Alembic

Bill and I flew home to Maine December 19 and enjoyed family, friends, skiing, Maine Adaptive, and a lot of reflection for two months. We are so deeply grateful for this life we are living. How did this happen? Less than two years ago, we were fully immersed in our busy work week, trying to squeeze family time, friends, adventure, and exercise into the wee hours that remained. While we loved our jobs, we longed to give more full attention to other aspects of our lives. Now that we live and cruise on Alembic, we again want to make sure we are attending to our other loves, so we arranged for an extended stay in Maine.

Living at our simple little ski camp at Mt Abram was perfect. Plenty of room for family and other guests, especially since Bill fixed up the shed out back as a sweet bunkhouse (the Love Shack as most of Mt Abram refers to it!)

Mondays and Fridays we worked at Maine Adaptive, helping folks with disabilities enjoy the thrill of skiing down Sunday River’s gorgeous terrain.

Often I drove down to Connecticut mid week to spend time with my Mom and Dad. Dad is struggling with Parkinson’s Disease, leaving him so weak that some days he cannot even sit up unassisted. Moving to a skilled nursing facility was a personal struggle for all of us, but we now see that it was for the best. With the parade of trained personnel, Dad gets PT, OT, excellent nutrition, and a wide variety of activities that stimulate his body and brain to function at its peak.

While I spent time in Connecticut, Bill usually stayed at camp to work at his consulting gig and to recover from a very minor hernia surgery.

On weekends, we tried to fit in as much family and friends time as possible.

These two months in Maine confirmed to us how important it is to take breaks from cruising to reunite with our “land life”. Simultaneously, we made plans for our trip to the Western Caribbean again while also preparing for our return to Maine in the summer. We coordinated flights for Kenny and Jenna to visit in the Caymans, Erica and Wes to visit in Belize (Logan and Lindsay have a TBD plan!), Cay and George to come again for two weeks in Belize, and purchased a wind vane, which signifies further and extended sailing in our future. With the help of some charitable and creative acquaintances, we planted the seed (pun intended!) to start an aquaponic demonstration system at a farm in Augusta when we return next summer.

We arrived at the airport on Valentine’s Day feeling fulfilled with our full two months, and eager to return to Alembic for more adventuring.

We had a spectacular time in the Exumas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gus, Rosemary, and Annie, you can skip this one. You’re not old enough for this.

Surfers can relate to the exhilaration of being between two lines of breakers. You look seaward and see the huge crashing waves, creating a jagged line somewhat parallel to the beach. Then you look toward the beach and see the foam take shape and dissipate repeatedly along the shore. You wait for the perfect wave to come your way, to catch, pop up, and ride. You are pumped with anticipation for the adrenaline rush this next wave will bring.

But this time, beneath us was not a trusty board. We were riding Alembic. Our home. Our everything.

We were sailing through the Devil’s Backbone, along the north coast of Eleuthera. We had just sailed all night to get here and we were tired. The wind was picking up from the northeast, and we were second guessing our plan to do this. Last year, we ducked around the west end of Eleuthera, into the peaceful Royal Harbor, skipping Harbor Island entirely. We could do that again. Or we could do what most first timers do: call for a pilot. Little Woody would come out in his boat, get on Alembic, and pilot us in through the “hazards”.

Instead, we were heading in. On our own. My biggest regret was that I didn’t take any pictures. I couldn’t. Bill was at the wheel, white knuckles holding tight. I was at the bow, clinging to the forestay as the boat plunged up and down in the seas. I wish I had the set up for a camera strapped to my forehead to take video while my hands were occupied with keeping me on the boat. I was pointing out the coral heads as Bill navigated through the surf. In order to release a hand to point, I had to wrap my leg around the stay to keep from getting tossed overboard.

Gorgeous turquoise water was strewn with coral heads that looked black from the surface. How could something so colorful below look so black from above? And how could these beautiful structures which we admired during our daily snorkel adventures be so potentially destructive to Alembic? One glancing blow could knock off our propellor, gouge our hull, or even knock us sideways to the sea. We focused on avoiding them.

Waves broke as the water got shallower, so Bill aimed for where there seemed to be a lull in the foam. Our charts showed a deep channel very close to shore. Very close. At times, we were forty feet from the beach to starboard (the right side of the boat) and thirty feet from large breaking seas to port (the left). This channel was by no means straight. Alembic looked like a drunk as she swung right then abruptly turned left to stay in the deepest water and dodge coral heads.

Bill and I couldn’t talk over the cacophony of the crashing seas. We had to trust each other and know that we would keep focus until we reached the end. I stared intensely straight down, maybe fifty feet ahead at all times, so I wasn’t sure where the end was. Bill had a better perspective, as he focused further ahead for the best path through.

