Decisions, Decisions...

Written by: Kerry

At the dock in Cow Bay Marina, Prince Rupert, BC

I think it first occurred to us that we may not make it all the way to Alaska when we hit Nanaimo and realized that we were already half way through May.  It came up in conversation once in awhile, but I always countered that we still had time and the whole goal of this trip (for me) was to make it to Alaska!  So onward we went, ever northward, with the goal in mind of making it, at the very least, to Ketchikan.  You see, when one cruises to Alaska on one's own boat, you must check into customs in Ketchikan - that is the process and there are no alternatives.

With this in mind, we did not waver on our commitment to take as much time as we needed to journey north, whether from waiting out bad weather, or simply needing a day or two of downtime to rest and enjoy the beauty around us from a safe harbor or anchorage.  We reached Shearwater, another milestone along the way, on June 20th.  Time was ticking away.  We'd agreed to be back in Port Townsend by the first week of August, so that we'd have enough time to see family and friends, attend the Perry Rendezvous (an annual gathering of Robert Perry designed boats) in Port Ludlow, and prep for our big trip south.  The plan was to leave PT by the end of the summer, heading to San Francisco, down the rest of the California Coast, and on to Mexico by winter.  We wanted to reserve at least 2-3 weeks to make the trip home from Alaska, planning to travel quickly via more open water on the west side of Vancouver Island, but also account for weather delays, etc.  On June 20th, with not a lot of time left, we pressed on.

Fast forward to the last couple of days travelling up to Prince Rupert.  I started seriously questioning this need to get to Alaska.  Donn listened. He kept telling me it was my decision - saying he had always signed on to go up to Alaska and we would, because it was my dream.  My original plan was to get up there with enough time to truly explore SE Alaska a bit and see some of its beauty from our own boat.  But with time ticking away, my heart and brain were struggling to come to terms with not making it all the way to Alaska on our trip to ALASKA.

On our 10 hour day motor-sailing to Prince Rupert, we reached a point where our cell phones started receiving service again.  I hadn't talked to my mom in a few weeks, so Donn encouraged me to give her a call.  I did.  We were so happy to hear each other's voices again and, as we quickly caught up, I explained my dilemma to Mom.  She listened.  I kept talking through my thought process and the pros and cons of each path.  If we stayed in Prince Rupert and didn't go on, we could actually spend a couple of weeks relaxing in one place, explore a new town, get some more projects done and prep ourselves for the adventure of getting home.  If we continued on to Ketchikan, we would have fulfilled our goal of getting to Alaska and we'd get to experience Ketchikan.  As I talked, it became really obvious to me that my mind was reaching a decision.  Our conversation ended with my promise to call after arriving in Prince Rupert to fill her in on final plans.

Can you guess what we've decided to do?  Yeah, we're staying put.  The minute I said it out loud, a huge peace fell over me.  That night I slept over 12 hours.  My body needs rest, my soul needs to put down (temporary) roots for a little while.  Donn is pleased also.  We worked with the marina manager to stay here for a few weeks and voila - here we are.  We've already explored town a bit, they have a nice library and pool that I hope to make use of.  We've done some grocery shopping and lots of laundry.  Tonight we may even go see a movie!

Having that goal to reach Alaska got us this far.  I'm really happy about that.  As far as needing to go all the way across the border, well, I'm okay with not making it.  This trip is for us - to learn, to shakedown the boat and ourselves.  We're doing that.  We're seeing amazing places and meeting awesome people.  I really have no complaints, and so much to be thankful for.

So we're in Prince Rupert until July 22nd or so.  Another exciting announcement is that we will have a 3rd crew member joining us for our trip home, to help with our virgin off-shore passage.  David Cohen, a good friend of ours from Seattle, is flying up here on July 19th.  He's part owner of a J-boat, has lots of sailing/racing experience and in Donn's words is "competent, sane, responsible and familiar".  Should be a good trip home.

The "Outer Passage"

Written by: Kerry

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost (The Road Not Taken) 1920

Brigadoon at the dock in Shearwater, BC, with bald eagle.

We left Shearwater on Saturday, June 24th, having done lots of research about our next leg of the trip that would bring us up to Prince Rupert, the typical jumping off point for Alaskan waters.  We had expected to plan and take the more inside route, also known as the "Inside Passage", which follows more protected waters and is used by the BC ferries, many cruise ships, tugs, and most cruisers.  We looked it over closely and weren't majorly impressed with the choice of anchorages - both for distance between them and for depths.  I have no doubt the passages are beautiful and protected, but then we started to look at other options...

From Seaforth Channel into Milbanke Sound, we looked at how to get around Price Island and continue north without going up to Klemtu and the inside waters.  We decided to go to Louisa Cove for our first night out to see what Milbanke was like and make our final decisions on which direction to go, with the primary thought to continue on to Aristazabal Island the following day assuming we weren't too freaked out by the more open water.  Well if you look at the lowest black dot on the map above, that is Louisa Cove - and you'll notice we didn't stop there at all.  Here's what happened...

