Just Poking Along...

Time has slowed to a bit of a crawl as I recover. I feel pretty good all things considered, but there is still a dull but persistent ache around the implant, and the wound has yet to heal over completely. Normally being this inactive would result in a serious case of boredom driving both of us crazy. But I am kind of enjoying not having much to do. Deb and I take long walks and indulge in an occasional treat at The Bean. Much of my time is spent making music with the various Ukes we brought along. Deb puts her guitar (and the baritone Uke) to regular use as well. The electric table top drum kit and pan drum have remained silent as I am not convinced my left side can take a drum pounding.  I also spend a lot of time just watching the world go by from the fly bridge or aft deck. Dolphins, otters, fish, and a squad of different birds spend the day ruffling the waters around our slip. Though I don't really understand why, I am encouraged by the knowledge that they would be doing what they do regardless of me being around to watch, or not. All of human kind will disappear at some point in a cosmic second, with our entire history forgotten, and the universe will not even notice. Knowing that, one would think we would treat each other better than we do. Evidence, perhaps, that we are not nearly as intelligent as we think we are.

Though dogging along at the moment, we are slowly getting back to the routine of getting ready to go. A day or so ago the good folks from the engine shop dropped off the revived Dink motor. Not only did they deliver it, but they mounted it on the Dink and fired it up. It takes a bit of a pull to get it started but Deb handled it without problem. It will be a while before I am yanking on the thing. After they left we took the Dink out for a short cruise, me sitting in the front. I was never particularly comfortable in Kintala's Dink. First Light's, with its hard floor and bigger motor, should soften my dislike for Dink travel. As should have been expected, one of those center console fishing boats cut in front of us during the test run, throwing a pretty good wake. Deb slowed up and turned bow in, but I got a bath anyway. For some reason they slowed down about the time water came pouring over our bow. I guess pulling one's head out of one's ass is still better done late then never. Since I enjoy anchoring out far more than being on a dock, Dink travel is a necessity—even with the occasional waterway bonehead encounter. But I don't have to like it.

With the motor mounted and the test ride over, we gave the new lifting rig its first real test. It worked better than the old rig but it is still a serious bit of lift for a single person to handle. There were many times on Kintala that, after a long day's sail, we were just too tired to wrestle the Dink into the water, mount the engine, and go exploring. Something we do not want to be the case with First Light. So we wandered down to the hardware store and then the marine supply store to see what we might come up with to make Dink launch and stow easy. At the second stop we found a small used winch that appeared to be in pretty good shape. They were willing to part with it for a fraction of a boat buck. We mounted it in the aft cockpit which gave us the final bit of lift we need to get the dink and motor out of the water with just a modest amount of effort. Once we were sure it would work, we added a small cleat and a thing to hold the winch handle and line when the Dink is up and secured.

Dow Corning 795 is awesome stuff for bedding
hardware of any kind

It was a project I thought easy enough to tackle without compromising my recovery. But (now don't be surprised) we got into things a bit deeper than anticipated by pulling the haws horn unit to see if it provided access to mount a backing plate for the winch. Getting it free of the aft bulkhead turned into a wrestling match that was more than enough for my left side. Deb took over and the unit eventually admitted defeat and came free. Unfortunately, it didn't provide the access we thought since there is a solid block of wood that the haws is mounted through.  We had hoped that the wood was big enough to catch the winch as well, but it didn't work out that way. After some debate we installed the winch as close to the wooden support as we could. It should work since the load is strait shear, but we will see. One thing is sure, getting the Dink + Motor up and on the swim platform is one-person easy now. I managed to rejoin the fray by drilling a few holes and installing some screws. 

There are other things I should be able to do. Another coat of teak oil on the rails as well as prepping and oiling the steps up to the fly bridge are high on my list. Those steps have been left raw. For me teak left to weather “naturally” marks a boat as wrecked, abandoned, or neglected. (Your opinion may very, no offense intended.) It is our experience that teak oil doesn't make things too slippery to walk on and, with the rest of the boat starting to look pretty good, those steps stand out as major ugly.

While down in the engine room working on some lighting, Deb found a failed fastener on a shaft seal that also held the bonding wire. That will have to be addressed before we head out, but will have to wait a couple of weeks. My arm is not yet up to that kind of work in a confined space.

So we poke along pretty pleased that just poking along is still an option.

On being still

From where I sit in the cockpit, the still water is like glass, save for a very occasional ripple from a stray breeze. The cormorants, perched like yogis on the pilings of the abandoned dock next to us, spread their wings to dry in the late-day sun. The gulls swoop by just inches from the water, looking for their evening meal and offering their signature laugh as they execute a perfect hammerhead stall to repeat the glide in the other direction. The little silver fish they hunt flip and jump joyously, evading their captors. In the water just behind the boat, the jellyfish glide silently, their bells pulsing rhythmically.

