Turkish Vans

A new friend - fellow writer, boater, and cat owner Denise Power - visited me onboard Mazurka. I introduced her to Hunter and Leo. "Oh!" she said, "They're that one breed that loves water!"

I got these cats from the Anti-Cruelty Society, so who knows what kind of mutts they are. But later that day Denise emailed me with the name - Turkish Vans - and suggested I look them up online. I did a quick search and founds pages and pages devoted to my cats' brethren. With long white fur, amber spots, ringed tails, and the exact temperament described, Hunter and Leo are Turkish Vans.

The best part of the story is that Turkish Vans are known for loving water. The myth is that they came to Mount Ararat aboard Noah's Ark and swam to shore. In modern times, they swim for fun. (I don't know if Hunter's swim last year was fun for him...but he did know what to do.)

This explains why they look like they're swimming when they drink water, why they let their tails drag in the water, and why they will sit on the narrow ledge of the deck, fearless. Hunter and Leo waited eleven years on land for the moment they could move to Mazurka. I have half a mind to take them swimming this weekend.

Where the Salmon Are

My parents came for the last-fishing-trip of summer. Our plan was to head to Michigan City, Indiana, where the perch have come in and the salmon charters go out every morning. But after listening to the marine weather report - 4-6 ft waves, 15-20 mph winds out of the northeast, we decided to stay in Chicago and fish in the morning.

We cruised out early Saturday morning with the charter boats and eventually caught up with them (considering we go 8 mph) at a ridge 70 feet deep, heading 60 degrees out of Belmont. It was rough water, but Mark and my Dad were ready to fish. I manned the helm, trying to keep her steady while they got their gear in order. After a while I noticed my Mom was missing. She was down in the bow, seasick. Our husbands expressed sympathy and compassion for her, but they clearly were not leaving until some fish were in the boat.

My Dad wandered away from his pole for just a minute and when he returned, Mark was reeling in a King Salmon on his line. Nice guy that he is, he helped bring it in with the net.
I have seen fishermen will themselves to catch something; once, when we went on a halibut trip in Alaska, everyone had caught halibut except the one guy on board who really, really, really loved fishing. Right before we pulled up anchor for the day, he brought in a prehistoric-looking Ling Cod. It was the coolest thing I have ever seen come out of the water - too bad it was three weeks before Ling Cod season and had to be throw back.

Not to be outdone by his son-in-law, my Dad got serious about fishing and willed himself to catch a fish.
Objects closer to the camera may appear larger than the are.

I made an important catch: a planer board that got loose.

And my Mom's seasickness cleared up within a mile from shore; she came up on deck, fresh-faced, "I feel better!"

An Average Day in My Neighborhood

I have been spending a lot of time aboard Mazurka these days, working from home. A laptop, internet, and a cellphone are all I need.

It's beautiful out here, and quiet, especially during the week when people are in everyday mode. After observing the everyday action for a while, I've noticed there does exist an "average day" in Belmont Harbor. It is slightly different than an average day in Rogers Park, Andersonville, or Bucktown.

I wake up and look out my front window to see a man bathing. He swims near the stern of his boat, climbs out, soaps himself on the swim platform (he's wearing shorts, but he still scrubs every area), and jumps back in to rinse.

A new sailor arrives mid-morning. He's mad to find another boat in his slip. He cusses and glides into a free slip next to us, goes to see the harbor master who is not there, comes back madder and still cussing, calls the harbor office again. They tell him to stay where he is. Problem solved.

Ducks swim by, often.

Late afternoon, I notice hands sticking out of the water near a sailboat north of us. Then two more hands, then a head in a mask. Two divers hoist themselves out of the water and onto the dock, talk to the captain, then plunge back in. They are scrubbing the boat. A crew beside them warns them to look out - they're about to start their engine.

The evening passes quietly. We watch the fireworks over Navy Pier.

In the shower, I notice the water pump sounding strange. It's straining. I realize the end is near. I quickly rinse out the shampoo just as the water dwindles to a slight trickle. I can't remember the last time I filled the water tanks, but they're empty now. I race to the front of the boat to turn off the water pressure before the pump burns out, then head to bed. Filling the tanks can wait till morning.


The Liveaboard Bathroom: We even got shower curtains.

Professor, Navigator, Seamster

It's good to have a captain who can not only fix the engine and a non-functioning pumpout, but can also stitch it up.


Mark's not into knitting or crocheting; sewing with a machine is a different world altogether. It involves machines. Loud machines, with foot pedals and levers.

With me as his assistant, he stitched up the bimini in an evening, making him the first man with whom I have ever sewn.

Whole Lotta Lightning

Yesterday morning we went to work in torrential rain showers, but last night was the true show - starting about 7:30, the wind picked up, the sirens blared, and the whole city was encased in one hell of a lightning show.

Mark and I were both away from Mazurka during the first wave. We arrived home in the brief peace between 10-11 PM and found a little kiddie swimming pool floating beside our bow, and then we looked up: the wind had shorn the bimony right off the aluminum poles atop the fly bridge. The narrow strip of snaps still wrapped around the pole, the rest of the canvas had begun collecting a swimming pool of rainwater.

Looks like we got a lot of sewing to do. Other than that, we are safe and sound.