So, there I was back on the highway but farther away from selling Ruth Ann than I thought I was going to be. I had been ghosted by two seemingly enthusiastic buyers; even found a notary in a mad rush at 4:30 in the afternoon to sign the Coast Guard certificate. But no joy.
Well, I had had my favorite Crispy Mahi Reuben sandwich at the 12A Buoy Restaurant but other than that, no joy.
I ran up I-95 and then cut over to Green Cove Springs again. Some more mail had arrived that I wanted to pick up. Then I made it all the way across Georgia and spent a night at the Sleep Inn in Hardeeville, South Carolina. Just south of Savannah, Google Maps warned me of an accident in a construction zone somewhere just after I-16. My trucker reflexes kicked in and I got off on US17 at Richmond Hill to go around the slow down. When I got to GA-204, a different memory showed up. My first In-Laws lived out on Wilmington Island and suddenly it was clear that I could go all the way around the east side of Savannah and cross over to South Carolina from downtown. The worst traffic I had was in South Carolina where I had to make a left turn into the motel in front of the traffic coming off of the highway. It was a bit surreal to drive through ground so filled with different memories. As I crossed the Savannah River, I could see the Port and was humbled by the memory of a freezing cold Christmas on the water in Savannah. That heartwarming story is over on my old blog [][] link [][].
It was a pretty easy run from Hardeeville back to Wrightsville Beach and then it was time to unload the van and put my stuff aboard Mollynogger. I already knew but then I had to show my friends the embarrassing amount of stuff that I had brought with me. Allison and Gaylen, the Sail Bums, helped me roll dock carts full of my possessions down the dock and even handed things across the water to me on the boat. In the coming days, as I stowed things on the boat I made a few trips to the dumpster with the few things that I found that I could part with. I really didn’t want boxes inside the boat as bugs love to lay eggs in the curvy layers inside the cardboard, but there was so much to unpack that my only choice was risk the boxes getting rained on or bring them inside. As I gradually “moved in” more and more boxes went to the recycling bin. Nevertheless, there was one box of things for the cabinet in the head that sat on the starboard settee for a couple weeks before I was organized enough to stow those things.
Next we had to install the shift connector on the transmission with a new gasket. When I say we, I mean of course, Gaylen. It was not only a project that he had started, he had maintained this venerable Perkins 4108 for the last six years. Most importantly, he could actually fit into the lazarette and knew the cramped twisting yoga move to get all the way down into the engine area. I had started the move while no one was around and I was not confident that I would make the squeeze. Gaylen’s ominous warning to always take your phone with you just in case you get stuck also rang in my ears.
The Sail Bums did so much for me and Molly in the process of this deal. I cannot express enough gratitude to them. One of those things was replacing the propeller. Not only did they hire a diver to clean the hull. When that diver told them that the propeller seemed a little soft – they ordered a replacement right away. And had the diver put it on just before I arrived.
Gaylen made quick work of the shift connector and we decided to test the new prop. We each stood in the cockpit on a wonderfully warm North Carolina day. We were a few blocks from the Atlantic and the salt air was crisp and bright. And when Gaylen shifted the transmission into forward, the boat pulled back on the dock lines. In reverse, the boat shifted forward in the slip and a mechanical mystery revealed itself in the afternoon sunshine. We were baffled. Pre-disassembly photos confirmed the cables were connected correctly but we could not explain the results. Gaylen needed to do some research.
It had made perfect sense for the Sail Bums to have ordered a left hand propeller. All available information indicates that the Endeavor 37 was shipped with a Perkins 4108 and a left hand transmission. Yet the brand new LH prop was not moving the boat as it should. With a little research and some trips down the lazarette into the engine space, Gaylen determined that it must be that the current transmission was right hand. They knew that the previous owner had replaced the transmission but we didn’t know any details. So the hunt began for a RH prop nearby. Gaylen found one in Charlotte, about three hours away but the guy seemed more interested in why we would want to drive three hours for a propeller than in selling it. Gaylen turned the listing over to me and for some reason, I was able to break through and set up a time to pick it up.