If you love to live in the moment, you could probably enjoy this. There was no time to consider: could one of these waves knock Alembic over? what if Alembic ends up on the beach? what if her propeller gets knocked off and we have no engine to push us through? could I swim to shore if I had to? would the coral snag me on my surf ride in? Nope, no time for those thoughts. Just focus on the next coral head in our path.

The racket subsided. I remained transfixed on staring below. Finally I could hear Bill’s voice: “I think we are through!” I stood, stretched out my crimped back which was wound around the forestay, and breathed. We made it!

Motoring the last five miles south to Harbor Island was a chance to clear our heads, get our hearts to stop pounding, and count our blessings yet again. We didn’t bother to raise a sail because we were too exhausted. Dropping anchor was like a final sigh.

You’d think that after this crazy ordeal, we would stay at Dunmoretown a few days to revel in our accomplishment and take it easy. Nope. We stayed only a day, and headed back around again! This time, retracing our steps along the yellow line back to the northernmost point (the chart shows that blissful white area, signifying deep water) seemed doable as we survived this already. But then we had to deal with the hardest part of all, Salt Kettle Bay, Ridley Head, and Gun Point. All of these were wild with breakers, coral heads that came up twenty feet like spikes ready to tear off our propellor, and even a few barely visible rusty metal markers that were supposed to guide us, but actually endangered us further!

I wish I had taken photos of the crashing seas, almost knocking us over at times. Again, clearing Gun Point was the big relief. Now we just had to negotiate the strong current and shallow waters as we turned down the channel to Spanish Wells. Dropping anchor was once again like getting tucked in to bed after an exhausting day. But bed was not our plan. We quickly launched the dinghy and set off to explore this new place.

Sometimes I wish we reveled a bit longer on our accomplishments, our decisions, our relationship with each other and with Alembic. But we keep moving forward. We are creatures of action. Our reflections show up in our plans for the next time…And there is always more adventure in store.

TMaybe is what we affectionately call our T Mobile service. We pay $70 per month to have unlimited data all over the US and Caribbean. Compared to exorbitant Verizon prices which give us zero connectivity outside the US, fabulous, right? Well, sometimes. Dead zones are everywhere, sometimes where you’d least expect. No service in Annapolis! In the Bahamas we are finding we can connect weakly to Facebook and to emails, but can’t open links, photos, or anything much more than text. So I have been getting behind on writing, knowing I can’t link to my blog to post. Bill is trying to do a bit of NxStage work, so we finally bought more service. Bahamas WiMax was $20 for a month, and completely useless, so we loaded up our old Battelco sim card, slid it in our dying unlocked i4 cell phone, and are limping along with that. Alembic is 36 years old, her crew are both 54 years old, and the equipment aboard is comparably old. I’m doing a little tech dance, hoping that the old phone, tethered to this MacBook (since the hotspot is toast) will link successfully.

Our three week route from Beaufort South Carolina, offshore to St John’s River Jacksonville, down the ICW to St Augustine then Fort Pierce, offshore to the Abacos, Eleuthera, and finally the Exumas have been full of adventure and excellent sailing. Yesterday was Thanksgiving, a perfect time to reflect on our many blessings. We are missing our families terribly, but know that we will soon be together for plenty of fun times and bonding experiences.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lumpy seas were the norm for the offshore leg from Beaufort SC to Jax. EastNorthEast winds of 15-20 knots, gusting to 25, and 5 foot seas never really subsided as was predicted by our trusty weatherman, Chris Parker. So we sailed along, giving the motor a rest. During this trip, we were faster than Kismet, Blabber, and Antares, who were all faster than us last trip, reemphasizing that Alembic performs well in rougher conditions than most boats her size. Ping was another boat that we met via VHF and passed. Alembic is often the slowpoke, so passing others was a rare occasion.

Tying up to the free dock at Sisters Creek was a treat. We had lived at this exact location 30 years ago on our beloved Wings, a Westsail 32. Back then, it was a trashy marina with fixed 5 foot docks that were nearly impossible to maneuver into. I remember smacking our rugged little ship into the pilings and pushing off, getting splinters galore, just to pivot us against the raging current into our tiny slip. Now, those docks have been replaced with a spiffy long floating pier that you can just step onto and line handle your boat into the correct position. And it’s free!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our next stop, Pine Island, was a sweet anchorage, just off the ICW, where ten boats tucked in for the night. St Augustine was next; we picked up a mooring here because Lindsay was about to arrive, and we wanted easy access to shore/showers/music/biking. We thoroughly enjoyed St Augustine, meeting many new and old friends,

 

 

 

 

 

 

and playing for four days with Lindsay. I’ve written a separate post about our time with Lindsay, because I couldn’t squish in all the happy times here! Suffice it to say that together we enjoyed meeting pirates, Cubans, and bikers, and experienced the most awful music (was that what the screaming hoarsely into the mic and banging on the keyboard was?) and then some delightful music, while dining in some quaint establishments ashore. And of course we had to add exercise into most hours of the day, as Lindsay is an extreme fitness person and we benefit from trying to keep up!

