Leaving Annapolis: a little motoring, a little sailing, a little terror

Chesapeake Bay Bridge

The squeal of the engine overheat alarm went from subtle to shrill quickly. We exchanged a worried glance and wordlessly switched positions. While I settled in at the helm, studied the current and our best options for a safe landing Lance cracked open the engine compartment. A quick glance overboard showed the exhaust water was spitting out at a half-pressure dribble. We had just departed Back Creek channel from Bert Jabin's Yacht Yard after a restful and magical month of sight-seeing, puttering around on little boat projects, and a path-wearing parade of Amazon packages. The engine had seen some lovin' and we were both surprised at its unhappy noises. Lance pulled apart the raw water strainer, hoping to find the offending blockage but all we found was a little sludge. Not enough to cause the alarm, we rinsed it clean anyways. More troubleshooting required. We were in the middle of the busy channel with a slow current pushing us towards shallow water. I deployed the anchor so we could buy time to gather our thoughts.

Lance double-checked the ball valve, all good there. Something was definitely in the pipe or the hose blocking the raw water from coming in to the engine.

On Wednesday Nights the Outdoor Dine & Music on West Street is in full swing. It started off as a way to keep restaurants running during Covid but is on track to be a permanent good-weather standard.

I volunteered to be the one to go overboard and remove the offending blockage. I started thinking through everything I would need and where to find it - snorkel, mask, fins, all readily accessible. Oh - and I'd need something to poke with. Something like a long metal coat hanger. Wait... there's that one that came with the boat - it seemed like an important thing left behind by the previous owner and so we'd been moving it around the boat instead of discarding it. Lance remembered it the same time I did and brought it up with a grin. He removed the strainer cup and shoved it into the pipe and felt a pop and a freerun out of the boat. Plastic bag, wood, schmutz, octopus, snails, whatever it was that was blocking our precious raw water, it was then released back into the Severn River. He put the strainer back together and I restarted the engine which cooled right down, the anchor came up, we were on our way. Total delay 10 minutes. Best of all I didn't have to take an impromptu swim in the dark brown waters of the bay.

Chloe keeping an eye out for marauding ducks in Annapolis

Bert Jabin is the premiere boat yard in a city well known for boating. While we were there to take advantage of the marina itself and not necessarily for any professional work, we did pepper with questions all the pros we could keep up with as they speed-walked around the property from job to job. All month we'd heard woeful tales from other boaters as they worked through their own boat issues. For a minute we worried we'd be turning back to become one of them, landing on the working side of the yard instead of the fun side this time. But with cool heads and a moment for a breath we solved it ourselves. This time. Whew.

We had a destination in mind: Chesapeake City, 50 something miles away. It was hot and windless and so when we got bored with the sound of the motor and the heat we anchored in peaceful and lonely Still Pond. Well, our end of it was peaceful and lonely anyways. The shallow end had jetskis, powerboats and the constant thrum of generators. But other than the occasional wakes as they flew by they left us alone. The breeze eventually made an appearance as the sun went down and made for a restful night.

Chloe's run-crazy beach, an easy dinghy ride away

The thing about swinging on a lonely anchor is this... the world slows down and takes on an aspect of timelessness. It's easy to become completely absorbed in thoughts, a book, a phone call with a friend and it becomes all-encompassing. In hindsight I suppose many of my favorite hobbies are like this: motorcycling, scuba diving, road bicycling. Moments of terror interspersed among vast amounts of singular focus. No chance for the outside world to butt in. Some free space for the head and heart to recover from the daily onslaught and regain focus.

Lance was reading a book and humming to himself. Chloe was relaxing on the deck, the breeze in her fur. I perused the weather apps. The storm I'd been following online was adjusting course and the new projections showed it missing us and also our friends in North Carolina. Chesapeake City - we're coming for you.

Let Loose From the Neuse That's Kept us Hangin' About

Then Thursday night the bike sold. And that was it. The last thing holding us on land.

Goodbye Oriental NC

Stuff sold: check. Covid shots: check. Friends hugged goodbye: check. Boat as safe as we can make her: check.

Two sailors, one dog, one big sailboat, ALL IN on this new adventure together.

On Friday morning the winds started early. With our coffee cups in hand, we watched in horror as the water levels started free-falling and threatened to strand Minerva in the mud again. We abandoned our coffee, Lance fired up the motor and started removing lines. There were a few stubborn lines. Jen, a friend and fellow sailor, got a splinter in her finger while helping us free one of them, and donated a little blood to the boat. Last superstition handled: with the sea gods appeased (thanks Jen) we were on our way, off into the Neuse River...

Where we were met with strong headwinds and a nasty little 2' chop. Oh well. No sailing for us today. Good thing Lance and our favorite mechanics have been dishing up all the lovin' on Minerva, the new transmission and well-serviced engine hummed along happily. We fought our way up the angry Neuse River and into the protected waters of the ICW then onto the the Bay River, Goose Creek, the Pamlico River, and up the Pungo River to Belhaven NC. Altogether we covered 42 miles of rivers and ICW.

As we were leaving the Neuse River behind Lance sang a line from AC/DC's song Back in Black: let loose from the noose that's kept me hangin' about. And I sang it all the way to Belhaven.

Goose Creek, the ICW, leaving the Neuse River

For those of you that aren't from the East Coast of the USA, ICW stands for Intra Coastal Waterway. It's a series of barrier islands, lakes, and rivers that were connected by canals long ago to make one long navigable waterway connecting small villages to the sea and thus to profitable business ventures. It goes from Florida to the Chesapeake and is a great way to make relatively safe short hops without committing to the open ocean weather conditions. The government dredges it to 10' regularly but it shoals up quickly, so a sailor isn't guaranteed to find 10' even if remaining meticulously in the channel. There are several bridges and each has its own set of rules about opening. All of this requires constant research and attention. Minerva needs 6'2" of water not to scrape her belly in the mud and 55' of air not to bump her mast. We have scurfed our fair share of ICW mud, and although the bridges we have encountered thus far are all clearly marked at 65' it looks like we will crash into every one. From the deck it's absolutely terrifying to look up at the mast and the underside of bridges - one sailor told me he just doesn't look; can't look up, his heart stops every time. I laughed when he said it, now it happens to me.

Belhaven NC as seen from our anchorage just outside the G11 marker

We landed in Belhaven NC just ahead of a parade of thunderstorms. We dropped the new Mantus anchor in 11' of water, set it well and paid out plenty of scope. We were expecting big winds the next day it was time for it to prove its trustworthiness. I set the anchor drag alarm at 100', and mirrored the chartplotter to the ipad so I can take the anchor watch screen to bed and monitor it obsessively throughout the night.

As soon as we were anchored the first rainstorm washed over us. And rinsed our deck clean. What timely and friendly service!

The green circle represents the anchor drag alarm, if we move outside of the circle alarms go off. As you can see the Mantus is holding us well, and as the wind shifts Minerva makes a half circle around the anchor.

Chloe hasn't embraced her lawn pee patch yet so for now we need to run her ashore for breaks. I can do this from the stand-up paddleboard on peaceful waters but I can't make headway with the dog on the board if the winds are high.

At the moment we still have two dinghies aboard, our porta-bote with an electric Torqeedo motor and the rubber inflatable that came with Minerva and a big outboard. Eventually there will likely be only one, we're not sure which setup we'll keep yet. For now we wanted to take the rubber dinghy out, since we haven't played with it much, and since it's a short ride to the town's dinghy dock the Torqeedo could use a test run too. It has been 3 years after all since it last got any real exercise, now is as good as anytime. Best to bring the oars, too, just in case.

Hiding out from rainstorm #2 on borrowed chairs

Although the wind had already started kicking the second storm hadn't released rain yet. We landed at the dinghy dock just ahead of the second storm, and hid out from the driving rain, thunder and lightning under a storefront awning with some Adirondack chairs we snagged from the patio. The storms on the East Coast this time of year are fierce and frequent, but usually short-lived. We had time to run hurry back to Minerva before the third storm hit, and settled into our floating home to enjoy a home-cooked meal and a spectacular sunset.

Sunset over Pantego Creek, from our anchorage just outside Belhaven NC

As we approached Minerva floating peacefully on her anchor in the between-rain light, the river splashing onto my back as the inflatable beat into the choppy waves, it hit me hard. This is our life now. This life that we have dreamed and struggled and sacrificed so much to pursue, and this is our first night on the hook, we're really on our way to... somewhere.

We finally did it.

The new Andersen winch shines in the post-rain light

False Starts

We put the finishing touches on the electrical refit and decided Minerva was done. One more test sail and then we'd finally escape North out of the hurricane zone. We were invited to tag along with Phoenix for a Cape Lookout weekend sail. We were even smug enough to consider, for a moment, leaving right from there on the outside around Cape Hatteras and up to Virginia that way.

Oh, how the smug get smote.

We followed Phoenix down Adams Creek and out into the open ocean. In Beaufort we sailed out against the incoming tide - with all our sails out on a 15 knot beam reach we inched past the channel marker buoys which were leaning hard against the current and throwing up wakes of their own. It felt a little like those nightmares where you are running as hard as you can and not going anywhere.

