Dinghy Dreams – Page 8 – Road to the Sea

Log Book: Day 2

by EmilyBristol 24, Outfitting May 16, 2016May 16, 201610 Comments

Met sailor Jon from the Catalina 25. He’s been sailing for forty years. He helped me rig up the main sail. I think that he thinks I know nothing, but that’s okay because I absorbed everything and wound up rigging it by myself. He gave me a shackle for my furler. He’s bringing me a 3.5 inch hole saw to install my manual bilge pump, which is excellent. He also made fiberglassing sound easy, and I’m a little less intimidated to glass in the block on the starboard chainplate.

Gina basically prepped the whole bottom. I have weak arms and am not flexible. She’s a strong yogi. It was a good job for her. We took freezing hose showers after being covered in what was probably illegal and definitely toxic paint dust.

Quinoa and veggies for dinner. She’s still surprised I can cook. I guess it’s been a while since we were roommates in college. Raising the sail in the boatyard was bizarre. It felt like we’d just take off flying into space.

Boatyard blues

by EmilyBristol 24, Sailing on a budget May 15, 2016May 15, 20163 Comments

I’m not usually nostalgic for a moment so quickly after it has passed, but I was almost immediately after we docked my new French-Canadian friend’s Pearson Ariel, after a rousing 20 knot first sail of the season. I knew he would be leaving soon to go back home for the week, and I’d be “alone” in the boatyard since I arrived six days ago.

I’d been admiring the boat since I got to the yard. Her beautiful lines and sturdy keel perched right behind mine. I’ve always wanted to sail a Pearson Ariel and have kept a keen eye for ones that come up for sale. Being aboard her, with a Quebecer as the captain nonetheless, I felt like I was in a scene from Jean Du Sud, the epic journey of Yves Gelinas around the world aboard an Alberg 30.

My friend’s boat, Vanupied, went to weather with a serious bone in her teeth as we heeled harder in the 25 knot gusts. I felt so safe as the boat and her captain, Oliver, took good care and we soared back to the marina at six knots. It’s a feeling I hope to have again when my own boat goes into the water.

Why do I love sailing? It’s not only the way it feels on the water, the challenges or satisfaction it brings–it’s the people. The community. Oliver gifted me a tin of tea that made an Atlantic Crossing with him a few months ago, vintage charts of Lake Champlain, a space heater that I have roaring right now. We drank coffees and wine and walked around the yard admiring the beautiful boats, sharing stories, playing music. Yes, there was lots of work in there, too. He introduced me to Marco who helped me finally complete the installation of my bow roller, and fabricate a stronger backing plate.

My crew member, and official first mate of this vessel, Gina, has proved deserving of the title as she picked me up from the bus station, loaded a dodgy wooden ladder (which she carried her 50 pound dog up every morning and night) on to the top of her car, then drove us to the boat and helped me every day cross some boat work off the ever growing list. She’s handier with tools than I am, makes me laugh until I can’t breathe, and I can tell she’ll be a better sailor than me one day. She returns in three short weeks and we take off sailing together around this magical lake.

With my friends now gone, reality has set in. I’m not ready. I have one big job down, but two more massive ones, and lots of little ones to go before I can launch. Both of those jobs require the help of someone more skilled and knowledgeable than I am. While it’s not been a problem so far, I’m still anxious about finding someone to help and getting everything completed.

After being a part of the launch of Oliver’s boat the jokes of “Oh, I’m not going sailing, I’m just going to live in the boatyard forever,” are starting to seem less funny. The boat’s surrounding me are all going into the water. Slowly but surely, one by one. The sailing season has begun. I better knock on wood. I want to come, too!

I <3 New York

by EmilyBristol 24, Solo sailor girl May 7, 2016May 7, 2016One Comment

I love New York. I do, really. Even though I left a dog sized piece of my heart on the west coast after wandering around there by land and sea for over two years, I never forgot my roots. The waters of Long Island sound, that gritty city that smells of piss and opportunity, the Hudson river valley, the Catskill mountains.

It’s all in me, always. That’s why this journey down the river is so important.

