The Great Escape

It’s so hard to actually leave. Getting away from the dock seems like escaping the earth's gravity.

We loaded up the boat with provisions, left the house with the house-sitters (two of Rick's students), but then spent two more days living and working on the boat while sitting in the slip. Our thought was that we could clean up the inside of the boat in about an hour, put away all of our gear and groceries, and then take off. Mais non! Pretty quickly we discovered that our water tanks were leaking, the inverter (that allows “normal” household electronics to run on 12-volt boat batteries) had stopped working, and in our rush to get out of the house we had forgotten some key items, like dish towels and a sleeping bag (mine). Too embarrassed to make the drive all the way home, I made two separate trips to the local Walmart for a cheap sleeping bag, batteries, flashlights, a bucket, various other things, and still forgot the dishtowels. Oh well.

Rick called the inverter manufacturer who put him on hold forever, and then he figured it out by himself. The water tank problem was more pesky though, and made worse by the knowledge that it was self-inflicted. Rick had installed two ports into them for easier cleaning. The ports leak. Which means the water pressure pump gets very confused. Big job to find ports the same size that can withstand the pressure. Oh well.

We decide that if we wait for perfection, we’ll never leave, so rather than spend yet another day in the slip we take off under a beautiful sunny sky with a nice breeze. Rick comments that we have the bay all to ourselves – there are just no other boats out here. Hmmm… I wonder if they know something that we don’t. Rick checks the weather on his radio, and sure enough, there is a big storm coming through. Oh boy.

I don’t know if it is Rick insisting that we put on life vests and warning me with all kinds of instructions, or if it is simply my unfamiliarity with the motion on the boat after two years, but my tummy is now churning ominously. Pretty quickly I descend into sea-sickness hell, and am forced to take a Zofran and retreat into the forward cabin with my eyes closed. First day out. Oh no.

The tempest turns out to be more of the teapot variety, or at least the worst part of the storm passes us to the South, and Rick has no trouble steering us through it. I wake up with the sound of Rick putting the anchor down in Swan Creek. The boat is no longer bouncing up and down, and my mal de mer has completely dissipated along with the storm. We reward ourselves with steaks on the grill, and enjoy the charm of the unspoiled shoreline, decorated by the remnants of the storm - a beautiful rainbow. Oh yeah.