Blog » First Cruise/First passage

The Shakedown Cruise

Tracy Mazzeo — Sun, 02 Jul 2017 23:27:08 +0000

So here it is… finally – our shakedown cruise!

After 22 months of upgrades, projects, renovations, busted knuckles, bloodied toes, cursing, drinking, more cursing and drinking, we are as ready as we’re going to be. We are going somewhere, people!!

Our cast of characters includes my husband, Captain Ken, the First Mate (me), Ken’s teenage son (Ken Jr.) and our cat, Spinnaker aboard Makana, our Morgan 384, and a similar crew (minus a cat) aboard Eagles Wings, our friends’ Morgan Out Island.

Two weeks, from Gulfport, Mississippi to Port St. Joe, Florida and back (with some stops along the way).

The night before we set sail we stay aboard in the harbor so we can get an early start. My brain won’t shut off and sleep just doesn’t seem to be working out, so I very ungracefully stumble over the Captain out of the V-berth before dawn, and see the cat perched perfectly still on the galley counter. She is staring at the sleeping teen in the quarter berth – I suspect she is plotting to steal his breath, and I make a mental note to monitor her creepiness.

Captain Ken says your crew can make you look really good or really bad. The relative inexperience of this First Mate tends to lean more towards “mediocre”. Sometimes our docking is smooth and impressive. Sometimes it’s a clown show.

Aware that our dock friends will be seeing us off, I’m fully expecting the circus music to be blaring…

Day 1

7:55 AM we cast off the dock lines.

The First Mate doesn’t drop a single line in the water – not one! Alright! Of course my excitement is short lived as my thoughts of a 15 degree heel are squashed by the fact that we have no wind. Sails are up but the motor is running.

About an hour into our journey our newly installed (second hand) autopilot, Striker, is being a jerk. He is meandering and swerving like a distracted driver on a cell phone. The Captain is fixing to give him an attitude adjustment that may not end well for either of them.

Striker vs Captain

All this swerving makes me think he may have had one too many and I take a quick inventory of the ship’s bar. But, by early afternoon Striker seems to have settled down and sobered up. I’m honing some mad fly swatter skills.

Day 2

The overnight watches went well, but the Captain and I pretty much spent most of the night in the cockpit taking turns napping. We motor sailed all night and I’ve started to strongly dislike the noise.

The lady of Eagles Wings and I chatted a bit on the radio while we were both on watch, and I figured as long as I still had her in sight all was good.

At about 7:45 AM while the Captain was below deck napping, the chart plotter said “Caution: Missile Test Area”. Wonder if I need to ask him about that?

I have Eagles Wings to my Starboard and she is sailing fearlessly through without hesitation, so I guess we’re good, right?

Finally about mid-day we have enough wind to shut this motor off! I’m grateful for the silence and the dolphins playing at the bow. The closer we got to Port St. Joe, the sportier the sail became. There’s water splashing over the bow and the boat is rocking and rolling.

This was a lot of fun, except for Spinnaker who we discovered finds a sporty sail a bit nauseating. A shout out to the person who invented disinfecting wipes…

Only 36 hours in and already a few new traditions were being forged aboard Makana: when dolphins come to visit you stop whatever you are doing and scurry up to the bow to enjoy the entertainment. If Son of a Son of a Sailor comes up on the playlist, the Captain and First Mate stop their conversation mid-sentence and sing along word for word.

Meanwhile, the teenager has been asleep more than he has been awake, and I secretly wonder if the cat’s breath – stealing stare is to blame.

We anchored up after dark in Port St. Joe, put up our fancy new wind catcher, opened all hatches and ports guided by the forecast of no rain.

But, we made a rookie mistake in trusting that forecast and at about 3 AM said un-forecasted rain came. Mad dash to close up hatches and ports! The Captain had an entertaining wrestling match with the wind catcher.

Day 3

Plans for some serious beach time!

While I was in the galley washing the breakfast dishes Captain and the teenager worked on lowering the dinghy into the water. We keep ours on the deck and the outboard motor sits on the stern rail, so we really flirt with disaster when it’s time to move that thing around.

I hear the Captain say to let it down slowly, followed by something falling, footsteps running all over the deck…
“Get the boat hook!”
“Does that piece float?”
“Should I jump in and get that?”

That ruckus was followed by clapping and cheering coming from Eagles Wings. All I know is, the dinghy was in the water, right side up, and the motor was attached. I probably don’t need to know anything more.

So, we spent hours at a pretty little beach emptying our coolers of their beer supplies.

At our exclusive beach in Port St. Joe

While heading back to the boats, our outboard decided to take a break and leave us stranded 50 yards from where we frolicked. We got a tow from Eagles Wings’ dinghy. Our outboard is feeling the wrath of the Captain.

Day 4

I’m thinking the dinghy motor is in cahoots with Striker. The Captain seems to have things sorted out so he and the teenager take it for a spin… a very short spin. Let’s call the first half of today “outboard motor rebuild”.

Observing the Captain’s method of disassembling the motor with all of its small, non-floating pieces while it is still attached to the dinghy, which is still in the water, seems to me like maybe not the best idea. But, I’m not offering my opinion to a frustrated Captain at this time. Going to work on my tan.

Final consensus of both Captains: bad fuel.

Day 5

Anchored near Panama City

Mother Nature was pretty cranky last night, and we are sailing out of Port St. Joe in the rain this morning. But, we found a beautiful anchorage in Panama City! This is where we had perhaps the most bizarre experience of the trip.

After some afternoon beach time (I’m sensing a theme here), we enjoyed a fantastic steak dinner aboard Eagles Wings. While on deck enjoying drinks, a voice was calling out from the pitch black. A small boat with no lighting and a very intoxicated skipper came into view.

It was a really weird encounter – he said he was from a neighboring houseboat, and his ramblings included a ten minute dissertation on thick cut bacon, an invite to breakfast, and an ominous warning of “it’s real nice in here now, but wait until about two or three in the morning”.

Well, his warning didn’t disappoint, and at 2:30 AM the winds picked up to 25 – 30 knots and rocked and rolled us for a bit.

Day 6

More rain. The Captains are conferring on our next move. I’m calculating if I’ve collected enough rain water to wash some clothes that are talking back to me.

Eagles Wings needed a generator part sent via overnight delivery, and we get hooked up at a local yacht club for the evening. Hmmm… shore power (which means we can run air conditioning), an opportunity to refill water tanks and get more ice, you know what? Count us in!

Let me tell you, the folks at this little yacht club in Panama City were some of the most friendly, accommodating, fantastic people I’ve ever met. We enjoyed a delicious lunch and outstanding service.

Day 7

Teenager training for Olympic sleeping

It didn’t take long for the crews of both vessels to get spoiled by the benefits of being hooked up to shore power. I think the teenager might be training for the sleeping Olympics.

The generator part arrived for Eagles Wings (hand delivered down the dock by the yacht club staff), and the two Captains got it installed with only a little bit of cursing.

It was still early so we sailed back to the anchorage from the night before. After some rum-flavored courage, the two Captains, myself and our teenager (minus the rum-flavored courage) wandered over to the houseboat of the late night visitor. We figured, for our own peace of mind, we should investigate. Talk of the possibility of finding bones of missing mariners on the houseboat carried on until we got over to his place. What we found was absolutely the opposite of what we thought!

A beautiful, home built two story house boat, nicely appointed and furnished, and the very friendly (still very intoxicated) owner who gave us a full tour of the place! He was delighted to share his story of building it and where it has been. He invited us back any time we were in the area. I have to admit, I was quite relieved…

Day 8

A sporty sail to Destin is forecasted.

I gave the cat some sea sick preventative (and probably should have considered some for myself and the teenager – but who knew?). The forecast didn’t disappoint and we enjoyed some big swells and a very dicey sail/motor into the inlet. Makana even did a little surfing.

We decided to go out for a nice dinner, enjoyed a cool shower and was looking forward to a good sleep, until the cat flushed out – gasp! A cockroach! There will be no sleep for any aboard! Captain Ken dumps out the entire wet locker so the cat can look for the roach, but the cat declines and curls up for a nap instead.

Emptying lockers on a cockroach hunt

Day 9

Happy Flag Day! Raise the black, thieves! Destin is a blast.

We spent the day marinating in waist deep clear water at Crab Island, losing count of how many beers it takes before you think performing stunts on a rented paddle board is a good idea.

Paddleboarding – not exactly perfect form!

The lady of Eagles Wings decides to try hot Cajun boiled peanuts that vendors in little boats are peddling. We have now discovered an obsession that we still cannot let go of…

Day 10

Destin

We decide to spend another day in Destin due to predicted rough seas and unsafe conditions in the inlet. Tough gig.

I notice my skin looks like leather and the skin on my feet has a subtle burning sensation. I wonder if having wet feet for ten days is a problem? Eh – who cares. I have beer, ocean and hot Cajun boiled peanuts.

Day 11

Pulled anchor early to head over to Big Lagoon near Pensacola. Three to five foot seas and ten to fifteen knot winds predicted. The cat, teenager and I partake in some sea sick preventative this time. Both ships punch through the inlet easily.

I agreed with the three to five foot seas but not a lick of wind! The drone of the motor and the diesel fumes wafting into the cockpit makes me want to look into a sculling oar. I ask the Captain if that’s feasible. We could make the engine room into a fantastic fridge/freezer combo! Right? I’m fully aware this isn’t actually an option…

Day 12

The Captain is still concerned about the stowaway cockroach. The cat was alerting to something in the headliner which renewed the roach panic. I try to talk the crew down off the ledge… and the Captain of Eagles Wings brings us some bug killer.

Minds are eased and we enjoy a great day exploring Fort McCree, marinating in salt water and watching the Blue Angels practice.

Day 13

Roberts Bayou anchorage

Big Lagoon has been so still – no breeze at all. I begin to wonder how it is that one can sweat continuously for days on end and not die? I think the teenager is counting the minutes until he can get off the boat.

We pull anchor and head out to relocate to Robert’s Bayou. The teenager mentions he awoke to find the cat giving him the breath stealing stare. I’m convinced something is up with that little fuzzy thing.

In Robert’s Bayou the adults enjoy Bushwackers at Pirate’s Cove on the recommendation of Eagles Wings crew. I don’t know what exactly is in those drinks but I think it is actually crack for sailors. I had to get a T-shirt from this place…

Day 14

Awoke to find the cat plotting to steal MY breath now! The Captain and I are surprisingly chipper after an unknown number of Bushwackers followed by the adults of both crews polishing off a bottle of rum aboard Makana. Side note – the teenager found us at our most entertaining that night.