Eventually we escaped the incoming tide and Minerva realized the speed she'd been straining for. We sailed alongside the shores of the Outer Banks in rather sloppy seas. It felt good to be out in open ocean for the first time on Minerva, she handles the slop like a champ. Ahead of us, we saw the wave action rolling Phoenix around near the mouth of Cape Lookout so we made the decision to take a longer but more comfortable approach which delayed our arrival.

By the time we came around the sandbar that makes up the hook of Cape Lookout, Phoenix had long been settled on her anchor way up in the protected part of the anchorage. Just inside the hook we turned into the wind, fired up the engine, and Lance started taking down the sails while I kept her pointed into the wind. As soon as I put Minerva into gear, she died. I started her back up again, put her in gear, and she died again, and again a third time. Lance was unaware of my struggles and yelled back "hey the boat is coming around you gotta turn into the wind so I can get the sails down" to which I shouted (first a string of cursing, then) "she keeps dying". He let go of his armful of sail to check the engine compartment; I watched in horror as the depth meter read 24 feet, 20 feet, 17 feet. He still had his head in the engine compartment while I ran up and dropped the anchor. In my haste I dumped some chain on top of the anchor instead of letting it set first and then paying out the chain carefully - a rookie mistake and I know better. He didn't find anything obviously wrong with the engine - the filters looked clean and water was entering and exiting like it should. All seemed to be running well until we tried to put her in gear.

The winds were howling and we were being blown against the lee shore.

We looked hopefully for an obstruction on the propeller, alas there was nothing to cut free. Which meant we probably had a transmission problem. Not so easily solved at this remote location. I reluctantly put away the dive knives.

The Lighthouse at Cape Lookout 

As the afternoon became night, the winds increased to a steady 40 knots. We inched towards the lee shore, in hindsight I think the chain was just freeing itself from the top of the new Mantus anchor, but at the time I was convinced we were dragging and so we set the second Fortress anchor. The shelf was disturbingly close behind us and so we took turns on anchor watch.

In the morning we hashed out our options over coffee. The Saturday morning winds were changing direction a bit too haphazardly and we were too close to the 3' shoal to try sailing off the anchors into deeper waters, and the afternoon and next two days were predicted to be the same high winds blowing us onto the lee shore, followed by flat calm on Monday. Ultimately we swallowed our pride and called TowBoat US; they agreed the best course of action was to tow us into a safer part of the anchorage closer to Phoenix for the time being rather than drag us off the lee shore after running aground later, and do the long tow on Monday when conditions were calm.

Wild ponies of Shackleford Banks

With our plan established we explored all we could between rain squalls. By Monday Lance decided rather than getting towed to a shop he wanted to return to our Oriental slip, pull the transmission and replace it himself with the help of a local mechanic in Oriental.

Our tow ride home on Monday was smooth as silk. At the end of the ride I signed a document for $0 towing fees. Yay unlimited towing.

The open ocean portion of the long tow home

The mechanic gave us some good news: a whole transmission replacement wouldn't be necessary - just a cable which was obviously frayed - a readily available $30 part. We were up and running again quickly. We thought the problem was solved, so we scheduled another "last" shakedown cruise before our big escape.

The following weekend we took out a handful of friends for an afternoon sail. It was glorious... until time to put the sails away and go home. I powered her up, turned her into the wind, put her in gear, and she died. Exactly the same as the weekend before.

This time we were close to home, had a nice beam reach, and lots of able-bodied sailors aboard, so the decision to sail her into her slip was a natural one.

Now, if you've never sailed a boat into a slip, let me tell you - getting the speed juuuuuuuust right is of the utmost importance. Too fast and you'll destroy something on the boat or the dock, or someone will get hurt trying to prevent just that from happening. Too slow and you'll drift uncontrollably in the anchorage. In both cases the boat will seek out the most expensive thing to run into. Lance and I practiced this with smaller previous boats; Minerva weighs in at a beastly 16 tons.

Nevertheless, luck was with us. We landed at just the right speed, placed the lines easily, and stepped off the boat like pros. It went off perfectly, largely because the wind was just right for such a maneuver, and also because we had plenty of agile crew aboard. Despite being the only ones aboard with any experience in this maneuver (or perhaps because we were) it was only Lance and I who appeared to suffer from flop sweat. From the outside it probably looked impressive. I still shudder when I think of all the ways it could have gone wrong.

Once we'd waved our friends goodbye, we moved on to problem-solving. Clearly the transmission cable was A problem but not THE problem. More troubleshooting required. Our daily mantra.

The mechanic is a busy guy. While waiting for him to find room for us on his calendar Lance started poking around on his own and discovered some errant belts around the shaft under the engine, probably used by the last technicians to align the propeller with the engine after the last service and then forgotten, and also the transmission was empty. As in NO fluid at all empty. Lance flushed it out - thankfully discovered no glitter - and replaced it with new transmission fluid. By the time the mechanic arrived she was purring like a kitten and smoothly shifting into forward and reverse in the slip, straining against her docklines, ready to go.

