We're in Virginia!

Rain and wind at Broad Creek. The rain stopped, but the wind kept coming!

June 14, 2019

At anchor in the Lafayette River, watching the wind blow. A children’s sailing class is boiling around us, six or so Optimist Prams (maybe because the idea of them staying upright is optimistic?) turning and racing every which way, with the instructor’s chase boat weaving in an out among them. The wind is quiet now, but this morning’s class fearlessly battled 18-20 knots of wind, whipping around with much rattling of sails. They are braver than I am! Just imagine what awesome sailors these kids will be some day.

Meanwhile, those of us who are somewhat less than awesome are sitting here recovering from a ten hour long and stressful day of travel. We left the anchorage at Broad Creek day before yesterday and did our own version of battling strong winds most of the way to Coinjock, NC where we happily tied up next to the dock. The fact that this always means lots of chores (laundry, pumpout, refueling, filling the water tanks, and a shower) was offset by the certain knowledge that we were going to eat out! I get really tired of my own cooking. It’s good, but plain.

We were rewarded with 1) for me: sesame-seared ahi tuna and seaweed salad (seaweed with rice vinegar, sugar, and sesame oil), plus a side of mashed sweet potatoes so sweet it could have been pie and 2) for David: grilled triggerfish topped with crabmeat and a side of scalloped potatoes. We even had dessert – vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce for me and chocolate layered cheesecake topped with crusted pecans and chocolate chips for David. The restaurant at Coinjock is a definite must stop, just for the food. By the way, that’s only in cruising season. We were there last winter to look around and ordered a very mediocre meal off the menu. We suspect their excellent chef heads south in the winter to spend his or her hard earned summer money. 

At the dock at Coinjock. A great place to pause.

Resident purple martins cheeped me awake at 5 a.m. the next day, and due to an ominous wind forecast later in the day, we made haste and pulled out. It was an exciting exit: we were parallel parked between two other boats, with only about three feet clearance fore and aft. Some early bird neighbors helped push us off, but even with help we bumped the boat in front (no damage) and knocked the aft solar panel array askew. I chugged very slowly up the canal as David rushed around tightening the array.

Once underway, the current and the winds and Mr. P guaranteed we didn’t dip under 6 knots as we sped (for us) up Currituck Sound toward the North River. We didn’t want to get into another slugging match with high winds and contrary current, like the conditions we experienced when crossing the Neuse. The wind was quite lively (a steady 15, gusting higher to 18-22 knots) but blowing us from the port quarter (left-hand side to the rear of the boat). Rain and storms threatened, but never arrived. Somewhere in that trip we finally crossed over into Virginia.

The Virginia Cut is a beautiful passage, kin to the Dismal Swamp Canal we have taken in the past. We couldn’t go via the Dismal Swamp this time because it has been dredged to only five feet, and we draw five feet; we’d have been plowing a furrow the whole way! There was plenty of water along the Cut and plenty of company from large motor vessels. The largest was (according to our AIS readout) 102 feet and hailed from Rhode Island. For awhile we kept company with a power cat hailing from Corpus Christi; another companion was a trawler named Buster. We listened to him as he came up to each bridge on the way, calling “Such and such bridge, this is motor vessel Buster.” Good name!

The bridges were a source of stress, because they had set opening times on the hour or on the hour and half hour. If you don’t make the opening, you get to hold station while waiting on the next opening. A boat, unlike a car, won’t just stop and sit there; you have to constantly turn it, put it in reverse, etc., and fight any current that may be pulling you closer to the bridge. So we did our best to make the opening times, even if that meant pushing Mr. P to the max and putting out the staysail! Amazingly, we made all of them, all kudos to David, who figured out the route and the openings, etc. before we left the dock.

There is a lock at the end of the Cut, which I dreaded, but which turned out to be a piece of cake. The lock operators meet your boat, snag your lines with a long hook and put the lines around enormous cleats. Then you just wait for the lock to rise (or fall), playing out your lines if you need to. The rise on this lock is only five feet, so it was no big deal.

Railroad bridge (one of two) as we came into Norfolk.  The top part lowers to the railroad bed when a train is passing. I heard a train whistle as I approached the bridge, and brother did I step on the gas! It was a false alarm - train going a different way.

Finally, we passed under the big railroad brides to Norfolk and chugged past the sprawling Naval shipyards past all sorts of vessels being refurbed and repaired. About two hours later we dropped the hook here in the Lafayette River, and went below to recover. I lay down and promptly took an hour-long nap! On our original trip this way in 2006, we didn’t stop, but continued on past Norfolk to Hampton, Virginia, across the large stretch of water called Hampton Roads. I have no idea how we did that, other than the fact that I had a lot more steam 13 years ago.

