Annapolis to Norfolk on the Chesapeake

Wide Planer Board Trolling Rig

When we last left our heroes, they were up a creek in Annapolis, MD having escaped the buzzing of the  Sailing Capitol of the U.S.A. After a peaceful night in Weems Creek, beyond the Baltimore Annapolis Boulevard Bridge, it was up and at 'em. Breakfast and coffee and hoist the anchor. This was, after all, a delivery, not a cruise. The sun languished in a purpley-pink sunrise as we got back into the bay.

We were in the middle part of the Chesapeake, between Annapolis and Norfolk. The winds were against us so we were motoring. Even more ships in this part of the bay, but with so much open water it seemed like less traffic. More annoying than the ships were the fisherman. It was the weekend and we figured that they were fishing for pleasure rather than scraping the bay for a living, though there were likely some working fishermen out there too.

I don't know if they were fishing Rock Fish or Stripers(striped bass) but all the boats were trailing these annoying planer boards to spread out their trolling jigs. The planer boards ran out wide and behind like little toy boats. Trolling requires dragging at a particular, constant speed, back and forth over the shoals, shallows and depth contours. Apparently, the best contours are those that are right at the edge of the channel. So as we sallied our way south, fishing boats were lazily cutting in and out of the channel to cross and recross these magic spaces. As they concentrated on their specific, probably secret, speeds, depths and fishing spots, the fishermen got really uptight when we thought we had the right of way in the channel. One guy bellowed that he was going to report us for making him alter his route. At least, that's what it sounded like he said. We were a bit too far apart for communicating.

Though we were motoring against the wind and not sailing, the sun was shining and the salt air, like a cool salve, soothed every spiritual cell and opened every dirty pore, sloughing away the crust of civilization. I stood on the back bench of the cockpit minding the autopilot and soaking up the universe. Every foot of boat and bowsprit spread out before me as I leaned and swayed with the rocking of the deck. It was as if I were on a forty two foot long paddleboard. We were working hard and traveling long miles each day getting Eleanor closer and closer to her new home, and yet it was so relaxing and soul enriching. I had struck this bargain, quit my job and joined this voyage exactly for moments like this. I've learned so much about sailing and about myself already that I can't imagine having not done this; having missed this … this right here.

Damn thing, anyway ...

We dodged the trolls, er I mean, the trolling fishermen and apparently didn't get reported. It was a great day of voyaging. Just beyond the mouth of the Potomac River, Alex had picked out an anchorage for us. We were using Active Captain in addition to perusing the charts both on OpenCPN and on the chartplotter. Off Fleeton Point in Virginia, it looked like enough water for us to cut behind the Great Wicomico River Light and up into Ingram Bay at the mouth of the river. All shortcuts being equally ill conceived, we were soon surrounded by crab pot buoys and had to jump to attention. One of us at the wheel and the other amidships keeping an eye out for buoys that mark where a trap for crab or fish had been dropped. Buoys float above the trap connected by wire rope. Running over a float means getting that wire rope dangerously close to the propeller and shaft. Wrapping any line around the prop and shaft can cause serious damage to the transmission. At the very least, the engine must be shut down and the rope cut away. This is bad enough with run-of-the-mill rope or fishing line, but the uncuttable wire rope would be a disaster.

Nevertheless, we made it through the maze and back into open water. At the mouth, the Great Wicomico River is a wide bay with several creeks on either side. Gradually, it narrows and turns hard to port where a large cove, like a burl on a tree branch, awaited us. Just past a nice park on the tip of yet another 'Sandy Point' and around the #9 day marker, we entered the quiet rounded cove and dropped anchor. Despite the million dollar vacation homes on the beach arcing around us, we each took a turn in the not-so-private cockpit for a bucket shower. We would make Norfolk easily the next day.

Thimble Shoals Light

The next day was glorious as we made our way down the lower Chesapeake to the Thimble Shoals Light and turned into the Hampton Roads. It was a pleasure to pass another bridge I'd crossed a few times in a semi truck; this one with a twist. The Hampton Roads Tunnel is both a bridge and a tunnel. A long causeway leads to the tunnel entrance from the Norfolk side. The bridge ends at a little island where the road dives under the Roads to allow Navy ships uninhibited access to the Norfolk bases. Beyond the tunnel where many berths with aircraft carriers and all assortment other ships. There were yards repairing ships and lots of other activity in support of the Navy.

At the confluence of the James, Nansemond and Elizabeth Rivers, we headed toward the downtowns of Norfolk and Portsmouth down the Elizabeth. We rounded Hospital Point on the Portsmouth side and passed Red Bouy #36, the official start – mile zero – of the Intracoastal Waterway(ICW). Not only a milestone for our trip, but a stop where we were treated by one of Alex's Project Bluesphere fans. Marty had arranged for us to have two nights at the Waterside Marina, downtown Norfolk. Not only that, Marty drove down from Richmond two days in a row; first to take us to lunch and arrange the berth at Waterside and the next day to grab us and go pick up Joe, Alex's father, at the airport. Joe was joining us for the trip down the ICW to Florida. But since we had arrived a day early, we motored past the Tidewater Marina to check out the free city dock at Portsmouth.

We peered into the small basin as Eleanor crossed the opening. Already inside were four or five boats, snowbirds surely, and the north landing of the ferry that runs between Portsmouth and Norfolk. It looked mighty crowded to me, but Alex was game to try. I cringed as we headed deep into the basin for the last spot on an angled dock at the back. With a flawlessly executed turn to back into the corner and some help from fellow boaters to catch our dock lines, we were in for the night. Downtown Portsmouth was a delightful spot with nice restrooms at the tourist information office and a little lunch counter right across the street. We settled in for the evening. The next morning we had time to have a little breakfast and wait to cross the river to Norfolk before Marty was to arrive.

