a first season's accounting
Sant Carles MarinaSeven weeks ago this crew slipped their lines in Almerímar with two small children aboard, Jo two years old and Eli not yet one, and no idea yet what this boat would ask of them. Tonight she is back in her home berth on the Ebro Delta, and I have had the whole final crossing to think about what I’ve learned in my first season aboard a boat that groans considerably less than the ones I’m used to.
Anna, Jo, and Eli flew home from Port de Pollença before the last stretch, and riot came aboard in their place for the run back along Mallorca’s north coast, which is the oldest rhythm there is on a boat like this one: crew comes, crew goes, and somebody has to be there for all of it regardless of who’s aboard on any given week. That has always been my job. I did not expect to mind the coming and going quite so much this time.
A hand-steered night to Los Escullos. Three nights trapped in a cove with two mooring balls. A stolen outboard I couldn’t prevent, a dinghy that fell apart out of spite and never actually left us, lashed to the stern the rest of the way home, and skies over Cabrera clear enough to make the whole business worth it. Now she comes out of the water for a long refit, and I am told there is talk of more solar, a proper electric galley, and less use for a generator that has, by my count, earned its retirement fairly. I will believe the rest of it when I see it. I usually do.



