When it rains, it pours.

This week we seem to be struggling with heavy weather. As I drove into work this morning it was raining so hard that my car wasn't only trying to hydroplane in the ruts of the road, it was just trying to hydroplane everywhere. It seemed like the gods were just pouring never ending buckets of water over my car, the wipers couldn't keep up. Add to that, there's a never ending stream of large vehicles that seem all too willing to pass you and hold a position so that their wash is directly hitting your windshield. 100 miles away, the In-Law's house was getting battered. At that time of morning, both of the fur-babies should have been warm, dry, and snoozing comfortably with MIL & FIL, if not with R himself, despite the windows rattling in 70mph winds and driving rain. Sleep well, my sweethearts. I mentally pulled blankets over my sleepers and sent kisses winging their way up the road in the opposite direction and focused on driving.

We're also plagued, luckily, with an overabundance of work. R remains swamped, and the To-Do list is hopping. Everyone in town who seems to know him seems to know which boats he's working with, and who's waiting for what. Meanwhile, we actually have a contract at my regular job, with a short lead time, and the vessel is basically being designed in tandem with it being modeled. Which is hard on me, and yet par for the course. I try to keep a margin between when things must be done and when things are done, because for all the trying, I always end up just barely meeting deadline. I've lost my margin early on, so this week I went into balls-to-the-wall mode to try and regain some margin--because all I know about the near future for my project is how much I don't know about it. It means no home life; I'm only there to sleep.

So as I worked late last night at one shipyard, duking it out with a recalcitrant model, I reflected that 100 miles away--down the same damn highway--my husband was at another shipyard, duking it out with an electrical system. Our to-do lists are formidable, and we're scrambling to knock things off, although one of us has things to model, and the other of us has things to wire. Our situations are similar--one of us is waiting on parts, one of us is waiting on drawings. And the response to that is similar--you do everything you can on everything else, even if it's more difficult to do it without the stuff you're waiting on, and get everything organized to do the rest of your job as quickly as possible when your stuff comes in. Our deadlines are similar, homing in on mid-December, whether it has to do with crab biology, or economic and manhours factors. Our work ethics are similar--get up, go to work, work work work work work work work work, find food, work work work work work work work work, drive home hoping you don't fall asleep before you get there, drop clothes on the floor, and crash.

He called last night, as I was working on a piece of bilge plating, to update me on the firing of a main engine. I snickered when he said he was only stopping for 10 minutes to hit the grocery store up for food. I was nibbling on my own dinner--the only meal I was going to get for the day.

Innocent bystanders don't seem to get it. "Why do you agree to this? This is insane. You don't REALLY need to do this, do you? How can you keep this up?" Industry regulars say: "Hurry the F up." It's a hard industry, and if you're not doing everything you can to make your customers (or employers) happy, you're not going to get the next contract. At least, when I talk to my husband, it is a relief to talk to someone who understands. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, lead times getting longer, bosses and captains wanting things earlier, planning the project out to go as smoothly as possible, prioritizing your to-do's to keep everyone else around you able to move forward on their own to-do's. Different, but very much the same.

That Thanksgiving and Christmas are looming, is merely background noise and background guilt. When I get a moment to think about it, which is rare, the should-be's start. I should be going home. I should be getting my shopping done. I should be helping with food, with cleaning, with, with, with. He likely thinks he should be spending time with me (he informed me today maybe if I packed really warm clothes I could help him this weekend). Mostly, we don't have time to think about anything other than work.

Inexorably, the clock is ticking. I just hope we're making progress fast enough.

WINOS

It's the end of a shift on a particularly horrific workday and I'm nearly in tears about something going on at work. It happens to be an issue involving maturity, intelligence, honesty, and a few other traits (mostly, an issue arising out of the lack of these). In any event, it's affected a major project and several people. And while it once was just a semi-private issue over the last few weeks, it's blown up this week. And after the blow up, it was assumed that things would simmer down, folks would go sit in their respective corners and chill out. Instead, there is an extensive avalanche of kaka continuing to run down the mountain as the depth of the issue is becoming apparent--not because anyone was attempting to investigate--but that folks stumbled on evidence of... well.

In any event. I've been trying so hard and pushing so hard and cajoling so hard. I've been at my wits end for awhile now, trying to keep my personal biases or thoughts or knee-jerk reactions away from the project. And now I feel like it's all been for nothing (not the case, considering much of the project is behind us). . I am unable to put words to how I feel now... I think the only way to put it is, I want to throw a temper tantrum and screech, "I wanna go home!"

