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.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 15, 2009
This evening as we were relaxing after dinner, we noticed that a gull was hovering above the cabin roof of a nearby boat. Looking around the anchorage, we could not see any gulls on any other boats. This gull had picked this boat for a place to rest, and the boat’s captain objected. The gull hovered above the boat, flitting from one end to the other, as the captain ran the length of the boat waving his arms and shouting, trying to drive the gull away.
You know, of course, that if the gull had landed on the boat, it is likely he would have left his signature there before he departed. This outcome the captain strove mightily to prevent.
After a few minutes of intense confrontation, the gull swooped off and circled the boat high in the sky and flew away. The captain appeared relieved and went back inside. No sooner had he disappeared than the gull returned with a friend. Apparently, they did not have the good sense to keep their mouths shut. Gulls are truly arrogant birds, and these two must have announced themselves in their own unique screaming way. We couldn’t hear anything, however, because the wind was blowing so hard. We could see the beaks of the birds opening and closing. The captain reappeared with his dinner plate in one hand, shouting and waving at the birds with the other. We couldn’t hear what he was saying, either, which is probably a blessing for our sensitive ears.
the birds retreated momentarily. The captain remained on deck looking this way and that.
Soon the two gulls returned with another friend. Two landed in the water and the third impudently plopped himself on the dinghy motor. Again the captain charged at the bird and drove him away – about two feet away where he settled in the water, insolently close to the dinghy. The captain stood on deck snatching bites of his supper as the birds drifted around in the water watching to see if he would disappear again.
After a time, the birds appeared to give up. One by one, each flew off into the distance and swooped over a nearby hillside. When the last one disappeared, the captain retreated inside the boat.
The birds may have disappeared, but their antennas were still up. As soon as the captain disappeared inside they reappeared as if by magic. Again they flew over the boat and circled preparing to land. However, again, they could not be silent. They had to announce their glee, and when they did, the captain ran out again. He had his after-dinner coffee in one hand, and he waved and shook his fist at the gull with the other. One gull settled on the cabin roof for a few seconds, but the captain really got in his face and away he flew.
The last I knew, the captain had sat down on the aft deck with his coffee. It was pretty cool and the breeze was brisk. It probably wasn’t the most relaxing cup of coffee he will ever drink, but that is what it took to keep the gulls at bay. Man and beast met, and at last report man was on the winning side. We didn’t stay up all night to watch. We don’t know what happened after everyone went to sleep.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 14, 2009
Anybody who has simply blown a puff of air on the surface of water knows that water responds dramatically to the movement of air. Weather is very much about the movement of air, namely wind. It is also about water and temperature and many other things, but on the ocean, the movement of air and its interaction with water is the first and most noticeable component of weather.
It takes a very smart person a lifetime just to begin to understand weather. That is why I pay attention when a man with thirty years of experience talks about the weather. Even he will have a hard time explaining big trends for a whole season, but I don’t have much time for someone with a college degree and a lot of chutzpah. That person needs to grow a little.
So do I.
Mariners need to understand weather. If they miss the signals, they can easily wind up in life-threatening situations. However, if they do not know what the signals mean, they can see them and still be in trouble.
On the evening of July 8, we cruised eastward south of Long Island and marveled at a huge cumulonimbus formation above the island far in the distance. We were about 36 nautical miles south of Long Island at sundown. We had observed this cloud for a while, trying to figure out if we would intersect the part where rain was falling. We observed that the cloud fanned out into a brilliant red sky at sunset, and we remembered the old sailor’s wisdom: Red sky at morning, sailor take warning. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. We thought what we saw meant a sailor’s delight for sure, because it was red with intensity. In fact, there was a huge panorama in the sky that looked like a brilliantly painted desert scene, with lots of red.
Furthermore, the weather forecast was for 10-knot winds, and we had already seen the windspeed fall before sundown. The forecast indicated 2-4 foot seas and mild winds. We watched that cloud for an hour. We looked at its position relative to our course, and we concluded that we might follow it. We might even catch up with the tail end where the clouds appeared to be breaking up. We thought we knew what was coming. We had a lot to learn.
About 9PM, I went below. There is a whole school of discussion about the right length for watches in a boat crewed by two people, but for now, our watches are two hours. I expected to sleep until 11PM when I would take my turn on watch. I expected mild rocking as the boat cruised through the night. I had inappropriate expectations.
