We went into that boating store, “West,”
For a brand new flag halyard, the best.
We replaced it — OK!
But the very same day
‘Twas the main halyard broke: Who’d have guessed?

“I’m so glad it’s your problem, not mine,”
Said our Freedom friends, sipping their wine.
But those friends don’t know Lee,
Who, with Simplicity,
Kindly fixed it — we sailed back, just fine.

He went up using spitwads and tape,
But no halyard! We watched, mouths agape.
It’s a bird! It’s a plane!
Superman’s on our main!
No, it’s Spiderman! See? There’s no cape.

A little note of explanation for our non-boating friends…the flag halyard is a loooong piece of string that you use to hang pennants from the mast. On our way to the Freedom Rendezvous with our friend Jacqui’s Freedom 30, we replaced it ($20), because it looked old and rotten. Twenty minutes later, the main halyard, which is the big beefy one used to hoist the mainsail ($200), broke instead. Since there was no backup or safety line, we had to deliver the news to Jacqui that a crane would be needed to re-reeve her halyard ($150/hour). Then Lee and Kathleen magically appeared in the harbor aboard their C&C, Simplicity. Not only did Lee free-climb the 44-foot mast at anchor, he also cooked omelettes for us for breakfast.

Images below: Meps, motoring north, has plenty of spare cycles to clown for the camera. Lee sets up his climbing gear for the ascent. Barry watches Lee from below (hope he doesn’t drop anything!). The masts of Piper and Simplicity at anchor in Port Ludlow, with Lee at the top. Success! Barry shows the bicycle chain weight that Lee fed down from the top of the mast. Out sailing again, with Barry grinding the winch. Crewmember Will takes the helm of the 30-foot sailboat.

When the skies opened forth with such power,
I was drowned like a rat. So I glower
At my husband, who’s dry,
And who says, smug and sly,
“I towel off when I go take a shower.”

It rained so hard the other day, I nearly drowned getting back to Flutterby — even with a fortuitous ride across the boatyard from Ted. I should have just gotten into my birthday suit and stood on the foredeck with a bottle of shampoo.

“Sham Poo? No way! Give me the real thing, or nothing.”

When I painted the name on the side,
Philip’s comments were terribly snide.
“All your curves are a fright!”
“Get a stick, do it right!”
Now I’m feeling all shame and no pride.

We could have had the name applied professionally in vinyl for a few hundred bucks. The only reason I painted it freehand was to fulfill a sense of “artistic pride.”

The boat was so cold that we shut
The door to the forward end. But
We still had a bed,
And a galley and head,
In our maritime eight-by-twelve hut.

Below is a photo of me in our dinette bed during the cold, when the boat interior was about 45 degrees for a week. I’m wearing a wool top under my jammies, a fleece hood, and have two teddy bears to help keep me warm. Although we couldn’t drag ourselves out from under the blankets before noon, we were able to make coffee without getting out of bed!

My two pirate friends, Goofy and Funny,
Have sailed off to the south, where it’s sunny.
They have left this fine village,
To seek plunder and pillage,
They’re not dumb — but they’re plumb outa money.

Maybe you can look at the photos below and tell me, which one is Goofy and which one is Funny? (that’s Dick on the top and Larry and me on the bottom)

Our friend Alex was feeling quite blue,
For a flock of demonic birds flew,
Over each perfect mast,
And he watched them, aghast,
As the paint job was ruined by doo.

So he came out to paint them anew
And the finish was ruined by dew,
Now he frets at the weather,
And fears every feather,
And says, “Will I ever be through?”

Barry and I hired Alex Baker to give our carbon fiber masts a beautiful professional paint job. Unfortunately, Alex has been unable to control the outdoor conditions where he’s working! After the doo and dew, Alex was thwarted by heavy wind, rain, and cold. We all hope the third time’s the charm.

The photos below show the working conditions out in the “sand pit” before the masts were painted. Alex, Barry, Kenny, and Dick had walked out to look at our innovative mast-suspension system. A portion of Dick’s broken mast (right side, top photo) was used as a derrick to suspend both masts.

While I was away, the boatyard had a potluck so memorable, people were still talking about it 5 weeks later:

Now, Miss Manners would never say, “Eww,”
So Miss Audrey knew just what to do.
With a smile so polite,
She spoke out with no spite,
“Oh, how nice! Ken brought turkey that’s blue.”

