Adak gears up for 200-mile trip south
Life life on the boat as of late has been superior. It’s almost as if our tug appreciates the attention we lavish on her, cleaning the cargo hold, replacing the hatch cover, the bulwarks, ripping out the bathroom. I think she was a little ashamed to have the tarp over the wheelhouse—or the “bag over her head” as a friend nicely put it—and now with the paint job and attention she sits taller in the water. Rachel and Haley have been installing sea glass and porcelain salvaged from the causeway beach in the shower. The baby accompanied us on this skiff trip, and did a superior job with her selections, although she leaned toward the bottle-green glass a bit hard. I’ve been working on a shelving system to fill the hole where the rot came out. We replaced the bulwarks on the boat, and Steve Warren did a superior job building a brand new white hatch, and I can tell the boat’s happy. Read she takes no water, not a doggone drop. Rachel has crafted a baby nook to make any Waldorf kiddo jealous. Haley’s been pulling herself up on her bar, staring longingly at her reflection, and using the potty to great success. (Yes, my long-reading friends, the illustrious Tug Chronicles have come to this, grading the performance of a baby whizzing. I’m sorry—but I don’t think I ever hid my All I really wanted in life was a wee sprout sitting atop a plastic potty, preferably one with a Dallas Cowboys emblazoned on there to encourage action.)
Burns supper 2016 came off gloriously, with the usual suspects showing up, along with a few new guests. This year was the first with a vrai Sitka blacktail deer stomach, which worked splendidly for cooking the haggis. Our fifth Burns Supper. The baby, dressed in a plaid dress, did not enjoy the singing of Auld Lang Syne, and let everyone know. I thought it sounded great. Mind you, we were a good four bottles of whiskey into the eve.
It has been cold on the boat, for sure. But I think we’ve done a good job treating this with excitement and not anxiety (see further down). For starters we removed our refrigerator, which was acting up anyway, and covered in chalkboard paint better-suited for a pre-school than a galley. (Plus the temptation to leave lewd drawing for certain friends proved, repeatedly, impossible to overcome.) Now we have just the freezer, and the rest of our food stays at a comfy 40-something. We pretend we’re dragons with our breath in the morning.The hot water heater has been acting up, so we’ve need to bathe baby in the sink, but she doesn’t seem to mind. The rest of the boat warms up fine with the two wood stoves. The local shop teacher Karl Jordan has allowed us to garner his bags of cut-offs, which we’ve stacked high, and use as fire starters. Purplewood, black chestnut, oak – I mean, c’mon. BTU-filled hardwoods make a nest of coals that get our wetter alder and spruce going. Put on one of those orange splits of hemlock, the “night wood” as we call it, and you’ll still have a nest of coals come morn. Excitement. Concerning electric, Steve took a measure of what we’re pulling, and we learned the hot water heater was the greediest of the bunch. So it goes, in favor of instant, which we’re waiting for eagerly.
The family spent a week in the Pacific Northwest, first in Seattle for a pre-pub luncheon put on by Houghton Mifflin for the book, a meeting in town for Rachel. Haley learned the wonders of honeydew melon and Greek yogurt, we could hardly pry the container from her little fingers. And then south to Astoria for the magnificent and quirky and memorable FisherPoets Conference. (Photo of the wonderful poet Sierra Golden performing.) Finally ending up in Portland staying with the great Chris Bernard, talking books over bourbon beer that packed a punch. Haley tumbling int0 love with Chris and his wife, Rachel and I loving Portland and the homespun organic playgrounds. How could you not?
One of the books at the luncheon counseled readers to approach big life events with “excitement” and not “anxiety.” To change the game. Both Rachel and I work to take this to heart, as we dive headlong into the next two months, which will include taking the boat 200 miles south on its own power to Wrangell to have it hauled out on the lift, bring it back, then, almost immediately after, begin the book tour.
To that end I’ve spent the bulk of my days troubleshooting below. Repeated oil changes on the Deutz generator, a changing of the valve cover gasket, cleaning out hoses. Taking stuff apart and cleaning it when I’m not sure what to do. Machines, like people it would seem, just want your time and attention.
The Adak’s sister ship Challenger sunk recently in Juneau. Hard not to worry about spooky action from a distance, this idea that two entwined electrons, even when separated, act similarly. I also worry about rocks and blown gaskets and Coast Guard boats halting our progress. Am I excited about the trip? There’s a vein of glittering excitement running through that hard rock of worry, but let’s just say it has yet to be mined.
Through it all, Haley continues to be just about the happiest baby a father could wish for, loving her cart rides much more than any stroller. We take breaks, and took her the other day out to the end of the road to watch the whales. She loves the change in the weather, as the fishing boats arrive, and it warms.
I’ve been working on freelance work in the morning, published an op-ed in the NY Times - have a piece coming out in April in Smithsonian Journey, another in Surfer’s Journal, and then a number of guest blogging things. Haley sometimes visits, and it’s hard not to get distracted. Here she is posing for her author photo.
Lastly, the book. A friend came across this the other day, which was exciting. I’m starting to get letters from folks speaking of how it has touched them. It’s a lesson in art, for me, a guy who sometimes questions what novels actually make happen. They make people happen, is the answer. To present a story and have someone braid their own past into it, this is a great mitvah in my world. My editor has helped me realize this. At the very least—and this is an idea of a close friend, something I now believe—it’s a way of giving back to all those books that sustained me through childhood.
I’m eager to see its path as it sets out on its journey. I’ll certainly do everything on my end to make it a success.
But first, the boat. Here we come, Wrangell.
