Winter Trim

All summer long we had a 25' tall white fiberglass wall across the dock from us, made up of huge boats, blocking our view.  But now all those boats are gone, returning our view, but also exposing us directly to the winter storms.  You probably can't tell from the picture, but I am staring directly into the teeth of a 40-45 kt gale.

Where are they when you want them?

Lines & fenders, oh my!

So as we do every year, Eolian's dock lines get doubled and the number of fenders get more than doubled.  Here the secondary forward spring line is slack, waiting just in case the primary chafes thru.  It is a veritable spider web, and perhaps unnecessary, but we certainly feel better with two lines for each function (fwd breast, fwd spring, aft spring, aft breast) and the extra fenders.  As it turns out, it seems that our worst storms usually come from the southeast, meaning Eolian is held off the dock by the wind in the blows.  But that has its own problems...  it is difficult to board when there is 3' of open water between the dock step and the hull (as in the picture)... especially when carrying groceries...

"Just pull it in", you say.  But I'll venture you've never tried to pull 50,000 lb of boat in against 40 kt of wind.

Winter Trim

The Storms of November

(from a couple of years ago)

The Storms of November* - Our fiercest winds usually come in November.  But not this year - November was a lamb...  a chilly lamb, but a lamb.

But we were not spared.  Instead, it seems that the storms were only delayed, until December.

As my physical condition slowly improves, we have been spending the occasional night aboard Eolian - This weekend we had planned to spend two successive nites, Sunday and Monday.

(Now I must digress slightly.  When we have strong winds in Anacortes, they almost invariably come in from the southeast.  With our slip, this means that Eolian is pushed back and away from the dock.  Normally this is a good thing, because we are not grinding the fenders between the hull and the dock.)

When we arrived on Sunday, the winds were in the teens, gusting into the 20s.  With some difficulty, we were able to pull Eolian over to the dock so that we could load our stuff and board.  But we made it.  The nite was windy, but we both slept well, knowing that the boat was safe.

On Monday we planned to drive to Bellingham.  But the winds were up even higher, gusting into the low 30s.  It was everything I could do to get her over to the dock so we could debark.

We did our thing in Bellingham, as the wind continued to rise.

By the time we got back to the marina in the late afternoon it was literally screaming.  Out at the end of the dock, I estimate that it was steadily in the upper 30 kt range, with gusts into well the 40s.  The gap between Eolian and the dock was as wide as ever, but there was simply no way that we could have moved her close enough to board, especially given my enfeebled condition.

So with discretion being the better part of valor, we retreated back to our Camano Island home, and left Eolian to fend for herself, alone.  We built a fire and enjoyed a glass of wind.  And I felt guilty for having left our girl to fend for herself.

The wind laid this morning, and we drove back up to Anacortes.  Eolian was fine with no damage.  We were able to board, perform our normal shutdown duties, and retrieve our "stuff".

And the weather forecast says another storm is coming this evening...

---

* Apologies to Gordon Lightfoot

The Storms of November 

The End of the Season

After months and months of sunny, warm, benign weather, we sit at the dock being buffeted by constant 20+ kt winds.  It is cloudy and chilly, and rain is coming in later this afternoon.

[we just got hit by a 30+ kt gust]

We made a command decision not to go out this weekend because of the forecast - maybe the best call we've made all year.

[a 38 foot sailboat just blew down the waterway between D and E docks, out of control, sideways.  Just missed our stern...]

I had been planning to clean our BBQ grill, but with this wind, that is out of the question.  If I sprayed Easy-Off™ on it, it would probably land over on E dock somewhere.

Our son and his family are off camping over on Orcas Island where there is no connectivity.  Hope they're all ok and their tent hasn't blown away...

So now we are hunkered down, with all the ports closed and the heat pump running for the first time in I don't know how long...

Winter is coming...

The End of the Season

It's OPEN!

Woo HOO!

Here in the gloomy PNW, we have our first, real day of spring.  The temperature is passing the 60° mark, the sky is sunny, the heat pump is turned off, and for the first time since way back in the fall of 2016, we have the storm windows out and our ports are OPEN!

