Tuesday, October 29, 2013


One of the strangest experiences you have when living aboard is that from time-to-time, your neighbors disappear. I don't mean they disappear as in they become lost at sea, but rather in the more literal sense of the word--one moment your neighbors are there and then the next, they are gone. Although it doesn't happen often, every now and then, Eric and I wake up, open our hatch, and discover that the boat that was next to us when we went to sleep has vanished, never to return. No note, no call--just gone. This weekend, as is sometimes the case, one of our neighbors disappeared: 

Having a boat docked in the slip next door is nice for several reasons. Among other things, its hull creates the illusion of a wall, and when walking on-deck or disembarking the boat, this "wall" makes you feel safe and secure even though it provides absolutely no protection with regards to preventing a fall into the water.

Now that our neighboring slip is empty, as I step off our boat and make my way down our finger pier, I consciously have to remind myself that I am just as safe (or not safe) as I was when our former pier-mate was tied up at dock. It has been a few days since our neighbor departed, and I'm still not used to the wide-open space just outside our door:

Needless to say, I've been feeling a bit vulnerable lately. On a positive note, however, now that the slip next to us is empty, our view of the setting sun is completely unobstructed, which makes for a pleasant end to the day:

Unobstructed View

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