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Embracing the Cruising Life

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Report from my first two months as a trawler owner.

If you’re looking for a blog post with specific details about my trip on the Great Loop so far, this isn’t it.

When I write it, you’ll find it in My Great Loop Adventure blog. It’ll have more pictures and, with luck, links to videos on YouTube. Be patient, however; I really do need to get stuff around the house done before I can dive into that. If you haven’t subscribed to that blog, please do. There’s no spam — just immediate notifications of new posts there.

If you’ve been following this blog and/or My Great Loop Adventure blog, you probably know that after exploring the idea of small boat cruising, going on three separate trips ranging from 12 days to 5 weeks each, and researching the kind of boat I might want to cruise in, I bought a 2019 Ranger Tug R-29 CB. I took delivery of the boat right after Labor Day weekend and have spent a total of about 40 days on board since then. The longest stay on board ended yesterday morning: 23 consecutive days traveling from Chicago to Alton, IL (near St. Louis).

I thought I’d share a few of my thoughts about my experiences so far.

It’s Like RVing — on the Water

I have years of experience traveling with various types of RVs. Cruising in my own boat is almost identical to RVing in something like a motorhome or my truck camper. You drive what you sleep in and everything you need/want with you has to fit on board.

To get from place to place, you follow navigable waterways (roads). I’m fortunate in that my boat needs only 2 1/2 feet of water to float in and can fit under bridges as low as 14 feet above the water. (This is almost like traveling in my truck camper, which has high clearance and 4WD to get me into places other rigs can’t go.) There are plenty of printed and electronic resources for finding routes and destinations. My boat has three onboard chart plotters. They’re a lot like using Google Maps on my phone to navigate on the road — they can route me anywhere it’s possible to go. (Unlike Google Maps, however, I can actually turn over control of the boat to the chart plotters and their autopilot system and let them do the driving.)

At the end of a travel day, you can either stop at a marina (campground), stay at a free public wall (truck stop), or anchor out (dry camp). You can stay as long as you want — depending, of course, on whether you need provisions. You buy provisions along the way, taking on fuel and water and groceries when you can. You need to pump-out (dump) your waste tank. Plugging in to shore power (campground power) powers your boat’s systems and charges your onboard batteries; when you’re not plugged in, you’re powering everything off the onboard batteries. (My boat has a total of 6 AGM batteries: 4 house batteries, 1 engine battery, and 1 thruster battery.) A solar panel or generator can provide power or help recharge batteries when you’re not plugged in. (My boat has 160 watts of solar on the roof and I’ve brought along my old Honda 2KW generator in case I need it.) Of course, the batteries are all charged automatically when the engine is running. All this is pretty much the same as with an RV.

There are some notable differences:

  • You do not connect to a fresh water source at a marina. Instead, you manually fill a tank and a DC-powered pump handles pressurization at the sinks/showers.
  • You have only one waste tank, which is equivalent to an RV’s blackwater tank. It needs to be pumped out with a suction hose — unless you’re a certain number of miles off shore (in the ocean) where you can pump it out in the water. (I won’t ever be that far off shore.)
  • There is no gray water tank. Water from the sinks and showers goes right into whatever body of water you’re floating in.
  • The water to flush your toilet comes from the body of water you’re in — not from your fresh water supply. Fresh water is used exclusively for the sinks and showers.
  • The water heater does not work with propane. Instead, it’s either heated by the engine while you’re under way or heated with an electric water heater when you’re plugged into shore power.
  • The refrigerator does not work with propane either. Instead, it works off DC power and is the largest consumer of power when you’re not plugged in. (I find this maddening.)

Fuel Costs

My biggest expense is fuel, which certainly does explain why so many people buy boats like this and don’t take them anywhere. The boat takes diesel and has a 145-gallon tank. I’ll let you do the math on my most recent top-off of about 105 gallons at $5.99/gallon. Ouch.

Of course, fuel consumption is somewhat controllable by moderating my speed. Yes, at full throttle the boat can go 20 knots. It also burns an absurd amount of fuel at that speed. Volvo — the maker of the Penta D4 300 engine — recommends operating at 80% to 90% RPM and that does reduce both speed and fuel consumption, but not enough to make long trips between fuel stops possible. What I’ve discovered is that a cruise speed of about 8 knots is a good compromise between fuel consumption and speed. I can go slower to conserve more fuel but I can also speed up if I need to get somewhere in a hurry. How do I know this? Well, the boat’s engine and chartplotter work together to provide actual speed and fuel consumption data as I cruise.


Why, of course I took readings of actual data and plugged them into an Excel spreadsheet so I could chart them. Note that these NMPG and SOG numbers might be a tad high given that we were in the Mississippi River when I noted them and current may have given us a small boost.

So if you’re wondering how far I can get on 145 gallons of diesel, I’m figuring about 300 miles — if I watch my speed. Yes, I can go farther if I go slower but there are only so many hours in a day and I have no plans to cruise at night.

Overnight Accommodations

My other major cost is marinas. I’ve found places to dock ranging in price from free to about $90/night. You generally get what you pay for, although location does play a role.

