Backstory

A few years back, I wrote the following article for “Living Aboard” magazine. I’m afraid what started out as a love affair with one sea lion (whom we have named Stevie) has grown into just under twenty sea lions. Although the marina is quite big with many empty slips, for some unknown reason, they have chosen to commune on our dock and they won’t leave. Really! We have tried everything. (Everything that is safe and legal, that is.)

It is a love-hate relationship as they have cute pup-like faces and are fascinating to watch but they are stinky and obnoxiously noisy. Jay and I have spent many a sleepless night, as well as many days when we can’t even hear each other speak for the roar of the sea lions.

I believe I can recognize Stevie amongst the herd as he is the largest male, seemingly the alpha, who has a fluffy tuft of fur atop his severe profile. I also believe he recognizes my voice as when I call his name, he opens his eyelids to peak out at me as if to say he understands. And he is the only one of the sea lions who won’t charge me or growl like a lion. He only lets out a small bark to let me know I am too close.

We are leaving here in less than two weeks and I must say, despite the drama and dirt here on our dock, I will miss him. As for the other sea lions, I think not.

June, 2011
I have read that the recent increase in the mass migration of the California Sea Lion has caused chaos and concern in our southern harbors, especially Newport Beach. These beautiful creatures with their pup-like faces appear sweet and deceptively benign, but can be dangerously aggressive and bully their way onto our docks and boats, causing great damage, even sinking them at times. Still, when I made eye contact with my newest neighbor, I couldn’t help but find myself smitten with the idea that I might actually be communicating with a wild sea lion and succumbed to the peril of my ego and the grandeur of my illusions; at least for a while.

It all began when I came home from a two-week vacation to find a male bull had taken up residence on the southern-most portion of our dock, just beyond the steps leading up to our boat. We had planned a much-anticipated Memorial Day weekend trip to Santa Cruz Island. Unfortunately, we were grounded by the weather predictions of gale force winds and fourteen to sixteen feet seas at six seconds. We decided to hunker in and enjoy our provisions at the dock but had no idea we would be sharing our weekend with a crew of five sea lions and their captain. Our slip is the last finger before the end tie and as there is no boat currently docked there, it seemed the obvious choice for Captain Stevie to set up his own personal rookery.

Some call him Shaq for the mere size of this male is intimidating. Male sea lions can weigh up to eight hundred and fifty pounds and our boy was no slacker in this regard. All things considered, my husband and I chose Stevie as we noticed how he stands on his flippers, preening into the sunlight, rocking his head back and forth reminding us of Stevie Wonder. We can almost hear him singing, “Isn’t She Lovely….” as he peers out from the corner of his eyes checking out the lone female as she glides by. It is the start of the instinctual mating ritual and it begins unceremoniously as she subtlety flirts with Stevie as if to say, “Look at me. Look at me!”

Martha (And don’t ask me why we call her “Martha” – I have no idea.) is seemingly oblivious to all but Stevie. Little does she know that she and Stevie have become the tourist attraction of choice here in the Channel Islands Harbor. As the two of them lie about on our dock, parents bring their children, kayak guides bring their guests and dogs on dingys shout out complimentary barks begging for a bit of playtime. So much so, our friend’s Labradoodle jumped into the water one afternoon in an attempt to capture Stevie. There were a few moments of unease as we weren’t sure how this was going to end up, but fortunately, everyone arrived landside in one piece.

The days of the weekend continued and we watched as the competing female sea lions engaged in a sensuous ballet of two. They circled around one another, nipping and caressing each other’s neck, mouth and ears. Over and under and twisting about, it was a gentle flirtation that did not go unnoticed by Stevie, nor was it supposed to.

Sunday night arrived and as I peaked through the porthole I noticed our two sea lions had morphed into five sea lions. The dance became a menagerie, a tour de force, the kind of play that many travel to the Galapagos Islands just to witness. Yet here we were, in our little town – Oxnard, California to be exact – surrounded with an abundance of sea life (Mallards, Pelicans, Herons, Sea Lions, Dolphins, and Cormorants) performing, not for our approval, but for their very existence. Indifferent to the humans around them, these sea lions sang and proffered their regal stance.

The wind escalated to a steady twenty-two knots when a sixth female decided to join the rookery Stevie had set up on our dock. The winds serenaded us with a haunting background as the sea lions’ barking rose to a feverous pitch while they challenged this latest female to go away. The posturing became physical and quite ferocious and a few of our sea lions actually fell into the steps knocking them right into our boat. I was no longer enamored. I rose out of our bed and ran up topsides, hollering. It was female against female and this newest gal wasn’t about to give in to my demands for a retreat. She stood tall and proud and unwavering. I stood firm. She stood firm. There was no more barking and no one moved until I backed into the boat realizing she had the potential to be a little more than unpredictable in her cry for territorial claims.

