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I Owe my Soul to West Marine…

I posted this to my sailing groups… But not publically. A Maness Original, with profound apologies to Tennessee Ernie Ford.

(To the tune of 16 Tons)

maintenanceSome people see a sailor, say he’s got it good
Poor sailor spends his life misunderstood
It looks so easy when the sunny wind blows
But there’s a hole in the water where his money goes

You fix sixteen holes, what do you get
The boat’s still leakin’ and the bilge is still wet
I’ve spent more money than you’ve ever seen
I owe my soul to West Marine.

I started one mornin’ when the sun didn’t shine
Signed all the papers and the sailboat was mine
Untied from the pier, sailed out for the bay
The curse was on me from the very first day

You fix sixteen holes, what do you get
The boat’s still leakin’ and the bilge is still wet
I’ve spent more money than you’ve ever seen
I owe my soul to West Marine.

The wind started howling, it was a rising gale
It blew right through all of my brand new sails
Thought I’d be alright but I was going too slow
There was three feet of water when I looked below

You fix sixteen holes, what do you get
The boat’s still leakin’ and the bilge is still wet
I’ve spent more money than you’ve ever seen
I owe my soul to West Marine.

Now she’s lyin on the bottom, my heart just sank
But I’ll bring her up again, another loan from the bank
When you see me coming, man toss me a line
Cause I don’t have a dime I can still call mine

You fix sixteen holes, what do you get
The boat’s still leakin’ and the bilge is still wet
I’ve spent more money than you’ve ever seen
I owe my soul to West Marine.

— Capt. Bill Maness, SV Shindyah

maintenance

Winter is coming…

Laura and I began to notice that the main salon heat wasn’t quite keeping up. Knowing that we’ve been relying on the reverse-cycle from our two air-conditioning systems, I suspected that the water temperature had finally fallen low enough that they were no longer efficient.

Winter is coming...
Winter is coming…

Well then. That’s the end of that. We just shut down the reverse cycle heat pumps and have turned on the basic oil-filled electric heaters. We’ll see how it goes. If you don’t hear from us before spring… Well, you know what happened.

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Maintenance… Filters filters and more filters…

We had a minor diesel leak in our Racor fuel filter/water-separator… By minor, I mean a drip every couple minutes.  It was gradually getting worse. We couldn’t figure out where it was coming from, so took the whole thing off the bulkhead and did a proper rebuild.  So glad we did! The paper filter was saturated.  O-rings (the source of the leak) had degraded into little rigid lumps.  Cleaned it out, put a new paper filter in, and got it all back together.  fuelfilterDid the air conditioning (heater at the moment) raw-water filter while we were there.  All and all, a successful day in the engine room. Laura has mad #KayleeSkills.  Great in the engine-room on her own, or as an extremely capable assistant.  It’s awesome.img_0054

 

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Yacht potato, yacht potato…

So…

Here we are… Pleasant evening indeed at the Inn at Pirate’s Cove… A walk out to the committee platform, watching the stars go by… We come back to the boat (I’ve thoughtfully turned on the foredeck light) and my lovely lady Laura says to me, “Hey… Are those spider webs up there? I look up the mast, and sure enough, cobwebs between the mast and shrouds.

DAMN I need to get this girl out of the slip…

Yacht potato, yacht potato….

 

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About our Tagline…

Shindyah isn’t a new boat.  She’s not an old boat either.  She’s a classic.  Both in name and in feel.  She’s cut broad, but sharp forward, with a rise to her bow that the racers eschew.  Her stern is bluff and solid.  Her lines harken back to earlier vessels, though her materials and finish is more modern.

She is our salt-water lady.  A song by Roger Creager caught my ear when we commissioned her as Shindyah…  It’s called Gulf Coast Time. Here are the lyrics, and a link to the song is provide below.

