After five years of amazing adventures aboard our Nordhavn trawler MV Indiscretion, we’ve decided it’s time for a change. We are coming off the water.
We didn’t plan on this. We dreamed for decades to be at this very spot in our lives — casting off the bowlines to explore the world under our own keel at the unhurried pace of seven knots. But life doesn’t always work out like you hoped.
On September 27th, 2022, our son Connor was killed in a motorcycle accident in Colorado Springs. A car pulled out in front of him on a busy street a half mile from his apartment. He was just twenty years old.
An Early morning departure across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Watching the sun rise from the wheelhouse is a unique trawler life delight. Calm seas, light wind, a favorable current. Feeling especially blessed this morning.
Our first ever stern tie aboard Indiscretion here in Prideaux Haven! That was quite the experience. We learned so much about what not to do! Oh, and swear words come through loud and clear on our wireless Eartec headsets even when one member of the crew is on shore.
We’ve lived aboard Indiscretion now for 75 days. Other than the comical annoyance that anything you need is ALWAYS under or behind other awkward things that you must first haul out, life on this trawler has been amazing. And now that we’re underway, home takes on a richer meaning. In one sense, we have no home. We’re finally the vagabonds of our youthful aspirations. Yet, in another very real way, wherever we drop our anchor is home. Or, put differently, home for us has become a feeling, not a place.
I know there will be stormy passages and stressful nights in the weeks and months ahead. That’s life on a boat. But tonight, swinging on the anchor in this quiet, calm harbor on my own little ship, the immensity of the Salish Sea to discover and explore just outside these pilothouse windows, there’s no place in the world I’d rather call home.
We had such good intentions … We left Shilshole Marina on 6/1 with the northern reaches of British Columbia on our minds. This is the year to revisit Canada: the Sunshine Coast, The Broughtons, a slow cruise down the West Coast of Vancouver Island. We’d skip the San Juans altogether. Well, maybe just a stop over in Roche Harbor …
A week later, we are still here. After enjoying a long weekend at the wonderful SYC outstation on Henry Island, we made the seven mile voyage to Reid Harbor on Stuart Island. That’s a short trip even on a trawler.
We realized we were aching for a little peace and quiet after the frenzy and emotion of selling our longtime island home and the hustle and bustle of liveaboard life at Shilshole Marina. A little healing time is what we’re calling it. And I can’t think of a better way to let the stress of life fall away than on a boat at anchor in this one particular harbor …
Kicking back in the cockpit of Indiscretion on this fine May evening, I've been thinking about how life has a way of circling back on itself in strange, unexpected ways.
We've been settled in our new slip at Shilshole Marina in Seattle for a month now as we finalize the sale of our Vashon Island home. After all the frenetic activity involved in readying a house to sell, it feels good just to be still and observe the hustle and bustle that surrounds us here, in what surely must be the very center of the trawler universe.
A sea change is underway for Indiscretion and her crew. In the span of three cold, dark and rainy months here in the Pacific Northwest, we have decided to shake things up in four significant ways.
We’re in the middle of a wet, windy month here in the Pacific Northwest. A weather phenomenon known as a “bomb cyclone” brought sustained winds of 30 knots and gusts up to 50 knots earlier this month. Since then, successive weather systems, aptly called atmospheric rivers, have pummeled Puget Sound, bringing rain and high winds almost every day. Today is no exception: a new storm has knocked out power to our entire island, so we’ve added the steady hum of our noisy generator to the whistling of 40-knot winds and the percussion of rain strafing the windows.
The crew of Indiscretion achieved a matrimonial milestone this month — our 25th Wedding Anniversary. This is remarkable, not only because our marriage has lasted far longer than the statistical average, but also because our friends all expected this spur-of-the-moment marriage to dissolve within six months of our elopement in Greece. There had been a large quantity of Ouzo consumed the night before we wrote out marriage vows on a rocky outcropping on Skiathos, so even we wondered early on how this would all work out.
We decide to celebrate our anniversary at Alderbrook Resort and Spa on the southern end of Hood Canal. We could have driven to this beautiful resort from our home on Vashon Island in about an hour, but what would be the fun in that? Instead, we would travel there by boat, which requires voyaging about seven hours north to the entrance of Hood Canal, and then heading south for another seven hours. Such is life at seven knots.
