Sailing, Love, Injuries, and Memories

I could take it no longer, I had to sail.  Sarah blew out her ankle again a few weeks ago when we moved aboard, and then, just as she was successfully hobbling around without the crutches on her 32nd birthday, she dislocated her shoulder...  again.  This time while she was just walking across the parking lot to our boat.  By now we know the drill and we managed to put it back in socket in record time.

Now, I know it's not all about me, and I am heartbroken to have a wife in an ankle brace and shoulder sling, especially on her birthday, but I can't pretend I wasn't also a bit heartbroken over the loss of a full week promising beautiful weather and ripping wind, just one day after I had finished the navigational light wiring and scraped the prop in preparation for our first sail.

For the panel, I just drilled out some starboard and added a bunch of toggle switches, all wired to of one of the 5amp breakers for surge protection.  I love the positive feel of those big chrome toggle switches.  Since all the lights (except the foredeck and steaming lights) are LEDs, even with every light blazing, the 5 amp breaker won't trip.  Interestingly, the low power LED spreader lights are significantly brighter than the high power draw halogen foredeck light.  Wiring was the easy part.

Then I had to dive into the municipal-swimmer-health-warning water to scrape the prop.  I dove on the propeller a couple weeks ago to discover it was a mess of barnacles, but was mentally unprepared to do anything about it.  This time I was ready.  Suited up with some work gloves, goggles, and a prior evening of internal pep-talks, plus a hose at the ready to finish with a triclosan-rich shower, I still managed to hate every minute of it, but at least it all ended with a clean prop and no sinus or ear infections.

But no hard work of mine can heal Sarah's wounds.  I figured with her new injuries, we were dock-bound for at least another few weeks, but Sarah insisted that we sail (Right?  I totally remember that it was Sarah doing the insisting), so we called our friend Clyde, who also lives on a sailboat in Port Salerno.

Like us, Clyde isn't so much a sailor as much as a self-declared slave to sanding/painting/fiberglass repair.  He bought a fiberglass Pearson 31 on the hard in a boatyard in inner Florida, and after 2 years of restoration, he finally launched it and has still been faithfully preparing it to sail over last year while living aboard.  He is almost done, just three years later.  Sounds like a familiar tale.
Clyde jumped at the opportunity to crew with us/me, and we were on the water only a couple days after Sarah's shoulder dislocation.

Sarah still performs on the camera with one arm.  The lovely motor out to the sailing grounds leads under a fixed bridge.  I hadn't checked the height beforehand, but I have gone under it with a Catalina 32 tall rig with no problems, and we have the same masthead height, so I figured no problem.

Sure enough, the bridge gauge was at 64 feet, giving us an easy 12 feet of clearance...  the problem with vertical perspective still haunts you as it happens though.

Finally, after seven years of planning and saving, and four years of hard work, Sarah and I get to spread sail together for the first time in some stiff 20 knot winds.  But that didn't phase Robin.  Even under full sail, we were able to maintain an easy motion and acceptable heeling angles.  Sarah had no problems enjoying the ride.

Now is my opportunity to brag on Robin.  Such a smooth sailing boat with a slow, comfortable motion, and best of all, with a tweak of the mainsail or genoa, you can get the boat to self-steer on almost any point of sail but downwind.  At one point we crossed the entire harbor close hauled without touching the tiller.

 With our confidence in the boat and bridge clearance, we decided to shoot under, pinching hard on the wind with full sail on the way back.  Clyde at the helm.

The time lapse between the last series of photos, passing under the bridge, and the sweet contemplation photo of a great day on the water, below, included some classic sailor's excitement.  A small pontoon party barge full of curious retirees pulled right up and cornered us between the piers and a rocky point so they could get a look at our pretty sailboat.  I say "cornered" because as a sailboat we are wind-direction dependent and at that moment we were flying towards the piers, just past the rocky point, giving us just enough room to round into the wind so I could drop the mainsail.  Instead, we had to do a 360 degree tack and gybe with full mainsail in 20 knots of wind, all in an area about 30 meters squared as I was clinging to the mast on the cabin top, waiting to bring the mainsail down when we rounded up again.  The exciting roundabout, narrated by a fountain of profanity at the floating cocktail hour, managed to get us a lot more space along with some shocked looks as the party put their cameras away and motored the barge back to the bar.

Serenity at last.

Sarah and I have been dreaming of sailing since we re-met, in fact it is the reason we re-met, and the reason we are together today.

