We Live On A Boat

The panic is gone – today the boat is home.

Things have worked out so well that it is hard to remember why I even felt that way. Our plans for the future, while still quite general in nature, include all the advantages of having a home that is mobile. Little L. is having the time of his life. Ma and Pa are able to be with him 24/7 – what they do, he does. Because of our lowered expenses I am able to work much fewer than the average 40 hours a week. This means more family time and more time to pursue those things that really interest me. I don’t regret the decision to move aboard for one second. The freedom from following the path of “normal” has been worth it all.

Yves, a friend of mine who is also a bit of a dreamer and a wonderer, said it best at in the intro to his blog Bohemian Sailors:

“Somewhere, out there, exists the “book of life” written by society” which establishes timelines for a variety of life’s stages.

The following is a condensed chronological version of these conventional, predetermined stages:

1. after high school comes college or university (trade) studies,
2. then the hunt for that perfect companion starts,
3. establish a career,
4. marry that perfect companion,
5. buy a house and car,
6. have a couple of kids,
7. work longer hours,
8. buy a second car,
9. work longer hours,
10. buy a bigger house,
11. then work for the next 25 years in preparation of those last 10-15 years of retirement.”

This is what is considered normal? Can you say dangling carrots? We have broken out of the mould – we follow our own path. On this new path my boat is my home.

OK – that’s enough of that – this sort of ends the chronological part of this blog. From here on out I plan to be current – to record the things and thoughts that happen to us on a daily basis.

I’m off to tbe marina bathroom for a shower…

I remember laying in the v-berth that night with the weight of apparent impending doom on my chest. “What have I done” I asked myself over and over again. This is where I have brought my family? They trusted me, and this is what I do in return? These thoughts were equally offset however by the joy of knowing that I did not owe a cent to anyone. Debt free and loving it! (I found out how much I hated debt when I got rid of it.) Starting over, on a boat no less. Adventure and unknown – almost like being 20 again.

Hmmm – I wonder if this is what people call a mid-life crisis?

I don’t remember a lot of details from our first day on board. I seem to remember a lot of giddy, nervous, wild eyed laughter between A. and I. I think we spoke about how great it was to be free and clear of the house. How we were now able to do anything we wanted. We viewed our position as at a crossroads – we could go any direction we wanted. Which way to go?

But my most vivid memory of day 1 is the panic that I felt that night in the v-berth.

When removing a Band-Aid, there are two schools of thought. One is the slow peel method, maybe using a bit of warm water. While the other (rather violent method) is the mighty rip. There are pro’s and con’s to both. The Mighty Rip is painful and usually removes some skin and hair but thankfully the pain is over quickly. The Slow Peel is more gentle and usually leaves most of the skin still on your body. However, the period of pain is much longer. When trying to figure out how to tell our parents that we were moving aboard a sailboat (and taking their only grandchild with us) we elected to use the Slow Peel method.

Initially, we did not talk about what we were going to do. (Truthfully, we were not absolutely sure in our minds either.) All we talked about was getting the house ready for sale. We had a lot of work to do upgrading the house and making some repairs that had been long left undone. With all the painting and landscaping and hiring of workers we managed to avoid the question of where we were going to go. As the time came closer for the house to go on the market we told everyone that we were going to bunk out on the boat for a while till we figured out what we were going to do. At that point, I suppose that in my mind we were going to stay on the boat for longer, but A. had not yet committed to it.

Once the house went on the market we went full speed ahead in preparing the boat for us to live aboard. We did a lot of sanding, painting and varnishing. I installed a refrigeration system and A.’s mother made up new seat and berth cushions for us.

As time went on we began to allude to the thought that we might even stay the winter aboard if everything went well. We spoke of it as our little adventure and tried to paint it up as a cool thing to do but I am sure that people thought we were crazy.

Once we actually moved aboard, it was a done deal. Everyone just knew that we were going to stay here for a while. Today, we call the boat, home – and it is a home. After all, home is where the heart is, and well, my heart is here.

And that is how to break it to them gently – the Slow Peel Method.

Next: 1st day in our new home.

Launching is a curious thing. On one hand you have the anticipation of another great sailing season. After all, once the boat is in the water – summer is practically here, right? On the other hand, you have the worry that something might go wrong. Maybe the engine won’t start. Or maybe those new thru hulls you installed are going to leak. Oh man, did I remember to close that one in the head?!? You know, that sort of thing.