Fall cruising in the Pacific Northwest brings such a variety of weather conditions. Full sun, clouds, rain, blustery winds, even hail and thunderstorms. We canceled many cruising opportunities on our sailboats when the forecast was iffy, but not anymore. This trawler provides a comfortable sanctuary for just about any kind of weather. And beautiful sunsets too. Trawler life is good!
One of the great joys of anchoring out in a beautiful bay is the free time you have to focus on lingering boat projects. When you’re away from the boat, these issues seem to stack up until a later day. But here in Hunter Bay in the beautiful San Juan Islands? I had plenty of time.
My focus of the day: a wiring problem lurking somewhere in the pilothouse that randomly kept flipping our Maretron system circuit breaker. This happened when I opened or closed the ship’s service panel door, so I suspected a loose wire somewhere.
Sometimes all it takes is a few quiet days and nights at anchor in some secluded bay. Any stress you might have brought aboard fell away in the wake of the voyage, but soon you rediscover a deeper level of relaxation and peace that you only seem to find on a boat. You slip into that easily misplaced rhythm of tide and weather and sky. Maybe it’s the primordial rocking, almost imperceptible on this heavy trawler, or the immediate connection to the fundamentals of life. You don’t dare examine it too closely. Allow the mystery of what drives us seaward be enough.
Part three: After a rough start (part one) and a nice passage north (part two), we concluded our three weeks of island hopping through the beautiful San Sun Islands, enjoying mostly fine weather and deserted anchorages.
Jones Island
After a blissful three days on Stuart Island, we plot the seven-mile course to Jones Island. A strong current flows against us between Speiden and San Juan Island, so we decide to take the northern route above Speiden to see if we could make better time. This turns out to be a mistake. An even stronger current slows us, and worse, a series of tidal eddies have us spinning this way and that as we make our way eastward through New Channel. At the narrowest part of the passage between Speiden and the Cactus Islands, I marvel at a flock of floating birds spinning on the water like they are riding an invisible merry-go-round. Moments later, we enter this vortex to hell ourselves.
Part Two: Having quickly resolved our hydraulic system problems, the crew of Indiscretion heads north for the San Juan Islands.
After departing Shilshole Marina, we arrive at Port Ludlow and spend the night at anchor to cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca with the tide in the morning. Weather on the Strait can be unsettled this time of year, but we have a nice window before a storm arrives on Sunday. This is our second visit to Port Ludlow and each time we wish we had more time to explore this lovely, protected bay.
Part One: The crew of Indiscretion sets out for an open-ended cruise through the San Juan Islands in early spring, but their voyage is in jeopardy within hours of departure.
The San Juan Islands are some of the most beautiful cruising grounds in the world. More than a hundred named islands and reefs with numerous state parks, anchorages, and destination marinas are scattered throughout this archipelago spanning the waters of northwestern Washington state. While currents can sometimes be tricky to navigate, the San Juans are perfect for slow boats like trawlers. The islands are close enough that your next anchorage is usually just an hour or two away, even at seven knots, and there are almost an unlimited number of harbors and inlets to explore.
Back to reality: the lawn needs mowing, the deck needs pressure washing, the bills need paying … but a part of me is still afloat, feeling the gentle sway and rock, marveling at the colors and hush of twilight on a boat in the islands.
I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to be adventuring with this beautiful woman. She’s been putting up with me for almost 25 years, raising children, managing a career, and making the best of the challenges in life. Through it all it seems like she’s always smiling.
I snapped this picture of her in the cockpit at Shilshole Marina. We had to divert there on our way to the San Juan Islands because of a low oil alarm from our stabilizer system. Our first day out on an open ended trip North. Right before I took this picture, I filled her in on the problem: a pressure gauge on the hydraulic system had failed and it allowed all of the hydraulic fluid in the system to dump into the bilge. We were stuck until I could find replacement parts and a 5 gallons of hydraulic oil.
She honestly laughed when I told her this. She said: “Well, if we’re going to be stuck somewhere, this is as good as any. Plus, you’ll figure it out.”
I wasn’t quite as cheerful or confident, but it turns out she was right. An Uber ride to central Ballard put me in walking distance of everything I needed. I might have been covered in hydraulic fluid for a good part of the next morning, but I fixed the problem. And we were back underway.
But, even if I hadn’t been able to fix it, I’m pretty sure she’d still be smiling and making the best of things. I am one lucky guy.
