All day, every day, working on the boat…

That isn’t literally true of course. We don’t work on the boat 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It just feels that way sometimes.

We have been told that people follow along with us on this blog to see how our cruising life is working out. I hope they aren’t too disappointed. So far our “cruising life” has come is short spurts. Between those limited months of moving, exploring, and getting to know many new faces, have been far more months of sitting and working. For the first couple of years the sitting and working always involved family boats. Even before dropping the dock lines to go cruising we had to deal with the initial problems with the V-drive / transmission failure. When the jobs went away and we decided to call it quits on the “American way of life” there were more months of work. Even before Kintala went on the truck for the trip east; the wind vane install and a repair on the bottom faring chewed through many weeks of near constant labor.

Once in Oak Harbor we thought we were close, but then came the labor needed to get Ye Old Tartan in big water without taking on said water. Labor that included hauling the boat out of the water, dropping the rudder, and taking on a pretty ugly fiberglass repair in the tiny space under the cockpit. We threw in a rudder repair while at it, just because it seemed like a good time to fix a rudder that was split all the way across its bottom.

Our first trip south saw us holed in Oriental for a few weeks struggling with the failing fuel injection pump. We got some cruising in after that, including our first trip to the Islands with our friend John.

The summer working on the Bear came next. Months went by, working through the Florida heat. Little did I know that was a precursor of life soon to be. We did make it back to the Chesapeake, where Kintala went up on the hard and, yes, we spent many a week working on her once again. It was good work, bottom paint and some interior changes that made living on her much, much more comfortable. But it was still seemingly endless days of gazing out at the anchorage wondering when we would find our way out there again.

We did, eventually, making it to the Islands for many glorious weeks. But that cruise was followed by the first stint of being a professional boat mechanic. It was good experience, and helped revive a nearly exhausted cruising kitty. Plan all you like for “retirement,” but don’t bet on it working out that way. Issues can and will pop up, and one is left to deal with them as best as possible.

We got another stint good of cruising in after that, visiting our beloved Abaco Islands and, this time, sailing all the way around them and back to the States. Then it was back around the Keys for a second season of fixing other people’s boats. That season ended a couple of weeks ago but we are far from being on our way again. I suspect it will be at least another month before we can sail off, and I will not be surprised if that estimate proves too optimistic.

Cruising, at least in our case, is just doing the best you can to get by while living on a boat. In some ways it is a lot easier than living on land simply because it is far easier to “get by” when one isn’t burdened with cars, houses, insurances, and an endless array of “stuff” rarely used but still taking up space.  But boats are labor intensive devices. The older they get the more labor intensive they become. As a life long mechanic and tinkerer my way of making peace with that reality has been to regard Kintala as a hobby as much as she is a home. So what if it takes a few more weeks to make the teak pretty and the bottom smooth? Why fret over changing pumps and plumbing, adding accumulators and inverters if, in the long run, it makes our daily living a bit more enjoyable? I spent endless hours tweaking the GXSR, working on projects out in the shop, keeping little airplanes flying, and working on houses. It helps to think of boat work as more of the same.

If our history is to repeat itself we will get “out there” again before too long. It may take a bit of effort to scrape the rust off of our sailing skills, rust acquired after months of sitting in one place. The good news is we have all of Tampa Bay to warm up in, and can take all the time we like. Until then it is...

All day, every day, working on the boat.

Anchorage Sim

Kintala is out of the water once again, this time for a real bottom job. What looked to be about eight layers of old paint was sanded off down to the gel coat. There are some minor blemishes and a nick or two that need attention. Three barrier coats will go on, followed by a couple of coats of bottom paint. Given that the boat is some 35 years old, we are pretty happy with what we have found. This is the perfect place to get such work done. People I have worked with for nearly two years are attending to our hull. Friends. People I trust. People who make a living doing exactly this kind of work.

Other projects are underway as as well. Our little Merc outboard, a unit that has never been my favorite, came a bit of a cropper. The shift lever locked up in its housing leading to the wimpy plastic handle shedding its insides, stripping itself bare of any grip. We pulled the power unit off to gain access to the shift mechanism thus verifying that the interconnecting rod was frozen solid in the housing. Torque supplied by my largest pair of vice grips simply sheared the shaft, even after heating, liberal applications of penetrating oil, and light tapping with a ball peen hammer.

Fortunately, the shaft is aluminum so drilling it out only cost one broken bit. Still, with most of the core gone, what was left of the shaft still refused to budge. By then the sun was setting and it was time to call it a day. The next morning had us moving Kintala into the lifting well so we didn’t get back to the Merc until later in the afternoon. Maybe it was the chilly temperatures reached overnight. Maybe it was being soaked in penetrating oil. Whatever the cause, a punch and some gentle persuasion caused the trashed out bit of shaft to actually move a little. Persuasion of a less gentle nature was applied, and the trashed out bit moved a bit more. Yeah! A few more taps and we were home, the part free and, even better, the housing itself undamaged.

It is better to be lucky than good.

Primer coat curing

The new parts arrived and were installed. Added to the $100+ worth of fuel parts Deb installed earlier, the miserable little Merc should be about as good as it is going to get. Which isn't to say I expect it start on the first pull. My guess is it will take a few hours of nursing, cursing, and cleaning to get it chugging away once again. We are also doing all the bright work on the boat, a task that is at least a full year overdue. The good folks here at the yard have agreed to let us sit in the stands to put the finish on the toe rail.  Scaffolding is a lot easier and quicker to work from, easier than trying to wield a finishing brush while in the Ding. Sitting up here we also discovered an elusive fresh water system leak that has been lurking around the boat for a good while. It turned out the pump itself would drool water depending on just where the shaft stopped spinning. A new, and much (much) quieter pump was installed. An accumulator was added to the system as well, something we should have done long ago. (One could barely talk over the noise the old pump would make while running.)

