Moving aboard: a tale of humble pies, projects, and transitions

As I write this, I am enjoying a rare calm, mostly sunny, warm-ish day on the bow of SIRI at our marina slip in Sidney, B.C., Canada, with DTessi snuggled up on a blanket at my feet. We're just shy of two months since we moved aboard full-time on the boat which has somehow defied the logic of time by both flying-by and dragging on as if we're running a marathon of unknown distance.

Sailing (motoring) across the Strait of Juan de Fuca bound for Olympia, Washington, a few days after arriving to the boat. We're exhausted in this picture, but the sun and water cheered us up enough for a good family photo.

If you've been following along on social media, one might surmise we've been living in sailing (erm, motoring) bliss with our fair share of baked goods, puppy naps, and time spent out on the water. However, I must confess, that hasn't been a fair representation of what life has really been like for us as of late. Like most Instagram accounts, we've been posting more of a highlight reel of positives and less of the raw, honest reality of what this whole life transition has really been like. Sorry, y'all.

Before I get too deep in the nitty gritty, I'll offer this disclaimer: Yes, we are still glad we're doing this, and no, we aren't regretting our decision, but I'd be lying if I said it's been all rainbows and butterflies so far.

We knew that when we left Texas in early September we were bound for a winter full of projects, to-do's, and frankly, adjustment to living on a boat with a dog, sans full-time jobs.

We intentionally planned for a period of transition and preparation before heading for our first destination pin on the "to sail to" map next Spring (more on that later) knowing that we'd likely need a morale boost from time to time. We knew there were things on our "to-do" list that needed completing before we set sail such as the standing and running rigging and serious TLC on our Yanmar engine, along with some other more morale-booster-type projects such as sourcing and installing a watermaker and upgrading our cockpit canvas with a new dodger, bimini and enclosure. We knew there were projects "in progress" that needed attention before tossing the lines, too, like fixing the windlass that quit on us earlier in the summer, finishing the electrical system upgrades, installing the heater, repairing some of the rust spots on deck as well as in the bilge, and the like. We knew we had a lot of things safety wise that we needed to get sorted like new EPIRB and liferaft, and figuring out other things like optimal storage systems and provisioning schemes that can only come with time spent living on the boat.

All that to say, we knew we had our work cut out for us mentally, physically, and emotionally, and intended to also make an effort to explore the Gulf Islands at a slower pace than we have been able to in years past to help us all adjust to the transition of living constantly in motion in sub-300 square feet.

Humble pie coming right up

We also knew we had blind spots, that there were going to be surprises that we couldn't have predicted going into this. But, what we didn't know was how fast we'd get our first slice of humble pie, which came the moment we took the first step aboard as liveaboard cruisers, fresh out of the car from a 2,500 mile drive.

And by stepping foot aboard with the last of our critical possession into our cozy little teak adorned boat that we'd be calling home for the forseeable future, it was more like sloshing into a couple inches of standing black water in the head (bathroom) from what we would soon realize was a failed weld in our black water holding tank (which we thought was empty when we left the boat in early August, too)...

...followed by a failing hot water heater, which exacerbated low morale aboard by not only being out a working toilet but also not having hot water or a working shower while we sorted out the sh*tstorm of a black water tank situation...

...shortly followed by the engine acting up in new and concerning ways, leading us to more expeditious consults with trusted advisors and professionals with far more experience with marine diesel engines than us. And, as these things go, those discussions resulted in having to face the very real and likely possibility that rather than looking at some TLC or a partial rebuild on our Yanmar diesel engine, we are looking at a complete repower this winter.

Project mode activated

The faulty black water tank, successfully extracted from it's 30 year hidey hole (located next to Danielle in the lower helm station that required a bit of deconstruction in order to access and remove).

In case you haven't already guessed, we're in full fledged project mode with less than hoped for "exploration time".

We spent a little over 3 weeks in Olympia, Washington, at the end of September through mid October where we worked with Iverson's Designs on a fantastic new dodger, bimini and cockpit enclosure while also chipping away at some other projects like cleaning, polishing and waxing the hull, cleaning up the teak, attempting to chase down the water heater gremlins, and deep cleaning of the bilges and everywhere the black water managed to find its way into.

We also took advantage of being in the States and sourced a fair number of project bits and bobs, including the parts to fix the windlass, the new black water tank (with redundant tank level checks and view ports), a new Rocna anchor, and the last of the necessary parts to finally dive into the heater install. Pretty sure the Swantown Marina office staff were glad to see us go when we turned in our keys so they no longer had to sign for packages in our names.

Much more enclosed and dry living space with this upgrade.

The panels are all zip in, so we can mix and match according to conditions.

Even though we enjoyed a few sunny days on our way back to Sidney, it was cozy in the cockpit

Chef's kiss! Very happy with how this turned out!

We roughly have around 150 working days earmarked for projects left on the to-do list before heading off in March. I know we're probably wrong on time estimates somewhere, or on what needs to get done, but fingers crossed we'll at least average out close enough to stay on track for a March departure without totally losing our minds (and all our money).

Transitions

While projects and boat work has been the headline these last two months, we've also made waves in making the most of where we're at.

We were able to welcome Ethan's family who live in Hood River to see the boat and explore the farmers market with us while in Olympia, we had dinner with Ethan's great uncle while passing through Gig Harbor enroute back to Vancouver Island, took our time to explore a cozy anchorage at Jarrell Cove State Park where Ethan got to pick apples from a 100+ year old heritage apple orchard, and welcomed some dear friends from South Dakota to Sidney for a long weekend where we finally explored Butchart Gardens and tried our hand at catching Dungeness Crab for the first time.

Huge trees in Jarrell Cove State Park, quintessential PNW vibes.

Enjoying a morning dinghy ride around Jerrell Cove.

Picking apples from the heritage apple orchard in Jerrell Cove.

Finally made it to Butchart Gardens!

Enjoyed having Terry and Lori up for a long weekend!

The crabbing preparations got serious.

Success! We have a freezer full of Dungeness crab now!

In terms of adjusting to life aboard, all in all we're doing well. Little miss DTessi is doing good despite all the new things life has thrown at her the last three or four months. The only thing that has required more work than expected is getting her to potty on a fake grass mat on the boat, but I am happy to say that as of today, we are making significant progress on that front.

Adjusting to a different pace of life, trying to make a point to enjoy the little moments like a sunset dinghy ride after a long day of boat work.

While our well intended plans of exploring the Gulf and San Juan Islands this winter are likely greatly reduced due to unanticipated "boat projects", we'll still get out for some non-boat project related activities. Hopefully.

Like most things in life, fortunately or unfortunately, change is one constant in life. We set out for a bit of a life reset, to challenge ourselves, to experience new things, and that is exactly what we are getting. Better yet, with each day that slides by, we're feeling more settled in, more confident in ourselves, and even more calloused to the chaos that comes with the territory of boat projects.

Look at us go. We're really doing it, Harry.

P.S. - In a poetically parallel tone: this sunny, warm-ish weather I was enjoying at the start of writing this has turned windy, cloudy, dropped about 10 degrees and now features a spritz of rain. Off to make another cup of coffee.

______