 

Saying goodbye to Lindsay was sad, but we realize that we all have plans to work toward our dreams. I love that each of our three children is so passionate about goals and lifestyles. They work hard, play hard, and fit in time with us when they can. I could never ask for more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Southward bound, we headed down the ICW for two long boring days, dropping the anchor after dark at mile mark 842 Rockhouse Creek, and mile mark 925 Coconut Point. Hundreds of manatees broke up the boredom as they lazily rolled all around us, especially in Mosquito Lagoon. Photographing them was a complete megaflop as the water was darker than tea, hiding the beasts until they were right beside you. Each time I grabbed the camera, they were back below the dark surface before my finger could click a button.

Fueling up in Fort Pierce was our last US stop. We saw Bob and Doris’s catamaran and tried to walk over to them, but the locked gate prevented our reunion. We all lived aboard in a marina in Kittery Maine and I looked forward to catching up on their adventures. Alas, we had to get off the fuel dock, so away we went.

Good bye US! Some people may think we were running from the crazy post election results, but, no, this was our plan, and we were sticking to it. Donald Trump had just won the Presidential election two days prior, and most of the world, including his supporters, were in the state of shock. We carried on.

Dolphins guided us out to sea. Leaving the Fort Pierce jetties was so mellow, with 12 knots of NE wind. We sailed with the main and working jib while the motor did most of the driving. Winds soon became light and variable, topping a whopping 7 knots! The seas were bizarre; large but so smooth and far apart. At times, while seated in the cockpit, we couldn’t see any horizon because we were in a trough, but the motion was slow and gentle. We tried every sail combination, ranging from two to all four up. Around midnight, when we arrived on the Little Bahama Bank, with winds from the south, we shut off the motor for a nice quiet beam reach sail while Bill slept. This trip goes down in the record books as the easiest ten hour Gulf Stream crossing ever!

After a spectacular moonlit night (full moon was the next day), we were gifted with a magnificent sunrise on the shallow banks, near Great Sale Cay, our destination to anchor for a rest. Given the mellow trip, we had no need to stop, so we continued on.

Catching a 2 foot barracuda broke up the monotony of the motorsail. We usually release barracuda but this one was small and we recalled eating so many that others caught last year and never contracted the dreaded Ciguatera. So Bill made a bloody mess on the aft deck and soon we had dinner in our fridge.

Becoming antsy with too much sitting, and figuring that we had excess amps, given the hours of motoring, Bill brought out the sander and began working on our weathered shroud rollers. There are definite benefits of having an overachiever for a husband! Always working on something!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Manjack was a welcoming sight. Never having been there, but hearing so many stories from friends, we knew we wanted to explore this beautiful spot. Bill and Leslie Harrington settled here 25 years ago and have built a remarkable homestead. Their home, gardens, free range chickens and goats, docks, and beach reveal their many talents as architects, builders, artists, and farmers. They welcome cruisers to their land and share everything they have built.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We checked in through Customs and Immigration the next day at nearby Green Turtle Cay, but came back to Manjack for two more days of playing and exploring the land and sea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then on to Great Guana to visit Nippers and the Alburys. A quick stop at Man-O-War Cay for fuel and water, and on to HopeTown for a night at a mooring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This year, we have been focusing on hitting the spots we missed last year, so we buzzed through the Abacos quite quickly, skipping Marsh Harbor entirely. We stopped for one last partial night in the Bight of Old Robinson, just north of Little Harbor. We tried to snooze in the rolly anchorage until midnight, then we raised anchor and set off under moonlight through the cut south of Lynyard Cay, Eleuthera bound.

Focusing on seeing new spots, we knew we had to get to Dunmoretown; after all, Bill’s Mom’s maiden name is Dunmore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Very few cruisers go here, as getting there means you have to either go a very long way around Eleuthera and enter through a cut south of Harbor Island, or test your bravery going through Devil’s Backbone. Most boats use a pilot to guide them through this treacherous route, but we decided to try it ourselves, even after a night offshore with little sleep! I’ll spare the details here, and just tell you that we made it! Once though, we enjoyed the peaceful bay, five miles long and one mile wide. Romora Bay Marina welcomed us to tie our dinghy here, making this anchor stop free and easy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Glad we came, but happy to leave the next day, Dunmoretown seemed bipolar. Plenty of rich folks pouring off their docked Megas congregated in the heart of the beautiful town, while the black locals huddled in the northern end, with zero cruisers, except Bill and I, to span the gap. Cruisers, like us, mingle well with all types, rich and poor, local and foreign, with constant curiosity and no obvious affluence. My favorite part of meeting cruisers is that you don’t know, or care, if the folks are rich or poor, had lofty careers or not; we are all working hard to keep our own sailboats floating and moving, while we travel slowly far from home.

