Dock Life -- and Loss

I've written before about living on a boat, something we've done now for the past 13 summers in their entirety and before that, on weekends and summer vacations.  In spite of traveling on the boat, much of the time has been spent at the dock, either getting ready to go out, returning and cleaning up, or in bad weather, just staying there, rain, wind, lightning and all.  How many days of our lives have been at the dock? Probably, in the aggregate, it measures several years.  A brief video of awaiting a storm at the dock is here:

Dock life is unlike any other.  It's close living and on weekends, when we were younger, it was a party atmosphere, someone was always hosting cocktails or sometimes there would be a dock party, everyone putting out something and dock mates strolling past, and filling up on finger food, libations. and good cheer. When we were younger, it was a family affair, the kids running up and down the dock under the watchful eye of the community. 

Of course, our boating life has been defined by the fact that we are "Long Island Sounders," berthed in Norwalk, CT. Over the years, we have cruised to most of the ports in Connecticut, to the north shore of Long Island and as far east as Newport, Block Island, Martha's Vineyard, and Nantucket.  As we grew older, the amount of cruising and distances traveled diminished to the point of now spending most of our time at the dock or the occasional short cruise to the Norwalk Islands. 

Our boating is also different because we live in Florida, and our boat in Connecticut is now our home up north.  That changes everything.

When we had a home in Connecticut, jumping on and off the boat was easier and the boat was less cluttered.  Taking the boat out now means stowing much more and unplugging all of the umbilical cords to the dock for power and water.  Easy when younger, but more challenging now.

 

We also have a small boat in Florida. Boating is different here, primarily because many in Florida have their boats, as we do, behind their homes.  There frequently is no marina or dock life.  Of course, there are people from up north who bring their boats to Florida for the winter.  I see lots of Canadian flags coming down the Intracoastal.  Many of those boats, though, wait out cold fronts to make a crossing to the Bahamas.

So, my comments are more "northern boat" centric, not Florida or Bahamas focused.  I could divide the boaters at the two docks we've lived at into several categories: fishermen (rarely saw much of them, they were up early and off to Montauk), cruisers (we fell into that category until I retired), liveaboards or people who rarely took their boats out (that's us now), and, strangely, people who have boats but never seem to use them.

For a long time we thought we wanted to live on a boat 24 x 7 x 365, selling our house and ties to land.  Our good friends Ray and Sue felt the same way and when towards the end of the 1990s it looked like, coincidentally, both Ray and I would be out of jobs, we fantasized about pooling our resources and buying a big yacht, something that would be comfortable for all, a ship that four experienced boaters could handle.  We looked at large Hatteras motor yachts, and some high maintenance ships such as the welded aluminum Burgers.

In our mutual excitement, we went to boat shows searching,  thinking up names for our fabled new home such as 'Moments to Remember,' 'Four Happy Hoboes,' Four Seasons,' Summer of our Lives, 'As Time Goes By,' and the overly cutesy 'Home Sea Home.'  But things have a way of taking care of themselves.  Ray and Sue were gravitating toward a sport fish style boat and we were also looking at homes in Florida.  It seems we both came upon our own individual dream places for our next phase of life simultaneously, wisely abandoning the idea of sharing a yacht, they buying a 56' Ocean sport-fish and we our current Florida home.  It worked out better this way, and we remain close friends.

They are still to this day true liveaboards on 'Last Dance,' having no other home, spending part of the year in Norwalk and the other part in the Abacos, Bahamas (usually stopping at our dock in Florida before heading out to the Abacos, and we've joined them a couple of times, stayed for awhile and then flying home from Marsh Harbor to West Palm).  Thus, we still have our own independent boating lives in Norwalk during the summers on our 'Swept Away' and that is when we try to catch up with all of our former boating friends.

Our dock life has changed as we ourselves have become summer liveaboards. Aside from Ray and Sue, we know few people who are year-round liveaboards.  But one such person was our friend, Lindy, who I referred to a couple of entries ago when he was entering a hospice.  Lindy succumbed to cancer shortly after I wrote that entry.