My most expensive marina stops have been at Roche Harbor (a vacation destination) and downtown Chicago (a major metropolitan area). Both had all facilities I’ve come to expect: 30 amp power, water, pump-out service, restrooms, showers, and restaurants/groceries within walking distance. (More on all those in a moment.)


I only took one decent photo while at DuSable Marina in Chicago — and that was early one morning. We were there from October 13 through 15 and the marina was still quite full. But on October 31 (when we were about 300 miles south), it was completely empty because it closes for the winter.


Grafton Harbor was one of my favorite stops. A great restaurant, restrooms, showers, and laundry were all walking distance and we were able to top off water and fuel and get a pump out before leaving.

On the free end of the scale, we parked at the Jolliet, IL City Wall with 30 amp power, the Peoria City Dock with no power in one spot and just 110 v (household current) power in another, and at Mel’s Illinois River Restaurant, with no power. While Peoria had restaurants and a great bakery within walking distance, it’s also the stop where someone stole my portable BBQ grill right off the back deck of the boat one night. (I was lucky they didn’t take the inflatable life jackets or my electric bike, all of which were also on that back deck and a lot more valuable.)


Buddy boats R-31 CB “Pony” and R-29 CB “Do It Now” at the free wall in Jolliet, IL. This was a very nice free stop, especially because of the 30 amp power, autumn foliage, and park for dog walking, but there wasn’t much within walking distance.


Here are “La Principessa,” “Do It Now,” and “Nine Lives” at Peoria free City Dock. The facility was designed for boats even smaller than mine so the larger boats were left to tie up on a long floating dock that could barely fit two of us. “Nine Lives” is actually parked against the wall beyond the dock and tied up to the top of it; the only way they could get on and off the boat was to climb to their command bridge and over the rail at the top of the wall.

Of course, you can save a ton of money by simply anchoring out overnight. There are plenty of anchorages along the way and and resources like Waterway Guide to tell you what to expect at most of them. The boat is completely self-contained so I don’t need to come on land if I have water on board and space in my toilet waste tank. Of course, with two small dogs on board, dealing with their waste removal needs can be a challenge if I can’t just step off the boat with them for a walk. We anchored out just one night and our spot was wonderfully protected, quiet, and dark. Unfortunately, one of my pups refused to use the special “peepee mat” I’d bought and would up holding it all in for at least 40 hours. More training is required.


Connie on “La Principessa” shot this photo of “Do It Now” at anchor. This was the first and only time I’ve anchored out and I think I could have dropped the anchor a little farther from shore. I have an app on my phone (and my chartplotters) that can alert me if the anchor starts dragging, but I still slept like crap that night, worrying about the tail end of the boat drifting into the shore and not being able to power out. Yes, a stern anchor would help, but I don’t have one.

Scenery and Points of Interest

The scenery as you cruise varies greatly on the time of year and the waterway you’re on. The Puget Sound area, where I got my first experiences with the boat, offers outstanding views of forests and mountains, with all kinds of mammals and birds swimming in the water around you. The Chicago River is a crazy combination of buildings, bridges, and other water traffic. Farther south was industrial areas. The wide open spaces of trees and farms and small towns.

The views change gradually, given the slow speed. It reminds me a lot of how I experienced changes in terrain on long cross-country trips in my helicopter. Yes, I was moving along at 100 knots or more, but the grand landscape of the west changes gradually over many miles. This is the same, but with more subtle changes over fewer miles and longer stretches of time.

Most of the towns that have marinas or free places for a cruiser to park a boat overnight also have shops and restaurants. There are quaint downtown areas, many of which have historic buildings. There are always museums. Again, there are plenty of resources to help you find places of interest for a stop or an overnight stay. I have to admit that my trip between Chicago and the St. Louis area was a bit disappointing, mostly because we found ourselves in a bit of a hurry early and late in the trip, or dealing with cold weather, and I was sick with a cold in the middle. I feel as if I missed a lot of the exploring I might have done.

Weather

Weather is definitely a factor when you’re cruising in a small boat, although your tolerance to weather depends on your boat, your experience, the severity of the weather, and the way the weather affects the body of water you’re on.

In the two months I’ve been cruising on my own boat, I’ve been pretty lucky about weather. I had windy conditions in Puget Sound one day and relatively windy conditions on Lake Michigan another day, but neither experience was beyond what I or the boat could handle. Yes, we were tossed around and yes, water came up over the bow and had me using the windshield wipers on a day it wasn’t raining and yes, I wished that part of the trip was over and done while it was happening. But nothing broke, no one got sick, and the boat was never in any danger. Wind was also a factor during our first few days on the Illinois River, but again, it wasn’t a problem other than discomfort.

And of course, no one complains when the water is like glass or has tiny ripples that barely rock the boat.

I had one day of poor visibility on Puget Sound but it never got below a mile. I used the experience to experiment with my radar system — learning to read it so I could avoid obstacles if fog came up suddenly on a future cruise. Real fog delayed my departure from overnight parking on two occasions — who in their right mind would be in a hurry to leave a safe spot when they couldn’t see where they were going? (Contrary to popular belief, I am still in my right mind.)


Fog delayed us only a short while at the $20 Mel’s Illinois River Restaurant dock in Hardin, where we stopped with “La Princepessa.” (Excellent, reasonably priced restaurant, by the way.) Our next stop was Grafton, only 20 miles away so it was a short day anyway.

