July 19, 2004
Northport, MI
Taking a Minute to Web this Site
It sure is nice to sit here and have the ability to update this site regularly. Plus, since so many people are hitting this site, I am inspired to write more often. Since we aren’t moving right now and don’t have any new ports-o’-call to report on, I’ve decided to attempt to provide a little insight on life aboard a 32 foot boat with 2-1/2 people and a cat.
When we are underway, life is pretty much at a stand-still, as most of our attention is focused on moving our boat while avoiding others. In port, however, life is pretty much the same as on land, with a few slight differences.
First, the most noticeable, is the dancing – with everything. Just moving through the cabin requires grace, finesse, and fancy feet. Add in Binga and her soon-to-be-over-flowing-toy locker that little fingers continually spill the contents of all around the cabin and you can find yourself running an obstacle course like no other. Just when you are sure about you next foot placement, a wave strikes the boat and moves the floor, causing you to stumble as you try to compensate. The real dancing, however, comes with moving traffic through the cabin. Just moving from the galley to the head, all of ten feet, usually requires a couple “swing-yur-partners” and “do-sa-dos” with some one else who is trying to get another cold one out of the frig. Need something from a locker? The one thing you need is always behind or under two other things, so the gear dances, too, moving around in a clumsy harmony.
Probably the biggest difference is the little things in life that we took for granted everyday while living ashore. Little niceties, like the household toilet, command our greatest admiration. I never gave it much thought, even though I spent enough time on one. I should have noticed how special it is. Next time you are sitting there, reading your favorite sailing magazine, concentrating – deeply – stop and think of me. When you are finished, you simply push the lever and your local municipality whisks away the waste, leaving you to wash up and walk away, giving it no more thought. Here, we are the municipality and have to deal with and maintain all our systems every step of the way. Our head, or marine toilet, is manual. When you are done, you have to operate it by pumping a handle that both flushes the bowl water and pumps the contents out to our holding tank. Not too much of a difference, until the holding tank is full! Then, we have to find a place to pump the tank out, usually a weekly event depending on the food we’ve prepared from the galley.
Like to leave the lights on ’cause you are afraid of the dark? Here, we love the dark. At your house, you flip a switch and the electricity from you local power company flows into the bulb, illuminating your room. The only thing you have to worry about is paying your bill (something we don’t worry about – which is nice). However, we are our own power company. We have to generate and store every watt of power consumed aboard this boat, causing us to be a little more conservative with our power usage. And, the equipment is complicated. We have a complex network of solar panels, engine alternators, and battery chargers that generate and store our electricity in four large batteries, which require care and maintenance themselves. Right now we admit to cheating, as we are plugged in at the boat yard, giving us the luxury of using more power than normal, just because we can. But we still limit the use of our lighting. The reason can be summed up in one word: BUGS! Keeping the lights out keeps the ‘sceeters and other nasties away. Right now we are having a Mayfly invasion. Binga thinks they are cute and likes to pick the up by their wings. It is funny to see their tails flop around while Binga latches on. At least they don’t bite like those stable flies we encounter out on the water.
Are you on city water or have a good well? We carry 80 gallons of water. Period. When it is gone, we either have to find a place to refill or pray for rain. We don’t think we’ll die of dehydration, especially here on the Great Lakes, where there’s fresh water everywhere, but carrying a limited amount of water requires constant attention to usage. Back in the house, I used to love taking my “hour-shower.” Not here. The boat is equipped with a shower, but it is a push-button, hand-held, direct-spray arrangement, focusing water on just the right spot, while restricting water use. You can’t just turn it on and stand there, it must be operated. And it is nice. After a long run of sailing, taking even the shortest shower can be quite a luxury!
Jeanie, Mommy, and Binga in their sleep slips
Everything on board is smaller, closer. Everything. Especially the sleeping quarters. We have converted the whole bow of our boat into the “bedroom.” Bing’s berth is on the right and the double is on the left. We’ve built an insert to fill in the space between the two, giving us more sleeping room. Take last night for example, although every night is the same. First we start around nine o’clock with the Binga prep, bathing her in the galley bathtub (our sink) and getting her p.j.’s on. Then, off to bed she goes. After an hour of arguing about going to sleep, Vanessa winning, but exhausted, decides to turn in herself. She sleeps in the center. I go into the head and pretend I am in a house on a real toilet and dreaming porcelain dreams before calling it a night myself. Here’s where it gets good. I sleep on the left, against the hull and under the deck – kind of a coffin in teak and fiberglass. The space is just barely big enough for me, but never mind I’m claustrophobic. I climb up into the bunk, on top of Vanessa who is moaning and grunting . . . because I’ve just kneed her in the ribs and am crushing her forearm. After squirming around and bumping my head, I find myself on my side of the bed, backwards. More squirming and fighting to get under the covers, and I’m finally tucked into my spot, welcoming sleep . . . until Binga wakes up and wants “Juice.” Over the past month, we’ve learned and keep a filled sippy-cup within reach, so no one has to try to wiggle out of the bunk. It is not an issue, just a regularity. However, last night I forgot to put the cat up on the bunk, who can’t jump up that high, and starts with her annoying-as-hell cry from the cabin floor. She has taken her lessons from Binga, as she stands there and cries until one of us has had enough and does the cussing flop. You know what I mean? Where, frustrated, you try to get out of bed so fast, you get caught in a flurry of bed sheets, bump your head, and start swearing. Vanessa, however is in the center next to the door, so she gets to do the flopping and cussing as she climbs down out of sight. The next thing I see is a rocket of white fur come flying across our bed, as Vanessa has thrown her from the main salon all the way up to the bulkhead at the very front of the boat.
Now we are finally all settled in right? Wrong. With Vanessa back in her place, me packed like a sardine in my place, the cat begins her settling in routine. She, or course, waits until we are already asleep, then makes her way from the foot of the berth, where she has just pealed herself off of the bulkhead, shaking her hair back into place. She takes the long route and walks over, of all people, me (on the out side) to make her way to her favorite person, Vanessa (in the middle). She snuggles her head oh-so-cutely on Vanessa’s pillow, owner and pet sleeping in perfect harmony.
Because of that, what do I get on my pillow? CAT ASS! Right in my face! Too tired to argue, I roll over, my face now smooshed against the side of the hull. Then, my white mustache starts to itch . . . uh . . . wha? . . . wait a minute! I don’t have a white mustache! Oh Shit! That damn cat’s tail is flopping around and tickling my nose! More of the cussing flop as I try to bury myself under the covers, but am starting to hyperventilate on account of the walls closing in on me. Vanessa, who is already laughing because of my “third eye” (the cat’s poop shoot), is now screaming hysterically because of the mustache thing and my ensuing panic attack of claustrophobic proportions. Binga wakes up and starts to cry because she thinks Mommy has a boo-boo. Vanessa cries when she laughs real hard. It is impossible to not laugh with her, even while trying to breath. We all start laughing. Except the cat who looks at us as if we are disturbing her sleep.
So you see, with subtle differences, it is just like a real home. One with better views and less traffic.
-Steve