Bridging the Gap (okay, not really, but that's what I said the next title would be, so let's roll with it)

The morning of our departure from Wye Cove did not go as planned (that little black cloud just likes hanging around).  We did a few more errands around the house and I got in the car and went somewhere; I'll let you know if I remember why . . . .  As I was getting ready to go, Elliott had been helping to bring the trash to the end of the driveway for garbage day pickup.  Mind you, this is bags and bags of trash and food and crab bits from the party four days before.  Smelly and erp!  I couldn't be around it.  Well, of course, little black cloud is laughing as one of the bigger bags heaves and loses its load halfway down the driveway and E, being a teenager, doesn't notice right away and drags crab shell detris down the other half of the driveway.  Well, if ever something will get you to stop eating crabs, looking at the throwaways after the maggots have gotten to it should do it for you.  Blech!  Maybe THAT's why I was laughing maniacally as I drove quickly away from the scene!

Gary had a serious talk with his mother about not serving crabs anymore, but she did not want to broach the subject until next year (when it will be too late to make a change).  I agree with him; I've overheard several crabbers complain that, ". . . there's nothing out there."  Overcrabbing minimizes hauls and raises the prices per box to crazy numbers.  And, if you're a water person, you'll probably have noticed that crab pots are popping up EVERYWHERE.  It is such a pain to have to first, be able to see the pots, and then, two, to travel around and in between them.  On the first leg of our trip, we grabbed one with our propeller.  Not good.  Gary dove to cut the tangled mess free so that we could be on our way again.  Seemed to be no damage.  I used to eat crab a little bit, but really only enjoyed it when a friend of ours visited and we picked leftover crabs for hours and she made these incredible crabcakes.  Since then, nothing has come close to make crab a mainstay in my diet.

So, finally, I'm back to the house, the shells are mercifully repacked for removal, and we've packed up our cooler and clothes for the trip out of the cove.  Our engine had been wonky, so Gary took a look at it before we started underway.  "Damn it!"  Gary does not curse much, but actually I think I've heard more cursing since we've started this trip than during his whole time with me (surprising, eh?  especially for those of you who know me).

Anyway, we had about 15 gallons of water sloshing around in the bottom of the engine compartment and we had to siphon it out before we left.  It appeared to be fresh water, so I suggested one of our on-deck scuppers must be causing the problem.  We will be testing that theory today. 

The problem was how to get the water out of such a tight compartment easily.  I suggested a hose to siphon with and he got that started, but the hose was too long and he almost passed out from sucking in the air to get the water flowing.  He then went back on land and rummaged through his dad's shed and came up with the idea to employ a shorter length of hose and use a drill to create a pull the water up with the pressure.  Worked beautifully.  We had an assembly line; Gary held the hose in place, Elliott used the drill to fill the bucket, and I waited in the cockpit to take the bucket to dump it overboard.  Still think the sailing life is glamorous?  Those models you see in diaphanous wraps standing at the bow would have those wraps caught in the lines and thrown overboard before you could blink.  Not good.  

An hour or so later, we were ready to leave.  I shook my fist to the sky and asked for no more holdups or catastrophes. 

Then we thought about the bridges . . . .

Next:  Bridging the Gap II