Finding Time for a Little Boat Maintenance...

Me do thinks dat 'der are plenty of wanna-be sailor fellers outs 'der dat do needs to be enlightened sumwhats 'bout livin' aboard a boat and how it ain't all frivolous fun n' games all da time either.

For ya see, 'der be mundane boat chores and maintenance to be done all da times whedder's one wants to do 'dem or not. And doin' chores jest ain't sumptin' I particularly likes doing, especially if I mights has had indulged in a few pitchers of cold beer da prior evening.

But dat feller sailors is another story all togethers and one dat I'd jest as soon rather not talks about at dis very moment if ya knows what I means.

First of all ders always dat small matter of dirty dishes in da galley in dire need of a good wash. Den der always da hassel of remembering to buy more gasoline fer the dinghy. Den ones needs to remember to make sure dat ya mix da gasoline and motor oil in da right proportion for dat two stroke outboard motor for otherwise ya jest might burn it out.

And of course one always gots to remember to refill ones water cans whenever goin' ashore and dat too can be a hassle as well 'cause sumtimes ya gots to go a sneakin' around and a borrowin' somebody's water hose when dey ain't be a looking... especially if ya be at anchor up somewheres up in Key Largo.

Den ders dat small matter of havin' to remember to top off da marine battery wit sum distilled water of all things before da dang thing up and croaks on ya.

Yet nevertheless amongst' da least tolerable chores as far as I'd be concerned was a havin' to scrape barnacles and smutz off da hull of de boat.

Don't knows why, but jest da thought of gettin' in da water to scrape off barnacles seemed all too laborious of a chore fer me and was always a chore best left fer another day.

Anywho, I'd eventually come around to scrapin' Blondie's hull whedders' I wanted to or not. I'd slip on my mask and fins but not before a spittin' in my mask and swirlin' da spit around so dat my mask wouldn't fog up on me once in da water.

Presumably spit does has sum' magnetic properties or sumsuch dat keeps da mask from a foggin' up. What can I say other thans' it worked fer me everytime.

And I'd also be sure to wear some thick work gloves while diving on da hull and while zealously scraping away all dem frickin' little critters a clinging to da bottom of da boat wit an ordinary metal paint scraper.

'Cause if ya don'ts wears any gloves, den yor sure to wind up wit sum scraped up, bloody knuckles and dat ain't necessarily a good thing considering dat it be sumptin' dat could of been avoided in da first place. Jest trust me on dis one feller sailor, cause I do speaks from prior experience in dis matter.






And nope feller sailors... dat ain't a drop cloth wrapped around Blondie's boom with white paint spilled all overs it in case ya might has been a-wonderin'.... but rather insteads it be a sail cover wit bird poop splattered all overs it.

I did eventually attempt to clean dat bird poop off the sail cover. I followed some advise dat I'd previously come across somewheres and tied dat thing off of  Blondie's transom.

One would have only thunk dat submerging dat sail cover in the water would have done da trick but it didn't. Dat bird poop steadfastly refused to dislodge itself until I took it ashore and put a pressure hose to it alongs wit a stiff brush and a good amount of elbow grease.




Oh... I's almost forgots to mention dat occasionally cleaning da bilge is also a part of da deal insofar as boat maintenance be concerned. And do remember dis feller sailor.... bleach is a good thing... the more 'da better... jest don't lets any marina nazis see ya using da stuff 'cause den ya will be sure to get an earful of some unsolicited environmental commentary.





Unfortunately howevers, evens though I now be off da boat, I stills ain't been able to completely avoids havin' to do sum occasional mundane chores around da house.

Yep, dat be me a scrubbing smutz off da sides of my lady-friends pool. So much for the so-called concept of "friends wit benefits" dang it. Der jest simply ain't no gettin' away from a havin' to do maintenance of one sort or another whedder' one be on a boat or otherwise.

Howevers I jest can'ts complains too much cause my lady-friend do has a Haitian feller come on over to da house every other week to mow da grass and dat certainly be a good thing as far as I be concerned.





Yep, when I ain'ts a workin' at da office, I be a cleanin' da pool. Well heck... I got's to earn my keep sumhows'.

Doing a Little Sailing For A Change... Key West

Well whada-ya-know... I finally found it in me to pull away from my mooring ball if only for a couple of hours the other day for some actual sailing. And of course it helps to have some company along to share in the experience. Otherwise I simply wouldn't have bothered.

Winds were relatively light and out of the south for a change and with it being a bright sunny day and with there being plenty of cold beer aboard the boat, my lady-friend and I raised sails and aimlessly putted around for a couple of hours.