Traveling back across the Devil’s Backbone the next day was even hairier than the day before because the wind had picked up, and we added the second crazier part, Salt Kettle Bay. But we made it safely. Turning into the narrow harbor between St Georges and Charles Island, we exited the western end and anchored just south of Russell Island, for a peaceful night with no boats in sight. Visiting Spanish Wells, the town on St Georges Cay, was mellow. We dined on greasy conch fritters and Kalik beer for a mere $24 total; cheap for the Bahamas!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wanted to go out of our way to explore more new places, so we headed east toward the Glass Window the next morning. Why is this off the beaten track? It was amazing! Eleuthera becomes very skinny here. The spectacular limestone arch, created by the crashing Atlantic seas clawing their way through, finally collapsed, falling into the opening where the ocean water flows at high tide onto the shallow banks. A bridge was built where the arch had been so cars could still get across. This bridge ended up getting shoved 7 feet westward during a hurricane. Imagine driving a car and the bridge jogs abruptly. Yup.

While exploring the Glass Window and the Queen’s Baths (deep pools smoothed out by crashing seas on the Atlantic side) we met a nice family who have been living and vacationing here for over 20 years. They introduced us to Michael Albury, who guided us through huge caves nearby.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carrying on down the west side of Eleuthera, we enjoyed snorkeling and SUPing by the cliffs at Annie’s Bight and anchoring in the protected harbor at Hatchet Bay. We had to stop at the Front Porch here to meet Frances, famous on Active Captain! He was recovering from a horrible accident which required him to be airlifted to Nassau for surgery on his arm and head. Despite some cognitive issues and morning arm pain, he is recovering well, working at the restaurant, and truly grateful to be alive. An inspiring man for sure.

Before dawn the next morning, we snuck through the narrow gap in the cliffs, heading due west to Finley Cay. We had a delightful twenty mile downwind sail with the genoa poled out and the mizzen up (Jib n Jigger). Raising the main as we rounded Finley Cay and headed south, the trip became a pleasant beam reach in crystal clear water, about 15 feet deep. Bill and I chilled, reading, writing, and relaxing as we sailed briskly in rising winds. Just as we hit the Middle Ground, the winds piped up to 25 knots and we began a romping slalom course through the black coral heads. I’m sure they were delightfully colorful below, but to us they were black in color and in significance. Hitting one could end our trip abruptly, with no TowBoat to call.

Reef the mainsail in the middle of this slalom course?? Yes, with no brake pedal on Alembic, we had to, unless we fancied the idea of hitting one of these beauties with tremendous force. Once reefed, we sailed a bit slower, with more control for quick darting turns. Visibility was hindered by the sun in our eyes, making the sea look sparkly. We couldn’t see the coral heads until we were about 100 feet from them. I wasn’t sure what I liked better: turning around, facing north, I could see the all coral heads up to a mile away, looking like an impossible route, or facing our direction, south, where I could only see the ones I was about to navigate around. I decided I liked our direction. Is this a metaphor for my life? Viewing only what’s right here, instead of looking far down the road? Yes! Living in the moment.

We were supposed to be exploring new places, and had planned on dropping anchor at Finley Cay, Middle Ground, or Sail Rocks, but these are all very exposed to wind, and anchoring would have been unpleasant at best, so we carried on to a familiar spot, Allans Cay. After jumping in for a refreshing swim, a peek at the iguanas on the beach, and a visit with the Germans nearby, we prepared for a quiet night. Quiet was not the case, however. The winds picked up to almost 30 knots and the current snorted through this cut, causing Alembic to swing in huge arcs and toss around as if we were at sea. Too bad Andreas on BossaNova didn’t know we had a secure anchor; we learned that he lost sleep worrying we might drag onto his catamaran. We all left the next morning in search of a better spot.

Highbourne Cay was that better spot. On the charts, it seems more exposed than the tight channel of Allans, but after one night there, we found no current to pivot us sideways to the wind, and the coral sandbar blocked the seas from wrapping around the island and rolling us. Like Dunmoretown, Highbourne caters to the mega yachts and has a marina, store, and restaurant with exorbitant prices. No matter, we enjoyed the free anchorage, the excellent snorkeling where Bill speared another two lion fish, and the peaceful spot to cook up a big Thanksgiving meal. We sat alone in our cockpit, dining on cornish game hen, wild rice, potatoes, green bean, and pumpkin pie and shared our many thankful thoughts. It was weird to celebrate alone, without any other family. My thoughts drifted back to the many Thanksgivings spent at our house or my brother Paul’s with vast numbers of children and adults. I miss those times. Even last year, we had Lindsay with us to celebrate a caribbean version of the holiday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On holidays and most other days, I miss our dear friends and family, but truly appreciate Bill and all of the adventures we manage to pack into our lives. Please come visit us sometime, so we can share these glorious places and experiences with you!!

