We left our lovely anchorage in the Berry Islands on Saturday, January 30. We wanted to go somewhere to restock provisions, refill our propane and maybe find a piece of hardware that Larry needed. We could go either to Nassau or Spanish Wells, both destinations within an easy day’s passage. After researching charts and guide books, and a few conversations with cruisers who were knowledgeable about Nassau, we chose Spanish Wells.
Our departure from the White Cay anchorage was uneventful, unlike our arrival. We headed into the Northwest Providence Channel and watched as the depth gauge recorded 53 feet, 281 feet and soon gave up on recording the depth altogether. The chart said 2000 feet. That was good enough for us.
At the tip of Eleuthera a number of islands enclose a shallow, protected sound. The approach to Spanish Wells through that sound is shallow enough that our boat, drawing 6’4” might ground at low water. Furthermore, in the Bahamas, someone should always be reading the water when crossing the shallow banks, a task requiring bright overhead sunlight.We arrived at the sound late in the afternoon, not enough sun for reading the bottom. There is an easy channel through the sound to the entrance of a lovely harbor at Royal Island, and we chose that anchorage where we could wait for the right combination of tide and light for the entrance to Spanish Wells.
When the day came, we found ourselves in a virtual parade of three boats from Royal Island to Spanish Wells. The mooring field has only 7 moorings, and after we arrived, only one was left. During our visit, many boats came and went, and sometimes all 7 were taken.
Spanish Wells is nothing like Nassau. Nassau is a busy metropolitan community with a reputation for violence and crime. Spanish Wells has a population probably less than 2000 where the theft of a golf cart by two joy-riding teenagers is big news. Golf carts are more numerous than cars on the streets, although many people have one of each. Stores are small, and with they all close Noon – 1:30PM for lunch. Except for Pinder’s, they close all afternoon on Wednesday. We found that all stores of any type were small, poorly lit, and usually had bare spaces on the shelves. The person in attendance at the store might or might not know the products but was inevitably friendly and helpful in every way.
We met some lovely people in Spanish Wells. We enjoyed getting to know Tom and Jordan aboard the catamaran St. Christopher. We met Tom and Jean, retired cruisers who live in Spanish Wells, but still take their identity from their boat, M/V Amadon Light. S/V Samba from Baltimore moored nearby for a couple of days. We visited the Methodist Church on Sunday and were welcomed warmly. Diana and Wayne aboard S/V CAVU arrived in the mooring field on Monday, the 8th, and it took about 5 minutes to become their lifelong friends.
During our first day at Spanish Wells, we decided to go looking for Larry’s hardware piece. We tied up the dinghy beside Pinder’s Grocery and went inside just to look around. They told us that we might find Larry’s hardware at Ronald’s store a few blocks away, so we got back in the dinghy and motored along the shore looking for a place to tie up near Ronald’s. We found nothing until we were almost back to the mooring field. Then we saw some steps leading up from the water to the street. It was low tide, so we had to wade after grounding the dinghy. We have a long painter, which was convenient for tying up the dinghy in this situation.
While Larry was finishing the tie-up, an elderly man standing beside the street came over and introduced himself. He was curious about who we were and where we came from and our boat and our mission ashore. When he found out that we were headed for Ronald’s store, he said, “Oh, he won’t be open today. It’s Wednesday.” Well, for starters, we had both forgotten that it was Wednesday, but if we had remembered, we would not have expected stores to close. In the US, it used to be that doctors all closed on Wednesday afternoon, but that practice seems to be a thing of the past in our multi-tasking world where even kindergartners have planners. In Spanish Wells, I don’t think anyone owns a planner.
Our new friend, Mason, certainly didn’t have one. When he realized that our plans were doomed to failure that day, he invited us into his home. His house is right across the street from the steps where we were tying up. In the US, you would never expect someone to invite a complete stranger into his home, especially if that stranger just arrived in town by boat. We were a bit nervous about the invitation, but we needn’t have been. Mason was genuine and very hospitable.
Inside, we met his wife Donna, who was just as delightful as Mason. We visited with them for a while before Donna said, “You are cruisers. You should meet Tom and Jean who live behind us. They used to cruise, too, and they love meeting new cruisers.” She led us out the back door and across the yard to meet Tom and Jean, but not before she presented me with two tomatoes and two peppers. “You might like to have something fresh,” she said.
We walked over to Tom and Jean’s house where we were greeted warmly. Tom and Jean retired from permanent cruising to a home on land several years ago. They keep their trawler M/V Amadon Light on a mooring near Charles Island, very close to the location where our boat was moored. As soon as greetings had been exchanged, Jean invited us to join other boaters due to arrive soon for cocktails on the porch. The custom is that whoever joins them brings something and everybody shares. Unfortunately, we had not prepared, but Jean made us welcome anyway. Tom and Jordan from St Christopher arrived first, then Pat and Miriam from Skye2. Jean had invited Donna and Mason when they introduced us, and they came along later. Finally, Pat from the catamaran Miss Kitty stopped by with a tale of woe regarding their repairs. He was invited to join the party, so he hurried away, returning shortly with his wife Lyn. That little front porch buzzed with chatter and laughter and good fellowship.
After we left, we felt we had been among good friends, even though we hardly knew any of the people. In our subsequent comings and goings around the island we kept running into one or another of the people who had enjoyed that cocktail hour. I decided that we needed to repay our social obligations, so I made some date bread. We took the bread with us on Sunday when we visited the Methodist Church and distributed it afterward.
When we stopped at Donna and Mason’s house, they invited us in. We had intended to simply drop off the bread and go back to the boat, but they would have none of it. We went in and visited for a few minutes before we realized that they were about to sit down to lunch. We tried to excuse ourselves, and Donna said, “Well come back soon. By the way, would you like to watch the Super Bowl with us tonight?” Would we? We would, indeed. We returned shortly after 6:30PM with some snacks to share, and the party was on. We had missed the kickoff, but we saw most of the game. It was one of the best Super Bowl games I have ever seen.
I chose to cheer for the Saints. It was a difficult choice. My brother lives in Indiana, so I wondered if I should support the Colts. However, I love Cajun food, and food won. The Saints won, too. We all whooped it up, especially through the second half. During commercial breaks, Mason entertained with some great stories. When the evening was over, we both agreed that we could not have had more fun anywhere.
On another day, I walked to the Food Fair to pick up a few more things. On my first trip, I didn’t know the store, and I failed to find some of the things I wanted. Since we remained in Spanish Wells longer than we had originally planned, I thought I would try to find some of the things I missed on the first trip.