The next time I see all of these places will be by boat. No more crazy New York drivers. When I opened the door to the service area rest stop my heart leapt a little. Like a little piece of it had been restored. After all the planning, anticipation and second guessing, it’s finally begun.

Log book : Day 1

by EmilyBristol 24, Living Aboard May 4, 2016May 4, 201616 Comments

It’s a dog gone mess! The boat hasn’t been washed in years. She’s grown lichens everywhere. I’m like a gravedigger, resurrecting her from the dead.

The boatyard is quiet but not desolate. The yard manager showed me the way to the bathrooms, showers, electricity, water. I don’t know if the water is good to drink but I drank it, and feel fine. I give him a bottle of wine to ensure future favors. I need to adjust the jack stands. She’s leaning down at the bow and water pools on the side decks, making deep cleaning impossible. My socks are wet.

The boat smells like the inside of a tent. Neoprene or fabric, rubbery. She’s so tired and forgotten over the years. I’ll scrub her harder but I think she may always looks gritty, and I’ll love her still in all her faded and stained gelcoat glory.

She’s not perfect. She’s not a Bristol Channel Cutter, or some custom sloop with fine wood work. She’s just your run of the mill production boat from 1976. And she’s mine.

To think she’ll be floating one day soon. Just to think of it! Magic.

Do your best & stay alive

by EmilyBristol 24, Sailing on a budget May 1, 2016May 1, 20163 Comments

Right before I left my dad started asking me all kinda of questions about bringing my boat back to salt water. A journey I intended to make towards the end of the season, but am leaning towards doing sooner after some weeks of shakedown cruising around the lake. In theory, I guess, the lake is a safer place to sail than a big mean river.

“Do you feel comfortable in your abilities to traverse that body of water? Could something really big go wrong?”

“Comfortable is a loose term,” I tried to explain. “I’m capable, but not overconfident. Yes, a number of things could go wrong, but as long as I’m patient and cautious with the weather, tides and currents I should be fine. But yes, a number of things could still go wrong.”

“But what about the currents, and tides on a body of water you’ve never sailed on? The commercial traffic?” He asked, rather irked.

“Well, that’s why you have a current atlas and tide charts. Plus every new port is a chance to gather some more local knowledge. I have a radio to communicate with ships and I’ll be aware to stay out of their way.” I tried to explain.

“You just have an answer for everything!” He quipped.

But it’s true. I do have an answer. Not because I’m some kind of know-it-all, but because I’m a sailor and sailors can only use the tools available to them to get on with a voyage safely. In no way do I think that just because I’ve read the guidebooks and studied the charts that I’m some kind of expert. I’m going to be treading very lightly and with extreme caution.

I get it though. My parents are worried about me. Hell, I’m worried about me! But i’d be more worried if I wasn’t worried at all. I won’t even think about beginning the journey back to saltwater until I know the ins and outs of my boat, and have strengthened every known weakness she possesses.

It’s really hard to explain to people who aren’t sailors that yes, what I’m doing is risky, but it’s not this death defying act. I’m not a daredevil. It’s not my intention to have my folks white knuckled in anticipation. I’m just seeking a simple life of freedom, adventure, community, and self sufficiency.

My mom managed to not really chime on the conversation much. All she said was, “Do your best, and stay alive.”

Which is basically my mantra.

Solo sailor girl

by EmilyBristol 24, Sailing on a budget, Solo sailor girl May 1, 2016May 1, 20169 Comments

“It’s just a boat,” I mutter to myself. “I can always sell it.”

I’m drowning in self doubt.

It’s the eve of day before I haul all my shit six hours north to where she sits on dry dock. Perched on the land like a forgotten treehouse that needs renovating.

The car is packed with all of my gear–an anchor, life jackets, blankets, galley supplies, an assortment of lines, batteries, bungie chords and buckets. I keep clicking away from the page to order my harness. As if typing in my card number and hitting the submit button somehow solidifies that fact that I’m doing this all by myself.

