Sleep comes as an extra-delicious moment for me now, as it brings with it an opportunity for me to be aboard Ave del Mar, if only in my mind. No more dozing off listening to an etymology podcast or a Cap's game, as I instead drift away cleaning, repairing, living aboard, and sailing my soon-to-be next home.
The problem is that this virtual reality show in my head often drives me back to consciousness, rolling over in bed to make a list, add to a list, search for a price on something I had never before thought I would need, or (as often happens) to stare at photos, full screen. I know every detail of that boat and those photos, although I've only ever been aboard two times.
When this seagoing lady becomes mine I will have a short window of opportunity to clean, fix, install, and repair what will be needed for me to get her from her current home in Reedville, Virginia, to her next home just west of Annapolis, Maryland. I am aware of how daunting this undertaking will be in the same way that I knew that having newborn children would be challenging, and I have the same confidence that it will all be alright in the end. So I play out scenarios in my sleepy mind's eye, I lay Ave in triage as it were, and work through what I know has to happen.
On a typical night I may picture myself cleaning her out--a necessary first step--and then proceeding to the next-highest priority: engine maintenance. Although the engine is newish (600 hours) and did in fact start (with a little coaxing) during the survey, it has nonetheless been sitting unused for three or four years and is showing the effects of the neglect. Being adrift on the Chesapeake without power sounds less than ideal to me, so I intend to do a maximum amount of engine maintenance before dropping her brick-red hull into the water. "Hoses!" I think. "Hoses, belts, fuel filters." Great. Search the web, look for parts. They sell kits! Ahh, but what kit does one need? There's this one:
$253 bucks -- not bad. I expected worse. Oh, but wait--there's also this one:
for $1,158. The difference? I think it's glow-plugs. Do I need glow-plugs? I don't even know. But I do know that the engine looks like this:
so it for sure will need some attention. Oh, and it's rusty. I should probably deal with that, to be sure there are no ill effects that, again, would leave us adrift and in danger on our first passage, that short jaunt up the bay. Rust. What to do?!? Search the forums.
That should help. I need rust inhibitor! Search rust inhibitor. Add rust inhibitor to the checklist. Is it expensive? Will it be $7/gallon or is it something like $239/gallon? Success:
And it's not too expensive! I'll deal with wire brushes and applicator brushes later. The to-do list is already scary:
as is the tools list:
some of which I already have, but I need to be sure. It's not like there's a Home Depot or a West Marine 5 minutes down the road from the boat, and I won't have days to waste driving all over Virginia's northern neck in search of parts and tools, even though I already know I will end up doing exactly that.
And that's just the pre-launch list that I haven't even really brainstormed yet. It is more of a stream-of-consciousness list. I have five of these, ranging from pre-launch, through what I call Priority II, III, and IV, to long-term project. I know these fuel filters are nasty:
Add to list. Looks easy enough. Search for a deal. Add to boat bookmarks.
I don't even know what some of these bookmarks are, but I can assure you that at some point, pre- mid- or post-sleep they all seemed very, gravely, hugely important. How do I know they are important? Because I read. All I do is read. I read Nigel Calder:
(that one's on my nightstand. I can tell you everything you never knew about batteries and battery banks). There's also an engine owner's manual on my couch:
D'OH! Add hole punch and 3-ring binder to a list, some list...
there must be an appropriate list for a binder. Do I need to make a new list?
And there are sailing magazines everywhere you look:
like on my breakfast table (they are tabbed and dog-eared and highlighted and coffee stained),
and there is the casual reading on the end table in my living room:
and the book that the soon-to-be-former owners of Ave del Mar wrote during their first circumnavigation, lying on my ottoman in the living room. By the way they are such awesome people, too, and I love talking to them on the phone. Reading the book lets me get to know them 30 years hence.
The list could (does) go on forever. It remains an exciting and challenging way to drift off to or return from sleep. So much learning awaits, and so many distant shores.
But despite Nigel Calder, the Pardeys, and Peter Compton--author of the Marine Diesels book (and it is amazing)--not a single resource has better instructed me on what to do with THIS issue in the v-berth better than my friend Matt, who suggested,
"This has been weighing heavily on my mind. I can not sleep at night know[ing] this creature is out there ... somewhere ... lurking. After careful consideration I have decided that the best course of action is to shred it, then burn it, then mix the ashes in a batch of concrete. Pour the concrete in to a five gallon pickle bucket, then glue the lid on. Take the bucket to the deepest reaches of the ocean, and drop overboard. And please, PLEASE, photograph the entire procedure so I can once again sleep at night."
