"He used to tie off not far from my house to just go do laundry and things like that," Finn says. "I saw him several times a week. He'd say, 'Hi,' smile -- a very nice man, very polite, a lot of seafaring etiquette about where he tied off and how."
And Finn adds that Ekstrom was an arresting sight for those who had not met him before.
"One night, some friends were over for a barbecue and Ale walked by," Finn recalls. "And he nods and smiles and waves, and one of my friends went, 'Is there some sort of time warp right there? Some sort of time passage somebody just went through? ... He looks like a gold miner from the 1800s.' And he actually did.'"
Finn says she has reflected on Ekstrom's passing and believed he was fortunate to be able to maintain his anchor-out existence until the last few weeks of his life.
"He was lucky," Finn says. "The guy hasn't lived on land for 50 years, and he led this intensely independent life. And so this idea of not having to go into care-hospitalized form or in-the-family form -- I think around here it sort of boosted his mythical, 'piratey' qualities."
In a nicely wrought and comprehensive obituary, the Marin Independent Journal quotes Ekstrom's daughter, Amie Ekstrom:"He stayed out there because he never would have wanted to live anywhere else. When I would ask him, 'Daddy, how are you doing?," he would answer, 'Well, I'm warm and dry. I can't ask for anything more.' He lived life on his own terms, unapologetically."