We are flushing out the old winter air and replacing it with some flower-scented spring air!

It's OPEN!

Bittersweet

The great wheel of the seasons has turned.  The Earth is now at the 21:00 position in its orbit (yeah, I know it's arbitrary, but that's how I think of it.  Oh, and that the Earth orbits counterclockwise makes my internal vision even more incorrect.)  Day and nite are equal length; sunset and sunrise occur at 06:00 and 18:00 solar time.  Even at noon, the sun is perceptibly lower in the sky.  All the signs are there:  it is Fall.

And looking realistically at what is on our plate for the remaining few nice days of the year, we won't get Eolian off the dock again in 2016.  So, we have brought the winter fenders to the marina and are doubling up our docklines in preparation for the gales of winter, which are sure to come.  I didn't get to diving on the prop to put on a fresh zinc this last weekend because we had the pleasure of running into Grant and Laurie of s/v Shadowdance, old friends from Shilshole...  and let's be honest here...  I didn't really want to jump in the 51° water either.  So I still have that to do.

It was a great year tho, with week after week living at anchor in the San Juan Islands, some spectacular sails, and 50 crabs in the freezer.

Bittersweet

It's Spring In The Skagit Valley

When traveling between our log home on Camano Island and Anacortes, we pass thru the Skagit Valley. Why would I be talking to you about our commute route?

Well, because this:

What better way to shed the winter blahs than to gaze upon 100 acres of daffodils? OK, I'm not a farmer, so my estimate of the field size is "unofficial", but it is huge.  And it is one of many, all filled with a riot of daffodils, and they're all screaming, "WaHOO! It's SPRING!"

And then, just when the daffs are about spent, and the fields begin to take on a bronze hue, it's time for the tulips!

Again, I'm no farmer, and it changes from year to year, but I think there must be more than twice as much acreage devoted to tulips as there is to daffs.

Because there are more of them, and because they come in so many different colors, the fields full of tulips are stunning.  And the farmers seemingly plant them so that adjacent colors spark off of each other.

Like for any crop, good farming practice demands crop rotation.  And this year, the fields next to the road our route takes us on are being devoted to other things, so all the tulip fields are pretty far in the distance, making for crummy pictures.  And for copyright reasons, I won't snag some of the gorgeous pictures out there...  but I will make it easy for you to see them:  Just click here.

If you are in the area, things are at their peak right now.  Avoid the crowds and drive up here Thursday or Friday...

Skagit valley comes to Eolian

It's Spring In The Skagit Valley

Peace On Earth

Peace on Earth.

And on the docks.  Please.

Novembers and Decembers are normally stormy months here in the PNW, but this year has taken it to extremes.  We have been blasted by one major storm after another since the beginning of November.  We are all getting weary of the wind and rain - I am pretty confident that I am speaking for everyone on the docks with this.

Ah, but today is the day I have been looking forward to since that first November freeze:  the winter solstice (technically, at 8:49 PM)!  From this day forward, until all reckoning is lost in those warm golden hazy days of June, each day will be a little longer.

And the sun will ride a little higher in the sky every day.  In fact, this time of year, the sun is so low that much of the day is lit by that reddish orange cast that normally only comes with sunrise and sunset.  This preys on the soul.

So today we are looking forward to the beginning of the new set of seasons, to the end of the terrible storms, to the lengthening of the day.  To peaceful sails under warm 15 kt breezes and sundowners in calm anchorages.

Today starts the journey to Summer!

Peace On Earth

Past Denial

It's 10 AM and there is still frost on the dock... there's no getting past it.  Winter's coming.  I find in the morning that the heat pump runs nearly continuously, extracting heat from the water Eolian floats in to replace that which is leaking away from her exposed exterior surfaces, radiating off into space on these cold, clear nites.

Snow can't be far behind, and in fact would be welcome because the clouds would block the pitiless cold of space.