Nothing makes us happier than having the opportunity to spend time with our kids. When they were small, I quit my engineering job to spend every day with them. Running a daycare in our home was supposed to be for earning money, but really, it gave me the opportunity to hang out all day, every day with my small humans. While it is obvious that Kenny, Lindsay, and Erica share DNA with Bill and me, they have their very own personalities, drives, and interests. Marveling at their development is something that I continue to be enthralled by, even more so now that they are in their twenties. And spending a few days with Lindsay would give us a chance to again listen to her ideas, hopes, dreams, and plans, all of which seem to develop at a whirlwind rate.

Lindsay has developed a reputation for bringing strong winds with her when she visits. Last year, when she visited us in the Bahamas for Thanksgiving, the winds blew almost fifty knots each of her four days with us. This year was a bit less, but still packed with 25 knot winds from the north. Dinghy rides were soakers, so she quickly agreed to dress up in my spare tattered rain pants. Once ashore, we ditched the silly foullies (sailors’ name for foul weather clothing) and enjoyed our dry breezy days.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

St Augustine was a great place to play for 4 days, with all of its rich history. For starters, Bill insisted on a Cuban sandwich for lunch, and Lindsay, almost a vegetarian, politely split one with me as well. I’ll bet that’s her last Cuban sandwich! Next, we toured Flagler College, which has taken over the old Ponce de Leon Hotel and I’m sure has some connections to Hogwarts Castle as well. Pirates were everywhere, roaming the streets, drinking in outdoor bars, hanging out at the piers, riding motorcycles even! Why I didn’t take a single photo of their fantastic costumes is beyond me.

Later that day, we headed across the river to go to a tiny restaurant Bill and I discovered the day before. They serve only grilled cheese sandwiches and craft beer, but their selection of both are outstanding! We were eager to show Lindsay this quaint spot and enjoy the live music that was scheduled to start at 9. Lindsay had been up since 3 am to catch her flight, so she was a great sport to try and stay awake till then. Well, 9 turned into 9:30, then 10, then 10:20! Finally the music started, but I don’t know who called it music. A single guy sat on a bar stool banging on a toy keyboard and screeching into the microphone. We thought this was a joke, a 3 minute joke, and waited for the next number. Introduction to the next one was “this is a song about masterbation!” At this point, we looked around the room to see if anyone was “into” this type of performance. Most looked equally shocked and were wide eyed and confused. The girls playing pool nailed it: “My ears are BLEEDING!” We agreed, and we left. Sorry Lindsay!

The oldest masonry fort in the US, Castillo de San Marcos, was interesting to explore. You could almost feel the throngs of people building, standing guard, and seeking refuge there.

Across the harbor, the climb up to the lighthouse gave us a spectacular view of the old city and the protected harbor where Alembic swung on her mooring. Actually, the harbor protection was not adequate a month ago, when Hurricane Matthew slammed the coast and put many boats here up on land. Amazingly, most of those boats are now floating again and the docks and moorings are back in service.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keeping up with Lindsay was a challenge when we rented beach bikes and bombed around the surf’s edge and into some jungle paths. In between bike touring, we stopped at the Chowder Fest for some live music and tasty chowder samples.

Shh, don’t tell Logan, but Lindsay did sneak in a few runs. She was supposed to be taking a brief break from her marathon training, but she broke down a few times. Once was when we sailed Alembic up the river fifteen miles to Nocatee Preserve. While strolling, Bill and I were eaten alive by bugs, but at Lindsay’s pace, those pesky critters couldn’t catch her! Finding a high school track adjacent to the trails, Lindsay added a few sprints to her workout.

On our final day, we toured Jacksonville, had salads on a riverfront balcony, and made plans for Christmas together with Erica, Kenny, and Jenna. While we all love these balmy southern temps, we also look forward to chilly days on the snow. Thanks for taking a break from med school to hang with your parents! We love you!!

Two cities with the same name, but not the same pronunciation, were our endpoints of our offshore trip when we left the ICW. Our only regret in Beaufort NC (pronounced BoFort) was that we didn’t take any pictures. We had been there last year, so the sights were not new, which gave this lovely town a homey feeling. Hoping that the pot luck supper at the local wine bar was still a happening thing, we ventured over with our hot pot of stew. Happily, we found the same folks setting up the spread on the long counter. We were welcomed like long lost siblings, and enjoyed a fabulous meal of excellent food and even better conversations.

Eager to move along, we headed out the cut two days later and found ourselves in the company of two boats we already knew, Kismet and Allegria. They had departed a few hours ahead of us, from Point Lookout, which is a piece of land jutting out near the entrance and is known for spectacular wildlife. Another year… We were also greeted by friendly dolphins who stayed with us most of the day.

