THE HORROR

Nautical styleMy 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

Living at anchor while cruisingAs 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.