In Norfolk, we wandered into town for a nice lunch with Marty, did some caulking on the outside of the cap rail around the boat, did some laundry, had real(!) showers and reprovisioned. After getting Joe at the airport, thanking and saying goodbye to Marty, we were ready to hit the ditch, the Intracoastal Waterway. The ICW runs all the way to Miami, but we were likely to make another offshore jump before then. Our story continues …  

The C&D and beyond.

Northern Chesapeake

I am, in fact, home already; back in Michigan. It was a beautiful, indelible, life changing experience, but the trip is over. More on that later. Here, I pick up where I had left off - on the Delaware River, just south of the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal.


The sun was going down as we arrived just off Port Penn, Delaware and the locals were swarming at the end of opening day for Rock Fish. We had come off the river and gone behind the underwater dike and dropped anchor near Reedy Island. Fishermen and fisherwomen, young and old, in all manner of boats, shouted back and forth checking on each other's haul. Everyone seemed to know everyone else and many greeted us warmly as well. By the time we had made some supper, the fishing boats had gone home leaving us alone in the quiet backwater with a beautiful sunset splashing over the quaint town.  The haunting silence of a gigantic nuclear plant on the New Jersey side of the river belied the actual peace and quiet.

 

Port Penn Sunset

As was our habit, we woke with the freshening dawn and hoisted the anchor. And as usual we were greeted with an amazing sunrise. Eleanor glided back past the bizarre dike, now partially visible at low tide, and re-entered the Delaware River. Even the nuclear power plant looked less daunting in the soft morning light. We knew it would be some time before we raised any sail again. And even though we were way north of "Mile Zero," we had begun the first canal slog of many to come.

Delaware Sunrise

The C&D Canal connects the Chesapeake and the Delaware River; hence the name. We entered at the eastern end, and it was marsh to the south and woods to the north, for miles straddling the dead straight canal. It was beautiful in its own way but not overly inspiring just the same. The wilderness was broken occasionally by a fixed span bridge looming out of the trees. We passed a marina hidden back in an oxbow created by the canal cutting off what was a bend in the river. Chesapeake City, DE is a charming river town with an inviting marina on the north shore and a couple interesting looking restaurants in town to the south. We passed rambled down homesteads, fabulous vacation homes and a boatyard with tugs and barges in varying states of repair or neglect. We were moving toward our destination and it was a beautiful, if slightly overcast day.

Open Water again.

Through the canal, we reached the relatively open water of the Elk River. We had crossed over into the Chesapeake Watershed, a huge body of water with hundreds of rivers, creeks, bays and coves. Rivers that feed the watershed extend well into the Allegheny Mountains of Central Pennsylvania. With one eye on the depth sounder and the other on the increasing boat traffic, we crashed through the waves and kept close to the marked channel. The sun was out but the wind opposed the current stirring up the chop. The new open expanse of water gave us the false sense that we had lots of water below us as well, but we had to be wary for there were many small shoals and shifting bars. The captain's philosophy is that there are fewer surprises in the channel than out of it. I smiled and scribbled that in my journal.

The Ugly Side of Consumerism

As we got further into the upper Chesapeake, the commercial traffic increased. There were barges and tugs with strange assortments of cargo and gear. We passed by the mouths of the Bush River, the Gunpowder River and the Back River. At the confluence with the Patapsco River, came much more traffic and bigger ships, including container freighters headed for the City of Baltimore, just upriver from there. We eased by the Belvidere Shoals, yet another "Sandy Point" and headed for the Governor William Preston Lane, Jr. Memorial Bridge. After a delay caused by World War II, Gov. Lane had been instrumental in getting construction started on the bridge, affectionately called the "Bay Bridge."

Just under the bridge and off to the west, we got out of the ship traffic and smack into the cacophony of America's Sailing Capital - Annapolis, MD. We dodged a group of dinghy racers, stayed out of the way of buzzing launches, tried to interpret where the anchorage actually was and which boats were actually anchored. Beyond the anchorage into town, the mooring balls were all occupied and the whole space thrummed with activity. Much had changed since the captain was last here. Alex gave me the wheel and I kept Eleanor in a slow circle as he went below and poured over the chart.

Alex emerged, as captains do, with a plan. We could just fit under the Baltimore Annapolis Blvd Bridge. Beyond it, Skipper Bob's ICW Anchorage List promised a quiet anchorage in a creek where the Navy had some hurricane moorings. We strained our necks watching the massive concrete bridge beams flirt with Eleanor's masthead antenna, but we made it under - just. Beyond the bridge and a little farther upriver, we found the peaceful creek and dropped anchor between a beautiful old trawler and a little sailboat. Eight or ten other boats gently tugged at their anchors between the banks of neighborhood docks and patios. We were deeper into the heart of Annapolis, but it was much quieter.  We made a simple supper and sacked out, never leaving the boat. The next morning we would start all over again with the dawning light.

Sunrise over the Bay Bridge

The Jersey Coast

Atlantic Highlands Sunset

We were stuck for 10 days at Atlantic Highlands, NJ as Sub Tropical Storm Ana decided what she was doing. We didn't have much weather there, but where we were headed lacked any good spot to hide if the storm took aim at us. The last two days at anchor, the wind made it too rough to row ashore in the dinghy.

Once we got underway and out into the Atlantic, Eleanor sailed for the first time in a decade. Boat and crew settled into a rhythm and I took the first watch. The captain went below to rest up for his coming watch. We made our way toward Cape May on a nice beam reach as the wind blew from the coast of New Jersey. Fresh wind was in the forecast so we had raised the mainsail with two reefs and rolled out just a bit of the jib. It was a gloriously contradictory sight, to starboard the beach condos of the Jersey Shore; to port the global expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.