Summer ’05 launch went well. They dropped the boat into the water and after I quickly jumped aboard to check for leaks I was sent down the dock to install the mast. The crane made short work of it, and in about half an hour I was in my home slip – freezing my butt off, but oh so happy. Summer’s here – yaaaah! After celebrating the arrival of summer I jumped into my truck to try to warm up. I guess summer is a little cold this time of year.

At this point, we had not seriously discussed moving aboard. My wife had taken her maternity leave and did not expect to go back to work. I had started my own appliance repair business less than a year earlier and while I was doing well, I did not feel like putting in the long extra hours needed to makeup the money that we would surely need when the maternity ran out. Plus I found spending time with my son and wife rewarding in that I did not miss anything and my wife never really felt alone in raising him. (Mind you, I have no illusions – she did all the hard work.) We had a little brick house in Toronto proper that we had bought some 13 years previously. We did not have the mortgage paid off, but had taken a good piece out of it. Plus the house had grown in value somewhat. What to do? Do we move away – to some area of the country where living was cheaper? Would A. have to go back to work and little L. go to daycare? (In my mind, this was never an option.) Should we sell the house and just find a cheap apartment somewhere? None of these sounded good to us.

Then there was “the plan” (see the post titled Where to Start … Some History.) Were we still going to sail around the world? We had the boat… Well, if one were going to sail for a great distance and for a great period of time, it would be good thing to do a bit of a trial run, right? Slowly, the idea began to filter into our minds that we could solve our living arrangement problems and continue the sail around the world dream all in one move. And that is how we got to the point of thinking that this might be the perfect time to try out living on a sailboat.

To be perfectly honest with you, I was shocked that A. was willing to give it a whirl. With all she was going through – giving birth and being on call 24/7 to feed the boy, I never dreamt that she would seriously consider it. But consider she did and shock me she did. I guess I should not have been too surprised. In our time together, A. had always had an adventurous side. She more than I sometimes. I tend to become a bit of a homebody although once I get going I always end up asking myself, “what took so long”?

So that ended up being the plan. Sell the house, pay off all our debts and move aboard the sailboat. A mighty plan it was!

Up next: Break it to me gently – telling our parents.

I had covered the boat for winter using a big blue Canadian Tire tarp supported by electrical conduit pipes bent over into upside down “U” shapes. I used four of these hoops which in hind sight were not enough. I should have used maybe five or six.

I checked up on the boat on a regular basis, and while I found sometimes a knot had come loose and a corner was flapping, it generally did the job of keeping the snow off the boat. As winter wore on and less snow fell, I checked in on her less often. Big mistake! What happened was, we had a big wet heavy dump of snow – the kind that feels like you are shoveling cement – followed by a day long heavy rain. Then everything froze again. I did not think too much of it. My sister was visiting from out of town so we thought we would show her the boat. As we pulled up, something did not look right. The back end of the tarp, (the part covering the cockpit) was all caved in and one of the conduit poles was broken and poking through the tarp at a strange angle. I climbed the ladder up to the cockpit with a sense of dread. Sure enough, the tarp had caved in where the poles had broken under the heavy weight of the snow. Then the cockpit filled with water and froze. I had a solid block of ice in the cockpit about 2 1/2 feet wide by 5 feet long by about a foot deep. That was some ice cube! The tarp was frozen into the middle of “The Cube”, so I could not even get into the boat. We went at “The Cube” with hammers and screwdrivers breaking it into manageable hunks that we could throw over the side of the boat.

Finally, we got most of it out and were able to lift the tarp and actually get into the boat. I climbed down inside and lifted the floorboard out of habit just to check for water in the bilge. NO WAY!! The bilge was full up ice almost to the top of the batteries. (Here after to be called Cube 2.) “Cube 2” was not slushy ice either – another solid block. I felt sick to my stomach. It took me two days of chipping, adding hot water then sponging out and using a heater to get “C2” out and to see the bottom of the bilge again. What a job! I guess what happened was, when “The Cube” invaded the cockpit, water was able to flow into the boat around the cockpit seats thus providing the raw material for “C2.”