Though it is all good stuff and Kintala will be in the best shape of her life when splashed, it feels like we are going backwards. Indeed, sitting on the hard, the boat in the usual state of disrepair that comes with sitting on the keel, the "to do" list far from being completed? Escaping the shore looks further away, not closer.

One nice thing is that being on the hard, at least around here, comes with a really excellent view. In the slip most of what we see are other boats really, really close, a wall, and a bit of water off the stern. On the hard we have an elevated view of the Manatee River all the way to Tampa Bay and out to the horizon. Sitting in the cockpit on a cool morning, sipping coffee?  It feels pretty good after nearly a year of working in the boat yard.

We are still working pretty hard, but at least we can pretend the scene is near that of riding to the anchor.

It helps.

A friend goes East…a friend goes West

It could be argued that our first year of cruising was our best year so far. An amazing confluence of coincidences gathered several people from Carlyle Lake, 800 miles to the west, in Oak Harbor Marina near the tip of the Chesapeake Bay. They became our first “cruiser clan,” helping us in uncountable ways as we struggled to get Kintala cruise-worthy and us launched into this new lifestyle. John was in that group, a solo sailor and new cruiser himself, working his way down the ICW for the first time in Ellida; his Hallberg Rassy 31. His wife, Mari, was completely supportive of his adventuring but open water sailing in a small boat was not her cup of tea.

John, Deb, Tim, Nancy, David  (The Tradewinds East Gang)
before we all took off from Oak Harbor Marina in Pasadena, MD

John leaving Oak Harbor in October 2013

John managed to drop his Oak Harbor dock lines several weeks ahead of us. We kept in touch and he became a kind of emotional scout, breaking the trail as we bumbled our way south that first time. Kintala caught up with Ellida in Biscayne Bay where we shared tales of mistakes made and near disasters avoided, feeling pretty good about making it all the way to Florida still in one piece. John was determined to continue on to the Bahamas but Deb and I were less sure of ourselves. Managing our Tartan 42 had proven more of a challenge than we had anticipated, even along the protected waters of the ICW. Our first open water / overnight jump from Charleston to Fernandina Beach had been both exhilarating and magical. It had also underlined just how steep a learning curve we had yet to climb to being a competent short-handed crew sailing a 42 foot boat far out of sight of land, and at night. We had decided a more modest approach to cruising would be prudent. Biscayne Bay, the Florida Keys, and maybe the “Just Like the Bahamas” waters of Florida’s Great Bend would be our first year’s cruising grounds.

John was determined to make it to the Islands but, being a new cruiser himself, wanted company. Our company. Particularly our company on what would be his first overnight, open water jump from Biscayne Bay to West End. He began a subtle campaign to lure us east. His argument, like his approach to nearly everything, was easy going and quiet. The Islands were far closer than the West coast of Florida and a much easier sail. (He couldn’t possibly have known that to be a fact but the years have proven him completely correct.) We would spend less money living and sailing in the Islands for a few months than we would living and sailing in the States. (The cruising kitty had already taken a beating from delays and broken boat bits on the trip south.) And, well, we were cruisers and real cruisers went to the Islands for the winter. (It turns out that real cruisers do whatever they want, can afford, or can get away with; but we had not learned that lesson yet.)

John as we headed out of the channel from No Name Harbor in Biscayne Bay, FL

Waiting out water spouts off West End Bahamas

In the end he won us over and on Feb 21st Kintala and Ellida weighed anchors, headed out the channel south of No Name Harbor, and set sail for West End, Bahama. Ellida made much better time, John blasting through the storms that we elected to sail around. He was waiting at the dock at old Bahama Bay, greeting us with a huge smile. We had sailed to the Islands, how about them apples? We waited out some ugly weather then headed off to explore the Abaco Islands. Getting there meant our first passage through Indian Rock Passage north of West End. Kintala led the way right up to the entrance of the pass, where I chickened out in the face of breaking water to both port and starboard in the narrow, shallow cut. I had visions of us ending our cruising life right there.

John and Ellida heading to Mangrove Cay after going through Indian Cut in the Bahamas

John figured if everyone else could do it, we could do it too. Though Ellida was smaller than Kintala, she drew a bit more water. So long as she didn’t hit anything Kintala should be okay. John happily took the lead and I followed him through so tense I could barely breathe.

We passed with no problem at all.

Later that day John took the picture of Kintala that is at the top of the blog; sailing alongside us in the waters north of Grand Bahama Island. It was one of those magical sails, and one of the best we have ever had. The two boats stood nearly upright yet hard on the wind, ghosting over placid water so clear we could watch the bottom pass under the keels.

We traveled together for many weeks after that, anchoring together in various Cays, waiting out weather, and exploring our first Bahamian towns. It was every bit the adventure that we had hoped cruising would be. That trip set the tone and the goals, established the life style that we have been working to keep up with ever since. John left Ellida in the Islands after that trip, putting her on the hard for the hurricane season and returning home to Mari until autumn. We sailed back to the States, living aboard and sailing Kintala, working to match the joy and adventure of that first trip abroad.

We crossed paths with John several times over the years, as cruisers are wont to do. But we never sailed together after that. The last time we saw him was over lunch, he and Mari, Deb and I, at a restaurant near the Dinner Key mooring field.

Our friend John passed away a couple of days ago. His struggle with failing lungs had been evident from the first day we met, but he never talked of it much, made an issue of it, or let it stop him from realizing the dream of sailing his boat over the horizon. His quiet dedication to living life on his terms had a deep influence on our path, Our adventure would have taken a much different turn had John not lured us to the Islands that first year. Given some of the set-backs we have endured since, it isn’t beyond the realm of possibly that we would never have made it at all. And yet the impact of John’s quiet but unshakable determination, his indomitable heart and courage, went mostly unnoticed - right up until I sat down to write this post.

