Weather forecast for May 18, 2017:
Turner Marine, Dog River, Mobile, Alabama
Mostly cloudy, low 65 high 74.
South winds 13 to 18 knots.
Choppy, becoming a light chop, chance of isolated thunder storms.
Captain’s Log: March 26 – May 17, 2017
The calendar tells me that it is mid-May; it has been two months since the last update when we celebrated the official launching of Perfect Love. We have been living on the water for the past sixty days, which is a good thing, but we are still tied to the dock at Turner Marine, which is a very bad thing. We have been here for six months!
The marina has lost its shine; it has become a floating trailer park, complete with a cast of squirrelly characters, both rich and poor, and their petty dramas. For sanity’s sake, we need to get the Hell out of Dodge. That said, I must confess that I grossly underestimated the amount of work required to get the boat ready for travel.
March ended with some bad news. As work began on the engine our mechanic, a very talented and genuinely nice guy, discovered that he could not properly align the drive shaft with the engine because the stern tube was cocked ever so slightly. Of course, the fix would require the boat to be out of the water for approximately one week so, back on the hard we went ($$$$$). The silver lining of this major headache (or so we thought) was the fact that we already had plans to be away from the boat soon; the fix could be executed while we were gone. Out came the boat and, two days later, Shirley and I left for Texas.
As months go, April was a tough one. The month began with a seven-day cruise out of Galveston on Royal Caribbean; our itinerary included Roatan (Honduras), Belize and Cozumel. The cruise itself was great; I did some scuba diving in Roatan, Shirley and I toured Mayan ruins in Belize and in Cozumel we crewed on True North, an America’s Cup 12-meter, in a race against Stars & Stripes, the boat that won the America’s Cup in 1985. It was an intense and exciting experience and, as icing on the cake, our boat won the race.
I had mixed emotions about going on the cruise as there is so much work left to do on the boat but, in the eleventh hour, I decided that I needed a break. It was great to spend some quality time with Shirley’s daughter Rachel, her husband David, the grandkids Carlee and Paxton, and David’s parents Al and Kathy.
Unfortunately, on the last day of the cruise, Shirley came down with an upper respiratory infection. She was very sick for the next week and, just as she was beginning to feel a little bit better, I came down with the same malady. Six weeks later Shirley was still coughing frequently but felt better otherwise. I, on the other hand, was still fighting a sore throat and congestion with bouts of uncontrollable coughing. It wore us out mentally and physically.
We returned from the cruise only to discover that the stern tube work was not yet completed. Not being at the top of our respective games only served to exacerbate our acute frustration with the lack of progress. It seemed to us that nobody on the western shore of Mobile Bay was interested in doing quality work in a timely fashion. The work was finally completed and, a week after our return, Perfect Love went unceremoniously back in the water.
We progressed at a snail’s pace through the month. The project to fabricate and installed the pulpits, davits, ladder and hardtop dragged on. We had to fire one contractor due to the poor quality of work and the second contractor, who did excellent work, was in no apparent hurry to finish the job. The work was completed only last week; it was supposed to be done in late March.
After three false starts, we finally found a canvas shop that was ready, willing and able to build our dodger and bimini; at least we thought so. After promising to start ‘on Monday’, it has now been four weeks and the shop has yet to sew stitch one. Obviously, I should have been more specific about which particular Monday was targeted. The work actually started just yesterday with a final design agreed upon and the necessary measurements taken.
Death by a thousand cuts . . . .
As frustrating as this has been, we have seen progress. The steel work is now done and looks great, the canvas work has actually started, the mizzen mast will be stepped on May 25th and is now fully wired with wi-fi and cellular antennas, the radome, spreader lights, the halyard and topping lift. The engine and generator purr like kittens. All three air conditioning units work and, thank God, work well. The lifelines will be installed within the next few weeks as will the engine room insulation. Last, and certainly not least, the forward head will be functional by May 26th (or the XO will skin me alive!).
The fatigue from illness, the frustrations due to the lack of progress, the money flying out of the account and the trailer park dramas surrounding us brewed a toxic concoction that put me in a serious, serious funk. Candidly, I was shaken and I began to question the wisdom of pursuing this long-held dream. A monkey grew heavier and heavier on my back, nurtured by thoughts like:
“What does one do when, standing on the threshold of realizing a life-long dream, that dream begins to feel like a nightmare? For at least forty years I have clung to the idea of living on a big, beautiful sailboat, a magic carpet made of fiberglass and canvas. The image of a majestic and salty yacht lying quietly at anchor, silhouetted by a mysterious shoreline and a beautiful sunset, is burned into my soul deeper than the V47 logo that is inked into my left shoulder.
That dream of adventure and freedom, that dream of an extraordinary life, has helped me through the traumatic loss of a job, a painful divorce, empty nest syndrome and the transition into retirement. Friends, family and complete strangers have envied my vision and dedication. I should be counting myself among the very lucky few who have actually had a life’s dream and an even luckier few who have made their dream come true.
My dream was about to come true! So, why do I feel so off-balance and unsure of myself? Why does my world feel upside-down?
