Wish us luck! The weather should be beautiful for the night sail, but next week on the Okeechobee waterway may be a little cloudy and wet.

CRUISE UPDATE: This past Saturday night I sailed off-shore & overnight again from the Gulfport to Ft. Myers Beach, about 120 nautical miles. It was a much better sail than the first but was still a little nervy since we are all so inexperienced. But the crew did well, and the weather was good to us.

The plan was to go up the Okeechobee waterway this week, but bad weather has us stuck in Ft. Myers. Yesterday we traveled about 18 nm northeast up the Caloosahatchee river to downtown Ft. Myers. Until then we had clogged and replaced the fuel filters a few times, but right past Ft. Myers we used our last one up and a fuel line became clogged. The offshore sail had stirred up all sorts of gunk in the diesel fuel tank and it needed cleaning desperately. This morning we [...]]]> After closely monitoring the weather and looking at my route options, I’ve decided to do an overnight sail to Ft. Myers from Gulfport. We (me, my dad and Jenny) will leave around 3:00 p.m. out of the Pass-A-Grille channel, out a ways to avoid shoals at Egmont Key, then Southeast towards Ft. Myers staying off the coast approximately 5 miles. We should get in on Sunday sometime in the morning or midday where we will dock at Moss Marina for the night. We drop my dad off there and then we follow the Okeechobee waterway to the east coast! I’ll make updates along the way if I can.

Wish us luck! The weather should be beautiful for the night sail, but next week on the Okeechobee waterway may be a little cloudy and wet.

CRUISE UPDATE:
This past Saturday night I sailed off-shore & overnight again from the Gulfport to Ft. Myers Beach, about 120 nautical miles. It was a much better sail than the first but was still a little nervy since we are all so inexperienced. But the crew did well, and the weather was good to us.

The plan was to go up the Okeechobee waterway this week, but bad weather has us stuck in Ft. Myers. Yesterday we traveled about 18 nm northeast up the Caloosahatchee river to downtown Ft. Myers. Until then we had clogged and replaced the fuel filters a few times, but right past Ft. Myers we used our last one up and a fuel line became clogged. The offshore sail had stirred up all sorts of gunk in the diesel fuel tank and it needed cleaning desperately. This morning we had a guy come out and “polish” the fuel by agitating the sludge on the bottom of the tank, sucking it through a bunch of big filters and putting it back into the tank, circulating it a few times through until it ran clear and clean. The fuel I was getting out of the filters was oil black, not good. After spending some time bleeding the engine of air in the fuel lines (a big pain), we got the engine running smooth again with a clean tank.

However, a front is about to come through with a lot of rain and thunderstorms for the next few days. I dropped off my dad in Ft. Myers Beach so now its just me and my gf while she is on spring break. We expected to get to Stuart on the East coast by Friday. Now it looks like I’ll have to keep the boat here for a week or two until good weather comes along and I can find at least one person to crew with me when the time comes.

For more adventures of Windsong visit http://erickswanderlustblog.blogspot.com

Let me recap the story thus far. I purchased Windsong in July, 2009 from the previous owner, Paul, in Inglis, FL. Inglis is a small town on the West coast of Florida in a region called the Nature Coast. The Paul was kind enough to allow me to keep the boat at his house up the Withlacoochee River. I would visit the dock about every other weekend cleaning and fixing up the boat.

I am by no means an experienced sailor. I have only done a few day trips in very easy conditions. I’ve braved one squall, but it was in the Inter-coastal waterway in St. Augustine. The worst threat to me was running aground. Being an inexperienced boat owner and novice sailor, this is an intimidating boat to learn to operate. The first time I took the boat up the river the engine’s cooling water impeller busted and caused the engine to overheat. Spew steam out of the expansion cap, which I first thought was a fire brewing down below. It was pretty traumatic for a first ride and my confidence in the boat went down, [...]]]> I have returned from the sea! This past weekend I took the first step in the long journey transporting Windsong from Inglis, FL to St. Augustine, FL. The trip will take me down the West coast of Florida, through the Okeechobee Waterway, and up the East Coast. The first leg was the long journey from Inglis to Gulfport near St. Pete, a total ride of about 90 nautical miles and well offshore. The entire journey is outlined in this picture:

Let me recap the story thus far. I purchased Windsong in July, 2009 from the previous owner, Paul, in Inglis, FL. Inglis is a small town on the West coast of Florida in a region called the Nature Coast. The Paul was kind enough to allow me to keep the boat at his house up the Withlacoochee River. I would visit the dock about every other weekend cleaning and fixing up the boat.

I am by no means an experienced sailor. I have only done a few day trips in very easy conditions. I’ve braved one squall, but it was in the Inter-coastal waterway in St. Augustine. The worst threat to me was running aground. Being an inexperienced boat owner and novice sailor, this is an intimidating boat to learn to operate. The first time I took the boat up the river the engine’s cooling water impeller busted and caused the engine to overheat. Spew steam out of the expansion cap, which I first thought was a fire brewing down below. It was pretty traumatic for a first ride and my confidence in the boat went down, as did my overall spirits. I spent the next couple of months trying to diagnose and repair the problem, learning as I went along. Eventually we were able to get it fixed and running, things looked up.

I took the boat out a few other times and only on one sail, as it takes a long time to get out to the gulf from where the dock is up river. The tidal range of the river made it so low tide travel was too shallow for Windsong. Day trips had to be isolated to high tide range making going out difficult. Even when I stuck to this rule, I ran aground very hard on one trip and had to pay a good amount of cash to get towed off the rock I landed on. Many lessons were learned each time out. During this time I have done a lot of work on the boat, mainly beginning the interior rebuilding.

However, the boat needed to go somewhere and couldn’t stay there forever. The drive up there began to wear on me and it wasn’t an ideal area to learn to sail the boat. I plan to do a complete refit and refinish of the boat, which will take part mostly with the boat on land. I need to get it hauled out, but the closest facility to Inglis that Windsong can access (depth and mast height considered) is down in Tarpon Springs. I initially planned on taking it there to haul out and truck up to the St. Augustine area to work on, but I found myself with the time to take the long journey around Florida.

The trip to Tarpon Springs would have been a bit too long to arrive in daylight hours, so soon after I purchased the boat I realized I would have to do my first overnight trip off-shore just to take the boat out of Inglis. The shoreline from Inglis to Tarpon Springs is very shallow up to about 12 miles out to sea. If the boat sank, we could practically walk back to the shore from many miles out. So not only did I have to do my first overnight passage, but it would also be my first time out of sight of land as skipper of the boat. I also was still worrisome about the condition of Windsong and its ability to handle the possible beating of an offshore passage, and if the engine was as good as I hoped it was.

I spent a lot of mental energy preparing for the trip. I studied charts, waterway guides and all information available to me to plan my route and prepare for navigation. I purchased all necessary safety gear and upgraded some existing gear as needed. Eventually I felt prepared and ready to go, so I began to monitor the marine weather forecast each weekend I had potential crew for help.

After all of the preparation, I felt it might be a bit short just to take the one trip down to Tarpon Springs. If all went well, I would want to continue sailing it for a little while before I spent all the time on land. The thought of the doing the whole journey down the West Coast, through the Okeechobee Waterway and up the East was so alluring, I began to consider if it would be possible. The boat is not in very good live-aboard condition, but it good enough so that it is way better than camping at the least. She sails fine, and the motor has been performing well since I did a good bit of maintenance.

If I had to do an overnight trip to Tarpon Springs, I could just keep going and make it as far down as St. Petersburg with two days of sailing. So two weeks ago I began extending my already planned route down to that area and decided it would be worth the try. If I started the journey this past weekend, I would have my girlfriend in another week for her Spring Break to do the next long leg down to Ft. Myers. So I eyed the weekend and hoped for the weather. It was iffy for most of the week, with a lot of rain forcasted along with strong winds. I researched marinas and found a great one at Gulfport Municipal Marina. They had a decent rate to keep Windsong for the week and was easy to access from the Gulf. Here is the route offshore that we took (in purple). You can get an idea of the scale by using the size of Tampa Bay for reference.

I only had one crew member available, my friend Jeff who I had sailed with a few times previously. We met up on Friday to discuss the forecast and make the final call on if the sail would happen. The forecast was like this:

Northwest winds around 20 knots. Seas 4 to 6 feet. Bay and inland waters choppy.

It would be a bit wet on Saturday, but high tide was at 1:00 p.m., so we had time to wait to see if the weather would hold off. But as of then, the trip was on. If it got any worse we would call it off. I spent all of Friday mentally preparing and getting gear ready. I got last minute items from Wal Mart: a new fire extinguisher, a 3-million candle spotlight, a weatherproof lantern, a cushioned chair for the helm, a spare fuel tank as well as food and snacks. My mind was buzzing the whole day, but I felt ready.

Unfortunately I did not sleep a wink Friday night thanks to the anticipation and constant scenario analysis. I really needed that sleep but had to deal with what I could get. We left Orlando in the morning at around 9:00 a.m. and arrived in Inglis at 11:00. Both of us over-packed with a ton of items. We figured out every possible scenario we could think of, and brought the gear to be prepared for them. We had the room, so it didn’t matter. After loading we spent time getting things in place and in order, cleaning up a bit, checking the engine, and making final preparations. We spent a moment absorbing our final moments in Inglis and then at 1:00 p.m. we were off.

The ride up the river was uneventful, and that is a good thing. After the inlet to the Gulf, there is a narrow channel to take out to deeper water, some 3-4 miles out. At 2:30 we arrived at marker # 1 at the end of the channel were then able hoist the sails. The air was around 50 degrees, winds out of the Northeast around 10-15 knots. Here are the pictures from the start to marker #1.

At the dock ready to go:

Up the river:

Approaching the inlet:

Narrow channel leading out to deeper waters:

Marker #1:

Here we hoisted the sails and had a downwind run to the Southwest. We cracked open a beer to celebrate getting out of the channel, and made sure to share one with Poseidon for good luck.

Jeff and I traded hands at the wheel for the next hour or two while we both got situated with some food. We called our respective loved ones to let them know our location since we were unsure if we would have cell phone reception much further than this.

