I’m trying to stay positive here. It’s all my fault, really. I should’ve sealed the damned wood decks on Scruffy back there in May. But no. I had to think about. And think about it. Take a nap. Think about it.

Now it’s too late.

It’s November. It’s raining like hell. So I’m stuck tarping Scruffy.

But it still leaks!

Don’t ever buy a CHB trawler. They all leak. They call them CHB Leakys.

I should’ve known better. This is my second CHB Leaky.

Even with the tarp, Scruffy leaks.

Not a leak under the sink. Or behind the toilet. Scruffy leaks right above my pillow.

Onto my head. Like Chinese torture. I pray to Jesus to stop the leaks.

But Jesus doesn’t hear me.

The Buddha won’t help me.

I don’t know who else to pray to. I guess I could pray to Muhammad.

He’s not hearing me, either….

I guess I’m stuck with the tarp. Tape a Styrofoam cup under the pillow leak. Try not to rip it away during a nightmare….

I’m counting my Blessings

Things could be a lot worse for me. I’m living at a nice Marina with running water and electricity. Kind of like having a cabin on the water. During a storm I bob around. I’m used to that. It’s actually kind of nice. It lulls me to sleep. I’m not worried about drifting away. I’m tied off in my slip. Things could be worse.

I could be Anchored Out.

These anchor-outs live out here on Richardson’s Bay, on the hook, with no power, no water, no amenities. They drop anchor and just hang out there. They row or motor to shore and collect water and groceries. Hang out with each other at the Seven Eleven. They look like bums.

They live like refugees. About a hundred of them.

Maybe they’re down to eighty.

Richardson Bay once proliferated with Anchor Outs. There’s a sheriff on the water and he’s doing the bidding of the council members that hired him. His job is to thin out the bay squatters. Seizing and crushing their boat’s whenever they go to shore. Nipping away at the population. Until they are all gone.

That’s the goal. Get rid of the Anchor Outs.

They want to live free on the water. They’ve been doing it for fifty years. Sixty years? Longer. From the time when it was okay to live free on San Francisco bay.

Nothing’s free anymore.

Apart from Richardson’s Bay, you can still anchor out in certain spots. But furtively. You can find a spot on the Alameda Estuary. A couple spots off hunter’s point in The City. You can still do it but you’ll be alone. The Anchor Outs that once collected in large packs are no more. Recently they ran off the Treasure Island crowd. Now there’s only a sizable colony here on Richardson Bay. That’s right, Sausalito. Go figure!

This is the last hold out.

The Big Apple Weighs In

Who’d figure the New Yorker would give a damn about the Anchor Outs here in Sausalito. But apparently the refined crowd at this magazine have focused in on our community by promoting this actually very fine short documentary about the Anchor Outs.

Apparently the Squatters have some sort of literary cache.

I’ve included the Documentary here. Check it out.

I’m not an advocate of the Anchor Outs. Like I told my pal, DH, I consider them bums. Why should they live free when I spend good money to live here? On the other hand, they’re unique. I wrote about them in my novel. Having them here is like having an extinct species that’s still around.

Of course the Anchor Outs are not Dodos. They’re Human Beings with feelings. Better to compare them with the Ohlone Indian Tribe. Those mythical people who once lived on San Francisco Bay.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have them back? Actually there’s a few of them still around.

But it’s not quite the same, is it? These Ohlone live in homes. They have jobs. They pay taxes. In short, they’re good citizens.

They’re not Anchoring Out.