With quite a bit less confidence we launched shakedown attempt #3. We joined in with 3 other boats headed to Ocracoke for the long holiday weekend. We put her in reverse, pulled out into the river and pointed into the wind. All seemed well. We motored for a while, then sailed for a while. When it became clear we were not going to make it against the contrary winds to our destination before sunset we tried to fire up the motor again. No love. Turned the key on and... no go.

Once again Lance had his head in the engine compartment while I watched the depth gauge free fall towards zero. When I decided it was getting too shallow I turned her around, filled the sails and we surfed back to the marina on following seas and a strong tailwind. Marina staff towed us into our slip when it became clear there wasn't enough wind in the marina to land her the rest of the way on our own.

Our good friends Janet and Joe, who had been watching our inReach breakcrumbs and guessed we were in trouble when they saw us turn around, were waiting on the dock to catch us, and accompanied us for a commiserating evening of alcohol abuse.

Time to quit. This girl needs a drink.

The next time we opened the engine compartment - a broken spring glinted in the sunshine. Yep, you guessed it, its job had been "kill switch". A 25 cent part; Lance swapped it out in less than a minute. She fired right up, purred like a kitten, shifted smoothly and strained against her docklines in forward and reverse.

We're hoping the third time's a charm, and that we can escape to safety soon. Storm after storm rolls across the Atlantic, we've witnessed two of them become hurricanes, and they are likely to keep threatening us through October. I try not to lose sleep over when the big one is coming for us, and my obsession with weather websites might be bordering on excessive.

It's starting to feel like we will never leave Oriental.

I wonder if Minerva's cursed. Lance believes she just wants to show us all the areas she needs attention up front and when she is content she'll behave. He believes she's testing our worthiness. She's certainly testing the limits of my sanity.

There are worse places a person could get stuck, surely. At least the sunsets are pretty.

Another beautiful post-squall summer sunset behind the Oriental bridge

Sandwiched Between Two Squalls

"All the little boats are going in. Should we take the hint and follow them?" Lance was standing amidship, the mainsheet in his hand, squinting at the stream of little sailboats high-tailing it for the safety of their slips in the Oriental Harbor Village Marina.

The line of demarcation between squalls

We were on a downwind run with all three sails out. For the first time, I was sailing wing on wing on wing; something I'd been wanting to try since I first saw this boat in the yard.

Sailing wing on wing on wing

We had been watching the storm raging over the town of Oriental for some time. The wall of black sky which had approached from the West was still hugging the shoreline. The town was getting battered. It wasn't bothering us at all out on the river. In fact we were quite enjoying the lightning show. Over there.

"Nah" I said dismissively. "We don't want to try to dock in that, besides if we hang out here long enough it should blow away on its own. Then we'll go in when it's calm." I surreptitiously adjusted the wheel just a scooch to keep the boom on the downwind side, once again it was trying to jibe in the gusty blasts and I was enjoying the cat-and-mouse game of keeping the sails on their proper side.

Less than 20 minutes later the alarm on the VHF radio went off. When Lance pressed the stop alarm button we were directed to the weather channel.

Sustained winds of 45 expected, gusts to 65. Quick-moving weather front crossing Emerald Isle and heading North. Steady lightning and thunder, golf ball-sized hail expected. All boats should seek immediate shelter.

"Where is Emerald Isle?" Lance asked. I shrugged. I assumed it had something to do with the storm we were watching - that squall was still raging over Oriental and now we were all alone on the Neuse River except for the shrimp boats which had suddenly appeared from thin air and were screaming towards us from every direction.

I wonder where they're going I thought to myself, and turned Minerva to fall in with them. It was then that I saw another black wall coming towards us from the other side of the river, and they were heading directly into its outside edge posthaste. This second squall had sneaked in behind us and was closing on us quickly. We got the sails down and secured just in time for the first blast of wind and whipped up water.

Minerva rocked sideways like she'd been slapped in the face, then popped right in to the boiling waves that followed behind the wind surge and stubbornly held her course. Lance and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. That blast would have pinned us down for a while in any of our previous sailboats and we definitely would have been wrestling for control with the subsequent whirlpool wave action. But Minerva took it like a professional boxer with a "that all you got kid?" smirk. My soul filled with pride and relief. We had chosen well. This boat can handle herself in a blow.

We quickly decided the best course of action was to follow the shrimp boats into the narrow and protected channel of Adams Creek on the South side of the Neuse River. Once we got past the tree line the wind and waves settled right down. We found a shallow spot out of the channel and settled the anchor. Lance started dinner while I pulled out the map and found Emerald Isle. Yep, it was just South of us. The strongest wind we clocked on our short journey in was 35 knots so it had lost some steam on its short ride from the Outer Banks to us on the Inner Banks.

