We acquired another boat.
She was free.
She looked to be in similar shape as my catboat once was.
But she was afloat.
We had to move said "she."
100 miles.
Downriver.
THE Columbia River
In the rain.
And the wind.
In the wind and the rain.
And the rain and the wind.
And so it was wet and cold.
And cold and wet.
And we made it 75 miles, probably.
With 25 left for R to go.
Alone. In the worst section.
Unless someone wishes to crew.
In the worst section.
Mostly as movable ballast and relief helmsman.
Because, fortunately, I have to be at work.
I say fortunately, because it was wet and cold.
And cold and wet.
News at 11. Or whenever I quit feeling like I got ran over by a barge and can feel my hands and feet again.
