Dervish at Last!

Finally, after months of twiddling my thumbs, real estate shopping, and contemplating the possibility that it could be years before we are able to move aboard Nomadness, a miracle, it seems, has transpired. As of last Thursday, I am now the proud owner of Dervish, a 1974 Cal 2-29 sailboat!

A couple of months ago, as I sat withering deep in the woods of Camano Island, lonely, unsure of my future, and dreading the long wet Northwest winter, Steve sauntered in from the lab one evening with a sly smile and claimed he had an idea that "is a little crazy, but just might be a rather elegant solution to our problems."

"Go on," I urged as he nervously fiddled with his pockets and rehashed all challenges we had been facing in our relationship. Then, almost reluctantly, he proposed we get a second boat. A smaller boat for me and Zuby dog to live on while he turns our blessed Amazon 44' into the Star Trek Enterprise. It took all of about a nanosecond for me blurt out, "Okay, that sounds great. Let's do it!" You see, I have been dreaming for years of a little boat to sail and live aboard. I pictured myself cruising the Salish Sea on a salty vessel of moderate size equipped with all the comforts of home. We talked it over rationally while my inner child was jumping up and down and squealing like a Christmas morning toygasm.

It seemed the only way I would get my thrills sailing, he would garner enough peace to focus and finish his highly complex boat systems, and we could stop the rapid outpouring of money trying to keep both a boat afloat and household in the woods, was to buy another boat. So the search began. I spent weeks diligently (obsessively perhaps) reading Craigslist and Yachtworld, studying different types of boats, and driving all over the Western Washington looking at various vessels. I found a couple that I liked, but alas they were either too small for my big guy to fit his 6'4" frame on, or too expensive. Long story short: a friend of a friend had a friend in Olympia who had a boat on a trailer that he had been talking about someday maybe selling. A few phone calls were made, and I drove to a Steamboat Island yard to take a look the following day. I fell in love. And the price was right.


I returned to Camano to tell Steve that I thought maybe I had found "the one." We began our usual internet research of Cal 29's and after googling the boat name, Chailena, Steve found out that she had once been owned by Tim Clauson. Tim had made many posts to Cruiser's Forum about the renovation of his Cal 2-29. He and Steve had even made several exchanges in the forums there. I emailed Tim, and sure enough it was his boat. He had traded her to the current owner in Olympia as partial payment on a larger vessel. Now we had a first-hand account complete with pictures of all the wonderful work he had done on the little vessel. (You can see pictures on Tim's blog, Seven C's Sailing Web log beneath the most recent post on his current boat, an Ingrid 38' cutter which is up for sale.)

Armed with so much information and history of the little boat, Steve and I drove down to Olympia two days later and decided to buy her on the spot without a survey. It took us a couple of days to get our all ducks in a row, and we went back to pick her up last Thursday. This is where it gets a little... uh... exciting.

It was pouring rain, and due to industriousness of the moles in the yard where she was lying, the trailer had begun to sink a bit into the mud. Now Steve's truck is a big Ram truck, but it isn't four wheel drive, and though it was spinning and straining the trailer didn't move. The owners, Jon and Vickie, got down and pushed and dug and grunted to get that trailer moving. Vickie even got a matching bathroom rug and toilet seat cover set (picked up earlier that day from Goodwill and currently being used as a bed for her dog) out of their car, and with great heroism threw them under the truck's tires for traction... but even that didn't work. I did give their dog, Scuppers, a pack of Zuby Snax for the sacrificing his cozy rugbed.

Well, now it was time for the neighbor and owner of the yard to get involved. A tall, thin drink of water in cowboy hat, he was quick to introduce himself. Darryl Duer is his name, and this fella was bound and determined to help us get that boat out of his yard. Moles or no moles, she was going. After rhapsodizing sparkly-eyed with me about his first sailboat, which he also bought in the middle of a blustery January decades ago and sailed all winter long, Darryl decided what we needed was his 1952 Case tractor. Within minutes he returned on the tractor and hooked up a tow chain to the truck which was hitched to the trailer which held my new boat. Round the yard they went, and we were on our way.


