Note from Trish: Skip, my husband, lives aboard Nehalennia, our 30-foot cutter, full time while I commute back and forth from land to sea. He had his first taste of a hurricane when Ivan hit the marina last September, and though the boat came through well, the marina was pretty damaged. Skip ended up living aboard without dock, electricity, or shore water for three months...the first time he's ever gone that long "untethered." Here are some of his observations and insights from the experience.
I spent three months on the hook just before the holidays. Well, I exaggerate -- but hey, I'm a sailor. Put more accurately, I spent months "on the piling" and it was a learning experience for me. In September, after Ivan did the ugly on our marina in Niceville, Florida (about 60 miles east of the storm’s center), the docks were a mess. What was left looked like a rollercoaster track with twenty-foot gaps. Even though the dock was gone, the pilings in my slip were intact, so I got the green light to stay put while repairs were made. I was told that I couldn't walk on the docks, and that re-establishing power and water "would take a while." Access to shore, then, would have to be by dinghy, and any power I needed would have to be self-generated.
I’ve been a marina rat up until now, and the longest period I’ve been away from a dock could be measured in weeks. I can fairly say that my post-Ivan experience has given me a pretty good idea what life will be like when I’m permanently living at anchor. Here, for your reading pleasure, are a few of my observations from a life a-piling.
Doing the Dinghy Thing
Getting back and forth to the boat wasn’t a bother in fair weather; in fact, it was often a pleasant ride. But late fall is rainy season here, and I often had to contend with six or more inches of water in the dinghy, or, worse, driving rain. To bail out the dink, I got a high-volume bailing pump, one with a large bore and that pumps on both the up and down stroke. One sailing friend mounted a small bilge pump on the transom of his dink, and that really works well (it's on my list).
Wet feet, shoes, and pant legs are no fun, so high-topped rain boots were the next purchase. I also have lightweight waterproof pants and anorak. Both are baggy (oversized) and easy to get on and off. I dressed for work, put the rain gear over top, and once ashore I just peeled them off, donned my work shoes, and I was good to go. For assorted "stuff" (wallet, shoes, watch, cell phone, books, lunch, etc.) I used a dry bag, the kind that rolls down from the top, then folds around in a loop with a latch. It's absolutely watertight.
One thing I don't have, but is on my wish list, is a splash guard for the dink. One memorable ride out to the boat was against a stiff wind and chop, and boy was it a wet, miserable ride!
Henry David Would Be Proud
Living on twelve volts for a prolonged period was another new experience. Until this adventure, the longest I'd gone on just house battery power had been about a week. Nehalennia is nicely equipped electrically, so I did fairly well over the three-month period. I have two 8-D AGM house batteries, with 200 watts of solar panel firepower, plus a wind generator (an Aerogen 6). I also have an inverter (Heart Interface 3000), so the system is pretty robust.
In my quest to be a twenty-first century Thoreau, I wanted to optimize electrical use, so I shut down the refrigerator—by far the greatest draw on the system—and used it as an ice box. It's pretty well insulated, and a 20 lb. block of ice lasted for about a week. I learned to utilize canned goods and dry-stored meals (rice, pasta, couscous) a lot. UHT milk is great, if you can find it.
The stereo was on three or four hours per day, the cabin lights five or six hours per day, and I used the inverter to run the TV and DVD player (my one non-Thoreau guilty pleasure). I only had to run the engine to bring up the batteries once every couple of week for about three hours. One sunny and windy four-week stretch kept the batteries well charged without running the engine.
Doing the Jerry Jug Shuffle
Water was not a big problem. I have 60-gallon tanks and they were about half full when Ivan hit. I got four 2.5-gallon jerry jugs and used them to bring water to the boat. Trish had told me (based on her life on the hook in Latin America) that smaller jugs (as opposed to the standard six gallon ones) are a lot easier to hustle on and off the boat without risking a hernia, and she’s right.
I learned to be very conservative with water usage. The sea water here is pretty clean, so I used it for washing dishes (I have a salt water foot pump in the galley), followed by a fresh water rinse (I didn't start this until about two weeks after Ivan, however, as the water was pretty foul at first!) I ladled melted ice water out of the reefer and into containers to use as "utility water." I showered on shore, so didn’t need to worry about water usage for personal hygiene. I estimate that I used about ten gallons per week overall.
Power Tools? Bah!
During the months off the store-bought juice (110 volts), I repaired a torn-up (thanks to Ivan) cap rail. Ordinarily I would have deployed a variety of power tools to do the job (and, yes, I realize I could have used the inverter but I had stretched my non-Thoreauness already with the TV/DVD); instead I opted to use hand tools for the whole job. It was slower going to be sure, but I really enjoyed the absence of sander whine in my ears. I took in the pleasant acoustic ambiance of the waterfront: the calls of seagulls, egrets, herons, and fellow boaters ("Nice job you're doing there Skip"). I did use a cordless drill for the fasteners—I just couldn't bring myself to get out the rusty brace and bit.
All in all I think I did well for the three-month stretch. I did miss using the microwave and coffeemaker, and really missed having ice cubes for my nightly (hey, I'm a sailor) rum and cokes. Having done this stint "on the piling," I'm now confident that 30-foot Nehalennia will be very livable on a prolonged cruise—which is very definitely on my to-do list!