Alex, the captain, took over about 8:00 pm and got a sleigh ride! In the strengthening breeze, Eleanor picked up her skirts to run. She topped 9 knots a few times during the night; under shortened sail. Down below, the roar of the ocean passing the hull was deafening. I knew we were flying but my job was to try and sleep. It would be my turn at the wheel again soon enough.

When the Captain woke me at 2:00 the next morning, to starboard were the beautifully ugly casino lights of Atlantic City. I had just recently been there with Ed and Ben, my cousin Sherry's husband and son. I knew the tired city that hid under the garish lights. "Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City."

The casino glare made a grey dome in the sky like a gigantic bandshell obscuring the stars above the city. Further down the coast, the stars began to regain control of the heavens. Untold numbers twinkled in the night sky interrupted only by swaths of the Milky Way and the occasional wispy cloud.

Eventually the moon came up behind me, chased soon after by the sunrise. Slowly the horizon lightened to grey, then yellows and oranges bled in from the other side of the globe. The sun took over and just as the day began, we had arrived at Cape May. Eleanor is a gracefully swift lady and we had made our way faster than we had planned. At the Delaware River, the tide was against us as we had arrived early. Eleanor bucked enthusiastically at the square waves of wind against current, but continuing would have been brutal, if not futile. We decided to stop for a nap and let the tide turn.

We ducked into Cape May and dropped an anchor just off the Coast Guard Station. Two hours later, we hoisted the anchor with renewed swagger and began the strange but important detour up the Delaware and over to the Chesapeake on the C&D Canal. This route was extra miles, but we were out of the confused ocean swell that Ana had left us.  Thirty some hours after departing the Highlands, we dropped anchor behind Reedy Island just below the eastern entrance to the C&D canal.

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Max's Hill

Atlantic Highlands Anchorage

We were up at 4:30, had our coffee and were underway before 6:00. We needed to make time and would be motoring most of the day. Leaving Atlantic Highlands in nearly calm conditions, we followed our previous GPS track back out past Sandy Hook and into the ship channel. The towers of the Verrazano Bridge and the Freedom Tower just poked above the fog behind us. The Atlantic! I have never sailed in the Atlantic.

We followed the channel for a time and then cut south along the coast of New Jersey. In perfect contradiction, to starboard the beach and all its condos were a couple miles off, plain as day; to port the endless Atlantic Horizon and the early morning sun. It was glorious.

The Captain had been ambivalent for a couple days about our leaving and the storm brewing off the Carolinas. We had to wait for a part to arrive that was needed in the engine room. The original plan was an overnight offshore passage to Cape May, but we were keeping a weather eye. After the part arrived and was installed, the next plan was to just hop down to Atlantic City on a long day's cruise.

Sunrise this morning

A couple hours into our jaunt, Alex got a text. A concerned weather geek friend informed us of the storm's strengthening and the changing track predictions. Another friend sailing north was thinking of skipping Cape May to join us in Atlantic City. His weather had changed and not for the better. He pulled into Cape May to discover the anchorage was closed for dredging. After leaving, he turned back in deteriorating weather to find marina.

On board Eleanor, the winds were oddly fickle and did not match the forecast. Things were changing but clues were elusive. Yet another friend called and reminded us that the Atlantic City anchorage was subject to a lot of current. The ever changing winds of an approaching storm will eventually oppose the current setting up a rough ride.

We faced the following problems: Barnegat Bay was likely too shallow for us to get in far enough to be safe, Atlantic City was going to be rough and Cape May was closed. Beyond Cape May, Delaware Bay has no protected anchorages. The few anchorages on the C&D Canal are shallow. After the C&D is the Chesapeake which was on the border of the storm's track.

Vagabond sailing can be a lonely endeavor, but trusting your gut and sticking to it is lonelier yet. The captain paced about. He sighed and scratched his head.

"That's it," he said slowly, "we're going back."

Eleanor is going to be Alex and Carla's home. And while he is missing his wife and motivated to get moving south back to Panama, it is more important to be as prudent as he can stand. Carla has yet to see Eleanor in person. This beautiful boat will carry them wherever they wish to go for as long as they are going. It is an honor and a privilege to be helping Alex bring Eleanor to Carla. I think I am nearly as frustrated that we had to turn back.

At the same time, I visited the Atlantic! It was a beautiful morning which only served to make it more frustrating. The weather here was still fine all afternoon. Tonight we watched a movie after supper with the wind howling over our heads. We are in a protected spot from all but wind straight out of the east. South of us is a good hill. We've heard that Max Weinberg, E Street Band Drummer, lives in the big house looking down on us. The wind is out of the south, so Max and his hill are protecting us right now. We may be stuck here for a few days, but it was the right decision.

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Atlantic Ocean Tomorrow

This is our third day at anchor at Atlantic Highlands. We came down from Stony Point on Sunday. Monday I never left the boat. It was wonderful. Tuesday we went into town for some diesel and provisions. A super nice lady, a fan of Alex's movies, lent us her truck. That evening she made a wonderful Nicoise Salad, topped with fresh grilled salmon, which she and her husband brought out to us. We had a nice evening aboard and talked about boats, dogs, food and working in Manhattan.

Alex and I took the day off today; reading, writing and napping. In the wee hours tomorrow morning, we will cast off for Atlantic City, a shorter daylight sail than we had planned. There is a storm brewing off the Carolinas and we are not in a rush to get closer. It will, however, be progress in a southerly direction. Every bit helps.

Ready, Set, Go!

Starting to get neighbors in time to leave.

Strangely, I was a little uptight on Wednesday. Its not even my boat but we were finally installing the new roller furler we had put together from pieces on the dock. To Furl is to gather or roll a sail. A roller furler is a system that allows this to be done like a window shade turned sideways on the bow of a boat. The headsail does not need to be hoisted each time, but is rolled out and then rolled in as needed.

