Complain, Complain, Complain
Dawn's brother, Duane, Dawn and high school buddy Mike
First of all, the retractions.
Yesterday I misspelled Duane's name. I sincerely apologize. Your sister has dutifully pointed out the error of my ways to me.
Next, a big apology to Margaret Snell. I said I was going to try building a SWAI (Simple Wild Assed Invention) to fix my fresh water problem. I was wrong. Margaret invented them and they are called WACs (Wild Assed Contraptions). I first learned of WACs when Ron and Margaret were crusing with me in the San Juan Islands and she fixed a leak for me with a trash bag and duct tape.
As a matter of fact, Margaret carries a roll of purple duct tape with her where ever she goes. Just in case . . . It's her trade mark.
Lastly, I owe an apology to Dawn. I keep telling her she should read my blog, that I'm saying wonderful things about her. Last night she caught up on the blog and said "Where are the wonderful things about me?"
I guess they are hidden between the lines. Yes, I told you about how she scrapes, sands and paints. How she works her tail off, even when I'm too hurting to go in to work, she goes without me and puts in a full day. I don't remember the last time she took a day off.
But what I don't tell you about is the way she cares for me. She always has my back. When we get home at night, we're both too tired to move, but somehow she manages to shower and get dinner going. When leg cramps wake me up in the middle of the night, she massages my legs forever, losing her own sleep.
She is always there to encourage me when things get tough. I don't think I could have brought the Victory back to life without her.
So my apology to Dawn. I should say more wonderful things about you.
Now that those painful admissions are over, let's get on with our story.
Yesterday I misspelled Duane's name. I sincerely apologize. Your sister has dutifully pointed out the error of my ways to me.
Next, a big apology to Margaret Snell. I said I was going to try building a SWAI (Simple Wild Assed Invention) to fix my fresh water problem. I was wrong. Margaret invented them and they are called WACs (Wild Assed Contraptions). I first learned of WACs when Ron and Margaret were crusing with me in the San Juan Islands and she fixed a leak for me with a trash bag and duct tape.
As a matter of fact, Margaret carries a roll of purple duct tape with her where ever she goes. Just in case . . . It's her trade mark.
Lastly, I owe an apology to Dawn. I keep telling her she should read my blog, that I'm saying wonderful things about her. Last night she caught up on the blog and said "Where are the wonderful things about me?"
I guess they are hidden between the lines. Yes, I told you about how she scrapes, sands and paints. How she works her tail off, even when I'm too hurting to go in to work, she goes without me and puts in a full day. I don't remember the last time she took a day off.
But what I don't tell you about is the way she cares for me. She always has my back. When we get home at night, we're both too tired to move, but somehow she manages to shower and get dinner going. When leg cramps wake me up in the middle of the night, she massages my legs forever, losing her own sleep.
She is always there to encourage me when things get tough. I don't think I could have brought the Victory back to life without her.
So my apology to Dawn. I should say more wonderful things about you.
Now that those painful admissions are over, let's get on with our story.
Flying the mizzen stays'l
Saturday March 23rd 2013 – Ensenada
A week or so ago a reader commented that I shouldn’t whine so much. If I stopped complaining about my aches and pains and just got to work, I’d get done a lot sooner. I do not know this person personally, but I’m grateful they’re reading.
We are all entitled to our opinions, but my aches and pains are defining my life right now. I wouldn’t mention this again, except that I had a couple of unusual experiences that I have to tell you about.
First of all, the napalm. Those of you my age will remember napalm from Viet Nam. Well, they sell it here in stores in plastic bottles and squeeze tubes like toothpaste tubes on steroids. For those of you too young to remember Viet Nam, napalm is the jellied gasoline that we dropped in bombs on the Viet Cong.
Anyway, the prevalent firewood here is olive. I’m used to the fir and alder of the Northwest and olive seems a particularly nasty wood to me. First of all, it doesn’t have a straight grain, so we have small to large twisted balls of wood. Then it doesn’t want to start. I’ve had nights where I was so tired that I just gave up on the fire and let it burn itself out because I couldn’t keep it going.
Ok, now switch to last Tuesday. After a night with four hours of sleep, a trip to San Diego, then a full day of working on the boat, I was dead. Almost literally. I fought and fought with the fire and couldn’t get it to stay lit. Finally, in frustration, I grabbed the bottle of napalm and squirted it on the fire.
You know what happens when you splash gasoline on a burning fire? The napalm caught fire immediately and I didn’t have time to stop squeezing the tube. The fire traveled up the stream of napalm to the bottle and it exploded in my hand.
There was a loud explosion and a blinding flash. For a moment, I couldn’t see anything, then as my vision returned I noticed that my hand was on fire.
It was eerie. It reminded me of the Dr. Strange comic books where the antagonists are casting spells back and forth at each other. My hand literally danced with fire. The fire wasn't so much on my hand, my flesh wasn't burning, as it was around my hand. My hand was encased in fire.
I waved it in the air and the fire went away, but not the burn.
Having been through a bad burn before, I high-tailed it for the bathroom.
