Sailing

Most landlubbers take for granted that making a bed consists of removing linens from the closet (or what-have-you) and spreading them over a rectangular surface. For the salty amongst us, the chore begins the same way but quickly devolves to wrestling rectangular bedding around the odd and unaccommodating shapes that berths tend to come in. In our case the traditional vee-berth came with the added challenge of the affectionately named Chastity Cable. Because of this lovely piece of below decks rigging, we don’t have a need for the little wedge shaped piece the many vee-berths have and we require either two completely independent sets of sheets and covers, or some clever way to work around the obstacle with one. ...

For the past 9 years I’ve had less than 30 minutes of commute a day, total. Today I commuted a total of 3 hours. The two bike segments home were directly into the wind, with killer traffic, in my lowest gear. I got home and met Vick and the kids in the parking lot and spent nearly an hour searching for food and clothing in the ManVan. Tonight, with winds howling at ~20 knots in the harbor, we finally relented to the worsening head smell in our cabin. It was obvious what needed to be done but with the cold and wind and dark, we were hoping it could wait until morning. Not so. After one aborted attempt for a pump out at the fuel dock (turns out that pump out must have gone away when they relocated the fuel dock) we headed back to our slip to do some reconnaissance on foot. Once I had confirmed that we could get over and back to the Emery Cove pump out we pushed off again and made our way over, did the deed, and got Convivia back into her slip. ...

This is it. As of Monday we are officially live-aboards. To me that means that, starting on Monday, I will come home to the boat, sleep on the boat and wake up on the boat every day for the foreseeable future. This is deeply comforting to me. To Vick it means a week (only a week) of final push to sell everything that we own that doesn’t fit this new life, or doesn’t fit in the boat/manvan/storage unit. Monday is not deeply comforting to Vick. ...

**** The plan was to meet Allison in Richmond at 9:00 and shuttle the ManVan back to Emeryville where we would pick Jon up and drive back to Richmond. Unfortunately the ManVan had other ideas. Somehow, after hauling a ton of gear over 700 miles, the ManVan decided to give up the ghost right in the Bay Marine parking lot. So, we changed the plan. By 10am everyone was on the boat and by 11 we were pushing off. After a hair raising shove off we headed out the channel and into the Bay. The wind was gentle in the morning and we put up full sails but by the time we were lined up with Racoon Straights it was blowing hard enough to warrant a first reef. By the time we were lining up with the Gut it was howling and a second reef would have been prudent. I was loving the speed (6.5 SOG according to the iPhone) and we were so close to Emeryville that it was nearly time to douse the sails anyway, so we let out a bit and enjoyed the wind. ...

This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down at my computer in six days. When in the last 15 years have I been able to say that? This vacation was certainly unique. Since it was a last minute (we decided at lunch two days before departing) decision, the expectations were low. Regardless, none of us were prepared for the highs and lows of this last week. On the high side: ...

If you’ve been wondering how the kids feel about this transition… [cue cheesy infomercial voice] …and if you liked “going marina” you’ll love some of these other instant classics. “I can’t wait to tell Anika about Oakland, there’s so many things to see” — Ruby “Me going to live on a sailboat… with no bathtub” — Olive “I’m not sure which of my things I’m going to sell quite yet, but I’ll think about it” — Ruby (spontaneously) ...

We went to the boat show today, and we’re going again tomorrow. The going today part isn’t particularly big news, after all this is our 11th consecutive show but it does feel different. Part of what is different is that we’ve got our boat all but purchased, and can legitimately talk about it as if its ours. For some reason that small distinction has made today catalytic for me. I’ll admit, I’ve been tender this week. Okay, perhaps I’ve been raw, and a little hard to be around. I can’t help it. So much of our last 10 years of dreaming, and 5 years of debt reduction, saving, planning and dreaming some more is now coming together in a chaotic maelstrom of activity. I haven’t really got a clue about half (or more) of the things that I am responsible for, and I don’t have enough hours in the day to get a clue. ...

Years ago, back when we lived in Vermont, and even later when we first moved out to California, I always knew just what to do. It was easy. I never stood at the crossroads of a big decision, I just jumped in and let the current take me. I was sensitive to it, and I could tell somehow when it was time to hop out and look around but I never thought to second guess the current of my life. This flow took me from place to place, job to job, adventure to adventure, always at precisely the right moment. As long as I kept my vision clear and my wits about me, things seemed to just work out. ...