As the wind began to turn more from the North, we reached our second waypoint at 3.7 nautical miles from Withlacoochee marker #1. There we turned South-Southwest towards the next buoy, some 10 nautical miles away. We were now on a dead downwind track, so I decided to try using the whisker pole to hold the jib out allowing a wing to wing sail set up with the main and jib. I had read about the way to rig it but that was a while ago, so I gave it my best shot. Once I got it set up (although I think I was missing a line or two) it seemed to work fine and we were being pushed along at a smooth 4.5 knots.

Around this time Jeff’s stomach began to disagree with the motion, so he took the time to get some rest. We took some ginger tablets made for seasickness before we left. I’m not sure if the helped me or not but I felt fine. It was sometime on this leg that we ran out of sight of land. We could see the power plant at Crystal River for a long time, however.

Looking back toward land:

Once we neared the next waypoint the sun was coming lower on the horizon, and the moon was poking up from the East. Jeff was feeling a bit better after some rest, and now we turned South-southeast on a broad reach, a bit more comfortable than the rolly straight downwind sail.

I had been eying this rain system in the West that was covering up the sun. I worried that it was coming to soak us after dark, but the rain ceased just in time for a perfect sunset.

Moon rising:

Sun setting:

It was a fantastic ending to the day. It never really seemed to get darker than that though, as the clear sky allowed the almost-full moon to shine down. It was like a powerful spotlight illuminating the water, the boat and the sails. The stars were out as well, and I used the ones in front of me to steer towards so I didn’t have to light up any electronics or the compass. It was bliss, and what I always dreamed sailing at night could be. We both had a lot of nerves once the night came around, but the bright moonlight lifted our spirits and made it a bit more comfortable. The picture below is a long exposure shot of the moon. There is no sun out anymore, it is completely nighttime. But the moon was so bright, somehow the sky was a daytime blue in the picture. We were stunned and had to double check the timestamp.

My worst fear was that we would be caught in a lot of rain at night with no visibility and wet, cold, miserable conditions. This was far from that, it was perfect. Well, I could have had a bit more of a meal than a pre-made Publix ham sub, but it was decent for the lack of preparation needed.

The winds began to die, however, and we slowed to a crawl at around 2.5 knots. I knew the winds would be picking up out of the Northwest sometime overnight or Sunday morning, but had no clue when. I began to worry that at this pace, we wouldn’t make it down to Gulfport in the daylight to pull into the marina and meet our ride out. So I cranked the motor and pushed along for about an hour and a half. I really wished I could have been patient and just sailed slowly and peacefully, but I felt the need to keep on schedule and to the plan. I hoped to stay close to a 5 knot average the whole trip, 4 at the minimum.

We motor-sailed along at about 6.5 knots and brought our average pace up a good bit. After dark we made sure things were neat and tidy around the boat. I considered reefing in the mainsail (making the sail area smaller in case of heavy winds) so I wouldn’t have to do it on deck at night if needed, but decided against it since the wind was dead right then. This would come to be a stupid mistake later on.

When I noticed the winds finally had switched and come up about 10-15 knots out of the Northwest, I stopped the motor and we were sailing a good 5 knots. Jeff took the help at this time so that I could prepare for a long night shift. We both agreed that since he usually goes to bed earlier than me, I would take first watch. I rested up a bit and was able to find reception to call my parents and Jenny briefly. This was around 9:30 I believe and we were moving South-southeast back towards land. I brought along my backpacking stove to make some coffee so I brewed a large cup for my watch. I prepared another sandwich to eat later, my ipod and all of my safety gear. For nighttime we made sure to have on our life jackets on, safety harnesses tethered into the jacklines at all times, headlamps, emergency strobe lights and whistles, etc. Our biggest fear was a man overboard as it would be very hard for one person to get back to the person. So we took all precautions.

At 10:00 I took on the watch and Jeff began to settle down for some sleep. If I needed to wake him I would yell, shine the spotlight at him, and maybe even blow the air horn if need be. The wind was slowly picking up and we were churning along at a good 5.5-6 knot average now. The seas were also picking up and the waves were coming from behind us. They weren’t too large yet, but they were very close together. They would come up under the boat and the boat would try to lurch to the right, up the wave and into the wind. This was a heavy motion and took me a bit to get used to, but once I did I was able to anticipate the waves and compensate with the wheel to steer straight and keep control. I was a little nervy at first, but once I got it it was incredibly fun. I’ve never sailed in more than 15 knot winds, and they were now picking up close to 20. Around midnight we came near Anclote Key outside of Tarpon Springs and were were finally close to land. The rest of the trip would be hugging the coast line around 2-3 miles out. There were tons of buildings and towers now, so lights littered the horizon providing even more comfort.

Over the next 4 hours the wind kept coming up and the waves grew with it. I was having an exhilarating time sailing so fast, now surfing down waves big enough to launch us to 8.5 knots at times. That is way above the hull speed of 7.3 knots. This is a big, heavy, tank of a sailboat and to have it go this fast is a big deal for someone not used to handling it. I felt like a bat out of hell and was having the time of my life. I did realize at this time (around 2:00 a.m.), however, that I really should have reefed the main before dark. We were overpowered at this time and things were only getting crazier out there. The waves were getting bigger and bigger, and steering became more intense. I knew if I had to go out to reef the main, it would be a scary event. At around 2:30 a.m. the stay-sail was caught up on the jib lines and was becoming erratic. I decided it was time for some rest after I fixed the sail, so I woke up Jeff to take the helm. While he was getting ready things seemed to get even more intense so I hurried him up, nervous about the beating the stay-sail boom was giving the deck.

Once he was at the helm I strapped up and fixed the problems up front. It was wasn’t too bad going up on the deck, but Jeff had just woken up and was tossed into a difficult steering situation. As he was getting used to it I was being lurched around on deck, basically crawling along on hands and knees holding onto the handles as hard as I could. I eventually fixed the problems and went down below to attempt to get rest. I called my dad one last time to confirm we were OK and that we were now near land.

It had occurred to me at some point that we were now flying along so fast, that at this rate we would make it to Pass-a-grille inlet, our destination to come inland, a few hours before dark. This was pretty ironic considering my nerves about the earlier light winds, and motoring through them. How to stall for time was something we needed to plan, especially considering it got very shallow any further south of the inlet towards the mouth of Tampa Bay.

I had no luck getting any sleep with thoughts of how we would stall and the general nerves of not being up top watching over things lurked on me. I could feel and hear things getting more chaotic up top, and knew we weren’t too far away from the inlet. At around 4:00 a.m. Jeff told me we had arrived, and we had to quickly decide what to do. We could go south for a few more miles before we would have to turn west. We decided to do that for a bit and I tried to give sleep another attempt before daylight. Before I turned in I went on deck to take down the stay-sail. It was a wild ride on deck, but I got the sail down quickly.

Soon after things became a blur of adrenaline and nerves. The weather got worse and worse and we decided we needed to get out of these crazy waters and turn back towards the inlet. I pulled out my new 3-million candle spotlight in hopes that we could find the channel markers at night. As we tracked back, we found ourselves pointing too close to the wind, unable to sail. Even so, the wind was howling now with 25+ knots. There was no getting around the fact that I needed to take down all of the sails. So we cranked the motor and I got ready to head out on deck again.

We were now pounding into the waves, which were a good 7+ feet with a quick period, sometimes less than a second before the next. It was like going into class 6 rapids on a whitewater river. I crawled up to the mast to take down the mainsail, hugging the mast for dear life anytime I felt a wave lurch under us. I had the sail down quickly, but tying it up took a little time. I didn’t have the sail ties with me so I just used a spare line I had for these kind of things.

After the mainsail was down I crawled back to the cockpit to roll in the jib, the last remaining sail. As if the ocean decided we needed to be tested further, I found the roller furling completely jammed. I was unable to roll in the sail, and if I couldn’t figure it out I would need to somehow wrap it around itself by hand, up at the bow, plunging into the waves…scary thought. I realized the jib sheets were tangled around the flag hoists, so I ran up to untangle the horrible knots they were in. This had no effect on the roller furling, so I began to get extremely worried what would happen if we couldn’t get the sail down and needed to go into a narrow channel. I did the only thing I could and went back up to the deck and onto the bowsprint. I ran up there to fiddle with it, cranked on the roller line and made sure all other lines weren’t tangled on anything. This was easily the most terrifying moment of the night, and one of the most of my life. Seeing each wave come at me one after the other and splash over me as the bow plunged into them is something that is burned into my brain. If I fell out Jeff would have had a near impossible time getting back to me. I held on tight, grit my teeth and did what I could though. Unfortunately, the jib still wouldn’t roll in. To help things, we angled more Northeast so the jib was holding wind and helping us along, instead of flapping wildly. I made it back to the cockpit and we motored uncomfortably in the washing machine towards the channel entrance.

When we got to the entrance I began to shine the spotlight to find the markers, which were easily spotted with the light. We were both relieved that seeing the channel wouldn’t be much of an issue, particularly with my GPS chartplotter never letting us down and pinpointing us accurately. There were breakers on each side of the channel leading in, a clear indicator that we better stay on course no matter what.

As if on queue, we neared the entrance to the Pass-a-grille inlet and light began to show on the horizon. The land began to surround us and the water calmed into near-glass. Our first protected waters began right as the sun came out and things calmed down.

I don’t have any more pictures for the night-time part of the journey. Mostly because my camera is horrible at night pictures and Jeff was passed out. Once he was up he needed to be at the wheel while I rested, and then things got interesting so cameras were the last thing on our mind. But once we entered the channel to the sunrise, we had to snap shots in relief and celebration.

Moon setting:

We were both in awe that we made it, and took the moment to absorb the accomplishment and the beautiful scene. We motored slowly into the channel and up towards the Inter-coastal Waterway. As the light continued to grow and waters calmed, I walked up to the bowsprint and was able to roll up the jib by hand. I still need to figure out whats wrong with it, but at least the sail is rolled. I surveyed the damage up front and noticed both jibsheet lead blocks shattered at some point during the last battle upwind, and the whisker pole topping lift broke while holding the stay-sail boom in place. Things were a mess on deck, but inside everything was chaos. All items we had neatly stored was thrown about, in particular all the tools, spares and hardware up front.

Soon after we arrived we had to cross under a draw bridge to the main waterway. As it closed we felt like we were finally safe, the craziness of the Gulf behind us.