The furler consists of a foil the length the headstay holding the sail, connected to a drum at the bottom, both turn together to roll the sail in or out. The foil, an aluminum extrusion, came in seven foot long pieces which we put together like high tech Lincoln Logs to fit the 52 foot headstay. The pieces connected together with intricately machined aluminum slugs and plastic bits. All held together with marine adhesive and little tiny machine screws which we assembled over the gaps between boards on a floating dock swaying to the motion of the Hudson.

The Furling Drum

To commission the furler, one end had to be raised to the top of the mast and the drum end attached to the stem fitting at the bow. In raising it, the furler bent in a luxuriously dangerous arc from the dock to the knot we had tied on. Knowing the intimate details of what was holding it all together, it was nerve wracking to watch the strain on the joints in the foil. It is a heavy thing too. We had to be careful in the lifting, as well as the 'not dropping,' parts of the operation.

Adding to the unease was the fact that we had put the furler together based on the length of the old furler we had removed. Sailboat rigging is complicated. On Eleanor the mast is held up with two stays and eight shrouds which all work together to keep it straight and straight up. The complexity of the constuction of the new furler meant that any necessary change to the length would be a tremendous amount of work. Additionally, we worried some components would not stand being reworked.

Bowsprit, Anchor and Furling Drum. 

Furling is quite prevalent these days. There a few old school hold-outs, like me, who still 'hank on' our sails. If we need less sail, the bigger sail must be lowered and stowed and a smaller one raised. To furl or not to furl is a question that can become a debate. Eleanor's headsail is very large and as a cutter ketch, she has two headsails. It is a safety issue when contemplating manhandling that big sail down in any amount of wind. The Captain made the right choice installing a furler on this boat. Its a technical and tedious project but the installation manual was well written. Once we got going, it went up without a hitch. We did it - ourselves.

All 52' of the furler

The furler was one of the last of the big projects aboard Eleanor. It looks like we are leaving on Sunday. We may anchor out Saturday evening as we need a high tide to get out of the marina. Then down the Hudson River to Atlantic Highlands inside of Sandy Hook, NJ. There we will wait for good weather to go offshore to Cape May. If the weather holds we may continue offshore to Norfolk, VA. Otherwise we'll sail up the Delaware and over to the Chesapeake on the C&D Canal.

At Norfolk, we will enter the Intercoastal Waterway(ICW) to get past the Carolina Capes on the inside. Then we'll jump offshore to Savannah, GA and then again to St. Augustine, FL. In Florida, we'll cruise the ICW again to get to South Florida. From the Miami area we will head east - totally the wrong direction to get to Panama - because it is shorter to go around the east end of Cuba. The Bahamas and Jamaica may be stops on the way if we are not pressed for time.

Our departure is upon us. After a month of seven day a week work, when departing was just a vague notion, we know it now plainly. Barring a change in the weather, we are heading out!!  It is a privilege to be learning so much about boats and vagabonding.

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Hard Work and Stolen Moments

Life on the river is basic and beautiful. There are many boat projects that must be done. Other projects will make the trip more comfortable and get done if there's time. Some are cumbersome and tedious; others require long stares and quiet thinking to accomplish. In the morning, we have coffee and breakfast, and review our list. Each day is a good mix of technical brain work and physical work with our hands and backs. Most days are long with a late dinner and a slow evening fade into the sleep of the dead. Along with the work, we laugh and discuss the Vagabond Anarchist Sea Life. The next morning we wake and start again. Each day the voyage is closer and the boat is safer.

I steal some moments of my own too. When the first sun bursts over the hills across the river, it streams into the cabin waking me softly. I quietly stow the companionway boards and climb into the cool, soft glow of the dawning. The marina is quiet and the river is flat as a mirror. Pilings and docks hover over their reflections. The ducks are sleeping and the geese are quiet. Ashore a pair of deer are munching on grasses in an empty lot. They all seem to appreciate the stillness as much as I. The early clouds reflect so perfectly around the pier it seems that I am walking across the sky.

When I remember to emulate the stillness of the world around me, its as if a membrane is relaxed. The cool morning seeps into me and I begin to bleed into the world blurring the boundary. I can feel enormous and minuscule all at once; a sublime emptiness.

We are not sailing yet. Our projects are nearly complete, but the head sail will be in the sail loft most of the week. The voyage will not likely begin until Saturday or Sunday, May Second or Third. The captain and I are a good team. With quiet determination, we are getting s/v Eleanor ready for the trip home.

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My Life as a Swab

Best Resignation Letter Ever:  "Umm ... I have to quit because I'm helping a guy sail his boat to Panama."

I drove from Michigan to Newark International Airport to pick up Alex a couple Sundays ago and we got to work on his boat here at Stony Point on the Hudson River. Once s/v Eleanor is ready, the plan is to sail down the East Coast on the Atlantic Inter-Coastal Waterway with some jumps offshore. After a little time in Florida and the Bahamas, we will head through the Windward Passage and on to Panama.

The first few nights here in Stony Point were a bit cold but we really started the right week; just as the weather changed. Spring is springing, the days are getting warmer and we are making good progress on boat projects.

Eleanor is a Westsail 42; a beautiful cutter ketch. We have installed a woodstove, a hydraulic autopilot and removed the furler. We've googled and stressed about rod ends, thread sizes, manuals and various installation instructions. There's wiring to finish at the autopilot controls and various bits to install like a wind vane, another bilge pump, a transducer, a new headstay and a new furler. The schedule is tight to get to Panama before Hurricane Season, but we are doing well and life is good.

