Max and Elizabeth on board AQUARELLA in Greece

My husband and I sailed together for 24 years, half of which were in the Mediterranean with our 37 year old 31ft Hallberg Rassy. Max was a retired sea captain and marine pilot so he was used to giving orders on board which I obeyed without question.

Sadly he died earlier this year and his very last voyage was when his ashes were spread at sea.
Needless to say I was devastated and faced with many challenges after his death.

Each day there was a new hurdle to get over and there were many difficult decisions to make. One big question was to decide what to do with the boat, which was standing on the hard in a boatyard in Greece.

I decided to take up the challenge of keeping the boat and sailing alone. I was very uncertain if I really could do it and afraid of crashing into something, falling overboard or ruining the boat etc. but at least I would give it a try.

I have now spent more than 3 months sailing around the Saronic islands and apart from a few mishaps it has been a great success. It has boosted my self confidence, doing things I never thought I could, and I don’t regret for a minute that I decided to keep the boat.

I have written many of my thoughts and experiences on my blog “Sailing on – single handed“.

Here is the entry I wrote on my blog after a rather eventful day sailing 30 miles from Poros to Porto Heli.

Alone at sea

I had been studying the weather forecast intensely for about a week and after 10 days of strong Meltemi winds it seemed Saturday was the best time to embark on the 30 mile solo sail back southeast to Porto Heli.

I left the anchorage of Neorion at 7 am, and after passing Poros town in the golden light of the morning I hoisted the mainsail. As there was hardly any wind it looked like it would be a motorsailing trip that day.

Any normal sailor hoists full sails in moderate winds and reefs the sails in strong winds but I did the opposite. I didn’t roll the whole mainsail out but left a few turns on the boom. This was only a reflection of my own uncertainty and lacking self confidence plus a little laziness and nothing to do with any advanced sailing technique. I just wanted to be prepared if any strong winds got up on the way.

Navigating round the islands

I chugged along happily with the autopilot on and camera in hand. I ate breakfast, drank coffee and relaxed, enjoying the changing view. I checked, double checked and triple checked my waypoints on the chart and the ipad, all was well.

Eating breakfast while the autopilot steers.

About half way along I heard the dreaded sound of the engine going right down in revs.The boat came to a standstill ! Instinct told me there was something in the prop. I put the engine into neutral straight way and then eased the gear slowly astern hoping whatever it was would unravel and loosen. However when I tried to engage the gear forward again it was very sluggish and I was afraid of doing any damage to the shaft or the engine. I turned the engine off.

With no wind to speak of, my options were few. I nevertheless hoisted the rest of the mainsail and unfurled the genua in the hope I could get some sort of speed.

1.8 knots was all the wind could give me. This would mean another 8 hours at least, but the worst thing was I could hardly steer and I was right in the middle of the fairway between the islands with high speed ferries charging past on both sides !

I tried to rig my Gopro camera to a boat hook in order to sink it down and inspect the prop. In theory it should be able to connect to my ipad by wifi so I could use the ipad as a monitor and see what was going on. But I couldn’t get them to connect so I gave up that idea. I was unwilling to go overboard and dive under the boat in the middle of a shipping lane. With 104 meters under the keel, anchoring wasn’t an option either.

Fortunately the wind started picking up then and I was under way again. I didn’t enjoy the rest of the trip though as I was worrying about how to anchor in a strong wind under sail. I’d never tried that, not even with Max.

Fortunately Porto Heli is a very big bay so there would be lots of room for mistakes. When I turned into the bay I thought I would try my luck and start the engine and gingerly shift into forward gear. It responded, although still sluggish. It gave me just enough propulsion to turn Aquarella into the wind and get the sails down. Then I dropped the anchor and let out a sigh of relief. My next reaction was to triumphantly throw my arms in the air, YESSSSS – I made it!

After a short rest I donned snorkel and fins to get down to the work of freeing the prop. I’m fully aware I walk like a duck on deck but I do wish I could dive like a duck in water – I can’t. Even my 7 year old grand daughter Olivia laughed when she saw me trying a couple of weeks ago “You forgot to take your bottom with you” she said.

Well at least I could see under water with my snorkel. There was a large strong plastic sack entwined around the prop. I couldn’t reach it with the knife in my hands so I used my feet and toes like a pair of clumsy pincers or plyers. Bit by bit I could loosen and remove the torn plastic and after an hour the prop was free. I had cramp in my feet and antifouling on my toes and in my nails but I was over yet another hurdle I didn’t think I could manage.

The last bit of plastic finally out of the prop.

