Boat Life: ....and the rain ended.

For five days, the rain and wind hammered the California coast. Occasionally some sunlight filtered in, but the gusty wind was unrelenting. Six inches or more fell on the already saturated ground, creating mudslides along Big Sur, and more tragically, La Conchita. Every day the newspapers had another terrible story. Every day my boat was still in the same place, and I'd think "Miracle!"

I hadn't gone out to my boat since the start of the heavy rain. Since I'd get soaked anyway, it just wasn't worth it; I'd usually just sleep in my van. Having an alternative residence is important when your boat is getting blown around the wind-swept bay. My van is quite comfortable actually; it's a 1992 Plymouth Voyager, a "soccer mom" vehicle converted to a "surf bum" mobile. My quiver of 4 boards is strapped to the roof, secured by cable locks, and occasionally my mountain bike hangs off the back. Besides the driver and passenger seats, all the seats were removed, and in their place was assembled a very comfortable double bed. Read more about it in My Surf Mobile (coming soon).

Although I'm sure other boat owners are also concerned about their vessels, I have good reason to worry. Whereas most people in the bay have their boats tied to a mooring, I have mine hooked to a set of anchors. For those who don't know, a mooring is a very heavy weight (a half ton or more) which keeps the boat from moving. My anchors are much less bomb-proof. I have a little technical run down at Anchoring in Morro Bay (coming soon). Suffice it to say that my first two attempts to anchor were piss-poor; I'd wake up in the morning and my boat was butted up on the dry mudflats.

For my third attempt, I recruited the services of a local boat handyman; trying to collect bits and pieces of information from guys hanging around the docks just wasn't going to cut it anymore. Turns out my handyman was an ex-convict who had just gotten out of jail, and who was happy so long as his tabacco stash was plentiful. But he wasn't just any ex-con, he was my ex-con, and he was helping me secure my boat. And it worked! That was back in August, and the anchors haven't budged an inch all winter.

Nevertheless, the other night I had a dream my boat had sunk. I'm sure my sailors have this dream. In the dream, I had tied my boat to the dock, and the wave action had become so vigorous it overwhelmed the boat. When I woke up I reassured myself I never leave my boat on the dock. Funny enough, the dock seems like the safest place to keep a boat, but in Morro Bay the storms can create little waves that bang against your boat, bang, bang, bang, and eventually stuff breaks. When the storm is approaching, people ask me, "Why don't you get a slip just to be comfortable?". But it's more comfortable to be afloat that tied up to a rigid object like a dock during a storm.

Actually, I heard of one guy who's boat sank this winter while it lying in the slip. It got so banged up it began to take in water, and that was it. The Raza remains though, happily afloat right next to the Bird Sanctuary. When the blue sky came back I rowed the Punkin Seed out. I wasn't sure if the cabin would be soaked inside, but I guess I learned something from the previous storm: get rid of the carpets, move the sheets and towels out of the way, and let the water flow down into the bilge. Don't obstruct the work of gravity. I opened the hatches and lit up some incense, to eliminate the damp odors. I sat out in the cockpit, book in hand, under the sunny skies, and I thought, "Wow, I feel quite warm. Almost hot." That's the beauty of winter in California. So long as the rain is gone (despite it being January) there'll still be moments when sun-bathing seems entirely reasonable.