In the last post, I referred to my partner as “Griz.” To those of you who know me, don’t worry, there’s no new man in my life – it’s a nickname Steve likes and sometimes uses online and at poker.  In this blog, I’ve decided to use the nickname to make it easier for readers to distinguish him from my old friend, blogging coach, Steve Mays, who I will undoubtedly continue to reference, link to, harangue and punish for tormenting me into blogging. (That was an expression of gratitude, Mays.)

When Griz and I were living aboard our CT 37 sailboat, “WaterBrother,” we took a number of long cruises north from Seattle. Hermits even then, when we cruised, we usually “gunkholed” – seeking secluded, hard-to-get-into anchorages we could enjoy with no other boaters around. All of the land surrounding one such anchorage on Vancouver Island’s west coast was owned by a band of native Canadians, the Clayoquots.  As was typical when gunkholing, if we found a comfortable, private anchorage, we usually stayed for several days.  One afternoon, while Steve was sitting in the cockpit in his skivvies, a 15′ aluminum skiff carrying two Clayoquots circled the anchorage, cut the outboard motor and coasted up alongside us. In the bow of the skiff was a weathered, ancient native man with a smile on his face.

At the helm was another native man, young enough to be a grandson.  In perfectly articulated Oxford English, the ancient man greeted Steve with, “Grizzly Adams, I presume?”

“I guess so,” Steve replied, laughing and stroking his beard. A great hour of conversation ensued, full of valuable local cruising and fishing knowledge. Steve’s been a “Griz” ever since.

Eight months between trims is a long time. On that cruise, I left Seattle with Kenny Rogers and returned with ZZ Top - put that on the list of ways to keep monogamy interesting – shared laughter always comes out No. 1.

I rarely call Steve “Griz” in real life, but when he needs a trim, I do let him know by calling him “Fluffy.” Just one of my roles – the beard police.