The problem is that this virtual reality show in my head often drives me back to consciousness, rolling over in bed to make a list, add to a list, search for a price on something I had never before thought I would need, or (as often happens) to stare at photos, full screen. I know every detail of that boat and those photos, although I've only ever been aboard two times.
When this seagoing lady becomes mine I will have a short window of opportunity to clean, fix, install, and repair what will be needed for me to get her from her current home in Reedville, Virginia, to her next home just west of Annapolis, Maryland. I am aware of how daunting this undertaking will be in the same way that I knew that having newborn children would be challenging, and I have the same confidence that it will all be alright in the end. So I play out scenarios in my sleepy mind's eye, I lay Ave in triage as it were, and work through what I know has to happen.
On a typical night I may picture myself cleaning her out--a necessary first step--and then proceeding to the next-highest priority: engine maintenance. Although the engine is newish (600 hours) and did in fact start (with a little coaxing) during the survey, it has nonetheless been sitting unused for three or four years and is showing the effects of the neglect. Being adrift on the Chesapeake without power sounds less than ideal to me, so I intend to do a maximum amount of engine maintenance before dropping her brick-red hull into the water. "Hoses!" I think. "Hoses, belts, fuel filters." Great. Search the web, look for parts. They sell kits! Ahh, but what kit does one need? There's this one:
$253 bucks -- not bad. I expected worse. Oh, but wait--there's also this one:
for $1,158. The difference? I think it's glow-plugs. Do I need glow-plugs? I don't even know. But I do know that the engine looks like this:
so it for sure will need some attention. Oh, and it's rusty. I should probably deal with that, to be sure there are no ill effects that, again, would leave us adrift and in danger on our first passage, that short jaunt up the bay. Rust. What to do?!? Search the forums.
That should help. I need rust inhibitor! Search rust inhibitor. Add rust inhibitor to the checklist. Is it expensive? Will it be $7/gallon or is it something like $239/gallon? Success:
And it's not too expensive! I'll deal with wire brushes and applicator brushes later. The to-do list is already scary:
as is the tools list:
some of which I already have, but I need to be sure. It's not like there's a Home Depot or a West Marine 5 minutes down the road from the boat, and I won't have days to waste driving all over Virginia's northern neck in search of parts and tools, even though I already know I will end up doing exactly that.
And that's just the pre-launch list that I haven't even really brainstormed yet. It is more of a stream-of-consciousness list. I have five of these, ranging from pre-launch, through what I call Priority II, III, and IV, to long-term project. I know these fuel filters are nasty:
Add to list. Looks easy enough. Search for a deal. Add to boat bookmarks.
I don't even know what some of these bookmarks are, but I can assure you that at some point, pre- mid- or post-sleep they all seemed very, gravely, hugely important. How do I know they are important? Because I read. All I do is read. I read Nigel Calder:
(that one's on my nightstand. I can tell you everything you never knew about batteries and battery banks). There's also an engine owner's manual on my couch:
D'OH! Add hole punch and 3-ring binder to a list, some list...
there must be an appropriate list for a binder. Do I need to make a new list?
And there are sailing magazines everywhere you look:
like on my breakfast table (they are tabbed and dog-eared and highlighted and coffee stained),
and there is the casual reading on the end table in my living room:
and the book that the soon-to-be-former owners of Ave del Mar wrote during their first circumnavigation, lying on my ottoman in the living room. By the way they are such awesome people, too, and I love talking to them on the phone. Reading the book lets me get to know them 30 years hence.
The list could (does) go on forever. It remains an exciting and challenging way to drift off to or return from sleep. So much learning awaits, and so many distant shores.
But despite Nigel Calder, the Pardeys, and Peter Compton--author of the Marine Diesels book (and it is amazing)--not a single resource has better instructed me on what to do with THIS issue in the v-berth better than my friend Matt, who suggested,
"This has been weighing heavily on my mind. I can not sleep at night know[ing] this creature is out there ... somewhere ... lurking. After careful consideration I have decided that the best course of action is to shred it, then burn it, then mix the ashes in a batch of concrete. Pour the concrete in to a five gallon pickle bucket, then glue the lid on. Take the bucket to the deepest reaches of the ocean, and drop overboard. And please, PLEASE, photograph the entire procedure so I can once again sleep at night."
Search:
pickle bucket
shredder
and, ugh!
what kind of glue will I need?
pickle bucket
shredder
and, ugh!
what kind of glue will I need?
We'll see if someone on Cruisers Forum can tell me. I bet they can.
