Sea Trials: Our Life Afloat

Five reasons we're not sailing.

2010-01-11T11:20:00.000-05:00

1. Through people we've met in our travels, we got a free slip at a dock in downtown Wilmington. It's ours until May 1 if we want it, though the facility is decidedly lacking in facilities. Which is to say that I poured a pot of nearly boiled water over my head yesterday in an attempt to shower. But did I mention it's free?!

2. Having found ourselves with no need to rush onward (see #1) and with some cheap labor (my brother, who's visiting from Massachusetts), we decided to strip all the brightwork on the boat and refinish it. We've been making excuses not to do this for the past year, and the boat has looked increasingly shabby for it. Thankfully, the rewards of our efforts are easy to see:

Before....After

3. The busman needs a holiday. Jeremy has been captaining boats essentially nonstop since February 2003. For those of you working desk jobs, an analogy would be something like slapping some wheels or skateboards underneath your desk and your chair and using it as transportation to tour the country's most scenic office buildings. So maybe that's a bit of a stretch, but when something as great as sailing is starting to feel like a drudgerous task, it's time for a break. Summarily, we returned to Wilmington with the help of our trusty Honda Civic, which will take us on a road trip across the American South for the next two months. Feel free to offer suggestions for good stops along the way!

4. If tomorrow's temperature in Wilmington gets as low as 28 degrees, a new record will be set in this town for longest stretch of lowest temperatures, because it's been that cold or colder since January 2. Eleven days of below freezing temperatures does not a happy sailor make. And as those of us with friends and family in Florida know full well, they have had similar stretch of time during which there's no good weather to gloat about. Hah! But seriously, it has been so cold here since we returned last Monday that I resorted to warming the toilet seat with a heat gun last night. And it didn't even help.

5. We were recently offered lodging at a friend's house in downtown New Orleans for the weekend of Mardi Gras. Need I say more?

And now, we rest.

2009-12-08T13:13:00.000-05:00

Change of plans: instead of pushing on for another 4-5 days to reach Charleston before the holidays, we decided to reroute up the Cape Fear River and put in to Wilmington for a month. Simply put, we're exhausted, and a break is overdue. Since Wilmington is a city new to us both, we've got plenty of exploring to do in the next two weeks before heading north (by car) for the holidays. More posts are forthcoming to catch you up on our time in New Bern, Morehead City, and seeing our first dolphins(!).

Scratch That

2009-12-01T20:38:00.000-05:00

Another week, another gale. Alas, this weather is the trouble with doing this trip as winter stealthily stalks our every move, reminding us that an October or even September departure would've made for friendlier skies. But winter wasn't contributing to our savings account, so here we are. Plans to make haste toward Wilmington are out the window, and instead we have moved from Beaufort's Town Creek Marina (not cheap at $1.50/foot) to neighborhing Morehead City, where we've tied up at the Sanitary Restaurant (closed for cleaning; how appropriate!) for a mere $10. Having just checked the forecast to find 40 knots of wind on the menu, we made the easy decision to stay another night and perhaps wander off in search of a movie theater tomorrow. Until then, we'll continue to bask in the heat of our woodstove, curl up with our books, and listen to the krill crackling as they snack upon growth on our hull.

On the Road Again

2009-11-30T20:20:00.000-05:00

This morning, Jeremy and I left behind the comfort and security of the ineffably hospitable town of New Bern to return to the daily grind of the ICW. The week we spent there was just what we needed: we slept late (past 8:00 one day!), covered every inch of the historic downtown thrice over (by foot and bike), overate on Thanksgiving (we are Americans, after all), and had our fuel injectors rebuilt to stop the engine from overheating (we hope). We're spending a windy night in Beaufort and will press on in the morning in hopes of reaching Wilmington in time for the lighting of the world's largest living Christmas tree on Thursday. How could we pass that up?

A Typical Day Underway

2009-11-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

The alarm sounds sometime before 6:30. The snooze function is rarely employed more than once, but sometimes it's already One of Those Days before dawn, and there's just no such thing as willpower. Jeremy is almost always out of bed first; Colleen has a habit of languishing just a bit longer than she should, though perhaps she does this to avoid having to navigate her way into the engine compartment to check the oil. After that's done and the engine is fired up, a minimum of three layers are donned. This is usually one layer too many for the person who is about to spend 20 minutes cranking the (manual) windlass to bring some 120 feet of anchor chain plus muddy anchor aboard. Once the anchor clears the surface of the water, we're off and running. From this point on, we begin taking turns doing 2-3 hour shifts at the helm while enjoying a light breakfast. Being as civilized as we are, there's almost always freshly brewed coffee and tea to be had, which was especially necessary when morning temperatures hovered in the low 40's.

When I'm not on the helm, I've been passing the time rediscovering things like the quadratic equation to help me with the math problems in my GRE prep book. When that suffering is over with, I read voraciously and practice harmonica until I feel lightheaded (my specialties include barely recognizable pieces by Simon & Garfunkel and Jimmy Buffett). I occasionally partake in some light exercise that includes sit-ups, lunges down the side decks, and modified push-ups against the cabin house. Jeremy likes to point out that these are not "real" push-ups, but he is easily silenced when I ask how many push-ups he's done that day. Ever the captain, Jeremy has a more difficult time relaxing, and often spends an unhealthy amount of time looking out for the safety of his crew by obsessing over weather and charts. Fortunately for his blood pressure, he too enjoys the company of books and Finn the cat. As for that furry companion of ours, his is the life of Riley: naps are interrupted only by meals and those times when he so kindly deigns to let us pet him. Sometimes he condescends to join us on deck, always finding a warm spot in the sun where Jeremy and I can watch him take solace from the wind that burns our cheeks. At least he earns his keep by helping us set sails and coil lines (see above).

Sometime in the middle of the day, the hungriest person will fetch some lunch, which typically features sandwiches or last night's dinner. All the while, our shifts continue as sails are set, trimmed, struck, set again, and at last furled and covered for the day. When we've arrived at the anchorage we've selected (usually something recommended by our invaluable guide published by ICW cruising guru Skipper Bob), the hook is dropped and then watched with bated breath to be sure it has set properly. Once the deck has been cleared of the days books, charts, and discarded layers, we prepare for dinner, the most anticipated part of the day. Sometimes, this meal is impressively sophisticated: mushroom tortellini tossed with broccoli, olive oil, and Parmesan (and paired with white wine, of course), or a colorful vegetable-and-tofu stir fry in peanut sauce. Still other nights reflect our tremendous hunger and exhaustion as we whip out the Kraft macaroni and cheese or devour canned soup and grilled cheese.

Bedtime comes especially early--10 PM at the very latest, if someone hasn't already fallen asleep on a settee--so post-dinner activities rarely include more than dish washing (we're very good at taking turns), reading, and email-checking when there's a cellular internet signal. If we stopped early (before 4:00), we might try to fit in some housekeeping. The other night, Jeremy fiddled with the engine, while I cleaned the toilet--another activity we share, and we never forget whose turn it is on that one either. Fortunately, there's always room to sit down, relax, and enjoy a view like this:

This is how we wash our hair...

2009-11-24T10:49:00.000-05:00

...when the hot water heater is broken.

From the land of no cell service

2009-11-20T17:13:00.000-05:00

As you'll see from the map, we've finally made it to North Carolina, at which point we'll be slowing down the pace of things and doing much more exploring ashore. Having lost our internet signal somewhere along the way (cellular signals went along with it), we've made a quick trip to the Belhaven to check in by email at the library, hit up the local bookstore, and track down an all-you-can-eat Southern buffet that we read about. Tomorrow, it's on to Oriental, NC to address some minor engine trouble followed by a few days in New Bern, a town made famous for its significance in our relationship (as Jeremy noted to another cruising couple we keep running into, it is the site of our first kiss). Please note that the temperature here is a balmy 65+ degrees; your consolation prize is the fact that we're enjoying such summer weather while swatting at mosquitoes. Can't have our cake and eat it too, I suppose. At least until we get to the buffet, because I don't turn down cake.

