Mario’s Log – September 12th, 2025
All I said was something I’d been saying for two-plus months on this trip. “Get out of my galley.” Spending as much time as I did, preparing almost every breakfast and half of ever other meal for previous crew on this voyage, I had developed a sense of ownership of this little corner of the boat. I’d said the phrase to to Jon, to Sam, to Bill; heck I’m sure I said it to Captain Scott once or twice. All that ever happened before was, you know, people left the galley. But I could see, out of the corner of my eye, Stacy was going to be different. The words “my galley” left my mouth and with an audible gasp she raised her hand, fire shot from her eyes, and she was holding something above my head. The threat was clear; say it one more time and she’d beat me with whatever was closest.
Now before we go on, I want to make it clear; in a fair fight, I could take her. Heck, half my 7th- grade PE class could have taken her with some warmup swings. She’s tiny. But, Stacy is Scott’s fiancé and for certain I can’t take him in any fight, fair or not, so I knew that if she started swinging I’d just have to stand there and take my blows. She had only been aboard on this trip since Juneau but apparently, three days of me out-cooking her best day in what she clearly feels is her own kitchen had been bad enough. Laying any claim to the space was just too much truth for the woman and she snapped.
Seeing me cower and the fear in my eyes (her primary goal, I’m sure) she let me off the hook. “Oh, calm down, it’s an empty Triscuit box!” she finally admitted and set it down. Though the incident ended with howling laughter (hers, manic, mine, nervous) I learned a valuable lesson; just because you’re a better cook than the boss’s girlfriend doesn’t mean you should admit it. They take that stuff personally.
In Stacy’s defense – as if she needed me to take her side – tensions were a little on-edge before dinner even started. My confidence was a cover for my own guilt at a previous failure. Sarah-Sarah’s engine had just overheated following a water pump failure and I was the idiot at the helm who didn’t notice the coolant temperature rising. The coolant cap screeched, steam pouring from the engine space and all manner of drama ensued. Scott rigged the dinghy in a side tow to push us to Vixen Inlet to make repairs. It may have been a little too soon for me to be cocky. The evening ended with another excellent dinner (that Stacy hadn’t lifted a finger to prepare …by the way) and we’re all friends again. Julie and my invite to the wedding is still up in the air, of course, but I like our chances.
As for the engine, Scott had the old water pump out and the new one (he caries four spares) prepped and readied for a morning install before drinks were served. This was the second time on this trip that we found ourselves using the dinghy as a backup engine just a few miles from anchorage. Just like last time, we’ll swap a bad part for a good one and press on. But my galley mistake and my miss of the engine coolant rising are really the same lesson. You can’t get used to things on a boat. Stay vigilant to your environment and for the love of god know your place on the crew. Your life can depend on both.
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