I was just laying my head on the pillow to sleep when I heard a roar and the boat rocked violently to starboard. I lay there for a few minutes, thinking that perhaps it was an errant gust that would settle down. It didn’t. The boat rocked wildly. I continued to hear the terrible roar. I put on my lifejacket and went back to the cockpit.
The sea was raging. That is the only word for it. Larry had turned off the autopilot, because it could not handle the violence of the wind and water. The waves were huge, and I refused to allow myself to speculate on their height. The wind was overwhelming. I could not see the windspeed display and I refused to ask Larry what it said. I put on my sailing gloves, because I expected to need to help change sails. We were traveling under engine power with a reefed main and a staysail. Every so often we heeled violently to starboard. Finally, Larry said, “That was enough fun for me.” It was time to haul in the staysail.
Our boat is well-designed for two people to manage. In fact, one person can manage pretty well, because most of the lines are led to the cockpit. However, the furling lines for the staysail and genoa end on deck just outside the cockpit under the 6-inch bulwark at the edge of the deck. In order for us to furl the staysail, someone had to bring that line into the cockpit, because neither of us had any intention of trying to stand up and work on deck in that maelstrom.
I unzipped the cockpit curtain directly across the deck from the end of the staysail furling line. I hung out of the cockpit, crawling across the deck with my hands while leaving as much of my body inside as possible. I grabbed the furling line and retreated to the cockpit with it in my hand. I pulled on that line as hard as I could after Larry released the sheet. I could only barely move that sail. The wind had the sail in its teeth, and it wasn’t letting go. Larry was trying to steer us into the wind, and I was trying to furl the staysail, but I wasn’t strong enough. Finally, Larry took hold of the furling line and pulled. He let go of the wheel for a few seconds and his extra strength brought the line in. I cleated it quickly and the staysail was secure. We stopped heeling, but the tumult of the water continued.
It was a startling surprise. Nothing we had read about weather and clouds had prepared us for this. Nothing we had previously experienced had prepared us for this. The North Atlantic Ocean was free-wheeling and accountable to nobody as trivial as either or both of us.
Larry searched for a course that would alleviate some of the stress. The direction of travel relative to the wind at any time will very much affect the experience on the water. Eventually he found a course that gave us a little relief from the terrible pounding. I emphasize, only a little. It was the least violent choice that didn’t turn us around to go backward. At that point, Larry, the captain, ordered me to go take my nap, so he could have one later. I followed orders.
You might think that nobody could sleep in such a situation. I am learning that I can sleep when I have the opportunity. The first night we were out I remember that I felt that God was rocking me to sleep. I slept deeply and restfully. This time was the same. I had confidence that God would go with us through the night. I had confidence in Larry’s navigation skills. I knew he would call me if he needed me. I fell to sleep quickly. The next thing I knew he was calling me for my watch.
The tumult was still terrific. We seem to be traveling under that big cloud at about the same point where we first intersected it. Maybe we intersected on a course and speed that kept us in the same relative spot for a long time. Whatever it was, the huge wind and waves continued all night. They actually continued into the next morning until we entered the Block Island Channel. We still do not know how we would have known to expect this storm. There was no rain, no thunder, and no lightning. Just ferocious wind and huge waves.
The delightful thing about it all was the way the boat handled the seas. It was tipped over again and again, but it always righted itself. It slid down waves. It climbed up waves. It rode over waves. It was wonderful to see. We felt that we had discovered a whole new side of this boat that we never knew about. This boat will keep us safe if we have the wit to be sensible.
Which comes back to what we have to learn. We can see that a lot of reading and some informed speculation combined with official weather reports can still lead to the wrong conclusion. We know that we have a lot to learn. Still, we have learned that we can count on each other. we can count on the boat, and we can count on God. I found myself singing, “Blessed be the name of the Lord” in the midst of the storm, because I was fully and richly aware of His presence with us. As long as He goes with us, I will not be paralyzed with fear. I will always respect the sea, and I know we have a lot to learn about the sea, but we know one important thing about God. “I will not leave you or forsake you,” is God’s promise. We have already learned that lesson.
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
July 11, 2009
Larry and I consider that in cruising the oceans of the world, we are following in the path of the people who made America strong and great. Even though I am going to talk about non-sailing topics for a bit, please stick with me. It all ties together eventually.
