Nowhere to Go

After yoga last week I had a brief conversation with a youngin’.

She told me I ought to head right back the next day.

Do some more.

Sure.

Then I explained my challenges. The extra time with living on a boat.

Getting home.

Where is your boat she asked? I then went into my rant.
I’ve been a “liveaboard” for eight years going on nine. Recently re-located to Vancouver to go to school and work. My boat is for sale but it’s an old 1967 Classic Wooden sailing boat, so the right person has yet to come along.

Meanwhile, I’m allowed two weeks anchoring in False Creek then I have to shuffle over to Deep Cove. 

I ride a bike, so when I row to and fro I load my road bike in my rowboat. Which takes time and energy. Not to mention skill in not tipping.

“Oh you’re one of those squatters,” she exclaims.

Wow.

I’ve been called homeless by Vancouver Parks and Recreation. But not a squatter.

This got me riled up.

I knew there would be a challenge getting moorage when I moved to Vancouver.

“I haven’t been able to secure official LIVEABOARD moorage for my boat,” I rebuked.

Not that I haven’t tried. I am on all the waitlists. I have the $2M liability insurance on my boat. When I check in usually I get the eyes rolling back in the head and the book comes out. The paper lists of folks waiting for moorage is around four inches thick.

At Spruce Harbour, the “official liveaboard” marina the waitlist is 12 years. I’m on it. I pay $50 a year to stay on it. They’d like to expand it. But the City of Vancouver holds the reins and councils keep changing. So nothing gets done.

There are ads on Craigs List for moorage sub-lets. But not if you're a liveaboard. The notes in the bottom of one ad I saw said "NO LIVEABOARDS. DON'T EVEN CALL."

Snuffed by her chin-up I ignored the remainder of our change room time.

This after I had received a telephone call from the Vancouver Marine Police telling me to vacate False Creek. Expired permit, get out. Go to Kits Beach or Deep Cove.

We all know Kits Beach is suicide given the winds. Plus there is nowhere to tie your dinghy. Just a beach. We risk theft.

Last week I read a dismal one-sided report in the North Shore News written by Jen St.Denis, about all the boats anchored out in Deep Cove.

Before my official anchoring permit in False Creek expired I rode over to Deep Cove to sess things out.

I discovered what I would call a Government Wharf and a Yacht Club. There were sailboats and power boats scattered about at anchor.

Whilst wondering around the dock I yacked with a few local power boaters. Tied up for their daily commute up Indian Arm.

Yes, it’s true. The locals don’t like all the boats drifting about.

So I return to my base and call the North Shore Municipality to inquire about anchoring in Deep Cove.

“Not our jurisdiction,” the woman responds. “That’s the Vancouver Port Authority.”

To which I call next.

“It’s illegal to anchor in Deep Cove,” he says.

I advise him the Vancouver Marine Police are telling us to go to Deep Cove.

This has him surprised.

We have nowhere to go. I’m shuffling between two locations now. Two weeks in False Creek and two weeks in Deep Cove.

Last week it took five guys and a hydraulic winch to get my anchor up in Deep Cove. Thank goodness the Department of Fisheries boat was about. I don’t know what I would of done.

Lately I’ve been calling it the False Creek Shuffle.

I have a job. I go to school. 
I have a home. 

I’m not homeless, I’m not a squatter. 

I have nowhere to go.

She Chose Me

“Has she let you go yet?” I was asked.

“No, not yet,” was my reply.

The right person will come along, I think to myself.

Eventually. When she decides.

I knew when I first laid eyes on her she was something. I’ll never forget my pal, Irma hiking her skirt up to climb the ladder in the boatyard for a peak inside.

“She’s a treasure!” she exclaimed.

Little did I know how long my love affair would last.

Today I have concluded. If she hadn’t of picked me, where would she be?
I remember the state of her insides when we first met. The sad face of neglect. Everywhere.

Yet, underneath, the power and the pleasure of a one-of-a-kind.

Years later I learn her history. The original owner’s story. Her second and her third’s. Each holding onto her for a decade and some. Coming up nine years for me.

Each day I leave I tell her to stay safe. I thank her for being my home.

I’m told by friends to stop screening buyers. Those not in the know I do not reply.

These days I’m feeling bad about her condition. Last year’s bicycle accident didn’t allow for our yearly maintenance. It’s starting to show.

I ask her to forgive me.

She says she will. She knows I’ll take care of her come spring.

It’s hard for me to tell her now.
"Darling, it’s time I let you go. My bicycles and I need more room. There’s someone out there that will love you like I."

But again I am reminded.

She chose me.

