Ship's Log s/v Uliad
January 27:
Today was the day we started telling friends, colleagues, and
staff about our plans. Responses have ranged from intrigue to panic, but
everyone seems to understand my rationale. My partners seemed to take it in
stride, but some of my staff whom I have worked with for years seemed visibly
upset. I suppose we instinctively knew it would be bittersweet to start this
process, but now the reality has set in. It will be hard to say goodbye to so
many people. It is difficult to put my office staff through the uncertainty of
my departure. After so many months of dreaming of warm, palm-lined anchorages,
the realities of what we will be giving up for that dream hits me like a punch
in the stomach.
I'm also feeling some panicky thoughts about, "is this really wise?"; "can we
really afford it?", "what if we hate it?" and so on. I felt like I was dragging
my feet the past few weeks to start making our cruising plans public, and now I
know why. This will be an emotionally difficult process. Nothing worthwhile
comes without a price, I suppose.
So this is The Plan: After 10 years of building a career in Family Medicine, I
found myself bored, tired, and feeling like this is not how I want to be
spending the rest of my adult life. I wanted to slow down and watch my son grow
up. So we're selling the house, packing away & giving away the stuff, and
quitting the job. We're moving aboard our boat and sailing off into the sunset.
We'll live more in the moment, and take time to savor what is truly important.
We'll explore together, as a family.
At least that's The Plan. Go ahead, keep reading. I'll keep you informed as to
how things really work out!
February 2:
There's a famous old saying among boaters that the
two happiest days in a sailor's life are the day he buys his boat, and the day
he sells it. For me, the day we bought Uliad proved to be somewhat
anticlimactic: the whole thing took place by sending a couple of faxes in
between seeing patients, and a brief note the following day that everything went
through fine. No big deal
But the first time I set foot on my boat--now that is a happy day. As I write
this, I'm flying down to Ft. Lauderdale with a suitcase full of tools and a list
of boat projects that is currently 63 items long. Some are basic yacht safety
items that I need to see with my own eyes are fixed: replacing frayed mooring
lines, double clamp some engine hoses, etc. Others are purely items of
convenience, cosmetics, and personal preference which will start to make this
boat our home.
I can't wait to step aboard MY boat. Like a bride on her wedding night, a
captain's first night aboard his boat is anticipated not simply for the moment's
pleasure, but for the promise of the years of happiness to come. When I arrive,
late at night, she'll be quietly, patiently waiting, surrounded by moonlight
sparkling on the water. I'll pause and take in her pretty lines for a moment
before stepping aboard. I'll make my self at home, and be gently rocked to sleep
deep within the womb of her master cabin. And tomorrow, when the Florida
sunlight reaches through her portlights to stir me from this happy rest, I will
awake and begin our life together. I'll exhaust myself exploring each hidden
corner. Nobody will know her as well as I. Those 63 items will slowly be crossed
off, and soon, others sailors will steal glances as I sail by, muttering, "Lucky
Bastard!" under their breath. I'm coming, beautiful. I'm coming.
February 5:
Ft. Lauderdale has been called the Venice of the Americas.
Strangely, there already IS a Venice, FL somewhere else. Anyway, they call it
that because, like Venice, there are a whole bunch of canals branching off the
Intercoastal waterway. The canals are lined with homes, and those citizens who
can't afford both a waterfront home and a big yacht, rent their dock space to
people like me. I have to admit, we were a bit uncomfortable during the survey
having to walk into someone's back yard to see the boat. Now it was even worse.
Despite assurances from the broker, and a big For Sale sign in front of our
house, I was a little worried. Here I was, arriving at about 1am, driving slowly
to find the right place. Then I had to get out, and go through a gate on the
side of the house to let myself onto the boat. I was pretty sure that someone
would report me as a prowler, and I'd soon be chased down by a police dog. Then
I was also a bit unsure if "liveabords" were permitted in a nice neighborhood. I
imagined an angry gang of gray haired men chasing me off with leaf blowers. I
crept to the boat as quiet as I could, and ducked inside with my suitcase. Then,
using only a penlight, I quickly made up my bed, laid down, and tried to relax
my pounding heart and remember the happy place I was in just a few hours ago.
Fortunately, none of my fears came true, and I awoke on our beautiful new boat.
The house was confirmed to be unoccupied, as were several other nearby homes
undergoing major renovations. Behind me, at the neighbor's dock, a boat washing
service was busily at work on a large motor yacht. And throughout the weekend,
the neighborhood was quiet, and nobody seemed to notice that I had just moved
in.
So I started tearing madly into my giant list. The biggest item was to dig out
all the lockers that were filled with many years of spare parts, tools, and
assorted junk. Every time I got to the bottom of another locker, I was greeted
with many years of dirt, salt, and a few rodent droppings. By mid afternoon,
there was a giant pile of stuff on the saloon table, and an empty boat
everywhere else. Ready for a change of scenery, I set off for the boat store
with another list. Several hours and several hundred dollars later, I was back.
After cleaning out the lockers, my second priority on this trip was to secure
the boat: I changed some frayed dock lines, attached chafe protection, and added
some fenders. Now I'd sleep better back in Wisconsin without worrying about
Uliad breaking loose.
By Sunday, I was ready to do some outside work. My first task was to re-bed some
plexiglass on a hatch over the galley. No sooner had I removed the panel and
finished digging out all the old silicone when the rain let loose. So I spent
the rest of the day back inside alternating between sorting through the pile of
stuff in the main cabin and emptying the bucket in the galley collecting the
rainwater that kept dripping through the hatch. The most frustrating part it all
was not the rain, but the fact that after two long days of work, the boat was
looking worse than when I first arrived. By midnight, I decided that I would go
to bed and get up early. I had trouble falling asleep. I kept wondering what I'd
do if I couldn't get that hatch repaired before I had to leave tomorrow.
Monday came with another gray, stormy looking sky. But the rain had stopped, so
I figured I'd better take whatever chance I could get. I cleaned and dried the
hatch frame, caulked it with some goo that the boat store recommended, and set
the plexiglass back in...Finished!! and just before the rain started up again.
Then it was off to talk to contractors.
Before the morning was over I had lined up a multi-pronged attack on boat
mediocrity. The diesel mechanic would be back tomorrow to pull and overhaul the
engine. With the engine out of the hold, the watermaker guys would come and
replace the ancient unit currently taking up space behind the engine. The fire
extinguisher guy came by and re-certified our 4 extinguishers. The sailmaker
would be by on Wednesday. A list was left for the electrician. The carpenter
will come up with a plan for the guest cabin. Now we were making progress!! I
decided that Ft. Lauderdale is the Mayo Clinic of the yachting world. The point
is, when it comes to boats, everyone is a specialist here. If you go to Mayo
Clinic for a pain in your left foot and happen to mention that the right foot is
also giving you some problems, you can expect that the left foot expert will
order a consult from the right foot expert. Everything is just about that
specialized in the boating industry here. So I'm expecting good work, but
probably big bills also.
During my last hour of this three day weekend, I just concentrated on cleaning.
Kathleen would be coming down in three weeks and I could already hear her having
fits. I made a mental note to get the bilge cleaning specialist over here before
Kathleen comes. Her dainty senses should not have to notice the rodent
droppings. At the airport I hear that it is currently 8 below zero in Wisconsin.
Yay.
February 12:
Well, the bitter cold temperatures have persisted now for
over a week in Wisconsin. Kathleen has been making good use of her time stuck
indoors by starting the long process of sorting through all our stuff.
Everything seems to go in one of three groups: Give away to friends, save and
put in storage at my Dad's place, or bring to the boat. As time goes by, I'm
guessing that two new groups will appear: the sell group and the throw away
group.
Kathleen and Emmett went to Papa's house to deliver the first load this past
weekend while I remained home on call. I spent most of my quiet time at home on
the computer: I signed us up with web hosting from GoDaddy.com, set up new email
accounts for us all, and created and uploaded the Uliad.net website that you're
reading this on. I'm no expert in any of this, and my progress in accomplishing
these tasks could be compared to watching a blind man feeling his way around an
unfamiliar room. It might not be much to someone who really understands Web
publishing, but I'm quite proud of my work!
Orders have been placed for a new laptop, ship's navigation software, new hatch
hardware, new EPIRB batteries, and so forth. The battle wages on.
Despite my best efforts to begin keeping a diary of this life transition,
I'm finding that my current life leaves precious little time for self reflection
that this requires. And maybe that is part of the problem.
Why? I have been meaning to start by answering that question. I've always led a
pretty straight and narrow life: high school to college, to medical school, to
residency, to work. I'm not really the first person you might expect to drop out
and adopt a bohemian lifestyle like this. But the reality is, I've had this
sailing dream in the back of my head for a long, long time. And if you know me,
one thing you probably do know is that I'm a pretty goal oriented person. When I
find something I want, I start asking myself, What are you doing TODAY, Steve,
to achieve that goal. Some days, the answer was planning charter vacations. A
lot of days, it meant reading as much about sailing and cruising I could get my
hands on. And often it was The Plan that gave me that extra push to work as hard
as I could in my career, to earn the money I'd need to do this.
I was a few years into building my medical practice when a patient of mine died.
She was a lovely lady, the kind of patient you can never have too many of:
always friendly, sick enough to come in frequently, but well enough to be in a
good mood. We'd run into each other at church, or in the grocery store. She
brought in a wedding present when I married Kathleen (a delightfully tacky
crystal vase, I think). Now she lay dying from an unexpected heart attack. I
went through the paces of my job, talked with her husband who understood the
situation and wasn't inclined to drag things out.
And after signing her "comfort measures only" orders, and tucking her and her
family into a quiet room to share their good byes, I realized that this death
was different than so many similar situations in my training. Because this
patient had become my friend. Like so many other patients had in my practice. It
is inevitable when you become a country doctor, that you tend to your friends
and your neighbors.
That night when Kathleen asked why I seemed preoccupied, I turned to her and
said, "You know, this is going to be really hard--being a doctor."
And so it has. The hardest job you'd ever love. By walking intimately alongside
the sick, we see life's unpredictability. We see random tragedies, lives ended
incompletely, dreams left unfulfilled. It is not that I developed a fear of
death, as much as I became aware that our lives are finite, and time creeps up
on us if we're not careful.
There was a urologist at my hospital: successful, well-liked...a real gentleman.
As a young doctor just starting out, I admired the fact that he had somehow
escaped the surly, over-worked demeanor that so many of my older colleagues had
become afflicted with. At the peak of his career, he seemed to have found the
balance in life that eludes so many of us physicians. He was diagnosed with a
brain tumor and in 6 months was gone.
It was like an eerie premonition to my own Mom's death a few years later. Mom
had left a successful career where she was a corporate vice president. She
retired to focus her efforts on being a grandmother. And she too developed a
brain tumor. And a few years later, she was gone.
By now, my philosophy had changed. I was done with the straight and narrow life
that says you work hard for 30 years and then retire. Life is too unpredictable.
We were going to go now while we were young, and healthy. And so The Dream has
slowly evolved for years. There are easily a couple dozen reasons not to do it.
Probably always will be. But I can never escape feeling that there is something
passing me by as I drive to work each day before dawn, and come home after dark
But there was a lot more to our decision than watching others die
young. Being a doctor had taken its toll in other ways as well. When Kathleen
and I first came to our small town, we looked around and laughed at some of the
grouchy old doctors who always looked in a rush, and like their smiling muscled
had permanently atrophied. Where's the joy? I wondered. "If I ever start acting
like that," I whispered to Kathleen at a Medical Staff banquet, "get me out of
here." Well, 9 years later it was happening. And here's how it happens:
Being a doctor is the greatest job in the world. I love it for so many reasons.
But to be a really good doctor, you have to be there. You have to take time and
be available when people need you. But as word spreads you get busier. And it is
intoxicating to see your schedule fill up with so many people who had put their
trust in your skills. If you're good, and personable, you get busy. Really busy.
And you start having to take a little less time with each patient, which you
don't like. So you start working really hard to be as efficient as possible and
squeezing every minute out of each day so you still have enough time for each
patient.
Of course your family doesn't like it that you give the best of yourself to the
patients and come home late and exhausted each night. Different medical families
seem to handle this one differently. Some couples seem to quietly accept that
the Doctor runs the practice and the spouse takes care of the household. And
they go on leading separate but superficially interdependent lives until they
drift far enough apart that they are pretty much strangers. Other couples fight
back, and the wife starts calling the office manager to wrestle back control of
the schedule. Hard lines are drawn between work time and family time, and the
two demands are constantly at odds.
And all that stress, all that busy-ness, all that constant striving to be a good
doctor, a good husband, a good dad...it starts to do things to you. You start
getting annoyed if the light turns red. Annoyed that the patient isn't getting
better like they should. A family game becomes a task to be efficiently
completed within a reasonable amount of time so you can move on to the next item
on today's agenda. And pretty soon you haven't smiled all day. The worst part
is, you have no time to even notice, or self reflect. And since we all treat
doctors with such reverence, nobody else tells you when you start to change.
I was on my way to becoming one of those scowling old doctors with atrophic
smiling muscles. And I didn't like it. Trouble is, by now there's no easy way to
fix it. The patients all depend on you. You're used to that fat paycheck. If you
cut back, you're just dumping the rest of the work on your partners. There are a
thousand little voices telling you to just keep at it.
Fortunately, as I slipped down this slope, there was one thing Kathleen
and I did right. As our lives became more hectic, it would have been very easy
to seek comfort in consumerism. Working too hard? Well then treat yourself. You
deserve that big house, that shopping trip, that expensive vacation. We both
have our things we like to splurge on, but for the most part, we lived far below
our means At the same time my income grew far beyond I ever dreamed it could.
Working so hard literally paid off. So finally, we were able to come to the
realization that we had a million dollars in the bank, but no time to enjoy it
Too busy to have fun. To tired at night to enjoy the things we used to do. And
The Dream became the perfect answer to trade in all that money for a happier
life.
So that's the short version of how I came to leave a career I love to pursued
something completely different. Now that it is officially going to happen, I
have my own fears and second guessing going through my head far more often than
I thought I would. We know we're ready for a break from years of working too
hard, but the unknown can be scary! So many boat refitting projects going on at
the same time feels overwhelming and only adds to my anxiety. The good news is,
I can see progress being made, and things just may come together. The rodent
droppings were cleaned up before Kathleen came down--that was the biggest
victory.
Today Kathleen and I are trying to get home from Ft. Lauderdale again. A
snowstorm has snarled air traffic and we're stuck in O'Hare, hoping to get a
standby seat on one of the last two flights home. (both fully booked at this
point) Snow is pouring down out there. At least the planes are still leaving!
We really started trading in the money for the dream this week. The engine
overhaul is nearing completion, the watermaker should be installed tomorrow. New
high frequency radios, new sails, new bottom paint, new batteries-- the list
goes on. I'm slowly ticking off the project list. The problem is, when you start
fixing one problem, half the time you uncover a second problem that needs fixing
as well. So new items keep getting added to the list as well. It is exhausting,
but in a good way. I'm really loving all the hard work. And I'm starting to feel
like I really understand each system in the boat. This will be critical down the
road to know where each little thing is and what it does.
Kathleen has been studying the boat from an aesthetic perspective and is
starting to formulate a plan of what housewares, decorative items, and personal
items will be needed and where everything will get stored. She was all set to
start some painting projects when she started getting sick.
The thing about Kath is, when she gets sick, she never gets a mild case of
anything. Within 24 hours she was splayed out in bed with a splitting earache
and a bad case of laryngitis. Bad combination because now I couldn't hear her
complaining about how bad her ear hurt until finally about 10 at night she
mustered up the strength to stomp out into the main cabin, whispering at the top
of her lungs about how she's going to find an emergency room where someone will
take care of her better than her louse of a doctor-husband does. Ooops! I loaded
her up with Ibuprofen, Sudafed, and a few drops of lidocaine in the ear, and
thankfully it worked, because I had just bought $800 worth of new AGM batteries
for the boat and we really couldn't afford an ER bill right now. (Just kidding,
honey!)
So we're struggling to get back to 10 inches of fresh snow. I'm tired, my wife
is sick, our flight is cancelled, but I have just the faintest smile on my face.
We're really going to do this. Knowing that somehow makes me feel that things
are going to be just fine.
March:
Today I decided to add up how many contractors are all
working on Uliad's refit: Lets see, there's a carpenter, an electrician, a bilge
cleaner, a rigger, a diesel mechanic, a watermaker installer, an electronics
technician, a repairer of window blinds, a compass adjuster, a bottom painter, a
prop shop, and one yacht manager to crack the whip. It sounds like I'm some
prima donna hiring out all the work, but trust me, I'm doing a bunch of stuff
myself also.
For years I moonlighted in Emergency Rooms to pay off my school loans and make
some extra money. It didn't take long for me to realize that every time a new
repair project came up around the house that I'd just say, &"hire someone,
honey. I'll be in the ER paying for it.&"; Not many contractors could charge as
much per hour as I could earn.
Unfortunately, that kind of attitude won't work so well if something breaks on
our boat a thousand miles from nowhere. I really need to have some basic
knowledge of how to repair just about everything on this boat. So I'm gingerly
trying to get back in the habit of repairing and installing things myself. It is
kind of fun, and kind of frustrating. And it has struck home just how much I use
my brain and how little I use my hands in my life as a doctor. I was installing
a water pump the other day, and after figuring out what I needed to do and
exactly how I wanted it all done, I literally caught myself looking around as if
to think, "now who can I tell to do all this?" I
wonder if Kathleen would laugh if this water pump breaks down and I hand her a
written prescription for a new one?
It occurred to me this morning that it is now only one
month away until I will step aboard Uliad and set sail nearly a thousand miles
in her to bring her to Delaware. Several things gnawing at my mind all day today
are:
- I've never sailed that far a distance before.
- I've never sailed this boat away from the dock yet. Except for her sea trial
where technically it was the previous owner in charge of everything.
- None of the repairs have really been properly tested yet.
- Most of the repairs haven't been even completed yet.
- Some of them haven't even been started yet.
- I still haven't had any of my potential crew confirm yet that they will
definitely come with me on this trip.
- Given my schedule and the tax laws of the state of Florida, delaying my
departure is really not an option.
So, as you can imagine, I'm starting to get a bit nervous about the upcoming
April 11th. My rational mind knows that this is a solid boat with lots of
back-ups if anything should go wrong. But I still can't help writing the list of
woes above and thinking that this is a classic introduction to some horrendous
survival at sea story that will be told to future generations of sailors as an
example of what NOT to do.
Nonetheless, I shall remain positive. I've been packing up another duffel bag
full of parts, tools, and supplies to bring with us this Wednesday. I've got a
couple lists ready to go, and if I get them all done, we should be in pretty
good shape to take off next month. Big on my list will be to actually sail the
boat.
The engine has been overhauled now and the mechanic is supposed to finish
aligning it and giving it a test run. So if that goes smoothly, that should take
care of all the work needed in that big dark hole of an engine room. (Other
projects down there including replacing the watermaker, a bilge pump, and the #1
battery bank.) Once we can finally close the door on the engine room, It should
do wonders to making the pilothouse look like a yacht again instead of a
construction zone.
Today marks the fifth trip
down to Ft. Lauderdale since last November when we first took a 3 day weekend to
have a look at Uliad. I had been searching for a new boat casually since summer
of 2005. At that point I was just doing a lot of reading and getting ideas about
what features we'd want in our next boat. I looked at a lot of designs and
started bouncing ideas off Kathleen. In May of 2006, we took a month off to sail
Shepherd, our 47 foot charterboat through the leeward islands. We came away from
that trip with a lot better knowledge of exactly what we'd like to have in our
next boat to be able to live comfortably on it. We also came away with the
desire to go ahead and get moving on this life change.
So with Shepherd up for sale, our list of "must
haves" and "would be nicest" developed. I preferred
a rugged metal hull for security, as it is better able to withstand a grounding.
That narrowed the field right away. We also needed 3 cabins: A centerline queen
bed aft for us, a cabin for Emmett, and a third sleeping area for friends,
family, or crew. And then the other big desire was to have an enclosed
pilothouse so you could stand watch in bad weather without having to stand out
in bad weather. Finally, the boat had to be rigged so one of us could sail it
most of the time. With only the 3 of us, we saw that as a basic security
measure: if one parent needed to sleep or take care of Emmett, the other should
be able to get by alone running the boat.
