The Boat as RV

Skol!

Anne here.  

Jim has been the primary blog writer so far (with a little editing support now and then), but many people have asked “what is it like to live on the boat?” so I thought I would write a bit to share our daily lifestyle on the water.

Our "salon"

Travelling and living on a boat is rather like travelling in an RV – in our case, a very small RV. Thirty-five feet long including bow and stern overhangs, and just over eleven feet wide at maximum beam. Call it two hundred square feet if you include bunk areas. We have a few mod cons that make life a bit more ‘luxurious’ – hot (six gallons when the engine has been running or we are plugged into dock power) and cold running water, a forced-air furnace to warm up the place in the morning or on really rainy cold days, an oven for baking bread and making pizza, and a VERY small freezer in the refrigerator compartment that allows us to have ice cubes for happy hour drinks and keep some meat frozen. 

The "forward stateroom"

We have a small bathroom (the Head), a small bedroom for 2 (the V-berth in the forward part of the boat) a small kitchen (the Galley), and a small living/dining area (the Salon). We also have a back deck with a propane BBQ (the Cockpit at the Stern or blunt end of the boat) and a front porch (the Bow or pointy end of the boat) as well as a ‘garage’ (the Quarterberth which is the sleeping area for one tucked under one of the cockpit seats).  

The front end of the ‘garage’ also doubles as the seat for the desk which is the navigation station or the Nav Table. Just like travelling in an RV, the amount of travel and the weather decides which area of the boat we spend the most time in on any given day. Unlike an RV, we have to stand out in the weather to drive.

The morning navigatorium + tea

Everything on board has to be compact, have dual or triple purposes if possible, and be either able to get wet or be carefully stowed in plastic bags to avoid getting  wet.  Life on a boat is all about doing more with a lot less and managing the level of moisture in the air (high humidity or torrential rains) as well as the water that might get in while underway including spray from travelling in 3 to 6+ foot waves or from small leaks that have sprung up from some unknown place in the body of the boat.

Storage is a creative adventure and it surprises me on every trip just how much we can store in this wee space we have called home for the last 2 months. There is a treasure trove of necessities and yummy things hidden behind every cushion, in every cupboard and drawer, and under every panel. Even the oven doubles as a place to keep pans for baking as well as the really fragile food such as taco chips.

What do we do all day, you ask?

It depends on whether we are travelling to a new anchorage or sitting at anchor for a layover day, whether it is sunny and warm or foggy and/or pouring. Mornings usually find us drinking copious amounts of tea while listening to the weather reports on the VHF radio and reading the various cruising guides to discover all the interesting places to see in the surrounding area. This is generally our time for catching up on blog writing (usually Jim’s job), entering info into the boat log (usually Anne’s job), and sorting through pictures from the previous day. If we are staying for the day and the weather is good, we may put the small motor on the dinghy and go for an exploratory tour or each of us will get some exercise paddling - Jim in the dinghy and me in the kayak. The dinghy is a better platform for Jim to carry his big camera bag and get in for those close-up pictures of the shoreline. Some days we adventure further going for a hike to the beaches or up to the waterfalls or hot springs for a swim. 

Some mornings are quite bleak

Some days we need to ‘get up and go’ right away to take advantage of the tides, or the calm morning winds and seas so then we wash up, eat breakfast and drink copious amounts of tea while travelling.  If the seas are choppy this can take some doing as you never quite know where your foot is going to land and which side of the boat you are going to be thrown against  while down below. That being said, it is amazing what you can cook while hanging on to the handholds with one hand! 

Dinner by candlelight is just a lovely way to end a day of travel on the water, especially when you are in a snug anchorage and have lots of fresh ingredients and a good bottle of wine after a successful shopping run.

Cooking onboard can be really satisfying using whatever you have at hand to create great meals. We have faked our way through such things as chorizo pasta, pork tenderloin with apples and maple syrup sauce, chicken stuffed with Brie, ‘anything goes except seaweed’ salads and, of course, the boating favourite breakfast, bacon and eggs.

 We could not possibly survive without our egg poaching pan and our BBQ. You can do an unbelievable amount of cooking on the BBQ - we even make toast on the BBQ, since we have no electric toaster onboard. Toast on a boat is a big treat!
We also carry a pancake pan, a cheese grinder, meat thermometer and many other "useless gadgets".

Having a 3 burner propane stove and oven go a long way to keeping the cooking entertaining as do a few cookbooks specially written for the boating life. It's nice to have someone else’s cooking/provisioning experiences to get the creative juices flowing. 

