PineAweigh Adventure - 2019

8:30am. Friday, July 19

“On the boat? I pretty much do what I do at home,” I said to a friend who asked about our boating adventures. “Only, it’s harder.”

By that, I meant, most summers we stay out on PineAweigh for at least two months, usually, three. In those days aboard, we must occasionally fill fuel or water tanks and empty black water tanks; or if we are lucky, like at Friday Harbor, we have the luxury of  a pumper boat come along side and do that last mentioned task for us. Otherwise, we are cooking, repairing, tidying up, washing down, in port, at anchor (not often), or underway.

In all, thirty  steps are required for moving about the boat: six to board at the transom, four aft steps from the cockpit up to the flybridge, three down from the cockpit into the salon (saloon), four down from saloon to master stateroom, two, starboard from saloon to galley, two from galley to small forepeak hallway and head, one up to the small dinette, two from the side sliding saloon door to the port gunnel walkway, and six (I’m not checking), on a drop stairway up from the bow  to the flybridge helm. 

Oh, did I say?

A cruise begins once we have transferred supplies: food stuff, essentials and non-essentials, dogs supplies, boat parts, boxes and totes, books and bags of what-the-heck from the house to the car, from the car, to a marina dock cart, from the dock cart down the dock to PineAweigh’s cockpit (up six steps), to whatever region of the boat where things are stowed. It’s not a bad thing, finding room in too little space before disconnecting and stowing a power cord, starting engines, loosening lines, recording engine and departure times, and pulling away. It’s like being at home, only a little harder.

This Friday morning. Dave was already aboard PineAweigh. We had stowed nearly all required stuff in advance. My job at home was to gather the few things earlier forgotten, leash up the dog, grab my coffee, and meet a friend picking me up and joining us for a few days aboard. 

Picture it. Slung over my left shoulder was my big purse, an open tote bag with a book, dog blankets, a few food items, and dangling from my left hand, a hangered tablecloth. Leashed dog, my house key, and a coffee mug occupied my right hand. Ready to leave the apartment, I was. But, hey, I’d better do a final refrigerator check. Oh, good that I did! There was Dave’s full coffee mug. He’d probably like to have that onboard,” I thought. I emptied my right hand, grabbed his metal mug, stashed it in the very full tote, re-collected stuff, and headed out.. 

“Oh, darn.” The pendulum of the clock hanging by the door was swinging.  I hadn’t stopped the three pendulum clocks in our apartment; always my last chore before leaving on a trip.

I placed the tote bag, coffee mug, and purse on the kitchen counter.  I dropped Skoshi’s  leash. I stopped three clocks. I picked up the leash, threw my purse and tote over my shoulder, reached for my coffee mug, ready to retrieve the tablecloth hanging on the door handle when I thought that, maybe, just maybe, it’s a bad idea to have Dave’s coffee in my tote over a white tablecloth in my hand below. I’ll leave Dave’s coffee. It was yesterday’s brew anyway. I put my mug down. I reached with my right hand across to the tote, grabbed Dave’s mug by the top, pulled it from the tote, and as I did, discovered—bottom falling to the kitchen floor—that the cap was not secure. The cap remained in my hand. The thermos part and the contents of cold, milky coffee, streamed under the chopping block, dripped down the dishwasher and nearby cabinet, and slipped toward small, somewhat confused dog who set about lapping. 

After one expletive. After I put everything down. After I freed the dog from his leash. After being relieved that the white tablecloth had been spared the splatter, and before grabbing towels,, I took a picture. I knew I would be telling you about this.