Love Odyssey

This weekend we had our first 3-day Love Odyssey cruise and it could not have been any more spectacular. The weather gods smiled upon us and gave us sunny skies, perfect sailing winds, and very little humidity. We left Oriental on Friday morning around eight a.m. We motored through the Intracoastal Waterway, which we call “the ditch” because it is so narrow. Lovely homes line much of this waterway, with gently rolling lawns ending at the water where boats of various sizes are docked.

Around eleven o’clock we put up sails and proceded out of the Beaufort inlet. The ocean was so clear and blue. We had only been sailing a few minutes when our odyssey couple noticed motion in the water. Sure enough there were several dolphins cavorting in our bow wave. Then a few minutes later we noticed a large dark shadow off to the distance and a whale breached the surface! He seemed to be accompanied by more dolphins. What fun for all of us as we rapidly snapped photos and tried to guess where the whale would surface next.

We entered the Cape Lookout bight about 12:30 and anchored in some of the prettiest water–we could see fish swimming around the boat. Too bad that we forgot our fishing poles!

After a quick lunch on board we lowered our dinghy and motored to the lighthouse. The ride was a bit wet and splashy, but it felt good in the warm sunshine. There is a small museum in the lighthouse keeper’s house that is run by the national park service. After a walk across the dunes to the ocean, we returned to our dinghy and traveled to the far corner of the bight where we disembarked and walked to the old abandoned Coast Guard Station. We kept a sharp eye out for nutra, which are like large guinae pigs that were imported here from South America during the Second World War to help keep down the vegetation; no luck spotting them on this visit, but we have seen them in the past.

 Saturday morning we sailed back to Beaufort. We did spy a few dolphins near the boat, but alas, our whale was no where in sight! After anchoring in Taylor’s Creek along the Beaufort waterfront, we dinghied to shore and strolled along the waterfront where wooden boats of all descriptions were lined up. This was the weekend of the Wooden Boat Show. A large tent was erected in one area and at least twenty teams were vying for recognition in a boat building and rowing contest. We also enjoyed the Maritime Museum up the street where watercraft of all sorts were displayed, including artifacts from the pirate Blackbeard’s Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Sunday morning we re-traced our route back to Oriental under a bit hotter and windier conditions, but still very pleasant. A few dophins frolicked around our boat on the way.  We know our first Love Odyssey couple had a wonderful time on the water.

 Helen- 05/02/10

 Yesterday we finally got to splash Dragon Lady.  She is now sitting pretty in a dock at the boat yard.  I’m not wild about the view and the finger pier is pretty puny, making for gymnastics while boarding and disembarking, but at least we don’t have to climb a ladder and we have air conditioning and hot water again.  We have to stay here for another week while the mechanics at the boat yard check out her belts and hoses and other things mechanical in both the main engine and the generator.  We are counting on taking her back to our marina next weekend.

 Meanwhile Bryce has been trying to put a spring on our generator to facilitate starting.  You would think that was a pretty easy job, but he has made about six trips to the hardware store to find just the right kind of spring.  The last trip to the store the owner suggested that he just bring a sleeping bag and camp there.  As if that job wasn’t challenging enough for Bryce, our aft head (toilet) decided to die this weekend.  Now Bryce is not Mr. Tooltime.  In fact, he laments that he is probably the only student in his high school who nearly failed shop class.  But after three boats, he has learned how to fix the joker valve in the head, a job that needs to be done about every two years—yuck! 

 But I guess things could be worse, much worse.  As far as I can tell everything is basically working okay today—and that in itself is a big accomplishment on a boat this size with loads of complex systems.  Yes, I think this calls for a small celebration tonight.  We are in the water and functional—Hallelujah!

Helen—04/24/10

We’re getting tired of life in the boatyard.  And it is starting to get hot, which makes working in the sun on deck an exhausting and sweaty experience.  This weekend we worked extensively on our aging teak deck.  We had to pull up a good bit of mastic (the black material between the teak strips) that was cracking and coming loose.  The more we worked, the more areas that needed work became apparent.  It is a never-ending job.  You repair one area, and then see other spots that also need attention.  We had to prioritize the worst areas and say we would get back to the others another day. 

