Dooley Shanghaied!!

 The True Story of an Island Dog
 Unwillingly Transported
to an Alien Landscape!

I'm just a simple island dog. I've been living on a tropical island for ten years. Ok, so I'm an OLD island dog.  I answer to Dooley, most of the time.  When I feel like it, basically.   I'm good at the old "No Habla" thing. I learned that from watching cats.  Cats are zen masters at ignoring people.
The big guy in my pack started typing blog posts about 8  human-years ago.   I've watched him muddle through over 300 of them, and  listened to countless explanations of the mistakes those software / hardware / marketing idiots make. I don't  know who Google and Gates are, but apparently the Big Dude has narrowed the problem down to those two.   But bottom line is that I think I've picked up enough to try my paw at this blogging thing, too. If you're another dog reading this who has similar ideas, I can tell you up front that you need to get voice recognition,  a good translation app, a spell checker, and an online grammar editor.  Otherwise all that walking  and scratching over the keyboard will be for naught.  Looks like gibberish without the  right software.  And you KNOW what it's going to cost you when they see the toenail scratches on the touchpad.  That's no-treats / Bad Dog high drama time around this place.  I will pay for this blog post.  Believe me. 

Normally I live quite happily on a dead end road at the end of a peninsula in a small neighborhood in a tiny city on a small island in a small nation in the deep blue ocean  between the Bahamas and Hispaniola.  The Big Dude has written about the place. What I want to write about is what he doesn't tell you, sitting there with his blog and his pretty sunrise and blue water photos.  Nope.  This isn't about that.  This is about what's been happening to me since they hauled me off island for the summer!  Yes, I was forcibly restrained, drugged and transported to a strange and exotic place far, far away from my home in the islands.   This is my story.

I don't quite remember how it started, or when I first noticed that something was up.  I can usually tell when they're getting ready to travel. They haul out suitcases and talk about places with names  that I don't recognize.  Typically, they drop me off at Pampered Paws and I hang out with a bunch of other island dogs until they come back and bail me out and take me home again.  They always smell like someplace else, and when they open their suitcases it's like an Imax movie for olfactory glands.   That's what I was expecting to happen this time.   But it didn't go that way at all.  Nope.

Big Dude gave me a suspicious smelling hunk of cheese, and although there was something just not quite right about it I swallowed it anyhow.  I mean this is cheese we're talking about here, after all.   Dogs don't pass up cheese. Even cheese with a pill shaped lump in it. Perfect bait. We're as bad as the rats when it comes to cheese.  We can't help ourselves.  And he's not going to take 'no' for an answer anyhow. So I ate it.  Next thing I know I was in some kind of mesh tent being carried through the airport, and I dozed off and woke up in  someplace called Texas.

We were only in Texas for a few days.  Long enough to meet a bunch of people who look and smell a little bit like the big dude I live with.  They laugh and talk a little like him, too.  We went to a party in Texas, but that's all I can tell you about it.  The people who had the party are really nice people, but alas, they like cats. Cats get to sit on laps and get petted and fed delicious little bits of things.  Dogs have to stay out in the back yard. Need I say more?

Big Dude came out to walk me around and stop the howling.  Then when he went back inside I peed in the flower bed and dug a few small exploratory holes.  Maybe a dozen, to confirm my early results.  Did you know they use  manure for fertilizer in the flower beds in Texas?  And they cover it with a thin layer of mulch to keep that wonderful odor trapped.  I thought it was a great party.  The pool area was smelling righteous by the time they hosed my feet off and hauled me out of there.  Some of those Texans can sure get excited about their new carpet, can't they?

We spent the next six hundred thousand years in a strange smelling car that Big Dude said he got from something named Hertz.  Well, maybe it wasn't actually years.... but it felt that way.  The Nice Lady found a way that she can keep in touch while we're driving.  Even in Mr. Hertz car. Which Big Dude calls a chitbocks, or something that sounded close to that.  We travelled for two days in human time.  I think that's about how long it typically takes to escape Texas in a chitbocks.

Don't misunderstand me on the Texas part.  I loved it there. I met at least a dozen people who seemed to know my name and who wanted to scratch me.  Things were just getting interesting when we left for someplace called Colorado. We did make plenty of rest stops on the way out of Texas, though.  You know  how road weary a little dog can get.  Especially a dog who lives on an island that's only 17 miles long.  Heck, if you spend three hours in a vehicle where I live, something's gone way wrong.

