Learning How to Live on a Boat: The First Days and Nights

The sun tucked itself quietly behind the horizon, so quiet in fact, we didn’t even notice the show. We were busy in our new, quaint little home trying to figure out how to turn the lights on. Adam flipped mislabeled breaker switches while I poked at the on/off buttons of various lights around the cabin. In truth, it was a nice break from our long day of cleaning and we laughed through the confusion and frustration. It took longer than either of us cared for, but we finally discovered that the breaker switch labeled “cabin lights” has nothing in fact to do with the cabin lights. Instead, it in part controls all of the electrical outlets on the boat. I say in part because it must be on for any of the outlets to work, but if it is the only one on then none of the outlets will work. For example, if you want to charge your phone from the outlet below the dining table, you must switch on both the “cabin lights” and the “refrigerator.” (There is no refrigerator on board, just a simple icebox which will do the cooling nicely, as long as we keep it stocked with ice.) Then on an entirely different electrical panel we discovered a few other suspect switches. After another round of trial and error, we discovered that “Main Cabin” controls the lights in the main cabin, while “Forward Cabin” controls the lights in the V-berth and “Lights” controls the one light in the head. In the lit cabin we stopped overthinking it and just started memorizing all of the oddities and mislabeled switches, and moved on with our evening. 

Adam finished up some cleaning and rag mopped the floor. Meanwhile I shuffled to and fro, trying to stay out of his way, while I cooked up some cheese raviolis and veggies for dinner. It was scrumptious! But only because I prepared it in our new little home and then we sat down, for the first time that day, and ate. Other than that, it was pretty revolting actually. Take note, canned raviolis are not good, even if they’re Annie’s brand and you add some sautéed veggies. After we slurped down our slimy raviolis, we washed the dishes, stowed the stove and converted the dining area into a cushioned square (so we could test out the first of the two double berths on board). We curled up in our sleeping bags, and sufficiently worn out from the long day’s work, fell very fast (I may be speaking for myself here) asleep. 

We both slept pretty well that first night, waking up only a few times to the sound of halyards slapping against the mast or the rocking motion of the boat. The ladder making it fairly easy, and comforting, to fall back asleep, as long as you can first successfully tune out the sound of lines and shackles and wind dancing above. 

Then as soon as the sun rose, so did Adam. He was on a mission. I however was trying to sleep in a bit. He knows me well though and was thoughtful as he stepped out and closed up the companionway behind him. At least that’s what I thought initially, when the  distant sound of water hitting the deck above seeped into my sleepy ears. I rolled over, snuggled my head into the pillow and was almost completely out again when a waterfall came pouring through the open porthole above my legs. The cold water jolted me awake and as I rocketed up straight, I started yelling, “Adam, stop! STOP!” The water slowed to a drip and for a moment I just let my head fall back on the pillow. Then Adam poked his head in. “Did I forget to close the portholes?” He asked sarcastically, through a fit of laughter. I couldn't help but laugh with him even though I was quickly concluding that he wasn’t trying to be considerate at all. He was just snidely trying to get me out of bed and on coffee duty. 

I crawled out of my sleeping bag, only because it was soaking wet, and closed all the open portholes. Yes, all the portholes were open, and there were a couple between my sleeping body and where Adam started washing Lil' G that morning. And so, while Adam finished up on deck, I wiped down some of the newly rinsed areas of our cabin. After everything was mostly dry once again, I made the coffee Adam had so desperately been seeking and cooked up some breakfast. Then we sat out in the sunshine and while we ate, we discussed a strategy for the day. Now that the boat was clean, it was time to stow more gear, secure rigging, and work on a few basic repairs. Feeling motivated and eager, we got started on our laundry list of miscellaneous tasks. 