Exiting the chaos that was last week and being transported here has been a bit of a shock. Every few minutes my mind replays the incidents of those few days, unbidden like an endless screen saver, images I fear will be forever burned there. But being here, in this place of peace, forced to stop what is for many a frenetic pace of life and just be still...is a gift, however much it nearly cost us.

When was the last time you just sat still? No phone, no TV, no computer, no tablet no Pandora. Just still. Many of us can’t even do it. We panic. How much is missed by our frenzy?

Stillness is an exercise that must be deliberate and practiced, and one I confess I avoid too often. I’m a doer. So much so that even my grandkids have stated to complete strangers that “DeMa is happiest when she has a project.” Cruising on a boat certainly offers opportunity to experience stillness—the quiet anchorage at the end of the day, the star-filled sky, the sunrise as you start the day's journey—but often the pressure of weather and The List steal away the stillness even on a boat.

This place, this sudden wrenching of our plans from our control, have forced me to stop. To be still. To realize in a very real way that we have a place in the network that is the natural life around us. It’s restorative. It’s calming. It’s peaceful. And right now, it’s the healing that we both need.

What it is

It has been a bit over a week since our plans got changed by my unanticipated visit to the cardiac ICU. At the one week check-up they downloaded a data dump from the thing in my chest. Apparently my heart fires normally 96% of the time, leaving the other 4% (a bit less than once a minute average) to be aided with a small jolt. At that rate, the battery life is estimated at 15 years. I was deemed as “doing just fine.” The bandage over the wound, which had grown to be more than a little irritating, was removed. The wound itself was also reported as "doing just fine". So now it is just a matter of waiting out the weeks it will take for the muscle to heal. Though limited to what can be done with my left arm, I'm not completely useless. (No snide remarks please.)

With Deb doing the heavy lifting, we assembled and installed a lift point for the dinghy at the aft starboard corner of the aft deck roof. With a newly purchased 8 to 1 block set at a much better (almost vertical) angle for the initial pull to get the thing out of the water, levering the Dink up onto the swim platform, motor and all, should be far less trying. We also added a U-bolt to the swim platform so the rig can be cleanly stowed but easily at hand when the Dink is in the water. The whole rig looks more “ship-shape” than did the one we were using. That one had the lines from two different block sets strung all the way across the aft deck to the top of the ladder up to the flybridge. We are waiting on the Dink motor to arrive after roughly 3/4 of a boat buck worth of work. Once it is mounted to the dink transom we will put the rig to the real test. It should be fine. As is usual for us, we likely overbuilt the anchor for the new lift point to some ridiculous degree. Other projects to help while away the weeks are mostly bright work and, maybe, some interior repairs. All things I can do without over taxing the still healing bits of my anatomy.

The enforced slow pace of my day makes time for sitting in the fly bridge, drinking coffee and watching nature do her thing with utter disregard to whatever foolishness us pesky humans might be up to. (I'm assuming the foolishness continues though we are not really paying much attention.) Thousands of little silver fish take to jumping in the mornings, ruffling the water and making it sound identical to rain. We are not sure what they are doing but cormorants and sea gulls swoop in for breakfast while larger birds, hawks and vultures, fly top cover. Dolphins can often be seen out in the river, casually broaching in a lazy way that suggests they are just poking around. Sunset and sunrise paint the waterscape with colors never seen in the city. There are no towering buildings in sight. With the exception of the bridge, the tallest structures around are the trees.  

Deb and I take long walks back to our old slip and then into town. My new heart control logs the “activity time” all by itself and blue tooth's the info to my phone. When necessary the info can be transmitted pretty much anywhere in the country. (The Borg weren't kidding when they claimed "Resistance is futile".) Often we chat with other live-a-board folks as we go. Sometimes we sit on another's boat and tell sea stories. Sometimes they wander over to our new parking place and come aboard. It all reminds me of a) how lucky I am and b) how much I enjoy this lifestyle. Once we get underway, there are plans to have various grandkids rotating on and off the boat, giving us some extra crew and them a chance to see what DeMa and Grampy T are doing while away. Eventually we will end up in St. Louis, mixing the two lifestyles together with the boat always available for an adventure. But for now we make the boat pretty, take it easy, and wait until it is time to go. Not bad considering what it is...and what it could have been.

The view of First Light from the bridge. First Light is in the center of the picture back 
near the tree line