We first looked at a steel Bruce Roberts design in Toronto last summer. It was a
nice boat, and the price was right, but, like most Bruce Roberts boats, this one
was home built, and had a few quirky design features that the owner included for
God knows why. I liked it better than Kathleen, who thought it was too big (54
ft), too hard to sail (they needed 3 people to raise anchor!) and the thing was
really not so pretty to look at. Back to the drawing board. I also made a few
inquiries into yacht plans and having a new boat custom built.
Kathleen does much better looking at actual boats than imagining them while
looking at design drawings, so she decided what she needed was to see a whole
bunch of boats at once to get a better sense of what her options were. In the
fall we went to the Newport Boat Show and spent all day comparing the pretty new
boats. We came away deciding that Kath really didn't want a boat bigger than
about 50 feet--more than that and she started feeling very intimidated standing
at the helm and trying to picture how just the two of us would dock it. We
really liked the Island Packet 48 for cruising, but it was a brand new design
and we didn't quite have the money to buy brand new.
Meanwhile, I was spending most of my spare time during these months trolling
Yachtworld.com for boats. Which is where we eventually found Uliad. It was
aluminum hulled, professionally built, and within our size and budget
constraints. The layout wasn't quite right, but it could be made to work. Best
of all, the price had just been reduced and it had been on the market for a
while so maybe we could get a good deal. I didn't feel good about making an
offer without actually looking at the boat, so Kathleen and I went down for a
quick weekend trip last November and spend the day crawling all over the boat.
It wasn't perfect, but it was close enough for us! It had most everything we
needed, and it looked like the rest could be made right as long as we could get
the right price for it. So we made an offer that week, and after a few weeks of
going back and forth over price, we came to enough of an agreement to have the
yacht professionally surveyed.
A yacht surveyor does for boats what a building inspector does when you buy a
house. We spent another 2 days in January with the inspector looking over
everything again. It helped my yacht-confidence to find that the inspector
didn't find much that I hadn't already found myself. But having his name behind
the list of "flaws" was enough to get some further price concession and a few
weeks later, we were owners. And so here we are. I'm getting more excited as
each problem gets rectified and more enthusiastic to get out sailing finally!
We were pretty discouraged after arriving at Uliad to find the junk
of half a dozen contractors strewn about the boat. The engine was in, some of
the electrical work was complete, very little progress in the carpentry...but
worst of all was that the boat was just a mess. And it appeared that, since it
was a mess, each contractor didn't thing that their little piles of junk left in
various places was any big deal. So our first project was to clean up and help
remind anyone that this was a yacht.
Today, I'm pleased to say, Uliad actually left the dock. We were both pretty
nervous to be taking the boat out for the first time...we had on board two
diesel mechanics to sea trial the engine and generator, and a
compass adjuster to, well, to adjust the compass. Fortunately everything worked,
and we managed to motor and dock the boat without making spectacles of
ourselves. Our dock space is wedged pretty tightly between several powerboats,
with big pilings to work around to get in, so we were pretty pumped that we
managed to park the boat flawlessly... Kathleen looked like an absolute pro
handling the lines, and for my part, I was pleased to say that my new boat
handles very nicely in tight quarters.
We planned to celebrate our maiden voyage by taking Emmett out to a nearby
roller skating rink that he had been eyeing as we drove past. Finding the said
rink closed, we made a quick recovery and took him to a nearby amusement park
for a roller coaster ride. Then finding our boy to be about one inch too short
to ride said roller coaster, we made a second quick change of plans and played
mini golf. Thank goodness my son is adaptable. After beating us both at mini
golf, Emmett and both his parents came back to the boat exhausted, and happy
that we had such a great day.
--So this morning Emmett was up
bright and early to remind us all that the roller skating rink will be opening
in only an hour for family skate time on Saturday morning. Before I could even
get any coffee in myself, Em had us up and dressed and on the road. For only
$4.00 (adults get in free if they bring their kid, we were issued skates that
looked about 50 years old and pointed toward the big wooden rink where the disco
music was already blaring. The ceiling was painted black, but it was punctuated
with twinkling rainbows of stage lights and whirling disco balls that light up
unpredictably. The soundtrack was a curious mix of disco classics and modern
hip-hop-pop. Maybe a half dozen inner city kids stumbled around the perimeter
while their parents congregated in the back, enjoying a brief respite while
their kids could be self-entertained. A few brave Dads donned skates to hold
their kids up while their legs flailed in odd directions. Emmett, too, had a
rough start, but after seeing enough other kids fall also, and a brief lesson by
a matronly lady who was conveniently time warped here from 1978, he put it all
together enough to finish near the top of the roller-limbo contest by the end of
the afternoon.
Meanwhile, Kathleen and I took the time to have a few rolls around the rink
ourselves. Were these kids the only ones who don't have play-stations to keep
them sedated in their family rooms? We pondered such questions as we risked
concussions and fractures. There certainly wasnt the crowd we each remembered
from the roller skating phase of our childhoods. It is nice to know places like
this still exist. We used to go every Sunday afternoon...a bus came and stopped
in front of the post office and drove us all to the next town to spend our
afternoon roller skating. Why, if you could beg a couple dollars from your mom
you could get in, rent your skates, and still have enough for a glass of pop at
the snack bar.
Have you been roller skating in the past 20 years? Probably not. Well, I'm here
to heartily recommend it. We akwardly tried to glide in a giant oval beneath the
dark ceiling sparkling with colored lights...and if I just relax and let myself
go...just for a moment I'm 10 years old and back at the Quamingo Roller Rink on
the prairies of Minnesota, gliding beneath the stars with my whole life in front
of me and maybe by the end of today that girl is going to want to hold my hand
and couples skate. Why anything could happen...
And before I drifted (ok, wiped out most un-graciously on the floor) back to the
dingy reality of this relic of a bargain entertainment venue, and then the
reality of a long day of chores, lists and deadlines. Before I was a hard driven
late 30s professional...it occurred to me that this is sailing too. The whole
world is in front of me all over again. Anything could happen. Anything.
21 Mar 2007 9:12 pm
After 5 long days of work in Ft. Lauderdale, we
came back monday starting to feel a lot better about her being ready on time.
I've started to line up crew for the delivery to Delaware, scheduled to begin
only 3 weeks from today! All I need now are for the contractors to finish their
tasks on time.
Sometimes it seems like a full time job just keeping track of all the details of
projects. As I start to get wound up about it all, I just have to remind myself
that's why we hired a yacht manager down there to look after things. Today he
called to inform us that the haul out at the boat yard took place later than
expected after the delivery captain got stuck in a shallow mud bar on the way
out the channel. Funny, same thing happened to us last week. Now I don't feel so
bad!
28 Mar 2007 9:13 pm
With two weeks to go until the delivery trip, things
are starting to come together. Barring any major surprises, the contractors
should be able to finish their assigned tasks in time.
Uliad came out of the water this past weekend for a much needed coat of bottom
paint. There is still work to be done by the carpenter, electrician, riggers,
hydraulics, and radio guys, but it looks very achievable at this point.
I have the crew assembled for the delivery trip to Delaware:
Steve P is a guy I have never met who was recommended by our yacht broker. I'm
paying his way to come just because A. he runs a boat yard in New England and
hopefully can fix stuff if it breaks, and B. he has some offshore experience
which neither I or nobody else does. Hopefully he has neither a psychopathic
side nor a bad body odor. One just cant tell from a few phone calls or emails.
Kent is a colleague of mine and a fellow sailor. I think I caught him at a weak
moment, since he's been unable to sail in Wisconsin all winter. He jumped at the
opportunity even though he knows both me, and sailing, enough to know better.
Eric is an old high school friend. He has come on charters with me once or
twice, but aside from that has no sailing experience. I talked him into coming
by promoting the whole "adventure at sea" thing. I purposely omitted any mention
of seasickness...hopefully that won't come back to bite me in the ass.
So, in two weeks, the four of us will hopefully converge upon Fort Lauderdale;
arriving as strangers and becoming a crew. We'll pack up our ship and set out of
Port Everglades to hook a ride on the Gulf Stream northward. Our course will
pull us slowly farther from land and out into the big Atlantic, pointing our bow
toward Cape Hatteras: the graveyard of the Atlantic. By the time we round the
cape, we should be settled into a routine of watches, and over the worst of any
seasickness we may have faced. It would be naive to expect nothing to go wrong,
but I have confidence in the boat to carry on. After Hatteras, we will reach a
fork in the road: we could turn left, and duck into Chesapeake Bay for a longer
but protected remainder of the trip. Or we could take the shorter, more exposed
route north into Delaware bay. I think we'll make that decision when we get
there. Either way, or final destination will be Summit North Marina, on the C&D
canal which connects the Chesapeake and Delaware bays. By then, we'll all feel
like accomplished sailors. And so we will be. A thousand miles across the ocean.
By then, we'll all be the best of friends, or so annoyed with each other that
we're ready to swim to shore. I've seen it go both ways on a small boat. By
then, I'll be done worrying about whether I have forgotten anything in my long
list of preparations...
April:
I received email from Uliad today.
"Dr John"; is the founder of Cruise Email, inc. and
the guy who is installing our new SSB radio. So the radio is apparently working
well along with the special modem necessary to send email over high frequency
radio waves across the oceans. There are several companies and non-profit
organizations offering these services, all have painfully slow download times,
so don't send us photos! So that's one more thing to check off the list.
I think I've received the last of the gear &parts that I've ordered and packed 'em
all up.
My biggest frustration so far has been my Max Sea navigation software. The
program sounds great on paper: it allows you to interface your GPS to your
electronic charts to your internet weather data and display them all together.
So on one screen you can see the chart, with a little red boat in the middle
representing you. Then various symbols, lines and colors can be used to display
the wind and waves both now and in the future as you move forward in time. It
would be a pretty cool thing if it worked.
I loaded it onto my laptop in February and promptly found that the charts they
sent were not being recognized by the program. After a couple calls, they sent
me some new codes to put into the program and that part worked...for about a
week. Then the program froze up. No big deal except no amount of rebooting would
help. I even tried to un-install the program and start over only to find that an
error message popped up every time I tried to uninstall. So now I was really
screwed: couldn't use the program and couldn't get rid of it. Calls to tech
support were met with round after round of "golly-gee, never heard of that one
before. We'll have to get back to you..." Finally after a week of not getting
back to me I ended up reformatting my hard drive to start over.
Then like the masochist I am, I reloaded the software to try again. It worked
great for a few days, then started freezing up every time I load it. I kept
calling tech support. My usual routine was to turn on the laptop and start it up
while on hold so as to be able to explain to them exactly when it crapped out
and how cursor rapidly flashes between the little hand and the hourglass. Day
after day I called and then miraculously, one day the program loaded up and
started working again just fine. Wow. I almost forgot how mad I was at Max Sea
and went about planning my upcoming voyage in great detail. I downloaded the
latest weather file (called a GRIB file) and was having great fun for about a
day when the whole thing started all over again. More calls to tech support were
met with "the software engineer is very interested in your problem. He will be
calling you tomorrow!" Well, 3 calls and 4 tomorrows later I still haven't heard
squat. Asses. I should have bought Nobletec's navigation software.
Fear not, dear reader, we have both paper charts and C map cartridges for the
video plotter on board to guide us on our coming voyage. I hope they are more
reliable!
April 3:
Meanwhile, as I try to attend to all
the details of the boat, Kathleen has admirably taken up the task of sorting out
our domestic responsibilities. Her father is having major surgery at the San
Francisco VA next monday...two days before I leave to sail the boat! She's
trying to make her travel arrangements, as well as for her father to fly from
Reno to SF. While she gets him there and ready for surgery, I'm on call for my
group here in Waupaca this weekend and looking after Emmett. Then on Monday My
father comes here to help look after Emmett until Kathleen returns NEXT weekend.
Are you keeping all this straight?
Oh, and Kathleen is not only making her travel plans, she has also arranged for
plumbing and landscaping repairs to be done so our house will be ready to sell.
And she interviewed three realtors, and chose one to have the house on the
market by the end of this month when she gets back. And she is trying to help
one friend get ready for job interviews and another plan her wedding...
It is a lot of work to drop out and leave it all behind.
06 Apr 2007 9:54 pm
So finally after several more pestering calls, I
finally was put through to the Max Sea software engineer-- a friendly guy with a
strong French accent who calmly walked me through updating my display driver and
just like that, my software problems were solved. Damn. The thing I hate about
computers is that no matter how much you know, there is always some geek out
there who can make you feel like an idiot. I was really hoping that there was
some grave error in the code and they'd have to admit their big error.
As much as I really wanted to hate Max Sea, I'll have to admit that it is a
pretty incredible tool for navigating with. It seamlessly integrates and
displays GPS, charts, weather, current, and tidal data all in one place. And,
conveniently enough, if I should grow bored with this program, there an ample
number of "upgrades" I can buy to show the sea floor in 3D, chart my course for
me, or tell me the name, course and speed of every other ship around me.
But before I buy that, I have to recover from the staggering load of bills we've
racked up in our Ft. Lauderdale refit. We've drained the boat fund pretty well,
and my fiscally conservative side wants to put the kabosh on any more spending
for now. We're still doing pretty well schedule wise, but now the calls are just
starting to roll in today: The electrician says he wont really have time for the
chain counter...the hydraulics guy is on vacation so we're not really sure if
we'll get to that winch... Maybe the headaches going to pile up soon
08 Apr 2007 8:50 pm
>Several times in the past month I have been explaining
my sailing plans to someone when their jaw slightly drops, followed by some
stern suggestions that I might consider taking a couple days to sail the boat
around in circles in Ft. Lauderdale first before starting out on such a big
trip. With great concern in their voice, they've suggested that it is just safer
if I stay close to the harbor and practice up a while before sailing a thousand
miles in my new boat. I'm new enough at this to just start getting nervous when
someone thinks me foolhardy. But I also know enough (or am stubborn enough)
about what I'm doing to choose to ignore them. Lots of the sailors stoires I've
read talk about "the dock committee". It is composed of people who
seem to know about sailing, yet never seem to go anywhere themselves. They're
usually quite opinionated and ready to share their opinions at the drop of a
hat. Apparently, cruising ports around the world are infested with these folk. I
think I've met my first dock committee. Or maybe I'm an idiot. Guess I'll find
out soon enough.
I'm actually starting to get real weather forecasts now for days that we'll
actually be out on the water. As anyone who watches the 10 o'clock news knows,
the forecast 4 days from now is not always very accurate, but the early news is
good: Gentle winds from behind the first day, dying out the second, then
building to strong (but not scary strong) winds from behind the third day. What
a great way to get our sea legs those first couple days. Then when we're getting
into the groove, we'll be ready for some adventure by day 3 with the winds
kicking up to 20 knots. As long as the wind stays out of the south, I'm happy.
The biggest weather danger of this trip would be a strong north wind, blowing
opposite the gulf stream. Those contrary forces can build up some pretty nasty
seas, and would force us to either abandon our destination and head for shelter,
or sail up wind into bad waves. Neither is very appealing.
But so far it looks like that's not going to happen. So if the weather computers
are right, we're looking at a great trip...dock committee be damned!
10 Apr 2007 9:40 pm
The past few days have brought a flurry of calls from
Ft. Lauderdale. Most things are getting done, a few aren't , a few new problems
have popped up. What, you wanted us to do that? And oh, by the way, there appear
to be more rodent droppings in the bilge, shall I call an exterminator for you?
It all sounds like chaos from here, so I'm a little worried about what I'll find
when I get there. My steadfast message to every contractor these past few months
of refitting has been the same: The boat MUST be ready to go to sea by tomorrow,
April 11.
Meanwhile, as is typical on the day before a vacation, every patient seeme to be
lined up and double booked for that one last issue with Dr. Erickson before he
leaves town. My day quickly became filled with appointments, prescription
refills, papers to sign, patients to hand off to my partners. What a mess. After
one last run to the hospital to take care of one more crisis, I'm now taking a
deep breath. Did I forget anything?
Tomorrow I get back to Uliad. There's a feeling I get every time I leave this
hectic, hyperactive life behind to start a week on the boat. In the BVI, it
usually happens in the taxi ride to the marina: we drive along the sea side and
I start to feel my muscles relax, my jaw unclench...we're here. At last. I
breathe in the smell of the sea and the world begins to shrink...back to my
family and friends and this moment right here...this little boat. Deadlines and
schedules fade into an unnecessary intrusion upon my enjoyment of the present.
Oh, man I could use that feeling. Tomorrow. Tomorrow it will come.
I feel a little embarrased before anyone bothering to read this blog so far. It
seems to be filled with complaints of business and dreams of what is going to
happen. Well, dear reader, tomorrow I'll finally start doing something worth
telling you about. I'm flying down, packing up Uliad, and cutting the lines to
Ft. Lauderdale. The plan is to sail nearly 1000 miles north to a marina in
Delaware to park Uliad well out of hurricane range for the summer.
The weather so far looks great for the first day or two, but at some point it
looks like a front will cross our path bringing winds potentially 30-40 knots
strong. The winds should come from behind, which is good. But 40 knots is 40
knots. It appears we may have 3 options at this point: rush to leave ASAP and go
as fast as possible to try to be north of Cape Hatteras before the strongest of
the wind & seas develop, or get good and ready, leave the day after tomorrow
as previously scheduled, and be ready to turn into shore somewhere in South/NorthCarolina
if the conditions get too squirrley. We could then continue motoring up the ICW
and skip the worst of it all of Cape Hatteras. That would make for a slower trip
all around, but it might be better to be late than seasick. Guess we'll keep
watching the weather and decide tomorrow night. I just hope the boat is ready.
12 Apr 2007 6:37 pm
After arriving in Ft Lauderdale yesterday, we had a few
setbacks: First, Nance & Underwood riggers weren't quite done with my
backstay...they were replacing my rigging and somehow forgot to install any
insulators for the SSB radio antenna. Then they apparently took down my wind
instruments on top of the mast and nobody seemed to know where it went. I asked
them to save one long stay to have as a spare...but they had already thrown them
all away. They never bothered to do an eye splice I asked them to do... it has
been one f-up after another with them.
Then there was the engine that wouldn't turn over. The mechanic arrived from the
firm that had supposedly just overhauled and inspected everything in the engine
room. At first the diagnosis was a bad battery...with that replaced it was bad
cables...then it was the starter...Finally after replacing all three to the tune
of about a thousand dollars, the engine finally fired up and we were off by
about 5pm.
While these problems were being sorted out, the carpenter continued to plod away
at finishing his final project: some new drawers under the galley table. Also,
the electricians came by one last time because the lights they had supposedly
repaired were not working. So after a long and frustrating day, we finally were
able to shove off.
What a relief to get away from all this and back out to sea. The boat looks
great and moves so nicely. It was a great moment to finally esape from
refit-land. The crew has been getting along splendidly and I think everyone
looks happy to be moving.
Now for the next challenge: In two days we should be somewhere off South
Carolina when a pretty major storm is expected to hit us. The free grib weather
data tells us pretty much exactly the same thing as the Commander's Weather guy:
We're likely to face 40+knot winds, and you don't want to be anywhere near Cape
Hatteras when it hits. So the plan now is to make way as fast as we can for
Charleston, SC.
Tonight at dusk, it is a beautiful light breeze and clear skies. The seas are
mild. Nobody is seasick. Everything is good. Strange to imagine how all this
will soon change. It kind of sounds like the intro to a bad made for TV
adventure, doesnt it?: Four novice sailors left on a shakedown cruise in a new
boat that was already having engine problems...then foolishly set course
straight toward the perfect storm that was brewing in the Atlantic....
14 Apr 2007 6:37 pm
Our second day out, the wind turned out of the north as
predicted by all our weather sources. The wind was fairly light, but even so,
when wind runs opposite ocean current, larger waves are kicked up. We eased our
way out of the gulf stream to find calmer waters, but by this point, Eric had
already given a stomachfull of beer and Doritos back to the sea. All of us
struggled with nausea throughout the day, but Eric definitely got the worst of
it... he spent the day prostrate in the cockpit, occasionally getting up to
retch over the side some more. Poor guy. We covered his watches for him, and
someone offered him a rectal suppository of Phenergan. And to his credit, I
think he came very close to taking Steve P up on it. By mid afternoon, Eric had
composed himself enough to sit up and explain his work at the Port of Seattle.
For about 20 minutes he looked like he had gotten his sea legs, only to abruptly
stop in mid sentence and flop back over to the rail. By my estimation, only
about a third of the can of ginger ale that he drank came back up. This was a
marked improvement according to my crew.
We did manage to hook a small dorado in the morning and hauled it in close
enough to see how pretty it was. But then, as they are famous for doing, the
fish took one look at Steve P at the stern holding the gaff hook and he promptly
spit out the lure and swam away. Eric's constant chumming of the water the rest
of the day did little for our fishing results after that.