I watched from below as the sea lions jockeyed for position and I understood the power of reproduction as indisputable. Suddenly, out of the quiet, the momentum began to build once again. The sea lions prancing and barking created a symphony reverberating through the wind waves and echoing across the harbor. Martha moved closer to Stevie. Stevie laid flat and didn’t budge but for the fin that he tenderly laid across Martha. Three females slithered along the dock vying for positions alongside Martha, hoping to make headway toward the mighty male. A slightly smaller male tried unsuccessfully to contest Stevie’s territory. I watched as the crescendo continued to build. Minutes later the vocals were loud and piercing and undeniably possessive. Ultimately, Martha won in the challenge for her mate and finally, as the other sea lions dove back into the water, stated loudly and in no uncertain terms, she was Queen.

It was unusually still as I opened my eyes Monday morning. The winds had subsided and the sea lions had gone. I felt empty and abandoned by my new friends. Not much later, I was on deck sipping coffee when Stevie slipped onto the dock, raised his head and staring directly into my eyes, bellowed.

“Good morning, Stevie.” I said. He yawned and laid his head down to rest. I smiled. All was right in the cycle of life.

Channel Islands Marina

August 5, 2013

The Problem: Have you ever tried to replace a porthole in the forward section of your boat with zero headroom, a pin rail blocking your path, and at a distance just an inch or two longer than your arms? Well, that is what Jay has been doing, and needless to say, there has been a lot of swearing along with the ridiculous contortions he has asked his body to perform.

It’s necessary to replace all of our portholes (she is over thirty years old) but none are as important as these. They are the two farthest forward and are most vulnerable when attacked by strong seas. In fact, that is what drew our attention to the reality that we had to get new ones. We were out on a day with some weather and heavy seas and when we arrived back in port we noticed we had taken on quite a bit of water – never a good thing on a boat.

The Solution: Our friends, Alison and Allan, came over for cocktails. Jay lured Allan below to contemplate the dilemma. Little did Allan know his head and torso would be squeezed through a ten-inch opening, his body suspended in air while Jay held him up by putting his hand on his butt, pushing him forward. (No worries; a cushion was strategically placed between the hand and the butt.) Allan, free to use both hands, was able to hold the porthole in place while screwing in the nuts and bolts. It was quite a funny sight, but success, nevertheless.

I guess you had to be there.

Channel Islands Marina

July 30th, 2013

We are back on Cadenza and moving forward with our preparations. After much consideration, we have decided not to do the Baja Haha. For those of you who do not know what that is, it is a Cruiser’s Rally that leaves from San Diego every October. One to two hundred boats gather together to join forces to travel down to Cabo San Lucas. I hear it is great fun and a good way to get down south in just two weeks. Despite the temptation, Jay and I decided we want to go at our own pace, stopping at different coves along the way. A friend of ours, Don Lehman, will be joining us and since he is retired, he has no definitive schedule either. This way we can take our time, watch the weather, and stay as long or as short as we want to at any of our stops. I’m starting to get excited (and a little bit anxious). Can’t wait to head out of the harbor and turn left.

Edgartown, Martha’s Vineyard

June, 2013

It had been two full days of pouring down rain and with the promise of Andrea’s strong winds to continue, we weren’t sure what to expect from the Catboat Rendezvous. Though we have owned a catboat for over twenty years, this was to be our first direct experience as a member of The Catboat Association. Will there still be a parade and race as previously announced? Surely they will still hold the luncheon. Will anyone even show up? We wondered these questions as we walked into the Vose Family Boathouse, sitting on the edge of Edgartown Harbor, and found ourselves surrounded by fifty or more catboat enthusiasts. Evidently we had underestimated the hardiness of New Englanders, not to mention the passion of catboat owners.

Not only had a few stout sailors brought their boats over from Cape Cod in the midst of an impending tropical storm, but some had come as far away as Western Massachusetts, just to enjoy the camaraderie and love of catboats. I asked Jay, “What is it about catboats? Why is there such a following for this type of boat?” I sail her. I have even fallen in love with her. But I’ve sailed many other boats. And I love some of them too, particularly our Hardin 45, Cadenza, on the west coast. So what’s so special about a catboat? “It’s the history,” he said. “They are a part of the New England culture, tradition.”

