Volume: 1

Never Homeless

A vast selection of neglected boats provide food, shelter and a little romance.

We had never done this in Dana Point. We walked the docks mentally noting easy targets. The marina in Dana Point harbor was new and not yet full but there were still plenty of big boats available to us.

Two powerboats, each over a hundred feet long, were docked at the end of Pier "O". One of them was familiar. We knew the owner and, more importantly, the captain. We couldn't find anyone on any of its four decks. A generator hummed powering lights throughout. The door to the main salon was open so we went in, like we were on tour during Opening Day. We helped ourselves to beer from one of the two refrigerators in the galley. The neighboring yacht, on the other hand, had a lot of activity. It had five decks and was lit against the waning dusk like a baseball stadium. There were about thirty people milling about and more arriving. Lainee said that it looked like dinner to her. Our sailing clothes weren't quite fancy enough for such an affair but by rummaging around below "our" yacht, we found suitable attire. We also showered together.

We crossed the dock and followed an older couple up the gangway. There were a few posters and brochures around printed by Children's Hospital for an apparent fundraiser, not that it mattered. We helped ourselves to the plentiful food and drink, making cordial small talk when necessary. One woman, maybe in her late twenties, asked us where we were from. We pointed out the Soling tied to the dock and said that we had sailed down from Newport. She noticed our spiffed-up appearance and frowned. "But, we showered and changed over there." She was still puzzled. "Long story."

Sated and tired of talking with people we didn't know, we returned to "our" yacht to change back into our sailing clothes. We then wandered the docks and came across a sailboat called Hilarity, maybe forty-five feet long. It had slimy growth on the bottom, some bird shit on the mainsail cover and a lock on the companionway door. The cockpit hatches were latched but without locks. I climbed aboard, looked in one and, as expected, found entrance to the cabin. Lainee followed me in. I turned the battery on and one cabin light.

We kissed, mildly aware of the classic sailboat dankness, the universal odor that comes from a combination of a toilet that hasn't been flushed in weeks, stagnant bilge water, oil from the engine, diesel fuel, and rotten food from the sink that didn't quite make it past the through-hull fittings. Sleeping on boats is like camping in an outhouse. Romance!