Who we are

The sails still work. Imagine that!

Deb had an alarm set for this morning, woke up just before it went off, and went about getting Kintala ready to be under way. Hearing her being busy was enough to get me to groan my way out of the v-berth, clutch a cup of coffee, and go about getting the deck ready to be under way. Coffee helps, as does the knowledge that the summer-work-on-the-boat is officially over. For months the working on the boat has taken place in Rock Creek. After today working on the boat will happen wherever the boat happens to be.

That, all by itself, should have been enough to have me near hopping for joy. But it has been ugly hot since we left the dock and we have managed to tangle with a couple of pretty tough projects where the sweat poured off us in little sticky rivers. Part of yesterday was spent cleaning the gross fuzz off the dink, no one's idea of a cheese burger in paradise. And we had pulled the anchor yesterday. It, and the chain, came up choked with a stinky, sticky, black mud the likes of which we haven't seen in 4000 miles of sailing. Fortunately we were just going in for a pump-out and water, offering the chance to wash the black goo off the fore deck with unlimited dock water. But it was still a mess, and the hook was sunk deep in the mud. Waking up to the thought of a second go at mud wrestling with Rock Creek, with only a bucket and brush to wash away the post battle debris, was not a happy thought.

Worse, I think all human hearts have a bit of Velcro in them. The crew at Oak Harbor Marina, dock friends Carol and Dave, Judy and Dick, Susan and Wayne...cruising compatriots Nancy and David, Mizzy and Brian...Family Tiff, Matt, and girls, how do you not get attached, not feel a little heart lurch, at the thought of leaving them behind?

On the other hand, how can a cruiser not leave when the boat is working and the days are getting shorter? There are places to be seen, people to meet (and meet again) along the way. There are friends in the Bay and places south that will be a part of our lives again. This is what we do. This is who we are.

The anchor didn't come off the bottom easy but it, and the chain, did come off the bottom clean. I have no clue how that happened, but it was sure nice that it did. The Beast rumbled away and Kintala moved down Rock Creek with no plans of returning soon. Wind forecasts for the day included gusts to 25 knots, so the main was preset to go up with a reef while the staysail would go out before the big jib. First though, we motored around in a few circles to try out the auto-helm upgrade. The little ST1000 did okay. It is pretty basic and there will be a bit of a learning curve. But Kintala will hold a heading under motor and (some) sailing conditions. And that is a huge improvement to life under way.

The ST1000 set up on the stern

With that test done, the bow swung south and east. At day's end we found ourselves on the other side of the Bay, on a dock in Kent Narrows, tied up next to good friend Stephen and his Tartan 42, Zephyr. It isn't often that our old Tartan finds herself next to a sister ship, Stephen and I figured about 5% of all the Tartan 42s in the world are parked right here in these two slips. We first met Stephen in Oriental nearly two years ago. The last time we saw him was in Ft. Lauderdale a year ago. Since then, we have been to the Islands and he sailed up the East Coast in one mad, 10 day rush. Soon he, us, and many of those we left in Rock Creek, will be working our way toward the Islands.

For how can a cruiser not leave when the boat is working and the days are getting shorter? There are places to be seen, people to meet (and meet again) along the way. This is what we do.

This is who we are. 

The Zephyr and Kintala side by side.

 

“Here's another nice mess...”

With parts for the Beast and the solar panel install in transit from places hither and yon, we left Kintala to her own devices this weekend, rented a car, and drove to PA for a visit with family. It is about a four hour run from here to where my parents live. We got there in time to join them for lunch. While in the dining room word came that the closing on the condo was complete! For well and true everything we own now floats with us on our old Tartan.

Road Trip!

I have to admit to a moment of thinking, “Well, here's another nice mess you have gotten me into”. (Which is the proper quote from Professors Laurel and Hardy.) We are, by some reckoning anyway, homeless. And, just for the record, I was talking to myself. I have a long history of backing myself into a corner and then having to invent a way to escape. Some were harmless. Some less so. A few could have been down right serious and required some quick thinking, fast action, and a huge dash of luck to escape unscathed. (Or, occasionally, with a slight case of scathe.)