Ashore in...Cape May, NJ

2009-11-16T20:20:00.000-05:00

(Note: I had intended to post this much closer to the time we were actually in Cape May. Don't hold it against me.)

If you're going to wind up stuck in New Jersey, you might as well seek refuge in the seaside town of Cape May. A relatively protected canal offers cruisers a decent anchorage (even for deep-draft boats like ours) and marinas aplenty, while the quaint town provides more than enough options for sailors to stretch their legs and stomachs (though not necessarily their wallets, since this is a resort town).

For our two+ days in Cape May, we enjoyed free dockage at the Coast Guard station, saving us from multiple sleepless nights on the anchor as a gale raged around us. Not only did the station offer access to showers and low-cost dining at "the galley," but we also got a unique glimpse into the life of a new recruit, many of whom we watched march by en route to one drill or another and heard hollering mysterious chants into the night. My only context for military training being the movies Top Gun and An Officer and a Gentleman, I kept expecting to bump into Richard Gere or see Maverick ride off base in a motorcycle, but all I got were freshly shaved nineteen-year-olds walking in step. Oh well.

Eager to put feet to pavement after four straight days of being underway, we got ourselves off base to explore the famous Victorian charms of Cape May. The architecture certainly did not disappoint (see my favorite house, above), with block after block of stately homes looming over tree-lined streets. Desperate for the sight of the sea, we traversed two miles of empty beach and wound up at the lighthouse. We passed on paying $5 for the distinct privilege of climbing some 200 stairs to the top.

On the second day, we returned to town once more and spent an afternoon strolling along the Washington Street Mall, a pedestrian thoroughfare with kitschy, beach town shops (most of which were closed for the season). I was delighted to find that the soda foundatin was true to its name, complete with an awkward teenager serving up milkshakes and egg creams (whatever those are) with a ridiculous paper hat perched atop her head. Unfortunately, my appetite got left behind at the Lemon Tree, where I devoured one of the better Reubens that has ever greased my lips. Jeremy and I warmed up for the 30-minute amble back to base with a tipple at the Ugly Mug, made famous for its annual froth-blowing contest. Naturally. This pub deserves particular accolades for getting into the spirit of autum with hot apple- and pumpkin-based drinks. We tried varieties of the former, which positively floated us back onto Coast Guard territory. The next morning, a Coast Guardswoman on pre-dawn watch kindly cast our docklines and sent us on our merry way through the Cape May canal (and under it's scarily low bridges that cleared our mast by about 1.5') and up the Delaware Bay.

I certainly look forward to making Cape May a port of call on our way back north, though I do hope to make it out before the scads of tourists return. I'd like to think such a charming place (in New Jersey, of all places!) remains undiscovered by the masses, and I'm happy to continue deluding myself as long as possible.

Baltimore, still

2009-11-13T11:32:00.000-05:00

And so we scratched our planned departure of yesterday morning, spent yesterday in pajamas, and began today with a long to-do list to work on in the cold rain. We also added a veterinarian visit to said list: it looks like Finn ended up with an infectious puncture wound that left him feverish and listless this morning. A few hundred dollars later, his drugged up state has restored his appetite and will hopefully help him get back on his paws by the end of the weekend. More updates to come on our visits to Cape May and Baltimore, as well as the great (motor)sailing we did on the Delaware and Chesapeake Bays. But in the meantime, we have dishes to wash, a newly painted dinghy to launch, bikes to stow aboard, water and fuel to add, laundry to put away, and a kitten to coddle. Weather willing, we depart for Virginia tomorrow!

Baltimore!

2009-11-08T22:27:00.000-05:00

A sunny, 70-degree day welcomed us to the Chesapeake Bay this morning, and now we're all tied up in Baltimore's Inner Harbor. On a dock! With electricity! More substantive updates are to follow, but sleep necessarily takes precedence.

Weather-bound

2009-11-05T08:27:00.000-05:00

Two words you don't want to see in the marine forecast: gale warning. A nasty front is coming in this evening and will result in 4-7 foot seas on the Delaware River, which is to say that we're staying put in Cape May, where we arrived last evening. Fortunately, we have been warmly welcomed once again by the US Coast Guard, who gave us a dock and pointed out the showers (awfully quick to do that, I noticed...). After checking the forecast this morning, it looks like things won't die down until late Friday night, so we'll be staying put right through Saturday morning. Looks like we'll get our first crack at experiencing the cruising lifestyle of laying over in port and doing some land-based exploring, which is a much-needed respite from being on the water for five days straight. In November. What were we thinking??

Name that port!

2009-11-04T00:58:00.000-05:00

That's right; we're tied up in Atlantic City for the night after an extremely long, exhausting day motorsailing down the Jersey Coast. We left Sandy Hook before 7 AM and arrived at the Atlantic City Coast Guard Station (we have friends in high places, which is to say my dad is a Master Chief and has some pull) just after 10 PM. It was our first time being underway at night, and the stress level was high. It didn't help that I lost my lunch earlier in the evening--good thing we hadn't gotten around to dinner yet--after spending a bit to much time below decks, and all I wanted to do was curl up and fall asleep wherever possible. Nevertheless, we made it safe and sound and with just enough energy to spare for a visit to a casino owned by one Mr. Trump. Jeremy and I dined on sub-par, overpriced food (while my dad's snoring kept intruders off the boat) and frittered away $5 on slot machines. So much for winning big and funding a second year of cruising.

Tomorrow will see us leaving the dock at around 7 AM and finishing up the last 36 miles of the coast. We'll plan to spend the afternoon and night in Cape May before tackling the Delaware Bay and winding up in Baltimore. And now, we sleep!

A New York State of Mind

2009-11-02T19:12:00.001-05:00

Approaching Manhattan.

Dad's enjoying the cookies (thanks, Mum!) while Jeremy muscles the boat through the current in the East River.

Me and the Brooklyn Bridge.

Manhattan skyline.

Sunset in Sandy Hook, NJ.

We dropped the anchor in Sandy Hook tonight and plan to shoot down the Jersey coast tomorrow, perhaps pulling an all-nighter. Wish us luck!

Progress Report

2009-11-01T21:41:00.001-05:00

An airplane thunders overhead as I write this from a dock at the World's Fair Marina in Flushing, Queens. We were hoping to be in these parts last night, but after plowing into the wind and waves at a mere 2 knots for a few hours, we decided to duck into Stratford, CT to spend the night. Stratford is, depressingly, a mere three towns west of New Haven, but the detour proved more than worthwhile: we found that our "rigging toggle," a chunk of thick metal that holds up the cable holding up our mizzen mast, had snapped off. This chance discovery prevented a possible disaster (read: a snapped mast, and a possible end to our voyage). We also got the chance to finish stowing everything down below and to stroll about the lovely town of Stratford, celebrating Halloween with a stroll through a cemetery that featured graves dating as far back as 1681.

This morning, we eventually managed to wake up, get dressed, and leave the dock in a chilly drizzle. By the time we hit Long Island Sound, the drizzle had ended, and a nice northerly wind had filled in. After setting all three sails, we found ourselves chugging toward New York at 7 knots, which is not an unrespectable speed for this boat. With the Manhattan skyline growing ever larger on the horizon, we decided to scrap our planned stop in Port Washington and pushed on to the shelter of Flushing Bay. Features here include popular cruising destinations like Rikers Island, LaGuardia Airport, and Citi Field (home of the Mets, apparently). We were so satisfied with ourselves after coming upon a spacious but seemingly un-manned dock, thinking we'd get away with a free night's stay. But no dice: $70 later, we're trying to really enjoy the damned place.