This trip was a downwind run with gentle small seas. Sounds like a time to just sit back and read, right? Wrong! Always sumpin on a boat. First, I noticed a sound. My hearing is not great, but I always seem to find the weird sounds. It was a clunking in the aft cabin and I was sure we had a steering problem. Bill, my fixer-of-all-things hero, had just replaced our steering cables and surely nothing could be wrong already! My ears and my hero didn’t let me down; Bill finally found the tiny source: a hydraulic piston was a bit loose. After taking apart the aft berth and diving head first into the deep bilge there, he tightened the bolt and Voilà, silence.

Again my ears detected a problem. A bit later, in the dark, on my watch, I was startled from my reading. The mainsail became surprisingly quiet. It had been thwapping as we rolled gently. The makeshift preventer and Walter Brake tried to keep the boom in place. This is a nearly useless apparatus that is supposed to work like a boom vang which pulls the boom down toward the deck, disallowing the wild upward motion resulting when the boat rolls and the wind tries to fill the sail when the boom is 90 degrees to the centerline of the boat. Quiet. Uh oh. No moon. No visibility. Get a bright head lamp (ask Bill how much I hate that thing!).

I tried to draw a picture of what the sail SHOULD look like. The sail is supposed to be behind the spreaders at all times, but with a big roll, the sail and boom flopped upward, giving the sail a big “belly”, and somehow, the top part of the sail snuck in front of the spreader. And the batten, a stiff fiberglass “board” to flatten the sail, was keeping it stuck there. Releasing the Walter and the preventer, I tried to bring the sail toward the centerline of the boat as I steered more upwind. No luck. I was sure the sail was going to rip as it was getting sawed by the sharp wire stays. Time to wake up my hero. Groggily, Bill came into the cockpit and took the helm. I went forward to the mast (yes, I was tethered to the boat!) to drop the sail, but of course it wouldn’t fall; it was hanging by the spreaders thirty feet up. Luckily, those same seas that caused the problem, gave us another roll and just as he headed straight into the wind, with the sail trying to pull straight back, it popped out of its jam. Sure that I’d find a huge tear, it looked fine. Weird. I bet not many sailors have had this problem, or have been able to get out of this jam without climbing the mast. And climbing a mast in the dark while the boat is rolling around is a bad idea. Problem two solved.

Problem three: maybe my hero is sometimes a bit too “strong”. He and his brother, Ben, have this theory: “when there’s a problem, just get a bigger hammer” . This comes into play when we go aground. My instinct is to back up to get back to deep water, while Bill’s instinct is jam the throttle forward to power your way through. So this time using the bigger hammer caused a failure. We were raising the cruising gennaker which is a beautiful light fabric sail that looks like a spinnaker. It comes in a sock (or condom!) that has to be raised to release the sail. So we got the sail up, the sock holding it tight to the forestay. Raising fifteen feet was smooth, then it jammed. Bill tugged. Then harder, then harder…RIP. Uh oh, down with that sail. Back to the heavy genoa in these light airs.

 

 

This lovely downwind two day sail to Beaufort SC (pronounced BewFort) was punctuated with excitement, but entering into the St Helena’s channel luckily was not exciting. We had heard that hurricane Matthew had rearranged sandbars throughout the southern US coast, and that the channel markers may have been blown off course or need to be moved to highlight new sandbar locations. Heaving to (a method of sailing where you set your steering and sails to cause you to drift very slowly) to await daylight, we arrived just at daybreak enabling us to see the unlit marks. No buoys in this entrance have any lights. We hurried in, as the current was about to build to be strong, hampering our progress.

Traveling up the Coosaw River, we saw countless accounts of Matthew’s destruction. So sad. Some say that the river needed “a cleaning up; let the riffraff get pushed ashore” but my heart broke every I saw a damaged boat or home.

Pulling into Factory Creek to drop anchor, we saw Moondancer, who we had sailed with last winter throughout the Western Caribbean. A nice welcome! Staying in Factory Creek a few days allowed us to enjoy time with Steven and Linda on Moondancer, Molly and Dee on Allegria, and the many folks involved in the Lady’s Island Marina.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Friends also came almost five hours from Atlanta to visit which topped off our stay in Factory Creek. We met Tracy in 1985 and have never let miles keep us apart! She embodies the cruiser spirit, even though she is not a sailor herself. She travels the world every year for work and pleasure but takes every opportunity to reunite with old friends. We enjoyed biking, dining out and dining in, and exploring new beautiful places around our anchorage as well as their rental home on a creek. Normally Tracy and Marty would have stayed aboard, but one of their two dogs would have been traumatized by the dinghy ride and any Alembic time.

We are sad to leave Tracy and Marty, Lady Island, and Beaufort SC, but the southern waters are calling us. And Lindsay is about to arrive at Jacksonville Airport. We are eagerly looking forward to a few days with her!!

Two hundred miles in the waterway and we are ready for an exit! Most sailors have a love/hate relationship with this beautiful stretch of water. Sailing is often impossible due to the tight canals and tricky maneuvers around huge power boats, but the scenery ranges from amusing to breathtaking, and when we do hit open bays, we rejoice with a refreshing sail.