Someone tried to give the turkey to the cats, but they wouldn’t touch it. Barry says it’s probably still on the bottom of Core Creek. Eww.

Here’s a big, buzzy carpenter bee,
And a husband with sting-allergy.
Now each trip on the ladder,
To relieve his bladder,
Is a peril, so it’s up to me.

Right here is a new, bee-free ladder,
90 pounds, though, and that is the matter,
For the lift goes awry,
It just falls from the sky,
And it makes Larry’s barbecue flatter.

Now I wish that my friend, Mrs. Bee,
Had drilled out her nest in a tree,
Then she’d still be alive,
And her children would thrive,
And my ladder would be bee-hole free.

In a funny coincidence, we bought a CD on Friday called “A Buzz, A Buzz.” We had discovered a great new alternative band out of Durham called Bombadil. Seattle friends, go see Bombadil at the Tractor Tavern on July 26th!

There’s a man in a white bunny suit,
Motivating by crawl and by scoot,
“Is that Randy, or Larry?”
I inquire of dear Barry,
“It’s not me, so the question is moot!”

I feel guilty, as they do the work,
On my keel, where the barnacles lurk,
Now I know that I must,
As amends for my dust,
Bake them brownies, from scratch, as a perk.

Export department brownies, from the Foodie Gazette.

When they started, their Tyvek was white,
Now they’re muddy and gray, quite a sight.
And the ground is aglitter
With sandpaper litter,
But the hull is now smooth, fair, and right.

We went sailing with our good friend, Dick,
Though his boat isn’t nimble or quick,
She is classy as heck,
Lovely lines, great big deck,
And a schooner! (Yep, more than one stick.)

What a perfect day! A shame we forgot the camera, though.

The story behind this limerick is explained in the essay, “Schooner or Later.”

He could navigate, stand watch, and steer,
And he learned to drink warm rum and beer,
He’s a proper sea cat,
Never seasick! But that
Wasn’t true on the highways, I hear.

Ernie the Cat returned to the boatyard yesterday, after a 2-month cruise to Florida. He did great on the boat, but not so well in the car.

I’m complaining: “This weather is dumb!
“It is March, and now springtime should come!”
When a knock and a shout,
Makes me stick my head out,
“Well, hooray! Here comes Dick! Where’s the rum?”

After a teaser week of spring, we are now freezing! Outdoor temperatures were in the 20’s (Fahrenheit) when Dick arrived today, giving us a welcome respite from work. We enjoyed a warm and toasty gab-fest with tea and bakery-fresh bread, followed by pizza and rum.

There once was a fellow named Ted,
Who had lost all the boats in his shed,
With the Sharpies all gone,
It was time to move on,
Now he’s living in Freedom, instead.

A little context for this one is in order. We were working away on deck last week when I noticed a couple wandering around the boatyard. Then I realized they weren’t ambling aimlessly, they were heading right for us.

That’s how we met Ted and Malla. After a fire destroyed his boat shed in Vermont, Ted bought a Freedom 33 and named her Ocean Gypsy (after one of my favorite songs by Renaissance). He’s been moored in Beaufort for the winter. When he came down the ICW, he noticed us on shore and made a mental note to check out our boat.

We hit it off with these great folks, and a few days later, they invited us aboard Ocean Gypsy for an evening of pizza and stories. I feel better about my boat project now. I don’t just have a boat in the middle of a refit. I have a ticket to the fun, freedom-loving crowd.

Hubby needs something, quick, from below.
So I dash down the ladder, not slow,
Then I trip on a door
That he left on the floor,
“Here’s your tool, but I’ve broken my toe!”

All the houses are decked out in light,
Spreading warm, festive cheer through the night,
But our Flutterby strand,
Is strung up just as planned,
On the inside — so selfish, but bright!

Yesterday, we installed 32 feet of 12V “warm white” LED rope light in Flutterby as our primary cabin lighting. It’s beautiful, efficient, and feels like Christmas! (photos to come when the boat is a little less messy…)

It was crowded, and parking was tight,
When we drove into Beaufort last night,
There were Santas and sleighs,
And a lighthouse with rays,
And the Gilligan crew was a sight.

But our friends from Quebec on the pier,
Say they’re lacking in holiday cheer.
“The parade is quite nice,
“But we’ve seen it now, thrice,
“And we’d like to be elsewhere, not here.”