We’re headed toward either Pettit Bois or Horn Island, depending on the wind (like, if there is any wind). The winds were actually gusty in Mobile Bay and I’m on high alert.

I’ve heard people say if you’re thinking about reefing your sails, you should just do it. So, after having this conversation for about ten minutes, a big gust caught our sails (and we had full sails out), Makana heeled hard to starboard, the sails went for a salt water dip and the Captain fought to regain control with his feet on the wall of the cockpit and his elbow touching the floor.

I grabbed for the coaming board, lifeline, whatever I could to keep from flying off the port side and crashing into the sleeping teenager (who was now wide awake). Anything on the port side that was not strongly secured was now somewhere else. Sea water poured over the starboard gunnel and into the cockpit. It was pretty “exciting” but not in a really good way.

Once the Captain regained control, I marched right down below, grabbed my harness, clipped in and marched my happy butt up to the mast and reefed that sail down!

After the initial startled feeling subsided, I was angry because we knew better. I spent the next half hour texting the lady of Eagles Wings all about it. (I’m having a hard time letting go of my constant connection to technology).

We made it to Petti Bois Island, anchored, ate and went to bed.

Makana at sunset, anchored at Petti Bois Island

Day 15

I can’t believe our adventure is coming to an end.

We sailed toward Gulfport and even though we finally had twenty knots of wind, it was directly off our nose. I wish we could have snapped a photo of our two amazing, tough boats sailing toward the harbor side by side.

We were greeted at the dock by our wonderful marina neighbors and friends who were curious and excited to hear about our adventures on the high seas! Queue the circus music for the docking fiasco.

I would say this was one of the greatest adventure of my life so far, and I was so lucky to have my family and great friends to share it with. The crews of both boats are already talking of the next adventure together.

On another side note, while doing some post-voyage cleaning the roach was located; squished under a rug outside of the ship’s head, and very dead and probably for quite some time. You had one job, cat.

Things I learned:

Running the motor for any length of time annoys me.
You can never have enough sunscreen
Blue crabs enjoy spoiled meat thrown overboard
Sea sick preventative is very helpful, however sleeping for almost an entire day is a disappointing side effect.
It’s impossible to have a playlist everyone likes
When discussing the possibility of needing to reef sails, shut up and get it done
I’m much better at this than I thought.

About Tracy Mazzeo

Tracy on the journey back home

Tracy, her husband Ken and cat Spinnaker live aboard Makana, their Morgan 384 sailboat in the Florida Keys. They cruise every chance they get with plans to cruise full time in the next couple of years.

They have spent the last three years sailing and refurbishing Makana, starting on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi and then moving to their current marina home in Tavernier.

Many repairs, upgrades and sailing adventures have been documented on their S/V Makana Facebook page.

Learn more

My first sailing experience by Tracy Mazzeo
My first time on a sailing boat – or why women don’t want to go sailing with their husbands by Signe Storr

First-timer account of offshore sailing

Marie Raney — Mon, 14 Mar 2016 21:59:53 +0000

This article was first published on Sailing Phoenix, Marie Raney’s blog.

What’s it really like to go offshore?

A delight of dolphins!

I have been a sailor all my life, but only started cruising in 2001. I grew up racing in small open boats, windsurfing, and day sailing. Years later when my husband proposed the cruising lifestyle and maybe a circumnavigation, I started reading to find out what this was all about.

You’ve probably read from much the same list I have and we’re lucky to have so many talented writers among our experienced cruising community. But because they’re experienced they didn’t really address one question I had… what’s it really like when you first go offshore sailing?

They told me hints and tricks and lots of wonderful ideas, but never what it was like first time out.

Many of the books I read indicated that most people who actually go offshore sailing do it for less than two years – many leave it after six months, some after their first ocean crossing. If this is something we were going to gear up to do for years, it seemed like I should know whether I’d like it or not. But no one gave me a feeling of what that experience might be.

I’m now three weeks into my first ocean crossing so I’ll try to share what it has been like.

Nature of our trip

Of course all ocean voyages and all boats are not the same. I’ll describe a little about what our trip is so you’ll know how similar your experience might be. Your trip may be in a larger more comfortable boat, or on more temperate waters, or you may have more conveniences or comforts and so your experiences may be different for those reasons.

We live north of Seattle and are doing a “shakedown” ocean cruise to Hawaii and back before deciding whether to finish outfitting the boat for extended ocean cruising- a trip of about 3000 miles each way – about a month of ocean time each way.

We leave the land behind us as the wind vane takes over steering

Although our boat is the most complex boat either of us has owned, it is an older boat (1967 hull, renovated 1984) so is still by modern standards somewhat spartan.

For this trip we have no refrigeration, no generator, no water maker, no tv or microwave. It has a diesel engine, although not a powerful one. No integrated electronics, although I did set up a laptop for this trip and connected some serial devices (GPS, AIS, Pactor modem) to my computer for communications and navigation. No electric winches or anchoring.

We do have solar panels. We also have an Aries wind vane, but no autopilot. We have a two burner stove, but the oven doesn’t work currently. So we won’t be taking hot showers or drinking cold beers, but we will have hot meals.

As for the crossing itself, paradoxically the coastal part of it is reputedly as difficult as they come (in this country), but the ocean part is fairly easy.

To leave Washington state by water you generally need to tackle the Strait of Juan de Fuca – a 100 plus mile stretch of current-ridden, wind-driven water separating the US and Canada. Some cruisers have said it was the worst part of their trip. The straits are so turbulent that fluid dynamics studies use this body of water as their laboratory to study complex turbulence reactions.

After the first few days of beating to get away from the lee shore that is the US west coast, we spent most of the rest of the month wing-and-wing

However the crossing to Hawaii is fairly easy, although the coast of Washington, Oregon, and even California can be quite treacherous. But once you get offshore (in summer) light winds are more a problem than big winds or seas. Hurricanes or typhoons are extremely rare.

In mentally preparing for this trip I expected to get beat up for the first week out and then see a gradual easing of conditions and temperatures. This turned out to be pretty accurate.

Dealing with cool weather, high seas

The first two days were mostly beating in 12 foot seas. Weather was in the 60s when we left, water temperature in the mid 50s, seas a bit mixed from earlier storms.

Already the first days’ rigors are disappearing into memory, but this is what I emailed to friends at the time:

“The first few days, off the Washington and Oregon coast, were rough and wild, with 10-12 foot seas and strong winds. Those days passed in a fog of standing watches, grabbing hot food, and trying to sleep all against a background of being slammed around the boat like popping popcorn.”

During this time we never went out of the cabin without the full foulies – fleece pants and jacket covered by foul weather jacket and farmer johns, wool socks, sea boots, ski hat and gloves. It wasn’t really particularly cold, but it was wet from the occasional wave getting the side decks or from spray over the weather cloths or from light rain. And sitting still in the cockpit would get cold, until something needed doing like shortening sail – then it got sweaty fast.

I remember watching the boat raised on a wave … up, up, up to about a story and a half, then just when you were sure you’d crash and fall, the wave gracefully slid out from under the boat. Again and again and again.

However from inside the boat it was a different experience. From my journal:

“Our first four days were demanding, occasionally debilitating. Snatching sleep in two hour increments was all we could do with four hour watches. And four hour watches is all we could do on deck. Like backpacking on a six-degree of freedom platform, voyaging has bruised and exhausted us. The simplest tasks such as eating or sitting on the toilet became Olympic events.”

I get a new angle on cooking while sailing to windward the first few days. The galley belt, at hip height, is the only way to have two hands for cooking

Down below in early days was nearly as much work as in the cockpit. Just moving down the cabin was a full 3-D game experience. Even with handholds available from every position in our cabin I was constantly getting slammed against a bulkhead, unfailingly one with a pad eye sticking out.

I did manage to cook some simple meals from scratch during that time but I guess I would recommend sticking to heating up pre-prepared food. However I still remember the first day’s split pea soup that I made from scratch, with Bisquick biscuits. It was very tasty and did a lot to lift our spirits.

Night sailing

Night falls at sea

On deck was scary at first, especially at night, hurtling through the waves without being able to see what’s in front of you. The large rolling waves would come in and sometimes crash heavily on the side decks. You could really hear the weight of the water and it was a sobering sound.

My fears kept me occupied as well. What if someone falls in; what if something breaks; what if these were breakers not rollers; what if the wind, already whistling in the rigging, freshens; what if I can’t sleep; what if I can’t get the sail under control?

Gradually these fears gave way to appreciation for the boat. I stopped focusing on “what if..” and watched how the boat was made to handle these waves. I saw that if we got overpowered we could always round up and ease the pressure or the speed. The motion became more natural and not something to be fought.

And, however dark it was, there was nothing in front of us. I soon stopped worrying about running into something unseen in the dark – the somethings I needed to worry about, ships, were well lit up. But there were darn few of them in the north Pacific either. For two weeks we saw no ships, even on our AIS, and even the occasional planes were so far overhead that we heard nothing and could barely make out a glint as they passed overhead.

Even birds and large fishes were increasing rare as we got 800 or miles from the nearest land. Clouds and water were the only companions that we could rely on until clearer weather returned the stars, moon and sun to us.

Night watches are difficult for both of us. If you’re active in the cockpit, four hours is a long watch. If you’re trying to sleep, four hours is very short.

As the weather smooths out we’re compromising with five hour night watches – sundown to midnight and midnight to dawn – and seven hour day watches. This gives us plenty of time to get sleep between our two off-watches and keeps our night watches from being too difficult. Having light at one end of your watch seems to help psychologically.

Leecloths

And we have adjusted. I’m now falling to sleep faster and easier than I ever did on land, although a heavy roll will still keep either of us sleeping fitfully. Again, we don’t have staterooms, but keeping lights on helps the person on watch stay awake. I thought it would keep the sleeper awake as well, but this has not been a problem, even though on land I’m extremely sensitive to light while I’m trying to sleep.

However the beauty of night watches also makes them wonderful. Hundreds of miles from the nearest light source the stars are luscious and rich with variation. Warm winds caress as the boat moves effortlessly forward. It’s intoxicating.

Sounds at sea

The thing I was not expecting was the sound of cruising.

