December 11, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
The sands of time slip through the slot and fall away. The waters flow inexorably to the sea. Sun rises. Sun sets. Here we are – still.
We arrived in St. Marys, GA, on November 30. We knew when we arrived that we would be here a while. We knew that we didn’t know how long it would take to do what needed to be done.
We were pretty fortunate to get here. When we departed from the Motts Channel anchorage near Wrightsville, NC, we were adjusting to the discovery that Jacksonville, Florida, was no place for us. We had discovered that marina after marina thought that 6 feet of depth was “plenty of water.” People we met in Norfolk had suggested we consider Brunswick, GA, where depths are much more generous.
The problem was our need to make a side trip. I needed to visit my uncle and aunt in Pensacola. For as long as they have known that Larry and I planned to cruise, they have been inviting us to visit them if we made it to Florida. We needed to be able to leave the boat in a safe place for that visit, and it was starting to look a little more complicated than we had imagined.
From the Motts Channel anchorage, we followed the ICW to the Cape Fear River. There we left the waterway and followed the river into the Atlantic. It was a gorgeous day. A breeze blew up, we raised the sail, and headed south, or to be more accurate, southwest. After an hour or so, we noticed two other sailboats behind us. Larry struck up a conversation with them and discovered that they were headed for Fernandina Beach off the St. Marys inlet at the border between Georgia and Florida. After we discovered that they knew the location and knew that it had the depth for full-keeled boats, we decided to pass by Brunswick and head for St. Marys, too.
Two mornings later we arrived at St. Marys Inlet. We called the Fernandina Harbor Marina and made a reservation. Then we overheard a couple of other boats talking about their plans. One of them was headed for Langs Marina in St. Marys on the Georgia side of the inlet. When we heard the voice on the radio say that Langs charges $1.00 per foot, we got pretty excited. The marina in Fernandina Beach wanted $1.75. We thought $1.00 sounded more like our price.
I quickly found Langs Marina in our guidebook and made a call. Sure enough, the price for a daily rental is $1.00 per foot. The weekly price of $.75 per foot per day was even better. I called Fernandina Beach to cancel and we headed for St. Marys.
After we got here, we began to calculate what we had to do. It would be a week at least for some errands, a couple of shipments and our trip to Pensacola. Then Larry needed to work on the generator. It might be at least two weeks before we could leave. We discovered that the monthly price at Langs was $7.00 per foot. Simple math made it clear that we would be ahead to pay for a month and leave when we got ready. We could take the time we needed without pressure.
Well, we are, indeed, taking our time, because the boat repair syndrome has struck us again. Larry started working on the generator, and there came a time when he needed to start it up so he could test the results. Guess what. It would not start. He had started it a couple of times during his work, but not this time. No starting was happening.
We aren’t the only people afflicted with such problems. Friends who had left St. Marys several days ago are on hold in Fernandina Beach due to similar issues. So it isn’t just us. It is boat life.
So we wait. Time passes. Winter approaches. Even in south Georgia, winter is cold. It was almost down to freezing this morning, and we dug out a couple of heaters. We thought we had escaped all this! I hope that relay gets here Monday. I hope the generator starts, and I hope that it charges the batteries like crazy. And I hope we pack up all our toys and head south soon.
Tick, tick, tick.
December 4, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
We have had all sorts of interesting experiences as we embark on the cruising life. In the University of Cruising, Watch Management is a required course.
Before we ever owned a bluewater sailboat, we read a lot of books about cruising. Several of them elaborated on the watch system they used. Everyone seems to tweak it in some unique way. Because we admire the Pardeys so much, we were pretty sure that we would want to follow their lead with four-hour watches. The idea of four hours of sleep in a row sounded so good that we sort of ignored the fact the while one person is sleeping, the other is awake and all alone in the cockpit for four hours. That is quite a different matter.
Most other cruisers appear to have landed on some version of three-hour watches. A few stick with two. We read and talked and let that whole idea wander around in the back of our minds for years. Until we actually began to cruise, it was all hypothetical. When we left Cape May one day in July last summer, the notion of watchkeeping came front and center.