The ten-mile trip to Swantown Boatworks went smoothly. Though the trailer looked rough and rusty, it is actually quite strong, with good brakes and new tires. We parked it on the X in front of the lift and left her there, ready to go Friday morning. The lift and splash went on time and without incident. Thankfully, my rigger and diesel guy, Jim Benson, had the sense to remove the tape from the speed sensor at the top of the keel. Here she is, going into the water:


My good friend Jim (Jib) Harlan and fellow marina employee, Dan, arrived on time with a work boat to tow us over to a slip at West Bay. I was nervous, and it was raining like the devil, but actually it was quite fun. I asked Jib to ride with me while Dan towed us.


The winds were kicking up so we docked her on the outside.


Steve and I spent the night dining with Jib and his girl, Robin, and later drinking liqueurs aboard s/v Ethereal where we slept. Cathy and Jim Nemeth were wonderful hosts and even cooked us breakfast the next morning. Then we got to work trying to get the little Farymann diesel engine running. After a few tries and some priming, she turned over. Yay. Wait... oh shit... no water out the exhaust! The black button wouldn't shut the engine down. Steve suddenly became very nimble flitting around trying to turn the engine off. After a long 90 seconds or so we discovered the throttle could be pulled way back to shut off the fuel supply. The engine stopped and we sighed a big collective sigh. No damage done.

Benson arrived minutes later and gave me a bit of a scolding for not waiting for him. Steve poked around and figured out that the raw water intake was plugged... in fact, all the thru-hulls were plugged. Once again Jib came and towed us to our new slip next to Benson's boat on the southside, where we hoped to deal with the problem with more tools available.

We discussed hiring a diver to try to open them, but Jim Nemeth had a better idea. He brought us his air compressor, and lo and behold, we blew out the crap and cleared all four thru-hulls. Next Benson installed a gorgeous new Racor fuel filter complete with pressure gauge and shut off valve. We changed her oil and fired her up. How sweet it was to hear that little motor putt putt putt! I really like my little Farymann, which even has manual starting crank in case the batteries fail. They sure made them to last back in the day. Here she is before the new Racor (which replaced the aging filter at the bottom right of the photo). We also pulled out the big white vent that was left over from a previous gasoline engine.


That night, Steve and I slept aboard little Dervish. It was sweet and cozy until a Southerly gale blew in and started us rocking and rolling at the dock. We were now on the front line of a 30-knot blow, with gusts in the 50's. We added a fender and adjusted the mooring lines. I heard voices at 2 am and got up to see what the commotion was. By the time I was dressed and on the dock, everybody was gone. I added another mooring line (feeling rather salty as I secured it to the bucking bow) and went back to my bunk. Next morning I learned that one boat had broken its lines and a neighbor down the dock had fallen in and was, thankfully, rescued by the Bensons!

But it was a gorgeous day. Sunny and calm. So right on schedule we fired her up and I piloted her over to a slip where the crane awaited. I had a squad of pals on the dock to watch the mast raising. Everybody was cheerful and excited. We waited for the crane operator. And waited. He finally arrived only to discover that the damn old thing wouldn't start. They tried jumping it from Steve's truck and charging the battery, both to no avail. The tide was running out fast, and we were in danger of hitting bottom. Disappointed, I putt-putted back to my slip.



We couldn't wait around while they repaired the truck, so Steve and I returned to Camano to take care of critters and business. In a way it was fortunate as the interim days allowed me to wash the sails, soak my lines, and test my dinghy.

I'm heading back to Oly today with the intention of stepping the mast tomorrow. If need be, I'll bite the bullet and pay the extra $100 to have it done back at Swantown.

I'll spend the weekend testing systems, provisioning and maybe even getting my head working. Soon Steve will join me, and we will begin the three or four day delivery to Oak Harbor. I can't wait. I am about as happy as a gal could be with my Dervish of the Salish Sea. Perhaps my blog can return to the purpose for which it was created: to chronicle the journey from a land based life to a life on the water.

And be sure to read Steve's version of the story. I guarantee you'll get a kick out of it!

