Gulf Islanding

I am crew. I offer invaluable advice to the Captain, who in this politically-correct environment is not allowed to flog me for it. I can tell how happy an engine is by the way it smells. More traditional mechanics might quarrel with this technique, but I swear by it. I can hear trickling water in the middle of the night, and wake the captain up and tell him about it, too. Sometimes I yell and sob and get diarrhea, but I am crew.

The Gulf Islands are beautiful this time of year, especially from a secure anchoring position. While you’re dragging nothing looks good, but I’m happy to report that even though once I let out so much chain that John Darling backed our vessel up into 2.9 feet of water under the keel and darn near beached us, in the main my anchoring skills were without reproach. We didn’t drag an inch. Yessss. Give me a CQR knock-off and 200 feet of chain, and I am a happy girl.

We came back with an ambitious list of repairs and improvements we’d like to do this winter, tans, bedhead and a couple of cases of squint-eye. Also, someone really should repaint the anchor chain markings. I never did find the 100 foot mark. It rattled past me so fast I couldn’t spot it; most of the paint had worn off and sunk to the bottom of the locker.

Now that John has TV again, he is happy. I shall change the sheets and store in storage the 400 pounds of jam I have collected in the starboard settee locker in the main saloon. I think I slowed us down by a full knot.
Who’s have thought homemade pear jam could have such a sinister effect? Or a few hundred books?

So now it’s back to substitute teaching and writing articles. In fact, I must go now – I have a deadline.

Many blessings

Catherine Dook

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