Stuart noise

Stuart, FL. Many people have told us good things about Stuart FL. We have been here four nights now, and one thing not mentioned is how loud it is. There is a train track that runs right past the marina off of which Kintala in anchored, a very busy train track. A train track that is as busy at night as it is in the day. There is a lifting bridge that the trains use. Every time the bridge is about to close for the passing of a train, day or night, a loud horn sounds to warn boaters that the bridge is closing. It sounds three times for three times. Then the train comes.

The Stuart anchorage, complete with derelict boat.

There are a couple of roads that cross the train track right around the marina. Roads that require all trains to blast their horns as they approach, day or night. Trains have very loud horns. There is also an airport near by, though the passing aircraft are not nearly as loud as the passing trains.

The anchorage itself is much better protected that it appears upon arrival. There is a long fetch of water off to the WSW, but it doesn't appear to be deep enough to support any serious wave action. Artificial waves are pretty much the only kind that rock Kintala, complements of the large fleet of deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boats that pass through these waters on the way to the ocean.

Living on a boat goes a long way to fostering a live-and-let-live attitude, except when it comes to deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boats. There is something about the way they assault the water that lingers, with short-period, steep-sided wakes rocking our world whenever they pass. Someone suggested there is a turn in the river that is just right for focusing the passing wakes; don't know if that is true. What I do know is that even the bigger boats in the marina where our friends on Kokopelli are getting some rigging work done, dance like mad several times a day. From where I live it appears that deep-v-hulled sport-fishing boat drivers suffer from a genetic disorder that prevents them from either slowing down or looking behind them to see what havoc they wreak.

I was on Kokopelli the other day, helping to install a transmission after a seal leak lead to an overhaul. One of those wakes hit while I was below. Access doors got to banking back and forth, drawers slammed in and out, and round handled tools went rolling. I was glad the tranny was already bolted in place. For a while, during its install, it had hung precariously over fingers and toes as Brian and I worked out the 3-D Chinese puzzle that always seems a part of getting drive train parts in or out of boats. And Kokopelli is tied securely to a dock. My guess is getting fingers bashed by wake-tossed transmissions isn't something they mention in marine mechanic's school.

Speaking of which, I'm just assuming there is such a thing as a marine mechanic's school somewhere in the world. There isn't much evidence of it where marine mechanics have been. Take, for example, Kintala's old oven. It has been around long enough to have experienced the laying on of many pairs of repairman's hands. LPG stoves use brass flare nut fittings to keep the gas from leaking into places no one wants the gas to go. Brass isn't all that stout so a special kind of wrench is best used, appropriately called a “flare nut wrench”. I know about flare nut wrenches. Mechanics who work on cars know about flare nut wrenches. (Often used in brake systems.) Crane mechanics know about flare nut wrenches. The service reps for our brand of stove even know about flare nut wrenches. They specifically asked if we had some on board when they heard we were working on the stove.

Marine mechanics, on the other hand, don't seem to know about flare nut wrenches. More than half of the fittings needing undone to replace our defective mercury switch wouldn't take the proper sized flare nut wrench. They had been distorted by the use of common open end wrenches or (more likely) the misuse of adjustable wrenches. (Maladjusted adjustable wrenches will mangle even hardened steal nuts and bolts, and have rightly earned the nick-name “bugger wrench”. Brass fittings don't stand a chance.) Eventually I managed to get all of the fittings off, on, and tight enough to keep the gas from leaking into places no one wants gas to go. But it took three tries. And the next time the fitting on the mercury switch needs undone, I suspect it will be the last. I am a pretty fair hand with a wrench, but that poor little fitting has been bugger-wrenched nigh unto death.

(Yes, I am assuming work done to Kintala's stove was done by marine professionals. Most of the boat owners I know are shy of working on anything having to do with LPG. Deb gets nervous when I work with it. The stuff does have a bad habit of going “boom” if things are not done properly. Getting a “pro” to work on LPG systems isn't, on its face, a bad idea at all.)