We re-met only 7 years ago while I was on leave after I had just returned from my first deployment to Afghanistan.  I invited her to come along on a week trip to Europe while I was off to feel out what I remembered of her adventuresome spirit.  On the trip I asked her if she was interested in sailing around the world, something I have wanted to do for a long time.  She paused to contemplate the vast reality of that question, and answered yes with no reservations.  In the ensuing discussion, in that tiny attic studio loft in Amsterdam, we fleshed out our future together.  The next day we got tattoos.  After we came back to the US, Sarah moved from Arkansas to New York, where I was stationed at the time.  The Army sent me to Europe where we solidified our love of travelling (check out the back history on our Flickr).  I got out of the Army after another deployment, this time to Iraq, and the rest is history...  literally the history captured on this site.

But that wasn't how I first met Sarah.  Sarah and I met for the first time 15 years ago, then in ballet/jazz class.  She was 16 years old and Prima material: petite, graceful, and with impressively strong ability en pointe; I was taking the class for fun because I loved to move and be physical and it was free for men.  Sarah was likely headed for a scholarship at a dance school.  Unfortunately, she had worsening scoliosis, and at 17 years old she had to have titanium rods and screws installed from the base of her neck to the base of her spine.  I was 18, and we were dating at the time.  Without a car, I rode my bike 10 miles back and forth to her house every day for months as she recovered.  She spent a full month of that summer not moving from the bed, and while I was over I did as much as I could to help out.  I had to carefully roll her onto her side to change the bandage that covered the two feet of stitches that were to become the scar down her back.  It was painful but exciting helping and watching her learn to walk again as her hips were no longer aligned in the same way anymore and her old muscle memory caused her to trip on her own feet.  It took a few months, but eventually she was able to live life mostly like a normal person, albeit with limited flexibility, a lot of pain, and never able to dance again.  Time went by, and eventually, as most teenage romances do, we split up.  We didn't talk nor see each other for nearly seven years before we re-met and found our lives had wandered down different paths that led us into a similar understanding of how life should be lived.

And despite Sarah's current injuries and upcoming shoulder surgery, we are determined.  This is how our lives should be lived.  We are happier than ever.

Moving Aboard Take 2: Good News and Bad News

We moved onto the boat Thursday!
... But while I was stepping down into the cockpit carrying things, I sprained my ankle. 3rd degree. Full separation of ligaments.  It swelled up to the size of two baseballs in less than a minute.  AJ freaked at the sight of it and rushed me to the ER.  He was afraid I had broken a bone.  But, only the ligaments are torn, and I am in a cast and on crutches for a few weeks. This is my second 3rd degree sprain in 2 years.  So now that I'm on the boat I won't be getting off the boat any time soon. I'm devastated.  In the ER the nurse gave me nausea medicine because I kept turning white.  But it was't pain that kept causing me to look like I was going to vomit.  I was getting hit with wave after wave of catastrophizing thoughts.  The reality of being in a hospital instead of kick-starting our lives on the boat was crushing.  We may not even make it out this season. I'm having a hard time dealing with the fact that my bum ankle is now going to be even more of a bum ankle, and will possibly need surgery to re-anchor the ligaments.  I can't be hearing this right now.  I want to put my fingers in my ears and sing "LaLaLaLaLaLa".

Back in Arkansas AJ and I got fortune cookies one day.  I wish I'd taken a picture of them.  His said something about it being wise to reconsider plans, and mine said "Something with 4 wheels is a wise investment."  Combined I think the message was clear.  Sell the boat and buy a van.  Now those words will haunt me.  I will dream of wheels, and hear the word reverberate in a ghostly echo every time I see the hatch that sprained my ankle. wheeeels wheeeeels wheeeeels.. 

But back to the boat.  We're still not giving up regardless of what wise little cookies say, and regardless of the injuries incurred not listening to them. Most work is inside the cabin now, so I shouldn't be entirely useless.  I will still be able to screw up wire clamps and the like.  I just won't be able to go get a screwdriver from the shed. .

Before moving on we dropped the stove in the well and AJ will run propane to it soon.  He also plumbed the sink drain to a thru hull.  I can't believe he was able to get through that hole! One shoulder at a time.  He's in the locker to the the left of the stove. .

We abandoned the Reflectix insulation and vinyl project in the main cabin, but we kept it in the V-berth.  The v-berth ceiling was rough fiberglass with multiple layers of chipping gel coat and paint. We peeled the top layer of latex paint off with our fingers and sanded as best as we could underneath before gluing up the Refletix a few months ago. We started on the vinyl before we went back to AR.  This week we finished the vinyl with batons, installed the shelves and sheeted the mattresses. We have a bedroom. With a nice smooth wipe-able ceiling, that hurts a little less to bump your head on.

