The Hairy Eyeball

Block Island is a terrific place for boaters because it is basically a small island that encases a giant, circular, salt-water lake. There is a short canal that provides access to the Great Salt Pond, and then once inside, the boater has a huge playground in which to anchor, safely harbored from storms or high winds. The place is so popular that, despite its size, it gets pretty parked up, particularly on weekends. Boats are neatly packed next to one another, in much closer proximity than in most other anchorages.

Rick has long joked about the tendency of boat anchors to fail here, and about the boat owners who don’t know how to set an anchor properly. People come in, steering their brand new white plastic tub, put down an inadequate anchor with too little scope, and then take off in their dinghy for dinner. He loves to tell about the locals who frequent the nearby pubs that overlook the anchorage. They gather there during storms so they can watch what they like to call "the drag races.” Boats swing loose, dragging their anchors, and start piling up on the other boats that are anchored in such close proximity. There are rescue boats that keep a close watch during storms, and they are a common sight in the Pond.

Upon arrival at Block, Rick did his usual routine of finding a choice spot among the zillion boats, setting his anchor and turning off the engine. I was annoyed by the guy in the Beneteau next to us, staring at us through his coke-bottle glasses as though daring us to screw up. I had had a bout of seasickness on the way up, my first of the year, and was looking forward to some time on land. We loaded up the Trinka and headed in to the beach. The sun was close to setting, but we had a quick swim and then a blissful walk along the eastern shore of the island.

Totally refreshed, we re-board the dinghy and motor out to the Valkyrie, maneuvering in and out of the maze of anchored boats on the way. As we approach, Rick notices that something is amiss – Valkyrie is not exactly where we had left her! The sailboat that had been a hundred feet downwind of us is now right next door, its owners frantically putting out fenders to protect their boat from an onslaught. We clamber aboard our wayward yacht, yelling out apologies to our neighbors, and quickly motoring forward, chastened, but out of harms way. We work nervously to reset our anchor, all the while that same guy in the Beneteau blatantly giving us the stink-eye.

Rick has been coming to Block Island for twelve years, probably stopping here more than twenty times. He is a very experienced sailor and has confidence in his equipment, maybe especially his oversized forty-five pound Rocna anchor. He immediately blames himself for the incident, recalling that he had probably been overconfident and didn’t pull back on the anchor hard enough when setting it the first time. He later discovered upon pulling it up that the tip of the anchor had jammed itself into the joint of a big clamshell – what are the chances?! - which might have prevented it from catching properly. A more thorough yank in reverse might have unearthed the problem before it became a near-accident.

Rocna anchor

Rick was so spooked by the episode that he got me up at 2:00am to reset our anchor. Not happy with anything, we reset it THREE times. The only good thing about doing it at that hour of the morning was that the Beneteau was dark; I couldn’t see if the guy was peering out at us through his ports. The next morning, we upped anchor again. This time we went to a different area of the pond, to a spot that Rick felt better about. I felt better about the new spot too – new neighbors who didn’t know about our folly of the previous night. We can hold our heads high once more. Any new boats coming in to anchor? We’ll be ready with our own version of the stink-eye.

The Manhattan Project

A Hard Dink is Good to Find

Okay, sorry about the title. I had a few other choices, like “Trinka Dink” or “Dinkin’ Around”, but this one was just too good to pass up.

The old Zodiac

This past spring, when boat preparations began in earnest, Rick decided that we needed a new dinghy. The old inflatable Zodiac that we’d been using was almost fifteen years old, and was getting really beat. Plus, Rick was always frustrated by the wet ride, and the slowness of the outboard. He thought we should get a hard-bottomed inflatable and began searching the internet for a good used one. What he found instead was an adorably aesthetic eight foot sailing dinghy – a Trinka – and thus the comedy of the three dinghies was begun.

In the sailing world, you must have a dinghy to get to and from your boat if it is on a mooring or at anchor. When you’re cruising as we do, your boat is akin to your house, while your dink – sailor slang for dinghy - acts as your car. The larger boat becomes a floating summer cottage, and as cool as that is, sailing for fun doesn’t really happen that much. Imagine anchoring your large sailboat for a long stay, say at Block Island, and having a tiny sailboat to play with in the afternoons, veering in and out of the other large sailboats stuck on their own anchors. When Rick came across that Trinka on EBay, this fantasy was ignited with a vengeance.

Trinkas are fiberglass hulled dinghies (“hard dinks” – I kid you not, that’s what they’re called), and have an optional mast/boom/sail kit with a little centerboard and rudder. They have a great reputation for good rowing, good tracking while towing behind, and as good little sailors. They’re also quite beautiful, with a lovely shape and curved sheer. Rick was gaga. I was more dubious. They have a further reputation for being quite tippy, and I already have a hard time getting into the inflatable from the relative height of the Valkyrie. Plus, the eight-foot version seemed awfully small. Rick, disappointed but realistic, shelved his sailing dinghy idea in favor of a brand new Achilles inflatable with a hard bottom and a new 6 horsepower outboard to speed it along. We borrowed an SUV from dear friends Paul and Kara, and made a special trip up to Connecticut to bring the two purchases home.