Sailing into our sunset slip

The squalls here are fierce but generally short-lived. By the time I'd cleaned up the dinner dishes we were treated to a peaceful ride home under a spectacular pink sunset.

Note to self: when studying the charts and planning the daily sail, also take a moment to look over Google Maps and become aware of the nearby towns and their relationship to the day's planned sail. Lesson learned.

Becoming Liveaboards, motoring along the ICW

Motoring down the ICW on the 4th of July

The hot and wet weather continues. We attack the projects and escape the dock with Minerva when weather permits.

True to our RV lifestyle, flexibility is king, and having two piles of things to do: a rainy day pile and a pile for stolen sunny moments is the way to continue making forward progress.

Loretta in RV jail, waiting patiently for November

We finished scrubbing down Loretta and parked her in the covered parking facility. She'll be safe there for the time being. The plan is to do a shake-down cruise up the NorthEast coast and return to this area in November, swap out boat life for RV life for the month of December in the Keys with our RV friends. We've decided to park Mr. Toad with Loretta until we come to some long-term decisions. By November we'll know how we feel about the boat. One of several things will happen in January depending on how the summer/fall shakedown cruise goes:

• The RV might get sold, which would be better for her than waiting and aging if we decide to do a long extended cruise around the Caribbean and beyond.
• The boat might want significant upgrades which would be easier accomplished while we keep the RV as a home base nearby.
• We might store the RV after our December outing and split our cruising lives in half, with some land-based and some boat-based travel each year.

Our first ever raft-up. From here we had the best view of dueling 4th of July fireworks shows.

With Loretta secured and us finally moved fully aboard the boat, we officially exchanged our nomad titles of full-timers for a new title of liveaboards.

Our planned harbor-hopping route North has been complicated by COVID-19. As of this morning, many of the harbors we were planning to explore are not accepting transient boaters from states that have out-of-control new Corona Virus case numbers, and NC is one of those at the moment. Nova Scotia is definitely off the table since Canada is completely closed to Americans, some states including Maine and New York insist on a two-week quarantine upon arrival. Our harbor-hopping summer plans have therefore become a bit trickier to work out.

One thought is to just kick out into the open ocean, hitch a ride on the Gulf Stream and sail directly to Maine. We could provision for the open ocean trip and the two weeks of quarantine upon arrival, but this is rather varsity-level considering that we haven't had a chance to really get to know Minerva yet. With all this uncertainty we reluctantly agreed to extend another month's rent in Oriental, into the official hurricane season of July, hoping the state restrictions will lift and that we will be welcomed in the NorthEast states for harbor-hopping as originally planned. We'll get out for more local sailing outings and continue getting to know Minerva, by early August we'll be leaving one way or the other. We finished our Tier 1 To Do List and pulled a few items forward from Tier 2. The completion of the Tier 1 list means Minerva is ready to flee the moment a named storm threatens. I start each day checking several weather sources, probably my daily routine for the foreseeable future.

Tug on the ICW sharing a very narrow channel. This one was heading to rescue a barge that was stuck in the shallows.

From the Tier 2 list: get comfortable with GPS routing. That's proving to be a bit more difficult than I expected, the new chartplotter is a lot different from the simple ones we had on previous boats. We followed a friend on his boat South on the ICW for 17 miles to watch a fireworks show, and there really isn't a better way of being forced into learning the GPS than in the narrow channels of the ICW. Here's an example of what we've experienced:

Phoenix picking her way along the ICW on the 4th of July

This is the sailboat Phoenix belonging to our friend Scott, she is a 44' Kelly Petersen. She draws about as much water as we do (depth needed below the waterline not to scuff the seafloor), and Scott knows these waters well, so we followed him down the ICW for the fireworks show. In this picture he's about 200 yards ahead of us. The channel he is in is about 10' wide and about 15' deep and he's currently heading perpendicular to the natural path of the river - in other words he's headed sideways towards the West shore. To his left (port) side the water is about 2' deep. To his right (starboard) side the water is 3' deep. The waters are strong-tea brown from tree tannins, so it's impossible to see through them to get a real understanding of the bottom contours. Can you see the difference between the 15' deep water, the 2' water, or the 3' water? Neither can we. And to us it was unnatural that he was going sideways to our intended direction of travel.

So there we were, happily following along behind him and mostly following along as he jogged here and there for seemingly no reason, we were sort of rounding off the corners of his jogs while chatting with our friends who hitched a ride with us for the outing, when Scott came over the radio and strongly suggested we come back to starboard soon because we'd drifted off course. A quick look at the GPS - yikes - we were heading into 2' water.