We were cruising out of Seaforth Channel and I casually brought up the idea of not stopping at Louisa at all, but going straight on to our first anchorage at Aristazabal, Wheeteeam Bay.  Donn pondered that and told me he'd think about it.  It seemed like a beautiful day and the conditions seemed mellow enough to try, so we continued to talk about it and as we broke out into Milbanke, we adjusted the route on the chart and steamed through to Wheeteeam.  The most remarkable moment of that day's journey was going through Catala Passage at the bottom of Price Island.  It's usually more protected waters and gives one a slight shortcut through to Laredo Sound.

  As you can see above, it also requires careful navigation around many islets and rocks.  We were both on point watching our way as we motored through.  It was stunning scenery, almost ghostly with mists and rock formations all around us.  Unfortunately no photos were taken, as we were so focused on staying safe...

Instead of a 4-5 hour day, we had about a 10 hour day when all was said and done, but we had left early and arrived with plenty of daylight remaining, finding a beautiful place to anchor.  We ended up staying there for 2 nights to give ourselves time to recover and also explore the beautiful bay with its endless coves and inlets.  It was truly stunning.

Low tidal flat in Wheeteeam Bay

When we left Wheeteeam Bay we continued our way north with the next target anchorage at the top of Aristazabal Island - Tate Cove in Borrowman Bay.  This stop ended up being one of our most rewarding and fun of the entire trip.  We arrived on a Monday afternoon and stayed until Thursday morning to wait out strong forecast winds.

Monday evening, as another boat pulled in and anchored near us, we realized we were looking at another Baba - little sister to our boat - a Baba 30.  The best part though?  Their boat's name was "Camelot".  Two Babas in the same cove is good enough, but two Babas with names like "Brigadoon" and "Camelot"?  How awesome is that???   Two boats named after mythical places, both told as musicals. I didn't stop giggling about it all week.

Camelot - Doug and John on their way to Haida Gwaii to meet up with their wives

On Tuesday, we went nosing about in the dinghy...  The cove next to us had a huge floating fishing lodge set up on a barge with multiple ties to shore and dock space for a small sport fishing fleet.  As we came close, they (nicely) warned us away from their dock, as they were expecting a helicopter landing any minute.  We dutifully left and did not return to bother them.  However, as we were leaving, another skiff with a driver and a black dog in the bow came up to us and invited us over to stretch out legs later if we wanted.  It was then we realized there was ANOTHER floating structure behind the lodge.  This turned out to be the home of Rick and Jeanne Beaver and their dog, Skipper.

Home of Rick and Jeanne Beaver

They are a retired couple who started creating this little floating homestead about 14 years ago.  They live here year round and use everything around them - most of their docks and structures were all built from found wood drifted up on the beach.  They create art and tend gardens in boxes and a little green house in back.  The little wood hut at the far left is a wood fired hot tub.  They welcomed us with open arms and a bit later Doug and John from "Camelot" showed up in their kayaks and we all hung out for awhile.  Jeanne and I had a great time sharing stories and getting to know each other while the guys all checked out Rick's various projects outside.  When it came time to head back to the boat, Jeanne piped up and said "Hey! Let's all get together tomorrow evening for a potluck!"  We all loved the idea, decided what we would each bring and bid adieu with promises of more fun the next day.

I spent the next day reading and relaxing on the boat.  Donn went for a hike on his own and then later got picked up by Rick in his skiff with the other two guys (and Skipper) and taken on a tour of the nearby islets and beaches (I stayed behind because I was enjoying my book too much).  We all convened around 6pm and had a lovely evening in the Beavers' home.  I convinced Donn to bring his guitar to entertain after dinner and it was a huge hit.  They loved his music and even suggested he check with a local hotel lounge in Prince Rupert about playing there when we arrived.  It was hard to say goodbye - but we decided we could easily stop there again on the way home - so we hope to see them again soon.

One of Jeanne's gardens, with Skipper in the background

Doug, John, Me, Donn, Jeanne, and Rick

We had plotted out our next stops between Aristazabal Island and Prince Rupert and each one went as planned.  We stayed a night in Weinberg Inlet on Campania Island, which was stunning.

Mount Pender on Campania Island

Then we stayed two nights in Patterson Inlet on Pitt Island due to heavy rain.  We woke up the first morning, knowing we had planned to leave around 10 or 11am.  We listened from our bunk as the rain poured down onto the deck and looked at each other and decided we could afford another day in this beautiful place and not brave the rain just yet.

We left Patterson and headed for Newcombe Harbour inside of Petrel channel, out last stop before a long day to Prince Rupert.  We enjoyed a little sailing that day, although the winds were light.  As we rounded into the channel for Newcombe Harbour, the winds picked up, with rain threatening to douse us.  Donn got two photos as we headed in...