We had cruised all day with a following wind of sufficient force to build up 8-foot waves. For Larry it was not the first time. In 2003, he and his son Phil took the boat north along this same path, and they had run overnight just as we were about to do. For me, it was all new. We were motoring as the sun set, because light and variable winds earlier were not conducive to successful sailing (and because we actually wanted to make progress toward our destination). Even though the increasing breeze at sunset might have been good for sailing, we were in agreement that it would be easier to manage our first overnight run without sails. As we talked, it soon became clear that no matter how much we admired the Pardeys, neither of us was ready to spend four hours in the dark cockpit all alone. We decided to work on two-hour watches and see what happened.
The first time I set out to sleep for two hours on the pilot berth, I had a hard time falling asleep. I didn’t feel particularly nervous, but I was not accustomed to that setting. One of the issues was the little light over the nav station. I remembered that a friend had long ago sent me a sleeping mask for airplane travel, so I pulled it out and used it that night. I still use it. It makes a great deal of difference to have my eyes in complete darkness. I was surprised at how rested I felt when it was my turn to be awake and alert.
The next morning dawned beautiful, and it was beautiful all day as we ran south of Long Island all day. The sunset was glorious, and just about 2100 I went below to sleep as Larry took the first watch. I was just laying my head on the pillow when I heard the roar of a wind gust and the boat tilted dramatically to starboard. I lay there a minute or two and continued to hear the wind roaring. When another gust tried to lay us over, I decided that sleeping time was over. I put on my lifejacket and hurried up the companionway. We both worked very hard for the next hour as we adjusted sail and sought a course that would give us smoother sailing in winds that I later learned were crowding 40 knots. At the time, I simply refused to look at the windspeed indicator. I did not want to know.
This time, when I went below, I was nervous. I hated leaving Larry alone to deal with the wind that was so much more ferocious than it had been during the day, and I dreaded being the one to deal with it when he went to sleep, but the reality was that it would be stupid for both of us to wear ourselves out at the same time. Sharing the load meant that somebody had to be sleeping, getting the rest and refreshment that would support good decision-making when awake. I slept.
Since then, we have done several overnights. I must confess that running overnight is not what drew us to cruising, but running overnight makes cruising better. The fact that we can do this allows us to get to distant places more quickly. It also reduces the amount of time we spend running in and out seeking anchorage. We move more directly to our destination. While some will observe that we miss some sights, others will recognize that we see the sights we want to see more quickly. Furthermore, running overnight allows us to go far out to sea where there is much less likelihood we will run aground or hit something. Out beyond twenty nautical miles it is much less crowded.
I won’t say that we have landed on our permanent plan yet. We very much aspire to a three-hour watch system that gives each of us a daytime nap as well. We are not yet orderly enough to plan that well, but we are getting there. We know it is critical before we attempt any long passages. Fifty hours is only a starting point.
for now, we might be earning a solid C in Watch-keeping 101 in the University of Cruising. We need to acquire a bit more discipline and skill before we can hope for a better grade.
November 29, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
This day was extremely busy. Some of you may think that cruising is an endless vacation, but I will say again what I have said before: it is much more like an expedition. We never stop discovering new things, and we never stop learning.
We had run overnight from Motts Channel near Wrightsville, NC, and were out beyond twenty nautical miles when the sun rose this morning. We are getting better at our management of overnights. We still operate on two-hour watches, but we sometimes creep up on three hours, which is our ultimate goal. No matter what the plan, we both need a nap during the day sometime, but on this day, there was no time for that. It may be the wise and prudent thing to do, but we were busy learning other things.
We have been dragging a line for fish any time we are outside the territorial waters. We hadn’t had much luck, and Larry was pretty discouraged. Today, however, just as I was about to serve breakfast, Larry shouted, “We have a fish!” I set the oatmeal back on the burner so it would stay warm, then I ran up to see the sight.
What a beautiful fish. If fish weren’t such great food, it would really be hard to kill one. This fish was gorgeous, as you will see in the photos on the website. As fish in the sea go, he was a mere baby, but compared to the perch and sunfish I remember catching and eating in my childhood, he was a giant.
We already knew that we didn’t really want to club him to death. That seems pretty barbaric, and other cruisers have suggested a better way; they pour rum on the gills and the fish simply goes to sleep happy. In our confusion, we wound up using bourbon, and Larry’s method may arouse suspicions that the choice was somewhat self-serving. He took a swig of the bourbon, then sprayed it into the gills. It really looks primitive, but it worked. (And the fisherman gets even happier.) I think that the next time I am in Walmart for supplies, I will pick up a small spray bottle. Then we can buy some really cheap rum and fill the spray bottle with it. That plan should achieve the goal without risking that the captain would go to sleep right along with the fish in his sleep-deprived state after an overnight run.