A friend unexpectedly expressed interest in joining me onboard this summer, and I’ve tried to push it out of my head. Tried not to have any expectations. Tried not to pressure her. Tried not to need anyone else.

Tried to remember I bought this boat with every intention of doing it alone, and even though I’m in over my head, I can learn how to swim.

My knee jerk reaction is to text a bunch of my friends. Tell them how scared and lonely I feel at this very moment, and anticipate the validation I’m bound to receive. But I don’t, I just think of all the people who have helped me get this far, who believe in me. A community of support has been built around me. The foundation laid, now all I have to do is go live my dream. Take this insane idea and turn it into the unforgiving reality that is a life at sea. Believe in myself.

I place my order. Here goes ~~nothing~~ everything…

Riding in boats with dogs

by EmilyJourney to minimalism, Solo sailor girl April 27, 2016May 1, 20167 Comments

When I was two years old my parents went on vacation and left me with my aunt and uncle who had a white fluffy dog named Duffy. When they returned I had morphed into a dog. I crawled around on four legs, ate out of a bowl on the floor, and barked when someone knocked on the door. This went on until I was in kindergarten when my teacher called my mom saying I tried to eat my lunch on the floor. It was time to start acting like a human.

Since then I’ve been obsessed with dogs, to the point where I’ll straddle a mean looking rottwieler I just met on the street and encourage it to slobber on my face. My main goal in life is and always has been, to have a dog of my own, perhaps even a pack, but now is not the time.

One of my most shameful secrets is that junior year of college I rescued an abandoned kitten and made promises to keep him for the next 20 years, or however long he lived. I broke those promises. I didn’t leave him in a cardboard box along the side of the road, but I might as well have. During college breaks he was bounced around from place to place, friend to friend. When I graduated I couldn’t bring him where I was going . I found him a nice house with a nice family, where he’d have an entire mountain property to roam and hunt. The day I left he jumped out a second story window, never to be seen again. I have little doubt that he survived the fall and took to the wild, or found a new family, but I vowed that day to never get an animal again until I was in a stable enough situation to give it a home forever.

I’ve taken care of and lived with a lot of dogs in the years following that fateful decision. There was Koda the misunderstood chocolate lab on the farm. Chloe, the aging spaniel on a 22-foot cutter. Cleo and Jasper, dogs that needed walking and feeding when their owners were away. Each canine I encounter reminds me how much I love the loyalty, companionship, and extreme excitement they exude upon my arrival.

There’s something really special about a girl and her dog, especially on a boat. When I used to row Chloe to shore it felt like she and I were the only two beings in the world. When I would take Koda on hikes in the mountains it was like we were the only ones the other would ever need. I know the challenges sailors with dogs face, and I know the rewards of having a best friend onboard.

As far as my live aboard lifestyle goes, I need to have a job while living on my boat and that would mean leaving a dog onboard alone for hours at a time. Being in the northeast until at least next year, I’ll have to move off the boat in the winter and who knows where I’ll end up working or traveling. I have dreams of tramping through South America when the seasons begin to change. Maybe I’m selfish, but until I find a way to sustain my lifestyle through freelance writing, or something that won’t force me to bed down on land every once in a while, a canine first mate isn’t in the cards. Until then I’ll continue to accost dogs on the street, and crawl around on all fours barking at noises I hear…when no one else is around.

A four letter word

by EmilySolo sailor girl April 21, 2016May 1, 20163 Comments

The concept of home is something I’ve tried to avoid. I always thought home meant settling. Home meant staying in one place. Home meant arriving somewhere and never leaving. But I’ve changed my mind.

Home is where the girls at the coffee shop know your voice when you call them on the telephone to ask what time open mic starts. Home is where a new friend acquires a piece of wood from their work that you desperately need for a boat project. Home is where your best mate works at the local brewery and refuses to let you pay for a single beer. Home is where the people you serve at the restaurant turn into allies. Home is where someone you bought a dinghy from off craigslist turns into your sailing buddy. Home is where your co-worker’s brother lets you use his West Marine discount. Home is a text asking if you can walk someone’s dog. Home is riding your bike through a part of town you’ve been through thousands of times, and seeing it with new eyes. Home is a community of people, near and far. Home is family.