The winds finally clocked back to east, and then southeast overnight, allowing
us to slide back over into the gulf stream. This morning I awoke to a bright
sunny day, relatively calm seas, and the boat moving on course at ten knots
(including a 2 knot boost from the current. Everyone's nausea seems gone and the
world looks great.
But of course there is this talk of a really big storm coming tomorrow morning.
Because we're making good time, we've decided to press on to Cape Fear, where we
plan to pull in late this evening and proceed up the ICW until the storm passes.
This morning I made a batch of fresh scones & coffee for everyone. A nice
light but filling breakfast to fuel us up before the weather gets rough again.
In a passage, it seems there is always a blah, nauseated, sleepy feeling as your
body adjusts to the sea. How great it feels to wake up a few days later with
that feeling gone. Appetites back, well rested, and nice weather makes us feel
ready for what the sea will soon dish out.
15 Apr 2007 9:37 pm
We continued to make great progress with the help of
the gulf stream. The southerlies continued to build all day and with it, the
waves kept Eric enjoying his meals in both directions. We had originally planned
to duck into Charleston to ride out the storm, but the sailing conditions were
so nice that I secretly hoped this storm would magically disappear. After all,
how accurate is a forecast 4 days out anyway? I spent a fair amount of time off
watch fiddling with my new SSB radio pulling down the latest text forecast and
weather faxes and the reports were unanimous: We needed to get the hell off the
water before Sunday morning. A major storm was a-coming.
But because we were all having such fun, we decided to press on to Cape Fear,
North Carolina instead of Charleston. Although we arrinved well past dark, the
inlet was well marked and easily navigated. The winds were probably up to 25
knots or so by now. We turned left onto the ICW to Cape Fear Marina.
Conveniently enough, they were just finishing a new floating fuel dock where we
tied off around 2am. We all sat up for a few minutes enjoying the relative quiet
of a moored boat, the settled feeling in our stomachs, and the sense of
accomplishment.
By this morning, we awoke to hear the sound of 40 knots of wind howling through
the rigging. If you've never heard it, it sounds like a wailing banshee. Well,
you've probably never heard that either...but it is a colorful metaphor, no? As
the day wore on, the noise built and there were literally whitecaps in the
harbor!
We checked in at the marina office. They were happy to let us stay on the nearly
finished fuel dock for the day as it was still off-season. They also offered to
help move us to somewhere where we could buy water and electric hookups. I
suggested that perhaps they could charge us a little less for a dock that had
neither these amenities, nor a connection to land yet, but they would have none
of that. $80 poorer I wandered back to join the crew, who had arranged to borrow
a car from the marina.
A fitting on the shower sump pump had broken and Steve P had sprung into action,
pulling the pump and declaring that a 35 cent part at a hardware store was all
that was needed to spare us all from sharing a small place with other unshowered
men for the rest of the week. A check of the engine room also revealed a
mysterious pool of oil in the bilges. The day before I had added oil to the
engine, but I definitely didn't spill this! I needed some oil absorbing mats and
then figure out where the leak was.
Our wives would be proud of us. Unable to sail, we were to spend the day
shopping. Eric was appointed captain of the car, and off we went in search of
Loews at the outskirts of town. Where, in addition to the plumbing fitting, I
managed to find a small wet-dry vac, some degreasing solution, and a new allen
wrench for the boat. Meanwhile, Eric ventured to a grocery store across the road
to stock up on a few more sodas and cookies. We all found just what we needed.
Our only precipitation from this storm struck on our shopping trip. The rain
poured down in buckets for about 15 minutes, then slowly returned to sunshine by
late afternoon. Eric took us all to McDonalds drive thru, followed by an hour of
driving around to see who might have those oil mats. We even stopped to ask for
directions! No luck. It seems this town never spilled oil.
I spent the rest of this windy afternoon contorting myself around the engine
trying to find where the oil had been coming trom. The best I could find was a
loose screw on the front of the engine that seemed slightly oily around it. I
tightened that as well as a few other things around it and called it good. A
check of my engine manual revealed that the flat panel on the front of the
engine that this screw was holding appeared to be called the "oil seal".
Perfect. that must be it.
While the 50 knot winds raged around us, we had plenty of time that night to
pour over our weather reports and discuss our next plan of action. Then we all
gathered around Eric's laptop for a screening of "Borat". We were to spend the
rest of the trip saying things like "very nice!";
and "high five!" in our best Borat voice.
16 Apr 2007 11:44 am
Aside from offshore weather forecasts and weather
faxes, we were pretty cut off from the news. But apparently this storm was
getting headlines across the country. Kent's wife called our house wondering
what was going on, and Eric's parents sent us an anxious email as well. We tried
to reassure them that we were safe and sound in a safe harbor...but even as we
were telling everyone, we were planning to head offshore again.
The forecasts for Monday were calling for 35-45 knot winds and 20 foot seas, but
everything was supposed to be gradually tapering off as the storm moved away.
And the forecast also put wind & waves behind our beam... So with blue skies
overhead, we rationalized that we should head out to sea again. Well, except for
Eric who kept mentioning that this Intracoastal Waterway sounded really
interesting and it would probably be fun to explore it. We rationalized that
seasickness rarely lasts more than a few days so he'd probably be fine.
We motored out the Cape Fear inlet and hoisted staysail and triple reefed main,
ready for action. It was rough, but doable. Frying Pan Shoals extend 25 miles
out to sea just east of the inlet, so we had a long southeast tack to sail
before we could make our turn toward Hatteras. By the time we did, winds were
blowing streaks of foam across the waters and the seas were up to 20 feet. Kent,
Steve P and I alternated driving and sitting up behind the dodger to avoid the
driving spray. Eric resumed his position between the bunk and the head.
Occasional retching noises confirmed he was still alive.
I had been told by both previous owners how nice a motion at sea Uliad had, but
now was the first time I really had a chance to feel it for myself. She sailed
absolutely great through it all. Despite some pretty horrendous conditions, the
boat felt solid, secure, and steady.. We never felt overpowered or out of
control, even as the winds and seas built. The autopilot started acting up and
we presumed it was getting overpowered by the big waves that were now up to 25
feet high. Several hatches were sprouting small leaks below including the one
right above the main electric panel and my laptop. A few sparks appeared behind
the former, and trouble appeared in the latter. Not good!! One big rogue wave
struck us hard and pushed us down perhaps 45 degrees. I was at the wheel and
remember seeing it coming and turning away to avoid getting the spray in the
face. As the boat pushed over, I stepped from the cockpit floor to the cockpit
side wall and stood for a second before Uliad popped back up. In one shot, the
dinghy davits had bent slightly, and one dinghy oar was washed away.
I would really love to tell you an epic survival at sea story about the building
waves and mighty winds, but the reality was...that was about all that happened
to us. No great danger. No sudden calamity. Just the growing tiresomeness of
always having to hang on as the boat gyrated across the big waves. And the
annoyance of dripping salt water in a number of the hatches whose gaskets were
in need of replacement. It was clear that this boat will be able to handle a lot
more than its occupants.
Each of us was starting to get tired of this, and when one of us suggested going
back in, the rest of us readily agreed: Cape Lookout was a few hours ahead. We
wouldn't make it before dark, but it was a well lit harbor. It certainly seemed
a preferable alternative, especially given the fact that conditions seemed to be
building offshore, not improving as the forecast had called for!
The winds had clocked around to the Northeast by now, so it was a long close
reach to the Cape Lookout Sea Buoy. The laptop had stopped working after its
saltwater shower, so we found our way in using the chartplotter at the helm and
the harbor chart from our ICW paper maps. We finally tied off at a marina's fuel
dock at 3 am. With the detour around Frying Pan Shoals, we had only covered
about 100 miles. And with little motivation to repeat the story again tomorrow,
we decided that we'd start up the ICW at 6am after a brief nap.
Both Steve P and Eric had home obligations that meant, if they were to go the
whole trip, we'd have to keep moving. Eric and I took the first morning shift,
only to find that our first bridge would not be passable for another 3 hours
until the tide went down. The ICW is supposed to allow for boats up to 65 feet
tall to pass under its bridges. So many boats (like mine) are built with a mast
that extends 64 1/2 feet above the water. But that doesn't account for tides,
and the high tide put the first bridge at about 63 1/2 feet. Another look at the
chart, however, revealed an alternate route with a draw bridge whose attendant
was more than willing to open for us. Off we go!!
17 Apr 2007 1:37 pm
We motored all day, anxious about
the time it would take us to get home if we averaged the 50-80 miles per day
that our guidebook talked about. But after looking ahead at the chart, it
appeared that shortly after sunset we'd encounter a long, straight canal,
followed by an open water sail across Pamlico sound. Both of them seemed
reasonable to do at night, so we decided to press on through.
But first we had to pass under the infamous Wilkerson Bridge. As previously
mentioned, the ICW is built for masts up to 65 feet tall. But the folks who
built the Wilkerson Bridge apparently didn't pay too much attention to the
drawings, because it is listed on the chart as 64 feet. We pulled up slowly to
see the water sign sitting at about 64 1/3 feet. I turned around, planning to
hang out for an hour or two to see if the tide went out enough to get to 65
feet. But then Steve P came up with the idea of sending someone up the mast to
look and see if we'd clear it or not. Great Idea Steve!, are you volunteering to
go up? Poor Steve was stuck. I pulled out the bosun's chair, stuffed some tools
in the pockets as well as my camera for the mandatory mast-top photo of my new
boat. Eric helped out by pornographically testing the rope and knot security.
Thouroughly tested, up Steve went.
It was a very close call. But by removing the tricolor light and the Windex,
Steve declared it safe to proceed. And so we did with only an inch or two to
spare!
19 Apr 2007 10:00 pm
The rest of the trip turned out to
be just a long drive north. We traversed a small lock in Virginia, then motored
up into Norfolk. Even if we hadn't just spent the last few days out in the
boonies, the size and number of ships in this harbor was truly amazing. Does the
navy really need this many ships? What do we do with them all??
Our progress was almost impeded by the last bridge we had to pass under. We just
missed the 3:30pm opening by 10 minutes and were told by the bridge tender that
the next opening would be at 5:30 pm. What! Since when does rush hour run from
3:30 to 5:30? Do Virginians really get off work at 3pm? Fortunately we were
saved when a barge heading south hailed the same bridge requesting an opening,
and stating he had a "red flag". Apparently a red flag is some sort of
free pass to get through bridges whenever you want. I'm going to have to get me
one of those.
We spent the next ten minutes trying to decide if we should call back the bridge
tender and ask for permission to go under with the red flag barge, or should we
just go for it and ask for forgiveness instead of permission. The latter
sentiment was unanimous among the crew and we ducked under easily while the
barge was still a quarter mile off and never even got scolded by the bridge.
"Very nice!" & "High five".
With no more major obstacles in the remaining waters, we stopped at a marina to
get a wi-fi connection and reserve flights home for everyone. We also bought
some fuel and I gave our Perkins Diesel a well deserved oil change. I was
pleased to see that, with a little hand pump attached to the side of the engine,
I could accomplish the whole task in about 10 minutes--even on my first try. I
calculated a fuel consumption of 1.7 gallons per hour so far. That seems kind of
high to me, but we have been pushing the RPMs higher than would be ideal.
The southern Chesapeake has been a good opportunity to get to know my radar
well. The wind is cold and on the nose. Sitting below at the pilothouse helm, I
can keep watch out the windows, monitor traffic on the radar, and type on the
laptop all at the same time!
We pulled into the marina finally around 9 or 10 pm and easily found our spot on
the end of K dock. We made it! Congratulations were passed around, and we all
went below for steaks and to polish off our last bottle of wine. Which has now
made us all extremely sleepy after 7 days of watch schedules. Good night all.
22 Apr 2007 11:00 am
The crew all shipped home the
following day, leaving me to clean up the boat. I had been warned by Kathleen
not to leave the boat looking like four guys had been living on it all week. I
had been getting a little worried about breakdowns enroute, but after a good
night's sleep, the inevitable repair list looks a little more manageable:
Replace rubber gaskets on hatches
Hire welder to repair cracks in dinghy davits
Raymarine technician to check fluxgate compass on autopilot
Return the new BBQ grill to West Marine that won't light
Repair a toilet seat whose hinge broke
Pickle the watermaker
Wash the salt out of everything
Now I'm flying back to Wisconsin as I write this. It is going to be hard jumping
back and forth between these two lives in the next few months. In Wisconsin my
life is hyper-structured and over scheduled. On Uliad, everything takes longer
to do, forcing me to slow down. Goals are simpler and immediate, allowing me to
live in the moment. And that is the whole idea.
So now I need to shift gears, and go back to my high-speed productivity way of
living. Gotta pay for that welder you know. Got to get the house sold, blah blah
blah. But in my mind I'm already thinking up excuses to make a quick trip
back...to go cruising a month sooner... to not live that way any more.
23 Apr 2007 9:43 pm
I spent most of my first day back at work worrying
about the boat. Should I have left the seacocks open? Do I have a stray current
problem that will eat a hole in my hull while I'm gone? Will stuff get stolen?
Will the battery charger start a fire? Probably all irrational fears, but I was
surprised how much they occupied my mind. My last boat always had a charter
company watching over it which I suppose should not have set my heart at ease,
but I realized this is the first time I've felt totally responsible for a very
expensive yacht. If it sinks at its slip next week, its all on me.
My fears are not all baseless. Before locking up this weekend, I pulled out the
corrosion meter from a drawer and found the needle well into the "freely corroding"
zone. But all my testing came up blank. The meter stayed the same wherever and
however I tested it. I even pulled out a spare zinc and dipped it in the water
and got the same reading...so maybe the meter is bad. I hung two extra zincs
over the side just to be safe.
I also notice that the engine start battery (brand new) does not seem to be
holding a charge. So I think there could be a stray DC current or an improper
ground somewhere. But that's going to have to wait for the next trip to figure
out. I just hope the zincs last that long!
25 Apr 2007 9:50 pm
Kathleen has been furiously cleaning out the house. I
don't know where everything is going, but she's already made the place look
twice as big just by cleaning out a lot of clutter. The realtor came by today
for us to sign the papers and our house goes on the market next week!
To do my part, I reserved a U-haul trailer for the weekend and planted two
flower boxes in the front yard. Around 2pm, Kathleen was in a seriously foul
mood when she decided that all this work would go much easier if she was
intoxicated. Several rum & cokes later, she's still working on the laundry,
but she's in a much better mood.
30 Apr 2007 10:43 pm
Imagine this for a moment. You're leaving your life as
you know it and you can't take it with you. What do you do with all that stuff
that you've accumulated. Things that you like, things that were expensive,
things that have meaning to you in some way or another. Do you give it all away?
Yes, sure there are plenty of folks who would like your car and your jewelry...
but most of it, It will never mean as much to somebody else.
Do you sell it? How much do you think that slightly used leather sofa would go
for in a garage sale? Could you stomach having someone offer you $25 to put it
in his son's fraternity basement?
No, this is precisely how we accumulate so much stuff in life. And why grand
children dig enormous piles of junk out of attics after the funeral. And why we
have enormous storage locker facilities in every town. It was with great pride
that I went out and bought each one of these things that I now sift through.
That softball mitt-- I bet I tried on twenty before finding the one that fit me
like a...well, like it should. These lamps-- man they were perfect for our
living room. The dining room rug-- I bet Kathleen went through five before
finding one just the right size and colors for there. This espresso machine-- oh
I love it so much. Kathleen got it for me for my birthday about five years ago
after I practically pointed to the exact one on the web page that I wanted. It
has been my constant companion on way to many early mornings...
How odd to just walk away from it all. After working, struggling so hard to make
this place just so...how odd to start dismantling it all. And although neither
of us has dared voice it, it is even a bit painful at times.
You can't take it with you.
Maybe that's why we've started this game as we pack up the boxes. I call it the
"when we get back" game. It begins with a comment like, "When we get back, we're
getting a formal dining table...I'm ready to get rid of this old one";. Then
moves on to, "When we get back, I'm going to find some napkins to match these
napkin rings. I never used them, but they're really nice". Or even "When we get
back, I'm decorating the bathroom in cobalt blues and this candle will decorate
the toilet tank lid."
It's as if we can only bring ourselves to dismantle this life by imagining an
entirely similar one that we'll soon be constructing "when we get back".
But who's to say? After living together on a small space, will we ever see the
need for a formal dining table again? Or frivolities like napkin rings? How will
we change? And what will we think of all the trappings of this life that we so
lovingly wrapped in tissue paper for "when we get back"?
May:
I08 May 2007 10:17 pm
Mostly through Kathleen's herculean effort, we had the
house looking fabulous just in time for our first open house on Sunday.
Apparently we had a couple lookey-loos stop by but no offers.
I tend to be a person who is happiest when I have a project to work on. God
forbid I should just have to sit around and wait for someone else to do
something! Well, that's the position we're in now. As soon as someone buys the
house we'll have a huge stack of stuff to do, but it drives me nuts not being
able to do anything to MAKE it sell. Same goes for our old boat SHEPHERD. Man
I'd love to get that sold, too.
So this week we're taking a few well earned days of rest, and I'm trying not to
go out of my mind doing it. Fortunately the office keeps me preoccupied enough
to maintain sanity. I suppose I would do well to start learning how to be a more
passive observer of the world around me if I am to be truly happy lounging away
my placid afternoons on the deck of Uliad...
10 May 2007 10:47 pm
I was back in my hometown of Kenyon, MN last weekend to
visit my Dad, when I met my old high school English teacher. She is a good
family friend, and I was a bit embarassed to learn that she has already been
reading my website. Oh no! Have I left a dangling participle somewhere?
So we got talking a bit about good adventure stories that she liked to use in
her classes to keep the boys interested...and it got me thinking how dull this
blog probably is to the average web surfer. Day after day, I do nothing but go
to work and wait for our adventure to begin...should I really go into any detail
about sending off the check to the yacht electrician today? It sometimes seems
like my whole life is consumed with just waiting until the pieces fall in place
and we can get started... Then, dear reader, I'll finally have something worth
reporting.
I have seriously considered just holding off on keeping this log until we
actually shove off. But then I remember how many cruising stories that never
tell the part about how one actually gets to that point. What was it like to
make such a colossal change? Now is when the hard stuff is taking place in our
lives... the slow, long goodbye to most everything that has been occupying our
attention for the past 10 years. As big a task that may be, it still feels like
we're just waiting. Knowing we're leaving, we no longer have to worry about
planning for the future HERE. Whether it be work, volunteer organizations, house
projects, or even the cultivation of relationships with more casual
acquaintances, it all seems unnecessary--someone else will tend those gardens
now.
So we sit in this limbo...saying goodbye, but not quite gone yet. Waiting.
Packing. Dreaming about something far from here. Something worth writing about.
16 May 2007 11:33 pm
So I was talking to a
colleague this morning who was admiring our ambitions and asking if I knew
enough about diesel engine mechanics to look after our new boat.
"Not really";, I told him. And then added that in addition to being inadequately
prepared as a diesel mechanic, I was also desperately short on experience as an
electrician, plumber, computer geek, and so forth. Sometimes I worry about these
things, and other times I just shrug my shoulders and think, "Oh well, I'll
figure it out if I have to."
I also take comfort in the fact that just about everything mechanical on the
boat has a back-up system if it fails. If the diesel won't run, then we have
sails to move us along. If there's no wind, we can even use the dinghy to pull
the boat short distances. And so on with everything else.
But even with such redundancies, if the motor quits, it will still have to be
repaired at some point. And one part of this grand adventure will be the fact
that, whenever possible, I will need to try to do such things myself. This was
running through my mind because I was driving our convertible Jaguar in to the
dealer this morning to get the oil changed. Now an oil change is one thing that
I really can do with all confidence, and soon I would be doing this again with
some regularity when we go sailing. But for now I'm perfectly content to pay
someone else to get their hands dirty. Should I be?
If you've never been to a really high end service shop, let me share my
experience today: I drive in to their indoor garage, whose floor is probably
cleaner than my kitchen I might add. Wayne is there to shake my hand and call me
by name, remembering the Dr, not Mr. mind you. All within about 5 minutes he has
gone over the service plan, collected my keys and handed me the keys to my
loaner (no charge) for the day. Now the loaner here is not the usual beat up old
Chevy that you might beg for at the body shop. No, it is a new Volvo with about
5K miles on it. Wayne makes sure I know where things are and sends me on my way.