A big front roared through around sunset (not that the wind had died down – it just kept blowing) and we agreed that we needed at least a day to recover. The only thing we really need to do is go to the grocery store, and that is a “need” only because we are out of snacks. :) So here we will sit until we are rested or until our snack addictions compel us to go forward.

Beautiful, if scary! Big front coming in with lots more wind. Big loading cranes for the container ships, trains, etc. behind us.

Bug hell, beauty heaven

(The last of three – gotta publish when I can - we'll be at this anchorage through Wednesday. The weather has kicked up.)

Going down the Alligator-Pongo River Canal.

June 9, 2019

Mosquitoes! Gnats! By the tens of thousands!! Egads!

That pretty much describes the last three anchorages (not this one, thank heaven). I have never seen so many bugs in my life. Literally (I am not exaggerating in the least) tens of thousands of bugs, carpeting every available surface, whether vertical or horizontal. Dead bugs, live bugs, dying bugs. 

The storm on the Neuse cleaned the boat of our spring’s accumulation of mosquito corpses, but that was nothing compared to this. Clouds of the little buggers have choked the sky every evening at dusk, and one way or another a lot of them have found their way inside. We’ve battened down the hatches (and portholes) but somehow they worm their way in. Fortunately the gnats died after a day and the mosquitoes aren’t overly vicious, although one hungry devil bit me multiple times on my foot as I slept and it itches like fury. It’s not just bites: they fly into your hair, under your glasses, up your shorts, and into your nose!

This morning’s crop of mosquitoes (the gnats are long gone) stuck to every conceivable surface (including the deck, the self-steering, the boom, the helm – you name it) and rode all the way across Albemarle Sound with us. As soon as we dropped the hook, David hooked up the wash down pump and sprayed the corpses overboard and the live mosquitoes into flight. The spiders have been hysterical with joy, flinging webs every which way; it was a spider bull market in bugs. We were not hysterical with joy, just hysterical.

A cool bath on the deck with the wash down pump calmed us down some. Clean hair is a wonderful thing. We were so happy the water here is fresh and not brackish. The weather is mild, the sun bright, and it’s just perfect to sit on the foredeck basking.

Other than bug wars in the dawn and the dusk, it’s been a lovely few days, motoring (no wind where you want it) and watching thunderstorms roll by and grey sheets of rain rushing up the river toward us. Crossing the Sound this morning was like sliding through liquid silver. We glided over silver water as smooth as silk, with the silver sky swirling above us. We’re in the back country, here, with no buildings, just a few other boats for company, a huge expanse of water, and a remote horizon. Mornings like this make the bugs irrelevant.

Check out this big guy - we followed this barge all one day. Can you imagine having to turn it?

A couple of days ago we saw two bald eagles! And a deer, and two buzzards, but I’m used to that. Two eagles! The trip up the Alligator River was a bit tiresome, as it’s a large body of water surrounded by scrubby bits of land. But our anchorages were beautiful and prime spots for breathing clean air, listening to frog racket, and watching the sky.

Here's a link to the canal where we saw all the wildlife (pictured above, also). The roar is "Mr. P" the engine. You go deaf after awhile.

We have a stowaway – a little tree frog. I have no idea how he came on board, but he must be really happy with all the free bug food. We are both carefully trying not to squash him. He’s hiding under the port winch handle, which is not a prime location, but I couldn’t persuade him to relocate.

June 10

We were supposed to head up the Virginia Cut today (formally known as Albemarle & Chesapeake Canal, according to our guidebook), a trip that will take about two days. On the other side of that is Norfolk and the Chesapeake and waters unknown. However, we’re just too lazy. We are floating, rocking gently in the breeze, and contemplating an afternoon beer. Yes.

Our anchorage. The speedboat is whooshing along the ICW. Its wake will reach us in a few minutes and lop us back and forth for several minutes. Sigh. Why are they in such a rush? Other than the occasional annoying boat, it's really, really quiet. Can you believe we have cell phone coverage?

Adventures are Better Told Than Lived

[Hilde's log]

Our first day out gave us calm seas and light winds under a bright sun and blue sky. That night the full moon rose, coating the sea with liquid silver. The light of the full moon illuminated the haze on the water, giving us a diffused glow like predawn light. David and I sat in the cockpit, listened to the radio, sang Christmas carols and thought, this is great! We love cruising!

The moon rises in the east on one side of the boat...

....while the sun goes down in the west on the other side of the boat.

Then about 1 a.m. (why is it always in the early hours?), it got cold, the wind piped up and the ride got interesting. We did all right that night although it was more work than we liked. The next day the wind laid down and the seas remained moderate, but both of us were feeling a little punk. I discounted that – after all, we’d already done the seasick thing leaving Galveston, so that was behind us. I thought.