With “The Cube” and “C2” finally out of my life I got around to looking at the rest of the boat. Looking at the hull I noticed that the antifouling paint had come loose on both sides of the hull in about the same place where “C2” took up residence in the bilge. I guess there had been some expansion after all. I also noticed a crack forming in a strange place further up the keel toward the bow. As I chipped away at this new crack I found that I was actually peeling away what looked to be a layer of fiberglass wrapped around the bottom of the keel running some 6 or 7 feet long. I decided to have the hull checked out by a professional who I hoped would give me some advise on this crack as well.

I met a fiberglass/hull man the next evening at the boat to check it out. He was not worried at all about where the hull had expanded by the bilge, however the crack in the keel did not look good to him. He went at the crack with a 2″ chisel and hammer and in about 30 second had peeled off a huge layer of fiberglass that had been stuck to the bottom of the keel by a previous owner (PO). I guess this layer was part of an old repair that had been done rather poorly in the past. The glass had been laid up right over the gel coat which I understand is a no no. He advised me to peel all the old repair off, then grind the gel coat off and then he would come back and do a proper repair.

I did the required peeling and very quickly found out why he had me do the grinding. I still sometimes close my eyes at night and taste the fiberglass dust and feel the itch and burn of it picking and poking its way into my skin. After cleaning the old area up we noticed that the hull was dripping from a couple of cracks that we had exposed when grinding. No problem my repair guy said, just drill a couple of holes up into the keel and let the water drain out. So drill I did – except that did not go as planned either. No sooner had I drilled a couple of holes but chunks of fiberglass resin started falling out of the area around the cracks and holes. When all was said and done and the hull had stopped blowing chunks, there was about a 5 inch hole in the bottom of the keel right to the imbedded iron ballast.

To me this was a rather disconcerting sight, but to a hull repair guy its just another day on the job. I watched in amazement as he quickly made up a patch that he plugged into the hole. Then after waiting a couple of hours for it to dry he laid up a new repair and smoothed and faired it into the old gel coat. When he was done, you could not tell where he had worked. It looked and felt perfect to me. All this was done in about 4 hours. I have a new respect for guys who work with fiberglass – mine turned out to be a real artisan.

I guess that cube 1 and 2 were in a way good things as they exposed a problem that I had not been aware of before. Now, I am confident the hull is in good shape and in a proper state of repair.

Next time: 3… 2… 1… Launch!!

After a season of fun in the sun, the time came for us to pull the boat out of the water for winter storage. It’s quite a sight.

First the mast was removed. This is done with a crane – the top half of the mast is grabbed with a rope and the whole thing is lifted off the boat. Then dropped down and wrapped up for winter storage on a rack.

Then the boat is moved into a slip where a lift with two slings is brought over top of the boat. The two slings are brought under the boat, one on the front part of the boat, one on the rear part of the boat and then the slings are hoisted up lifting the boat out of the water. The boat is then put on its stand and the stand with boat and all is moved into its final position for the winter. Sigh – a sad sight.

Here’s a bit of advice for those of you who have great dreams of getting large amounts of work done on a boat over the winter. Don’t make too large a list! (“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”) I had grand plans of refinishing everything, replacing just about everything, installing this and that – the list was pages long. Well I managed to get the essentials done – the stuff that if I didn’t get them done … the boat: she no float. I finished replacing all the thru-hulls, replaced the old knot meter and depth sounder and finally finished with a rather large and unexpected hull repair. More on that next time.

We finished with painting new waterline stripes and a fresh coat of bottom coat paint. Bottom coat is interesting stuff. It goes on real thick and heavy but does the job of keeping marine growth off the bottom of the boat. I guess that what ever is in the paint is a poison of some sort that does not allow stuff to grow on it. It even stops zebra mussels from growing on the boat. Anyway, she does look fine all cleaned up and shiny, just waiting to plunge back into the waves.

Up next – Unexpected hull repair.

In a comment to one of my previous posts, Tillerman pointed out that it seemed that owning a keelboat is nothing but trouble. I guess anyone reading this might easily come up with that impression. However, I would like to dispel any notion that sailing a bigger boat is just going from one problem to another. The majority of the time was spent thoroughly enjoying our time on the boat. Many hours were spent idle, just lazing about. Other times were spent in the sheer exhilaration of sailing a strong breeze. BBQ’s at sunset out on the water – watching the stars through the hatch over the v-berth and times of just do-nothing. I can’t think of many happier times than on this boat.

