Yesterday evening I went down to the boat with the intention of sitting on the back deck, drinking a cold beverage, and watching the sun go down. Maybe watch the fishermen at the public ramp try and trailer their boats. You know, the show.

Ah, but with all the good intentions of mice and men, once I got down there, I got the notion to finally scrub the waterline hula skirt that has been surreptitiously appearing along on the hull. Even though I intend to haul the boat out in November for a bottom job, a clean ship is a happy ship, or some sort of garbage like that. To tell you the truth, it's been causing me a great deal of anguish since I saw it starting to appear right after delivering Olivia here. It just violates my otherwise obsessive sense of order on the boat. I'd been meaning to scrub the hull for awhile, but  needed to beef up the swim platform (which I've done recently) in order to go over the side.

The other option was to borrow a skiff, go around the waterline that way. Two boats down from me, there's a 28 Morgan Out-Island whose owner, Jeff has left its dink tied alongside for about two or three months. It's a Zodiac, now about a third full of water, and slick with algae inside and out. I asked Jeff if I could use it as a tender to clean my hull, and he graciously agreed, so when I spied it last night, well, the guilt overwhelmed me (and besides the Zodiac might soon sink), so I untied it, and made my way down the fingers to Olivia, shoving off of the dock and stern.

At the boat, I scrubbed and scrubbed, removed the offending hula skirt. It wasn't so easy getting up to the bow with the mooring lines holding the boat mid slip, not allowing enough room to get by.

I adjusted the lines, removing the stern line on the port side first, working my way to the bobstay, just scrubbing the thing like there was no tomorrow. Even with water in it, and flacid pontoons, the Zodiac was pretty stable. Repeating the process on the other side, I was getting pretty smug about staying dry in my Sunday-go-to-meetin' shorts and shirt that I was wearing. I scrubbed with renewed vigor. Suddenly, the Zodiac squirted forward like a banana shot from the peel, and down I went into the bottom, which held about 3 inches of fetid stinking rainwater. So much for remaining dry and clean.

I popped up like I had meant to do that, glancing around, but thank goodness, no one saw me.

I finally gave up when dark fell and I could no longer see the waterline, or what I was scrubbing, instead, opting to do some work on the interior (measurements for cabinatry), while trying to drip dry. Later, I went topside and tried to enjoy a beer in the dark before heading back, but the mosquitos threatened to drain me of fluid faster than I could replace it, and I finally just headed back to the house.

Later, I spoke with Sean, who is closing on the Choy Lee 32, and is pretty stoked about it. Boy I hope he knows what he's in for