Bald Eagle flying off a perch inside Newcombe Harbour

Newcombe Harbour was tricky, as our ideal anchorage depth was located in a trough in the middle of shallow mud flats.  Water covered it all, so except for our charting software, we had no idea of where those shallows started.  I inched our way in and watched the depth sounder.  As I got a little too close for comfort, I started to turn up into the wind to find a good spot and saw depths as low as 13 feet cross beneath us.  We safely anchored in about 34 feet a little ways out as a huge gust of wind blew us sideways hard, setting our anchor perfectly with the rain letting loose on us all at the same time.  As the rain died down that evening, Donn noted that he could hear multiple rivers and waterfalls around us as we sat there in the middle of the little bay.  This is another spot we hope to visit on our way back, hopefully with nicer weather.

Our final leg to Prince Rupert was about 10 hours - we left at 4:30am to catch Petrel Narrows at low water slack and everything was smooth as we glided through.  I sat in the bow to watch for logs in the early morning light and marveled at the beautiful scenery around us.  Simply gorgeous and so humbling.  We both remarked how happy we were to have taken the outer passage.  We barely saw any other boat traffic under way and never shared an anchorage with more than 1-2 boats.  The conditions were benign, we barely had enough wind to sail, and only did so about 1/4 of the way.  As we plan our return, we'll take this option again - no doubt in our minds.

Eight Weeks In

Written by: Donn

Eight weeks ago, we started this little adventure. On many evenings we have ended our day, be they hard days or easy days, with the beauty of sunsets like one cannot imagine. Each one has been different, each one has greeted the night for us, reminding us how fortunate we are to be executing the Freedom Project, finally.

Each day we greet brings us a new morning of adventure, a new place to explore, a new place to leave and plans for the new place we will find the next day. Each day we see some place, or leave some place, that we will never see again. It's a wonderful kind of discovery and also one of departure, of leaving. We are currently in Shearwater, B.C. We arrived here a few days ago for the first time and, if our plans go as we expect, we shall never see it again.

It's been the same for Hunter Bay, Jones Island, Sucia, Port Browning, Ganges, Herring Bay, Nanaimo, Owen Bay, Otter Bay, Port Neville, Port McNeill and a host of other anchorages and marinas. Each time we get to see a place with new eyes, only having read about it in a book, or seen it on a chart. Each time we leave, it's forever. I always say, "Goodbye," to the place, out loud, with gratitude, even if the trip there, the stay, or the departure was challenging.

Each place has given me a gift, a memory, a chance to see a place in the world I have never seen. The fact that I may never see it again, makes it all the more precious.

And I've left so many things behind that I really don't miss. We do check in with the internet, email and facebook when we get in port but, I don't miss it. It's hard to latch onto the daily distractions of such things when faced with the water and wild out here.

So far, Brigadoon has treated us well. She has been stout and dependable. Yes, we have had some minor and somewhat scary things pop up, like when our steering decided to have some issues in Port Browning, but I called Port Townsend Shipwrights and, after a false start at a fix, was able to finally resolve it a couple ports later. Our Dickenson heater gave us some issues but, I tore it down to its bones after a fight or two, and it seems to be doing much better now. The cheerful yellow flame keeps us cozy and warm, once I did the job right. So far, I can fix this boat. I can keep us going. Brigadoon keeps us safe and warm. We couldn't ask for a better home, a better vessel, in which to discover the world.

I've walked places, old and desolate, full of the remnants of people's lives. Shadows of what used to be where I stand, with stories told in old books, rusting machinery, and fallen down buildings. I'm reminded that I'm not the only person who has ever been here. Every time I walk around a corner I find a ghost of the past on ground trodden by someone else, long ago.

There are abandoned canneries, falling down and long dead, giving themselves back to the land. We visit these dying places, witnessing the things that were here before yet no longer are. Namu was a ghost town, passed quietly as we dove deeper into the cove, seeking shelter from a driving rainstorm. I set our anchor in rain that came in sheets, while Kerry calmly talked to me over the headsets. We took to the safety and warmth of Brigadoon to try and dry off and have dinner. It was a damp night, but the Dickenson heater did what it does and we awoke to a dry and warm home.

Yet, in the morning, when the rain had passed, we were left with nothing but the beauty of the tidelands, until they were covered by the waters again. The mirror smooth waters reflecting the quiet life all around us.

Sometimes, when I was so busy pointing the camera, I didn't see the deer for the trees. Hidden among the tidelands, and the drying seaweed, under the watchful gaze of the towering firs of Blunden Harbor, a red deer snuck into my photograph. It stood there, unknown and undiscovered until a week later, when I looked closely enough. So many creatures move though the world, hidden from our eyes.

And yet, some of them are brazen and bold, standing right there, not feet away. In Port McNeill, great bald eagles sang and chittered every night. They owned the top of every mast, every piling, even when harassed by crows and terns. 

Yet, they weren't the only raptors plying the bays. In Allison Harbor, we were entertained by a pair of Ospreys, whose cries were higher and faster than the great eagles. They wheeled with a light grace not found in their bigger cousins, flying around each other like acrobats. Light of color and light on the wing, they owned Allison Harbor.  

