October 2015

Most sailors get pretty wound up when they leave the US. Do we have the right amount of cash? Fresh food? Rice and beans? Do we have adequate safety items? Harness, jackline, lee cloth? Did we pick the right weather window? Should we wait another few days for perfect weather? Did we stock up on enough maintenance supplies? Did we say all of our goodbyes as we lose our beloved cellphones and wifi? Are we properly rested?

Maybe we would have gotten wound up. I don’t know. We left Charleston, SC and were headed, with another boat, to St Augustine. We were planning to get wound up there! This trip was going to be about 35 hours along the US coast. We had a mooring arrangement there that would make all of our final provisioning and trips to town very convenient. As we turned south out of the Charleston jetty, with Planet Waves just behind us, we realized that the southwest course to St Augustine was going to be a motorboat ride. Sailing was not ideal. But turning more southeast, toward the Bahamas, would be a better point of sail. So, Bill asks “should we just go to the Bahamas now?” I quickly responded “Yeah!” And off we went.

Sorry Planet Waves, we will see you soon when you come to the Bahamas in a week or two. This is cruising. Go with the wind. Don’t say goodbye. You never know when you will leave, return, or meet up again. Meet ups happen daily. Sometimes with new people, sometimes with long lost friends. Sometimes planned. Sometimes by chance.

So we realized we were short a jar or two of peanut butter, we should have napped first, and we could have used a boom cheek block that we twisted on our downwind slog to Charleston. But there is always something missing, and we could deal with this. Improvisation is the best skill a cruiser can develop, a life skill that we rarely develop when Amazon is just a click away, and grocery stores are available daily.

Charleston was a happy memory and we realized that we would have to come back someday. We reflected on our fun visit with our York friend Kathy and her friend Linette. Kathy lives in a sweet carriage house that you could never find in New England. A short walking distance to King Street, we enjoyed a salad and drink at a piano bar.

As we were heading out, we realized that we never took a single photo! This is often the case when you are having such a nice time and you don’t stop to click. So we documented our exit, with it’s classic Charleston charm. Mansions lined the waterway just before the Battery. We love our AIS, which indicated that the huge cruise ship was not underway in our path yet. And our final click was the less charming, but highly noteworthy, Fort Sumter, where the American Civil War started.

Out to sea, after we radioed Planet Waves to tell them of our plan change, Bill set out a hook and soon had a dorado. Seeing how easily we could fish, we regretted not having a freezer. We couldn’t take more than one fish; it would go bad in our fridge. So we kept our hook on board after this catch. The only fish we caught after this were flying fish. Poor buggers; we only found them after they died on deck. This is one of the many times we missed Captain, our beloved cat, who cruised with us last time and took care of all birds and fish that ended up aboard. She was not so good at clean up though, as we often found carcasses and feathers in messy heaps.

Switching course to the Bahamas proved to be the right decision. We had a grand time and arrived in the lovely Bakers Bay three hours short of three days after departure. Not bad for a Gulf Stream crossing and 400 miles of southeast work. This time of year, the wind is usually from the southeast, so going in this direction can be problematic. The wind stayed east, sometimes a bit north of east, and kept steady at about 15 knots the whole way. Can’t ask for a better trip. Okay, it would have been better if we could have shared this experience with family or friends, but we can’t have it all.

Finally, after four days in the Intracoastal Waterway, we headed out to sea where we feel much more at home. We did enjoy our stops in the ICW, though. Oriental was a quaint little town with friendly people everywhere we turned. We stopped at Outfitters to borrow bikes to take to the grocery store. The woman at the store encouraged us to try the bicycle built for two. Bill blamed the tires being flat, but I think we just don’t have the coordination to ride this! Maybe if we weren’t so pressed for time we could have mastered this skill; the bikes had to be back by closing time in 45 minutes. A quick stop for a beer and a snack after the bike ride yielded many more lively and friendly people.

More ICW traveling the next day yielded many dull and exciting moments. We were in a narrow channel for much of the day. Sometimes, the water appeared wide, but the deep part was very narrow. See the photo of our GPS. White is navigable, blue is too shallow (see the 3.9 foot mark? we need 5 feet), green is often exposed grass, and yellow is land, but all were slightly submerged this day, given the floods. See the other photo with the trees mid channel! We were entertained by many interesting boats. I especially enjoyed the sailing kayak and the many fishing boats. The bridges were much less welcome and/or enjoyable.

Beaufort was a surprise. I had imagined this town as industrialized, like Norfolk, but it was far from it. This town is the first one on our journey where I could imagine myself living. Taylor Creek lines the sweet town, making anchoring and walking to town a synch. People were incredibly friendly, inviting us to their potluck Sunday Dinner, and other events. SUPing (Stand Up Paddle board) to the island with the wild horses was a treat. These horses have lived there for generations, digging up ponds with their hooves to create drinking holes without salt, and building several herds and their own territory rules. Ocean, town, and wildlife live harmoniously here.

But we wanted to head south, so we sailed out of Taylor Creek Monday morning at the crack of dawn in a stiff north breeze. Brrrr. I had just laundered all my bulky clothes, thinking I would stash them away in some remote cabinet on the boat. Nope. I needed every piece of clothing to not freeze out there. The forecast was for 15-25 knots of north wind and a 6-9 foot sea. We were pleasantly surprised to find no sea at all. The exit out of the harbor was simple, and we enjoyed our second breakfast of the morning.

Unfortunately, those promised seas did materialize, but they were dead astern, so the boat just rolled over the bumps instead of crashing into them if they were coming toward us. Bill set out his line soon after departing and BOOM it was gone. A huge fish took the squid and a hundred feet of line. The poor guy is swimming around with a pierced lip. While some teenagers opt for this decoration, most fish would not choose this outcome, I am certain. But a more reasonable sized Mahi Mahi took the next hook.

Life at sea just kept getting better. A school of dolphins joined us for the ride. They flew up to the top peaks of the waves, turned quickly and zoomed down the waves, right for our boat, diving down beneath our keel, then popping up at our bow. They did this for hours! I wonder if they were aware of the humans on board. I’d like to think they were playing with us. When our kids were younger, we took many vacations in tropical waters on chartered boats. They experienced this often and I longed for their company again. Magical experiences are always magnified through the eyes of children.
As the sun went down, the sky turned pastel pink and blue. I tried to capture this in a photo but, as usual, the photographer lacks skills. We have become accustomed to sailing at night, and enjoy the peacefulness. The Coast Guard, however, kept breaking our peace and announcing “hazards to navigation” throughout the night on our VHF radio. Apparently, an unmanned, drifting 44 foot boat was on our line of passage. Our moonlight and radar never revealed its presence.

The second day of sailing was less exciting. No fish were caught, no dolphins were seen, and the seas were laying down. We sailed lazily toward Charleston. Entering the breakwaters was a bit hairy though. The outgoing current and incoming wind created steep waves that rolled our boat wildly. Then three ships came toward us. We scooted as far out of their way as possible, but one set up such a huge wake that surprised us. Next time, we will try to plan on arriving in an inlet during daylight. This was just after the sun set and our light was completely gone. Even our spotlight went out; it blew a fuse as soon as we turned it on and there was no way one of us could go below with all the chaos on deck. But we were soon safely in the harbor and dropped our hook, eager to explore Charleston. After a good night of sleep.

Annapolis is many things to many people. For us, it is a sweet spot to stop to fill our hearts. Family, friends, boat, in that order, are our priorities. We had the great fortune to fill up on all three in this sailors’ town.

Originally, we were not going to come into the Chesapeake Bay at all. We were going to sail from Cape Cod Canal or New York City, straight to North Carolina. We tore our main sail one last time two weeks before departing Maine, and realized that we needed to replace it. The patches were overlapping and the material was as threadbare as my favorite jeans. Bacon Sails would have it ready for us in Annapolis if we came through this way. So we changed our plans, routed ourselves up the Delaware Bay and down the Chesapeake. Just before leaving Maine, Bacon said the sail was complete and they could mail it. We took this offer and carried on with our Chesapeake plans anyway.

Arriving in Spa Creek, we passed the Boat Show location and were amazed by how many sailboats could be crammed into this tight spot. Just a mile down the creek, Eric caught our lines at his dock where we stayed for three nights. Eric and his wife had sailed an Island Packet throughout the Carribbean and across the Atlantic, and generously filled our heads with fabulous ideas and enthusiasm. Anne and Jim met us soon after to shuttle us around Annapolis. We cruised with them 27 years ago on our sailboats in Puerto Rico, Turks and Caicos, and other a few other places, and this day we cruised in their car. They took us to pick up six new batteries, and after this delivery, back to West Marine to pick up an anchor.

Jim and Anne invited us to dinner, along with their son Bruce, and Eric and Carleen for an evening of wonderful sea stories, great food, and even better company. Cruisers are like family; no matter how much time goes by, reunions feel like you never were apart.

The Boat Show was overwhelming. A new Sailrite sewing machine was my huge hope, and I made a beeline for their booth. Sewing eight layers of leather sold me. This machine goes through it like butter. Next, Bill had a few things in mind: another anchor (we returned the Rocna to West Marine!) and plenty of rope. This show has something for everyone. Many people go to examine the many new and used boats for sale, others want to find fancy clothing and accessories. We skipped these offerings completely. We did appreciate all the free advice the booth staff had to offer. We now have a much better understanding of how to employ our spinnaker chute, maintain our Yanmar, manage our boom brake, clean our dodger windows, and anchor our boat. Thank you folks!!

Next up, was our visit with my brother Rick, his wife Mañana, and their two sons, Nick and Michael. They chauffeured us, and our heavy purchases from the Boat Show to the boat. That walk would have been a killer! Rick and the boys were immediately comfortable on the boat. Rick has spent weeks sailing with me and with others and it shows. The boys are just naturally athletic, intelligent, and eager to try new things, so they also quickly adjusted and set up their sleeping quarters for the night as if this was perfectly normal for them. Mañana was a bit tentative at first, needing assistance to get aboard, and not sure what to make of this type of living arrangement. But she soon made herself at home, which for Mañana, is cooking. My role was to show her where everything was: pots, bowls, knives, veggies, chicken, and spices. Within an hour, we had a fantastic meal and she was ready to cook more meals. Watching her move through the stages from confusion to “I love to cook on a boat!” was heartwarming for me. Sometimes I feel that people think I’m crazy to love this boat life, but watching Mañana adapt so quickly makes me want to bring everyone aboard.

The Farmers’ Market the next day was amazing. Maine’s Farmers’ Markets are nothing in comparison. I stocked up on all my fresh produce needs. Thanks Bruce and Sue for taking me! They have a Whitby 42 and three children; Sue teaches high school math; they both have engineering degrees… Bill and I have been living parallel lives with them! If we lived in Annapolis, I’m sure we would be together often.

After more meals aboard, complements of Mañana, more visits with Jim and Anne, and one more quick stop to the Boat Show, we had to shove off the dock and carry on heading south. Good Bye Annapolis; you’ve treated us very well. We will be back some day.

Two firsts to add to our Yay moments.

We saw our first palm trees today.

We have our first main sail recycled project installed: a navigation station clutter reducer.  Our retired main sail will now become many new things.

Somewhere, someone said that your true creativity blossoms when you are totally bored.  Well, I have been seeking this creativity burst, and maybe today is the day.  I used to be so creative.  In high school, I made most of my Christmas presents from fabric, dried flowers, paint, wood, beads, etc.  Perhaps the receivers of my creativity were not impressed, but the feeling of making and giving was good for my soul.  As a poor college student, I continued to be creative, making dorm lofts, cutting everyone’s hair, sewing outdoor gear that met the needs of my lifestyle in Vermont.  Making my wedding dress and most of the dresses for the ceremony again lifted my spirits and kept the cash flow in check.

Moving onto a sailboat soon after our wedding, when we were 22, gave me plenty of opportunity to get creative.  Being an engineer, having children, then running a day care, kept me constantly inventing new pieces of gear and useful things.  Then something happened.  I must have gotten tired, and became more inclined to buy stuff than make it.  Or do without.  My creativity withered to the point that even if I had a great idea, I would only think about it, but not begin the process of actually bringing it to reality.  I long for that feeling of satisfaction when you stand back and say “that is good”.