For my watches, I sit here, cuddled up next to the companionway and the dodger, mostly protected from the wind.

The green canvas you see with the metal bar across the top is the dodger, which keeps most of the wind and water off of us. The tan is the bimini, which is our "porch cover" and keeps off the sun and some of the rain. We got sloshed so much, the isenglas "window" got completely fogged up with salt spray and you couldn't see a thing.

The third day the seas started piling up and we both started yawning and turning light green. Then darker green. Long story short, we were seasick for three days, ate practically nothing, drank just enough water to remain alive, and felt despondent that we were sick for the second time in a month.

That third night the wind came up in the low teens early on, the seas started roiling, and we were up and down every hour to two hours to change watch. We were on port tack (where the wind comes over the boat from the left hand side, as you are facing the bow) which I loathe because it makes going up and down the companionway ladder really hard for me.

Late that night the wind came up to about 22 apparent and Raven pitched like a bronc. Sailing didn’t help – we didn’t have enough speed in these steep and confused 5’ waves to make much forward progress. We turned on the motor to motor sail and that helped the speed but not the bucking motion of the boat. At one point we had to hand steer – David for several hours and me for only 30 minutes. I have no idea how he did it for hours. Holding the wheel was like wrestling with a bear, dragging the wheel back and forth against the surging water. Those 30 minutes almost killed me. While I held the wheel and prayed to God to keep him safe, David inched forward on the pitching deck to retrieve cans of diesel to keep the motor going and then filled the tank. The wind dipped down to 15 (in answer to fervent prayers from me) and David stabilized the self steering so that we could finally let go of the wheel. After that, it was a case of standing watch to monitor the self steering and our course, which for me meant creeping toward the wheel with my butt firmly attached to the cockpit sides and peering up at the instruments. The helm chair is way too far above the cockpit floor for me to feel safe sitting in it in bad seas!

When the sun came up, the wind moderated a bit, but the seas stayed high and choppy and the two of us were toast, literally limp with exhaustion. The floor of the boat was covered in stuff that flew off the shelves as we bucked our way along – papers, cans of sardines, pillows, settee backs...disaster. I suggested we make for St. Petersburg, as there was no way in the universe I was going to last two more nights in those conditions (that’s the right angle turn we made, for those of you who were following our track). I wasn’t sure David would last, either. He was simply exhausted after his heroic efforts the night before, and because we were still seasick, he hadn’t eaten a thing but a few bites of a Power Bar. We took turns sleeping for an hour or two below and then stood watch, napping on the deck (not good, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open).

Basically we had another 12 hours of sailing semi-hell, and then it calmed down as we got closer to shore and the last 12 hours were lovely. The approach to St. Petersburg was gorgeous, with milder seas, bright sun, and moderate wind. We sat in the cockpit, glassy-eyed with relief, and snagged a T-head at the city marina for two days (that’s all that was available – we’d have taken a month if they had let us stay).

St. Petersburg is a gorgeous city (although from the construction going on it looks as though it is on its way to being a second Miami) with lots of greenery and a vibrant downtown. The marina is right there in the downtown area so you can walk to everything. I washed all the fabric on the boat, which stunk (no other word does it justice) and we both revelled in a hot shower. I caught a peek of a green heron on a boat’s mooring line through the laundry window. He balanced on the line, leaned far forward (how he didn’t pitch in headfirst is a mystery) and snagged two fish, one after the other! I have never seen one catch a fish. 

View of downtown St. Petersburg from the fuel dock at the City Marina. That's Raven tied up at the pier.

They found us a spot for two days on a T-head (think end cap of a retail isle). They literally have room for no more boats. It's high season here.

While I was doing laundry, David cleaned up the mess in the galley, rearranged the cabin to get the stuff off the floor, and put the settees back in place. Then we sat in the cockpit and had the first tea we’d drunk in three days, in 78 degrees, with the lights of downtown St. Petersburg shining on the water all around us.

Downtown St. Pete, from the cockpit of the boat. Christmas lights abound.

What a wonderful night we had, first in the gentle breeze in the cockpit with our tea, and then supper in the cool and dry comfort of the A/C, not moving, sitting down to eat together...aaaah. (A/C sounds weird, especially since we suffered being cold for 3 days straight, but St. Pete was 81 when we came in, and humid as a jungle.)

My cousin lives there and we had a great reunion at a fabulous coffee shop (Kahwa, if you ever come to town). We walked through part of downtown to get to the shop and admired everything. Lots of people, lots of young people (!), lots of energy. We like St. Pete a lot, and talked about coming back here to spend the winter next year. You have to make your reservations really early (like now), so I will look into that after I post this.

A tree in one of the parks downtown. Such a beautiful city!