Through it all, we have slept well on our Ultra Anchor, safe and secure knowing it rides just below Wilson, our anchor buoy. We have almost perfected the use of this trip line and buoy and plan to continue its use as we set our Ultra at every anchorage. Being able to look out and know exactly where our anchor is set gives us peace of mind and a knowing that we didn't have before.

We have anchored in the shadow of great mountains, graced with snow still, even in June. These craggy ramparts greeted us as we worked out way towards Melanie Cove, former home of Mike the Logger, whose old homestead we walked among on our trip ashore. Do yourself a favor and read "The Curve of Time" -- you will not be disappointed in the places and times it takes you.

The best thing on this journey so far, has been the deepening relationship between the crew. I won't lie. The first couple weeks out was a little rough, sprinkled with misunderstandings and miscommunication as we figured things out. It was harder than I expected but, it was easier than it could have been, because of my lovely First Mate, Kerry. Through her patience, honesty, and trust in me, we have worked through the initial challenges and become a crew that is strong and trustful. 

We sit here, in Shearwater (52 deg 8.850 N, 128 deg 5.398 W) the farthest north and west we have traveled so far. Tomorrow we head westward into the edges of the open Pacific, then north, talking of Ketchikan more every day.

Alaska is in our sights and I couldn't ask for a better partner for this journey.

Living the Yotting LIfe

Written by: Donn

We are six weeks or so into this adventure of cruising on the yacht Brigadoon. It's been five years of planning, five years of sacrifices, hard work, missed schedules, changing plans, but we are here.

"It's been a long road,
getting from there to here.
It's been a long road,
But our time is finally near.

I can see my dream come alive at last..."

Getting this far has been a beautifully challenging mix and, it's nothing, I tell you, nothing like living on land. The interesting thing has been the assumptions we've been witness to and the target of, as we embark on and continue this adventure.

For example, in a conversation about my country (The USA) a friend raised a very political question about our immigration policies:

"There are no developed countries a US citizen can go to and, so long as we physically make it onto the soil, are welcomed with open arms, no questions asked, and immediately provided all the benefits of natives. No matter who we are or how sad our story, if we don’t follow their rules we’re turned around and sent right back where we came from. They require we follow their rules or they don’t let us in.

The same countries we’re jealous of for their “free” healthcare and extensive social programs also have very strict immigration rules. They clearly value the interests of their own citizens over those of others."

My basic response was, "We (edit: this country) are rich enough to take them all and provide for health care for all, if we choose to. There is nothing special about being born here."

I meant it. My country is rich beyond measure and, if it weren't for the greed corrupting our high ideals, I truly believe we could set an example to the world, if only we wanted to.

Setting that political question aside, because I have no interest in debating that here, I'd like to focus on his response and the assumptions contained therein.

"Since I know you to have a very good sense of humor I'll just ask: Are you being funny, or is a guy who's currently sailing around the world on a yacht telling the rest of us how easy it is to embrace the huddled masses?

My friend has since apologized for his assumptions, that we are some rich, well off yachties, sailing around the world, telling him and others what they should do with their guilt. Let's talk about those assumptions, because this isn't the first time we've run into them. They are in Facebook posts about young couples who threw it all way to take on the sailing life, tossing aside the normal cares of the work-a-day world, leaving all of those wage slaves behind. They visit tropical islands, far flung places, arriving on their yacht, only to depart for another paradise the next week.

Allow me to inject a little reality into this life we have chosen and share a little bit about us.

First off -- the money. We are not rich, or even well off anymore. True, we had fairly high paying jobs but, we used all those resources to pay off our debt, outfit our yacht to make her safe and seaworthy, and set aside a little for living expenses. There is some savings but, we are basically unemployed at this time and I, for one, have no plans on ever working for anyone else, ever. Not ever again. I'm working on a novel, which I hope people will like and buy but, aside from that, it's our savings and my modest retirement that will see us through this adventure. Money aside, let's talk about what it's been like to go cruising on a yacht.

Brigadoon is our home. She contains all our earthly possessions within the confines of her hull. This includes clothes, food, art, tools, spares and anything else we think we might need. That means that, when we are sitting in a beautiful cove, surrounded by towering firs and cedars, with eagles flying overhead and otters playing in the cove, we still have to fix that leaking water pump or get that diesel stove working so we can keep warm. There is no ordering of parts from Amazon Prime (and getting what we need in two days). There is no mechanic to call, who will arrive and fix the problem while we go out to dinner and a movie. There is no store to drive to (if we still had a car), to get what we need. We have to be resourceful and make do with our resourcefulness and parts on hand. No one is coming to save us.