But the reality is that we were in a bit of a mess but are now in much less of one. The constant drain of resources: financial, emotional, and in relentless hassle and effort that having a place on land entailed, is gone. Though we be “homeless” in the normal sense of the world according to the American Dream we do, in fact, enjoy a very nice home. (Even if we do share it with a Beast.)

In fact we have many homes now or, perhaps, a really big home with many, many rooms. Biscayne Bay is a room in our home, as is the Chesapeake. The Abaco Islands are a different room, along with several places in the Eleuthera Islands. Once we find a place, set the hook, and hang around for a while, it becomes another room in our home.

This home is so big that we don't really own it. It owns us. It rocks us to sleep and sometimes rocks us awake. It teaches, frightens, soothes, admonishes, and rewards as it sees fit. Sometimes, for days on end, we stay in the same room. Sometimes, for days on end, we use a different room nearly every day. But regardless, in a way I am still learning to understand, we are always at home.

The condo is history. Kintala is in the water. There are only a few projects left to finish before we go explore some more rooms in our home. It really is a very nice mess we find ourselves in.

Days off?

The solar panel install is off to a slow start with much of yesterday's efforts going into picking out parts and suppliers. Most of that burden falls on Deb with her decades of parts buying and selling experience. I was busy enough talking things over with her and then helping to secure the forestay on a friend's boat that I barely laid a hand on Kintala. So today, needing to accomplish something to feel like progress is still being made, Deb took to starting a sewing project and I turned my attention to the WesterBeast.

Like most gear heads I have changed more than my share of engine belts. Some are easy and some are less so. The Beast, no surprise here, falls into the “less so” bracket. There has always been some wonk surrounding the alternator belt. The Beast's manual shows a list of standard and optional alternators, a list that does not include the Balmar 75 that is actually jammed into the little space available. Part of that jamming included cutting away part of the engine box next to the fridge to make room for the slotted bracket used for setting the belt tension. Every time I have changed that belt it was clear that, someday, whatever it was that was wonked up in there would have to be unwonked. Today was “someday”.

Looking over the top of the alternator at the cutout in the fiberglass for the bracket

Exorcising the wonk included doing a better job of cutting the engine box so that the bracket really did fit in there. The alternator was on and off more than a few times while things were fit, cut, lined up, tweaked, twisted, tightened, loosened, cussed at, and bled over. A life-long mechanic, I don't really enjoy doing mechanical work anymore. I would much rather play with wood, finish decks, or paint interior bits. And I really don't enjoy figuring out ways to patch up the hack-jobs someone else left behind. It is bad enough when I have to patch up my own.

But one must do what one must do so, with much ado, I beat the alternator belt into submission. It is a little tighter than I like. The spare / next belt will be just a little bit longer. At least it shouldn't leave black marks on the case any more.

The water pump belt, on the other hand, is still missing in action. It turns out all of the spares we had on board were spares for the generator that disappeared long ago. As were the impeller spares. Its a bit embarrassing to admit that I allowed us to go wandering around so ill equipped, but there you have it. We got away with it and will not be taunting King Neptune in like manor when we depart this time.

The old impeller looks, looked, almost brand new. Unfortunately it is jammed solid on its shaft and now looks much less new after attempts to pry it loose failed. Come the morrow we will be looking for the special tool it takes to extract a reluctant impeller, and hopefully some reassembly will be accomplished since the whole pump assembly is currently sitting on the work bench. But the Beast may have additional ugly surprises to spring, so no promises on the amount of progress to be made. There is oil and filters yet to be replaced so the Beast may be out of commission until next week, just when the solar panel support bits are due to arrive.

My weekend off already feels like a long time ago.