Since then, we have gone back and forth about dinghies, outboards and the whole bloody mess. After all the time and expense of buying a fancy new dinghy and motor, we put the outboard on the stern rail of Valkyrie and realized, to our horror, that the thing dangerously wobbled the rail.  In a storm, we could lose the whole kit and caboodle. Doh! A lighter outboard would be frustratingly underpowered with the new dinghy, especially in the Caribbean where the winds are strong and steady. Now what do we do? 

Meanwhile, the dream of a sailing dinghy never really died. Rick had been trying to figure out how he could rig the new inflatable for sailing, even came up with numerous plans, but finally gave up on that madness. Enter the "Mighty Jack."

The Mighty Jack

Two weeks before we were scheduled to leave, Rick spied an old Trinka at the boat yard. It had been there for all the years we've had our boat at Young's, right under our noses! Even though the thing was in bad shape, he recognized that a hard dink would solve our weighty outboard problem; our original Honda would be perfect for it! He tried to buy Jack from its owner who had neglected it for at least six years and probably longer. Thankfully, that deal fell through. A great deal of time and money would've been needed to get that dinghy ready for our get-away.  But even so, Rick spent a restless night mourning the loss of his fantasy.

Yeah... maybe not so Mighty

By now, I’ve come around to the idea of a hard dinghy. I have never really learned to sail properly, and a little sailing vessel and time on our hands might finally allow me to learn. Maybe I could use the swim ladder on Valkyrie to get in and out of it more comfortably? A ten-footer is a pretty good size, and we could avoid the compromise of a slightly more weighty, but still underpowered outboard. I wasn’t crazy about that sad wreck of a Trinka, but still… I decide to do my own Craigslist search.

Rick awakes to an elbow in the ribs. “Rick! Wake up! You’ve gotta see this!”

The Yalma Kan

I have managed to find a gorgeous green (GREEN!) Trinka, ten feet, made in 1992 but beautifully restored, for sale at an unbelievably reasonable price! AND, it doesn’t have a trailer, but it’s located at an eastern shore marina, so we can take Valkyrie down there and just tow it away! Rick has to get over his grogginess, as well as to retrieve his dream from where he had buried it the night before, but when he sees the pictures of this little boat he is almost as in love as I am. He calls up the seller, Bill, who is a retired Scottish doctor, and after a few questions and answers are exchanged, Rick buys it on the spot!

Now what? We’ve got three dinghies and two outboards! Well, three outboards really, but that’s another long story. Rick took the new inflatable and the heavy outboard down to Annapolis where his brother Jim will try and sell them. 

The Mighty Achilles atop Rick's Mighty Whizzer

When we left the dock for good last week, we didn’t immediately go north as one might expect. We headed south instead, to pick up our beautiful new (to us) Trinka. Kind of ballsy to take off without a dinghy, having bought a hard dink sight unseen over the phone, but people probably think we’re nuts anyway and this just proves it!

When Trinkas are made, the boat makers carve a name of your choosing on the wood inside of the stern. Ours very clearly says “Yalma Kan”, but this dinghy has had so many owners that no one knows where that name came from or what it means. My son Dewey is a sort of amateur linguist among his other talents, so I set him to work researching the name. There seem to be only two possibilities. One is the “Yalmakan” resort hotel in Acapulco (probably not…), and the other is from a Native American tribe found in Oregon. They spoke in the Klamath language, now almost completely dead with the last fully fluent speaker passing away years ago, but you can find a Klamath dictionary online. The word “Yalma” in Klamath means “wind” or “of the west wind”. That sounds promising. But “Kan” means bladder, of all things. Dewey says that “kan” is specifically associated with urine. Hmmmmm…  “Bladder of the West Wind”?  Not very poetic.  Or maybe “Pissing in the Wind”? I’m choosing to call it “Catcher of the West Wind” or just “Wind Catcher”.  And when we’re angry at it we’ll probably just call it the “Pisser”!

Two days after our departure, we arrived in Oxford, MD, and Bill meets us at the dock with the Yalma Kan ready and waiting. Luckily for us, the little Trinka is even more exquisite than pictured on Craigslist, and there is no question that we want her. There were a few snags having to do with paperwork, but by the end of the second day in Oxford, the Yalma Kan is ours.

Bill and Rick trying to get the hull ID number

What's up with the pink hats?