Spanish Wells is on a very small island. The island is no more than a half mile wide, so I walked across to the beach on the Atlantic side and walked the beach to get to the store. It was low tide, the sun was shining, the breeze was pleasant and the water was gorgeous. The beach was completely deserted except for a backhoe and its operator working on a seawall along the way to the store. I had a delightful walk.
At Food Fair, I was fortunate to find most of the things I had missed on my first trip. I had to plan my purchases carefully, because I needed to be sure I could carry them back to the dock where Larry would come for me in the dinghy. After I paid for my purchases and walked outside, I stopped to adjust things in one of the bags for better balance. A lady with bags in her hands approached me.
“Where are you going?” she asked. I pointed across the street. “I’m going to 18th street and then down to the water,” I said.
“Oh, good. Can you give me a lift?” she asked. Regrettably, I had to decline, since I was afoot also. We fell into conversation, and I learned that she is visiting friends on the island. Her home is Quebec, and the Bahamas are much nicer in the winter than her small home town in Canada. Eventually our paths diverged and we went our separate ways. It seems to be typical of this little town that everyone talks to everyone regardless of whether they actually know each other.
So here we are still. The weather for the next few days will not be optimal for cruising. We are tucked in at a location that is safe regardless of wind direction and speed, up to hurricane force. No hurricanes are imminent here, although the storm that has pounded the US is predicted become an extratropical storm at hurricane strength. We are thankful that it is far enough away that we will feel only distant small effects from it. One of the delights of cruising is the freedom to stay or go for whatever reason seems good. We plan to remain through Saturday and leave early Sunday morning with the tide. In the meantime, we will continue to enjoy our friends and neighbors in Spanish Wells.
Friday, January 22
When we left Port Lucaya, we warned all our readers that it would be a while before we had internet again. We were right. However, I did not think it would be as long as it has actually been. This is a learning experience for all of us. My expectations for the interval were probably shorter than yours. We had a plan that didn’t turn out, and that is likely to be a pattern with us now. We are into a cruising experience that does not lend itself to schedules or multi-tasking or productivity planning.
The most important variable every day is the weather. We are very faithful to listen at 6:30AM every day to Chris Parker, the resident meteorologist for the Bahamas and the Caribbean. We try to hear some other broadcasts as well, but we make it a point not to miss his. The weather forecast guides our preparations. If we are at anchor, we evaluate our setting for its value as shelter for the winds predicted that day. If we are planning to cruise, we study the forecast for a good opportunity to reach our destination without bad weather, big winds or ugly seas.
I describe this process, because it is important to help you understand our past few days.
We left Port Lucaya early on the morning of Wednesday, January 20. Our destination was Great Harbor, a large anchorage just south of Great Stirrup Cay. If you look on Google maps for the Berry Islands in the Bahamas, the Stirrup Cays are on the northeast tip of that group of islands. We spent a couple of days there enjoying the clear water and watching cruise ship passengers play in the water.
On Friday, January 22, we headed south planning to go to Frazers Hog Cay. However, as happens sometimes, along the way we spied a little cove that looked interesting and decided to stop there first. We thought that if we didn’t like it, we could continue the next day to our original destination. This little cove is bounded by White Cay, Devils Cay. and Saddleback Cay. Here is where the devil comes in.
We studied the chart and the guide books. The entrance is narrow and bounded by rocks. One must pay close attention going in, and it is important to make a turn to starboard at the right point to get to the marked anchorage off the lovely white sand beach of White Cay. However, sometimes little islands like these do not look the same in reality as they looked in our minds when studying the chart.
We turned into the entrance, and that part worked well, Unfortunately, as we passed the rocky shoal that guards the entrance, we became disoriented and continued too far past the spot where we should have turned. Before we realized the error, we ran aground on a rocky reef. The tide was coming in, and the tidal current no doubt moved us toward the reef faster than we recognized. We attempted to use the engine to back off and then to turn around, but in the middle of our efforts the engine stopped. It refused to restart. We were in a mess.
Experienced Bahamian cruisers say, just as ICW cruisers say, that there are two kinds of cruisers: those who have gone aground, and those who lie. Experienced Bahamian cruisers are fairly nonchalant about this sort of a predicament. We were not and are not yet experienced Bahamian cruisers. We are still learning how to do it.
In the US, a situation like this is very annoying, but no big deal. You call a towboat, you pay the bill, and you move on. In the Bahamas, there are no official towboats. The Bahamian volunteer rescue service focuses on life-and-death emergencies, which our problem was not. However, we made a radio call attempting to connect with someone who could help, and thanks to the kindness and experience of Bill and Barb on S/V Duet, a catamaran anchored nearby behind Devils Cay, we received the help we needed.
Bill and Barb have been cruising the Bahamas for 34 years. They are quite humble about their experience, saying that they have already made all the mistakes, so they know how to help other people. The fact is that they give of themselves without any accounting. They are generous and kind and they go above and beyond any sort of obligation to help one’s neighbor. We think they are angels.
When Bill and Barb arrived, we had just deployed our dinghy. Larry was in the dinghy with the anchor, and I was hauling anchor chain out, loading it in the dinghy. Our plan was to set the anchor in deeper water and use it to pull ourselves off the reef. We had the theory of the process right, but we might never have succeeded without Bill and Barb.
Before they arrived, we had set all our sails, hoping to catch the wind that was blowing in the direction we wanted to go toward deep water, but every time the wind pushed us toward deep water, the current pushed us back to shallow water. We were making no progress toward deep water, and the sails were doing what sails usually do, pulling us forward. By the time they got there we had moved dangerously close to Saddleback Cay, but we were so busy trying to deploy the anchor that we had lost our focus on the effect of the sails. Bill and Barb boiled out of their dinghy and doused the sails. That stopped our crawl toward Saddleback and allowed everyone to focus on the goal of getting the boat back into deep water.
The whole situation was made much more difficult by the wind and current that buffeted us and tried to take us all where nobody wanted to go. However, we were quite fortunate that we ran aground on a rising tide. Even though the current of the rising tide was against us, when it finally turned, it worked with us. The wind was blowing in the a helpful direction, but until the tide turned, it could not give us any headway against the tidal current. After the tide turned, the wind, the current, and all our efforts were pulling the boat toward deep water.
Larry and Bill worked together to set first one anchor, then the other. Barb and I were on deck pulling the anchor rode in. That is how we caused the boat to move.
It was a time for celebration when we finally had the boat floating. We used both of our anchors to pull us into a better position, and finally we were in a location where even the swing of the boat on our primary anchor was unlikely to run on the reef again. Because we were in the path of the tidal current, however, we deployed the second anchor to assure that we were not pushed to a less desirable position. Whew!