Hence, I am seeking boredom.  I’m not feeling the surge of creativity yet, but there’s hope.  The boredom is here.  Right now.  We are driving this boat (note that I am not saying sailing) down the ICW or Intracoastal Waterway.  These are the directions:  stare at the GPS screen, make sure you keep steering down the white path, don’t veer two feet left or right, and take quick glances at the depth gauge so you can verify the GPS data.  Don’t drive down the center of the water, the shallow spots are in weird spots.  Only the GPS screen knows where the deep water is.  Be prepared for the monster power yachts coming up astern that wish to pass you.  They usually hail on the radio and ask which side they can squeeze by.  Slow down, move a few feet over and say a little prayer so that you don’t get stuck in the mud again.  Yes, again.  Then, when a gigantic tug approaches and you have to pass each other, make sure you have recently relieved your bladder, because you may just do it in the cockpit.  Then count the tires that they have hanging over the side and give a sigh of relief, knowing that when you collide, the landing will be padded.  This is where you hope you have managed to place yourself in a section of the 40 mile canal where the width can accommodate the two of you. Note that you have almost no control of this.  The tugs come when they come.  You can’t turn around in this ditch.  Don’t forget to note the one canal marker in the twenty mile narrow stretch of the Alligator River, #59A, a green lit day-mark.  This ditch is so long and so straight, that you can probably see this marker at night for twenty miles in either direction.  But don’t try this at night.  The stumps sticking out of the water everywhere will certainly be invisible and unwelcome. Also, be prepared for the greens and reds to switch sides.  The 59 green is to port, but the 27 green is to starboard.  You will go under many bridges.  Some are at least 55 feet, our mast height.  Be careful though, as you may be off center and hear the antenna go pling, pling, pling.  Many bridges have to open for you, so call the bridge operator first.  They always sound like a grandpa, so enjoy these conversations and be sure to say Thank you.  One section of this ditch has eight bridges in ten miles.  Get ready for the locks.  You may will have to throw your fenders over to protect your boat from the concrete wall.  Tie up to the wall, wait for the locks to close, notice the water level drop, and adjust lines accordingly, then untie and carry on when the locks open.  Appreciate when the ICW widens for a bit.  You may actually get to sail, or at least loosen the death grip you have on the wheel.  Enjoy the scenery, which is mostly boring.

Wait, I said I was bored.  Those directions make it sound thrilling.  The excitement lasts only a few minutes at a time, then the boredom returns for another half hour.  So the ratio of excitement to boredom is five to thirty.  This should be a good start.  Maybe a few more days of this will yield some amazing results!

I have no idea how people do this alone.  At least Bill and I can take turns being bored and wetting our pants.  Speaking of pants, that is another boredom breaker.  When we started this morning, we were chilly, wearing pants, jackets, even a hat in my case.  Then the stripping begins and you get into your skimpy shorts because the heat is on, especially down below where the engine cranks the temp up.  But keep those clothes nearby because when the wind howls down the ditch, you will need them again.  We are not used to so much engine use.  We raise sails, but they are almost useless in the ditch.  This is our second day in the ICW, and we have one or two more to go, depending on our decision to stop at Oriental NC or go straight to Beaufort.

So far, this journey south has not been boring, I must say.  We have been on the move every day since mid August, except when we repaired the hull for three days, went to a wedding, watched Lindsay receive her White Coat at Tufts, stayed put five days waiting out Joaquin, then three days for a Whitby Brewer Rendezvous, then three days at Annapolis for the Boat Show and enjoying the visits with friends Jim and Anne, and family Rick, Mañana, Nick and Mike.  Every day we meet people who inspire us, and find situations that challenge us.  I love all this learning and growing, but also long for that boredom in hopes of leaps of creativity.  I guess I should stay in the ditch a few more days.  Or not.