If I didn't have plans with the loaner car, there's a plush lounge with big
screen TV, newspapers, magazines, private office space to work, free sodas &
(could they be fresh baked throughout the day?) cookies. The bathroom has marble
tile and gold fixtures...I feel like a king.
Later that day, the serviced, washed, and vacuumed Jag is waiting in the indoor
carport when I return. Wayne has the papers done and just like that I'm on my
way. He notices me finishing off a bottle of water as I drive in and asks if I'd
like another for the drive. Of course service like this doesn't come free. I
probably paid triple what it would cost me at the local Jiffy Lube. I justify it
all by saying I have alot more money than time. And Kathleen and I have learned
over the years that not many people make more per hour than a physician. So
generally when I start thinking of a do-it-yourself project, she reminds me of
this. I go off to work and we hire someone experienced to do the project for us.
We still come out ahead.
But has this kind of pampering made me soft? Money won't be such a freely
available problem solver when we start cruising on Uliad. I wont have a shop
full of guys working at my beck and call... I won't be able to snack on warm
cookies and read this week's Time while someone else climbs down into the engine
room for me.
I should probably worry about such things, but for now, the prospect seems kind
of exciting. Won't that be an adventure, having to rebuild the oil thingamabob
and reinstall the back pressure dieselmatizer all in one morning before the
storm hits. How butch.
22 May 2007 10:33 am
This morning was one of those days
where it's hard to go to work. First of all, it never helps if I actually have a
rare morning where I'm not already rushed. With no patients in the hospital to
hurry off and see before clinic, I had time to sit down with Emmett and work out
the maze on the back of his cereal box. Then as I went out to move the hose and
start the lawn sprinkler...the birds were all out singing a chorus, the sky was
sunny, the air was cool but carried a promise of warmer weather today. I had to
pause and admire just how beautifully the mist was swirling over the surface of
the lake. How is it that I get up every day and don't notice these things?
And so my thoughts again turned to sailing. Without a busy schedule awaiting my
attention every day, will I have the time to appreciate moments like this more
often? Or will I busy my mind with plans to change the oil or go spear a lobster
today? I'm trying to start slowing down now, even as my life insistently tugs at
my sleeve, telling me to hurry up.
So off to clinic, trying to savor a beautiful spring morning as long as
possible. I had the top down on the convertible, driving jealously past folks
out taking a walk, planting their gardens, or just looking like they didn't have
too much pressing stuff to do on this fine day.
Now in my office it is a always perfect, humidity controlled 70 degrees and I'm
back to doing the same old thing as yesterday...trying to keep enjoying each
moment, where ever I may be.
24 May 2007 4:42 pm
After a 5 week hiatus in the
real word, the Ericksons are back at the airport today on their way back to
Uliad. Kathleen has packed our bags to strategically maximize our 2 bag/ 40 #
each luggage allowance...bringing a whole pile of housewares, linens, and
clothes to find places onboard.
For my part, I have a list of stuff needing attention that I wrote on my last
flight home:
Tighten the mast top wind indicator...find a piece of teak plywood to fashion a
new panel for the nav station, clean the sea strainers (been putting that one
off too long!)... recaulk several windows...replace hatch gaskets... change the
hydraulic oil...and then check on the work that was supposed to be done by now
by a welder and the Raymarine electronics technician.
Along with all that, we'll need to fit in some play time and a little birthday
celebration for Emmett. And Kathleen agrees that it is time for her to start
practicing docking the boat. I hope she agrees that Uliad is pretty easy to
handle in tight quarters... I haven't had any problems yet, knock on wood. I'm
sure she'll do fine, but just to keep the stress away, we're going to do the
docking practice early tomorrow morning before the crowds arrive to their boats
for the holiday weekend.
Doesn't that sound like a fun Memorial day weekend?
25 May 2007 8:29 pm
After a flight delay, we finally
arrived at Uliad around 2am. The bags were thrown in, the beds made, and
everyone crashed. This morning, I started poking around and planning my work. I
can't tell you what a relief it was to find everything in order. The engines
started right up, everything works, the only problems appear to be the ones I
already knew about. After months of refitting, where every project seems to open
up a can of worms, I finally feel like I'm getting on top of everything. Another
arrival or two like this and I'm going to start trusting everything.
The hardest part about refitting, is the need to prioritize. Safety projects
came first, followed by mechanical & functional changes that we wanted to
make Uliad comfortable to live on. Last on the list are cosmetic issues. Uliad
sorely needs a facelift: new paint on the hull, new varnishing to the woodwork
below. It is hard to sink so much money into the boat, only to look and think,
"Well, she still looks a little rough around the edges."
But soon we'll start getting to those cosmetic issues. Until then, I'll have to
take pride in how smoothly everything is running for the moment.
Emmett "ound" a book on a shelf called "The Dangerous Book for Boys" and has
been pouring over it all day. It's kind of a cross between a Boy Scout Handbook
and a kid's Reader's Digest. It actually made him forget about his new Play
Station Portable for half the day!
26 May 2007 10:50 pm
We've noticed an interesting phenomenon here at the
marina. It seems that some folks, after buying their big fancy boat, like to
park it at the marina, and then not go on it. On nearly every pier there is
someone who sets up lawn chairs and coolers right there on the dock to sit and
look admiringly on their boat. Why? At some point do they realize that if
they're just going to sit on a lawn chair on a dock, they can build a deck in
their back yard for a whole lot less money?
This trend was taken to its most extreme on the M dock, where they had a tent,
two folding tables, a steam table, coolers, and a half dozen lawn chairs set up
to watch the boats come and go from the marina all day. Then this boat's
corpulent owner invited all his friends--not to go boating--just to stand on the
dock with him. I don't think I saw any of this group actually set foot on their
big pretty boat all day.
But there was a pretty good crowd gathered out there to enjoy the holiday, which
was not boding well for Kathleen. She had been planning to practice parking
today, and was hoping to get this done early before anyone else was awake and
she had an audience watching her. Kathleen should know better than to plan to do
anything early. It is just not in her nature. She's a night owl who usually gets
her best work done after 10pm. And living on a boat means not having to set an
alarm clock, right?
So it was somewhere around the crack of noon when Kath finally fired up the
diesel to begin docking practice, and by now, the neighbors and their friends
had already fired up their floating hot dog stand an hour ago. Did I mention
that Kathleen doesn't like learning in front of an audience? I think we've spent
too many years watching charter boats try to hook a mooring as our own evening's
entertainment. But much to her credit, she pulled intrepidly away from the dock,
motored confidently around and prepared to put on a show.
Now, first of all, steering a large boat seems like it should not be much
different than driving a car...after all there is a steering wheel and a
throttle, right? But it is very unlike a car, and not even much like a small
boat: the momentum of over 40,000 lbs of boat will keep turning the boat for a
while even after you straighten the wheel. It will keep moving forward for a
long time even after you shift to neutral. And if you're turning while you stop,
you might stop going forward, but keep pivoting in place! In addition, backing
up is even more challenging. Because the prop pushes turbulent water across the
rudder, you can either turn the boat in reverse, or accelerate the boat in
reverse, but not both at the same time. Then add the effects of wind and current
pushing the boat, and you can begin to understand the challenges.
But to her credit, Kathleen braved it all. On our first approach, she did all
the right things, but was a little timid in approaching the dock and ended up
looking like a beginning driver who parallel parks about 3 feet away from the
curb. Looking at the sludgy brown harbor water below, I refused to leap the gap.
Back out and around for another try.
By now, the hot dog dock noticed something was up: didn't that boat already go
by once? The guy at the L pier also sensed a practice session. His icy stare
seemed to be willing our boat as far away from his as possible. Kathleen's
knuckles whitened and we made our final approach. This time, she had learned
from her first mistake and she pulled right in and turned it right up along side
the dock where I could easily step off and tie on a line with a big grin on my
face. No cheers erupted from the grandstand. I think any watchers were losing
interest...no crash, no show.
Kathleen refused to give herself credit yet and wanted to do it again. Only this
time by backing away from the dock. (Did I mention that backing up is tricky?)
She started getting a little frustrated remembering which lever was throttle and
which was gear shifter, and when to to what, and ...Oh boy.... The third
approach didn't go so well and we ended up with our bow anchor hanging over the
dock and the boat perpendicular to where we needed to be. And with that Kathleen
had had it! She had me take us home. I think the neighbor guy went below...it
was to stressful for him to watch. For my part, I just reminded myself that the
boat is solid metal and the paint is going to be re-done soon anyway. But I
don't think I sounded like the Zen master I was trying to be. Kathleen was
picking up on the tension in my voice. Annoyed as much by my coaching as with
the boat's lack of cooperation, Kath unpried her hands from the wheel and said
"that's it, I'm done practicing for now... you do it!!" So we pulled around and
pretended to be invisible as we sailed past the hot doggers on L dock. Out in
the anonymous open water of the canal, Kathleen now felt ready to get a feel for
how to back up and turn the boat. (Why didn't I suggest backing up out here
first!!) Soon she was getting a feel for prop walk , momentum control, and
backing in reverse. After what seemed like enough time for the audience to have
forgotten about us, we drove back in. A fat guy in a lawn chair gave Kathleen an
odd hot dog salute, a thumbs up and a smile as she drove in. Kathleen looked
like she had just eaten a bad hot dog.
Just when we were about to end on a bad note, another gal on a 40 foot motor
cruiser two slips down called out some words of encouragement to Kathleen. As I
tied off the lines, the two started talking: Kathleen apologising up and down
for being such an embarrassment to boating women everywhere, and the captain
reminding her that everyone goes through that at first. That followed by "You
mean you only have one engine on that big boat? And no bow thruster?? I don't
know how you do it!"
I turned around and coyly suggested that she should tell my wife to try it one
more time. She did, and Kathleen did. And the last park was the best one ever.
Right on the mark. I stepped ashore and wrapped our lines around the cleats with
a big smile again. I stood back up and looked around. The hot dog crowd seemed
to be ignoring us now. Maybe there's no entertainment value unless something can
be criticized...or maybe the fat guy with the hot dog, like our neighbor on the
motor cruiser, and yes, like me...had been there before himself. I'd like to
think he recognized that nervous look on Kathy's face and turned
away...distracted his guests with another round of hot dogs...told a funny
joke...whatever.
Because nobody likes to be the center of attention when docking. You'd like to
glide in gently as natural as bird coming to its nest. With lines tied, Kathy
killed the engine and sternly declared the docking lesson over. She hurried
below decks mumbling something about tense muscles and being ready for a
cocktail so early in the day. I tried to congratulate her before she could get
away. I waited for a cheer to go up from the skeptical yachtsmen around us...
but all I heard was the birds in the trees and the quiet din of folks going
about their business. And for Kathleen, I think, that was just fine.
27 May 2007 4:42 pm
The chore list didn't prove to be too onerous. The
seawater that comes in to cool the engine first passes through a sea strainer,
which is a big plastic bowl with a metal lid. It's purpose is to keep you from
sucking in debris, fish, or whatever into the engine. But every so often, you
need to clean out all the crap that it has been straining out. So that was my
first job for the day. The actual cleaning was pretty simple, all I found was a
few bits of seaweed in each strainer. The challenge was figuring out how to open
the thing. After closing the seacock, I first thought I had to remove about 10
impossible to get at screws underneath the bowl, but after struggling with that
a while, I looked more carefully and figured out there was a screw on access
port right up on top. I think there must be some sort of special wrench I'm
supposed to use to open this...there are three little holes on top that I think
the pegs of the special tool goes into. But a pipe wrench worked fine also.
Anyway, even though the strainers weren't dirty inside, I'm sure glad I figured
out how to do it now. It would have really sucked to have the engine quit after
sucking a plastic bag into the strainer and then have had to figure that out in
rough seas as we blow toward the rocks!
The hydraulic oil turned out to be a similar issue: Changing the oil was every
bit as simple as changing the oil in your car. But the hydraulic unit has the
most enormous bolt for a drain plug that I'm going to need to get a special
socket just for this. When we bought the boat, the hydraulic pump that runs the
anchor windlass and the winches was looking neglected: water had gotten into the
hydraulic oil and some of the valves were starting to corrode. The unit was
pulled an rebuilt, but they recommended we run the system alot and change the
oil once or twice to make sure all the water was out of the hydraulic lines.
Everything seems to be working good now, and I didn't see any water in the oil I
drained out, so I think the hydraulics are looking pretty good now.
28 May 2007 9:45 pm
After Emmett had gone to bed, I
drove into town to the Food Giant store and picked out the "Triple Chocolate
Tiger Cake" for Emmett's birthday. In the morning, we banished him to his cabin
after breakfast so we could get ready for his birthday. This consisted of
setting out three presents and a card on the table, inserting and lighting seven
candles in the cake, and rummaging around to find the digital camera.
We finally let him out and captured the moment on film. He seemed pretty
impressed to have his own cake on the boat. Kathleen and I sang the birthday
song at the top of our lungs and Em opened his presents. By far the most
exciting were a new pair of "Heelys" which are a kind of tennis shoe
with a little wheel in the heel. With practice one can apparently lift up ones
toes and glide along like on roller skates. Em has been enthralled with them
ever since seeing some hooligan zipping through the San Juan Airport at unsafe
speeds with them.
So as soon as we had finished our cake, Emmett was dragging me up to the smooth
cement in front of the marina club house to try out his new present. It's about
a ten minute walk up the hill to get there. It then took him no time at all to
realize that it was not as easy as the kid in the airport made it look. About
two minutes and one skinned knee later and we were walking back down the dock to
the boat.
Later there would be an outing to the swimming pool and talk about his Birthday
party next weekend for all his friends back home. But for one brief morning on
Uliad it was just us, being able to spend some fun time with our boy. Not having
to rush around to get the pinata set up or the party favors packed or the cake
out of the carpet. Just the freedom to celebrate together and do whatever seems
fun at the time. The "party" was pretty minimalist...were we getting lazy. But I
really don't remember another birthday where Emmett's smile seemed so big as
this one. Even with the skinned knee, I think this is going to be a good year.
29 May 2007 9:10 pm
Freshly back from the boat, my
mind always starts in making lists for the next trip. I've decided that next
month I'm going to drive a load of stuff out to Uliad. Mostly heavy things that
would be too difficult to ship or fly out. For example scuba gear--tanks,
weights and such. But having made that decision, I also realize there's a whole
list of stuff I should get to work on gathering up.
How many oil filters should I carry? What tools to I need to round out my
onboard tool kit? Maybe its time to order that icemaker Kathleen wants... Sounds
like a serious shopping binge will be in order to have everything ready to go
next month. Tempered, of course by our hard realization of exactly how little
storage space there is on a 51 foot boat. I have no idea how those families of 5
take off in a 38 footer for a year. But I do know that you inevitably bring
however much stuff you have room for.
Guess if my boat was smaller, I wouldn't have to worry so much about how many
spare filters to go buy. The answer would be, "one...and you're using it as a
pillow until you need it!"
June:
The day after a 7 year old's
birthday party, complete with swimming in the lake and 4 dogs joining in is not
exactly the best time to show your house. But last night after the party we got
a call from the realtor asking if she could bring some prospective buyers around
today. Holy S*%! We shook off the exhaustion that comes from trying to herd a
large crowd of sugared up kids and went to work on the house. Garbage out,
dishes done, floors cleaned... 12 hours later the place looked like a showpiece
again.
My call weekend has, mercifully, been slow. I think Kathleen would have me
sleeping in the garage if I wasn't around these past two days. I sure hope the
home sells quickly...it's exhausting trying to keep everything neat and
presentable!
06 Jun 2007 3:29 pm
I was wandering along the tool isles of my local
Fleet-Farm store looking at the racks and racks of hand tools today... What will
I need in a good on-board tool kit? After all, I may need to be my own diesel
mechanic, plumber, electrician, and so on. Some sailing books I've read provide
long lists of "must have" tools for long distance cruising. I never even knew
what a gear puller was until I started reading these lists carefully. Now I'm
standing in the isle looking at the 6 inch gear puller and the 10 inch gear
puller. Two jaw or three jaw puller. And what am I ever going to use this for
again?
These expert's lists turn out to be a great place to start... but the problem is
that they're often written by someone who really does know how to rebuild his
own engine. For me, I first have to think about what first might need to be
done, then am I likely under any circumstance to try to do it. If so, then I
need the right tools. If not...maybe the gear puller will just have to stay
behind.
For all my fretting about a proper tool kit, I have had no difficulty at all
putting together a properly thorough medical kit for the boat. Which is nice,
because this appears to be a major issue for lots of other would be cruisers. Go
to an online bulletin board like sailnet.com and there's always somebody asking
panicked questions about where should he go to get vials of morphine and
surgical tools to stock his offshore emergency kit. I'm always a bit amused and
a bit concerned by these postings because my feeling is that if you have enough
medical training to start injecting someone with morphine, then you probably
know by then exactly what you'd need to do to get some. But it's easy to find a
list and assume your life may depend on having everything on it, even if you
don't really know how to use it. Hmmmmm.
So I suspect Uliad's medical kit will end up being a little better than the
average cruiser's. On the other hand, my tool kit might be a little lacking. And
when the time comes that I really need a gear puller, hopefully I can find a
mechanic with a boil that needs to be lanced...
08 Jun 2007 9:26 pm
Today was a big day. Emmett had his last day of first
grade. It was also his last day of public school for a while. Kathleen has been
busy learning about homeschool curriculums and we've been trying to sort through
how we'll do schooling next year. Traditionally, it seems that most cruising
families use Calvert School...they are an accredited private school in Maryland
that has been providing a home school curriculum for decades. They send you a
big box with everything you need to teach your kid second grade right down to
the pencils and crayons and instructions as to which worksheet to complete each
day. Thorough but perhaps a bit rigid. Now in recent years there are a lot more
alternatives. OK, once you weed out the right wing, conservative Christian,
"protect our kids from sinners" programs out there maybe only a few are left.
But we're going to look them over.
Homeschooling seems daunting until we really start delving into what our son did
each day at school. As you can imagine, the last day of school, not much got
done. But yesterday, it appears he spent nearly the whole day on a field trip
to--get this-- the mini golf course. I keep trying to pry out of him what the
children learned on that educational outing. The day before that was 'clean out
your locker day', and so on. I'm thinking that once we bypass the two recesses,
standing in line, and show and tell sessions, it should take us about 15 minutes
each day for the actual learning part.
The other big event today was my submitting my official resignation to my
clinic. Yes, I told them months ago I would be doing this, but this makes it
official. I was required to give 90 days notice in my contract. If my math is
correct, I got my letter in 101 days before I leave. We set the final day as
September 18th. I don't know if I'll be thrilled to be free or terrified to be
out of work by then, but there's no turning back now!!
So to celebrate everything, I came home and fired up the grill. I seared two
Kobe beef strip steaks and opened a bottle of 1986 Mouton Rothschild that I have
been saving many years for this very occasion. Emmett declared the steak to be
the best he's ever had. Even my semi-vegetarian wife had to agree. I sat back
after polishing off the last of it and pondered: 21 years ago when this wine was
being created, I was just graduating from high school. I've come a long way,
baby! The steak, the wine, and this moment were all savored. Aah, life is good.
13 Jun 2007 8:24 am
This morning I have a dentist appointment...probably my
last one with my current dentist. Dr. R is also a boater and always enjoys
hearing my latest sailing stories. Today the agenda will be a cleaning and exam,
but also I'm going to tell him of our open ended sailing plans and ask him to
look carefully for any potential dental problems that could pop up in the next
year or two and take care of them now. Prevention is a good thing.
If I've learned nothing else as a family doctor, it is that prevention is a good
thing. Kathleen has her annual doctor's appointment next week. (I did that last
month) We're taking just as much care in seeing that our bodies are prepared for
this trip as we are seeing that the boat is prepared. A great first step for
anyone planning to travel is a visit to the CDC's travel health website. Here's
an example of our tax dollars put to great work. www.cdc.gov/travel It is easy
to navigate and regularly updated with the latest vaccination and travel health
recommendations for any place on earth. I use it all the time as a medical
professional, but it is all written in language that the average consumer can
understand.
So after popping up that site, it looks like I was pretty well up to date on my
recommended vaccinations, except for yellow fever which is prevalent in Tobago
and Venezuela when we get that far. And my last typhoid vaccination was ten
years ago--time to update. Emmett got his first in a series of two Hepatitis A
shots a couple months ago with great fanfare, and he and Kathleen will also need
to go back for Yellow Fever shots.
But perhaps the most important part of preventive medicine is those little
habits one practices every day: Brush your teeth, wash your hands, wear your
harness, put on safety glasses, eat your vegetables...and so on. Do I sound like
your nagging mother? Ooops, time to go get my teeth cleaned...
