The Great Otter Attack

This little guy and his mum are river otters we spotted playing in a dinghy in Snug Cove. They aren't the otters in the tale I'm about to tell, but they were characters in their own right. They didn't give a hoot that I was standing two feet away clicking photos as fast as the camera would take them. They were engaged in their own business and I didn't figure in to their antics. Except as a focus for the little one's hamming for the camera.

The Great Otter Attack, however, occurred in the Gulf Islands. Degnen Bay. It began with petroglyphs. We'd read in a guide book that the approach to Degnen Bay had a spectacular, if hard to find, petroglyph marking the entrance to the bay. The island itself had several stellar examples of ancient petroglyphs. We thought that sounded pretty cool, so off we went to anchor in the little bay. The spot is popular with people who live on the island, so the bay is full of boats on mooring buoys. We found a spot in shallow water where we could safely put down an anchor and pull up our dagger boards. After a pleasant evening and a try out of the new barbeque, we closed up the boat and headed to bed.

Fast forward to o'dark sometime of the night. DH and I are sound asleep, when suddenly, three hearing cats (the fourth is stone deaf - she misses alot) materialized in the master cabin, jumping up and down on me in a panic. I awoke. The boat was rocking back and forth as if a power boat had come through at speed. Except I didn't hear a boat. THUMP. Something hit the hull and the rocking intensified. My heart answered that thump by knocking against my ribs. I figured the tide had gone out farther than we'd thought it would and we were banging against rocks. I spill out of bed and peer out the windows.

Plenty of water all around us. No more noises. No hitting anything, but we're still rocking. Frowning, I climb the steps up to the door and look out the back.

Something walks across the transom.

Every last bit of air gets sucked out of my chest. OMG. One of the cats got out and is locked outside! I glance over my shoulder. Three cats on the table watching me with huge, we're-freaked-out eyes. Erie's asleep in her basket in the aft cabin. Okay. Not one of MY cats...I glanced back out.

Something ELSE walked across the transom.

"There's something on the boat!" I hollared.

The DH pokes his head up to look at me.

SPLASH

That's when it hit me. Otters. The stupid otters were chasing one another between the hulls of the boat, bouncing from one hull to the next - which made us rock, then they'd shoot out the back, up the swim step across the transom and back into the water.

Apparently, the sight of me in my jammies was enough to convince them that playtime was over. They took off and didn't return. Once the initial burst of terror receded, the whole experience was pretty cool and we regretted not getting to watch them playing chase across our boat. On the other hand, we didn't particularly want otters on board - especially since we sleep with the forward hatch open and we could envision an otter falling through - into the boat. No way that would have ended well...No matter how cute the little buggers are, they're only cute from a distance. Really.

Petroglyphs? Never saw 'em. Walked all over that island it felt like. Never found the petroglyphs. Let this be a lesson: Don't leave the directions aboard the boat when you row ashore.

Meanwhile...

You've noticed we're behind in posting. We really aren't still in the San Juan Islands. No, we cleared into Canada some time ago and have been cruising, taking photos and problem solving since. We're at a pause for the next week while I go to New York to attend the RWA National Conference. Keith and the cats are in Victoria, BC docked right in front of the Empress Hotel. They'll hold there until I get back.

The problem solving involved felines. Hatshepsut came down with a urinary tract infection. We found a fabulous vet clinic in Nanaimo - the Clinic for Cats - a short cab ride from the marina. They diagnosed her and gave us Clavamox pills. Woo hoo, done deal right? We sail away from Nanaimo, anchor at a marine park. Hatshepsut promptly has a reaction to her meds. She was miserable and we were in the middle of no where. We pulled up anchor and hurried into port. We were too far south at this point to return to Nanaimo. We called the Clinic for Cats, explained what was happening and told them where we were (Sydney, BC). They said, "Give us five minutes, we'll call you right back." They did. They'd found a hospital near us, sent all the records, told them to expect us, called us back and told us the hospital was waiting for us - they'd give Hatshepsut a shot and all would be well. Sure enough. The Sydney Animal Hospital gave Hatshepsut a long acting antibiotic shot called Convenia. No more need for the Clavamox that had been making her feel so horrible.

Okay. Everything's fine, now, right? We haul the girl back to the boat, sit down, and notice that Cuillean isn't acting right. Uh oh. From watching her, I figured she had an impacted anal gland. This means another vet visit. Those things will rupture and you don't want that. Except that it wasn't. I'd gotten it wrong. I knew this when I saw the blood on my cat. She had an abscess and had pulled the scab off. She was bleeding. All over the boat. It wasn't dangerous, and once she'd opened the abscess, she felt much better, but it still required a trip to the clinic. So first thing Saturday morning, we were back in a cab headed to the Sydney Animal Hospital with another cat. Cuillean was dehydrated, needed a bit of minor surgery to finish draining the wound, and she needed antibiotics. They took very good care of her and we had her back aboard that afternoon. She's healing well, now, and we're hoping that's the end of the feline veterinary adventures.