Yep, we’ve had a couple of issues – times when you knew you were alive because you felt it in the pit of your stomach. But, that is part and parcel with life. What a boring existence it would be if nothing ever happened. I know, sometimes (especially after some hair raising experience) we wish for a life of nothing but I would not trade the experiences and memories that I’ve gained on this boat for anything.Hanging out – Fixing Stuff
I know that more ‘stuff’ is going to happen, and when it does, the experience that we’ve gained from the previous ‘stuff’ will help us deal with the new problems.

So, Tillerman, if owning a bigger boat is your dream – go for it! Don’t let the ‘what ifs’ hold you back.
The real Lay-Z-Boy

Generally speaking, engines do not receive the specialized pronoun treatment that boats receive. We rarely call an engine him or her, mostly just ‘it’ or ‘thing’ with a descriptive ‘blasted!’ thrown in for good measure. For the sake of expediency, I too will refer to my engine as ‘it’. However, if ever an inorganic object deserved human descriptions, it is this engine. Sometimes it (she) ‘purrs’ along, other times it (she) kicks and sputters in anger. Sometimes in fits of rage it (she) completely loses self-control and blows off great puffs of foul smelling smoke. In every way it has the all the qualities of a very selfish, high-maintenance, yet very beautiful woman.

My engine is an Atomic 4 by Universal – a gasoline workhorse that has been used in many different boats for many years. The use of this engine would, of course, be very much poo-pooed on by The Magazines as being dangerous due to the volatility of gasoline. They have no problem with propane though. Hmm – both can go ‘bang’ if used carelessly, but only gasoline is dangerous. I wonder why that is? Maybe because gasoline engines are generally half the price of diesel engines? Old boats (and engines) = bad. New boats (with new high priced diesel engines) = good. Cynical? – why, yes I am.

Anyway, after getting towed home, it (she) required some loving care. I started by getting out all the manuals left by the PO (previous owner.) Looking at lots of pictures and doing some sporadic reading lead me to believe that there was something wrong with either the fuel system or the electrical system. Ha – good one! Anyone that knows anything about internal combustion engines will find this kind of humorous. You see, unless something is physically broken, then the problem lies either with fuel delivery or the electrical system. I was not really any further along in trying to find the source of the problem.

Fortunately, the Atomic 4 has a large and very active newsgroup on the web. After posting my problems the consensus was that I should start with a complete tune up as it did not appear that the PO had done one in some time. So tune I did. Plugs, points and condenser were all changed. The parts all came from UAP and were really quite cheap as most were used at various times on other dirt vehicles.

Now, hit the key and … tada it runs! A little rough, but it was alive. After resetting the timing at the dock to make it run better, I took the boat out for a test run. Blasted! The engine would not go above 1300 rpm – it should easily go up to 2200 rpm or so. Back to the hole. (The engine compartment on many boats is very small and is often termed ‘the hole’.)

When I had done the tune up I had not changed the wires because of the old proverbial ‘they looked OK’. Well, they weren’t. One of the wires, cylinder number 4 was bad. It had high resistance and the charge for the spark was not getting through. So, another trip back to UAP. I quickly changed the wires and while tied up tight to the dock, dropped the engine into gear and throttled it up – ya baby – that’s more like it. Full RPM’s.

After a final tune up and engine timing change out on the lake, the engine was back to running smooth again. It did have one hiccup, which has not reoccurred since changing the fuel filter.

So, the moral of the story is … I guess … to have a harmonious time on the water, keep your engine in tune. Haha.

Next up – Winter lay up.

I only had to get rescued once last summer. Hmmm – that’s once too many!

Due to A. getting on in her pregnancy and also her travel for her work, I spent a lot of time single handing (sailing alone) at the end of the summer. I usually didn’t go far and often just went ‘bobbing’. This is what my wife and I call it when there is little wind, so we just motor a mile or so off shore and just bob around. You know, hang out.

I went out one day after work – sailing west up the lake toward Oakville. The wind was very light, but I could still move along. I planned to tack my way west then sail downwind home again. Well, about the time I got to the Mississauga/Oakville border – the wind died. So I bobbed. As the sun was getting low in the sky, I decided to fire up the motor and go home. Turned the key – the motor turned over – but would not run. Dang thing! Tried it again – then for longer and longer runs of the starter. Nothing – the engine would not catch.