The day passed quicker than our to do list was shrinking and in the early evening we were still busy at work when a dense fog began rolling in off the bay and brought with it an array of thunder and lightning. I was stowing all the new anchor rode (line or rope) and chain in the anchor locker, and Adam was emptying the shop vac after a dedicated bilge cleaning, when it started to rain. It was light at first but as we stood out on the deck watching the lighting through the darkening fog, it picked up. We climbed inside and closed up the cabin just as it began pouring down. Immediately we noticed a steady stream of water coming down the mast and gathering in a puddle on the floor in the center of the cabin. It grew quickly in size until the outer edge reached the loosely covered opening to the bilge and trickled down. (That’s the good part, all the water that makes it into the cabin will eventually seep to the lowest accessible point, the bilge, and get pumped out into the ocean. The bad part, is that on the path from leak point A or B to the bilge resides our stuff - clothes, bedding, food, books, etc.) We quickly patted ourselves dry and then started inspecting the cabin for less noticeable leaks. We discovered a few small ones around a couple of the portholes, but other than that things were staying pretty dry considering the hard rain outside. We added ‘Seal Leak Points’ to our to-do list and listened to the storm pass over as we ate dinner. Then we tucked into the V-berth, excited to test out berth number two on board, and very glad to find that it had stayed dry despite the hefty rain. Then we curled up in our sleeping bags and with the gentle rocking and a bit of rigging rhythm, we quickly (again I might be speaking for myself here) fell asleep. 

Clean that Ship!

We showed up at Blenker's Marina the morning after sailing our Lil' G from Sarasota to Bradenton, all coffee-ed up and ready to...well clean. And clean we did. We started at the bow and worked our way to the stern, moving around odds and ends, so that we could scrub and wash every accessible surface inside the cabin. Then we started the slow process of hauling our belongings aboard and finding places to stack and smush and stow them. 

Here's what she looked like at the beginning of the day, starting with the V-Berth at the bow and moving on to her back end...

The V-Berth : A cozy bed for two, well room for two pending.

The Closet : It's bigger than it looks, but not much bigger. Good thing I won't need a lot of shoes. 

 The Head : A comfy seat, as long as you don't prefer the privacy of a closed door while you're sitting. 

The Head : (bath)Room with a view.

The Head : A sink and medicine cabinet too.

  The “Hall” : A look from between the closet and the head, into the galley, dining area and cockpit. 

The Galley : Icebox, sink, counter and cupboards...under there somewhere.

The Dining Area : It’d be tight, but I think we can fit all of you around our dinner table.

 The Back End : View from the dining area of the two quarter berths on each side and the companionway (or rather the cabin entrance) out to the cockpit.

...And here’s what she looks like now. Well, not now exactly but most of the time, when our stuff isn’t scattered about and we haven’t just prepared a meal. On second thought, this is what she looked like the following day (for an instant) when we were finished cleaning and got everything in ship shape for a quick photo op.

 

Now tell me you can't resist that 80's splatter paint motif?! 

Our Maiden Voyage...

We waited anxiously, with the freshly signed Bill of Sale in our glove box, until finally on Thursday the wind coming off the Gulf had returned to manageable (for a couple of novices) and we had secured a temporary home for our Lil’ G. We'd been looking for a marina or mooring where we could keep our new girl while we did some repairs and modifications to make her into the adventure vessel we’ve been envisioning for so long. After asking around and doing some research, we decided to rent a slip spot at Blenkers Boatworks and Marina in Bradenton, which is north of Sarasota and south across the Manatee River from Palmetto, where we have spent most of our time since arriving in Florida. Our friend Bart lives there (when he’s not off guiding for Outward Bound or following his adventure bug) with his sons, Tyree and Teal. 

Here is where I take the opportunity to pour my heart out to the three of them...you all are absolutely amazing and we are crazy grateful your continuous hospitality and for opening your home to us! Thank you, thank you, thank you! And a very special thank you to Bart, for your kindness and patience, for teaching us about traveling by the wind, and for sharing with us your passion for life and adventure! 

Ok, now back to our Lil’ G...We arrived at the Sarasota Sailing Squadron around noon and prepped her for our first sail. 

Adam worked diligently (until I interrupted him and forced him smile for the camera) to make sure everything was still there and in the right place, and then these guys stopped by to wish us luck (so I made them stop and smile for the camera too...well at least they stopped, I guess).