Unassuming and dedicated to minding his own business, he would have taken quite a bit of pleasure in that.

Fair winds John, and thank you.

Ellida at Sunset, Great Sale Cay Bahamas

Sunrise off Great Sale Cay

John blowing his water bottle horn in the shortest St. Patrick's Day parade, Green Turtle Cay Bahamas 3-17-14

Lucky man

Several years ago two of my grandsons sat alongside me under one of the picnic pavilions at the marina in Middle River, Ft Lauderdale. We were hand sanding a new part for Kintala’s interior, they being way too young for power tools. It remains one of my favorite “I am a grandpa” memories. Time rolls on, grandsons grow, and boats like Kintala always seem to have something that needs sanded and refinished. It is a kind of cosmic regenerating circle work, like the grass growing in the yard. Between that time and now they moved to Indiana, then Missouri, and now live on a boat just a few slips away from us. They have also grown up enough to tangle with palm sanders.

And they loved it.

Sanding in 2014

Fortunately we have three aboard. Yeah, I know. We have also moved all of my tools off of the work golf cart and back into our the aft cabin’s work bench area. Ye Old Tartan now lists about 3 degrees to starboard even in dead calm winds. We really should go through and “down size” the tool collection again.  We thought about it, then just found cubbies and holes to stash the ones we don’t use that often; like 3 or four of the 7 3/8’s drive ratchets we have aboard. There is the short one, the normal length one, the long one, the one with a swivel head, the one with a 3/8s on one side and 1/4 on the other side, the main one that is a Snap-on unit I have had since my days in tech school, and a cheap-assed one that serves mostly as a hammer. There is actually an eighth one that is part of a metric 3/8s set that rests in its own box. It stays with the set. (Along with the 3 and 8 inch extensions, of which we also have several floating around.) Going to sea with a retired mechanic has its challenges.

So the dock box at the end of the pier was turned into a work table for Grampy T and two sheets of wood were laid on the ground for the kids.  Extension cords were run and the five teak parts taken off the cockpit seats and companionway were parsed out to my “worker men.” There was a little trepidation to go along with their excitement since they hear constant warnings about how easy it is to get hurt with a power tool. Palm sanders are likely the least dangerous power tool of all, but still…these boys are nine and five respectively. A sanded finger would make me very unpopular with Mom.

Proper technique was reviewed. Sand the piece, don’t scrub at it. Keep the sander moving when it is touching on the wood. Go with the grain. And sand old varnish not newly exposed wood. They fired up, their little faces scrunched up in that particular way kids have when they are concentrating, and the dust started to fly.

It was pure magic for Grandpa.

I was an instructor for the first hour or so, watching carefully as they got to know the work. At times I would put my hand over theirs on the sander, adjusting the cadence and length of their stroke or letting them know that they didn’t need to lean so hard on the tool. They are quick learners and were soon flying solo.

It was a popular show for some of the other crews hanging around the boat yard, doing their own projects in preparation for heading out. One passer by made the comment, “You are a lucky man.”

I suspect he doesn't know just how right he is.

Third time's a charm...

Soon...

A common comment around many a maintenance shop, be it planes, bikes, or boats, is “Practice makes permanent”. The gist is the person who manages some odd ball or unpleasant task will, most likely, get to do it again the next time that one comes through the shop door. It makes for a bit of a conundrum. On the one hand, any good technician wants the reputation of being able to fix about anything, figuring it out, coming up with a solution, making it work. After all, someone built or installed the thing in the first place. Who wants to admit to not being at least that capable or smart?

On the other hand, does one really want to be the “go to” expert when it comes to pulling holding tanks or rebuilding heads? How about being the person who can climb down into any ugly, dirty, tiny, sharp-edged filled hole toting tools and grinders? Even tasks that are normally kind of fun, like climbing a mast, are much less fun when it is the third one of the day or the wind is blowing and the waves are rocking the boat. (We use a climbing rig around here as moving the crane in place for a simple light repair chews up too much labor time. And no, this old guy wasn’t one of the “permanent” mast guys - though I did use the harness a couple of times on easy jobs just because I could.)

But being a boat tech was never on my list of "things I want to do for the rest of my life." And so it came to pass that Friday was my last official day of punching a time clock. My first “last day” was when we moved the boat to Oak Harbor, moved aboard, and headed south. Unexpected expenses made it necessary to refill the the cruising kitty and “retirement” was put on hold for a summer season. It went well, we retired again and headed off to the islands. Life lined up to have us back here and on the clock for a second stint of “filling the kitty”. That has worked out really well in ways completely unexpected. Still, we always knew that the time would come to work on throwing the dock lines once again.

This makes the third attempt at being retired and, in this case, “practice makes permanent” would be okay with me. Not sure how much confidence I have that it will work out that way, but we have managed pretty well so far. No reason not to keep giving it a try.

It will still be a while before Kintala rides to an anchor or mooring ball as she requires a bit of tender loving care of her own. Care that wasn’t as forthcoming this past summer as we had hoped, mostly because a whole tribe of grand kids were around to fill up the days. A real bottom job, all the way down to the gel coat for a barrier coat, is on the schedule. There are some plumbing mods to make (yes in the head system), a few rigging issues, brightwork, and an assortment of odds and ends we want to address. Estimated time of completion and departure sometime near the end of January.

I’m sure the enthusiasm for working on my own boat will return after the first few minutes of working on the first project. That will likely be replacing some of the running rigging, a low key way to get up and running on personal boat projects. Later we will have to work on the habits of living off the grid once again, conserving water and battery power, planning ahead for making stops to add fuel and stores, keeping an even closer eye on the weather.