Miss Diamond Lil

Today was one of the saddest days of my life. My dearest friend, Lily, my sweet corgi passed to the next bardo. I am too emotional to be able to reflect fully on what she meant to me. I am fascinated by what animals can teach us, how they can work with us, and how they can heal our hearts. Soon I will post more on these thoughts, but for now an obituary of sorts.

Sunrise's Diamond Lily

Lily was an amazingly wise and loving animal. Throughout her many years, she played piano (see the video); worked with autistic children in both Olympia and Santa Cruz; herded chickens, ducks, sheep, cattle and small children; lived at twelve different homes with over a dozen other critters of various species; spent most of a summer on a sailboat just to make me happy; did a five month road trip zigzagging across the Rockies and camping under the stars; stayed in a upscale Lake Tahoe hotel; spent a weekend in the Santa Cruz Slammer; was a hot spring swimmer; had a great sense of humor and feigned vicious attack on the code words "politician" or "get dick;" competed in agility trials and won one; loved ice cream and popping balloons; placed third in a talent show competing with mostly Evergreen students; treated cats with utmost respect; cuddled with a hamster; enjoyed kayaking and swimming; never let a vacuum cleaner do the job she knew she could do better; nearly died of mushroom poisoning and tripped for days; survived an attack by a German shepherd; and most importantly was a wonderful companion who saw me through some very dark and rough times with loyalty and affection. Lily was quite a celebrity in Olympia; she even had many friends whom I didn't know. People would stop in the street to say hello to Lily. She met lots folks through her various caregivers and dog sitters, and once you met Lily, you never forgot her.

Miss Lil looked great, and was having fun playing in the snow and taking long walks to Boston Harbor Marina with her guardians Suzanne and Sebastian right up to and including yesterday morning. Then, Christmas night she suffered three seizures and wound up in an emergency room. We do not know what triggered the seizures, but for a dog her age and without a history of epilepsy, it was likely a tumor or blood clotting problem. The decision to let her go without suffering was painful, though not difficult. Today at around 1pm she was euthanized in my arms, quietly and without struggle. She will be missed by all who knew her. She truly was a little character and a bright light.

Well loved. Well lived.

Honor

(Click to enlarge)

That is our track! We've traveled for 66 days and 512 nautical miles, and reached our northernmost point of Telegraph Harbour, but the adventure continues. The seeds of the flotilla have been planted and left to gestate in a few individuals in our wake. Currently we are in Montague Harbour Provincial Marine Park on Galiano Island, waiting out some rainy weather and catching up on stuff.

After Reid Harbor, Stuart Island, we had some business to take care of including securing unlimited data from Sprint while in Canada, (crucial to keeping our costs down and staying connected) and reducing our substantial liquor stores (silly us, stocking up on fruits and liquor on our way into Canada--Doh!) so we cruised back to San Juan Island for a full-service-yachtie-style stay in Roche Harbor. After a night on the hook, we indulged in a night at the marina, where there are cute young line handlers to catch your boat, 15, 30 or 50 amp power, delicious water, garbage bins at your slip, laundry, showers, ice cream, and even a post office on the dock! Once again we were just another midsized sailboat in big mess of fancy motor yachts... though in our hearts we're still Scotty's Great Dane!

The best part of Roche Harbor was the marvelous sculpture park just a short walk from the marina. Westcott Bay Sculpture Park boasts 115 pieces scattered over 19 acres of ponds, woods and meadows.

(Three Frogs and an Otter by Georgia Gerber. Photo by SKR)

The pieces range from conceptual to representational, from interactive to abstract, functional to found, and materials include marble, steel, bronze, granite, aluminum, glass, redwood, fabric... you name it, there is something for everyone. Many were truly breathtaking.

And best of all, like the Treasure Chest on Stuart where we purchased T-shirts and post cards, the Sculpture Park is on the honor system. You pay $5 at a self serve gate. They have a gate counter, and I suspect they've found that most people pay, and those who don't are welcome anyway. Art should be available to everyone whether or not they have money and whether or not they value it enough to give up a few dollars. I love the honor system! I think if you give people the choice to do the right thing, they will if they are able. Or at least I like to believe people are honorable. Naive? Optimistic? A sucker? Maybe. I guess I'd rather be naive than cynical and pessimistic.

