FISH AND VISITORS SMELL AFTER THREE DAYS

Poor Richard's Almanac

     Its been a year of social distancing, a misnomer if there ever was one. Stores monitored for occupancy. Pubs closed, then opened for outdoor seating only; this at the climax of winter. People are warned to keep with a small social pod, to prevent exposure to Covid 19. And to put the cherry on this sundae, everyone wears a mask, except those fools who who think a mask is an infringement on their liberty. Some of them ended their period of liberty with an intubating tube in their throat. I walked into my Credit Union recently wearing a mask, it had been a year since I had been inside. The last time I walked through the door there was a sign advising members to remove their hats and sun glasses. 

     But we made it. Not completely, the governor is lowering occupancy in pubs and restaurants again, but I got my first vaccine shot and we have managed to get through with little more than a sniffle. I am approaching my 3rd year of  living in a marina on a small boat. It was enjoyable but not easy. Labor Day 2020 presented my state with multiple fires. There were few places we could go to retreat from the thick smoke and it seem to concentrate in the Willamette River. The winter was harsh, but livable. Until Valentines Day, 2021. A late snow storm brought the roof over the dock I was living under crashing down. Most of the covered moorages suffered the same fate. At least one boat sunk to the bottom. A good-sized cabin cruiser. With the urging of some slip-owners, and assistance , I was able to get out unscathed. But I was now nesting in someone else's slip. It was then I called for an appointment to haulout my boat to repair the reverse lockout and paint the befouled bottom. 

     Once my boat was back in the water, I needed to find a live-aboard slip, a rarity in normal times. I had secured a temporary slip until a live-aboard slip became available. I had been living in Terry's guestroom for nearly 2 weeks. So he, my friend Tim Ruch and I set off to Rocky Point Boatyard to pick up my boat. The trip downriver to McCuddys marina in Scappose was more of an adventure than we bargained for. Steering and throttle linkage was loose and the wheel needed to be constantly wrestled with. It was somewhat easier from the cabin than the flying bridge. My previous experiences on water had been in sailboats, most with direct tiller steering, one with a wheel. Because of the rudders on sailboats, steering is pretty sure-point the bow in a direction where the tell-tales indicate wind exposure and the top of the sails don't luff. This was nothing like that. A sail boat that is moving has positive steerage, the boat slices through the water heeled to one side or another when offwind, or pushes its prow into the water while sailing downwind. The faster your speed, the more tender the steering. 

     I must pause here to describe the effect that wind and current have on a boat, especially a cabin cruiser. It can be described as steering a tractor trailer on a road during an earthquake. The sides of boats, especially motorboats, are easily pushed against by wind and tide, should the direction be angled away from those influences. Add to that, the wakes of approaching boats and the backwash from nearby land and the tendency for wind to wrap around land masses, and steering becomes a complicated affair. Now add into that challenge floating wood, which might be larger than appears in the water, pilings sticking out of the water, natural siltation dynamics, where the river flushes land and deposits it in eddys, and other boats, you have multiple complexities under the best of conditions.

     Long story short, we approached our intended marina none too competently, like the hapless lubbers that we wanted to avoid appearing. We managed to tie up without too much damage, damaging only my boathook in the process. I was steering, so could not see the terror in Terry's eyes, which must have been there,  this being his first time on a boat. We were told that we couldn't stay, based on our performance. So we set off downriver to the public dock in St. Helen's, aided by Joe, a houseboat owner at the moorage. He was a great help as I stered downriver, pointing out where the channel would be deeper and calming my frail nerves. The whole time I had to fight the wheel, spinning it wheel-lock to wheel-lock to counteract the influences against the hull. We made it to St. Helen's where my boat now sits. I must move it soon. I called the boatyard for a quote on the Steering linkage and was told that the throttle linkage had to be looked at too. Expected cost, $4000. My boat-living adventure is now at an end. Terry, unfortunately remains the beneficiary of my company. Speaking solely for myself, it has been a wonderful experience. Covid 19 has removed the close companionship of my few male friends. Mostly because their wives are battling cancer, we must all regard each other as if we were Typhoid Mary. That Terry was willing to take me in at such a time is commendable. I will honor him always. Additionally, I have never lived in close proximity with a gay man. I have gay friends and relatives, but living close allows for a different experience. I went in to this with some trepidation. We white people, when dealing with people of color, must always be aware that we are the manifestation to them of the sins our ancestors committed. Likewise, straight males must always be aware of the history of less enlightened straight people toward LBGTQ people. It has been stress-free for both of us, I believe. We laugh, we talk politics, we watch Rachel Maddow, we introduce each other to favorite cable drama's or movies. I have learned to eat a more vegetarian faire, though I cannot give up my chicken sausage. I have incurred a great debt to Terry. 

     This story is not yet at an end. I am trying to find a place to donate my boat. Also I must find a place to live in Portland so i can be close to Pinky. I am working with Laurelhurst manor to allow me to join her there, in a larger apartment. I should have done this long ago because I honestly don't know how long Pinky has left. I would like her to have as good a quality of life as is possible. I was being selfish to pursue my dream. 

     And always on my mind is the old adage from Ben Franklin, "fish and visitors smell after three days". I am long passed those three days. On a more positive note, as cool as Terry keeps his home, the fish may not spoil as rapidly.