I called up the marina to see if we could come in, but they said the tide was pretty low for my draft to approach. So we decided to anchor out in the bay to clean up, rest and relax before the tide came in. This was about 7:00 a.m., and we had to wait till about 11 for the tide. Jenny wouldn’t even be coming until 4:00 so we had a lot of time to kill. Cleaning up was in order along with a small breakfast.

At anchor:

Dolphins around us:

The galley trashed after the journey:

looking at the chaos up front:

The bed:

After some cleaning we both sat around relaxing with a hard earned drink enjoying the breezy anchorage. It was a beautiful day, perfect for reflecting on the amazing night. We discussed the highlights, lowlights, what we could have done better and admired how much confidence we now had in the boat. We were going to paddle the dinghy up to a restaurant near the anchorage, but the wind picked up making a paddle difficult. We decided to wait for real food once we dock.

I sent Jeff out on the dinghy to take some pictures of the boat while I held onto a line:

Dirty dirty boat

At 11:00 we pulled into the marina and docked at the floating transient dock. We had some trouble attempting to turn the boat around in the tight basin, particularly with the wind beating us back towards the dock. Eventually we gave up and decided to try when the winds were better the next week. We tied up tight, attached the shore power cable and I did my paperwork in the marina office. After a bit we walked up to the same restaurant we saw from the anchorage and had a good meal. By this time we were finally feeling a bit delirious as the lack of sleep and nutrition caught up to us. The meal was delicious but we were out of it.

We returned back to the dock and Jenny called to inform us she was able to get out of work early and was on her way. We finished packing and then waited out the remaining time chatting with other boat owners in the marina about Windsong and our journey. She will remain there for the rest of the week and I will visit her once before we leave next Sunday. I need to figure out the jib furler and replace some of the broken hardware. I’d also like to give her a good scrub since she is finally away from the swampy waters.

It was an incredible journey and it never failed to deliver a memorable experience. I feel much more confident in Windsong and myself as a sailor and feel I have accomplished a huge goal. With this experience, the rest of the journey around Florida seems like it will be a piece of cake since I have the ICW to travel in. The worst that could happen is I crash into a boat or land, but at least that is better than something going wrong way offshore in the middle of the night. Definitely looking forward to getting back to the boat and continue this adventure.

for more adventures of sv Windsong visit http://erickswanderlustblog.blogspot.com

More and more lessons to be learned – dinghy towing can be hazardous

A passage from passage from Marathon FL to Fort Pierce

December 2009

I first became aware of Saffanah surfing E Bay and I first saw Saffanah at anchor in Boot Harbor in Marathon FL.  She is a 32 Downeast cutter built in the seventies in Costa Mesa CA, and definitely showed her age – weathered and crazed hull, sad canvas, lousy sails, no electronics, a busted motor and grungy water line.  But stepping aboard I immediately had the feeling she was a match for the West Sail 32 I had regretfully sold ten years ago.  And so once more I re-demonstrated the very first watery lesson learned (or very obviously never learned) – a fool and his money soon part.

A year later after having her hauled and stored at the Marathon Keys Marina and Boat Yard, and a few thousand dollars later, she was functionally ready to begin her trip to Jacksonville FL where I plan to address the cosmetic issues she so sorely needs.

So on the Day after Thanksgiving 2006 we motored out of Marathon circled the point and entered Hawk Channel.

We had planned to leave the Tuesday before Thanksgiving but a cold front blew through the Keys and even the task of provisioning for the trip was difficult with the wind and rain coming down in torrents.  I had never actually sailed Saffanah but knew in my heart she would handle as well as my West Sail.  But I did have a concern that the old Perkins, although very thoroughly reworked by the great diesel, David Brown, would be reliable.  David had cleaned the fuel tanks, replaced all hoses, rebuilt the water pump and alternator, and replaced the cutlass bearing.

I over the [...]]]> My Most Recent ICW Experience

More and more lessons to be learned – dinghy towing can be hazardous

A passage from passage from Marathon FL to Fort Pierce

December 2009

I first became aware of Saffanah surfing E Bay and I first saw Saffanah at anchor in Boot Harbor in Marathon FL.  She is a 32 Downeast cutter built in the seventies in Costa Mesa CA, and definitely showed her age – weathered and crazed hull, sad canvas, lousy sails, no electronics, a busted motor and grungy water line.  But stepping aboard I immediately had the feeling she was a match for the West Sail 32 I had regretfully sold ten years ago.  And so once more I re-demonstrated the very first watery lesson learned (or very obviously never learned) – a fool and his money soon part.

A year later after having her hauled and stored at the Marathon Keys Marina and Boat Yard, and a few thousand dollars later, she was functionally ready to begin her trip to Jacksonville FL where I plan to address the cosmetic issues she so sorely needs.

So on the Day after Thanksgiving 2006 we motored out of Marathon circled the point and entered Hawk Channel.

We had planned to leave the Tuesday before Thanksgiving but a cold front blew through the Keys and even the task of provisioning for the trip was difficult with the wind and rain coming down in torrents.  I had never actually sailed Saffanah but knew in my heart she would handle as well as my West Sail.  But I did have a concern that the old Perkins, although very thoroughly reworked by the great diesel, David Brown, would be reliable.  David had cleaned the fuel tanks, replaced all hoses, rebuilt the water pump and alternator, and replaced the cutlass bearing.

I over the year’s period of time I had added new sails, new running rigging, new anchor gear, a new inverter charger, and a new Garmin 3210 with sounder.  So functionally Saffanah was well prepared.  But Tuesday and Wednesday and a large part of Thanksgiving day was consumed completing a punch list ranging from making certain we had running lights and an operable head, to checking out the refrigeration and installing the Garmin.  On Tuesday night a severe thunderstorm hit Boot Key Harbor, with a reported waterspout and 112 mph winds that damaged a number of boats at anchor and made sleeping a little difficult on Saffanah.   The storm passed but for the next five days winds were be from the north at 15 – 25 knots and gusts up to 34 knots.  Hawk channel and traversing the Florida Bay ICW both looked a little unattractive.  But at the end of the day, my crew reluctantly agreed that at least starting out in Hawk channel would put us on the lee of the keys and we would take the least amount of pounding on our trip northward to Jacksonville.

In all of my years I never had a real dinghy of my own, and as a result never had to contend with stowing a dinghy on deck, towing on a tether, or using davits.  Since Saffanah now has an Aries wind vane attached to her stern, and I had no money or time for davits, we did not use davits.  Were I to single hand, the dinghy would be stowed,   My dinghy perspective is dinghies are a cost savings device, allowing one to freely anchor and yet conveniently reach shore.

Although I preferred to deflate the new dinghy, my crew, my brother-in-law adamantly stated that if we go off shore (Hawk Channel is not really off shore in my mind) we must have the dinghy ready to transport us to safety should Saffanah decide to unexpectedly sink – so the dinghy (aptly named Pee Wee) tagged along hanging on with a make shift tether constructed with a couple of floats and a old Genoa sheets.  The goal was to avoid, at all costs, catching the dinghy tether in the prop.

Drawing upon all of my lessons learned over the past thirty years, I do understand this fool and his money do continue to part.  But this time Saffanah and her repairs and up grades were completed far below market value.  In terms of crew compatibility, however, I forgot to read that lesson chapter in my lessons learned book.  My brother-in-law is an experience power boater and a pilot of sorts, but has never set foot on a sailboat.  He and I share different perspectives of watery traveling and so our passage was a mutual test of diplomacy regardless of the situation presented or the fundamental being addressed.

Friday morning we left the fuel dock and I decided that if I made Snake Creek by that evening, we could decide either to continue off shore sailing over night to reach Biscayne Bay in the morning or cut across Snake Creek and move up the ICW.  The decision would be made by the weather.  If wind was more northeasterly and we could sail close hauled we would continue with an overnight sail.  And if the wind came more from the north and continued at 20 knots, we would cut over to the ICW.   Snake Creek is about fourth miles northeast of Marathon – so roughly 8 hours of motor sailing would get us there just before dusk.

So off we went, Pee Wee happily following perfectly on our bow wave, just like the “Annapolis Book or Seamanship” suggests.  The Garman was working impressively, and both the new Garmin sounder as well as the old Standard Horizon sounder seemed to synchronize. The engine purred (thank you David) and Saffanah took to the three to five foot seas just like I expected her to do.  We were enough off the wind that I raised the staysail in the twenty knot breeze but only after a very strenuous exercise as my crew kept falling off the wind and heading into the lumpy sea.  But ultimately I was able to get the staysail up, come into the wind and get both a little power and a little stability out of it,

We watched the Garmin, now named Einstein, as Saffanah held steady at five to five and half knots, a good rate for a little 32 foot, 19,000 pound full keel off-shore boat pounding into a head wind and heavy seas.  About three hours into our run our speed suddenly dropped to 2 knots.  The engine was doing its job, the staysail was full and my heart skipped a few beats.  Had we not tightened the prop nut? Oh brother – at least I have towing insurance.  Then my brother-in-law looked back at Pee Wee and shouted “Pee Wee has snagged a crab trap!”  Sure enough, there about twenty feet behind Pee Wee floated a crab trap and the traps buoy very clearly had become entangled in my perfectly fabricated vee shaped tether with the floats attached.

Thankfully, the skies were clear, the temperature of the air and water were both close to eighty degrees and at 68 in shape enough to jump into Pee Wee, fight with the snagged crab trap float and free both the trap and Pee Wee after struggling for an hour or so.   But in the haste to free Pee Wee Saffanah turned to the South and the staysail did its job of retracing our previous path.  So we ended up losing two hours or better.  By the way I did not open the trap to see if there was a crab that we could later enjoy.

As my brother-in-law pointed out the rest of the day, the season for crabs is November to April in the keys and boaters should be aware of snagging crab traps.  Sometimes “me thinks the water way guide sometimes passes out a little too much information”.  So the rest of the day we switched roles as helmsman and crab trap spotter, a taxing activity in three to five foot seas.

Pee Wee’s adventure cost us some time to say the least so in addition to sweating crab traps I began to develop my anxiety of reaching Snake Creek before dusk.  I knew that sailing at night up Hawk Channel with crab traps galore was not going to work and the winds were not going to die down for another few days. Thus ICW become our route for the next day, and putting a marina or anchoring in for the night was a logical decision.

Also at about five o’clock in the evening Saffanah’s engine seemed to have a very slight seizure, taking a very uncomfortable deep breath before recovering and returning to her normal reassuring hum.  She did that about thirty minutes later and once again as we headed into port.  So my confidence was a little on the shaky side as we headed up the channel and I immediately began the search for marinas.