When I was growing up, I loved reading stories and seeing movies about pioneer families. Those people were amazing. The people who settled the American west valued independence to such a degree that they would undoubtedly scorn the entire contemporary population, with the possible exception of the citizens engaged in extreme sports.
The stories of the pioneers recounted how they planned and worked to get ready for the journey west. They relied on wise and experienced guides, people who had made the trek before, but each family, each wagon, was responsible for itself. The guide did not bring food and supplies to give to families that failed to plan well. The people who made the journey ran into all kinds of problems along the way, and sometimes people died. Many who started the journey did not arrive at the destination.
Those who completed the journey found themselves in what most of us would call desolation. Imagine standing in the middle of prairie grass up to your chest as you watch the rest of the wagon train move on while you look around to find the way to the land you have chosen to homestead. Imagine that you try to build a house and it falls down or burns up. Imagine that you chop off your thumb while splitting wood for the kitchen range. Imagine that you have no kitchen range, because it was one of the too heavy items you left behind before crossing the Great Desert. These were the people who turned wornout clothing into quilts to keep themselves warm in winter. Wives pulled plows so the crops could be planted. When anyone was sick or injured or if the house burned down or if the mule died, there was no place to go where everything would be fixed. The people who tamed the American west knew that they had to be almost completely self-sufficient. Neighbors helped neighbors, but none of them could work magic.
The rhetoric of those days was focused on “opportunity.” Just as the American colonies had called out to people oppressed by their government, the American west called out to people oppressed by economic and personal circumstances. They all believed that if they just had opportunity they could do anything. And they did. The colonists stood up against oppressive government and created a nation. The pioneers stood up against everything the nature and circumstance could throw against them, and doubled the size of the nation. They all believed in “opportunity” and the much-maligned Horatio Alger stories were all about people who seized opportunity, not grants. America came into being and grew great and strong on the backs of people who seized opportunity and turned it into accomplishment. America is not the land of the handout; it is the land of opportunity.
As cruising sailors, we feel that we, too, are seizing opportunity. Like the pioneers, we must prepare for our ventures out to sea, and once we get there, we are pretty much on our own. The US Coast Guard might be able to rescue us if we were completely unable to help ourselves, but when we are forty miles from the nearest land, we need to be ready and willing to do what we must in every situation. In fact, we pride ourselves on doing everything we can do for ourselves before looking for assistance from anyone.
This is why, when our engine failed seven miles from shore, we did not call the Coast Guard or the tow boat for help. We have heard some amazing calls on the radio. One man called the Coast Guard when he ran out of fuel twelve miles from shore. Another in a 14-foot runabout ran aground. When the Coast Guard asked if he had tried tilting the engine and pushing off the shoal, he replied, “Just a minute. I’ll see if that works.” One called because his anchor rode was fouled in some rocks. Probably the most amazing was the one in which we heard the Coast Guard say, “Let me be sure I understand. You are in severe distress and you are tied to the dock?” to which the caller replied, “Affirmative.”
I don’t want to scorn anyone who asks for help, but it seems to me that people are much too quick to do that. When our engine failed, Larry immediately began to work on it in an attempt to fix it himself. He suspected a cause for the problem, tried the solution for that cause, but the engine still would not start. Then he found the owner manual and started working through the diagnostics. He worked on that engine for seven hours before declaring it beyond his knowledge.
As you might imagine, the ocean did not stand still while we figured things out. Winds, waves and currents continued doing what they always do. As I sat in the cockpit watching to be sure we didn’t run into anything or get in the path of any commercial traffic, I realized that a current was taking us easterly. The current wanted us in Europe, or maybe Africa. Seven hours of drifting would have made the problem worse. We put up the sails and I tacked up and down, parallel to the coast of New Jersey. I chose that plan, because a) it prevented us from being any farther from help if Larry were not able to fix the engine, and b) it kept us in the right spot to restart our journey if he were able to fix it.
When you recognize that our boat has sails, you might ask, why not just continue the trip under sail? The answer is that the same reasons that led us to turn on the engine in the first place would apply to continuing the trip without an engine. There certainly are sailors who do not have engines, and they would no doubt hoot at us. We, however, prefer the maneuverability we gain with an engine. We always use it going in and out of harbors, and we want that power for various situations where sails alone might not give us the control we want. We already knew that traveling under sail at that time would greatly lengthen both the track and the time of our trip. We wanted the flexibility of the engine in our set of options. We knew that if we made the trip successfully without the engine, we would still be faced with the necessity of getting it fixed at the other end. We chose to go into a holding pattern that made it easier for us either to go back for repairs or forward on our trip depending on the outcome of Larry’s work. We did not choose to call the Coast Guard for advice or assistance.