I'm thinking of that Bucket Theory, and I know the best way to ignore the water and quit splashing is to start some splashing of my own and go sailing. Unfortunately, the weather is gray and dreary and I have no boat available.

When I was at the Sail for the Cure event, there were a bunch of ladies wearing WINOS shirts. It said, "Women In Need of Sailing." I WANT one of those shirts. That is the kind of day I am having. There needs to be an emergency hotline, where you can call and schedule an emergency sail. There needs to be like a ZipCar of boating.

I imagine a crisply clean boat advancing up to a dock in a cloud of fog, just as you arrive at the pierhead, bedraggled, miserable, wanting, needing sustenance... Perhaps the Flying Dutchwoman, and a gal or two or three on board, and your pup is already with them. They reach out and snap you on board. While you head below to shower away the filth, the boat magically disappears into it's own continuum, and reality is forgotten. Post the greatest shower you've had in your life (or at least the last few months), put on clean comfy clothes, and feel that relieved feeling you get when your hair doesn't look like crap and you smell nice. Perhaps there's a nice savory and healthy snack or meal on a real plate with real tableware at a galley table with a real view, a beverage of your choice, alcoholic or not, cold or hot, while the boat sets sail in a nice breeze. You are not cold, you are not wet, you are not wanting or needing for anything, and you are not needed for anything except perhaps setting the sails and sitting a spell at the helm, only if you feel like it. The destination: catharsis.

I recently saw a bumper sticker. "Humankind. Be both." It resonated. Life is too short to be mired in poop.

On the Art of Splicing

My dad (not R's) was always very careful with his lines, and still is. Chafing gear has always been in place, although what type has changed from time to time. He's switched back and forth between 3-strand twist or Braid-on-Braid (BOB) from time to time, but every few years he gets his new docklines diligently. He's always careful about having fenders out, and the fenders are always attached with thoughtful spliced lines.


When I was little, Dad worked a lot (actually, nothing's changed there either). I only saw him on weekends (every other weekend he was on call) and Wednesday evenings, if we were lucky. He's a doctor, but doesn't fit into the general American stereotype for doctors. Sure, he drives a nice car, but it's a nice 12 year old car. Sure, he lives in a nice house, but it's a house he plans on keeping the rest of his life. There aren't ritzy vacations to Europe, and Mom still cuts coupons and watches for sales like everyone else's Mom. They save money up for big purchases, pay things off as quickly as possible, and believe in insurance.

Anyhow--his late hours sometimes made him cranky, but I liked to watch him, quietly, when he was puttering around on the boat, or in the garage. He had a copy of Harvey Garrett Smith's "Marlinspike Seamanship". It was a hardback with a goldenrod yellow dust jacket. The jacket didn't hold it's color well, and it looked slightly battered then. It looks more battered now. I liked looking through it and used it to learn to make a Monkey's Fist and a Turk's Head. His use of it was more immediately practical--he learned to splice and whip ends from it.


I do remember Dad working with us at night, teaching us how to make ropes off to a cleat. He had a chunk of 2 x 8 board, with a large cleat and a big eyelet to look similar to a chock, and there was a rope that went with this setup. And to Mom's chagrin, it seemed to stay in the living room a lot of the time. We could each belay a line properly as rugrats. When you're taught that young, it is as second nature as breathing--even if you haven't had to do it for a decade.

I also remember Dad splicing. It wasn't something he tried to teach us, but it was something he would take care of, religiously. Rope didn't get put into use without the ends being melted and whipped. Docklines were always neatly spliced if 3-strand twist. He'd buy the BOB's pre-spliced.
I could remember him sitting in his big lawyer office chair in the home office, with one of the funny old cut-glass tumblers half-full of scotch on the rocks on the desk, electrical tape and spools of whipping thread set out, and chunks of new dock-lines, or fender-lines, sorted out for him to splice.

I learned both whipping and splicing from watching him. I still like to pull out a copy of "Marlinspike Seamanship" to get me started on a splice, but those who are familiar with the task know that once you have the first set of tucks, the rest of the work is rather predictable. It turns into a bit of a meditation.


R is not a big splicer or whipper. I have rarely seen him do either. In fact, maybe only once have I seen him splice. I've never seen him whip anything. I think it looks shoddy to just run around with electrical tape, and for a long time I never did anything about his running rigging or docklines. It's his boat, it's his job, even if it irks me to see some taped ends and some fraying ends (and some fraying taped ends). But this last year his docklines for the Hans were looking extremely dubious. To the point that I ordered a massive amount of rope for Christmas for him and his father, along with whipping thread. They were both disturbingly slow to get going on making docklines, and it's getting on towards winter, and all of the weather that brings. FIL even attempted a whipping at one point. He simply wrapped the thread around in a jumble about 20 times, tied it off, and called it good. My mouth twitched and I decided I shouldn't really say anything. So I am now immersed in splicing, and whipping.

