Charlie and Ellen’s Floating Home, Still Holding Fast

He built a cedar float house in a wild west-coast channel and never really stopped tinkering with it. She showed up years later and made the garden explode. It’s quiet, stubborn, and kind of epic.

A House That Floats Where the Road Ends

Out here there are no roads—just a long stretch of water, some wind, and this home tied neatly in a calm channel. Boat or aircraft only, which sounds dramatic, but that’s just the commute.

Charlie started the place three decades ago and has been adding, fixing, and refining ever since. Ellen rolled in about six years back, and the whole routine tilted toward “life-changing.”

They’re the only year-round folks in a spot that’s otherwise weekend fishermen and wilderness. The ocean sits just out the door like a polite neighbor with a lot of weather.

The Cabin That Kept Growing

He milled a lot of the big pieces himself and built the whole thing around cedar—solid and salty, in the best way. What began as a small cabin stretched into about 900 square feet on two levels.

Inside runs like a normal house: a laundry room with propane-fed washer and dryer, and a kitchen with a pantry sized for disappearing for weeks. No constant errands, just shelves that actually matter.

Bedroom downstairs for easy living, plus two more rooms and storage upstairs for gear, guests, and all the “we’ll need this later” stuff. Neat, functional, nothing wasted.

There’s driftwood everywhere—but not in a kitschy way. He collects pieces off beaches and turns them into furniture and odd little details that make the place feel found, not bought.

Porch Life, Deck Rituals

A covered porch lets them be outside when the sky does its moody coastal thing. It’s basically the mudroom for weather.

Then the decks wrap like a boardwalk—twelve feet wide, with space for chairs, a simple outdoor table, and the all-important dry wood stash. Most evenings end here, drink in hand, watching the tide do its slow magic.

Floating on Fish and Foam

The whole house rides on big blocks of foam, the old-school way. If he built it again, he’d upgrade to foam wrapped in heavy plastic—same idea, better armor.

Underneath? It really does look like an aquarium. Schools of fish hide from eagles, other strange sea things drift through, and the water flickers up through the slats like the house is breathing.

Boats That Make This Possible

One of the first add-ons was a boathouse to protect the open boats. Smart move; winter does not play nice with uncovered anything.

The warm, safe ride is a 1978 CHB fiberglass trawler called the Lee Hotel. It’s the go-to when conditions get weird or cold, which is… often.

Everything ties into a homemade moorage: boomsticks lashed together, smaller “jill pokes” set into the bush, pins drilled into rock, and anchors out front. It’s a web of ropes and logs that somehow feels bulletproof.

Four more lines run into the trees for good measure, so the whole setup barely shifts unless a serious blow rolls in. Even then it feels steady, like a barn in a storm.

How Off-Grid Actually Works Here

They’re proudly off-grid but not pretending civilization doesn’t exist. Groceries, propane, and boat fuel come from nearby communities, and that support keeps the whole thing humming.

If nothing urgent pops up, they can stay tucked away for six weeks easy. Sometimes longer, with a mid-run grocery drop from friends or a hand-off on the water.

The Garden That Floats Along

Ellen’s the garden boss. Out on the deck: kale, carrots, peas, beans, zucchini, cucumbers, broccoli, arugula, garlic—summer plates that are half homegrown without trying to be fancy about it.

Seafood’s even simpler. A crab trap off the front dock brings up Dungeness and red rock like it’s a neighborhood farmers market, just wetter.

Sun, Panels, and a Backup Plan

Power runs off a 2000-watt solar setup that sings in summer. Fire up the generator when a big tool needs juice or the clouds settle in for a sulk.

Winter means more generator time, but the newer panels still pull their weight on gray days. Not glamorous, just dependable.

Water From a Creek and an Old Beaver Idea

Water falls downhill from a creek fed by a small lake above the house. An intake sends it to reservoirs—about 2,000 gallons total—high enough to pressurize the taps. They’ve come close, but never actually run dry.

The source sits in what used to be a beaver dam, now a pair of little lakes. There’s a big filter, a smaller one, and then a final drinking-water filter on the kitchen counter.

Gray water goes into a deep channel where the tide whisks a chunk of it out every cycle. For black water, it’s a composting toilet—simple and contained.

Plastics head back to town for recycling, kitchen scraps feed the composter, and the trash bag stays tiny. The system isn’t perfect, but it’s clean and honest.

Firewood Is a Whole Sport Out Here

Heat is wood, which also handles most of the hot water. He ropes in free-floating logs, tows them home, then runs a dewatering and bucking setup that’s equal parts muscle and patience.

Beach wood carries sand, which chews up chains, so sharpening becomes a weekly ritual. A hydraulic splitter takes over when stubborn knots show up.

Salt sneaks in during all that time afloat, so the stove becomes a consumable—good for around a decade. No drama, just part of the math.

Weather Windows and Real Patience

Winter throws wind straight down the channel, but at least the waves don’t build inside. Outside on the open water is a different story—big energy, big respect.

Trips to town turn into strategy games. They’ve waited a week for the right window, reshuffling plans until the ocean gives a polite nod.

A satellite phone ties into the internet now, so they can actually keep tabs on storms and schedules without guessing. Not romantic, very useful.

The Backstory and the Work Along the Way

Before all this, Ellen ran a hospital site, and Charlie spent 30 years in the forest industry. He retired to the float and still found work—building for others, running nature trips, basically saying yes to anything that kept the place afloat.