The engine stopped at 7:30PM on Saturday evening. Larry worked on the engine for seven hours. I cruised back and forth in our holding pattern. At 2:30AM we had a conference. Larry had concluded that he could not fix the engine, so we needed to decide what else to do. We wanted to take care of ourselves to the greatest degree possible. What could we do to reduce the amount of help we would need from others?
Our decision was to continue in a holding pattern until dawn and then make our way back to Cape May where we would call for a tow. (I should say here that we purchase and maintain insurance to cover this possibility. The Coast Guard is not maintained for the purpose of solving people’s mechanical problems.) Larry took a nap for 2 hours, while I continued sailing. Then I took a nap, and he took the helm. By the time I went down for my nap, dawn was breaking, and when I woke up we were only a couple of miles from Cape May. Through all this time, the winds were so light and variable that it was difficult to make any progress sailing and very difficult to hold any particular course, yet we managed to get ourselves very close to the help we needed by using our skills to apply the options available to us.
About 8:30 Sunday morning, we were at the entrance to the Cape May Canal, a spot lovingly referred to by locals as “the rockpile.” We called the tow boat, and they arrived in about 20 minutes. Later, however, when Larry and the tow boat captain were discussing the charges, the captain complained that we didn’t call him sooner. He would have made more money on our account if we had called him when we were still seven miles out! We thought we were being wise and responsible to do everything we could for ourselves, and he thought we could have been a little more dependent so he could make more money!
This is a long narrative, but my point is that it would have been easy for us simply to call for a tow when the engine failed. We could have thrown up our hands in despair. We could have cried because things were not working out. We could have had a story like the long parade of whining and crying at the Democrat convention during the summer of 2008. As I watched that debacle, I wondered what happened to all the Americans who have said over the years, “Give me opportunity and freedom, and I will do something great.” There was no pride in our country and no self-confidence. The entire show was designed to make every participant and every watcher feel hopeless and defeated without federal help.
When Larry and I faced our problem, we did not want federal help. We did not feel hopeless or despondent. We felt sure that God had given us wit and wisdom to work with. Every person from time to time needs the help of other people. We have needed help. We certainly needed help getting through the canal and into the marina at the end of our sailing option. My point is that we did everything we could do for ourselves, and most of the people I know personally would always do that. The people I know don’t go around whining and crying because the government has not put food on their table or paid all their medical bills. My friends and acquaintances mostly look for the opportunity to accomplish things, not for a handout to use up and then collect again.
As cruisers, we pretty much need to be willing to be self-sufficient. Forty miles or more from the nearest land, we need to be willing and able to do everything possible for ourselves. We started by selecting a boat designed for that environment, and we continued by growing in skill and by keeping a positive attitude about our ability to do what it takes. Life in general is very different if approached that way than if it is approached as an unconquerable challenge that cannot even be survived without government assistance. I wish that when we get economic statistics from the government, we would get the statistics on the positive side. 5% unemployment is 95% employment. I wish that when we hear that 40 million people do not have health insurance, the same report would point out that of those 40 million, many choose to pay cash for their care because that is their preference; they would rather bet on their health than on their illness. Our nation’s population is around 350 million now, and I would like to hear things such as 349 million people do not have cancer, or 345 million do not have diabetes. I am really tired of being depressed and oppressed over some tiny fraction of the population that has one problem or another. To hear the daily rhetoric of illness, injury, foreclosure, and so forth is enough to make all the rest of us, the vast majority of the population, throw up our hands in despair. That is how the government gets us to agree to submit to onerous levels of taxation. This is not the American way.
It isn’t the Christian way, either. God did not create the world in such a way that the distribution of economic wealth is equal. For one thing, God does not put the store in gold or silver that human beings attach to it. For another, however, God himself gives us gifts that can create our wealth, not the gift of wealth itself. He teaches us to accept a personal obligation to help the poor, the hungry, the sick, and even prisoners. He does not teach us to put our money in the hands of politicians to perform our charity for us. God knows that politicians show much more charity to themselves than they ever show to the poor and hungry.