 Here, we stop every three hours for a stretch and scratch.  I could get used to this routine.

 

The time spent riding between the rest stops was brutal on me personally.   I'm the  Designated Watch Dog. I was forced to maintain constant vigilance for dropped trail mix peanuts and keep an eye on the road traffic as well.  It's hard to do all of that and maintain a mandatory nap schedule at the same time. I solved part of it by keeping close to Big Dude when Nice Lady was driving.   Nothing escapes me here.

 

I did get woken up once by Big Dude laughing and taking photos of me.   It makes it hard to maintain my concentration sometimes, but it all goes with the job.

When we got to Colorado we stopped to visit some people in a place called An Apartment.  They have strict rules here on where and what a dog can get away with.  Ask me how I know....

I spent a lot of time staring through those steel bars.  Looking at the world outside, going on without me while I waste away here on the cold concrete floor of a merciless patio cell....  It's not fair.  Not fair, I tell you.  I'm an island dog!!  I have a right to the sunshine!

 

 

Then just as I was about to start rattling my tin cup on the bars and trying to lead a revolt, I heard Big Dude say something about taking the dog for a walk before dinner.  Suddenly, it didn't seem all that bad any more.  I think it was Ringo who sang that you got to pay your dues if you want to sing the blues, and you know it don't come easy.

We finally left The Apartment and headed on up north.  I could tell we were going north.  It was getting colder.  And the air was getting thinner.    We had one amusing incident when Big Dude tried to open a truck door that had been sitting in storage.   A family of wasps had cleverly concealed a nest just inside the door handle in the months that the truck sat unused.  Precisely where Big Dude would put his fingers when he went to open the door.   Things got real exciting around the old storage lot there for a few minutes.  Stinging insects apparently make Big Dude want to sing and dance with a lot of emphasis. He can move pretty quick for a fat guy. And the vocabulary.  Oh my goodness, I learned several new words and even some biology.  I thought their surprise homestead showed thoughtfulness and planning, myself.  Big Dude, not so much.  He went all scorched earth on them.    I bet they don't rebuild in the same location. 

This is what that nest looked like after he stuck his fingers into it and highly annoyed the occupants.
It got ugly there for a moment.

Once we got the truck straightened out (there were more wasps in the back) we hooked up this big silver portable den on wheels and pulled it even further up into the hills.  The rest stops started getting more and more interesting.   Eventually we left the smooth paved roads behind and drove up smaller, rougher roads.  Then we left the road altogether and drove across some fields of strange new smelling plants and flowers.  I met some new friends in a nearby field on the way up.  I think we hit it off famously.  You know how sometimes you will meet a perfect stranger and  and after only a few moments of conversation you feel you've known them for years?  That's how it was almost instantly with these guys.  We had an immediate rapport that I know will stand the test of time going forward.  I plan to keep in touch.

Finally we pulled off the dirt road, through a ditch, up a hill, around some trees, by a big rock, and across a field.   I pretty much thought he'd finally lost his mind.   He stopped the truck, turned the noisy thing off, and said "Well, here we are".

  And the silence was amazing.   I mean, there is nothing here but us.   Or so I thought.   Come to find out, there's lots of stuff here other than us.   Big animals, even.  There will be more on this later in the broadcast.

Finally! They let me out of the truck without a leash!  I could run  and bounce and jump and roll and dig to my heart's content.  Nothing here smells like it does on Providenciales.  The hills are different.  The sky is different.  There is no ocean.  There is no salt.  There are no big lizards.  The very dirt itself is different.  It took me a long time to figure out what was different about this dirt, it's made out of hard stuff.   The rocks here are like iron.    We don't have dirt like this on the island.  This dirt would rust away on my island.    I'm thinking the south side of Providenciales could eat up a medium sized iron mountain in just a few years.  We'd have to use helicopters to dump WD-40 on it to keep it.

While I was examining this strange hard-rock smelling dirt I ran across dozens of strange new odors.  Every molecule of this world is different than what I have lived with for the past ten years.  Suddenly, I found a very strong odor in a series of foot prints.   I had never seen anything like this.  These were made by something with feet similar to that big Cheeseburger I met earlier, but different.  Wilder.  I had to dig into this. 

 

Literally.

 

This stuff sure digs differently than the sand I am used to, also.  I would have had an iguana dug out of here in about a minute tops.  This stuff is some solid dirt.

 

 It really didn't take much for the smell to be scattered around, and I could tell that whatever made this footprint didn't live in the ground around here.   

