Thanks for the tour! This is great - I keep meaning to do this with our boat, but lately we're dealing with the clutter issue. We just need to invite some people over and that forces us to clean it up.
Since this will be the third and final part of this series, and although I could go on for just about ever about this trip, I should mention why this is "the voyage that changed it all." Before I got that fateful Facebook message, I was struggling hard with the job I have, my passion for sailing and all that is associated with the Ocean, and trying to connect it all together in a way I could put food in my mouth. The people I met opened my eyes to a field of work that was exactly was I was looking for. I had to leave the When and If abruptly due to her being stuck in Charleston for what looked to be over 10 days. The weather around Cape Hatteras was less than favorable. I flew back to Boston, with a weepy eye and thoughts in my head that I would not return to her, and the wonderful people I had met, ever again. A week past, and during this time I applied to nearly half a dozen jobs within the realm of getting me on a boat. From the lowliest bilge rat position on a moto...
She doesn't like sailing. And that's fine. It's boring, hot, and slow, says she. I can't argue. My friend Eddie has a 14' Cape Dory in the municipal marina that he lets me use at my leisure. Can't complain about a free boat to use, so I took him up on it. My friends Moose and Danielle, along with Charlotte motored out past the breakwater, set the sails and headed out to the Reggae Fest on the other side of the pier. When we got there, and dodged the sunken boat, we thought we might drop anchor and stay for a bit. I told my friend Moose to take the helm while I figured the anchor situation out up on the foredeck. I found the chain and started to pull it out of the hawsepipe and was surprised to see that the 1/4" chain had been reduced to 1/16" at best by rust. "Nope, were not anchoring today!" I said as I hobbled back to the cockpit, the boat bouncing in the motorboat created chop. We set the sails again and headed back to the dock. This was ...
"The decision to flee came suddenly. Or maybe not. Maybe I'd planned it all along -- subconsciously waiting for the right moment." Hunter S. Thompson I am leaving Boston. There is a laundry list of reasons why, but it boils down to an essential few. This is my third winter up here, and to be honest I've had about enough. The cold is oppressive; it latches onto your soul, sucks your vital will to live and leaves you breathless and desperate. It inhibits activity on both a mental and physical level. I've tried to get used to it, but the thoughts of what I could be doing if it were 30 degrees warmer have overcome me. My career, more than likely, will be put on hold. Had I known that I would be spending 8 plus hours per day staring at a computer monitor in the middle of a cube farm, while the world, my youth and my life pass me by, I would never have signed up in the first place. I have been with the same company for three years, since I graduated college, and I hav...
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