On Safari*

During the years that I lived aboard my boat here, the fourth of July tradition was to pack as many guests as possible on board, and sit tight on my mooring inside the harbor, watching the show. The fireworks were ok, but watching the incoming boat parade and the display of drunken boat handling in the pileup at the launch ramp afterwards was often much better.

After I rudely sailed off into the sunset, taking my party platform with me, my friends were forced to find another venue for enjoying the fourth of July festivities. I had spoiled them; sitting ashore among the commoners was no longer good enough. The new tradition became to load everyone on one friend's classic wooden powerboat docked at the shipyard, and motor out to another friend's classic sailboat, which was moored right off the town beach and right by the fireworks barge. The two woodies would be rafted together in a lovely photo op for those who had boring ordinary fiberglass vessels. When I arrived back here boatless last year, I was welcomed aboard Safari. I had heard the legendary stories, had met the owner on shore a time or two, but had never been aboard.



There's nothing like a classic wooden boat. There's something about that timeless feel, the warmth of the wood. Maybe it's the dry rot. Yes, that's a ladder up the mast. The owner asks for no comments, please. It's a work in progress.



This year had a particular poignancy to it, as last year turned out to be the final fourth of July Safari would ever see. Last October, she came loose from her mooring, and died on the rocks in a wicked Nor'easter. The owner was not a member of the boatless club for long, however. The party must go on!


Uh oh, busted by the fun patrol. Sorry, officer, we'll try to behave. No promises, though.

We avoided the drunken boat parade pile by not unrafting until very late, returning to the dock well after the last boat had already parked. The most miraculous part of the evening wasn't that the owner of the former Safari had so quickly managed to recover the sailing lifestyle after such a devastating loss, or that we were lucky enough to celebrate this new boat, but that it wasn't raining! And we didn't freeze to death! After so many cold, gray, wet evenings, we were all gobsmacked to discover that it actually doesn't get dark until well after nine at night. Like it was summer or something.

Another successful fourth of July, where nobody fell overboard and nobody exploded.





*This replacement boat is actually not named Safari; in fact it has no name yet. We offered to put suggestions into a hat for the owner to draw one, but for some reason, he didn't care to try that.

What did you do today?

Well, friends of mine just returned from an 8 month circumnavigation via the southern ocean. Me, I brushed the mats out of the dog. And am waiting for a bull’s eye rash to appear where I pulled that deer tick off my leg the other day.

This time last year, I was having the best time of my life, despite the fact that I lived mostly in my car. That wonderful summer was what lured me to stay here, to suffer through winter. I was looking forward to another fantastic New England summer, where I could start working towards a new goal, whatever that might turn out to be.

But this year, something doesn’t seem quite right, as I sit here moldering. I’m winter white, not having seen the sun other than for a few moments here and there. It rains nearly every day. It’s raining as I type this. Temps rarely get to 70 degrees. I can’t breathe from all the pollen. I’m working simply to pay rent, not towards any goal or dream.

Because I have so very many good things here, good friends, enough work to get by, a wonderful dog, a lovely home and workshop, I’m trying hard not to think, why am I not out circumnavigating the planet?*




*How's that for a happy cheery post?

What's wrong with this picture?



This new microwave must have been installed by a giant with no brain. I'm 5'7", and am stretching just to reach the bottom edge. I can't reach the top buttons, and although I could manage to shove something in, if it stopped near the back, I would be unable to get it back out. And forget using the convection shelf. Do you think that the 5'4" tenant moving in will be impressed with having to use a footstool to nuke her food?

Boat Habits

Good boating habits can make the difference between a boat that floats and one that doesn't.

For example, it’s helpful to secure everything on a sailboat in case of capsize or knockdown. Loose items can become missiles flying around the cabin in heavy weather. It sucks to be pummeled by flying tomatoes while off watch in your bunk, almost as much as it blows being outside on deck getting whacked by flying fish.

It’s important to keep the boat well organized, so that you know exactly where everything is. Frantically ripping items out of lockers in search of the liferaft is not helpful when the boat is sinking. Telling thieves, who slipped aboard while you were sleeping, to hang on while you search for the harpoon to use to repel them, doesn’t work so well. Having to unload the all contents of every cupboard when you’re desperate for a hint of rum, but can’t remember where you stashed it, is dangerous to the well being.

Keep the toilet seat down when not in use, because when it crashes down and breaks the bowl in that accidental jibe, she’s not going to be impressed to have to crap over the side, especially in a crowded anchorage. And most likely, your boat neighbors won’t be thrilled with that either.

Replace all caps tightly. Having mayonnaise ooze over every item in the icebox is rather unpleasant. And after that boisterous sail across the bay, finding the head liberally coated with an entire tube of uncapped toothpaste is not only messy to clean up, but now there’s nothing left to brush your teeth with, unless you scrape it off the overhead.

Wash, dry and stow all dishes before going to bed, in case of squalls or uninvited guests. It’s no fun to slice open your feet on broken bits of crockery that have fallen to the floor after the anchor dragged and your boat crashed onto the rocks. And if thieves board in the night, having a clean dish off of which to offer them a snack could mean the difference between keeping your life and your boat, especially if you’re not sure where your harpoon might be stowed.

After you’ve washed those dishes, make sure to close the cap securely when finished with the dish detergent. Otherwise, the boat will fill up with soap bubbles in that massive downpour that caught you ashore at the local pub, reminding you that you left the hatches open.

These are just a few of the things that are important on a boat.

There are some habits that I’ve given up now that I’m a landlubber. I have finally stopped feeling around with my toes for the foot pump to get water to flow from the faucet. Before walking downstairs to the washer, no longer do I carefully wrap my dirty laundry in a sealed, waterproof bag, like I used to do when I lived on a boat at anchor, in an often futile attempt to keep my freshly laundered duds clean and dry on the dinghy trip back from the laundromat.

I’ve become lax, leaving the cap open on the dish soap. And although I still wash my dishes before retiring for the evening, mainly because the last thing I want to see first thing in the morning is a pile of dirty dishes, sometimes I leave them in the drainer overnight. After more than 20 years at sea, I’m losing my seaworthy habits.

What good habits do landlubbers have?



*As this disaster was deposited next to the first boat I ever owned, which was hauled out for a major refit, I was down below, deep into working on the engine. What drew me out to see what was going on wasn't the noise of the travel lift or the activity of the boat yard workers, but the smell. Weehaw! Nothing beats eau de fresh barnacles.

When Friends Converse

I was sitting with a friend of mine when his cell phone rang. “Yes, hello? Oh, hi.” To me, he says “It’s Darla.” (a mutual friend, whom I had seen while working in the house next to hers earlier in the day.)

To her: "Yes, the party is starting, come on over. What? Ok.” To me: “She says to tell you she’s impressed; that she saw you working like a Trojan today.” Pause. To her, while looking at me: “You mean like the condoms? But they don’t always work….”