From then on we were glued to the GPS. There were no groundings that day, but I see how there could easily become some in the future. Boaters say "there are two types of boaters, those who have run aground and those who will". Yep, our day is coming. We will pay better attention in the future to avoid becoming "those who have" but freely admit it's probably just a matter of time until we scuff our share of soft ICW mud.

Typical waterfront homes in the area known as Sea Gate along the ICW on the way to Morehead City

After the fireworks show it was quite late; Scott and his family chose to sleep on the hook (at anchor) in Beaufort. We decided to motor back up the ICW to return our guests home with just the stars and occasional marker or house lights to keep us company as we motored quietly by. I do love night sailing, and it was easy enough to follow our GPS bread crumbs back home.

Chloe enjoying the breeze

We're hoping for lots more outings like this in July.

Chasing Miss Right

Manatees resting at the City Marina in Fort Pierce, FL

We are searching for the perfect boat. This is a dream we've had for years, it's taken so many twists and turns in our almost-20 years together.

Back in April 2000, less than a month after our very first date, Lance talked me into our first boat. It was a 14' zodiac on a trailer with a 35hp Mercury outboard motor, we each came up with half of the asking price of $800 and bought her from some spearfishermen in the Oakland Hills. The inflatable body of the boat was covered from stem to stern in assorted repairs. Naturally, we named her Patches. We dove the hell out of the Northern California coast in that little inflatable boat - from Big Sur to Crescent City we'd load our gear, pump her up, slide her off the trailer, motor JUST over there, roll over the side and go for it. She could fit 6 abalone freedivers or 4 well-organized camera-laden scuba divers and we were then able to anchor along the outside of the kelp forests and enjoy new angles on the dive sites we loved, without having to lug our gear across the sand. Heaven.

One of our regular dive sites involved backing the trailer down a switchback mountainside road to dunk the trailer, and then camping in the cold fog overnight. We upgraded our pickup to a stick-shift F250 diesel with the intent to install a cab-over camper so we'd have somewhere warm to sleep.

For a brief moment we played with a HobieCat which promptly flipped and left us clinging to her hull until the wind pushed us to the lake's edge where we laid shivering in the sun until we could gain the sensation in our limbs required to drag it onto the beach. We towed it home and later onto the lawn to restitch the failing trampoline. But I never came up with enough nerve after that to try sailing it again.

At about the same time the landlord started giving me trouble (he was miffed about us having the Hobiecat on the lawn for one afternoon for tramp repairs, or Lance telling him to *ahem* go away...or something along those lines... when he got snotty about our lawn activity). We talked about buying a boat to liveaboard on together - what a romantic idea for our next home! We shopped hard for that liveaboard and found a dreamy 35' Cheoy Lee trawler on the Sacramento delta around the time Lance graduated from the Engineering program, then he was offered a job in Southern California. The very weekend we were going to hand over the liveaboard down payment we decided instead to accept the job offer in an area with more income opportunities and started tying up loose ends in Napa.

Angels Gate Lighthouse as shot from the deck of the Sea Monkey. This photo was selected as the contest winner and printed in Good Old Boat magazine in 2017. The spinnaker was a gift from the cousins and made light-air sailing infinitely more fun.

In 2004 we moved to Los Angeles County for Lance's new job in Hollywood and a parking space for Patches was one of the criterion for the rental home selected. I taught my last scuba class in Monterey while Lance traveled ahead with our stuff, after the class I waved goodbye to family and our favorite Monterey dive spots, then I towed Patches down to our new home, with big dreams of scuba diving in warmer waters. It was February. Northern California reluctantly let me go, spitefully spitting big fat cold raindrops on me all the way to the Grapevine. When I arrived to Pasadena I was greeted with sunny 80-degree blue skies and palm trees waved me in. The very next weekend we found a boat launch, donned our gear and puttered around Long Beach looking for a kelp patch to dive. That's when we discovered our little inflatable boat wasn't cut out for Southern California. The good diving is WAY over there on Catalina Island - 26 miles away - barely visible from the shores of Long Beach. A very long haul for little Patches and a cold, wet and bumpy ride for us. We needed a bigger boat. We placed her with an old man who wanted to take his grandson fishing on lakes. He didn't mind the patches as he said he would probably add more with the grandson and the hooks anyways. I cried while hooking her trailer to his truck.

The next boat in our lives was an old Bayliner. We bought her from a broker on Lake Mead and dragged her down the mountain without trailer brakes - it's good that nobody short-stopped in front of us or we would have ended up crushed by the heavy old boat. The very next weekend we dunked her at the Alamitos boat ramp in Long Beach and set out for Catalina. Our brave friend Matt "Hardvickenstein" came along to help us wrangle her. During our first outing Lance, Matt and I shared a bottle of champagne while swimming two at a time in the endlessly blue deep water halfway between the island and the mainland. Years later that I found out we'd been swimming in the same area where great white sharks are often seen by the paddlers competing in the annual Catalina Classic. Oops.