Imagine if you had to work on sink at home. The water isn't coming out. You can't just have someone replace it. You can't just run to the big box hardware store in your car and get a new faucet. Water pressure is supplied by a pump, not the city. By the way, all your water (80 gallons of it), is stored under the floor of your living room. The pump is located in the corner of a closet, hidden behind fishing poles, dock lines, buckets, and a host of other things that must be stored there. You have to remove all those things to get to it and, they have to stay on the boat. There is no spare room to move them to, so you stack them in your small back porch, hopefully in a corner so you can still walk around.

You need tools and spares.

The spare water pump is located under your bed. Not under it like you just reach under a regular bed under it, like inside the the box springs, under the mattress. You have to lift the mattress with the block and tackle (it weighs 80 pounds) and dig though various spares.

Tools are located under and inside your couch in the living room, so you have to tear all the cushions off and put them on top of your bed. The rest of the tools and miscellaneous spares are located under the cushions of your love seat, so you have to take the cushions and pillows off that too and put them on your bed.

You now have absolutely no place to sit, but it's time to get to work while otters play along the shoreline and majestic bald eagles hunt from hundreds-year-old fir trees along the granite cliffs surrounding the beautiful cove in which you are anchored.

You work on the problem until it is solved, or you give up for a break -- remember there is now nowhere to sit? You get back to work until you solve the problem. Simple as that. You have nothing but what is on the boat and you can't go get anything else you need. When you do finally solve the problem, because you have to, you simply have to, you put all the stuff back.

All the tools and spares have to be put away in some semblance of order so you can find/use them again. Once that is done, you dig all the cushions our of your bed and put them back on your couch and love seat so you can sit down again.

If you are skilled, resourceful and lucky (never discount this), you fixed the problem and can now enjoy the paradise in which you are currently anchored.

Then the house heater malfunctions the next day. You start moving cushions again, lather, rinse repeat.

Until the next problem.

So you plan your road trip to a destination twenty miles away. You check the weather, because winds and road conditions can literally swallow your car and everything you own. If the road is too bumpy today, it might be too dangerous to go. You double check the route to make sure there are no obstacles in your path on maps you have never seen before, and you have to trust that they are correct. If they aren't, and you hit one of those obstacles, the road can literally swallow your car and everyone inside. You might want to call for help or a tow but, no one may respond and, if you really screw up, no one is likely to find you. You make sure you have enough fuel (there are no gas stations en-route). You make sure you have enough food in your fridge (there are no stores on your route). Do you carry spares or a means to replace or repair every single part of your vehicle (there are no stores or mechanics along your route). Do you even know how?

Then, if everything is ready, you leave the beautiful cove, with the playful otters, the shell beaches, the hunting eagles and the bears (don't forget the bear spray). You take the car our of park (manually lift a 46 lb anchor and 160 lbs of chain) and hit the road.

Along the way you may find that the weather report lied or the conditions simply changed. The roads are now outright dangerous. You have to find a safe parking lot and you hope your parking brake (anchor) can hold you in place until the weather passes. You find it and decide dinner is called for -- the stove doesn't light because one of the propane tanks is empty, so you have to go out to the back porch and switch to the backup.

Then you discover the knocking noise every time you turn the steering wheel...the last person (not you, then you who tried to fix it the first time) didn't solve it.

But the place you parked is beautiful and, when the storm blows over the next day, you find yourself in a Yottie's paradise, surrounded by towering fir trees, hunting eagles and kingfishers, otters and maybe an occasional porpoise or whale. You are in paradise for a day and, to be honest, it was worth it to get here, even if the bumpy road tossed everything in the car just simply everywhere.

But you earned every eagle, every otter, every skinny dip in a warm mountain lake, every stroll along pristine shell beaches.

Even if no one really understands what it took to get here.

And you'll do it again the next day, and the day after that, because you want to.

Competence as a Travel Partner

Refitting Brigadoon over the last two months has become a whirlwind of plans, discoveries, revisions, and shifting priorities. We are on the last month with just weeks to go. The marching days keep our attention and intent forward – always forward. Every time we turn around, there’s something we haven’t expected, even though we expected a lot.

Our days have been filled with sanding, cleaning, generators, impact drivers, electric calking guns, anchor chains, outboards, wind vanes, tiller pilots, sand blasting, spreader lights, water makers, solar installation, bilge pumps, bedding port lights, sealing windows, cleaning water tanks, masthead lights, and more...

Rudder inspection became a complete reengineering of our rudder and quadrants. Chain plate inspections ended up being after the fact, as we decided that replacement chain plates were just the right thing to do. Reengineering the chain plate covers meant a sometimes-torturous learning process in how best to cut and shape epoxy-fiber materials. A curiosity about our anchor windlass encouraged us to take a chance and try the old “clean it and grease it and see if it works now” trick that I’ve used many times on old machinery over the years – it worked, saving us an easy grand. I spent days sanding and polishing a 30 year old mast so we could build it right. 

On an almost daily basis, I’ve dredged into my past, pulling up old skills, applying what I know, however I can, to solve the latest challenge and get us there. Thankfully, my personal toolkit is varied and broad; that’s been by design. I’ve never wanted to be the expert at one thing, instead content and satisfied to be good at many. Good, in this case, means competent. Eighty percent mastery is good enough, if it’s in enough disciplines. With it comes a surety, a knowing that problems are solvable. 