Our location was exposed to the cove entrance, but it was a good jumping-off place for us to sail out whenever the wind was right. Since we did not have a working engine, it seemed possible that we might have to do that. We thanked Bill and Barb profusely, and they went back to their day, planning to do some diving in the time remaining.
Several times throughout the days to come, Barb and Bill checked on our well-being. It wasn’t enough that they had put their lives aside for us at the time of crisis. They continued to be concerned for us. When another boat ran aground in a different nearby location, Bill and Barb again made time to help them and followed up with them, too. Both we and the crew of the S/V Mary Rose agree that the S/V Duet has a crew of angels.
Larry and I sat quietly in the cockpit trying to collect ourselves. We were both exhausted. We could not imagine how Bill and Barb would be in the mood to go diving after wearing themselves out helping us. Larry made a few stabs at starting the engine, but it simply refused. We were in a safe place, we could take our time working on the next step, so we simply let go of the problem. It is hard to describe, but we both felt that God was very much watching over us, and we could be at peace about this situation. We had a nice dinner, we took showers, we got a good night’s sleep. A fresh new day would dawn in the morning.
Tomorrow, Day 2 will post.
Aboard No Boundaries
January 4, 2010
Before we ever set out to visit the Bahamas, friends with experience gave us a somber warning. “Be sure you get across before Christmas. The Christmas winds can keep you waiting for days and days.” I wondered what that meant, because I could not find that term anywhere – Christmas winds. I know now what that is all about.
One of our guide books tells the story in more scientific, therefore more cryptic, language. It talks about the fronts that line up to the west of Florida (I deduced that they must form first in the Great Plains) and roll across that state into the Atlantic and across the Bahamas. These fronts come in from the west, but they usually have a northerly component, a dead stop for any plan to cross the Gulf Stream. The description accorded nicely with the comments of other friends about the parade of fronts across the Bahamas in the winter. I filed all this information in my mental folder for the Bahamas and there it sat, waiting for a time when it would be needed.
Well, here we are, still in Florida on January 4. And now we are learning firsthand what the “Christmas winds” are all about.
We never intended to be here in January. When we cruised into St. Marys, GA, on November 30, we thought we needed a few days to do some work on the generator. We might even need to deliver it to the Panda shop in Ft. Lauderdale. We thought a week or ten days ought to do it. However, the math on the rates for Langs Marina showed that if we paid for a month, then, after ten days, the rest of the month was essentially free. We said to ourselves, “What if it takes eleven days, or even twelve?” We never thought for a minute that it would take a whole month.
In fact, when Larry called the Panda folks to tell them that he had done all the tests they recommended at first report of our problem, he expected them to tell him right then that he should put the generator in the shop. Instead, they gave him more tests to run. He did what they advised, and he talked back and forth. It seemed as if all this conversation went on forever. Finally, on Friday, December 18, we delivered the generator to the shop. All the dithering over what to do about this generator had taken almost three weeks, and we seemed to be no nearer a solution than when we started.
We were concerned about all the time it took, but we were more concerned about the likely cost. Even though the generator was still in warranty, we worried that somehow, the work we needed might be ruled out of warranty. You just never know. So here we were, one week before Christmas, and no generator.
The day we delivered it, Larry wanted to arrange to pick it up as soon as possible. He delivered it to Panda at 8AM on Friday morning, and he expected to pick it upon the following Monday afternoon. The service manager quickly disabused him of that expectation. He told Larry to call on Monday afternoon, and then he could give him a better idea when to pick it up.
Larry persisted in his faith that we could pick up the generator at least by Tuesday morning, but we deferred making hotel reservations for the trip until after that call. It was a very good idea. We learned on Monday afternoon that the service team still had no idea when they could give the generator back to us. They seemed not quite sure what it would take to get it working, and they were quite professional in their determination not to guess or string us along with promises or hints of promises that they could not keep. Needless to say, Larry and I speculated endlessly, constantly concerned that we would get a huge bill along with the repaired generator.
Despite all our worries, Panda made the generator good and completed the work under warranty. We are deeply thankful that they saw it that way. We would have loved to get the generator back a lot sooner, but when we pulled into the marina at 5PM on Christmas Eve with the generator in the back of our rented jeep, we felt good about its condition. Unfortunately, the long delay occasioned by the repair did not get us across the Gulf Stream before Christmas.
We enjoyed Christmas Eve with friends. Mike and Suzanne Pillola hosted the evening at their home in St. Marys. We sang and feasted and played games with Roger and Bonnie Ford and our hosts before attending Christmas Eve worship at Christ Episcopal Church. We relaxed on Christmas Day, enjoying a nice dinner and lovely Christmas music all day. (I think we have every Christmas album Mannheim has ever released, plus lots of other great stuff.)
Then it was time to get the generator back into the boat and working again. Larry put it through its paces to confirm that the repairs had, indeed, put it back in working order. All this work was not complete until New Years Eve. We were not ready to leave the marina until New Years Day. We were in for a big shock.
We had no idea the freeze of the century was about to drop in on us, not to mention the Christmas winds.
We had regretted for several days that we had never been able to visit Cumberland Island due to the constant confusion surrounding the generator repairs. We left the marina on New Years Day in a light rain. We said to ourselves that we would not like to walk around the island in the rain. We would visit it the next day. From that day to this it has not been a fit day to go strolling about in the outdoors.
We started following the weather the week intensely the week before New Years Day, and I was unhappy to see that the winds were almost constantly from the northwest. As I watched day after day, this state of affairs continued. When we left the marina, I remember saying hopefully that maybe the winds would change on Wednesday, the day after the last day in the forecast cycle. From that day to this, I keep hoping the same thing – that in five or six days the winds will change. The fronts keep rolling through, and the wind keeps coming at us from the northwest.
I don’t know when this state of affairs will improve. Not only are all the winds from the wrong direction, but we are also in the grip of arctic cold, something we certainly did not expect at the border of Florida. As we check cities down the coast, we can see that the situation is not dramatically better in any location we could reach in two or three days, even if we were willing to go out into the ocean at these temperatures. Wind from the northwest is not itself a problem when we go south along the coast, but a northwest wind at 20 knots and a temperature of even 40 degrees feels quite cold. The forecasts do not indicate that the deep freeze will relent soon.
So here we are still, trapped by the Christmas Winds. We will get to the Bahamas sometime. We take it a day at a time. Nothing enforces flexible decision-making like cruising in a sailboat,.