We arrived at mile mark zero, Norfolk, after dark, having made a spontaneous stop to see our Swedish friends on Blå Ellinor. Passing so many Navy ships was spectacular. It seems like a lifetime ago that we both were engineers at Bath Iron Works where some of these were built.

Waking up at anchor in the heart of Norfolk was surreal. You could hear the water slapping at our hull and the birds overhead much more clearly than the surrounding sounds of ships, trains, cars, trucks, and cruise ship bow thrusters. After years of my mama voice saying “look both ways before you cross the road”, we were looking both ways before crossing the chaos of this river in our tiny dinghy with its wimpy 6 horsepower motor.

Safely across, we ventured into the city. Norfolk is huge but everything we needed was a short walk from the river.

First, a new phone to replace the one that proved to me that iPhones don’t float, then to a cafe for some internet to update its function. Playing tourists was fun too, as we admired the many mermaid statues and the Navy museum.

Leaving Norfolk at 4pm, only allowed us to get through the locks and tie up at Great Bridge free docks, about 12 miles down the ICW.

Here, we squeezed in between another sailboat and a trawler. There was about 45 feet left of the pier for our 42 foot sailboat. Moving Alembic sideways is impossible without a bow thruster, but luckily, two gentlemen jumped off their boats to catch lines and pull us sideways into the pier. I like to think they were kind, but others might say they were protecting their boats from being sideswiped as we parallel parked in a tight spot.

It looked like rush hour with all of us untying from the pier and lining up to go through the first bridge opening at 8 am. We cruised together for most of the day, waiting at each bridge, and carrying on again until we finally hit open bays and spread out. Finally dropping anchor as the sun set, we enjoyed a quiet night.

Thousands of mosquitoes were either dead on deck or hovering in lethargic swarms in every piece of shade they could find. They left disgusting green stains all over Alembic’s fiberglass, sails, and flags.

Bill’s efforts to clean was kinda gross with the tea water he scooped out of the ICW. After hours of scrubbing and swatting as we motored along, we were still covered in green polkadots.

A few more days of motoring, sailing, and anchoring in Belhaven, Oriental, and Beaufort NC, and enjoying the wildlife, canal life, and anchorages, we were ready for an exit out to the ocean.

Having 17 days in a row of guests put us in a new mindset. Our visitors, Cay, George, Kenny, and Jenna all live in Maine, and spending time with them caused us to happily wrap our hearts around being back home there with them and all the other people and places we love. So, as soon as we finished our planned inland trip to San Ignacio, we set off for home.

While on our way north 45 miles to San Pedro to clear customs and leave Belize, we heard some of our OCC friends on the VHF. They were wishing Mary, on Echo, a happy birthday. Of course we jumped in on this and also sent her radio greetings. During these conversations, we learned that Shamal and Echo were going to be staying at Cay Caulker that evening. Oh, so quickly our plans change! We figured one more night in Belize couldn’t hurt, so we dropped anchor there too.

Celebrating Mary’s birthday was wonderful. Pelican, the restaurant, was excellent, and the company of Echo and Shamal was even better. We put our heads together to figure out when it was best to head north, and what route to take. All six of us had our hearts set on stopping in Mexico to see the country and to have one last OCC party when Suzie Too returned from the UK the following week. We considered all of the information we had gathered over the past week, regarding the high costs to clear in and the upcoming cold front, and decided to skip Mexico this trip. We all resolved to visit Cozumel, Cancun, and Isla Mujeres next year.

Our next challenge, was to figure out how to get through a cut in the reef that protects Belize like a strong fortification. This reef runs north to south with only a few breaks large enough for Alembic. The problem was that the wind was pretty strong from the East; excellent for a brisk sail north, but terrible for the cuts. When we went up to San Pedro by water taxi, we zoomed by the cut there, and saw boats trying to get out. The waves were so steep, causing the boats to pitch up and down violently, preventing any forward momentum. We watched them turn around and come back into the anchorage, giving up the hope of passing through there.

Echo and Alembic made plans to head south thirty miles to the ship channel, passable in any weather because it is wide and deep. This was the exact wrong direction for our destination, but the right decision for our safety. Shamal decided to wait another day for the seas to calm down. We knew a cold front was coming in a few days and that we had to be hunkered down in the Dry Tortugas or Key West by Wednesday afternoon, so we sailed north in time for this plan. This cold front would provide much wanted north winds, after the squalls passed, for our trip from Dry Tortugas to Miami, a course that usually has east winds, right on the nose, for weeks on end. While the seas were choppy and confused, we had a great sail, riding the currents which ran as much as 3 knots on parts of our three day passage.