It occurred to me that we shared the same dock for 26 years, first at Norwalk Cove Marina, and then at the South Norwalk Boat Club.  We knew each other well and relied upon one another, checking the other's boat if one of us was away, picking up something at the store if we were going there, having a quick bite at the Club and sharing the same table at regularly scheduled boat meetings.  Lindy was somewhat of an enigma, typical though for a man who lived alone on a boat, even through the harsh winters in Connecticut, shoveling snow off the dock to get to his car. 

To Lindy, his boat was a sacred refuge and as much as he talked about leaving it behind for the winter, staying with one of his sons, or renting a place in Florida, he stuck with his boats, in the northeast, through blizzards and ice, awaiting the thaw of summer, until the following Fall when he would talk about not living another winter on the boat and then just do it again.

Lindy was an optometrist during his working years.  His boats were appropriately named 'The Optimist,' and if a sign of optimism is to have a joke du jour, he was the supreme optimist.  He always had me laughing and for most of the time I knew him as a live aboard, he had but two boats, a 42' Post, a beamy boat which I think he later regretted selling, and then a 42' Bertram. Both are classic sport fishes and, indeed, in the earlier years that I knew him, he would plan one big trip to Montauk each summer with some friends or his sons to "fish the canyon." But as he aged, his boating stayed more local until he rarely took the boat out as well.

His social life on the dock was spent visiting us and a few other couples, but mostly with a couple of guys who no longer married, ones who were on their boats a lot, particularly Harold, who remarkably boated into his 90s, having a 42' Bertram as well.  Harold predeceased Lindy by only a little more than a month.  I think it was one of the final straws for Lindy, who had been struggling with esophageal cancer during the last year.

Lindy's closest companion for many happy years was his beloved black Labrador, Charlie, a large dog to have in the confines of a boat.  I am convinced that no one knew the man better than Charlie, an exceptional dog, keenly intelligent, and extraordinarily well trained by Lindy.  That dog would sit in the cockpit of the boat and NEVER leave it until commanded by Lindy.  There could be a litter of cats parading by and Charlie would stay fast.  If Lindy was walking down the dock, Charlie would follow him with his eyes. He did not pace or whine like so many dogs missing their owners. He waited patiently as the photograph below attests (ironically, I have no photos of Lindy as he usually vanished when he saw my camera out).

Once Lindy said watch this:  he walked down the dock, Charlie keeping his eyes on him.  At the end of the dock, Lindy turned and just stood there, looking at Charlie.  He raised a finger and his eye brows, and Charlie came bounding out of the boat towards his master.  That was the sign.  Otherwise, Charlie would have stayed put.

It is strange, all those years on the same dock, knowing the man well, but not closely, and having to acknowledge that his dog knew him best.  But that is the way Lindy wanted it.  During the last few years I urged him to spend more time with his son, John, and family during the winters rather than the hard life on the dock in the winter.  He was the ultimate maverick, though, and felt that would be an imposition.  This summer, when we saw him for the last time in early September, we had a prescient feeling that that would be the last time, even though, as the perpetual optimist, he felt he would get better. 

But the operation to remove the cancerous tumor from his esophagus had taken its toll.  He wasn't able to eat, and had lost a lot of weight.  He was unsteady on his feet and we worried.  Ann had sent over quite a few meals and we had been shopping for him, but we were then going back to Florida.  Lindy, I said, why don't you make arrangements to go to New Hampshire to your son, establish doctors up there, the winter here will be impossible for you.  We'll see he said.  I spoke to him in early December and he said he was going to go to his son's for Christmas.  Great, I said, you are staying there, right?  Make arrangements with local Doctors?  He said that he'd like to get back to the boat. 

