NEREIS UNDERWAY AGAIN

We got underway again early this Sunday morning at 0700. The dock where we’ve been staying at the Cape Coral Yacht Club in Cape Coral Florida is to be refurbished and access would have been denied for several weeks. We had to find a new home. I learned of this Saturday evening from Gary and Jim both dock masters here upon returning from a hurricane seminar in Estero Florida. Both promised to help me get away the next afternoon at 1:30. Drat, phooey, heck, have to pull up roots. We’d been here over six months and weren’t ready to move. Due to the recent passing of tropical storm Barry there were a myriad of lines securing Nereis in slip No. 48. Double dock lines, four spring lines, electrical cord, water hose, bumpers artfully placed against pilings, in short my watery home. Beginning with the sun low in the eastern sky, early as wind rises with the heat of the day, I began removing our umbilical cords; boats appear to have many of them. Hot, humid morning and I soon abandoned my t-shirt wearing only shorts, which soon dripped with the sweat of change. Our destination was about forty feet away across the marina to slip 19 against the concrete seawall. 

                                                             
                          NEREIS IN SLIP 19
              Slip No. 48 can be seen  behind and to the left.

With most of the lines removed and repositioned for entering a new slip I went to start the engine. Now I must confess I’ve been remiss in running my engine, solar panels have provided all the power needed to boost my batteries; we have no 12 volt refrigeration and use 12 volt lights sparingly. Sad to report it had been months. To add to this litany and perhaps my reluctance to do things for Nereis other than provide everything I can to make him seaworthy is the following. When I arrived here from Mexico last December after a four-day journey in company with my friend Tommy Poppel’s boat Dream Weaver, we were sitting that evening awaiting the homeland security guys, who drove over from Fort Myers International Airport to make sure we were legitimate and upon their arrival were asked to describe out boats for their report. Tommy has a relatively pristine boat, cleanliness wise, and said white hull blue stripe. When asked the same question I said white hull dirt trim. You had to be there I guess. I know I know some folks run their engines weekly but I’m not one of these intrepid sorts. I went to insert the key in the ignition switch and found it wouldn’t insert. I have a Kubota diesel installed several years ago; they were originally small tractor engines and have been marinized by various engine supply companies to be used in small boats. Mine has 28 horses and has served me well except for some defects installed upon marinizing. These people just couldn’t get some things right. The problem that befell me this morning was extreme corrosion of the aluminum ignition switch. Now why people who profess to have some experience with saltwater ever use aluminum on boats is beyond me. When exposed to salt mixed with water, an electrolyte, they immediately turn into batteries and eat themselves. A sad state of affairs, producing acne-like pocks and in time turn to dust. Perhaps this is planned obsolescence another sad practice of business people. Boats that go to sea have to work or we die, or might die. We must have reliable equipment. Charge me more, if you wish and wish you do, but provide stuff that works and will continue to work in the marine environment. That’s where boats go. Adding to this ridiculousness I once had three combination locks that corroded to lumps, which I had to cut off to remove, and when I returned to the West Marine store where I had bought them prior to embarking on a four-year sojourn in the Caribbean to get replacements, hah, I was asked by the knowledgeable clerk, “Where have you been with these locks?” I replied, “At sea you expletive, expletive.” Needless to say they wouldn’t take the damn things back. I should have hung ‘em on the rack with the shiny new ones and left. Anyway back to the voyage.

I sprayed some miracle solvent on the ignition switch and with a little judicial twisting managed to start the engine, which I’m happy to report kruumped off as usual with no complaint. I have no beef with the engine, just some of the add-ons. Removing the rest of the lines in the almost wind-free still of an early June morning I moved Nereis slowly back holding onto a piling and maneuvered him, yes I said him (see other blogs for my views on feminizing boats) I am opinionated aren’t I, parallel to the dock and then back along the canal, engine still in neutral, rumbling contentedly, just happy to be along for the ride I guess, then back to the center of the canal with the help of my neighbor’s pilings. Glancing over to my new slip some forty-feet away I contemplated for a millisecond of putting the gearshift in forward and began maneuvering Nereis with the rudder, sculling with his tiller. There is an advantage of sailing a 29-foot boat regarding maneuverability. And for you who insist that bigger is better, seaworthiness I’m referring to, get your mind back to business will you, Nereis and I have gone over 25,000 miles, just the two of us and experienced a variety of weather and seas and I’m happy to report we’ve both survived. Lost some stuff overboard on several occasions but that was my fault not his. Nereis, an Islander 29, is as seaworthy as they come. So there, take your forty-five-footer with its 12 volt refrigeration and suffer along. We’ve learned to muddle along quite nicely on our little boat thank you. Actually I’m talking to one “gentleman” particularly here and you know who you are. Hope you survived your sea voyage on your big boat with its plethora of inadequacies. My goodness I seem to be in some sort of mood this morning, ay? That’s a Canadian eh by the way. Thought you’d like to know. Our business plan mandates revealing all sorts of wondrous explanations. Well I think so. Anyway Nereis and I have learned to scull particularly on one weeklong 40-mile voyage when my old Atomic Four’s drive shaft decided to quit around the southern end of Florida’s Lake Okeechobee to the Glades Shipyard on the Caloosahatchee waterway, chronicled in Tiller Tales in the chapter titled Rain. I straightened him out in the canal, sculling mightily and began moving his bow toward the entrance to the slip and slowly, imperceptibly slowly we began a curving arc directly into the mouth of the slip, correcting for alignment with judicious sweeps of the rudder. Try that with your wheel. There’s a reason tillers came first. Those early guys knew what they were doing. Along with size modern improvements are not necessarily improvements they just add to the testosterone ness of the thing. Refer to the sentence on mood above if you find this tiresome. Hey I’m on a roll here, go with it. The engine was never put in gear, just stood patiently by burbling along waiting for his time to help. I have to admit though. For a few uncertain seconds I almost put him in forward and headed out to the canal leading to the Caloosahatchee Waterway and untimely the Gulf of Mexico and adventure beyond. We are getting antsy, Nereis and I. It’s time for a real sea voyage, soon perhaps.

Thanks for indulging me through all this, just had to get it off my chest. Writing is a great catharsis and helps me endure. Again thanks for listening.

Take care,

JB