Water crashes on the side decks, sounding like a ton of bricks from my quarterberth below

It was worse because we were beating, but the sound is unending. Water sounds, boat sounds, and stuff-shifting-around sounds all combined into a constant cacophonous background of sound. On deck it would be difficult to hear each other.

Even more unexpected were the voices. I had heard of sleep-deprived single-handers imagining voices and even seeing people, but I didn’t expect to hear them myself. But we both heard voices constantly during that first week. The words weren’t quite distinguishable, but the tones and cadence sounded like English. Some of my voices included a phantom cocktail party – some male and female voices and the clink of glassware – as well as a mom calling her kids to lunch on a summer afternoon – relaxed and unhurried. Occasionally I heard the staccato tones of a slightly worried man or the murmur of a conversation in another room that lapses momentarily into a querulous note of sharpness then subsides back into conversation.

A couple of weeks later, running downwind in warmer conditions and lighter seas we rarely hear these voices. I sort of miss them.

Hygiene, moisture, salt

We didn’t want to use water for bathing until we really knew how much water we were using for essentials. But, as I had learned from backpacking, a sponge bath can be very effective. A wet washcloth with a little Dr. Bronner’s applied to “problem areas” at bedtime is a delight.

Except for these efficacious sponge baths we didn’t try to bathe until the weather got warm enough that it was pleasant to do in the cockpit. And then washing our hair was a near religious experience. However do not attempt this with salt water. I thought it would be a relief to get the oil out, but anything with salt water in it never really dries. Rather awful. I washed it again the next day in fresh water.

A flexible bucket made of rubberized cloth (sold at camping stores) minimized the amount of water you need since you don’t waste water in the corners of the bucket – sort of fold it around your head as you rinse.

But the fact remains that we are dirty. Clothes particularly are a problem. You can wear the same clothes over and over – or you can pile up the dirty laundry – neither is an attractive proposition.

I did wash out underwear and a few shirts in a minimal amount of water to good effect. However cottons don’t dry and get dirty fast – avoid them. My microfiber, polyester (dri-wear type), rip-stop nylon, and polyprop / fleece clothes don’t get as dirty as fast as cotton, don’t hold water, don’t hold sweat, and are easy to wash.

Next trip I will not allow cotton during the voyage itself – particularly cotton sweatshirts and jeans. They just stay damp all the time.

As the weather warms I wear bathing suits almost exclusively, sometimes throwing a long sleeved shirt over for sun protection. My husband has chosen not to wear clothes. Both are better solutions than bra, panties, shirts and shorts. On the other hand, like during our backpacking in previous lives, we’re dirty together and getting used to it.

Related to hygiene is moisture and salt. Even a boat as well-ventilated as ours has moisture issues, especially in high seas. What I didn’t really appreciate was the salt that encrusts everything. In a mild morning I go forward and sit on a hatch with a cup of tea – the hatch is crusted in salt and now so are my clothes. My hands are salty, my hair is salty. I don’t miss potato chips – I just kiss my husband. Everything is salty and with salt comes moisture. Even with sponge baths before bed the sheets are vaguely damp. A separate stateroom away from companionway traffic would help, but we don’t have this luxury.

Next time I think I will have silk or synthetic sheet sacks that can be easily washed in little water and dried in little time. I did provide spare sheets stored in zip lock bags with lavender-scented dryer sheets and this worked well – at least the new sheets were dry and fresh smelling. The polypropylene blankets worked well – never seemed damp, dried readily if wet, didn’t pick up sweat smells. Wool or cotton would have been disastrous.

To counteract salt buildup in the cabin I wiped down surfaces with vinegar. This cut the salt and eliminated any mold that might be thinking of forming.

Conclusion

All in all ocean passages, at least for this first-timer, are awe-inspiring and exhausting – no namby-pamby boring stuff.

Time passes strangely quickly, filled with necessary activities. The work – cooking, cleaning, bathing, getting weather reports, standing watch, doing sail changes – seems to fill most of the day but is all clearly necessary, not make-work. The down time – sleeping, reading, watching, thinking has never been quite enough but is pleasingly unstructured. I have managed to do a little writing, and reading, but not as much as I thought. Knitting, games, music have stayed put away.

Except during squalls there isn’t much of a schedule. So if dolphins arrive, we stop everything else and just watch them. When the sky is clear and my watch begins, I just watch the stars until I’m satiated. We do what’s in front of us, not much planning or juggling of activities, which feels unpressured and, well, simple. I think we’re a little closer to just being.

On land I live in the future – always looking at least an hour or a day ahead. Out here I’m living in the same time I’m doing, so even though we’re always busy it’s not the frantic busy of trying to finish up x to get to y that seems to characterize my working life on land. I feel healthier, more centered, more tired, but more … at home perhaps.

About Marie Toler Raney

Marie and Williwaw leave Neah Bay, Washington on their first Pacific trip in 2008. Co-captain Jon took the photo.

Marie grew up racing small boats in the Chesapeake Bay area of Maryland before becoming a software developer. Jon grew up in Davis, CA dreaming of running away to sea, finally escaping at 15 on an Alaskan fishing boat. Williwaw the Portuguese Water Dog, born on Lopez Island, WA, has an ancient and noble sailing heritage.

After years of coastal sailing in the Pacific Northwest they all decided to run away to sea together on their steel sloop, Phoenix.

Their blog is at www.sailingphoenix.com

Tale of a gale: A novice sailor’s adventure, by Susan Von Hemert
Lessons from an offshore voyage: How one woman’s life was changed by the sea, by Heather Mann
A sea of meaning: How the sea changes me, by Karen Sullivan

My first Atlantic crossing … aboard Sea Dragon with a crew of 13 women

Elaine McKinnon — Mon, 18 May 2015 00:19:06 +0000

Photo: Cornell Sailing

How did a middle-aged cruising sailor, mother and psychologist, end up in the company of 13 incredible women who set sail aboard a Sea Dragon to cross an ocean? Not literally a Sea Dragon, but the Sea Dragon, a research sailing vessel operated by Pangaea Explorations. It is quite incredible to reflect back on how this all came about, but in the end this journey was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life.

On a whim one Sunday morning in the Spring 2014, I signed up to be crew on just such an adventure. Pangaea Explorations was looking for crew to sail with eXXpedition, an all women expedition that was going to cross the Atlantic Ocean, with the key goals of studying plastic pollution in the oceans and examining the toxics that accumulate in our bodies.

A further goal, and perhaps the most salient for me at that time, was that an all women crew would serve as a model to other young women, to encourage them to do whatever they put their mind to. Women are often underrepresented in sailing, as they are in many career areas of science, technology and engineering. What an incredible opportunity to show everyone just what a group of women can do. This was the vision of Emily Penn and Lucy Gilliam, co-founders of eXXpedition.

So far in my life, I had managed to sail my own Niagara 35 foot sailboat with my family in the Great Lakes for several years, and to charter in the Caribbean.

Crossing an ocean was really not on my “To Do” list. Or so I thought. A spot became available to crew and for some reason, I felt this experience was so remarkable that I could not say no.

I was advised just 6 weeks before departure that I was now on board, a member of this incredible crew.

Quick and sometimes stressful preparations, careful packing and 5 weeks of intense training saw me boarding a flight that would ultimately take me to Lanzarote, Canary Islands, our point of departure, as one boat among many in the Atlantic Odyssey 2014.

When I saw Sea Dragon, I was awed. What a powerful, elegant vessel.

And when I met our captain, Emily Penn, and first mate, Shanley McEntee, I was further amazed. Such young and accomplished sailors and ocean advocates.

The other amazing women on board, which included sailors, ocean scientists, conservationists and environmentalists, and designers, artists and filmmakers, would soon become quite close, as the circumstances of our first days out would test the strength and determination of many.

I recall thinking to myself during this time, at least I had a sense of what to expect on a crossing, having read so many books and articles and heard first hand accounts at sailing seminars offered by members of the Women and Cruising website.

Some of my crewmates had never even been on board a sailing vessel, let alone done any serious off shore sailing. Their courage was amazing, as they managed as best they could the discomfort of sailing close hauled for days on end, in high seas and big winds, while fighting persisting sea sickness.

I think though that these early days at sea helped to seal a bond between us all, in this shared journey where we needed to rely on and support one another.

Three watch teams were set up and worked very efficiently to keep us on course, well fed and as rested as one could expect. I was struck by how quickly we seemed to adapt to this new schedule at sea.

Our boat was very comfortable, and incredibly seaworthy. Even while pounding upwind, she was pretty smooth and quick through the waves. This didn’t mean that everything we had to do was smooth, as cooking and sleeping could be challenging in the constant motion, not to mention just making our way from one end of the boat to the other. Amazingly, fourteen women also managed to share two heads during the whole time at sea, with no real mishaps.

My excitement at being at sea never waned, even during some of the late night watches when we were cold, chilled and bruised from being bounced around day after day.

One of my goals had been to test myself in some respects while undertaking this adventure, to address my long-standing anxiety of being in big seas and big winds. I recalled only one time when I thought to myself, “what was I thinking getting into this”. This moment of anxiety, tinged with some fear, was, however, only brief. I did what any crewmate needed to do and got into my foul weather gear for another midnight watch in the rain with my new-found friends.

SEA DRAGON crew handling the boat

While sometimes difficult, these watches were also often filled with laughter, drinks of hot tea and bars of chocolate. My watch team managed to devise many silly word games to play, one of my favorites being desserts that begin with letters of the alphabet (desserts were in short supply while on board, chocolate notwithstanding), or who would win in a fight, Jason Bourne or James Bond.

Many hours were spent finding out about each other, what our passions were, and where our life journey had taken each of us. Each evening involved a great dinner as a group, and a special guest speaker from among the crew. Everyone had a chance to do this talk, and it was such a treat to be offered a glimpse into such diverse and rich lives. It only further confirmed my long held belief that “Women really are amazing”.

One important mission of eXXpedition was to study the state of the ocean we were crossing. We did so by trawling the ocean each day for evidence of microplastics.

I will admit that as a sailor I have always been concerned about limiting our footprint or environmental impact wherever we sailed. I would not, however, have considered myself to be a conservationist or ardent environmentalist, leaving this task to the “real” environmentalist, who show up in the news and who make it their life’s purpose to agitate for change.