I called him on Christmas Day and I could tell he was in bad shape.  The cancer had metastasized in his lungs and the plan was for him to start chemotherapy after he had hoped to put some weight on. He said he would like to see the boat one more time.  On Dec 26, though, John had to call an ambulance, over Lindy's protestations.  He had pneumonia and it was then, according to his son, that he "realized that to continue to try to fight the cancer would only extend his life a short while but at the cost of his dignity and his quality of life. He decided to discontinue nutrition and enter hospice." And so finally at the end he was with family for a compassionate, comfortable passing. 

I remember getting up on Jan. 4 and looking at the clock.  It was 6.00 am.  I didn't think anything of it -- about 15 minutes earlier than I normally wake up now. Later that day I got an email from John, about Lindy's passing at approximately 6.00 am. Indeed, Bon Voyage, Lindy.

His death has had a big impact on us, not only because of the years we spent on the dock together but because it reminds me, and anyone connected with him, of our own mortality.  I wish I was a religious person and could say with conviction that there is some sort of heaven, but I believe in the here and now and, when dead, especially after such a horrible disease, one is indeed in another better place.  As Susan Jacoby quoted 19th century Robert Green Ingersoll in her article in last week's New York Times on atheism -- when Ingersoll had delivered the eulogy for a child who had died -- “they who stand with breaking hearts around this little grave, need have no fear. The larger and the nobler faith in all that is, and is to be, tells us that death, even at its worst, is only perfect rest ... The dead do not suffer.”

Many years ago when I used to go down to our boat to check on it during the winter, the boatyard which during the summer was such a bustling place, became one of stark desolation.  Most boats were up on land for storage and the early morning winter sun and wind made it an eerie place (I think of Emily's Dickinson's poem that begins, "There's a certain slant of light, / On winter afternoons, / That oppresses, like the weight. / Of cathedral tunes."). On one such day I felt compelled to write my own poem about the experience, not a very good one, I'm not a poet, but it expressed my feelings.  I include it here in memory of Lindy.

Wintry Moorings

Halyards slap

in the winter morning’s

northwest wind.

The boat yard

is a lonely place.

Hulls are awkward hulks

beached on parking lots,

stringers and fiberglass

settled on blocks and cradles.

Some boats still endure the water,

lines urging

finger slips to test pilings;

ice-eaters drone in the briny dark.

On land they are shrink-sealed in plastic

or framed under bulky tarpaulins,

riding out the wintry bombardment,

awaiting next summer’s voyages.

Others lay abandoned

by Captains who are no more

Storm Aftermath and the Election

Hurricane Sandy left destruction in its wake, underscoring the fragility of our coastlines and infrastructure.   More on that, and its connection with the upcoming election later, but first a follow up on my last post which was filled with anxiety and speculation about Sandy's potential impact on our friends in Connecticut, our boat club, and our boat. It's mostly bad news but a fortuitous wind change from the east to the south just before the peak high tide during the storm made the difference between disaster and catastrophe.  It meant that the water level in the parking lot where our club’s boats are on the hard for the winter was "only" about 4-1/2 feet vs., potentially, 5-6.  As for my own boat, which has a draft of 3-3/4 feet and was blocked about a foot off the ground, the peak tide slightly lifted it, enough for it to shift off of its keel stands, but settling onto three of the four boat stands that hold the hard chine of the hull.  These stands are mainly for stability, not to support the entire weight of the boat, the keel stands doing the heavy support.  So, in a sense, my boat is hanging in mid air right now by those boat stands.  This might put strain on the hull, but my older, heavily built boat should come through as long as it can be reblocked successfully.  A crane has been brought in to remove damaged boats so, hopefully, the travel lift can get to those that need reblocking such as mine.

Unfortunately, many other boats in the yard were damaged or totaled.  Boats were strewn all over Water Street of South Norwalk.  And where we used to live across the Norwalk River on Sylvester Court, boats were on the street as well. 

This is but a microcosm of the coast above south Jersey where the storm came ashore, with places like Staten Island which is as low lying, and directly exposed to the east, taking a direct hit. And now they say there may be a Nor'easter in the cards for later this week which will just exacerbate misery and increase the potential for more damage.  We can only hope for the best.