Unfortunately my search quickly reveled a problem, and one I should have recognized long before ever leaving port.  The problem was that the ocean side marinas in the keys struggled to handle drafts of four feet, and Saffanah drew four foot nine inches.  So as dusk approached and I called various marinas south of Snake Creek, each resisted accommodating us since we would enter their channels at low tide.  As the sun set and darkness took over, we radioed Paradise Isle Resort, and thankfully they could accommodate us as long as we stayed in their channel. So with the help of Einstein and my brother-in-law waving a hand flash light, we anxiously but without incident entered Paradise Isle at about 8 PM.

The next morning, we motored out the Paradise Island channel, and about a mile later we crossed over at Snake Creek and to my brother-in-laws disgruntlement headed up the ICW to Biscayne Bay.  The same route I had covered in a power boat about 10 years ago.  I like this route because there are long stretches of open water but the mangroves add a great deal of character. The wind had dropped to 10 knots or less because we remained in the lee of most of the mangroves and Einstein advised us of every bend in the road and every marker along the way.

In the afternoon we entered Biscayne Bay and about four PM we began to see the skyline of Miami.  I had forgotten just how wide Biscayne Bay is, and so as we assessed our position, we scrapped our decision to head into a marina on the west side of the bay and decided that because Einstein had done such a great job the night before, we would carry on and stop over at the Coral Gables City Marina.  But we would arrive after seven, and on that day sunset was 5:36 PM. As we had done the night before,  we would have to spot markers with a light and rely fully on Einstein – not the smartest thing to do in a strange port.

As we near Miami in the dusk Saffanah’s engine took another hair raising deep breath, and recovered only to do so a few minutes later.  But this time I took a stab analyzing the problem. Saffanah had been constructed with two fuel tanks, a sixty gallon tank directly beneath the galley sole and a 17 gallon tank in the cockpit locker.  David, a great mechanic in Marathon, had installed a three way valve in Saffanah’s fuel line that would allow us to switch between tanks.  He was concerned about the larger tank initially, and so we had been drawing from the smaller tank rather than the larger one.  So when engine took yet a third deep breath, I rotated the valve and whoopee no more engine seizures.  Thank goodness because by this time it was getting pretty dark.

With the engine once again purring smoothly, and with only a little anxiety we slowly motored in to the marina, and quietly tied up at our previously reserved slip, the Coral Gables skyline well lit in the background. Pretty, pretty place! Nice marina, loud band at the local tike bar.

Next day the weather forecast was great – a large high pressure area had become stationary over south Florida and winds would be steady out of the north at 15 mph.  Not so great for heading out of Governors Channel but perfect to go up the bridge laden ICW – so once again against the wishes of my crew, we headed up the ICW, watch in hand, hoping for the hour and the half our or the quarter past and quarter till.  There are a lot of bridges! I mean a lot of bridges! While my brother-in-law was a trooper, he did repeatedly remind me as we waited for every bridge to open the time lost had we not gone off shore.

Light house Point was once again a night entrance after seven in the evening and after clearing umpteen bridges.  But the bridge angst was well off set with a dinner at a local island speakeasy only accessible by boat.  The next day after tightening an alternator belt, freeing a seized fitting on the pump out and filling the galley tank, we headed out for the next twenty or so bridges, arriving in Palm Beach about four thirty.

The day started out ok, but at the North Palm Beach – Parker Bridge, we just missed the opening and had to circle for a half hour.  Just as the bridge opened for us, Pee Wee’s tether decided that it had enough of avoiding the prop and bang just as we started to enter the bridge, we had no power.  We were about 200 yards on the south side in six feet of water. So the anchor went over, I stripped down to bare bones, and the next hour was spent cutting loose the half inch halyard that I had used to manufacture the tether.  Thankfully, I had previously purchased a prescription diving mask, since in my old age everything is just a blur without my glasses, and in the murky water I could clearly see the tangle and use a knife to once again free Pee Wee.  Needless to say, Pee Wee is now deflated and stowed on the foredeck of Saffanah regardless of my brother-in-laws admonitions.

Clearing the bridge an hour later, we decided that an early evening was in store and I began to obsess over the potential of a 30 minute hot shower

In all my years of traveling the ICW, I have rarely been disappointed in a marina.  In the early years, some were not appointed very well, but, if so, the service and the welcome more than offset the lack of amenity or aesthetics.   But in Palm Beach, the marinas must definitely accommodate Wall Street millionaires and certainly behave with an equivalent level of arrogance.  After being advised that most marinas would not accommodate anything fewer than fifty feet, the Palm Harbor Marina, MM1023, welcomed us with open arms. Great ad in the water way guide, showers, fuel, restaurant.  As we pulled in we noticed few boats at what appeared to be brand new floating docks.  The dock master greeted us and as we tied up apologized that he had to charge for a fifty foot slip and by the way the restrooms and showers had not yet been constructed, the restaurant had not been constructed, and there was no fuel.  And if we wanted power we would have to rent his 50 to 30 amp splitter for fifty bucks.

It was late, and I did not want to go on another 15 miles so we stayed, the harbor master did cut me a $10 dollar break on the slip and finally rented the splitter for only $10 additional. However, I do have some advice to the owner of the marina, who by the way lives on 125 footer in the unfinished marina.  You can clip a man’s hair all of his life but you can scalp him only once.  Even if I do hit the lottery and my next boat costs 20 million bucks it will be a cold day in you know where before I ever put in to the Palm Harbor Marina at MM1023 again!

On Tuesday we made it to Nettles Island just before the forecast thirty to forty knot southerly wind began to blow with all of its might.  Tied up broad side to a fixed dock, the night was likely one of the most unpleasant nights I have ever spent on a boat.  The boat tossed and turned, the waves slapped the beam of the boat with astounding bangs and we spent every hour or so adjusting the lines and fenders.

My brother-in-law had to return to Atlanta the next day and Fort Pierce seemed a likely stopping point that would allow me to return to our business for a few days, and then set off for Jacksonville after Christmas.

So at 6 AM we designed a clever little spring line and in spite of the 30 knot breeze holding us against the dock, we pulled off just like a power boat pro would do it. With that feisty breeze now at our backs the ride up the Indian River past the Ft. Pierce Inlet took only a couple hours, and today Saffanah is safely snuggled into a slip in Harbor town Marina.

Next week I will change fuel filters and do few little things to make ready to head to head up right after the Christmas Holiday.

Are there yet more lessons to be learned?

Fog is not fun!

A passage from Daytona Beach to St Petersburg FL

St Lucie Canal/Okeechobee/Caloosahatchee/Gulf Coast ICW

For a few years I kept my boat in Daytona Beach.  While Daytona Beach offers Bike Week, NASCAR, a great beach with hard bodies, and the World Series of Softball, for a sailor the place has a big limitation.  St Augustine and Ponce Inlets offer the closest access to the Atlantic Ocean and in either direction several bascule bridges and an hour or two of motoring must be addressed before an inlet is reached.  So for several years Threshold was more of a floating condominium than a sailboat, and I stayed on board a couple days a week.

Orlando is centered between Daytona and Tampa/St Petersburg and I had debated both options heavily with the decision to put my name on the St Petersburg City Marina waiting list hoping for a slip to open.

My mother always admonished me, “be careful about what you ask for – you may get it” and true to form one day I received the unexpected telephone call from the St Petersburg City Marina, “you have a slip next month if you want it.”   Without out question this marina is one of the most appealing locations along the east coast; similar to ones in downtown Baltimore or in Miami and Ft Lauderdale’

Located in the refurbished sections of downtown St Petersburg one can enjoy the ambiance of a beautiful city and yet have a great bay or harbor to day-sail with little restriction – direct access to Tampa Bay and unrestricted access to the Gulf of Mexico.  So Threshold had only a month to get from Daytona to St Petersburg otherwise no day sailing in Daytona.

One can very [...]]]> Twenty years after my first ICW Experience

Are there yet more lessons to be learned?

Fog is not fun!

A passage from Daytona Beach to St Petersburg FL

St Lucie Canal/Okeechobee/Caloosahatchee/Gulf Coast ICW

For a few years I kept my boat in Daytona Beach.  While Daytona Beach offers Bike Week, NASCAR, a great beach with hard bodies, and the World Series of Softball, for a sailor the place has a big limitation.  St Augustine and Ponce Inlets offer the closest access to the Atlantic Ocean and in either direction several bascule bridges and an hour or two of motoring must be addressed before an inlet is reached.  So for several years Threshold was more of a floating condominium than a sailboat, and I stayed on board a couple days a week.

Orlando is centered between Daytona and Tampa/St Petersburg and I had debated both options heavily with the decision to put my name on the St Petersburg City Marina waiting list hoping for a slip to open.

My mother always admonished me, “be careful about what you ask for – you may get it” and true to form one day I received the unexpected telephone call from the St Petersburg City Marina, “you have a slip next month if you want it.”   Without out question this marina is one of the most appealing locations along the east coast; similar to ones in downtown Baltimore or in Miami and Ft Lauderdale’

Located in the refurbished sections of downtown St Petersburg one can enjoy the ambiance of a beautiful city and yet have a great bay or harbor to day-sail with little restriction – direct access to Tampa Bay and unrestricted access to the Gulf of Mexico.  So Threshold had only a month to get from Daytona to St Petersburg otherwise no day sailing in Daytona.

One can very easily see there are several routes that can be chosen for such a passage.  Go to the Keys and then take a hard right turn or take the across Florida route and the Gulf ICW up to Tampa Bay.  I wanted to see Lake Okeechobee and I was not certain that my weather windows would allow enough time for me to travel off shore to Key West and then up to St Petersburg, Also I did have to work so if I traveled the ICW and the canal across Florida, I could always tie up in a local marina and return to Orlando for a few days, then return to pick up the next leg.

So the route was determined and in April of 2001 Threshold moved from Daytona to Titusville and ultimately arriving at Indian town on the St Lucie Canal.  Outside of the fact we had a strong northerly breeze that allowed us to sail downwind the entire stretch of the Indian River at five plus knots using the engine only to maneuver bridges.