Sending the fish to that great reef in the sky was the first step, but then we had to prepare the fish for eating. This fish was just under a yard long, larger than any containers or cutting boards we had available. We had a good filet knife, but neither of us is skilled with it. I hope we catch more fish in the future, and if we do, we should get better at this.
In the end, we had four nice filets, and a lot of bones plus the head. Having heard numerous chefs deplore the idea of throwing away bones and head that could be used to make a flavorful broth for soup, I decided to test that idea. My conclusion: it is a lot more work than the amount of food to be gained by it, and the boat smells severely of fish processing. In the future, we will take the filets and exercise our stewardship of the remaining meat on the carcass by feeding other fish.
So far this fish has provided three meals. We grilled one filet for lunch on the day we caught the fish, and that was the most delightful tuna I ever put in my mouth. We ate the soup I made with fish broth for dinner, but neither of us thought it was too delightful. I made a third dinner by slicing the filet into medallions which I seasoned with lemon pepper and seared on my iron griddle. That dinner was good, but nothing to compare with the very fresh grilled tuna. We still have two filets in the freezer for a couple more meals.
Our morning was very much occupied with carving up and managing the fish. We stayed pretty focused until that job was done. We went below to wash up and then Larry went back up on deck. I went forward to brush my teeth. I was just finishing up when Larry knocked on the hatch cover above my head. I looked up, and he waved for me to come up on deck. I ran to the cockpit and stepped out. Larry put a finger to his lips for me to be silent and pointed to the water beside the boat.
There was a dolphin, swimming along beside us. I tip-toed forward to get a better look. The dolphin dived down and began a series of movements that appeared to me as if he were rubbing his back on the keel of the boat. He came up from time to time to get a breath and then went right back down.
Soon this lone dolphin was joined by three friends. One of the dolphins had a nick in his fin that looked as if he might sometime have crowded a prop, but he didn’t seem to be impeded in his enjoyment of the fun. In fact, Larry thinks that he somehow pushed his tale against the keel and let the boat do all the work of propelling him forward.
I don’t know exactly how any of them did it, but they all seemed to stay with the boat effortlessly. In fact, there were times that I had the impression they fell away from the boat and let it get ahead just so they could chase it and catch up again. We watched these four for more than an hour before they began to drop off.
This was only the beginning. All day dolphins came running over. From far away we saw them leaping and hurrying and racing toward the boat. You could almost hear them shout, “A boat! A boat!” Each time a single dolphin caught up with us, it was only a short time before he was joined by others. At one point there were eight of them crowded around the bow of the boat. We could not tear ourselves away. Larry took more than one hundred photos. It was an amazing experience.
This is the sort of thing that makes cruising so delightful. This is an adventure that is exponentially more exciting than seeing dolphins in an aquarium. These wonderful sea creatures honored us by visiting us and joyfully sharing their fun with us. We could not ask for more of any day in our lives.
November 19, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
This is our second day on the ICW. If it is typical, I am pretty sure I don’t want a lot more of it. The ICW is interesting and scenic, but there are challenges. Any way we go south has its challenges; each boat must choose its own way. I can’t imagine that we will do the ICW often.
We left Norfolk yesterday (11/18) and went as far as the Great Bridge. We traveled from Mile Zero to Mile Twelve. On that route, we almost missed our first bridge opening, but we barely squeaked through behind a barge. Then we immediately passed under our first fixed bridge at 65 feet. Oh, I of little faith, I could not look up. I remember so well the bridge on the C&D that I thought could not possibly be high enough. I know very well that if I look up at the mast as we approach the bridge, I will have a heart attack. I looked at the book in my lap and waited for the thud.
Fortunately, there was no thud. We have now passed under a couple more fixed bridges and still no thudding. The one at Coinjock actually has a gauge that displays the water level. If you believe it is properly placed, then you can believe that if it says “65” there must be 65 feet of clearance. Well, I believe, sort of, but I still do not look up.
The big problem today was the schedule, or lack thereof. Some bridges open according to the schedule in the guide book. Last night we tied up between the Great Bridge Lock and the Great Bridge. We chose to do that, because we knew there was really no good place to stop between Great Bridge and Coinjock, which is forty miles away. The fact that we had to wait until 8:30 for the first bridge past Norfolk meant that getting to or past Coinjock yesterday was an unrealistic goal. So this morning, we got prepared before 7AM, and the Great Bridge opened right on schedule. We were on our way.