About Elizabeth Tyler

Elizabeth was born in 1946 in England but has lived most of her life in Scandinavia. As a visual artist by profession she spends most of her time painting and exhibiting her works at galleries and museums in northern Europe. Since it’s the sea, the beach and marine life that inspires her most, she combines business with pleasure by painting on either on board her boat in the Mediterranean or in her studio in Sweden.

Apart from painting, She does etching and engraving and produces art educational videos. She also illustrates and writes books about painting techniques.

Her website: www.elizabethtyler.com
Her art blog: elizabethtyler-artist.blogspot.se/
Her sailing blog: yachtswoman.blogspot.se/

More on this website

• Debbie Leisure learns to sail her boat single-handed: Debbie Leisure writes about how she learned to single-hand her boat after the death of her husband.
• On my own, but never alone, by Laura McCrossin
• All dressed up and too afraid to go: Rediscovering the courage to set out alone, by Laura McCrossin

Cruising Life: The Best Stories from Caribbean Compass

I  first read Ruth’s article about going overboard when it was first published in the Caribbean Compass back in 1999.

It was an amazing story and I wondered if I could possibly be as resourceful as Ruth if something like that happened to me. Before I went cruising, I thought if  anything bad happened out on the sea, well, there is no way I could possibly cope.

Once cruising though I began to learn however, that occasionally the inthinkable does occur (as it does on land as well), and I started meeting people who had coped with all sorts of emergencies  and survived.

This knowledge of course doesn’t make you complacent, in my case it made me less panicked and more able to think: what is the best way to avoid a major problem, and how should we respond in an emergency.

We all eagerly await the monthly arrival of the Caribbean Compass in the anchorages down island, and it is a special achievement to have an article published in the Caribbean Compass. Probably nothing gives a truer picture of what Caribbean cruising is like in all its variety than  the articles that Sally Erdle, editor and former circumnavigator publishes in the Compass.

Thank you Sally Erdle and Rona Beame for putting together a book of all the best stories from the Compass! I am sure I have missed some of these stories the first time around, and others like Ruth’s, I was glad to have the chance to reread again and be amazed.

— Kathy Parsons, Women and Cruising

We were sailing our Morgan 41,  Sea Dream I,  from Grenada to Antigua. The Christmas Winds had arrived early and were in force. We’d had a truly awful  night sailing from Carriacou to St. Lucia — black as the inside of an elephant  with winds that never dropped below 30 knots, plus hourly squalls of 40 to 45  knots.

In spite of all that, my husband, Vern, and I  weren’t expecting what hit us just north of Martinique: a squall with 55-knot  winds and gusts to 60. It lasted only ten minutes, but felt like ten hours as we clung grimly to the wheel.

The main blew out and then, once the winds calmed  down to only 40 knots, Vern noticed a line trailing along the lee side of the  boat. I was upset to realize that it was all that was left of our Fortress  anchor. We had lost 100 feet of chain and 200 feet of rode. A lot of water must  have come over the bow during the squall, with enough force to lift the pawl  off the windlass gypsy and let the anchor run.

With the main blown, we needed the engine and  didn’t want any lines tangling in the prop. Vern said, “Be very, very careful!”  as I went out on deck and up forward to haul the line in.

I was sitting on the  foredeck with the windlass between my knees and one hand on the windward  lifeline — and them suddenly I wasn’t!  Sea Dream  and I had parted company. It’s a distressing  sensation being run over by your home, but somehow I managed to kick out from  under the hull before I got aft to the propeller.

Vern brought the boat around immediately and I  was expecting to be run down again, but managed to grab the trailing anchor  rode, which immediately pulled me underneath the boat again. Even with the  engine out of gear and a blown-out main, 40 knots of wind and six- to  eight-foot seas push a boat along at a fair clip and I couldn’t hang on without  being dragged under. The next time Vern came for me he threw the jibsheet over  the side. That was better, as I could let myself trail aft of the boat and not  be sucked under the hull.

The next thing I remember was trying to climb aboard using the rudder extension for the wind-vane oar. I still had the  figure-eight stop knot of the jibsheet tight in my right fist. Vern was  standing at the stern knotting a line to hand to me. I got as far as standing  on the rudder with both hands on the rubrail, moved one hand to grip anything  that wasn’t slippery with salt and away I went again. Seconds later Vern had  the line ready to throw — and couldn’t see me.