But for now, just having the time clock out of my life feels pretty good.

And then there were Ten…

Grand Daughter Newest made her debut early Friday morning. It was perfect timing on her part. There had been much concern that the drive to the Birth Center would happen during one of Florida’s nightmare rush hours. It seemed a good bet that, this being child 4 for Daughter Eldest, such could well lead to a delivery happening on the side of the road somewhere, sans any professional help. There was also the issue of the tide. Low tide would turn just getting Mom off the boat and to the van into a huge hurdle (forgive the pun). There was also the issue of getting the rest of the family, Dema, Grampy “T”, and children eldest, middle, and little, to the event; and what to do with the family for those first couple of post-birthday days when Mom and new baby could use some easy, quiet time to get acquainted and settled into some kind of routine.

Hotel rooms close to the Birth Center were reserved as the due date approached and, as each day passed, the reservations changed as required. A rental car took up residence off of Kintala’s pier, providing enough seats to get everyone where they needed to be while adding a bit of flexibility to respond to transportation needs. Bags were packed with the essentials and placed strategically, ready to be grabbed quickly. Phones were kept charged and checked periodically to make sure the ringing would be loud and unmistaken as the call to action. All of this excellent planning, by the way, being done by Dema; Grammy “T” just going to work each day while trying not to forget the assigned minor parts in the impending proceedings.

The starting gun for our part of the scramble went off at 0210, with the tide closer to high than low. A few minutes later we were at Blowing in the Wind, boat home of Daughter Eldest and family of soon to be another. Mom and Dad headed off to the Birth Center with Son Eldest who, it turned out, became a kind of Master of Ceremony at the actual birth. (More on that in a moment.) Even in Florida there is no rush hour at 0210, so long as there isn’t a hurricane inbound. (Now there is a thought sure to induce shudders of dread.) Mom, Dad, and Brother Eldest made it to the Birth Center with time to spare. There, Brother Eldest, just a couple of weeks short of his own 9th birthday, not only attended the arrival of his Sister Littlest, he held onto Mom’s hand, encouraged her through the last of the contractions, actually handed his new sister to his Mom for the first time, and cut the umbilical cord when the time came. An amazing display of poise and maturity that floored the professionals in attendance. So taken were they, that Big Brother is actually listed on the official paperwork as one of the doulas in attendance. (How cool is that!?) Future boyfriends are going to have a serious hurdle to clear when it comes to Big Brother, one that will likely surpass even those raised by Dad and Grampy “T”.

While all the serious stuff went on at the Birth Center, the rest of the family settled in at the hotel awaiting news. Brother (little) and Sister (soon to be not the littlest), having already been real troopers though awakened in the middle of the night to find Mom, Dad, and Brother Eldest long gone, being loaded into the rental car, and enduring the drive and settling into the hotel, faded off to sleep. The approaching dawn brought news that Little Alexandria Francesca had arrived safely in our midst and that Mom was doing well. A few hours later, the family reunited at the hotel where introductions were made all around and the stories were shared. That unique feeling of joy, mixed with relief, and seasoned with the wonder and love that the newly arrived bring with them into this world, infused the room.

Some people claim the mantel of “born to be a sailor”. Alexandria, if she so desires as she grows, can actually make the claim of having been born a sailor. Her first home is a sailboat, one that was (fortunately) floating on a high tide when the time came. How her life will unfold is a story yet to be told, but she is off to a unique start.

Welcome aboard Little One.

Which way

A couple weeks ago, we very much enjoyed a visit to nearby marina to partake in a Thanksgiving pot luck dinner. Living in the boat yard has kept us away from the live-aboard / cruiser community so it was good to be back among the tribe. While there, I recognized a person who had been in the boatyard to have his boat launched. We had talked for a few minutes back then and I got the short version of the part of his life that had led our paths to cross. He struck me as a bit eccentric - not unusual among our group - and affable; though more animated than is my normal approach to the world.

I was a little surprised then, while we were in line to fill our plates with goodies (and completely unprovoked by anything I had said since I hadn’t said anything at all) he stated, “I assume you are pretty conservative.”

“No,” I said, unable to suppress a smile. “Not even close.”

“Really?” I guess it was his turn to be surprised. “I hope you don't lean too far left.”

“How far is too far?”

He chewed on that for a moment then said, “Well, I know you are a person of faith.”

“No,” I replied still smiling, “Not even close.”

“I guess we’ll have to work on you.”

“I appreciate the thought, and feel free. Realize you will not be the first who has tried.”

Plates full, we headed off to different parts of the group, which was fine with me. But that short little exchange sparked a muse…

How far is too far?

How far is too far when it comes to seeing that every child has enough food, a roof over their head, access to health care, and a chance at an education? Does raising taxes on billionaires and corporations, or scrutinizing military spending cross some line into being a less caring people than taking care of kids? Single payer health care provides access to millions upon millions of people all across first world societies. Is suggesting the US should at the least seriously consider such an option, leaning so far that it will make our heath care system worse than it already is? Compared to the rest of the civilized world, is that even possible?

How far is too far in supporting universal human and civil rights? Where are those limits that should never be crossed - trying to ensure that our justice system actually dispenses justice, or insisting that law enforcement officials, themselves, operate within the law? If we refuse to incentivize prisoners and prisons as profit centers, is that going too far, somehow leading to the downfall of our society? Is providing medical care for individuals with serious mental health issues rather than locking them up in solitary confinement for months (or years) somehow leaning too far toward being a compassionate, enlightened, society?  It was Benjamin Franklin who said, “That it is better 100 guilty Persons should escape than that one innocent Person should suffer, is a Maxim that has been long and generally approved.” I fear, in the America of today, it is a maxim no longer generally approved.

