23 Dec Front Row Seating
In nautical terms, taking your departure has to do with recording the ship’s last position before making for the vast watery wastes of the open ocean. For the good ship Seaburban and me, it just meant getting off the dock.
After delays, injuries, last-minute gear, and groceries, departure finally loomed Oct 27. About 3 weeks behind schedule and winter gales threatening, it was now or never.
Scrambling around the boat frantically stowing, the weather looked too good to be true. Good omens abounded, including a visit from Glen Wakefield, so My wife Nani and I said our last goodbyes and I shove off.
As I write now, it’s hard to imagine how quick the miles have slid beneath the keel. It has been all boat jobs all day getting Seaburban ship-shape. Fenders deflated and into the forepeak. Drogue rodes into their deployment bags and into the cockpit lockers. Drogues sorted in order of potential use. Chasing down all the hundreds of noises coming from the lockers that make the inside of the boat sound like a war zone. I swear there are more creaks and groans than stores themselves.
The worst of the noises are the unfamiliar. Last night I was convinced the cables had jumped the quadrant and torn through the autopilot warning harness. Luckily, not true: simply a flashlight rolling around a plastic storage bin. This morning, the batteries were coming adrift. Not true: A block banging on the deck whenever a wave came aboard was the culprit. What has alluded me so far, however, is the artillery barrage coming from the upper fuel tank. No idea on that yet but it’s interfering with the zen of a sailboat gliding over peaceful seas.
It’s been lazy sailing so far. With another 6 months ahead of me at least let’s just say I’m pacing myself.
Follow my tracks in real-time: