Wednesday, September 7, 2022 →
Is there anything better in life than being the captain of your own little ship? Is there any better way to greet the day than casting off at dawn?
Trawler Life
An Early morning departure across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Watching the sun rise from the wheelhouse is a unique trawler life delight. Calm seas, light wind, a favorable current. Feeling especially blessed this morning.
Our first ever stern tie aboard Indiscretion here in Prideaux Haven! That was quite the experience. We learned so much about what not to do! Oh, and swear words come through loud and clear on our wireless Eartec headsets even when one member of the crew is on shore.
We’ve lived aboard Indiscretion now for 75 days. Other than the comical annoyance that anything you need is ALWAYS under or behind other awkward things that you must first haul out, life on this trawler has been amazing. And now that we’re underway, home takes on a richer meaning. In one sense, we have no home. We’re finally the vagabonds of our youthful aspirations. Yet, in another very real way, wherever we drop our anchor is home. Or, put differently, home for us has become a feeling, not a place.
I know there will be stormy passages and stressful nights in the weeks and months ahead. That’s life on a boat. But tonight, swinging on the anchor in this quiet, calm harbor on my own little ship, the immensity of the Salish Sea to discover and explore just outside these pilothouse windows, there’s no place in the world I’d rather call home.
We had such good intentions … We left Shilshole Marina on 6/1 with the northern reaches of British Columbia on our minds. This is the year to revisit Canada: the Sunshine Coast, The Broughtons, a slow cruise down the West Coast of Vancouver Island. We’d skip the San Juans altogether. Well, maybe just a stop over in Roche Harbor …
A week later, we are still here. After enjoying a long weekend at the wonderful SYC outstation on Henry Island, we made the seven mile voyage to Reid Harbor on Stuart Island. That’s a short trip even on a trawler.
We realized we were aching for a little peace and quiet after the frenzy and emotion of selling our longtime island home and the hustle and bustle of liveaboard life at Shilshole Marina. A little healing time is what we’re calling it. And I can’t think of a better way to let the stress of life fall away than on a boat at anchor in this one particular harbor …
Shilshole Marina on Sunday night.
Fall cruising in the Pacific Northwest brings such a variety of weather conditions. Full sun, clouds, rain, blustery winds, even hail and thunderstorms. We canceled many cruising opportunities on our sailboats when the forecast was iffy, but not anymore. This trawler provides a comfortable sanctuary for just about any kind of weather. And beautiful sunsets too. Trawler life is good!
Sometimes all it takes is a few quiet days and nights at anchor in some secluded bay. Any stress you might have brought aboard fell away in the wake of the voyage, but soon you rediscover a deeper level of relaxation and peace that you only seem to find on a boat. You slip into that easily misplaced rhythm of tide and weather and sky. Maybe it’s the primordial rocking, almost imperceptible on this heavy trawler, or the immediate connection to the fundamentals of life. You don’t dare examine it too closely. Allow the mystery of what drives us seaward be enough.
Back to reality: the lawn needs mowing, the deck needs pressure washing, the bills need paying … but a part of me is still afloat, feeling the gentle sway and rock, marveling at the colors and hush of twilight on a boat in the islands.
I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to be adventuring with this beautiful woman. She’s been putting up with me for almost 25 years, raising children, managing a career, and making the best of the challenges in life. Through it all it seems like she’s always smiling.
I snapped this picture of her in the cockpit at Shilshole Marina. We had to divert there on our way to the San Juan Islands because of a low oil alarm from our stabilizer system. Our first day out on an open ended trip North. Right before I took this picture, I filled her in on the problem: a pressure gauge on the hydraulic system had failed and it allowed all of the hydraulic fluid in the system to dump into the bilge. We were stuck until I could find replacement parts and a 5 gallons of hydraulic oil.
She honestly laughed when I told her this. She said: “Well, if we’re going to be stuck somewhere, this is as good as any. Plus, you’ll figure it out.”
I wasn’t quite as cheerful or confident, but it turns out she was right. An Uber ride to central Ballard put me in walking distance of everything I needed. I might have been covered in hydraulic fluid for a good part of the next morning, but I fixed the problem. And we were back underway.
But, even if I hadn’t been able to fix it, I’m pretty sure she’d still be smiling and making the best of things. I am one lucky guy.
It’s that moment before a cruise when you sit back and consider. Everything is stowed. We have more food than we will likely have a chance to eat. My maintenance list is checked off. The engine room check just now was fine. All systems are go. The boat is literally tugging at her lines to go.
Still, I have that nagging feeling I’ve forgotten something important, that familiar disquiet before casting off the dock lines on a long voyage. I’ve learned to savor this unease. Caution is good at sea. But I also know this feeling flies away like morning fog as soon as we’re 50 yards away from the dock. Heading north tomorrow!
What an amazing Father’s Day present! MV Indiscretion at anchor captured by the amazing artist (and my niece!) Sara Breen. Whoa!
There is nothing so magical and comforting as the wheelhouse of a trawler at night. Words fail. Pictures can’t capture it. The gentle rocking, the warm light, the sense of adventure and impending expedition, the saltwater soaking into already salty veins. Some people spend their whole lives searching for their happy place in the world. This is surely mine.
This for me is what’s great about boating. Anchored in a small bay surrounded by wilderness, birdsong, cackling geese, a faint cooling breeze. Far, far away from bustle and strife. Fellow boaters passing by in dinghies with smiles and waves. A sense of shared fraternity that we all found this magic place.
Not many sailing nights like this left this year. Beautiful moon. Feeling blessed.
Downwind sailing