The trip to Indiantown was uneventful with the exception my crew this time included my oldest daughter who had very profound recollections of Captain’s Bligh and Ahab adventures in Charleston Harbor twenty years earlier.   But for her this time she admitted that Captains Bligh and Ahab were not in charge of Threshold – and that did make her much happier.

And along the way we were able to repay the debt I owed to the amorous captain and his mate twenty years earlier off the beach of St John’s Island in Charleston South Carolina.

As we passed Titusville and headed down the Indian River we came up on a small power boat stranded in the channel tied to a day beacon.  The boat included a frantic dad, a crying mom and a couple of little children.  The engine would not start, it was getting dark and they were worried.  One of my crew members was a mechanic who had come along for the day. He had grown up on the Indian River and new every detail that needed to be known about channels spoils and thin spots in the water.  So we began to tow the stranded boat to a marina he knew, and he jumped into the powerless boat.  By the time we were within a mile of our destination, he had the stalled engine running; all ended with the little boat heading into port and Threshold continuing down the ICW.

I guess sooner or later “what goes around comes around”.

The spring weather ran warm and cool and the evening we arrived in Indiantown a fog began to set within an hour after we tied up to the transient dock.  The St Lucie canal is exactly that, relatively narrow and high banks define the shoreline.  There was no need for day beacons because you could not stray from the channel.  So with that in mind, early the next morning we cast off our lines and motored out of the marina and into the canal although the fog had not lifted and seeing the bow of the boat was difficult.   But I knew all would be ok.   After all what was the worst that could happen?  We run into a bank?

My crew at the time was a very sweet lady I had married in the early 1980’s so she had been with me for twenty years and knew my personally very well.  But even with such wifely understanding she would repeatedly question me saying “Is it safe out her with the heavy fog?  How can you see anything?  Would it not have been smart to stay a little longer in the marina and let the fog lift?”    Rest assured, I reassured her that no one else would be out her and what is the worst that can happen? We turn left instead of right and we bounce off the bank.

But somewhere around the third or fourth reassurance, she asked “do you hear that motor, what is that noise?’  The question did register in my mind and thankfully the fog broke just enough for me to see a big, black, undefined lump heading directly toward us – a commercial barge.  Who would have thought that a commercial barge would be in the St Lucie canal?  Or better yet, who in their right mind would have not stopped to read about the barge traffic on the St Lucie canal before entering the canal in a heavy fog?

There are now many volumes to the Lessons Learned Book – obviously I am a very prolific writer to have created such a thick book with so many chapters and anecdotes.

Once again the barge captain was way ahead of my game and made a slight starboard turn while I did the same. We cleared port to port with little room to spare.  But the rest of the trip and the rest of all my future trips will certainly remind me that the ICW can allow lull even the most experienced captain into a cavalier state of mind and a sense of entitlement and over confidence.

We then came to the infamous railroad bridge – and the lake at the time was high. So our 52 foot mast would not clear the bridge.  We had earlier called the local “boat tipper” and with a handful of barrels on our starboard deck, a halyard attached to the Boat Tippers work barge, Threshold developed a sixteen degree starboard heel. Once heeled the “boat tippers” captain shouted “hit it with full power and do not hesitate”, Threshold and the “boat tippers” barge simultaneously powered under the bridge, neither arriving on the other side any worse for wear.  We paid our $75 “tipping fee”, the crew emptied and removed the barrels, handed us two, aluminum foil wrapped bacon and egg breakfasts and disappeared into the fog.

A couple hundred yards later we entered the lock to Lake Okeechobee with the fog now so heavy we could not see the gates at the end of the lock.  The lock master closed the entrance gate, and a few minutes later the lake side gate opened exposing a monolithic wall of grey despite all of my assurances to my now concerned crew “By the time we clear the lock the fog will have lifted and we can enjoy a nice ride across the lake”.  The lock master did graciously offer to allow us to tie up the some pilings a few yards into the lake, he too suggesting we wait until the fog lifted before we crossed the lake.

But I now had confidence in the little monochromatic Garmin GPS, and the fact the lake was above normal depths, so my ego just could not accept the lock masters offer, and the little Perkins began to hum at 1800 rpm and Threshold ran on at 5 knots toward the little electronic dot displayed on the monochromatic Garmin screen.

At five knots a passage across the lake will take a few hours – five to seven depending upon your ability to spot day beacons. So we likely averaged three or four because if I felt lost or concerned I could not visually spot the marker shown on the Garmin screen I would cut the speed in half and navigate using the depth sounder.

Every twenty minutes I would deliberately make the pronouncement “the fog will lift shortly” – that is at least three times per hour for those not so mathematically inclined.  And every hour passed with increasing frustration that the fog had not lifted.  We could hear power boats pass by us and feel their wake but we could not see them.  The GPS worked great and we found every day beacon even though we could see the less than 100 feet away.

We entered the lake somewhere around 10 AM and the fog finally lifted at about 2:30 PM, just in enough time for us to see the rim of the lake and get a sense of the environment that I wanted to so badly see.  We locked down into the Caloosahatchee River around 5PM and tied up to the first marina in sight – it might have been the only one in Moorehaven at the time.

For some reason that escapes me, I seem to write new chapters in my Lessons Learned Book, only to then not practice what I preached in the old chapters.  Overconfidence, a misplaced sense of skill, a cavalier attitude, or just plain stupidity seems to consistently erase many of my lessons learned.  Traveling in fog regardless of the level and sophistication of electronics and the crews experience should never be taken lightly.  Likewise traveling at night along lanes that have commercial traffic should be avoided – again regardless of the electronic sophistication or ability to interpret the blotches, dots and pings.  GPS, Radar, AIS and VHF definitely are great tools.  But electronics do not replace common sense and do not compensate for the boater who lacks both electronics and common sense a very easy lesson to be overlooked or ignored.

The next day was idyllic traveling down the Caloosahatchee River through the sugar cane fields and large pastures of cattle.  Few navigation skills were necessary until arriving in Ft Meyers and the trip from a seamanship perspective was simple, but once again the scenery and serenity did more than offset the lack of nautical challenges.  One note – sugar cane fields are set afire after the cane is harvested and by the time we arrived in Ft Meyers Threshold was covered with ashes.

We left the boat in a Ft Meyers marina and two weeks later Threshold was setting in her new slip at the St Petersburg marina. Her crew spent many evening watching the sun set through the St Petersburg skyline and many weekends day sailing Tampa Bay.   The passage up the Gulf Coast Intracoastal Waterway was little different than that of the ICW south of St. Lucie, narrow channels, some congestion and many beautiful homes.  No particular events stand out in my mind outside of the continuum of the previous 1,200 miles or so of this endearing watery highway

A couple of years later someone walked up to Threshold’s slip made an unsolicited offer to buy her at a price that was hard to resist, and to this day I miss Threshold much more than I miss my ex wife.  But new chapters begin where old ones quit and there remain many more lessons to be learned.

Are there yet more lessons to be learned?

A passage from Baltimore MD to Norfolk VA

1999 once again gave me the opportunity to revisit the very first watery lesson that I had learned – a fool and his money soon part.  Another windfall bonus, a great Annapolis yacht broker, and a West Sail 32, which this time was a real “sail away’ package, all came together in the back yard of “Threshold’s owner.  I was commuting from Atlanta to Washington DC, and any reasonable pragmatist could see the economics of living on a sailboat at the Shem Creek Marina in Annapolis and traveling back home on the weekends.  Pretty doggone logical decision in my mind.  And, God forbid, should the job transfer me someplace else, good ol’ Threshold could easily move with me.  Sweet!

And this time I had charts and a monochromatic hand held Garmin GPS so getting from Baltimore to Shem Creek in Annapolis posed few navigational problems.  Only one bridge to pass – Shem Creek.  I picked up the boat at the local marina after the survey and paid for a fresh bottom job and with all of the confidence in the world, stepped into the cockpit, started the engine, cast off the lines and fifty yards later ran aground on the sand bark that the yard foreman had previously warned me about.

But Threshold was strong and had a powerful Perkins engine with a three blade prop and the twenty year old lessons learned from the ICW immediately returned to my mind. Simply turn the tiller full port, pointing the bow to what I thought to be deep water and gun the Perkins.  Thankfully, the marina had a little power boat with a tow line and shortly, after listening to the yard [...]]]> Twenty years after my first ICW Experience

Are there yet more lessons to be learned?

A passage from Baltimore MD to Norfolk VA

1999 once again gave me the opportunity to revisit the very first watery lesson that I had learned – a fool and his money soon part.  Another windfall bonus, a great Annapolis yacht broker, and a West Sail 32, which this time was a real “sail away’ package, all came together in the back yard of “Threshold’s owner.  I was commuting from Atlanta to Washington DC, and any reasonable pragmatist could see the economics of living on a sailboat at the Shem Creek Marina in Annapolis and traveling back home on the weekends.  Pretty doggone logical decision in my mind.  And, God forbid, should the job transfer me someplace else, good ol’ Threshold could easily move with me.  Sweet!

And this time I had charts and a monochromatic hand held Garmin GPS so getting from Baltimore to Shem Creek in Annapolis posed few navigational problems.  Only one bridge to pass – Shem Creek.  I picked up the boat at the local marina after the survey and paid for a fresh bottom job and with all of the confidence in the world, stepped into the cockpit, started the engine, cast off the lines and fifty yards later ran aground on the sand bark that the yard foreman had previously warned me about.

But Threshold was strong and had a powerful Perkins engine with a three blade prop and the twenty year old lessons learned from the ICW immediately returned to my mind. Simply turn the tiller full port, pointing the bow to what I thought to be deep water and gun the Perkins.  Thankfully, the marina had a little power boat with a tow line and shortly, after listening to the yard superintendent’s instructions for the second or third or fourth time, Threshold was now in 10 feet of water and heading to Annapolis, hopefully, with no further embarrassments to be levied upon her by her new Captain.

Six months later, I learned my company was going to relocate to Orlando FL, and I had a month to get settled in the Sunshine State.   Of course the news broke my heart, but then again there are many alligators and crocodiles in Florida and crocodile tears are of such a common occurrence that no one would take heed to my protestations.  But how to get Threshold to where she needed to be was a bit of a concern since I could not make the junket in one single leg, and I did not have my crew of twenty years ago.  Long ago I learned to appreciate the second hand to spell me at the helm, spot day beacons, and help me tie up or anchor at night and fix a welcome PBJ sandwich and a cup of hot coffee.