We had so many adventures in that boat, most of them involved a healthy dose of cursing. She was a beast - heavy, old, cantankerous, and she didn't fit well on her trailer. Some days she refused to be loaded back onto her trailer, sometimes she wouldn't idle or wouldn't go in reverse, or just would not turn over at all, then later in her own time she would fire up just fine, leaving us scratching our heads and wondering what we'd done right that last time and wrong all the times before.

We eventually named her Christine (with a nod to Stephen King), because she generally ran best when one of us was bleeding on her. She had so many sharp edges it usually didn't take long to find an exposed screw or other sharp edge and then she would be appeased. One time Lance was cutting kelp off the anchor and sliced his hand open, immediately after that she decided she would run in reverse when we asked her to. That lasted a few weekends for which we were grateful, when his wound healed into a scar she again refused to go into reverse. I wasn't superstitious when I met this boat, over the years together she changed my mind.

  Every morning at anchor we'd wake up to several inches of water on the salon floor - the two of us sleeping in the bow changed the pitch of the boat enough so that the bilge pump couldn't get it all. We tried every trick in the book and never did find the source of that obnoxious leak. At first it was alarming, over time we came to accept it as part of our daily routine and calmly made coffee from the kitchen table while keeping our feet elevated on the salon chair, handed up the mugs of coffee to the big stern cushion, and sipped our coffee while gleefully discussing the day's dive plan, during which time our weight on the stern changed the pitch enough that the bilge pump could suck most of the rest of the water out of the galley floor. The last inch or so would disappear while we motored to the first dive location of the day.

We dove every named spot on the Catalina Franko dive map, and then we filled our little handheld GPS with new spots we found ourselves, giving them names that often made us giggle with a specific memory.

The good thing about having an old fixer boat is that there's nothing to lose by trying new things. We carved holes out of the top of the livebait well that perfectly secured our dive tanks and weights, freeing the deck of gear. I made custom bags for wrangling clean and dirty laundry, storing tools and other boat gear. Lance modified just about every mechanical, plumbing and electrical system.

One day, after a long night of lobster hunting on Catalina, she died at sunrise on our way back to Long Beach and would not be resuscitated. We called Boat US who towed us back to Long Beach and helped us wrangle her onto the trailer. Lance was so disgusted with her behavior he called the Boat Angels to pick her up from the storage lot - he couldn't stand the sight of her even to deliver her to the charity. We did not cry over that good-bye.

At some point during the nausea-inducing 4-hour tow home that day we decided we'd learn to sail. With an alternate method of propulsion we hoped to never need to be towed again. It seemed like the logical next step.

The very next weekend we dropped a pile of cash at the Long Beach sailing school and collected books and basic navigation tools. We cut off a short length of rope and left it lying around the house, while studying for our sailing exams we'd take turns practicing knots with it, and for years afterwards that rope remained lying around the house somewhere, usually if the television was on one of us could be found absentmindedly tying knots.

We took every sailing course offered by the Long Beach ASA school, and rented their sailboats as often as we could scrape together the funds and time. One day, the little bean-counter at heart than I am, I added up what we were spending on rentals and announced we could buy a sailboat of our own for less than we spent with the rental agency, and if we didn't pay to store it we'd actually save money by the 10th month. Before long there was a MacGregor 26X sailboat with a 60hp outboard on a trailer in the driveway. Dual Porpoise was much lighter and narrower than Christine, we had big dreams of sailing and scuba diving from that MacGregor but found that adding dive gear to the little trailer sailboat just made us miserable - there wasn't enough space to get around. The dive gear collected dust while we sailed on without it.

Dual Porpoise on the trailer in the yard

With the big and noisy outboard motor roaring, the bilge empty and the centerboard up, the MacGregor could really scoot if the seas were calm. On one pond-smooth day we flew around the breakwater wall and were surprised by some Sheriff recovery divers and for a moment I thought we'd get a speeding ticket... in a sailboat... and I sort of hoped we would so I could frame it. They were as surprised by the sailboat speeding past them as we were surprised by them being there in the through-way with their tiny dive flag down way too low to be seen from the oncoming traffic. Everyone aboard both boats exchanged wide-eyed glances as we swerved belatedly wide to give them room to work.

Dual Porpoise on a mooring ball at Two Harbors, Catalina after our first crossing together. Our first improvement after this trip was a boom kicker to raise the boom off the deck, which greatly improved topside comfort at anchor.