Entering Norfolk was a true American Experience.  We had just had a full day of ten hours of light sailing, using the motor to assist the weak propulsion of our sails.  Lulled into peaceful harmony by a lovely mellow day on the water, the scene all day had been serene in the Chesapeake Bay.  Then, as if at the start of a show, the curtain lifted.

Something surfaced right beside the boat.  I mean right beside; not more than two feet away from the cockpit.  Standing at the wheel, with Bill below, I saw a huge fin break the surface with a splash.  A shark!  Bill come up!  There is something right beside the boat!  He dashed up, and we both watched the shark surface again.  Except it wasn’t a shark; it was a dolphin; a huge ten foot one.  We had seen many small porpoise in Maine, swimming about in large groups near our boat, but these were different: much bigger and so playful with us.  They continued to surface, sometimes three at a time, within touching distance.  They seemed to be saying “race ya”.  This continued for quite a while and we wished our children were aboard to watch.  They had witnessed this many times with us on sailing vacations in the Bahamas and Florida Keys.

As soon as the dolphins left, we watched another diving experience.  This time it was cars.  And trucks.  And motorcycles.  They all seemed to be diving right into the water just off our port side.  The chart gave the reason:  a tunnel.  It was rush hour and the highway traffic was rushing into the tunnel that descended right under us.  They popped up to starboard, and continued on their way.

Ahead was the next scene of the show:  huge ships at Newport News.  This looked like Bath Iron Works (where I had worked in Maine many years ago) on steroids.  I counted thirty ships before I lost interest and stopped counting.  This spoke loudly of Americans at War.  Cringing, I considered on how many dollars are spent here and how many lives are lost in the deployment of these ships.  Weirdly, the smell was what struck me as most offensive.  Paint?  I carried on to get better air to breathe.

Just beyond Newport News was umpteen more dry docks and marine terminals.  Huge ships tie up to unload their cargo, haul out for repairs, or load up for their next delivery mission.  This area was so noisy, with clanging cranes, rackety massive chutes receiving and delivering freight, and clamorous trucks banging their swinging contraptions to process the loads.  As we passed this area, my heart leaped at every Bang, thinking that we were in enemy territory.

Still within smelling distance of the warships, and earshot of the clanging cargo ports, the scene turned more urban.  Tall buildings with flashing lights exposed the more metropolitan area of Norfolk.  This was no more appealing to us than the industrial areas, as we are not city folk.  But the American Experience was unfolding.

Lucky for me, when we dropped anchor right beside the city lights, a fleet of little sailboats arrived.  Someone in an inflatable dropped mini red buoys in a circular pattern and I could see that they were setting a race course and Alembic was in it!  These boats were each manned by one or two people, mostly students from a local high school.  This little fleet looked like spilled M&Ms.  Each boat was a different color, and looked delicious.  One came so close, allowing me to have a conversation with the sailor.  He was in the lead, so he didn’t mind the diversion of a chat.  After rounding the buoys a few times, they carried on down a channel and disappeared.

Sitting back in my cockpit, I reflected on the last two hours of my day.  This excursion into Norfolk Virginia was the American Experience.  Wildlife showing us that playing is always an option, war preparation, massive deliveries of merchandise, urban development, and athletic activities for children.  Doesn’t that sum up our life?  I feel fortunate to be stepping away from all of this to explore new areas, far away from America.  I love my country, but I am happy to be stepping away.  Maybe I’ll come back with a fresh new outlook to share.

One of the best parts of this trip is the opportunity to make connections with people. We have met at least one person every day who sparks a connection. On day one it was the families from California and France who were experiencing cruising through the eyes of their young children. Day two it was the octogenarians on an ancient wooden boat who were so excited to row daily to the mossy shores to collect exotic mushrooms. Day three it was a woman who built a fairy house and lived her subsistence life there. So far, all were new connections. But then rekindling old connections started to happen. We ran into an old friend I met at UVM, then spent time with current friends, but in their new home in Vinalhaven, then met extended families of dear friends. Every day our network of friends expanded, making us feel like this trip was laid out for us, preplanned.