I am crew, barely qualified as a swab, but I've been helping all I can to help get Eleanor ready and doing some cooking in the galley. It is a privilege, and a luxury, to defer to the judgement of a knowledgeable captain. I am not in charge of anything and get to learn stuff at every turn.

So, I quit my job and drove 12 hours to spend three months or so in relatively close quarters with a guy I'd never met. There were many uncertainties about this endeavor. And everyting is working out great actually.  What is life changing is the openness and direct experience of not knowing exactly what's next and not having to care about it. There is no worrying or planning, I am allowing the path to emerge just ahead of my footsteps. Whether we imagine it's a red carpet or a thorny path that lies ahead of us, neither really exists. I just step toward that which will make my life better at that moment. The rest takes care of itself.

An Unplanned Delay to my Non-Plan Plan.

My poor Bella waits another year.

Back in 1986, I entered the corporate world and hit the road selling automotive packaging in Detroit. Each morning I read a few motivational quotes and reminders that were scrawled in the back of my calendar. Not unlike the chants I often do now, these quotes helped to set my intentions for the day. One of the quotes was "Luck is when preparation meets opportunity" apparently spoken by Seneca, a first century Stoic philosopher. Yesterday, the preparation I've been doing for several years met the opportunity of a lifetime.

My trip on my boat, Bella, will be delayed for a year. I have the chance to help Alex Dorsey, a well known sailor, writer and documentarian, sail his boat from the Hudson River upstream of New York City to Panama. This incredible opportunity came together rapidly and I will be leaving for New York in a couple weeks. We will head south, hopefully yet in April, out around New Jersey and into the Inter Coastal Waterway, then down to Florida where we will jump offshore to
Panama; likely through the Windward Passage between Haiti and Cuba. This will be rock solid foundational experience for my own planned voyaging.

Alex and Eleanor last fall.

Alex, and his wife Carla, have two(!) boats right now. The Westsail 42 in New York needs to get to Panama so they can move their stuff over and sell their current boat. There is a little bit of prep work to be done in New York and then we'll be off. We are hoping to get to Panama in July, just skirting the beginning of hurricane season. I'll fly home in August or September. Then I'll have to get back to work to save money again for my trip.  Bella and I are on the same Non-Plan Plan, but with an unplanned delay of opportunity. Perfect! 

Information about the boat is here.

Alex and Carla

Alex, Carla and another sailor blog at his site here. Check the "Blogs" menu tab. Also on the site, you can watch both of Alex' original documentaries.

"Eat when you're hungry,
work when you're broke."
    - Bubba the Pirate.

Celebrate with Me!

Bella in a Milwaukee Boatyard, 12/2013

I've never been a very good example of anything, except perhaps being too stubborn to give up on an idea; too dumb to understand when the odds are stacked against me. The last week or so has been full of important anniversaries of how seven years of 'stubborn' has actually worked out. I invite you to celebrate with me. Last December, I emailed a guy in Milwaukee about a boat he was selling. That boat turned out to be s/v Bella, now the love of my life. Bella and I are sailing south next summer.

Most of my adult life I've been dreaming of, and working toward living on a boat. I actually did for a while in Sarasota. I found a boat and quit my last “career” job in April 2007 and set to work pursuing my dream in earnest. That boat was quite a project and like an old house, for every project I got started I found three more that needed done. I kept slogging along but my dream was about sailing not about perpetual boatwork.

Last August I had a long, heart-opening discussion with a friend. Accidentally, I had laid bare exactly what I needed to do next. Before I knew it I had placed an ad online that began: “I'm broke, I'm exhausted ...” and 12 hours and 5 emails later, I had found that boat a new home; I was free again.

Well, free more in the sense of free fall. There were a few rough days back then. Friends and family will attest that I went through a period of swimming in possibilities. I was going to take a months long Zen retreat, then I was going to move to San Francisco; wait … Boston. There was a live-in internship at a homeless shelter I looked into; a motorcycle, an RV, etc. Without the project I'd been working on for seven years, I no longer had anything looming over me every day. Suddenly, I had no forward motion. Without forward motion, called 'way' by sailors, a boat has no steerage. I was that rudderless boat for a time.

Since I found another boat and things are back on track, more than one friend has complimented me for giving over to the universe, for trusting that things would work out. I have smiled and nodded at the idea, but the trust story is apocryphal. At the time I never thought “OK, I will now let the universe handle this.” I was pretty messed up. I'm sure I drove those around me crazy as every day came a new, really important idea of what I could do next.

Bella, getting ready, June 2014

Not knowing anything better to do, I kept stumbling toward my vague plan. Somewhere deep in my heart, I knew that if I didn't keep working toward a boat and a voyage, as I took my last breath on this planet I would wonder what it would have been like. The takeaway for me was that my plan was good, I had simply picked the wrong boat. I no longer needed to be local. I needed a lucrative job to save money for the next boat. I won't rehash the details again. I have written about my frustrations, letting go of the last boat, finding Bella and getting help to buy her, getting her ready and sailing her 'home' across LakeMichigan.

The first anniversary was December Second; the day I sent the email inquiring about a boat I saw on the Milwaukee Craigslist. December Third, I learned she was still available; December 10, I went to see her; and despite thinking I would play it cool, I made the deal on the 11th. Along the way, even before I had gone to see Bella, I was tightening up the details with a friend who helped me buy her before I had had time to build my savings.

Voyaging is not about sitting in some idyllic harbor watching the sun set, its about raising the anchor and moving on. OK, there will be sunsets in idyllic harbors too. Perhaps a part of being stubborn is a way of trusting the universe. Either way, I went from letting go of an onerous project to finding a boat that was ready to sail. In August of 2013, I watched my project boat go off down the highway, out of my life. Four months later, I had found Bella. This last June, I sailed her 'home' to Muskegon from Milwaukee. In 7 or 8 months, Bella and I are headed south. The one thing I've wanted to do most of my life.

