The boys and I made the now easier trip to Aeolus this weekend for no particular reason other than my internal clock telling me it had been too long and the always present nagging desire in my gut to be on the boat, away, in the wilds. There were things to clean, things to fix, as always, but it was also just a chance to get away with my sons and enjoy the high quality time the boat provides.
When we got to Anacortes it was not yet as windy as had been forecast. As is often the case, the forecast was off by time or magnitude. Tough stuff to get right. I'm OK with that. The predicted 35 knot winds were a meek 10 until late in the day. So we got there during fairly calm conditions. I noticed right away that there was a problem.
Despite how complex our boats are, or houses, for that matter, we develop a very clear mental image of what "normal" looks like. It's uncanny. And unconscious. On Aeolus, I noticed a line laying in a place that it shouldn't. Then, I noticed that it had a frayed end. Then, I looked up and saw that my jib halyard wasn't there, and then gazing higher still, saw the remains of the halyard still hanging a few feet below the top of the mast.
"Well, crap!", the good father says.
A moment of reflection, verified by later pondering, tells me the only thing that seems to explain what happened is that the line that I use to tension the halyard must have loosened, and allowed the halyard enough slack to bang and scrape against the sharp edge of the mast steps. Never has that happened before.
The rest of the boat was as I left her. I did a little of this, and a little of that. Replaced the K&N filter I had taken home and cleaned and oiled. Oiled the teak in various places. Cleaned a few spots of mold off the headliner in the head. And cleaned the deck of the boat to battle the algae and mold. Lovely. I mean that, I love it.
The weather did finally kick up, and so the boys stayed aboard. Owen spent hours upon hours playing with his legos. Elliott was reading "1984". When not doing those things, they played games. All sorts of games. No screens, just good old fashioned card games and board games.
It warms every corner of my deep and dark heart to see my sons playing happily for hours without a lick of technology at hand. The brainwashing persists. They get screen time at home, and we even just got Elliott his own Chromebook. We aren't Luddite. They may each be coders for all I know. But they have grown up with us knowing that life is rich and full and joyous in wild places, without electricity or screens. They will take that with them forever through their lives.
We came home early on Sunday to be domestic again.
We go back as a full family in a few days because we are going to go out to the islands for Xmas. Anchor somewhere wild, go to shore, decorate a tree a little bit, and celebrate things. Can't wait.
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