I’ve been a bit of a no show lately. We’ve had company and the distraction of our new boat that arrived at the dock last Tuesday all the way from Newfoundland.
I always thought a yacht was a large, luxury vessel, a swanky, rich man’s toy, but the dictionary reads that it’s any boat, large or small of power or sail. Although the word yacht has a pretentious and boastful ring, who argues with Websters? So the Littles now have a yacht moored in Mahone Bay harbour and let me tell you, it’s the best thing since sliced bread with peanut butter and chocolate sprinkles.
The boat represents an introduction into a different life style. I feel as if I’ve been reborn as a water nymph, or maybe that’s a reberth, ha! I’ve been caught up in a vortex of bliss and having the time of my life, wired from the adrenalin rush of being on the water, the wind in my thinning hair. The fresh air is exhilarating and I’m so tired by the end of the day sleep comes on like a freight train. I would prescribe sailing as the perfect medicine for insomnia!
It’s not all glamour. I’ve been cleaning and polishing like a shine addict. The boat is filthy. On the whole everything looked normal but under and behind every locker and surface is a disaster! I lifted the floor grate in the galley last evening and almost fainted from the unexpected black grunge. I've cleaned disasters in my day but this is a supersized, pig sty. I could have used a trowel to scrape out the myriad of dirt. I don't think the poor thing was ever thoroughly cleaned. My poor little boat! By the time I’m finished my elbow grease will have scoured, polished and waxed every square inch of her beamy beauty.
We’ve had company until yesterday when we took them to the airport. It was sad to see them go, never before have I been so pampered. All I had to do was hint at something and it was done. Men were falling over themselves offering to help and I allowed them to wait on me, giving purpose to their day. I grew accustomed to seeing the backsides of men at the sink, washing and drying the dishes and tidying the kitchen. To some this may be as rare as a Bigfoot sighting, but it was a regular occurrence for the all too short week.
Hubby’s brother Terry was part of the crew that brought the boat home and I joked I’d like to adopt him, but alas, he has a wife and lots of grand-kids to go home too and I can’t compete with that. If you look up Terry in the dictionary it would say, “Smart, funny, delightfully domestic and willingly helpful”. He even piled our firewood!” Come and stay anytime.....please!...... really, when are you coming back?
There were four guys, hubby of course, his bro Terry Little who lives in Whitefish, Ontario. Peter Redden is a good bud that lives down the road and Tom Folkers came all the way from Mexico anxious to embark on a bit of male bonding and the thrill of a lifetime voyage and adventure.
And what an adventure it was. Even with a mishap or two, they managed to arrive home in record breaking time, two days before their projection. They arrived whiskery and salty to the bone, all smiles to be home in the land of sun and warmth considering while sailing the coast of Newfoundland to the Bras d’Or Lakes they wore winter coats, hats and gloves.
When pulling all-nighters, they worked in four hour shifts, one guy at the helm and one on watch all day and night. Hubby called it delivery mode, not sightseeing and dallying. When the winds were about 10 knots they killed the engine and sailed, anything under that they motor sailed. A few times they stopped at a marina along the way to refuel, pick up supplies and grab showers if a facility was available then moor for the night. St. Pierre Miquelon was a planned stop. Hubby and Peter had been there before on the Halifax to St. Pierre sailing race but Terry and Tom hadn’t so it was a must see on the way. It was the beginning of the tourist season so there wasn’t much happening; they dined on French cuisine and eager to get going set sail for the next leg of the journey.
It was a long trip for the wives. I’m a pro at being alone but the other gals found the time dragged being without their better halves. That didn’t mean I wasn’t bothered though…the excitement of having our boat home, so I could check her out and reap the rewards of her purpose made it difficult.
Catalyst II is her name and although I’m not totally enamoured with the cutesie cat inference and decal around the lettering, it’s growing on me. The boat we have is a Nonsuch, a catboat design that has the mast in the bow, making more room below in the cabin. That’s the reason a lot of Nonsuch boats have feline referenced names. I can live with it. It’s unique. Meow.....
The guys arrived home safe and sound, smelling of the sea and diesel fuel, sporting scruffy beards and tired bodies but what a sight for our sore eyes. Mary and I rushed to the wharf with her pup Ruby in tow. I’m not sure who Pete was the happiest to see, his wife or the excited pup. Spinning like a top, her tail created a breeze as it wagged for daddy. I left my pack home to meet hubby at the door later because it was a time for the adults to gather and toast this joyful homecoming. There were ten of us in the cockpit raising a cheer of rum, the traditional drink of the seafarer.
I didn’t waste any time checking out our new toy. We had purchased her sight unseen which is risky business. Hubby’s work schedule coincided with the time needed to do the inspection and then winter set in to bury the boat under snow. We worried that the boat was misrepresented and not in the shape reported because we’d been down that road before. A sleazy thing some boat owners do is advertise pictures of the boat when they purchased it, so the wear and tear they piled on is a shock when you see the actual vessel. We were resigned to the fact that whatever was wrong could be fixed but hoped she was as well-kept as we were told. The surveyor said she was in good shape so as long as he wasn’t the seller’s best friend we had to take his word for it. Overall we are over the moon. There is a thorough cleaning needed and some minor cosmetics and a few parts have to be updated but she’s the boat we hoped for. I’m now in love with another inanimate object. I smile when I drive by and see her bobbing up and down on the mooring. That’s excitement to see me!