Just a few hours earlier than Chris Parker, our weatherman had indicated, the cold front hit on Wednesday morning at 1 am. On my watch, I lay on my back reading my kindle, oblivious to the spike in wind. Bill came up the companionway, bleary-eyed from sleep, asking “what’s going on?” My book must have been engaging, because I hadn’t realized a squall was upon us. We quickly doused our big genoa and the mizzen and double reefed our main sail, just in time for the squall to finish. We only clocked 31 knots and this only lasted fifteen minutes. We sailed easily into Dry Tortugas, arriving that afternoon. Unfortunately, Shamal and other OCC friends on Blå Ellinor and Mad Romance were hit pretty hard by much stronger squalls a few hours later.

The Dry Tortugas was beautiful and sheltered many species of wildlife that I wanted to explore. Unfortunately, the rough weather made dinghy riding, snorkeling, and swimming unpleasant, so we just lounged around and visited with Echo and other boats in the anchorage. Legally, we were not allowed to go ashore anyway, since we had not cleared customs and there is no place here to do so! We stayed only two nights, waiting for the calmer weather, and set off Friday morning for a long day sail to Key West to clear through customs.

Home at last. Not quite. Actually, far from it. First, the customs were giving us such a hard time over the phone. Phone! Our Verizon phones had a signal! This was the first time we used those in a long while. I mentioned it was Friday, right? And that it was a long day sail? So we were arriving at about 6pm. Calling them while still offshore at 5pm, they told us they were about to close their office. For the weekend. And that we had to clear in within 24 hours. They suggested we clear in at the Miami office. That couldn’t work. We couldn’t, or wouldn’t, get there in 24 hours. UGH. Finally they indicated that we had a clearance number, by this call, and that we could maybe clear in at the airport the next day.

Another reason we were far from home was that Key West is nothing like Maine. Wild. Loud. Crowded. I had fun, though, visiting with Shamal that night at a packed noisy bar. They had skipped the Dry Tortugas and came in to Key West the day before, having been kicked around a bit in the stormy weather. Bill couldn’t wait to leave this busy spot, so we left the next morning and sailed through the night to the upper Keys, traversing Jewfish Creek, a skinny mangrove opening we had discovered thirty years ago on Wings, our Westsail 32.

Spending Mothers’ Day at Boca Chita and Sands Key, just north of the creek, was a real treat. We have many fond memories here from when we chartered catamarans and taught our kids to snorkel. I can still feel Lindsay’s hand in mine, as she watched a huge Spotted Eagle Ray swim beneath us when she was only about seven. And I can hear Erica’s sweet voice singing as she danced on the heavy decorative fence around the Boca Chita lighthouse. I smile with the memory of Kenny begging to go spear fishing again in the cut between the islands. Miami could wait. I was savoring these moments here for the day.

Raising the anchor, heading into Miami late that afternoon, was anticlimactic. After squeezing through a few bridges, and ducking out of the way of far too many wild speeding power boats, we dropped our anchor in a safe spot. Most of the traffic here was just jet skiers, who couldn’t produce much of a wake, thankfully.

Miami seemed so different from how I had remembered it. We lived in the Miami Beach Marina on Wings for two years before the kids were born. The marina is now packed, very fancy and expensive, as opposed to the unfinished facility that we lived in. South Beach has turned into a lively scene, packed with vacationers, where what I remembered was a wide open beach for us to ride our ten dollar yard sale beach bum bikes. We felt like strangers in a place we once called home; helping us to keep up the desire to keep moving to our actual home in Maine.

Next trip, Ft Lauderdale, only twenty-five miles north, was our next adventure. Arriving here was surprisingly pleasant and peaceful. We picked up a mooring in a tiny cove with only a few other boats. Our mooring neighbors hailed from Canada, France, New Zealand, and the Netherlands, making us feel like we were in a foreign port again.

Visiting with Paul and Ann was the highlight of this stop. Almost twenty years ago, they welcomed us warmly to York Maine, and helped us to settle in to that community. In like fashion, Paul and Ann went above and beyond to help us enjoy our five day stay here, as we waited for better weather to head offshore again.

Seeing Blå Eleanor and Mad Romance safe in Fort Lauderdale was a relief. They were hit quite hard by a very brief, but dangerous storm cell on their way to Key West. Asa mentioned recording 57 knots before their wind speed instrument went blank. They tore sails and their bimini pole became dislodged, pinning her to the wheel. Asa shared the details of this event with her heavy Swedish accent and her unshakable positive attitude. “The storm was so beautiful: everything went black at mid day, then the lightning created the most beautiful show”. Mad Romance experienced the same wind, along with the wild darkness and lightning. The instruments on both boats have been acting wacky ever since. It’s possible they encountered proximity lightning strikes, without the more dangerous direct hits. All were in great spirits, enjoying the protection of a safe harbor, and making plans to fix things so they could head out again for more extended adventures!

This trip home has become a wonderful blend of past and present. Combining old favorite places and people with new places and friends makes my world jell. We are transitioning back to Maine, warmed by the many events in our lives, from long ago to today, that make me smile.