climbing before then, but the guys who had were keen to show me the ropes; and the webbing. We did some rappelling down the cliff at Douglass-Houghton Falls; more than a hundred feet down.

As a part of my introduction to rappelling, the guys handed me twenty feet or so of nylon webbing. Standing there ten feet from the cliff’s edge, I was guided through tying a harness around my waist and thighs. “Go around your waist, then around this thigh, tie it like this here, and then around there …” they instructed.

So it came my turn and I stood at the edge, the rope lay slack on the ground between me and the tree it was  tied to. I could see a hundred feet down between my ankles. I had to let my weight lean over the edge to take up the slack. None of what they had taught me would work if I didn’t take up that slack. The harness itself wouldn’t truly be tightened up around me, if that slack wasn’t taken up.

Hey, wait a minute! My brain screamed. I tied that harness; the harness my life was now going to depend on. I’ve never tied a harness like this before. What makes me qualified to tie a harness!?!

I’ve  had a similar thought recently. I am replacing the stainless steel wire rigging on my boat, the Ruth Ann, with synthetic rope; Dyneema specifically. What this means, however, is that I am splicing a bunch of rope in a very specific way; a way that I have not done before. That rope and my splices will be the very thing that holds my mast up and enables me to sail the sea.

“Hey, wait a minute!”

To further complicate my thoughts, new information has come to light. After completing eight of the nine deadeyes I needed, I ran across a blog post by the guy who originated the system I’m building. His post included a video that did not show up in my previous research. There I discovered one detail that I was doing incorrectly.

Now that one detail mostly made it more difficult for me to make them. It is likely that the deadeyes I had already made would probably have worked fine. By making the construction more difficult, however, the deadeyes are less smooth, less elegant. Dyneema is a twelve strand hollow braided line and is quite slippery. It doesn’t like traditional knots, and is therefore spliced in a unique way. Elegant and smooth, in this context, also means strength.

I made the last deadeye using this new information. It went together way better than my previous grommets. It was elegant and smooth. I looked at the previous eight with a newly jaundiced eye. I stared at them, molested them, twisted and pulled them. They seemed all right, seemed strong. In the end, I just couldn’t brook the thought of trusting them now that I knew they weren’t top notch; not 100% true to method. I removed the thimbles and threw away the grommets. It can only be chalked up as $100 worth of deadeye training.

I ordered some more dyneema; enough to build eight more good deadeyes; elegant and smooth. I’ll feel better banging to weather out at sea knowing that the deadeyes I made, that are holding up my mast as we crash through the waves – those deadeyes are as well built as I could make them.

In addition, I’ve discovered that Ruth Ann has lots of blisters below her waterline. For you landlubbers, blisters are shallow bubbles, just like a blister, on the skin of a boat’s hull. They are caused by tiny amounts of uncatalyzed resin left from the manufacturing process. That resin reacts with moisture to produce a gas which causes bumps on the hull. I am sanding and grinding a lot these days. Once the blisters are

all ground out, they’ll be patched with some glass cloth and epoxy resin. For the record, I'm grinding out the blister on the hull's surface. There are no additional holes in the boat. All the work on the hull though means the mast won’t be coming down real soon; a couple weeks anyway. I have some time to work out my elegant deadeye making process.



I’ve revised the Patreon statement below. Thanks for reading my blogs.

My Patreon account will be live by April First. Patreon is a website that helps people support their favorite creatives; writers, artists, musicians, etc. I am not working right now; just working on my boat, Ruth Ann. If you enjoy reading my blog and would like to support it, Patreon is an easy way to do such a thing, even a couple dollars a month is possible, amazingly helpful, and greatly appreciated.

Writing is my main thing. I will be posting to the blog at least twice a month. There will be some exclusive content for Patrons and early access to blogs. My book, YouTube updates, and a podcast will be coming, but I need to concentrate on getting Ruth Ann back in the water. I don't want to get too many irons in the fire until she floats again.

The sailing memoir book will trace my journey from a little Sunfish sailboat at scout camp, to being on the cusp of an extended cruise on the U. S. East Coast, in the Bahamas, the Caribbean, and Central America. Look for it later this year.

Finally ... Some Boatwork.

Brunswick Sunset by the highway

When we last left our hero he had blasted out of Florida bound for North Carolina fueled by high octane inspiration having spent a week on the water aboard Wade’s boat.




After riding with Wade back up to St. Augustine, from Stuart, I reset the camper van for travel and headed north. I stopped in Brunswick, GA at a Flying J Truckstop where I’ve slept many times; only this time not in the sleeper of a semi-tractor. From there, I pushed on to Navassa, NC and was finally back to the boatyard, back to my boat, sv Ruth Ann. The first priority was to sort through my stuff; what I had in the camper van and what was in the trailer next to the boat. A few tools I knew I was going to need were buried in the nose of the trailer. While I had been hiding from Winter in Florida, I had developed a preliminary project list based on my memory. Now that I was finally back, I needed to crawl around the boat, get my bearings, and compile an up-to-date list of jobs.

Also, the weather has occasionally reminded me that I arrived here a little early. Sometimes it is still downright cold! I've decided that I will persevere, do what I can when I can. I have, however, found a hostel over in Wilimington; an inexpensive spot where I can escape when it gets really damn cold. I'm actually here in the hostel the third weekend of February, 2020. There was a little snow in the air during the wee hours this morning and tonight it's going to be about 26 degrees!!!

Arriving after dark. 