Meanwhile, David is washing the outside of the boat, which was coated in salt, and is otherwise making us ready for tomorrow’s departure. We are “going down the ditch” (traveling the ICW) from here to Punta Gorda, where we have a month’s reservation at the Burnt Store Marina (I have no idea about the name). The ICW should be a lot calmer and we’ll be able to drop the hook every night and sleep. Good plan! I’m a lot older than I wish I were, and sleep every night makes all the difference to me.

Now this is more like it!

The Tyranny of the Weather Window

[Hilde's log]

When you are traveling from place to place on a boat, you soon learn to take advantage of the weather window. This is a short term forecast that gives you the kind of conditions you want to travel in. A weather window is usually good for two or maybe three days, and when one comes up you have to hop to, because they close pretty fast.

In Pensacola, we waited for a chance to leave that would be moderately warm. We saw that a cold front was arriving on a Wednesday, so decided to leave the preceding Friday. Our plan was to motor over to the anchorage we’d used when we first came in, drop the hook, and then leave early the next day. 

Clear weather, calm water, cool temperatures...but waiting for incoming cold weather. Time to leave!

The veranda at Island Cove. On sunny days when the breeze was still, it was pleasant.

On Thursday David discovered that the fresh water pump on the engine was leaking. Further inspection revealed that it was shot. Fortunately, a nearby shop (Bell Marine) knew the part we needed and was able to order it. We spent the next 24 hours on pins and needles waiting for its arrival. Fortunately, while we were waiting, my good friend Sherry came to visit and we had a delightful distraction from the waiting frenzy. Had the pump not arrived Friday, we’d have had to wait for a Monday delivery, and our window would have slammed shut. Temperatures for later in the week were in the 40s. To our mutual relief, the pump showed up Friday about 4 p.m., and David installed it. Obviously, it arrived much too late for us to go to the anchorage, so we just decided to roll with it and leave Saturday morning. The boat was all ready; all we had to do was leave first thing.

The round thing under the pulley is the fresh water pump.

All tidy and stowed and ready to pull out.

Because we were all squared away, we took advantage of an invitation to a local neighborhood party, courtesy of Art and Mary Jane. Most of the people in their neighborhood are retired boaters, some of whom are circumnavigators (that’s way out of my league, but I stand around and admire them from a distance). It was a lovely end to our stay in Pensacola.

The next day, we lept out of bed at 5:30, had everything stowed by 7:30 and were ready to back out of the slip. What we had not counted on was the tide. We draw 5’ (i.e., we need 5’ of water to move) and we simply didn’t have enough depth to back out of the slip. How frustrating is that!! We spent three long hours waiting for the water to rise. Time and tide wait for no man; time and tide don’t rush for anyone either.

We finally got away about 11, and motored toward the fuel dock. We needed to fill up the tank and the cans on deck. We radioed the fuel dock and got no response, which was weird. Then we came up to it and found no one in attendance. David slid Raven as close to the dock as he could and then jumped from the boat to the dock. I threw him the spring line (the one in the middle of the boat), crabbed to the back and pitched him the stern line, and then pulled myself forward to toss him the bow line. It was all very “cowboy sailing” which I hate. Evidently since we were out cruising last, no one monitors the radio any more – it’s all cell phone. The young fellow who eventually showed up had no idea what channel they monitored, which told me they didn’t monitor the radio at all. Since it’s hard to fool with a slippery cell phone on deck, it’s not a change I much like.

David got the fuel cans secured and we finally pulled away around noon, crossing Pensacola Bay in about an hour. We popped out of the entrance about 1:15 p.m., under sunny skies, watching the sugar sand beaches on the barrier islands slide by, dotted here and there with people laying back in deck chairs soaking in the sun. 

Leaving Pensacola. Now you know why they call this the Emerald Coast.

Raven underway from Pensacola

The temperatures were cool, but pleasant, and the sparkling blue water mirrored the sky above. Now this is the life, I thought. Little did I know.

Sailing from Pensacola 

Click on the link above for a short video.

Thanksgiving on Raven

[Hilde’s log]

We send our best wishes to all of you for a warm and memorable holiday season! We are pretty low-key here on Raven, but I do try to cook a bit more around the holidays. We had a lovely pre-Thanksgiving meal at our friends’ home here in Pensacola, complete with lovely tablecloth and linen napkins and roasted Cornish hens. Our actual Thanksgiving Day meal was a whole lot less beautiful, but made for leftovers aplenty. No big turkey roasting in the oven – we have a pretty small oven!

Our lovely friends, John & Cookie, who shared their Thanksgiving dinner with us. They've been friends with David for almost 40 years. I am a johnny-come-lately, only meeting them at our wedding 17 years ago.