Today I signed the application that will give us live aboard status at our old marina in the East Bay. We’ve been on the waiting list for 10 years and when I called the other day to find out our status, I learned that we had finally made it to the top. This is a huge step for our family because it means that we can live aboard in a marina that will allow us to sail on the weekends. Everyone we’ve talked to at Pete’s harbor seemed resigned to the fact that they could not sail and live aboard. I’m hopeful that, with the Golden Gate Bridge clearly visible from our marina, we’ll be reminded that we’re in this to sail, not to sit at the dock. ...

Despite the boat related disappointment this weekend I’ve found myself unexpectedly inspired, motivated, and empowered these last two days. Vick linked me up to the blog of a nomadic family (Happy Janssens) last night, and I kinda went link crazy, hopping around to a bunch of similar blogs. These families’ stories have been a balm on my chapped spirit. This morning the kids and I sat around watching videos from various blogs showing their kids living happy, nomadic, unschooling lives. True our adventure is just where we left it on Friday, but somehow we all feel closer to it. ...

I wish I could think up a clever analogy for buying a boat. It would be gratifying to package this whole experience up in a tidy little cliche and dispense that wisdom to people who, like us, are suffering the tumultuous ups and downs of buying a circumnavigating sailing vessel on a small budget. Maybe, “Buying a boat is like high school girlfriends… but without the kissing.” I have fallen in love 3 times in 3 weeks. So far, no kisses. Maybe its a little melodramatic to say that these inanimate objects have “dumped me.” After all, my sentience should give me the upper hand in these relationships, but if you ask my wife, she’ll corroborate. I am reduced to a sappy, romantic, drooling boy when presented with high combings, a butterfly hatch, or a fancy cabin. I even tell myself not to let my emotions cloud my judgment, but its no use. ...

We are back home now and the verdict is in. This vacation was a resounding success. Its likely that this was our best and favorite family vacation ever. We had some logistical issues, and some moments of frayed nerves, but that is to be expected. What really impresses me is how we all worked together to make sure that everyone could enjoy the trip. Ruby was a total champ. When Vick and I were busy, she would entertain her sister down below. She devised a multitude of games, and when we finally bought a couple containers of Play-dough she would spend hours with her making pretend food and serving it up. ...

Yesterday we went out for a pleasure sail. We sailed out of Catalina Harbor in the morning and puttered around the Outer Santa Barbara Channel. The wind was promising when we left the harbor. It had been assaulting our transom all night, smacking the harbor against the hull loudly enough that we almost turned the boat on our mooring. By the time we got under sail the wind died. This has been the great frustration of sailing here. We can see wind on the ocean all around but wherever we are seems to be becalmed. Since we didn’t have any destination I wasn’t inclined to turn on the engine. We just wallowed, boom creaking in the light puffs of wind that would occasionally grace us. Our speed over water was 0 knots for at least an hour. ...

My face and belly are radiating that kind of inside out warmth that comes from a day of doing all ones favorite things. I don’t mean to lead my readers to believe that today was easy. The children were on again off again unmanageable and Victoria was regularly overwrought by her prognostication that, due to said children, and an unfortunately poor choice of words on my part the night before, she didn’t know if “this was going to work.” (She was of course referring to the Big Trip.) Normally when my family is assaulted by this severe a maelstrom I am emotionally and pragmatically debilitated for the duration. The whole of my attention is consumed trying to determine what I am going to do about it. ...

When we left off our family had just arrived in Isthmus Harbor (one of the Two Harbors). As soon as the sun set we were treated to the oddly festive spectacle of an entire harbor lit up with Christmas lights. All of the waterfront buildings and many of the boats were sporting multicolored lights. It reminded me (for whatever reason) of Jimmy Buffet’s song “Christmas in the Caribbean,” thereby putting a huge smile on my face. We ate a mediocre yet unbelievably expensive dinner at the only restaurant in Two Harbors—from which I had to hastily extricate my kids when they simultaneously decided to be the loudest kids in the harbor(s). We enjoyed a brief moonlit motor back to the boat and everyone fell asleep quickly. ...