By this time it was 0900 hours, which meant we  were 12 or 15 miles north of St. Pierre, which we’d left at 0600. Vern put out  a “Mayday” on VHF channel 16, which was heard by at least two sailboats and the  girls at the reception desk of the Anchorage Hotel in Dominica. But two other  sailboats that were close to us heard nothing. (When they saw our sailboat  going in circles didn’t they wonder if there was a problem? At least with the  seamanship?) The two boats sailed serenely past, without changing course for a  closer look.

It occurred to me that I’d be more visible  waving a flag, and I tried waving my T-shirt. It’s a knee-length red beach  cover-up and, dry, would make an excellent signaling device. Wet, not so great.  Try some time waving a soaking wet T-shirt overhead while swimming in six- to eight-foot seas! It’s heavy, for a start.

I stretched it out between my hands and threw it  into the air as I reached the top of a wave, but I didn’t have much hope. A successful sighting would have required me being on top of a wave, Sea  Dream being on the top of a wave and  Vern looking in exactly the right direction, all at the same time. It didn’t  work. I decided to put the shirt back on for modesty’s sake.

Vern circled for an hour, searching for me. It didn’t take me long to find out that with the wind pushing it, Sea Dream was drifting off faster than I could follow, so I stopped trying. We’d joked once that if I fell overboard he should just carry on to the next island and I’d swim in, so I headed for Dominica. I’d lost my glasses in the fall overboard but could see Dominica. Martinique was lost in squalls and rain. I turned my back to the wind and swam.

Vern, meanwhile, was having a perfectly awful day. For one thing, it was the first time he’d single-handed in the nearly 12  years since we retired aboard. At least the winds hadn’t piped up to 55 knots again, but with the blown sail down to the reef point and having to stand on the cockpit coaming to reach the reefing lines Vern didn’t have much to hang onto. He was nearly overboard himself more than once. (Which would have been a real disaster as he has negative buoyancy, as do about three percent of all people. Unlike me, he carries no built-in flotation.) At last he controlled the sail and headed north (in Dominica they speak English) to organize a search. But all the way, he was trying to work out how to break the news to my family that I had drowned.

It took Sea Dream until nearly 1700 to get close to Roseau, when three local men in a boat came out almost a mile to welcome Vern to the island and offer help. He certainly needed it! In moments Brian, James and Darryl were aboard. Brian was on the radio to the Coast Guard to report my loss, since Vern doesn’t hear well and couldn’t understand the questions they asked. Darryl was right inside the chain locker reeving the second anchor chain through the primary hawse so the boat could be anchored, and James was on the stern preparing lines to carry ashore to a palm tree.

My day was much easier. I knew I was fine, and  could tell Vern was still aboard and coping because the boat was under control.

The funniest things go through your head when you’re swimming alone between islands. Mostly I was furious for making whatever elementary mistake let me fall overboard in the first place. All kinds of thoughts went through my head: “I guess I’ll never get those Christmas cards written after all” and “Don’t start throwing away my business-card collection,  Vern, because I’ll be back!” and “I suppose he’ll be spending our life savings on a helicopter search…”

A jellyfish tentacle wrapped around my arm and I picked it off and said, “Not now, I haven’t the time!” right out loud. A dolphin swam by 30 or 40 feet away and that was a thrill, finally to swim with a dolphin, even if it was only for a second or two. A small container ship came past about a quarter of mile away, heading west, then changed course to the north, going around me exactly as if I were a pivot.

Of all possible ways to die, drowning would be my least favorite, so I didn’t. Besides, Vern had his first wife for 32 years and I could scarcely demand equal time if I weren’t around. It was necessary to stay afloat.

I thought of all the things that I’d be leaving unfinished, and shrugged. There were no regrets except for the stack of unanswered letters; some we’d even taken to Canada with us and brought back still unanswered. I was glad I hadn’t skimped on telling family and friends I love them. I was glad I hadn’t been tethered to the boat, as I’d have been battered on the way over the side or dragged under the hull until I drowned. I’d taken on quite enough water just trying to hang on by the broken anchor rode.

Just at noon, I saw a sailboat heading my way and thought, “Can’t be Vern; he doesn’t have a jib out.” Soon the boat was so close that if a wave hadn’t smacked the bow aside I’d have been run over again!

I yelled “Hey, can you see me?” but they already had. Anthony said, “There’s someone in the water!” and Justin had looked around to see who was missing. From there, the rescue was textbook perfect. Anthony never took his eyes off me as Justin managed the jib and brought Enchantress around to circle me. Her dinghy was out on a very long painter and they maneuvered it around so I could grab hold. I told them I was very tired, which was not strictly true, and would need a ladder to get aboard, which was true. I’ve never been able to climb out of the sea into an inflatable dinghy, so I just clung on to theirs until they put a ladder down. Then they towed the dinghy in, threw me a line to knot around my chest and towed me to the foot of the ladder. I was soon aboard and provided with a dry towel that was colour-coordinated to my red T-shirt.

