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!
We said goodbye to this young man this morning and have started our drive back home - 1,400 miles away. Every parent must face this, but holy smokes this was hard. Felt like a punch in the gut to walk out of that dorm room. It’s a new chapter for all of us and I know I should be excited, but I’m going to need these miles ahead to wrap my brain and heart around all this. But, you know what? Connor is going to absolutely kill it here. So proud.
These two. My pride and joy. What amazing adults they have become, right before my eyes. In the midst of this pandemic with the whole world out of balance, they are both set to achieve big milestones in their lives without the fanfare they deserve. Connor, a high school graduate bound for the University of Colorado in the fall. Mallory, a UW college graduate in accounting, just the third member of my side of the family to graduate with a four-year college degree. What a grand party we would throw in normal times … my heart aches for this disappointment, but I know we will find other ways to celebrate their achievements. I am reminded of what John Wooden once said: “Things turn out the best for the people who make the best of the way things turn out.” I know this is true for these two. I am such a proud papa!
Our Nordhavn trawler can take us to incredibly remote parts of the world. But what if something breaks down so far away from everything? I’ve spent most my life believing that outsourcing tasks to experts is the best model for life. Shoot, I even lead the strategy function of a multi-billion dollar outsourcing firm. World traveling on an ocean-going trawler requires a resourceful crew with exceptional mechanical skills. This was my single biggest reservation in making the transition from sailboat to trawler. Could I keep up with the maintenance and repair needs of such a sophisticated vessel with systems and machinery that could rival a small municipality? It’s been almost two years now, so I thought I’d share how it’s gone. Here’s the link to the full blog post.
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.
With all our usual park trails now off limits, Franklin and I have taken to the backroads of Vashon for our daily constitutional. I am reminded that most of this island could be considered one giant park, andI feel especially thankful to call this our home in times like these. On today’s five mile loop past the lighthouse and wonderful Luana Beach road, we found the road mostly deserted. One deer, one rider on horseback, a few fellow walkers. Lots of people out in their gardens or simply basking in the sunshine in their yards. Counting small blessings today.
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.
I’ve been playing baseball with Connor since he was five years old. First tossing baseballs underhanded into a tiny red mitt, later playing catch out in the yard, most every night in the summer. A couple years ago we started a Sunday routine of taking a bucket of baseballs up to the high school for batting practice. I would pitch from the mound, ball after ball, while Connor swung for the fences.
Two years ago, he started complaining that I wasn’t throwing as hard as pitchers he was facing in games. Last year he connected with his first home run, the ball sailing out into the woods over the left field fence, Connor whooping and hollering. Both father and son did a victory run around the bases that day.