We did allow weather forecasts to delay us a lot longer than we should have been delayed in Peoria, IL. The forecast called for high winds — which, other than somewhat rough water on the Illinois River, only really affected us in locks — followed by heavy rain. Rain forecasts went from less than an inch to up to two inches and then back down to less than an inch. We’d been warned about floating debris after regional rainfalls exceeding 1 inch. Another, larger boat was waiting it out and they seemed very concerned. That got my companion worried. It also got me concerned. What didn’t make things better is that I’d been dealing with a bad cold for a few days and was exhausted after even only a few hours at the helm. So I decided to wait, too.

Unfortunately, the “hazardous weather” turned out to be a big nothing burger. We wasted a total of 5 days in Peoria when 2 would have been enough. That basically closed the window for us to get much farther than St. Louis before it was time to go home. (The way I see it, 3 days wasted in Peoria plus 2 extra days spent in Grafton plus 2 extra days spent at Alton would have gotten us to Green Turtle Bay — a much better stopping spot to continue the trip in early December. Yes, logistics to get to St. Louis would have been tougher, but it would have been worth it to get what I see as the hardest part of the trip — Alton to Paducah — behind me.)

But this is all a learning experience. And I need to remember that sometimes the weather forecasts won’t overstate the hazards. Sometimes they’ll understate hazards and I could find myself in trouble. Better safe than sorry.

Size Matters

Of all the boats belonging to “Loopers” we met in October, my boat was the smallest. The second smallest was also a Ranger Tug, but it was the next size up — an R-31 rather than my R-29. All of the boats had two people on board.


Nine Lives is a 48′ 2012 Kadey Krogen. Its owners, Kenny and Rhonda, live aboard year-round and just travel along the Great Loop. I took this photo as they left Alton Marina the other day.

According to Ranger Tugs, my boat is supposed to sleep six people. This number assumes two people in the main berth (which has an odd-shaped bed), two people in the lower berth (which has a full sized bed), and two people on the table converted to a bed (which I can’t do because the boat didn’t come with the required cushion). The reality is that unless two people really, really like each other, only one person is going to fit comfortably in each of the two berths. So I don’t think I’ll be encouraging any couples to accompany me.

Although there’s plenty of space on board for a traveler to get some alone time, the amount of comfortable space varies based on the weather. Sure, on a great day it’s wonderful to sit outside on the aft deck or up on the command bridge in the fresh air. But if it’s cold or rainy, inside is more pleasant. Then there are just three spaces (other than the head): the front cabin, the main cabin, and the lower cabin. The front and lower cabins are mostly beds. The main cabin has a nice sized table and two benches big enough to accommodate four people comfortably. That’s it.

The boat is also not designed for fat people. I’m not fat (in a rotund way), but I am overweight and I do need to shimmy through narrow spaces. They say I have a walk-around bed, but you can realize the absurdity of that statement when you try to walk around it. The door to the head is so narrow past the corner of my bed that it’s necessary to go through sideways. And I’ve stopped trying to get into the space between the helm and the back of the bench seat when the seat is facing the table. It’s almost wide enough.

Janet (who joined me on my October trip) and I called maneuvering around the boat, especially to get things out of the lower cabinets and refrigerator, “boat yoga.”


Here we are up on the command bridge while under way one morning. Do we look cold? We were! We went back inside the cabin not long after I made this selfie.

That said, the boat is very comfortable — at least to me. Remember, I’m coming to it from a slide-in truck camper. The boat is bigger. It has more windows and is brighter. It has a built-in inverter so I can use the microwave and coffee maker when I’m not plugged in. It has a generously sized aft deck with a table and seating for six — really! The command bridge seating is comfortable and a real joy when under way in warm weather. Yes, the bed is a weird shape, but it’s plenty big and I’m only sharing it with two tiny dogs.

Storage Cons and Pros

The front cabin has a clothes hanging rack that can accommodate about 10 hangers and, if they are used, the clothes block the use of some shelves and counter space there. There are a handful of other cabinets and a drawer that, if organized properly, can hold all my clothes. Or most of them. I use a large space under the bed to store off-season clothes; I have tank tops and shorts in there now. The trouble with that space is that you have to lift the mattress — which means unmaking the bed — to get into it. So it’s the kind of space where I’ll store things I can wait a week or two to retrieve — basically accessing it only when I change the sheets. The lower cabin has no storage other than a shelf along side the bed and one at the head of the bed. Whoever sleeps in there needs to stow their clothes in there or live out of a suitcase that can be taken out and placed on a table bench at bedtime.

Inside the main cabin is enough space to store dishes, silverware, utensils, pots, pans, and non-perishable foods — but not much else. The fridge is about the same size as my camper fridge, but the freezer is barely large enough to make and store ice and the door storage is very limited. There’s a compartment under the helm seat where I am storing tools and related items — including the extra remotes the boat came with for things like the auto pilot and search light. I’ve been storing manuals, log books, charts, and reference materials on the very large “dashboard” forward of the helm; that keeps them out of the way but easily accessible in transit.