We also replaced missing and cracked bungs (these are the small round teak pegs that cover the screws which hold down the teak deck strips).  It seems that as soon as we put new bungs in, other old ones fall out or crack.  We should probably replace bungs more often, but other boat needs always seem to yell louder for our attention.

My job this weekend was to stain the deck with Tropical Teak Sealer.  We do this chore annually in the hopes of getting ten more years out of our badly worn teak deck.  The staining is not that difficult; the part I hate is putting green masking tape around all the edges to prevent stain from inadvertently getting smudged on the white fiberglass, the stainless steel, and the lines.  It probably takes longer to do the masking than the staining.  Yesterday in the 80 degree heat I stained about three quarters of the deck, just leaving us a path to come and go without walking on wet stain.  Then this morning I completed the remainder.  Yeah!  The worst is over!

Now if all goes well we will splash the boat next Friday—I can’t wait.  Climbing a twelve foot ladder several times a day is getting old, not to mention that we have limited electricity while on the hard.  That means that no matter how hot it gets, we can’t run air conditioning; we have no hot water to wash dishes (hot water heaters take a lot of juice); and occasionally when you plug in a small appliance, the breaker trips and you have to un-plug and reset the power.  Yes, we had better be in the water and at a dock with full hook-up by next Friday evening or this galley wench is going to mutiny.  

Helen- 04/18/10

Friday we put our boat “on the hard”. We do this every spring–it’s the boater’s rite of passage. Just when the spring fever hits and you are dying to get out on the water with your craft, you take her to the boat yard and get her hauled out for about a month. You ask, “why do you do that?” Because by the time ole man winter has left town, your boat is looking pretty shabby. The white fiberglass has turned gray with numerous streaks running down the sides from rusted screws and God knows what else, your bottom is covered with a coat of slime and the odd barnacle, the deck is dirty and faded, and your sacrificial zincs have been totally sacrificed.

So on Friday we took her about two miles from our marina to Deaton’s Boat Yard and had her hauled and placed on the hard. It’s called “on the hard” for a reason. Not only is the boat sitting on hard ground but her owners are doing hard work while she enjoys her yearly spa. First of all, our boat is propped up on jack stands. She has a six foot keel, so to enter the boat you have to climb up a twelve foot ladder, and of course, you never go up empty-handed. No, you are always going up or down that ladder carrying bags of heavy things like tools, sanders, waxers, etc. or the dog. Yes, by the end of the day you know that your calves got quite a workout!

So Friday we got the boat put on the hard and then we surveyed her dirty top sides. We started by washing down the white fiberglass hull with Hull Cleaner. She was still pretty grimey and had quite a few stains, so out came the heavier duty cleaners–quite an arsonal of products that required hours of back-breaking scrubbing. We have a navy blue stripe that is about a foot wide and runs the length of the boat. It seemed no amount of scrubbing was going to get that clean and free from chalky build-up. Then we moved on to the heavy duty compound which after two applications finally restored the color. By this time it was nightfall and we dutifully fell into bed.

Saturday we tacked the big job of waxing our hull. Now you have to understand that we do this while perched up on a scaffold that is five feet off the ground and about two by six feet long. Bryce, having larger biceps than me, weilded the waxer while I went behind him and took off the wax with old towels saved for just this purpose. After the first half hour we had the dance perfected–he would apply the wax, then move gingerly behind me while I stepped forward and removed it with my towels. One mis-step and one of us could fall and break an arm or leg. We continued this dance, moving the scaffold about every fifteen minutes. It took a good part of the day to wax a forty foot boat. By the end of Saturday we were both feeling muscles we didn’t even know we had. A Gold’s Gym exercise instructor could not have given us a more thorough workout!

Today Bryce, glutton for punishment that he is, decided to apply another coat of wax. He said the second coat always goes faster, but I declined to dance an encore again. Instead, I used a paint scraper and began the tedious task of scrapping off peeling bottom paint. Why, you ask, do we paint the bottom when no one will see it when the boat is in the water. Well, boats in sea water and brackish water will soon become homes for barnacles without a coat of ablative paint. So each year we add a coat of bottom paint which does a good job of discouraging encrustration; however, after several layers of paint, it begins to check and peel. So we scrape and sand before adding more paint.