 

This strange footprint led me to start paying more attention to my surroundings.   I got so excited about the big hills and the huge views and the fresh air  that I was overlooking a lot of small things.  Like, there's no ocean here.  Nada.   Not a whiff.  This is something else totally new to me.  The world smells a lot different without salt.

 

I quickly found out that mushrooms grow wild here.  Nice Lady brings these home from the store and cooks them, or some version of them.  And here they are growing right out of the ground.  You won't see that in the Turks and Caicos Islands.

 

   
I tried one of these out, of course.  I mean, who wouldn't be interested in a free food source?

Mushrooms are just one of many strange plants growing up here in this country.   Look at these fuzzy things growing right up there in the wind.   Do you realize how long something like this would last on the south side of Provo?   Three seconds, I'm guessing.  The wind would own this sucker tout suite.

 

 As I looked around I noticed that Nice Lady and Big Dude were also looking at the fields and mountains.    I wanted him to start looking at all of these strange tall flowers and bushes and plants.   Oh My.  This place is alien.

 

We were cruising along, sniffing the bushes when another one of those striped rats jumped up and dove underneath a bush.   The big guy said it was a chit monk, I think he said.  Something like that.   And he laughed when I tried to catch it.

 

 

The little booger seemed to know the layout of the land pretty well.  He'd run under this old log and get just out of reach of my paws.  I could smell him in there.  I could see his beady little chit monk eyes. 

 

But as soon as I got started on a good dig, I could hear him scoot out the other side of the log and run up to another little hidey hole he has hidden on the other side of the log.

 

 

I spent a lot of time chasing this rascal back and forth.    I finally gave up when I realized he was enjoying it.   I could hear him laughing at me through his little mousey rat whiskers. These Chitmonks must be incredibly fast if  even  Dooley the Determined  can't catch one.  I mean, do dogs get slower when they get older?   Nah.. The rats are just reeeeeeal fast.

 

This place is about as different from the island of Providenciales as I can imagine.  You remember those photos of Provo's Blue Hills that Big Dude wrote about  some time ago?  Well this place has blue hills, too.  Except these have ice on the top of them.  Just laying on the ground up there in big white frozen patches.

Remember those footprints I ran across earlier in the trip?  Well, I found out what makes them.  Lucky for me, I was in the shiny den at the time.    Come to find out, these guys come around every morning for breakfast.  I'd never seen anything like it.

I might could have taken on one of them, mind you, but hey I was way outnumbered here.

I tried to get a good photo of them, but it was pretty early in the day and the light was low.   Still, I think you can get the idea from this one:

It occurred to me that these strange looking things are walking all over MY property, but  until I know what's what I think I will just observe.   I wouldn't want to hurt them, you know. I can play pretty rough.   They don't look so big from a distance, either.

 

It's just a matter of time before I run into one of these guys alone.  Out in the woods.  Then we'll see how tough they are when they don't have their buddies right there behind them....

 

 

Unlike all the uptight rules at The Apartment, I am allowed to pretty much run free here.  Just like I do in Provo most of the time.   But this is definitely NOT Providenciales.  The trees are different.  The rocks are different.  The rats are different.   And I have no clue what those big things with the pointed feet are.  And what's with those horns???   Don't they need a license to carry those things?

We haven't been spending all of our time in one place.   Every few days we hook up the wasp house truck to the shiny den on wheels and go somewhere else.   It's been interesting.   There are places here with spots specifically for shiny dens to park in.   This is way smoother than living in the middle of a field in the mountains.   The woods are more fun than the state parks, though.

Big Dude got real excited about this old trappers cabin.   He likes to look at logs and rocks that someone has cut and piled up in intricate patterns, for some reason.  Especially when they know what they're doing.  Evidently, whatever old Frenchman built this place knew what he was doing.    The Big Dude doesn't like this Google character he says is spying on him, but he likes some hundred and fifty year old French trapper who could pile up rocks and logs and make it last a century.  If he had a choice of spending the day with that Gates guy or this old Frenchman, I know for sure which one he'd pick. Go figure.

 

What I noticed was that they apparently put the bathroom on the roof.   That's got to be a nervous moment while standing on three legs.  And this is definitely tall dog country. I headed back to the shiny den.

 

 

One morning we woke up to a bunch of big 'whooshing' sounds.   I barked. I hid. Then we all ran outside.   We saw things that I don't even know how to describe to you.  It looked like a couple of guys were trying to barbeque a big yellow trash bag. I was mystified.