When the American colonies declared their independence from England, they stated their belief that God had given every person the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. They rightly and wisely observed that there was no right or guarantee to wealth or the equal distribution of money and property, there was no right or guarantee to medical care or to jobs or houses or any other of the many elements of life. Still, when you think about it, the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is the gift of opportunity that each individual can turn into accomplishment. The cruising life is a great metaphor for that same truth. We set sail as a way of life, because we are free to do so after pursuing this happiness with the commitment to do the work and pay the cost of it ourselves. It can be the same for everyone who has the vision to dream and the will to work for the goal.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 11, 2009
When our engine failed about a mile out to sea after leaving Cape May, Larry felt justified in his concern that the diesel mechanic had not explained either the problem or the solution to our diesel engine failure. However, during their conversations, Larry had come to the conclusion that one possible explanation did exist, and he decided to pursue it. He began to work on the engine, and once again, I tacked up and down, more or less holding our position. About three hours later, Larry came back up into the cockpit and started the engine. It started. It ran. It did not stop. We left the sails up and we headed north. It was an act of faith to believe that the problem was actually solved, but we had to try. We couldn’t stay in sight of New Jersey forever.
After an hour or so, Larry felt confident that the engine was good to go. We turned it off and sailed. The evening came, and we were still sailing. Following winds do not give a lot of speed, and they wallow the boat a lot. If we were ever going to be seasick, this was the time, and to our great relief, we passed the test. We haven’t missed a meal yet.
When it came time to change course, we needed the jibs, which were on the port side, to cross over to the starboard side of the boat. All went well until the sails should have filled. Then we discovered that the staysail sheet (the rope that controls the staysail) was caught on something. Nothing we could do from the cockpit was successful in freeing that sheet, so someone needed to go forward.
At this point, we were probably forty miles from the nearest land. It was about 10PM, and there were two of us on the boat. It is no time for risky behavior. We both wear our lifejackets any time we exit the cockpit under way, or any time the water is rough or any time we are alone in the cockpit, and always after dark. So both of us had our lifejackets on. Larry attached his tether and tethered himself to the boat in order to go forward to see what was causing the staysail not to deploy on the starboard side.
Since it was dark, we turned on the spreader lights. Then he could see where the snarl had occurred, clear it, and return safely to the cockpit.
We try to practice safe behavior at all times. We never go on deck when the water is rough, as, for example when our following seas developed into waves consistently 8-10 feet high. We do not try to see what sort of stunt we can perform when blue water rushes over the bow. However, the next day, we were compelled to try some things that were pretty risky, because if we didn’t get this job done, we would have had nothing but tatters where our genoa (the large jib) used to be.
The morning of July 8 was beautiful. Our course was northeasterly, and we had a beautiful wind on the port beam, 15-20 knots, gusting to 25. The main and the staysail had carried us through the night. We wanted to take advantage of this good wind by deploying the genoa. That process takes only a few minutes, and soon it was fully spread out. Larry attached the sheet (the rope that controls the sail) to the big winch and began to crank the sail in to make it perform better. Suddenly there was a boom, and the big sail flapped free. The clew, the attachment point for the control lines, had burst. The clew is the most stressed point of the sail, and it is normal for it to experience extreme wear. We had not realized, however, the degree of wear, until it parted under stress, under way.
The engine was running as we had begun the sail deployment, and it continued to run as we considered what to do. If we had stopped the engine, we would have been adrift, out of control, and there was no telling where the boat would go. We needed to keep the engine running and the autopilot steering on a course with no charted obstructions while we pulled in the genoa and secured it. It wouldn’t be easy. This is the part that led us to what would otherwise be crazy and risky behavior.
Larry went forward first, tethered to the boat. He turned the furling reel by hand to reel in the genoa. It resisted with all its might, which is considerable, but eventually the sail was furled around the stay. However, it wasn’t going to stay there just to be nice. When Larry let go of the reel just for a minute, the sail was half unfurled before he even realized it. He grabbed it again and reeled it back.
At this point, it was my turn to tether up and go forward. The bow of the boat is encircled with strong rails firmly anchored to protect anyone who goes there. The railing structure is called the bow pulpit. As we worked there that day, I thought that maybe it is called a pulpit because of all the praying that goes on there.
Each of us tethered ourselves to that pulpit. I knelt, the right attitude for prayer, and held on to the furling reel with all my might. Larry had the hard job. He needed to secure the genoa in a way that would prevent it from unfurling and therefore from shredding itself in the wind. He used a boat hook very much as if it were a crochet hook. He tied a strong cord to the hook and held it against the furled genoa as high as he could reach. Then, very carefully, he tied a series of knots around both genoa and boathook, sliding them carefully up as high as possible, working his way down the boathook until he got to the bottom. He tied the last knot and it was done. The genoa was furled and locked down. It wasn’t going anywhere.
