So I reckon I’ve been living aboard since roughly the middle of November, which would make this roughly the end of Q1. Technically I’ve been homeless since Jan 2 so we can call Apr 2 a versary of some sort, but thought I’d wax a bit about life aboard since November. I’ve had a bit of Nelson’s blood, and it’s a crisp clear windless night outside, so what better time to wax.
Towards the end of November, a heron hang out on pier 2. It was early enough for the herron to be around still, but late enough in the season and quiet enough in the marina that nobody disturbed it. Every time I walked towards pier 2, he’d squawk one of his deathly squawks and scare the living piss out of me. Not quite literally. A few weeks later, he left. I reckon it migrated though I don’t know how near and far. Speaking of scaring the piss out of me, I just love having the option of three piers, with two ends each, whence to take action when said living piss is scared out of me. I generally manage to hold it until I get to the end of the pier.
About the same time that the osprey disappeared, several new ducks started hanging around. The domesticated ones are here year around, as are the mallards. But since December we’ve had a couple of canvasbacks, and several couples of buffleheads. Buffleheads nest almost exclusively in holes excavated by Northern Flickers and occasionally pileated woodpeckers, but we have none of the latter around since, last I heard, there were only 2 left and these in some landlocked state. Also, the buffleheads are one of a very few species of duck who, unlike men, remain monogamous. This is in stark contrast to mallards, I guess. There’s at least one gay mallard couple in the marina. (strangely, the ones in the picture also seem to be two males. Maybe I’m in the gay part of the migration path.) I also found out that ducks can leave trails in the water. NYE at the marina with good friends, lots of drink, and cold, cold water to jump in. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend NYE with than you who were here. Nor a better place than Bahia.
In sadder news, sometime in January someone shot one of the white domesticated ducks, for no good reason. Strangely, the gay mallards started hanging out with the widder duck. January also iced over the creek, and brought the first snow. I’ve seen very few places as peaceful as a marina in the snow. In other news, a southpaw was signed in to office. I’ve never seen people in DC so happy. I think the entire town, locals plus 2 million visitors, were absolutely elated. I mean really. Everybody. About time. Of course, we locals stayed at home and drunk and watched the teevee. Saved the really good stuff for Burns night, light though it was.
Next thing I know, three paragraphs later it’s February and 70 degrees outside! Time to take the kayak for a spin. Two things I realized:
- I really enjoy answering people when they still ask me “where” i went kayaking.
- I just realized this tonight: i have to walk about a hundred yards towards land to launch my kayak. How cool is that?
- unrelated, but since I’m enumerating: I like cooking on the boat. The size of the galley makes it more of a challenge. Setting limits makes for better food. Cold nights bring long-simmering stews that warm the cabin as well as the body. Hot nights, quickly cooked crisp meals. Neato.
- I guess it’s not just food that’s influenced by temperature. I guess there’s a heightened sense of awareness outside the realm of what has become human: of the weather, the animals around me, the way the wind blows. Seasons are defined by weather and fauna and flora and winds rather than the calendar. I know if there’s this type of weather, it will bring that type of wind which will bring a high or low tide. Winter has much more drastic tides than summer.
- I haven’t been sailing since early fall. Time to go again. Anyone?
Now, not all’s peaches and cream. I have one or two things to complain about:
Here it is: Next person that mentions “living the dream” gets all their sailing rag subscriptions revoked (especially Lats and Atts), and I will personally pay Puck to read that passage of the Pardeys having sweet, sweet love to them. Repeatedly. With feeling. And pictures.
Oh, and the bastard gulls mooning me.