But a few moments later they were gone.   Whoosh, whoosh, sayonara.  Basically.  I'm surprised the Big Dude didn't try to put a camera on one of these.   Or me, with a camera.   I'm going to try not to give him any ideas.

We go a lot of places by bicycle here.   Oh, they don't let ME ride the bike. Nope.  Of course not.  I'm just a clumsy little dog with no thumbs I guess.      They lock me up in one of those carts like people used to transport condemned prisoners in Medieval times.  Well, maybe not quite that bad.

Finally, after hours of riding in this bumpy little cart they let me out to run and jump and climb.  And I have to admit, after a few hours of working out in this thin air I started to appreciate the fact that I had a ride home.   I think the cart thing is going to work out okay.

For you other terriers reading this, I have both good news and bad news.   The good news is that this place is absolutely infested with rodents.  No kidding.    We are seeing them everywhere we go lately. 

Now the bad news.  For some reason, whenever we're in one of these parks that deseperately need a good ratter, Big Dude ties me up to something solid!   I asked him about it and he pointed to some sign with a graphic of a happy dog in a red circle with a slash running through it.  Oh man.  

We've been sleeping in a different place every few nights, too.   This is getting stranger and stranger as we go.   The radio is on all the time here, unlike Provo.  But here the old guy listens to music about bars and trains and pickup trucks.   Makes me want to bury my ears under my paws, sometimes.

 

So that's what's been happening to me so far this summer.   I've been transported to another universe.  A planet of large scary animals with horns, walking cheeseburgers, snotty little rats with attitudes, no iguanas, no ocean, and thin air.  I've been tied to inanimate objects and locked up in small containers for long stretches of time.   Strangely enough, it's not all bad. Big Dude says I should relax, stop complaining, and just sit back and enjoy the ride.  Well, sometimes that ride seems a bit..

 

 

These people take a lot of photos.  Let me know if you want to see more, before we go back to the boat and the island in a few weeks.   .

  

 

Harbour Club Villas and Marina

I ended the previous post with a photo of  Harbour Club Villas and Marina’s sign.  I shamelessly used that nice graphic as a sunset image to conform with the way we like to historically end our blog posts.   You may have noticed that the majority of these posts start with a sunrise photo and end with  a colorful sunset.  Usually from our patio, because that was easy.  But not always.  Depended upon where we found ourselves when that time of day rolled around.  We didn’t have a sunset photo that was worth posting for the week before we went off-island, so I tried to use the Harbour Club Villas sign.    You can see how I was thinking, can’t you?   I thought I was being clever.  I’m usually wrong when I think that.  Yet, when I think I'm being stupid, I'm usually right.  What a mystery.  

Anyhow, now that  I'm trying to put together another post, I see that I was just wrong along about that sign.  It wasn’t a sunset after all.  Wow.  I finally see the light, and It was a sunrise all along!    And this realization hit me right when I needed a sunrise photo, too.  Amazing. Are you buying this?    Too much tap dancing, ain’t it.  I should have just glossed over it all and kept the words to a minimum.    I’ll try to move on.   Now that I've got my sunrise photo taken care of....

 

I've been wanting to talk more about Harbour Club,  and now I can do it because I can finally say that we've actually spent some time as guests of Barry and Marta Morton.    I'm not much of a suspense writer so I'll go straight to our conclusion that this is a wonderful little resort.  We had a great experience.  We hope to stay there again, and we recommend it highly.  And we're not the only ones.  Check out that link above.  Read some reviews.  Don't even listen to me.  I'm biased, anyhow.   We like the owners.

We’ve gotten a few dozen emails over the years asking our advice on various hotels, resorts, and villas on Providenciales.    We weren't much help with those questions because the only hotels and resorts we've enjoyed in the Turks and Caicos were on other islands entirely. We've stayed in rooms on  Middle Caicos, North Caicos, Pine Cay, and Salt Cay.  

Being basically unable to admit that I don't know something, I've passed along niblets of second hand info that we got from someone we knew who actually stayed in Provo Resorts.   We know Beaches caters to families and has colorful characters on staff who are dressed up to entertain the kids, for example.   We know Club Med caters to grown kids who actually are colorful characters dressed up to entertain each other.  We know Amanyara is very expensive and remote and we will probably never stay there.   But this is all hearsay.  We've definitely formed opinions, but we'd never spent a single night in rented accommodations on the island of Providenciales until now.
  