15 Jun 2007 8:52 pm
Not long after we made our plans public in
January, we started making plans to sell the house. Problem was, right about the
same time, the ancient septic tanks buried in our front lawn finally (if you
pardon the pun) crapped out. It couldn't have happened at a worse time. We were
racing the cold as we knew the septic field couldn't be repaired once the ground
froze solidly. So one thing led to another and soon there were giant holes dug
in the lawn, dirt an mud everywhere, and the whole place looked like a
construction site.
Just in time for the winter cold to set in. So now there were large mounds of
dirt frozen solid and any effort to repair it all would have to wait until
springtime. How in the hell were we going to get the house sold now! At least we
had toilets that worked.
Finally by about April, Kathleen went to work getting the dirt put back where it
belonged. Then came the concrete guys to pour a new walkway to the house,
followed by fresh green sod laid down where muddy holes used to be. (And a much
shabbier, weedy lawn before that) At last we were ready to put the house on the
market!
Or so I thought. First Kathleen got rid of tons of clutter from the closets,
then she rearranged furniture to make the place look more spacious. She took
down all the family photos so it wouldn't look like someone else's place to a
prospective buyer. Then carpet cleaning, window cleaning, and you-name-it
cleaning. It was as if, through the sheer force of her homemaking skills she was
going to make someone fall in love with this house!
I'll admit I was getting more than a little frustrated at all this. What are we
waiting for? But when the realtors finally showed up, there was nothing but
praise for Kathleen's "home staging" talents. And I have to admit, the house
looked pretty fabulous. We finally listed it about 6 weeks ago around the time I
was fretting about what we would do if the house wasn't sold yet by the time we
planned to leave.
Well, the short of the story is that this past week we had two buyers competing
to buy our house and ended up accepting an offer yesterday for slightly MORE
than our asking price. Best of all, we'll close just a couple days before I
finish work so we won't have to deal with the hassles of finding some short term
rental...or dealing with an unsold house when we're leaving the country. So
lately I have been gushing praises for Kathleen for keeping the whips cracking
and making Emmett and I clean up after ourselves so the house stayed looking as
great as she planned. Not selling the house seemed like the last realistic
obstacle that could keep our dreams from coming true. And now we've crossed over
that obstacle. Sometimes you just have to jump off and assume that serendipity
will shine on you and things will all fall in the right place. And remarkably,
sometimes they do.
18 Jun 2007 10:48 pm
There are some things that you just cant fit in a
suitcase. Like a scuba tank. Or a bicycle, or a half sheet of plywood. These are
all things we need to get on the boat, but just can't fly with. And shipping
stuff like lead weight belts could get expensive in a hurry. So we've decided
that this coming weekend, I'm going to load up the SUV with all this bulky stuff
and make one massive road trip to deliver it to Uliad.
It looks like about a 15 hour drive from Wisconsin...so I'm going to leave
Thursday after work, get there sometime Friday. Unload. Sleep. Then get home in
time to work on Monday morning. Restful, no. But it has to get done sometime,
and it is probably better to get this stuff out there. Plus I'm still feeling a
strong urge to just check things over on the boat. So this week I'm getting my
rest and packing up for the big road trip!
20 Jun 2007 12:50 am
I knew this day was going to come. Today I came home
from work to find my wife exhausted after a day of sorting her clothes. You see,
Kathleen really likes her clothes. and I tease her somewhat mercilessly about
her closets and drawers that are literally stuffed with them. And ever since we
decided to move onto a boat I thought to myself, "will she be able to pare down
her wardrobe enough to fit into the boat?"
So today she showed me how she, with great consternation, had piled a large
stack of things covering our queen size bed. "These are the things I think I
need to bring." she said triumphantly. "Oh, and these, too." She pointed
down to about 10 pairs of shoes at the foot of the bed. Then she expressed some
worry as to how she's going to cut back any further.
Remember, I'm still thinking that I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have a
woman who IS willing to give up all the nice things that she has accumulated
over the years. I looked at the daunting pile of clothes and imagine in my
mind's eye the volumes of her closet and cubby holes on the boat available to
store it all.
In the abstract, preparing for a sailing voyage can be a lovely stroll down
consumer land. It seems there's no limit to the number of handy gadgets that we
think we should buy for the boat. I'll admit that I've "needed" some new tools,
another laptop, and so on. And we've both agreed that we just HAVE to find room
somewhere onboard for the compact icemaker and an espresso machine. After all,
just because we're sailors doesn't mean we can't be CIVILIZED.
But as we pack up the truck with all this stuff, and as we lay out all the
clothes, this nagging voice of reality is starting to creep in: It ain't gonna
fit!! I'll do my best at packing carefully and finding every little nook and
cranny that we can store things in, but I have no doubt that soon we will have
to start making some hard choices. The ice maker or the espresso machine...which
stays behind if there's not room for both? (I can't make a proper iced mocha
unless I have BOTH!!!)
That day will come. And we're going to have to somehow work through the hard
decisions of what to leave behind. But not too much at once, ok? Remember, I'm
still the luckiest guy in the world that my wife is already willing to slice off
about 70% of her wardrobe right off the top. "Don't
worry, sweetie", I tell her as we survey the mountain of textiles,
"I think we can make it fit."
<23 Jun 2007 10:25 pm
Every year the summer solstice comes around June
21...the solstice is the first day of summer and the longest day of the year. My
day began around 6am to go to a meeting at the hospital, followed by 8 hours of
patients in the clinic. Then after work I headed home for a few hours with
Kathleen and Emmett before heading back to Uliad.
We have collected a large stack of things around the house to bring on the boat.
Things like scuba tanks and bicycles that we can't just put in a suitcase. So we
decided that at least one time, we'd need to drive out to Delaware to deliver
all this stuff. This would be the weekend.
I found a colleage to cover call for me after 10pm. So at 10:01 I set out in our
SUV which was literally packed with: Emmett's bike, my compact folding bike, an
espresso machine, an ice maker, two bags full of clothes, scuba gear, snorkeling
gear, a speargun, 4 pillows, and so on. By midnight I was rolling through
Milwaukee. By dawn I was in eastern Ohio. All along the turnpike, I was pleased
to discover, there are Starbucks regularly spaced and open all night. One grande
iced mocha seemed to give about 4 hours of alertness.
On through the mountains of Western Pennsylvania and Maryland. By noon I was
fighting my way through Baltimore traffic and I finally arrived at the marina by
mid afternoon. I had an appointment scheduled with a welder to do some repairs
to the bent dinghy davits and arrived just in time to meet with him.
After showing him around and discussing the details of his work to be done, I
set about checking over the boat. And everything was looking good until... the
engine wouldn't start. Several tries later the diesel roared to life...and
sprayed emulsified oil out the air intake duct. SONOFABITCH!!!!!!! I shut it
down right away and proceeded to pump about two gallons of salt water and two
gallons of oil out of the crankcase. A quick phone call to my diesel mechanic
confirmed my next steps: Saving the engine would first require prompt action: I
filled the engine with a 50/50 mix of oil and diesel and ran it for 15 minutes
or so. Then drained the oil and repeated this process 4 times before refilling
with all oil. I was starting to be pleased by the 4th time with the healthy
color of the oil coming out again.
After all that, I finally put myself to bed around ten o clock. 40 hours since I
first got up. What a way to spend the longest day of the year!!
The following morning, I took the boat out on the canal and ran the engine under
hard load for a little over an hour, trying to get the engine temp up as high as
possible to burn off any remaining oil in the engine. After this vigorous
process of flushing the engine, I shut it all down and set to work trying to
figure out how this happened in the first place.
The whole engine on our sailboat sits below the waterline, so siphoning of sea
water can eventually drown the whole engine. There is a vented loop in the sea
water intake line to prevent this. But in this case, it appears that the vent
got plugged and over the last 3 weeks, sea water had slowly siphoned back into
the engine. Now I finally have the explanation for why the engine wouldn't start
back in Florida...and where that mysterious oil sludge in the bilge came from!
I corrected the problem with the vent hose and now the whole thing was working
well. I hope I won't have any long term problems from this fiasco, other that
some potential for increased internal corrosion inside my just overhauled
engine.
By the end of the day, I was starting to feel in control of the situation again.
And I finally got around to unloading all the stuff I had brought...just in time
to get to bed. Tomorrow I have to get up early to start the long drive back home
again. What a challenge to live two lives! I could easily spend a week here
getting all the projects done that are stacking up... but then, I really need to
be home and working hard to sock away enough money to last us for the forseeable
future!
25 Jun 2007 5:55 pm
After throwing everything else that we had
packed for this trip into the boat yesterday, I was up and ready to head out
Sunday morning. One last look through the systems to make sure everything was
shut down properly. One last look through the fridge and drink up the last of
the milk. Pack out the garbage, lock up, and go. By 8 am I am on the road for
the 16 hour drive back to Wisconsin.
The drive went well. A long haul, but despite the onboard surprises, I got done
the things I needed to do. This engine water thing has me a little psyched out
so I'm already plotting the next trip out to keep an eye on things. We
definitely need to keep an eye on things. I took our digital camera and
carefully photographed each of the steps to starting up Uliad: the seacocks, the
battery switches, and so on... so if my schedule is too busy and Kathleen has to
make the next trip out alone, she'll be able to run the engines herself and shut
things down correctly.
28 Jun 2007 9:56 pm
I really like to eat. And I like to eat well. Which, in
Wisconsin usually means cooking at home. Now I don't mean to knock midwestern
cuisine. Hey, I grew up on it. But at some point in my youth, I discovered a
gastronomical world outside the church basement standbys of my childhood and
I've never looked back. Well, there's the occasional primal urge for Kraft
macaroni & cheese...but in a land where ";good eatin" is measured by the
number of holes one must loosen one's belt after a meal, I found myself looking
elsewhere for culinary inspiration over the past few decades.
Beef Wellington, Peking Duck, Homemade ravioli...there was nothing so complex or
extravagant that I wouldn't give it a try. I've amassed an enviable collection
of professional grade cutlery, cookware, and the most arcane of kitchen gadgets.
And lets not mention the pantry that at this moment holds the following obscure
ingredients and more: Toasted rice powder, fennel pollen, pomegranite molasses,
and chickpea flour. Yes, I have used them all more than once. I love to cook, it
is my creative outlet. Some people paint pictures, I dream up new dishes. And
there really are times I'm in the middle of making dinner when I taste the sauce
and think to myself, "What this really needs is some fenugreek...now where did I
keep it."
So you can perhaps imagine the challenge it might be to move my whole kitchen
into an area that now takes up the size of just my oven. Some things are easy:
you don't really need a lot of cookware, just a couple properly sized pots can
do just about anything. A baking sheet, a fry pan, a few good utensils to stir
with, and a couple of my best knives and I can do it all. The whole gadget
drawer can go. One can get by just fine without a lime zester...I'll just have
to zest my limes the old fashioned way! Same goes for the avocado slicer, the
garlic peeler, the ice cream scooper, and so on.
With great sadness, I will leave behind my stand mixer. It doesn't really do
much that a spoon, a whisk, and a strong arm can do. But it sure is a whole lot
easier than having to build up that strong arm. I did invest in a nice electric
hand blender to fill in once and a while. Kathleen is insisting upon the toaster
because, lets face it, nothing else can really make toast without constant
vigilance and burned fingers.
Which brings us to the recipes. Nobody cooks broadly without a big collection of
cookbooks and recipe files, so this will be challenge to pare down. I need one
good general reference cookbook and I can't think of a better one than Joy of
Cooking. It's a classic. There's lots of others I've liked, but only used one or
two recipes, so I've started transcribing some favorite recipes to a folder on
the computer. Same for the big recipe file...I'll have to pick out the things in
there I'll actually use. Since I expect to be eating plenty of seafood, I'm also
hauling along "the Pike Place Market Cookbook and another one written
specifically for world cruisers with instructions on things like how to clean a
conch or how to open a coconut.
And finally, there is the issue of what to do with that pantry full of exotic
spices. I'll have to pare back to just the basics onboard, whatever those turn
out to be. But the best part about travelling is the discovery. And eating is
usually best when sticking to what is fresh and local. So I still think I'll
find plenty of interesting, creative things for the galley as long as I can find
a market to poke through and other people to talk to who also really like to
eat.
July:
Apparently the word has gotten out around town that I'll be
leaving... because many patients these days are asking "so
are the rumors I've heard true?" For the most part, patients have been
tremendously supportive and encouraging for me to take some time off. They
marvel at our adventuresome plans and thank me for taking care of them. But
naturally there are some who are worried about having to find a new doctor.
Which is also a compliment in its own way I suppose.
One gets to know people so closely as a family doctor, that it is often like
saying goodbye to friends. And all these repeated conversations in the course of
a day leave me spent by 5 o'clock.
I also stepped down from the hospital board of directors this week after 6 years
of serving there. This was also a bit difficult... I really enjoyed the work we
did there to keep our rural hospital strong into the future, but things are
changing and my energies are focused elsewhere. So while it was hard to say
goodbye, it also felt rather liberating to lift one more responsibility off my
shoulders for now.
And then there are our close friends in Wisconsin. Most seem truly excited for
us, but we've had some strange reactions from a few...one couple who we felt
very close to just kind of disappeared as soon as we told them of our plans. It
is as if we're already gone and they've got to forget about us and get on with
everything else in life. Calls and invitations have gone unanswered. Strange. On
one hand, we feel this desire to reach out and not let a good friendship end so
alkwardly. On the other hand, we've tried several times now and maybe its not
worth the energy...maybe they never were such good friends all along, now that
we're removing ourselves from any certain rung on the local social ladder.
So it is interesting and surprising sometimes to see how those around us react.
Guess this is part of the adventure too!
04 Jul 2007 10:53 pm
When we bought Uliad, we inherited
several sacks full of old, outdated flares found in an old locker on board. Hand
flares, flare guns, smoke signals, rocket parachute flares...there were a lot of
flares! With expiration dates going back as far as 1994. So how does one safely
dispose of these incendiary devices? Why, by lighting them all off of course!
Now, in Ft. Lauderdale, I recall signs posted around marine stores listing
places you could bring old flares for disposal. Apparently one very common cause
for bogus calls to the coast guard is when somebody fires off a flare for fun,
then some concerned citizen calls it in thinking that someone is in need of
rescue. So I suppose I could have just followed instructions and turned them
in...But what's the fun in that?
But being a prudent mariner, I did think it would be wise to first bring them
back to Wisconsin, where we are a good thousand miles or so from the nearest
ocean. Calls here would be more likely directed to NORAD than the coast guard
when a flaming orange ball is seen descending toward earth.
I also didn't think it would be wise to attempt in any way to bring any of these
on a commercial airline. The TSA would surely do bad things to me. So finally
after driving out to the boat, I had the chance to bring back a cardboard box
filled with the most outdated signal devices onboard. Anything expiring after
2003, I decided, would stay behind as back-ups to the "current"
flares on board. Then we patiently waited until the 4th of July, when fireworks
are going off anywhere, and my pyromaniacal tendencies would not attract undue
suspicion.
Emmett, being a boy, was immediately thrilled and fascinated by the box. We
brought it out to the dock where, surrounded by water, we felt we were the least
likely to set anything on fire. We fired off a hand flare. Em's eyes immediately
grew to the size of saucers. "Cool!!" he declared. He quickly decided that hand
flares were the most powerful, awesome sparklers ever made, and he had great fun
waving it around over the water.
It was starting to rain, so we had to get moving on the box. Great, I thought.
Less chance of starting the roof on fire. Next up was the flare gun. A flare gun
is basically a little orange plastic pistol with 6 shells. I inserted the first
one into the chamber, aimed for the sky, cocked, and fired. Up went a weak red
trail...down it came just as quickly about 30 yards away, narrowly missing my
neighbor's inflatable trampoline float. Oops. that would be embarassing: "Hey
Walt, um, sorry but...it seems that I've shot your trampoline."
Time to move on to the rocket flares...and to be more careful what direction I
shoot.
Now, I had tried to sell this activity as great family fun to Kathleen, but she
was definitely a little freaked out by the smoking/burning/exploding aspect of
it all. "But honey," I rationalized, "if something happened to me, you should be
comfortable doing this if we needed help" Nothing doing. "
But now she finally appeared in the back yard to join in. "Steve, did you just
hit Walt's trampoline with that thing?!"
Now the flare gun was quite a disappointment. I don't think you could attract
attention across a parking lot with that thing, much less across a couple miles
of open ocean. You definitely get what you pay for. Rocket flares, on the other
hand, are about $50 bucks a pop, and pretty damned impressive. I held it up like
the olympic torch and pushed the trigger on the bottom. First comes a rushing
sound like a small jet was taking off from my hand. Up, up , up went a big red
flaming ball. And just when it seemed to have reached a height at which the
usual fireworks around the lake would explode in a snowball of colored
sparks...it just kept going. And going, and going. And finally after what must
be 5 times as high as anyone else's fireworks on the lake, a tiny puff. And then
the flaming red ball begins to gently drift with the slightest breeze. Gently
downward, aiming for the middle of the lake. It put out so much red light, I
could have sat down on the dock and read a newspaper. Or at least about 60
seconds worth of one before it finally fizzled out about 30 feet above the
surface of the lake. I could hear a few muffled "Wow!"s and "What was that?"s
from folks around the lake.
After shooting a couple more off we decided that we probably won't stress out if
our flares on board get a little out of date. Only one (of about 6) rocket
flares didn't light. It expired in 13 years ago. Two others of the same age
worked just fine. Kathleen decided after standing close enough to get an idea
how they worked that she really didn't need to fire one off. She could see that
the instructions were right on the flare and that would be just fine if the
situation arose thank you and I'm going inside now so please try not to blow up
Walt's trampoline...
Emmett agreed that the rockets were too loud and scary when fired and he just
wanted more hand flares. But then on his third one a spark landed on his sandal
under his toe when he started to hold it a little too close. As quickly as he
could howl in pain, he decided that he HATES flares and wanted nothing more to
do with them.
And with that I was left standing in the drizzle on the end of the dock,
surrounded by the perfectly still waters of Stratton Lake. I imagined what it
would be like to reach for this flare on a dark night, in a pitching sea, trying
desperately to attract the attention of a distant plane... and the fun was over
for me too. I wanted nothing to do with these things either. To reach for a
flare implies perils that I never want my family to face. Ever. I thought of all
the little precautions we take and decisions we make so we will never find
ourselves out there with a flare in our hands...And with that thought in my
head, I put the flare box away. Hopefully forever.
06 Jul 2007 9:25 pm
We're on our way back to the boat
for the weekend. Hopefully it will be dark enough that Kathy doesn't freak out
about the un-packed state that I left everything a couple weeks ago. First on
the agenda is to start creating an organized system of packing everything away.
Then, as usual, I have a long list of mechanical repairs and upgrades to start
working on. With a little luck, there won't be any surprises this time and I can
actually get a few things checked off the list.
There's a tremendous number of little nooks and crannies to stuff things in on a
boat. The challenges are: many of these little places in the bilges are
susceptible to dampness. So you have to protect most stuff from that. Also,
since our aluminum hull is quite susceptible to electrolysis, we have to be
absolutely meticulous about not having metal objects in direct contact with the
hull, or the hull could quite literally start getting eaten away. So things like
engine parts, cans, or even bottles with metal caps need to be stored inside a
plastic bin or something. And then there is the mere fact that there are
relatively few spaces that are easily accessible...which means that we need to
think carefully about what we stuff away in hard to get at places and what needs
to be more easily available.
Fortunately, Kathleen is great at organizing and packing stuff, so I'm putting
her on that one. Then I'm going to get to work on reviving the washer/dryer. But
that's another story...
07 Jul 2007 8:34 pm
Fortunately, there were no surprises
this time on Uliad. After my last trip's engine siphon fiasco, we realized we
need to be alot more cautious when "putting the boat
away". The whole engine is, after all, below the waterline. So first thing this
morning, I ran Kathleen through the procedure for starting up and shutting down
the boat: Open seacocks, turn on switches, close the waterlock drain, etc.
The whole boat was a mess all day, clothes, spare parts, tools... everything was
thrown everywhere in a grand effort to get it all stowed in an orgainzed
fashion. I went through all the miscellaneous bits and pieces again that I
inherited with the boat and tried to decide what I really needed to keep. I
managed to stow it all away in several locations based upon likely need and
still found some left over space to free up a few more shelves. Excellent!! Then
it was on to cut a new panel for the radios at the nav station. I had to take
off and disconnect everything, un-install some outdated gear, make sense of a
nest full of wires, and repair a few corroded connections. After reconnecting a
corroded ground wire, I even found that our PA/hailer was working again! This is
basically a combination fog horn and megaphone for the boat...nice to have back
online.