November 22, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
I have been telling you how early we get up each day. Even on the ICW, with the exception of our first day, we are getting up at 5:30AM in order to cover a lot of territory before dark. Anchoring in the dark is no fun. We want to be ready to stop around 4PM in order to be set and comfortable before the sun goes down.
Sometimes this strategy actually works.
When we were cruising this summer, we managed to adhere to this strategy with one exception: Provincetown. An assortment of issues conspired to delay our departure from Boston until noon, resulting in an arrival time in Provincetown, at the end of Cape Cod, around 8PM. We could see our destination as the sun began to set around 6PM that night, but it is a long trip around the little curl at the end of Cape Cod before you actually get into Provincetown Harbor. It was fully dark before we rounded the end of that curl. We crept into the harbor, almost running into the breakwater in the dark. We thought it would be an actual wall, but it appeared to be just a pile of rocks that stuck up a foot or two above the water. Provincetown is a very small town. There is very little light at 8PM down on the waterfront and no signs of life. The moon wasn’t much help as we anchored in deep darkness using flashlights, e-chart and grit. We didn’t do it because we love to prove ourselves; we did it because it was necessary.
We had to do the same thing in the Sassafrass River on our way back to Baltimore. We had run up Delaware Bay with the intention of transiting the C&D Canal before we stopped, because finding shelter along that monster bay is no simple task. We also were quite ready to get back home, and this was a good way to get there sooner. The result, of course, was that we entered the Sassafrass just after 2AM. Again, there was little moonlight, and again we felt our way to a successful anchorage.
We had planned to avoid such issues when in the ICW. In the first place, the ICW anchorages are almost all quite confined. There isn’t a lot of room for error, due to the constant challenge of shoals and stumps and snags. It would be easy to get in a mess if you try to anchor when you can’t see. Yet on Saturday (11/21) we found ourselves doing it again.
We had left Buck Island Harbor about 6:45AM. We got up early as always and were ready to leave as it got light. The run down the North River was uneventful. Crossing Albemarle Sound reminded me of cruising on the Chesapeake. We passed through the Alligator River Bridge and headed for the Alligator-Pungo River Canal.
It was about 1:30PM when we saw a couple of sailboats ahead of us pull out of the channel into a tiny little spot near shore where they appeared to be anchoring. We were near the entrance to the Alligator-Pungo Canal, and I asked Larry why they would be anchoring there. It isn’t a designated anchorage, and it was not long past noon. “Maybe they don’t think they can get to the end of the canal before dark,” he said.
That was a sobering thought that I had not considered. The canal is 25 miles long. It was 1:30PM. At best we were making about 6 knots. Sunset would be 4:55PM. Whoa! Maybe we would not get to the end of this canal before dark either, and there is NO place to stop in the canal.
The longer we were in this canal, the less I liked it. The scenery is quite picturesque, even a little spooky. I love swamp landscapes, and this one was lovely. However, twenty-five miles of it was almost more than I needed. The ambience was not improved when our 8-foot depth alarm went off in the middle of the channel, supposedly in 15 feet of water. There was a thump and a scraping sound, and then nothing. The depth went back to 15 feet and we went on. It was probably a log that washed into the channel during recent heavy rains.
At the end of the canal is a fixed bridge charted at 65 feet of clearance. I didn’t look, and we didn’t thud, and we soon exited that canal. Off to the right in the upper reaches of the Pungo River is a designated anchorage where we had considered stopping. However, we had also looked for a slightly better spot a couple of miles downriver, and that is a good thing. There were already eight boats in the designated anchorage. We could certainly have found a place there, but we don’t like crowded anchorages. Every time we see a crowd of boats anchored together, it calls up images of the anchorage at Newport, RI. We don’t like that kind of close communion.
We continued downriver to a spot where we could anchor in 8 feet of water in a more sheltered location. We were just about to finish our work when another sailboat came cruising in to be our neighbor. It isn’t that we don’t like friends and neighbors, but with all that water to choose from, why did this boat want to be right next to us? Oh well. We used our flashlight and our e-chart and our grit and we got the anchor set just the way we wanted it.
We were exhausted. We had arisen before it was day, and we cruised until it wasn’t day again. We ate a simple supper and went right to bed. Boy, am I glad we are retired and don’t have to work for a living any more, getting up at the crack of dawn and working until we keel over into bed at night. I bet everyone would like to be retired and on permanent vacation like we are!
November 18, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
AAaaahhhh. Early morning. What do you think that means? For us it is very early, 4AM, and it is cool. Not frigid, but cool enough that we need jackets. We haul out our foul weather gear, because it is impervious to wind. That makes all the difference, of course. If the wind can’t get to you, then you can ignore the cold.
Larry takes the helm and I go forward with a big spotlight so I can make the day markers visible when there is no associated light. And if the marker is lighted, the day mark shows the number, which is critical to success. Just any red marker won’t do if you actually need marker number 22.
When we decided to make our run south, we knew that we needed to get far south in a hurry. It was already the middle of November. Any nice days this time of year are complete gifts, and we knew we needed to make the most of what looked like a few days of good weather. We want to anchor whenever possible, and knowing that it is easier to anchor in daylight, the best way to lengthen our productive time is to start early. It is much easier to leave a spot in the dark if you arrived in the daylight, and it is much easier to follow your inward track back out in the dark than to create a new track and anchor successfully in a strange place in the dark.
Three days in a row we were up at 4AM and out by 5AM. It was a real adjustment. We always used to say that no matter what we did, we could not get going before 11AM, but these days we are setting new records. As a result, we were able to run 78 miles on Sunday and arrive in the Patuxent in plenty of time to anchor before the sun set.
Our departure from Baltimore at 5AM was quite interesting. Even though we had passed in and out along that channel many times by daylight, it all looked quite different in the dark. We were really glad that we were in familiar territory. Our departure from the Patuxent at 5AM was a challenge, however. It was an occasion for gratitude for e-charting and saved tracks. I could illuminate the markers as we passed them by using a flashlight, but some of them still seemed to be in strange places.
The best experience of all was the Wicomico River. We cruised into this river shortly after lunch on Monday. We decided to stop there, because there really wasn’t an acceptable place to anchor between the Wicomico and Norfolk without going a long way off our real course. Being there reminded us of being in South Dakota, where our anchorages were truly remote.
We went upriver in the Wicomico to a bend where there was good protection from the north, the predicted wind direction. We had a little challenge anchoring, because the force of the river current was in conflict with the force of the wind. However, our second try dug in nicely. The wind died down to almost nothing by evening and remained calm all night.