No one dream is like another. What is your dream? 

Celebrate with me by pursuing yours! If you let go of the specifics of how you think it should go, the universe will help. Like sailing, you can't always go straight from Point A to Point B, but if you learn to use the wind, you can get there from another angle. Maybe you want to start a bakery, a dog shelter, or a tree farm. Maybe you don't want a major change but you want time to make art or to learn to play an instrument. You might want to find a way to help others; a way to serve, to strive and thrive. Whatever it is, please be stubborn. Don't hold tight to how you think it should be done, but be open to another way, but keep a 'weather eye' on your goal. Look to the horizon and don't get mesmerized by the water right in front of you.

On toward the horizon ...

The Non-Plan Plan

Many people are curious about my plans. Some of my closest family and friends might be a little concerned too. I thought I would write a few ideas down to explain my non-plan. Please use the comments section below to ask any other questions you might have. I am wide open to constructive dialogue, but I will not necessarily defend or explain my particular choices ad infinitum. This is a lifestyle choice that is out of the mainstream; not only do I accept that, I revel in it. Further, I may not be able to explain my plans in words that everyone will understand. This is not my problem, it is theirs.

Dodger

There are a few things that I want to do to Bella in the spring. I will be making a dodger and possibly a bimini. There are some organization and preparation details to take care of. The interior cushions could be reupholstered. I need to make some decisions about batteries, solar and wind power generation and the inboard diesel. There is a slightly better than even chance that I will pull the engine and replace it with some kind of sculling oar, Chinese or Bahamian. These are real propulsion options. Check out a couple Youtubes: here, here or here. The sails are in quite good condition, but I will be going over them closely to be certain. Also, I will have the marina tune my standing rigging before she goes back in the water.

Bimini

The first part of the my vague plan begins around July 15, 2015. Bella and I will begin to move toward the Bahamas. We will sail up and over Michigan, out the Erie Canal to the Hudson River, to the Atlantic at New York Harbor and then south through the Intercoastal Waterway to Florida. I have a tentative schedule to meet a fellow sailors in the Bahamas next winter. We are all regulars on Sailfar.net, a discussion board for small boat sailors.

Chines Yuloh

By starting in July I will have a fair amount of time to wander as I go. This is not a boat delivery where I have to go straight from Muskegon to Green Turtle Cay on a schedule. I will have three or four months to do four or five weeks of sailing. I want to get near Jacksonville before mid October simply to avoid getting too cold. Hopefully, as I wander my exit from the Great Lakes I can have people join me for parts of the trip. Keep an eye on social media for arranging to make a passage, if possible.

Bahamian Oar

In early 2016, after a couple months or so in the Bahamas, it will be time to come back to the States and find a good marina. I will work nearby and eventually have the boat hauled out of the water. In May 2016, I'll come back to Michigan, probably by bus, and spend a few weeks here around a graduation party I am committed and honored to attend. Then I will go back to Bella.

There are some additional boat maintenance and upgrade possibilities that I will do at this time. I'll likely work some more again. Replacing the standing rigging is a possible project. I might also resurrect the stove side of the galley that the previous owner took out. Unless I get north of Florida when I come back from the Bahamas, it will be hurricane season until November so I'll have time to do some boat work as needed. With these upgrades, Bella will be ready for some serious sailing. We are going to explore the Caribbean Sea. Once again, hopefully some friends and family will join me for a passage or meet me on some island somewhere.

The Caribbean Sea is over a million square miles. A sailor could never explore it all. The Caymans, Jamaica, Hispaniola, Puerto Rico, USVI, BVI, and maybe the Lesser Antilles are all on my mental list. I would like to explore Central America as well. The Rio Dulce has stuck in my vagabond heart since I read an article in Cruising World Magazine twenty some years ago. And I'd like to see Costa Rica and Panama as well. There will be no schedule or plan. If I love a place, I'll stay a while. If I hear about some other cool place, I'll go see it. If I start cruising with other boats, I might go where they go a few times. When money gets low, I'll wander back to the States.

In my voyage dreaming I would really like to cross an ocean. I don't think I am ambitious enough to think about circumnavigating, but an ocean crossing is very possible; probable even. Ireland and Sweden are in my ancestry. I would love to sail there and maybe down to Portugal and the Azores before returning to the Caribbean. Bella could do it with a little prep. We'll see if I can get my brain and my wallet that far.

Bella is a very seaworthy little ship. She is an Albin Vega, a Swedish boat with an ocean going pedigree. Vegas have sailed the globe with literally hundreds of ocean crossings. Her accommodations are on the spartan side, but that is right where I want them. I will not have refrigeration or air conditioning for they use too much battery power. Initially, I will cook on the single burner swing stove that I used this summer. There is also have a propane grill hanging on the stern pulpit. Electricity will be supplied by a battery bank charged from solar and wind. I will carry staples like rice, beans, flour and dried vegetables, as well as the some cabbage, potatoes and onions. I will not be a tourist, I am a vagabond. When I find a spot to stay, I will shop where the locals shop and eat what the locals eat. There will be plenty of fresh produce and fruit along the way. I'll also have fishing gear with me. The wannabe chef in me can't wait to learn to cook new things from the people I meet along the way.

I will carry a basic prepaid cellphone for necessary communication with governments and marinas. All other communication will be by email, social media and Skype/GoogleChat. This voyage is a bit of personal retreat too. The last thing I want is a smart phone type of tether to the so called real world. Bella has all the required safety equipment plus a VHF radio with GPS and AIS. We will carry a device like an inReach or a Spot so our position will be tracked in real time. The InReach allows for some two way communication as well so I could post to social media and notify about delays, etc. from wherever I am. Further, before setting out on any particular voyage, I will post/submit a float plan. My relative departure and arrival dates and locations will be known. Besides allowing for status updates from anywhere at sea, the inReach and the Spot both have a panic button for emergencies. My safety will, however, be my own concern and responsibility. There will be no reason for reports or inquiries to be made to any authorities if I am overdue.