Then I had to plan and cut out a new panel. On my first try the SSB radio was
too close to one edge and the whole thing didn't fit back together. So now I had
to disconnect everything and start over!! Drat.
As I predicted, Kathleen managed to find room for all her clothes that she had
sent with me. The trick seemed to be not to look up all day. Because as soon as
you saw the huge messes and piles lying around everywhere else, it all seemed
too impossible. Kathleen looked up. Soon she had a headache and needed to lie
down. Emmett was getting bored and we were all starting to get in each other's
way.
So by the end of the day, I took Emmett off to the hardware store. He had a
great time zipping down the large isles of Loew's while I got a few tools that I
needed to round out my tool kits. Then it was off to KMart for some plastic
storage bins--carefully selected to fit into the bilge compartments. By the time
we returned, Kathleen had found a place for everything! What's more, she had
started working her decorating magic and Uliad was finally starting to look less
like a disaster and more like a home. Now, if I can just get this panel cut
properly...
8 Jul 2007 8:34 pm
When I was growing up, I remember my grandmother
regaling me with tales of her brother Clarence. As the story goes, Clarence
could build anything and fix anything. Why he once spent all winter building an
airplane in the attic out of an old lawn mower. In the spring, he assembled all
the parts on the front lawn and flew up and down the street as high as the
telephone poles. He fixed radios, he built his own clocks, he made a go-kart out
of two record players...The stories went on and on.
They all might seem a bit far fetched for a farm kid with an 8th grade education
living in the middle of North Dakota around 1940. My only evidence for my great
uncle Clarence's talent lies in my family lore, and one small box on the shelf
of my father's spare bedroom: It is a little hand-made box, with a faded old
address glued on: Lawrence Erickson, Rogers Memorial Hospital, Rogers, ND. My
grandfather. Inside the box is a little contraption carved out of a block of
wood. You turn a little handle, and two small wooden rods slide back and forth
in tracks whittled perfectly to fit. 50 years later and it glides as smoothly as
precision machinery, transforming rotary power into linear, up and down piston
movements in two perpendicular planes. I must deduce that it was made as a
little toy for my grandfather to amuse himself with when he was in the hospital
for something. And in such a setting, I imagine it was made fairly quickly,
followed by the perfectly matched shipping box, to send off. The whole thing is
quite remarkable, really. That one little artifact makes all the other stories
about Uncle Clarence inherently believable...
I was thinking about Uncle Clarence lately as I pondered my own utterly
impossible fix-it problem: Uliad has a clothes washer-dryer installed in the
forward cabin whose door handle was broken by a certain nameless individual who
happens to be my wife. So the problem is, the machine is 15 years old, made in
Italy, and despite many a Google search, it seems that no parts are available
for it anymore. What's worse, it appears to have been built right into the boat
at the time of original construction. In other words, it won't fit through the
door or the ceiling hatch. So the only way it is coming off this boat is in
pieces. And I can't install a new washer/dryer there for the same reasons. It
appears that my only options are to somehow fix this washer, or cut a large hole
in the boat to replace it.
So I thought to myself, ";What would Uncle Clarence have done?" I took a deep
breath, hitched up my breeches, and decided that some small portion of his blood
must still flow in my veins. I would fix this machine. I will make it last like
a 1955 Chevy in Havana. I have to. And if I could no longer buy spare parts, I
would just have to make them. The problem was a little plastic hook that
connected the door handle to the door to the washer. Soon I was out in the
garage making molds of this little part out of Play-dough, then casting a new
part out of epoxy. I attached a little teakwood handle with screws drilled into
the new epoxy casting, then smoothed the whole thing out with a Dremel tool
grinder to look as much like the original as possible.
After much tinkering, I finally got the thing wedged into the door, latching
properly, and even ran a load of laundry! Yes!! I was beaming, and sure that
Uncle Clarence was looking down proudly from heaven.
But I regret that there is no warm fuzzy ending to this story...at least not
yet. As soon as the machine hit the spin cycle, it quit on me. I think the
electric door lock switch has gone out. I can probably bypass it, and then we'll
just have to remember not to open the door when the machine is full of water.
But to do that, I'm going to have to start tearing the wash machine apart.
Oh well. It was a good story there for a while. And Uncle Clarence, if you're up
there reading this... I could sure use a little help!
10 Jul 2007 8:52 pm
To anyone who has ever had to
sleep like a refugee on an airport floor, or stand in a line of hot, sweaty,
angry travelers, or have a delayed flight or a lost bag just ruin your day. I
have a story for you. A story that, depending upon your underlying personality,
will either make you cheer with joy or curse with envy.
We were on our way home yesterday, waiting in the Philadelphia Airport terminal
when the announcement came up. This flight was overbooked. We were sitting there
feeling pretty smug at the standby crowd. We had our seat assignments already.
Ha! Then it occurred to us, what the hey? Maybe we should cash in if we could
get a later flight. I didn't have to work until the following day and if we got
home a few hours later, no big deal, right? A rude, angry businessman pleaded
his case in front of me while the gate agent, with nerves of steel talked him
down. But he just HAD to get a seat on this flight today! Had any thing come
available yet? What number was he on the list! How could they DO this to him!!!
With relief in her eyes, she took our boarding passes and made alternate
arrangements for us.
We ended up giving our tickets in exchange for three free tickets and another
flight three hours later connecting through Cincinnati rather than Chicago. We
mulled around the news stand for a few hours where Emmett engrossed himself in
"the Harry Potter Poster book" and Hot Rod magazine.
Two unremarkable flights later, we finally rolled into Appleton airport around
9:30pm. We were feeling pretty tired as we went back to the United counter. We
still had to reconnect with our bags that were to have followed the original
itinerary.
There we discovered that, due to thunderstorms, all United flights out of
Chicago had been cancelled all day. So our bags were still there and so would we
be too had we not offered to give up our seats that morning! So rather than
having to overnight in Chicago, and cancel my clinic today, we ended up with
three free plane tickets, our bags delivered to our front door, and the
delicious thought that the rude business guy would be sleeping on the floor..
And who says nice guys finish last?
16 Jul 2007 10:58 pm</pubDate>
<description>Every year on the weekend after 4th of July my maternal relatives
gather at my Uncle Jim's home in Branierd, MN. It is a great big family reunion
and all of the Norman Rockwell-esque images that come with that are pretty much
true for us. So as usual, we made the 8 hour drive with an SUV full of food,
kid, dog, suitcases, etc. this past weekend. The plan was to leave friday
morning, get there by suppertime, enjoy saturday, then pack it all up for the
long drive home sunday afternoon. It was a tight schedule, but we knew we could
do it.
This year, we of course had a big announcement to make with our pending travel
plans... of course everyone had already heard about it. My brother downloaded
the whole blog so far and passed out copies for those family members who aren't
too web savvy yet. And my cousin Kris had downloaded some photos from the
website and made a big "Bon Voyage" collage for us. And my aunt Jean
included a special prayer for us on our coming travels Sunday morning...
It is joyful and humbling to be reminded what a wonderful, loving extended
family we are fortunate enough to have. I am once again reminded how difficult
it is to set out to accomplish much in life without the support of family and
friends behind you.
For our part, we had just printed up "boat cards": little business
cards with Uliad's name and photo, followed by our website, email, and contact
information. Then we put out an open invitation to all our relatives to come and
visit us on the boat as we travel around the world.
The only challenge with such an invitation is that it is hard for us to predict
exactly when we'll be where. I think the worst possible way to sail is on a set
schedule, as in "we'll leave St Thomas on January 3rd and then spend 2 days
on Culebra, then leave on the 6th to meet our friends in Puerto Rico who are
flying in on the 7th. The reality, this kind of travel is the only kind most
people know. The trouble is, when traveling by sailboat so much depends upon the
weather... If the seas are rough and you need to get to the next port, you tend
to push it to keep with the schedule and end up not having much fun on a rough
crossing. Not to mention the fact that if you find a place you really like, why
not stay a while and enjoy it? Or conversely, why stay if things arent all you'd
hoped for.
For land travellers, locked to pre-purchased tickets and hotel reservations, you
don't really have a choice. But now we do. The wind is free so we never have to
worry about penalties and fees for changing our plans. And we don't have to pack
it all into one week before we have to go back to work. What a luxurious way to
travel.
Unfortunately, all those people we'd love to come visit us will still have to
fit it into their pre-scheduled week or two off work. So we proposed the most
brilliant solution to this dilemma. (I didn't think it up...I had read about it
from other sailors) The deal is this: you can either decide where you'd like to
fly down to meet us, or when you want to meet us...but not both. For example, if
you've always wanted to scuba dive the sea mounts off the island of Saba, then
we'll call you a week or so in advance and tell you when to come meet us. Or if
you know that you're taking vacation the last full week of February, then we'll
let you know a week or so prior to that where you should buy the plane ticket
for.
The uncertainty can be a challenging thing to get your head around if you're
used to having a rigid itinerary planned out months in advance...but trust us,
it'll be worth it!
So for those members of the Haukebo clan who have found their way to Uliad.net
through our ship's calling card... welcome! Glad to have you along in spirit
through the web log. And we hope to see you in person, too!
17 Jul 2007
My life has been chronically
overscheduled for so long, that you'd think I'd be used to anything. But looking
ahead at July for the past few months, we have known it was going to be really
crazy. First came the quick trip out to the boat, followed by the family reunion
weekend and its attendant 9 hour drive each way to northern Minnesota. We
arrived back two days ago to dump out the suitcases, do some laundry and refill
them yesterday. Because today we are on the way to Orlando, where I'm teaching a
course on Medical Procedures to some physicians. Kathleen and Emmett are coming
along to take in some Disney World fun while I teach seminars for three days.
That leaves us Saturday to all spend together, then come back next Sunday. Upon
which I do it all again--refilling my suitcase with clean clothes to fly out
Tuesday morning to Corpus Christi, TX where I'll be giving lectures at the
annual meeting of the Texas Academy of Family Physicians for the next two days.
Then I'll fly back Friday morning just in time to begin my call weekend...
So that just about eats up all of July...probably won't have the time to even
think about sailing until August 1. I've been making a conscious effort to make
this journal about our sailing preparations and travel. So although I have lots
of observations and opinions about Disney World and the unique people who visit
it, I will hold off and wait until I have something more to report about Uliad.
22 Jul 2007 4:58 pm
We made it through our 5 days in
Orlando and are now flying back home again. After all the stress of preparing
the boat, selling the house, planning to pack and move, and so on...it was nice
to get away from it all. Which is not to say that a few days at Disney World is
not a stressful experience in its own right. Try this sometime, walk through the
Magic Kingdom any given afternoon and look at the expressions on everyone's
faces as they pass by. Try to assign a word to describe each person's
expression...
We were starting to lose it yesterday. We were all short on sleep, long on junk
food, and trying to pack in as much as possible to get our money's worth of each
overpriced ticket. It was hot. Not just hot. Florida's extreme humidity in the
middle of July kind of hot. Nerves were getting short. Then in the middle of yet
another snippy conversation with Em or Kathy, I remember looking around
wondering why families travel hundreds of miles to come to this hell hole, when
I first started the little game above. Yes, here in the happiest place on earth,
90% of the patrons wore expressions of fatigue, gloom, and irritability. I
pointed it out to Kathleen and pretty soon we were snickering under our breath
when a particularly menacing scowl walked past. "Good Lord!" we thought, "how
could someone look so miserable at Disney World!"
Surely it has everything to do with families trying to pack way too much "fun"
into a few short days... something we had been guilty of ourselves, both in the
past as well as today.
So we stopped for something cold to drink, pared back our plans of how many
rides we had to hit, and ended up going home when the rain set in later in the
afternoon. We made one last voyage to Space Mountain, after which Emmett got wet
in the rain, then chilled on the air conditioned bus. He took a nice bubble bath
when he got back to the room. Nobody complained about missing any rides. We
ordered room service, watched a cartoon on the 24 hour Disney channel, read him
a story, and put Emmett to bed. Kathleen and I drank in the wonderful silence
for a few minutes before thoughts of tomorrow and all the things waiting to get
done at home began to creep back in and spoil the mood. This day, it seemed, was
a microcosm of our whole lives. We need to slow down. Savor life. Love each
other. Laugh together.
I discovered a few mantras to keep in mind as we travel around this earth:
First, if it's not fun, don't let anyone else tell you it should be. You can
always just go do something else. And second, The Happiest Place on Earth, it
would seem, is always right there buried inside my own attitude wherever we may
find ourselves.
27 Jul 2007 11:44 am
Both Kathleen and I have passports which
were due to expire this summer. That would be good news in that we can renew
them and then they'll be good for another 10 years and we won't have to deal
with trying to renew them later. And we can ask for extra pages to be included
now so they don't fill up with all the entry stamps we hope to gather in the
coming years. The downside is, a few months ago George Bush decided that all
Americans should now have passports even when travelling to Canada, Mexico, and
a bunch of places that we used to be able to go with just a driver's license. So
there is a huge, months-long backlog at the passport office.
No problem, we planned ahead. I sent in my renewal paperwork in early May.
Kathleen--never one to do things early-- dragged her heels on getting her
passport photo...couldn't find the right outfit or something. Anyhow, I thought
I'd be smart and get mine sent off right away and set a good example for her.
Problem was, I sent in my renewal application with Kathleen's passport. Dang!
Now I had permanently lost all moral authority with regards to all things
passport related. Calls to the passport office led to repeated dead-end recorded
messages. Emails went unanswered. They're all apparently too busy working on
their backlog of passport applications.
Finally a month later an official letter came to me from the Passport office
informing me that my passport was not received and I should mail it in. No
mention of Kathleen's passport. I sent mine in with a letter pleading to send
back my wife's passport too before she reminds me again what a dumb mistake that
was. No dice. My shiny new passport arrived and Kathleen's was apparently never
to be heard from again.
So now it appeared that we'd have to: 1. fill out a "lost passport form". 2.
Apply for a new passport for Kathleen, which would also require a certified copy
of her birth certificate, a trip to the courthouse, and a whole lot more
paperwork than the simple renewal. We were getting nervous about how long all
this was taking so we signed up with a passport expediter service. For enough
money and with all your paperwork in order, an expediter will hand carry your
documents to the National Passport Center in New Hampshire, stand in line for
you and get your passport that day. For a little less, they'll promise to have
it back to you within a week. We opted to for that one.
Kathleen got her photo taken, went to the courthouse and the first questions
they had were what was your date of departure and on what airline. She reported
that the ladies jaws all dropped when she explained that she couldn't give an
exact date since she would be leaving the country by private yacht and we'd
leave whenever we were ready and the weather was good...They didn't know what to
do with that answer.
But thankfully they managed to get the paperwork signed and we FedExed it off to
the expediter this week. So hopefully she'll have her passport in hand and we
can all forget about my big mistake soon!
August:
Kathleen left for Uliad today, leaving Emmett and I back in
Wisconsin. Her agenda for the long weekend will be to check on the boat and make
sure she's secure, run the engines, and then do some packing and organizing of
more stuff. And I think she was going to paint in a few places.
I'm quite proud of her to tackle the engine maintenace. After flooding it last
month, we've decided to keep the engine water seacock closed when we're away, so
starting the engine is now a fairly complex process compared to, say, starting
your car: Now you have to: Turn on the engine start battery switch, turn on the
engine controls on the main electrical panel, climb down into the engine room
and open the seacock, check the oil, belts, and coolant, climb out again, open
another floor panel to get at the exhaust waterlock, close the drain plug on
said waterlock, turn the key to the on position... and only then can you push
the button that starts the main engine. Whew! In preparation for the task, I
took digital photos of each switch and valve last time I was down, and then I
made up an instruction sheet complete with a color photo for each step.
And I must say, the whole thing worked. For a girl who has a rather unhealthy
aversion to machines of all kind, Kathleen got the whole task done and not only
had the engines running, but also the air conditioning on, the fridges charging,
and the icemaker cranking out some cubes for a well deserved cocktail by the end
of the evening.
Now if only she had left me as detailed of instructions for being Mr. Mom this
weekend!
04 Aug 2007 2:00 pm
I'm looking down a little befuddled at
the flip-flops on my feet. How do people wear these things? It's just not
natural to have something jammed between your first two toes while you walk. And
they're so... so... loose. True to name, they flop around when I walk and if god
forbid I should have to run somewhere...
The stylish new thong sandals are the result of one of Kathleen's latest
shopping forays, and part of a broad effort to make my wardrobe a little less
Brooks Brothers and a little more Tommy Bahama. I agree with the need, but this
one is hard. Maybe it comes from growing up in a little farm town where good
footwear meant Red Wing Boots... sturdy enough to keep out dirt, snow, and the
occasional errant cowpie. Everyone I knew in school wore either them or tennis
shoes, which offered the speed and agility needed to avoid having one's head
dunked in a toilet in junior high. The point is, shoes were functional, style
was a distant second. And I think that's why I'm having a small panic attack
when Kathleen insists that I'll need to wear these in my new life of leisure.
OK. I need to find the functional element. I can kick them off quickly for a
swim. Umm, I can take them off easily without untying them. I can tuck them away
compactly where Kathleen will never find-- OK, what ELSE.
For 15 years now it has been a shirt and tie every work day. And over the past
year or two, as we have come to know that we're really going to do this, I have
been cutting way back on new work clothes. As a result, I'm now finding a number
of shirts with little stains and tatters when they come out of the closet.
Whatever, I'll just throw the white coat over it. Now we're getting close enough
that I can finally start throwing out the worn out uniforms as I see them. The
rest will get packed away in a closet, waiting until the day I come back to the
working world again.
So what else to bring? From our years sailing on our last sailboat in the Virgin
Islands, we learned a good rule: twice as many t-shirts and swim suits as you
think you need, and half as much of everything else. But then when we sailed
Uliad up to Delaware in April it was really COLD out on the water. It could
easily be like that in October on the way back down too. Do I have the space to
tuck in a couple sweaters? a down coat? mittens? What if we have to fly back in
January for some emergency? Or will we some day laugh at why we ever thought
we'd need to pack clothes like that on our way to the tropics?
But then, isn't that a typical traveler's mistake? To not be sure what you'll
need, so you overpack and try to bring everything. Meanwhile, where ever you go,
there are people already living there-- dressed quite appropriately. And there
are stores there selling that appropriate clothing. So I'm going to take my best
guess and leave a little room in the wardrobe to pick up a few things along the
way. And you can bet that I'll be keeping an eye out to see if the natives
really do put up with wearing flip flops.
07 Aug 2007 10:58 pm
We've been starting to wig out
this week over moving plans, packing details, financial details, scheduling
parties and last goodbyes, and so on. There are a thousand details to attend to.
If I think about it too much, it can all get overwhelming. Better to just do one
thing at a time, and then hope there is enough.
I mailed a letter to all my patients this past week, telling them that I will be
leaving next month and referring them to my partners for future care. I also
included a few words about my plans to take some time off to spend with my
family, exploring the world on our sailboat. I expected to draw a few comments
and sure enough, starting yesterday just about everyone coming through the door
comments on the letter they got. What I didn't expect was just how emotionally
difficult the process could be.
My first patient of the day was typical: "So is it true about this letter...
you're leaving us to go sailing? You know, I had Dr. G as my doctor and then he
left, then I had Dr. S and she left, and now you're leaving...who do you
recommend I go see now?"
Or my next patient: "Thats great, doc. Good for you. Now please tell me you're
coming back. It can be really tough to find a good doctor, you know. We really
like having you. We sure hope you'll be back."
Nobody says it, yet everyone implies it. "Don't go, Doc. I need you. After all
we've been through, I trust you. I don't want to start over with someone else.
Don't go." And although none of my patients says it in those words, that's the
message I keep hearing behind the well wishes and hearty handshakes. I suppose I
should be grateful and flattered; and I am. But after so many years of
doctoring, and working for and thinking about these people, and making it my
life's top priority to BE THERE for them-- it almost goes against my nature now
to say, "No. I won't be there any more."
And of course goodbyes are always hard for anyone. But this week I really think
how easier it would be to work in a little office somewhere where I'd just have
maybe a dozen co-workers to say goodbye to. And they'd all show up for cake in
the cafeteria, then I could pack up my cubicle and go.
I have a thousand patients who have been coming to me for years. I carry their
secrets, know their problems, share their pain. They are friends. And although
they all clearly wish me well, they also wish me to stay... and be that friend
they can trust.