Is it leaning too far left to recognize that the 47 year "war on drugs" has been a abject failure? Once again, the rest of the civilized world has learned that treating drug addiction as a health care issue works. Treating it as a criminal issue, does not. It is actually something some Americans learned at least a generation ago, which is why there is a 21st Amendment to the Constitution.

How far is too far in the support of democracy? Is insisting that every American citizen of voting age has free and easy access to a polling place, and that their vote will actually be counted, a line that should not be crossed? Will making election day a national holiday, or changing “election day” into  "election week” somehow demote us to being a less democratic people? How about just getting rid of the electoral college, an anachronism that has twice in the last five elections put the loser of a national election  in the White House? Will a "one person - one vote" mandate for the office of President of the United States make us less democratic nation?

How far is too far in keeping the oceans that we sail over and live on healthy, capable of supporting the biodiversity that feeds much of the human population and produces about 70% of the oxygen that we breathe? If there is to be much of a future, is suggesting that we must balance our consumerism against fouling the water that we drink, tainting the air we breathe, and poisoning the food we eat leaning so far that it will - somehow - detract from our chances of survival? If future generations look back on us as wise, careful stewards of the planet, (which, at this rate, they are certainly not going to do) will they think that we “leaned too far" in bequeathing to them a planet they could survive in and enjoy?

It it leaning too far to realize that threatening to start a nuclear war in order to preempt a nuclear war is a horrifyingly stupid idea?

On the other hand, it is pretty easy to point out where leaning toward “law and order” can go too far. Leaning so far as to declare that “money is free speech” crossed some line into delusion. Greed never was a good idea but, as a society, we certainly lean pretty hard on propaganda and advertising trying to make it so. We have taken too much to leaning on war when trying to solve issues best left to diplomacy, and are paying a fearsome price in lives and treasure in support of that obsession.

When it comes to leaning, which way is the thing that matters at last as much as how far.

Instacart - a Review

(Ed Note: It seems that our experience here may have been the result of the early days of food delivery.  Since then it would appear that they have ironed out most difficulties. Circa 2020 we are using Instacart every week with very little problems. I would be interested to see if our current experience is universal. Please comment on your experience currently.)

Last year, we were sitting in No-Name Harbor on a very hot day and we needed to provision. The Winn Dixie is a mile and a half away by foot or a $7.00 cab fare. To be honest, I was just beat from the last  months of working on the boat, and didn't feel like the walk. I had heard about Instacart, an online service offered through Publix locally, and one I often thought was tailor made for cruising sailors. I went online and signed up, filled out a cart which included a lot of the heavy items I would have had to lug back on my rolly cart. After seeing the "service fee" of 10% and the delivery fee, I backed out of the cart, put on my shoes and started walking. It was, after all, a beautiful day and at least half of the walk was through the lovely Bill Baggs Cape Florida State Park trails.

Fast forward to today. My daughter is living here with us and is expecting in two weeks. She's not feeling particularly well at this point, the birth center is a hefty drive away, and we share a car. Being 15 minutes away from the marina with a cart full of groceries and receiving a call that she was in labor and needed the car - STAT - was not my idea of a good time, so I thought I'd try the Instacart again just in case things had changed for the better in the last year.

I filled my cart, concentrating on the sale items they listed. I also added a lot of the heavy items I wouldn't want to haul in the bike trailer, my second traveling option. I got to the cart and there is still a 10% "service charge", which I assumed was the shopping fee for the shopper. On my order it was less than $15.00 and the delivery fee was free for my first order so I decided to give it a go. Bicycling is free, but the 2-1/2 hours it would have taken me to bike in, shop, and bike back were certainly not as good as that same 2-1/2 hours playing UNO with my grandkids.

The ordering process is pretty straightforward in their iOS app. It's easy to navigate, and the items are well described. A full nutritional value and ingredient list are provided so it's easy to compare products. The shopping cart is easy to understand, quantities are easy to adjust, and items are easy to add or remove. Coupon items have their own tab and are easy to browse through. Once in the checkout process, the service fee and delivery charges are clear. I placed my order just after 2:00 pm and my initial delivery was supposed to be between 4-5:00.

Close to 4:00 I checked the app and was a bit surprised to see that my order hadn't been picked yet. I guess to be fair though, it was Black Friday. It wasn't until 5:12 that I got the first text saying that my shopper had started shopping. At 5:31 I received my first text regarding any problems. One of the items that was on sale was out of stock and had been refunded from the order. It gives you a link in the text to go to where you can either approve the removal of the item or change it to something else.

At 5:50 I received the second text of an issue. Another item I wanted was out of stock and the text said that my shopper had replaced it with a similar item. Because the item was a very specific item required by my food-sensitive grandkids, it was necessary for me to go in and remove the item because there was no substitute. At 6:24 I received another text about another replacement. This time I was able to go in and change it to something I wanted rather than the one he had chosen. Two other changes brought the total to 5 changes out of 29 items.

At 7:05 I received a text that the shopper was on the way. The shopper arrived promptly, was efficient, courteous, and helpful. I had a chance to speak with him about his role in the shopping experience and I learned some things that may impact your decision whether to use this service.

1. The "service fee" is a fee that is defined on their site, instacart.com:

What is the Service Fee?

The Service Fee is used to provide customer support and recognize the efforts of the whole team for providing you with great service.

Is the Service Fee a tip? 

The Service Fee allows Instacart to operate our service and provide customer support. This payment is distinct from a tip as it does not go directly to the shopper delivering your order.