Swinging Around

Been a while since I’ve declared a holiday and taken my boat out to hang out. Super cool to have visitors coming by. Even though I have to pick them up in the dinghy. All seem to be up for a meal on the transom with the barbecue.
Till dark. Then there is the mass exit. Although Catherine and Glenn stayed well past the Butchart Gardens fireworks last night and trundled home with their flashlights. The stroll up the trail from Tod Inlet isn’t long. But it is dark.
Loved Catherine’s text message “We are almost home. Boogie men didn’t get us…!”
Had to chuckle when my son and his buddy decided to bolt at dusk tonight. Eat and run before it got dark dark! No worries.
I’ve had a pleasant steady stream of happiness throughout the last two days. Great people. Fabulous food. Fresh air and sun.
Did a trail run through Gowland Tod this afternoon and down to Butchart Gardens. Very peaceful. The meadows are full of pink sweet peas. The aroma is almost summer. The winds have been chilly in the afternoon. Didn’t stop me from napping on the aft deck before dinner.
That’s what holidays are for!

The Boatyard Banter Report

Pretty happy to see my boat back in the water today. Didn't realize how much I missed my oceanic view until I had to climb up a ladder every day to get on her. Fred the dog definitely didn't appreciate that leap. Thanks to the kind folks around the yard, Paul who heaved him up at night for me and the lead Foreman, Al who brought over the fork lift with a pallet on it to help him down. Poor Fred has severe osteoarthritis in his hips. Dear Uncle Leonard always puts things right.
"Old age is the shits!" he would say. Same goes for dogs.
So what started as two days in the boatyard for a hair cut and a shave - ended up as almost five. The problem with projects is this. When you start a little something and you think you can get it done there comes a time where things end up becoming what I call, the point of no return.
I thought I could paint the bottom, the bootstripe, put a couple coats of varnish on the transom and maybe do some touch-up paint on the hull. When I started on the touch-up paint on the hull, it became a repair here, a bondo or filler there a bit more sanding here and so on. I didn't really even have a chance to get to the port side.
What I know is this. My boat, with full water and fuel tanks weighs 22,000 pounds. I used two and almost a half gallons of bottom paint doing two coats. Wood boats need more time to cure after the first coat before you apply the second coat (no 'hot coating') and bottom paint cure time on wood boats is longer. Thus, for me the extra day in the yard.
Also, shaft size is now known to be 1 1/8th. Next year I send a diver down and haul out again in two providing I don't abuse the bottom anywhere anytime in the next year.
Alas, everything and everybody you need is available to you at Westport Marina in Sidney. Including the lovely Eileen in the marine store. When I entered distraught one morning, feeling defeated she asked me one simple question that put my mind at ease.
"Is it fixable?"
Yes, it most definitely was. A shout out of thanks to all!

A Hair Cut and a Shave

Thought I’d be able to put off my annual boat haul out for two years. Then I got scared. These things called zincs that are attached to the bottom of your boat and to your prop shaft wear out and then electricity in the water causes the thru hulls and prop blades to get electrolysis. Not good. If there’s no bottom paint on my old wooden boat the worms will get in and eat her and then what?
Oh my gosh. As it turns out, my haul out will be a neat in the boater’s world lingo, “Hair cut and a shave.”
She’s a 1967 Hugh Angelman designed Sea Witch or Sea Spirit ketch. Teak hull. She’s been my home for coming up to seven years. But when I haul out, which I will be doing every year from now on… it’s a little disruptive on the lifestyle. Puts a little kink in the days. Especially for poor Fred the dog.
I left my marina this morning at 7 a.m. Once I got out into the Strait there was the start of a gale blowing. Three foot seas and a nice swell. We got tossed and turned. At one point I went below. That was hilarious. Everything that was on either side was on the floor. Tomatoes were splattered. Fred the dog was not enjoying the ride I can tell you that.
Seven hours later (I was bucking currents and tides) I made it for the slings to hoist her up and get her power washed.
I worked till dark tonight along with Paul who works in the yard. He sanded the bottom while I sanded my transom. Gonna gush her up and make her shine. Then it’s back in the water we go again.