(That's me contemplating honor way off in the distance. Photo by SKR)

After Roche, we passed customs in Bedwell Harbour, but found Poet's Cove Marina a bit too chic (we'd had our fill at Roche) so we motored around to Port Browning for a night. Then it was on to the highly recommended town of Ganges on Salt Spring Island. We hit the famed Saturday Farmer's Market, watched a wonderful street performer from Ghana, and kayaked about. We started to land our kayaks on Goat Island to have a wee pee and a poke around, when a Park Ranger-type person pulled up in an official-looking inflatable and informed us that they weren't "encouraging people to land on the island." This has been our only brush with Canadian law enforcement. Much like the honor system, their approach offered us the opportunity for right action, which we promptly took.

We also met a delightful, creative couple in Ganges aboard the ferrocement ketch, English Rose. We all hit it off swimmingly and decided to buddy boat about a bit. We aimed our collective 54 tonnes out of Ganges Harbour and circled Portland Island without finding safe anchorage to accommodate both our vessels. Ultimately we ended up in Genoa Bay where we had a raft up, dinner, and fun on the spacious and comfortable English Rose.


From there we continued north to Telegraph Harbour which separates Thetis and Kuper Islands. The marina, which is supremely down-home and laid back was only slightly unprofessional. Larry and Nancy of Jacari Maru (whom we met in Cornet Bay a few weeks back) saved a slip for us. We spent the evening tale swapping and Irish Whiskey sipping.

We also met some young upstart technomads, Adam and Brittany on their 26' Coronado sailboat. Adam gave us a tip about shopping that's not in the guidebooks. He sent us to the tail end of the harbour near the boat ramp, up and across the street to a fruit and vegetable stand with fresh eggs, jams, honey, baked goods, and dairy products. The entire stand was on the honor system! Completely unattended. There were pictures and news clippings about the family that owns it and provides the goods. I loved this. We stocked up and saved ourselves a ferry ride to Chamainus where we had planned to get groceried up.

Later that evening we kayaked through what they call "The Cut" a narrow shoaling channel between the Thetis and Kuper that connect Telegraph Harbour to Clam Bay. The current dumped us out into the Bay where we paddled along Kuper's shore. It appeared mysteriously uninhabited, and though quite beautiful, somewhat dark. I felt an unsettled vibe.

Once back to our net connection, courtesy of the Thetis Marina, I did a touch of research and found that the island has a history of over a hundred years of cultural abuse to native children. Salish children from all over the region were taken from their families and deposited in the Kuper Island Indian Residential School run by the Roman Catholic church. The claimed purpose of the "school" was to teach English and assimilate them into European culture. In essence they sought to destroy the language and culture of the people. This "school" evidently taught very little; as in other similar residential schools abuse and neglect were common. Like much of the European impact on the First Peoples, the history of Kuper Island was ugly and included the destruction of villages and the usual relocation of the people against their will.

Today about 300 of the Penelakut Tribe now live on Kuper. The island is serviced by a ferry to Chemainus. The Hul' qumi' Num Treaty Group, represents a collection of six nations from the region, and over 6,200 members. Their work aims, among other things, to improve conditions and increase cooperation in the planning and management of the Gulf Islands National Park Reserve. Their struggle echoes the struggle of indigenous peoples everywhere. From their website:

We have a vision of regaining control over our own destinies, allowing for strong, healthy communities for generations to come. Achieving this vision of reconciliation and a just resolution of our aboriginal title and rights within our territory will benefit the Hul'qumi'num people and indeed all Canadians. We stand firmly united in our conviction to negotiate a fair and honourable treaty — one that will enable our Hul'qumi'num communities to restore our historical prosperity and to ensure that our distinctive culture will flourish into the future.

And while it delights me to see so many instances of the honor system at work in these islands, it angers me to think about how dishonorable our ancestors have been with natives they encountered here. I never cease to be amazed at the grace resilience, and goodwill of native peoples I encounter.