Then a few minutes before one o’clock, we started up the engine and pushed away from the dock. We were off! Adam reversed out about fifty feet and when we were positioned just right, he shifted into drive. The motor then promptly died. And thus began our very first “Oh shit!” moment. I frantically tried starting her up again and with each pull, nothing. We were floating between the dock we had just left and a mooring field of sailboats. We quickly considered our options. First, the most logical for our vessel, to raise the sails. However, we were faced directly at the dock and weren’t sure we’d be able turn her out toward the bay under wind power alone and in the space provided. I’m not saying it couldn’t be done, I’m sure it could, but we’re amateurs and one thing we do know is that when faced with a possible collision the last thing you want to do is add speed and power. Second, set an anchor. Again somewhat valid, but we weren’t sure we would be able to set it with little enough chain and rode (rope, basically) to not swing into one of the many close obstacles. Then Adam being even more logical and level headed than my mind can muster while frazzled, stated “I think if we let the wind push us we should be able to get some steerage and I’ll try to guide us back to the dock.” The only dangers in the situation now, were being blown too far toward shore where we could run aground, and being blown with too much force into the dock that I couldn’t jump off and stop the bow from slamming into it. And so Adam did his best to steer the boat away from the shallows and I ran to the bow. I stood with a line in hand and watched the dock approach in slow motion. When it was still a few feet away but reachable, I leapt off. I turned quickly and thrusted my weight against the bow to help swing the boat parallel to the dock and keep it from hitting anything. This gave Adam a bit of time to analyze our motor trouble, before hopping off and helping me walk the boat back to where it had been only minutes before. A couple of men prepping their boat on the opposite side of the dock, who had just waved us off, looked up with curious expressions. “Yes, we’re back already and it was wonderful,” I joked. Their expressions didn’t change much, except for meager smiles. Then I heard Adam say, “No, I just forgot to push the choke back in and flooded the engine.” They chuckled and one responded, “Oh, I’ve done that before. We’ve all done that before.” Yes, we are prepared to make mistakes. Good thing we got that one out of the way early. 

We tied Lil' G to the dock once again and climbed back on board to try and get the motor running. Adam poked and prodded and after trying a few times to start it, it revved back to life. I jumped to the dock, untied the dock lines, threw them on board and gave Lil’ G a shove. Round two. We were off! Adam guided us out through the markers and into Sarasota Bay. 

Then we raised the sails and I took the helm for a bit.  

We started off across the bay at a decent pace and Adam looked at the charts for our heading. After a bit of confusion and some bickering, we discovered that either our compass was off or our electronic chart heading was off. And so we followed our gut and our visuals till we reached the other side of the bay and found markers guiding us into the Intracoastal Waterway, between the Florida Coastline and Longboat Key. Not long after entering the canal, we saw smooth gray fins break the surface of the teal water in front of us. Moments later, a small pod of dolphins were right along side of us, gliding up and down through the wake, playing and I presume showing off a bit. It was beautiful. ‘This is a good omen,’ I thought. 

We continued on slowly and then fired up the motor to prepare for the upcoming bascule bridges (more commonly referred to as drawbridges). As the first, Cortez Bridge, came into view we lowered the sails and radioed the bridge attendant to see when the next scheduled opening was. He informed us that we had two minutes. We told him we thought we’d get there just in the nick of time, and I believe we did. But the bridge didn’t open. We waited, the motor idling, and after a couple of minutes we radioed the bridge attendant once again, asking if the bridge was going to open. He said that we were two minutes late and would have to wait til the next opening at four o’clock. We were a bit perplexed since the bridge never did open and we had been there waiting for at least two minutes, but decided that we should probably drop an anchor and turn off the motor to conserve some of our limited fuel. As we motored over to the side of the canal, we agreed that it would have been a good idea to have topped off the fuel before we headed out that day. Another lesson learned. When we were clear of the canal, I let the anchor slip into the water and slowly released all of the chain and an addition fifteen feet of line. We waited patiently for about ten minutes before we pulled up the anchor and motored back over to the bridge, making sure we were there early this time. Just before the hour, traffic halted on the bridge and at exactly four o’clock, the bridge split and each side slowly raised to a near vertical position. We cruised through, giving a less than sincere wave of appreciation to the stubborn attendant. 

Once we cleared Cortez Bridge, we were in sight of the second, Anna Maria Bridge. We radioed to see if they were on the same schedule and when the attendant confirmed that they were, I told him we’d be there one or two minutes early. Adam immediately informed me that we would surely be a few of minutes late and we both hoped that this bridge attendant would be less of a stickler when it came to the set schedule. Thankfully as we approached (but still a few minutes away as Adam had predicted), traffic slowed to a stop and the bridge began to raise. We both waved largely and with gratitude as we passed under. 