One would think that the whole dinghy question would finally be resolved with this Trinka purchase. But no, we’re still revisiting the question even now. Yalma is lovely to look at off the stern of our boat, both when we’re traveling, and also when we are anchored. On the other hand, she’s a very high-maintenance fussy lady, and requires much more attention than our old inflatable. In some ways, she’s a real pain in the buttocks. At this point, none of our other dinghies or outboards have yet sold (poor us - we are very aware that this is a first world problem), so if we get sick of the constant worry of a hard dink, we might be able to switch her out for one of the inflatables on our way through Baltimore this coming October. In the meantime, I’m still totally enamored of her. Can’t wait to go sailing!

Yalma and Becky, BFFs!

Casting Off

We are off on another adventure. This time though, we’re leaving for an entire year. Yes, an ENTIRE YEAR!

This plan has been in the making since the first year I joined Rick on his annual summer sail to Maine, in 2011. Back then, Rick had a thirty foot Alberg sloop which was a good ocean-going boat, perfect for single handing, but honestly, a bit cramped for two people living aboard. I loved that first summer so much that we both envisioned future summers together on a bigger boat that could also house us during Rick’s next sabbatical year. One bigger boat, loads of other equipment and much joint fantasizing later, that year has finally arrived!

Two weeks ago - OMG!

Now - that's more like it!

Others have done this before; it’s not that revolutionary an idea to take a leave from your life and sail off into the sunset. And the political climate and situation being what it is, possibly more understandable right now, even to non-sailors. But we’re totally cheating. Many sailing couples who do this save up money, sell their houses, quit their jobs and leave everything behind at the dock. And many take their kids with them. We, on the other hand, are keeping our house, still have jobs to return to, and know this whole exercise to be limited to one calendar year. Even so, disentangling oneself from life onshore has turned out to be much more difficult than we ever imagined.

Oiling the teak

General putzing

Getting the boat ready was of course the most obvious necessity in the preparations department. You would think that after six years of repairs and improvements the boat would be in perfect condition. Mais, non, ma Cherie! Beyond the usual stuff like new bottom paint and canvas repair, Rick was discouraged to find a non-working bilge pump along with a ruptured water pipe, both in need of repair before even putting the boat in the water. Envisioning a warm spring weekend of sailing, Rick’s sister and brother-in-law Barb and Jeff flew down from Maine. Did we go sailing? Not exactly. We put them to work waxing and buffing the hull. Then we took the boat out to put the sails on and discovered that Rick had misplaced the sheets (ropes that attach to the sails). Doh! Now where are those things anyway? We ended up motoring around and having a blast regardless, but no sailing occurred.

Barb and Jeff, a.k.a. swabbies

Other things, tasks of epic procrastination, needed to be taken care of before we could take off. For instance, I had an old, used pop-up camper that I bought in my pre-Rick days, and had taken on numerous camping trips with my son Dewey when he was little. I had been keeping it stored in a shed at Jon Carney’s farm. Jon is my concertmaster at the BSO, and he and his now ex-wife Ruthie were gracious enough to let me keep it there. But they’re now selling the farm, and that non-working, eye sore of a camper must be removed. So a week before our planned departure date, Rick and I headed out to pick up “Coleman” – the nickname it was given by Dewey those many years ago. After successfully battling with the thicket of poison ivy covering the thing (well, perhaps not quite so successfully…), and a reluctant, rusty trailer hitch, we could be spotted pulling a dirt covered pop-up with seriously outdated registration plates from 2007 (shhhh!) around the Baltimore beltway, headed for the dump. Having never seen the true workings of a landfill before, we were unprepared for the emotional trauma of seeing Coleman, within seconds of dropping him off, unceremoniously ripped apart by some kind of giant contraption!

 

Poor Coleman!

What about our cars? Both of them are ancient, and we’ve been keeping them on life support in anticipation of abandoning them just before leaving on the boat. We ended up leaving my car at the house, and left Rick’s at the marina where we donated it to WYPR, our local NPR station. It was tough for Rick to leave his beloved “Whizzer” as he had come to call it, but at least he didn’t have to witness its demolition like I did with Coleman!

Rick says goodbye to the Whizzer at Young's Boatyard

Between getting the house cleaned out and ready to be vacated, and getting the boat cleaned out and ready for us to live in, we were predictably behind schedule. Thankfully our good friends, Marguerite and Paul offered to put us up in their guest room while we made the transition. Paul is quite outspoken about his dislike for the boat – not because he hates boats per se, but because this particular one takes us away from them and our regular movie nights and dinners together. He loves to call it our “STOOOOpid boat!” but he is an avid follower of this blog so he can keep tabs on us.

After all of this planning and toiling, the time for leaving finally arrives. You’d think we’d be filled with joy, reveling in the sense of freedom having cut loose of all our ties to land! But I comment to Rick that there is a noticeable pit in my stomach. He responds with the same. When all is said and done, we are not just leaving our material things behind, we are leaving friends, family, security and familiarity.

Tell me again, why are we doing this?