With the mast on in motorboat mode she was pretty rolly, so she was not a great powerboat except in glass-calm conditions. In sailboat mode she wasn't a great sailboat either, she was too lightweight and her freeboard was quite high so she felt fragile and skittery  - I never trusted her to keep us safe in any sort of real weather. It took hours to drive her to the dock, get her mast setup and get her in the water. Often a significant amount of bickering was involved and generally by the time we motored away from the boat ramp either on the water or on the highway we were exhausted and cranky. So one summer we decided to leave her on the trailer with the mast up at the boat yard, to limit the setup effort because she'd already be there ready to go. From there it was a short jump to "let's just leave her in the water at Marina Del Rey all the time". Not long after that first summer at the marina we found ourselves eyeballing our cousins' Hunter sailboat with envy - they were actually taking up the whole width of their slip... for the same price we were paying to keep the skinny MacGregor in the water we could have a proper sailboat with room for dive gear too! We sold the MacGregor and bought a 28' Hunter sailboat.

Sea Monkey at rest in Long Beach

We loved that sailboat. We christened her the Sea Monkey and sailed every chance we got. Finding a little elbow room on the water saved our souls, which by that point had really begun to chafe at crowded city life in Southern California.

I still get choked up when I think of her. If you've read this blog from the beginning you've met the Sea Monkey, we sold her just before selling the house to become full-time RVers, all of which was done so we could go in search of the perfect liveaboard boat. While we don't regret moving to Southern California to pursue career opportunity, participation in the rat race or becoming homeowners, the liveaboard dream fueled by that Cheoy Lee on the Sacramento delta never really left our hearts, it just grew sails and bigger horizons.

So... back to today. We're boat shopping seriously now. This next boat will be so much bigger than we've ever had before, somewhere in the 38-42 foot range. There needs to be room for two adults, a dog and two cats, space for my office stuff and it would be nice if we could fit a couple of guests for short stays. Of course we'd like to bring dive gear aboard so there needs to be storage for that and room on deck to wrangle it. Because we'll be sailing "short-handed" all the lines need to be led aft, either of us need to be comfortable with most of the sailing duties while the other rests or does chores and if the majority of the captain's work could be done from the dry safety of the cockpit all the better. Plus, space for all the little things that get done in daily life need to be considered - from swimsuits to warm jackets, from sewing machine to coffeemaker, from tools to cat food.

Sailboat shopping... we've learned a lot. Like usual, we have our list of well-considered requirements at our fingertips. We know our budget, the absolute must-haves and the dream-haves. We know the approximate cost of the electronic goodies we will likely need to add. We've spent countless hours debating this or that hull shape, boat architect/designer, motor, interior layout. We've toured a handful, it's a lot like used car shopping in that the brokers tend to try to pry you into whatever's available in their inventory, so it's important to know what you want/need before you go there or you'll be dragged all over the marina looking at sinking derelicts or megayachts only manageable with a crew of several.

We've learned that a "bluewater boat" means small windows, deep fridges and secure lockers. "Traditional styling" means lots of heavy dark wood will line every surface; so in a "traditional bluewater sailboat" I will not be able to see out the few small windows and will have a panic attack in the cave-like salon, and I will never be able to reach anything in the bottom half of the fridge, let alone keep it clean.

We've learned that "center cockpit" means Lance likely can't stand up straight. Since he is our chef he needs to be able fit in the galley, and since we will be taking turns at the wheel he'll need to be able to stand straight there too.

We've learned that "turn key" actually means nothing whatsoever, as we have yet to tour any that are actually really ready to leave right now although we have toured several that were advertised as such. We were initially hoping to avoid significant boat work before departure but are coming to accept we will be doing some work before sailing away, perhaps quite a bit of it.

This one's too big. That one's too small. This one is unsafe. That one needs too much work. This one costs too much more than it is worth. That one doesn't really fit us - it's too short for Lance or I can't see out from behind the wheel.

First world problems... right?

We will keep searching. Miss Right is out there somewhere.

What all of this means for Loretta and Mr. Toad, we just don't know yet. It depends on what and where Miss Right is and what she needs, and whether or not we want to boat year-round or switch between land and sea cruising life. We hope it will all become clear when we finally meet her.

In the meantime, RV fun is scheduled through February, we'll continue to fit boat shopping around it.

This mossy souvenir was collected from Crystal Isles RV Resort, apparently I got a little closer than planned to that tree in our campsite

Internet Speed Comparison Crystal Isles RV Resort, Crystal River, FL Sampled 11/13/19 at 10am
	MB down	MB up
Calyx (Sprint)	4.99	4.50
Google Fi	11.8	0.54
Jetpack (Verizon)	5.76	0.49
Park wifi	Not tested, extra $