Enchantress had a touchy transmit button on the VHF radio and so used a hand-held unit to tell their companion boat, Natasha,  that they’d picked up a hitch-hiker. On  Natasha,  Federica passed messages on to anyone who would take them — to let Vern know I was fine, to stop him initiating an expensive search, and to get him some help securing the boat in harbour. The message went through to  Sudiki, a Gulfstar 50 sistership to  Enchantress. (While Federica was on the radio, a female French voice broke in to tell her to get off channel 16 as it is for emergency and rescue! When I met James and “Freddy” later, I asked her what she had said in reply and got a flood of Italian. Though I didn’t understand, I suspect there is a Frenchwoman around with a blistered ear.)

Enchantress and Natasha were headed for Fort-de-France. I badly wanted to go to Dominica and nearly asked to be thrown back in, but common sense prevailed. As soon as we arrived, Justin took me ashore to ask about ferry times. No luck, as the depot was closed tight. Next it was back to the dock nearest the anchorage. He went off to find a policeman to report me to, and I went to Customs on the off chance that it might be open.

A lovely young bride was posing for photographs in the garden as I trudged through, barefoot, blowsy, tousled, salty and myopic — with luck I walked behind all the family cameras. Customs was shut, and I spent a frustrating quarter-hour with the French phone system, discovering that it’s impossible to find an operator. The only toll-free number to answer yielded a fireman who listened to my tale of woe politely in spite of my terrible French, and assured me he knew of no way to call an operator either.

Back I went through the wedding party, now photographing bride and groom with their youngest attendants. Soon Justin and a pair of police officers arrived; my final view of the bride was as she picked her way to her car, blocked in by the police vehicles, and past my disreputable-looking self being grilled by the gendarmes. The police left us with names and phone numbers to show Customs we’d spoken to them and assured us that someone would call Dominica’s Coast Guard and abort any search plans.

My rescuers fed me, put me to bed, and lent me the fare to Dominica. The next morning I got the sixth-last seat on a 350-passenger ferry.

Meanwhile, Vern was still having adventures.
Just at dark, he finally learned I’d been rescued, when Chris and Duff of Sudiki came by and told him the news. Later they collected him, fed him, let him talk and wind down, put a call through to Enchantress via cell phone, Crosma and VHF radio, and generally made it possible for Vern to sleep that night.

Next morning early, Brian and James, who had welcomed  Sea Dream  to Dominica, were back to check up on Vern and help him move the boat to a mooring since it was gradually dragging ashore, when the Dominican Coast Guard came alongside with three officers aboard. One stayed in the bow with a 12-gauge riot gun pointing at Vern, one managed their boat with an automatic rifle across its seat, and  the third came aboard  Sea Dream and got Vern’s attention by taking him firmly by the arm.

“You are under arrest,” he said. “Pack a bag, lock the boat. You may be away for some time.” Vern faced three charges, in this order of importance: allowing Dominican nationals aboard before clearing Customs, not clearing Customs immediately upon arrival, and doing away with his wife.

Once Vern was in the police boat there was no further chat. He was taken to the head office of the Coast Guard, which is also the police force, and helped ashore since the landing is difficult. It took some time to produce a statement. Partway through, the atmosphere became much more civil.

Afterwards, one officer kindly pointed out a bakery where Vern could buy a much-belated breakfast. Then Vern was bundled back into the boat and taken to the ferry dock, where he cleared in through Customs and Immigration. Without pausing to think, he put my name on the crew list. The Immigration officer crossed it off with a scowl, saying, “We’ll clear her in if she arrives.” IF!

Vern was still waiting on the dock when the ferry decanted me at 4 o’clock that afternoon — and I was very pleased to see him.

We’ve proved it again: it ain’t over till the fat lady SINKS!

This article first appeared in the April 1999 issue of Caribbean Compass.

About Ruth Chesman

Canadians Ruth Chesman and her late husband, Vern, cruised the Lesser Antilles island chain in the Caribbean for many years aboard their Morgan 41, Sea Dream I.

Back home in Canada, the Chesmans were active members of the Fanshawe Yacht Club of London, Ontario. Ruth was always able to see — and communicate — the funny side of sailing, even in a potentially fatal situation. Her stories have appeared in Cruising World and Scuttlebutt, as well as in Caribbean Compass.