If anything it was reassuring to know that the boat still worked as intended and that I hadn't forgotten how to sail after sailing into Key West some three or so months ago.

Perhaps I might even find it in me one of these mornings to get off my duff and clean off the grime that can now be seen thriving along Blondie-Dog's waterline.

Keeping It Real with the Housekeeping aboard the Boat...

There was a time when I would make it a point to keep my boat looking all spiffy... now I can't be bothered and hardly give a rat's ass whether it looks all tidied-up or not. That is of course if I ain'ts expecting any company.

I do nevertheless still a have a few standards and do wash my dirty pots and pans on occasion. I've yet to see any rodents or cucarachas scurrying around so I suppose it ain't all that bad... not yet anyways.

What can I say other than I'm just keeping it real...

An Unwelcomed Kink Aboard S/V Blondie-Dog...

Not that anybody gives a rat's ass but the difference between sexy and kinky is that sexy is when you use a feather and kinky is when you use the whole chicken....

And while on topic and speaking of kinky, I gotta believe that I may have indeed found the culprit of why my outboard motor kept persisting in showing total disinterest and why it kept konking out on me at the most inopportune moment while underway and attempting to negotiate narrow channels.

Well you see, I happened to notice an ever so slight sheen of what appeared to be either oil or gasoline glistening on the surface of the water behind my outboard motor this morning. Upon closer inspection, I also happened to notice that the bluish-purplish sheen led all the way to the gas can.

Upon a subsequent dis-assembly of the gas siphoning tube, if that is what it might be called, I noticed that the plastic tube, reaching way down to the bottom of the gas can with a filter at the end of it, was bent.

That tube had a 45 degree kink in it which may explain why the thing was in pain and could not perform as intended. I had to endlessly squeeze the siphoning bulb on the fuel line to ensure that enough gas flowed on through to the carburetor to keep that Nissan Outboard motor running.

It appears that my fuel problem might have had a simple fix. I simply snipped off about 3/4's of an inch off of the tube so that when inserted into the gas can, it would not bend.

I later ran the outboard on idle for a good while and never once did it give any inkling of showing any dis-interest and of wanting to stop functioning as it was intended to.

Feeling My Age While Hobbling about my Boat with a Lower Back Strain...

It occurs to me that I ain't as young as I use to be. There was a time not too long ago when I could readily get up and down a basketball court and hang with the fellas at the Downtown Dallas YMCA for some five on five basketball.

Unfortunately for me that is no longer the case and not something that I would even contemplate doing in my current physical condition in spite of my lack of common sense at times. I'm simply not as limber as I use to be.

Anymore it seems as if it takes a good deal of effort just to ever so gingerly climb out of the v-berth in the mornings. All of which brings to mind the lower back ache that I've been coping with for the past couple of weeks.

For you see a couple of weeks ago I got an invitation to head on out to one of the ball fields here in Marathon for a little recreational softball one afternoon. Well it wasn't quite so recreational after all. There simply was too much bickering going around with teammates getting on each others case after every perceived missed play.

Mind you that I'm not talking about a bunch of young kids doing all the bickering either but rather a bunch of old geezers in their fifties and sixties... and don't doubt for a moment that these same old fuddie-duddies collectively and fervently believe that Glen Beck and Shawn Hannity of FOX Fabrication News Network are all somehow enlightened.

But this geezer talk is all noise insofar as backaches are concerned and this gratuitous commentary will simply have to wait for another day before becoming a blog entry in its own right.

It was in any event somewhat fun to get out on a ball-field and be a kid again. That was until a day or two later when I seemed to be hurting all over. It seemed as if every muscle in my body was aching. Who would of thought that a leisurely game of softball could possibly inflict so much discomfort upon a person?

My thighs were completely sore from running the bases and sprinting throughout the outfield. My arm was aching from having attempted to throw out a number of runners at the plate, and my back was killing me after having swung for the fences on every pitch while at bat.

I also doubt whether all those batting practice swings that I took before the game were of any help. Especially now that I've got a lower back muscle pulling on my spine all in one direction.

To make matters worse, I aggravated my aching back muscle when I finally took it upon myself a day or so later to take my outboard that was mounted on the transom of my boat to a marine mechanic for repairs.

That effort involved loosening the clamps that held the outboard onto the engine bracket and of then lowering it down into my dinghy and later muscling that heavy thing onto the backseat of my car only to later have to repeat the process in inverse order once I had retrieved it from the shop.

That Nissan 9.8 HP outboard easily weighed over a hundred pounds and it did indeed seem to take a toll on a lower vertebrate or two of mine. I'm still feeling the effects of carting that outboard around all of which reminds me of the time when I had previously aggravated a lower back muscle while living in Dallas a few years ago.