What is the hardest part of sailing around the world? It is untying the dock
lines. It is the thousand little things asking you to stay.
09 Aug 2007 10:08 pm
For months now, we've been researching our
options with regards to Emmett's schooling while we sail. From our reading, it
seems like lots of cruising families use The Calvert School. Calvert is a
private school in Baltimore that has been providing distance learning curriculum
for probably a hundred years... way back to when it was called "correspondence
school". And their primary customers were missionaries and diplomats and such.
But we wanted to look for other alternatives, too.
Home schooling is apparently a pretty big movement across the US. When I was a
kid, I had never heard of it. By high school, there were occasonal mumurings
about wierd families who homeschooled. I imagined luddites and libertarians
living in fortified compounds, spouting dogma to their kids from dawn til dusk.
Perhaps it is because my Dad was a public school teacher, but I've always been
wary of home schooling. After all, isn't it a bit presumtous to think that you
can do a better job teaching than someone with a degree, a license, and a
career-ful of experience doing the job
Then I became a parent of a grade school kid.
I quickly grew annoyed with the rigid school schedule and "permission forms" to
take Emmett out for a family vacation. And then there was the homework. Oh! Lord
the homework! 9 months of the same "how long is this
worm" and "what number comes between 17 and 19"
worksheets. Every day, the same problem, different answers. Now I understand the
need for repetition, but I could see Em's bored eyes glaze over after a few
months. Kathleen volunteered in the school and confirmed our suspicions: The
class moves at the pace of the slower students. Extra worksheets are given to
keep the rest busy. And much of the 7 hour day of learning is spent doing
activities like standing in line, recess, lunch, and watching other kids get
disciplined. The real learning of skills that need to be mastered can actually
take place pretty quickly, without a whole lot of special talents of the
teacher. The real challenging part is not the teaching, but the
"crowd management" skills.
So we were pretty excited to explore homeschooling curricula. And since we're
going cruising, we at least wont be suspected of being right wing freaks for
taking Emmett out of public schools. Kathleen has taken on the task of being
primary teacher, and therefore primary researcher of curriculums. She has made
me promise to step in for Math lessons when we get to fractions. Kathy never
liked fractions.
By first eliminating those that had an obvious ideological axe to grind, her
task was made much easier. Then we had to look for ones that were "complete". As
in you don't have to go online to print out stories or worksheets. We won't
always have access to internet, libraries, or the like. And the final criteria
rested with the rigid-ness of the curriculum. As new homeschoolers, we wanted
some structure to make sure we weren't pushing too fast or missing important
topics, but we didn't want to be so locked in that we couldn't spend some time
learning about, say, rockets when we happened to be sailing past Cape Canaveral.
After all that, Kath narrowed her search down to Calvert School and Oak Meadow.
And the winner is: Calvert. We signed up on line and Emmett's box arrived a week
later with much fanfare. The beauty of Calvert is that everything you'll need
for the year, right down to the pencils and glue sticks, is shipped in a big
box. Perfect for a family like us that will not always have an Office Depot
right down the street.
Opening the box was like Christmas in August. There was a music box with CDs and
little instruments, shiny new textbooks, art projects, story books, rulers, and
so much more. Em immediately started paging through the Calvert Science text
while Mom began to read Lesson one in the Teacher's Manual. And I drifted back
in my memory to my elementary school days. New clothes laid out, a new teacher
to meet. A desk to fill. The textbooks were stacked neatly, waiting to be read,
pencils ready to be sharpened, ruled paper looking eagerly white...and I
remembered the anticipation and excitement of a new school year. That feeling is
still here. Even when homeschooling.
12 Aug 2007 9:43 pm
So you've read about Kathy's
struggles with paring down her wardrobe, and my anxieties over cooking without
my big kitchen. Today it is Emmett's turn to face the reality of living in a
much smaller space. Any parent out there knows how quickly a child can
accumulate boxes and bins full of assorted bits of broken plastic. It is just
incredible. And of course 80% of it gets played with exactly once. I don't think
any of Emmett's elaborate Hot Wheels tracks that he begged for were ever
assembled more than one time. Which is not such a bad thing, considering that
one had real green slime that oozed down the sides of the "volcano" as the hot
wheels cars raced by. The gimmick grew old even before the ooze had reached the
carpeted plains at the bottom of the plastic mountain.
Another 10% gets played with again, but not in the manner in which it was
intended. Helicopter rotors, for example, were quickly dismembered and recycled
as daggers for a ninja escapade. That leaves just a small fraction of the toy
bin (oh, if there were only one!) that a parent might think would make any
difference. No.
The first sorting only seemed to clear out about a third of the stuff. Despite
their lack of use, Em remained firmly committed to keeping his treasures. After
all, they were hard won through many hours of begging, hinting, and cajoling
various adult pushovers who shall remain nameless. You know who you are! So we
finally resorted to The Bin.
Today I handed Emmett a rather small green Rubbermaid bin that I thought stood a
reasonable chance of fitting into the space under his bunk. He was then informed
that he could bring whatever toys he wanted on the sailboat--as long as they fit
in the bin. Anything left outside the bin after today would be given away. So
Emmett set to work. And I must say, I admired the concern and thought he put
into his selections.
First went the entire collection of Hot Wheels cars. Then a small supply of
track (no volcanoes, etc). A couple nerf guns, some games... a few things came
out to make room for others. After 15 minutes the big decisions had been made.
Then it was just a matter of filling in the gaps. He was starting to lose
interest. Capitulation or a tantrum was imminent. I could smell it.
Em was now faced with two alternatives: He could sort through all the little
bits and pieces, beg for more space, pack the bin as tightly as humanly
possible...or he could let go, give it all away, and run outside to play with a
stick and a leaf and whatever his imagination might dream up. Emmett chose the
latter. And I've never been prouder.
16 Aug 2007 4:22 pm
I've started cleaning out
the junk from my drawers and shelves in my office this week. I'm trying to pare
it down to only the things I'll really keep when I pack it up in a few weeks. I
stopped to look around and was reminded of the first time I saw this room. 10
years ago. The building was only half built and Kathleen and I wandered around
the framed in rooms to find where my office would be. We paced the concrete
floor to decide how I'd lay out my new office.
It seems like we did everything together back then: Hanging out, window
shopping, exercising, watching TV, you name it. These days, in the name of
"efficiency" we hardly ever see each other. I go to work all day while she packs
the house. I take care of the money and she takes care of Emmett. You walk the
dog while I get supper ready. And on and on it goes.
I miss not having to be efficient. I miss the luxury of each other's
company...of being able to wander around with her and not tense up over the
other things I need to get done. Even though we live in the same house, I miss
my wife.
We're even more stressed out and pressed for time lately as we try to juggle
where all our posessions are going and how it is all get there. What to give,
what to sell, what to keep...not only is it a big job, but it is an emotional
job, too. So I keep reminding myself why were suffering though it--to get back
to those days when we did everything together, and had nothing better to do.
We're going to get there. We've got to... because we're trading in our careers,
our home, our cars, everything for it.
18 Aug 2007 4:22 pm
In 1997, I had just finished my
residency and Kathleen and I were moving from Tacoma, Washington to Wisconsin to
start my first real job. So we sorted through all our things and had ourselves a
big garage sale out back to clean house before the move. After two days of hard
work, I think we netted around a hundred dollars. Worst of all, I remember
people coming through and seeing some nice nick-nack for sale for 25 cents and
asking if I'd take 10 instead. "For Pete's sake, can you really not afford a
lousy quarter!"
So I promised myself that day that I would never again hold a garage sale. If I
ever got the notion to clean out my closets, I would go work for a shift in the
ER, hire two guys to haul my junk to the land fill for me, and still come out
way ahead.
Well, we started to get too guilty thinking about throwing away so much
perfectly good stuff. So when my Dad declared that he was having a garage sale
this weekend, we decided to haul a load of it to Minnesota to add to the sale.
We arrived late at night as usual and unloaded the trailer: half for the sale,
the other half to go to our storage shed. By this morning we were up early and
putting rediculously low prices on everything. None of it's coming back with us,
so there's no sense holding out for a good price! But true to form, Minnesotans
aren't known for being confrontational or argumentative, so only twice all day
has anyone tried to bargain for a lower price. One was a Mexican family who
bought a rug for 3 dollars instead of 5. The other lady was caucasian, but she
must have been visiting from out of state.
It has been pouring rain all day, but we've still had a slow, steady trickle of
items walking down the driveway. With three hours to go, I've collected $83.35.
If this keeps up we should just about make enough money to pay for the gas it
took us to drive here and back this weekend. But hey, at least we kept it out of
the landfill, right?
22 Aug 2007 10:44 pm
I flew back to Uliad today for one last
work trip. We arrived to find everything in order. I find that every time I come
I walk down the docks craning my neck to see if Uliad is still there and
floating. Of course she is. It is completely irrational, but I worry about the
boat when I'm gone.
The dingy davits had been delivered by the welder, so we put that back on. It
looks great, but it doesn't line up quite right to fold up into the arch the way
it was designed. I can get within about 4 inches before it starts to bind, but I
think that's going to have to be good enough. The welder came back out to
inspect it and judged that to correct it, he'd have to saw it apart and re-weld
it again. It took nearly three months to get the first repair done, so I think
I'll have to go out and break it again before we do that.
No boat-work weekend can start without a trip to West Marine and Loew's
hardware--so off we go. Those stores are going to miss me when I'm gone.
23 Aug 2007 11:07 pm
My brother Mike graciously
volunteered to come to the boat this weekend and help with some final boat
projects. I think Kathleen talked him into it after seeing what a crappy job I
did cutting a new wood panel to install all the electronics on. This was
necessary after adding the SSB radio. My first effort looked pretty nice, but I
cut out one hole too close to the edge to get the radio to fit. Then I was in a
bit of a rush on my second attempt, and I'll be the first to admit it looked
awful. The cuts weren't quite straight, the varnish job was spotty, and it just
looked bad. But I really thought I'd do fine if I just took my time and gave it
one more shot.
"Nothing doing," Kathleen said. "Your brother is an expert woodworker, we're
getting him to do it right." Now she is right about that. Mike is an engineer
for Hewlett Packard, and when not designing new computer chips, he makes things
out of wood. No not birdhouses...Mike makes carved hobby horses, ornate silver
chests with fancy inlays, and such. So I knew we were in good hands. My
technique in making a radio panel consisted of setting down the brackets and
tracing the outline. It never occurred to me that there was much more to it than
that until I saw Mike walk by with a micrometer in his hand.
So as I crawled through the bilges re-routing wires to move the stereo onto the
electronics board, I could hear him sawing away up in the cockpit. As I
connected the harness wires behind the stereo, I heard sanding. And by the end
of the day, I must declare the new panel is a work of art, and clearly Mike uses
the same precision that one needs to build, say, a microchip. Now it just needs
some varnish and we'll hook it all up tomorrow.
I sure hope my wiring job behind this new panel doesn't set the whole thing on
fire.
26 Aug 2007 8:44 am
With my brother's help, this last
weekend of boat work has really paid off. I'm finally feeling like everything is
ready to go. Fueled on little more than Diet Pepsi Max and the occasional pizza,
Mike crafted a new seat for the dinghy, a radio panel, a hatch screen, and a new
cabinet shelf. And he did the dishes. Diet Pepsi Max is some powerful stuff.
For my part, I feel like a qualified electrician after moving the stereo and
installing cockpit lights, replacing two light switches, a solar vent, and two
light bulbs. Then after putting all the electronics back in place, we discovered
that the VHF radio no longer worked, so I went and bought a new one and
installed that. And after all that, everything actually works! I am the king of
electrons.
The biggest challenge to the whole project was figuring out where to run all the
wires. This usually involved trying to fish it through some tiny inaccesible
path behind lockers or above the ceiling panels. Then when taking down the
ceiling panels I was met with more remnants of the rat who lived there back in
Florida. Yuck! Oh, and then I drilled my first hole in the boat to get the wires
up into the cockpit. For some reason drilling holes in my boat always frightens
me just a bit. Even above the deck, I get these visions of water pouring in
through the hole. But we got it all done and the new lights look great.
The VHF radio was a bit of a mystery. The fuse was blown, but after correcting
that, the radio still didn't work. I assumed that when removing it a wire fell
on the wrong terminal and I shorted it out, but then later a neighbor came by to
tell me that there had been a big electrical storm last week and a couple other
boats on our dock had suffered some damage. Since I have the tallest mast, he
wondered if I had any problems. So that could have done it, but I noted that all
my other electronics work fine, the mast head looks fine and all the lights up
there are still working...I find it hard to believe that we could have been
struck by lightning, so I think I'm sticking with my theory that it was my own
screw up.
We also made a valiant effort to revive the washing machine, but to no avail.
Not even my brother could figure out how to fix it. So it appears that we will
need to replace this when we get to Ft. Lauderdale in a few months. But aside
from that everything is now in working condition and ready to go. We just need
to pack whatever else we bring next month, buy some groceries, and then we're
off.
And we can finally get to work on some more cosmetic issues: The boat
desperately needs a good wash and wax. There are some black rubber marks on the
side of the hull that need to get rubbed out, and some paint touch ups needing
to be done. And the teak decks need sanding and oiling. Those things we should
be able to do underway to help prevent boredom. Once we get those things
accomplished, the boat will start looking like a yacht again, and hopefully
other people will start sharing my belief that Uliad is one gorgeous sailboat!
30 Aug 2007 9:17 pm
One final challenge remains before we
leave our terrestrial existence. We have to pack up and store or otherwise
dispose of our worldly posessions. One of the more perplexing issues has been
selling our cars. My Dad has graciously volunteered to look after my beloved
Jaguar XKR... in fact, he was so excited to do so that he even built a new
garage in his back yard to store it. That leaves our Volkswagen and our Toyota
SUV. I wasn't really thrilled about newspaper ads because we kind of need the
truck for moving. But after we finish that, we really need to unload it. So we
started mentioning to everyone we knew that we were looking to sell and
fortunately, a cousin of one of my partners was looking for an SUV like ours.
Best of all, they live in Baltimore, which is pretty close to the boat. So we
came to terms on price and now we can drive our truck out there, move on board
the boat, and sell the truck to them before we sail off!
That left the VW Jetta, which we put on Ebay last week and some guy from Reno,
NV snapped it up, just meeting our reserve price. Before the auction ended, two
local people stopped by to look at it, one put a low bid on ebay, but it seemed
like they both were hoping to make a lowball offer after the auction ended. So
the guy from Reno flew out to Milwaukee and then caught a bus to Waupaca. We
signed the papers in the local hotel parking lot, and after a few hassles with
his bank wanting all the paperwork faxed before they'd release the check, we
sent him on his way to drive back to Reno in his new car.
Gee, that was easy. If only the rest of our packing and moving was.
September:
The Labor day weekend has been a busy one for us, hence my
delay in writing. After clearing out most of the furniture, we've been taking it
a little slower on packing for a few days. But as I write, Kathleen is back to
wrapping the rest of her framed art in bubble wrap to go to storage. For my
part, I started the weekend by mowing our much neglected lawn. This was made all
the more challenging by doing it with a broken mower. The handle cracked off a
month ago in mid-lawn. Now in any other circumstance, one trip to town would
have the problem solved. But since we're leaving anyway, I reasoned, I should
just try to make do. My first thought was to push the handle-less mower around
the yard like a misdirected toddler. No, the neighbors would talk. Maybe under
cover of darkness.
My final solution involved some good old baling wire to jimmy the thing back
together long enough for one more trip around the yard. It worked for about the
first third, but a second attempt resulted in success. The grass is cut. For the
Last Time ever! Best of all, I have absolutely no guilt about getting rid of the
lawn mower in whatever way necessary.
Labor Day always marks the end of summer. It hasn't seemed like the end of
summer to me, since we're about to sail off into perpetual summer. But it has
been a weekend of Lasts. It is my last weekend on call. I was bragging about
this to the ER doctor on Saturday. I was in a great mood and nobody could ruin
it. Send as much work as you want at me...after all, its my last call weekend!
But being a holiday, I'm covering for three other doctor's patients. Being a
long weekend, with all the offices closed, the phone call volume has been
steadily accelerating. By Sunday night, I was getting calls about every hour all
night long from the hospital, the nursing homes, the patients... my mood is a
little less good.
Emmett went to a birthday party of a school friend. Perhaps the Last Time he'll
see some of these kids. We didn't dwell on that. Monday we spent preparing for
one last dinner party at our house with some old friends who came by to wish us
well. One last chance to fire up the grill and enjoy the lake with them. Between
phone calls, I made smoked pheasant canapes and grilled chicken with a
raspberry-chipotle glaze. It is becoming an interesting challenge to cook with
whatever is left in the freezer or pantry--we're trying to use everything up and
not buy anything more.
Em and I lit one last bonfire in the fire pit and burned up the downed branches
from the last storm. Kathy and our guests enjoyed the fire at lakeside while I
was called away twice to attend to some issues back at the hospital. (Last time,
Steve!) I broke our "don't buy anything more" rule to bring Emmett back a bag of
marshmallows to roast on the fire. He was just getting around to making me one
when I had to run in again to admit another patient.
I made it home to find Emmett asleep, our guests gone, and Kathleen back to
packing. Hopefully the last family event I'll miss because of patient issues.
Kathleen was kind enough to save me the dishes to do. And just as I finished,
ready to finally sit down and relax, the pager goes off again...my last OB
patient has just arrived in early labor. Soon I'll be delivering my last baby
here in Waupaca. I know some day I'll miss all this. But right now I'm just
tired. I'm just glad this is the last time.
05 Sep 2007 10:18 pm
Emmett and I went to Appleton
today to get the car serviced before we leave it with my Dad in a few weeks. We
brought along Emmett's new Math book to start homeschool while we waited at the
Jaguar Service Department. I'm afraid we're starting a bit slowly on the
homeschool thing. It is hard to get going full speed when we don't hardly have
any furniture any more for Em to work on.
One of the things that let us to choose the Calvert Curriculum for school is
that everything is spelled out exactly what to do for each day. It seems a bit
rigid, but I think it will work out for the best. I know my personality...given
a chance I'd probably assume that my son is smarter than most kids and can
probably do all this in his sleep, so why not run through it all twice as fast?
But it's not a race. One lesson per day. Just like the book says, Steve.
Well, lesson one involved spreading out little colored bits of cardboard on the
table and grouping them to demonstrate things like: 3+5= 8. This really was
simple. Pretty soon Emmett was asking if he could skip the tedious cardboard
bits and just fill in the answers. That seemed reasonable to me. Assignment
finished. Worksheet done. Total time, about 5 minutes. This homeschool stuff is
a snap. I should have brought the writing assignment as well.
OK, so we started in on Lesson #2. This was only slightly more challenging, in
that we are now adding sums up to about 15...I'm thinking we'll maybe get the
first week of math out of the way... seems like it's all review anyway. But
halfway through the assignment, Emmett's concentration began to fade. It's hard
to stay in his seat. He starts asking how much more...and isn't there a play
room here that we were going to check out? It turned out to be a struggle to
keep re-directing him back to get that second assignment done.
Does my son have ADD? Does it really take only 5 minutes a day to learn math? Or
am I just being reminded that it's not a race. Slow down. Don't work so hard.
After all, that's what this whole sailing life is about, right?
We went to the play room for recess and I got a good whoopin' by my son in a
game of "Ants in the Pants". Feeling a bit brazen by this, Em wanted to bet me
$5.00 that he could get all his ants into the plastic pants before the car was
ready. I warned him that he might not want to bet the money he was planning all
week to spend on new toy at Target today. This was duly considered and he
lowered the bet to $1.00. Which he promptly lost.
After picking up the car we ran some errands at Home Depot and Petsmart. Emmett
had his Heelys on, so I guess we could call that Phy-Ed for the day. When we got
to Target, low and behold Emmett came up about 75 cents short for the toy he
really really really wanted. I guess we'll call this his economics lesson for
the day. Feeling my newly won dollar burning a hole in my pocket, I purchased
said toy and informed Emmett that it was now mine until he performed certain
household chores when we got home which would earn him exactly 75 cents. The
boy, the toy, and the point were then all driven home.
Maybe homeschooling is easier than I thought it would be.
06 Sep 2007 11:27 pm
Each day the house gets a bit more
bare. The more it gets cleaned out, the more melancholy place it becomes. One
can't help but reflect upon all the memories here. All the things that have
happened here. It is starting to look less and less Ours as all the personal
touches are stripped from the walls, all the decorations packed away.
Are we doing the right thing? Will we miss this home, or be happier without it?