To warm up on the whole splicing thing, I got some 3/8" 3-strand twist and made a few practice splices. At one point I took my practice line to the Hans, where it was high-jacked permanently for use as the dinghy painter. The dinghy was towed many miles during our Labor Day weekend run, and the splice held. Uh... not that I was worried or anything.


Then it was time to start on the docklines in earnest. I had researched about rope failures and thought back to what we learned from Hurricane Katrina. 3-strand twist and BOB each have their pro's and con's. I hated how after not-so-long in use 3-strand twist became unpliable. I hated how BOB lost strength quickly as it suffered from abrasion. Chafe gear is obviously important, but it's impossible to guarantee everything is protected at all times. Hurricane Katrina taught us that under cyclical loading, as is seen during storms, BOB failed when the inner and outer layers of strands stretching created friction, heated up, and fused together.

So I had looked at Samson and New England Ropes single braid lines. New England Ropes offers a 12-strand single braid, and Samson offers a 6-strand single braid. Both looked great. I decided these had qualities I wanted, and it was worth a try. A somewhat expensive try, but a try. I spilled the beans on what the big Christmas present would be to my FIL and got his estimate on how much rope would be needed to do the docklines for both boats, and called our favorite chandleries for prices, then placed an order. (We are frequent customers of Englund Marine and Fisheries Supply.)


After obtaining my ASA101, I got a certificate to West Marine for a marlinspike. Seemed like a good thing to have. R had given me a knife for a graduation gift, a beautiful S&W 3" serrated folder. I carry it every day, especially if I'm going to be near the water. But for bandying about on boats, a marlinspike is quite useful. I don't particularly love the WM brand marlinspike I got--it doesn't seem to settle well in my pockets for regular use without making holes in my jeans, and the knife doesn't lock back or stay sharp. But, a marlinspike you have but don't love is better than one you don't even have, so...

I rounded up all of the rope to start my epic splicing adventure, dragging out my other accoutrements. Lighter for melting ends. Water in case I set something on fire with the dang lighter. My good S&W knife for cutting things. The WM marlinspike. A cutting board. Electrical tape--my preferred tape for splicing. The whipping thread. And while I don't have any cut-glass tumblers (just plain ones), or any Glenlivet, I did pour myself a glass of wine and put on a DVD, and put out a pillow for the dog to come nap nearby while I worked.


The instructions for splicing this stuff is fairly straightforward. But the tucks were difficult to actually accomplish for the first part of the splice. Even with the marlinspike. I moved forward at the rate of one splice per movie. Part of the problem was that it was hard to raise an entire strand, nothing more, nothing less, with the marlinspike, in order to pass the strand-to-be-tucked through. Bits of other unwanted strands would get pulled in, or bits of strands that were wanted would get left out. While I think this might have some to do the shape of the marlinspike, I've never used another to be able to say this with certainty. I got to wondering if a pair of hemostats might help, but I didn't have any.

I trudged on with my project in spite and got the first few docklines made. Then took a break from the project while I vacationed with my parents. While I was packing to for the vacation, I happened to be sorting through bags to pick which ones to take, when a crochet needle fell out of one of my totes I frequently use for craft projects. I bent to pick it up and move it to my craft cabinet, when I stopped. It wasn't like a lightbulb went on, so much as a 2x4 whacked me in the head.


Now... what's so different about crochet work than this whole splicing business? Obviously, stitches are not like tucks. But stitches sort of involve tucks. The head of the crochet needle had a pleasing round nose to it. I wonder what would happen if you try to use it to pick up entire strands...?

I passed by the craft cabinet, pulled out my entire collection of needles, big and small, and went over to my splicing project, which was semi-permanently erected at the coffee table in front of the TV. I picked up the rope, and tried passing my largest metal needle under a strand. With far less anguish, the entire strand raised up and slid over the needle. I wiggled the needle to make a bit more room, as though I was making one of my initial tucks with two-strands of my 12-strand rope. Then I slid the marlinspike through to hold the strand, and shoved two strands I had recently trimmed off a finished splice through. The crochet needle had made it easier to pick the entire strands, and not part of others I didn't want. And it had helped widen the area.