The thing about using the oven is that first I have to unload it. The oven usually functions as a storage space for baking pans, my cast-iron grill skillet and other less-used items. All that has to come out and perch...somewhere. The counter, of course, is awash in ingredients. I always get everything out of the refrigerator before I start, since the counter is also the top of the refrigerator. And, invariably, I forget one thing and then say a few choice words as I balance everything on the ladder, the nav station, etc., while I go digging.

One of my cooking piles...the stuff from the oven.

The rectangular door under my pot and the red dish is the door to the refrigerator.

This is usually the point at which I realize I have forgotten something in the fridge.

I made three things this year – a sort of green bean casserole (no cream of mushroom soup, but some gluten free panka crumbled on top of the green beans and onions did nicely to distract me from the lack), butternut squash and small Brussels sprouts, and a gluten free stuffing mix. That ended up being lunch. That night I made gravy to go with the turkey breast and remaining stuffing. Sometime later this week I guess I will get around to the mashed potatoes and sweet potato pie. After all, it’s just the two of us. So what if we spread the meal out over a week, right?

Thanksgiving meal #1 - lunch! We ate outside in the cockpit under a bright and almost warm sun. The dishes are the Corelle that got replaced the next day (see below).

Eventually order is restored...

 

I capped off the week with my first-ever Black Friday shopping trip with another of our Pensacola friends, who have been very kind to take us around in their car for various bits and pieces David needs for repairs and grocery stops for me. On Friday, Mary Jane and I made a day of it, stopping at Stein Mart, Sam’s, Kohl’s, Starbucks, etc. At Kohl’s I found lovely melamine plates for 40% off! I have been looking for nice melamine plates for a long time and was so pleased to find these. The fact that I had to wait in the check-out line for 30 minutes didn’t even dim my enthusiasm. I have to say, I haven’t been shopping in a very long time and the sheer volume of stuff and the crowds of women (not a man in sight) nearly overwhelmed my senses. If it hadn’t been for Mary Jane, I think I would have bolted!

Pretty blue dishes! Such a relief. I have been using my old Corelle for decades and am heartily sick of looking at it.

Home Sweet Boat

Here are a few shots of our floating nest, together with some interesting storage solutions.

The most useful idea so far (and not one of mine) is to buy pillow covers and stuff them with your off season clothes! We have four so far, and two more on the way. They are working really well and saving us all sorts of storage trouble.

The yellow pillow holds two winter jackets, a vest, and two mufflers. The blue cushion holds two sets of winter sheets, 2 pairs of leggings, a long sweater and a winter headband.

The orange pillow holds two of David's winter jackets (his are bigger, of course) and the blue one has two winter blankets, a shawl and one of my sweaters. Two more cushions are on the way...

One big storage problem is fresh food that doesn't need refrigeration. Last time we went out, we had one of those net hammocks that hung from one side of my settee to the other and which took every opportunity to whap me in the head. It ended up holding everything from onions to dishcloths and looked horrible. This time, I am trying individual net bags that I got from HEB. So far, so good. (Update: the tomatoes leaked. Ick.)

The net bag solution. One for onions, garlic, and ginger and one for tomatoes, so far.

Last time, I had all sorts of hooks put into the galley to hold my utensils. They were always in the way when you tried to access the cupboards and swung wildly with the boat's motion. This time, we are trying a slanted utensil holder. Works great at the dock, but I am sure I will have to stow it underway.

In easy reach at the dock or at anchor. Underway...probably a guided missile system.

On a boat, we end up sharing space for convenience, which is a detriment to decor. This is my settee with all my books, and Wilda's beautiful pillow on the bottom shelf, and our ridiculous collection of teas on the top. Just couldn't wedge the teas into the galley and we HAVE to have the teas.

The essentials...tea and books.

Most of my clothes are stored in the v-berth in these small plastic boxes. I do have lots of storage in my new shelves!! Knitting yarn, purse, long pants, shoes...it's great!! So much better than the old hanging locker.

V-berth boxes containing my wardrobe and other odds and ends.

Three deep shelves are making my life easier.

And finally, the head. The paint is dodgy, as I suspected, but I'll live with it. The door is back in place with a hook to hang the towel. The back brush has migrated to my shelf in the v-berth.

It all fits...somehow.

Now that we are more or less organized below, the focus is on emptying the "garage" storage. Like everything else, it's taking a lot longer than we hoped, but we are making progress.

I am enjoying being at the marina for the most part. Things are more physical here. When I go shopping, the groceries have to be lugged down the dock. The laundry and the toilet and bath house are about 300 feet from the boat. Big deal, you say, but we try to use the toilet up there to keep from having to empty our on board black water tanks very often, so there is a lot of going to and fro. Mostly the weather has been kind, but I got drenched twice yesterday from little unexpected shower bursts. We have A/C on board, so that really helps morale when it is hot, as it is so many days when thunderstorms come in off the coast. Portofino is located right on the Kemah channel, just a hop, skip and a jump from the Bay. Hopefully we will be going out soon for some small and then large shakedown cruises (Offat's Bayou and then Corpus Christi). What works on the dock often does not work on the water, and it's good to find that out before you are committed to a voyage.