And, what about washing up, especially in terms of having a shower? Yes, we do have a shower of sorts in the head, a compartment which has just barely enough standing head room for Jim and just enough room to turn around in if you are careful to keep your elbows close to your sides. There is a handheld showerhead as part of the faucet for the sink so it can be used for really bad hair days - after 4 days of not being able to have a head shower due to travel, inclement weather or because we are watching out for the ever-decreasing level of our fresh water as it all comes from the same 2 small tanks. We are not set up with a water-maker which turns sea water into potable water so after about 6 days of careful water use we start to feel a bit jumpy about how much we may have left. 

Solar showers on deck getting cold

The other option is to hang the solar shower into the bathroom compartment through the overhead hatch.  It can get the head a bit wet with water spraying all over but is truly a welcome treat. Full on body washing is usually left for the cockpit showers or the luxury of a real shower stall at a marina so sponge bathing is an expectation for boatlife.

Provisioning and laundry as well as loading up on water, and occasionally fuel, are the necessities that usually make us check into a marina which happens about every 10 days or so. 

Great fresh seafood in Ucluelet, definitely OK to eat

 Provisioning is an adventure in its own right. Making a list to shop in the tiny marina general stores on the west coast is almost a waste of time as you just have to take what is there and what is freshest that day. It really makes you work hard at menu planning which is actually one of the creative aspects of boating that we both love. Checking the expiry dates on goods in these stores is a must as sometimes the products have not moved off the shelves for years – really! In some of the more remote places we just accept that some things are out of date and are probably OK to eat.

The fixin's

The finished loaf

Changing the macerator...notice the fan

There is lots of time for doing small cleaning chores, considering what to prepare for meals with whatever food is handy or needs to be eaten first, and fixing/repairing whatever might need attention. Running the engine to charge the batteries is a good time to make bread, since there are many warm places to help it rise, and there is lots of hot water for washing-up afterwards. 


























Repairs often call for an all-out attack on the interior, up-ending and uncovering many surfaces and having tools laid out everywhere, in order to get at the job which is usually in the bottom of the boat or in some other inaccessible place which requires lying sideways and upside-down and making your body into a pretzel. 

Checking the batteries

Jobs such as checking the batteries or changing out the macerator pump, the electric thing which grinds up the stuff in the holding tank (connected to the toilet) as it is pumped out, required a lot of pulling out of everything in one space and then finding a space for it all while the work in in process, not so easy in such a small place to begin with, especially since tools are stashed all over the boat. We are very fortunate that Jim is so handy with all manner of repairs and has a somewhat special aptitude for all things plumbing and electrical!! Being out in the middle of nowhere there is frequently no one else to rely on but ourselves.

Writing in the log

When it is time to relax we enjoy sitting in our ‘back deck’ reading or just looking around at the wildlife and landscape of the new backyard we have every time we move to a different anchorage.
I also love to spend time sitting on the ‘front porch’ in my hammock chair, a most wonderful Christmas present from Jim years ago.  

 There is nothing quite like enjoying happy hour in the sun in a quiet anchorage or having a sunny solar shower in the cockpit – especially if there are no other boats around! And for those rainy days which were blessedly infrequent this summer, there is the tarp cover that we have rigged to go over the cockpit so we can sit out when the weather is really wet. We also have a "storm tarp", good when it's windy, that we use for collecting rain water to support our small supply of potable water onboard.

Living on a boat is on one hand so much easier than on land and on the other hand so much trickier. There is nowhere to go if you have a bit of a falling out so learning to talk it out is a must. There is no one to help you unless you are close to civilization so you have to know how to manage all the systems and things that Mother Nature throws at you by yourselves. But there are fewer things to go wrong and to look after so it all seems to balance out.  Living on a boat is all about self-reliance, creative problem-solving and being able to take it as it comes. It is a most wonderful way to be one with your surroundings and to have time to get to know yourself in ways that are not possible in a land-based workday world. It is always an adventure, a challenge and an experience that is unforgettable. 

Closing the Circle

It was brutal getting up at 5 AM so we didn’t. It was Wednesday, September 4, and there wasn’t enough light yet to safely navigate through the maze of rocks and reefs at the southern entrance to Dodger Passage. The rolling coming in from Imperial Eagle Channel through the night, and the attendant clattering of wires and halyards in the mast, had made sleep a scarce commodity. So we slept in. At 6 there was enough light, and we slid away. One of the guide books said the entrance was 2 feet deep on zero tide, the official chart said 9.2, so we went very slowly. With 4.8 feet of tide we saw a minimum depth of 8.3 feet so caution was indeed warranted. 

As we left Barkley Sound behind, we saw a couple of larger powerboats as they came out from Bamfield and set off down the coast. We recognized them from previous anchorages over the past couple of weeks. They had been quiet neighbours. They were soon past us, and we rolled our way southeast. 