In 2006 I coined the Bubba the Pirate motto: “Eat When You're Hungry. Work When You're Broke.” This is the guiding principle of my non-plan. I will work to fill my “Cruising Kitty,” then I'll go sailing. I will wander until my cash situation is lowered to some predetermined threshold and then I will work again. The Caribbean is a good place to start this routine as with a little planning I can easily wander back to the States to work. An ocean crossing would require a much larger cruising kitty which would have to be preceded by a longer work period. All this will either come together or it won't. It will be fine either way. The only reasonably solid plan is out of the Great Lakes to the Bahamas and then back to Michigan for a time. I'll keep you posted after that.

Reunion Cruises

s/v Bella (photo by Sherry)

 … and suddenly it's October.

Bella is out of the water for the winter and I am back on the road. My main job now is saving boat money for next summer. Perhaps I can get caught up on my writing as well.

August was a month of reunions. My brother, Tim, and his family were visiting the States from Switzerland. Tim's and my schedules lined up so that we could go sailing. I hope to get the rest of the family out when they return next year. Part of the old family crew [see below] was back together and we had a great day of sailing. Even Bella was enjoying herself in a brisk breeze and plenty of sunshine. I think that was the day I lost a hat.

Lost Hat

A few days later, my crew from the lake crossing came out for another sail. Dave and I had a nice sail and we took Bella out on the big lake. It was the first time that I had her on Lake Michigan since Dave and I crossed from Milwaukee, so it was a double reunion of sorts.

Bella was back in her element out on the big lake and the wind was just right on our return; opposite what it had been in June. We took up the challenge to sail all the way up the channel into Muskegon Lake without using the engine. Bella crept along, wind at her back, as other sailboats under power and all the powerboats were passing us. We had to wiggle past the sheriff and a boat they had stopped halfway down the channel. As we ghosted by the USS Silversides Museum, I said I thought we were going to make it all the way.

Dave and I under tow in June

“Shut up!” Dave exclaimed, “I've been trying not to jinx us by saying that.”

Bella gracefully took us all the way. It was quite a victory over having to get a tow last time.

As much as I enjoyed sailing with Tim and Dave, the important reunion was the privilege of sailing again with my Dad. Somewhere around 1976, Mom and Dad bought the family a sailboat. I had come back from scout camp with a Small Boat Sailing Merit Badge. During his Navy days, Dad did a Far East tour in the western Pacific on the USS Bennington (CV-20), an 872 foot Essex Class Aircraft Carrier. While he was aboard, the Bennington was sent to Sydney to help the Aussies celebrate ANZAC Day. He later helped build the USS Enterprise (CVN-65); 1123 feet long! We thought we were qualified to sail a 15 foot Chrysler Mutineer.

My sailing experience started with a Sunfish on Arrowhead Lake at camp. The Sunfish has a single lateen sail and is a good basic sailboat. Our Mutineer, a sloop we named the Luff Boat, had a furling jib forward of the mainsail. Sailing a sloop seemed more like proper sailing. Dad was my first captain.

Mom and sister Amy didn't appreciate the heeling motion of the Luff Boat as much as the guys. Our crew was most often Tim handling the jib sheets, me on the main sheet and Dad on the tiller. We drilled, practiced and sailed in bristol fashion. Dad called out “Ready About” and “Hard Alee.”

Our crewing was proper and salty but not really formal. We were all learning and we talked about the wind, the points of sail and navigation on the many Michigan lakes where we sailed. Dad let us try our hand at the tiller. It was with Tim and Dad that my love of sail began. With them, I began to get a 'wind sense' and some skill as a sailor; many of the most important moments of my life.

It was with Tim and Dad when I first got addicted to the sensation of a sailboat shouldering into the waves. With them, I first learned the quiet joy of gurgling along barely making way and felt the exhilaration when heeled over tearing across the water. I can still feel those delicioius moments hiked out over the windward rail with the boat heeling so much I could see the centerboard ghosting under the water over my shoulder.

Later, Dad was confident enough in my seamanship that I was allowed to take the boat out myself. Often towing her behind the family Chevette to go sailing with a buddy or a girlfriend. It was during these days that I discovered the true love of my life – sailing. These last eight years specifically, but really my whole life has been trying to get back to sailing. I had a few boats when I lived in Florida and even lived on one for a while. I've been working hard to get to the point that I can sail off for a while on an extended cruise. Turns out its a lot of work to set yourself up to be a boat bum.

Captain Dad

Back to this August, my cousin Sherry and her son Ben came out from New Jersey to see Grandma Curtis. While they were here I was going to take them for a ride. The dock where I kept Bella is not quite stable. I had been looking around for a dock or a pier that was more solid. Dad has some balance issues these days and I wanted him to be comfortable enough to come out and go for a sail. I hadn't found it yet, when two cars worth of family showed up to watch me take Sherry and Ben out. Dad came walking right out on the dock to greet me. I was elated! When Sherry decided to stay on shore and take pictures, I asked if anyone else wanted to come along with Ben and I. Dad stepped right up! It was fun to have Ben aboard and talk to him about sailing. He and his dad have a Sunfish they rescued and are sailing in Jersey. No offense to Ben, but to have my Dad, my original captain and sailing mentor aboard was incredibly important to me.

Ben

It was an auspicious day! The wind was such that we ended up sailing up the lake toward the city. We didn't make it easy for Sherry, the photographer, to get any good shots until we were coming back.