We very much love our ole salt-water lady…


I like the way this salty, warm breeze feels
As I make another cast with this old rod and reel
Sounds like things are going well
From the tone of your letter
Am I doing okay?
I guess you could say
I’m keeping my head above water

[Chorus:]
On the deck of this old saltwater lady
Dancin’ ‘cross the waves
The seaside world slows down to an idle
The sun sets red over Copano Bay
You moved on with your life in California
I’ll move on with mine
Sometimes things take a little longer
Here on gulf coast time

It’s nice just getting back to the simple things
Like the taste of this fresh key lime in my drink

Took that watch you gave me
Tossed it ’bout a mile offshore
Just another anchor around me weighing me down that
I don’t need anymore

[Chorus]

And I know
I’m getting better with every breath of ocean I breathe in
And my soul gets stronger every moment I spend

[Chorus]

Sometimes things take a little longer
Here on gulf coast
Time


Youtube: Gulf Coast Time – Roger Creager, anthem of SV Shindyah

 

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Fruit Flies, Cider and Nationalistic humor…

We enjoyed the company of Captain Bill Richards of Celtic Cross at dinner aboard last night. Fine sailor, teaches navigation at Annapolis school of sailing, and drives water taxis up there for fun. I digress…

Laura (the XO) was having a “Beesting” last night. Well, we all were… 1/3 mead 2/3 hard cider… seriously tasty. But also seriously attractive to the little fruit flies that are (astonishingly) still buzzing around. Plop, into her drink one goes… Which occasions me telling the following story.
fliesindrinks
Gotta love the Scots.

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On Rodneys…

rodneyLaura and I often refer to “Rodney” or “Damn Rodneys” much to the confusion of our lubberly friends.  The term is most often applied to careless power-boaters, blasting through moorages at 20 knots, kicking up tsunami-like wakes that shake every boat they pass.  The term comes from the movie Caddyshack…  Where Rodney Dangerfield has a particularly memorable scene trying to control his behemoth yacht.   The clip is provided below.

If you find yourself being referred to as a Rodney (and your name isn’t Rodney) make amends quick, or you’ll find yourself buying your own beers.

Rodney Takes Command

 

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The Liveaboard Transition

April 2015, I bought my first boat. A 1975 Catalina 27. More or less derelict, but I got her for a song. I figured I could buy this old girl with some bonus money from my employer and “get my feet wet” as a boat owner.   I’ve sailed quite a bit on Puget Sound, but never owned a boat before… I was sailing club boats back then.

I and my ex girlfriend worked on the boat, cleaned her up and sailed a bit.  Her first experiences on the boat weren’t positive.  Clean up issues, and then a sailing trip that was frightening for her (she’d never been out in much of a blow) and she sort of distanced herself from the boat.

On the other hand, I was eating it up, more and more time spent on the boat, sleeping over.  We lived together in Ashburn, about 1:45 drive from the boat.  We just drifted apart, and in the late fall of 2015, I decided to move out, break up, and live aboard.

A Catalina 27.

In the winter.

I’m 6’2″.

A Catalina 27 isn’t.

But I wanted to see if the lifestyle was for me.

Oh my god.  I just ate it up. Everything was small, close and simple.  It’s almost a monastic lifestyle. Even in the dead of winter, snow and ice, it was like an attack of sweet butter creams.  I’d have been content on her indefinitely, except for one thing.

My daughter.  She lives with me in the summer.

A 15 year old girl is not going to fit on a 27′ Catalina with her 53 year old father.  She would need her own cabin.  The search for a new boat began.

My budget was insanely tight.  I didn’t have much in the way of resources, but I had a steady income and could make steady payments.  That limited my search to an older vessel.  I had a good friend who helped me with the financing.  I knew I wanted a center cockpit, because I knew the master’s stateroom and V-berth would be suitable for me and my daughter.  After exploring a number of boats, I came across this old Morgan 41′.  Her name was Jawz.  Not a good sign.  Then I checked her out, and had her surveyed.  Worse and worse.  She’d been allowed to freeze.  Her plumbing was badly damaged.  Her wiring looked like a tribe of monkeys went after her with balls of yarn…

We took her out for sea-trial.  She was unsailable, her main misrigged, and her genoa missing sheets.  Motored back in.

Something told me to give her one last look, so I said a little prayer to the universe, “If I’m supposed to save this boat, give me a sign.”

When I went back to her, she had 8″ of seawater on her cabin sole.

“This is not the answer I was looking for.”  I almost shut the hatch and walked away… But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t leave her there flooding.   So I found the leak (stuck seacock and damaged A/C water line), ran off to West Marine for fix-it-tape, secured the line, and manually shorted her bilge pump to battery to get her to pump dry.

It was just the weirdest damn thing.

She wasn’t proving to me that I should take her.

She demanded that I prove to her that I was the master to save her.

And I was.

April 2016, She was mine.