Why?

My whole life’s experience has brought me here, to this place and time, where the kid who loved science, art and adventure, who collected experiences instead of things, can grow up to do this.

As I told Kerry the other night, “This is the happiest I’ve ever been. I don’t belong anywhere else or with anyone else. I belong here, with you.”

Slow the Fuck Down

There are times in your life when you just get in a groove, follow a path, chasing that goddamn ball to the exclusion of anything less important. I've been doing that ball chasing since February, working on a new novel and working on Brigadoon. I've made great progress in both arenas, with an additional benefit along the way; just slowing the fuck down.

Much of my work/life has been about performing -- and that meant agility and speed. As I progressed in my career I saw the speed tended to produce a lot of energy and a lot of 'fast failure' on a random track to success. People got hurt, either physically, emotionally, mentally or financially. Success, true success was rare, with mediocre accomplishments being touted as great things indeed. After that, it's time to rush off to the next initiative, burn up a lot of energy and time, and hope for the best. As I got older I started seeing more places for caution, maybe consideration before action, in a world surrounded by people who fix a mistake by doing the same thing again -- only faster, harder, and with more self promotion.

The last few months have really driven the lesson home of the work I can actually accomplish when I slow the fuck down. It's given me the time to think and consider the best use of my time. The projects don't move at a breakneck pace but, I'm finding I'm accomplishing much.

So far, I've completed the first draft of a 50,000 word novel. The next process is copy editing, design and self-publishing. We hope to have it out soon. Right behind that is another writing project - a collection of motorcycle articles I wrote between 2001 and 2005. There are three other writing projects behind that one.

I've also made progress in Brigadoon (pictures and more details coming soon):

• Reconditioned the teak decks, leveling all calk and scrubbing well.
• Stripped and reconditioned the teak on the cap rails, teak topsides, anchor platform, traveler arch, cockpit combing and cockpit sides. 
• Managed a 2nd haul out, including bottom paint and new zincs
• Managed an insurance-mandated valuation survey during the haul out.
• Wrecked out the remains of the old head system, including the holding tank and all remaining hose.
• Installed an ultra-sonic hull cleaning system, which included the head unit, installing four transducers to the hull and wiring back to the unit through countless bulkheads.
• Cleaned the damn bilge.
• Repaired a cooling system leak -- tracing it to chafed heat exchange hoses with the old water heater, which was leaking fresh water...
• Removed and replaced the 6gal water heater, which included redesigning the water manifold to make it easier to flush and isolate parts of the system.
• Removed the old teak deck box, designed a new one, ordered the parts and started assembly.
• Removed and inspected both primary and secondary ground tackle.
• Re-bed all chain plates and covers to solve deck leaks.
• Re-painting the gold leaf scroll work and cove stripe.
• and more

There is a lot more to do in the next six months as we prepare to leave Tacoma and head for Pt. Townsend in December. 

Something about the story of the tortoise and the hare rings clear and true right about now. 

I quit

I quit on September 4, 2015. And it was Kerry's idea.

It’s been in the plan all along. The toughest thing was picking the date. Picking that date was actually making a commitment, drawing a line in the sand that said, “This is the day I resign from my corporate job.”

Then the day moves. It moves again. Then one more time. It doesn’t have to move much and we can compensate with our financial plans and goals but, the truth is, it kept moving. By our first plans we would have been sailing south by now. I know. Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.

Finally, after a soul searching weekend at the Perry Rendezvous, my wonderful Kerry suggested we make the date now. Like, “Why don’t you resign. You can work on your writing and work on the boat. All we have to do is figure out what the new plan is and agree.”

Now.

And I sat. I sat, staring at her. After 30 years of having to work, of needing to work, to support my family and my debt, someone was telling me I could be done. I almost didn’t believe it. But, she explained it. We can move some money from later to now and pay off Brigadoon. She can rework the financial plan now that we are debt free. This way we can do two of the big things we wanted to do. We can pay off our home, our yacht, our Brigadoon and Donn can resign from corporate life.

After the holiday weekend, I walked into my corporate job and handed in my very last ever resignation for an IT software company – ever. The last one. It was a surreal experience, both exciting and frightening. I mean, walking away from that job, from that money, and the potential savings. So much at stake.

So much at stake.

Maybe the thing to think about was not what, but who, was at stake.

As I sit here in my pilot house, in the pre-dawn hours of this day, two months later; I could not be happier. I’m up this early because it’s part of the agreement I wrote with Kerry. In exchange for being what I call a ‘kept man’ for the first time in my life, I agree to a few things.

I get up with her every day, before dawn. I walk/drive her to her bus/train stop. 