“The world was theirs” is Mattie McAlarney’s favorite headline written about her seven-and-a-half-year trip around the world with husband Henry. The couple wrapped up a 70-country cruise aboard their 39-foot Corbin Center Cockpit 2 Extreme in 2009.  “I wanted to be home for my 70^th birthday,” Mattie tells me as I admire the aft-cabin curtains sewn from hand-embroidered silk fabric bought in some exotic eastern market. “I made it back a year early.”

Since then 2 Extreme has been on the market. Media outlets ranging from Pacific-based sailing magazines to Pasco County Florida’s local newspaper has interviewed this fascinating couple with so many stories to tell.

Mattie and Henry keep 2 Extreme at Anclote Isles Marina in Tarpon Springs, Florida, an easy drive from their land home. When the newlyweds decided to go ’round the world’, they sold their house in Summerland Key, but retained the digs up North on Florida’s West Coast near Tarpon Springs. And so it was that Henry and Mattie volunteered to pick us up at Tarpon Springs City Marina on an early December morning for a tour of the 1979 Corbin. We’d already viewed 2 Extreme and her stats on-line.

We have learned through experience that absolutely nothing beats seeing, smelling, touching and hearing the actual boat on site as it is. Scott keeps a boat-shopping list; we’ll call or e-mail the seller to arrange a showing when we’re in the neighborhood. The quest is proving to be enriching in ways I’d never imagined, allowing us to meet fascinating sailors while touring their equally fascinating vessels.

In addition to on-line research such as owner listings and group sites, I always take lots of snapshots when we’re looking at a boat. In the moment, you may not notice every little detail. Pictures bring into focus both pros and cons when formulating a decision.

This particular Corbin had been on Scott’s list for some time. Her overall length is listed as 38’2” with a 32’ LWL and a 12-foot beam.

Not super-sized compared to our current 32-foot DownEast, but definitely larger in terms of storage and working areas on and below deck. Powered by a 1987 Perkins 4-108 Diesel (91-gallon fuel tank capacity), the 22,800-pound vessel officially drafts 5.6’ – Henry notes that when she’s fully loaded draft is closer to six feet.

The Corbin, designed by Robert Dufour of Montreal, Quebec, carries an 822-square-foot sail area. While not known as the fastest in the bunch, doing 5 knots on a good day with a max cruising speed of 6 knots, this bluewater sailing vessel is, as Marius Corbin requested and Henry and Mattie can attest, a boat that can be sailed safely and comfortably around the world. The Corbin 39 was produced from 1979-1990. The original molds were lost in a fire; post-1982 the vessel continued to be produced with reduplicated molds due to its popularity.

When you spot this boat at a dock, its spacious, uncommon flush deck is one of the first things you notice. Henry says he knew he was a goner the minute Mattie saw 2 Extreme, as a flush deck was one of her not-debatable conditions.

A flush deck was one of Mattie’s not-debatable conditions

Aboard 2 Extreme, Mattie shows the “girl stuff” while Henry, an accomplished maritime professional with impressive racing and commercial credentials, takes Scott over the details from the sail plan to the engine room. Interests, anecdotes and technical exchanges often overlap as we explore every nook and cranny.

Mattie displays the rattle-proof mis en place storage for saucepots.

For example, I call Scott’s attention to the clever “en place” pots and pans storage in a cunning drawer beneath the nav station opposite the galley. Mattie tries to scramble out of the frame as I snap, shooting me a dirty look when I catch her. She doesn’t tell me I can’t take her picture, but I have a feeling that if I asked her to pose she’d give me a flat-out “no.” So I don’t ask.

Scott taught me to cook; we share galley duties on our boat. Neither one of us thinks the stove on 2 Extreme is adequate. Chip Ahoy has four burners. We can never go back to two, no matter how cleverly this little beauty is gimbaled side-to-side, so the hot stuff won’t fly out at you in rough seas. Mattie demonstrates her favorite heavy-weather cooking position, with one foot braced against the companionway ladder. “I can peel five pounds of potatoes like this,” she rightfully brags.

Stoves are easy enough to replace and most other aspects of the boat are more generously proportioned than our current living space.  Of all of the Corbin’s attributes, for Scott and me the tastiest carrot dangled before the horse is storage. This vessel abounds with it, from the lazarettes holding propane tanks and on-deck essentials to the dry-as-a-bone bilge cubbies accessed via the floor of the solid-teak interior cabin. There’s even a secret spot; can’t tell you where that is.