It’s that moment before a cruise when you sit back and consider. Everything is stowed. We have more food than we will likely have a chance to eat. My maintenance list is checked off. The engine room check just now was fine. All systems are go. The boat is literally tugging at her lines to go.
Still, I have that nagging feeling I’ve forgotten something important, that familiar disquiet before casting off the dock lines on a long voyage. I’ve learned to savor this unease. Caution is good at sea. But I also know this feeling flies away like morning fog as soon as we’re 50 yards away from the dock. Heading north tomorrow!
With a welcome change in the weather, the crew of Indiscretion made immediate plans to cast off our dock lines. We unloaded a dock cart full of too much food, topped off the water tank, and set out for a much-needed winter cruise through central Puget Sound.
I could see the problem from the very start. This complicated trawler yacht with all her engines and systems required more attention than I could possibly dedicate on nights and weekends. She needed a full-time captain and engineer to keep her Bristol and ready at a moment’s notice to cast off and make for remote destinations.
Fall weather in the Northwest can be pretty iffy. Rain and wind are the norm for this time of year, which took its toll on our boating time back when we sailed. Unlike my more hardcore sailor friends, the novelty of freezing my ass off in the cockpit lost its appeal some time in my mid-forties. Each year, as fall turned its gaze to winter, I would grudgingly decide to put the boat away. Off would come the cushions and bedding to avoid mildew. Three or four dehumidifiers would decorate the cabins of the darkened boat to soak up the winter moisture. Dock lines would be inspected for chafe ahead of the winter storms to come. Sadness would creep over me as I walked up the dock, perhaps for the final time of the year, already pining for spring.
Trawler life has changed all that. We no longer hibernate. Why would we? It can be freezing outside but still toasty warm inside the pilothouse and salon. In fact, fall and winter cruising on a trawler here in the Pacific Northwest is downright amazing.
When we purchased our Nordhavn 43 trawler a little over two years ago, we had big plans for the fall of 2020. We’d leave our newly emptied home and sail off to far away destinations — a longtime dream come true.
In fact, we did cast off, but not like we expected.
As a licensed CPA and long-time boat owner, I’m no stranger to the financial consequences of keeping a boat. People like to joke about how quickly money flows into a boat, like stuffing $100 bills down a bottomless drain. Or, how many “boat units” a particular upgrade or repair will be. Somehow, six boat units sound better than $6,000.
When we were shopping for our trawler, our yacht broker shared this financial rule of thumb: expect to spend about 10% of the value of the boat each year on maintenance, upkeep, moorage, and other ownership costs like insurance, taxes and fees. The rule worked on our $70,000 sailboat. We spent about $7,000 a year on boat-related costs. But surely, that math couldn’t extend to a $700,000 trawler. Could it?
Mornings start early on Indiscretion. Sometime between 6 and 7 a.m., one of our two trawler dogs will jump down off the bed and start issuing low whines I can’t drown out no matter how deeply I burrow into the blankets.
I complain a lot about having to take the dogs ashore in the morning, but to be honest, I love it.
Are you mechanically-inclined, perhaps an engineer? Are you inquisitive by nature, wondering how things tick? Do you like to fix stuff? If so, this post is not meant for you, although you might get a chuckle here and there if you decide to keep reading.
I wrote this for a different segment of the population, which I count myself a dues-paying member: the mechanically challenged. I’m pretty good with a spreadsheet, and I can make PowerPoint get up and dance. But fixing things? Not so much.
There is nothing so magical and comforting as the wheelhouse of a trawler at night. Words fail. Pictures can’t capture it. The gentle rocking, the warm light, the sense of adventure and impending expedition, the saltwater soaking into already salty veins. Some people spend their whole lives searching for their happy place in the world. This is surely mine.
Most captains pay close attention to weather forecasts and will postpone departures to protect the comfort and safety of the ship and its passengers. But what if the skipper has a track record of being too cautious? And what if the ship is an ocean-capable Nordhavn trawler?
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I’m the first to admit it: I’m a cautious skipper. Even with decades of sailing experience across a half-dozen vessels, my nerves still rattle when the wind pipes up. Unlike a car, maneuvering a boat has an inherent wildness to it, an out of control feeling more akin to riding an elephant than the surety of a stick-shift, particularly in close quarters around docks and other boats.