Home is familiar, stable—but it’s a paradox. It’s something I’ve always yearned for while away, yet tried to escape.

I’ve been scared of it, but I’ve learned that a sense of home will never soften my urge to wander, because it’ll always be there when I return. That’s why they call it home.

Hobby horse

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat, Tools & Tricks April 19, 20162 Comments

A 22 pound anchor, a 10 pound anchor roller, 25 feet of chain, and 200 plus feet of line. That’s nearly 75 pounds at the bow of my Bristol 24 sailboat that’s never been there before. Take into account her Johnson 9 horsepower, four stroke outboard engine at the stern, and I’m afraid I might be having some center of effort issues come sailing time.

When I was a kid I was obsessed with animals, I still am, but my parents liked to keep a fur free home. When I asked for a dog, I got a bunny. When I asked for a pig, I got chickens. When I asked for a horse, I got a hobby horse. One of the plastic kinds you see outside midwest grocery stores that dips up and down from forward to back. A fun sensation when you’re a kid, not so much when you’re a sailor.

My quasi plan to right this inevitable issue is to add more weight mid ship, most likely in the form of canned goods, rice, and water. But I have a theory…

When clambering through the lockers I saw some removable bars of ballast. I think they are led, or iron. When I asked the previous owner what was up with these he said they came with the boat and he always just left them in that spot, mid ship.

“I think personally, though, she’d sail better with that weight up in the bow,” he said.

This leads me to believe that with the engine aft, external ballast mid ship, and the added ground tackle weight forward, she might just sail like a balanced boat rather than a bucking bronco.

Get a job

by EmilyJourney to minimalism, Sailing on a budget April 11, 2016May 4, 20162 Comments

“I think careers are a 20th century invention and I don’t want one,” –Alexander Supertramp

Out of my six best mates all born and raised as red blooded american brood, three of them, including myself, live at home with their parents. Of the three that have permanently flown the coop, two work at coffee shops on the west coast to pay the bills, using their time off to develop their respective art. The other has a “real job,” for a hip wine company in Manhattan, where drinking is encouraged. Still, it’s a corporation, and while initially I wondered if my free spirited, creative friend was selling his soul I realized that if you can take your passion, or one of them, and turn it into a way to make money then you’ve really cracked it, right?

Of all of us still living at home between the ages of 26-29, we all left at some point, mostly for a long while, and came back for one reason or another. Some of us using the time as a stepping stone to the next chapter we’d already planned to write, others using it as a time to figure out how the next chapter will read.

Many critics claim my generation useless. That we have a general malaise and lack of ambition. We’re entitled, and expect everything to be handed to us. I find, at least in my small circle, this is entirely untrue. The problem isn’t that we’re lazy, don’t want to work, or settle down, no–we all work. Most of us several jobs. It’s just that so many of us chose to make money to fuel a venture, rather than the venture being the actual act of making money. Rather than living to work, we simply work to live.

I’m lucky. Other than perhaps if I were born a man, I’ve pretty much hit the lottery as I live a very privileged life as a white, American woman from a middle class family. I’ve never gone hungry or spent a night on the streets, because I’ve always been armed with the knowledge and confidence that there’s a way to make enough money to take care of myself. While I may have spent the last few years making so little money I’d technically be called “impoverished” by the government, I am in no way poor. I just choose to live simply which doesn’t require a lot of money.

It’s starting to happen though, people around me are changing. Pretty soon they might even start to get married, have kids. Another friend in my small circle just got a “real job.” I’m insanely proud of her and have always been quick to spout her academic successes to anyone who will listen. But despite my swelling pride, I can’t help but feel like my friend group is getting gentrified. Like I’ll be the last one standing—holding onto a toilet bowl scrub brush and my dreams of doing something outside of a career.

I’m rounding the corner to 27 years old. I don’t know if it’s me or the pressures from societal norms, yet I can’t help but wonder if I should put more stock in finding a sustainable, long term way to keep money coming in. I don’t want to be 60 and still cleaning toilets or waiting tables. Although for now, if doing that gets me to the next port of call, well, I’m fine with that. At least until I’m 30.