Hurricanes seem to follow me wherever I might be, sometimes the same storm threatening us both in Florida and Connecticut.  The first hurricane I had to deal with in my life of any significance was Hurricane Carol in 1954.  My parents usually rented a cottage in Sag Harbor towards the end of each summer for a couple of weeks, a block from the Peconic Bay. Carol drove us out of our rental, and although a block away from the Bay, water was half way up the first floor.

Then in 1985 Hurricane Gloria came to call on Connecticut and although only a Cat. 1, the winds were from the southeast, driving water and tremendous wave action up the Norwalk River where we had a smaller boat at the time  – at a different marina than where we are now -- and between the heaving of the docks and the wind, boats broke free, another boat's bow pulpit plowed through the hull into our v-berth, but above the waterline so at least it didn't sink.

I anxiously watched Hurricane Bob form in 1991 as we were spending a two weeks summer vacation at Block Island.  A couple of days out from the storm a direct hit seemed unavoidable, so unlike some friends who decided to "ride it out" I packed up the boat and ran back to Norwalk, safe enough from the effects of the storm.  Boats were strewn all of the shores of Block Island although my friend, John, who tied his boat in a spider web maze of lines between the fixed docks of Payne’s, thankfully escaped relatively unscathed.

http://lacunaemusing.blogspot.com/2009/08/block-island-days.html

The next memorable hurricane was a terrifying one, Floyd which hit in September 1999.  We had just bought our home in Florida that prior June and Ann was living in the house, while I lived on the boat in Connecticut, finishing out my job there until the end of that year (we had already sold our home in CT).  Satellite imagery made Floyd look like the storm of the century, and it did grow to a Cat. 4, huge in size, heading directly at Florida, causing massive evacuations on the coast.  The traffic north was colossal.  I was terrified for my wife who was in the house alone (but with our dog at the time, Treat), and although it was completely shuttered, everyone was screaming evacuate north!  It seemed to me, amateur meteorologist extraordinaire, that while the storm had the potential to hit us head on in the North Palm Beach area, it was highly unlikely it would turn south or even have much of an impact far south of us, so while I95 and the Turnpike were clogged with cars going north, Ann and I decided it best for her to go south to a friend's home, inland, about 40 miles to the south which turned out to be the right decision.

With hindsight, she could have stayed put in our home as the storm took a sharp right hand turn up the coast and ironically had more of an impact on me living on our boat in Norwalk, CT.  I had to strip the enclosure and remove everything from the decks, tie off the boat with double lines and springs, put out extra fenders, etc., but I stayed on the boat through the storm and as it was not a direct hit, I merely rocked and rolled, and was fine. Tides never even approached the levels of Sandy.

2004 was another lousy hurricane year with both Hurricane Francis and Hurricane Jeanne striking Florida only some twenty miles north of us, and causing some minor damage to our home, although it was completely shuttered (mostly a roof tiles missing and plantings ruined).  We were not in Florida for Francis but had the pleasure of dealing with the aftermath of Jeanne with no power for days. Luckily, our cousins owned a condo south of us so we occupied that while waiting for power.  And let's not forget Hurricane Ivan that same year which dumped enormous amounts of rain, but was less of a wind event where we are.

Then there was 2005's Hurricane Wilma which we rode out in our home, all shuttered up again, a storm that was coming from the west and, therefore, Florida folklore would have you believe would be merely a minor inconvenience.  Unfortunately, the eye went over our house and as the storm emerged over the Atlantic the back end picked up significant strength, probably even a Cat. 2 or 3 at one point.  Our home was groaning in the wind, the sliding glass doors, although behind heavy steel shutters, bowing in and out just from the storm’s barometric pressure change. Wilma also knocked out power but, luckily, it turned cool, not the usual tropical air mass behind the storm, and living for days without power was even a little fun, cooking on sterno stoves, flash lights to read by, my piano a constant companion.

