The crew of Olivia is going out of town until Wed., leaving the Captain to tend to the ship until then.

I probably shouldn't even admit to this story let alone log it.....but I'm sure most of us have found ourselves in similar shoes before.

Docking a sailboat is nothing like trying to dock a power boat when there's any wind or current component. In fact, I figure a good dock up is one where I don't crunch anything....And I've gotten pretty good at that, was getting pretty cocky too.

That's when problems start.

Yesterday, the commander helped me deliver 'Div over to the Island so that I could at least have some electricity while I am aboard. The weather forecast called for winds diminishing to 5-10 from the southeast, but once we cleared the treacherous bar (and yes we bump-bump-bumped, wiggle,wiggle,wiggled to get off), we found the winds a steady 30mph and the bay whipped to a frenzy as we motored off under bare poles, and well heeled across the Laguna Madre which occasionally slopped water over the house, soaking me in the cockpit.

As perdictable, my oilies were nowhere to be found.

We passed a catamaran heading northwest, sails up, but deeply reefed, before crossing through the powerlines. Near the Coast Guard station, Pele now lays on the sandbar, port rail almost in the water. We're expecting another gale on Thursday, and I'll just bet Pele's next port o' call is the seawall adjacent to the government base. I wonder if the Coasties'll do anything then?

Inside Sea Ranch, I approached the dock with intentions to tie up on the starboard side. The dock was cross-windward in the howling wind and coming in I would make a loop around nose into the wind as well as possible and grab the piles as soon as it was advantageous.

Which it was not.

The contrary wind was just enough cross, that it would kick our stern away from the dock before we could get a bow line attached......or.....if we got a stern line attached, the bow would do the same aggravating thing....

So..... round and round we went in the confined space five times in fact, much to the amusement of the patrons of Dirty Al's as they sipped cold Corona beers and ate blackened and fried shrimp and fish.  Finally the commander was able to get a stern line on from the dock, and get another one over to me, which I lead to the forward cleat, tying us off. Then we put on some chafing gear and went over and licked our wounds at Schitterballs, where Sunday is 99 cent margarita day.....

Well, at least we didn't crunch anything. We just looked like a couple of monkeys....

I'm living at the Island till Wed. Hopefully I'll be able to work the tides right and slide Olivia back to her mooring at Anchor Marina before the big blow arrives Thursday. I'd hate to try and tie up in that.....