Tonight we all enjoyed a dinner of Jeremy's meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and my dad told me not to write that he washed dishes lest my mother catch wind of the phenomenon. Tomorrow's plan is to transit down the East River and head toward Sandy Hook, NJ; we'll decide whether or not to start the 120+ mile, nonstop trip down the coast at that point. In the meantime, we're all more than ready to pass out.

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-31T20:44:00.000-04:00

Finn hopes you enjoy the fruits of his suffering. We certainly did.

The...itinerary?

2009-10-30T15:47:00.000-04:00

Let's face it: we really don't have a plan. When people inquire about our plans and destinations, we respond, "South! The Bahamas! Cuba? Wherever there's no snow!" Overenthusiastic incoherency is our trademark. But can you blame us? Still, for those who need to know (read: our parents), here's the rough, ever-changing plan:

October 31: Leave New Haven before dawn, sail to City Island, NY and grab a mooring for the night

November 1: Depending on weather, anchor by the Statue of Liberty or begin the trip down the NJ coast

Nov. 1/2 - 5/6?: Transit the 200+ miles down the Jersey coast (through the night, without stopping for 40ish hours), head up the Delaware Bay, pass through the C & D canal, and wind up in Baltimore for a few days of rest (and laundry).

Mid-November: Sail down the Chesapeake Bay to Norfolk, VA; enter ICW; wind up in Charleston, SC, where we'll stay through the holidays.

After that, we're shooting for the Florida Keys, the Bahamas, and perhaps deeper into the Caribbean, with eventual plans to wind up in the Chesapeake for May/June and New England in July. Stay tuned for an itinerary as it evolves!

30 Hours Until Takeoff

2009-10-30T01:21:00.001-04:00

Frenzy is an essential ingredient to every great adventure. At least as far as I can tell; I am unable to recall a single voyage that began without 11th hour packing, repacking, and obsessing over checklists (it's no secret that I'm a checklist freak). Unsurprisingly, this trip proves no exception, as I sit here typing this entry at 12:54 AM, sitting in a sea of mildewy clothes hanging from the ceilings, drying out from a too-leaky closet. Jealous yet?

This week has been a study in freneticism. Every day has begun with two ambitious lists of to-dos: one for Jeremy to tackle in the daylight (I'm working straight through tomorrow afternoon), and another to attack in tandem during the evening hours. It quickly became apparent how much we overestimated our willpower (a Mad Men marathon tripped us up a bit midweek), and tonight we paid for that slacking with a night that included processing our 4th and 5th loads of laundry for the week, purchasing--and attempting to stow--an obscene amount of groceries, and expressing our overtiredness and anxieties through seemingly endless bickering about whether or not to keep a weeks-old acorn squash (I stubbornly insisted that I will cook it, so I have that to look forward to next week).

Fortunately, we managed to (mostly) pull it off: superficial clutter aside, we are the closest we've ever been in the past 10 months to having "a place for everything, and everything in its place." Of course, without the aid of Mary Poppins, this may have been accomplished by kicking said things into their places or simply chucking them in the rubbish, but a spoonful of wine was enough to help that medicine go down. And that was one less bottle that needed stowing.

Tomorrow will be a light day: wake up, get 200 lbs. of extra ballast onto the boat while remaining hernia-free, move the boat to another dock (we're in New Haven now), pump out our blackwater, fill fresh water, deflate and stow the dinghy, and submit two grant applications (that's me, at work).

And figure out where the fresh hell we're going.

It's official...

2009-09-30T22:14:00.001-04:00

On November 1st, Jeremy and I will begin yet another chapter in ourr adventure: a 10-month cruise south (destinations remain undetermined). Stay tuned for trip details as they emerge, along with wedding and kitten-on-a-boat photos!

Cats on Boats

2009-07-29T15:57:00.017-04:00

First, I’m going to cease apologizing for my sporadic writing. I’m getting married in less than two months, for heaven’s sake, and my mind is addled with über-important things like frosting-tasting, finding shoes that aren’t flip-flops, securing some attractive port-a-johns, and purchasing spandex undergarments. I’ll consider myself forgiven.

Meanwhile, despite being more than a bit busy here on the North Star, Jeremy and I are toying with the idea of adding one more element of chaos to our lives. This weekend, in addition to checking myriad items off our wedding to-do list, we’ll be visiting a few local shelters where Jeremy will attempt to manipulate kittens to steal my heart.

I’ve never been a cat person. Growing up, we were a dog family that dabbled in cats just twice: the first became road kill on day two, and the second was a wild minx of a thing that embedded her claw in my sister’s gums upon introductions. She was promptly given away. During and since that time, I’ve had no use for the things, and have even come to suspect that I’m allergic to their excessive amounts of fur.

So why are we considering this proposition? Good question. I’m beginning to ask myself the same thing as I write. But wait: there were a few good reasons, if I can just dig them up…

Right then. First of all, Jeremy is super cute when around cats, in a heart-melting kind of way. Reason number two concerns the naming opportunity. I’ve always had a propensity for naming things; by the time we had acquired the family dog, my third-grade self had already generated a 2-page list of male, female, and gender-neutral possibilities. Of course, the ultimate decision was left to my father, but only because he needed the most convincing to agree on a dog in the first place.

Finally, the ultimate justification: think of the merchandising opportunities! We’ll start with the ever-popular kitten calendar, which will feature our hapless creature forced into all manner of sailorly positions that will be impossibly cute. Kitten at the helm. Kitten studying a chart. Kitten setting the mains’l. Kitten using the head. The only natural successor to this would be a series of children’s books, followed by a PBS series (no selling out to a cable network for our little star!) and a tasteful product line.

Regardless of the infinite opportunities that come with owning a kitten on a boat, I do have some apprehensions. First, when it comes to interacting with the feline population, I’m frightfully awkward. I don’t know how to pet them or pick them up, and I feel uncomfortable when they approach me, not knowing what their intentions are. I have reason to believe that their food is disgusting, what with the fact that they enjoy mice and birds the way I relish cupcakes. Speaking of mice and birds, if a cat dropped one at my feet, I would have nothing short of a mental breakdown. It can kill all the mice it cares to, but I mustn’t be forced to see or address the remains.

Then there’s the issue of claws meeting our cushions and woodwork down below. We’re not in a financial position to replace a teak interior, at least until the cat can start making money for us. And yesterday, Jeremy mentioned something about the fact that boy cats (whose name list is far longer than girls at this point) tend to “spray.” What a tactical term. He should have said “urinate,” instead of giving me the impression that they’re handy with a bottle of Fantastik. Oh, and have I mentioned that I very well might be allergic to the things?

Ultimately, it’s the swimming lessons that tip the scales in favor of kitten acquisition. See, our (Jeremy’s) extensive reading about cats on boats suggests that establishing comfort in a marine environment is essential, and all boat cats must be comfortable with exiting and returning to the boat in an aquatic fashion. This means that one’s kitten should be tossed overboard with some regularity until it learns to climb back aboard via a thick rope hung over the stern. I see a YouTube video in the making with this one.

Best Weekend Ever (so far...) - Part 1

2009-07-06T20:14:00.007-04:00

Thursday:

We left the mooring at about 6:30 and made a pit stop at the fuel dock for water (we had run out two days before with a pile of unwashed dishes, of course). By the time we exited the Branford River channel, sunlight was quickly running out; instead of setting sail, we motored toward our chosen anchorage near the Thimble Islands and dropped anchor for the very first time. After Jeremy spent 30 minutes obsessing over the anchor and the thunderstorm passing over Long Island (we could see the lightning all the way across the sound), I managed to convince him not only to jump in the water with me (in the pitch dark, I might add), but to go first and check for sharks. The water was so brisk that our bodies hardly hit the water before they were involuntarily scrambling up the swim ladder, but at least we were invigorated for the musical portion of the night. In which I regaled Jeremy with my unparalleled harmonica-playing skills for the next hour or so. Our game went a little something like this: "Guess which song?" "Twinkle twinkle?" "Nooooo, Brown Eyed Girl! I'll do it again, you'll see!"

