And don't forget to turn off the music player in the right hand margin.
Identify the enemy
Ever since Al and I started with sailboats, we have heard the dreaded tales of the cruisers who weren't. For whatever reason, these poor souls had fully intended to spend their days at anchor in gorgeous island settings, and then "POOF", something happened to their plan and there they are, to this day, tied up in yonder slip over there. Reckon they will never leave.
I know what happened.
It was the air conditioning.
Yep, pluggin' into the dock, and experiencing the cool, dehumidified blissful sleep that can only come from the air conditioning did them in.
I am currently in that same state of satisfied nirvana that has grabbed the gonads of many a sailor and laid them low.
Of course, I tell myself, We are still working on the boat and couldn't go anywhere if we wanted to right now; I mean, the instrument pods are dancing all over the cockpit floor, the giant chartplotter box has yet to have us miscut the template, sending us into sure panic and subsequently in search of a restaurant.
But then I think, "This is how the air conditioning works." It lulls you into a sense of false security, slowly, sensually, seductively weaving its icy tendrils around your sweat glands until you don't know if you were even ever meant to leave the dock.
I must remain vigilant.
But that is so hard to do when I step below into a chilled environment that any self-respecting southern boat-dweller would give up her Bahamas chartbooks for.
I know what happened.
It was the air conditioning.
Yep, pluggin' into the dock, and experiencing the cool, dehumidified blissful sleep that can only come from the air conditioning did them in.
Of course, I tell myself, We are still working on the boat and couldn't go anywhere if we wanted to right now; I mean, the instrument pods are dancing all over the cockpit floor, the giant chartplotter box has yet to have us miscut the template, sending us into sure panic and subsequently in search of a restaurant.
But then I think, "This is how the air conditioning works." It lulls you into a sense of false security, slowly, sensually, seductively weaving its icy tendrils around your sweat glands until you don't know if you were even ever meant to leave the dock.
I must remain vigilant.
But that is so hard to do when I step below into a chilled environment that any self-respecting southern boat-dweller would give up her Bahamas chartbooks for.
My ice cup runneth over
For the first time in my sailing life, I have refrigeration. Smugly, I can say “I made a load of ice today.”
I can keep fresh milk and crisp veggies.
I can keep fresh milk and crisp veggies.
I no longer have to raise an eyebrow at the mayonnaise jar, as I wonder if it’s going to lay us down if I make a sandwich with it. I can now follow the recommendations to refrigerate after opening. No more scraping the mold off the top of the jam and hoping Al didn’t notice.
My ice tea is COLD. Cold ice tea is very refreshing. Of course I do have some issues. I took the frozen vertical ice trays out of the freezer and stared at them this afternoon. How to get the ice out? First I tried the old standby, run it under water. Soon it loosened, and I had a big wad of ice encasing a plastic tray divider. Try as I might, this would not give up its treasure. I finally watered it down until I could get it to start breaking loose. Al stepped in to help, and soon we had a large bin of watery ice that is sure to re freeze into a mass that only an ice pick can separate. It’s a new bin, so I’m looking into other options. All advice will be welcome. It’s just that, with our history, I’m sure we are going about this all wrong.
We went to the store tonight and I bought milk and fruit and broccoli. I remember feeling like this when I first moved out into my own place and had purchased my first fridge. I went to the store
and bought my first food that I had picked by myself. I brought it home and unpacked it. I only had money for soup, cheese and bread. I put the cheese in the fridge. It looked lonely. For the first six months or so, all I could afford was cheese. I had a full size fridge with a pack of American cheese in
it.
and bought my first food that I had picked by myself. I brought it home and unpacked it. I only had money for soup, cheese and bread. I put the cheese in the fridge. It looked lonely. For the first six months or so, all I could afford was cheese. I had a full size fridge with a pack of American cheese in
it.
Today I bought cheese. But I also bought other stuff to keep it company.
The Transformation
Don't forget to turn off the music player on the right hand margin of the page!
It's been a month and a half in the making, thank you all for being so patient. Now we can let you all see the changes we made to turn Journey into our home on the water. Enjoy!
Turds away!
When we brought the boat to the yard last month, we hauled
the portable pump-out from the neighboring boatyard (with permission) to the
slipway when we tied up. Long walk and it was heavy.
the portable pump-out from the neighboring boatyard (with permission) to the
slipway when we tied up. Long walk and it was heavy.
We hooked everything up and pumped, pumped, till we realized the
dang thing was broke. We hauled it all the way back to the neighboring boatyard, and hauled Journey with two full waste tanks. Since then, Al has started to notice an odor emanating from the forward head.
dang thing was broke. We hauled it all the way back to the neighboring boatyard, and hauled Journey with two full waste tanks. Since then, Al has started to notice an odor emanating from the forward head.
Yep, we were starting to smell like shyte. There’s only one way to fix that…. Pump. So we went over to examine the portable pump out again. Eureka, it had “stuff” in it! That meant that it had worked for someone else recently.
There was hope. So we pumped out the left over shyte into the shyte pipe in the ground and hauled the portable pump out over to the boat.
There was hope. So we pumped out the left over shyte into the shyte pipe in the ground and hauled the portable pump out over to the boat.
We hooked it up and pumped, pumped, till we realized that the dang thing was broke. Great.
Then we remembered Messy Nessie.
Al built a pump out hose for us to use when we are offshore. Sorta looks like the Loch Ness Monster, hence the name. I’ll leave you to figure out how the Messy works into the equation. We hooked up Ms. Ness to the boat pipe and I placed the other business end into the hole in the portable pump out.
We pumped, pumped, and words cannot describe the stench that erupted from the confines of
that hose, but suffice to say, that effluent was transferred, Messy Nessie got a thorough washing out and we are empty, disinfected and smelling like mint, according to the label on the bottle of tank treatment. We emptied both tanks, then hauled the portable pump out back to the neighboring boatyard, and dropped the hose in the pipe and found it was still broke.
that hose, but suffice to say, that effluent was transferred, Messy Nessie got a thorough washing out and we are empty, disinfected and smelling like mint, according to the label on the bottle of tank treatment. We emptied both tanks, then hauled the portable pump out back to the neighboring boatyard, and dropped the hose in the pipe and found it was still broke.
We left this recurrent theme for someone else to solve.
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