As you can see, life “on the hard” is hard work! Next weekend we will continue to scrape and sand–probably for a couple of days. Then if we are lucky weather-wise, on the third weekend we will paint our boat’s bottom–which is another exercise in bending and stretching muscles we haven’t used much in awhile. Of course, the plus side is that we will have nice defined biceps, calve muscles, and be as flexible as any yoga student by the time May and bathing suit season begins!

Tune in next weekend for our latest up-date on our boat’s spa month! And by the way, are there any people out there reading this blog? I would love to hear your comments or questions.

Helen 04/04/10

We just returned today to our boat after a two week hiatus. Bryce and I get antsy when we are gone too long. Last weekend Bryce had to attend a professional conference in the Raleigh area and we also had to host a family birthday bash. So by Tuesday of this past week we were in boat withdrawal, longing to be back here and counting the hours before our departure.

Now you need to understand that Bryce and I consider this boat our real home, even though we have a nice enough house in Cary. Our boat is our mutual passion and we treat her lovingly and with much care. She is spoiled and given all sorts of expensive up-dates, repairs, and even a few real luxuries. We spend far more dollars on her maintenance than we would ever consider spending on our house. In fact, the house has always played second fiddle to this boat. We don’t flinch about the cost of hauling her out of the water annually and treating her bottom to a thousand dollars worth of paint or installing a several thousand dollar generator. But even mention painting a bedroom or installing granite kitchen counters at home, and the idea would not even be worthy of a second thought–after all, who could afford that?

Yes, our boat is our home sweet home! Nothing is too good for her. We are her servants and her guests. She has protected us, given us shelter, and taken us to lovely places most people living in a house only dream about. Helen 02/26/10

Friends- I can’t imagine not having friends.  When I think of our boat and the little village of Oriental, I immediately associate it with all the people we have met here and consider our friends.  Everyone in this small town is friendly.  You can’t walk down the street here without someone tooting their horn and waving.  You don’t need to know someone’s name to be friendly.  I have trouble remembering names–always have–but it has become worse in the past ten years –but in this town no one seems to care.  If you smile, wave, or chat with anyone on the steet or in a shop, then you are friendly. 

Bryce will often ask me, after I have had a conversation with someone at the Bean (the coffee shop in town), “Who was that?”  Well, I really don’t know their name, but I had a great time chatting, and I know that we will continue waving and chatting in the future.  Yes, they have become a friend.  Names are not important. 

 I remember people by what we usually talk about.  There is the fellow who often sits out on the front porch of the Bean and always has something nice to say about anyone’s pooch.  He used to have a little Yorkie like ours, but it died a while back.  Now he takes delight in everyone elses dog.

There is the clerk at the Dollar General that never fails to wish everyone a warm greeting as you enter the store and always has something nice to say when you check out.  Then there are two clerks at the West Marine in town who always want to hear about your latest boat project and what you are going to do with whatever you are purchasing.  And the people behind the counter at Inland Waterway Treasure Company who always engage in a lively discussion of the weather, what’s happening that week in town, and latest news in the area.  Yes, I don’t remember all the names (although I am getting a bit better over time), but they certainly qualify as friends.

And then there are the people who you see each week at the marina.  Certainly the dockmaster, but also many of the other slip holders who you can’t help but run into (literally) at the bathhouse, the clubhouse, and on the docks.  You chat about your boats, the weather, your boat problems (we all have them–something is always breaking or needing repairs), your future sailing plans, where you have been with your boat, and your dreams (which many of us share).  Yes, it’s wonderful to come down here to Oriental from Cary (where you are a nobody, except for the few people you see at work and your next-door neighbors) and feel the warmth and friendliness surround you.  I can’t imagine any other place being so chock full of friends!

Helen–02/06/2010

The hollow empty feeling in the middle of the chest, the lump in the throat and of course the occasional gasping sobs.  These are the signs of grief that I counsel other people about day-in and day-out.  And to confess the truth, I had probably become habituated and numbed over the years so that I don’t feel terrible pain when I work with others.  Perhaps it’s like the medical examiner who can perform an autopsy with one hand while eating his lunch with the other.  But  it’s interesting that I can still feel ripped apart and laid open when conditions are right.  That’s how I felt 4 days ago when I held my little dog while putting him down.