Along the bank of the river we could see three or four houses, but that is all. When the sun went down, there were lights in one of the houses and a few lights on one of the boat docks. However, for the most part, the dark of night was truly dark. Beyond hills to the east we could see a glow that no doubt came from some small community, but it was nothing compared to the light in the sky anywhere in the area near Baltimore and Annapolis. Standing on deck in the Wicomico River, we could hear frogs and birds making their night calls, sounds we would never have heard farther north. We looked up and saw a brilliant night sky. I could actually pick out the Pleiades, a faint little constellation I love.
When we got up at 4AM in the Wicomico, there were absolutely no lights anywhere near. I shined my light on the markers and Larry steered to the saved track from the day before. We successfully stayed off the shoals between us and the mouth of the river. It was so dark and so clear that I saw 4 meteors between our anchorage and the main bay. We were joined by a parade of huge fishing boats as we exited the river, but they went their way and we went ours.
Now we are on the ICW, where our days are controlled by bridge openings. I guess we won’t need to get up at 4AM here. I can enjoy the extra sleep, but there actually is something very special about the sky in the deep darkness of real night. I am glad we made our early morning getaways on this passage.
November 17, 2009
Aboard No Boundaries
The alarm went off at 4AM yesterday. Actually it goes off at that time every day now.
Some retirement this is! If you want lazy days and restful nights, do not retire and go cruising on a sailboat.
We eventually talked ourselves into getting out of bed. It was cold – we have no heat since leaving the marina. We must manage our electricity wisely. (If we had a propane heater, then we would need to manage the propane wisely, too. It’s always something.) It was dark – we were not in downtown Baltimore any more. In fact, we were in St. Johns Creek, just off the Patuxent River at Solomon Island. We made 78 miles on Sunday, in the hope that such a firm break would assure us of not winding up in Harborview again at day’s end.
The cockpit panes were covered with condensation. Larry wiped them down while I got coffee going. We planned our strategy, and shortly after 0530 we were turning into the channel of the Patuxent. I had remained on deck to shine a flashlight on the day markers as we passed them on our way out, but at this point I went below to log our position. When I went back up to the cockpit, I grabbed the absorber we were using to wipe the cockpit panes. As I stepped out to the aft deck, I saw a boat behind us with flashing blue lights.
You know how you get all nervous when a cop with red lights flashing comes up behind, and then you heave a sigh of relief when he passes you and continues down the road to bother someone else. Larry and I watched this boat approach and we felt pretty sure it couldn’t be about us. Who know we were even here? And who cared?
As it turned out, it was the Coast Guard, and they cared a lot. They cared so much that they boarded us and asked us to show them all sorts of things. I wondered later if we had waited to leave until Tuesday, or maybe Friday, would they have made their quota for the week already? I don’t really know how it all works.
The good part was that the two young men who boarded us were polite, professional and thorough. They simply asked us to show them that we were in compliance with Coast Guard regulations – like carrying our registration, possessing the proper life jackets, and so forth. When they were done, they entered all the information into a Palm Pilot and printed us a receipt with the image of Larry’s signature on it.
We appreciate everything the Coast Guard does. We certainly could not complain about being boarded, although I sort of hope that if it happens again, it will be in daylight. Still, it is a good thing they are doing, and it was really nice to meet some of them personally in a situation where we were not in danger. We all count on the Coast Guard every time we go out on the water. Even though it unnerved me to be boarded, it was not a bad experience at all. I take this opportunity to say to one and all that if the people we met are representative of the Coast Guard, our country is well served.
Nonetheless, after they stepped over the lifelines and back onto their own boat, I breathed a sign of relief. It was just like spelling in the third grade. I always knew those words, and I could spell them forward and backward, but I worried every single week that I would miss a word. I was soooooo glad when the test was over. That is how I felt when our boarding was over. We looked behind us as they left and saw them approach another boat just entering the river. It was somebody else’s turn in the barrel. Whew!
Aboard No Boundaries
July 31, 2009
When my daughter or my son in St. Louis discovers in the midst of meal preparation a need for a green bell pepper, either of them can step outside, get in a car and drive less than a mile to the grocery store. They could discover the need for the pepper, solve the problem, and be back on task making dinner in thirty minutes.
Not so for us. We live and cruise on a sailboat, we have no permanent address other than our mailing service, and our car is an inflatable, soft-bottomed dinghy. When I discover in the midst of meal prep that I need a green bell pepper, I must either have one on hand or do without, because I am not likely to be near a grocery store. Even if a grocery store is less than a mile away, as when we were moored in the harbor in Camden, Maine, the process required to get to and from that grocery store would stop anyone from casually running out for one little thing like that.
When we were in Newport, a little boy waiting with his parents for a harbor cruise to start watched us getting in our dinghy. We were loading our shopping bags and trying to arrange everything so there was still room for us, and he watched intently.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“We’re going home,” I replied.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“We live on a boat. This is our car,” I replied.
When we need to get the “car” ready for a shore excursion, it isn’t as simple as jumping in the car parked in the driveway.
Because our dinghy is soft-bottomed, it can be completely deflated and folded up. We can tow it behind us if we wish, but we can also deflate it, fold it up, wrap it in a cover and strap it down on deck. When we are traveling long distances at sea, this is a good solution. It is certainly possible for anything on deck to become dislodged and blow away, but when this dinghy is wrapped up and strapped down, it is very secure. As we were transiting the Cape Cod Canal on our way to Maine, we heard a sailboat captain reporting a lost dinghy to the Coast Guard. He was towing the dinghy in a gale with thirty-five knot winds when it flipped over and became separated from the sailboat. He made the report in hopes that someone would find it on shore and report the discovery to the Coast Guard. It sounded a lot like wishful thinking, because the most common theft from sailboats is the dinghy. Still, my first thought was that a dinghy firmly compressed and strapped down to the deck was less at risk of such an accident than one dragged behind the boat.
However, the down side of our plan is that if the dinghy is strapped down securely for our passage, there is a big job ahead of us after we anchor. When we do decide to go to the grocery store, or sightseeing, or whatever, we must remove the straps, unfold the cover, spread out the dinghy, inflate it, attach the oars and the seat, and then lift it up over the side in order to drop it in the water. Inflating it would be a breeze if the battery-powered inflator ever actually had a charge when we need it; usually, Larry winds up doing it manually (which should be “footfully,” since he pumps it with his foot). Then we need to pull our “car” to the stern of the boat where our boarding ladder is located.
Ah, but we are not done yet. It is highly unlikely that we want to row the dinghy to the local town dock. It might be very close, as is the case when we anchor in Baltimore near the Safeway store, but more than likely, we will be far enough from our destination that rowing is not the most desirable solution. In this case we need the outboard motor.
