And so the work begins

The first priority when arriving is getting Adventure operational again. We’re often stymied by all the junk stored below, so we have to constantly adjust our tasks to accommodate whatever is currently in our way.

In the tech world, where we came from, this is often referred to as yak shaving, which is defined as “a series of small, seemingly unrelated, and often unnecessary tasks that must be completed before you can get to the real work, frequently leading to procrastination or getting ‘lost in the weeds.’”

“Let’s put the sails up!”

We go to the “berth of impossibility”. We look at each other with timidity and open the door. There, before us, is…EVERYTHING.

Kathy loves to pack. It’s like a big game of real-life Tetris for her. We scratch our heads. “Where are the sails?” A simple, harmless, question. A demonic glare is directed back at me, and I decide now is maybe not the proper time to tell her how to pack.

Kathy pulls the SUP out and says, “Go work on this!” I think back to my days working at McDonald’s, when they would tell me to clean the gutters if I was caught gabbing. I take the SUP up to the deck and start the process of inflating it.

Kathy brings out our staysail, and then we have to remember how to put it back on. I can’t remember. Kathy then begins with her own useful observations: “We should really write instructions on how to do this.” I glare at her in my most menacing way, but she just continues to rattle on for five minutes. My face turns red, my feet tap, and I clench and unclench my fists—but it only spurs her on.

But we must have had this same argument last year – the shackles are wrapped with blue masking tape marked “upper” and “ lower”. Finally, we raise the sail and furl it. Success!

We attack the jib with renewed enthusiasm. The wind is beginning to increase, so I try to communicate a rational sense of urgency. Kathy tells me to stop panicking. Those are war words.

The jib is big and heavy, so we use our electric winch to hoist it. I try to furl it, and it won’t go in. This massive sail begins to luff in the wind. Kathy starts explaining how this wouldn’t happen if we had a written process. A gust of wind hits us. People walking on the dock begin to take notice.

I begin to… panic.

We dump the jib. Kathy walks away mumbling something about going to HR.

I won’t tell you how many times we had to raise and lower the jib before we got it to furl. I won’t tell you whose fault it was, because that’s not important. I’ll just reassure our readers that the sails are up and, after an appropriate amount of time, apologies were made.