It had been a long, brutal day, heading bow on into driving southwest winds, spray, then thunderheads ahead and astern. So we duck into a sheltered harbor and tied up, soaked, cold, miserable and questioning our reasoning on many levels. No sooner than we tied up the sky began to clear… everywhere but directly above us. It was like something from a cartoon; there was a single black cloud hovering over Annabel Lee, pouring down, and Frank remarked that it pretty much summed up the way things were going at that point. As we plodded up to the marina office to pay for the dock this lovely craft caught my eye and I snapped a quick picture. Around us I noticed several people stopping and staring back from where we’d just come and Frank said, “I wonder if the boat’s sinking.” We turn to see this…
And suddenly everything didn’t seem so bad.
Quote of the day: If you don’t know where you are going, any road will take you there. – Lewis Carroll
…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.
I’ve been gone the last week, some by road, most by sea, moving Annabel Lee down the coast from the north side of Cape Cod and down through NYC’s waters and up the Hudson to her new home in Piermont. The weather, for the most part, combined with a non-operational lower helm, conspired to make this a rough, cold, wet trip.
But in the end, we made it in one somewhat rattled piece.
I’ll elaborate further over the coming days. Right now I’m too wiped out!