However, we thought the Centerville Bridge would open on its posted schedule at 7:30AM, and so did other boats behind us. However, due to high water somewhere, the bridge opening was restricted to allow for extra traffic on the road, and we had to wait until 8:30 for the opening. It was impossible to simply sit still, the canal is narrow at this bridge, and the channel is narrower still. Outside the channel there is a risk of encountering stumps and snags and just plain shallow water. Four of us tap-danced there for an hour before the bridge opened for us.
The North Landing Bridge is undergoing construction work, and the bridge opens when the construction team says so. We waited there 45 minutes, and when the bridge opened, only one half of it swung away, leaving a very narrow passage. We slipped past, breathed a sigh of relief and moved on.
It was about 3PM when we finally arrived at Coinjock. It is a very tiny town in what looks like a very remote location. We continued south on the waterway to Buck Island, where we had planned to anchor. Buck Island is actually just a growth of marsh grass on a silty muddy shoal that happens to be more or less above water. There wasn’t a tree in sight. This location is almost the last spot to anchor before the long passage across Albemarle Sound. We eased into the little spot with a depth of 8 feet, more or less. In fact, we had to reset our depth alarm to 7 feet in order to have any peace. It took three tries to set the anchor satisfactorily, but once it dug in, we felt good.
As we reviewed our experience with the bridges and the waterway itself, we agreed that we get very tired of the limitations of the channel and the bridge schedules. Yet Buck Island Harbor could not possibly be more lovely. It is far from any human habitation, although hunters could be heard occasionally. Sunset over the marshes was spectacular, and after dark the stars were brilliant. We did have to contend with some mosquitoes, but our Off! candle dispatched them nicely. The ICW definitely has its own brand of charm.
If you ever decide to cruise in a sailboat, be prepared to flex until you are tied in a knot. The fun never stops!
As many of you know, we thought we would head south last Monday after a quick check of the keel. We thought wrong. The rock we hit in Maine last summer left a signature in the form of a gouge into the fiberglass matting. There were some dings and scratches that could have been tolerated, but that deep gouge required attention.
It took a whole week to do the work. The temperature was so cool that Larry had difficulty working with the fiberglass and epoxy required for repairs, and the same problem cropped up when he was applying paint to the repaired spots. We were finally on target to leave on Monday (Monday, November 9, 2009).
We got up early and made sure we had our pre-departure tasks done before 10:30, our scheduled splash time. We cleaned out all our trash, because we can’t discard trash while under way in Chesapeake Bay. We hosed down the deck and cleaned the cockpit. We washed the cockpit curtains. We were ready when the lift arrived. The lift operator had to make a few adjustments to our radio antenna and pole on the aft deck, because the lift for splash was smaller than the lift for haul, but very soon the boat was back in the water. I breathed a sigh of relief and allowed myself to start feeling excited about our winter plans.
Larry and I climbed back into the boat. The lift operator and his helper guided our boat out of the slings, and then they told us we could start the engine. One of the things I have always enjoyed is the sound of the engine starting, because when that sound hits my ear, we will be going somewhere. Larry turned the key and pressed ’start.’ We heard a couple of feeble wheezes. He looked startled, but after fiddling with the gearshift to be sure the engine was in neutral, he pressed the button again. No doubt about it. That engine had a serious flu. Larry went below and reconfigured the battery bank in order to combine the full power of three batteries instead of just one. Sad to say, all we heard was a feeble, limping thump instead of the roar of diesel power.
The boatyard men pushed and pulled us over to a nearby slip where we tied up. Larry had been threatening to buy a new starter battery for a while. I guess that week on land gave the battery a good excuse to retire. That explanation is as good as any. Fortunately the boatyard includes a full-service marine supply store, and they actually had a battery we could use. This one is even more powerful. That should mean that it is not only better than a dead battery; it should also be better than the old battery when it was new. Larry brought it back to the boat, we sat there for half an hour to bring it up to full charge using shore power, and then the engine started. Yay! All looked well. Ha!