Now it's hard to know what to do next!  Propane to cook? Solar panels and wiring for light? Water tanks and plumbing? Templating trim pieces to finish out the cabin? Templating new shelves and counters? Making replacements for old bad shelves? Building a table? There really isn't much prioritizing any more. It all needs to happen.  We have nothing but a working toilet and power cord running from the dock for electronics and a night lamp.  I figure the needs of living aboard will dictate what happens when.  Showering was the most problematic situation we assessed before moving aboard. We planned to sponge bathe or hose off clothed with the dock hose until the water and propane are hooked up, but last night AJ rigged a temporary solution.  We have a portable propane on demand water heater/shower waiting in storage. AJ hooked it up to the propane in the cockpit, and to the water hose from the dock. After dark he took a hot shower in the cockpit with a hanging tarp. It's pretty nifty.

The starboard side of the boat is empty and waiting on cabinets and counters.   I drew a rudimentary overlay of what we plan to do to the old icebox area.

The recessed counter will allow us to step into the space and access the back corners. The two doors represent cabinets for storage of pots and pans and what else. The top opening door is where we will build in space for refrigeration. Which we will obtain eventually. There will be a lip on the top of the counter separating the left from the counter that is recessed under the companionway/cockpit. That space will hold navigation equipment. Beneath it, against the back wall behind the refrigeration foam,  a water tank bag will hang and be plumbed to the galley. Massive storage, refrigeration, and 20 gallons of water will all fit in what was nothing but a huge box of old foam. I'm glad we removed it.  This is going to be nice!

The starboard salon is also being redone.  Here is a pic of the cabin in it's original state.  The bay behind the settee was once a berth, but someone had already built in a navigation cabinet and shelf to utilize the space better. It is the main accessible storage in the cabin, and a lot of space is wasted with it being open. And everything would have to be tied down while sailing.

So we decided to build cabinets. We will keep the nav cabinet up high on the right with an open bay below, then fill the rest of the space with new cabinets. We removed the front panel a while ago, and prepped the area. Note the door at the end of the bay next to the tiles in the picture above. That door is blocked whether the storage is open or closed. So it was removed the wall all together. It will become a recessed closet in a cabinet - Something like this.

With the new starboard salon storage and the new galley cabinets, we'll have more storage than we know what to do with. After a couple years of discussing what to do with spaces over coffee, I think we have decided on plans that maximize storage and accessibility. I'm really happy with what we've come up with. There are more exciting details, like spice storage solutions but we'll get to that when we get to it. God I can't wait for spice storage solution time! Then you know you've made it. When your're organizing spices, you're home.

The port side of the cabin is now put together, minus a couple cushions that would be in the way right now.  We need to build a new table for it.  How to make the table has been another ongoing topic of debate, and we have found a happy solution, but more on that when we make it.

And that about wraps up the state of things. See ya next time.

And Then AJ Broke His Hand

It's been a rough month.  I can honestly say I've broken down and cried while working on the boat nearly every day for weeks, and AJ hasn't done much better.  Talk of selling the boat and buying a one-way ticket to the isle of Anywhere-But-Here has become a regular topic of conversation, and fuel for much fantasy.  But we continue on.  Day after day.  Heartache after heartache.  Frustration after frustration. Failure after failure.  I think we are burnt out... again.  It is somehow more difficult and emotional to be at this stage: so close to finishing, yet so wiped out and broke from two years of labor that every little problem or mistake feels insurmountable and impossible.  We are exhausted.  Exhausted from homelessness.  Exhausted from filthy work.  Exhausted from injury after injury.  Exhausted from sacrificing our personal relationship for a professional working relationship.  After being stuck for two years, it can be really hard to remember why we're doing this to ourselves.

But now, we have to take a temporary break whether we want to or not.  AJ broke his hand Tuesday. Or the boat broke AJ's hand.  However you want to look at it.  He broke off the head of the fifth metacarpal on his left hand.

We were going to move onto the boat this week.  Albeit with no water or electricity (just like before). We can work on those things while aboard.  But the toxic work of epoxy, paint, and varnish, etc.. is finally complete. And for the first time since we bought the boat, every inch of it it is clean, dry, and inhabitable. 

Shelves, drawers, and cabinet doors are ready to go back in.  We still need trim everywhere, but trim doesn't help a boat sail. So we'll get around to that someday. The floors are repaired and refinished. The raw half bulkheads in the picture below will get finished with white Formica. Originally we had intended to leave the old shabby veneer on these bulkheads with the thought that it would be fine if undisturbed for another couple years... but now it has been two years since the decision not to fix it.  Like so many other things we determined weren't important, it fell apart on it's own in the passage of time.  So much time.

The bay where the old icebox was, shiny and gleaming white:

We also installed the Mack Pack sail cover and lazy jacks.

