At first, it’s fun, getting bonked gently about… until I get seasick. Then I have to put my feet up on the settee, turning myself sideways to the motion; doesn’t make me sick that way. (For some boaters, it’s the forward-back motion that’s better.) I put my feet up and read. Lovely.
Then the seesawing motion gets a bit much — just about the time stuff gets knocked around on deck. Oops.
Five or ten minutes of concerted outdoor work, moving things, tying things down, tossing things out of the cockpit and into the cabin, adding a springline (which reduces the hobby-horsey swiveling motion), and fielding bags and cushions as they try to grow wings.
Remembering why, when I had competent arms, I also had short hair; it utterly sucks to be constantly blinded when you’re looking at your work. Maddening. Good thing scissors are unthinkable in this wind, or I’d have a bugly (butt-ugly) do by now.
Climbing back inside, I brace myself on the steps, and work from behind to snap the cloth in place over the hatchcover, then slide the boards in. I won’t try to explain what that means because it looks (and sounds) technically impossible, but I did it.
Batten down the forehatch (yes, I really do have a hatch with closures that are called battens) and shut the forepeak to keep things in storage from sliding into the sanitary facilities.
My last task is to light a sweet-smelling beeswax candle and snuggle into this slightly untidy, but safe and warm, rocking cradle for the night.
Hard times, in some ways. But boy, things sure could be worse.