Also ICW mile marker 0 was still 140+ miles away and I was not familiar with the Chesapeake shore line.  Even then Daytona was another 830 statute miles after that.  Let me see, at 50 miles per day and a thousand miles to go, even that fellow in China would find a single handed trip a little daunting.  So it dawned upon me that I had a bunch of frequent flyer miles, a handful of college chums who had retired and had little on their work plates, and I had a need.

So the trip was planned. At Annapolis, Norfolk, Cape Fear, Charleston, and Daytona, a new crew would fly in and an old crew would depart.  I would cover the expenses (mostly frequent flyer passes), and the trip would be spread out over the course of a month to allow me to attend to work as well as pleasure.

On July 3 1998, Threshold left Shem Creek and headed to Norfolk – a passage of, give or take, one hundred thirty miles.  For the passage I had two crew, Jim and Jack, both of which had never been on an off shore sailboat, and, as I soon learned, were unequivocally incompatible with each other.  The concepts of port and starboard, tack and jibe, main sail and jib were foreign to both.  So I decided that before we made the trip down the Chesapeake we would have some early morning sailing and boat handling lessons.

The wind was brisk – 15 to 20 knots and Threshold was a cutter with hanked-on staysail and jib.  Jim had some experience sailing a West Wright Potter but Jack knew “jack little” about sail boats or any boats for that matter, and probably to this day has little regret about his lack of this kind of knowledge.  Regardless we did our thing, discussing sails and running rigging, and sheets and the like and before I realized it we were still sailing within four miles of Annapolis at three in the afternoon.

I had been watching the weather, and while I knew a Bermuda high was settling in off shore of Norfolk, there would be a significant possibility of a thunderstorm that evening.  So after having all of the fun we could have learning how to sail a heavy boat in 15 knot breezes we doused the sails, stowed the stowables, fixed a light dinner of pasta and I took the helm and pointed the bow toward Norfolk.

As the sun began to set we could see the fireworks of both Baltimore and Washington in the night sky, and while Jack and Jim were ogling at their splendor, we could also see the outline of the thunderheads in the same sky.  At that moment, I suddenly realized that this would be their first night time sailing experience and a shudder ran up my back.

Both were tired from working the sails that day so both sat in the cockpit, backs to the bow and watched the darkening horizon over the stern of the boat.  For a while I thought they were mesmerized by the moment, but suddenly both headed for the scuppers at the same moment, up chucking their pasta.

Seasickness is no joke.  It is a terrible feeling no matter who you are and it is debilitating. We were then thirty miles down the Chesapeake and it was dark, the wind and seas building into a nasty and sloppy chop.  I was raining and there was some lighting. I had not planned for an emergency port, and did not want to turn around and go back to Annapolis.  And I had not followed the precaution of knowing my crew properly.

So I did only what I could do.  I put on my foul weather gear; stowed Jack and Jim down below and sat at the helm for the next six hours.  No, Threshold did not have an autopilot or wind vane, and yes every ten minutes I checked the monochromatic GPS and watched the compass like a hawk watches for a field mouse and marked our position on a paper chart.

At about three AM after the storm had passed, Jack and Jim found their sea legs, and joined me in the cockpit.  Jim relieved me at the helm and Jack reluctantly spelled him every so often.  After a quick cup of coffee and confident that they could stay on course, I decided to jump into the quarter berth to grab a few winks, hoping to wake up at dawn and prepare to enter Norfolk that afternoon.

I dozed off only to wake up to hear Jack and Jim arguing.  “Should we go between them?”  “No, go around them” “No they are too close, we need to go between them” and the argument began to heat up with a lot of profanity thrown in just to spark excitement.  Needless to say, I went up on deck and looked forward only to see us heading straight for the beam of a north bound container ship.  I knocked the helm to starboard, gunned the engine and we missed the freighter by no more than 50 yards, its wake throwing Threshold every way conceivable a few seconds later.  Both had seen only the two white mast lights and nothing else and were heading for the gap in between.

Needless to say, I stayed in the cockpit the balance of the night and about 3:00 PM we tied up at a Marina in Norfolk.  Little was said about the incident twelve hours earlier, but a huge collection of lessons went into the lesson book.   Do not transit the Chesapeake at night in a small boat unless well equipped with VHF, GPS, AIS and Radar and then only if you know how to operate such equipment proficiently.  Know your crew and make certain all are compatible – incompatibility can lead to disaster not simply hurt feelings.  And plan your trip with an emergency port in mind.

Looking back, the trip was enjoyable and we felt a sense of accomplishment.  The one scary incident received little discussion and chagrin was contained within each individual.  But I did put my crew in danger, risked my boat, and if we were to have hit that freighter no one would have known our fate since I did not file a sail plan with anyone.

Traveling the coastal waterways in a pleasure boat requires a sense of responsibility and I was not responsible that evening.  It could have cost us our lives; a big lesson to learned by all taking such a trip.

Well Bodhran is back in the water after a 10 day haulout. The biggest item on the project list was to reinforce the mast step. My mast had caused the deck to buckle ¼ of an inch around the mast, so I pulled the mast off, jacked up the deck, and had a bracket fabricated to reinforce the area and hopefully fix the problem. We also painted the hull, scoured the prop and coated it with Peller Clean (a silicon anti fouling for bronze), cleaned, buffed and waxed the topsides, repainted the shear stripe, removed all the caulk and rot from under the caprail and injected thickened epoxy to fill the voids.

Tiffany and I taking a break in the shade of Bodhran’s hull:

The new mast bracket on top of the compression post:

It was a pretty full 10 days. Fortunately for us, Christian and his boat Irie were in the yard. Christian is friends with Greg and Bonnie and Bob and Cary from back in Bellingham. He and his ex were caretakers out at Eliza Island before taking off across the Pacific. It was nice to have an extra hand in the yard, a person to bum tools and advice from. He also happens to have a van and very generously let us borrow it to make runs into town for parts, groceries and beers. He also got us out one night to Tutukaka to visit Rick on Guava Jelly and play some music before Rick had to fly back to Seattle for the Winter. Distraction was also provided by Arek and Iwona who drove up from Orewa and took us up to explore the area north of the Bay of Islands for the day.

Rick, Christian, Tiffany and Guava [...]]]> NZ Haulout

Bodhran ready to go back in the water after a week’s haulout:

Well Bodhran is back in the water after a 10 day haulout. The biggest item on the project list was to reinforce the mast step. My mast had caused the deck to buckle ¼ of an inch around the mast, so I pulled the mast off, jacked up the deck, and had a bracket fabricated to reinforce the area and hopefully fix the problem. We also painted the hull, scoured the prop and coated it with Peller Clean (a silicon anti fouling for bronze), cleaned, buffed and waxed the topsides, repainted the shear stripe, removed all the caulk and rot from under the caprail and injected thickened epoxy to fill the voids.

Tiffany and I taking a break in the shade of Bodhran’s hull:

The new mast bracket on top of the compression post:

It was a pretty full 10 days. Fortunately for us, Christian and his boat Irie were in the yard. Christian is friends with Greg and Bonnie and Bob and Cary from back in Bellingham. He and his ex were caretakers out at Eliza Island before taking off across the Pacific. It was nice to have an extra hand in the yard, a person to bum tools and advice from. He also happens to have a van and very generously let us borrow it to make runs into town for parts, groceries and beers. He also got us out one night to Tutukaka to visit Rick on Guava Jelly and play some music before Rick had to fly back to Seattle for the Winter. Distraction was also provided by Arek and Iwona who drove up from Orewa and took us up to explore the area north of the Bay of Islands for the day.

Rick, Christian, Tiffany and Guava Jelly in Tutukaka:

Tiffany on the beach north of the Bay of Islands:

Sunset just outside of Whangaroa:

We’re back in the water now. It’d be nice to get out sailing someday, but for now I think we’re going to be working on the boat for another few weeks until after New Years and try and get some short sailing trips in then.

I’ve put together an album of haulout pics here:

To see more of Bodhran’s adventures visit http://www.jasonrose.com

Another dozen or so lessons learned

A passage from Charleston SC to St Augustine FL

On March 15, 1979 I prepared for my first trip in S/V Paramour.

Unexpectedly a new job required us to relocate from Charleston SC to Jacksonville FL and the S/V Paramour and I could not stand a hundred and sixty miles separation.  So the decision – off shore or ICW –  had to be made and a new St Augustine marina just under construction was selected to become Paramour’s new home.

And, the one hundred sixty miles to be traveled? I will admit it today. I did get a quote to truck the boat to Jacksonville.  But once my now ex-wife saw the quote; I quickly reconsidered that thought.  After all, as she put it to me, was I not prepared and confident enough to move the boat myself?  Obviously that answer had to be yes – although quite privately, I had never looked at any chart outside of the one I had for the Charleston Harbor.  And despite all of the weekend harbor sailing, I had never actually passed between the Charleston Harbor’s jetties, and I had no clue where the ICW entered or exited the Charleston Harbor.  But I did know a lot of stuff.  I mean, after all, it is red right returning – right? – But, does that mean right retuning to the sea or from the sea?  Day beacons, mile markers, bridges, currents and tides?  Well all can be learned just as I had learned about anchoring a few months ago.

Thankfully, my nervous marina neighbor next to me was a reasonable man and a good listener and offered a couple of suggestions, after hearing that I planned to single handedly sail off shore to St. Augustine.  [...]]]> A Beginners Sailor’s Lessons Learned

Another dozen or so lessons learned

A passage from Charleston SC to St Augustine FL

On March 15, 1979 I prepared for my first trip in S/V Paramour.

Unexpectedly a new job required us to relocate from Charleston SC to Jacksonville FL and the S/V Paramour and I could not stand a hundred and sixty miles separation.  So the decision – off shore or ICW –  had to be made and a new St Augustine marina just under construction was selected to become Paramour’s new home.

And, the one hundred sixty miles to be traveled? I will admit it today. I did get a quote to truck the boat to Jacksonville.  But once my now ex-wife saw the quote; I quickly reconsidered that thought.  After all, as she put it to me, was I not prepared and confident enough to move the boat myself?  Obviously that answer had to be yes – although quite privately, I had never looked at any chart outside of the one I had for the Charleston Harbor.  And despite all of the weekend harbor sailing, I had never actually passed between the Charleston Harbor’s jetties, and I had no clue where the ICW entered or exited the Charleston Harbor.  But I did know a lot of stuff.  I mean, after all, it is red right returning – right? – But, does that mean right retuning to the sea or from the sea?  Day beacons, mile markers, bridges, currents and tides?  Well all can be learned just as I had learned about anchoring a few months ago.