"HA! That was easy... DING!" I said to the dog, imitating the office supply store commercials. He cocked his head momentarily, then flicked his ears in annoyance, and went back to staring out the patio windows, on alert for the local tea-cup yorkie, Bear, or the local pug, Dapper Dan, to pass by, so he could hail them noisily and send them packing. I added my size "K" crochet needle to the bundle of tools and supplies I was using for the dockline project, and was actually looking forward to working on the docklines again when I got home.

I returned to my splicing the other night, and sure enough, the eye splice went a fair amount faster with the crochet needle. Despite repeated nosings from the dog, suggesting it was taking too long, it took a fair amount less time and frustration.


I still have a few last docklines to do, and a bunch of lines to whip. The first docklines I had brought back to R, unwhipped. He had taken a rare moment to sit down and do nothing other than watch TV when I settled into a chair nearby, spool of whipping thread in hand. I surreptitiously also brought "Marlinspike Seamanship" with me, and laid it open to the appropriate page, although, once you've whipped maybe one line, you don't need to see the illustrations ever again. I could play home movies in my mind of my Dad whipping line after line in the cockpit of our boat, after all. I was hoping R might learn by watching or viewing the illustration, and maybe he'd pick up the tidy habit. The boat has enough aesthetic issues, being a hurricane damaged restoration-in-progress; the least we could do is smarten up her lines.

He was watching my progress out of the corner of his eye. Originally I suspect he never thought the whipping would stay put. "You need a needle to stick that THROUGH the rope a few times..." he commented. No, not necessary, not if you're whipping tight enough. I start off with a slip knot with a very large loop in it, so that the free end of the starting end of the thread can be pulled to tighten the loop at the end of the whipping, once you've slipped the finish end of the whip through the loop. When I'm ready to stop the whipping and I've slipped the finish end of the thread through my loop, I yank on the start end some, then the finish end some, and the start end again, and so forth, till it's as tight as it will ever be, and the slip knot is a vague hint of a bulge midway down the whipping. Then I trim both tails.


He poked at the finished whipping, quietly inspecting. I was really hoping my little whipping intervention would result in a big breakthrough. I was ready to hand the spool of thread over, with the next dockline, so that he could take a turn, discover how easy it was, and decide he should fix all of the rope ends on his boat.

Instead he looked up and said: "You should really go ahead and do all the rest of the docklines, then whip all the sheets and halyards on the Hans too."


Sigh. Thwarted again. "Okay..."

The Bucket Theory

It seems a Tuesday ago I wasn't wanting to go to MOB/Lifesling practice. I went. It was cancelled. No wind. Went to Target, nearby, instead. :-)

This Tuesday was an even worse day at work. It made last Tuesday look like a walk in the park. I'm not one to throw things, cry, or throw absolute temper tantrums. At close of business that day, as I walked back to my cube, I seriously did a Nolan Ryan wind-up and launched my mechanical pencil into my cube wall (it didn't even make a sound, unfortunately), wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, bat my head against a real wall, throw more things, cry noisily, and stamp my feet. It didn't even seem like the problem was work-related issues, so much as absolute personality issues. (That's really polite, what I felt like at the time is that they were personality defects. But I'm not normal either, so who am I to judge.)

You can spend all day, every day, trying to manage a project, or a process. There are various leadership styles. I tend to think that when you're dealing with a bunch of engineers, it seems like the best bet is to try to understand the way a person works, what they need, want, worry about, wish for, understand, fear, etc... and use that understanding to help folks work together. But whatever my particular brand of leadership is, I was apparently not a Leader, but a Dart Board, on Tuesday.

It was such a filthy, foul day that day that I didn't feel like boating. Or learning something. Or... doing anything but laying on the couch. I ended up taking a shower... some type of ritual to cleanse myself of the Odiousness that was my day. But in my head, I still didn't want to go. In my heart, it was probably the healthiest thing for me.

I got in the car and headed back into town proper to go to MOB practice. And got there in a stupendously fast time--it's a drive that can take me from 40 minutes (late evenings, weekends) to 100 minutes. And when I got out, and it was cool, with a cooling breeze, and there were boats, and life was good. Not insane. And then nice people showed up, and life was even better.

MOB practice: AWESOME. Captain R was great. It deserves a whole separate write-up.

After MOB practice, I walked out with a friend, L, to the parking lot. I was describing my day, how I'd taken a shower to try and wash it off, but even then didn't feel like coming. She explained a theory her father had told her, called the Bucket Theory.

You take a bucket of water, and you splash it around wildly with your hand, churning that water up into utter chaos. You wait 5 minutes, and it's absolutely still. The lesson is, all of your wild thrashing doesn't matter, it's just a waste of energy, so learn to let things go.

