Boat Life Larks - SV Dulcinea

November 2

Cruise Ship and Sailing Boat, Norfolk

So, after Day 2 of “hives hysteria” which took up all morning, a walk into town, and getting ready to actually leave, it was 1PM. I kid you not! Then the Coast Guard closed the channel next to our anchorage to allow a cruise ship to maneuver.

Sunrise at MM0

We finally did manage to leave and headed south, going through a number of bridges and arriving at Great Bridge Lock. We had to wait 45 minutes for them to open, and it took us another 30 minutes to lock through and get through the bridge. All the free docks were taken by people inches ahead of us, so we docked at Atlantic Yacht Basin and took on 16 gallons of fuel. Man, I bet they love sailboats! Big spenders! We awarded ourselves takeout, did laundry, and downloaded books. Oh, the thrills of marinas! We traveled 12 miles today, but it was a good day as we conquered Gilmerton Bridge (restricted schedule) and the lock.

Waiting for Great Bridge Lock

Locking Through! 9 inches!

November 3
We were planning on traveling again today, however, hives hysteria (day 3) won out. We did actually travel - several hundred feet from the paid docks to the free docks! Every hour, on the hour, Great Bridge bridge would ring it’s bells, and boats that had just locked through would rush out. It was exactly like watching a race. The power boats were always in front, then the big sail boats, then the little ones. We’ve seen lots of Canadian flags, and they all stick together. Boats would crowd over to the free docks, the fuel docks, or would pedal to the metal (you know, 6 knots) to get to the next bridge on time. It was all very exciting. We were even passed by a fellow boat yard-ee who left 3 weeks after we did. We are losing the race! I sure hope no one bet on us. We enjoyed several walks in the woods, thought about ticks and Lyme disease, and were safe and sound during the cold front that pushed through overnight.

Morning at Atlantic Yacht Basin

Fall Walk

Rush to get away from the lock and bridge, every hour, on the hour

Great Bridge Free Docks

November 4
We leapt up and considered trying to make the 8:30 bridge opening, but every other free docker and all the 8am lock escapees left for the 8:30 bridge, and we just couldn’t face joining the pack. We instead enjoyed our coffee at a leisurely pace and arrived for the 9AM bridge, after taking in the sounds of traveling alone. The open water patches were pretty nasty, what with the 25 knot winds and all. We hopscotched over several boats that passed us yesterday, turned up our noses at the “you must have their 32 ounce steak restaurant” and motored past 4 yachts who were hogging the entrance to a river. We anchored inside the river, alone. I was about to tell you that other boaters are weirdos, but the truth is we just have our own unique brand of weirdness. Our ICW trip south is quite different from our trip north. Instead of being lonely, we are irritated. We are now freezing cold instead of boiling hot, and we took the Virginia Cut route instead of the Dismal Swamp. So it’s all new, again. What larks!

River Anchorage

My sufferings continue. You already know how they recklessly crossed Chesapeake Bay in strong winds and it made me sick. I hoped things would get better. We haven’t moved the boat since the sickness, so in that sense, life is better; however, strange and peculiar events have caused me great concern.

They had gotten up, had vile poison drinks and boring cereal for breakfast. Then they started “getting ready to go to shore”. I walk to the swim step and stare at the dinghy. This is all I need to do to ready. They, however, are the worst. Even though they go to shore 3 times a day, over their entire lives, every time is like the first time. It’s like they are inventing the wheel every morning; such a palaver! “Where are my shoes?” “Oh yeah, I need shoes too” “Where’s my wallet?” "Oh, are we going shopping? Let me find the tote bags!” “My wallet’s GONE!” And I sit, staring at the dinghy. They get their act together, sort of, and Human1 (Names have been changed at Human2’s insistence) starts fiddling with the dinghy. Good, this is progress.

So much hope, leading to so much despair.

A frenzied, agonized cry startles me. Are we at war? Are we out of cheese? Dear god, not the cheese stores! “Help, I’m covered in hives. I think I’m going to die!” So the cheese stores are fine and Human2 has an itch. Requests for death seem a little overdramatic, don’t you think? What do these fools know of suffering, anyway? “Is this all the itch cream we have” “Well, there’s a full one in your hand, a back up one in the closet, one in the regular first aid kit and one in the ditch bag. So that’s 4 full itch creams.” “Not sure that will be enough. I think I’m going to die”. Yes, we’ve covered the pleas for death and are really considering how to speed up the process. Surely, it’s best to pull the plug now.