For now Kintala sits quietly in Stuart, stove and oven fully functional, some other small items fixed. We are taking a bit of a break from moving nearly every day, and Stuart seems a good place to rest and catch up on some broken boat bits.

Even with the noise.

Going home...

First, for all who have offered kind thoughts and good wishes as we left the boat for a while to lay my Father to rest: there is a tendency to think that such offerings mean less than they do, that words are hollow and offer little. This is not the case. Our hearts have been lifted by the many who have reached out during these past couple of weeks. The words that can't carry the load, that actually do sound a little hollow, are “thank you”.

We left PA this morning after a week or so of offering what help we can to deal with the details of closing out a life. Social Security, Veterans Affairs, Insurance, Finances...all require forms, mailings, and phone calls. There was even a trip to the heart of downtown Pittsburgh to get some information. We drive through the city now and again, but it has been years since we were in downtown. If pressed I will confess to preferring a city to suburbia every day in every way; so that trip was kind of fun.

Downtown Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Most fun was having kids, grand kids, and family, mostly staying in the same hotel. A hotel with a pool. Though we were gathered for a pretty solemn reason each evening saw the pool full of laughing, splashing, playing kids all cavorting loudly with Grampy-T. Those will be favorite memories for a long, long time.

My Dad would have approved.

But now we find ourselves heading toward the boat once again, and back to the life we have made as cruisers. Though we loved the time with family, it would seem we are ill suited to land living any more. A comfortable house, big screen TV, ice cream in the freezer, and unlimited hot water for showers is like a vacation visit. And, like a vacation, after a week or so some things start to wear thin. It turns out my capacity to tolerate traffic, silly drivers and, (believe it or not) bumper stickers, is severely limited. Why announce being stupid to everyone on the road? At least the in-your-face pro-gun stickers let me know which vehicles likely contain the slightly deranged violence lovers. They also tend to be very aggressive and somewhat inept drivers which, I'm sure, is just a coincidence. Best to treat them like container ships and give them a wide berth.

Pennsylvania back country roads

Even xfinity TV and its endless list of programs, movies, sports channels, and specialty networks; all projected on a monster, high definition screen (one bigger than Kintala's main bulkhead), gets tedious quickly. Did you know there are multiple different TV series' called NCIS something? They all appear to be the same thing; bad people, dead people, goofy science, gunfire, problem solved. There is a series about various kinds of monsters based (very loosely based) on old fairy tales. Mostly it is about bad monsters, dead monsters, goofy science, gunfire, problem solved. There are a multitude of cop shows based on bad people, dead people, goofy science, gunfire, problem solved. There was a hospital ER show that included bad people, dead people … you get the drift. I've been walking around for 60 years, spent time as an air ambulance pilot. There are more dead people in one half hour of TV than I have seen in my entire life. No wonder land livers are convinced the world is a dangerous place with bad guys (and monsters) lurking around every corner.

Even with xfinity TV one can't always avoid the ads, especially the political ads. (Never watch TV during an off-year election campaign.) People running for local and state positions appear to be, impossible as this may sound, even more inept and corrupt than those running for national office. I like to think of myself as a somewhat capable story teller. I can't hold a sputtering candle to people who stare straight into a camera and tell the most bold faced lie with a smile and a glint in their eye. When it comes to slinging nonsense there isn't sailor on the planet who can match a politician.

In just a day or two life will return to normal. It is two steps from the galley to the salon. Four more steps will reach the head, and a single step from there will bump up against the v-berth. From the galley it is ten steps to the cockpit, eight of them mostly straight up. The cockpit is our back porch, which looks out on our back yard, which is a big chunk of the North West Atlantic ocean. We will watch the sun set and the moon rise. The night sky will be full of stars again. While we have been away, friends heading south have caught up and passed us by. It is our turn to catch up now, with Stuart, FL then Biscayne Bay being the immediate goals.

It will be good to be home.

Downtown Pittsburgh, PA