Thankfully, my nervous marina neighbor next to me was a reasonable man and a good listener and offered a couple of suggestions, after hearing that I planned to single handedly sail off shore to St. Augustine.  His first, but diplomatically phrased, suggestion was that I needed at least one crew member to travel with me – and in light of my previous anchoring experience it was a reasonable assumption that my now ex-wife and children would not fill that position.  Luckily, the day before he had noticed a young man wondering around the marina who was seeking passage south.  My marina neighbor explained that the young man professed to have traveled from Norfolk on various boats, was a writer and artist, and was working his way to Key West.

His second suggestion took into light my limited experience sailing off shore and posed a trip down the ICW as a more appropriate path to St. Augustine.

So in one little brief conversation a multiplicity of problems was simultaneously solved and the decision to travel the ICW was made.  The young man had a way to get to Jacksonville for free – that was especially important when I realized later he had no money on his person whatsoever and “working his way” had a different meaning in his vocabulary than my interpretation of the word.  I had a crew with experience.  The marina diplomatically removed an unwelcomed vagabond from their docks.  My marina neighbor managed to move a boating hazard far, far away from his boat.  My now ex-wife would not have to renege on her promise never to step aboard that !@#$ boat again.  And Paramour and I would reunite once again in St. Augustine.  A win-win for all.  Wow!

As an owner and captain of Paramour, I believed there was an unwritten law of the sea that states the owner/captain must know everything – even if he does not know anything at all.  I truly believed that “fake it until you can make it” is a very important rule of seamanship.  Fortunately my new crew was very cognizant of this rule and had refined the unique skill and art of finessing a captain who stringently adhered to this rule.

For example, when my new crew realized we had no charts or waterway guide on board, he quietly suggested we visit a local chandlery to see if there were anything HE needed for our trip and then very carefully managed to nudge me toward the chart cabinet and engaged the local salesman in a conversation espousing the benefits of a waterway guide and the necessity of having charts of the various South Carolina and Georgia harbors and sounds at the boats navigation station.   He also subtly surveyed Paramour to make certain the “sail away” package did not need to be supplemented, made sure the previously unused VHF really worked, and all of the Coast Guard required safety gear was aboard.  He even studied the galley offering suggestions, that, while he had little need for nourishment, I may not share his low metabolic rate, and proper provisioning on board would be a great enhancement should we be delayed before we could reach the local McDonalds along the way.

In 1979, loran and radio direction finders were the primary navigation tools of the coastal sailor and the sextant and dead reckoning were the tools of choice for the off shore sailor,  The only towing service was the US Coast Guard – no Towboat US and there were no clear plastic sleeves to protect paper charts.  But the Waterway Guide was published and definitely contained all the information one needed “to stay between the banks of the ICW” until your destination was reached.  I did not own a Loran or RDF at the time.  But thankfully the Sail-Away Package did include a depth finder.

So at 4:00 AM the crew and I awoke, allowed the diesel glow plug to do its thing, and by sun-up we were setting southbound in the ICW in a channel known as the Wappoo Cut.  At ebb tide and with no wind, the water was glassy and still.  I could hear on the VHF a barge coming from the south calling the Wappoo Bridge tender and I knew the barge was ready to enter the cut. How perfect!  All we had to do was wait for the barge to pass and we could go through the bridge without waiting for it to close and re-open – except Paramour’s Yanmar diesel engine suddenly sputtered and died – flat dead in the middle of a narrow cut known for rushing currents and a high tidal range and with a commercial tug heading our way.

Thankfully, the Charleston Coast Guard station is located about four hundred yards from the cut, Paramour’s VHF radio was working, and the Captain of the commercial barge was able to slow his speed.  With my sense of humility and chagrin fully engaged, the Coast Guard towed us back to the marina, where later a local mechanic shared the simple technique of bleeding air out of diesel fuel line and how to never allow air to get there in the first place.  High among lessons to be learned is an understanding of the mechanical and electrical knowledge of one’s boat and how to diagnose problems to avoid future lessons in humility and general chagrin avoidance.

The next morning, and with less bravado, my crew and I set the same course, but with no barges this time, a complete set of tools on board, and with a happy engine we passed the Wappoo Bridge and headed for what was to be the most beautiful and serine trip that would be replayed again and again in my mind for so many years to come.  The saltwater marshes, the Georgia and South Carolina sounds, the long uninhabited stretches of coastal wetlands, cut indelible lines in my mind.  The sound of the rush of millions of shrimp passing the boats hull, porpoise meandering beside us, birds and more birds and the sometimes onerous but distinctive smells of the tidal flats all remain in my mind as distinctively and rich as they did on those days of March 1979 when if first experience them.

With stops in Beaufort, Savannah, Fernandina Beach and Jacksonville, St Augustine proved to be a short leg which I easily single handed. But the memories of those five days seem to have spanned a lifetime.

And my crew?  He set the stage for me to get a grip on the seriousness but accompanying simplicity of ICW travel.  How to track progress on a chart, how to look for day beacons, where to expect cross currents and how to use the tide to an advantage – or at least how not become frustrated when the tide was not to an advantage.  How to time your passages and how to resist the urge to travel a night just to meet a schedule are fundamental to ICW travel.  I learned the rules of the road first hand, the need to line up with range markers.  And patience?  I remember the first day, after passing the Wappoo Cut Bridge, we had traveled almost four hours when suddenly I realized we were passing the road on which I had owned a house (Summerville SC).  A short commute by car but a four ride down the Intracoastal Waterway.  I thought of the Chinese proverb of a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step at a time and that it is going to take four days to travel the same distance that I traveled in my car in four hours.  We will never get to St. Augustine at this rate I thought.

As to my crew, I have long forgotten his name.  I often wondered if he were able to hitch the rest of the ride to Key West.  He maintained a diary and a sketch book – he seemed to be a great artist and truly appreciated the trip.   I hope he was successful and, if by some fluke of chance he were to read this blog, he would come to understand how much I appreciated and continue to treasure the gift he gave me at the time.  I hope he was successful in his endeavors and have a hunch that he was.

As for the S/V Paramour, she remains in the St Augustine Comanche Cove Marina to this day.  Ultimately my wife and I divorced and a part of the settlement was the sale of Paramour to a local in St Augustine.   I did have some chances to sail Paramour off shore – Bermuda and the Bahamas.  But my next experience on the ICW would have to wait nearly twenty years.

Stripped and sanded wood, ready for varnishing:

The v-berth, mid wood removal. You can also see that I’ve removed all of the headliner as well:

This past weekend I also sealed up the portlights (windows) with some silicon sealant. This is a temporary measure to eliminate leaks until I start to remove and replace everything. All of the windows leak so something needed to be done until I could replace them.

So this week I have quite a bit more wood to strip and sand, but will also start the varnishing. I am excited to see some finished product after all of the hours I’ve put into the woodwork. A lot of the pieces will need to be re-installed on the boat before I can finish them, as they need to have bungs (wooden plugs to hide the screws) installed before finishing.

I also cleaned up and tested out the 9.5 foot Achilles dinghy that came with the boat. It isn’t pretty, it’s quite ugly in fact, but it floated well and has no [...]]]> In my time off I have been busy stripping and sanding various pieces of woodwork from the boat. I spend a few hours a day working on it and have developed a good rhythm and process to prepare the woodwork for varnishing. I ordered some Interlux Compass and Goldspar Satin varnish and will begin to apply them this week. As you can see below, I have a box full of cabinet doors, trim, all 3 doors and a few other random pieces already done. I went back to the boat this weekend with my friend Jeff to gather more wood, as I had finished prepping all the wood I had. We have pretty much completely removed all wooden pieces from the v-berth and I can start to feel the progress.

Stripped and sanded wood, ready for varnishing:

The v-berth, mid wood removal. You can also see that I’ve removed all of the headliner as well:

This past weekend I also sealed up the portlights (windows) with some silicon sealant. This is a temporary measure to eliminate leaks until I start to remove and replace everything. All of the windows leak so something needed to be done until I could replace them.

So this week I have quite a bit more wood to strip and sand, but will also start the varnishing. I am excited to see some finished product after all of the hours I’ve put into the woodwork. A lot of the pieces will need to be re-installed on the boat before I can finish them, as they need to have bungs (wooden plugs to hide the screws) installed before finishing.

I also cleaned up and tested out the 9.5 foot Achilles dinghy that came with the boat. It isn’t pretty, it’s quite ugly in fact, but it floated well and has no serious leaks. Jenny and I took it out onto some local lakes around downtown Orlando and had some fun afternoons lounging around on the dinghy and relaxing on the water. I purchased two paddles from the Sailor’s Loft in St. Augustine and they work great with the dink. You can row it quite well like a canoe with two people. I owned two cheap rafts as a kid that I would paddle around Doctors Lake off of the St. Johns river. They were named the Otter, and Otter II; so naturally this one gets to be deemed the Otter III.

The dink on the banks of Lake Ivanhoe:

Relaxing as the wind sails us back to shore

Good view of the city (and a very fine Jenny as well):

To see more of Eric and Windsong’s adventures visit http://erickswanderlustblog.blogspot.com/

The next dozen or so lessons learned

Learning to anchor – or better how not to anchor

If you are going to travel the ICW or sail anywhere in the world, anchoring knowledge is a big deal.  And by the time I was ready to make my first trip I did know a lot about anchoring before heading for St Augustine.   Let me explain.  A few months earlier, I made an attempt to renew my boating bond with my crew promising a very tranquil afternoon on a remote St, Johns Island beach – no authoritative command shouting, no raising the sails, simply motoring through a local knowledge cut and anchoring just off the beach and a short dinghy ride to where we could have a picnic lunch and enjoy serenity and privacy.  Pretty clever way of selling the sailing life and re-bonding with my crew, huh?  What could go wrong?  Thankfully an anchor and rode was a part of the sail-away package.

The day did start out pretty well – we found the “local knowledge cut” in the Charleston Harbor jetty just like the locals said and a couple miles later, I dropped the anchor, and Captain and crew went happily ashore.  For a while it was bliss until suddenly my littlest daughter innocently asked “where is the boat daddy”.   Well the boat was in sight but about a half mile from where it should be – obviously a case of anchor dragging.  But what to do about the problem was a bit of a quandary.