So, instead of getting a walk that morning, Human2 writhed in pain. Then, Human1 made oatmeal, but instead of eating it like a normal person would, slathered it on the rash. Meanwhile, no shore walk is being offered.

Later in the day, a shore walk was offered. I tried not to get too excited, as disaster is surely lurking. We walked, and then walked some more. We went to a store. I was hoping for cheese but instead they bought cat litter. We are NOT getting a cat. Do I need another haughty overlord in my life? We started marching back, and then it happened. A sticker. In my foot. I started limping and got picked up, examined and replaced on the ground. I struggled on. Have I mentioned that this walk is at least three miles? I started limping again and was carried for a while, until the humans felt their suffering was too much and put me down. They are willing to carry beer and cat litter, but not me. I suffer greatly. Back on the boat, the sticker is discovered and removed. Cat litter is placed in closets. Beer is chilled to forget the rash incident. And no cheese is offered to me, who has survived yet another day at the hands of these imbeciles.

P.S. I was rudely interrupted while writing this tale of woe. A call for paper towels came from the engine room. This is not unusual. Paper towels were produced and Human1 pulled a horrid face, directed Human2 to lay down, and emptied the contents of our first aid kit on the table. I don’t know why Human2 had to hit themselves in the head with a wrench. It’s beyond comprehension. It is 6PM, and dinner time, and they think that they can bleed to death instead of producing dinner? It’s too much. I howl my protestations, which are wrongly perceived as cries of worry. What I really want is dinner, now, before they die. At least leave the fridge open before you pass out!

October 26

After a full week sitting at anchor in Fishing Bay, we finally pulled the anchor, washed off tons of Chesapeake Mud (with our new wash down pump!) and left Deltaville. We made it a whole 30 miles and enjoyed an anchorage to ourselves in the Poqouson River.

The off-watch crew.

October 27

Sunrise over our Poqouson River anchorage

The forecast called for 10-15 winds, but upon entering the bay we encountered 25 knots, on the nose. I was very grateful for our dodger; every time I stuck my head beyond the windshield I was hit with a face full of wind and seawater; rather unpleasant.

Wet ride for our final sail in Chesapeake Bay

Hastings despises beating into the wind and was sick. Matt has bronchitis and was laying down somewhere. The port side toilet gets pissy sometimes and doesn’t want to flush. All you have to do is wiggle a hose to let air in (or is it out?), and then try again. The light wiggling didn’t do the trick, so I angrily wrenched at it, pulling the hose of and getting my second face full of seawater that day. I told this tale of woe to Matt who calmly informed me, “that wasn’t seawater”. Good times. Thanks for the send off, Chesapeake Bay!

MM0 Anchorage, Again.

For some inexplicable reason, we had a 3 knot current against us while motoring through Hampton Roads. slowing our speed from “tortoise” to “Hastings walking towards a bath” speed. I sure do hate having a disgruntled current. We stopped at the MM0 anchorage next to Portsmouth and Norfolk. (MM0 marks the northern point of the Intra Coastal Waterway (ICW) that transits inland waterways all the way to Miami)

Checking for boat traffic in Hampton Roads

Fake candles at dusk

October 28th

Neither of us has been sleeping due to Matt's coughing curse, so Matt called in sick and I called in my birthday day, happily abandoning ship and family to go shopping! Yay! I even picked up take-out from the pub on my way home. Someone else cooking and no dishes = recipe for happiness.

Meanwhile, Matt had discovered that our starboard engine has a coolant leak. We ordered a new coolant pipe; it won’t be here until Tuesday, giving Matt a few extra days to recover from the plague. We’ve been enjoying watching Carnival Cruise line load up passengers, and our southbound cohorts anchor at 5PM and leave at 7AM. What larks!

Carnival Sunshine - endless amounts of free entertainment for me!

Neat houses in Old Towne, Portsmouth, VA

Fall Colors!

Sunset over the MM0 Anchorage

Are the trees changing colors where you live? And isn't autumn the best with it's crisp air and pretty red leaves?