After I ran out of breath, we tried out our dinette bunk in order to be closer to the GPS and its anchor alarm (lest we begin drifting into a rocky island or seven in our immediate vicinity). Jeremy was certain he'd be up every hour to check on our status, but thanks to the swim and the harmonica lullabies, we slept soundly until the sun came up. At around 6AM.

Friday:

Believe it or not, it was Jeremy's idea to go for yet another dip on Friday morning, so I happily obliged. And while his dip was similarly short-lived, I spent a solid 20 minutes practicing my leaps and dives into the still-icy water while Jeremy, by no fault of his own, took mostly unflattering photographs. Fortunately, we got a few that were passable:

After the swim and some breakfast, we weighed the anchor (very heavy) and pulled aboard. This took at least 20 minutes, and thereby counted as my exercise for the day. Once that was done and the mud was rinsed off, we decided to raise some sails under the lightish (~5 knots) breeze. Under the mizzen and the stays'l, we were moving at a comfortable 3 knots, and we managed to practice some tacking as we beat our way west (destination: New Haven). The day couldn't have been more beautiful and the wind couldn't have been more perfect for our first day under sail. After a respectable 3+ hours of putzing around the Sound, we headed into New Haven just in time for Jeremy to captain another boat (the Quinnipiack) for the fireworks that night. And for me to wash four loads of now-moldy dishes. I suppose it can't all be rainbows and roses, right?

Next: 3 sails, 6 knots, 10 white knuckles; more fireworks; cupcake overload.

Coming soon....

2009-07-01T21:46:00.003-04:00

The Pitfalls of Energy Independence

2009-07-01T21:07:00.005-04:00

As I write, we're running the engine so loudly that Jeremy and I are getting a disconcerting preview of old age. At 3000 rpm, it goes a little something like this:

Jeremy: We're out of water!
Me: You have a daughter? We're getting married in two months and you're telling me this now?!

Meanwhile, I put on headphones a while back and started listening to some music on the laptop. It ended 3 minutes ago. I'm still hearing it.

In order to live 'off the grid' and on a mooring, we find ourselves running the engine nightly to keep our batteries charged. While about 40 minutes/night usually does the trick, we sometimes lack the time or discipline to charge up consistently, which is how we find ourselves screaming nonsense for two hours on a Wednesday night.

Fortunately, our wind turbine and bracket will be ready for pickup tomorrow, and we'll be shifting to an even more environmentally--and ear--friendly method of power generation by next week. Unless something else goes wrong in the meantime.

Update, Part 3: The Ugly

2009-05-21T11:00:00.004-04:00

Last night, I had ants in my pants. And on my shoes. And crawling up my sleeve. And in my cup of juice. That's right readers, the North Star is experiencing a carpenter ant infestation! It's truly special to behold. And by special, I mean maddening.

Let's start with the fact that these are carpenter ants we're talking about. Talk about a misnomer. Perhaps they are so named because a carpenter's services are required to repair the damage they inflict on all things wooden. At any rate, while our boat is fiberglass in structure, all her spars (masts and booms) are made of wood. Naturally, the main mast is where our little visitors, which seem to number in the thousands, have been congregating.

Are you picturing what I'm picturing? A breezy summer day, Colleen and Jeremy are sailing across Long Island Sound, living the dream. Suddenly, the main mast snaps in two, and more ants than dollars comprising the nation's deficit spill out of the splintered stump and paint the boat black with sheer numbers. My mind allows this vision to continue a bit too far, as I watch the leader ant, bearded and holding a pipe in his nonexistent mouth, take the helm and commandeer the vessel as his minions tie Jeremy and me to the mast. But that is the stuff of a horror movie, or at least something out of Pixar.

But seriously, if the structural integrity of our masts is indeed compromised, I picture dollar signs. And beyond the potential damages and costs these creatures may exact, there's also the fact that sometimes the boat doesn't feel big enough for the both of us, never mind the thousands of us. When this problem became apparent last Saturday, we responded with a rich menu of ant poisons--three, to satisfy all tastes and dietary restrictions. While they seemed to begin dying in droves, they must have concurrently been procreating in droves, because killing them began to feel like bailing the Titanic with a teacup. Last night, we resorted to the poison spray, an option I had previously shirked but then embraced with zeal as I began target practice on the little buggers. Of course, this was fun until they began climbing my legs for safety, and maybe six ants died as a result.

This morning, the infestation came to a climax: when I lifted my head to turn off the alarm, I found an ant, semi-squished, betwixt my cheek and the pillow. What's worse is that I didn't even react like I had all week, when ants ventured onto my person (that is, flapping my arms, screeching like a monkey, and thrashing my body to shake off the offending creature--all of which I only did to distract Jeremy from the fact that the engine was broken, of course).

An exterminator is coming at noon.

Note to Jeremy's parents: we'll let you know tonight how the extermination goes; otherwise, we'd be happy to call some hotels for you!

Update, Part 2: The Bad

2009-05-21T10:15:00.002-04:00

As you can tell from the previously posted photos, our boat is in no way connected to shore. Which means, for better or worse, that we live off the grid: any power we use must be generated by our engine (we hope to add a wind turbine and solar panels to the mix soon). The engine charges our batteries, which then supply power to the lights, bilge pump, and refrigerator. Once the inverter gets involved, we can then channel power to our outlets to use the laptop, charge cell phones, and plug in the vacuum. Without the engine, we are reduced to reading by oil lamps as the food spoils and the bilge fills with water. In other words, a bad field trip (though the oil lamps are quite nice, on occasion).

Let's rewind to Tuesday night. The sun was setting, and I was up on deck chatting on the phone with my brother. Jeremy was somewhere down below using a power tool, in his element. A good night, ostensibly. But suddenly, Jeremy was on deck, with an "Oy vey" look on his face. Something was amiss.

He whispered, much too casually for the context, "I think we have a fire."

I promptly hung up on my brother (sorry, Josh) and had to quickly quell my urge to yell, "Fire in the engine room! Fire in the engine room!" and begin gathering our four fire extinguishers in the stern. (You see, back when Jeremy and I were captain and crew, respectively, of the M/V Half Shell, my assigned duty in the event of a fire was to holler, grab fire extinguishers, and then entertain frightened inner city youth by pretending that the fire was no cause for concern, and abandoning ship can be fun.)

Sure enough, the entire boat was filling with smoke that smelled a bit like burning rubber. Grace under pressure, Jeremy turned down my offer of extinguishers and opened the door to the engine room (really more of a hut than a room, let's face it), a move I thought to be quite brash considering that the flames could have licked his beard clear off his face. Yet the move quickly downgraded the drama (from a Lifetime Original to afternoon soap opera level) as we found no flames at all, and instead concluded that the billows surrounding us were actually comprised of steam.

While the absence of fire was surely a good thing, we still had to--oh wait, make that have to--contend with the fact that our engine severely overheated and isn't exactly capable of working at this point. And while we're in no rush to get anywhere, we do have lights, a fridge, and a laptop that have failed to run on hopes and dreams alone. And did I mention we have overnight guests coming this weekend?

Jeremy is taking the afternoon off to tinker some more, so we're hoping to have a resolution--or at least an engine that doesn't catch aflame or explode or do some other reprehensible deed that will cost unanticipated amounts of time and/or money. Barring that, we might just scrap the thing altogether, invest in some green energy solutions for power, and fashion some long Viking oars to use on especially windless days.

