Day whatever to whenever and/or who the hell knows anymore.

As we enter into our third (or is it 30^th?) week of exile here in CRBC, pluck and determination have given way to provocation and tedium, and we’re really starting to wonder if we’re ever going to get out of here. Every morning I ask the Captain what he’d like to do today and every morning he answers, “Leave.”

We’ve been trying to stay busy. The bright work continues—though not at the pace we had hoped. The weather is hot, but every afternoon we’ve had a strong wind out of the northeast carrying debris that makes varnish work difficult. And in the last few days, we’ve been hindered by ash and heavy air from the hundreds of wildfires raging throughout BC and the northern US. When the elements conspire against us to do bright work, the Captain turns to other maintenance tasks and I turn to my sailing books trying to at least get the theoretical hang of boating while the practical is temporarily out of reach. As for the rest of the crew, the Deck Boss has been dusting off her culinary “skills” (her quotation marks, not mine) to prepare much-needed comfort food and Otter has been expending energy at the Hounds’ Hangout, CRBC’s local doggy daycare (although with a twice daily, three-mile roundtrip walk to the facility, I’d say the Captain and I are expending a lot of energy as well.) And Edgrrr? Let’s just say he’s doing his best to keep the “butt” in “butthead” and he had better hope that the Deck Boss doesn’t add “skinning a cat” to her culinary “skills”.

Each day, we watch as the marina fills up with all the boats stopping to re-provision before heading out the next day. We’ve turned into locals—fussing that these “tourists” are hogging the laundry facilities, bogging down the Wi-Fi, and going through the express checkout at the supermarket with 18 items when it clearly specifies 16 (at the current exchange rate, that’s 12 items American.) Each night, we sit out on the stern and watch the cruise ships go by—full of happy people going somewhere—and remember when we used to go somewhere, too. By morning, they’re all gone. The ebb and flood of boat traffic that never takes us with it.  

Now the two of you who read this blog may be wondering why we don’t rent a car and go somewhere; or go on one of those fishing charters (this is the Salmon Capital of the World after all); or take the whale watching tour (don’t get me started). Well, it comes down to time. And though we seemingly have all the time in the world, it just hasn’t come in any sizeable and/or predictable chunks. When so-and-so is stopping by sometime today to check out the intake valve on the something-or-other, it really makes it hard to do any planning even if so-and-so is only going to be in-and-out. So it has become a game of hurry up and wait. And that elusive thing we’ve been waiting for?

A manifold was finally located late last week…in England. By the time phone calls had been made, photos had been sent, and confirmations received, four days had passed simply due to the time difference. But at last we got word that the manifold was at Heathrow waiting for its flight to Vancouver, and that after it cleared customs it would make its way by ferry to Victoria, then up the Island Highway to Campbell River. And that’s when it dawned on me that the manifold was having a much better time than we were.

 

 

Pictured: The daily influx of yachts coming in to provision then leaving the next day a.k.a. Lucky Bastards