 The resort is located directly on Flamingo Lake.  This is all  tidal ocean water.  And not far beyond that hill in the distance is Juba Salina.  Another sea water inlet.   I mention this because the villas are located in one of the few spots in the islands where you can walk out the door with a flyrod and find bonefish without a rental car, guide, or charter costs.  This may be the only place on Provo.

You can see in these photos that it was a hot, hazy kind of week when we were there. I was hoping for some of our usual crystal clear sunny days.  With white puffy clouds here and there and brilliant tropical sunsets.  Didn't happen.   There was a lot of moisture in the air  and it made it less than ideal for photos.  It's not usually very muggy for very  long here.  With the trade winds constantly wiping the slate clean most weather patterns blow through in a day or so.  

See those palm trees leaning over?  The wind had already started to pick up  and blow the clouds away on the afternoon before we left, as I dashed around taking last minute photos to show you. Well maybe dashed is a bit strong in my case. Dooley definitely might decide   that 'drifted' describes it more definitively.  I guess that beats slithered. 

That's a photo of the villa we were in, by the way.  We were in the last one on the end.    That photo was taken from a lower parking lot area.     I just remembered that I had taken some aerial photos of the area a couple years ago.   Here's one of them from 2013:

As you can see, Harbour Club Villas also has a marina.  It's incredibly convenient for us that it's next door to South Side Marina.  This makes it a very good place to stay while one's boat is next door.

You can also see the six villas, in two groups of three. That section of foliage between the two groups is covering a cool  shady driveway. 

Each villa is a completely  separate  structure from the one next to its with  no common walls.  This makes for a very private and quiet atmosphere.   

 

It's nice to find shady, cool, lush vegetation on this part of Provo.  This is generally the arid side of the island and this is a shady oasis in an area mostly known for scrub brush.    

I don't have any pre-08 photos to show you, but I think Barry and Marta replaced all of the roofs after our little series of back to back hurricanes.   I forget what was there before, but it's tile now.       

We were in the villa on the right.   If any of you are wondering why the gutters seem to empty into the villas, maybe I should explain that briefly.   All houses here have cisterns to collect rain water.  The rain water that runs down the tiles falls into the gutter and then goes through a series of pipes into a big concrete tank.    Like an indoor swimming pool but way uglier.  Back before pumped in desalinated sea water was available, rain was the only source of fresh water on the island.  There are no fresh water lakes or streams here. There is very little fresh ground water that can be used.  Isolated pockets of it.  And thin.  So even modern houses being built today adhere to a building code that includes a rainwater collection system and a storage cistern.  These days most people use the cisterns for irrigation and use "town water" for everything else. 

Each villa has a small outside sitting arrangement.  A great place to enjoy that first cup of coffee or tea and watch the morning develop.

It wasn't until I looked at these photos that I noticed the similarities between this patio furniture and the furniture of ours that I was praising in the previous post.  Welded, powder-coated aluminum seems to be a good choice for outdoor seating in this climate. Keeps the quantity of dissimilar metals to a minimum. I'd guess that the welded areas would be the most susceptible to corrosion, since the weld is likely a different alloy than the rest.   But the power coating isolates it from all the catalysts.  Good approach. 

I wish I had taken more photos of the inside of the villa, but we were in the process of dividing up and dealing with the last remnants of all our belongings, and the room was a cluttered mess of suitcases, computers, musical instruments and a dog.   I did manage to get a photo of one of the seating areas and the little dining table.    What you can't see in that photo is the large television to the left, a fold-out sleep sofa to my right and another sofa that I was sitting on.  This photo also does not show you the fully equipped kitchen or the air conditioned bedroom behind me.  

 I wish that we'd been on more of a kick-back vacation than a frantic deal-with-the-house-boats-car-at the last minute kind of a rush.  We didn't really get a chance to even try the pool, for example.  Marta and Barry  love to boat over to another islands and  walk the deserted beaches looking for interesting objects, for some unfathomable reason.   If you look around the shadows and ledges in these photos you'll see a lot  that's been rescued from slow disintegration on a lonely distant beach.  Marine artifacts that were on their way to oblivion just above some distant surf zone, baking in the sun.  Ignored, useless....

 

 

Until Barry and Marta picked them up and brought them home.   There's a lot of neat stuff stashed around here. 

I noticed that there were more than a few iron anchors scattered around the premises.  And I'm not talking bout galvanized folding Danforths, either.  These are from previous centuries, the results of mishaps with sailing boats from a time before our grandfathers were boys.  Anchors have never been cheap enough to leave without a reason. I suspect many of them have some high drama stories to tell.