Today had some crappy moments again at work again (though not nearly as bad as Tuesday's)... I walked away from it for a few minutes at one point, out to the big dock. And looked at the millions of little capillary waves on the river, and how in the grand scheme of things, their combined behavior really didn't budge the barge docked there one bit.

I'm going to use that Bucket Theory more.

Blasphemy

It was a long Tuesday, and as I was sitting at my cube desk I was thinking that it still had a long ways to go. I had planned to go home, deal with things at the apartment, come back into town proper, head to one of the more difficult to-get-to marinas for a LifeSling practice. But I'd also been up since 0400 on maybe 5 hours of sleep. And frankly, I just wasn't looking forward to going out and playing with boats.

Don't get me wrong. LifeSling is ridiculously important. I am gung-ho going to this practice session and learning about it.

R told me there was really nothing to it, when I told him I really thought we should practice, the two of us. "Nah, we don't need to practice. Don't worry about it." FIL said: "We practice it every time we go crabbing. Think about it." (I take them with a grain of salt. I even take myself with a grain of salt, for that matter.) I decided they had dubious ideas about MOB practice and decided to let the matter settle, slightly, and find a different way to bring it up.

Then last night, when I was about to get in the Radio Flyer to do the Pumpkin Drive, I reminded him of my schedule for the week, which included LifeSling. He opened his trap and said, "Just make sure blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah."

To which I said, "Blah? I thought it was easy."

"Blah-blah-blah-blah. Blah-blah. Just remember blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. Don't blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. If you blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, then blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, so blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. But if it's blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, you'll need to blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah. You see, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah-blah."

"Um.... blah." My heart dropped. This might be more complicated than he previously led me to believe. Turkey.

Given the complications he finally admitted to, I've now been a little edgy all day. That, plus I'm reminding myself all of the little things I forget and beat myself up on, since I'll be on a boat with people I don't know (and who don't know what an absolute ditz I am). "Oh... hey, sorry. Thanks for noticing I decided to jibe and keeping up with the sheets for me. New to the whole jibing scene. Catboater. Sorry. No, not a catamaran. Catboat." (While they think to themselves, "Who did she say she was married to? OMG! What an idiot. Wonder if her husband's that dull...")

MOB procedures are like knowing what to do in the event of a fire drill, a tornado, a hurricane, a... anything. If not more important, and more likely. I am inherently concerned about safety, and what to do if my husband manages to get himself knocked overboard. Most especially, if he's unconscious. Not out of any particular intention on my part to take the fish whomper to his head (momentarily, anyway). Because he's usually quite graceful, I happen to think it'd take a fit of unconsciousness to occur for him to manage to end up in the drink. In any event, if/when this unconscious event occurs it will be (a) dark, (b) morbid weather, (c) the Hans or whichever other vessel will likely be having some kind of dubious issue, (i.e. sinking, broaching, turtling, etc.), (d) all of the above.

If I were the betting type, I'd bet on "d."

So although I have no question in my mind that I desperately need to go, and that this is unbelievably pertinent information that I need in my life, and that no amount of reading about LifeSling is going to replace the actual chance to practice... I'm tired, and nervous, and edgy. And I Do Not Want To Go. I am not terribly excited about anything other than going home and crashing on the futon in some scuzzy old yoga pants and a big tee. I don't think I even feel like reading a book. I definitely don't want to do housework. Or splice docklines--which is a major, major, major need in my life momentarily. (My parents are visiting in two weeks. You know how it is. People the world over worry about their docklines when Mom and Dad come to visit.)

I realize this not-wanting-to-go is pretty blasphemous and I apologize. It involves boats... I always want to go play boat. How could I not want to? Apparently even I have my limits. And for the day, I have reached my quota of boat-ness. Don't I get a break? I do barges or boats every dang day. No more today, please. I could throw a tantrum.

Don't worry, I'll be there at LifeSling. 6pm sharp.

One Year Later...

The tuna fiasco that I've mentioned a time or two happened a year ago this weekend. R's out of town and I needed to get away from the apartment, so I still went to go stay on the boat this weekend.

While I was sitting at the galley table, watching the kids on deck, I decided it was time to publish. I nearly waited--maybe I could add pictures. But I decided, no, just post it. Get it out. Quit waiting. I waited and waited because, frankly, I thought the whole incident was somewhat shameful. Not examples of our brightest planning, or brightest anything.

But to hell with it. No one's perfect. I'm sure there are those who could relate.