I come home to Brigadoon and write. My goal is 500 words a day. So far, my progress has been good and Kerry is satisfied with what I’m producing. We have put aside a quick publish of a set of motorcycle stories and have gone for the novel. It was her idea. Finish the novel. So far I’m over 33,000 words in with 20,000 to go but, the dailies are making it into the draft and Kerry likes the draft so, that is the writing.

I work on Brigadoon in the afternoons. So far I have done a lot of backbreaking cosmetic work on the hull topsides, re-engineered our stern navigation light, tackled a frozen shower sump pump (still in progress), set up our storage unit at the marina, sewn a splash cover for the kayak.

So mostly, in the mornings I write and in the afternoons work on Brigadoon.

As each day closes I prepare for Kerry coming home (this sounds so domestic, I know, but I’m kind of proud of it). Part of my agreement was that I would also be responsible for dinner. You see, she is the one with the two hour commute, and a fourteen hour work day -- not me. So, when she arrives  home, I have dinner ready.

Right after I meet her at the train/bus/trolley every day.

My days are my own. I’ve no agenda, no meetings, no task, obligation that I do not choose at each moment. Finally, my time is my own. I choose where and when I spend my energy. I am obligated to no one’s problems or commitments but my own.

Yes, one could argue that being a kept man like this trades one master for another but, I like this one a lot better.

Now, for the rest of the plan.

I can't tell you, though, just how god damn wonderful it feels to be this kind of free.

I sometimes just sit and look out the window, across the water, in utter disbelief in how incredibly lucky I am and how foolish it would be to waste any of the time I have left.

A time of change (post by Kerry)

So we’re moving.  I know we've mentioned this a couple of times now, but the stuff going on inside, the emotions around this particular step in our journey have been knocking around my brain for the last couple of weeks as it becomes more and more real.  I’ve lived in Seattle (and a few outlying neighborhoods) since 1978.  I spent a couple years in Minnesota after high school and one year in Idaho after college… but otherwise – this has been home.  In order: There was the small rental cottage on Mercer Island that my mom and I moved to from Massachusetts when I was nine; the house my mom bought in North Bend, where we lived for about three years during middle school; then the one bedroom condo in Rainier Beach we moved into, when Mom married Ray, right over the water on Lake Washington.  Next, during my Senior year in High School – we rented a beautiful brick tudor in the Seward Park area while the owners were on sabbatical in France.  I spent the summer after high school with my parents in an apartment overlooking Southcenter Mall.

 

This is when I left for a couple of years and while I was gone, my parents and grandparents built a wonderful Cape Cod style house out in Woodinville.  When I returned at the age of 19, I lived there in a three generation household for two years while working and starting at Cornish.  At the end of my first year of Cornish College, I began my apartment years – first on Capitol Hill in a small studio for $350 per month (crazy right?), then on Queen Anne with a couple of my classmates in a duplex with a view to die for. 

Cue another year away – falling in love and working in a theater in Sun Valley Idaho.  I moved back to Washington with Rob and lived with my family again out in Woodinville until we married in 1995.  Then there were our houses as a couple – the two rentals in Northgate, literally three houses away from each other, and then our first home ownership – a cute three bedroom rambler in Top Hat, nestled between Burien and White Center.

After the divorce, I sold my car and moved downtown into Tower 801 – a pie shaped apartment where I started to figure out who I wanted to be at the age of 36.  My sister, Zanne, decided to move to Seattle at this point and after two years on my own, we decided to shack up as roommates – first in a beautiful three story rental house on 25^th and Madison, then in a townhouse Zanne purchased over on Yesler.  It was at this point that Donn and I got engaged, married, and moved in together in the winter of 2008/2009.  We lived in his condo at 24^th and Madison for almost two years before we made our last move – onto the boat in a gorgeous slip on Lake Union in Fremont. 

It’s been almost five years.  And now, although I’ll still be working in South Lake Union, my life and focus are moving away from Seattle to Tacoma.  My actual home won’t be changing, which is kind of cool – no need to pack or clean or any of the typical “moving” activities.  Just untie the lines, and head for our last pass through the bridges and locks out into Puget Sound this coming Saturday.  Six hours or so later, we should be in our new slip in Foss Harbor Marina.

 

I’ve had a truly amazing life in this city – filled with theater, dance, friends, lovers, family, and so many adventures and escapades.  I am lucky - I have some incredible memories to carry with me and so many friends who will always be in my heart.  But I feel ready for this shift, this turning away from my history here.  This move marks the next step, the beginning of our effort to pull away – point our bow towards our future of sailing, travelling, seeing more of this world beyond the Northwest.  For now, we aim for Tacoma and exploring the South Sound as much as possible before we cut the dock lines for good and go on the Grand Adventure that awaits….

Standing in Two Worlds

I'm sitting at a desk in a corporate environment. Yet, my mind sometimes drifts to somewhere else, to being someone else entirely. There is this almost overwhelming desire to get up and just -- well, just leave.

Not just yet though. Not just yet. I am grounded here, both feet firmly planted on the ground, in this place, by my responsibilities, by my commitments and promises. I don't take those lightly. It's gotten me where I am today; financially successful by most standards. But, more importantly, it allows me to start placing one of my feet somewhere else.