One might add that they are comfortable and sturdy too as the typical catboat has a wide beam. The mast sits far forward on the bow. She almost always has one sail, the mainsail, which is gaff-rigged. She also sports a centerboard which on our boat draws three feet of water when she’s down and eighteen inches when she is up. This allows for sailing into shallow ponds, of which there are many on Martha’s Vineyard.

No one really knows when the first catboat was built, but they can be traced back to the 1800s. Known for their versatility they were used for both pleasure and work. Many a fisherman would sail in the summer and then remove the mast, utilizing its wide beam and low freeboard to scallop in the winter. The catboat became a common sight in New England as they became more and more popular. And by the looks of the gathering at the boathouse, these boats still hold their allure.

Never quite sure how to engage myself in conversations in a room full of strangers, I stood in the background watching as groups of people mingled on the deck excitedly reconnecting with old friends and sharing new stories of their adventures. Jay, eager to join in, introduced himself and instantly became one with the catboat community. Lingering about, I slowly fell in step as I came to see the rendezvous as laid-back and informal, the participants warm and welcoming.

The event formally started as Mark Lovewell began introductions. His brother, Frank Lovewell, said a blessing and we were regaled by beautiful poetry thanks to Steve Ewing and Joe Eldredge. With a promise from Mark that, “something will happen” (A parade? A race maybe?), he declared the festivities officially begun. I smiled at Jay and noted how this “ceremony” was not unlike Opening Day for yacht clubs.

After enjoying a bite to eat – delicious fish chowder made by Mark and a scrumptious ham soup made and brought all the way over from Mashpee by Moe & Bill McCay – Jay and I noticed the weather changing. It looked like it might cooperate after all. Not wanting to miss the fun, we quickly left to go and bring our catboat down to the boathouse.

We keep Skipjack moored up in Katama Bay. We often laugh about the journey we have to take just to reach her. It’s a bike ride from the house to the boat and then pull the dinghy across deep sand, turn her over and row her out to the mooring. Needless to say, after doing this, it wasn’t surprising that we were almost late for the festivities.

As it turned out, the race was cancelled. A good call, I would say, as we all struggled to properly set our sails – which meant reefing – in 15 to 25 knot winds while being pulled by current and dodging moorings and boats.

Soon we were dressed and ready for the parade. Though there were only seven boats that actually took part – Vanity, Sea Chantey, Glimmer, Ocmulgee, Sea Smoke, Calico and Skipjack – there was diversity and much history displayed for the viewing audience.

Vanity, a 22′ wooden catboat built in 1923 by Edgartown’s infamous Manuel Swartz Roberts, is steeped in local tradition. Now run by the Martha’s Vineyard Museum, she was once owned by Captain Oscar Pease. She is also known to be the last working catboat as Captain Pease continued to use Vanity for scalloping as late as the 1980s. Both Sea Chantey and Glimmer are Marshall 22’s, owned by Mark Lovewell and Jim O’Connor, respectively. Ocmalgee, though owned by Steve Ewing, was crewed by a “younger” group who I never got a chance to meet. They had energy and a competitiveness that challenged our cat. Riding our stern with their Marshall 18′, I thought for a moment – maybe we are racing. Sea Smoke, another Marshall 22′, is owned by Bill Gately who brought it all the way from Bass River. And then there was Calico. 116 years old! And the first yawl rig on a catboat that I’d ever seen. Owned by Bill and Moe McCay, I hear they have great stories to tell. And finally, there is our catboat, a Herreshoff 18′ America, Skipjack. She was built by Nowak and Williams in 1974 for the Bicentennial and Jay has owned her for over twenty years. Seven boats, all with the title, “catboat,” yet individual and unique, quietly displaying their classic beauty and ancestral heritage. I finally understood the loyalty and devotion attributed to this tradition, the catboat history.

The parade ended as we doused our sails and headed back to the boathouse where a few die-hard catboat fans were waiting for us. They welcomed us with hats and beers and tales of catboat regattas. And so the day ended as it had begun; sharing stories and our love of catboats.

Martha’s Vineyard

May, 2013

We are spending summers at our house in Martha’s Vineyard. It is a Cape Cod cottage that used to be strictly a vacation/rental home. Now it is our primary residence when we are not on the boat. Our plan is to spend May through July here in the summer. August and September are usually rented so next year we will either road trip on the east coast visiting family and friends and/or fly back to California to visit family and friends. (This year we will be back in the Channel Islands Marina prepping our boat to go south.) Then in November, 2014 we will pick up our boat in Mexico (somewhere in the Sea of Cortez, I suspect) and continue down the gold coast. Meanwhile, we have an 18′ Herreshoff Catboat that we sail when we are in Edgartown.

