Storms leaks drafts cold
Oh geez. No writing for some time now. The boat has been difficult. Like an unbridled horse. She stomps and leaks and snorts cold air and is generally a handful. Work work work. For the briefest of moments you sit back and say wow it’s just about at the point where I can take a breath – and then the electric goes out or a dog fall in or the 15 amp fuse for the bilge pump falls into the blackwater. But those moments – those brief moments where things might actually be ok are precious.
For starters we got wacked on November 11th. Winds reached speeds upward of 60 knots. Two boats on our finger sank. Another one went up against the rocks. I was on Kruzoff Island for the first part of the blow – and a boat we had on the mooring buoy sank (you can see it in the pic on the port side of the Roamer). Impressive, humbling, awe-inspiring weather. The Adak took water topside – my mattress and covers and entire back of the topside studio where I sleep soaked. Snow came in. The electric got knocked out.
To be without heat and electricity in the rain and blowing wind with a boat slamming against the bollard squishing the buoy balls breaking lines snow and ice num-chucking into your eyes – it’s tempting to just jump in the drink and wait patiently for your muscles to go slack.
And at night – I fastened canvas the the back door topside to keep water from coming in and it flaps and carries on transforming itself into wild animals and yelling babysitters and unhappy foremen as you sleep – one feels like a paper match barely lit. With a good gust the sound of angry spirits weaving through the troll polls you wait for the jolt as the ropes go taught before 200 tons slams into the dock. How wood vibrates into your bones!
The bilge pump on Marat’s boat the Sunset stopped working and she’s taking water and I cut down a Christmas tree at the end of the road and Cal waits patiently in the car as I type here in the library taking advantage of the internet connection. It would be nice to have one on the boat.
I do have the feeling that this winter will be the toughest one. The first winter. In a town small enough to be mean – how mean a small town can be! – but with a true and honest beating heart that I’ll never give up on.
