Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. We did. We battened down as scuttling slabs of hard darkness slid close over us shutting out the sun, setting our houseboat neighbor’s sundeck chairs skittering across the deck and tripping over the rail into the water in the 35 knot gusts of needle driven rain. It has taken seven years, but finally, it seems, perhaps we have learned to secure all decks as the wind buffets and rips, looking for a loose strap or edge of canvas to exploit. The looser lines on the Bluewater Yacht next to us allow the flat bottom boat to horse around its slip bucking, twisting, and bouncing, like a bronco coming out of the chute. It reins up suddenly as it hits the end of its springy nylon line then slingshots back the other way only to spring forward once again as the line takes up. If not careful, while watching this other boat out our pilothouse windows lounging back and forth, my visual sense can confuse and trick my brain into believing it is Skinwalker moving and not the other vessel. It is an easy elusion to have. When the rain halts I will attempt to share with our neighbor how to keep his furniture on the boat and to secure spring lines to keep from surging fore and aft and prevent his boat from twisting like soft licorice rope from side to side.
The storm intensity has slowed. The rain is now a soft patter. Water trickling off the decks is a sweet tinkling as it splashes like musical notes into the bay. The dirty humidity of the early morning is cleansed; the air is now cool and feels inexplicably dryer than before the storm. In all its complicity nature is simple. There is nothing stronger. There is nothing more beautiful. It is neither forgiving nor vengeful. It takes no captives and has no friends. Weather is not a creature or a god. Weather is a constant. If we must humanize weather it is the muscle of Mother Nature.
Monday, OMG already, Monday we depart, northbound for Baltimore. The winter of being done to by physicians is over. Body parts prodded, pinched, cut, replaced, repaired and inspected in general, should provide another fifty thousand miles of unwarranted service.
We are leaving earlier this year so that those we have forgotten, ignored or have not met on our quick downhill trek in October will be enjoyed as we flow north gauging our progress by the receding edge of a nasty winter. We urge those of you on our Intracoastal path who wishes to share a flagon of grog or a plastic cup of cheap box wine to put an email in our box. Cruising, after all is said and done, is about people.
Monday. Hmmm. Come to think of it, all the necessary oils and waters of our girls in the engine room, Leila and Liela, have been tended and they are happy. The ship stores have been replenished. (Read rum, box wine and “tator tots”.) What the hell. I think, to keep the crew from getting complacent, we will leave tomorrow, Saturday Morning.
Bones
Urban Pirate Ship Fearless
Aka Wayne Flatt
MV Skinwalker