“What can I do?” Dawn screamed.
“Get me a bowl to soak my hand in.”
I put my hand under the running stream of cold water and waited for the bowl. Dawn came running with a large mixing bowl full of ice. I immersed my hand and filled it with water.
Boy was it cold. But cold was better than burning. After ten or fifteen minutes, I took my bowl and returned to the living room. I have to say that Dawn was very gentle in her berating of my stupidity. She has decided that I’m not allowed to play without adult supervision any more.
The good news is that the treatment worked. I kept my hand immersed all evening and in the morning, although it still hurt a little, I had no scars or burning. It was tender to the touch for several days.
So, remember kids: don’t play with fire.
Now fast forward to Wednesday.
The Baja Naval guys discovered the origin of the little leak on the keel. There is a compartment under the floor boards in the forward cabin that was filled with water.
When the boat flooded, it must have filled the compartment with water. It never occurred to me to lift the floor boards and look in the compartment after the accident.
Apparently, we made a crack in the hull when we hit the rock and the water was ever so slowly working its way down the concrete and coming out the little hole in the keel. It’s not a structural problem, just a leak problem.
I had forgotten how big the compartment is. We pumped almost fifty gallons of water out of it. Then we had to wait for several days for everything to dry.
The yard guy (Pedro, I think) patched the hole in the keel. I asked him to seal the bottom of the compartment as well so water couldn’t get in from either side.
While we were waiting for the hull to dry, we had the floor boards open. The compartment was totally dry but still we were getting a leak.
Pedro opened the bilge in front of the forward head and sure enough, there were a couple of gallons of water in there. He pumped it out and left the floorboards up for it to dry.
I made sure to caution Dawn about moving around in the boat with all the floor boards up. (I had the floor boards in the galley and the aft cabin up repairing bilge pumps.)
It was the end of the day and I was exhausted. I was putting away my toys in preparation for going home. I had my arms full and was looking into the forward cabin to decide where to put the stuff. I wasn’t looking at the deck. Why should I? The deck was always there.
A week or so ago a reader commented that I shouldn’t whine so much. If I stopped complaining about my aches and pains and just got to work, I’d get done a lot sooner. I do not know this person personally, but I’m grateful they’re reading.
We are all entitled to our opinions, but my aches and pains are defining my life right now. I wouldn’t mention this again, except that I had a couple of unusual experiences that I have to tell you about.
First of all, the napalm. Those of you my age will remember napalm from Viet Nam. Well, they sell it here in stores in plastic bottles and squeeze tubes like toothpaste tubes on steroids. For those of you too young to remember Viet Nam, napalm is the jellied gasoline that we dropped in bombs on the Viet Cong.
Anyway, the prevalent firewood here is olive. I’m used to the fir and alder of the Northwest and olive seems a particularly nasty wood to me. First of all, it doesn’t have a straight grain, so we have small to large twisted balls of wood. Then it doesn’t want to start. I’ve had nights where I was so tired that I just gave up on the fire and let it burn itself out because I couldn’t keep it going.
Ok, now switch to last Tuesday. After a night with four hours of sleep, a trip to San Diego, then a full day of working on the boat, I was dead. Almost literally. I fought and fought with the fire and couldn’t get it to stay lit. Finally, in frustration, I grabbed the bottle of napalm and squirted it on the fire.
You know what happens when you splash gasoline on a burning fire? The napalm caught fire immediately and I didn’t have time to stop squeezing the tube. The fire traveled up the stream of napalm to the bottle and it exploded in my hand.
There was a loud explosion and a blinding flash. For a moment, I couldn’t see anything, then as my vision returned I noticed that my hand was on fire.
It was eerie. It reminded me of the Dr. Strange comic books where the antagonists are casting spells back and forth at each other. My hand literally danced with fire. The fire wasn't so much on my hand, my flesh wasn't burning, as it was around my hand. My hand was encased in fire.
I waved it in the air and the fire went away, but not the burn.
Having been through a bad burn before, I high-tailed it for the bathroom.
“What can I do?” Dawn screamed.
“Get me a bowl to soak my hand in.”
I put my hand under the running stream of cold water and waited for the bowl. Dawn came running with a large mixing bowl full of ice. I immersed my hand and filled it with water.
Boy was it cold. But cold was better than burning. After ten or fifteen minutes, I took my bowl and returned to the living room. I have to say that Dawn was very gentle in her berating of my stupidity. She has decided that I’m not allowed to play without adult supervision any more.
The good news is that the treatment worked. I kept my hand immersed all evening and in the morning, although it still hurt a little, I had no scars or burning. It was tender to the touch for several days.
So, remember kids: don’t play with fire.
Now fast forward to Wednesday.
The Baja Naval guys discovered the origin of the little leak on the keel. There is a compartment under the floor boards in the forward cabin that was filled with water.
When the boat flooded, it must have filled the compartment with water. It never occurred to me to lift the floor boards and look in the compartment after the accident.