Life is Transparent

Saw something silly the other day and tried to make a joke of it to the couple to whom it appeared. It didn’t go over well. I got a chuckle out of it though. Thought I’d pass it along.
There I am mid-day slaving over a paint can. Paint brush in one hand, roller in the other. Spreading Grand Banks Beige all over an upper bridge deck of a 1967 Monk power boat. I’m in a boathouse. Things are going well. Until I hear a woman in slight distress.
“Oh my god we’re going to hit that boat!”
A large white gin palace has floated into the opposite dock. The bow (front) of the boat is veering nicely into the dock while the stern (back) of the boat is wildly flinging itself in the opposite direction towards the boat next door.
The said woman brings out the stick pole and madly pushes the stern away from their neighbour. Then the foolishness occurs. The man, presumably the Captain leaps onto the bow of his boat and jumps off onto the dock. Without a dock line to go with him. At this point I’m thinking, she’s pushing stern in, bow is going out, said Captain has now jumped off the boat – who’s driving this boat?
The man or rather the Captain then tries to wield himself to the bow of the boat to pull it dockside. However, the women has already planted pole on neighbour’s boat and the stern is well on it’s way in. So said Captain tries to hold onto the bow of the boat while the stern is coming in pushing the boat out and well let’s just say kerplop. In he goes.
Now the woman is in even more distress and loudly screams in more then soprano, “Help, HELP, somebody HELP US! Help, help, HELP!”
Within seconds another couple are there to assist. All is well. A littler later on I hear the swish swash of the feet as the man, aka Captain helps tie his boat up. At this point the woman takes him onto the boat and gets him to strip down the wet stuff. The water is cold. Not warm enough to swim or even have a bath. Breathtakingly cold.
The next day I’m fielding this time a varnish brush. Mask on. I see the man or Captain washing his boat. A change of clothes. He’s working away. I can’t resist. I take my mask off and yell across the water.
“That You Tube Video I shot of you two has a thousand hits already!”
He didn’t appear to have much of a sense of humour. So I felt a little remorse for the poor guy and added politely, “Just kidding.”
Pretty sure he was glad I was. But it goes to show you, anything we do in life that is visible to a camera can be aired to the world. Simply by pressing a few buttons. Click, click, click.
Our lives truly are transparent.

Bye Bye Boatyard, Hello BC Bike Race

Pretty happy last night when I left the boatyard. Knowing I was getting sorted today and readying to catch the ferry to the mainland. In a flurry of panic I raced around the morning picking up the little extras. Some electrolytes, extra cycling shorts and a new helmet.
As I’ve helped out BC Bike Race in the past I also volunteered to pick up some tents and their sound system since all was on the Island.
Had just enough time to breeze through the boatyard on the way to Swartz Bay to say a final goodbye. Felt bad leaving in the middle of a huge job, but it’s a boat. Anytime you plan for a project, with a boat anyway, I know the proven formula for project management:
Think about how long you think it will take you, double that, then multiply it by three. Should be about right.
Sure enough, with this one, we already had seven days of sanding and still no primer. Poor Rose, I left her in charge with help from Paul and Kyle, and the owner showing great patience. What can I say? I booked the days long ago to do the Challenge course for BC Bike Race.
Once in Vancouver I dropped the BC Bike Race gear at their headquarters where a maze of staff and volunteers were grinding away getting things sorted for Day 0 tomorrow. Then I was off, lucky me to stay at the Miller’s house in Squamish. Thought I’d leave my truck closer to the finish line so I can scurry back to the Island when I’m done and get back to work.
But for now, no more steel toed boots and paint dust... hello BC Bike Race!

For all the deets on the race go to www.bcbikerace.com

Grateful For Living

John told me today that he was lucky to be alive. That he savoured each day with gratitude. Some years ago he’d had half his intestine removed. Some kind of rare protein deficiency in his blood I believe.
John has a boathouse next to the one I am working in. This was a fruitful conversation as were accounting for doing things right. We both agreed that taking the time to do a job properly was better then going half ass. In this case we were referring to the job I was working on. It was an old boat. The varnish was badly checked. Instead of patching I’d started from the beginning. Stripped it all down and sanded it clean and smooth.
John left and the words “Life can change in a heartbeat,” echoed in my mind. We all know that.
I immediately thought of the day I had arrived home to a Tsunami warning sign posted on our security gate. As I hadn’t tuned into the radio, this came as a complete surprise. An earthquake in Chile the cause.
This led my thinking to the ash cloud, flooding, forest fires and hurricanes. Yes, life can change in a heartbeat, not only with your health - but with the world we live in. The world as we know it changed forever with 911.
I took a deep breath and carried on. Grateful for the opportunity to live today.

A Double Egg Yolk Day

It cracked and out came two! With that my face saw a grin and I said to myself, “Today is going to be a good day.”
I likened the double egg yolk in the frying pan to be an omen of goodness. I’d already done my road ride, complete with some speed work. Not to brag or anything, but somehow I managed to cut off 11 minutes on my usual one hour length road ride (the turnaround point). So of course I had to ride farther. Hastened by the growl in the stomach, I made it back home in two hours, one minute and 27 seconds.
The rest of the day went splendidly. I worked as hard as I could for as long as my arms would let me. Today I was sanding old stripped varnish off of a wooden boat’s cap rails and hand rails. Sometimes bending over, occasionally on my back looking up and at times from my hands and knees. I was gagging in teak dust by the end of the day. Happy to make it home to jump in the shower and freshen up. Exhausted but with a good feeling of productivity. It must have been the eggs that kept me going!