It was a lovely day on Liberty Bay and the sun on the water worked its stress relieving magic. I’ll definitely do this again.

This was NOT the boat we rented, but was easily the loveliest boat on the water today – a racing sailboat of some sort.

Zach and Cheri watch the windvane.

Zach the helmsman steers the boat.

Zach watches from the sail deck.

Apparently I was the captain since I signed the rental contract. Who knew?

Port Townsend main street.

Wonderful old buildings.

Even more architecture.

Port Townsend from the water.

One of Port Townsend’s many tall ships.

I’m glad I had great company for the day; it was my first Fathers’ Day with both my father and Bryan now gone, and it would have been my 12th anniversary.

For anniversaries, we used to find and buy a piece of art we both loved. Port Townsend has wonderful art galleries and antique stores, but I didn’t see anything that screamed, “Take me home with you!” (Besides jewelry, which is coals to Newcastle.) And, I guess coming home empty handed is ok, it’s the thought that matters.

We spent the day on the Puget Sound and scattered Bryan’s ashes. I wanted to enjoy the day, the company of family and friends and remember him with my whole heart. We headed out of Liberty Bay toward Brownsville, where Bryan and I moor our own boat.

We navigated the sound on a couple of adorable electric boats. We couldn’t have had a more beautiful day if we’d custom-ordered it. The sun was brilliant and the water sparkled and it was warm and slightly breezy.

I had the beautiful urn that Jim made for us. I also asked a local florist for a bag of flower petals; she saved roses for me for several days and wouldn’t accept a dime. Mom brought a small box of skipping stones and encouraged us to write messages on them. I engraved a small brass heart with the words, “Bryan Merrell, 1963-2009, With our love.”

When we neared Brownsville harbor, we tied the boats up together. The captain recited parts of Psalm 107:23-43 for us:

Those who go down to the sea in ships,
Who do business on great waters;
They have seen the works of the LORD,
And His wonders in the deep.
For He spoke and raised up a stormy wind,
Which lifted up the waves of the sea.
They rose up to the heavens, they went down to the depths;
Their soul melted away in their misery.
They reeled and staggered like a drunken man,
And were at their wits’ end.
Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,
And He brought them out of their distresses.
He caused the storm to be still,
So that the waves of the sea were hushed.
So He guided them to their desired haven.
Let them give thanks to the LORD for His lovingkindness,
And for His wonders to the sons of men!
When they are diminished and bowed down
Through oppression, misery and sorrow,
He sets the needy securely on high away from affliction,
And makes his families like a flock.

We scattered his ashes over the side; they swirled and eddied in the water and finally disappeared into the sparkle of the sun’s reflection.

Then everyone tossed rose petals into the water; it was slack tide with no current, so the roses drifted out into a giant halo around our boats.

Mom pulled out the stones and we skipped them into the water; the moment of levity was perfect. I am horrible at skipping stones but managed to get one at the right angle. My sister Cheri was a pro.

We passed around the little engraved brass heart around and thought of him, then I asked his mom to release it after the ashes and roses. It drifted slowly down into the water, flashing and turning in the sun, and gradually faded from sight. Someday maybe some intrepid scuba diver will find it, covered in silt and encrusted in verdigris.

Bryan’s final resting place – besides, of course, in our hearts – is 47-40’49.0″ N, 122-36″56.3″ W, in 26.3 feet of water.

According to a friend, the ashes will find their way out the Strait and into the Pacific, where they will continue to circulate counterclockwise over a 3.5 year period, up to Alaska, over to Japan, down to the South Pacific, and back to North America. I really like that idea.

We sat there, drifting, for some time, some of us sharing memories and others sitting contemplatively.

It was a beautiful way to say goodbye. We will always love him and will miss him tremendously.

Poulsbo from the water. It’s a ridiculously cute little Norwegian-themed, tourist-friendly harbor town.

Mt Rainier, viewed across Liberty Harbor and through the Poulsbo Yacht Club marina.

Thanks to Sadiq, Nathan and Jim, who have been doing a great job of photographing their areas for visitors to their blog.

• the Bremerton naval shipyards, where active aircraft carriers come to be refitted and old ones are torn down
• the Bangor sub base
• Keyport naval undersea warfare center, where Raytheon and other contractors work on naval weapons systems

Today, like we have many times before, we went past the last facility. On one end of the base, there is a somewhat dilapidated building on the water:

It has a boldly posted across the breadth of the building that says “When light flashes, reduce speed to 3 knots.” The sign on the door, blown up and grainy because we were some distance away, reads:

“Naval Undersea Warfare Center.” And, helpfully, “No Mooring.” Because, you know, if the light is flashing because they’re testing torpedoes, I think I’d zip right up and TIE UP alongside! That would be FUN!