Channel Islands Marina

January 22, 2013

Does anyone ever talk about the arguments and disagreements couples have over getting the boat ready for cruising? I suppose they do but each family’s garbage remains their own. Although there must be similarities.

Like – Can you put your stuff away, please! There is no room to leave it lying about. Stay out of this part of the boat! I need my privacy. When is it going to stop raining?

There are lots of challenges unique to boat living. And as Jay and I always say, we didn’t move onto the boat to live on the boat. We moved onto the boat to go cruising.

The reality of it is that it takes a whole lot of work and a whole lot of money and every day brings a new obstacle.

Maybe I’m being frivolous when I say let’s just until the lines.

After all, most all the responsibility is on Jay. It’s not that I don’t or can’t help, but I’m not technically inclined in any manner. When things break I don’t have the slightest idea how to fix them.

That being said, I can sail and I love to navigate. I can pull my weight.

We can sort this out, I’m sure. And when asked to move over, well, I’ll do just that. I’ll move over and make room for Jay.

Channel Islands Marina

Silver Strand

January, 2012

There are a million reasons not to do it. Can we really afford it? What about the house? Can we survive in such a small space? Will I be able to handle the boat in bad weather? There are pirates out there! And my favorite; the boat isn’t ready. (By the way, is the boat ever ready?) Then there are the logistical questions, like, where do we keep the cars? Do we keep the cars? How will we pay our bills, get our mail? And finally, there are our landlubber friends and family who when we tell them we are going to sell the house, get off the grid and go cruising, they look at us dumbfounded and ask, “Are you crazy!?”

Maybe. Maybe it seems that way because society dictates the “American Dream” is the ability to buy a big house, have two cars in the driveway and keep up with the trendiest and greatest gadgets; a big screen television, Blue-Ray and DVR, the latest iPad and the newest phone. You get the picture. I am not saying there is anything wrong with this picture. In fact, we are incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to work and obtain such luxuries. It is just that my husband, Jay, and I have found that in order to keep all this wonderful stuff we have to work six days a week with little time to enjoy it or each other. Besides, now that the kids are grown and the house is empty and quiet, what is the point?

I would argue that instead of the “American Dream” being simply about owning a home and gaining material wealth, the true meaning is found in the freedom to chose the kind of lifestyle we want to live. Only once we have jumped on the hamster wheel, with the comfort and security years of hard work have provided, it is truly a challenge to jump off without faltering.

That is why Jay and I decided to do it in steps. First, we put the house up for sale as, for us, it just didn’t make financial sense to keep it. Once it sold (which took over a year) we succeeded in pairing down our belongings to fit into a ten by twenty-five storage unit. Quite a feat! Nevertheless, it was daunting to face a lifetime of learned behaviors and a house full of memories and figure out how to let go. And the questions continued. How do we choose what to pack and what to toss? Who of our children gets what and what do we absolutely need to keep? It turns out, not much. Still, this part of the process proved to be so profoundly difficult, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which were both physical and inherently emotional, that I would guess it might turn out to be the hardest part of our journey.

Next, instead of moving straight from a four-bedroom house to our Hardin 45′, we chose to move to a two bedroom furnished apartment that is a month to month rental. This allowed us to adjust to smaller living quarters while continuing to work on the boat to get her “ready.” Our ketch was built in 1979 and although she sails like a thoroughbred, we have had to update practically all her systems. She also flaunts a lot of teak, both inside and out, which is a never-ending project in itself. The apartment has turned out to be a great respite from the inhalation of oil and propane, dust and varnish.

Then I began chanting a mantra; six months of apartment living and working on the boat, six months of shakedown cruises, December 2012 – San Diego, and January 2013 we leave for Mexico. I figure if I keep saying it out loud, then my husband starts repeating it, then it happens! (Well, it’s worth a try!)

The shakedown cruises begin in August of 2012. This is when we spend lots of time sailing around the Channel Islands (Southern California’s own little paradise) testing our skills and the durability of the boat. We will sail with friends and we will sail alone. There will be some night sailing and lots of sailing through the Windy Lane. We will spend weeks at a time off the grid to see how our solar array computes to energy and tallying our water usage. Sailing is almost always a challenge with surprises along the way. The only way to really be prepared is to practice, practice, and practice. One has to know the limits – of both the boat and oneself.

The cars will stay at our daughter’s home until we decide just how long we intend to cruise. The mail goes to a PO Box in a Mail Stop Center where we are familiar with the owners and they will forward to us as needed. Paying bills is getting easier every day with wifi networks available almost everywhere. Taken as a whole, these pieces of logistics can be overwhelming, but taken one by one they can be handled in an efficient manner.
And the biggest question; can we afford it? I say we can’t afford not to. Both my husband and I are facing retirement and the window of opportunity is getting smaller. And like Bob Bitchin says, I really would rather “live my dream” than “dream my life.”

