On to Port Townsend
The pockety thrum of my one cylinder Yanmar diesel lent a comfortable rhythm to the windless morning.
Lena, an open boat with a mast-furled sail, and two rowing positions, left Kingston an hour before I did, and I caught up with the pair of intrepid oarsmen two hours I left the marina. I offered them a tow the remaining hour or two into PT, and they gratefully accepted.
The trip up took about 4 and a half hours at 5 knots or so -- I picked up a knot or two with the currents, and slipped between Marrowstone Island and the peninsula proper via the Port Townsend canal. I was pleased to arrive at the Point Hudson Marina at 11:30, but alas, it would be another three hours before I would be able to get into my appointed berth. There are some 500 boats on display at the festival, and packing them all into to this modest harbor is a challenge. Channel 68 buzzed all afternoon with traffic between arrivals and a composed harbormaster.
Buddy, my major worry, was fine, though, sleeping peacefully the whole time. So far, he has been great. He doesn't much like getting on the boat, is always eager to get off, but once below decks, he seems content to sleep.
Once in, I set about putting Ripple in as presentable condition as I could -- not a small challenge, as I'm learning how to stow gear and provisions as I go along. Its like camping, but with way more stuff, and as with camping, taking less will make you happier. Note to self....
I turned in before dark, bluegrass music drifting in the portlights, exhausted after a long day. I was sure I'd be awake at 2, but slept past 4, broke out the ceramic space heater and warmed the cabin for an early morning sponge bath and tea. The electric water pot is, thus far, my best choice of a luxury accessory. The show is now open, and people are stopping by. I think the Budster is attracting mopre attention than Ripple... after all, there are 500 wooden boats here, and no dogs quite so comely as he is.