Participating in this scientific study while on board Sea Dragon did, however, open my eyes. Our first trawl, in what seemed to be a pristine ocean, yielded dozens of plastic particles, some pieces only visible through a microscope. I could never again look away from this human-made problem.

SEA DRAGON crew doing the science with the manta trawl

A predictable pattern gradually emerged during our 19 days at sea, to be punctuated by some very memorable and exciting experiences. Nature never ceased to amaze us, as each setting sun, rising moon, starry night, rainbow and pod of dolphins served to remind us of what an incredible world this is. Crossing the ocean, looking out each day at the immense dome above us and the horizon filled with water around us….it also reminds you of your place in the world.

I came away from this expedition with a whole new view of what I myself can accomplish. Sailing across an ocean can do that to you. I am a more confident sailor and a more dedicated environmental citizen, and I have been enriched in meeting and befriending so many amazing women.

Since being onshore, I must also admit to feeling a strong pull back to the ocean, to put my feet again on a swaying deck and to look forward on the horizon to a new adventure or expedition.

About Elaine McKinnon

Elaine is an avid sailor, with most of her sailing experience being on the incredible Great Lakes. She learned to sail as an adult, taking keelboat sailing lessons while working as a professional psychologist and raising her family.

Doing this Atlantic crossing only further confirmed her belief that, as women, we are all capable of more than we think we are. It has encouraged her to take on new challenges and to step out into a life of more adventurous cruising in the coming years.

This experience has also rekindled a passion for more active environmental work and conservation, with her efforts now being directed at EXXpedition Great Lakes 2016.

VIDEO: EXXPEDITION Atlantic 2014
eXXpedition website
Atlantic Odyssey website

Tale of a gale: A novice sailor’s adventure

Susan Von Hemert — Mon, 19 May 2014 07:46:09 +0000

Susan at the helm after the storm

A couple of years ago when my husband gave me a copy of Beth Leonard’s book, “Following Seas”, with the caveat that I probably shouldn’t read the first chapter, I might have known that sailing would have some adventures in store. But our story started long before that; it really started 8 years ago on Long Island Sound.

After a mutual friend of our daughter’s decided we should meet, I was invited for a sail on Phil’s 28’ Shannon cutter, Inseparable. Keep in mind that my sailing experience consisted of twice sitting in the cockpit of a friend’s 40’ boat on Lake Huron sipping wine and enjoying the sunshine. I agreed to the date a bit reluctantly.

Phil

Following his thorough briefing on safety features and how to use the VHF’s automatic Mayday button (I hoped I’d never have to use that on a first date!), we left the security of his Noank, Connecticut slip in bright sun and light wind. After a while, he let me take the tiller.

A short time later, he lay down on a cockpit cushion. It was now up to me to guide us through the sea of lobster buoys, aids to navigation and a plethora of boats of every description that occupy Fishers Island Sound on a summer weekend afternoon.

At one point, I told him there was a buoy dead ahead to which he replied, “Just don’t hit it.” He thought I meant a navigation buoy, not a lobster buoy. What did I know about navigation buoys? Nothing.

In my ignorance, I glided right over the lobster buoy and promptly wedged the warp between our rudder and keel. Oops….I told Phil I didn’t think we were moving. He got up and to his dismay, saw a bright orange buoy bobbing under the boat.

After much discussion I finally convinced him to let me jump over and free us of this irritation. After all, I reasoned, I was a certified scuba diver, was in the best shape of my life thanks to six months of triathlon training plus I had no clue how to sail Inseparable back to pick him up if he’d successfully dislodged us. So over I jumped in my shorts and tank top, but not before he secured me to the boat with a long line. I was unsuccessful but eventually we were assisted by a passing lobster boat and that, in a clamshell, is when we fell in love. In fact, the lobster buoy now graces our mailbox. Now to the real story.

That day lead to our marriage and years of sailing out of our home port, Portland, Maine. With a variety of on-the-water experiences (one can have a lot of those in a 28’ boat with a 13 HP engine in the Maine waters) and his patient teaching I developed a lot of confidence on the boat. I also learned to varnish the extensive woodwork, scrub everything that didn’t move, cook out of a miniature galley and distinguish a rope from a line and a bathroom from a head. Most of all, I learned I loved sailing and our time at sea.

We found our usual weekend and two-week explorations of the Maine coast were just not enough. Phil wanted to cross the pond. I wanted to cruise with friends and family. Thus began our search for a larger vessel. We researched the literature and internet, queried experienced cruisers and visited many boats for sale. We weighed the advantages of center versus aft cockpits and comfort versus heavy weather capability. In my naiveté, I never thought for one minute we would need heavy weather capability. My vision was being in a hammock strung between the mast and the forestay! I admit I was tempted by those boats with large master cabins, ‘real’ beds, and modern galleys. In the end, safety was the feature that made us settle on another Shannon built, cutter rigged, aft cockpit, bluewater boat.

We found the perfect specimen in northern Florida. After a number of upgrades, we sailed her down the coast of Florida in late February and to the Bahamas for the balance of the winter. Every day brought new experiences, lessons and discoveries. I felt most intimidated when trying to dock her in various conditions. It was a big change for me especially judging where the front of the boat actually was. At 5’1”, I’m challenged a bit, especially when the dinghy is loaded on the front of the boat. I have been promised a stool or seat one of these days.

STILL INSEPARABLE in Hopetown Harbor

We decided to sail directly back to New Hampshire on a straight line north from the Abacos in early May with two friends who both had extensive offshore experience. This trip was to be my first true offshore voyage. I seemed prepared and felt comfort knowing that I was in the company of three experienced sailors. Our departure was set and even though the forecast was for 30-35 kt winds, it was nothing our boat couldn’t handle. We had contracted with a weather service via our SSB and had set a time to check in with friends back in the islands. We set out in bright sunshine. Although I’m not prone to seasickness, I put on a scopolamine patch just in case.

Two hours into the voyage, the sea and wind started to kick up. Sadly, I was the first to ‘chum’ overboard, totally embarrassing myself, or so I thought. Visions of a planned shrimp scampi dinner our first night at sea rapidly disappeared. The wind continued to build as did the waves and soon, even Phil and Charlie surrendered to seasickness. Of note here is that Phil has never been seasick since owning his own boat. Charlie spent four years sailing the world back in the 70’s.

Caro, our second crew member, sailed across the Atlantic in a hurricane. Fortunately for us, she had a stomach of iron. She was also an extremely able helmsperson, who as the storm continued to build and as the men got sicker, taught me how to steer up and down those gigantic waves.


Crewmember Caro at helm		Waves at the beginning of the storm

I had no idea that the ‘feel’ of the boat was something that really can’t be taught. One learns quickly to be responsible for the lives of the rest of the crew. As I steered up the 20’ waves that were hitting our port side, I felt the power of the sea and the ability of our boat to rise up and ease down safely. You have no time to panic or retreat to the cabin with covers over your head and hope it all goes away (yes, I was tempted…..). Under my hands, I could feel the water move the rudder and each time it did, I sensed the touch on the wheel that the boat needed.

We checked in frequently with friends in Hope Town. After 36 hours we found the storm had increased in size and intensity. At this point, both men could not even keep down water despite scopolamine patches, so Caro and I did most of the steering and navigating. Cooking was out of the question, but no one had much of an appetite.

The best place to sleep in astorm

Below decks became a place to ‘crash’ – our starboard sea berth held one of us and the other, usually Phil or I, made the floor our place of retreat as it was the most stable part of the boat; sleeping in the v-berth was not an option. Somehow, Caro made the aft cabin her off-watch sanctuary.

Talk on the SSB became an effort. I draped my head horizontally over the nav station to avoid being sick. Changing clothes was unthinkable; survival became the mode of operation for all of us, except of course for Caro who cheerfully took the helm without a backward glance at those huge monster waves that loomed in the night. Yes, she really did smile through a lot of this. In fact, she really enjoyed herself.

After 48 hours and a short discussion between Caro, Phil and myself (Charlie was blissfully asleep.), the decision was made to turn back, restore ourselves, make the necessary boat repairs and start again. Surprisingly, after another 24 hours heading south, the storm subsided and voila, the sun came out and all was right with the world. Taking stock of the damage to the boat, we only had one extremely chafed reefing line, one broken bow nav light, and one lost outboard motor. We laughed over that one….no one knew it was missing until the second day of the storm. Our heavy dinghy motor now sits at the bottom of the Atlantic.

What did I learn from all this?

First, all the years of safety training paid off. More importantly, I no longer have any doubt about how the boat will handle heavy weather. Even though we found leaks here and there, she was a sturdy force against the storm. That fact alone made the ordeal easier to face.
I feel if I have confidence in your boat, the crew and my own sailing ability, I am able to rise above my fear and carry out any necessary tasks. I had no time to think about being afraid as loved ones needed me to be at my best.
Third, after surviving a gale, I’m much less afraid of weather at sea while, at the same time, I’m much more respectful of what it can be. It was the best learning experience. As Beth Leonard said, you get back on the boat because that 1% bad weather you experience won’t come around again anytime soon….you hope.

Of course, I kissed the ground when we arrived back in the Abacos. Today we can laugh at some of our antics.

The following passage taken from my journal is of our thwarted first attempt at going home described above. It makes for amusing reading:

Day1 2100

Every crew member except Caro has puked at least once. 20-25 kt winds with 8-15′ swells or waves…at this stage nomenclature isn’t important. Raining intermittently. Too sick to write in log. Down from one reef main, staysail and Yankee to two reefed main. Shrimp scampi dinner postponed. Water and crackers are on the menu. And this is fun?

Day 2 0900

Diane and Jan are saviors….they repeatedly checked the weather and advised us to turn around. Wind is consistently above 35, waves 20′ like big monsters in the night. Phil and Charlie can’t even keep down water; Caro and I manage. Can’t be vertical below decks; floor is the place to sleep. Haven’t changed clothes and really don’t care.

Day 3 1300

Turned around; now into the wind and waves are just as big.”

Top 10 hints I learned from Offshore Sailing

Dry clothes trumps clean anytime.

Any small object on the deck has a magnet for toes; expect to have a few broken ones before the trip is over.

Scopolamine patches are not over rated.

Baked potatoes for breakfast sound perfectly reasonable.

It is possible not to eat for 72 hours and feel good about it.

Anything that gets wet after Day 1 stays wet.

A soggy wet blanket is better than no blanket.