One of the casualties of our never-ending departure mode is that I keep having to top off the supplies and food I need for a three-week jaunt without stopping to shop. It took us a whole week to get away from Harborview after we thought, “Tomorrow,”, so I had shopped to replace a week’s worth of groceries right before we went to Tidewater. We were supposed to be there for only a couple of hours. After it turned into a week, I again needed to shop to make up for that week of food we had used. We left Tidewater and cruised over to the fuel dock where we were shocked to discover that the price of fuel had risen to $2.95 per gallon. We gritted our teeth and filled the tank with 80 gallons. You do the math. Then we headed for an anchorage across the street from Safeway.
Because we always expected to simply cruise, not to go shopping, we had deflated the dinghy and strapped it down on deck. We don’t drag it behind us when we know we won’t use it for a while. Therefore we had to unwrap it and inflate it and throw it back into the water before we could shop for groceries. That took a while, so we didn’t leave for the grocery store until 4:30 PM. I had a very complete list, and Larry is a good shopper, so I sent him to gather up some things while I did the picky ones. We hurried back to the boat, had a nice dinner and discussed our plans for the next day. Since we had had such a scare with the battery, we decided to run the engine a while to bring it up to full charge before we went to bed, and that is what we did. We both felt a little gunshy after that unpleasant surprise at the boatyard.
Next morning, I got up a bit before Larry, and I got everything ready to make coffee. Coffee-making requires AC for the grinder and coffeemaker, and that means the inverter. Given our battery scare, I decided not to risk turning on the inverter and using up too much power before we had to start the engine for our trip. When Larry got up, he said, “How are you?” and I said, “Coffeeless.” “Well, I guess I better turn on the engine so we can turn on the inverter,” he said. He turned the key and pushed the button, and all we heard was a click.
This can’t be! This is a brand new battery! We carefully charged it up last night! What is going on!
Larry tried any number of little tricks, but none of them worked. There we were, stopped in our tracks again. After some time for thought, Larry came up with a plan. We were anchored near a marina, less than a quarter of a mile. We would use the dinghy to push the boat to the marina, where we hoped they would let us tie up for a few hours and use their shore power to charge this battery. For the right price, of course!
You would have enjoyed the show. We tied the dinghy to one side of the boat, with any number false starts as we tried to work together despite radically different perceptions of the right way to get this task done. Then Larry climbed into the dinghy and started the outboard. I went into the cockpit and turned the wheel so we could test whether the dinghy could provide enough power to move the boat. It actually worked!
So — the next move was to tie the dock lines and fenders on the other side of the boat and call the marina. I busied myself with lines and fenders, and Larry went back into the boat. I thought he was calling the marina. Then I saw him come back up and sit down beside the starter for the diesel engine. He turned the key, he pushed the button, and miracle of miracles, the engine started.
We both heaved a sigh of relief that we would not need to use the dinghy to move the boat, but neither of us regarded this outcome as a reliable indicator that it was time to head out of town. We called Harborview and arranged to go back so Larry can figure out what really happened and fix the problem.
So here we are. Still in Baltimore. Still not headed south. And I expect that we will be here two or three days. We could be here for a week. It is hard to imagine when we will actually be moving southward. I may even need to shop for groceries again!
Well, at least I have internet, but that is another story. Before we left Harborview for the boatyard, Larry purchased an antenna and software that are supposed to connect to the networking hardware in our laptops and enhance reception of wireless signals. He asked me if I would like to try it, so I did. It didn’t work. We loaded the driver, plugged in the antenna, and nothing. You would have thought I was in a desert. So, we uninstalled the software. I went back to the laptop’s own wireless features, found wireless networks and clicked one to connect. It failed, and I have not been able to connect since. Right now I am using my Dell mini. I hope that using this little guy I can connect to Microsoft support and figure out how to recactivate my network adapters. AAAAAAaaaagggghhhhh!
All I really want is peace and connectivity and the wind in my face as I cruise south. I’m doing just fine, but boy am I flexed!
I have been reminded repeatedly that I have neglected this blog. I apologize to one and all. When we cruised into the islands in Maine, I fell behind, and one thing did not lead to another.
Tonight we are attempting to tie up the final loose ends before we depart on a much longer cruise. We will head south tomorrow, and I don’t really know when we will turn around and head north again. We have dental appointments in Baltimore the first week of June, so maybe that is our hook.
Anyway, I hope you will forgive this long silence and continue to check in on us from time to time. I also hope that every once in a while, you will click the link to email us and just let us know what’s up where you are. We miss our friends, and we love hearing from you even if it is just a hello.