Then weird things started to happen. We were in a foreign land, called New York City, getting desperate for a place to tie up our dinghy, and there in front of us was a Whitby 42, with owners aboard. Who is aboard their boat on a chilly, windy late September day? The entire marina was deserted except this boat. They invited us aboard, gave us the key to their marina, let us tie up our dinghy to their boat, and welcomed us as friends. The next day in Cape May, on impulse, we headed into a barber shop to trim both of our mops. I’ve never even set foot in a barber shop before. There, on the bulletin board were many local notes and two Christmas family photos. Wait, we knew this family! They were from Maine. The little girl in both photos was one of Bill’s students at Maine Adaptive. They skied together regularly on Sundays. Later that day, my friend Sarah texted “Hey, my daughter is counting butterflies in the same town you are in right now. Will you meet her and take a photo for me?” We met Katie, had a delightful evening with her and, yes, took photos for her mom.

Continuous great connections have been occurring throughout the Chesapeake Bay. First, we stopped at Rock Hall for a quick scheduled engine check, and ended up staying 5 days to endure the almost hurricane weather as Joaquin skimmed by us. The fabulous marina managers let us stay as long as we needed at no charge, an unheard of policy. Then we attended a Whitby 42 Rendezvous as a last minute decision and were blown away by all of the welcoming words of wisdom and kindness. Our heads and hearts are now full of ideas for our travels as well as hopes for dropping anchor near these fabulous people.

Meeting people has become an expectation, not a surprise, now. Our experiences are weaving together with new and old friends and family like a beautiful tapestry. No holes. Just colors. Today was no exception. Twenty-seven years ago, we sailed into Puerto Rico, burdened by the Coast Guard troops who were on board, holding their large guns in position, and stomping about in those huge black boots. To make a long story short, they finally left when they realized we were in fact not the boat carrying the drugs from Mexico, and a very nice couple witnessed this whole scene. Jim and Anne were their names, and we ended up sailing in Turks and Caicos with them. Every year we have sent letters to each other and kept up with each others’ travels and families. Today we had the great fortune to spend the day with them. Even though so many years have passed, they haven’t changed a bit. They still are the same cruisers at heart as they were a quarter century ago.

Connections are everywhere and help us feel grounded. They link our past to our present to our future. They link what we know to what we can learn. I look forward to all the connections that will occur on this journey and hope to be part of others’ connections along their journeys.

Did you ever have a woobie? Do you know what one is? I had never heard of a woobie until sweet little Hannah dragged one into my house. Hers was a tattered old white cloth that may have been four cloth diapers that her clever mom sewed into a larger rectangle. Every time she returned for a visit, this woobie was a little more raggedy and a little thinner or smaller. I never could figure out what was so great about this piece of fabric, or why her mom let her drag this thing through the mud, onto her dinner plate, into her bed, up to the paint table, and beyond.

Then my children started dragging things around. Kenny had Thumper Bunny. He willingly shared every toy he owned at our home with all the day care kids who arrived daily and pounced on all of his belongings, but not his Thumper. I don’t remember how this was communicated, but the kids just knew that Thumper was Kenny’s and was not for sharing. Lindsay had a Christmas bear. This bear was dressed in Christmas finery and was a gift from her only Jewish relative. I love the irony of that! Beary’s head had to keep getting sewn back on because it was loved off many times. And Erica had her pink and blue blanket. This was a gift from my best friend Cathy, who sewed it before we knew if our child would be an Eric or an Erica. When we sold our home last year to move onto our sailboat, most of our remaining toys were given away. But not Thumper or Beary. Unfortunately, the blanket was buried ten years ago with our beloved cat, Captain. Erica insisted that we bury the cat in the blanket because they both snuggled with it for the last year and it would bring her forever comfort. I think Erica regrets this decision today.

What does any of this have to do with sailing? Well, it struck me today that I need a woobie. I don’t know if I ever had one. I was one of eight children and my parents lost track of a lot of things, not surprisingly. But I am like a young child right now. Everything is so new. Each day brings ten new ideas that I have to process. Look at this amazing bird, what is it? How do I cook with this new pressure cooker? How do I negotiate these huge waves in the dark; do I just steer the course, or steer around them? What size anchor do we really need; I thought we were all set with our 44 pound Bruce? What should we do if Joaquin comes right overhead? How do I sew this wicked thick material for my new sail cover on my old Kenmore? Do I have enough cans of chicken in our stores? How do we use this whisker pole on the genny (the sail farthest forward)? How can I shower quickly enough in the cockpit without freezing? Why is Wifi so elusive? Will we have enough power to keep our food cold or should we replace our old batteries? How can I talk to my children and parents more frequently?