I had already turned in my rental van a couple days before, so after all the work they had already done for Molly and me, the Sail Bums were keen to road trip to Charlotte. It was another strange road trip for me heading west on US74 out of Wilmington and across the countryside toward Charlotte. My head was buzzing with familiarity; even of the little gas station where we made a pit stop. Luckily, the guy with the propeller was on the east side of Charlotte, so we didn’t need to get into or around the city. We met in a motel parking lot behind a Chick-fil-A, an age old Southern story.
An even better story happened after I thought to send the seller a picture of Mollynogger. “This is where the prop is going.” He was selling the prop for his father and forwarded the picture. The father recognized the Endeavor 37 immediately; that was the boat he had had in Florida! They didn’t say it explicitly, but it seems that the propeller had come off an Endeavor and was now headed to another one. This only deepened the mystery about Molly’s transmission. Why would another Endeavor have a RH prop when it seemed that LH had been standard. We might never know. The father, however, had the son ask if he could text me sometime, but never has. If I get the chance to ask about it, I surely will.
The next morning I prepped the prop and the Sail Bums again scheduled the diver. Along the way, the faucet in the galley sink had started leaking. When I jabbed at a Lowes location on my Uber app, sadly I stabbed a Lowes Foods, a Carolina grocery chain. I had spent enough time in Wilmington to wonder why the Uber driver was taking such a circuitous route, but unbeknownst to me, the Lowes Home Improvement store and Lowes Food store were each on College Road; a fair distance apart but the same road. I thought perhaps, the driver knew of some construction or other delay. And then we pulled up to a grocery store.
By then, I needed a cold drink anyway, so I thanked the driver and got out. After slaking my thirst, I got another Uber down to the Lowe’s that actually carried faucets and other plumbing bits. The Sail Bums had already purchased a new double bowl sink drain, which I bizarrely installed first. Then I had to install the faucet by crawling under the cross pipe of the new drain.
There’s a few little projects to work on aboard Molly. There are always a few little projects on an older boat.
The day finally came for me to leave the Seapath Yacht Club dock and start my adventure on my new boat. It’s sailing, so you know the universe wasn’t going to make it easy. We had decided that the Sail Bums would come out with me to anchor in Banks Channel. The fairway was tight in the yacht club and it was not the place for me to get used to a much bigger boat than I had recently piloted. Gaylen would drive us out. Allison always ran the windlass during anchoring and she would show me her process to drop and then raise the anchor. After that quick coaching, I was to take them back to the fuel dock at the yacht club.
Of course, as we pulled out into the channel a few dark clouds loomed on the horizon. There wasn’t much wind yet, so we carried on and wiggled through Motts Channel, the short way into several marinas. Out into Banks Channel behind the beach, Allison and I had dropped the anchor and all three of us were down below discussing Molly stuff when the wind hit. The squall line we had seen in the distance came down on us like a hammer. The winds kicked up with brutal strength and leaned Molly over. We closed portlights and secured whatever loose bits were nearby …
… and then Gaylen saw a mast where there wasn’t one before.
In any kind of squall, a sailor keeps a mental image of the surrounding boats in their mind. When the actual picture is suddenly different than the one you had you immediately have to determine who is moving or worse yet dragging anchor. Gaylen and I jumped to the cockpit to assess the situation and fend off any boat or dock as necessary. We quickly realized that the other boat was dragging. The ironically named “Wind Dance” ended up dragging at least a half mile down the channel during that squall. We were fine but also now wide awake.
Once the squall had passed and the wind died, Allison and I went back to the bow to haul the anchor. I was also interested in how fast I could walk from the bow back to the helm with the boat floating free. So, we yelled when the anchor was off the bottom, but Gaylen did not put her into gear until I had danced my way back to the cockpit. I have done this a few time now on my own and Molly is heavy enough that she doesn’t start moving very fast. She will very casually drift downwind, even in a brisk breeze. I have always had plenty of time to get to the helm and the engine controls even in a crowded anchorage.
With the anchor up, we wandered back to the Seapath fuel dock. I bought some diesel and took on some water. Then it was time for some hugs and shots all around to celebrate our friendship and the passing of Mollynogger’s care to me.
… and suddenly I had restarted the life I have been meant to be living.
And Ruth Ann is still not sold, but I have some good nibbles.