Update, Part 1: The Good

2009-05-21T10:06:00.002-04:00

Sunday marked the completion of our second week in Branford. And when you see a photo like the one below, you'll probably think we're truly living the good life. And on some accounts, you'd be right: when there's sun, we enjoy sitting in the cockpit, watching as it dips below the river and washes the sky in vibrant hues. We've watched herons and ospreys swoop across the marsh, fish leap before our eyes, and stars twinkle overhead. When you live like this, can you really complain?

Yes. Yes, you can.

Home, sweet home

2009-05-05T20:53:00.002-04:00

North Star, at her new home (until November) between pilings in the Branford River.

First Voyage

2009-04-30T23:08:00.008-04:00

Jeremy takes North Star off the dock in Essex.

Two of the vessels in our fleet, heading out on the Connecticut River.

Your narrator at the helm, capably steering through the mooring field.

Old Saybrook, where the river meets the sound.

Living the dream.

Catching up on some reading during the 6 hour transit, and trying to stay warm.

The view looking aft. If it seems like something is missing, you're right: we'll get to adding booms and sails eventually.

Comings and Goings

2009-04-30T18:35:00.003-04:00

It pleases me greatly to report that I'm currently blogging from the North Star--on a high-speed, cellular internet connection--from the waters of New Haven! Now, I must note that the fact we're in New Haven is not the exciting part (let's just say it's neither Jeremy's nor my favorite city...); no, my friends, we're enthused by the fact that our boat finally had the chance to prove her seaworthiness last Sunday, and she passed with flying colors.

With our slip lease in Essex expiring at the end of April, we took advantage of an unusually warm, calm day (inland temperatures reached over 80 degrees) to motor the ~30 miles down the Connecticut River and west through Long Island Sound to a temporary home in the Elm City. Having just found ourselves a spot on a mooring in the local (and much nicer) town of Branford last Monday, we'll be making our way there this weekend (weather permitting).

North Star's first journey was uneventful, in a good way. The engine started up after just a few tries and some starter fluid; it could be worse. We putzed along with the southward flow of the river, passed beneath our very first train and highway bridges, respectively (with plenty of room to spare), and cruised with the inbound tide at an average of 6 impressive knots. The trip through the sound was pretty brisk, since water temperatures still hover in the 40's. My wardrobe went from shorts and a t-shirt to shorts and a sweatshirt to pants, a long-sleeve shirt, a sweatshirt, and a jacket. Plus a winter hat and gloves. When we reached New Haven roughly 6 hours later, those layers were quickly abandoned and we prepped for our very first docking. Thanks to the fact that we docked at the same dock where the schooner Quinnipiack calls home, Jeremy handled it with impressive aplomb. Of course, my leap to the dock was nothing if not graceful.

Stay tuned for pictures!

Progress Report

2009-04-24T16:43:00.002-04:00

Last weekend was a whirlwind from which I am still recovering. But while my skin is spangled with bruises and scrapes of varying severity, it's also a shade more bronze--ok, less blanched--than it has been all winter, so I'm not complaining. Also, we took the cover off the boat. Words cannot express the joy I felt as I slashed my way through the plastic, turning our toxic greenhouse back into a whale skeleton, and then into a boat. Which is just as it should be.

Here's a rundown of what we accomplished:

Replaced deck fills (through which we fill our water tanks)
Removed plastic cover (hallelujah!)
Extracted PVC pipes from frame; dismantled frame with jigsaw
Chopped up frame pieces into dumpster-sized sections with saws-all (my new power tool of choice)
Cleaned up four months worth of dust and detritus that had accumulated under the cover
Stowed four months worth of junk we had been storing on deck, for lack of space down below
Hosed down the deck, in a vain attempt to remove traces of dust; took advantage of the opportunity to laugh childishly over remarks like "Can you get me the hose?" or "I need more hose"
Installed new wiring on the main and mizzen masts
Baked flourless chocolate cake
Drove to New Haven for dinner with friends, at which we managed to be good company in spite of our exhaustion
Tried to hold our liquor, in spite of incredible dehydration and low tolerance (okay, that was just me; someone had to drive)
Readied the rigging on both masts
Returned bowsprit to the bow
Re-installed windlass
Emptied my Dad's truck of everything we've been storing chez mes parents
Placed kayak on port deck, adding a second boat to our fleet

I should note that it feels like we did so much more than this list can ever convey in length. Perhaps pictures will speak these many thousands of words for us. And they will follow, if I can secure something akin to an internet connection this evening.

Things you don't want to hear your captain say...

2009-04-22T20:16:00.003-04:00

While installing new batteries (and following minor sparking): "This is either going to work, or it's going to really hurt."

After it worked, our fearless leader already had a pun lined up: "If the batteries were set up wrong, that would've been a shocking experience."

"Har har," I said, as I put down the car keys and health insurance card, prepared--just in case--for yet another trip to the hospital.

Cooking @ Sea Level: Quiche a la Grecque (Greek quiche)

2009-04-15T20:59:00.011-04:00

1. Find quiche recipe on internet

2. Have a snack…this will be a while. Have I mentioned how slow our internet is?

3. Forget the internet: recipe-hunt the old fashioned way, with Joy of Cooking!

4. Find some suitable tunes. Tonight that means Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks (thanks Sarah).

5. Pile dirty dishes onto settee (Looks like someone has put off dish-washing duty for yet another night…)

6. Gather ingredients and cookware; note that the pie pan you were hoping to use now sits in Jeremy’s pile of dirty dishes. Consider ordering pizza.

7. Have some nearly stale Peeps to buoy your spirits.

8. Gather up bagels and loaf of bread that have flung themselves out of our hanging basket and onto the floor. Apparently, the boat is moving quite substantially. This does not bode well for my quiche.

9. Wash the darn pan yourself, then place in pie pan the crust you ~~painstakingly made with love and care~~ bought at the grocery store.

10. Brush crust with egg yolk; bake for ~20 minutes at 400 degrees. Shocked by the fact that we have a pastry brush but no freezer or hot running water? Me too.

11. Try microwaving onions as an alternative to sautéing (I’m trying to spare Jeremy yet another dish). This approach isn’t terribly effective, but neither is abstinence-only education, and that hasn’t stopped Bristol Palin’s mother from promoting it.

12. Whisk together 3 large eggs and some amount of milk (I’ve stopped bothering with the recipe at this point). Wipe fiberglass dust off lids of various spices; add to eggs (the spices, not the fiberglass dust, though a bit of that is inevitable).

13. Remove pie crust from oven. Joy of Cooking, where was your mention of crust shrinkage? What gives?? And from the looks of it, perhaps pie weights aren’t for sissies after all.

14. Open bottle of wine; pour sizable quantity. Proceed as planned, and rise above this setback.

15. Fill pathetic crust with spinach, feta, and onions; pour in egg filling. And yes, I see that my filling has crested the crust edges like Katrina over a 9^th Ward levy. And I don’t care. In fact, I meant to do that. This is an ‘inside-out’ quiche. You know, where the crust is on the inside of the egg filling.

16. Bake the damned thing. For, like, 25 minutes or whatever.

The verdict: While it may not have won awards for looks, it surprisingly tasted delicious, and I've been eating leftovers all week. Jeremy gave his esteemed approval as well, though he wasn't really given a choice in the matter.

Would I make it again? You bet. As long as the dishwasher had done his job beforehand, of course.

Photos to follow.

Morning musings: a conversation at 7:52 AM

2009-04-15T20:43:00.002-04:00

Jeremy: “You know, between this boat [the North Star] and the Quinnipiack [the schooner on which he is captain], I’m starting to feel like I have a fiancée and two mistresses.”

Me: “Which one is the fiancée?”

Jeremy: “You…”

Me: “Oh, right [I was especially sleepy this morning]…okay then, why is that?”

Jeremy: “Well, each one requires a certain amount of care, love, and attention. And at this point, the Quinnipiack is getting all the care and attention. You get the love, of course.”

