A Day in the Life--Getting Underway

Some have you have asked what a typical day on the boat on the inland rivers looks and feels like. In this blog, I'll attempt to share the first bit of that--what's involved in getting underway--perhaps more than you want to know!

Typically, I get up at 4:30 or 5:00, a good hour before light. After making coffee and feeding the bosun, I check today's weather forecast, the several day forecast, and, in this location at this time of year, the National Hurricane Center forecast. Then, after a quick peek at the headlines of the daily papers (Portland Press Herald, Key West Citizen, Bangor Daily News, New York Times, Washington Post, and the America's Great Loop Forum daily email, I run through the chart for the day's journey where I note locks

and dams, tricky navigational sections, our expected end point for the day, and alternative end points in the event we are delayed.

After the usual round of morning ablutions, I set about checking mechanical systems. This work involves crawling down into three different hatches. In the first one which you access from inside the main cabin and drops to the forward end of the engine

room, I check the water intake filter for the air conditioner,

the engine oil dipstick,

and various hoses and other components. In the second, which you access just outside the salon's main entrance and drops into the aft end of the engine room,

I check the engine's raw water intake filter,

the transmission fluid dipstick,

the fuel filter and water separators, the exhaust system, and the fuel tank selector valve. (One of the things that Back Cove has never worked out is getting fuel to flow evenly from both tanks so you have to manage that manually by selecting first one tank and then the other.)

Finally, I drop through the aft-most hatch into the lazarette

and check the generator's raw water intake filter,

it's oil level,

and the steering and auto pilot gear.

One of the annoying things is that, at my age, it's impossible to go down into these two outside hatches without sitting on deck and, after a heavy dew or rainfall, you soak your butt. It does dry eventually.

Wet butt or not, the next thing is to touch base with the Admiral and determine her status. Is she up? Has she taken her shower which, to save the water in our tanks, she needs to do before we disconnect from shore water? Is she dressed? Has she organized the salon if I didn't have time to do that (dishes put away, drawers and cupboards secured, etc.? How long does she think it will be before she's ready to cast off? As some readers will quickly recognize, this can be one of the more nuanced parts of my day. How do you get this info without making the Admiral feel rushed? How do you let her know she needs to get going while having her think that's her choice? When I figure this out, I'll be writing a best seller, not a ten cent blog!

In any event, assuming it's relatively calm which it typically is in the morning, I'll then give the Admiral a bit more time and space by coiling all the spring lines--five if we're cross-tied and two if we're not--which leaves only the bow and stern lines for the Admiral to undo when we finally cast off. Next, if the Admiral gives the ok, I start the generator, switch the power over, throw the breaker on the shore side power pedestal, and disconnect and retrieve our 50 amp power cord.

Subsequently, I turn on the boat's fresh water pump, disconnect the shore water, coil the hose and stow the water filter.

Finally, with an estimated five minutes to cast off, I go to the helm, start the engine, and check its guages.

Then I turn on the chartplotters and set one up with a very large scale chart to exit the typically shallow and narrow entry to the marina and the other with a forward looking depth sounder.

Finally, I turn on the VHF radio and make sure that it's on the appropriate frequency.

I'm ready to go but it's usually about this time that the Admiral hands me the trash. Frankly, it would be ok with me if it rode along with us for the day but that is not the opinion of the Monarch of the Sea. So, I trot to the dumpster--sometimes a short jaunt and sometimes as much as a half a mile. When I return, the Admiral, garbed in her life jacket and head set and acting like she's wondering what's taking me so long, hands me the other half of our marriage saver which I too don. We then quickly run over our departure plan--which line to undo first, which side of the exit channel to favor, the VHF frequency for the first lock, etc. I turn on and check the bow and stern thrusters--the only way to steer the boat at very slow speeds. And then:

We're away!

Once clear of the dock, the Admiral hauls in the bumpers, coils the bow and stern lines, offers advice on the marina exit route. Once in the river, we power up and off we go. About this time, the bosun stirs, gives us the evil eye, and heads down to his safe space on the guest room berth.