There’s a ton of storage space under the aft deck — which is a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it offers space to keep relatively large things out of the way and dry but still relatively accessible. A curse because some of those things — like the generator — are heavy and they make the boat sit aft low in the water. This situation is not made any better by the fact that the dinghy, dinghy motor, and my electric bike are also in the back of the boat. There’s simply no place else to put any of these things. One of my projects when I get back to the boat later this month is to try to move things from under the aft deck to under the bed. There are a bunch of navigation reference guides in a box back there that will be the first to move.


Here’s one of my aft deck storage areas. This one is on the starboard side. From left to right is a waterproof box with the charging cable and accessories for my electric bike with a very complete Harbor Freight toolbox beneath it, an open plastic bin containing my 30 amp power cable and a heavy duty hose, my battery operated drill in its case, and a latching bin containing another hose and various hose-related items. The engine and thruster batteries are under the deck to the left in this photo and the inverter/charger is under the deck at the top of this photo.

I should add here that I’ve acquired several latching plastic bins to store loose items on and under the aft deck and under passenger bench seat on the command bridge. Storing like items together is the key (in my opinion) to organization and the ability to find things. There are a lot of things that come with the boat and will eventually be used but are not used very often. An example of that is the canvas covers for outdoor seating, the command bridge helm, and various windows and doors on board. Two shallow bins with latching tops make these easy to store upstairs under that bench seat where they’re out of sight and out of mind. And taller bins specifically chosen for the way they fit under the aft deck can store hoses, power cables, spare parts, and other smaller items that would too easily get lost if left loose.

Marina Life

So far, most of our overnight stops have been at full-service marinas. Slips or dock spaces include 30 amp power and water spigots. The marina facilities usually include restrooms and showers which we try to make use of. Marinas also usually have fuel and pump-out service; I like the idea of topping off when I get below 2/3 tank if the next fuel stop is more than 50 miles away.

Using a marina restroom means making less deposits into the toilet’s holding tank so I can do pump-outs less frequently. Regular use of the toilet means pumping out once every two weeks for just me or once a week for me and a friend; using the marina restroom 50% of the time doubles the amount of time between pump outs.

As for showering, the boat has a decent little shower that I’ve used exactly once. The water is plenty hot and the water pressure is good. The space isn’t that small, either. But you I usually get a better shower in the marina’s facilities. (There was one recent exception to this when I had the worst shower I’d ever had anywhere — at a marina.)

The boat’s galley is complete with a refrigerator, microwave, sink, two-burner stove, and oven. (It actually has two refrigerators and a wine cooler, but I keep that second fridge turned off for now.) I also brought along a one-cup electric coffee maker, a small Instant Pot, and a stick blender. So I can make just about anything in the galley that I can make at home. Still, it’s nice to go out for a meal once in a while. The marina at Grafton had an excellent restaurant right on the premises and we ate there three times. I had my first oysters of the season and first crawfish in years.

Making and Learning from New Friends

A marina’s amenities are part of the reason I like staying at marinas. The other part is meeting and socializing with other boaters.

I hosted my first ever “docktails” with folks in a Ranger Tug named Pony that was parked next to us at DuSable Marina in Chicago; it was their first ever docktails, too. We traveled together from Chicago to Ottawa, IL. We met their friends in a 42 foot Grand Banks named La Principessa (the Princess) at Jolliet and played tag with them at marinas, docks, and anchorages in Henry, Peoria, Barstow, Hardin, Grafton, and Alton. We met the super experienced owners and full-time liveaboards in the 48 foot Kadey Krogen named Nine Lives, sharing lock space and marinas with them several times on the Illinois River. Then there was the weather worried folks aboard the 40 foot Kha Shing Vista named Balclutha Too; I just discovered today that they lost one engine 100 miles north of Grafton — in an area with virtually no services — and managed to get to Portage du Sioux (between Alton and Grafton) for repairs. (If the timing is right, I might resume the trip with them at month end; it depends on how long their repairs take.) We also met sailors who were motoring with their masts stepped down in Black Majik and Yuca. I can track all of these people on the Nebo app and message them in the app or via text. It’s great to get news about conditions and facilities ahead of me on my trip from others as they pass through.

Most of these boaters have far more experience than I do and are willing to share what they know to make my journey easier. It’s a real pleasure to have them point out things I could do better or differently. I’m trying to be a sponge that soaks up experiences and information. These folks have been invaluable to me as sources of information and moral support. They’re one of the best things so far about my cruising life.

40-Day Opinion?

So far, I have to give my cruising life a two thumbs up. It’s not all sunshine and glassy smooth water, but it is the comfortable, doable, rewarding challenge that I hoped it would be.

I’m home now for three weeks to sell some jewelry at two shows, prep my house for its winter occupant, and touch base with local friends. I’ve already got my plane ticket back to the boat. Frankly, I’m counting the days until I can get back to it.

My Maiden Voyage in MV Do It Now

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I start my first boat trip with a 10+ hour, 2-day cruise in the Seattle area.

In my last blog post, I wrote a little about closing on my new boat, naming it, and planning its first trip. On September 6 and 7, 2022, I made that trip. I’ll tell you a little about it here; let’s see how brief I can be.

