Spirits of Seaside ‘Live-Aboards’ Brighten With the Skies

This ain’t Fargo. Life doesn’t grind to a halt here when winter strikes--no matter how forcefully--but there is a difference. This is a place defined by sunshine and comfort, and any intrusions are roundly booed. Patsy Hadlich, a disciple of that school of thought, says if I’d caught up with her a day earlier, with rain pounding down all day long, I would have seen a different person. “I’ve been whining all week,” she says.

And why not? Wednesday’s rain seemed to follow Tuesday’s, which seemed to follow Monday’s and Sunday’s. After a while, it’s hard to keep track, because it seems like it’s been raining all winter. And when you live on a boat, as Patsy and husband John have at the Dana Point Marina since 1989, you tend to notice the weather a bit more.

But Thursday was a new day. Dodger-blue tarps cast a brilliant hue from boat to boat in the harbor, and bright sunshine seemed to invigorate everyone. Marina West manager Bob Beauchamp noticed it right away. “Once the sun comes out, the whole atmosphere changes around here,” he says. “Everybody brightens up. Boaters may not be any different than other people about that, but they’re a little more grateful for good weather.”

As she walks the 100 feet down the dock to Windswept, the 34-foot sailboat the Hadlichs own, Patsy is echoing the point. Her husband doesn’t mind the cold and rain and wind, but she hates it. On the other hand, the boat is home. “Come on aboard,” she says. “Watch your step.”

She and John are “live-aboards,” the name given to people who, for whatever reason, live on their boats. Of the nearly 1,000 boats in the West Marina, Beauchamp says, about 50 have live-aboards.

The Hadlichs say they began living on their boat for convenience, because their home in Chino required too long a commute to their Orange County jobs. I balk slightly at that, suggesting no one lives in a space smaller than a college dorm room just for convenience.

Patsy smiles. They’re not rebels or social outcasts, but they do love the freedom that comes with living like this. “It’s kind of like running away from home,” Patsy says. John, 69 and with a white beard that makes him look like Papa Hemingway, adds, “It’s like staying out in a tent in your backyard overnight.”

We talk about that kind of romanticizing. While growing up in the Midwest, living in a boat in a Southern California harbor would have been right alongside driving a T-bird convertible on Highway 1. John talks about being able to “pick up, unhook and go,” if they want to cruise over to Catalina for a week or up the coast to Newport Beach. They sailed to Mexico last summer.

For that reason, weather matters. The sun rules, and damp gray skies cast a pall over the entire harbor.

“I noticed it during the last week,” Beauchamp says, “that the live-aboards, who wouldn’t choose any other lifestyle, they’ve been unhappy with it. Plus, they’ve got colds and when you’re stuck down in a boat, it’s just so tight, so close, that it just makes living conditions difficult. You’re really stuck there when it’s raining and cold.”

The Hadlichs’ boat has a sleeping compartment and tiny “salon” area. There’s another small compartment where guests can sleep, but, in essence, life on board is miniaturized.

“A lot of people who are live-aboards don’t always hang in there,” Patsy says. “You learn how to streamline. I have one little photo album instead of boxes, one set of dishes instead of Grandma’s china. No crystal; we have plastic. A small TV. Everything is on a small scale.”

That’s why it’s one kind of life in a driving rain and another kind in bright sunshine and calm. It’s the difference between being rocked gently to sleep at night and being buffeted.

In lousy weather, this is the definition of cabin fever. In sunshine--or late October, when Patsy really loves the weather--it epitomizes the good life.

“For the people who live out there, they love it,” Beauchamp says. “It is romanticized, because it is beautiful. They’re overlooking the water, the sunsets, everything that is romanticized, yet they face a lot of real tough situations. It’s difficult living in those close quarters.”

The Hadlichs haven’t taken a lifetime vow to live on the water. But with grown children and only themselves and 2-year-old Beau Marin, their toy poodle, to worry about, they’re flexible.

Yesterday’s rain seems like a long, long time ago. The 50-mile commute from Chino is ancient history.

“This is home,” Patsy says, scanning the harbor on this beautiful January day where people are sprucing up their boats, lazing on their decks or idly killing time under a midday sun. “It’s a nice, pleasant neighborhood.”

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.