Category Archives: living aboard

Along the Way

Posted on by under living aboard, misc, Musings, Wooden Boats

This morning, as predicted, Cream Puff joined the assortment of boats at the public docks. A few others came, a few left. Another day of people coming and going.

Today, we had a late lunch at Point Break, a nice quiet little place on Shelter Island. I had a yummy grilled cheese and I don’t even recall what David ordered…oh, yes, he had a roast pork sandwich. No dishes and no left overs. I like this. As we returned to the public docks, David noticed the brightly finished wood masts of a familiar 36 foot wooden Herreshoff ketch sitting on the Coast Guard long dock. “It looks like Don is here” he said and indeed it was true! We walked down to the long dock to see why he was here. Like us, Don spends most of his time at anchor. Unlike us, Don sails solo and–get this–with no engine. One or the other could be expected, but both, that takes nerve and skill! I’m always in awe of Don. Especially since he’s at least 70, has had his share of heart surgeries and such that would put a lesser man gingerly into an old-folks home! Oh, but not Don. I truly love seeing him sail into an anchorage and drop the hook. He adds so much to the aesthetic of my sailing life.

Why was he here? We learned Don has boat parts to buy–it seemed his solar panel regulator met an untimely demise and he needed a new one. The wind was up today, though, and we wondered how he was going to get the boat into one of the slips. He had a plan–he’d wait for the wind to die down (likely shortly after sunset) and then take action. We offered our assistance, of course. It was accepted, of course. 40 minutes later we were “in position” with David and Don along the long dock and me 120 or so feet away across the open fairway on a finger pier. David rowed across to me with a line so I could warp the boat’s bow to me.

I stood on a finger pier adjacent a little Pearson Triton. Well, I think it was a Triton. I met the owner, Tom, an exceedingly young fellow who knew his newly purchased boat was a Pearson but didn’t know if it was a Triton. It looked like one to me, but what do I know? I learned to sail while crewing during beer can races on a Pearson Triton in Corpus Christi, Texas. I was an exceedingly young 20 year old newlywed at the time. David and I were in the planning stages of a future life of sailing–even back then we wondered how we could do it on a Pearson Triton. We decided we could not–the Triton was too small. I didn’t tell Tom this, though, since I know of several people who have cruised worldwide with Tritons. Just because David and I have always known we’re space hogs doesn’t mean that it’s reasonable to assume that others are too.

Tom and I stood on the pier and chatted as David rowed Don’s tender across to us with a line; Tom had owned the boat a month but the Atomic 4 engine doesn’t work and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He’s not mechanical and just doesn’t know…He thought he’d get the boat and well…learn things “along the way” but now there was “this” he said. I joked “well, you’re learning things along the way, Tom, the way just came a little sooner than you thought!” He smiled at my joke “yes, I didn’t think the Police Dock was along the way.” We chatted more about not having an engine working. I pointed at Don “Look, he has no engine–and doesn’t want one.” Tom was impressed (I think, perhaps not…) and helped me with lining Don’s boat down the finger pier and around the corner to a safe side tie that Don should be able to sail out of in a few days time after completing his business. I introduced Tom to Don and can hope they strike up a friendship–they both would benefit, but neither knows that. They’re guys, what more can I say.

The chill of the air tonight makes me glad we sit at a public dock with shore power. We’re running two little space heaters, warm and toasty as David and I reminisce about our young love, our lifelong sailing dreams, and our early life together. We listen to the random shuffle of our music. Appropriately the shuffle brings us Nat King Cole’s Too Young.

They try to tell us we’re too young
Too young to really be in love
They say that love’s a word
A word we’ve only heard
But can’t begin to know the meaning of
And yet we’re not too young to know
This love will last though years may go
And then some day they may recall
We were not too young at all

The Public Dock

Posted on by under living aboard, Musings

The public dock in San Diego is an interesting place.  Part of our San Diego samba for Mahdee involves spending a few days a month here.  Each time we come, we find an interesting mix of people and boats.  I am often intrigued by their plans and dreams as well as their realities.