In the meantime, I am working out some pain in my shoulder from a fall I had in January and working to build up general fitness levels. I fear I will need the summer to come up to par. Too many years sitting at a desk and in an RV. Voyaging is very physical.

We had originally planned to go down the coast to Port Aransas for the summer, just to get out of here, but with all the doctor, dentist, massage therapist, and lab appointments to deal with (almost done) and then the hassle with getting a new postal address, and the time needed to upgrade my physical strength, and the things David still needs to do (helm chair, solar panels), AND the trips we need to take (still haven’t seen our grandson), two of which require flights out of Houston, and our very elderly cars, we decided just to stay put. David is going to England in September to visit his 93 year old mom, so we will probably head out across the Gulf toward Florida in early October. After that, who knows? Maybe Florida for the winter, or we might cross to the Bahamas.

Floating around yesterday in the bright sun (in between showers), watching a flight of pelicans soar overhead, and looking at the sunlight on the palm trees and the water all around, I felt very much divorced from our land life and very much on the road again. 

Moving Daze

First you sort it. Pile on the left to boat. Pile on the right to storage. Because I NEED that green bowl, that's why.

We’re aboard! We've been sleeping on the boat for about 10 days, but spending the daylight hours at the rig. After more than a week of hard, hard work, the RV has been cleaned and emptied and moved to a consignment lot.

You’d think I’d have some nostalgia for our home of the last four years, but I was just relieved to get it fixed up, cleaned, emptied, and moved. David did the fixing up and a lot of the cleaning, I did cleaning and lots of the trips to Goodwill and the boat, and we both sorted, tossed, agonized, and tossed some more. In between times we gasped in the humid heat of a Houston summer and wondered who on earth moves in June. Evidently, we do. Bad idea, but the year has just slipped away from us.

Moving from a 33’ RV to a 36’ sailboat is somewhat like forcing a size 14 body into a size 10 girdle. I was astonished at what we had accumulated in four years in such a small space – I swear, inanimate objects have sex in the cupboards and multiply like mice. 

We’re still not done. The overflow boxes have gone to the second storage unit to be sorted through yet again. The rule is supposed to be: if you can buy it again and it doesn’t have some sort of emotional attachment, out it goes. We have both fallen into the trap of “but it’s a perfectly good ___.” Hopefully all of the "perfectly good" contents of those boxes will head for Goodwill next week. We want to be rid of the second storage unit (the "garage" where David has worked on our cars and where we varnished the doors, etc.) as soon as possible.

Of the things that made it to the boat, some have had to be taken right back off again (my big green metal bowl was replaced by collapsible plastic bowls) and other things I really need (like my reading glasses!) are hiding. We have sorted through and organized and put into boxes and have mostly succeeded in making a home out of what has looked like an upturned wastebasket for days (see below). I only had to move 3 boxes to sit down at the nav station so I could compose this blog post. :)

After working 8 to 12 hours a day for almost a week, we’ve given our exhausted selves the weekend off and have started to enjoy being home at last. The marina's pool is lovely, the weather has been good most days (although yesterday it was brick-oven hot), and we watched the Friday night fireworks from the cockpit last night. Day before yesterday, I sat out next to the Kemah channel around 6:30 in the cool morning air and watched our feathered neighbors go about the business of catching (or, in the case of the gulls, stealing) their breakfasts. I even saw a dolphin in the channel for the first time ever!

Then you schlep it. Or get your awesome husband to schlep it.

Then you stack it all over the settees...

And the galley...

And the nav station...

Then you sort and label boxes to stow under the settees.

Then you DRIVE the 300 yards to the pool and do some serious floating. And that's how you move to a boat in June in Kemah.

Sail on, Harvest Moon!

The fleet spreads out as it heads toward Port Aransas.

[Hilde's log]

This past week (October 13-14) we spent two days on the water – not the Bay, mind you, but the Gulf itself – sailing to Port Aransas (just north of Corpus Christi) from Galveston as part of the 30^th annual Harvest Moon Regatta. I've never participated; this was David's 4^th trip. We were crew on Morning Star, a Shannon 38 that belongs to friends John and Brenda.

