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Back In Gear...Almost!

It's been a little while since my last post, I had to take some time away from this project because of some family medical issues. Everything turned out okay, so I am getting back on a regular schedule of Monday posts.

Here on the boat, I am in the middle of a few projects. A new higher capacity bilge pump and float switch have been installed, and spring cleaning is in full swing. Next up is to pull the mast, inspect and replace rigging, paint and plop it back on. I have a port to replace (from 1975, bedded with 5200..some of you will know my pain) as well as a hatch to put in.

The biggest challenge that I am facing by far is with my diesel auxiliary engine.

The early Endeavour 32 models from 1975 - 1978 came with a standard Yanmar SVE12, a one cylinder 12hp engine. The Endeavour owners website calls it "fine for flat calms but not enough power to push to windward in any wind or sea". Many Endeavour owners have chosen to repower, which is an option at some point, but not this year. In the end though, they call it an auxiliary for a reason. These boats are meant to sail and that's what they do best. To put it in perspective, Chris Bray and Jess Taunton at YachtTeleport have managed the Northwest Passage with a hand-start 8HP Saab diesel, and Mickey Scotia, author of "Mama Junk's Great Adventure" got his Chinese junk from Rhode Island to Florida, mostly without an engine at all.

Childhood Memories

On Tynan

It's a dangerous night to be walking outside. Not for me, but for the tiny little frogs that dot the gravel road. I swish my overpowered Surefire flashlight across the dark gravel trying to avoid stepping on them. When I get close they freeze in their tracks, making them harder to see. This would be a good reflex if I was trying to eat them, but it's working against them tonight.

I'm walking down to the beach for old times' sake. It's 2am and I'm in Milton, Vermont. Calling it a beach is generous. Shale rocks densely scattered over green outcroppings of weeds lead up to murky water. There are a few docks and a few boats pulled up out of the water. They're not locked to anything - they're just sitting there.

I crouch, pick up one of the little green frogs, and watch him slowly climb around my wrist as I rotate it. I probably haven't touched a frog in ten years. Playing with frogs used to be my favorite thing to do when I was in Vermont. I liked to catch them in a bucket and then empty it into the nearby creek and watch them swim away. Sometimes we'd throw them in the air so that they'd land in the lake. That seems a bit inhumane now, but we didn't know better back then. We were kids. I lower my arm to the ground and nudge the frog off of my wrist.

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