We do have more photos to post and stories to tell about river otters using the boat as a jungle gym in the middle of the night. We'll get those posted. Eventually. I swear.

Spreading the Sailing Bug

Jeffe Kennedy and her SO, David, came to stay aboard the boat this past weekend. They wanted to see what this living aboard thing was all about. Maybe I'd failed to mention the word 'cramped'.  After David banged his head a few times on the cabin top (tall person aboard a boat = perpetually bruised forehead) I suspect they'd worked it out. Or maybe it after they'd spent a night in the barely a double, aft cabin. The trade off is that the photo at left is the view from our foredeck.

Jeffe swore to me she brought sun with her whenever she vacationed. She did not lie. For three days, the sun shown and the skies stayed blue. Neither Jeffe nor David had sailed before, so we cast off, raised sail and took them across the Sound to Poulsbo. The moment the sails were up, Keith turned the helm over to Jeffe, who eventually relinquished it to David. We wandered Front Street, which is lined with art galleries, shops, restaurants and bakeries. Poulsbo's heritage is Nordic. The first settlers chose Liberty Bay because it reminded them of the fjords where they'd once lived. We poked through shops, found a restaurant with a deck in the sun and sat baking ourselves while we ate too much. We spent the night and woke to find the wind had risen in the night. We cast off after breakfast and headed back to Seattle. Keith handed the wheel over to David the moment we cleared the boats at anchor. We never got to raise sail on the return trip. The wind had turned from the north and was blowing out of the south east. Had we been on a monohull, we could have sailed, but the catamaran needed a better angle off the wind than we had. So it was a quick motor across the Sound.

Yes. Two cats were seasick. One on the way to Poulsbo, one on the way back from Poulsbo. This is an improvement over both being sick both ways.

A boat set up for people to live on is always more cramped than a boat with no liveaboards. Take all of our stuff, add cats, two litterboxes, a suitcase, four adults and shake. All in something short of three hundred square feet. Did I mention the head had kind of stopped working? Yeah. That was special. Once we'd docked and tied up, Jeffe and David packed up, anxious, I think, to get to their hotel where they'd have a bed the could sit up in without risking a concussion. Or maybe it was to find a toilet that flushed. Which ever.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend. I got to hang with friends and Keith got to infect someone else with the sailing bug. Oh yes. A successful weekend on all counts. David and Jeffe departed discussing the merits of purchasing their own sailing craft. Keith and I count our twisted way of life validated.

Same Words, Different Language

Years ago, we won't discuss how many, I mentioned to a college professor that air and water move in the same way. She looked aghast and said, "They do not!"

Who was right?

Turns out, we both were. Using the same words, we were talking about two very different things. I was talking macrocosm. Water and air as mirrored oceans. The motion of the mediums reflect one another, in that both air and water move in currents and tides, swirling and twisting. My professor was thinking microcosm. She'd focused on how objects affected by air move as opposed to how objects affected by water move.

I had a deja vu miscommunication yesterday during a sail back from Liberty Bay. I had the helm. The beloved husband went forward to raise the sails. "You're stuck!" I hollared. "Untangle the lines beneath the boom, then you'll be able to finish raising the main." He looked down, confusion in his face. "I don't understand how lines beneath the boom mean I can't raise the sail!" he said. I blinked. Understanding had no bearing on the fact that the reefing lines had tangled and bound the sail, preventing him from lifting the sail all the way. We got it figured out with no blood shed. It wasn't until we'd gotten back to dock and put everything away that it occurred to me we'd had a language malfunction similar to the one I'd had in college. 

I'd said 'lines under the boom' and meant the reefing lines that run through the boom. He'd looked under the boom and saw the coiled halyards at his feet. No wonder he hadn't understood how those lines were impeding the sail (because they had nothing to do with that sail and *weren't* involved at all). I hadn't been specific enough. Had I said, "the reefing lines are tangled," he'd have known where to look and would have instantly understood the problem. Mental note: saying the word 'lines' on a boat that has several such critters is not sufficiently descriptive.


That's when I had a horrifying epiphany. I'm committing the sin in my day to day life that I've learned I'd better not commit in my writing life: failing to put what's in my head on the paper. Somewhere along the way, I learned in writing not to say 'the trees' when I want you to envision 'the aspens' or 'the maples' or 'the stand of fir, hemlock and cedar'. I suppose it's long past time to learn to be equally specific when I speak. Why does that seem so much harder?