As I ran down the beach I thought about the Annapolis Book of Seamanship laying next to the couch in my house and vowed, once the present crises was resolved, I would diligently re-read each of the book’s chapters and promised to [...]]]> A Beginners Sailor’s Collection Lessons Learned

The next dozen or so lessons learned

Learning to anchor – or better how not to anchor

If you are going to travel the ICW or sail anywhere in the world, anchoring knowledge is a big deal.  And by the time I was ready to make my first trip I did know a lot about anchoring before heading for St Augustine.   Let me explain.  A few months earlier, I made an attempt to renew my boating bond with my crew promising a very tranquil afternoon on a remote St, Johns Island beach – no authoritative command shouting, no raising the sails, simply motoring through a local knowledge cut and anchoring just off the beach and a short dinghy ride to where we could have a picnic lunch and enjoy serenity and privacy.  Pretty clever way of selling the sailing life and re-bonding with my crew, huh?  What could go wrong?  Thankfully an anchor and rode was a part of the sail-away package.

The day did start out pretty well – we found the “local knowledge cut” in the Charleston Harbor jetty just like the locals said and a couple miles later, I dropped the anchor, and Captain and crew went happily ashore.  For a while it was bliss until suddenly my littlest daughter innocently asked “where is the boat daddy”.   Well the boat was in sight but about a half mile from where it should be – obviously a case of anchor dragging.  But what to do about the problem was a bit of a quandary.

As I ran down the beach I thought about the Annapolis Book of Seamanship laying next to the couch in my house and vowed, once the present crises was resolved, I would diligently re-read each of the book’s chapters and promised to never skim a chapter again.  For example, had I properly secured the anchor rode to Paramour (I just do not remember reading that passage in the book) at the time I set the anchor, I likely would not be running down the beach to fetch my Paramour from the surf – another lesson to be added to the lessons learned book.   But at that moment  I had to get back to the crises at hand.  By the time I reached Paramour and climbed aboard and started the engine she was pounding stern-on to the sand bottom with a thunderous shudder and a heart rendering bang ever few seconds.

To make a long story short, after much panic and swearing, an hour latter Paramour and I escaped the snares of the outgoing tide and beach pounding with a severely bent rudder, that would allow a only wide spiraling path back through the jetties, through the harbor, and ultimately into the marina.  However, before managing such a complicated course to marina safety, I had to address one other little problem.  Paramour and I were now about 500 yards off shore in 10 feet of water and my now ex- wife and children were stranded on a beach that had access only by water.  There was no way that I could motor back to the shore and get them on board without getting caught in the off shore bound current whose breadth was less than the diameter of my spiral.  This posed a real dilemma that the Annapolis Book of Seamanship did not seem to cover very well in any of its chapters.

Fortunately on the horizon was a small power boat, and I knew if I could “motor spiral” to the boat, the owner would certainly welcome the opportunity to rescue my family.  Indeed I did get within a few feet of the potential rescue boat only to realize that the owner and his mate were engaged in an intense, amorous embrace in the boat’s cockpit and for some reason were quite resentful when an idiot in a sail boat pulled up next to them and began incessantly blowing his air horn to get their attention.  Thankfully, reason prevailed, and the couple concluded that I was simply a stupid guy who should not own a boat and obviously not a weird perverted voyeur playing some sort of a practical joke on them.  They quickly dressed, sped to shore, and rescued my family.   And that was the very last time my now ex-wife ever stepped foot onto the S/V Paramour and that evening I re-read the chapters on anchoring over and over again.

A couple weeks later I left the repair yard a few thousand dollars lighter but with my Paramour no longer worse for wear – although I cannot help but believe she may have been a bit leery of the skills of her captain.

My first dozen or so lessons learned

Learning to sail

It all started in March of 1978

Before I can share my first trip, I must explain how I became the gained the basic knowledge I think necessary to make a first trip of a couple thousand miles.

As a boy growing up in the cornfields of Indiana, visions of oceans and seas and rivers were ingrained in my mind by my grandfather – a Danish immigrant and a North Sea eel fisherman.  Although I would have wait for college spring break in Ft Lauderdale to get my first glimpse of emerald and blue salt water, his stories of the sea and the transatlantic passage from Denmark on a wooden schooner gave me a leg up on all other wannabe sailors of the world.  So in 1978 I found myself at the yacht brokerage dock in Charleston, South Carolina, writing a check for a brand new Hunter 30 – the FIRST and most primary of the many watery lessons I have learned – A FOOL AND HIS MONEY SOON PART.

Now mind you, I had never sailed before – no prior Sunfish experience, no prior Hobie Cat experience, no romantic, captained, chartered, sunset dinner cruise on a tranquil bay, not even one hour’s practice sailing a remote controlled boat on a little pond.  But armed with my grandfather’s legacy, many evenings of arm chair sailing with the Hiscocks and Joshua Slocum, and the broker’s “personal assurance” that thirty footers are much, much easier and forgiving to sail than little sailboats like Hobie Cats and Snarks, I found it easy to part with the windfall bonus I had received from my company the day before.

After all the broker did promise that he would personally teach me how to sail my [...]]]> A Sailor’s Lessons Learned Play Book

My first dozen or so lessons learned

Learning to sail

It all started in March of 1978

Before I can share my first trip, I must explain how I became the gained the basic knowledge I think necessary to make a first trip of a couple thousand miles.

As a boy growing up in the cornfields of Indiana, visions of oceans and seas and rivers were ingrained in my mind by my grandfather – a Danish immigrant and a North Sea eel fisherman.  Although I would have wait for college spring break in Ft Lauderdale to get my first glimpse of emerald and blue salt water, his stories of the sea and the transatlantic passage from Denmark on a wooden schooner gave me a leg up on all other wannabe sailors of the world.  So in 1978 I found myself at the yacht brokerage dock in Charleston, South Carolina, writing a check for a brand new Hunter 30 – the FIRST and most primary of the many watery lessons I have learned – A FOOL AND HIS MONEY SOON PART.

Now mind you, I had never sailed before – no prior Sunfish experience, no prior Hobie Cat experience, no romantic, captained, chartered, sunset dinner cruise on a tranquil bay, not even one hour’s practice sailing a remote controlled boat on a little pond.  But armed with my grandfather’s legacy, many evenings of arm chair sailing with the Hiscocks and Joshua Slocum, and the broker’s “personal assurance” that thirty footers are much, much easier and forgiving to sail than little sailboats like Hobie Cats and Snarks, I found it easy to part with the windfall bonus I had received from my company the day before.

After all the broker did promise that he would personally teach me how to sail my shiny, brand new, sailboat – the second watery lesson learned on the second day of my sailing career – never buy a boat, or anything else for that matter, from a guy who lives aboard his own boat, does not own a home on land, and constantly talks about the virtues of retiring to the tropics once he gets a little extra money in his checking account.  Needless to say, once my check cleared the bank, early one morning I watched the very sincere and helpful broker as he sailed out between the jetties of the Charleston Harbor, never to be seen again (at least by me).  I hope he is enjoying every moment of his stay in Tahiti.

So there I sat (for several weeks) at the Ashley Marina in the Charleston harbor, “virtual” sailing my brand new shiny sailboat – which, by the way, was equipped with the Hunter “sail-away package” – a package the broker assured me was all one needed to circumnavigate the world.  A third lesson learned in as many days – there is more to sailing around the world than just buying “a sail-away package”.

Unfortunately there is a limit to how long one can “virtual sail” a brand new sailboat – though over the passing years, as I have walked the docks of a thousand marinas, I have often wondered just what percentage of these beautiful boats are “virtual sailed” by their land locked owners.  But for me the peer pressures and the viral admonishments from an angry wife (who never met my grandfather and thought she had better uses for the bonus money than an impulsive purchase of a sailboat that I did not know how to sail) forced me to abandon the virtual world and step into reality – a scary thought to say the least, although at the time my high level of male hormones would never allow me to utter the word “scary” or admit that I did not have clue as to what I was doing.

So on a very quiet Saturday afternoon I learned how to start the Yanmar diesel engine – thankfully after a few attempts cranking the engine a really nice guy on the boat next to me diplomatically suggested  that it was generally a common practice allow the glow plug to preheat before expecting the engine to kick over.  The same guy, thankfully, helped me to cast off my lines and gave me encouragement from the bow of his boat as I hesitantly left the dock – of course it never stuck my mind that he was not being encouraging at all, but instead nervously protecting his pride and joy from an obvious and hazardous novice.

While I did not dare, nor did I know how, to raise the sails, the day proved to me that grandpa knew his stuff and Danish eel fisherman’s blood did run through my veins.  Returning to the dock a few hours later, after motoring up and down in front of the crowd of tourists walking the Charleston Battery, my newly found friend and a half dozen other boat owners frantically fended me off a handful of boats in the marina, and with only a modest loss of grace but with a sizable bounty of humility, the shiny new boat and I managed to return relatively unscathed.   And, I learned my fourth but very profound watery lesson – virtual boating just does not equate to the real thing – no way Jose!

Over the next few months, I learned many watery lessons. For example, do not try to raise the jib in front of a crowd of people walking along the Charleston Battery especially if you cannot distinguish the foot from the leach – hanks do attach to the head stay.   Or, do not attempt to sail in three feet of water when your draft is four feet – especially if you have a half dozen guests on board who were previously convinced that you were an experienced and seasoned seaman – I have no idea where they would have come to such a premature but erroneous conclusion.  Or, do not tie your boat lines tightly to the dock when there is a possibility that a six foot tide will occur twice daily.  Spring lines, tides and currents, wind and the need to keep grass and tube worms off intake strainers became more than anecdotes in my lessons learned book.

As the weekends, passed my confidence gradually grew – although my book of lessons learned seemed to grow at a more exponential rate – and soon I found myself trying to get the “rail down”, testing just how close to the wind I could come, and practicing, with authority, my commands such as “prepare to jib” and “prepare to come about” with my crew (my then six and ten year old daughters and now ex-wife).  Ultimately, my crew lovingly (I think that is the operative adverb) compared or placed me in the same league with Captains Bligh and Ahab – but then, in reflection, those references may have been more directed toward my command presence than my seamanship.