I, for one, relish the small opportunities to be honorable. In return I wish to offer others this opportunity. Perhaps honoring and being honorable are key steps in the revolution of the heart that will begin to heal generations of wounds and the residual guilt associated with these dishonorable actions. We all know what is honorable and what is not. Those of us from fear dominated and untrusting cultures must make the effort to relearn to trust, and when given the chance, to practice what the Buddhists call "right action."

Midnight Oil said it well in the song, Beds Are Burning.

The time has come
To say fair's fair
To pay the rent
To pay our share
The time has come
A fact's a fact
It belongs to them
Let's give it back!

Leaving Port Ludlow

We had a great stay in Port Ludlow in spite of having holes drilled into both the hull and deck and a huge compartment cut into the V-berth stowage (all for the great freedom of pooing aboard). Though we cringed as Bob of First Mate Marine broke bits while drilling, we enjoyed seeing the thickness of the steel. Wow! This baby is stout!



Here are some of the local folks we met:

Cragin and Gary of Estacada, Oregon aboard La Cragin are a delightful couple, who grow Christmas trees on 500 acres, and more like sailors than power boaters, so we got along just fine. Gary talked about their 4 foot draft and 7 knot cruising speed. "What's the hurry, anyway. You might as well enjoy the ride, right?" he asked with a grin. Now that's my kind of power boating!


Judy and Eugene sailed into Port Ludlow from Portland, Oregon aboard Cloud Dancer, fourteen years ago and just stayed. Judy asked "How many times have you been up there?" as she pointed to the top of the mast. I admitted that I had not yet ventured the sixty feet up due to fear of heights. "I'm trying to overcome it though," I said squinting up at the antenna on top. Then she told me tales of chartering boats, cutting down sails in gales, and the calm of dawn on in the middle of the Pacific. They both assured me, "Nomadness will take you anywhere you want to go." They seemed to enjoy sharing with a newcomer and seeing the gleam in my eye when I spoke of world cruising. It is so inspirational to meet older couples who are fit and strong and still learning every day.

(Click to enlarge any photo)

Cindy and John, both physical therapists, offered helpful tips for dealing with Steve's chronic back pain, but left for Princess Louisa with their lovely daughter, Journey, aboard Namaste before we could snap a picture.

Believe it or not, the most fun was had with a couple of landlubbers. Ray is a ham who has been following Steve's adventures since the bicycle days. He and his wife Nancy came down to the marina to meet Steve and see Nomadness. A couple of nights later we went into Port Townsend to see a fantastic sitar concert in a United Methodist church. "Music of Benares" featured Pandit Shivnath Mishra and his son Deobrat Mishra both on sitar. It was a real treat. I think I needed a healing experience to balance all the disruption of the previous week.

Self Observation and The Yachting Life

“Your husband gave us a tour of your boat last night; she’s beautiful and appears very capable. And I love your bathtub,” the redhead said eyeing their custom figurehead and swinging gently from the forestay.

“I know. It is just wonderful. We put in a new water heater recently. I need a lot of hot water. We have a washer/dryer too, you know,” replied the woman on the dock, as she sipped at her Scotch.

“Really? We have a washer/dryer too!” she responded, remembering not to mention that they had not yet tried it out. Her mini skirt fluttered in the breeze. The woman below raised her cocktail in solidarity.



This was one of those moments. The instant in which I do not relate to myself as my self, but rather objectively, as though watching a character in a movie. The “she” in the story was, in fact, me. I have made efforts to observe myself objectively for years, attempting to consciously create moments such as this one. I have struggled, usually without success, to be non-identified, to study my thoughts and behaviors in an analytical way. Detached yet present. In the aforementioned moment, I achieved this. So blatantly absurd in relation to the rest of my life was this moment, that the possibility of not “seeing” myself vanished. Who was this 44 year old woman aboard a 44’ sailboat, chatting it up and comparing amenities with another yachtie? Certainly nobody I recognized or identified as “me.” This particular I (one of many) is one I never dreamed I would become. And the rest of my I's seem to like her. She’s odd. Unexpected. Entertaining. The culmination of events that led me here could never have been predicted by a past incarnation of "me" much less be guessed by any outside observer. My path through the obstacle course of life has been erratic and roundabout, punctuated with adventures and misadventures, broken bones and broken hearts, and a few short periods of calm in which very little occurred at all.

