Breaking from civilization

We ended up staying two months at Town Basin. That was not the plan. But winter here brings foul weather every few days, and both Kerri and I had a mountain of work we wanted to finish before the big passage, so we settled into the comforts of city life. We don’t sit still this long very often. Usually the nomad-itch sets in within a few days of stationary life, but this time nothing in particular was calling us away from the dock. It was an odd feeling — being just fine staying put.

Beyond work, we did only a little socializing with other boaters, most of whom would sail off to Fiji or Tonga before us (as usual). Now and then we’d go out for a meal, or a walk, but mostly we stayed glued to our laptops, plugging away while we had shore power. Power — a luxury that, for the two of us, only means longer work hours.

The ducklings kept visiting every day. Several times a day, in fact. So much so that after a couple of weeks I felt I had to start weaning them off the free handouts, and a (not-so-strict) schedule of two feeds a day was put in place. One day the thirteen-duck pack dropped to twelve. We’d had a good run, but nature would have its say in the end. It’s rare that every duckling survives to adulthood, so losing only one was still a win. A week later, the little guys starting to show wing and tail feathers, only six came to visit. This was about when Momma-duck stopped escorting the babies around — in fact she got pretty aggressive with them, protecting me as her food source, not theirs. Then only five came. Then four. They were all outgrowing the routine. By our final week at the marina, three would drop by each day, mostly one at a time. I hope they all made it. My soft spot for ducks is a big one.

Eventually, on June 18th, with the weather seeming to settle into ordinary winter (rather than a hurricane every three days), we untied the lines and motored back down the river — toward the open ocean, but not all the way to it. Instead we spent our first night at anchor in months at the last anchorage before the Pacific proper. No traffic noise. No joggers or trail walkers talking on their phones. Only one other live-aboard boat shared the anchorage. Peace and quiet felt foreign, but welcome.

Civilization left its mark on me just before we left. Someone, somewhere, made sure I departed with the gift of a cold. Kerri and I rarely catch these things; only when we stick around civilization long enough do our wildly unprepared immune systems take a hit. Mine stood no chance. I’m still sniffling and coughing today, more than a week later. Kerri seems to have dodged it — or at least the worst of it.