When not in use, the motor is mounted on the stern rail of the boat. As you might guess, Larry doesn’t grab the motor and carry it down the ladder to mount it on the dinghy. Instead, we have a block and tackle on our stern arch that allows me to easily lower the motor to the dinghy where Larry can screw it on securely. It isn’t hard to do, but it takes more time.
Next, I hand the gasoline can and hoses down to Larry. He attaches them, pumps up the gas pressure, and starts the motor. That is, if he remembered to take the key with him. Sometimes he does, and sometimes he doesn’t. The key is stored in the main salon, so if he forgot it, I run down and retrieve it.
At this point, the dinghy is ready to take us to the grocery store. However, we must still get ourselves ready to go. We won’t be able to park the dinghy in the grocery store parking lot, so we must be prepared to get our groceries from the store to the dinghy dock. When we go shopping, each of us wears a backpack with several large tote bags inside. These bags hold more than the grocery store plastic bags, and they are more durable, also. We use the backpacks to carry heavy items like milk, meat, and cabbage. We put crackers, cans and bread in the tote bags. You would be surprised how much we can carry back with us at one trip. It would usually be an option to get a cab for the return trip, but these bags have worked well for us to date. And the cab solution doesn’t help with getting the items into the dinghy or up the boarding ladder at the boat. Our tote bags can be stuffed and stacked in the dinghy so that things don’t fly out or get wet from the spray as we go back to the boat. They don’t prevent things from getting wet if it has rained and there is water in the dinghy.
That situation presents another problem we must solve. Most of the time, when someone gets into a car to drive to the store, there won’t be water all over the floor. Often, when we get ready to ride somewhere in the dinghy there is water inside. Whether or not there is water when we start, we must be prepared for spray to fly in, and of course, it could rain. We have two small plastic storage bags just the right size for a pair of shoes, and a large bag that is big enough for our computer backpacks, or jackets or anything else we want to keep dry. Getting our “car” ready to go takes some time.
After we get ready, and after we do our shopping or computer work or whatever is the purpose of our journey we must return the same way we came. Arriving back at the boat, our first challenge is actually to grab the ladder. We are getting better at it, but it isn’t a guarantee yet that we will do it on the first try. Having grabbed the ladder, we must position the dinghy so that I can get up on the ladder and hitch the dinghy’s painter to the top rung, the one that doesn’t move. (Don’t ask me why the rope on the dinghy is a painter when the rope on the jib is a sheet. I live a nautical life, but I am still adjusting to the lingo.) Then while I stand on the ladder, Larry hands me one bag at a time and I hoist it up on deck. When everything is unloaded, we let the motor run the gasoline out before we stop for the day.
If we expect to use the dinghy again while we are moored or anchored, that is the end of the work on our “car” for a while. However, if this is the last trip, then we must reverse all our getting ready – hoist the motor back onto the stern rail, drag the dinghy around to the side, lift it up on deck, remove the oars and the seat, deflate it, fold it up, wrap it and strap it down.
It gives new meaning to the question, “Honey, is the car ready?”
Aboard No Boundaries
July 19, 2009
When I was a child, I loved fairy tales, whether told in poetry or prose. Often when a situation developed in a bad direction, the storyteller would say things like, “Alas, poor Jack was doomed,” or “Alack, there was no hope.” That is how we feel after our attempt to repair the clew of our genoa.
The Sailrite sewing machine we purchased as part of our preparation to cruise is advertised with language suited to the Unsinkable Molly Brown. You would almost expect it to walk on water. We thought it would enable us to fix any sail problem that beset us as we cruised. We wanted to be as self-sufficient as possible, and we considered this sewing machine to be a key element in our bag of tricks.
Sadly, even Sailrite has its limitations.
When I undertook to mend the binding on the sail’s edge, my biggest challenge was simply to keep the fabric moving. Every few stitches I needed to drag that big sail forward again. Such exercise will keep you out of the gym, I can tell you. However, as far as the sewing machine was concerned, it was a trivial challenge. It stitched along merrily with never a shudder.
When I undertook to repair a binding on the foot of the sail with several layers of cloth that encased the leech line, that too, proved no big challenge for this sewing machine. I used double-sided seam tape to hold the layers in place, and the machine easily managed all those layers.
However, when it came time to make the most important repair, the replacement of the frayed webbing at the clew, the sewing machine hit a wall.
The machine has many wonderful features to enable it to work with layers and stiffness and so forth. I could completely disengage the presser foot and force it up another fraction of an inch in order to get the stiffened clew with its reinforcements under the needle. I could then re-engage the pressure and set a tight tension that would hold the stitching. I could not do any of this alone, because I could not hold the weight and the stiffness by myself and still crank the machine. The powerful hand crank that comes with a Sailrite is a really wonderful accessory, because it gives us the flexibility to use the machine when no electric power is available, but in this situation, using the hand crank allowed more control as well. Sewing one stitch at a time, stopping after every stitch to be sure I was getting the desired result, was crucial in this challenging work.
Still, despite Larry’s help, and with his eagle eye on things, I was defeated in my effort to make this repair.
Before I asked him for help, I carefully placed my first strip of webbing and maneuvered all the pieces into the right place, gamely tried to roll that clew up to travel under the machine arm, and stitched carefully. On my third stitch, the bobbin popped out of the chase. I asked Larry to help me start over, and once everything was back in place, we pulled out the piece that covers the bobbin so Larry could see what was happening. I stitched one stitch, and all was well. I stitched one more stitch. Still good. Then I took the needle down again, and the bobbin popped out, preventing the needle from moving any further. Larry popped the bobbin back in. I stitched two more stitches before the bobbin popped out again.
It was time to ask for help. I called the Sailrite number, expecting to get someone who would tell me that I needed to make some small adjustment I had missed. Instead, after listening to my tail of woe, the support tech, actually the manager of the Annapolis store, told me I had hit the limit of the machine. It does a lot of things very well, but repair of the clew with its stiffened reinforcements covered with layers of cloth and webbing were simply beyond the capabilities of the machine. The behavior I observed was the machine telling me that it could not do what I had asked of it.
This was very discouraging news. Quantum Sails has a loft in Newport, and that is actually where we obtained the webbing I was using. Their sail maker had given me tips and advice that helped me to plan my work. But sadly, alas and alack, I could not complete my project. We could have engaged their services to make the repair instead of buying the webbing from them. At this point, it was obvious we had to go back and engage their services after all.