The couple was just married when they embarked on their circumnavigation. Mattie had zero experience. She says she’d always dreamed about sailing – the water called to her – but boats hadn’t ever been a part of her life.

The super-experienced Henry knows a well-found vessel when he sees one. He saw no need to engage a surveyor and he was comfortable singlehanding as needed.

While Henry did go forward for mainsail adjustments, the ability to control the headsails from the cockpit was a definite advantage that helped to ease first-time sailor Mattie’s concerns in rough seas.

The couple learned what the boat could do as they went. Purchased in the water, 2 Extreme wasn’t hauled out until Trinidad. Mattie says the country lived up to its festive reputation at Carnival time, as well as being a good place to work on the boat.

Being completely new to sailing, Mattie’s learning curve was steep; she was not at all interested in heeling.

Heeling happened eventually, as it will on a sailboat. The wind doesn’t really care if you’re a newbie awed into a panic by its powers.

Mattie shakily ordered Henry to not go up on deck the first time they hoisted too much canvas. He explained to her there was no other choice if she wanted the freight train to slow down.

This was her baptism into the odd and revered school of salts known in some circles as “People of the Cloth.”

Mattie spent many a night watch in the comfy cockpit.

She never learned to handle sails or the anchor, or any of that stuff. But Mattie proved her mettle on watches. Able to go for many hours without sleep, Mattie took every night watch, all night. There were times when she had to wake him up. But it’s safe to say he got more shuteye than one might expect with a novice partner.

Mattie’s windblown hair shows that she has given up taming who she is. Her beauty and force of personality is forged by all the things she’s experienced.

We’ve clicked in that magically instantaneous way that sometimes bonds certain cruisers, and I feel free to pepper her with questions about her trip around the world.

“So here’s the cliché question, what about pirates?”

Mattie said the only problem was at anchor in Tanzania, when “a big black dude” came on board off the stern. Henry firmly assured the intruder that the couple had the means to get him off the boat if he didn’t leave under his own steam. He seemed to understand, retreating. A couple hours of later, around 4 a.m. the miscreant came back and they went through the same routine. Then they hauled anchor and left, seeing as no one was going to get any more sleep that night, anyway.

“Next question: which country exceeded expectations and which was not so great, although you anticipated it would be fabulous?”

“Yemen was great,” she says. “We met a taxi driver who took us around to all the sights.” Mattie notes that the travel climate is not as favorable today, post-911. “This is probably not the time,” she says, noting that many passage makers they know are sticking to the Pacific these days.

The Galapagos gets her vote for most overrated destination. “It was not what you see on National Geographic,” she says, explaining that wildlife encounters were chiefly staged in arranged park settings.

Surprising sights awaited elsewhere. For example, “Everyone grows pot in their yards in the Marquesas,” she says, chuckling. “It’s on vacant lots, everywhere.”

Clearing in and out of countries was normally no problem. Mattie’s pick for most obnoxious bribery is Egypt, where boarding customs officials brazenly brought an empty suitcase they expected to be filled.

Wherever they went, the couple enjoyed trading for artwork and other regional goodies. Mattie carried a Ziploc bag full of make-up (especially lipsticks) and perfume. “It doesn’t even have to be new,” she says. Hair ornaments, clothes of any kind and cigarettes are also very popular. If she went back to Africa, she says she would bring lots of toddler-size shorts and boxers for the kids, who ran around naked by necessity, not tradition.

“We only came home once, for Henry’s father’s 80^th birthday,” she says.

“We didn’t change the name. I hope no one ever does,” says Mattie.

Besides pants for little bottoms, Mattie would also have a watermaker on board to supplement the 80-gallon water tank capacity if “we did it again.”

“But I’m not gonna do it again. Seven-and-a-half years was enough. Henry would go around the world again. I just don’t want to. It just became too stressful.” And there’s that infectious twinkle in her eyes again, with a bit of a challenge thrown in. “But Cyndi, if I was 10 years younger I would.”

As we went over 2 Extreme from stem to stern, the couple received an offer over the phone. Henry passed up to the cockpit a folded slip of paper. Nosy journalist that I am, I didn’t think twice about reading the message in reverse. Mattie knew it, and we exchanged smiles. “It looks like we both have a lot to talk over with our mates today,” I said. “No matter what happens, I’m so glad we met.”

Scott and I decided to keep looking for the “right” boat for us. We heard that the offer on 2 Extreme didn’t pan out. I continue to follow her status with interest; this boat – and Mattie’s story – is a hard one to get out of my head. I’m glad to know that the world was hers.