Hey, it could be worse: I could be North Star, the cheese that stands alone.*

*This is a reference to 'The Farmer in the Dell,' a child song that everybody except Jeremy knows.

Grinder: 2, Colleen & Jeremy: 0

2009-04-10T19:35:00.004-04:00

My tribute to the grinder was premature indeed, as the tool claimed me as its next victim last weekend. In the midst of a two-hour-long effort to smooth out the fiberglass, thinking deep thoughts related to gravity, momentum, relativity (seriously--I was contemplating how could protect themselves from fatal injuries whilst in a falling elevator) and suddenly, the sanding disc snapped in two and flew off the grinding wheel with the force of...something moving incredibly fast. One half ended up at the bow of the boat, some 15' away, and the other ended up shooting, with that very same oomph, into my thigh. My response brought new meaning to the phrase 'swearing like a sailor,' and of course there was nobody there to hear me or rescue me from my pain and suffering, or to see the pout that had so comfortably settled onto my face. Fortunately, it was easily resurrected in time for Jeremy's return home (he was working on the schooner that employs him for the day).

While the pity was helpful, I was much more satisfied when I managed to wriggle out of my coveralls and spandex pants later that day. I had earned myself this beauty:

Okay, so there was no blood, nor did it merit an Emergency Room visit, but at least it's colorful!

One week later...

2009-04-10T19:17:00.002-04:00

...and the deck is now wearing its first coat of primer.

We're taking the weekend off (!!) to celebrate Easter and Passover, so I'm taking advantage of a high-speed internet connection (which has kept me from writing all week, since our marina-issued wireless brings us nothing but memories of the dial-up days). My apologies to my devoted reader(s) for such a lengthy gap in updates; I promise a tale of pain and suffering (with photos!) in my next post.

The Home Stretch

2009-04-02T21:21:00.000-04:00

It's finally April (hallelujah!), which means that our boat must be ready to go (read: sail) in a mere 30 days. That's when our dock slip becomes ours no more, and we head off into the sunset for a mooring in Long Island Sound. More on that later, if we actually figure out those logistics.

Thankfully, the deck project is edging ever closer to completion. The seams from the fiberglass panels we removed have all been sealed up with fiberglass tape (one of the only enjoyable parts of this project), and all that remains is some grinding to make things smooth followed by several coats of paint. Some photos follow:

Fiberglass tape laid out across seams.

Jeremy coating fiberglass tape in epoxy.

After laying down four layers of fiberglass, seams are still visible. Which is okay, apparently.

As the saying goes, "It's not a piano." Needless to say, cosmetic work is yet to come.

Dangers at Sea

2009-04-01T22:27:00.004-04:00

Jeremy and I have been feeling exceptionally tired lately, especially after spending weekends working on the boat. In conjunction with this overwhelming fatigue, we began noticing the appearance of bruises in spots we had previously bumped or hammered with some force. Perplexed and concerned, I quickly turned to the most trusted medical resource I know: Google. Apparently, we have been suffering from an affliction known to sailors the world over for centuries. Have you guessed it?

That's right. According to the results of my search, we are likely suffering from potentially fatal cases of scurvy, which seems to be caused by spending extended periods of time aboard a boat. Fortunately, there is hope: after some additional--and similarly thorough--internet research, it seems we can reverse our symptoms by the consumption of something called Vitamin C.

And so, tonight, we went shopping:

Note: The ugly greenish fruit is called a pomello, and is supposedly treated like a grapefruit. We'll see about that. Also note that I made sure to publish this post on April 1, just to get in the spirit of things.

"Behind every good slave is a good driver." -Proverb

2009-03-28T13:26:00.002-04:00

Yesterday was a gorgeous day on the Connecticut shoreline, or so I hear. Trapped like Jonah in the whale skeleton of our clear plastic cover, I baked like a tropical plant in a greenhouse while working to check off every item on the list Jeremy so kindly left for me that morning. Lest there be any confusion, that thermometer does read that temperatures were in excess of 100 degrees.

Jeremy's POV; or: Better Late Than Never

2009-03-20T21:09:00.002-04:00

While Colleen has been off frittering away her time in France I have been hard at work. I spent a day studying modern popular culture by catching up on some TV shows through the magic of Hulu.com. Which also allowed me to test one of the boats vital systems (I mean researching the resiliency of the cushions onboard). I then girdled my loins and got to “real” work and spent several more days grinding and fitting fiberglass panels and core materials. Let me tell you any
job that requires, a respirator, knee pads, work gloves, safety goggles, long sleeves, boots, a back brace, caution tape, and a WW-I German infantry helmet (complete with spike) is one that is worth doing. There is not much in the world more unpleasant than grinding fiberglass.

On Sunday Colleen returned from France. I decided to surprise her. She has never seen me without a beard. She even joked (I think) that it was false pretenses to marry her without letting her see me without the beard. So, for the first time in three years I shaved it off. I immediately regretted it when she could not look at me for the whole car ride home without bursting into fits of nervous laughter. It did wonders for my self- esteem. So goes the life of the other resident
of the North Star.

À bientôt!

2009-03-06T12:14:00.003-05:00

Please pity me, dear readers, for I am off to France for the next nine days and will likely be having far too much fun to post another blog entry in that time. It is thus with great pleasure that I introduce to you the guest writer for next week: Captain Jeremy Dagold!

In honor of Jeremy and St. Patrick's Day, I have composed the following limerick:

A few words from me on the captain:
He likes the blues, from BB King to Clapton.
He can fix things that break
And make a mean chocolate cake
And he's marrying a girl from Nantucket.*

*Not only is it incredibly hard to find words that rhyme with 'captain,' but it is a truth universally acknowledged that all good limericks must contain 'Nantucket.' And its usage here is actually legitimate: I was born there!

Nautical fashions: Always en vogue

2009-03-03T20:35:00.008-05:00

With New York's fashion week now behind us, I thought it would be a great time to show my readers a thing or two about the latest nautical styles. Brought to the forefront by Hyannisport's famous clan, the look of the yachtsman can now be found from Cape Cod to Topeka, and everywhere else in between. And just in time for spring, it is my distinct pleasure to share with you the latest and greatest looks found aboard the North Star this year!

Coveralls: Always hot--literally! Not just because they're perfect for staying warm on a cold day, but also for the slimming effects brought on by the lovely shade of brown. The 'perfectly roasted marshmallow' look was a hit on the runways this year, and you'll surely spot it on the streets of Nantucket and the Hamptons this year. Pop the collar for extra flair!

Below, you'll see how Jeremy put his own spin on this timeless classic: he added his very own dusting to lighten things up (save this look until after Memorial Day!), and topped it off with a trendy watchcap. Très chic, n'est-ce pas?

Respirators: Remember when the threat of SARS had all of Asia sporting those cute surgical face masks? Well, let's face it, our Homeland Security Threat Level has yet to dip below yellow, meaning that the threat of biological warfare could still be just around the corner. Take emergency preparedness one step further with your very own gas mask! Readiness is always cool:

But what's the point of having stylish duds when your hair is a frizzy mess? Not only does this latest trend in headgear save you from a sodden mane during heavy weather, but it also allows you to show off your love for all things green. That's right, the next look is eco-chic! What better way to save those grocery store bags from landfills than to wear one atop your head?*

*Note that this look actually resulted from a most successful attempt to save my hair from sticking to the paint I was applying overhead. Patent pending.

No pain, no gain?

2009-03-01T20:23:00.009-05:00

While I began writing entries in this blog way back in December, I have always been hesitant to unleash its content to the masses. It was missing something. And then, yesterday afternoon, when I heard the whir of a grinder followed by a siege of expletives not to be repeated here, I knew just what that something was: sensationalism! Drama! Blood, pain, and suffering!