So... enjoy... or at least laugh a bit, while you hear a humiliating story.

http://boatbuilderswife.blogspot.com/2011/09/tuna-fiasco-part-1.html

http://boatbuilderswife.blogspot.com/2011/09/tuna-fiasco-part-2.html

http://boatbuilderswife.blogspot.com/2011/09/tuna-fiasco-part-3.html

And if you enjoyed it... please consider putting a few bucks towards an important cause: Sail for the Cure.

http://boatbuilderswife.blogspot.com/2011/09/blog-post.html

Thanks!

The Tuna Fiasco... Part 3

So obviously, I had some issues with this outing. Some meaning lots. Was it a good time to bring issues up directly after the fact? Nah. I think we had to all sleep on it, it was raw. We all needed to go home and lick our wounds personally, mull them over, and philosophize about them privately. Then sort through the issues together. And the longer I slept on it and re-hearsed the situations over in my mind, the more issues I saw with the whole incident. And, the more upset I was.

Responsibilities and the Blame Game

I don't think my husband, or anyone else, for that matter, should be perfect. He'd be quite boring if he was. And no one should be graded so harshly. And, technically, anything I could blame him for he has any and every right to turn around and blame me for. I am his wife, his partner, his other half, his other naval architect/marine engineer. Would he hold me responsible? No. He holds himself responsible for both of us, and holds the boat maintenance as his responsibility. Should he? In his eyes, I'd guess he'd tell himself yes. I'd say maybe yes, and maybe no.

I can see that, in a traditional sense, he should feel that he ought to deem himself responsible for the caretaking of the family, wife and boat/mistress maintenance included. Similar to the fact that I should probably take care of his laundry, keep the apartment and boat interior sparkling, meet him at the door with a drink and some munchies, have a lovely hot dinner available within minutes of him coming in the door, never be annoyed that he ties his shoes by putting his feet on the was-clean-5-seconds-ago-comforter, and in all ways be a regular 1950's housewife. (Do I feel a little guilty that I can't pull that off, yes.) Nice to aspire to in both of our cases, but frankly, it's a bit much to expect us to pull off perfectly, and we don't point out each other's imperfections very often. But, I do have a brain knocking around in my head and to assume that I'm not capable of being quite knowledgable about boat systems is laughable.

Can I come down on myself for not being more knowledgeable about her specifically, spending more time on the boat and with the boat? Yes and no. R still has a lot of systems projects to do on the boat, and as such we've not always spent a lot of time on board. "Um, I'm in the middle of re-wiring the.... so it would be best to just not be on the boat till I get it all sorted out, so that you're not moving stuff and the dogs aren't getting into it." But beyond that, there's nothing stopping me from being on the boat and re-learning what I've forgot about her, and learning more.

Frankly, for a long time, since R got the boat, I viewed her with jealousy. I wasn't involved in the decision to obtain her, it was before we were really together. I utterly adored the Nonsuch, was at home on her, was not homesick for my family on her. The Hans was this "other woman" that I put up with sportingly, helped on, periodically overnighted on, sailed on, because R loved her. When he needed to put all of his month's dock money towards a big fix, I'd spot him. He'd get me back. My feelings towards her: "eh." I was happy to help support his goals, but the Hans was his boat, not really "ours."

But now we're here in Oregon, and there is no Nonsuch... and she and I are probably both frustrated. I'd like time with him, without human interlopers--nothing specific, just time, and if it involves sailing, so much the better. She wants her sails up, her innards back together and miles under her keel with a bone in her mouth. Can two lovely girls work together and get what they want out of the guy at the same time? Quite possible. I'll start spending more time on her. You can't fail to learn some of the boat's systems when being a boatwife. Further, if I'm on the boat, ready to go sailing, when R gets the merest itch to go sailing, well then, he only needs to round up himself and show up.

Is this manipulative of the Hans and I, to be conspiring behind his back? No, I don't think so. No harm to me--I'm happiest on the water and I have no specific real rational complaint about the boat. She's a good boat, the type that'll take care of a crew that takes care of her, definitely not a Wally-world boat. No harm to R either--he's happiest on boats, working and playing on them. If I spend more time on the boat, he'll spend more time there. If he gets around to sorting something out, so much the better. And if not, next time then, and meanwhile he'll have noticed anything out of order. Just being on the boat will do everyone in this love triangle good.

