Playing Chicken

For now the miles we make are determined by the tide and my prejudice to be set and secure well before the sun goes down. Some day I will be one of those grizzled old salts who ghosts into an anchorage during the wee hours of the dark, drops a hook without much ado, and disappears below. But right now my un-salty ways add up to Kintala doing pretty short hops. It is a good compromise for us. Waiting into the rising tide meant the shoaling clogging up the channel near the Ponce de Leon inlet passed under the keel with more than a foot to spare. It also meant getting out of the Daytona anchorage without holding my breath. I like not holding my breath waiting to run aground.


Trip planning, tides, currents, possible anchorages, weather, how much water remains on board, how much room is left in the holding tank, when will we need to go ashore again for milk and butter, (and rum) - these are part of our everyday conversations. We think about the actual time that the sun comes up and goes down, and the moon, and its phases. How often did that happen living on land? Living on the water requires paying attention to the things that make up your life. There is no coasting through by habit. This part of the life style surprised me a tad. Even though land is usually in sight getting to it is a bit of a to-do: find a spot in a marina or launch the dink, then find a spot to park the dink. And that is just the start to a shopping day.

This had all been more intense than I would have guessed, even after living 1/4 of our days on Nomad and then Kintala for six years at Carlyle. The trips around Long Island and to the Bahamas didn't clue me in either, most of what was going on went completely over my head. The rise in intensity and effort isn't earth shattering or anything, but it is enough to make it clearly different from living our land life. I know that soon this will be my new normal, that this level of awareness and planning will become new habits. (It is a transformation already well under way.) It makes me curious though, after years of living this way, what would it be like to go back to the old way?

Anyway, the short day yesterday got us away from the anchorage in Daytona (which we didn't care for) to one near New Smyrna Beech where we tucked in behind Chicken Island. Since we spent the day hiding from, you guessed it, yet another cold front, "Chicken Island" is a pretty good name.  With the decision made to stay put we indulged in a bit of obsessive / compulsive behavior and set to cleaning up the inside of the boat.  Attacking and killing mold colonies was the primary task, but oiling teak and polishing some dingy bright work was done as well.  Deb and I are a good match for this kind of thing.  We both regard a toothbrush as essential equipment when it comes to cleaning.  Can you imagine if one of us was a toothbrush type while the other wasn't?  It would only be hours before one or the other went stark raving mad and jumped overboard.  As it is though, we put on some tunes and spent a rainy day happily giving the inside of Kintala some much needed attention.