I once heard of a society which views their orientation to time as backwards from ours; they face the past and move into the future without seeing where they are going. They know where they have been, but what lies ahead is always a mystery. I think this may be correct. I never could have seen this life, this person, coming! And yet, somehow I am inevitably exactly who I have always been, as unreal as it may seem sometimes.

In reality, we are ripping the forepeak of the boat apart for installation of a new holding tank while docked in Port Ludlow, a beautiful harbor with a friendly marina. Herons abound, the water is clean, clear, and filled with thousands of little fishies. We spend the evenings watching boats come and go from the anchorage, and the marina regulars are charming and helpful.


The first photo is of Enchantress, a 49’ Liberty sloop owned by Myndi Morgan and Steve Cross. The heron, who is owned by no one, is the self-assigned sentinel of the kayak dock.

PS: If anybody knows of the culture I refer to (which escapes me at the moment) please respond. I’d love to refresh my information bank. That tidbit came from a musty old catalog card from the farback of my memory.

The Great Dane and Other Salty Dogs!

Since I got my first post up, I have already had questions about my corgi pooch, the sweet, sweet, loyal and multi-talented Diamond Lily.


Unfortunately and quite sadly, I have had to leave her on land. At 14, though spry as ever, she simply is not up for the seafaring life. She now lives with a best friend, Suzanne, her toddler, Basi, and a trembling little fox terrier named Bellaboo.


I have cried endless tears over leaving her, but the Lilster is happy with her family in Boston Harbor. At the marina store they call her by name where is known as Lily Langtree and seems to have evolved a life of her own as just another one of the colorful characters.

Speaking of colorful characters, we have met a few of them on the docks of the ports we have visited. In Eagle Harbor, Bainbridge Island we hobnobbed with the ever interesting inventor, Charlie Faddis and his wife, TJ who runs the Historic Lynnwood Theatre, and their extended family. And there was Rich, the salty live aboard on the strangest, yet most elegant ferrocement ketch I've ever seen. He had many tips on docking "a big girl." For couples he had the following advice, "You put the woman at the helm. She usually has a better driving record, and she's rarely strong enough to catch the boat on a dock. Let the more athletic man do the hard physical stuff." Good sound advice, however, I am no where near ready to drive this giant 18 ton steel womb into a marina full of fancy schmancy yachts! Hey, I'll even flash my titties (if need be) to get the dock angels to materialize and help catch our lines, but I'm not driving. Nope. Not yet anyway. In time. For now I am content to blow kisses from the bow to those who help us make it in or out without involving insurance companies. This boat seems to be a real challenge to back up. Bow thrusters, as decadent as they may have seemed to me in the past, sound a bit more reasonable with each close call.

The most delightful fellow thus far was Scotty, the seventy something grinning dock walker who appeared to expertly catch our lines and pull us in against the winds of Boston Harbor. He's a regular there, and knew of our arrival even prior to our VHF call to the marina. He claimed a girl with a couple of little doggies (Suzanne) told him to watch for a big black sailboat. Before we had finished cleating Nomadness to the dock, Steve asked if maybe we should haul her back to take up less space. You know, as a courtesy to other boaters? We didn't want to be the assholes who take up two parking spots. To this Scotty replied in his thick, melodic accent, "They mess around with the chihuahuas and move them about, but they won't mess with the Great Dane. And in this circumstance, I'd say you are the Great Dane!" And he was right. In fact when my pal, Jib, called to say he was doing a sail by, he commented, "Damn, girl, you've got the biggest mast in the Harbor!" To which I quipped, "I know."

We have a running joke about Nomadness being "The Great Dane."

Now a dachshund non sequitur.


These are Max and Teddy, companions to Steve and Tammy, a sailing couple who took their 50' ketch Skybird three quarters the way around the world. Tammy has a book out about the adventures and new blog too. They live in Boston Harbor.