 Cape Beale was a forlorn light as we worked our way along a dark coast, but the dawn gradually brightened and the miles slowly ticked by.

Breakfast was a welcome bowl of hot oatmeal with many cups of hot tea, followed by the morning washup on the move. Shaving in a swell can be very entertaining, and occasionally messy.

Pachena Point was the first light past Cape Beale, and a welcome sight to weary morning eyes. The ever-present southbound current was missing in action at this point, and since we were counting on this push to help us get to Sooke before dark, we were a little concerned that when the ebb tide started coming out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca we would be slowed even further. 

Speed is a relative concept, so when you are counting on going 6 miles per hour it's a serious blow to be going 5 miles per hour. 

As we came up to Carmanah Point at 11, we hit another milestone. Cape Flattery was on the horizon to starboard. We had reached the Strait, at least in our minds, and the adverse current seemed to be easing. It was about time. 

We were mistaken, it was a short-lived back-eddy and we were soon back to the slog. 

 At least we weren't alone out here. There was one tug and tow that we had been roughly even with ever since Cape Beale, but now that they had picked up the incoming tide coming around Cape Flattery they soon pulled ahead. With the reputation for volume of shipping going both directions, and the constant threat of fog, we stayed on the sidelines close to shore. At least it was photogenic there. As it turned out, we saw two ships on the entire trip down Juan de Fuca, and they were in the distance. 

The day was distinctly brighter by now, and there was no trace of wind. We had almost given up hope of help from the tide when we saw the current easing, and our speed finally increased as we picked up more of the favourable flow. We more than erased the slow start, and the swells finally eased with Cape Flattery blocking most of the rolling we had lived with for weeks. As we passed Port San Juan, which was our emergency bailout spot in case the weather wasn't cooperating, we ate lunch with over a knot of current helping us. The shoreline became more interesting, and with fewer things to bump into under the surface, we moved closer to shore to see the many caves and nooks in the coast. At the same time we suddenly had to pay attention to the many small fishing boats which lined the coastline. They all had downriggers and several lines in the water, and they really didn't care which way you were going, their fishing was far more important. We had to dodge several who suddenly turned right into our path. 

It was turning into a beautiful day, and as we flew ever faster (relative to a jellyfish, say) we watched the points on the chart pass behind us, one by one. Our dinghy, which we had tossed off the deck with so much trepidation in Bull Harbour, followed obediently, ever grimier with diesel stains on her nose from bumping our sooty transom night after night. Not only had we not lost her, we hadn't even had to add air in two months.

The last light on our trip down the coast was Sheringham Point, and as we passed the point, the sky was darkening and clouds gathered. No matter, we thought we could beat the incoming nastiness to Sooke, and once we were around Whiffin Spit and into Sooke harbour, there was a protected anchorage.

We almost made it. The entrance to Sooke harbour is very narrow and complicated, with several sets of leading lights to line up to get around the spit, and as we started the run in, the sky opened up and a squall hit, with driving rain right in the face. No matter, we drove on, and where the anchorage used to be, there was a field of commercial crab trap buoys. We went through the field, and not only was there no room to drop an anchor, there was almost no room to turn around. The greedheads on the crab boats had ruined another anchorage. We turned around, and with the rain still pelting, ran out of Sooke harbour. 

We thought we would try Becher Bay, which according to the guide books had good anchorage in the lee of Wolf Island. On the way, we were greeted by a return of the sun and a glorious rainbow. We thought that this was a good omen, and tucked ourselves into the Wolf Island cove. 

We were exhausted. 13 hours of motoring and constant attention to navigation and situational awareness had taken its toll, and the recent bad experience in Sooke had been depressing. As the sky cleared and we saw the rosy light to the west, we felt that we had cleared the final hurdle. The next day we would be in Victoria and almost home. 

The weather had different ideas. After an increasingly rough night, with occasional squalls and rain showers, we had a rougher day as the local fishing boats headed out. And in. And out. And in. The constant traffic left the water in a lumpy mess, and the southwest swell that came into the cove added yet another dimension. The current in the cove held us sideways to the swell and wash from boats so the motion was amplified. Sleep was not possible, so we sat inside for the morning and watched the weather roll over us. Thunder boomed and squall lines raced across the water.

Eventually, the sky started to clear, at least locally, and although it looked quite dark towards Victoria, we thought that it should have passed by the time we arrived. As we rounded Race Rocks, we could still see flashes of lightning hitting in the Victoria area, and were careful to stay away from the rigging, just in case. A lightning hit might damage the boat, but the mast provides a cone of protection to the occupants so as long as we didn't hang on to metal parts, we should be OK. Theoretically. 

