Every time I went down to the Oak Bay Marina where it lived, to paint it I went fishing instead. When it needed caulking, I was a fast caulker so he cabin continued to leak, but we had more fishing time. Often I would just go and sit with it and make boat coffee and meditate. In those early days the marina was a particularly heterogenous mixture of the sublime and UBS (ugly but satisfactory) so no one worried over a pecking order.
We went for a summer cruise in the Salish sea for a week and the weather became squally. We were caught at sea in the squall and our clothing became wet partly due to our cabin leak. The pianist jury-rigged a clothesline and we hung our clothes out to dry when the sun came out and put into Bedwell, the nearest harbour. Bedwell is aptly named as it is a secluded refuge for over nighters. As we pulled into the harbour we could see nothing but a flotilla of large, white sleek, beautiful boats, with a clutch of glistening people in whites, deck shoes, and big hair, cooking steaks on their Hibachis at wharfside. My 14 year old son said, " Shit, we should get out of here." I;m sure he spoke for all of us but by then we were already committed.
As I eased our smoking, ugly stinkpot into the moorage the disdain from the boaters seemed palpable. Certainly the pianist's clothesline added to the picture, flags of Salish hillbillies. I did think however we may have been one of the few that owned our own boat and knew how to manage tight corners with a single screw.