Apparently, we made a crack in the hull when we hit the rock and the water was ever so slowly working its way down the concrete and coming out the little hole in the keel. It’s not a structural problem, just a leak problem.
I had forgotten how big the compartment is. We pumped almost fifty gallons of water out of it. Then we had to wait for several days for everything to dry.
The yard guy (Pedro, I think) patched the hole in the keel. I asked him to seal the bottom of the compartment as well so water couldn’t get in from either side.
While we were waiting for the hull to dry, we had the floor boards open. The compartment was totally dry but still we were getting a leak.
Pedro opened the bilge in front of the forward head and sure enough, there were a couple of gallons of water in there. He pumped it out and left the floorboards up for it to dry.
I made sure to caution Dawn about moving around in the boat with all the floor boards up. (I had the floor boards in the galley and the aft cabin up repairing bilge pumps.)
It was the end of the day and I was exhausted. I was putting away my toys in preparation for going home. I had my arms full and was looking into the forward cabin to decide where to put the stuff. I wasn’t looking at the deck. Why should I? The deck was always there.
The forward cabin becomes our staging area
Well, not this time. I stepped into the bilge and fell four feet into the hole. One leg was in the bilge, the other in the forward cabin. I was painfully spread eagled. I smashed my right arm and wrist as I fell, trying to grab a hold of something.
I remember thinking as I fell that this was it. I was going to break my leg and our trip would be over. Fortunately, I didn’t break anything. But man, did I hurt.
My back, which has never fully recovered from being broken back in ’97, is torturing me. My right knee is swollen up like a basketball and is tender to the touch. It hurts too. My right shoulder and chest ache from the strain of trying to take my (substantial) weight. I have scrapes on my arm.
I was in pretty sad shape.
Dawn reminds me that we have matching bruises and aches and pains. She fell into the same bilge when I had the floor boards up a couple of weeks ago.
However, the job must be done. "What," I asked myself, "would Papa do?" Of course, he’d get up and go to work the next day. “The best cure for aches and pains is to go to work and forget about them,” he often told me.
I did go in. I put in a hard day at the salt mines despite the aches and pains. While I was busy, I didn’t notice or think about them too much, but when the day was over, man did they come back. I dosed myself liberally with pain killers and didn’t sleep much that night. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I fell in the bilge.
Friday I got up and reported for duty again. This time I spent half the day running around Ensenada looking for parts to complete the installation of my new water filtration system. Sitting in the car, driving around town was not good for me. By the time I got home, I was dying.
Now we are at Saturday. I’m telling you about all of my aches and pains to justify my actions today. I got up, made coffee and wrote for a few minutes. Then it was time to get going.
I just couldn’t. Moving around was just too painful, so I decided to take the day off. I did go into town to look for the parts I couldn’t find yesterday, but then I came home and watched the Mariners lose and the Ducks blow out St. Louis.
I know I need to be on the boat working, but I just couldn’t make it today. The clock is ticking. We’re launching the boat early next week and I have crew arriving on the 28th. There are things that just have to get done. But I couldn’t do them today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel well enough to go in.
There, I did it. To my anonymous reader who says I complain too much, I’m sorry. I just had to rationalize why I’m taking a day off when there’s so much to be done.
I remember thinking as I fell that this was it. I was going to break my leg and our trip would be over. Fortunately, I didn’t break anything. But man, did I hurt.
My back, which has never fully recovered from being broken back in ’97, is torturing me. My right knee is swollen up like a basketball and is tender to the touch. It hurts too. My right shoulder and chest ache from the strain of trying to take my (substantial) weight. I have scrapes on my arm.
I was in pretty sad shape.
Dawn reminds me that we have matching bruises and aches and pains. She fell into the same bilge when I had the floor boards up a couple of weeks ago.
However, the job must be done. "What," I asked myself, "would Papa do?" Of course, he’d get up and go to work the next day. “The best cure for aches and pains is to go to work and forget about them,” he often told me.
I did go in. I put in a hard day at the salt mines despite the aches and pains. While I was busy, I didn’t notice or think about them too much, but when the day was over, man did they come back. I dosed myself liberally with pain killers and didn’t sleep much that night. Come to think of it, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since I fell in the bilge.
Friday I got up and reported for duty again. This time I spent half the day running around Ensenada looking for parts to complete the installation of my new water filtration system. Sitting in the car, driving around town was not good for me. By the time I got home, I was dying.
Now we are at Saturday. I’m telling you about all of my aches and pains to justify my actions today. I got up, made coffee and wrote for a few minutes. Then it was time to get going.
I just couldn’t. Moving around was just too painful, so I decided to take the day off. I did go into town to look for the parts I couldn’t find yesterday, but then I came home and watched the Mariners lose and the Ducks blow out St. Louis.
I know I need to be on the boat working, but I just couldn’t make it today. The clock is ticking. We’re launching the boat early next week and I have crew arriving on the 28th. There are things that just have to get done. But I couldn’t do them today. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel well enough to go in.
There, I did it. To my anonymous reader who says I complain too much, I’m sorry. I just had to rationalize why I’m taking a day off when there’s so much to be done.