Late Entry | Three Sheets Northwest

Dependency

by Scott Wilson on 17/08/10 at 3:38 pm

Looking down the public dock at Refuge Cove

We’ve been noticing an odd thing these past few years as we have been out sailing: the actual sailing part is the easiest thing. What is hard is stopping in a port for any length of time.

There are usually different reasons for our difficulties in any particular port of call, and we have come up with different theories over time to try to explain them. A popular one for a while was that being out sailing, or even at anchor, was so pleasant because it was a form of avoidance. The real world, the world of work and bills and renters and other obligations, was inevitably piling up a large backlog of problems while we were away, which of course would then break over us like a tidal wave upon our return to civilization, unleashing untold trial and stress. But even if we’re just anchored out, but with phone and Internet service, we don’t seem to feel all that pressure, so that doesn’t seem to be it.

Another theory is that it’s mostly adjustment fatigue, a difficulty dealing with all the distractions and possibilities suddenly open when one goes from a very small boat into a very large town. But it happens even in smaller ports, so that’s not likely. More plausible is that all those possibilities, combined with our collective need to address all the various bits of reality that have been accumulating in our inboxes, serve to create a list of things to get done that is impossible in the short span of time we usually have available. When you connect that time with money, in the form of moorage fees, there is certainly a yin and yang of marina life that will necessarily cause stress.

Our latest theory, though, is simply that it’s hard to depend on other people, and that’s what you are forced to do in port. We have just left Campbell River, one of our favorite ports of call, under storm clouds of stress and frustration. As near as we can tell, most of it was because we abandoned our self-contained, sailing rhythm for the seductive conveniences of the marina… which promptly went away. After our first night, a transformer ashore blew out and left our dock without electricity. Out at anchor, or sailing, we rely only on what we can produce on the boat. At the dock, which we were paying fifty bucks a night for, it seemed intolerable; there was work to do, every minute counted! The helpful staff moved us to another dock that wasn’t affected, but most of our day was lost to debating alternatives and making the transition.

To make up for it, we decided to stay an extra day. But on that day, the electricity to the new dock was also cut off, as was necessary for the hydro crews to work safely on the first problem. The marina staff were apologetic, but we couldn’t see a reason to stay another night, so we asked for a refund and sailed off.

None of this was anyone’s fault, but we’ve come to view port stops as times to get things done. The clock is ticking, it’s easy to get frustrated when little things get in the way.

When it’s just us, on the boat, we have learned to make it all happen ourselves. This isn’t to suggest that we are always successful, but at least we generally know our limits, so it’s easier to plan around them. Nature always gets a vote, too, but when things are going wrong in that department, we are usually so preoccupied with keeping them from getting worse that there is no time left over to sit and fret about it. In port, there is all kinds of time to fret.