Past Denial

For Better or For Worse

The great wheel of the seasons turns; the Earth continues inexorably in her orbit around the sun.  To those of us here in the north temperate zones, that means that the boat is put into "winter mode".  For some that means a haulout so that the water can freeze up without the restraint of an interfering hull.  For us in the Pacific Northwest, it means a backup set of docklines and an additional four fenders so that the boat can weather the winter storms safely in her slip.  (And to those of you in the South Pacific and Caribbean... pbbbt!).

This is the time of The List.   It is when we look our vessels over with a (hopefully) jaundiced eye, enumerating all the things that need to be done to have her ready for next spring, and to be in yet better shape than last year.  You see, all of us have taken a Vow with our boats, to protect and support each other in the best of times and in the worst of times.  And this is the time of year when our part of the bargain comes due.

So: The List.  What goes on it?  Well, all the normal seasonal maintenance projects of course.  But do you have a guilty feeling deriving from knowledge that the mizzen spreaders should be replaced?  That there is rot in the bowsprit?  That the primary bilge pump down in the deepest part of the bilge needs a spelunking expedition to repair?  Well these items go on The List.

And sometimes there is something that you want to do as a present to your boat in exchange for the good times she has given you - not something required, but rather as a gift.  Perhaps this could be a radar upgrade (not required, but nice!), or just something for her vanity.

Some of these List items are inside work, and some depend on decent weather to be done.  But they all go on The List.  And it is working down The List which keeps us in mental and emotional contact with our boats over the winter hiatus, and which fuels the dreams of the coming new season with romps under full sail with blue skies and shining water.

For Better or For Worse

Of Sailing and Gardening

Sailors, it would seem, have little in common with gardeners.  But this time of year, in the Pacific Northwest, they are brothers and sisters under the skin.

It is a time when being outdoors is unpleasant.  It gets dark early, and light late.  It is cold and rainy outside.  For the sailor sitting in an open cockpit or the gardener in ankle-deep soupy mud, it is a time when each wishes that he or she was in a warmer climate.  And so neither ventures forth from their carefully-maintained bubbles of warm dry air.

But we dream.

With cruising guides and seed catalogs we dream of the coming times when the sun will be brighter, warmer.  When the thought of a breeze brings warm thoughts instead of a hood pulled tighter, and green shoots appear to commune with the sun.  Days spent at anchor in a deserted cove and afternoons lovingly coddling tender green plants, tho impossible now, fill our minds.

And so we bring reminders of those coming times indoors to enjoy, and to give us hope.

Of Sailing and Gardening

That Time, Once Again

In some parts of North America, yachts get hauled out of the water for the winter... because the water freezes.  And in other places the temperature is just now coming down enough to make being on the water a pleasant experience.  The Pacific Northwest is in between those two extremes.

But we were surprised in Anacortes this spring when we saw large amounts of seaside land devoted to hauled out, shrink-wrapped boats.  And these were not small boats - the large majority were over 40 feet.  The water does not freeze here...  and it is not significantly colder in Anacortes than Seattle (where the practice does not exist).  Further, prepping a boat for a winter haulout is a much larger job than keeping it from freezing at the dock in 50° water.  It is a mystery.

As in all past years, we will not do a winter haulout.  But getting ready for winter storms does take a little preparation.  First, we hang another four fenders on the boat, to better cushion it against the dock when the big winds blow.  Next, we double all the dock lines.  This is a precaution - the extra lines are secondaries, there in case one of the primaries chafes thru when we are asleep or away.

And this year we have a special treat that we have never had before.  Like in Seattle, in Anacortes the winter storms come from the south.  When we came to Anacortes, we had the good fortune to be able to choose a south-facing slip, which means that for the first time, Eolian will be facing into the storm winds.  We could have had this in Seattle by backing into our slip for the winter (which we did, a few times), but the bigger problem in storm winds is that it is not really possible to keep the boat from surging back against the dock when you only have tie points on one side of the boat.

Because we will face into the wind in Anacortes, we get to use another cleat to tie off the bow.  (Tho our slips in Seattle were also equipped with this cleat, it was useless to us because it was downwind of the boat in every case.)  With this second cleat, the boat will essentially "hang" downwind from the two bow cleats, rather than swinging back against the dock.