Today, there was a light flashing. I don’t think it was the actual warning light, it was just a little light, but we took no chances. We slowed down to 3 knots, no wake, until we got past the facility.

Obviously, we made the right choice. We made it home with our boat in one piece.

Today, though, it was time for spring cleaning. Boats are hard work. And expensive.

Every spring they need to be cleaned up, stem to stern. In the rainy northwest climate, the mold, mildew and algae multiply, inside and out. Nothing but a date with Clorox spray and elbow grease works – and I ended up sacrificing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt to the cause.

We have the catch-22 decision of whether to keep the boat moored, or haul it in and out. The latter is much better for the boat, but it’s time-consuming and challenging enough that we wouldn’t go out very often.

The alternative, leaving the boat in the water is pretty bad for it. Seaweed grows on the stern and swim step; mussels and barnacles settle on on the drive shaft, trim tabs and prop. The salt water is corrosive; metal parts rust, fuse, get eaten away. The bottom gets covered with algae, and the alternative, bottom painting, slowly leaches herbicide into the water and is horrid for the very marine ecosystem we enjoy.

Nonetheless, we do leave the boat in the water because it gives us easy access. That means every year it has to be hauled out and thoroughly cleaned up, either by us or by a marine mechanic.

While it’s out, it needs a spring tune-up. Electrical systems checked, engine overhauled, necessary parts, corroded, rusted or electrically obsolete, replaced. It gets expensive, but it’s cheaper than having the boat quit on a windy day in the middle of the sound!

At the end of the day, though, taking her out on a sparkling day is worth it. We are blessed.

It was a spectacular day – it probably hit 80 degrees, it was breezy and brilliantly sunny. I was reminded of Toto’s Southern Cross… “I have my ship, and all her flags are a-flying.”

The Schooner Martha took festival-goers out on free sails throughout the day. We didn’t get there in time to get on the list, but admired her from shore.

Bryan and I found a fairly unusual custom boat that fits perfectly with his Star Trek fan status!

The water was full of boats – hundreds of them, from horizon to horizon. A Port Townsend traffic jam is certainly different than Monday morning on the I5!

Sailboat with red spinnaker.	Sailboat in front of Olympic mountains.
Agate Passage bridge from the water.	Oncoming! Kaleetan Ferry in Rich Passage.
Bryan’s favorite Bainbridge Island waterfront house.	My favorite waterfront house. Lottery time?

The picture of the bridge has special significance for me. Every time we take the boat out, I want to go up Agate Passage and under that bridge. You see, Bryan drives across it as part of his daily work commute. He looks down from there and wishes he was on the water instead. The change in perspective, being on the water looking up at the bridge, is very sweet. ☺

It did just fine two weeks ago, when Bryan was prepping it for the season – but today, nada, no go, zip. Just click click click and a pitiful little cough.

Dang it all! It takes weeks to schedule a boat mechanic at this time of year.

It’s a good thing she looks good docked.

It’s a silly fantasy, not grounded in reality. The major obstacle is that I get seasick! Other minor issues are that my husband isn’t very interested, and my little dogs aren’t very boat-worthy and we wouldn’t leave them onshore.

I envision a mobile, carefree lifestyle, visiting fascinating ports of call and dropping anchor in peaceful secluded coves. We’d have beautiful sunrises with fresh coffee, afternoon swims in warm lagoons and cozy late night conversation. The weather is usually good, the seas are always calm, and the wind always favorable. The boat never has mechanical problems and we sailors (and our small dogs) never have health problems.

I’m sitting on the ferry as I write this and it’s another typical fall Puget Sound day. It’s pouring, gusty, and clammy through and through. The water is quite rough, whitecaps and 2-3′ swells. I would absolutely hate to be out in a small boat on this water, it’d be miserable. The boat would be rocking, I’d be queasy, and everything would be clammy and damp with condensation. We’d be cold, huddled around our heater and a cup of tea, and bored and confined to the cabin. The dogs wouldn’t be able to go out because the deck would be pitching too badly.

Of course, a boat is ultimately completely mobile. We wouldn’t be in the Puget Sound in November. We’d be in the Florida Keys or somewhere equally balmy. (How would I get there from the west coast? Would I need a west coast boat and an east coast boat? Or would I have to become an intrepid enough explorer to do the Panama Canal?)

The reality is probably somewhere in between. Even in the tropics – there are drizzly days. And really rainy stormy days. And gales and hurricanes, under which circumstances my boat would be docked and I’d be in a hotel somewhere.

The old saying that the worst day on a boat beats any day at the office doesn’t quite apply… if you’ve ever been seasick you know what I’m talking about! Does the Coast Guard take platinum Visa for an airlift? But most days on a boat beat most days anywhere else.