The service fee is 10%. My shopper told me that it used to be the tip, but that recently they changed it from a direct tip to the shopper, to a fee collected for "the whole team" as it says above. He was unsure who "the whole team" was. The shopper collects $.40 per item shopped and a delivery payment of $4.50, which used to be $9.00 and was recently reduced. For my 29 items, that equaled $11.60 for over two hours of work at a whopping $5.80 per hour less gas in the car (they use their own.) He also told me that if he drives over 13 miles he gets another $5.00 for the delivery but that frequently they give him two orders to do at the same time, one within a few miles, and one 20 miles away.

2. The Tip:

After receiving my order, which was well packed, I received a text that had a link to rate the experience as well as to make "adjustments" to my order. The "adjustments" are in fact a place to add the tip for the shopper, 100% of which goes to the shopper. None of the service fee appears to go to the shopper.

3. Prices:

I'm one of those people that is freakish about number memory. I still remember my phone number from when I was a young child and I know the price of almost everything I routinely buy. So it was easy for me to compare the prices on Instacart to those in the actual store. Almost all of the prices were higher than in the store. For instance, the gallon of organic milk I usually buy is $5.99 in the store. It was $6.69 on Instacart. The Kambucha I get is usually $8.99 for the big bottle and it was $9.99 on Instacart. The Second Nature trail mix I usually buy is $5.99 in the store, $6.49 on Instacart so you can see that there is already more than a 10% markup on some items even before the 10% service fee. There were a few that were cheaper because they were on sale on Instacart and weren't on sale in the store. The difference was not enough to make up for the marked up items.

So...would I use it again? I can honestly say that I wouldn't use it again unless it was an exceptional situation - I was sick and couldn't drive, I had no possible transportation to the store, I needed a prescription filled. There were some points in the process that I felt a bit "trapped" or maybe "coerced" is the right word. Had I known right up front that I would spend 10% more for the items, 10% for the processing fee, and 10% for the tip, I wouldn't have done it. You find these out bit by bit after you are already committed.

I'm also a bit gun shy around any company that abuses its workers. If I have any other option, I rarely use Walmart just for that reason. The way this company uses independent contractors reeks a bit of the way my daughter and son-in-law were exploited as graduate students. Were I to use it again it would be with the full knowledge that I was paying 30% more for the privilege of curling up in my cockpit with a good book instead of schlepping to the store on Black Friday. If you decide to use the service, I only ask that you treat your shopper fairly and add a reasonable tip.

Locally, for me, it only lists Publix and CVS and a couple other small stores, but in larger cities there are a lot of other stores like Whole Foods, Costco, Kroger, ABC Fine Wine and Spirits, Petco, Shop and Save, Schnucks, and The Food Emporium. That list is far from incomplete. You have to get online and check out your zipcode to see what stores are available in your area.

Clearly there are some benefits of having this service. But to use it regularly as your sole means of provisioning is a habit best left to those in mega yachts with a much bigger budget than Kintala's.

Light at the end of the tunnel...

The sails are on Kintala. The Ding is in the water though, unfortunately, sans engine. The little Merc suffered a shifter failure, it seizing up completely in the Florida heat and humidity. That little motor really has proven to be a miserable bit of equipment, difficult to keep running at idle and prone to failures of the fuel valve, carburetor, and now, shifter. There doesn’t seem to be a cost effective option so we will continue to do the best we can with what we have.

Florida weather has finally given way to something other than brutal heat and humidity. The constant roar of air conditioning is gone with fresh air now flowing into the boat from open hatches and ports. It is remarkably delightful to lie under the covers and feel the evening or morning breeze drift by. One can stand to sit in the cockpit even after the sun has come up and, wonder of wonders, sip hot coffee! It will still be a while before we enjoy all this while riding to the anchor somewhere. Grand Baby soon-to-be-youngest is expected sometime in the next few weeks. Kintala will not be wandering anywhere until the new little one arrives and gets settled in a bit. We hope to make some weekend trips out into Tampa bay after that, spend some nights on the hook then return to our Snead Island slip for a few more weeks of work, before heading off to places south then east. It seems a long, long time since we were “cruisers” but at least it isn’t like the first time we were at Oak Harbor getting ready to set out on our maiden trip south down the ICW. In our fifth year of living on the boat, multiple trips to the Islands, three though the Keys, and now the better part of two years spent working in a boat yard; we do know our way around a little bit. This time, with departure at least on the horizon, there is very little of the “about to start on an adventure” feeling, more “getting back to where we want to be.’’

That will be weeks yet and, until then, “working on boats” is what fills the waking hours of the week. The other day a truck rolled into the yard with a new Marlow Hunter 47 in tow and parked it right off Kintala’s bow. Most of the folks around here seem to have a rather poor opinion of the breed, but it isn’t a bad looking boat and the interior is a floating Taj Mahal. About what one would expect for a boat that costs a big tick more than half a million dollars fresh from the boat show. I was strolling past it, heading for the head, when a friend made a joke and asked, “Is that your next boat?”

“Sure”, I replied. “All it takes is one modest sized lottery win.”

“You would actually buy a Hunter?”

“Why not?” I replied, much to his surprise.

Of course I probably wouldn’t buy a new Hunter, but not because it is a Hunter. I would be just as unlikely to buy a new Tartan, Beneteau, or Catalina. Horror stories from those who have bought new boats, and paid new boat prices, are pretty common. Warranties often sound like a politician’s promise, long on pretty words, short on actually doing anyone any good. My lottery money would go toward a two or three year old boat that has been used for more than weekend anchoring while having a good maintenance history. And I really wouldn’t care which manufacturer’s name was tattooed to its hide. For, regardless of who made it, it will sail just fine on a beam reach or off the wind.