About Cyndi Perkins

Freelance writer and editor Cyndi Perkins shares her liveaboard adventures in numerous nautical publications, including the book “Women On Board Cruising”. She recently completed her first novel manuscript, “Loop Dee Doo,” and is taking the book to market in 2013.

For more info on Corbins and a word from Marius Corbin himself, check out the owners’ page at www.corbin39.com

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• People Who’ve Inspired Us: Sparrow on the horizon, by Suzi Wallace

A boat is as personal as a love affair. The relationship with one’s boat is subtle, personal, addictive. Like any relationship though, a boat takes time to figure out and work to maintain. The right boat can bring forth deep passion, evoke dreams, elicit freedom, stimulate self-reflection, build self-confidence, and depending on the vessel, reveal the humility or self-indulgence of the owners. The right boat can enable a life dream. The wrong boat can become a nightmare of problems and expense.

My husband Randy and I have both spent our careers in the marine industry. Being in the business of boat supplies, we have had the opportunity to look at thousands of boats at boat shows and in marinas all over the world. Collectively we have spent hundreds of hours talking to many experienced owners, designers, and manufacturers, asking tough questions along the way. When we had the good fortune to choose a cruising boat for ourselves, we did a lot of soul searching.

We are sailors. Yet for nine summers we cruised British Columbia to Alaska on a New England lobster boat. Our lovely green hull Duffy 42 is a single screw (one engine) powerboat. The hull was designed for lobster fishing off the coast of Maine, but it has a cruising cabin with all the amenities, two cabins, large head, and saloon and galley “up” which means we can see out the windows and drive from inside. The experience taught us about powerboating and a great deal about our powerboat customers.

EXPLORER – Duffy 42′ Lobster boat in Northern British Columbia

For a time, long distance trawlers became one of our options for a cruising boat. But we could not change our stripes, we are sailors, and for open-ocean cruising we wanted the dual advantage of both power and wind.

Three goals shaped our decision in finding a cruising boat.

• We wanted to sail as a family, so it needed to be easy to handle for two people.
• We wanted comfort and efficiency.
• And we both wanted a fast boat.

While there are many wonderful boats out there, we did not find a production boat that completely met our needs or our long wish list of details. Disappointed but not deterred, we set out on the daunting task and two-year commitment of building a custom yacht.

Growing up sailing on the East Coast, Randy has always liked Cat Boats. (Catboats are usually beamy, wide hulls with a singe mast, which is carried forward in the bow.) Living in California he owned a Santa Cruz 33 and Santa Cruz 40, (Slender fast fiberglass race boats) so he also appreciated performance. I grew up sailing on the West Coast in a classic wooden boat,  raced on performance yachts in the Northwest and had the opportunity to crew on various boats in a variety of places around the world.  I wanted a boat that would be comfortable, sail well and get us there safely.

We chose to work with Tom Wylie, a talented San Francisco Bay area designer who is known for fast, innovative cat ketch rigged racer-cruisers with wishbone rigs on unstayed (no wires hold up the rig) carbon fiber masts. His boats are fast, easy to sail and unconventional. Frankly, it takes a while to get used to just looking at them. A giant wind surfer comes to mind.

While Tom Wylie designed the hull and rig, Randy and I designed everything else, the deck layout, the cabin, the interior and all her systems.

CONVERGENCE under construction, note window layout above nav station

The end result is a very fast, reasonably comfortable, fairly easy to handle yacht.

Her length is 65’6”, with a 57’ water line, a 14’9” beam, 8’ draft and a main mast of 80’. At a svelte 39,000 lbs., her average cruising speed under power or sail is 8.3 knots or 200 miles a day. More often, she runs at 10. Her record speed surfing under sail is 22 knots; however, she may be capable of more in the right conditions. Her best run so far was 240 miles in 24 hours. Most of her innovations are common sense adjustments on traditional themes, a coming together of many ideas, hence her name: CONVERGENCE .

We worked with Westerly Marine, in Costa Mesa, CA, who manufactures quality custom yachts, including one America’s Cup boat. Convergence is simple and elegant.

CONVERGENCE splashes in 2004

From stem to stern she has clean lines. Unlike many cruising boats she has uncluttered decks. Even the windlass is below deck in its own compartment.

Rather than stanchions and lifelines, we designed tall stainless steel rails, which give an extra element of safety. Her exterior is easy to maintain. There is no wood on the exterior except for a wonderfully designed cockpit table, which hosts compartments for all the miscellaneous stuff that ends up there. Our canvas Bimini was eventually replaced with a hardtop over the cockpit to keep out the sun and the rain. The cabin top solar panels were exchanged for the WhisperGen™ heat and power system.