Pre-Flights & Post-Flights

I used to ask R prior to going out, "Did you remember to..." or "Do we have..." and he can get a little snippy--especially if he's tired--we both have ridiculous sleep schedules these days. I tend to quit asking questions to avoid the crankitude. That's wrong. He might be in charge of everyone, but I'm still responsible for me (and as a wife I feel responsible for him), and if anything happens to him, I'm probably the next person left. I need to know what's up. That means not standing down if he gets his dander up. If he's tired and cranky, I just need to be creative in how I get my answers.

When I was very little, My Dad had a set routine. He actually had what amounted to his "pre-flight checklist" and "post-flight checklist"--a holdover from when he flew Cessna's as a hobby. The lists are laminated cards in the boat. He still uses them. But we each had assigned duties. The crew was the same on each voyage, however. Big Sis would handle the sailcover. I would handle the handrail covers, steering wheel cover, and instrument covers. Little Brother would please stay out of the way, and check that he had his Hot Wheels and Cheeto Puffs and coloring book.

If R's been working on one system or another, he may request that I let him handle certain things. We also share gear/tools/etc. between the family boats, or the shop from time to time. This makes a checklist a bit more complicated, but perhaps still do-able.

Safety Plan

One thing we may also want to work on is a Safety Plan. Big ships are required to have one posted--and it's not a bad idea for little ones--it's a sketch of the boat that shows where all of your required and spare safety equipment is. Posted in a prominent location, it's a nice thing to show guests in case they can't remember where, say, the bandaids are, or the horn is.

Confidence

While I know plenty about boats, and I've been sailing since I was 2, the majority of my sailing has always been on a catboat. Under sail I didn't feel like I was comfortable handling the Hans alone. I've never been out sailing alone, but all it takes is one dubious hiccup from the engine room and suddenly R's below and I'm skippering a really big boat I'm not entirely comfortable with maneuvering, really because we haven't had a lot of sailing time on the boat. And it didn't matter what boat I was on with R, I was always lowest on the totem pole if FIL was available, even if FIL knew not much about sailing, but plenty about running a powerboat.

For my own part, I wanted boat time for my own confidence. And I wanted it away from the guys in my life. And perhaps all guys. I'd had training for man overboard situations on big ships, but not on little boats. I wanted to prove to myself that I knew what I thought I knew, first. With that under my belt, I'd have no reason to keep taking a seat when in reality there were times I'd rather be taking a stand. It wasn't much fun for me. R would always be Captain and I would always acquiece to any demand or command he gave me; I'd actually agreed to obey when we said our vows and I'd meant it. But that vow was only to him, and I didn't care to be lowest man in the food chain on my own boat. I was pretty certain that in many ways I didn't deserve that.

When the boat show rolled around in January, I ran into a brokerage that also ran ASA classes. They offered a women's only ASA 101, and I signed up for the first one of the 2011 season, the first two weekends in May. I'd get boat time, practice, some time to sharpen my skills and practice with a sloop, and we'd gain contacts in the sailing community. I'd come out with a shiny certificate and a discount on our insurance.

ASA 101

When class time rolled around I was nervous. With the exception of ye odd silversmithing class, I haven't been in school in a few years now. Meanwhile, my husband had crossed the bar the day before on a customer's boat and was somewhere out on the Ocean. I'd slept, but not well, and I'd eaten, but not well. I was somewhat of a basketcase, because the trusty SPOT, which wouldn't transmit if R was below deck, hadn't been transmitting it's regular signals every 10 minutes for... oh... more than 12 hours. Which meant he was below deck most likely. So, he was maybe hurt or sick, but not so badly as to warrant emergency attention. Emergency or not, just because I didn't think it was an emergency, didn't mean my head was more with a boat 100 miles away than the 17' Hunter I found myself at the helm of.

At the same time, this unease made me doubly determined: with R beginning to collect offshore time, it was proof he was serious that we would be doing some offshore cruising. We would both need to trust me more before we could do that ourselves. We were each making steps in the right direction right that very moment for our goals. I knew I'd need to follow up and get more sailing time afterwards, perhaps even without R.

There was one other girl signed up for the class, N. D was our instructor. N and her husband owned a Beneteau 37, so we were both looking to become more comfortable on fairly similarly sized vessels. We went through basic parts of the boat, some basic knots, some safety, and found ourselves on the water, furling and unfurling jibs.

A few particular incidents stick out in my mind. The instructor was demonstrating docking along an abandoned dock. During the demonstration the outboard quit, but we had just pulled up to the dock. With the raging river current running past us, and no docklines out, just fenders, I didn't see any reason we would stay put. I'd always viewed outboards with unease--R's got a few around that know he's the boss but understand they can pull plenty of misbehavior on me. My experience was, getting the outboard started could take a few minutes--and if we didn't have a few minutes to get it started, it might be beneficial to be tied off, lest we float into other docks.