How will they go to weather? The hard fact is I no longer care, for I try to do that as little as possible. It strains the rig, the ride is ugly, and it wears out the crew. If banging into the wind and waves is unavoidable, it is likely I will make like a trawler with a really tall antenna, fire up the engine, grit my teeth, and grind away until the weather improves or the anchor goes down. There are exceptions of course, those fantastic days where the wind is off the bow at just the right angle and speed, while the seas remain modest. All the sails go out, the boat heels just that artistic amount and slices through the water at 6 or 7 knots like some kind of magic carpet. On those perfect days, pretty much any boat will shine. Sure, one will point a little higher or go a little faster, but all will be a magic carpet ride and crews on any of them will be happy little campers. So how many such perfect days have we seen since leaving Oak Harbor that first time? A dozen, maybe less.

There is one pretty common design feature among new boats that I question, that of the fin keel and spade rudder combination. I know performance and handling made that call. I know that the boats should handle a modest grounding without real damage. (Run one hard onto a reef at hull speed and you are on your own, regardless,) But I still shudder at the thought of picking my way through the shallows so exposed, particularly on those boats where the rudder looks to be hanging deeper in the water than the keel.

I got into this muse because people often ask “what kind of boat is the best?" For my money, pretty much any modern boat is built, to a large degree, better than “good enough”. Handled properly and operated well, any of them will get the crew where they want to go with as much safety as the ocean gods will allow. It is the support system that are likely to drive you nuts: air conditioning, refrigerators and freezers, water makers, pumps, stoves, valves, sails, lines, and deck hardware. All of the boat manufacturers buy that equipment out of the same warehouses, and problems with those units get spread evenly throughout the fleet.

Which is why, when you ask a boat tech “which is the worst boat," he or she is likely to name the one they are currently trying to fix.

So, for now, here is a lovely photo of the sunset last evening on our way back from a Thanksgiving potluck where we got to ogle some really beautiful boats and get to know their owners, a life for which we are very thankful.

Getting away

We are in Saint Louis for a couple of weeks. It had been too long since we had seen Daughters Middle and Youngest, their collective 6 of our grand kids, other family, and friends. Modern life is what it is, and it is hard to imagine living any other way than on our floating tiny house, wandering where we can when we can. Still, the days of extended family groups / tribes living together for a string of lifetimes, generations overlapping, is an image that has its attractions. Being surrounded by kids and grand kids, involved every day in the unfolding of their lives, and having them involved as mine unfolds, is certainly a life well lived. How does that compare to the experience of a larger world, knowing and learning from people who are not “my tribe”, and seeing a little bit of life and our place in the cosmos through a different lens? It doesn't really, they are two radically different ways of living. One chooses and, whatever the choice, will always have moments of wondering if it was the right path to take.

Whenever we are back “inland” and visiting like this, there is this feeling of being reconnected, though inundated might be an equally good description. Living on the boat, particularly when we are working like we are, is very much an ascetic lifestyle. Creature comforts are few, accented by times of outright discomfort when the weather turns foul. Lightning, when it is around, is a real and present danger. Kintala recently escaped a strike only because the boat next to her has a mast several feet taller. We walk to the bathhouse rain or shine, day or night. And I work outside, pretty much regardless of what the weather is doing. We are even more exposed to “outside” when riding to an anchor or mooring ball.

Here, in the city, we go outside, but we don't live there. “Outside” plays across the front windows like a sport’s show on bar TV. Some color and motion but no one is really paying any attention. Phase of the moon, state of the tide, time of sunrise, sunset, moon rise and moon set, all unknown and unimportant. And I mean really unimportant. None have any effect at all on the lives being led. Days go by and no one cares if it is hot or cold, raining or blazing sun, with winds topping 30 knots or it being dead calm.

There are many, perhaps a majority, who see that as one of the most positive things of modern life. We have conquered nature, made ourselves comfortable from her shenanigans except for the most extreme examples. That used to sound right, but I don’t know that I lean that way any more.

Occasionally, I drop by John Michael Greer's blog. His is an interesting take on the universe and, as a result, I have spent a little time reading up on the mythology. It turns out that living on the boat, close to nature, with a lot of time spent in the cockpit breathing deeply of the natural world we find while riding to anchor, all sounds very like his descriptions of Druid meditations. They take the idea of magic a bit more literally than seems likely to be true. But is it really that far removed from the impulse to petition a deity to do something or other? (These days those so inclined always seem to call on the deity after the hurricane strikes or the terrorist attacks, which seems a bit backward.)

I also wonder if the Druid's magic, or that of any other mythical ideology, is actually pretty closely related to those moments that brush by while standing watch far from land on a star filled night. Maybe, if one looks at it from the other side (so to speak), “magic” isn’t a matter of us changing something that is going on in the cosmos to our liking. It could be that "magic" is allowing the goings on of the cosmos to change us, shaping our journey here to be useful and eternal. Perhaps the reason the modern world is so lacking in wisdom is that we have cut ourselves off from the source, from the cathedral of the cosmos that is the foundation of our being.

In any case, getting away for us also means coming home. And leaving here will mean going home. There is something pretty special about that, something I haven’t fully grasped.

Maybe, someday, I will.

Of Faeries, Foliage, Fires and Friends

If you've never lived on a boat or gone cruising, you might wonder why we might sometimes need a vacation from the boat. "You're already vacationing in Paradise - how could you possibly need a vacation?" is a question we receive on occasion. But daily life on a boat is a special kind of intensity that you can't imagine unless you've been there, and everyone there needs a break once in a while, a reset of sorts. The past few months have left us deeply fatigued, with the heat and the political climate and the devastation the storms rendered on some of our favorite cruising grounds. We have a significant need of one of those resets to get us out of the funk. Ours came in the form of family visits to two of our three girls and six of our soon-to-be ten grandchildren in St. Louis.