We continued up the canal and followed the markers out into Tampa Bay. Then we headed up the mouth of the Manatee River and as we neared Blenkers Marina, the sun began to set. With the colorful sky behind us, we focused our attention on getting into the marina before dark. The marina slowly came into view, but we couldn't quite make out the entrance. As we got closer, it became visible by the lack of concrete and wood, and we were shocked at how narrow an opening it was. 

These photos weren’t taken that evening, but I felt a visual was necessary so I shot these a couple of days later when we were returning to the marina from a day of sailing. 

We took a somewhat leisurely pass in order to get a better look at the barely-there entrance and to spot our assigned slip. “The one right next to the sailboat ‘Too Nice For One’,” as the marina master had explained to me. I was beginning to think we should have investigated the layout from the marina shore when we were there earlier that day, but it wasn’t getting any lighter and we were down to the last drops of fuel, so Adam lined us up and I took a deep breath. We hadn’t guided her into such a tight space before, and we weren't exactly sure how she would maneuver with the outboard motor. Adam worked his magic at the helm and I stood at the bow, ready to fend off any pylons or, god forbid, other boats. With my head swinging back and forth from the bow, to the sides, to Adam at the stern, I watched as he gracefully pulled her into the marina and our designated slip, like he’d done it a thousand times. Then as we neared the concrete seawall, I climbed over the rail with a dock line in hand. I jumped off and turned to fend the bow from hitting the wall. Once she stopped in the water, I gave her a hefty shove back and gently wrapped the bow line around the front pylon. Then I quickly ran back along the thin dock to grab a stern line from Adam but the wind was pushing Lil’ G forward and before I got the stern line wrapped around a pylon, I heard a loud crunching sound. It was the bow hitting the concrete seawall. Adam looked at me in shock, "Caitlin!" I immediately turned around and ran back to the bow to hold it off the wall. Another amateur move, just checking ‘em off the list. I realized I had been so nervous about getting the boat into the slip that I had put no thought into tying her off or the direction of the wind. After some post-accident discussion and some creative boat maneuvering, we got two stern lines and two bow lines tied off and Lil' G looked secure in her slip. We pushed her and pulled her to make sure the lines we tied would prevent her from making contact with the pylons that surrounded her and the concrete that loomed in front of her. Then we stood out under the stars and agreed that although not with out incident, or incidents rather, our first sail was a success.

She's Ours...

And so, after years of talking about it and months of diligent planning, we bought a sailboat. She's a beautiful 1972 Morgan M30. The M30 was designed and built by Morgan as a versatile cruiser-racer, and according to the original manual “many happy owners agree she’s the all time champ for family fun and cruisability...not only that...she’s a proven racer, too.” Oh, here we come fast, comfy adventure! Introducing our Lil’ G...

How She Became Ours....

We found Lil’ Gem on craigslist and arranged to take a look at her in Sarasota on a sunny Friday afternoon. A local guy, Frank, was selling her and we immediately took a liking to them both. Frank won us over first with a compliment as we approached him on the dock, “Well you guys look like cool people,” and later that day with a few delicious IPAs at his craft beer bar, Tavern on Main. And Lil’ Gem won us over with everything she had to offer, both as a speedy sailing vessel and a compact home-sweet-home. We spent an hour that afternoon scouring her inside and out, taking note of everything that was right about her. Here’s what we found:

She’s the perfect size, 30 feet long and 9 feet 3 inches wide. She has a shoal draft keel that draws only 3’ 6” which is great for exploring the keys of Florida. In addition she has a centerboard that draws 8’ and can be lowered for better stability and speed. She has a tiller rather than a wheel, which really is just personal preference, but we prefer a tiller for two reasons. First, we think it has a more authentic feel while on the water and second, it is simply a more basic mechanism and in turn insures less mechanical problems and if need be, easier repair. 

Her mast is keel stepped, which has both positive and negative aspects. A keel stepped mast is stronger and more stable which drastically reduces the possibility of being demasted at sea, which I consider a very good thing. However, if or when it needs to be lowered, a crane is required and your wallet will suffer the brunt. Since ours were nearly empty already, we didn’t dwell on the thought. 

All of her rigging is used but not abused, with no signs of detrimental rust or corrosion. Her hull looked sound from the inside and out and the deck is in good shape, without a single gelcoat crack. The bilge was fairly clean with only a bit of water in the bottom, which is typical. 