I need a woobie right now! As I type, I am at a four day Whitby Brewer Rendezvous with an amazing group of people. Each person owns a boat like mine, and is far more experienced than I am. Every person has shared information about what to fix, where to sail, which device to get, how to sew helpful gadgets, who to contact in the Caribbean, where to get insurance, and so much more. I am like Hannah, needing something to grab onto to hold to say “This is familiar” when too many new things are coming my way. Can adults have woobies too?

Hurricanes are out there. We can’t make them go away. We can prepare and hope that they go out to sea where very few people could be affected. For the last week, sailors have been glued to some sort of screen, watching the path and the predictions. We were lucky. This time.

Alembic has had a leaky oil seal on our engine since we bought her, and Bill has been changing “diapers” on a regular basis to sop up the drips. He has been looking at the replacement seal in a ziplock bag for a few months now, wondering if he could fix this himself. He fixes almost everything aboard, but this seal is critical and opening up the engine could lead to a long list of other failures. Seeking advice from many sources, Bill found: schematics of our engine in the excellent documents aboard, Utube videos to show him how to pull apart our engine, sailors who suggested that diapers and replacement oil are cheap, a mechanic who thought he’d have to fashion a “tool” to pull pulleys and drop the oil pan and likely have to raise our entire engine. None of this helped Bill feel confident, so he consulted the Whitby 42 owners association, and they suggested stopping by Haven Harbour Marina in Rock Hall, on our way to Annapolis. We made an appointment with a mechanic for Thursday Oct 1, arriving Wednesday so the engine would cool down.

Just as we turned the corner to enter the marina, the winds piped up, and the rain started pelting. Entering this marina was a near nightmare; we were digging up mud, turning down a very tight pathway, looking at all the million dollar boats ten feet away on both sides, unsure which spot was Red 9, our berth. Seeing no colors, no numbers, no people to ask anywhere, we were losing faith fast. With no possible way to turn around, we started to panic, thinking this was not the right spot. But then we saw Hal, waving way down at the end, welcoming us in and ready to catch our lines. Relief.

Secured to our dock, marina manager Bill came aboard and reported the bad news. He was happy to have us here, but all hands at the marina were tied up preparing for Joaquin. Our engine would have to wait. How do you show disappointment and gleeful relief at the same time? This marina was so tucked away which made entry of Alembic and Joaquin almost impossible. So here we were, at a world class marina, equipped with 18 private hot showers, laundry, huge rooms for guests to watch TV (what’s that??) or sew projects, free wifi that actually works (unlike many marinas), free beach bikes and cars, friendly people everywhere.

The marina owners were worried about flooding causing tools, yard toys and furniture to float away, boats that were not properly tied to docks could get damaged, and unsecured fabric could fly loose causing excessive windage and more damage. While these are huge concerns, and a lot of work to attend to, they posed no danger or consequence to us. We could tie extra lines, we could remove all our sails, dodger, bimini, and clutter on deck and bring it all below into the cabin. We would be fine here. Even if the storm really came right over us, we could step ashore, drive away, and be safe. If we had been at anchor, this would not be an option.

Today is Saturday. We have enjoyed this marina immensely. We have biked all over town several times, gone jogging, dined out, performed many tasks which were made easier having access to land, and our engine is good to go. Hank simply loosened the pulleys, and replaced the seal. He also showed Bill many tricks about general maintenance and assured us that our engine is in terrific condition with many more years of life left. Weather has been lousy, with 20-30 kt winds, rain, and cold temps, but staying here has been a gift. We are still monitoring the progress of Joaquin, and staying hunkered down in this wonderful spot. Luck has been with us so far. We wish we could share our bounty with those less fortunate in the Bahamas.