Ski goggles come in handy.

You can use a bathing suit and a down jacket one day apart.

You witness the power, majesty, and beauty of the sea firsthand.

About Susan Von Hemert

Susan and her husband live in Portsmouth NH where Phil is retired and Susan owns a consulting business servicing medical equipment companies. They enjoy travels to visit their four married daughters and eight grandchildren and hope to spend much of the next several years sailing. Still Inseparable regularly sails the Maine coast in the summer.

Susan’s first love on board is cooking; recipe books supply great nighttime reading. Making yogurt and sprouts have now become regular additions to her galley routine.

Their website is www.sailingstillinseparable.com.

My first sailing experience

Tracy Mazzeo — Sun, 02 Mar 2014 09:43:31 +0000

Trying to capture the weather and waves

“No problem! It’s cool!“

My naive enthusiasm and cluelessness must have been painfully obvious to my boyfriend Ken (now my husband – so you know this story has a happy ending)… He had been on the water his whole life: surfing, boating, sailing, diving, even his day job involves him being on a boat most of the time. I considered myself pretty adventurous… but in a very “landlubber” way. Muscle cars, dirt bikes, motorcycles, off roading, rock concerts, mosh pits. Pretty fearless, right? There’s no way a little sailboat ride would be a problem.

When we first started working on FILTHY OAR in the yard

Her new color

Captain Ken: taken when we first motored out of the yard’s dock

I guess the first clue that I had no clue was while looking for our first sailboat, everything in our price range needed work. Lots of work… it seemed overwhelming, but we eventually found a 27′ 1977 Canadian Sailcraft.

Before we could move her to the marina we wanted she needed some attention. Bottom job, paint, all new through hulls, valves, a few blister repairs… you get the idea. The previous owner (who used her as an apartment) was even kind enough to leave us a microwave with an old dried up hot dog in it!

She spent about five weeks on the hard, and we spent nearly every free moment painting, cleaning, sweating, cursing, but in the end so proud of how great she looked when we were done!

We re-named her the Filthy Oar (it was a tongue in cheek play on words, and the Coast Guard even stopped us once because they just had to know what kind of people would be aboard a boat with a name like that)!

I figured at this point we were ready to go! And bless Ken’s heart, he allowed me to feel like we just had a few more little things to do…

The weekend we planned to sail her from the boat yard to the marina was forecast to be stormy. Ken sweetly reminded me that it would be “a little rough and very wet” for the journey. No problem! I’m not worried in the least…We figured there was a chance we could make the 50 mile trip in one day, but allowed for two. We motored through the channels for quite some time finally getting into Lake Ponchatrain.

I was blissfully unaware of just how exciting this journey would be as I chattered on about how the sun was out and tried to figure out steering with a tiller.

Me learning to use the tiller with the ominous sky building behind me

As the day went on, Poseidon’s mood turned… we faced a tremendous head current and our little 8HP motor was struggling. We caught up to a group of beautiful sailboats, all under full sail (while we still motored, not fully trusting the lines and rigging yet). I waved enthusiastically to our fellow boaters and studied their heel angles, their witty names and their full crews.

They looked at us a little strangely, and only later did it occur to us that we had intruded on an actual sailboat race! Imagine what they were thinking as this little jalopy boat cruised into their “pod” not even bothering to raise her sails. We still laugh about it.

Time to hoist the sails! Ken went forward and attached the hank on jib. He tried to explain turning into the wind so the sails could be raised. Ummm… ok. I was able to figure out when the wind was in my face, but keeping the boat in that direction while the increasingly angry water and winds jostled us around was tougher than I thought. He patiently instructed me on windward and leeward (please – just say left or right), on reading the water (looks dark and murky to me), figuring out direction (again, left or right). With only a hand held GPS and hand held radio for electronics, I was completely lost. And then the skies opened up…

I found seasickness was only a problem if I went down into the cabin, so I stayed in the open cockpit with Captain Ken. The rain stung, and with no reefing lines in the sails, we had no way to reef… so the toe rail spent some time buried in the water and I spent some time sliding off the seat. The winds were unpredictable and we had more than a few unexpected jibes so remembering to keep my head clear of the boom just added to the list of things I was trying to jam into my sailing database.

We decided to anchor for the night by Half Moon Island in the Mississippi Sound. Ken yelled over the howling wind and driving rain to point into the wind, back up, go forward, while setting the anchor. Somehow, he got it set and we could settle in for the night… right… In his usual calm manner, he made us soup (which my slight seasickness and claustrophobia made impossible to enjoy). Side note: if you are claustrophobic you’ll need to conquer or at least control that on a small sailboat.

Sleeping was yet another difficult task. Not understanding shipping channels and depth of water, all I could imagine was being run over by a barge in the middle of the night or smacked into by a whale – both scenarios were not even possible where we were anchored, but what did I know? My fears were getting the best of me. Needless to say, not one moment of sleep was had.

Poseidon did give us a few hours of calm, during which time a flock of seagulls hovered at our stern illuminated by the red light of a headlamp Ken was wearing! Beeping and flapping madly, seeming to look into the companionway at me, kind of funny, kind of weird, kind of creepy…but the entertainment was short lived, as the winds picked up, the rain started again and the boat rocked and rolled. I can still hear the sound of the wind blowing angrily through the rigging, and it’s a sound that still unnerves me a bit today.

Morning brought more of the same and threw in some lightning for good measure. Hauling the anchor almost proved to be my breaking point. Again, Ken yelling over the wind for me to turn windward or leeward (right or left!!!!), and each time the bow plunged under water, I envisioned that would be the time Ken would be washed overboard and I would have absolutely no idea what to do.

He told me later, looking back at my face during this whole anchor raising fiasco, it hurt his heart to see the fear, frustration and confusion I was feeling. He figured at that point I was done with this sailing business and we had just blown our entire savings on a boat that I might never step foot on again…

Once on the move, we raised the sails again, and something kind of cool happened! We caught a strong wind just right, and we settled into a steep heel angle, buried the port rail and the Filthy Oar sailed! We sailed beautifully and were excited that our little 6,600 lb. sailboat with her fin keel hauled through the water and displayed her stout craftsmanship!

Finally, I was smiling again. Suddenly I wasn’t a useless crew member but a sailing enthusiast! I was trying to use all the lingo Ken had tried to teach me, snapped photos, went on and on about the wind in my face and the water soaking me to the bone like an old salty sailor…

And then… POW! Let me share that being hit in the face with a mainsheet traveler car that broke off the end of its track will tighten you up real quick. Just when I thought I might be having fun…

Our final task of docking brought me a whole new feeling of ineptitude… after bobbing around (well, more like being tossed around) waiting for enough of a break in the weather to safely navigate into the marina while lightning cracked all around us (I was pretty sure we would meet our demise being barbequed just outside of the Long Beach, MS marina), we got our chance to motor in and find our slip.

Ken sent me forward and gave instruction on getting a line on the dock piling. I was kneeling on the bow with a mound of line in my lap, soaked, exhausted, frustrated and pretty much envisioning the calamity of us plowing into the dock while I was tangled up in a heap of line.

Then, as if the Gods were finally feeling sorry for me, a smiling, thin, tan, friendly fellow appeared on the pier next to us. “Hi there! Y’all need some help?” Without hesitating, I tossed him the mass of tangled line in my lap. He grabbed it like a pro and helped us get tied up. Who hangs out on the dock in a lightning storm waiting for wayward sailors? That guy! Thank you, Poseidon. As an offering I’ll pour some rum into the sea (if I ever get on this boat again).

FILTHY OAR

In the following year, Ol’ Filthy was pretty much redone top to bottom, starting with the mainsheet traveler that had dealt me the rude uppercut. She became our very favorite friend. Weekends were always spent with her. I got cool gifts like foul weather gear, boat shoes, turks head bracelets, fast-dry clothes, brass bells… I sewed all new cushion covers, organized, varnished, and most importantly fell in love with sailing!

We’ve gone sailing in not-so-nice weather, and I actually felt confident that no one would fall overboard and we wouldn’t be sunk by barges or whales. No one was more surprised by that than me.

We’ve moved on from the Filthy Oar and have embarked on our future home, Makana, a 1983 38′ Morgan.

MAKANA at the dock

MAKANA Maiden Voyage

We’ve downsized our belongings and upgraded our new vessel. She will be a full time liveaboard in three years, and a full time cruiser in five. Gifts consist of “things we need for the boat”. Financial planning revolves around setting ourselves up for cruising the Caribbean.

I read and research, organize and plan, add to my “boat music” playlist and can mix a mean rum drink! We take our friends out and I hoist sails and work lines like I actually might know what I’m doing. While Ken attends to safety, mechanical, structural and rigging aspects, I work on creature comforts and cosmetics.

And although my skills and confidence have improved tremendously, I’m pretty sure that naive (but determined) sailor is who I really am!

About Tracy Mazzeo

I reside in Louisiana with my husband Ken and stepson near the Mississippi Gulf Coast and we take every opportunity to sail our Morgan 384 while we continue to upgrade her for full time cruising. I’m continuing to research and plan for creature comforts and have become slightly more confident in my sailing and docking skills. I guess you could say I’ve been promoted to First Mate! I still enjoy a good rock concert too.

My first time on a sailing boat – or why women don’t want to go sailing with their husbands

Signe Storr — Fri, 17 Jan 2014 00:53:56 +0000

When I was told that I could easily wear my brand new Jimmy Choo stilettos
on a sailing holiday, I agreed to go

“You poor thing!”, an American girl said to me, when I told her about the conditions under which I lived on my boyfriend’s 30 foot sailing boat. And I was close to agree with her, though I felt I was coming along very well in adjusting to the life on a boat.

How it all began

In December 2010 I met Henrik, and we had not reached New Years Eve the same year, before he told me that he had a sailing boat currently moored in Mallorca in the Mediterranean, and he had bought it with the purpose of sailing around the world.

I had at this point only once before sat foot on a sailing boat. The boat had moved, as I stepped aboard, which had frightened me so much that I peed in my pants. I was 4 years old!

But this was nevertheless my only experience with boats at the age of 31. Henrik told me though about white beaches, turquoise waters, sunshine and champagne, and when I was told that I could easily wear my brand new Jimmy Choo stilettos on a sailing holiday, I agreed to go with him for a couple of months the following summer. I pictured myself on a larger yacht in a white crocheted bikini, a soft hat on a sun deck, reading fashion magazines, and drinking cocktails. I had completely bought into the idea!

