Holding the Boat, 3

January 7th. Friday morning.

The wind starts kicking in strong around 2:00AM. The noises keep me awake. Halyard lines slapping on the mast; the magnified drumming of rain on the deck; the water slurping and gushing around the boat.

I get out of my cocoon-bed every so often, and shine the flashlight on the anchor line. Looks solid. The wind buffets my hair, fine shards of rain hit me horizontally. I shine the light beam on the other boats- they're still the same distance from me as before. Good, go back to sleep.

The bed in my v-berth is so cozy. It's called a v-berth because it's at the front of the boat, shaped like a "V". Two massive duna blankets cover the bed, riding up the walls from their sheer breadth. I tuck them underneath me, to keep the blankets from moistening; the condensation which comes off the walls, in droplets of water, must be kept at bay.

I wipe the wall down with a towel I keep handy, and feel the water rushing by outside. It's weird, I'm actually sleeping just below the waterline. The steady trickling sounds, the slight tremor effect, and the actual condensation, all make me feel like I'm sleeping inside a waterfall. A very cozy, protected shell in a waterfall.

8:00AM. I put on my snowboard jacket and stick my head outside the companionway. The wind is frantic, gusting hard like it needs to be somewhere in a hurry. The rain is light but prickly, the clouds are black and grey. It feels very... raw. I like it.

I heat up some milk for my oatmeal. The stove is slightly angled, but fairly stable. Inside the boat it is remarkably calm, actually, even though the storm is hitting full strength. If I were at sea it would be a different story. But the bay has swell or waves to toss the boat around; and the tidal movement tends to keep the boat very solid. Like a piece of log stuck in a fast-flowing river, the boat is held taught against the anchor, allowing little sideways motion.

I'm very grateful for this. However, the only reason it's so stable is because the tide can be terribly strong. When it comes time to row my dinghy back to shore, I realize both the tide and the wind are going in the same direction. Whereas usually I make a bee-line for the beach, this time I was swept me down several hundred yards. Every effort to row harder was countered by a stronger gust, or a more violent tidal push.

Just as I was reaching the muddy beach, the rain started to come down in sheets. Pounding rain. I was a drenched puppy,
but I was warm. Actually, I was sweating, as I dragged the dinghy along the water's edge, making slow progress towards my "parking spot". After I had everything tied up, and was sheltered under a tree, I looked out at the bay: it was choppy, muddy, and insane looking. I wouldn't even consider paddling back out!

I felt fine about leaving my boat now. It just sat there calmly, taking the storm's punches with an unflinching expression. The chaffing gear around the anchor line was holding up; the anchor wasn't dragging. I'd keep an eye on it for the next few days, but while it's raining cats and dogs, I think I'll stay on shore.