Our fearless leader, Captain Safety himself, fell victim to the tool whose virtues I once extolled--and cautioned about--in this very same blog. A moment of carelessness saw his glove shredded by a whirling dervish of sandpaper spinning at an astonishing 12,000 RPM. A four-lettered word rang out under the cover, and I rushed over to see Jeremy unveil a bloody mess of index finger. My Wilderness First Aid training kicked in without a second to spare: as our victim hurried to the shore head to rinse out the gaping wound with cold water, I dashed below decks to grab something to stop the torrent of blood: recalling that a paper towel might leave behind festering fibers, I turned to a pile of t-shirts. After carefully sorting them and selecting one that is old and unloved enough to accept a good dousing of blood, I then filled my bag with some essential items that were critical to Jeremy's safety: our wallets, to cover the co-pay at the hospital, cell phones, my camera (to document the injury for this very platform), and some reading material, in the anticipation of a long wait in the ER. My Wilderness First Aid instructor was remiss in noting the importance of taking along supplementary reading material at the time of an emergency, but fortunately I have experienced enough long waits to know that this could be a matter of life and death!

Without wasting a moment, I collected Jeremy from the men's bathroom (after waiting for all others to exit, of course) and piled him into the car for the three mile trip to the local hospital. We pulled up to the entrance in record time, but then spent several minutes debating whether or not he should get out and check in, or just come with me to park the car and walk over together. These are always critical decisions, and I feel we made the best decision by walking in as a pair. Strength in numbers, right?

After a few minutes of rigmarole, Jeremy found himself settled nicely in his very own little room, into which everyone but the doctor came in to visit during the hour we waited. Many of them showed off their own scars from similar injuries, which really added no value to our experience whatsoever.

Finally, it was time for the fun to start. The doctor arrived and delivered the prognosis: he would keep his arm, after all, completely ruining Jeremy's chance at receiving a real live pirate's hook. And since there really wasn't enough finger left to stitch, he was simply going to give the gash a thorough cleaning and send us on our merry way. Of course, all this would happen after giving Jeremy some numbing shots to the finger, which did NOT go over well. Let's just say that our hero has something of a phobia when it comes to needles. But hey, at least that rules out IV drugs for my future husband, and I'm okay with that. We just can't afford that kind of thing on nonprofit salaries.

So after much ado ("Do I really need those shots?", "How much will it hurt?", "Colleen, am I squeezing your hands too hard? I just heard a crack..."), Jeremy wound up with a shiny, clean oozy finger that he could, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES, touch salt water. Apparently, the doctor assumed that because we live on a boat, we must paddle to and from shore with our hands, which could give him an infection that truly would be amputation-worthy. Did we really look that uncivilized?

By Sunday morning, Jeremy was back to work, undaunted by the previous day's escapade. So undaunted that he was back to using tools in a cavalier manner by the afternoon (not power tools, which I took over gladly).This resulted in a potentially fractured metacarpal, resulting from an errant--and especially enthusiastic--swing of the hammer. But instead of spending another several hours at the hospital, parting with a co-pay equivalent to a trans-continental flight, this hard luck captain sucked it up, and that evening applied the remedy used by sailors for hundreds of years: a hearty drink of rum.

Deck in Pictures, continued

2009-03-01T20:11:00.004-05:00

Phase Five: Place new balsa core This phase turned out a bit different than originally planned: instead of using balsa wood core and epoxy alone, we used some stuff called goop. Well, vinylester resin, but goop is much more technical and scientific, which is why we use that term instead. The goop resembles blue saltwater taffy, and tastes like it too. Our strategy was to fill the edges with goop, then use it as the adhesive for placing the balsa core. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being most fun, this phase was an eight. If nothing else, we got to revert to our shared childhood fondness of Playdough (minus the spaghetti-making tools I loved so much).
Phase Six/Seven: Cover it up!

In order to get the original top layers of fiberglass to fit correctly, I got to use my favorite tool of the trade. That's right, it was grinder time again, but with a bit less toxicity this time around.

And then it was time to top things off:

The Deck Project, in Pictures

2009-03-01T19:26:00.012-05:00

Phase One: Rip off teak

Above, you'll see how Jeremy spent the evening of his coughthirtiethcough birthday. After a lovely sushi dinner, of course. He just gets wilder and crazier with age, I suppose!

Phase Two: Smoothing the deck surface

This was Colleen's favorite part of boat ownership so far. There's no better way to spend a wintry weekend than playing in toxic dust! Here she is, taking a break and waving to the camera in her own special way (photo edited for content).

Phase Three: Scrape out rotten deck core

This part was both easier and harder than expected. What we thought would be plywood turned out to be sections of teak. And much to our dismay, the first sections we revealed were not rotten at all, seemingly rendering our tremendous efforts thus far completely unnecessary. Fortunately, as time went on, wet, mulchy chunks were being pried out with victorious cheers. Here's a snapshot of those good times:

What a Tool: The Grinder

2009-03-01T19:24:00.000-05:00

I began my love affair with the grinder (the power tool, not the sandwich—though they too are quite swell) on a warm spring day in Washington, DC. Previously a bit shy when it came to power tools, the grinder captured my heart with the first whir of its circular disc. Its grace and power moved me, especially when it kicked back toward my flip-flopped foot. And I just might have the grinder to thank for finding me a husband: after all, it was Jeremy who introduced me to this fine piece of American-made machinery, back when he was the captain and I was just a lowly deckhand on the M/V Half Shell. So it’s only fitting for me to begin a sometimes-series on tools I have known (hah) with the grinder: here’s to you, old friend.

What for?

A grinder is essentially a super-fast, slightly scary, round, spinning disc that can be used to sand any type of material in no time at all. But even more awesome is the grinder’s ability to cut metal. Can’t get that screw out? Grind it off! Trying to smooth down a chunk of wood? Grind it off! Pesky hangnail? Grind it off! Extreme, I know, but that’s just what this baby is.

How to Use

Plug it in, turn it on, and apply spinning surface to anything (not including other persons)! It’s just that simple.

Inherent Dangers

Inhaled toxic dust particles, shrapnel in eyes, skin layer removal (especially on knuckles, knees, toes), finger loss

The Deck Project

2009-03-01T19:21:00.000-05:00

A rotten deck is one of the reasons Jeremy and I were able to afford such a big boat on our nonprofit salaries. The pre-purchase survey found that the deck core--essentially plywood sandwiched in fiberglass--was most likely completely disintegrated, thanks to water water that leaked in along the screws holding down the teak deck. And while this was undetectable when one walked around the deck, it could someday have the effect of a roof caving in should the boat take on "blue water" (a big wave in the ocean). Of course, not only would our “roof” cave in, but our boat/home would sink. Talk about a bad field trip.

Initially daunted by this situation, Jeremy turned to thorough internet research on deck core replacements, which revealed that we could do the entire project ourselves for bit less than $10,000. For context, a shipyard would charge $50,000+ for the very same task, with labor constituting the largest portion of the cost. Since our winter cover is essential to keeping the below decks dry during the destruction phase, we broke deck (literally) shortly after moving aboard in the first week of January.

Phase one was truly fun. It’s no wonder, because the primary tools for this process included hammers and crowbars that we used to rip off the layer of neglected teak. This came off with satisfying snaps and crunches, which does wonders for the soul after a tedious day driving a desk. I was disheartened to discover how quickly we completed this process: a mere 10 hours (split between me and Jeremy) was enough to rid the deck of teak.