Cruising with Larry

Imagine this: you’ve just spent a relatively large amount of money on a 33 foot (length over all; LOA) trawler with a 300 horsepower diesel engine, bow and stern side thrusters, three chart plotters, auto pilot, sonar, radar, VHF radio, and everything you need to cruise long-term on fresh or salt water pretty much anywhere in the world. You’ve stepped up to this boat from a 17 foot jet boat and your only other boating experience is perhaps a total of 100 days in motorboats, house boats, and a pair of cabin cruisers similar to the one you’ve just acquired. Would you take it out by yourself on a 120-mile journey in relatively unfamiliar tidal waters?

Well, you might, but I wouldn’t. I hired an experienced boat captain to cruise with me the first day.

His name is Larry and he came recommeded to me by another Ranger Tugs captain who was unable to meet with me on the date I needed him. I met up with him at the Edmonds WA ferry terminal parking lot. That was after making the 3-hour journey from Malaga, which began at 5 AM. From there, we headed on a roughly 2-hour drive through Seattle to Olympia where the boat lived in a covered slip.

We talked boats during that time. He had a good amount of experience on a variety of boats but didn’t know Ranger Tugs quite as much as I wished he did. It wasn’t the driving that concerned me — most boats this size drive pretty much the same way. It was the boat’s other systems I needed schooling in. But that didn’t really matter at that point. The most important thing was getting the boat started on what would be a two-day journey from Olympia to Roche Harbor on San Juan Island.

But first we needed to stop in downtown Olympia at the boat broker’s office to pick up the keys and a box of spare parts for the boat.

Then, at the marina, I needed to fill in some paperwork and get an electronic key for the dock gate. And a parking pass for the parking lot.

And then we needed to move a truckload (literally) of boxes, bins, luggage, and bags of stuff from the truck to the boat.

This is where things got screwy. We didn’t have time to offload all those boxes and put the empties back in the truck. All we could do was fill the rear deck and sleeping area and dining area with boxes and bags and luggage. It was noon by the time we were ready to go and we couldn’t wait any longer. We had 50 miles to cover in a boat that might cruise as slowly as 10 knots — neither of us knew.

 
 
I couldn’t unpack, so I just put the boxes, bins, luggage, and cooler wherever I could fit them.

I learned how to check fluid levels and a handful of other things in the engine compartment and start the engine. Larry cast us off and guided me as I backed the boat out of its slip, used the thrusters to pivot nearly 180°, and pull out of the marina.

It was remarkably easy. The secret is to not be in a rush. At all.

Of course, having a nearly windless, currentless departure with no other traffic helped.

We didn’t have time to plot our course on the Garmin chart plotters, but I’d plotted it on my iPad using Aqua Map. Larry had his iPad and Navionics. We weren’t going to get lost as we wound our way between the islands in South Puget Sound, under the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, and eventually past Seattle.


Underway just out of the marina. If you look closely, you can see Mt Rainier.


Approaching the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.


The Seattle skyline from Puget Sound.


My pups settled right into the lower berth, which was still stuffed with all kinds of equipment that needed to be properly stowed.

We started at the upper helm but, since it was cool, we decided to move to the lower helm, which is inside. There was some confusion about how to transfer the throttle control downstairs; it turned out that I hadn’t put it in neutral upstairs. (The boat has Idle Forward and Idle Reverse gears; I’d left it in Idle Forward.) Once we figured that out, we settled in downstairs, leaving the back door open. Lily and Rosie, my pups, settled into the lower berth, moving in as if it had been made for them.

The trip was uneventful. The water was remarkably calm for most of the ride and the channel was plenty wide enough that looking for buoys wasn’t a necessity. We set an RPM that gave us 10 to 12 knots. The engine sounded good. Everything worked.

Except the fuel indication on the chart plotter. It said we had 103 gallons of fuel on board, but it was blinking and didn’t change, despite the fact that we were obviously burning fuel. This bothered me but I wasn’t going to worry about it. (In hindsight, I don’t know why I didn’t worry about it; I should have. After all, how long had it been blinking 103 gallons? A year?) Near the end of the trip, Larry peeked at the gauges in the lower cabin and reported I had nothing to worry about — the gauge there said I had just over half a tank.

I drove most of the way. Larry and I chatted about various maneuvers. We had no time to stop and try anchoring or anything else. The clock was ticking and I wanted to be at Kingston before sunset.


Making lunch while under way.

Around 3 PM we were both really hungry. I gave the helm to Larry and made us some lunch. On the stove. There were pot holders there so I didn’t have to worry about the pan moving, even when it got a little rough. I had to dig through all the packed boxes to find the pan, plates, and silverware. And through the cooler to find the ingredients. I’d prepped some aromatic vegetables at home the night before and cooked them up with olive oil and butter. I added some pan gnocchi. Then, when everything was almost done, I added 12 ounces of sea scallops and cooked until they were done. We took turns eating. It was just as tasty as a first meal prepared in a new boat should be.

And then we were there, just outside the Port of Kingston. A very large ferry boat was crossing from Edmonds just as we arrived. I got back on the helm — upstairs, because the visibility is just better from up there — and brought the boat in slowly, again following Larry’s instructions. There was a bit of a headwind that turned into a crosswind as I turned to go into the slip. Larry had me cruise past the slip, then use the thrusters to make a 90° pivoting turn so I was pointing into the slip. I then drove in slowly, letting the wind and then the thrusters take me gently against the dock. Larry tied us up.


