A different kind of minimal

I usually hesitate at taking a guess at what someone else is thinking. Half the time I can barely make sense of the thoughts crashing through my own head, let along those of someone else. But, that being said, I suspect many sailboat dwellers harbor just a twinge of smug at the light touch they leave as they live and travel. Those not minimalists by desire are still minimalists by design: using the wind for go power, living in tiny mobile houses, making electricity with solar panels and wind generators and passing through a place leaving little trace and no permanent mark (At least those not living on Super Boats.) Even the divots gouged out by anchors, already under water where no one could see, would be gone minutes after pulling the hook and ghosting away. People who live such a life are surely among Mama Earth's favorite children. I will admit to being a bit pleased with having been one of them.

But my sailing days are over. The next time we take to big water it will be at the urging of two thumping Cummins of around 150 hp each. Both will leave a trail of stink lying on the water while, by any standard, pushing the boat a remarkably few miles per gallon of fuel. In fact, I just did a crude estimation and it looks like the trawler goes just a bit further on a gallon of dinosaur juice then does a corporate jet. Ouch. The up side is that the jet will go further in a day's worth of travel than the trawler is likely to cover in a year. (As an aside, after all the travails with the WesterBeast, I am wondering at being ganged up on by two engines nearly three times the size of the Beast. At least these are in a pretty big pit where I can work around them without always drawing blood.)

Since we will not be doing much driving while trawler-ing, will still be making a good bit of our own electricity with solar panels, (at least while not moving) and still living in a tiny home not taking up much room, hopefully Mama Earth will give us a pass on making a tiny bit of stink. And if She does get a bit irritated and send a hurricane our way, those thumping Cummins will give us a fighting chance of getting out of the way.

Still, if we manage to find ourselves anchored somewhere, surrounded by a gaggle of masts rocking gently in the swells, I will understand a few slightly elevated noses.  I hope some will still drop by, take an easy step out of the dink onto the swim platform, settle on the flying bridge for a nice look at the view, and join us for a sundowner.