When I wrote this, I thought it was cute, the fact that our friends from Giva will be out cruising this time next year. However, Val didn’t think the joke was funny, and he asked me to include his comments:

I don’t think it’s funny
Val

I have set my fine shop-vac to “suck,”
But the dust flies around me, amok!
Now I’ve figured it out,
The solution, no doubt,
Is a “blow job” to get it unstuck.

I hate these steep learning curves! I cleaned the boat for four days, but the dust just reappeared. Finally, I attacked the crevices with the vacuum cleaner hose set to “blow” instead of “suck.” What a mess — this got the fiberglass dust out into the air (I was wearing a respirator), but after it settled, I vacuumed it up.

I was down by the water last week,
When I heard a marine mammal speak,
Yes, a dolphin came near,
And he spoke really clear,
But I just cannot translate his squeak.

This really happened to me! I think he was saying something about “Launch that boat and come play with us.” Or maybe, “Where’s the dog food?”

I was thinking today, “Gee, we’re hosed,”
“It is Saturday, Bock’s shop is closed.”
When up came a roar,
From o’er near the store,
And out the ol’ Travelift nosed.

There were Randy and Kenny and Dale,
But the best part to tell of this tale,
Is how Nancy, Ms. Bock,
Had a tube of Life-Caulk,
That we found on the store shelf, for sale.

An advantage to having internet on the boat is that I can now pen limericks about events right when they happen. A disadvantage is that I can now pen these limericks about events that are critically exciting to us and distressingly boring to you, my gentle reader.

(Barry points out another disadvantage — that I can be wasting time writing these limericks instead of installing the hatch.)

There once was a fellow named Dan,
Who lived on a boat on jackstands.
“She leaks like a sieve,
But it’s no way to live,
I would much rather float, if I can.”

Our neighbor, Dan, has been launched twice and subsequently pulled out. Somehow, he keeps a cheerful attitude, despite the delays. His blog is at www.danzplan.com.

“Like a sieve” is my poetic license; his boat is really nice. But if it worked perfectly, we wouldn’t have met him in the boatyard!

There once was a fellow named Larry,
Who, when asked if he’s happy, says, “Very!”
After many a year,
His old high school dear,
Has accepted his offer to marry.

==
Larry is one of my favorite guys here at Bock Marine, and he’s just returned from his honeymoon. Congratulations to the new couple!

I have offered the white bunny suit,
A bite of some nice, tasty fruit,
But in order to grind,
His whole mouth is behind,
Plexiglass, so the question is moot.

===
Says Barry, “I love my 3M 6800 respirator!”

“They tell me,” said good Doctor Freud,
“You’re becoming a bit paranoid,”
“You worry and weep,
“You wail in your sleep,
“That you’ve left a huge fiberglass void.”

It’s true, I’ve become obsessed. I lay awake at night, wondering if the layup I’ve just done will be acceptable to Barry, the Grinding Man. If it’s not, he grinds it out and I try again. Working in a space that’s only a couple of feet wide and a couple of feet high, trying to get the stuff to adhere to surfaces above my head, wearing a respirator and full Tyvek bunny suit, with temperatures over 90, is like working in hell. I must be crazy, but I think it’s worth it.

I am wishing this heat wave would end,
But my far-flung friends don’t comprehend.
Candy says, “Chile’s chilly!”
Nita says, “Fifties, really!”
So I’ll just attach heat and click SEND.

We had to flee the melting heat, so we ducked into an air-conditioned library. While there, two emails came in, one from South America and one from Seattle. Both were complaining about how cold it is, and despite glares from the librarians, we couldn’t stop laughing.

It took four strong men and a crane
To lift out our mizzen and main,
While the girl with red hair
Sat in a green chair,
And worried her poor self insane.

Our new composting head’s a light blue,
And has litter, not water, it’s true.
There’s no need to make haste,
As I bury my waste,
I now say “meee-ow” when I poo.

For more info, visit the Nature’s head website. The litter is actually peat moss, which sure looks like dirt to me.

We slowed and we stopped: We were stuck.
But then came a bit of good luck.
With some help from me,
The tide set us free,
And now we’re in water, not muck.

What are the three kinds of sailors? Those who have gone aground, those who will go aground, and those who lie about it.

Strange names around here are in vogue,
Calibogue is not “Calibog,”
And “Falcon” I get,
But “Rougue” makes me fret,
Should it be “rouge” as red, or just “rogue?”