Somewhere else that is different indeed. Forced socialization is left behind. I answer to no one with the exception of myself. I am responsible to no one but myself and my lovely First Mate. There are no schedules to keep. Deadlines do not dominate my life. Politics, dealing with it, navigating around it in this dysfunctional tribe called a corporation; they exist no more. My biggest problem is dying at sea.

I started working at 18. That was thirty-eight years ago. For thirty-eight years I have worked for someone else, running the rat race in some form or another, trying to be a good, responsible citizen. I've raised two children, held down good, gainful, employment. I've bought houses. I've been a good father, employee, and neighbor. I did all the things I was told I'm supposed to do. Get a job, start a family, keep up with bills, try to save money, try to retire...you know the drill. There was never a time in that 38 years where I was not in debt.

I'm sitting in a desk at a corporate environment. There is a reason I'm here but it's not the reason they think I'm here.

I'm here to be free. I'll take their money and spend parts of my life here because, in the end, it will serve me.

So, lightly, but not just yet, I'm stepping into a new world.

Years from now, I'm sure I'll be laughing while on watch, gazing out over the moonlit seas. I'll look back on my wonderful life, my beautiful children, their mother (whom I still do love by the way), my basically good health, and good opportunities. I will silently thank the sea for carrying me, Brigadoon for keeping us safe, my beautiful and loving First Mate who is off-watch and sleeping.

I will thank them for allowing me to leave parts of my life behind that no longer serve me.

Gazing down at the dolphins playing in our bow wave, watching the backbone of the sky light up the night sky, I will give thanks to all around me.

For the freedom to die at sea.

Hold Fast -- a promise.

My lovely first mate and I have talked for quite a while about getting a tattoo together. Some say that doing so is poison to a relationship. As soon as you do something so permanent, then the relationship will be temporary. 

Well, life is temporary my friends. Whatever we have, whatever we become, this is a reminder of our commitment to teach other -- in the here and now.

We talked about this design for a couple years. It started out with a sketch or two:

This was a good start, but I wasn't happy with the fluke, It was turned the wrong direction. So, I told Kerry I'd work on it and get the design better. We were staying in Poulsbo shortly after I announced that I knew what we needed and the design was done. Stepping into the door of "Thor's Hammer and Needle" we talked to Zak. After showing him some pictures he agreed to send us a sketch. He also made some good suggestions on the orientation and placement. He did an excellent job.

We are very happy with the final result.

As Kerry put it just recently, "It means Hold Fast to each other, Hold Fast to our plans, Hold fast to our dreams."

And that is what it means to me too. She put it better than I had ever hoped. 

These words have been promise, prayer, and commitment to not give up for as long as sailors have been at sea.

It will also be true for us.

It's Been a Long Time, But my Time is Finally Here

Man, it's been an interesting last few weeks. Kerry has been away at rehearsals for a production of Fiddler on the Roof. I've spent many an evening alone, and have been passing the time working on various projects, but mostly relaxing in and watching some streaming TV. I've picked watching the Star Trek Enterprise TV series on Amazon. Anyway, the point is, as I listen to this song, I've learned to sing it. As I've looked out the pilot house windows in the evening, this song really seems to speak to me. Cheesy, simplistic lyrics can still be inspirational at times.

***********************************************************

It's been a long road

Get'n from there to here 
It's been a long time 
But my time is finally near

I will see my dreams come alive at last 
I will touch the sky

And they're not gonna hold me down no more 
No they're not gonna change my mind

'Cause I've got faith of the heart 
I'm going where my heart will take me 
I've got faith to believe
I can do anything 
I've got strength of the soul 
No one's going to bend nor break me 
I can reach any star

I've got faith
I've got faith
Faith of the heart

***********************************************************

I've so many dreams in my life where I let others hold me down, where I let others change my mind. Fortunately for me, I'm a dreamer so, if one gets quashed another magically appears. It's a Phoenix-way of reinventing myself when necessary. I once wanted to learn to sail, then own a boat, then really sail to far off places. I learned to sail, eventually owned my first boat but never really thought my dream would come alive at last. It got sidetracked for reasons many but, my time is finally near.

I've been immensely fortunate to have been partnered with someone who loves adventures and traveling. She is willing to take risks with me, to plan a grand adventure, and to work to execute that adventure. 

As I sit there, in the pilot house, looking out over the waters of Lake Union, I imagine them as being in a different place. Maybe it's an anchorage in the South Pacific, a dock in Australia, or some harbor in Scandinavia. It doesn't matter where it is so much as the journey of going, of arriving having seen and done things never before.

I can sense it. The journey approaches, slowly but surely. It will arrive and we will depart. Some day.

I can sense it.

I've taken pictures...

I have a rather long relationship with photography. When we moved aboard Brigadoon, I couldn't help myself.  Here are some photos taken over this, so far, four year journey.

Enjoy.