Maintaining.

Friday, September 28, 2007
2000 hours

We did splash that Friday. Unfortunately, a couple of leaks became immediately obvious, so we got hauled right back out of the water again. It's good to find problems like that before you sail away, we agreed -- but it still felt like defeat. Most of the crew got up at 2:00 that morning to install the propeller shafts, or had been woken up in the process, and we had all worked extra hard to get everything seaworthy again in time to leave that day. I was hunkered at the end of the haulout dock on Hermes the boat-bike, taking photos of the Chieftain's re-introduction to the water and grinning like a madman, when I saw several of the crew get back off the boat, their faces and posture telegraphing the bad news.

It really was just a temporary setback, though; we were put back on the blocks, but remained in the lift so we could easily return to the water the next morning. And then we set to fixing the leaks, which (with the help of a welder from the next boat over) proved to be completely doable before nightfall.

The second splash was successful, but the subsequent transit was hard on us all. We were fatigued to begin with, and the immediate transition from a boat that doesn't move to a boat that moves a lot was rough. This was also my first ocean transit, as we left the Sound and headed for Grays Harbor, and I spent most of it feeling cold and queasy and, well, miserable. I felt sick before we even got back in the water, though, so I have hope that ocean transits without pre-existing tummy upsets may be easier. Or if not, that I'll learn to suck it up and make myself useful. In the meantime, my current blog subtitle will just have to be poetic license.

We reached Westport in under 24 hours, and spent the next couple of days recovering. Our new captain, who got on just before the transit, brought a cold that promptly spread to 4/5 of our exhausted crew. Still, Westport was kind to us. I'd forgotten how much fun it is to sail in Grays Harbor: good wind and (unlike Puget Sound) just enough swell to remind you that you're really on a boat. Besides, Westport has the Knotty Pine, my favorite dive anywhere. Every booth in the joint is layered thick with memories for me, and I took care to add a few more this time around.

Now we've begun a 3-week period of vessel maintenance in Aberdeen, or as sailors from the region call it, Aberdoom: Where Dreams Go to Die. It is ironic that the home port for these boats is the most unpleasant and ill-appointed I've ever stayed in. We're moored behind the Walmart, at the mouth of the muddy, smelly Wishkah River, on a tiny crumbling cement dock. There's no fuel dock, no pumpout, no marine supply store, no shore restroom facilities except the port-a-potty and the Walmart. Several other major chain retailers are conveniently close by, but what I've seen of the rest of the town is run-down and seedy and thoroughly depressing. It seems oddly appropriate that Aberdeen's most famous resident is known for sad songs and suicide.

But there are compensations. We are finally reunited with the Lady Washington and her crew; the two boats are rafted together, so we can conveniently attend each others' parties, steal each others' snacks, and perform daring raids with Nerf dart guns. And maintenance is both more fun and more relaxed than haulout. I spent today scraping, sanding, and refinishing the gorgeous teak rails around the perimeter of the boat, and I expect to spend the next several days on it as well. I find it very soothing.

And in other happy news, I have a new little brother: after a wait of many months, my family has been approved to adopt an eight year old boy. I can't wait to meet him!