Phase two is a phase I'll be revisiting in a future post, but here's a sneak peak: have you ever opened 100 lbs. of flour in front of a giant fan? No? Wonder what that might look like? You'll find out soon enough. This segment of our little adventure involved grinders (not sandwiches, but my favorite tool of all time), which we used to sand off layers and layers of dried, toxic adhesive. And probably a little fiberglass (oops). This is to get the deck surface smooth enough for cutting out sections of fiberglass, which is phase three. From what I can tell, the rest of the project goes something like this:

Phase 4: scrape out rotten plywood

Phase 5: replacing rotten plywood with new balsa core

Phase 6: cover balsa with epoxy, try not to get fingers permanently stuck together

Phase 7: put sections of fiberglass deck back in their rightful spots

Phase 8: make it look nice

I know most of this is not even remotely interesting. However, I do believe that 1) it is necessary to set the stage for a series of posts during which I complain about all the work we have to do, and 2) to record the fact that we did all this work, for posterity's sake.

My Biggest Fear

2009-01-16T22:09:00.003-05:00

Did you know that the human body loses heat 25 times faster in the water than in the air? I’ve been brushing up on my hypothermia knowledge, can you tell? Every time people ask if I’m afraid we’ll get too cold inside the boat, I tell them this: my biggest fear is getting too cold outside the boat. In the water, that is.

When walking down the dock to our abode, one takes a 90 degree turn from a 6’ wide section of dock to a 3’ wide section, along which North Star is tied. I keep envisioning myself making an 85 degree turn, or hitting a chunk of ice, and winding up treading and gasping for breath. I then picture Jeremy sitting on the boat, cozy by the fire, sipping hot chocolate, while I struggle to melt the ice in my lungs enough to scream. I know, it’s terribly dramatic and paranoid.

But tomorrow, I’m buying us safety whistles.

Catching Up

2009-01-16T22:03:00.003-05:00

The holidays were lovely. During a whopping two weeks of vacation, Jeremy and I both enjoyed expanding our stomachs, bringing our bodies to the brink of diabetes (okay, that was just me), getting blisters due to excessive remote usage, and impressing the shapes of our bodies into my parents’ couch. Okay, the last two were me as well. At any rate, little did I know that this represented the calm before the storm.

On the last Tuesday in 2008, Jeremy and I returned to our soon-to-be-former apartment to do some last minute tidying up. Unfortunately, amnesia had overtaken us both during our time in Massachusetts (I blame the chocolate), and we found that we had far more junk in the apartment that either of us had remembered. This is how we ended up officially moving onto the boat on New Year’s Eve, a day that saw almost 6” of snow fall on the Connecticut shoreline, snow which christened the last of our belongings to join the others on the boat. Other belongings that were already taking up the last of the storage space. Thank goodness for plenty of room on the deck.

The first night was uneventful in a good way. We cooked our first real meal (the pre-Christmas frozen pizza doesn’t count), drank some champagne in an attempt to be festive, and fell asleep by 11. It should come as no surprise that Jeremy’s middle name is Wild, and mine is Crazy. Quite the pair, I know.

Somehow, two weeks have since flown by, and we’ve finally settled into a routine. I can say with complete honesty that I am happy with the decision to live on a boat. But with this being the coldest winter since the phrase “global warming” was invented (hah!), that’s all the sunshine and rainbows I can offer right now.

PS – Jeremy thought I should change the title of this post to read “ketch-ing up.” He's not just a boat nerd; he's punny too.

New Year's Resolutions

2009-01-16T21:33:00.002-05:00

1. ~~Write a new blog post.~~

2. Write at least twice a week, for my adoring fans.

3. Don't fall in the river.

Week in Review

2008-12-16T17:33:00.002-05:00

Over the past week, Jeremy and I have:

Emptied out every single cabinet/drawer/locker onboard...all of which were chock full with relics of the 70's
Scrubbed the bilges
Cleaned and vacuumed all cabinets/drawers/lockers/floors/cushions onboard
Chipped paint, which then fell onto all previously vacuumed surfaces
Painted the bilge (which didn't work due to excessive moisture)
Insulated the bilge to protect against moisture
Painted the ceilings in something glossy and toxic
Covered the boat in clear plastic, using tape that sticks only to skin (and painted surfaces)
Wielded blowtorches
Burned holes in said clear plastic with said blowtorches
Patched aforementioned holes
Moved out the remainder of furniture, rendering us without couches, desks, a table, chairs, and a bed
Discussed, at great length, how we plan to go about moving out of our apartment and onto the boat by December 31

Note that packing up the apartment has not yet found a place on this list. Wish us luck!

Harsh Revelations

2008-12-11T10:43:00.002-05:00

When one plans to move onto a boat, one has presumably reconciled with the many sacrifices one will need to make in order to execute such move. Meaning that I was completely aware that I would need to majorly downsize my wardrobe or be forced to trundle around wearing multiple sweaters at any given time. However, when cleaning out lockers (the boat word for cabinets, drawers, shelves, etc., apparently) the other night, I realized that all the space I presumed we'd have had mysteriously vanished. Jeremy will probably tell you it was never there, just to antagonize me. He hates my sweaters. And despite my stubborn desire to hang on to every last one of them, and make them fit (dammit!) come hell or high water (hah), it's just not meant to be.

Last night, I managed to select over twenty items for donation, which is quite a feat, considering I already heaved SIX TRASH BAGS of outdated, ill-fitting, I-never-liked-you-anyway clothing into a Red Cross bin two weeks ago. Another plastic tub is now overflowing with summer clothes and things I just can't bear to part with, bound for my storage unit (read: my parents' house) until warmer days. That leaves me with a seemingly succinct pile of clothes that are somehow intended to fit on the boat, though the "how" part remains to be seen. And I haven't even gotten to shoes yet. Oy vey!

Another thing I learned when working on the boat the other night is that our head (toilet) is going to be set up for true emergencies only, at least until the threat of frozen pipes subsides. This means that, unless I have needs in the very middle of the night, I'm going to have to schlep (at least I've got all those sweaters!) some 100 yards, weaving through boats on the way, to the indoor facilities at the marina, which are at least quite nice (and contain the much needed showers). At least that counts as exercise, right?

Our First Weekend Afloat

2008-12-08T22:36:00.004-05:00

On Thursday and Friday of last week, our dear North Star took her first trip in almost two years via the highways and byways of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. She arrived in Essex, CT (our home port for the winter) on Friday afternoon where she was plucked from trailer to travel lift and dropped (gracefully, I hope) into the Connecticut River.

The next morning, Jeremy and I rose early, bundled well, and drove out to Essex for our first day on the boat. Unfortunately, our first day wasn’t spent under sail, or even sipping hot toddies by the great little wood stove. Instead, we spent seven long hours building a whale skeleton. Which is essentially a PVC frame that will support giant sheets of clear plastic, rendering our deck something akin to a greenhouse. The best part of the day? Our delicious first meal afloat from a neighborhood deli. The worst part? Sacrificing six screws and two zip ties to the Connecticut River, made painful by my attempts--every time--to reach into the frigid water and save the poor fish who could fall victim to my carelessness. You know, by swallowing screws for lunch. Good thing I kind of hate fish (at least when they're in my hands, or staring at me from tanks in Chinese restaurants).

About the Blog

2008-12-08T22:00:00.000-05:00

Some time this past September, Jeremy and I thought it would be awesome to buy a sailboat. And live upon it, naturally. We spent the better part of the next three months browsing yachtworld and driving along the coast, climbing around a total of 11 boats from Maryland to Maine. Finally, on the last weekend in October, we found it: a 1977 41’ Formosa ketch in Wiscasset, ME. Having lost out on another boat just weeks earlier (our bid came in just hours too late), we made an offer on the spot. After a survey, a counter-offer, a decision to replace the entire deck ourselves (more on that later), and the acquisition of a very large check, the boat became ours on November 22^nd. Oh, and two weeks before that, we got engaged.

So not only do we now own a 14 ton boat, but we’ll also be making it our permanent residence by January 1^st. And what better way to transmit our many adventures than with a blog? Stay tuned; there may be rough seas ahead!

2008-11-21T20:29:00.000-05:00

Can you see the fear in our eyes? It's there, behind the excitement.