We had our test sail aboard the Falcon Rougue yesterday, and we’re still in the dark about how the name is pronounced. Is “rougue” a clever play on the red hull, or just a misspelling? Either way, it doesn’t quite rhyme with the place we sailed — Calibogue Sound is pronounced Cal-i-BOGEY.

I went out yesterday on a lovely little 1947 Chris Craft to celebrate the “Opening Day of Boating Season.” Given the limerick below, it’s appropriate that the boat’s name is “Flagrante Delicto.”

There’s a poem that starts out “Hooray,”
And the word that rhymes with it is “May,”
If you know what I mean,
Then I won’t be obscene,
Outdoor boating is what starts today.

My essay last year about Beltane and other early-May holidays even used “Hooray, Hooray, the first of May” as a title…but I never published the rest of the poem.

Well, the masts and the bulkheads all creak,
And the decks have a bit of a leak,
She’s a classic old boat,
And she keeps us a float,
But, goodness! The head sure does reek!

There are so many interesting alternative terms for toilets — “biffy” is a charming Canadian term for a pit toilet. And “head” refers to a toilet aboard a ship. This little ditty is from our crazy adventures in Florida and the Bahamas aboard Vger. The diesel tank vented into a locker in the head compartment, so that part of the boat always reeked … of diesel.

Said the famous explorer, de Gama,
To his proud but befuddled old mama,
“I’ve got spices galore,
Precious jewels, silk, and more,
But I wanted to find Grand Bahama.”

Vasco de Gama was the Portuguese sailor who discovered, in 1497, a sailing route from Lisbon to India. The goodies he brought back made him famous and made Portugal’s King Manuel wealthy.

The Bahamas had actually already been discovered by then, by a much more famous sailor, Christopher Columbus.

It is hard to describe the emotion,
When not 30 feet off–a commotion!
It’s a huge humpback whale,
Fifty feet, nose to tail,
And it’s just us–and him–and the ocean.

Her shape is quite beamy, not narrow
Her mast is as straight as an arrow
With her Cap’n, named Jac
We are glad to be back
Aboard Nereid, now known as Sparrow!

We were glad to meet Jac, face to face
So we signed on as crew for a race
But the gods were unjust
“Around Shaw” was a bust
Of the wind, there was nary a trace

***
Of the 68 boats that started the Around Shaw race, we were among the 63 that did not finish. Still, a bad day racing beats a good day working, any time!

There once was a cruise ship in Hoonah
Whose passengers hated canned tuna
“If we wanted such fare,
“We’d go over there
“And sail with the folks on that schoona’!”

When I read this out loud to the folks on Indigo, it went over like a lead balloon. What, don’t schooner and tuna rhyme?

The truth is, we only ate tuna on Indigo once. And that time, I disguised it so well that Barry later asked me if my tuna salad actually had tuna in it!

The folks from a dozen cruise ships
Paid cabbies and bus drivers tips,
To go to the glacier
And commune with nature –
And be in each others’ film clips.

After so much solitude, sailing up the Inside Passage, we found the tourists in Juneau more interesting than the scenery.

To fix all a boat’s broken gear
Requires more than one engineer
But for ID-ing schist
A geologist
Like Barbara, is great to have here

An older limerick, as yet unpublished, from our cruise up the Inside Passage. We had two engineers (Jim and Barry), one geologist and air quality expert (Barbara), and one writer of lame limericks (me).

The icebergs that clog Tracy Arm
Could do poor Complexity harm
On Sunday: No dice
Although we try twice
But Monday: The third time’s the charm!

Aboard Complexity in Juneau, Alaska:

The crew here is very well fed
We’re feasting on Barb’s homemade bread
And the bear known as Scuppers
Who joins us for suppers
Says this chow surpasses Club Med

We’ve been happy to sail on Complexity
A boat that has no animosity
No yelling or swearing
Just kindness and caring
We give thanks for the Cole’s generosity

A fellow named Scuppers, a Bear
Decided to take Barbara’s dare
So with nothing to grab
He leapt onto a crab
And rode off, looking quite debonair

Here’s a photo of Scuppers, before he disappeared over the horizon:

The crew’s fearing crab deprivation
And suffering mounting frustration
Using cat food for bait
Which the crabs seem to hate
Our skipper can’t catch a crustacean

So I came up with a different plan
Some broccoli and rice in a pan
But then Jim came back in
And was sporting a grin
With a Dungeness crab in each hand