Boatyard living. Like fun, only different.

Wilderness Living

Loitering outside the restroom at 7AM, I asked Bill how his generator project was going. Last week he was very worried about adding the thru-hull (no one likes to drill extra holes in their boats!). "Man, that’s the least of my problems. I thought it would take a week, but we’ve been here a month and are no closer. I thought I had it all figured out before we hauled, but then I had to do an extra week of thinking. Then I ordered the parts and they took 10 days instead of 2 days. And you of course have noticed the 12 days of rain we’ve had.” “Yeah, I’m familiar. We just need one more week though, and we'll be done." Every single boatyardee has the same story. We’re all here, in the wilderness, together.

Just like the Israelites who escaped slavery only to wander in the wilderness for 40 years, we boatyardees escaped our jobs and our land lives to find the promised land. Only now we’re in the wilderness, and instead of 7 or 11 days, we’re grumbling and complaining and looking at 40 years. You bet we’ve got idols: we’re watching Netflix. We’re cursing the weather. We’re breaking tools, and making backwards progress. And we’re sharing our misery at the bathroom block, the boatyard social center.

Soon our old lives are looking better and better. Back in the house, we had Wifi. Yeah, that was pretty cool! And we didn’t have to walk to the bathroom block in the night. There was also a Chick-fil-A nearby. Yep, dreaming about Egypt.

Boatyard Multiplier Factor

How do you figure out how much time your wilderness experience / haul out will take? I'm here to help with scientifically proven multiplier factors for every situation!

Simple boatyard multiplier factor. Linda and Mark have owned their fancy pants dark blue hulled sailboat for 4 years. This is their third haul out together and they know what they are doing, and understand bad weather, delays, and waiting for parts. They’ve got their bucket systems and wine provisioning down to a science. They think it will take 2 weeks, so plan on a month. Multiplier factor: x2

Reasonable people, first major haul out. Matt and Lucy knew it would be boaty, but didn’t comprehend just how much rain was possible, how many tools would break, and how much additional thinking would be required. They didn’t know you could spend 4 hours trying to fix a broken zipper or 40 hours peeling off old vinyl stickers :-) They think it will take a week, but spend 6 weeks in the yard. Multiplier factor: x6

New boater on a new to them boat factor. God help him! Sven thinks the boat needs two weeks work, but is willing to see it could take a month or two. He'll start finding out all sorts of fun things about the previous owner’s amazing and peculiar mind. It’ll need 18 months. Multiplier factor: x36

We live here now. Fran hauled out 3 years ago for a summer refit. She bought a car to make getting to Home Depot and West Marine easier. She started working at West Marine (for the employee discount, you know) and enjoys hiking with friends on the weekends. She’s made a little garden by her boat and tells people she won’t stay another winter, but knows she will. She likes to drive her car to the mountains and ski, after all. Multiplier factor: x60

Just another week. Emphysema guy bought his classic trawler boat right here, in the boat yard. He’s been working on it for 5 years, but has a house he goes to when things get annoying. Judging by the constant cursing, smoking and death throe coughing, it’s annoying a lot of the time. Don’t worry though, the boat is nearly ready. It could float next week if it had to. He’s just got a few things left to do. Multiplier factor: x120

Humorless and complaining. Fred and Nancy dreamed of sailing away to the Caribbean together. They had demanding jobs which caused a lot of stress and made them yell at each other all the time. Boating will be the ticket: so relaxing, fun and romantic! "I’ll be Kiera Knightly and you can be Captain Sparrow!” How terribly disappointing to find out they are still just Fred and Nancy, and yelling at each other over the proper way to measure courtesy light locations is even worse than fighting over what's for dinner. At least in LandLand, there was always a Chik-fil-A to settle the argument. Who knew boating could be such hell? Fred and Nancy will never see the promised land. They’ll sell the boat and head their separate ways. Multiplier factor: x365

Have you ever been through a wilderness experience? How long did it take to escape? (We need just one more week!)

MM0, Great Bridge Lock, and Virginia Cut

Boat Life Lately: Better and Worse

Southbound Exodus

De-Motivation in the Boatyard

The Boatyard Wilderness

Wilderness Living

Boatyard Multiplier Factor

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