Landlubbers

by EmilySailing, Solo sailor girl April 7, 2016April 7, 20163 Comments

I have this new friend who isn’t a sailor. Far from it in fact. He told me that his biggest fear is being in the middle of the ocean on a boat. Alone.

That’s basically my biggest dream.

When I told him that I had so much to do in order to prepare for moving onto my boat in three weeks and he asked me, “Like what?” There was really only one way to answer.

“Imagine you’re moving into a fixer upper rustic cabin somewhere pretty remote so you need to be prepared with all the right tools and materials upon arrival,” I said.

“Only this cabin can sink.”

April is the cruelest of months

by EmilyBristol 24, Living Aboard April 7, 2016April 7, 20163 Comments

It’s true, what T.S. Eliot said about April. It’s like living in a lingering state of limbo. I’m just passing the days until the boatyard thaws and I can get on with it–living aboard my own boat for the first time.However, somewhere in between the sulking, I realized something. It’s only three weeks until I’m supposed to move aboard!!!! That really got my heart racing and I cancelled my plans to traipse around Brooklyn with my best friend immediately. There’s still so much to be done and I’m the ultimate procrastinator, especially when I have nothing but time to get shit done. Good thing is, time is running out, and I’m on it.

I’ve gotten my ground tackle sussed out and practiced my splice enough to cut off the used up strands and start anew. Good thing about that is, I can always make a new splice so it’s not exactly permanent. It needs to be right though, because the hook will be dropped almost immediately upon splash. I’m a few clicks away from ordering the bow roller, and made plans to go to my friend’s wood workshop to turn this old piece of teak I was given into a spacer for the roller. Just have to settle on what to use as a backing plate (suggestions, sailors)?, and one of the most important jobs will be ready for installation.

I still need bottom paint, interior hull paint, varnish, sand paper, tools, epoxy/sealers, to figure out the head system (going to be anchored in a no discharge zone for the time being and unfortunately a composting head is on the long, long list), and, uh, what else? I know I’m forgetting multiple things. A stove, blankets, pillows, cast iron pan, tea pot, a heater.

It goes on, and on, and on, and on, and…

Never trust a sailor on land

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat April 5, 20164 Comments

I just spent the last hour finally finishing up fixing a cataclysmic error. Okay, it wasn’t that bad. I was trying to coil my anchor line after having gotten a bit tangled up earlier today, and I got frustrated. Ultimately throwing the clean, unkinked line in a heap on the floor along with the mess already there, and making the mess even bigger. My morning was spent learning to splice. I’ve settled on a pretty standard rope to chain back splice but man am I scared I’m doing it wrong! Youtube video after youtube video, photo after photo, diagram after diagram and I think I finally got it. Although at this point my spliced strands are so frayed and unraveled that I’m just going to start over. It’s a good thing I have 200 feet of line to work with.

It’s hard to imagine that my entire life is essentially going to be hanging by a thread pretty soon. A thread that I childishly tossed onto the floor in a heap because I was tired of studying the splice and not getting it right.

Tomorrow I’ll get it right.

Boat buying tips from an idiot

by EmilyBristol 24, Outfitting, Tools & Tricks March 30, 20164 Comments

The universe loves me! Then it hates me. I send a text to my friend the local bay constable. He’s got a shed full of marine junk. He gave me a piece of teak I’m going to cut and use as a block for my bow roller, so it sits flush on deck. It’s a shot in the dark, “have any old life jackets laying around you want to sell me?”

I’ve recruited my cousin to come out with me on a test row of the $100 inflatable dinghy next nice day we both have off, and I need two life jackets before we can do that.