Henrik and Signe

What’s not to like?

As soon I started talking about our upcoming trip with enthusiasm, Henrik began talking about small marine toilets, limited amounts of water and electrical power on board, and that the boat we were to sail on wouldn’t ressemble the 60 foot something Swan he had showed me on a boat show. But regardless how persistent he was in telling me about the drawbacks of sailing, I didn’t hear any of it. I was too busy picturing myself looking like Brigitte Bardot on a Mediterranean cruise, and the only thing I could think about life on a boat was: What’s not to like?

This question I was soon to answer, though, when we in the end of June 2011 went to Mallorca to stay on an older 30-foot sailing boat for three months, and after one week I made the following list of things I didn’t like:

The list

The boat is constantly moving, also when we are in port, the toilet is very small and needs to be flushed with a manual pump, there are no other options for showering than a cold one on the deck, and I must to a larger extent than I like use public restrooms and showers.
There are no reasons what so ever to wear anything else but practical clothes and shoes, I cannot see when I can wear my stilettos and silk dresses, or make use of the rather broad selection of Chanel nail polish and makeup, I have brought.
On top of that I have no Wi-Fi connection to my iPhone, the refrigerator is very small, so the water I drink is in best cases lukewarm, and the space inside the boat is so narrow that I hit myself on anything I can walk into, fall into etc., which has made my shins more blue that suntanned.

I’m not alone

I wasn’t thrilled! But Henrik likes to sail very much, and I like him very much, so I made an effort not to express myself too crudely about the life on board, even though it sometimes was quite difficult. I also felt somewhat ungrateful when I didn’t manage to control myself, and said something like “I’m so tired of this rotten boat!”

It is my understanding, however, that I am not the only woman with strong reservations towards life on board a sailing yacht. In a small marina on Mallorca we met a man, when we berthed, who was nice to help me with the mooring lines. I asked him, if he had a boat in the same marina, but he was on a charter holiday, he said, obviously ashamed of the situation. I then asked him if he had a boat another place, and he answered that he no longer had one since… And then he didn’t say any more, but instead pointed at his wife and two children, while he shrugged his shoulders. It wasn’t that I didn’t sympathize with his wife, but I felt really sorry for him that he had had to exchange his boat for a week on a Sunwing resort on Mallorca.

But why is it that women don’t want to go sailing with their husbands?

A man and his boat

Something happens to a man when it concerns his boat that doesn’t happen around his house and garden: He becomes completely hysterical! He washes and polishes his boat as soon as he eyes an opportunity for it, no one can set a mark on his boat, and everything is lacquered and kept to perfection, which his wife probably never would have guessed he was capable of.

And at the same time he calls out commands behind the steering wheel or tiller, while he makes his wife or girlfriend rush around on the deck with the mooring lines and jump from the boat to the pier and back again, and when he shouts “watch out!”, it is the boat she should watch out for, not herself. And all of this is regardless of her age and nimbleness!

However, I don’t believe that men’s hysteria is the main reason why a lot of women are hesitating when it comes to sailing. Instead I think that the life on a sailing vessel puts a lot of women out of their comfort zone, myself included. There is probably a reason why it is a universal desire for women to own a large bathroom or a walk-in closet! And even though I thought that the conditions provided for me on our small boat were inadequate, I am sure that women on larger vessels also suffer privations and feel like compromising. This doesn’t mean that she on good days cannot enjoy the boating life and consider it charming, but on bad days I am sure she feels she deserves better.

Adjusting to sailing life

I began to adjust to the sailing life after a couple of weeks, and when we after four weeks reached the most wonderful place south of Ibiza, where we anchored, I began regarding myself as one of those women who does want to go sailing with her husband. (And especially when we talked about getting a bigger boat).

Crusing life can be good!

And my newly acquired self-perception was luckily confirmed, when we a week later met a young man, who also was sailing in the Mediterranean. Henrik spoke very positively about me, and how I had taken on boating life “like a duck to water”. The young man wanted to sail with a girlfriend as well, but he didn’t have “a Signe”, as he so nicely put it. At that point I forgot all about my list and the fact that we the day before had rowed from the boat ashore in our red dinghy to go partying on Ibiza, and I had had to sit with my dress above my hips and plastic bags on my nice shoes to keep me from getting dirty.

Afterwards the remark has annoyed me a bit, though. Is it ever possible to escape sailing now?

How do you get your wife on board?

How do you get your girlfriend or wife to go with you sailing? How do you get her to stand it or even better to enjoy it?

The American girl in Barcelona asked me, what I liked about sailing, when I had reassured her that it wasn’t so bad after all. When she asked me, I didn’t quite know what to answer. Did I just endure not wearing makeup, being indifferent about my clothes, the frequent use of public restrooms, and the fact that everything was more difficult, because it was a limited period? Perhaps.

But I have thought of her question since, and I have reached the conclusion that it is especially the feeling of independence that follows, when you sail that appeals to me. The fact that we can decide ourselves where we want to go, when we want to go, and for how long we want to stay. Furthermore, we had splendid weather in the 2½ months we were sailing, which significance should not be underestimated. Had we sailed in Denmark, where we live, in slightly bad weather for a couple of months, I wouldn’t have coped with half of it!

Sunset over the anchorage

Besides, Henrik was nice to let me decide some of our destinations, he went with me shopping and took me out to nice dinners, and he basically did some of the things that I wanted to do. In that way it also became easier for me to make an effort to enjoy it – and meanwhile cut down on my demands for my daily routines and outward appearance.

Sailing again

During my first summer of sailing, I would never have believed what I know now: That I would move on to the boat and go sailing around the world! I don’t know how Henrik did it, but the fact is that we are right now on the Canary Islands waiting to cross the Atlantic Ocean with Jimmy Cornell’s new transatlantic rally, The Atlantic Odyssey.

Henrik and Signe leaving the Canary Islands aboard CAPIBARA

The next couple of years we plan to cruise the Caribbean and the American east coast and then truck the boat to the west coast of America and go from there to Hawaii and French Polynesia. We are still sailing in the same boat – and I still bring my stilettos and silk dresses, even though I don’t wear them very often.

I don’t think Henrik and I have the same approach for sailing though: He likes the sailing part, and I like to see new places.

But it works so far, so maybe it is possible after all for men to get their girlfriends and wives to go sailing!

The boat is called Capibara and is an Allegro 30 from 1987.

About Signe Storr

My name is Signe Dorothea Storr, I’m from Denmark, and I’m 34 years old. Up until two years ago, I had never sailed on a sailboat. Now, I live on board my partner Henrik’s 30 foot sailing boat, a Swedish build Allegro 30 from 1988, and I’m about to go cruising around the world.

Originally, I’m a school teacher with a masters degree in IT, communication and learning.

Adventures of a once reluctant sailor

Michele McClintock Sharp — Fri, 22 Nov 2013 17:57:57 +0000

Ready to go

In 2007, my husband Wayne and I traveled from Bayfield, Wisconsin, on Lake Superior to Punta Gorda, Florida, on our Island Packet 445 sailboat. We chose the long route, which took us through the Saint Lawrence Seaway and the Canadian Maritime provinces, a trip of about five thousand miles.

I had absolutely no intention of making the trip

…it was waaayy outside my comfort zone.

Wayne had often expressed his wish to take a long sailing trip. I once accompanied him on a trip of about one hundred miles and it caused me great anxiety, so a journey of five thousand miles was out of the question! Why? Fear. Fear of being on open water, fear of storms, fear of loneliness, fear of too much togetherness—but mostly just fear of the unknown. Besides, I’m a landlubber from Minnesota, which is about the farthest point from the coast of any state in the US. It seemed like such a radical idea.

Our purchase of a home in Punta Gorda in February 2004 gave Wayne a purpose and a destination for that long sailing trip. I agreed that we needed to get the boat down to Florida, but had my own ideas on how to get her there. My first choice: truck it down. My second choice: take it down the Mississippi. Wayne’s first choice: the East Coast by way of the Erie Canal and Hudson River; Wayne’s second choice: to the Gulf of Mexico by way of Chicago, the Mississippi, and the Tennessee-Tombigbee Waterway to Mobile, Alabama.

I wasn’t trying to squelch his dream. It’s just that Wayne wasn’t retired and I thought three or four months was far too long for him to be away from the business. It seemed to me that expedience was the wiser, albeit less adventurous, way to go.

Obviously, we needed to hash out a compromise. So how did our compromise result in a trip that was approximately fifteen hundred miles longer than the longest route we had considered? Furthermore, how did I end up making a trip I wanted little or no part of a few months earlier?

In the spring of 2006, Wayne had an unexpected opportunity to sell the business. Negotiations moved along quickly, and by the middle of the summer they had an agreement. With my blessing and encouragement, since he would now be retired, Wayne started making plans to sail the boat down the East Coast through the Erie Canal and Hudson River. I intended to meet up with him and do a week here or there, but mostly he would be accompanied by other friends and sailors, who were eagerly lining up for the trip.

Aboard LENA BEA - photographing whales

Both of the routes Wayne was considering would require taking down the mast and rigging to pass under low bridges and putting it all back up again. When he saw the scope of what would be involved with our sixty-three foot mast and fifteen hundred pounds of mast and stays, he began to have second thoughts. Stepping down the mast is done routinely for boats that make the trip (you can hire people to do it for you), but most masts are ten or more feet shorter and much lighter than ours.

There was one route, however, that didn’t require stepping down the mast: the Saint Lawrence River. It would have been Wayne’s first choice, but he hadn’t really considered it because it was so much longer than the Erie Canal/Hudson River route. After talking to other sailors and doing more research, Wayne began to see it as a more attractive option. He mentioned the possibility to me, and to his surprise—and mine—I was excited about taking the Saint Lawrence because it meant more wilderness to travel through and more adventure. The possibility of seeing whales hadn’t even crossed our minds at that point.

That’s all it took to get me on board.

Well, okay—that and a new boat, our Island Packet 445, Lena Bea.

So less than two months before departure, we finally chose our route and tacked fifteen hundred miles (and a First Mate) onto the voyage. We set sail from Bayfield on July 27.

First night out on Lake Superior

Fast forward one month to August 27. We are in anchored in a small town on the Saint Lawrence, Tadoussac, Québec, and traveling with Claus and Rachael, a couple from our marina whom we met up with in Québec City.