Next year is going to be a big year for Bella and I. These special moments will be along with us as we sail south.

The Lake Crossing, Part Three

Ground Crew watching

This is third of three posts. Find the first and the second.

Last I was telling the story, I thought I saw snow. The first week of June, Dave and I were sailing across Lake Michigan bringing my boat, s/v Bella, home from Milwaukee where I had found her. It was very cold. The Mid Lake Buoy had reported 39 degree water temperature midday Tuesday. We left that afternoon and sailed all night into Wednesday morning. After dark, I had occasionally shined a flashlight at the wind vane on top of the mast. Somewhere around 3:00a, I saw little flaky things blowing across the beam of light between me and the masthead. I didn't need to see that. At all.

By 5:00a or so, I figured that we were well across the northbound shipping lanes. We could rest easy that freighters were unlikely for the rest of the trip. About that time, I saw another sailboat. It was five or ten miles away, motoring south and west, a white hull and bare mast like a ghost in the moonlight. C'mon guys, I thought to myself, put some damn sail up! It was a beautiful night for a sail.

The sun came up and Bella started to warm. We had most of the trip behind us. Though we were getting back into cellular range, our phones and Dave's iPad were running out of juice. I managed to text an ETA to our ground crew. Mom and Dad, and Nancy would be waiting on shore and taking lots of pictures. My optimistic ETA turned out to be wildly inaccurate, but that's sailing. 

Dave's iPad tracked us until its battery died.

Approaching Muskegon with more than 10 hours on the tiller, my brain started playing tricks on me. The coast ran for miles and miles to the south. The far away dunes looked for all the world like a jetty sticking out into the lake. The lighter color of the shallow water along the beaches could have been the mud trail of a river emptying into the big lake. Or it might be a sand bar! I strained my eyes, hand twitching on the tiller, ready to come about at a moment's notice.

Gradually, the coast came into better focus. I compared the smokestacks on the horizon with those on the chart. The GPS was locked in on the coordinates of the Muskegon jetty and it still wanted me to head a little south of east. I wasn't completely convinced but I trusted the stacks on the chart and the GPS. We sallied ... well, sailed forth.

On the Michigan side of the lake, the forecast was for stronger winds, 15-20 knots, and the chance of rain. Bella was in her element. She healed over, lee rail almost in the foam and I thought heard her snort like a thoroughbred. I felt safe and dry but was concerned about handling all the lines if I had to tack in a hurry. I finally called to Dave for help; waking him.

Headed more south than east with a shift of the wind, I could finally see the Muskegon jetties. We were pointing toward the beach north of the jetty but I wanted to get in close before tacking. It was going to be tricky getting up the channel. With Dave helping me sail Bella, I raised some signal flags to make a grand entrance into Muskegon. Dave called me "Captain Subtle" and teased that the drag of the flags was costing us at least a knot of forward speed. Nevertheless, Bella was decked out like a debutante and I was a proud skipper.

We tacked south toward the jetty. I waited as long as I could stand and we tacked in toward Muskegon but we couldn't make the channel. I'm not a racer and more than a little rusty anyway, but slicing acute angles out in the lake is hard. We sailed back to the north, then tacked down along the same track and past the entrance. I waited, waited some more, cursed myself, waited some more, and finally tacked – dammit – we missed the entrance again. Back to the north and then south again. This time closer to the end of the pier.

And then I heard the securite call from the Lake Express.

The Lake Express is the Milwaukee to Muskegon ferry. She was letting all stations know that she was coming into the channel at Muskegon in ten minutes. I hailed them on the radio and practiced my real-sailor-radio-etiquette. On a working channel I told them that I was the sailing vessel also approaching Muskegon but that we would stay well out of their way.

Staying out of their way was a bit of a joke. The Lake Express crosses the lake in two and a half hours. We were almost 22 hours into our trip and only just approaching the coast. Worse yet, on our way out Tuesday, we had seen the ferry go into Milwaukee for the night. Here in Muskegon, Wednesday morning, she would enter the channel, cross Muskegon Lake, disembark her passengers, load again, and - dammit - leave for Milwaukee, all before we managed to enter the channel.

Back on Bella, we sliced as thin as we could closer to the jetty and then way, way past. This time, tacking back, we managed to enter the outer harbor. I was amazed how close to the wind Bella could sail! At times, she was headed so close into the wind, the wind vane practically pointed in the direction we were sailing.

We sliced back and forth inside the jetties; Bella was ripping. I could tell she just loved a broad reach. A broad reach is the fastest point of sail where a boat crosses the wind, rather than sails into it. Her theoretical hull speed is 6.4 knots. Dave called out when we hit 6 knots! It never felt like she was out of control. We were safe and dry and within a half a knot of her top speed. It was awesome sailing!

It was raining a little too.

I handed the tiller to Dave and went below to check the heading of the channel. If the wind direction out on the lake held near shore and I could get Bella pointed close to the wind on the starboard side of the channel, we could inch our way into the smaller lake. We flew back and forth across the channel entrance looking for the right tack but we could not cut it close enough. The geography of the dunes and the seawalls of the channel funneled the wind straight out into the lake. Try as we might, we could not sail right into the wind and without an engine that was it. I dropped anchor just north of the channel mouth and called for a tow.

Next I had to get all those damn signal flags down. Even Captain Subtle can't make a grand entrance under tow.

The trip from outside the channel into the marina was complicated and at times infuriating. I'm not even sure I want to tell that part of the story. Nothing can diminish the fact that we made it. A couple of rusty sailors had crossed almost 75 miles of open water on the fifth largest lake in the world. We had survived more than 22 hours, overnight, just Bella and us against the elements. It was wonderful, it was amazing, and it is exactly what I have always wanted to do.

Home Dock, Torresen Marine