My strong feelings show how much I made this little animal my child.  It’s apparent to me that my emotions are rooted in some pretty powerful dynamics:  Helen and I struggled in vain to have our own biological child many years ago.  Our two children (both adopted by me) are now grown.  I think I have relished Helen’s nurturing of “our baby boy” and I think little Danny was a surrogate for some powerful needs we both still feel.  I know that rubbing Danny’s bare belly, feeling him snuggle into me at night and feeling his muzzle on my neck all somehow nurtured my own small self parts that resonated to his joy.  It’s interesting how we make our own virtual worlds of meaning.  This little animal was smaller than a Thanksgiving turkey yet I projected so much meaning into him by nuturing and protecting him.  His death devastated me.

It’s four days later and the pain has declined significantly.  I remind myself about what he was and what he wasn’t.  He was my cute little affectionate dog but I made him my child.  He really wasn’t a child but I made him into one in my mind.  

I find myself wanting even more physical contact with Helen as my need for touch and warmth redirects.  Helen and I share our memories, our sadness.  Someday we’ll get a new puppy but not now.  We don’t want to deny the loss and leave splinters of dissociated pain in our minds.  We’re both coming more into the present.  The empty hole in the chest and the lump in the throat have gone away.  Life continues.    Bryce (1/31/2010)

Today was one of the most painful days I have had.  We had to euthanize our little four-pound Yorkie, Danny Boy.  We brought Danny home at 6 weeks of age, a mere ball of black fur that fit into the palm of my hand.  From the very first night, he has slept in our bed between Bryce and I, cuddling close to feel our warm bodies.   Danny has always been our “baby”, even as he grew up to become a spunky little dog with a big dog personality.  Yes, Danny was only four pounds but he  never hesitated to bark at dogs  ten times his size.  He also had a big, big heart and showered everyone with is wet doggie kisses.  There wasn’t a human alive that Danny didn’t like.  However, other dogs were another story.  He had no problem defending his territory and that sometimes got him into trouble–usually with his older sister.    Mitzie Sue is a year older and twice his size, but Danny never seemed to learn that she could only tolerate his behavior for so long, and then she would get angry.  The fights were akin to any human sibling quarrels–lots of noise but never any bloodshed.  When push came to shove he would always relent and wind up on his back.  We always said we should have named him “Little Caesar”.

Danny had a good life.  He always got treats.  He was the dog that would bark and beg for goodies, and of course, his sister always got some too, because after all, parents can’t play favorites, right.  Danny and Mitzie had a wardrobe of clothes that would make any diva jealous…matching pink and blue harnesses and leashes; matching pink and blue sweaters; matching turquoise rain slickers; brown bomber jackets with imitation sheepskin collars; the black Harley shirts; etc.  Yes, both dogs were treated well.

Two months ago, at the age of twelve, Danny started to get sick.  He couldn’t keep food down.  An expensive four days in the vet hospital with lots of tests and x-rays revealed that he had pancreatitis, kidney, bladder, and gall stones, arthritis in his spine, nodules in his spleen and gastritis.  After much reading on the net, I began making him home-made doggie food with lean chicken, brown rice and vegetables.  Danny loved this food and inhaled it in record time.  He started to look pretty good and the extra vitamins and salmon oil that I added made his coat shine.  Yes, it looked like we had our ole Danny back again!  But this past Sunday he seemed to have trouble walking, falling over a lot crab-walking to one side.  He also would not drink any water–not good.  On Monday we put him back in the vet hospital and were told that he probably had a stroke or maybe more than one.  Danny did not improve over the past few days.  The outlook was grim.  I didn’t feel I should take him home and watch him die from dehydration or another stroke.  So Bryce and I, with much pain in our hearts, made the decision to preserve his dignity and end his suffering.

I like to imagine that his little soul is free now and he is barking and running after all those big dogs that have gone before him.  Good-bye my dear and faithful friend–you will always be remembered and loved.