A Weekend Sail

Autolycus

My husband and I live aboard a sailboat with our feline companions. The orange guy in the portal is Autolycus, an eleven year old bobtail male. Cute, ain't he? Great purr. Big personality. Likes to sleep on my head. Very endearing. The down side is that Mr. Congeniality gets sea sick. Really sea sick. Saturday dawned cool and rainy just to piss off all the people tied to the log boom on Lake Washington to watch the Seafair hydro races and the Blue Angels. We got up, went to breakfast, came back, and cleaned up the boat in preparation for guests. This tipped off the cats that something unusual was happening. And by their definition, unusual = bad. Our guests arrived, we showed them around a bit to familiarize them with the boat, then we cast off. The moment the diesel engine started, the hearing cats hid. The deaf girl got up and came out to the cockpit. She *loves* going for a sail. The other cats shun her. We had 12 knots of wind out of the south and increasing rain. I bundled up in my foul weather jacket and my life vest (no going on deck without a PFD). Cleared the deck and then invited our guests forward so I could show them the sail workings. We set the main and then trooped back to the cockpit (and inside the dry, warm enclosure). Keith killed the engine. I helped set the head sail. We fell off and were sailing. Good speed. Easy beam reach and the while there was a little bit of chop, it really was a pleasant sail. Until I went below.

Hatshepsut had deposited her breakfast on one of the sleeping bags - the bag the deaf gal uses as her bed. Erie, our deaf matriarch, was not impressed. It's okay. Really. The bag is washable.

Then a line caught on a hatch. It scared Autolycus, which translates into the cat yakking up his guts. Great. Which set off Hatshepsut. Again. How can she have anything left to throw up?? Then the terror poop began. It isn't like cats poop roses to begin with, but there's no mistaking terror poop. Nose hairs curl in protest. Eyes water. Our youngest guest desperately wanted OFF the boat at that point...except that we were in the middle of Puget Sound. I opened all the windows. I cleaned up. I sat our guests out on the transom where they had fresh air. By the time the rain really began falling, we'd made it most of the way back to the marina, Autolycus had yarfed on both dry-clean only bed covers, and the smell from the terror poop had dissipated.

I shudder to think what sort of impression sailing with us left on our guests. They bundled up and went back to a house with central heating. Keith helped me get the dry cleaning up the dock to the car. We dropped it off then went to grab a burger. (You cannot live with children or animals and remain squeamish.) He brought me back to the boat where I did the washable laundry while he went to a Rush concert. Yeah. Laundry covered in cat barf versus Rush. I got the better end of that deal.

Vacation Discordia

We took a two week vacation aboard our sailing catamaran. The two weeks was hard won. My husband doesn't like to use up his vacation all in one go. I think there's value in taking the extra time to let all of the work nonsense trickle out of your brain cells. He agreed to give it a try. We cruised the San Juan Islands.

The trip had its good points. The weather was gorgeous. We came back with tan lines - no mean feat in Washington State. The scenery was lovely and the wildlife sightings were fascinating glimpses into behaviors we'd never before observed (no whales). The cats weren't seasick and actively seemed to enjoy the anchorages.

The trip had its bad points. There was the involuntary test of the automatic flotation device...no, I won't tell you about that one. Suffice it to say it isn't my story to tell. There was the midpoint maritial melt down. Oh, yes. Every vacation we have ever taken we've had some fight or the other. If we're lucky, it happens early so we can enjoy the rest of the vacation. It can be about anything. Anything at all. The point is the stresses of keeping body and soul together on a day to day basis trump relationship maintenance. It takes us several days of being removed from routine for relationship issues to finally get some attention. In this case, we discovered some very important and difficult truths: I love cruising. My husband does not. I'm an active, adventure-seeking vacationer. My husband in a cultural vacationer. Give me wilderness, trees, mountains, geology and wildlife. Give him museums, bookstores and the odd chocolate shop.

As the tan lines fade, and the stresses of bills to be paid mount, how do we reconcile our differences? Compromise. Not always easy. Very rarely sexy, except were it helps two people each feel like his and her needs might be met. I get to pick a vacation. Then he gets to pick a vacation. First up - an eleven day walking trip across Tsavo National Park in Kenya. (My idea...but he'll go with me because he wants to share the life experience, even when it's one he wouldn't chose. Isn't that sweet?)

In retaliation, I expect to be taken to London and/or Paris for a multi-museum tour. As if that will be a hardship. What do you suppose he'll pick as a vacation after I tell him I want to go to Antarctica to see Blood Falls??