We did about 60 miles the first day, from Olympia to Kingston.

Then I was hurriedly gathering together his things and my checkbook and the dogs. The ferry had docked and he wanted to be on the return run to Edmonds where his car waited. I wrote a check and sent him on his way.

Organization — and a Guest

I walked my pups and went back to the boat to start unpacking.

It was a huge chore. I had about 75% of what I’d need on board in a large cooler and various boxes, bags, and plastic bins. Once I unpacked, I still had the cooler and bins. In a perfect world, I would have had a full day to unpack everything and store the empties back in my truck. But we all know this isn’t a perfect world. Not only did I have to unpack everything and find room for it, but I also had to find room for the empties.

While all this was going on, my Twitter friend Juliana stopped by. I knew that she lived in the area and had invited her. We’d never met in person, but we’d both worked with Lynda.com in the past — I’d been an author and she’d been an editor. She brought a bottle of wine and we made room among the boxes and general mess to sit at the table and drink it. All of it. I was feeling pretty relaxed when she left.

I got the organization job about halfway done, concentrating on the important stuff — the contents of the cooler; the cookware, dinnerware, and silverware; my clothes; and the bed linens. This is when I made two discoveries: First, I’d packed a bottom sheet but not a top sheet for the bed. Second, the custom bed cover hid custom sheets.


Here’s the bed’s custom mattress topper. This is the exact shape of the bed.

I should take a step back and talk a little about the bed. It’s a very odd shaped bed. Custom bedding was available for it on a website called YachtBedding.com and I’d already checked it out. But since I was not interested in spending $1200 for a set of sheets — yeah, I know I’m being a cheapskate here — I figured I’d just use two flat sheets, tuck one in all around as a bottom sheet, and deal with weird overhangs on the top sheet. If that didn’t work, I’d just cover the mattress and use a sleeping bag.

But the bed had not only the fitted bed cover, but a custom cotton blanket, a full set of those expensive sheets and, under that, a custom mattress topper. I was set!


Here’s what the bed looks like fully made with the linens the boat came with. (I washed the sheets at Roche Harbor and made the bed so it would look nice.)

But not that night. I was not going to sleep on sheets that might or might not be clean. They’d need to be washed. Until then, I’d have to use what I brought: a queen sized bottom sheet with my freshly washed queen sized comforter. Fortunately, I’d also brought pillows and clean pillow cases. Needless to say, the bed looked a mess when I was done.

I think I finally turned in a little after 9 PM. The marina, which is on the other side of a rock sea wall from the ferry terminal, was surprisingly quiet. I’m used to marinas being loud places with clanking sailboat rigging, but this place was almost eerie in its silence. Even the ferry boat’s coming and going was muted.


Just past sunset at the marina. Peaceful, no?

I slept like the dead.

Day Two: Going Solo

I woke at my usual time — around 5 AM — and set about making coffee. The boat was plugged into shore power so my one-cup drip coffee maker was available for use. I’d prepped it the night before so I was back in bed with a hot cup of coffee within minutes.

(And that’s a morning routine that I realize I need to change. I picked it up last year sometime — getting up early (as I usually do) and bringing my coffee back to bed with me while I catch up on Twitter, do some word puzzles, read, and/or plan my day. While it’s nice to have that relaxation time in a comfy place with my pups still sleeping beside me, it’s really cutting into the time I’d otherwise use to write or get things done. I skipped it this morning just so I could finish this blog post, which I started days ago. I think I need to stop being so darn lazy in the morning.)

When my pups woke up, I took them for a quick walk to a patch of grass just beyond the docks. Then back to the boat where I finished dressing, fed them, and kept poking around to explore my new surroundings. The lower berth was filled with things I needed to sort out: carpeting, table legs, tables, flagpole, fire extinguishers, PFDs, and other safety equipment.

I found the gauge Larry had read the day before, when he assured me I had more than half a tank of fuel left. It was labeled Water. So yeah: I had no idea how much fuel was on board.

By this time, it was nearly 7 and I took my pups out for a proper walk. There was a crepes restaurant on the corner and I waited patiently for it to open so I could buy a breakfast crepe and bring it back to the boat. It was huge but admittedly not very good. I ate half. Then I finished securing everything that needed securing inside. The sailboat that was parked at the fuel dock pulled away. It was time for me to pull out of my slip and dock for fuel. By myself.

Again, slow and steady is the way. There’s no reason to rush and the conditions, once again, were perfect. No wind, no current. I turned on all of my instruments and started the engine. Then I went out on the dock and untied the boat, leaving the aft midship line for last. The boat barely moved. I climbed aboard, went up to the command bridge, transferred the controls to that helm, and slowly backed out. Once I cleared the boat on my port side, I used the bow thruster to bring the front of the boat around to port. (I should mention here that because of the position of the rudder on this inboard engine powered boat, steering has no effect in reverse, although “prop walk” does tend to bring the stern to port a tad.)

I have to say that I impressed myself — and I am my toughest critic. I’d visualized my approach to the fuel dock and I think that helped a lot. I just eased over there and set the boat beside the dock, getting it to a complete standstill before the dockhand could grab a line.