We had also hoped to take advantage of the nice outdoor grilling and dining area.  But for some reason, for the ten days we were guests here we never seemed to have an afternoon off.   I had already seen several good places to curl up with a cool drink and a freshly charged Kindle.

Did you notice that there are lifeboat oars, fish traps, and ship's wheels in the rafters  here, too?
 I spotted a thermometer and decided to check the temperature.    I certainly can't speak for everyone but from our perspective this is just about perfect.   Of course we have to take into account that we've been living here for ten years and this is pretty much average for us.   An Inuit visitor might want to add a few ice cubes to whatever they're drinking.

And this is the spot I was telling you about, that made me want to just blow off the afternoon and kick back with a good novel to coast  into an even better nap.

  These hammocks looked inviting and comfortable, swaying gently in a tropical breeze there in a private shady nook  Hidden away from the island by a stone wall.   Heck, I had to try it out.  And I can tell you, it's as comfy as it looks.

 

Or at least it was pretty comfy until a certain hairy little quadruped leaped up onto what he considers unclaimed lap and interrupted my musings.

 

The hammock could have easily accommodated both of us if I had just re-positioned the little canine curmudgeon over to the side a bit, but he wasn't acting relaxed.   Do you know that annoying feeling when a lap dog wannabe gets all fidgety?  He won't relax, and suddenly it's like he's grown fix extra elbows and he's digging them all into you.  I asked him if the swinging hammock was making him nervous, but he didn't want to admit it.  He considers himself a boat dog and would never admit to being nervous about platform motion.  Nah, too un-dogly.     He feigned some concern for my safety, and pointed out what he thought were hazards hanging over my  bald head.

SOME people get dogs who point out quail or pheasant, or retrieve ducks, or  guide their owners around curbstones.    But not me.  I get a terrier who worries about thunder and hanging coconuts.

 

I told him not to worry about it, that this was a Damoclean coconut and was only there for effect.  I don't think he appreciated my attempt at levity.   Or he may have heard distant thunder.  In either case, there wasn't going to be any peaceful nap on the hammock for the old Gringo on this day.

 

So we moved on to grab a few more photos of Harbour Club Villas to show you.  I fully intend to go back to that hammock, however.  Next time I'll try substituting a book for the dog and see how it goes.   Perhaps some light reading of Sir Issac Newton.

 

 I wasn't going to bore you with more details of the details we've been dealing with, but several people have written and asked about our little sailboat Twisted Sheets.    We worked on the plumbing on the boat right up until the day we hauled her out for storage.   I had a particularly difficult time re-installing one of the large fresh water tanks, for example.  This is the holdup that was delaying several projects.  How do you handle a large tank that needs to be lowered levelly when there's not room in the room for two of you and the tank?   Well this one took some thought.  And a lot of wasted effort before we gave up trying to muscle it in.  I finally figured out that the best way for me to handle it inside the limited space was for me not to be in the limited space at all.  This is what finally worked:

 I rigged a block from the overhead by running a line outside the hatches.   We made a little lifting harness from paracord.  I balanced the tank, and was able to lower it level from outside the compartment.  I came up with this when I gave up physically trying to muscle it after two days of wrestling. This approach slipped it in with no strain whatsoever.    With something other than me supporting the weight of the tank, I was able to slip in alongside it and nudge it when it needed a nudge.  And that was all it needed.   Why do I have to keep relearning the same mistakes over and over.  What an Einstein.  Duh.

And now that the tank is in, I can hook up the tankage system,  replace the deck, install the shower tub, and the washing machine, and the ice maker, and we can go sailing.

But not just yet.  We ran out of time.  Our last few days in Provo before taking off for our mountain holiday was spent securing Twisted Sheets before strapping her to the island until we can come back and start up again.  Can you believe we shipped the sails to Colorado to get them repaired?

We know that the next few months will seem like nothing when reading this blog later. This coming transition from living on land to living on a boat will seem A year from now it will just be a click of the Older or Newer Posts buttons at the bottom of this page.   We have some pretty  ambitious plans for this coming season.  And when we're mobile and living on the boat full time , well I'd say that I fancy our chances of enhancing circumstances and the sundown photos should improve as we move.

We know there will be times when we'll miss these familiar views.   But we're betting heavily that there are some acceptable substitutes out there.   Should be fun to go looking for them.