Finally, there is much conversation amongst cruisers regarding pirates. The thought of being attacked is terrifying, no doubt. But there is lots of information as to where they are and we have no intention of sailing in waters known to be frequented by pirates. I really believe that it is all you can do other than to be aware of your surroundings and who and what is lurking around at any given time.

All these are valid concerns, of course. But I dare say if we are honest with ourselves, we will find they are rooted in fear and attachment. Fear of the unknown and attachment to our stuff and the only way of life we have ever known. Truly, the most difficult step is the first one; making the decision to let go and then sticking to it. That is why every once in a while, when Jay and I lose sight of the dream, when we are inundated with fixing and sanding and varnishing, we untie the lines and set sail. A cool breeze, a warm sun, a calm sea, and a few dolphins playing on our bow… we know – we’re not crazy, we’re alive and living our dream!

Malibu, California

February 8, 2011

My husband and I have a dream. It is not unlike many sailors’ dreams. We want to cruise. Not necessarily sail around the world, though that does sound grand. We thought we would start small. Go to Mexico first. See how we like it. If we like cruising then why not go on to Costa Rica? We have always wanted to explore the jungles of Central America. From there, well, we will just have to see.

Our vessel of choice is a Hardin 45 we call Cadenza. She is a pretty one with sexy curves and heavy hips. Jay found her broken and abandoned in La Paz 18 years ago. I have known her for ten. We have spent thousands of hours fixing her, primping her, and getting to know her inside and out. She is comfortable with spacious living quarters. What is more, we trust her; she moves through heavy winds and high seas with steady determination. For us, Cadenza is the perfect boat to sail the Pacific. Why then do we find it so difficult to untie the lines? Of course there are some mitigating circumstances. Like the state of the economy, the collapse of the housing market, and what to do with the dogs. But if I am completely honest, it goes much deeper than that. Buddha teaches that attachment is the root of all suffering. I think he might be on to something.

We Americans work our entire adult lives building careers, starting businesses, buying homes, and accumulating stuff. We create an identity by what we accomplish; mother, television producer, student, wife. Our ego depends on this for survival, or so it would seem. Then the years pass, the children go, the ambition diminishes and retirement lurks around the corner. Suddenly the very things that defined my “self” no longer seem true. As the layers of my complicated existence begin to peel away and I shed all the characters I have portrayed thus far, I can’t help but ask, “Who am I, really, and what now?”

That is one of the things I love about the boating community. No one asks what you do for a living or how much money you earn. The conversation goes more like this, “How did you fix your refrigeration?” “What are your thoughts on a generator?” and, “Have you heard the latest weather report?” Sure, there are those who have faster boats, bigger boats, even newer boats. But it is less about status and more about personal choice. And boaters are nothing if not generous. Given the opportunity, they will share a bottle of wine or their mechanical expertise. We have more friends in the marina than in our own neighborhood. And still, I find it hard to let go of the physical ties that bind us.

Then I start looking around my home and the questions continue. “Do I really need two refrigerators? Do two people really need four bathrooms?” True, I like my stuff. I like the comfort of a beautiful home and I like the luxury of a Jacuzzi bathtub. I like the implied security of knowing that I have a warm and safe place to lay my head at night. (I say implied only because we all know security is an illusion.) But big houses mean big bills and lots of rooms to clean. That I don’t particularly like. It holds us captive. It keeps us from experiencing our lives because we are too busy either working to pay for what we have or worrying about paying for what we have. Suddenly I feel like the hamster on the wheel; running fast and going nowhere.

This brings me to the realization that now may be the time. Put the house on the market. Downsize, minimize. Only it is not just letting go of stuff. There is the emotional attachment. We raised our children here. Our grandson took his first steps there. And then there is the emotional-material attachment. Our daughter’s first picture she ever painted. Do we keep that? What about the portrait of my mother-in-law? And who gets the piano? How do you take a lifetime full of material memories and decide which ones to keep and which ones have to go?

Change is never easy and the older I get, the harder it gets. Yet change, like the ebb and flow of the sea, is inevitable. I can go kicking and screaming, fighting against the tide, or I can swim with the current and allow my future to unfold, naturally.

So, the memories are distributed, the boxes are packed, and the house goes up for sale tomorrow. We are one step closer to our dream. Some people might call what we are doing courageous. Others would just call it stupid. The Dalai Lama would probably define it as liberating. I certainly hope so, because from where I stand, it looks a little bit scary.