Wayne and I are sitting in the cockpit sipping our morning coffee, preparing to start our day. The rising sun glistens on the water and whales blow in the harbor. A lone seal swims by occasionally and glances at us warily without changing course. “We get to do this!” as Claus would say. And our adventure today raised the bar on “this” to an all new level.

I’ll try to skip all the superlatives, as they are trite and inadequate, and let the whale photos speak for themselves. The photos don’t do them justice either, because they don’t capture the essence, experience, and emotions of being there. We didn’t see any whales breaching and their bodies are mostly submerged, so it’s impossible to fully appreciate their massive size.

I did some research on whales in the Saint Lawrence and here are a few facts I gleaned: The blue whale is the largest animal known to have ever lived on Earth. They can grow up to one hundred feet long, weigh up to two hundred tons, and eat four tons or more of food per day! They are protected and endangered; the Saint Lawrence population is estimated at sixty to one hundred and the entire North Atlantic population is probably less than one thousand.

The beluga or white whale is also protected and endangered. Their numbers in the Saint Lawrence are estimated at around one thousand and declining due to environmental toxins.

See the beluga

Heading out into the bay this morning we observed the commercial whale watching boats, and when they stopped and congregated, we knew to look for whales if they had not already made their presence known to us. We watched blue whales surfacing and blowing, heard them breathing and moaning. Rachael and I stood in our bowsprits, cameras clicking wildly, while Wayne and Claus kept busy trying to aim the boats to where we pointed.

The blue whales had disappeared and we were sitting back, relishing the experience. All of a sudden the water surface seemed covered with whitecaps and my immediate thought was, Belugas. Then I laughed and thought to myself, Now I’m imagining that every little thing is a whale. Except they were belugas and we were surrounded by them . . . over one hundred for sure.

Rachael photographing belugas

They swam past the boat, swam up to the boat, swam under the boat, and I couldn’t shoot my camera fast enough. Wayne immediately put the engine in neutral, as we understood the protocol to be. We realized we were in a marine park sanctuary when the park patrol pulled up alongside of us and set us straight: If you find yourself in a pod of belugas while in the marine park, you are supposed to leave the area immediately and stay at least four hundred meters away (two hundred meters from blue whales). While the park rangers kindly educated Wayne about whale etiquette, I kept taking photos, including some of Kyanna with Rachael taking photos of the belugas.

We cruised alongside other species of whales too, including minke and fin whales (according to Claus, who knows more about them than we do, which is absolutely nothing). Were we afraid, knowing that some of these whales were possibly twice the length and ten times the weight of our boat? The awe we felt obliterated any possibility of fearfulness.

All day long the thought kept crossing my mind: this experience is beyond anything I had ever even dreamed of.

Dinner this evening with Claus and Rachael anchored off Île du Bic was a grand celebration. We bubbled with conversation about our shared experience, one of the most breathtaking of our lives. We had “show and tell,” reliving the day while sharing our photos, oohing and ahhing as over a pile of precious gems.

I am so grateful for the strength I was given to put aside my fear and step out of my comfort zone.

Many times since then I’ve thought back on that experience and many others we had, so grateful for the strength I was given to put aside my fear and step out of my comfort zone. I would have missed out on so much! It was a turning point and a major life lesson for me. Of course, I also acquired confidence and skills as a sailor, which has served us well in later cruising adventures.

This quote, which is attributed to Mark Twain, says it all: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

About Michele McClintock Sharp

Michele grew up in New Brighton, Minnesota, and raised two sons with her husband, Wayne. She calls herself a retired stay-at-home mom who also kept busy with volunteer work. Michele worked for a photography studio for a few years, mostly as a wedding photographer, and later did some freelance portrait work. She gave up professional photography when she realized she was losing the joy of taking pictures; Michele wanted to be able to photograph their children without it feeling like a job. She finds the most joy while photographing nature.

In 1998, Wayne bought Wind Dancer, a 1995 Island Packet 37. He kept her docked at Port Superior Marina in Bayfield, Wisconsin, and sailed her in the Apostle Islands. With two teenagers at home who had better things to do than go sailing with their parents, Michele joined him only occasionally. The couple bought Lena Bea, an Island Packet 445, in 2006 and have enjoyed many great times and adventures on board.

Wayne and Michele live in Punta Gorda, Florida, for most of the year, and spend their summers close to family in Plymouth, Minnesota.

They have written a book based on the blog from their first journey in 2007 – Adventures of a Once Reluctant Sailor: A Journey of Guts, Growth, and Grace. It is available online from their website, and from Copperfish Books, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble.

First cruising adventure: Our best and worst moments

Clare Collins — Sat, 03 Nov 2012 13:12:16 +0000

Thoughts on my First Cruising Adventure: Panama Canal Transit and Pacific Coast of Central America and Mexico in our 72 foot steel sail boat, Ironbarque in June 2008

Sharing a moment on the Chagris River (Panama)

IRONBARQUE

Ironbarque started life as one of the boats built to race around the world in the Southern Ocean as part of the “BT Global Challenge” yacht race and she did it twice under the name of her sponsor, Me to You, a teddy bear company.

The identical yachts were built to withstand the storms of the Southern Ocean and were equipped to accommodate a crew of 18. When they stopped holding the race the boats were all sold off; mainly to charity groups focused on training troubled youth or leaders of the future. Our hope is that we are doing the latter and have turned this former racing boat into our traveling home.

My husband, Ken, sailed her from England to Panama with a crew of 5, headed by a delivery skipper, who helped him learn the ropes of blue water cruising. They started out at the end of March and when they reached the Canary Islands in April they were joined by our two older sons for the Atlantic crossing.

They were aged 15 and 12 and we thought that the Bay of Biscay might be too tough for their first blue water experience. The concern was well founded as heavy weather meant a torn main had to be repaired in Portugal.

Our youngest two children were aged 10 and 5, so I flew to Panama with them for the final leg through the Panama Canal and up the coast of Central America and Mexico. From Panama onwards various members of the crew departed to return to other jobs so that from Acapulco on we had only two additional crew.

On our last night in Mexico we went around the table describing our best and worst moments of the trip, which is how I will approach the description of my very first cruising adventure.

Best experience

By far it was going through the Panama Canal.

Entering the canal at night

We approached by night. In a sea of lights from waiting super tankers, cranes and docks, there is a far more concentrated mass of lights that is the entrance to the first lock.

We were rafted together with two other sail boats and silently coasted in excited camaraderie into the lock behind a ship. Line handlers high up on the side walls hurled blue ropes towards us in synchronous cascades in order to steady us away from the walls in the middle of the roiling rising waters. After 3 rising locks we emerged onto Gatun Lake and were guided to our mooring pontoon, where we tied up for the night, surrounded by the jungle.

It was magical to wake on the lake among all the other ships and yachts that had done the same, with the wild life of the jungle making their presence audible. We had to await the return of our cigar-puffing pilot before continuing the rest of the journey along the Chagres River to the locks descending into the Pacific. The whole journey takes 9 hours. The 3 yachts had separated at the lake and made the journey down the river individually. We came together again at the next locks and rafted as before.

Chagres river

Exiting the canal towards the Pacific

Descending was even more wondrous. Our boats were dwarfed as they sank to the bottom of the dripping black walled locks until finally the huge metal gates opened onto a new world and we emerged, blinking at The Pacific Ocean.

Worst Experience

The brain scrambling heat and humidity at 7 degrees above the Equator in a steel boat with openings designed to keep out the water of pounding Southern Ocean storms. Until we got to Cabo San Lucas we wore as little as possible, even on deck at night on the ocean.

Sea turtle

Most surprising

Silky calm water the color of oil dotted for miles with the domes of sea turtles.

Most delightful

The dawn dolphins that erupted from the surface in simultaneously leaping pods of riotous joy as far as the eye could see. At various times of the day charming groups would surf and race us at the bow, stunningly silver deep below the surface. They seemed to know when there were people at the bow.

Most wondrous

Green bioluminescent arcs flashing in the darkness of the night as dolphins leapt out of the black alongside the boat. Normally you see sparkling fairy lights in the froth of the water parted by the hull but this was simply awe-inspiring. Both are caused by Dinoflagellates, which are tiny plants that absorb sunlight during the day and emit a blue-green light in response to movement in the water. Even flushing the toilets at night became magical when these got sucked into the intake pipe.

Favorite time of day

6pm. We took turns in pairs to take watches of 3 hours at night and 4 hours during the day, so that a lot of the time, most of the crew were either sleeping or working, but at 6 o’clock there was a change of watch and dinner was brought up on deck and everyone emerged blinking and happy and enthusiastic to see what had been prepared from the variety of cans of meat, tuna and vegetables, and those who had prepared the meal were relieved to escape the sweaty heat of the galley and feel the cooling breeze.

It was such a companionable time of catching up, gentle teasing and all round delight in our shared peripatetic island in the wide Pacific.

Favorite watch times

Women cruising

We rotated through watch times and duties each day and every third day each team was responsible for the cleaning, cooking and doing dishes. This was called the “Mother watch”.

I loved cooking and trying to create interesting meals and delicious morning and afternoon snacks. These were called ‘elevenses’ and ‘threesies’ by the Irish crew.

Nothing can compare to the thrill of finding you have all the right ingredients self-sufficiently on board, or the gratification of having something so essential as a lemon when you catch a 25 pound tuna!

My favorite watch sequence was the 9-12 midnight followed by the 6-10am watch because that gave the most normal stretch of night to sleep in and the delight of the dawn and the accompanying dolphins. The ravenous lust for sleep was overwhelming at the end of any of the night watches and one would tear off life jacket and harness (and later all the layers of foul weather gear) with a hungry passion.

Sunrise near Panama

Most memorable sounds

The crazed grunts of the autopilot (nick named ‘Rover’).
The clanks of the metal fittings on the on-watch crew’s life jackets and harnesses as they came below to brew coffee, or worse – to wake you up.
Mexico. The cacophony of all sorts of music from all quarters all the time.

Biggest challenges

Preparing meals with everything sliding away like something from the Three Stooges.
Baking a cake and getting it level when the boat was heeling over.

Best Breakfast

The chocolate ice cream sandwiches we had on our dawn arrival into Cabo San Lucas after 6 days at sea and a grueling last night. (They were followed by a second full English version later, which was nearly as good).