My first fill-up. OUCH.

A while later, I was pumping diesel into the tank port. It was a thirsty puppy and took 92 gallons. (If you figure I have a 145 gallon tank, that means I only had 53 gallons on board — not 103 gallons or more than half a tank. It would have been enough to get me to my destination, but what if it hadn’t been? Better safe than sorry, no? And yes, I’ve since discovered not one but two fuel indicators; more on that in another blog post.) While filling up, I learned that the glug-glug sound near the end means to stop fueling now. I also learned how diesel fuel spill rags can soak up oil but not water.

While I was chatting with the dockhand, the subject of lines came up and I told him I didn’t think I had enough. Did they sell them in the office? He told me that they had a bunch of lines that they were giving away. I had my doubts, but followed him to a storage building and was rewarded with three brand new ropes, still in their packaging. “Defective” he said, but neither of us could find anything wrong with them.

I paid for the fuel, prepped the boat for departure again, and cast off. I made a graceful (i.e., slow motion) departure from the dock, using the throttle and my thrusters to get the boat turned around. Then I left the marina at idle forward thrust, which gave me about 3 1/2 knots. It was low tide and not difficult to see why staying in the channel was important — beyond it were what I’d call mud flats. Then I was out beyond the sea wall, slowing to let the ferry depart ahead of me, and then picking up speed to start my trip north.

And this is where I made my first error: when I came away from the marina and was in open water beyond the ferry path, I should have brought the boat to idle and retrieved my fenders. Instead, I let them “fly” for the entire trip to Roche Harbor. No harm done, but not good for the lines, the fenders, or the side of the boat. What’s crazy is that I had to drop down to idle anyway to come from the upstairs helm, which was chilly, to the more comfortable inside helm. Why didn’t I do it then? No idea, but I won’t make that mistake again.

The conditions started off very good, with smooth water as I headed northwest along Whidbey Island’s west shore. There was a ship channel that was well marked and I did pass one inbound ship along the way. I got to play with the AIS feature on my chart plotters.

AIS or Automatic Identification System is like ADS-B is for aircraft — a system that broadcasts and/or receives vessel information including name, position, speed, etc. What’s odd is that in the aviation world, ADS-B Out is required for all aircraft while AIS transmit is only required for commercial ships. And while ADS-B In is not required or even used on most general aviation aircraft, AIS Receive is widely available on boats with chart plotters. My boat, it turns out, receives AIS signals but does not transmit them. That means I can learn about at least half the boats I’ve seen in my travels but remain invisible to them. This is something that’ll cost about $1000 to “fix” by adding a Garmin AIS Blackbox Transceiver to transmit my signal. I’m not sure yet whether I want to make this investment.

 
I can see a ship and tap an icon on my chart plotter to learn more about it, including its name and speed.

While Admiralty Inlet wasn’t rough at first, the farther north I got the rougher the water got. It didn’t help that the current was against me, slowing me down. I’d been traveling with the RPM set at 2600, but when speed dropped below 10 knots, I upped it to 2700 and, later 2800. That got me more than 10 knots and, at times, up to 12. By the time I got into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, I was cutting through choppy waves, rolling, and getting splashed good enough to run my windshield wipers. My pups were not happy and I wound up putting them both on the bench seat beside me.

It was a 19 mile stretch across the strait with only the tiny Smith Island in the middle of it. I don’t know if I imagined it, but it seemed that the water calmed a little once I’d passed that island. The current changed, too, and was soon in my favor. It was pretty much rolling through the gap between Lopez and San Juan Islands, spitting me out into the San Juan Channel with SOG (speed over ground) in excess of 15 knots.

There was a lot of debris in the water as I continued up the channel, taking the wheel to steer around logs, sticks, and rafts of weeds big enough to hold sea birds. (Enroute, I normally use the autopilot’s Heading Hold feature to set a course that I can occasionally adjust with a push of a button, but when there’s serious steering to do, I take the wheel.) The minutes and miles ticked away. The water was calmer among the islands and it was more pleasant traveling.

I started seeing other Ranger Tugs going my way when I reached Spieden Island. I had been warmed to take the far pass into Roche Harbor, staying west of Pearl Island, so that’s what I did. Although I think I could have cleared the skinny water on the east side — my boat’s draft is only 2 1/2 feet — why take a chance? I discovered later in the week that a 43-foot Ranger Tug had gone the other way and had severely damaged one of its two pod engines.

Arriving at the Rendezvous

The purpose of the trip had been to attend the annual Ranger Tugs/Cutwater Rendezvous, which was the first held in more than two years (because of Covid). It was a huge event at Roche Harbor Resort and Marina which would eventually gather together more than 200 boats made by the same folks who made mine. There would be seminars and get togethers and a lot of fun — all of which I’d cover in another blog post.

For now, all I cared about was getting my boat into a slip.

The radio guidance was more like dealing with an air traffic controller than I’d likely ever experience again at a marina. One by one, a man apparently at the marina headquarters assigned slips to incoming boats and provided instructions on how to reach them. When it was my turn, I didn’t like his instructions at all. He wanted me to rig the boat to back into the dock. That meant removing my dinghy and bicycle and putting fenders back there. He didn’t seem to care that I was on board by myself and would have to reconfigure my setup while trying to prevent my boat from drifting into other traffic.