Helen

Date nights- we used to have to plan these when our children were younger.  Sometimes we planned them weeks in advance when things got really hectic.  Then we would both anticipate what we would say and do when the evening came.  Sometimes by then we might be too tired to stay out late, even if we had a babysitter, but at least we would try to make the most of those precious hours together—filling each other in our most pressing concerns, triumphs, and future plans or desires.  We learned early on that if we didn’t get these times to re-connect, our everyday irritations would soon boil over into major conflicts with much gnashing of teeth and snarling at each other.

Now that we are empty-nesters we don’t schedule date nights anymore.  But that is not to say that we do not need them anymore.  On the contrary, we still can bottle up resentments if we don’t re-connect on a regular basis.  It is just the nature of our date nights that has changed.  It used to be that we would go out to dinner, see a show and then maybe have a drink before driving home, dismissing the babysitter, and then sneaking up to our bedroom for some romance.  Now most of that is gone.  We often have re-connection time driving down here to the coast, like last evening.  For three hours Bryce drove while I sat and kept him company, discussing everything from therapy ideas, boat projects, money issues, healthcare reform, and yes-even the meaning of life!

Now I don’t want you to think that we don’t go out to dinner together anymore.  It’s just that we don’t have to orchestrate it weeks in advance.  We can be much more spontaneous.  And that is always good.  But if we don’t have our date nights, be they spontaneous like last evening, or planned, like in the early years, the consequence is still the same.  Yes, date nights are very, very important for us as a couple.   Helen (1/22/2009)

Helen thinks I’m obsessive and I know that’s true.  Lately I’ve been obsessing about anchors and storms.  What’s the best way to face one of those demon storms that severely punish many boaters who are naively confident from their history of Sunday afternoon sailboat regattas.  Two months ago I met a man in the local coffee shop where many of us sailor types like to hang out.  His leg was in a caste and he told me an interesting story about how his anchor snubber line had chafed through one night during a wild Northeaster storm.  This allowed the chain to pull tight with tremendous force and even yanked the windlass completely off the boat.  In all the turmoil, his foot got caught in the anchor chain and was nearly amputated. 

That sailor’s story reminded me of my 1988 fight with another Northeaster storm in which we nearly died. In fact we were anchored in the same location as the unfortunate sailor who nearly lost his foot.  During my brawl with my own demon storm, our jib unraveled in near hurricane winds and cinched up like a small spinnaker that put us under sail.  Our Bruce anchor plowed through the bottom muck instead of holding us fast.  We could see we were dragging towards shoals and the only things that saved us was when I crawled up to the nose and pushed off a second anchor that eventually set.  I learned alot that night:  how to secure a jib for a storm and to not use a Bruce anchor when I need strong holding power on a silt bottom.  I also learned something very empowering about myself that I previously didn’t know.  I hadn’t known that I would have the where-with-all to face probable death and still self-reflect.  That’s what happened.  When the worst part of the storm hit, our jib blew out and started catching the wind with a humongous crashing sound.  It felt like a monstrous giant was pounding the boat to pieces.  As I ran up the stairs to the top deck and caught a face full of hail, Helen yelled out “I’m scared!”  I yelled back ”I am too!”  The sea conditions and the uncontrolled sail looked like Hell unleashed.  It was apparent that the sail could literally decapitate me if I made a mistake.  As I stood there thinking we were all going to die within 10 minutes, I also thought it was ironic that I had expressed my fear to my wife.  I had expressed my feelings.  What a new-age man!  Big whoop-deep-do!  I thought it was darkly humorous that I would self-reflect on my own authenticity during the last moments of my life.  But as fate would have it, my second anchor did the trick and death was postponed for a probable 40+ more years.  Which brings me to my main point.  I’m going to give myself permission to get obsessive about my new anchoring SYSTEM. 

I’ve been visualizing, planning, obsessing, researching and now purchasing the meanest, nastiest bad-ass anchoring system I can fit on my boat:  a 75 pound pivot arm Super-max anchor with 2 humongous 3-strand snubber lines, chafing gear and all stainless steel thimbles, hooks and shackles.  I’m imagining that next demon storm and I feel like shouting  “Come on!  Bring it on!  I’m ready for you!”  Sometimes I think my obsessing helps me to prepare and feel safe.  It’s rather like having a big protective brother.          Bryce (1/22/2009)