The work was not as simple as it sounds when I describe it. While Larry was doing this work, the boat continued to move forward under engine power, steered by the autopilot, climbing up waves and sliding down waves. Waves came at the boat under the power of wind, currents and we don’t know what. They seemed to come from everywhere. Sometimes they crashed against the bow with great spray. Sometimes we dived into huge troughs between waves and then climbed high up the sides of the trough. The sun was shining. The sky and the sea were blue. Waves rose and fell. Whitecaps sparkled. It was a wild ride, but it was beautiful.
If anyone had told me to go that bow pulpit and stand there for an hour just to see what it was like, I would have told said that the whole idea was madness. I would never have gone there for entertainment. However, in this situation, I went there, because we could not afford to have our genoa shredded. We need this sail in order to sail with any power or speed. We plan to replace it, but even if a replacement were on order, it would not have made sense to let that sail self-destruct. We had to save it. So we did.
This is part of the learning that goes with our new life. We cruise, because we can’t not do it. It takes all we have to give, and it gives back 110%. You can’t outgive God. One of the pastors I knew in my childhood said that over and over, and he is right. We have responded to his leading into this life, and I have wondered often what it is we are supposed to learn or to do here. I am learning that part of the learning is about faith and commitment. We have faith in God and faith in each other. We are committed to the life we are called to, and determined to make the most of God’s provision for this life. He gave us this sail, and it is our job to make it work until God gives us another. This life is very much about showing our gratitude for what God provides and refusing to let any of it get away without serving its intended purpose. It would be unthinkable to fail to respect what God has given us in his gracious provision for this dream.
It was truly awe-inspiring to be on the bow of our boat in all that wind and wave and to be able to do what needed to be done. It makes me believe ever more firmly that God can and God will provide what we need when we need it from now until forever. Amen.
Aboard No Boundaries
July 10, 2009
The movie “Captain Ron” came to mind often as we made our passage from Cape May, New Jersey, to Block Island, Rhode Island. His stock line when engaged to train people to sail and survive at sea was, “If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there.” “Out there” was at sea, far from land, at the worst possible moment. The things that would happen to his protégés during the movie were surprising and always “out there.”
During 50 hours at sea, a few things happened to us “out there.”
We started from Cape May, because something had already happened “out there.” We had sailed from Cohansey Cove a few days earlier. Sailing down that Bay at 8 knots was a thrilling experience. We cruised out the mouth of Delaware Bay and hit our first waypoint, still under sail. At that time, however, we had to make a decision. If we continued to sail, we had to deal with the speed and direction of the wind, both unfavorable for making progress toward our destination. Unlike Captain Cook, who had no choice but to accept the wind and make the best of it, we could turn to our diesel auxiliary engine. If we sailed, we would increase our travel time by 4 or 5 hours and add more than 20 miles to our route. We decided to motor until the wind direction and speed were more useful. We were seven miles from the New Jersey shore in the North Atlantic Ocean when our diesel engine made a weird noise and quit. We were adrift.
We observed fairly quickly that there was a current in the ocean that wanted to take us to Gibraltar. Or maybe to Casablanca. Rather than drift, we chose to deploy the sails again. There was little wind, so we couldn’t make much speed sailing, but at least we could avoid going to Europe while Larry tried to fix the engine. In theory, we could have proceeded on our journey under sail and waited to repair the engine at the other end. However, the wind was very light and changed direction at the drop of a hat. We couldn’t make much progress, and unless Larry could fix the engine, we had no backup for the sails in any sort of emergency.
Larry worked on the engine for seven hours. I sailed up and down parallel to the Jersey shore, trying not to go to Gibraltar. A pod of dolphins kept me company for several hours. I actually saw at least a dozen fireworks shows, one of which was truly magnificent. Unfortunately, Larry was not able to find the explanation for the engine problem, and he was unable to make it start again. At 2:30AM on Sunday morning we made the decision to go back to Cape May, call a tow boat and get to some location where we could connect with a diesel mechanic.