Today, we met a clean-cut 50-something couple from Perth, Australia who have flow to the USA (Long Beach, CA to be exact) to purchase their cruising boat: a decade-old Island Packet in immaculate condition.  They’re spending 10 days here while they get the paperwork all settled and the boat properly titled in Australia.  With shiny new West Marine folding bikes on deck and playing with their newly purchased electronics, they look to be quite the cruising couple.  They’ll be scooting on down to Mexico to embark on the Puddle Jump to the South Pacific.  No interest in going North from here–their dream cruising will begin once they hit warm tropical waters to the South.

The Aussies complimented me on the fine job I did at the helm while bringing Mahdee into the tight space between the dock and another large boat.  Both David and I felt very lucky that there were no significant wind or current today or it wouldn’t have been quite so pretty a docking.  They need not know that.  I took the compliment, smiling.

While David took our bike for a ride to the ferry to retrieve Buttercup from Coronado Island, I met a scruffy looking couple on a scruffy looking boat, with scruffy looking bikes and a scruffy looking dog.  Liveaboards here, they’re doing the San Diego Samba as well.  They were friendly and somehow seemed quite desperate; I wonder how far their dreams are from today’s reality.

Next to us sits a 50 foot or so ocean racing boat.  Spiffy and new looking; not the sort of boat that usually sits here on the public dock.  It’s the sort of thing that we usually see in the yacht clubs and marinas–but not all alone on the public dock.  Numerous running backstays and hi tech lines everywhere.  Lovely teak deck on such a modern hull–really nice.  I can’t imagine comfortably cruising with it–no freeboard and almost a sled.  No, it’s purely a good-looking racy boat.  A nice toy for somebody.

Across the finger pier is a pocket cruiser that’s seen better days.  25 ft at most–a tiny little boat for weekend jaunts.  Just the sort of thing for gunk-holing along the East Coast or up in the Sacramento Delta.  The Port dockmaster, a harbor policeman, came down from the office to talk to the owner–it seems the boat has been tagged for a day and the owner needs to move it; it doesn’t belong here on this row of the only 6 slips available for the bigger boats (like Mahdee).  The owner was told “move it” in no uncertain terms to the smaller slips.  Amazingly, in the way that many senior citizens have, the pocket cruiser skipper totally ignored the dockmasters’ demand and said “it’s hard to start my motor.” and “I can’t find a good person to paint my boat, do you know of one?” Then, he glibly proceeded to engage the policeman in conversation about painting boats and good help.  Amazing.  The policeman wandered off, likely wondering (as I do) if the particular senior citizen might have a touch of dementia?  The smiling pocket cruiser skipper remains for the night.  The boat is safe, with the armour of having a slightly senile owner, from the harbor police, for another day.  I believe I witnessed another version of the San Diego samba therein.

A small-ish catamaran with 4 men working hard on projects sits across the way.  They’re working on last minute repairs and add-ons.  They’re going to Mexico, soon.  They’re looking for warmer days and less government interference in their lives.  They’ll find the former there for sure, I’m not sure about the latter.

A photographer walks along the docks, snapping pictures here and there.  We walked by him and asked politely “which boat is yours?”  “I have no boat. Yet.  I’m just taking pictures.”  Reaching the top of the gangway, we see a familiar car in the handicap parking spot and know that motor vessel Creampuff must be nearby at La Playa anchorage.  I look forward to seeing Larry and his wife tomorrow morning, as they’ll likely stop in for a day following the weekend anchoring.  All part of their version of the San Diego samba.   They’ve lived aboard boats in Southern California for–at least–the past 40 years.  They’ve fought, in the courts, for the rights of boaters to free-anchor in San Diego Bay for the last 25 years.  White-haired and obstinate, Larry, I’m so glad that you’re fighting that particular fight.  If you win, the tempo of the samba will change to a slow and quiet dance that would likely be appreciated by all.

After returning to Mahdee, David and I settle into our “dockside” tasks: me doing laundry while we’re on shore-water and shore-power.  David turning on his more power hungry computer and monitors and settling in for an evening of writing code.  Playing our music in a random shuffle order, we go, song by song, from Vivaldi to Jewel and Mariah Carey to Alan Parsons Project to Sting’s Valparaiso. Good tunes for today’s version of the San Diego samba.

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