Finally, last year we dealt with Hurricane Irene, having to shutter up our house while living on the boat, expecting the worst for our home, which the storm completely missed, while we had to evacuate the boat! 

Florida, although very vulnerable, deals with hurricanes better than the northeast, especially one like Sandy that was both a hurricane and a Nor'easter rolled into one, bringing in a cold air mass in its wake.  It's one thing not to have power, and it’s another to also have no heat in the cold.  Also, gas stations here are required to have generators to pump gas and that is now a problem in the northeast with no such requirements. That will change in the future, I'm sure.

And here is the connection to politics. Mayor Bloomberg has it right to endorse President Obama even for no other reason than his stance and record on global warming.  Most scientists are in agreement that hydrocarbon emissions are responsible, not merely some grand cyclical weather factor.  Can this be reversed short term?  Of course not.  But it is an issue that has even greater consequences than our debt, and it is more difficult to solve than our man made fiscal crisis.

Watching the rise of the tide as Hurricane Sandy past by Florida, my neighbor, who has lived on our waterway for fifty years, remarked that during those years he has witnessed higher high tides and higher low tides until, finally, reaching the top of our sea wall during Sandy, submerging both my docks.  It took days for it to recede, long after the storm was battering the northeast.  Yes, this is merely anecdotal evidence, but even our short thirteen year stay here seems to confirm the observation.  How can we deny the existence of what we have wrought and the need to address this terrible problem? How will not only Congress, but world governments agree upon global warming mitigation priorities?

This brings me to the importance of this election.  It has been the most bitter election campaign in my memory, not surprising given the polarization and subsequent action calcification of our government.  It also is the consequence of the Supreme Court's Citizens United decision which opened the flood gates to Super PACs funded by corporations, wealthy individuals and special interest groups.  This has led to the pollution of the airways, endless robot-calls and an inundation of direct mail.  In one week alone, these flyers pictured here were sent to us.

Imagine the billions of dollars wasted on these brainwashing attempts.  Why do we permit political advertising at all?  There must be other alternatives.  But I guess they work, just judging by the letters to the editor I read in the Palm Beach Post. Many simply regurgitate the sputum of those ads.  It is an amazing circular process, garbage in, garbage out, and then making such important decisions on highly emotionally charged accusations and innuendoes.

We voted early, the lines unbelievably lengthy.  There are several proposed amendments to the Florida State Constitution and the ballot is several pages long. GOP controlled Florida had made the decision to make advance voting a much shorter period than voters had in 2008.   I can imagine how the lines will be tomorrow..

As to the outcome, here is an unscientific survey conducted by my grade advisor from high school, Roger Brickner (yes, we are still in touch more than fifty years later).  Politics has been his avocation since HE went to high school, and he has accurately predicted presidential election outcomes since he incorrectly picking Dewey in 1948.   He has an email following of similar-minded friends and he canvassed  their predictions for this election and, based on that approach, Obama will win both the popular vote (by 2.1%) and the electoral college (289 to 249). 

Intrade, the popular prediction platform, where you can "bet" on a winner, most recently has the probability of an Obama win at about 65%.

 

At to my own "prediction," I think the anti-Obama vitriol runs deep, and that has been effectively harvested by his opponents.  For that reason, and using the anecdotal evidence of the ubiquitous Romney / West signs lining our own road, I think the popular vote will be closer than 2.1%, with the distinct possibility of Obama losing the popular vote but winning the Electoral College. But trying to quantify it is just guesswork.

PS: Last minute email from Roger (his own prediction, not the average of his email followers):

I forgot to give the grand summary... Guess I was so glad to complete all the states and all the elections!

President    electoral votes OBAMA 290   ROMNEY 248

                    popular vote OBAMA 51% ROMNEY 48% OTHERS 1%

The Senate will be Dem 53, Rep. 45  Too close 2 (one held  by a Rep., one held by a Dem.)

 The House will be Rep. 235  Dem  200