That Time, Once Again

Ant Mode

August in the Pacific Northwest is a good time for boating... power boating that is.   Temperatures are warm and there is little wind.  It's a good time for a sailor to take advantage of the weather to get annual maintenance tasks done.  While we have been grasshoppers since spring, Now we must become ants.

I set myself four tasks to complete this fall, before the winter rains begin in earnest.  These are:

1. Sand and varnish the caprails, eyebrow teak and the handrails.
   This task morphed into something much bigger - while Jane tackled the eyebrow and handrails, I ended up removing the 16-year accumulation of varnish from the starboard caprail, taking it all the way back to bare wood.   Then I dug out all the caulk between the caprail and the bulwark and reapplied new polysulphide.  Currently, the starboard caprail needs one more coat of varnish; the port side is complete.  We plan to re-mask and apply the final starboard coat while at anchor in Blind Bay. Since we have a wedding to attend next weekend, this probably won't happen until the week of Sept 8.
2. Erect fencing around the young trees on our property.
   This is necessary because the young bucks destroy small trees as a territorial signal to each other.  I laboriously drove fence posts into the rock-hard soil and stretched chicken wire around 8 trees.  Task complete.
3. Paint the front of our log cabin.
   This is the side facing southwest - the sun does its worst here.  Requiring about a hundred thousand trips up and down a 30' extension ladder, all I have left to do on this is some window trim - about another day's work.
4. Repair Eolian's cockpit canvas.
   Several zippers need to be replaced due to the sun destroying the plastic teeth.  I had also planned to re-make two of the top Bimini pieces; I have the Sunbrella on hand...  we'll see if I have enough time before the rains start.

Anyway, we've certainly made good use of the August sailing lull.  But I confess that this blog has suffered some as a result. 

And so has my body.

Ant Mode

It begins again

Jane's blackberry crisp, already sampled

The great wheel of the seasons continues to turn, bringing us now to the time when the blackberries ripen.  Last nite, Jane made the first blackberry crisp of this year.  As we sampled it (with ice cream, of course!), a warm memory came to me.

It was a little later in the year - the blackberries were ripe and plentiful, especially at the head of Blakely Harbor, back by the concrete boiler pillbox that is all that remains of the old Blakely sawmill.  We had dinghied thru the opening into the millpond, and Jane went ashore to pick those berries.  It was one of those days where it is warm when the sun is up, but quite cool after sundown.

And as the sun went down, Jane fired up the oven and made a blackberry crisp using those freshly picked berries. 

Only a little later the sun was gone.  But the residual heat from the oven  kept the cabin cozy while we enjoyed that crisp, watching the stars come out.

It begins again

The green gloom

Algae bane

You haven't noticed it all winter, but now you see it everywhere on the exterior surfaces of your boat:  the advance of the mildew and algae. And dirt.  And even lichen.  Your forlorn hope is for a warm winter day when you can strike back with hose, and deck brush, and SoftScrub.

But when it is warm (relatively speaking - if temperatures in the 50's qualify as warm) it is raining.  And really, who wants to stand out in the rain and scrub their deck?  Saturday, some parts of Seattle got 4" of rain.  If only that had been the warm, tropical sort - the sort that entices those living in the tropics to go out on deck for a fresh water shower.   Ah, but what do those folks know?  They actually swim in the ocean, if you can believe it.  Here in Seattle we stay safely and smugly aboard.

This morning it is 47°, and threatening rain.  Huh.  Who would have guessed?

*Sigh*

The green gloom

Doubled Docklines

Mixed feelings.

I have mixed feelings about this time of year.  On the one hand, the weather has made it uncomfortable to be off the dock.  It is cold; rain is frequent. Winter storms are lining up out there in the North Pacific, jockeying for position to attack the Pacific Northwest, one after the other.  The sun is visible less and less every day, not just because of the now ubiquitous clouds, but because the tilt of the Earth's axis and its progress around its orbit puts the sun lower and lower in the sky every day.