As before, I will only be able to post if we have an internet connection, but I will commit to bring you up to date as often as possible. I have learned that I can’t always keep up with the pictures, but I will try very hard to keep up with the blog.
Thanks to all of our Baltimore friends for your friendship and kindness during our stay at Harborview. We feel richly blessed to have so many wonderful friends.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 31, 2009
The cruising life is full of surprises. Some of them have not been pleasant, some have been quite comical, and a few are simply wonderful blessings.
This week, we had a surprise that turned out to be a real blessing.
We left Camden, Maine, Thursday morning, bound for Searsport. Our objective was to visit the Hamilton Marine store, a primo destination for any and all marine supplies. According to the cruising guide, it was located 1.3 miles from the Searsport town landing. We have been surprised more than once by discovering that anchoring is forbidden today in places where our six-year-old cruising guide says it is allowed. We thought our best course of action was to contact the harbormaster by radio as soon as we got near Searsport and sort out the details.
As we approached the Searsport harbor, I tried to call the harbormaster on VHF channel 16. This is the channel almost everyone monitors in the nautical world. Most harbormasters monitor it, even though they may prefer to be called on some other channel. However, nobody answered. The cruising guide information for Searsport was confusing, because it said the harbormaster would talk on 16, 9 or 10, but we tried all those channels without success. Thinking that we might have been too far away, we waited until we were actually entering the harbor and tried again.
This time, we heard back from the Belfast harbormaster. He though that “Wayne” might be busy or we might just need to try again. That comment confused us, too, although we later came to understand the situation.
At this point, Larry decided that we should go to Stockton Harbor instead. Stockton Harbor is separated from Searsport by a large island and a breakwater that prevents traffic from going between the island and the mainland to get from one harbor to the other. To get to Stockton, we had to turn around and go back out of Searsport harbor and into Stockton.
We quickly fell in love with Stockton harbor. Although there are houses on the shore, as well as a little landing and a small mooring field, it is a large, well-protected harbor surround mostly by trees. Again, however, we were concerned that there might be rules for anchoring here that were not in place at the printing of our guide book. We tried to reach the Stockton harbormaster on channel 16, and again, we received no answer. We were about to anchor anyway when we saw a boat moving in the mooring field. A boat in motion needs someone on board as a general rule, so we thought we might get some information from the captain of that boat.
We reached his boat just as he reached his mooring. We called out to him, telling him that we were trying to find out if there were any restrictions on anchoring and also if he could tell us how to get to Hamilton Marine from there. He called back that we could anchor anywhere. Then he said, “Hamilton Marine isn’t far. It’s actually in Searsport, but I could just drive you there.”
I was so dumfounded that I said, “You’re kidding!”
He shouted back, “No. I’m not kidding. Just meet me over at the dock and I will drive you there. I have an errand I need to run, but I will pick you up at the dock in a few minutes.”
We could not believe our ears. This man who did not even know our names was going to rearrange his day to drive us to Hamilton Marine.
We hurriedly anchored. According to the guide book, the bottom was sticky mud, and the anchor bit in quickly. We were getting the motor mounted on the dinghy when the harbormaster pulled up in his boat.
“Welcome to Stockton Harbor,” he called out. “We hope you will enjoy your stay here.”
We asked if there were any special rules for anchoring, to which he replied there were none. “Bruce told me you would be coming in to the landing,” he said. Then he told us which landing to use and welcomed us again. I was still nervous about our failure to reach him by radio, so I said, “I’m sorry, but we tried to reach you on 16 before we anchored.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I had the radio off.” He was a very informal harbormaster.
At the dock, Bruce Suppes introduced himself and his son. We got in the car and he drove us to the store. As we were riding along, I said, “Do you think we can get a cab to bring us back?” Bruce replied, “Oh, I’ll bring you back. Don’t worry about that.”
He dropped us off, and went to take care of some personal business. Shortly he returned.
As we rode with Bruce to and from the harbor, he told us about the Searsport harbormaster. Searsport is a very small town. The owner of Hamilton Marine is actually the harbormaster, and he is also a pilot for commercial ships in Penobscot Bay. On this particular day, Bruce happened to know that the part-time harbormaster was piloting a big ship down Penobscot Bay. So it wasn’t odd that we received no response. Probably nobody would have cared if we anchored wherever we liked in Searsport, but if we had gone there we would not have met Bruce Suppes.
