Overheard on the VHF the other day while cruising along at a brisk 6.5 knots…
Boat #1 “Where are you right now?”
Boat #2 “I’m coming up on some slow trawler…” (Yeah, that would be us. Ahead we see something large up on plane, rapidly approaching.)
Boat # 1 “I think I see you. How fast you going?”
Boat #2 “Thirty-three.”
Boat #1 “How fast?”
Boat #2 “Thirty-three. Three three.”
Boat #1 “Really? That’s great. Where you headed?”
Boat #2 “The gas dock.”
That laughter they heard as they raced past was us, putt-putting along at one gallon an hour. We’ve been on the water every weekend since we fixed the steering while most everyone around us stays tied to the docks in their high-speed fuel guzzlers. The waters are being reclaimed by the slow and the wind-powered! Victory for those with no wake!
…but right now I’m too busy working, writing, and trying to squeeze every last minute into boat time before they start pulling the docks out and I’m counting the days till spring. I have wonderful pictures of cruising up and down the river, beautiful scenery, the dogs hanging out on deck and lots of other good stuff, but you’ll all just have to wait until I’ve got nothing better to do and maybe I’ll post them. Right now the days are getting shorter, chillier, and the trees are starting to change. I won’t give up without a fight!
…just fine. Fortunately things didn’t hit as hard as they could have, and despite the dreadful noise through the night, dawn came and all was well. Trees still standing, boat still floating. It’s better to be overprepared, and as usual, I expected the worst and was pleasantly surprised.
Wind. Lots of it, howling around outside the house. No, I’m not aboard Annabel, no one would let me stay and I know, it’s the sensible thing to do, but this is going to be one damned long night, and I probably won’t get any sleep until it quiets down out there, and even then, I’ll probably be jumping in the car to go down and make sure she’s okay.
We put out extra lines in every direction, to the point Frank said I’ll be keeping the docks from blowing away. Stripped the canvas, lashed the bare poles. Dropped the antennas, lashed them down. Secured everything and then some. Frank said I was getting carried away, and pointed out all the boats around us with no preparation. But they’re not MY boat. Yeah, he said, but when they break free guess what they can hit. Yeah, I know. And even the ones who make the effort, their lines are only as good as their unbacked cleats and all. My consolation is that Annabel’s built like the proverbial brick shithouse, and even if she does end out in a bumper-boat contest, she should fare better than all those around her. One can hope. The moderate storm surge should keep her keel clear of the low-tide bottom. There’s that wind again, reminding me of all the big trees towering over the house at the moment. I don’t see myself getting much sleep tonight. I think I’ll check the radar again.