We were right, as we closed on the Victoria skyline the sky cleared and the lightning stopped. We started hanging onto the rigging again. 

Passing Ogden Point, the entrance to Victoria harbour, was a real milestone, we were back in semi-familiar waters.  We had been married on a boat off the Victoria waterfront, almost 20 years previous.
We made our way through the busy entrance to the harbour and arranged for a berth in front of the Empress Hotel. Floatplanes took off and landed right next to us, the harbour ferries were all over the place, and the whale-watchers roared in and out. It was a culture shock.

The moorage charge was quite reasonable in the circumstances, only about seven times more than Zeballos; the people in the big brick building across the road were paying far more per night, and we had better entertainment at our doorstep. On the other hand, the showers in Zeballos were closer, if not so appealing.  The buskers, tourists, artists, and con men were deep on the causeway, and the harbour was alive with traffic.

This was quite a change from our previous two months of frequent solitude and silence. We slept well, much to my surprise.

The next day, we departed for Sidney after lunch, but didn't get far. As we approached the entrance, the fog got thicker and thicker, and we could just see Ogden Point light even though we were only a hundred feet away. I thought it might thin out if we got away from the coast, but the opposite was true. Brotchie Ledge was only a hint in the fog when we were far too close, and with due consideration for the amount of traffic around, we turned tail and returned to our dock in Victoria harbour. After dodging fog all the way down the coast, it was a little annoying to be held up here.

 It wasn't a total loss, we did meet some interesting people. De Frogs stayed for one night, and we never did figure out how many people were on board. Somewhere between six and eight, we think. They gave the harbour a rousing sendoff on departure, much hollering and yahooing. They were pleasant enough, although one of them was a dead ringer for Micheal Keaton as Beetlejuice. One of them mentioned they were going to Hot Springs Cove that day. I told them that today was unlikely. "Well, tomorrow then." I didn't rain on his parade, he would find out fast enough that 150 miles up the west coast was not a two-day jaunt, especially in that boat. I hope they made it past Sooke. 

When we did try to escape again, on Saturday, the fog was a little thinner, and I thought if we hugged the coast we might be able to see some of the Victoria skyline. Well, that was partly true. We saw the tops of the taller buildings as the fog came and went, and we mostly saw Trial Island as we went by. I guess we will just have to go back to see the coastline in better weather.

Fabulous sailing weather. Not.

By the time we had passed Cadboro Bay the fog was dissipating, and as we churned up Haro Strait, we had our usual fabulous sailing weather. It was hard to complain, it was warm and sunny, and the previous few days of fog and rain had been a trial. I don't do well cooped up, unable to move. Anne would say that was an understatement.

Sidney Spit seemed like a likely place to spend our last night on the boat, we had never been there overnight despite keeping the boat only a couple of miles away in Tsehum Harbour. Our midday sorties had been very rolly there due to the amount of traffic going through, but at night it was calm, almost serene. It was still pretty weird being surrounded by so many boats. 

A friend had given us a bottle of champagne for Christmas, and we had hoarded it, stashed away in a safe spot in the boat. We almost drank it the first night out, then we almost had it at Sea Otter Cove, but each occasion had seemed presumptuous. Tonight, we were close enough to our goal that it was appropriate. It was very good champagne. Thanks, Koglen. 

Our neighbour for the night at Sidney Spit had motored in late in the afternoon and dropped anchor close to us. It was an excellent reminder of our trip. These were the people from the waterfall in Lucky Creek. 

We slept soundly, had a great bacon-and-egg breakfast, lazed around, and in the middle of the afternoon pulled up the anchor and motored slowly towards our dock.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. Halfway there, Anne smelled very hot rubber, and when I took off the engine cover, I found the latest alternator belt shredded in the bilge and the compartment full of smoke. We shut down the motor instantly, and I broke my previous record in getting a new belt on despite everything being too hot to touch. The condensation on the belt, stored next to the hull, sizzled and vaporized when I put it on the pulleys, but we got cooling water moving. I needed a beer. 

At 4 PM we put our home dock lines back on and pulled into our slip. 61 days, over 900 nautical miles (1034 regular miles). It's going to be tough to top this one, but we're thinking hard. We like this lifestyle.
The lifestyle itself and how we keep it going on a boat will be dealt with by Anne in the next post.

Anchored at Lucky Creek

Google Earth has some wonderful aerial images of the places that we saw from water level. You need to have Google Earth installed to view our track from space, but it's easy and free and well worthwhile. To follow our track, click Right Here and download the track file.