When we got back to the harbor, we thanked Bruce again, as we had done over and over along the way. “You are very welcome,” he said. “Just pass it on.”
This experience was so delightful, that when we went to the SSCA Gam at Isleboro, our antennas went up when we heard that one of the attendees was from Stockton. After the event had broken up, we dinghied over to the boat from Stockton. We told him that our experience with his town was so good that we were pretty sure anybody from Stockton was a great person. Blake, aboard Alert, assured us that he was, indeed, a great person!
The truth is that there are a lot of wonderful people in the world, but not too many of them would or could step out of their own day to be so kind to anyone as Bruce was to us. He acted as if it were nothing special, but it was truly a blessing and a surprise to us. We want to make sure that we do pass it on the next time somebody needs help from us. It would be a shame to let a blessing like this one grow dusty with disuse.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 12, 2009
Our recent passage from Cape May, New Jersey, to Block Island, Rhode Island, was equivalent to a university education, I think. We learned a lot, including some things we did not want to know.
For example, when a container full of liquid is jounced, it will almost inevitably turn over, and when it does, the liquid spills out. Even if it is only a teaspoon of liquid, once the container turns over, the liquid blooms to a much larger volume. I don’t know if it is consistent with physics or not, but it is a reality. Do you remember the last time your child spilled a half cup of milk on the kitchen floor? You know what I mean.
On our journey the boat was sometimes wallowed by following winds and sometimes jolted by oncoming seas. However, for a few hours on Wednesday evening, the winds were light and the seas were calm compared to our past 36 hours. We were lulled into complacency about liquids, because for the first time in several hours we were not being thrown hither and thither. We decided that we would allow ourselves one glass of wine with dinner. In fact, we were so complacent about it all that we allowed ourselves one glass of red wine. Wouldn’t you think that people who have sailed before would know better?
We ate our dinner in the cockpit. I took up our plates and set them on the bench between us. Then I brought up our stainless steel wine glasses with the non-skid feet. Now this is a caution all by itself. Would you not think that the very fact I thought I needed stainless steel would clue me in to the possibility that the glass would tip and fall over? I guess I was brain-dead, or in a stupor. At any rate, I handed Larry his glass, and he set it on the bench.
“Not there,” I said. “Put it on the non-skid.” I had brought up non-skid placemats for each of us where I expected us to set our plates and glasses. I picked up his glass and set it on the non-skid. About that time, the boat lurched gently and the glass fell over.
“Oh, no!” I cried, and Larry grabbed for the glass to try to pick it up before the wine flowed all over. “Oh, no!” I cried again. “I’ll get you a paper towel.” I set my own glass down on my non-skid placemat, the boat lurched again, and my own glass fell over. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” I cried, running as fast as I could for more paper towels.
This should have been a warning. It certainly was a teachable moment. For a fast learner.
The next morning, we were traveling in ferocious wind that was throwing the boat, and everything in it, all over everywhere. I had learned that even in such wind, the coffeemaker seemed to stand still on the nonskid mat where I placed it. We wanted coffee in the worst way, and unbeknownst to me, that was exactly the way we were going to get it.
I took the coffeemaker out of the sink, where I keep it when under way, and set it on the nonskid mat. I ground my coffee beans and put the ground coffee in the filter holder. I filled the coffeemaker with water, and that was a challenge, I can tell you. I had water all over the counter, but enough went in the pot to make a full batch. That experience should have taught me something too, but I seem to be a slow learner.
When the coffee was done, I observed that the violent motion of the boat had shaken a lot of grounds out of the filter and allowed them to fall into the pot. So what, I said. It is coffee. I poured most of the coffee into a thermos and set it on the nonskid. Why I didn’t put the lid on it right away, I don’t know, but I was really focused on pouring a mug of coffee for Larry. I had an unbreakable coffee mug with a sipping lid, and I started pouring the coffee into Larry’s mug. It wasn’t easy, and I should have already known it wouldn’t be easy, but I poured over the sink to catch drips and overflows. Suddenly we were hit by a powerful wave. The boat lurched to one side, dipped and then rose up suddenly. The thermos of coffee turned over, and coffee began to run all over the counter.