I’m at the DMV legally making the boat mine. I got the signed contract from the seller weeks ago and just signed it the other day. It felt weird, signing it. No turning back now. I get a text about the life jackets. Yes, he has some I can have. Have. Surely I’ll throw him a couple of bucks, but there’s no need. He gets a big box each year at work, and gives them out to people. I walk out of the DMV, sure that my number won’t be called anytime soon, and he’s there in a police truck. It’s funny. I always just assume cops won’t like me. Like they can sense my anti-authority demeanor from the way I dress, or walk or something. But this cop likes me. He’s a sailor.

Two brand new life jackets and I’m on top of the world! My faith in humanity restored, as it so often is on this journey. I thank him profusely. We chit chat about bottom paint and the splice I’m going to use on my ground tackle, which is arriving today!

The line at the DMV moves fast. It’s the best day ever. I know my new anchor is going to be on the stoop when I get home. I just got two free coast guard approved life jackets. I actually have all the correct paper work to get the boat put into my name. I see my number come up on the screen and jump to my feet before it’s even called.

A few cracks on the stapler later and she gives me the total. Still smiling, I hear her say, “That’ll be 300 and something dollars.”

WHAT. My jaw drops. I’m confused. Registration isn’t that much!

Tax. Bloody sales tax. I forgot the old buying a used car trick. Put a lower number on the bill of sale.

File it under boat buying tips from an idiot.

Strategy for success

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat, Journey to minimalism March 25, 201610 Comments

“Can you see the way there? If you can see the path there, get going. If not, get busy with something else.”I visualize it in 3D, actual life, real time. I visualize it on paper, with stick figures, cartoon sails, a narrow drawing of a canal. I see the end of the season and finding some way to make money over winter for the next, which will be the entrance to another waterway. It’s not about the money. Sure, I worry a little I might run out of money, then what? But it’s not about the money. There’s always more of that.
My entire life, every idea I’ve ever had, people will say “I’m afraid if you do X, Y or Z (i.e. something different than their way) you’re going to fail.” They don’t realize though, quitting is not an option. I can’t quit my life. This isn’t a sport. This isn’t a vacation. This isn’t some model fucking airplane I’m building. It’s a lifestyle. A long-term, sustainable, lifestyle.Hell, you know how they ask your “5-year plan” at a job interview? Well, I never had one—until now.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f8tU74WRkL4&feature=youtu.be

Get a GRiP

by EmilyBristol 24, Buying your first sailboat, Solo sailor girl March 23, 2016March 23, 2016One Comment

I’m not going to let some fiberglass, wood, and metal push me around any longer. The past few days have been intense. Filled with what if’s and what the eff’s, but I’ve finally reached the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m no longer consumed by fear of the unknown, I’m embracing it.

Ah, glass reinforced plastic. It’s messy, requires care and attention to detail, but with the right amount of both it will last forever. I’ve read enough books and forums, and talked to enough sailors to know that whatever needs to be done, I can do it. I may make lots of mistakes, and botch a few jobs, but all that will eventually lead to getting the work done the right way. It’s not rocket science. It just takes some basic, do-it-yourself know how–and the ability to realize when you need to ask for help, whether from a more experienced boat owner or a professional in the yard. I can’t believe I was letting 24-feet of frozen snot work me up into a frenzy.

This blog has been a bit of a sounding board for me to voice my anxieties about my new found boat ownership, but I am in no way a damsel in distress. I’m a dame, yes, and I’m stressed, but I don’t need to be rescued or convinced not to quit.

Every single thing I’ve done in the past four years, from the yacht delivery from Tonga to New Zealand, to working at a posh marina tying up boats for minimum wage, to living aboard a small cutter with my then boyfriend, have lead me here. I’m exactly where I want to be. Sure I’m scared, but I don’t know anyone who isn’t. A little fear keeps you alive, it’s too much of it that can paralyze you.

From now on I’m keeping my fear in check, but certainly never going to ignore it. It’s like what my uncle said when we were talking about navigational hazards on my boat’s journey back to salt water;

“In my experience, the biggest enemy? Complacency. Never get too comfortable. You should always have a few beads of sweat, somewhere, when in unfamiliar territory.”

