DrC: Did we really sell everything before we left the boat?
Toast: Yes. Don’t you remember taking it all over to the swap meet?
DrC: Why did we do that?
Toast: It seemed like a good idea at the time.
There are two ways to approach this situation:
1) We were incrediblly stupid. OMGWTFBBQ what the hell were we thinking? We sold everything? How in god’s name are we going to get reoutfitted to cross the Pacific? We’re not even on the boat!! Panic! Run around in circles! Tear out hair! Cry cry cry!!
2) Damn that was smart. Don Quixote is, for the first time since we bought her, flying nearly three inches above her water line. She’s going to be screamingly fast now that she’s so light. We got rid of all that crap that we never used. This time we know what we’re doing, and we’ll only put on that boat what we know we need and will use.
Of course, I would like to take the second, more optimistic and positive approach. It isn’t just sophistry, mind you. Any cruiser can tell you that after a few years, a purge of the lockers reveals a startlingly high volume of crap that no one is going to use and just takes up space and weight. Any multi-hull cruiser will follow that with a lecture on the extreme sensitivity of catamarans to additional weight. If we can keep Don Quixote high on her water-line, we might be able to shave hours, even days, from our Pacific crossing.
So we start fresh, will ye nill ye, and provision Don Quixote from the top of the mast to the depth of the deepest locker. We do not have even so much as a pillow or coffee mug left on the boat. We kept most of the spare parts onboard included in the sale package, but we sold or chucked all the old rusted and busted up tools. The sails and lines are in good shape, the dinghy and motor still fine, the water maker, solar panels, and electrical system all in place. However, we have no snorkling equipment, hookah, or fishing gear. There are safety lines, fenders, and a rescue pole, but our life jackets need new cartridges, the asshats in Pukekohe stole our handheld depth sounder, and we sold all the material I was going to use to make a better sun shade.
As the train moved DrC and I through the emerald green countryside this morning on our way to work, we began to brainstorm our to do and to buy list. Rather than get depressed about the volume, I immediately broke the items up categorically on to separate shreadsheets. A single list of over a 1000 items was more than I could mentally or emotionally absorb. My guestimate is that it will take us roughly ten grand to reprovision Don Quixote for the crossing.
It’s ugly, but someone has to do it.
Toast: Yes. Don’t you remember taking it all over to the swap meet?
DrC: Why did we do that?
Toast: It seemed like a good idea at the time.
There are two ways to approach this situation:
1) We were incrediblly stupid. OMGWTFBBQ what the hell were we thinking? We sold everything? How in god’s name are we going to get reoutfitted to cross the Pacific? We’re not even on the boat!! Panic! Run around in circles! Tear out hair! Cry cry cry!!
2) Damn that was smart. Don Quixote is, for the first time since we bought her, flying nearly three inches above her water line. She’s going to be screamingly fast now that she’s so light. We got rid of all that crap that we never used. This time we know what we’re doing, and we’ll only put on that boat what we know we need and will use.
Of course, I would like to take the second, more optimistic and positive approach. It isn’t just sophistry, mind you. Any cruiser can tell you that after a few years, a purge of the lockers reveals a startlingly high volume of crap that no one is going to use and just takes up space and weight. Any multi-hull cruiser will follow that with a lecture on the extreme sensitivity of catamarans to additional weight. If we can keep Don Quixote high on her water-line, we might be able to shave hours, even days, from our Pacific crossing.
So we start fresh, will ye nill ye, and provision Don Quixote from the top of the mast to the depth of the deepest locker. We do not have even so much as a pillow or coffee mug left on the boat. We kept most of the spare parts onboard included in the sale package, but we sold or chucked all the old rusted and busted up tools. The sails and lines are in good shape, the dinghy and motor still fine, the water maker, solar panels, and electrical system all in place. However, we have no snorkling equipment, hookah, or fishing gear. There are safety lines, fenders, and a rescue pole, but our life jackets need new cartridges, the asshats in Pukekohe stole our handheld depth sounder, and we sold all the material I was going to use to make a better sun shade.
As the train moved DrC and I through the emerald green countryside this morning on our way to work, we began to brainstorm our to do and to buy list. Rather than get depressed about the volume, I immediately broke the items up categorically on to separate shreadsheets. A single list of over a 1000 items was more than I could mentally or emotionally absorb. My guestimate is that it will take us roughly ten grand to reprovision Don Quixote for the crossing.
It’s ugly, but someone has to do it.