"Would you like docklines out?" I asked, ready to dig into the cuddy, after watching several pulls on the starter.

"Um... no." the instructor said. The outboard finally decided to start, and she added... "If this were your Hans Christian and R said no to that question, what would you do?"

"Nothing. He said no. He's the Captain. It's not a good time to quibble. Be ready for whatever he does ask me to do, and keep a look out. Deal with the situation first, then if I want to know why he answered the way he did so I can understand, I'll ask."

"OK. Good. That's fine." I wasn't sure whether to expect a blistering harangue for not saying something more feminist, but I was completely honest. To hear her say "Good" was a relief, and reassuring. And she would tell both N and I during the class repeatedly how well we were doing.

Over the 4 day course we practiced tacks, jibes, anchoring, docking, heaving to, and most importantly: Man Overboard. This consisted of the usual cushion (cue the reminder about most drowning victims being found with their zippers down). D would toss it overboard, and we would use the figure 8 method, approaching Peeing Paul the Cushion on a beam reach, the helmsman on the lee, catching their cushion. The only brakes available were the mainsail sheet; the jib was ignored entirely--if we had to rescue someone on our own, just focus on the main. Assuming Peeing Paul has a life jacket on and stays on the surface, I can get there.

The class was awesome. I have been on sailboats that small rarely, and it was pretty exciting to get her scooting. She worked on us about what makes us uncomfortable, what worries us on our own boats, what our issues are. I panic over outboards. I can handle heeling, but sudden heels do make me scramble on boats I don't know. I was very uncomfortable about jibing, being catboat raised, and I don't do terribly well with a tiller. If I let a situation get the better of me, I lose control entirely. Not anything I didn't know.

Did I learn a ton... yes and no. I re-inforced what I already knew in my head and had done before on a few other boats. In a situation where I was forced to be in charge, and there wasn't some guy hovering near to try to relieve me. It was a relief and a confidence booster. I expect I'll be taking more ASA classes in the future.

SeaBags

R likes to keep my life jacket in the Hans. Which means that if we are at the shop and suddenly need to go help someone, I have to use a dork-jacket without my whistle, that isn't all pre-set for me. Sure, something's better than nothing--but I want my PFD. That's why he got it for me, isn't it? It's one more thing to chase down when we plan to go fishing randomly. I've barfed, napped, sailed, fished, studied, got burnt to a crisp, and barfed some more... I've done everything in my PFD. It's Mine. Pretty much an extension of me. I'm used to it enough that I don't really remember it's there--even though it's the heavy one rated for offshore with the D-rings.

My instructor's convinced me. Keep it with me. Put it in a bag with the other stuff I want. Hat, gloves, knives, Bullfrog, extra sweater and cold weather gear, glasses, copies of certifications/licenses/documents/and a list of medications. Some basic first aid stuff. Two bottles of water and some snacky-treats that are human and dog-friendly. If I store the little stuff in a ziplock box, the box doubles as a bowl for the dogs on the run. I can't tell you how many times having one of those ziplock boxes available has helped me, or some random dog owner out. They're inexpensive, and I don't mind giving one to a stranger with a toasty dog.

Systems Issues

One issue that was probably embarrassing for R, and upsetting to FIL and I, were the VHF and nav light issues.

I decided to take matters into my own hands as far as the lights were concerned. I ordered fixtures for the lights we didn't have or needed replacements to. And new lights from Bebi. I even ordered a special light to be installed in the dodger, with white and red, and dimmer switches. When everything is finally installed (R's still having to fight for a few minutes on the boat at a time) we can turn all the lights on and light up like a Christmas tree. The missing transom light is installed on the hard dodger. Out of splash-range, for the most part, and aft of the backstay.

The VHF is an issue we're still working on. I think after the next haulout we'll be doing better. We've got the handheld and as long as it stays in the aft end of the cockpit away from the main VHF, they don't interfere with eachother.

Float Plans

Lastly, but not leastly... I'd like to work on having some float plans available for each of the boats that we take out, and keeping them in a binder that has the appropriate information available so that if someone needs to call in that we're having an emergency, they have all the information at hand they need to get on the phone with the Coast Guard and answer every question the Coast Guard could come up with. I came upon this generic one to start from, so I'm sharing it here. http://www.floatplancentral.org/

Finally...

While we're never going to be perfect, I think the tuna fiasco forced us to each think harder about being more careful this year. I felt and saw improvements, and I wish we had more time on our own boats to see more.