I tried. I really did. I got the dinghy down and on a rope tied behind me. And then I started struggling with my bicycle, which I’d fastened to the rails on the swim platform. And I said to myself, fuck no. I’m not dealing with this.

I went up to the command bridge, got on the radio, and told him I was by myself, I had too much to move around, and I just wanted a bow in starboard tie. Anywhere.

He sounded annoyed and told me to wait. Then he got back on and sent me to a slip on J dock. I was disappointed because I knew that’s not where everyone else was parking. I was being sent to the hinterlands because I didn’t want to back my boat into a slip on my second solo attempt to tock. (I’m counting the fuel dock here.) He assured me that other Ranger Tugs would be there.

By that point, I just didn’t care. I motored over to J dock where a dockhand waited to help me park. It wasn’t as smooth as my fuel dock parking job — possibly because I was pissed off and tired and people were watching — but I didn’t embarrass myself.


Do It Now docked at Roche Harbor.

I was very happy to shut down the engine. It had been a long day.


My first solo cruise was about 50 miles from Kingston to Roche Harbor.

You can read about the Rendezvous I went to Roche Harbor to attend in another blog post.

Planning My First Trip in Motor Vessel Do It Now

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I have big plans for my first boat outing.

A lot of stuff has been going on in my life over the past two weeks. One of them came to a conclusion yesterday: I closed on the purchase of my new boat, a 2019 Ranger Tug R-29 CB.

I wrote more about the purchase process in my Great Loop blog. The final chapter can be found here. It was a surprisingly easy transaction with the only glitch being Citibank’s wire transfer processing and unbelievably crappy customer service. At 11:22 AM on September 2, I was the owner of an amazing, near-new cruising trawler.


My still unnamed boat in a photo taken by the surveyor as we motored in to the lift for a bottom inspection.

Do It Now

Amazingly, although the boat was three years old, it had never been named. That was good for me since there are all kinds of superstitions about renaming a boat and I didn’t want to deal with any of the weird ceremonies involved in changing a boat’s name. It meant I could name it whatever I wanted to. I chose Do It Now with a home port of Malaga, WA, and during the closing process I made arrangements to document it with the Coast Guard instead of titling it in Washington State. That means I can take the registration numbers off the hull as soon as I get the name put on.

Why Do It Now? If you’re a long-time reader of this blog, you may know that I feel that I wasted too many years of my life in a dead-end relationship, waiting for a partner to get his head out of his ass and start enjoying life. With him out of the picture, I was finally free to do my own thing — and I have been. I expanded my business, built a home, and started traveling more. But I wanted one more big challenge and had pretty much set my heart on cruising in my own boat. With the years ticking by quickly I realized that, at some point, a lack of physical fitness would prevent me from doing what I wanted to do. So if I wanted to start a new chapter in my life, I had to do it now.

It’s become a philosophy. Heck, I almost had it tattooed on my left hand near my thumb so it would remind me every day. I think buying this boat was a better solution.

Planning the First Voyage

As the purchase started coming together, I realized that there was a good chance that I could complete it before an annual event I really wanted to attend: the Ranger Tugs Rendezvous at Roche Harbor Marina on San Juan Island. Although it had been cancelled for the previous two years due to Covid, it was on for the weekend of September 8 – 11. I bought an attendee ticket and, booked a slip at the marina for September 7 -12. (Yes, I was so confident that the sale would go through that I booked a slip for a boat I didn’t yet own.)

I also plotted the route from Zittel’s Marina in Olympia, WA to Roche Harbor using Aqua Map, my iPad chartplotter of choice. I was shocked when I learned it was over 100 nautical miles. Not the kind of trip you can do in one day when you’re cruising at 10-12 knots. That meant an overnight stay along the way.


My entire route as plotted on Aqua Map. It takes me from Olympia past Tacoma, Seattle, and Edmonds in Puget Sound and then into the San Juan Islands area.

I arranged for an experienced boat captain, Larry, to join me on the first day of this journey to provide some much-needed training and orientation. I’d meet him at Edmonds on Tuesday morning and finish the drive with him to Olympia. That’s where I’d take possession of the boat and its keys. We’d offload my truck into the boat — I have a ton of packing to do — and then, after some orientation at the marina, head out along my route. The goal is to get to Edmonds by just after 4 PM, which I think is pushing it. I’d drop off Larry in Edmonds and motor across the channel to Kingston where I’ve already booked a slip for the night. (There’s no transient parking in Edmonds.) In the morning, I’d head out alone to finish the trip to Roche Harbor.

It is an ambitious plan and, if I didn’t already have quite a bit of experience last summer at the helm of a 2017 Ranger Tug R-27, I wouldn’t even consider it. Yes, my boat is larger — both in length and beam — but it has basically the same helm setup, right down to the autopilot, chart plotter, throttle controls, and side thrusters. I’m more worried about my arrival at Kingston, which might be after hours, than leaving Kingston or arriving at Roche Harbor the next day. I guess time will tell.

Anyway, that’s the current plan. I’ll write more about it when the trip is over. Stay tuned. Some fun, challenging times are ahead and I’m looking forward to sharing them.