But on the other hand, the "nesting instinct" returns at full strength this time of year.  We like to think we are "above" the animal kingdom, that we are too "advanced" for the instincts that govern the behavior of the lower animals to affect us.  What bunk! 

Perhaps because of my retirement, for the first time ever, we enter the stormy season with all the preparations completed:

• Docklines have been doubled.  
• The winter fenders have been added.  
• All the failing seams in the cockpit canvas and a total of eight new (YKK #10) zippers have been installed.  
• The sail covers have been completely restitched. 
• The annual brightwork refinishing tasks are done.
• The prop nut zinc has been changed.
• The spreaders have been inspected and repainted.

We are ready.  And there is huge satisfaction in that.  We have evolved so that complying with those instincts is one of the most satisfying things we can do.


So yes, mixed feelings.

Doubled Docklines

That's a wrap

It's not warm here in Port Madison this morning. In fact, at 11:00 the temperature outside has just barely managed to climb above 50° F.

All good things must come to an end; Seattle's most amazing Endless Summer is no exception.  I think we have reached it: The End.  We have had the Dickenson running ever since I got up this morning and the temperature here in the cabin is 68°, so we are comfortable.  The NOAA marine forecast is telling us that we should dock tomorrow (and as always, at slack water, which occurs at 11:37 and 17:32 - we'll take the 11:37 one):

PZZ135-260100-
PUGET SOUND AND HOOD CANAL-
900 AM PDT WED SEP 25 2013

TODAY...N WIND 5 TO 15 KT. WIND WAVES 2 FT OR LESS. PATCHY FOG IN THE MORNING. SCATTERED SHOWERS IN THE MORNING. TONIGHT...N WIND 5 TO 15 KT...BECOMING S AFTER MIDNIGHT. WIND WAVES 2 FT OR LESS. AREAS OF FOG AFTER MIDNIGHT.
THU...S WIND TO 10 KT. WIND WAVES 1 FT OR LESS. AREAS OF FOG IN THE MORNING.
THU NIGHT...LIGHT WIND...BECOMING S 10 KT AFTER MIDNIGHT. WIND WAVES 1 FT OR LESS.
FRI...S WIND 10 TO 20 KT...RISING TO 15 TO 25 KT IN THE AFTERNOON. WIND WAVES 1 TO 4 FT.
FRI NIGHT...S WIND 15 TO 25 KT. WIND WAVES 2 TO 4 FT.
SAT...S WIND 5 TO 15 KT. WIND WAVES 2 FT OR LESS.
SUN...S WIND 15 TO 25 KT. WIND WAVES 2 TO 4 FT.

(After all, no one wants to try to dock in 25 kt if it can be avoided...)

I still have to change out the propnut zinc, and Thursday afternoon's weather looks like it is as good as it will get for that task, for the rest of the year.

I have a bittersweet feeling.  It is the end.  But at the same time I am full of the memories of the most wonderful summer ever.  We are out here trying to eke out just one more day, but at the same time, the subconscious nesting impulses are getting nearly irresistible - for us that means that we need to button the boat up for the winter, to get the extra fenders out for the coming winter storms.

I think I am ready.

That's a wrap

The tides, the view

This time of year, we experience the highest tides of the year.  This is caused by the position of the Earth in its orbit - tho it may be winter here in the Northern Hemisphere, the Earth is actually at perihelion - its closest approach to the sun.

The "king" tides lift our boat so high that the breakwater in the marina is no obstruction at all to our western view, giving us a glimpse of that cross-sound view which makes us feel like a gardener with seeds - when it is too early to plant.

So here we sit, looking across the Sound with that seed catalog longing, dreaming and making plans for Spring.

The tides, the view

The changing of the beverages

It's currently 43° out there, and raining.

This is not the kind of day where you think to yourself, "Boy, a nice cold beer would be refreshing right about now."  No siree.

Like all the other changes that happen when the days get short and the sun rides low in the sky, beverage choices change too.  This season calls for:

• Hot mulled wine
• Hot spiced cider (perhaps with a little Captain Morgan's? )
• Peppermint Patties
• Hot buttered rum (is that a hot toddy?)
• Jack on the rocks (pure antifreeze)

Any other favorites out there?