I know that there are going to be frustrating days, financial hardship, and a fair bit of misery ahead, but it will all be worth it–when my new anchor roller is installed with a Rocna ready to be deployed, the bottom is painted, the varnish is sparkling, her hull is waxed, standing rigging strong, her interior cozy–and I hoist the sails for the first time.

“You see all those people out there on the street, walking around with a bunch of tattoos? They’re not any tougher than you.” -My Tattoo Artist

THE HORROR

by EmilySailing on a budget, Solo sailing March 23, 2016March 23, 20164 Comments

My friend told me about this reoccurring nightmare she was having. It was just a blank map, and she was in the middle of it. Think google maps, except there’s no roads, points of interest, or any landscape. It’s just a grid. It sounded horrifying.

When I first decided I wanted to buy a boat, that’s how I felt. I didn’t have a road map.

My grid is no longer blank, but it’s certainly blurred and unsteady. I thought I had my plans mapped out but the more I think about it the more I realize I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. Last night I tossed and turned over my ground tackle choices. I’d flip to the right and think 3/8″ line, and to the left, 1/2″ line.

Where I’m headed isn’s exactly a marine mecca, and I don’t know if I’ll have all the resources to obtain parts for my repairs. That’s why I decided to get things together early, before I head to the boat. But now I’m even second guessing that. Not being at the boat I’m unable to make measurements and truly assess the projects. I’m afraid I’ll get stuck in the boatyard for weeks, waiting the arrival of some simple fitting I couldn’t find in the store.

For the first time in this endeavor I’ve wished I had another person to share the load. Someone who could hold the anchor in place while I fit the roller on deck. The internet is proving to be an infinite source of knowledge, but when I arrive at the boat even that will no longer be accessible.

Today I bought an old inflatable dinghy for $100 from a very knowledgable do-it-yourself’er.

“I hope I meet people like you in the boatyard,” I said.

“I’m sure you will,” he replied with a smile.

I’m sure I will.

“Professor what kind of miracle is this? You should be careful just what you wish. For it comes at such a price…” -The Felice Brothers

First day jitters

by EmilyBristol 24, Solo sailor girl March 21, 2016March 21, 2016One Comment

As I pour over selections for ground tackle for the better part of the day–what size chain, line, shackles, what kind of splice to use, how to splice, length selection…I’m reminded of simpler times what I was no more than a passenger on someone else’s boat.

How boring.

Ever since I signed the contract for my boat I’ve had this IV of adrenaline hooked up that releases a tiny amount every hour. Just enough to function beneath a daily, low grade stress with an almost constant heartbeat in my throat that takes my full attention to quell.

Ah, I’m alive.

Being away from my boat physically pains me. I want to get to reconditioning her. I have wonderful, simple ideas on how to make her look like a shiny little yacht in no time. A bit of paint, wax, varnish…

But those daunting jobs still loom, like re-bedding her starboard chainplate and glassing in the small plank of wood it’s bolted to inside the cabin. There’s water getting in, and I hope the snow melt hasn’t damaged the bulkhead in my absence. I’m afraid of what I might find when I drill holes in the deck to install my anchor roller. The haws pipe on deck wasn’t properly sealed, which could be allowing water in to saturate the core.

I’m behind on ordering parts. I’m nervous about what lies ahead. I’m hoping for the best but planning for the worst, trying to remember what resilient creatures we humans are, and how I’ve always managed to wind up somewhere in the middle.

First world problems

by EmilyOutfitting, Sailing on a budget March 14, 2016March 14, 20166 Comments

My biggest problem the past few months has been when my mom bought a new brand of pretzels, but that’s all about to change. It’s raining here today and even though the temperature sits at a nice 50 degrees I refuse to go outside. This weather is a cold reminder that my boat doesn’t have heat.