I used the race as an excuse to buy new boat duds. Mine were all either expired or really moth-eaten after not being used for eight very long years. West Marine and Academy came to the rescue, providing me with a new windbreaker and rain pants, a new warm rainproof jacket for cooler temperatures, a couple of new tops, new shorts, new pants, and new undies that I hoped would dry quickly if they got wet. Soggy cotton is a nightmare on a sailing trip, rubbing your skin raw with damp and salt, so all these new clothes were made of quick-drying material. Brenda generously supplied us with two Morning Star tees, one long-sleeved and one short-sleeved. Topped off with my Boat Life ball cap and 100% sun block, I was set.

We met John and Brenda at their slip at the crack of dawn Thursday morning and schlepped our modest duffels and food supplies aboard. The crew included daughter Megan and the real captain, poodle Elmo, who oversaw the whole operation in between snacks. Elmo is such a trooper, she actually pees on the side deck (when the sea is calm), the only dog I have met in our travels who would do that. 

John, Brenda, and Elmo on the deck of Morning Star with our award.

The trip to Galveston was the usual motoring slog, since the wind is always wrong for sailing, but we had a great time visiting with each other and craning our necks as other sailboats joined the parade. I believe there were 143 sailboats in this year's race, and I think I heard that 141 finished.

About 2 p.m. Thursday afternoon, all the boats clumped up outside the Pleasure Pier on Galveston Island, jockeying for position. Everyone wanted to be exactly on time, but not early, for the individual starts. The race committee breaks the fleet up into different classes, and each class has a slightly different start time. The slowest boats go first, the fastest last. A Shannon is a heavy cruising cutter-ketch (she carries a jib, staysail, and mainsail on the foredeck and a mizzen sail on the aft deck). She's very sea kindly, but not a fast ride by any means. The only boat slower would be one like ours...Raven is a 36 foot cutter, with less length and one less sail. Morning Star was in the second class called.

We survived the start, which included a boat-jam with the requisite yelling and fears of collision, and then set sail in light wind (7 or 8 knots, maybe) under beautiful sunny skies. The boats fanned out around us as they headed to their preferred course. Each captain has his or her own idea of the best route, either farther out or hugging the shoreline. Cap'n John opted for a pretty straight course down the coastline, about 5-10 miles offshore most of the trip.

There's no “right” way to do the coast. When David and I go along the coast on our way to Corpus Christi or to Florida (we aren't racing, of course), we tend to head out to the fairways and deep water as fast as we can. If you look at Google Earth, you can see a shelf along the US side of the Gulf. The shelf extends out about 50-100 miles from shore and the water is relatively shallow, 50-80 feet deep, depending. Shallow water tends to slosh and sloshing rocks the boat, which makes for a very, very uncomfortable ride. But, for a race along the coast, heading out to deep water won't do.

Our sail was fairly steady and quiet until the sun went down. About 8 o'clock the wind roused and it continued to build all night, to a high of a little over 20 knots. Most of the night it was in the high teens. It took some sail adjustments and slick helmsmanship to keep us on course. John wrestled with the sails and David did the cowboy-style steering as we lurched along. Feeling a bit useless, I went below for a nap.

When I came back up, the roiling seas that were pushing us along like a corkscrew had felled David with seasickness. I didn't feel so hot, either, but I am generally less affected than he is. I stayed up on deck and kept watch for Cap'n John, who was at the helm, while Brenda and Megan napped. We were blessed with a full moon, of course (the race is always held on the full moon), so we could see really well. There are lots of oil rigs on this trail, and a number of them are “dark” - no lights or whistles to alert you to their presence. A better chance of missing those rigs is one reason traveling under a full moon is a really good idea.

It's amazing how busy the Gulf is at night. In addition to the oil and gas rigs and the tankers and container ships (the big ships were much farther out than we were), the fishing fleet is hard at work. Thursday night, shrimp boats were strung out like bulbs on a string between us and Port A. They'd appear on the horizon as a really bright spotlight, then slowly grow and grow until the light spread out all around the boat, illuminating the deck and the huge insect-like arms on either side of the deck from which the nets hang. Morning Star must have passed 20 of these enormous growling trawlers. Shrimpers are working boats and have the right of way, so you have to keep track of where they are going.

When Brenda and Megan reappeared on deck, I went below again for more napping to quell my queasy stomach. Fortunately, with such a large crew of iron-stomached sailors on the boat, I had the luxury of sleeping it off.

The next morning I reappeared and did my bit at the wheel to relieve John and everyone marveled at the time we were making. Sure enough, Morning Star crossed the finish line at Port A almost exactly 24 hours after crossing the starting line in Galveston. We all just gaped – no one of us had ever made that crossing in less than a day and a half. We didn't know what to do with ourselves, but decided a hot shower would be a darn good start.

