Daily Rituals

As afternoon approaches, the boat, the kitty cat, and myself, have usually finished the days boaty requirements for life afloat. I’ve cleaned, checked and maintained things, the boat is still floating on the water, and the kitty?…well, he shit in a box, then slept on my pillow.

I’ve done the necessary jobs—checked the anchor, cleaned the galley, written a few paragraphs that I won’t be happy with later—and the day’s temperature is cooling off for the night. This is usually when I declare it officially Bath O’Clock.

My bathing setup is a modest affair, something my dear mother calls “A Budgie Bath”, (like a small bird dipping and fluttering in a puddle of water): one bucket, one pot, and a vague belief in personal hygiene. The pot is put on to boil with heart felt anticipation, because hot water aboard a boat should never taken lightly. While it heats, I stand around playing some idiot game on the iPhone like Tetris. Eventually those lovely bubbles arrive, I fail at reaching the next level, and heated vapor wafts around the galley. Boiling water gets poured into the bucket of cold reaching that perfect temperature best described as “civilized but not indulgent.” A ratio of two parts cold and one boiling seems to work fairly often.

There is something wonderfully humbling about bathing with a bucket. No taps. No endless supply. No illusion that you can just stand there lost in thought while gallons of piped and heated water cascade endlessly down your back. Every dip of the cup is intentional. Every splash is accounted for. This is hygiene with a budget, and it keeps one honest, especially when it’s cold up on deck.

I start at the top, and with filled hands splash on my face and neck. The first hit of hot water always feels good, summer or winter. The brain gets a hit of happy, and the world is all good. Even though this wash down will be short lived it is, in fact, very good for the soul. Salt, sweat, and the general stickiness of the day gets instantly diluted and sluiced away.

After my face and neck is done, the most important is the main stank generators; BBP – Bum-Balls-Pits. Get these rinsed out well, and the rest is pure indulgence.

Washing like this has an old world feel to it. I can imagine hearing a ship’s bell or anticipating my daily rum ration. There’s a rhythm to it: scoop, pour, scrub, repeat. It’s not rushed, but it’s not languid either. You don’t linger when you know the hot water is finite, especially when the air is cold. You focus, get it done, get dried off before the chill sets in.

If I take too long, by the time I reach my feet, the water is cooling off, and so am I, especially if the sun is getting close to the horizon. Luckily, with the boat at anchor, it always falls nose into the wind and I get a little breeze protection from the front covers. I then tip the remaining water over myself in one final, decisive act and that’s that. Clean enough. Human again.

No soap. We haven’t used soap in basic showering for twenty years or more. Soaps strip away the skin’s natural oil supply, which is what we’re biologically designed to have for healthy skin. Hot water opens pores and washes away excessive sweat buildup without leaving behind any artificial odorants. Surely the stink-pretty chemicals can’t be good for you.

What always surprises me is how satisfying this little event is. This simple, slightly awkward ritual marks the end of my typical day more clearly than any clock ever could. It draws a line between effort and rest, even if I’ve done nothing all day.

Afterwards, I cook my nightly meal, then sometimes hang in the hammock to enjoy the moment or stretch out on my bed to watch a movie, freshly rinsed, wearing clothes that feel inexplicably luxurious simply because I’m clean inside them.

There is no mirror involved in this process, and I think that’s for the best. This bath isn’t about appearances. It’s about feeling vaguely respectable while drifting around floating through life. And almost every afternoon, with my bucket of hot water, I manage it just fine.