Larry and I shook our heads and mourned. I picked up my tools and supplies. Larry brought the machine below and put the sail away. I felt completely exhausted, as if I had run a long race, and I asked myself why I was so tired. Then I realized that it was the spiritual depletion due to my disappointment. I was thrilled and happy when I was working on my project, because I thought I could save us a lot of time and money. I didn’t like to discover that there was a limit to what I could do with that sewing machine. I really wanted it to be the equal of the huge sewing machine I saw in Quantum’s loft. Reality is sometimes extremely unpleasant. When hopes are dashed, it may be a spiritual wound, but it has physical consequences. I felt as tired as I felt after our 50-hour passage.
No point crying, however. I can sing “alas and alack” as long as I like, and it won’t change anything. Time to get moving. Time to do what it takes and go forward. As the Bible says, we must gird up our loins and hie ourselves to Quantum tomorrow. We already know that their production schedule is about over, so we devoutly hope to squeeze our order into the early part of their repair work. Enough of “alas and alack.” Time to move on.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 15, 2009
When we lived in Baltimore and cruised the Chesapeake Bay, we enjoyed quiet anchorages along the Chester River or other rivers that flow into the Bay. Chesapeake Bay is huge, but it is not deep as oceans go. In fact, there are large sections of the Bay that we could explore only by dinghy, because our boat needs seven feet of water to float. A boat with a deep keel is at a disadvantage in Chesapeake Bay. Some of the best-loved destinations have only five or six feet of water.
Another well-known feature of the Bay is that it has indifferent winds much of the time. A 12-knot breeze is much prized by sailors, because in the sailing season, it is not very common. Way too often people sit in fine sailboats with sails flapping for lack of sufficient wind.
Still, we loved the Bay. It was a wonderful home for us for many years. I came to expect that when we wanted to anchor, we would have nine or ten feet, maybe twelve at the outside. We became comfortable anchoring in ten feet of water with little or no wind.
Now that we have left the Bay anchoring is a different challenge. We discovered at Block Island that the anchorage had very little area with depths of ten feet, and those areas shoal rapidly to shallower depths. Most of the anchorage is twenty feet or more.
The first difference between anchoring in ten feet of water and anchoring in twenty feet is the amount of anchor rode required. The term “rode” refers to the chain or rope that attaches the anchor to the boat. We have 250 feet of chain and 200 feet of rope on our anchor, but in Chesapeake Bay, we never used much of it. The standard anchoring rule is to let out 7 feet of rode to 1 foot of depth. For a depth of 12 feet, we let out 84 feet of chain. That hardly stressed our capacity in any way.
However, the 7X1 rule in an anchorage at 25 feet of depth results in the deployment of 175 feet of chain. That changes a lot of things. In a big wind, the boat swings on a circle with a radius of 175 feet instead of a circle with a radius of 84 feet. In a crowded anchorage, it can be very interesting to observe if all the boats swing together or not. If everyone puts out rode according to the same calculation, theory suggests that they won’t collide. However, there are a lot of factors to consider. Some boats use chain, some use rope. Each boat’s profile and weight affect the way it swings. Collisions can occur, and then nobody is happy.
The second big difference is the wind. In Chesapeake Bay we were often challenged to figure out where the wind would be if there were any. As we cruise north, we are encountering much more wind all the time, and therefore more wind when we anchor. It makes a difference.
At Block Island, we were on a mooring for five days. We originally thought we might be there for a couple of days, but the days stretched on. By the end of the fifth day, we were almost ready to depart for Newport to get the remaining supplies we needed for our genoa repair. We decided to spend our last night at anchor instead of on the mooring. It would save a few dollars, and we like being at anchor. We chose a spot, the anchor stuck, and I settled down to sew.
The people in the catamaran nearby were not on their boat at the time we anchored. As they passed by our boat when returning in their dinghy, I could hear the woman complaining to her husband that we were too close to their boat. We had been there for several hours already. The wind was blowing about 15 knots, and we had swung back and forth, as is normal, several times. It was clear to us that our boat and their boat were swinging in synch. We were not going to collide. However, the woman on the catamaran did not see it that way.
At first, Larry and the other man talked about it, and Larry even offered to move, but the man said he thought it wasn’t necessary. The woman, however, did not accept that decision. She looked at our boat and screamed that we were coming closer and closer. There is a common word of wisdom that consultants learn early in the business: perception is reality. No matter what the truth of a matter is, the way someone perceives it becomes a personal reality, and everybody must deal with that reality. In this situation, the woman’s reality became an unbearable burden to everyone. The man finally got in his dinghy and came over to our boat to ask if we would go ahead and move. We agreed and soon found a different place that did not threaten this woman’s perceptions about our location. It was not a time for standing up for the truth; it was a time to make peace. We were slightly inconvenienced by the move, but here is the bigger truth: if we had not moved, neither that couple nor we would have had any peace all night.
The next morning we left Block Island and headed for Newport, a trip of about four hours duration. Once again, however, it was quite different from Chesapeake Bay. The anchorage in Newport is small and deep. We dropped our anchor in 25 feet of water again, and this time the wind was about 15 knots and gusting higher. The gusty wind complicated our process, because the boat needs to face into the wind when the anchor is dropped. The anchor does its work by digging in a direction that opposes the action of the wind. The wind makes it dig in more firmly, if the ground holds the anchor properly.
Gusty wind is a real problem, because once the boat is turned into the prevailing wind, a gust may be stronger and even from a different direction than the prevailing wind. It may push the boat away from the direction we planned. We may even go in a circle as we play out the anchor rode. That happened today as we set our anchor.
Still, we “stuck” on the first drop and that was a good thing. We were getting tired of going in circles trying to get in the right position.
Our new life as full-time cruisers has adventures and challenges. We learn a lot and we grow a lot in this life. Anchoring is only one of the many skills we are honing. Come back often to see what else we are up to.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 14, 2009
When I used to tell people that we planned to cruise full-time in retirement, they often asked, “But what do you do with your time? How do you occupy yourself when all you do is sail?” Some said, “Oh, that sounds so peaceful, just sailing along all day.”
Little did they know. For that matter, little did I know, either. Even though I knew that sailing required more attention and work than they realized, cruising in the North Atlantic Ocean required more than I realized, also. And as for staying busy? Ha! The trick is to sit down and stay quiet.