Island Moorings Marina at Port A is new and clean and was full of other shocked racers with time on their hands. The bathrooms had large tubs for soaking baths! I have never seen that at a marina. I took full advantage and let the salt dissolve away while daydreaming about the gossamer light of the full moon settling over the ocean, of the blazing canopy of stars that appeared when the moon set in the wee hours, and of the sunlight glittering on the waves as we bounced toward the finish. The clean ocean air had me drunk and sleepy and relaxed, which was a good thing because muscles I don't even have were sore after all that exercise.

We enjoyed the food and festivities at the Regatta party, won third place in our class, and swapped early arrival stories with the other crews. No one could remember such good weather for the race. Usually it manages to be on the same weekend as the first norther to arrive down here, but this year that norther won't show up until the end of this week. I take all the credit for that. Why not? Beginner's luck. 

Happy sailors on the deck of Morning Star.

Eight months and counting - still at it.

[Hilde's Log]

I cannot understand how the days can pass so slowly and the weeks blink out of existence in a snap. It's already been a month since my last post. I'd hoped we'd be farther along by now, but we've been working on small things or intricate things, and they don't finish up very quickly.

I've been sanding and varnishing some trim in the galley (the engine cover, for example), sanding and varnishing the plate rack, spice holders, and paper towel holder in the galley, and sanding and varnishing locker doors. Each door and each holder takes 2-3 coats of varnish on each side, and you have to sand and varnish one side and let it dry before you can turn it over to do the other side. In addition, the spice racks have pretty little rounded vertical wooden decorations that were a real pain to do!

I did manage to finish one bulkhead wall in the v-berth, but it's the only thing I can do in that area until we clear out the cushions, etc. currently stowed in there to keep the mess out of the main cabin.

First let me show you the galley. It's 90% done and I'm so happy with it. Bright, shiny, and clean!

This is a closeup of the spice racks, the plate rack, and the paper towel holder. They look great against the new white paint!

View of the whole galley. So much brighter!

Next, a couple of shots of some of the doors, in process.

Here are a set of 6 doors laid out for sanding on our port settee workspace. The three on the right are done. David had the clever idea of using a length of rolled cardboard to protect the surface of the settee. Great idea - wish we'd come up with it a couple of months ago.

First coat of varnish on the back of each door. The gleam is irresistable.

The most wonderful thing David has done for me this month is make shelves for various lockers. I had some shelves in two of the lockers that he made years before, but they were plywood. The new ones are made out of starboard and look great! I didn't have shelves in my "bedroom closet". It was supposed to be a hanging locker, but the back wall curves with the hull, which means everything hanging in the closet was bunched up and wrinkled. So David's new shelves have transformed that locker from a fairly useless design into a great dressar.

 Nav station shelves for my kitchen gadgets.

My new bedroom "dressar" - with painting/work clothes tossed carelessly on the middle shelf.

Had to show off the bulkhead wall by the new dressar. As you can see, I haven't done the dressar itself. Looks horrible next to that glossy shine. It's strange - I'm not a big fan of glossy furniture in a house, but I love the gloss on the boat.











 





Here are my new shelves in the main cabin. Last trip, the canned goods went there. I'm not sure what will be in there this trip.









David has been dodging weather for his outside varnish work. The cockpit has 5 coats (one more to go) and the durade boxes (the boxes the cowls sit on top of - see first photo below) have 2 (at least 4 more to go, because they are always in the sun. We've had storm after storm, so it's been hard to get anything done.

The durade box/vent/cowl. Looks like an alien life form, doesn't it? This is a vent that lets fresh air into the boat. Yes, the cowl is definitely going to be painted.

The starboard side of the cockpit. Doesn't the varnish shine? You can see the difference between 2 coats (above, on the durade) and 5 coats here on the coaming.

Here is a winch block, all spiffed up. I've done this devil a couple of times (and there are two of them). My efforts never looked this good.



















David has also been working with our single side band radio. He has his ham radio license, so he's tuning in and figuring out frequencies. The radio intimidates me completely, being a push-button monster with its own logic. I need to get over myself and learn to use it. Eventually.

Cap'n Dave on the SSB

We got the portside rubrail repaired, a repair we've been needing to do for years. We hired that out! Good move.

This is the mend on the toerail. You can't really tell anything because it's such a good job! Before, the wood was cracked and the rubrail (the metal strip) was sticking out. Now we can varnish this bit, too. Oh, joy.

David has installed supports in the quarter-berth for the new shelves he will lay in there in a week or so. The quarterberth is our "garage" so the space needs to be easy access and and be able to hold a lot of stuff. 

This is the quarterberth, minus all the stuff usually stowed here. It runs along the starboard side of the hull, from behind the nav station to the stern of the boat. David's project is to make sturdy shelves for all the flotsam we carry here. You can see the two lengths of support rail (the pale wood strips) that will hold the top shelf. The electrics are also going to have to be moved.

 All of which is a long-winded way of saying - we're still at it.