And what of all this stuff... each decoration, each lawn ornament and nick-nack
seemed just right in its place. Will it ever have another place? This internal
conversation goes on all the time as I pack. It leads me to want to STOP packing
just to turn it off for a while.
The excitement of the sailing adventure comes back into focus and lures me back
to work. Back and forth. It will be nice to get this stuff all packed away, the
house closed, and all eyes looking forward again.
09 Sep 2007 10:54 pm
Kathleen and I go to the same hair
stylist. When Randy heard about our upcoming adventure, his first concern was
for our hair. (Isn't that sweet of him?) Soon he had a plan hatched of how he
would teach me how to color Kathleen's hair. Then he would teach us both how to
cut each other's hair...
Now as you might imagine, this had me a little nervous. I imagined one mistake
escalating to tit for tat hair accidents until we were both bald. Kathleen
thought it was a great idea...after all if I can operate on people, what's the
big deal with cutting her hair. I didn't dare remind her that when I'm
operating, they are asleep and can't talk back. Or that I don't have to wake up
in the morning and look at the scar I made every morning.
Despite my misgivings, the date was set. We arrived at Randy's place at about
noon. We found Randy and his parter in the driveway, drinking a beer while
listening to "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse. Now I should remind you that drinking
beer on Sunday morning is pretty normal social ettiquite in Wisconsin on Packer
game days, so one should not rush to assume that Randy need enroll in, rather
than listen to "Rehab". But the thought did cross my mind as to how many he'd
had and whether he was bringing his A-game to the barber chair that he keeps
just off the kitchen.
So we set to work getting Kathleen's gray out. At first, I was in my element.
Mixing hair color is just like chemistry: 35 mL of this and add 6 grams of each
pigment, add the catalyst and blend! Then came the hair. "So how long", I
queried Randy, "does one need to be enrolled in beauty school before you are
allowed to do your first dye job?"
"About 3 months". I was in trouble. What if we arrive in a foreign port and my
wife looks NOTHING like her passport photo any longer?
"What do you think about Grecian Formula? It looks so easy on TV." Randy let out
a high pitched shriek of horror as if I had suggested that, perhaps we feast on
Kathy's liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti. That shriek would be the only
answer I would get to my question.
With a large, flat paint brush we set about--or should I say Randy set
about--painting the hair color around Kathy's hair line. "Always start around
the perimeter", Randy tutored. Then the scalp was divided up into 4 quadrants
and dye was laid down in rows, about 1/2 inch at a time. I dabbed timidly once
or twice until Randy snatched the special brush away and proceeded to paint the
roots with the efficiency one would expect from a well known professional. I
don't know for sure, but Randy sure made it look easy. If the rest of the head
goes like those two dabs I was allowed, Kathy's hair may not be all lost yet. My
teacher promised to write out the secret formula to the color I like to call
"Kathy Erickson Brown", but I couldn't get him to write out a list of topics for
me to discuss while I'm doing it.
The color was now to remain on Kathy's scalp for exactly 30-40 minutes, which
would lead to just enough time for him to plop me in the chair for Kathy's
lesson. My hair, it seems, requires equipment. A clipper, a scissors, a comb,
and a straight razor, to be exact. Randy rattled off a whole tool kit that he'd
be ordering for Kathleen. I imagine her opening shop on a coconut tree stump
somewhere. As he demonstrated the proper clippering technique, I elaborated upon
a infomercial I had seen where someone had invented a clipper which attaches to
the vacuum cleaner, allowing you to suck, cut, and dispose of the hair in one
quick step. Randy rattled off the name of the wonder device that I had forgotten
and made a sour face. I was clearly not the star pupil he had hoped for.
Meanwhile, Kathleen was struggling with holding comb, scissors, and hair
simultaneously. Three things, two hands...you understand the dilemma.
Kathleen's hands on experience was as brief as mine, then Randy snatched back
the instruments and made sure that I came out looking great. (Perhaps for the
last time?) Emmett got a nice trim as well and after the alotted time,
Kathleen's dye was rinsed away. I know he had a few more pointers for me about
trimming Kathleen's hair but um... I think one was something about trimming off
the point in the middle or something. It takes a certain optimism to set out to
sail across the ocean on a small boat. Hair care? Yeah, I can do that too.
Hair lesson accomplished, we retired back to the driveway for wine and cheese.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and we had it alll to ourselves. The rest of
Wisconsin was inside huddled around their TVs with foam cheese blocks on their
heads. Whiling away the afternoon, sipping on wine, and enjoying good company--
now there's another skill that I need to practice for sailing.
<12 Sep 2007 10:02 pm
By now, pretty much all the big,
important stuff has been taken care of. The furniture is moved. Kathleen has
cleaned out the last of her closets into several enormous boxes, and we're all
living out of suitcases for the last week. I have 4 more days of work at the
office, so I've taken my four most worn out dress shirts and set them aside in
the closet. Each day I wear one. Then I come home, take it off, and throw it
out. Disposable clothing. This is what it has come down to at the end.
The most important stuff is packed up. But that leaves piles of things that we
don't care enough about to pack first, but it is still perfectly good stuff that
we MIGHT want some day, or maybe not. And it is just too wasteful to get rid of
it, right? But when you don't really care that much, it gets increasingly
difficult to be motivated to pack it up. And the time is ticking... One week
away and it'll all be over.
I've also been busy this week changing our mailing address on bank accounts,
investments, medical license, and whatever. I'm trying to make the investments
fairly self sufficient. Trying to get all the important documents filed in an
order that they'll be easy to find if needed... Each night we flop into be
exhausted. What freedom it will be to have all this behind us and be driving off
to Uliad. Only a week to go!
13 Sep 2007 10:21 pm
Today was the first of several Bon
Voyage parties. The hospital had a little dessert gathering in the afternoon to
wish us well and thank us for 10 years of service. It was nice to see everyone
and answer questions about our plans. I passed out lots of boat cards with our
website on it. A few nurses scurried back to their departments to look it up,
and then came back to tell me they'd been looking at Uliad.net already. (A ploy
to get a second piece of cake perhaps?)
Before long I felt like I was giving a lecture. I was surrounded by a dozen
people answering question after question. What a novelty I must be to everyone!
But it was a lot of fun to share our plans, and everyone who came seemed truly
excited for us. A giant card with about a hundred signatures was given to me...
along with a whole lot of hugs and hearty handshakes...I will truly miss the
warmth and sense of camaraderie that I have enjoyed here.
So for those folks from Riverside Medical Center who are now logging on after
finding our website address on the little boat card I was handing out: Thanks
for the party, and thanks most of all for many years of fond memories working
with you all!!!
15 Sep 2007 9:08 pm
One of many things on my to do
list lately has been to arrange for our health insurance while cruising. Now you
might think that as a physician I might not need it, but with what medicine
costs these days, I don't think anyone can afford to be without it. I've seen
plenty of people either ruined financially by health problems, or more often,
just get sicker because they couldn't afford the care they needed.
Our current insurance will run out at the end of the month I stop working. Now
there is a law that allows one to continue employer sponsored group health
insurance after leaving a job, but one must pay full cost. In other words, no
more employer subsidy. There are two problems with this option. First, US health
insurance generally doesn't cover any care provided outside the USA. Not much
help if I break a leg in Barbuda. The second is cost. When I asked, I was told
that it would cost me $1800 per MONTH to continue our insurance. I'll be the
first to admit that the costs of the US health system are out of control...but
that's another story.
Fortunately there are a number of companies selling "international
health insurance". Some of them are specifically designed for and marketed
toward cruisers. We found three different policies all quoting around $1800 per
YEAR! And while the deductible was higher, the coverage was pretty comparable.
How can they get by charging one twelfth the cost? A couple reasons: an offshore
underwriter doesn't have to meet US insurance regulations, medical care is alot
cheaper abroad than in the US, other countries don't sue like we do... I
wouldn't be surprised if 25% of what I earn as a doctor goes into insurance
company overhead: calling for preauthorizations, documenting properly to "prove"
what services were provided, filling out the forms just right. It has become a
big game for insurance companies to find ways to deny payment and for physicians
to find ways to increase payment. All these games take time, which is to say
they take extra staff, and extra money eventually paid by patients. Most
countries in the world have either a nationalized health system, (where there is
a single set of rules to get paid by the government) or a private system where
everyone pays cash (i.e. no games, no overhead)
So it's not surprising that good medicine costs less everywhere else in the
world. To keep us honest, these insurance companies require that you be out of
the US for at least six months out of the year. And we have to leave the country
within 30 days of the start of the policy. They don't want to pay US prices if
at all possible!!
Our biggest hurdle in getting insurance was the dreaded "pre
existing condition" riders that insurance companies demand. Now we're generally
healthy people, but Kathleen has had a couple kidney stones in the past. The
application asks for information about any health problems you've ever had. (And
don't lie or they can void the whole insurance contract) The first company I
talked to insisted upon a permanent lifetime exclusion of kidney problems of any
kind. Now I could understand a six or twelve month exclusion period to make sure
we weren't just buying insurance because Kath felt another stone growing...but
one day's treatment for an unexpected kidney stone a couple years ago came to
nearly $30 K. Insurance doesn't make much sense if it doesn't cover you when you
need it!
The second company first wanted copies of Kathy's medical records.
"Here we go again", I thought. But then when I
re-read the message, they only wanted all records related to her migraine
headaches that she's taken medications for in the past. So we sent that off and
they came back agreeing to insure us... with a two year exclusion period on any
coverage for migraine headaches, and a permanent exclusion of all GI conditions.
Now that seemed bizarre since Kathy has never had a GI condition. I think they
might have meant to say kidney conditions, because her history of kidney stones
is certainly a risk to an insurer. But one thing I've learned in my many years
as a physician is to not expect intelligent, logical decisions from an insurance
company. So we decided to take the policy the way they wrote it up, which means
full coverage from day one for any future kidney stones! Which is probably the
most important thing for us anyway.
Now on to the next item on the to do list
17 Sep 2007 9:08 pm
This weekend was the final push to
get everything packed up and moved out of the house. The division of labor was
that Kathleen did the packing and I did the moving. It has been about 3 straight
days of this and are we ever glad its over! We managed to stuff all the rest of
our things into a 12 foot U-haul trailer, and on Sunday night, we drove it over
to the parking lot of the local Comfort Inn. We'll be staying here for the next
couple days until I finish work.
Sunday afternoon was also our second Bon Voyage party. This one was hosted at a
local park pavillion by some old friends from Kathleen's Search & Rescue
Unit. Also invited were members of her garden club, our neighbors, and Steve's
work colleagues, including a number of folks who had left the clinic years ago.
It was fun to catch up and have the chance to say goodbye. And it was definitely
a welcome interlude before going back to finish up the house.
Monday morning was the official closing on the house. So as of now we are
officially homeless and debt-free! At noon today, we had the third and final bon
voyage party at my clinic: a potluck lunch thrown by the office staff. The
consensus there was that most people didn't much like water and couldn't imagine
doing something like this. Oh well, to each his own. This evening Kathleen is
rushing over to Appleton, WI to run some last errands while Emmett and I are
going to dinner at the home of one of my colleagues. Then one last day of work,
one last dinner engagement, one last night of call.... it is all pretty hectic
around here.
Sorry for the short blogs lately, but I'm sure you can understand how crazy this
last week is!
19 Sep 2007 10:59 pm
I started my last day of work
slowly, enjoying the fresh morning air, the sun rising over the mist, the birds
singing... I stopped at my favorite local coffee shop for an iced mocha and
thought how nice it all was. If I had this attitude every morning, I might never
have wanted to leave. I really wanted to take it all in, knowing it would be my
last time.
My clinic schedule has slowed down tremendously in the past week or two. It
seems that most have moved on to find another doctor. This leaves me more time
to reminisce and say goodbye to the ones still coming in. I've learned to stop
worrying about how much money I'm making and I've been enjoying the slower pace
of work...something I never could have done a few years ago.
Then after seeing my last patient, I left the same way I arrived 10 years ago:
carrying a box of desk stuff. The afternoon summer sun beamed down warmly on my
face as I paused. Too many years of cold, fluorescent light and air conditioning
in that building. It will be good to be back outdoors again. It will be good to
slow down.
We went out for dinner with some old friends that evening. I ended up making one
last trip to the hospital to admit a patient. Once again, knowing it was the
last time made it all oddly pleasant to get up late at night...would I miss this
sense of being urgently needed?
20 Sep 2007 10:59 pm
The sun shone brightly on my first morning
of freedom. My first item of business was to run into the hospital and pay one
last visit to the patient I had admitted the night before. All was in order and
she was ready to go to surgery. I'd hand off her care to my partner in a little
while and be free of all patient responsibilities. Would it be a weight off my
shoulders? Or an emptiness in my life? The nurses knew it was my last morning
rounds and they all gave me a cheery send off.
Now for years Kathleen has teased me mercilessly about the giant wad of keys I
carry with me. What can I say? I have 3 cars, a couple keys for the clinic, my
desk, the office cabinets... then there's the front and back doors of the house,
and this high tech magnetic fob for the doors to the hospital. Then add the
padlock to Uliad. This giant gob jingling in my pocket has led to every
imaginable version of the old "or are you just happy to see me" joke over the
years between Kathleen and I.
Well, the bulge in my pants was shrinking. We had sold one car a few weeks ago,
and passed off the keys to the house on Monday. This morning I walked down to
the administration office to turn in my magnet fob thing that had amazed Emmett
so many times over the years when I could magically unlock the hospital door
simply by passing my pocket unobtrusively close to the sensor. In the back
conference room I could see an early morning meeting going on with a couple
physicians and the CEO. I've gotten up early many many times over the years to
get to those meetings; as the chief of staff, or the board secretary, or the
finance committee, and so on. Would I miss being in that inner circle? Would I
miss being a part of all those weighty decisions. I clipped my name badge to the
key fob, set it quietly on the secretary's desk, and walked out.
My next stop was the medical records office. They had been warned ahead of time
of my arrival this morning and had all my charts and paperwork neatly laid out
for me to complete. I wondered aloud how many times I've rendered my signature
in the past 10 years.
Usually, my morning drive from the hospital to the clinic is a hurried affair to
avoid being behind on my schedule, or at least to have a minute to catch up on
some more paperwork before my first patient arrived. How odd it seemed to be
able to drive leisurely, enjoying the morning! At the office I had more
dictations to sign off on. One last look around my office confirmed that I had
packed everything that belonged to me. I walked down to the office manager's
desk, shrugging off several comments from the staff that perhaps I was back this
morning, having changed my mind about this whole nonsense.
The office manager had the official corporate checklist for us to go through:
forwarding address, turn in the ID badge, the cell phone, the keys, and most
gloriously of all: the pager. I laid down that little black box that had woken
me countless times for so many things, from the gravest threat to life down to
the most miniscule nonsense. I thought about how on vacation, it took 3 or 4
days for me to stop having brief moments of panic when my arm would swing past
my right hip and I'd unconsciously realize that the pager wasn't there. It had
become a part of me, like a bad habit that Kathleen and Emmett had learned to
silently (or not so silently) tolerate in our lives. Goodbye.
I walked out to the parking lot. It was full, and I couldn't help but smile. I
remembered the slow days years ago as we worked like crazy to build this
practice. This place was every bit as busy as we once dreamed it could be. One
look back as I drove off. "Good work, Steve", I thought. I reached in my pocket.
The only thing left now was the key to the truck, and the key to the boat. "The
keys to my future", I said to myself. And off I went.
Back at the hotel, Kathleen was scurrying about, finishing packing up the last
of our things. "Check it out," I said while showing off my right hip, "No more
pager".
"Congratulations" she replied dryly. She was in no mood to celebrate just yet,
and I could see by the large mound of duffle bags near the door that she had
been working hard.
I caught her in my arms as she hurried past and planted a kiss on Kathleen's
cheek. Without those bulging keys in my pants, I wanted her to know that I was
still glad to see her.
27 Sep 2007 9:01 pm<
After leaving Waupaca, we dropped
off a large trailer full of stuff at our storage locker near my Dad's place.
Then we drove the following day to my brother in Colorado. Mike was going to
take in our faithful 9 year old German Shepherd Dog. Kathleen and Lucy had been
as close as a woman and a dog can be, so we had delayed saying goodbye to her
until the last possible moment.
The day after we arrived, we all set off for a hike in the mountains near Mike's
home. My mind kept wanting to wander as we hiked: planning my next move,
worrying about sailing, making to do lists in my head. "No", I told myself. "Be
here now". At first, I had to force myself to sense how it feels to take the
thin mountain air into my lungs. I had to consciously stop and take in all the
natural beauty around me. I had to remind myself how fortunate I was to be here,
hiking in the mountains during business hours on a weekday. Some day, all this
will come naturally. But it will take practice. "Be here now" I repeated in my
head.
After a few wonderful days at Mike's house, and a tearful goodbye to Lucy, we
turned our car eastward again. We are finally on our way toward Uliad. 28 hours
of driving ahead, and we'll finally become cruisers, boat people, whatever. I
can't wait to get there, but I'm already happy that we're on our way. I feel a
bit disoriented in a way only a major life change can. Disoriented, nervous,
thrilled, and apprehensive all at once. Bob Bitchin wrote in his cruising
narrative, that the night before going cruising for the first time that he felt
"like a virgin on her way to her first orgy". Yeah. Something like that I guess.
As much as I hate to leave you with that metaphor dangling in front of you... it
is time for my shift behind the wheel again.
We arrived two days ago to find everything in order on
Uliad. But we didn't let that last very long. After several days, we have now
unloaded everything from the truck and proceeded to throw it randomly about the
cabins. Well, at least that's what it looks like by now. Slowly, everything is
trying to find a home onboard. And we have already started a box or two in the
cockpit for things that we now agree will not have a home onboard. Sometimes you
just don't know (or don't want to believe it) until you have in front of you,
say, the silverware drawer, and next to it all the things you were hoping to
stuff into it.
The weather has been hot and sunny...not great for carrying load after load down
the mile long dock. We have been taking advantage of the shore power and running
the air conditioning constantly. The ice machine has also been getting a good
practice run.
This is alot of hard work. Kathleen and I both have ideas about what should go
where, and as you can imagine, we don't always share the same vision in this
regard. The tempers seem to corelate with the temperature here. But the reward
is almost palpable...to sail away and everything that follows in our cruising
dreams. It is so close now! Yet so many piles of stuff still stand in our way.
Sometimes this whole trip has seemed like one long exercise in frustration over
how MUCH stuff we have and how much it all holds us down and boxes us in. The
world beckons us ahead, if only we can see beyond the boxes.
30 Sep 2007 5:29 pm
There is nothing more American than
driving one's car. We all drive from suburban cul-de-sacs to the grocery store
in big SUVs and mini-vans. We love our drive through restaurants so much, that
now pharmacies are even copying the idea. We live in our cars, complete with cup
holders and DVD screens for the whole family. There are lots of places you just
can't get to without a car...Ever tried walking to a shopping mall?
So for us, when we sold the Toyota yesterday and officially became a car-free
family, we also felt that we had definitively crossed over to the category of
"alternative livestyle". Kathleen ran a bunch of last errands in her car before
the new buyers arrived at the marina by mid-afternoon. The 2001 Sequoia had been
driven with all our remaining possessions to the East Coast, where we had
arranged to sell it to some relatives of one of Steve's colleagues. It all
couldn't have been more convenient for us, and the price was right for the
buyers. In the end, the transaction went smoothly, and we can tell that
Kathleen's beloved giant 4 x 4 will go to a good home.
Groceries, trips to the hardware store, sightseeing...all these things will now
have to be planned strategically. (We've already started lists for the next time
we need to shop). But for today, we have plenty to keep us busy just doing all
the final packing, checking, cleaning, and preparing. It has been our goal to
leave the dock by October 1, but it now looks like October 2nd will be more
realistic. We estimate having all the boat chores done by sometime tomorrow, but
a check of the charts and tides shows that we have several hours of motoring to
do to get out of the canal, and several more before we come to our first
anchorage, so if we don't get off the dock by 1pm at the latest, we'll take off
the next morning.
My main project for today was to wash and wax the whole boat. Yes, the whole 51
foot boat. Now let me tell you--waxing a 51 foot boat is perhaps something like
trying to satisfy a 400 lb nymphomaniac. One man should not attempt it by
himself. If he must, then he should bring power tools.
I had no power tools. 7 hours later, the boat looks better than I've ever seen
her, and with what little energy is left in my aching arms, I made the first
entry in our new hardware store shopping list: 1 power buffer.
Now where will we find room to store it?
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