I plan to live at anchor because I can’t afford to pay the exorbitant cost of a summer slip and there’s quite a long waiting list to even get one. While I’d love to be out cruising and exploring all season the truth is I’ll have to be holed up in a secure place, row to shore everyday, get on my bike and ride to work.The journey to bring my boat back to salt, which is set to take place in late summer/early fall, has anchorages along the way, but a lot of the time I’ll be forced to pay for a night’s moorage. Add in the fees for going through locks, fuel, stepping and unstepping the mast for bridge and lock clearance, and it’s going to be an expensive adventure. On top of that I need to have enough money tucked away in case I need to hang the boat up next winter, and pay first month’s rent in whatever place I decide to hang my hat and refill the sailing kitty until the following Spring. In order for all of this to come to fruition, I’m going to need a job during the summer, as all of the money I have now will go into outfitting Anam Cara.

The town where I was hoping to live anchored off of might turn out to be a big no go. My research has taught me that somehow the designated anchorage area is governed by the town, as it exists within a breakwater, and you must acquire a permit to anchor there and not exceed your stay longer than three days. A fellow sailor who cruised these waters ten years ago seemed to disagree, because how can the town govern the water, right? But what I read was an official government document.As a sailor, flexibility is key, so I moved on to my plan B which is to anchor in a large bay which has varying degrees of protection, 10 miles south. On shore is a large, working shipyard and marina which I hope takes kindly to a liveaboard sailor girl that wants to grab a shower, tie up her dinghy, and lock up her bicycle. I thought about calling them and asking, but thought better of it as not to draw attention to myself. Unfortunately, liveaboards often get a bad reputation as the marine industry has a growing agenda that caters to rich yachters. I’ve yet to come up with a plan C.

Aside from the usual maintenance like washing and waxing the hull and top sides, woodwork, an array of latches and hose clamps that need replacing, I might need to drop the mast right away and assess an issue with the step. Her interior needs a fresh coat of paint, the cabin floor needs a revamp, I need to come up with a plan for cooking in the galley (as there’s no stove), and should probably consider some kind of portable heat system like an alcohol heater for those grey, rainy days. I’m only touching the surface here of what all needs to be done in order to get her ship shape. I certainly have my work cut out for me. I’ve got navigation squared away, and while I suss out equipment for my anchoring system I’m looking for a dinghy. I want to buy a second hand inflatable like the old Avon I used to row, but craigslist this time of year is a barren, desolate wasteland. My efforts to find a soft bottom inflatable on ebay have also proved fruitless, as it costs as much as the dinghy to have it shipped. I have a backup plan to buy a reasonably affordable Sea Eagle inflatable (not the prettiest or most rugged, but it’ll do for now), until the dinghy of my wallet’s dreams comes rowing my way.

Let me tell you about my boat

by EmilyBristol 24 March 10, 2016March 10, 20166 Comments

Anam Cara, which means Soul Friend in Irish, is a 1976 Bristol 24. I rushed up to see her for the first time the day after Valentine’s Day, 2016. I tried to look at her with a critical eye but had already fallen in love when I stepped onto her frozen decks, in the dark, while the wind rendering the temperature in the single digits ripped through her standing rigging. The Bristol 24 was a popular cruising boat built in the 60s, 70s and even into the early 80s, by Sailstar Boat Company, which later became Bristol Yacht Company, in Rhode Island. She was designed by Paul Coble.

She draws about 3.5 feet and has a long keel with a cutaway forefoot and attached rudder. With only an 18 foot water line the B24 is relatively slow, but what she lacks in speed she makes up for in stiffness. She displaces a total of 6,000 lbs, 3,000 of which are in her lead ballast. With an 8 foot beam and 6 feet of standing headroom, this B24 is a roomy 24-footer, which is probably what made her so popular for cruising families back in the day. An estimated 750 hulls were built during production.

On the day of survey, the surveyor denoted Anam Cara in “fair condition,” meaning she would be safe and sailable with some usual maintenance. However there is no major structural damage and what does need to be fixed is indicative of previous use, not neglect. I certainly have my work cut out for me to get her in Bristol condition, but I reckon we’ll be sailing along just fine in due time.

I bought the boat on one of the largest fresh water lakes in the U.S., where I plan to sail her for the season and then begin the long, meandering journey through a series of canals and rivers back to her original birthplace; salt water.

I move aboard Anam Cara, in the boatyard, in May.

“Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.” -C.S. Lewis

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