So our weather window for hoisting someone up the mast to check out our malfunctioning radome has slammed abruptly shut on us with the onset of the familiar vista of clouds and rain coming in from the south last night. We got into town too late yesterday, which would have been a beautiful day for it, with a high near 60 and not a raindrop to be seen, and I had high hopes that today would follow along in the same vein, but winter came back early.
I woke this morning to an annoying buzz and vibration; I at first put it down to a nearby boat warming up for an early departure, but as the haze of sleep cleared a bit a realized it was coming toward the stern somewhere on our own boat. When I was awake enough to give it a couple second’s thought, it seemed pretty obvious it must be the water pump. Usually I turn off the breaker overnight or whenever we’re not using the water; it’s a cheap way to keep a split hose or broken fitting from flooding us while we’re on deck or otherwise occupied (like, sleeping), but on the night I forgot, somehow the tank had gone dry and the pump was gulping for water that wasn’t there. There was none in the bilge, so it must have been some fluke where the last drops were used that night but the line didn’t pull it all through until early this morning.
Anyway, we were well awake by 0700 because of that little incident, and we put the morning to good use. Mandy grabbed the hose and refilled the water tank (the pump, fortunately, did not need to be re-primed but started sucking through again immediately) and I checked over the engine and warmed it up for a quick trip to the fuel dock.
We motored over without seeing anyone else on the water and tied up at the pump-out station at the end of the fuel dock. We have a moderately complex waste water system and pumping out takes both of us and a moderate amount of time. It also requires more attention to detail than I gave it, which resulted in a moderate amount of backflow through the vent line and onto the deck. While we were getting that cleaned up and flushing the system, the fuel dock opened up, and suddenly swarms of runabouts materialized out of nowhere and lined up at the pumps.
I assumed it was the die hard fishing fleet, up and ready to go at 0900 on SuperBowl Sunday, the game notwithstanding, but after we jockeyed Insegrevious into position and grabbed a diesel line (fortunately, they were all waiting for gasoline) the dock attendant wandered over and struck up a conversation. Turned out they were all craft that had been on display at the boat show the past week. They had come down from Vancouver and were on their way back up today. “It’s smooth and not much wind,” the attendant said. “They shouldn’t have too much trouble.”
What a different world! In a matter of hours, probably not even a particularly long day, those little powerboats are going to blast their way up the same distance it is going to take us three or four days to cover.
This isn’t a particularly new realization, or even a depressing one. There are tradeoffs to be made; for one thing, while each of us put about $50 worth of fuel in the tank, they will have burned through it by tonight, and I probably won’t have to fill up again until July. For another, were the weather worse, they wouldn’t be making the trip at all whereas we would probably be flying along in comfort and style. If it happens to deteriorate somewhere along they way, they’ll have to put in somewhere; we have a safe, warm cabin to tuck away in and can find anchorages all over the place.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a heartbeat’s worth of envy when I heard their plan. What an easy week we would have if we could simply put the hammer down and be in Canadian waters in a few hours! Forget about preparations, who cares if we get a late start, we’re going to the Olympics!
But instead we’re on the slow boat, and our path is less direct. I’ll be happy with it once we get there. Usually, I am fine with enjoying the journey and not worrying about the destination so much… anyone who does otherwise will find sailing a frustrating affair, I think. But this time, the destination matters, and for once, I wouldn’t mind shortening the journey a bit to get there.