The changing of the beverages

Unmistakable signs

Humans evolved on this planet.

One inevitable consequence of this is a that we each have several internal clocks, timed to the rhythms of the Earth:

• Daily
• Monthly
• Seasonal

Yes, we do have internal clocks that tick over with the seasons.  How else to explain that we inherently know when summer is over.  We think we are superior, above all that, but we are no different than the trees that shed their leaves even before the first frost because, well because it is just time. 

Instead of dropping leaves, people living aboard flag the end of season in different ways:

• Dock lines get doubled up
• Extra fenders get hung
• If the boat has full canvas, the whole enclosure is put up and zipped tight
• Whole-boat canvas covers appear
• Sails may disappear into storage
• Dinghies get picked up and stored out of the water in various ways
• Long neglected, once again, attention returns to deck leaks, and solving them
• We never see our neighbors - there is no one sitting on their bow or stern (perhaps with an adult beverage) to say "Hi" to or to get a quick update on their status - where were they last weekend, where are they going the coming weekend, what projects are they working on.   Instead people walk down the dock, huddled against the rain and cold and and waste no time in getting down below into their own little bubbles of warmth and light.  

And on Eolian, perhaps the last leaf to fall is the disappearance of my ratty $15 commuter bicycle into storage.
 

When it goes, winter is surely close at hand.

It goes this weekend.

Unmistakable signs

The absolutely last, final bike ride home

Last nite I rode my bike home.

End of the road

Now, that in itself is not at all unusual - I do it all summer, and most of spring and fall.  In early spring and late fall, I don't make the entire ride - I ride from Shilshole to the Ballard Locks, and put my bike on the rack on the front of the bus - this is enough of a ride to be invigorating, and it keeps Jane from having to fire up The Beast just to deliver/pick me up at the end of the bus route.

But last nite, the bus didn't come.  I don't know what it is with the 46, but it seems to be the most unreliable bus in the system.  So there I stood at the bus stop last nite, with my bike, waiting for a bus that never came.  "No problem!" I thought, "I'll just hop on my bike and ride home!"  Having the bike does give you a great feeling of freedom.  So I coasted down The Av and turned right onto the Burke-Gillman trail.

Whoops.  

Things are certainly different from the last time I rode the trail, earlier in the year.  There are leaves everywhere - slippery, wet leaves.  As a thin sheet covering everything, and in wet, sloppy drifts that try to grab your wheel and pull it out from under you.

And it is dark.  I mean really dark - the trail is not lit, and so the only light is what filters in from nearby street lighting.  And my little headlight?  Well, it is more of a "please don't hit me" light, warning oncoming traffic that I am there.  It does almost nothing to illuminate the route.

There is not much traffic - bikes or pedestrians.  But what there is, is a real problem.  Many of the oncoming bikes have headlights that are seemingly as bright as car headlights - they blind me...  to the trail, and more importantly, to the pedestrians.

The pedestrians and joggers are the real concern - they are very difficult to see (why do so many wear black coats?!) - literally impossible to see if there is an oncoming bike with one of those very bright lights.  But blessings be upon you pedestrians/joggers that have retro-reflective stripes on your outer clothing!  My flashing headlight makes those stripes flash back at me, as if they were internally illuminated.  Those stripes really work!

It is a good thing that I have ridden the trail so much in daylight - there are several places where the trail curves and where it is simultaneously very dark.  Without the daytime familiarity, and with only my weak "don't hit me" headlight, I am certain that I would have been off in the weeds (or worse, splash!) in one of these corners.

I have two criteria that I use to determine whether or not I'll leave the boat on my bicycle in the morning:

• Can I get to the bus stop reasonably dry?  I don't want to start the day in wet clothing, and
• Is there frost on the dock?  I don't want to start the day in clothing wet with saltwater either.

So, aside from the scary dark experience last nite, those two criteria are closing in.   I am hereby declaring that the biking season over, for me anyway.  The bike goes into storage this weekend.

And the skis come out.

The absolutely last, final bike ride home