“Oh! ooohhhhh!” I cried. I knew that I need to stop that overflow if we wanted to have any more coffee. “I need to put a lid on that thermos,” I thought as I set Larry’s cup down. I picked up the thermos and the lid just as Larry’s cup fell over and landed upside down in the sink. “Oh! Ooooohhh!” I cried again, trying to grab his cup without losing the thermos.
I think I may have learned my lesson now. A boat in motion is subject to move at any time in any direction. Containers full of liquid are inherently unstable no matter their shape, and any darn fool ought to know better than to set one down anywhere on a moving boat without a sealed lid. Maybe after all this learning I have earned my certificate of achievement as “Any Darn Fool.”
Aboard No Boundaries
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
I’m sitting right where you think I am – in the cockpit. I love my little Dell mini. It is only 9”, but it has a complete keyboard, although some of the keys are in strange places. I can see the Word document clearly, but I struggle to see the cursor. It is bad enough in the glare around me to try to find the little arrow, but finding Word’s insertion point is a real challenge sometimes. It is, in fact, the primary downside to blogging in the cockpit.
As I was preparing to go below to get the computer, I saw what I consider to be the nemesis of boat life – a large black spider. Nobody knows why spiders like boats so much, but there are a lot of stories about them. Personally, I hate them. I love spiders in the woods where they build huge wagonwheel webs to catch insects. I hate spiders on my boathome scuttling about in the cockpit drain. When I see a spider, I pull out all the stops.
In this case, I pulled off my shoes. I found that if I banged them on the deck near the drain where the spider scurried about planning his dastardly deeds, such as invading my bed in the middle of the night, he would stop running, turn around and run the other way. Next I figured out that I could drag one shoe in the drain on one side, which sent him running the other way, and use the other shoe to trap him. He thought he had figured out his escape when he ran under a piece of lint in the drain, but that was his undoing. I smacked the piece of lint with all my might. Maybe it was seven blows, maybe not, but that spider is in webworld heaven now.
During the years that we lived in Baltimore, we were lucky about bugs. In my language, “bugs” covers a multitude of undesirable creatures – flies, spiders, cockroaches and centipedes. We had the occasional impudent fly, along with intermittent visits from wasps and bees. However, we had none of the vermin reputed to infest many harbors. For that, we are profoundly grateful. Now that we have set to sea, we may have a bigger battle on our hands. We shall see.
Ship’s Log
No Boundaries
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Shakedown might mean many different things. The image that usually comes to mind is to shake something really hard until it self-destructs or until it falls into the right place. One does not usually think that the shaking happens to the shaker. Aboard a boat that is exactly what could happen.
We left Baltimore knowing that we still had things to put away and things to test. Our return to Harborview for a week had turned into three, because nothing ever goes as planned. The right part turns out not to be exactly right. The right wire lacks just 2 feet of being long enough. The right screw doesn’t actually work and some different one must be purchased. However, as one week turned into two and then three, we continued to make progress. When everything was wired and in its proper physical location, we let loose the lines and departed. Few things had been tested, which is the point of a shakedown cruise. Of course, you already know that we were shaken pretty thoroughly by a torrential rainstorm as we gritted our teeth and left anyway. Still, this was not the sort of shakedown we envisioned when we said that we needed a shakedown cruise.
The real shaking down had to wait for us to finish all the putaway and cleanup and a few more little projects. However, as usual on a boat, no matter how much is finished, something else jumps up and demands attention. On Friday evening, just as I set dinner on the table, Larry reached up and switched on the overhead light. It flashed brightly and died. New lightbulb required. We have the lightbulb, and replacing it is not a big thing. We just did not need to add that task to the list at the moment.
On Saturday, as I was preparing dinner, I observed that the refrigerator was not as cold as it should be. We defrosted right before we left Harborview, then filled it to the brim with food. The refrigerator needed to be cold. Since a cooler setting would require the compressor to run more than to maintain the existing setting, we decided not to change the setting until morning, when we would be running the generator. We did that, but at noon, long after the generator had been turned off, the refrigerator compressor was still running. The task of trouble-shooting the refrigerator and possibly adding refrigerant or working on some part loomed over what should have been our Sabbath. Fortunately, after looking at everything and analyzing the situation, Larry concluded that we just needed a little more patience for it to get to the new setting.
What was being shaken was the shakers, the people who are supposed to be in charge. It happens all the time in liveaboard world. We sometimes feel as if we might have been assaulted by a rat terrier with a good grip on our necks. It takes strong sense of purpose and unstoppable determination to be cruisers.