This 9-year restoration effort has cost an obscene amount of money and I continue to spend at an alarming pace as I try desperately to reach the finish line and cast off the dock lines. I have spent almost half of my life’s savings on this boat. At times I fear that I have built a gilded cage that now holds me captive. I occasionally catch myself doing losers calculus; if I sold the boat right now I would be lucky to see 30 cents on the dollar. Have I made a huge financial blunder? Am I the fool on the hill?
Fear, self-doubt and anxiety grow as I get closer to facing the challenge of handling this stunningly beautiful piece of engineering artwork while underway, especially in marinas and in other close quarters. Can I master the mechanics of a diesel engine? Will I be able to diagnose and then correct a serious and perhaps life-threatening problem while underway? The pin pricks of anxiety pile up.
Ultimately, I dare not face the one thought that immobilizes me each time it creeps from the seldom-visited corners of my mind; what if I just do not like living on a boat? I have said openly that I have never lived on a boat and that I might not like it, but I never really internalized that possibility. Now, after doing six months of time on the hard in what has become an unattractive and marginally comfortable marina, I am beginning to think that this life might not be for me after all.
My beautiful, strong, wise and wonderful wife has bravely lived with me on this unfinished and immobile dream for six months now; four of which have been spent on the hard. We still do not have a functioning shower or flushing toilets! How much longer can or will she tolerate this?”
With these thoughts running wild and unchecked in my brain I spiraled downward. I finally gave voice to my internal conflict one night before falling asleep and my Shirley immediately came to the rescue. Actually, Shirley knocked me upside the head, pulled my head out of my derriere, reminded me of who I was and simply refused to let me abandon what was her dream just as much as mine. It took a week or two, but she never faltered and her magic worked.
Shirley's creativity has no bounds. Case in point: We have met some very interesting people while stranded at the marina. Brian and Mark Simons, two industrious and energetic brothers who have had more adventures in their short 30 years than 99.999% of people have in their entire lifetimes, cruised into Turner on a 30ft Morgan in need of much attention. In addition to being hang gliders, rock climbers, cavers and kite boarders, the boys are fourth generation sailors and Brian is a world-class Snipe sailor. They left their jobs behind in Chattanooga and are sailing to Key West. Shirley immediately hit it off with the boys, claiming that they reminded her of her sons.
To help me out of my funk, Shirley secretly arranged for Mark and Brian to enlist me as a crew member on the leg from Mobile to Pensacola. When asked, I jumped at the opportunity. The trip across Mobile Bay and then east on the Intra-Coastal Waterway to Big Lagoon in Pensacola was like therapy.
After crossing the bay we stopped at Lulu's on the ICW in Gulf Shores for dinner and then headed to beautiful Ingram Bayou and dropped anchor for the night. The next morning we set our sights on the marina at the infamous FloraBama bar. Brian somehow secured a dock at the rental pier and, after securing the boat, we headed for the bar.
Great live music and great conversation with complete strangers consumed the day. After dinner I headed for the boat while the boys pursued other opportunities. We were all in our bunks by 10:30 but my coughing spasms were preventing anyone from sleeping. Sometime around 2:00am I finally grabbed my sleeping bag and left the boat, searching for an isolated place to crash.
Being at the rental dock, we were surrounded by pontoon boats. I looked for a boat that had a hard top (the dew was heavy and all of the exposed surfaces were soaking wet), spread out my sleeping bag and climbed inside. If a cop or security guard had spotted me I am absolutely certain that they would have taken me for a homeless person and given me the bum's rush. I woke up to a beautiful sunrise and a few hours later we were once again underway; heading east towards Big Lagoon.
We stopped at a beautiful anchorage in Big Lagoon and watch the Blue Angels practice overhead while we relaxed with adult beverages. Later that day we sailed across the lagoon and met Shirley at a pre-arranged marina. We took the boys to dinner at a local dive, wished them a safe journey and then parted ways.
Happily, the funk is gone, the clouds have parted and the sun is shining; my full commitment to the dream is very much alive and well and the excitement is back.
Through this trial of faith I have been reminded of something very important and I have learned something just as important. I have been reminded that Shirley is an amazingly strong, determined, supportive and compassionate person. I have much to learn from her and I am incredibly blessed and honored to call her my wife. I have learned that the dream, by it’s very nature, is pure, but you might have to go through Hell to achieve it and that the reality is not necessarily as pure.
The world turns. Life goes on. It challenges us and, with luck and a little bit of help and encouragement, we grow.
Now, Shirley and I stand on the threshold of our wonderful dream. We have a departure date (but we are not going to share it just yet because I do not want to jinx our plan). Captain Shawn Somers and his lovely wife Kimberly are going to join us for our first several hundred miles underway. We have a short list of things that must and will be done prior to departure (a functioning head is at the very top of the list) and the XO is putting our first provisioning list together.
This is actually going to happen!!! This blog will quickly become much more interesting, I promise.
Until next time, may your tomorrow bring fair winds and following seas!