Catching Up, Slowing Down

I have fallen behind on posting, I realize - I’ve not written a post in nearly two months. Most days, it feels like the task list has grown more pressing now that Blue Turtle is floating again. Living aboard means that I can spend nearly all of my time working on the boat, but it also means that I spend nearly all of my time working on the boat.

We’ve been pushing ourselves and the yard since we went in the water, wanting to leave the United States at the end of November, to ideally spend the winter in the Bahamas. Having replaced all the through hulls on the boat (and removed two), there has been a tremendous amount of re-plumbing to do. Inheriting an older boat means inheriting its problems, and various hoses, pipes, and line have been spliced, cut, and crushed over the years. Part of our stewardship, I feel, is to do our best to address what we can. I fight the perfectionist’s urge daily, the voice that whispers in my ear, suggesting that I rip out all the wiring and replace it, or re-do everything from scratch. Some days, only the constraints of time and budget keep me from doing so. I’ve contented myself by focusing on a few specific things at a time, to keep the itch to redo everything at bay.

Why not rewire the entire AC system?

The list does grow shorter, even if its imperceptible on any given day. The engine is nearly reassembled, soon the new sails will be bent on, new running rigging ordered and installed. We look forward to being able to move the boat away from the far north end of the marina within the coming few days; we’re a half mile walk from the showers, restrooms, and laundry, but not for much longer. We have made new friends and acquaintances both on the lower-numbered docks to the south, and promises of family dinners and easier days are ahead.

Since we splashed, I have also had the opportunity to indulge in my least favorite boat task: chase down various minor and moderate leaks, ensuring that the cabin remains dry. One of the things that drew me to the CSY was its solid fiberglass decks. Most production boats have a core of balsa sandwiched between fiberglass, and water intrusion can rot the wood and ruin the deck - an expensive problem. Thankfully, leaks we encounter don’t pose this threat, but they are inconvenient and annoying. The worst was the mast, which has a wonderful Spar-Tite boot — a sort of pourable liquid base that hardens into a rigid rubber-like material - but which admitted a tremendous amount of water after we restepped the mast. A deluge has us taking on many gallons of water in a very short time, and while bilge pump did its job, it was miserable. I ended up disassembling the wax from a (new) toilet ring and using it to reseal the mast collar, wrapped in self-amalgamating rigging tape and soon to be covered by a proper Sunbrella boot, the color to match the new enclosure that’s on Joy’s to-do list.

Over the past month, I also drove down to Florida and purchased our new, hopefully final dinghy - a somewhat dirty but otherwise in good repair Fatty Knees 8, a classic Lyle Hess design that we can row, sail, or motor, and which offers far more stability than our plastic Walker Bay 8. I plan to repaint her, with a cove stripe to match Blue Turtle’s, and I’ll varnish the woodwork and repair her floorboards. Otherwise, she’s been a pleasure to bring around the marina.

Motoring slowly around the bay.

There have been small moments of calm, when I’ve curled up with a book, grilled on the aft deck, or slept well despite the non-functional aft cabin air conditioner, its replacement sitting for over a week in the back of my Jeep. There have also been moments of frustration, of wondering when we’ll get off the dock and out sailing - perhaps the lot of anyone who undertakes so extensive a refit. Or, in my case, a second huge refit shortly after finishing the first (on Wanderer), before biting off a second in short succession. I try, in my balanced moments, to remind myself and Joy that the first year of living aboard is notoriously difficult. We know that we will both resolve the most urgent projects and also adapt to life in our small, mobile, cozy home. Like so many things, it’s the process of change, both internal and external, that’s difficult.

We’ve also been joined by a new crew member, Caspian. He chased me down the streets of Brunswick when we stayed in a rental at one point, and slept outside the door every night for a week. We relented, finally, and brought him to the vet to be checked over and microchipped. After a period of feral-cat nightly attacks on our toes, he has settled into his new boat happily enough, and seems pleased that we purchased it for him.

Turn to port, slaves!

As we slowly adjust to this new life, we’ve also decided to slow down, to let our plans for departure come December go. We’re going to stay here for a bit, unless external circumstances tell us otherwise. We’ll use the time to continue to refit and restore Blue Turtle, to remake her cockpit enclosure, to have a local captain and master woodworker replace her aging melamine salon table with one made in varnished maple or mahogany. We’ll sail her locally for a few months, acquaint ourselves with her handling, knock the dust off our too-long-dormant skills, and acquire new ones. And, hopefully, breathe. Settle in. Enjoy the space in life we’re creating.

More to come, as we finally see the end of this refit.

Sunset at our dock.