She has a 9.9 horsepower outboard motor, which again is both a positive and a negative. We weren’t boat shopping based on one or the other, but we like the fact that an outboard motor is generally less problematic and easier to maintain and repair. Plus in a worst case scenario we could replace it for hundreds of dollars (or as we figured, a couple days of Key West panhandling) rather than the thousands it would cost to replace an inboard motor. 

The cabin is perfectly setup for a liveaboard with room for guests. *Hint, hint* The V-berth is a cozy fit for two and the center part of the cabin has a wrap around dining area and easily converts into a double berth. There are also two quarter berths in the aft part of the cabin, which would comfortably fit one person each and when no one is occupying them, will make great storage space. 

She has four portholes on each side and all but the front two open. This might seem like an odd thing to note, but we looked at a few boats where all or most of the portholes had been sealed shut or replaced with stationary ones - just think, musty sea stank without adequate ventilation. Oh no, we’re not falling for that. 

Her head (or bathroom rather) is clean with a fairly new toilet. It also has a door, for those who prefer some privacy. The galley (or kitchen) has good storage space to stock up on canned yummies and a clean, rust-free sink. There isn’t a stove, but a section of the countertop pops out and below is space where a stove could easily be installed. However, we figured for the time being our Coleman stove would sit nicely there and work just fine. 

Some of the other very exciting, but less essential selling points were the matching cushion covers and curtains. Remember the fun, 80‘s splatter paint thing? Yes, it’s on every material surface. If only the splatters were neon pink...instead they are a pretty bland navy blue. Or black, if you ask Adam. Also, it came complete with 6 of these, brand new. It just seemed like a sign. 

And yes, I know what you’re thinking....they’ll go perfect with my PBR headband!

And so after taking a look at Lil' Gem and then walking down the street to enjoy a few persuasive brews at the Tavern with Frank, we parted that evening with plans to sail her the following afternoon. Like I said, we liked the guy and we liked the boat, but we also figured we had better see what she did on the water before handing over the last of our cash. 

...

The next day we met Frank at the Sarasota Sailing Squadron in the early afternoon. The sun was out and the wind was steady as we climbed aboard and motored out through the markers into Sarasota Bay. Adam took the helm and I raised the jib first, and then the main. We took turns at the tiller and crawling around inspecting the rigging, hull and cabin as we sailed steadily north on a beam reach. After a bit we tacked and headed back south. 

She sailed simply and so smoothly, aside from our own personal hiccups. The sails looked used but happy, and the lines were roughened a bit but in good condition. It just felt right. And so, after a couple of hours out on the bay, we headed back in and tied her up to the dock. We told Frank that we were sure she was the right one and would be in touch shortly with the final verdict. Then we set out for some late lunch, and in a quiet Thai restaurant we decided to make an offer on Lil’ Gem. After eating, we stopped by the Tavern on Main for a celebratory beer. We sat down at the bar next to him and told him we wanted to buy her. He accepted our offer which was a few hundred less than he was asking and agreed to meet up Monday morning to finalize the deal and fill out the paperwork. The excitement we felt is indescribable, but the odd jumps, jerks and frolics that exploded from my body as we made our way back down Main St said it all.  

...

Monday morning came and the winds coming off the Gulf were nearly a gale. We were headed to Sarasota to buy Lil’ Gem but there was no way we were going to be able to sail her north that day. Frank agreed to let us keep her at the Sarasota Sailing Squadron for a few days and after signing the paperwork, we headed out to make sure she wasn’t going to break loose and sail away with out us. 

There our Lil’ G was, at the very end of the dock, where the wind was hitting directly on her beam and the waves were rolling in and crashing against her side and rear. We decided we had to get her closer in to land, and since the depth allowed and there were no other boats on that side of the dock, we set forth moving here slowly using dock lines and pylons and cleats. Normally we would have just walked her, one of us with a bow line and the other with a stern line, up the dock. However, since the winds were blowing over 20 knots and coming in right on her beam, she would have just pulled us into the water and blown right into the sailing squadron mooring field, crashing into the closest boat. So instead Adam devised a plan and in a mechanical leap frog of lines we scooted her forward a few feet at a time. After a little over an hour, we had her moved up the dock about fifty feet and around a slight bend, so that she was protected from the surf and the wind was blowing more across her bow. Then we locked her up and double checked our knots. We felt confident, well mostly confident, she'd still be there when we returned a few days later for our maiden voyage.