Hunt Press

It Never Moves

The weekends are hoppin’ around this place. All the weekenders come down, and there are five, count em, five, boats on our dock preparing to sail to Florida and points beyond in the next few weeks, so everyone is just zooming around. I find the change a little intimidating.

I was down in the galley making a meal, when a dinghy-load of people puttered by. And I overhear their conversation, “…yeah, that boat looks cool, but it hasn’t moved in years…”

I winced, visibly.

We have been in Texas for only nine months, so the charge of “years” is exaggerated. That’s a relief. But the fact is, that yeah, we’re becoming dock limpets. Jason’s out racing, and I can’t handle all 47′ of this boat solo, so I just haven’t gotten out. And I’m beginning to get that itch that says, if I don’t get off the dock soon, I’m gonna lose my mind. I think back, several times a day now, to, “this time last year, we were…”

Well, to be perfectly honest, this time last year we were careening from euphoria to stress-induced terror and back again. Gorgeous moments of sea and sky and wind juxtaposed with towering mountains of paperwork defended by fire-breathing bureaucratic dragons. Sweltering heat, and one of the most glorious ocean swims I’ll ever have in my entire life. Simple meals of rice and beans (“again? Aw man!”) eaten in the cockpit while a brilliant, molten gold-red sun slipped slowly down beneath a glassy-calm Mexican sea. Hours spent on our bellies on the trampoline, letting our arms dangle down in hopes the leaping dolphins would choose to touch us…

Y’know, life.

Living on a boat is freaking inconvenient and at times utterly ridiculous. I do more maintenance and have a more intimate understanding of plumbing and electrical systems than I ever wanted. And if that’s the price to pay, for moments like those, I will take it. I can take these months on the dock, doing projects as grandiose as redoing the interior and as mundane as organizing and purging stuff, and use them as credit towards preparing for the Next Great Adventure. Before we were given the opportunity to do our trip around Central America, we were on the dock, and hopeful, and I think that now that we’ve gone once, the certainty that we will go again is a comfort, and proof against becoming the dock limpets we’re now being labeled as.