Depressingly, back at the botyard, the bilge was full of rain water again, but I dug around and tracked down the source of the leaks. The big leaks were stopped but a couple stubborn small ones need more attention. The two biggest jobs I have are painting the bottom and re-rigging the mast. Of course, those major projects will each be accompanied by smaller related projects. There surely will be lots of other little projects that come up but I’m going to stay focused. Sailors can easily get bogged down in a boatyard as more and more little projects are discovered and beg to be started. All my jobs are prioritized by category: jobs that have to be done on the hard; jobs that would be easier to do on the hard; and jobs that can be done on the water. The boatyard that I found is a great spot; inexpensive with good people. But as soon I can get Ruth Ann back in the water, I can stop paying $300 a month for the space in the gravel where she sits.

Painting the bottom obviously has to be done while the boat is out of the water. The thruhulls were in bad shape and needed to be replaced before the bottom gets painted, so I’ve started there. Production boat companies, even the good ones, have always had the bad habit of cutting corners regarding so-called “skin fittings.” These are the valves that let water in or out of the boat through the “skin” of the hull. This is, of course, right where you would not want a leak. You would think that good hardware done well would be the norm. Alas, boat builders of “classic plastic” boats used a ball valve screwed on top of a threaded thruhull. This practice was not just lacking in structural integrity, the threads on the two parts are actually mismatched and cannot seal perfectly. Skin fittings done this way, especially done decades ago, are a weak link.

36 Year Old Ball Valve

My 36 year old “weak” skin fittings had, of course, corroded themselves together. Some of the valve handles had been carbon steel and were so thoroughly rusted they might as well have been made from saltine crackers. I tried coaxing, cussing, and cajoling the thruhulls. I tried debonding solvents and pipe wrenches with breaker bars. No joy. Obviously, drastic measures were necessary ... I decided to cut them out.

Under the Galley Sink

The bottoms of the five thruhulls were at the skin of the hull and could be seen from the outside. Inside the boat, however, the tops were under sinks, inside cabinets, and by the engine. Getting at them was one thing, finding a tool to cut them was another. I ended up using my cordless multi-tool oscillating cutter. It was reasonably compact and the blade could be set at different angles. Nevertheless, it is a finesse tool. Brute force was not possible; attempting to force it was actually counterproductive. Working the blade back and forth, one side of the pipe, then the other, and restarting after it bounced out, I gradually cut through the bronze pipe of each of the thruhulls. That detached the ball valves from the pipes, but each pipe was held inside the hull by a large bronze nut. These too were corroded in place. I had to cut each nut into thirds and pry each of the pieces sideways off the threaded pipe; each of five pipes. Once those mechanical attachments were clear it was simply a matter of hammering the rest of the pipe out of the hull -- until the last one.

Cracking Nuts

The last thruhull would not come out. I went back to  coaxing, cussing, and cajoling; especially cussing. I hit it with ever larger swings using ever larger hammers; hitting harder than I really ever wanted to hit on my hull. No luck. Finally, with a little help from the debonding solvent, I was able to slowly unscrew the thruhull from it's bullet-proof adhesive with brute force and a 1.5” wide quarter inch steel bar turned by a pipe wrench. Apparently, this forward thruhull had been repaired at some point because it was stuck with much better stuff than the rest.

While I was having all that fun with bronze fittings, whenever it was raining or too cold, I was inside the cozy camper van working on the dyneema deadeyes that will help hold up the mast. Also this week, I did some cleaning; I sealed some leaks. Boat parts were ordered; projects were recorded and prioritized. I got some keen advice from my boatyard neighbors about cleaning my oxidized fiberglass hull. I also finally removed the “Afraid Knot” name from the transom and began removing the boot stripes.

Sometimes you have to force it.

I now have real seacocks to replace the ball valves, along with backing pads, thruhulls, epoxy, and adhesive caulk. Hopefully by the end of next week, my hull will be watertight again. To make the deck completely watertight, I need to rebed a couple stanchion bases and the deck hatch. I also need to take a closer look at a portlight; either the gasket leaks or I may need to rebed it as well.

Once the seacocks are installed, I can paint the bottom. I’m going to raise the waterline an inch and a half or so, then apply a barrier coat before the bottom paint goes on. I’ve already talked with the boatyard about getting my mast down for the next big job. The mast has to come down for re-rigging and rewiring, but that will be a couple weeks and another post.



I’ve learned not to discuss dates, but I am super excited how fast Ruth Ann is coming together.

New Stuff!

A little polishing still needed. 

Also, I wanted to tell you that I am working on setting up a Patreon account. Patreon is a website that helps people support their favorite creatives; writers, artists, musicians, etc. I am not working right now; just working on my boat, Ruth Ann. Patreon is a nice, easy platform, but I am trying to set everything up in an organized, detailed, and thoughtful way. My plan is to continue writing in my old school, long form way, but on a more regular basis. For some time, I’ve also been working on a sailing memoir type of book; from my first experiences on a little Sunfish sailing at scout camp, to being on the cusp of an extended cruise on the U. S. East Coast, in the Bahamas, the Caribbean, and Central America. To promote the book and this site, I am developing a podcast that will be supplemented with occasional video updates on YouTube. Imagine the Bubba thePirate Blog with Bubba the Pirate Radio and Bubba the Pirate Radio on TV. I have no aspirations to make all of that a full-time job – my job is wandering -- but I’m thinking of monthly updates; maybe every couple of weeks. My focus is the writing, so the audio and video updates will not be slick, time-consuming productions; just fun, basic updates about where I’ve been and what I did. The blog posts, the podcast and the YouTube updates will be posted openly online. Any support through Patreon or PayPal will be greatly appreciated but is not required. There will be some small bits of bonus content, like previews of the book or something, for those who decide to support me.

Thanks. I’ll post details when they are ready.