This visit was scheduled apart from any holiday in an attempt to be back to the boat before grandchild #10 was born in December and also to hopefully avoid the holiday gift that keeps on giving in the form of the latest flu virus. It just happened to coincide with the turning of the leaves and, while it was a bit nippy for thin-blooded Florida travelers, offered many sunny days to walk to parks and play outside.

The first visit to the park was with our St. Charles granddaughter. After spending some time on the playground, we ventured along the path and found a colorfully painted rock hidden in a dip in the bark of a fallen tree. It turns out that there is a new fad of hiding rocks with pretty pictures and happy sayings painted on them where others can stumble on them. They're called Kindness Rocks and their entire goal is to make people happy. They must be working, because my granddaughter had a big smile on her face and, soon after, found some to paint and hide herself.

The visit to our city-dwelling grandkids offered a backyard bonfire and s'mores with some neighbors, a cool night where the fire was welcome and the aroma of hickory sparked a stroll down the memory lane of camping trips. Later in the week, we had a chance to share some coffee and conversation with good friends from our early sailing days on Carlyle Lake, a conversation that lasted till we were kicked out at closing. Even though the week was packed with soccer and school, time was allowed for some walks through Tower Grove park as well as some long walks through the Flora Avenue park near their home. A few brief moments into the walk today yielded some happy squeals from the kids, who had found a Faerie house nestled in the cleft of the trunk of a rather large tree. Having been so isolated from the popular and trendy for so many months, I was unaware of the Faerie house movement, where kids and some grownups are making tiny little houses at the base of trees in parks and yards to welcome the Wee Folks and pass along a smile in the doing of it. Today on our walk we counted 34 of them in all stages of intricate and whimsical. Along the way, we enjoyed the peak of the leaf season, a pileup of leaves in which to jump, and a visit to our favorite ice cream parlor, Ices Plain and Fancy.

Tomorrow we make our way back. It will be difficult to leave the kids. Our near future plans are uncertain, the political climate shows no indication of changing, and then there's always the fact that Tim still has a couple months of work left to grind through. But we'll leave here refreshed. In addition to our bags, we carry with us a feeling of hope, a sureness that this new generation will find a way to restore life as it should be: a life full of kindness, laughter, whimsy and imagination. 

Odd Days

When you first think about going cruising, your focus is intense.  You have a goal, a plan, and a list of things to make it all happen. If you're fortunate, like us, you're rewarded with a couple years of intensely beautiful experiences - sunsets, new friends, dolphins, manatees, and an occasional moonlit passage.

After a few years, you might find yourself stuck on a dock working to replenish the cruising kitty like we are, and things are suddenly different. You're not cruising, but you're not really landlubbers either. You're stuck in this odd, fuzzy time of endlessly hot days, feeling a bit like the floating experience when coming out of general anesthesia - one foot in each world but not fully in either one.

The past six months on the dock have been odd days like this - floating - but not focused. Days meander by, but no thought is given to where we go next. No boat projects are being done because the need to have them completed is just too far away to think about.

The last week or so, though, the weather has made a decided shift toward Fall. For the first time in months we dipped below the 90° mark for a high. The breezes have picked up, announcing the approaching cold fronts. Something smells different in the air, a hint of dry leaves (although there aren't many trees that shed them here), and an occasional sniff of a wood fire somewhere takes me back to my days in Pennsylvania where the first fire in the fireplace signaled the change of seasons. It was just enough to break me out of the fog and start me thinking about what needed to be done to Kintala before we could leave the dock.

As I sat at the nav station working on a list, I could no longer ignore the weather station that resides just under the switch panel that has been inop since Spring. A new set of batteries, a spray of contact cleaner and a few wipes with emery cloth, and the weather station sprang to life once again. It took about 30 minutes, including the removal and reinstallation, a piece of our normal cruising life reinstated. While it might seem like a ridiculously small thing, that one little thing did much to lift my mood and put a smile on my face.

If you find yourself having to stop cruising for a while to replenish the cruising kitty (and most cruisers do at some point unless they are independently wealthy), there are a few things that I've learned these past two summers and I thought I'd pass them along.

• Nurture your dream while you're dock bound. Remember why you wanted to go cruising in the first place and find fellow cruisers to spend time with who can encourage you.
• Enjoy the little things. For me this past summer, it's been time spent getting to know three of our nine grandchildren. In the past few years we've only visited occasionally and there is no substitute for the day-in, day-out contact we've experienced the last few months.
• Find something to be thankful for every day. Your health, your friends, your supportive spouse, your home.
• Take care of yourself. Walk, ride a bike, eat well, read a good book.
• Connect with old friends and distant family members.
• Get lots of sleep.

Although I'm working part time now at a sail loft in town, I'm finding a few hours here and there to start on our project list which is mercifully short this year. All of our exterior teak needs refinished, our wind instrument needs repaired or replaced, our head plumbing needs the addition of a system to empty the holding tank at sea, and an errant leak needs chased down that dared to mar my new headliner from last summer's project list. These projects will be tackled while we await grandchild #10, due in mid-December, after which we'll start creating the possible routes to wherever we end up going this cruising season, a lot of which will be dependent on the condition of marinas along the way.

For now, here's a hodge podge of photos from the last few weeks, glimpses of sunlight through the fog.

A sail I'm restitching at my part time job with Sunrise Sails Plus. It's off a 65 foot ketch rig.

There's always time to climb a tree around here.

He was pretty happy with this coconut which he rescued from the water just outside the marina.

About half of the toe rail is now sanded. Next boat has metal toe rails...

The Coast Guard and Florida Fish and Wildlife have been raising these sunken boats to be hauled out and trucked away in a combined effort to clean up the local waterways. Some of them have been sunken for years, others fell prey to Irma

This was somebody's awesome power boat at some point