When we departed from Cape May, New Jersey, on July 7, there was a lovely south wind at 10-15 knots with a prediction of waves at 3-5 feet offshore. Until I was actually out there, I had only head knowledge of the meaning of such a prediction. The natural assumption when reading such information is to believe that the small waves will be about 3 feet high and the big ones might be 5 feet. That, however, is not what the prediction means. A forecast of waves 3-5 feet means that there will be more waves within that range than not, and higher waves up to three times that size are to be expected. Before I actually went offshore, I could only imagine what that meant. Now I have seen it for myself. It is important to understand the meaning of the forecast in order to understand the learning experience of riding such waves.
Our course was more north than east, which meant that a south wind was a following wind. A following wind pushes following waves. Sailors usually prefer wind and wave on the beam to wind and wave directly following, because waves approaching from behind wallow the boat. A 5-foot wave wallows the boat quite noticeably, and when some 3-foot and 5-foot waves run together to create a much larger one, the wallow factor is considerable. All that wallowing makes it difficult to stay on course, and it can even be tiring to attempt to sit still in one place as the boat wallows all over. The wallowing challenges the boat putaway plan, too, because every object that has room to move even an inch will do so. The wallowing goes in every direction, not just up and down, and items that were not loose and free to fly before departure may, in fact, find a way to leave their specified and planned locations to fly all over. It was a real learning experience to discover what didn’t stay where we put it. It was a lot of work after our passage was complete to find new ways to store things and to wonder if our new plan would work any better than the old one.
Of course, winds change and there came the time when the wind was on the beam at 15-20 knots and we were hoping to fly. People who have never sailed usually believe that the wind pushes a sailboat, and that is why they think following seas would be a good thing; a wind completely behind the boat would push it better. It is true that following winds push the sails, and that moves the boat, but while sails capture and use following wind, the boat can gain a lot more speed from a wind to the side or even somewhat in front. Winds to the side or in front do not so much push as pull the sail, which is designed like an airfoil, similar in concept to the design of an airplane wing that produces lift. When we observed that we had winds at 15 knots, gusting to 25 knots, on the beam, we knew that the sails would develop much more speed, and the ride through the water would be much smoother than with a following wind. We had our main up at the first reef point. We had our staysail deployed. We put on our gloves and let go the genoa. We could feel a small surge of speed as the genoa opened up, even though it was not tuned yet. When it was fully open, Larry wrapped the sheet around the winch and began to crank it down. The speed picked up. It felt so good. Bright sunlight on a deep blue sea. Whitecaps sparkling on all sides. Waves averaging about 5 feet and not a cloud in sight. We were doing what we came here to do. It was wonderful.
Suddenly there was a loud boom. Ka-pow! The genoa began to flap loudly. We ran to the starboard side of the boat where we saw that the sheets (the ropes that control the sail) had completely separated from the sail and were dangling over the side of the boat. The clew had given way and blown apart. The story of our retrieval of the sail is another story, but suffice it to say, repair was required.
Which brings me to Monday, July 13. After our 50-hour passage to Block Island, we were exhausted. The first thing we did after securing our mooring was to take a nap. Then we ate breakfast for supper and went back to bed. For two days we just lolled around and did nothing useful. On Sunday we walked around the island and enjoyed the sights. Then it was time to get down to business.
The business at hand was sail repair. When we were preparing for this life, one of our purchases was a Sailrite sewing machine. This machine is dramatically heavy duty, able to sew through layers of thick fabric without wincing. The presser foot can be released and tightened easily to accommodate layers and cording and so forth. It runs on electricity if you have it, but it also has a powerful wheel with a crank for hand power. The first time we used it, we needed to repair our old dodger when we were anchored out. We just took the sewing machine out to the aft deck and spread the work out there. Later, when we needed a new sail cover strip for our furling boom, we took the sewing machine out on deck to complete that work, because the cover must actually be sewn shut after it has been loaded into the boom.
Having arrived at Block Island and having recovered our senses after the passage, we proceeded to examine our wounded genoa. We discovered several problems. The one that looked the worst is actually the least important. The sail was made with a laminated fabric, and due to its age, some of the laminate was flaking off. We had already planned to order new sails in the fall, but we were not ready to do that yet. We could live with flaking laminate and still sail.
The problem that had brought us down was the broken clew. The clew is the corner of the sail where the lines that control it are attached. That corner is the point of greatest strain on the sail. It is reinforced with a metal ring and strong webbing sewed over the sail to absorb additional stress. The webbing inevitably frays, leading to inevitable failure. We needed new webbing, which we did not have. We could not repair this damage until we could obtain that material. Our next port of call is Newport, Rhode Island, a major sailing destination, where such supplies should be available.We must defer this repair.
The third problem needed to be addressed immediately. Much like the binding you might have at the edge of a quilt or blanket, the sail had a binding around its edge. The binding appeared to be intact with the exception of a few frayed spots, but it had begun to tear away from the sail because the thread that stitched it to the sail had rotted. This was a manageable repair.
We got out the sewing machine, oiled it and adjusted it as much as possible inside before taking it out on deck. We muttered a bit over the size of thread. It appeared to our untrained eyes that the V69 thread we had bought long ago from Sail-rite was about the same size as the thread that was used for the binding. It was also a fact that V69 thread was the only thread we had for this task. We decided that it must be exactly right.
We set the sewing machine on the cabin roof between the cockpit and the mast. The wounded sail was spread from the bow almost all the way to the aft deck. I began to sew at the clew around 1PM. By 4:30PM I was about 2 feet from the head of the sail when the bobbin ran out of thread. It seemed like a good time to call it a day. There appeared to be a couple more days of work, or one long hard day. We secured the sail so it wouldn’t be blown off the boat and planned our next move.
I’m not a professional sailmaker, and I never will be, but I looked at my work and felt quite satisfied. It was a great day. Nobody has a better place to work than I had. The day was sunny and briskly breezy. The sun was shining. All around were the blue waters of the Great Salt Pond on Block Island. When I tired of looking at the sail, I could look at boats of every description, the island, the water, the sky, gulls, and even people. I felt grateful to God for the opportunity to save our sailing summer by putting this sail back together with a simple sewing machine.
What on earth do we do all day when we are cruising full-time? We spend all our time doing what needs to be done to keep cruising. I’m sure that in time we will have some leisurely days. In fact, most days have some leisure time, although the 50-hour passage to Block Island had no leisure at all. We were lucky to get two-hour naps every so often. That is fine. I wouldn’t trade that experience for any amount of money, and I look forward to more such experiences. It is good to be fully engaged by something like that. Some people are never fully engaged in anything but daytime television. How sad!
In one sense it could be truly said that we work harder and longer now than we ever did as employees. In another sense it could be truly said that we are more free than we have ever been before. We are free people pursuing happiness as God gives us guidance to understand it. There could not possibly be a better life than that.