I always thought a yacht was a large, luxury vessel, a swanky, rich man’s toy, but the dictionary reads that it’s any boat, large or small of power or sail. Although the word yacht has a pretentious and boastful ring, who argues with Websters? So the Littles now have a yacht moored in Mahone Bay harbour and let me tell you, it’s the best thing since sliced bread with peanut butter and chocolate sprinkles.
The boat represents an introduction into a different life style. I feel as if I’ve been reborn as a water nymph, or maybe that’s a reberth, ha! I’ve been caught up in a vortex of bliss and having the time of my life, wired from the adrenalin rush of being on the water, the wind in my thinning hair. The fresh air is exhilarating and I’m so tired by the end of the day sleep comes on like a freight train. I would prescribe sailing as the perfect medicine for insomnia!
It’s not all glamour. I’ve been cleaning and polishing like a shine addict. The boat is filthy. On the whole everything looked normal but under and behind every locker and surface is a disaster! I lifted the floor grate in the galley last evening and almost fainted from the unexpected black grunge. I've cleaned disasters in my day but this is a supersized, pig sty. I could have used a trowel to scrape out the myriad of dirt. I don't think the poor thing was ever thoroughly cleaned. My poor little boat! By the time I’m finished my elbow grease will have scoured, polished and waxed every square inch of her beamy beauty.
We’ve had company until yesterday when we took them to the airport. It was sad to see them go, never before have I been so pampered. All I had to do was hint at something and it was done. Men were falling over themselves offering to help and I allowed them to wait on me, giving purpose to their day. I grew accustomed to seeing the backsides of men at the sink, washing and drying the dishes and tidying the kitchen. To some this may be as rare as a Bigfoot sighting, but it was a regular occurrence for the all too short week.
Hubby’s brother Terry was part of the crew that brought the boat home and I joked I’d like to adopt him, but alas, he has a wife and lots of grand-kids to go home too and I can’t compete with that. If you look up Terry in the dictionary it would say, “Smart, funny, delightfully domestic and willingly helpful”. He even piled our firewood!” Come and stay anytime.....please!...... really, when are you coming back?
There were four guys, hubby of course, his bro Terry Little who lives in Whitefish, Ontario. Peter Redden is a good bud that lives down the road and Tom Folkers came all the way from Mexico anxious to embark on a bit of male bonding and the thrill of a lifetime voyage and adventure.
And what an adventure it was. Even with a mishap or two, they managed to arrive home in record breaking time, two days before their projection. They arrived whiskery and salty to the bone, all smiles to be home in the land of sun and warmth considering while sailing the coast of Newfoundland to the Bras d’Or Lakes they wore winter coats, hats and gloves.
When pulling all-nighters, they worked in four hour shifts, one guy at the helm and one on watch all day and night. Hubby called it delivery mode, not sightseeing and dallying. When the winds were about 10 knots they killed the engine and sailed, anything under that they motor sailed. A few times they stopped at a marina along the way to refuel, pick up supplies and grab showers if a facility was available then moor for the night. St. Pierre Miquelon was a planned stop. Hubby and Peter had been there before on the Halifax to St. Pierre sailing race but Terry and Tom hadn’t so it was a must see on the way. It was the beginning of the tourist season so there wasn’t much happening; they dined on French cuisine and eager to get going set sail for the next leg of the journey.
It was a long trip for the wives. I’m a pro at being alone but the other gals found the time dragged being without their better halves. That didn’t mean I wasn’t bothered though…the excitement of having our boat home, so I could check her out and reap the rewards of her purpose made it difficult.
Catalyst II is her name and although I’m not totally enamoured with the cutesie cat inference and decal around the lettering, it’s growing on me. The boat we have is a Nonsuch, a catboat design that has the mast in the bow, making more room below in the cabin. That’s the reason a lot of Nonsuch boats have feline referenced names. I can live with it. It’s unique. Meow.....
The guys arrived home safe and sound, smelling of the sea and diesel fuel, sporting scruffy beards and tired bodies but what a sight for our sore eyes. Mary and I rushed to the wharf with her pup Ruby in tow. I’m not sure who Pete was the happiest to see, his wife or the excited pup. Spinning like a top, her tail created a breeze as it wagged for daddy. I left my pack home to meet hubby at the door later because it was a time for the adults to gather and toast this joyful homecoming. There were ten of us in the cockpit raising a cheer of rum, the traditional drink of the seafarer.
I didn’t waste any time checking out our new toy. We had purchased her sight unseen which is risky business. Hubby’s work schedule coincided with the time needed to do the inspection and then winter set in to bury the boat under snow. We worried that the boat was misrepresented and not in the shape reported because we’d been down that road before. A sleazy thing some boat owners do is advertise pictures of the boat when they purchased it, so the wear and tear they piled on is a shock when you see the actual vessel. We were resigned to the fact that whatever was wrong could be fixed but hoped she was as well-kept as we were told. The surveyor said she was in good shape so as long as he wasn’t the seller’s best friend we had to take his word for it. Overall we are over the moon. There is a thorough cleaning needed and some minor cosmetics and a few parts have to be updated but she’s the boat we hoped for. I’m now in love with another inanimate object. I smile when I drive by and see her bobbing up and down on the mooring. That’s excitement to see me!
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