We still need a boom vang and a depth transducer before we can safely sail... and plumbing and wiring before we can live and cook independent of shore. We don't have the money for those things right now, so even if we did move on as planned, we would just be sitting around looking for work anyway!  It's a good time to go back home to Arkansas to regroup, with or without AJ's injury.  We're headed there pronto.  I need to see a friend.  AJ needs disc golf with buddies in the cold autumn Ozark mornings.  It's going to be fall there ya'll!  I love love love the fall and crisp autumn mountain air.  If he could have waited a couple more weeks to break his hand we could have gone home for his birthday and Thanksgiving. I guess we'll just have to plan some early celebrations.

Beach Fail, Epoxy and Paint

This is the beach two Sundays ago.  It was supposed to rain. It had rained Friday and Saturday, but it did not rain on Sunday, and we were invited out to the beach.  It was warm and windy, but the water was perfect.  There were a lot of slow rolling waves to bob with. But they were not too strong. I thought. Until one knocked my left arm straight out of its socket. I screamed. AJ came running from farther out in the water.  He helped me back to shore where it was immediately evident to all the spectators that my arm was no longer in my shoulder.  AJ helped me hobble to the car, so we could go to the ER.  When we got there AJ helped me into shorts in the parking lot, I really didn't want to go in in a bikini. But there was no hope in the shirt department. My left arm was pinned unwaveringly against my side with a right handed death grip.

The most painful part was the car ride. You don't realize how many forces are applied to you in how many directions until every micro movement becomes excruciating. I kept yelling "Slow down slower! slowdown slower!" as AJ approached red lights or bumpy intersections.  It was the granny-est ambulance ride he could pull off in a bouncy old work truck. But I let out a few more involuntary screams than I'd like to admit any time we turned. At the ER I waited a record low time of one hour before being seen.  I was put on an IV with pain meds, then a couple hours later they came to fix my arm.

I was honestly surprised the ER staff was so concerned that I not feel anything. I figured they'd just pin me down, yank on my arm and do it. But they fed me a cocktail of pain drug, Valium and something to make me forget.  I remember them sending AJ away, then tying a rope around my arm, and then looking over to AJ and saying,  "When are they going to fix my arm?"  To which the nurse piped up, "We already fixed it. You don't remember? You were awake through the whole thing." So there you have it, down but apparently not out. The forget-me drugs worked.

Why they have to make you forget I don't understand. They didn't ask if they could give me those drugs. They just informed me as they were doing it.  I would have liked to remember so that I could feel how it needs to move to go back in. So I can handle it myself in the future. Oh well.

I kept my arm in an isolation sling for 6 days, at which point I had regained about 40% shoulder mobility.  On the 7th day I couldn't take any more resting and got back to work, because there's so much to do and summer is coming!

We got a little subfloor work done. From grimy to shiny.

AJ made a new support for the floor beam out of starboard. Finally, finally, finally we have floors between the cabin and V berth again! It's a big step, and the steep floor beneath is not forgiving on the ankles.

There was one last little bulkhead to deal with. Under the port side dinette settee were a few dividers and a massively oversize starter battery box fiberglassed in. After chiseling out the box, the bulkhead behind it was a mess, so AJ cut it back and fitted a new piece  We glued it in like everything else, with strips of biax w/ mat fiberglass cloth and epoxy.  Then we took turns sanding to smooth out the rough edges on both new bulkheads. Then I painted it in grey Pettit EZ-Bilge. 

Months ago we cut out the old chainplate fins before being distracted with the deteriorated interior/living conditions. Well, we finally finished glassing over the last 4 chain plate fins and are almost ready to install the chain plates!

We mixed a batch of epoxy HEAVILY thickened with chopped strand glass, cotton flock, and cabosil.

And patched over the entire area with more biax w/ mat fiberglass cloth.  Three layers (~3/16-1/4") thick was added in a large area to the center fins making the hull ~1" thick here (drilling soon to confirm).  This additional glass will function as backing plates for the location of the new bronze external strap chainplates.

AJ has to narrow (grind) the tops of the bronze chain plates a bit to fit the toggles.
The chain plates and toggles are sitting on top of 300 feet of 1/4" 1x19 316 stainless rigging wire. Which we got a while back for a steal at $.90 a foot! Sometimes it's good to know people.

Our current project list is as follows: Install chain plates, fabricate stem fitting, finish cabin mast support, order rigging fittings, (if the ER bill does not find us first) then raise the mast!  All the meanwhile finishing the scrubbing and painting of the inside.  We're in for another rainy few days, but there's always something you can do with closed windows and hatches... if you dig deep, and wear a respirator.