You know, afloat.
It's been a dream (some might say an obsession) of mine since I was twelve or thirteen years old, and although it occasionally goes into remission it tends to come back virulently whenever I am living in a community where I can hear gulls and smell the ocean. "Boat Fever," I call it. Or sometimes simply "Plan Sea" -- as in when both Plan A and Plan B look like they're going down with all hands....
For some reason though there have always been significant practical barriers to my moving and living aboard a boat.
The first has to do with books, which tend to be rather plentiful in my life, and yet (except in what might be thought of as "reasonable" quantities) don't really go that well with life afloat. Which in some ways is unfair to say, since there is often plenty of time to read aboard a boat, especially a boat without a TV or other forms of electronic distraction. But paper and salt water are hardly the most compatible elements, and when one's personal library easily runs into the thousands of volumes....
The second had to do with My Former Wife, who, even though her former husband had been an avid sailor (and while we were dating her home was filled with photos of their happy family sailing together in the San Juan Islands) had neglected to mention to me until after our marriage that after their divorce, he kept the boat and she got all the bills...and that the mere mention of "the B-Word" was enough to summon a three-day squall.
And then finally, there is my current companion Parker, a 13-year-old 25-pound Boston Terrier who, quite frankly, hates being on the water. She doesn't like the way boats move when they should remain solidly underfoot, she doesn't like that big open space between the deck and the dock, she doesn't like those steep companionway steps or frankly just about anything else about and aboard seagoing vessels of any shape or size. And the older she gets, the less she likes them, and since she's been with me since she was a puppy (and obviously isn't going to live forever either) I'd pretty much decided to postpone any thoughts of making this big move until she has done what old dogs do...even though I am now no longer married to MFW (which also stands for my first/favorite wife), and am more and more willing to leave the bulk of my books ashore every day.
I'd even taking to calling it my "doggone boat" -- this fantasy vessel on which I assumed I would one day weigh anchor and sail off into the sunset...or probably here in Maine, the sunrise....
But now those daydreams are pretty much on hold, especially since it seems to be about even money concerning who is going to live longer, me or the dog. Still, I think about it...one day I'll beat this disease, and feel frisky enough to haul a halyard and trim a sheet, and once again enjoy the fresh, brisk ocean air in my face as the wind carries me to new and exotic anchorages.
Yet at the same time, I try to remind myself to keep it to one day at a time. To savor each breath, to listen to the gulls and feel the breeze on my face while still keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground. Because This is Now, and tomorrow is another day.
Still, maybe one day Isle....
LINK: Windeva
LINK: Madrigal
1 comment:
Reading this reminds me of you and the guys racing in the El Toro's around the channel poles, with only your heads sticking up above the gunwales. I sailed dad's boat, a "Nelson Plastics" 12 footer with ribbed sides and dagger board. Once I was underway the tiller would really sing. I always wanted to take that around Camano. Figured it would take two days if I worked the tides right, three if I didn't, ending up on the mud banks of the Stilly near the bridge.
Chris
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