Best reason to bring kids

To have them join you on deck to watch the dawn dolphins.
To see them become so competent at all the tasks on the boat.
To be reminded of the magic
- After 6 days at sea we had a tough and tiring last night coming into Cabo San Lucas, during which everyone had each taken two 3 hour shifts in rough conditions. Our 5 year old had slept soundly and emerged bright eyed with wonder up the companionway as we were surrounded by the harbor, asking in awe, “How did we get here?”

Who knew?

There were so many stars.
That seals leap through the water like dolphins.
That land has a scent and you can smell it out on the ocean.
That it would be so fabulously exhilarating to fight fear and steer a boat at night on the Pacific with crashing waves spewing up from the bow like lava illuminated by the red of the navigation light and find you are not afraid at all, but smiling with your whole being.

About Clare Collins

Clare and her family have been living aboard and cruising ever since. They are currently stationary while the kitty gets replenished and children take part in musical and academic pursuits.

Clare believes that with the attitude of adventure you can be a cruiser anywhere you find yourself.

Her family’s adventures are documented at www.ironbarque.net.

Ellen Sanpere: My first real cruise

Ellen Sanpere — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 16:24:38 +0000

In 1998, we purchased our first real cruising boat, sailed quickly from Tortola to Venezuela, and began converting her to a floating palace.

We figured it would take just the four months left in the hurricane season to make the boat perfect, then we’d cruise back to St.Croix for the winter.

Tony and I each had over 30 years sailing experience, mostly racing, but planned this boat to be a live-aboard cruiser, not a racer.

We were fearless about sailing, clueless about cruising.

Two days south of St. Croix, we sailed through a squall with a steady 40-knot breeze.

Playing the waves, I reached off, not caring as much about the course as avoiding pounding the hull. The knotmeter read 11.

Tony woke up and said my grin was from ear to ear. We reefed and got through the storms unscathed, happy with our new boat’s seaworthiness.

As the sky cleared, Tony spotted two men adrift in a 24’ open boat, 200nm and 10 days from land. With a broken down outboard, no food, water or fishing gear aboard, the pirogue would have drifted to Haiti in two weeks time.

We brought the men aboard and towed their boat to Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela. They lived in our home-under-construction for 3 weeks while endless paperwork got sorted out.

As Tony took them to the airport for their flight to Trinidad, I severed my fingertip while cleaning the icebox, now emptied of three month’s provisions by the two survivors. Neighboring cruisers drove me to a private hospital; a surgeon reattached my fingertip and gave excellent care for our remaining months in Puerto La Cruz.

This is cruising?

In Puerto La Cruz, Tony installed the systems and equipment we had brought with us. A carpenter converted two forward staterooms into one. Our budget broken, it was time to head north. The boat was provisioned, charts readied, computer programmed with waypoints and route. The weather was fair, and we did day-sails at first, to keep from getting too far from help should we need it.

Now, we’ll cruise!

Sailing through Ensenada Tigrillo, we counted over 90 dolphin, the most we’d ever seen in one afternoon. The area has few signs of human habitation; just the occasional small fishing camp tucked into the red mountains, black rocks and green mangroves.

The beauty and serenity struck me as perfect justification for selling everything we owned in the U.S. to go cruising.

We’d arrived at a goal: seeing beauty no other could find without a similar sacrifice.

Could it get any better?

Anchored in a sunken valley, within sight of a small village, we stayed only one night. We wanted to sail as much of this area as possible without missing the holidays in St. Croix. We had much to learn about cruising.

Our next stop was Isla Cubagua, where we dropped anchor off the white sandy beach of a real island, at last.

Snorkeling over the sunken ferry wreck, I’d never seen so many silvery fish, 1½-2” long, traveling in superhighways, crisscrossing the hulk, and making a loosely woven silver basket. The beach was littered with shells. We debated spending another night, but the surge from the passing Margarita ferries was reason enough to leave.

Doing so allowed an extra night in Isla Coche, another small island south of Margarita. Coche is not as deserted as Cubagua, with two villages and a hotel. Four brilliantly colored macaws flew around the tall palms noisily with outstretched wings, untethered. In the anchorage was a Spanish family, who invited us for a cerveza fria, then a tapas dinner and an invitation to visit when we get to Spain. Our host summed up Coche, saying it is a perfect place to do “nothing.” They planned to stay another week.

Another day of “nothing” would have been fine with me, but the call of the north would not go unanswered.

Porlamar, the main cruising anchorage of Margarita, returned us to the mainstream cruiser scene. Through the morning radio network, several couples we knew helped us find our way around. They suggested we lunch at the fisherman’s beachside restaurant, where calamare and cold beer were fantastic under the palm trees, and the price was outrageously low.

The second night brought a fierce rainstorm, making the normally roly-poly anchorage VERY uncomfortable.

We left the next morning despite the threatening sky. Tony predicted the weather would improve and we’d be happier underway. It did, we were, and Cayenne III gave us a wonderful sail past some beautiful beaches to Juangriego, a fishing port named for a shipwrecked pirate, John the Greek. The waterfront restaurants didn’t serve dinner until 2100, forcing us to relax and enjoy the evening.

Saying our final good-by to the still-visible mainland, we joined 70-80 dolphins and reached to our last Venezuelan stop, Isla La Blanquilla. Fishing boats and oil tankers were the only traffic on the 9-hour sail north.

Some say Isla La Blanquilla, a small island of fishing camps, has the Caribbean’s most beautiful beaches and best snorkeling.

It’s true: a near-empty anchorage, minimal surge, and clear water filled with life. Scrubbing the boat bottom, tiny silvery fish surrounding me, I’d entered a glitter-filled paperweight. We snorkeled forever among the granite rocks, marveling at the variety and colors of swimming creatures. We hated to stop, but the alternative was drowning from fatigue.

That night, the sky was filled with stars. Being so far from streetlights made for a sparkling carpet above.

Relaxed and ready to sail the remaining 362nm to St.Croix, we promised to return to La Blanquilla some day.

It’s good we planned to sail – the alternator gave up as we left the anchorage. Fortunately, the new generator did its job keeping the batteries charged and refrigeration running. The wind was fresh, the seas not-too-bad, thousands of flying fish glinted as they crossed the bow. Cayenne III gave us a good ride, picking up lace petticoats to step gracefully over each swell.

The first night out was very special.

Miles from the lights on land (moonrise at 0400), I saw the heavens again sparkling, even more so than at La Blanquilla. Meteors streaked by every minute, some large and long lasting.

The sea’s bioluminescence sparkled brightly as though Tinkerbelle had scattered fairy dust from our transom. My theory: when falling stars land in the ocean, they become lights in the water at night and diamonds in the wavelets during the day.

It gets better. I was at the helm playing the waves, counting the billions of stars overhead. I looked for the moon. Over my shoulder was a silver sliver 15o above the horizon. Just then, off the starboard quarter, a dolphin rose out of the sea, meeting the moon’s crescent back-to-back. Transfixed, I will never forget that sight.

No camera could capture the symmetry and beauty of that moment. The animal swam – a bioluminescent ghost alongside Cayenne III.

“So this is cruising,” I said to our sleeping cockpit cat.

***

By 1100, the third day out, we rounded Pt.Udall, easternmost point of St.Croix and of the United States.

Thousands of yellow butterflies and seven dolphins welcomed us home.

Some breeze for the short downwind leg would also have been nice; we were again forced to take our time sailing. We anchored in Gallows Bay at 1300, home at last.

Perhaps someday we’ll be “real” cruisers, free from the calendar’s tyranny.

If the anchorage is better than the weather, we’ll stay – if not, we’ll leave.

We might have autopilot, radar, single side-band radio, and folding bicycles.

However, to me, that single moment with the moon and dolphin was worth more than condos, cars and careers left behind.

Later, I learned our location was only 46nm from where we’d found the survivors adrift, four months previous. The distance between St.Croix and Puerto La Cruz is over 460nm.

The prospect of another singular cruising experience has kept me going through four years of carpentry, re-configuring, re-upholstering, rebuilding an engine and getting caught at ground zero by Hurricane Lenny.

To experience the sparkling water and sky away from land, the beauty of the shores we pass and the friendships made – surely, that will keep me sailing through many a squall to come.

About Ellen Sanpere

Free lance writer, photographer and life-long racer, Ellen Sanpere has lived on Cayenne III, mostly in St. Croix, USVI, with husband, Tony, since 1998, with annual visits to Chicago, IL where she sails Lake Michigan.

Her articles have appeared in the Caribbean Compass, Latitudes & Attitudes, All At Sea, Cruising World, The Boca, SpinSheet. She is also a contributor to Gwen Hamlin’s “Admiral’s Angle” column (Latitudes and Attitudes Magazine.)

Blog » First Cruise/First passage

The Shakedown Cruise

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

Day 8

Day 9

Day 10

Day 11

Day 12

Day 13

Day 14

Day 15

Things I learned:

About Tracy Mazzeo

Learn more

First-timer account of offshore sailing

What’s it really like to go offshore?

Nature of our trip

Dealing with cool weather, high seas

Night sailing

Sounds at sea

Hygiene, moisture, salt

Conclusion

About Marie Toler Raney

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My first time on a sailing boat – or why women don’t want to go sailing with their husbands

How it all began

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The list

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How do you get your wife on board?

Sailing again

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Adventures of a once reluctant sailor

I had absolutely no intention of making the trip

That’s all it took to get me on board.

I am so grateful for the strength I was given to put aside my fear and step out of my comfort zone.

About Michele McClintock Sharp

More on this website

First cruising adventure: Our best and worst moments

Best experience

Worst Experience

Most surprising

Most delightful

Most wondrous

Favorite time of day

Favorite watch times

Most memorable sounds

Biggest challenges

Best Breakfast

Best reason to bring kids

Who knew?

About Clare Collins

Read also on this website

Ellen Sanpere: My first real cruise

We were fearless about sailing, clueless about cruising.

This is cruising?

Now, we’ll cruise!

We’d arrived at a goal: seeing beauty no other could find without a similar sacrifice.

Another day of “nothing” would have been fine with me, but the call of the north would not go unanswered.

Some say Isla La Blanquilla, a small island of fishing camps, has the Caribbean’s most beautiful beaches and best snorkeling.

The first night out was very special.

Perhaps someday we’ll be “real” cruisers, free from the calendar’s tyranny.

About Ellen Sanpere