Larry took a nap, and I continued tacking up and down the coast until 4:30AM. Then Larry took the watch and I took a nap. We thought we were being very self-sufficient and doing the wise and responsible thing to sail ourselves back within reach of help. Without an engine we could not navigate that canal or enter a marina, but we could get to the canal entrance. We did everything for ourselves that we could do. About 8:30 Sunday morning, we called the tow boat and they arrived in 20 minutes. Later, however, when Larry and the tow boat captain were discussing the charges, the captain complained that we didn’t call him sooner. He would have made more money on our account if we had called him when we were still seven miles out! We thought we were being wise and responsible to do everything we could for ourselves, and he thought we could have been a little more dependent so he could make more money!
If you have never seen a professional tow boat captain work, you have missed an experience. Those guys work magic. It was not magic to give us a line to cleat onto our boat and drag us into the canal. However, when the tow boat tied up to the side of our boat and took us into the marina, I am sure that a magic wand and pixie dust must have been in use. The tow captain told Larry to steer our boat without thinking of his boat as anything but our power. However, the tow captain provided guidance that allowed the two boats to navigate in the very narrow fairways of the marina, and at the end, after Larry turned the boats toward our designated slip, the captain gave the signal to let go the lines that attached us together, and our boat slid neatly into its place at slip 14 in Utch’s Marina, Cape May, New Jersey. (I didn’t forget the “H” in the name. There is no initial “H.” The real name is Utch’s.)
We arrived on a Sunday, and we couldn’t get a diesel mechanic until Monday. However, we were in a full service marina with showers, laundry and internet. No cruiser lets such an opportunity go to waste. Even though I had had only two hours sleep the night before, I gathered up my laundry and my shower bag and hustled over to get things done. My energy lasted long enough to manage those tasks, but then I was done.
The next day, we discovered that our problem was beyond the scope of the local diesel mechanic, so we had to wait until one could arrive from Atlantic City. His schedule kept us in the marina past the checkout time, so we decided to stay one more night. The diesel engine mechanic got the thing going again. However, he did not explain the problem, and he did not explain the solution, which bothered Larry quite a lot.
On the morning of July 7 we exited the Cape May Canal under engine power. We needed the engine to get out of the marina and out of the canal. We were still under engine power, about a mile from the canal entrance when the engine made the same funny noise as before and quit.
I could hear Captain Ron saying gruffly, “If it’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there.” We had arrived “out there” and our problem had recurred. What would we do now?
In blogs yet to come, I will recount how we faced the challenges and what we did to solve them. Feel free to disagree with our choices. We were disconnected from the rest of the world in a unique way for this time in history. We had a goal that was being seriously challenged by circumstances. Check back often for more blogs to find out what came next and next and next. After 50 hours, we arrived in Block Island, and both we and the boat were intact.
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. Larry had to help me manage all that volume.
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 opened the slot that hides 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 4, 2009
Happy Birthday, America! May you still be the land of the free on your next birthday!
A marvelous thing happens when you exit the C&D Canal and enter Delaware Bay.
As you approach that exit, you are looking forward toward a view defined by the banks of the canal. For a mile or more, you look down that visual funnel toward what looks like a shore with houses and trees. However, before you truly exit the canal, you pass between a pair of stone breakwaters that push out into the Bay. Beyond the breakwaters, you see nothing but water in every direction, including the direction where you once thought you saw houses and trees.
It is waterworld. In fact, the illusion that grips you is a feeling that the water is encroaching on those breakwaters. It is as if you are in the center of a huge encircling wave. As you pass out of the canal and into the Bay, the impression remains that you have entered a world where nothing matters but water. We have been at sea where no land could be seen, and that is an impressive experience the first time it happens. This is different. Somehow, the contours of the canal banks and breakwaters change everything. There seems to be water above and below and all around, and all of it is coming your way. You don’t really escape for probably a mile.
Today we are truly passing out of sight of land. It is just past noon on July 4, and when I was still in the cockpit a few minutes ago, I could see no land except a hazy bubble of trees along the western horizon. We will exit Delaware Bay soon, and eventually every hint of terra firma will fade away. We will truly be at sea.
This is what we worked and dreamed for. When we left Harborview on May 1, we would never have predicted it would take two months to get here. Today the duration of two months fades unimportantly away. We are here. The dream is happening. The champagne is in the fridge. We are moving forward. All around is water, and that is a good thing. Sailboats love water. Our poor sailboat has been a prisoner far too long. It must feel like a bird let out of a cage. I know I do!