I can well remember the incessant pain and discomfort of that back pain and of finally coming to terms with the fact that I did indeed need a deep tissue massage to complement all the muscle-relaxant and pain-reliever pills that I had been swallowing down by the hand-full every so often.

It just so happened that the Dallas Downtown YMCA were I frequented had a few trainers on staff instructed on how to perform muscle massages on athletes. These athletes were invariably marathon runners and the like.

I had never before shelled out any of my hard earned mulah for a massage before so I didn't quite know what to expect. Somehow the thought of someone other than a significant other massaging all my muscles to be a bit too seedy for me. So yes, this would be my first muscle massage ever.

I'm hobbling about and in some serious pain when I pay my fee for a massage session. I then make my way on over to another floor where the large dimly lit room with various massage tables are located.

Waiting inside that darkened room is the same sleazy looking Hispanic character that I'd seen many times before throughout the YMCA facilities. He was still wearing the same large, dark sunshades like he'd always had before as I struggled to climb up onto the table after showering.

It was at the moment that it somehow occurred to me that he perhaps couldn't see when he didn't reach out to take my receipt that I was extending out to him as proof of prior payment.

Not wanting to be politically incorrect, I politely inquire, "Excuse me sir, are you perhaps sightless"? , upon which he then stands erect and shouts, "No Man!... I'm not sightless!... I'm blind!!".

And with that, we both proceed to laugh are asses off. Turns out that he was a most delightful person to chat it up with and even better yet, he knew what he was doing insofar as massages were concerned. For the next hour, he proceeded to apply deep pressure all throughout my lower back muscle that had me in so much pain.

Within a day or two my back muscle had completely loosened up and stopped aching. It felt as good as new. (Hey Frank... hope all is well with you)

S/V Blondie-Dog Finally Gets her Motor Fixed and Goes Out for a Day Sail...

S/V Blondie-Dog finally has her outboard motor in working order again.

I do nevertheless say this with a bit of trepidation because that motor just might happen to hear me say pleasant things about her and decide once again to start acting up like a malcontent little kid.

It goes without saying that the last thing that I need at this moment is for that motor to start giving me any more grief and crappy attitude.

My four stroke outboard motor now happens to purr like a cat when put in idle, and when given a little gas, can wake up all the neighbors with all her loud screaming. In any event, both are most certainly delightful sounds to my ears.

But all this only happened after yet another complete overhaul of that motor and after yet another meticulous cleaning of the carburetor. It was an effort that went to waste because that carburetor was almost instantly clogged up yet once again... the only difference being that the carburetor was now encrusted with salt crystals and not varnish from ethanol gasoline.

I can understand gasoline and ethanol gumming up a carburetor to some extent but not salt since it could only mean one thing and that is "bad gas"... and that could only mean that I was somehow remiss in preventing that gas from getting contaminated in the first place.

It occurs to me that I should have replaced the gasoline in my five gallon gas tank in its entirety after my sail on down from Marco Island months earlier. While sailing, I had taken on some heavy seas and had ocean spray continuously crash down into the cockpit and onto the gas can while under sail.

It was only after a good while of sailing in those heavy seas that I noticed that the air valve on the can had been left in the open position and that a puddle of sea water had accumulated on top of the cap. There was no telling just how much water had treacherously seeped down into that tank.

That open valve was just one of a number of "oh f***" moments on that sail down from Marco Island that day. However, the very distinct possibility of unwelcomed salt water now residing inside my gas tank didn't register as a critical priority at that moment.

Nevertheless for whatever compelling reason, I had somehow elected to put that sailing ordeal completely out of my mind and later totally forgotten to check my fuel for water contamination.

In any event, the motor does work now and it was a delight to finally motor on out of the harbor the other day for a quick day sail on down to Bahia Honda Key and back. Winds were comparatively light and there was but a little chop in the water. These are the Keys so it goes without saying that both the sky and ocean were as blue as can be imagined.

My lady-friend visiting on down from Marco Island and I sailed out on the ocean side parallel to the Seven Mile Bridge. You may even perhaps recall the movie "True Lies" and of the action scene that seemed to last forever on that bridge with Arnold Swarztnegger and Jamie Lee Curtis.
(incidentally... *** damned, she was hot!!***)

That day-sail was my first delightful, easy sail aboard S/V Blondie-Dog and reminded me of the numerous occasions when I once sailed my AMF 21' sloop off the east coast of Puerto Rico some fifteen or so years ago. The only thing missing were some cold beers but that was by choice before slipping on out of the harbor.

So yeah, I've got my fingers crossed that my outboard is something that I can now rely upon at any given moment.