Thursday, January 15, 2015

Home is …

... where a body can thump around the deck barefoot, on Jan 15, without having toes freeze off and fall into the water.

... where the funky aroma of boat greets the nose as the hatch slides back, leading to a couple of hours of mold patrol even before the bags get unpacked.

... where one tosses the dink in the water, not to get back off the boat, but just to clear the forward hatch so it can be be fully opened, the inflow of salt air pushing some of the funk out the companionway.

... where the tiny solar panel keeps the batteries near full charge and the generator, brought to bear for the first time in near a month, runs just off idle even with the 'fridge working hard to make cold again.

... where Biscayne bay lays quiet, giving a pair of returning sailors a chance to regain the use of their sea legs.

Our neighbor's boat from the cockpit
Daughter Youngest dropped us at the airport at O-Dark-Thirty where the final “good-by” lingered. Just after sunrise, Southwest Flight 288 rolled onto runway 30L, spun up the turbines and turned thousands of pounds of refined dinosaur juice into thunder and thrust. Before half the day was gone the flight crew dropped the jet gently onto 27R at FLL. Friends Bill and Ann provided the ride past the store and back to the marina, then fired up their dink to haul me and a pile of stuff out to the mooring field. Deb followed a few minutes later, taking the shuttle after checking in at the office and picking up packages and mail.

Once aboard we found a box of cookies and a bag of coffee sitting on the nav station, beside a note welcoming us home. By evening we were sitting in the cockpit watching the lights of Miami wink on as the sun faded out. The transition from winter in St. Louis to Kintala in southern Florida is a jarring one.

Tomorrow we will pick up where we left off, try to settle into a routine once again. I want to get back to working on Spanish, getting a bit more exercise, and getting Kintala that much closer to being the boat we want her to be. We made it back, but the visit north looks to make for a serious heading change. Plans for “next” are completely undetermined, but coasting easily into the sunset is no longer among them. Perhaps it was unreasonable to ever think that is was.


No matter. We stand on a deck once again, not a floor. Forward is the bow. Ports and hatches open to let in the air and the sunshine. Land is a few hundred yards away. Gulls and pelicans fly overhead. Dinner was in the cockpit and soon the v-berth will rock us gently to sleep.

Home.

1 comment:

Mike B. said...

Given the cold temperatures I've been enduring here on the boat in Georgia, the whole toes not falling off sounds pretty good to me! Welcome back.

-Mike
ThisRatSailed