I did not have any tools with me and at that point I’m not sure where I would have started anyway. I banged around on the engine, thinking that a strategic hit somewhere would magically solve fix it. (I fix appliances for a living, and sometimes when all else fails, the ‘big hammer’ method works. The method is as follows. Take a big hammer – hit the appliance several times and see if it works.) Anyway, not this time.

The sun was now going below the horizon, so it was time to call for help. I did not have my cel phone with me, so I got on the VHF radio and notified the local Coast Guard of my situation. They in turn tried to raise the Peel Marine Police unit who are stationed out of my marina – in fact about 10 slips down from us. But for some reason, they were not answering their phone or radios. So the Toronto Marine unit had to be called. They were on their way, but would take a while. Fine by me – just get me in before nightfall.

Back to bobbing – and bobbing – and more bobbing. Finally, off in the distance I could see the hard bottom orange zodiac coming. They tied a line up to me, but would not take me to my marina. I guess that they are to tow into the nearest “safe harbour” which was the Port Credit Harbour Marina. My marina is only about half a mile from Port Credit Harbour Marina. OK – not much I can do – they have the weapons. They towed me in and put me on the cement wall at the entrance of the harbour. A very exposed and not a really safe place, plus the cement wall towers over the deck of my boat by about 6 feet. Nice – thanks guys!

Just as I was tying off, a power boater friend of mine was coming out the bay on his way home to my marina. I begged help – he complied and soon I was moving home at the end of about 100 feet of line. Thanks Tim!

Next – engine repairs and tunes.

We decided one weekend to go to ‘the islands’. I know that normally that means to the Caribbean, but when you live in the Toronto area, it means the Toronto Islands. The islands are bits of land directly off shore from downtown Toronto. They are a beautiful place of trees, tranquility and the odd cormorant. (Actually, the place the crawling with them – they look great but sound awful.)

We sailed off to the area around the Aquatic Sailing Club, which is a spectacular place to anchor. When anchored in the west end of the bay, you can view treed islands and boat bobbing gently on their moorings out the one side of your boat and a spectacular view of downtown Toronto from the other side. Really a unique place.

We anchored late in the afternoon. After settling in we had a great BBQ and settled back to read and relax for the evening. There was little wind. After the sun went down, A. went to bed, but I stayed up to read out in the cockpit. The wind seemed to come up quite quickly and out of the south where it could really blow in off the lake. Still, it was warm and I thought little about the anchor and we had set it hard when we came in. The boats in the mooring field faded into the darkness, all I could hear was the creaking of lines and the wind whistling though the stays of the boats around us. We swung from our anchor line with the boat moving side to side a bit as the wind picked up. I idlely watched the boats to my left as we swung around.

“Whooah, I think that boat is closer than before! Naw, it just us. We’ve move into a different position.” I went back to my book. The next time I looked up – “Crap – that boat is definitely closer than before.” But still, I convinced my self that it was just because we had swung into a different position on the anchor line. But just to be safe I wandered up to the anchor line and gave it a good hard tug. “Yep, she’s dug in good and hard. Nothing to worry about. It’s just my imagination.” Back to the book.

“Nooooo – it can’t be!!!” The boat that I had been watching was now about 15 feet off our stern. No doubt about it – we were on the move – and fast! I called in a mild panic for A. to come up on deck and then quickly started the engine. A. came up all blurry eyed – she had been asleep of course. I went up to the bow and pulled the anchor up while A. motored the boat in a tight circle. Sure enough, there was a big glob of mud on one fluke of our danforth anchor, the rest was clean. Now what to do? Do we try to reset the anchor – well, there was no way that I was going to be able to sleep on the hook that night – not after this close call. Do we sail/motor home – that’s a good 2 to 3 hours away and it was already midnight. Not having done any night time sailing, that was real low on list of desires for that night. As we circled around debating what to do, A. suddenly said that she thought she could see an open mooring ball about 100 meters off. I couldn’t immediately see it, but she still insisted. So we motored towards it and sure enough there it was; an open mooring ball with lines already attached waiting for my boat hook. We hooked the line the first try and were tied up tight in a mater of minutes. Suddenly the night seemed much less ominous and well peaceful again. The wind that seemed to have been howling just minuets before was now just a gentle breeze. After the adrenaline wore off, we hit the sack and both had a great nights sleep. (We have since anchored in that bay and had much stronger winds without problems – so our fear of anchoring out has diminished.)

Next up: My first marine rescue: Me.