The saloon and galley are up. That means we are all together and able to see out the windows, a particular advantage for those who do most of the cooking. Large tempered windows (spec’d at jet cockpit window standards or able to take a frozen chicken at 500 miles an hour) offer complete visibility while maneuvering and allow us to take advantage of the view in beautiful anchorages.

Galley on CONVERGENCE Great view, lots of counter space, storage and easy access to cockpit.

Our navigation station has a large desktop. All of the electronics and communications are laid out efficiently and surrounded by the windshield. You can see where you are navigating. The electrical panel is adjacent to the nav station for ease of checking all systems.

Nav station allows for plenty of visibility – in bad weather can steer from inside.

The engine room has standing headroom, over an 8’ workbench and lots of storage. It is large enough to work in and if necessary to dry loads of laundry. Having a large designated engine room has many advantages. One is complete access to her 100-horse Yanmar engine, fuel filters, etc. We check our engine every day—on passages, every hour. We wanted it to be easy to access and to work on. Two underwater windows allow both keel and prop visibility and make it easy to see the bottom and fun to see sea life swimming by. We carry 400 gallons of fuel (70 gallons in the keel) and 300 gallons of tank water, along with a water-maker.

Engine room with 8ft maple workbench and lots of storage

Mistress cabin

Convergence has comfortable accommodations, four cabins with 6’4”+ headroom, two with twin bunks and two with double bunks. Each of the cabins has hanging lockers, side tables, plenty of drawer storage and shoe lockers (something often lacking on a boat). The two heads are more than adequate, and have lovely hand painted ceramic sinks. Our showers have watertight storage for linens.

The woodwork is beautiful. We avoided rain forest woods and chose satin-varnished cherry with fine bone detail around traditional doors and cabinetry instead.

For its high tech materials and modern exterior, the traditional appointments on the interior are Bristol with nautical sensibilities. The fiberglass in both the interior and exterior is superb. We have a spacious cockpit, one that can accommodate a large party, and is very comfortable for fair weather sleeping.

The after deck, which we call the Beach Deck,  is where we stow the dinghy underway, along with two kayaks, a dive compressor compartment and fishing gear. It is the perfect location for exercise at anchor, donning dive gear, setting out fishing lines or a time out. An outdoor shower allows for freshwater rinse of sandy feet, cleaning up scuba gear and moonlight bathing. Below the Beach Deck are large compartments where we keep dive gear, the swim ladder, an emergency tiller, cleaning supplies, numerous spares and other accumulations.

Beach deck

Central vacuum

Under the saloon, accessed by aft stairs, there is a full pantry. On port is a section with deep shelves and zippered screens for dry stores and condiments.

As I believe a clean boat is a healthy boat, we have a washer/dryer and a central vacuum with hose outlets that reach the entire interior and the cockpit.

There is easy, open access to fuel tanks, pumps, our inverter, water pumps, and the hot water tank. In addition, there is plenty of extra storage for drinks, bulk food stuffs and supplies in the balance of the pantry.

We carry no headsails, just large 80’ main and 60’ mizzen fully battened sails, each cut with lots of roach, which theoretically spills wind aloft, allowing us to carry more sail in higher winds. (To elaborate, main sails are rarely perfect triangles, the bottom edge is called the foot, the forward or leading edge, is referred to as the luff, and the after edge or back of the triangle is called the leech. The roach is the rounded shoulder of the sail, that extra sail cloth beyond the straight line from the top or head of the sail to the aft corner or clue.)

This means that we do not need to reef (shorten sail so as to not be overpowered by the wind) as soon as in more traditional rigs. From my point of view, reefing early, before the wind is too strong is the better part of valor. We installed electric winches, which make hoisting easy on our backs.

Convergence is fast, comfortable, and in inclement weather, we drive from inside.

Sally-Christine standing next to CONVERGENCE’s rudder (Photo by Randy Repass)

We designed all of the systems to be efficient and reliable. However, all was not perfect in her construction. The most critical lesson we learned in building a custom boat was this: Regardless of the competence and trust you have in the boat builders, hiring a project manager who is specifically in charge of overseeing your project is essential and would have removed a lot of our headaches.  A project manager who not only oversee progress, but is onsight regularly to ensure that those in charge of the installations know what they are doing and that all systems are tested, and working before you take delivery.

Most of the challenges we have faced have been the result of improper installations and in some cases improper specs by manufacturers. Critical failures due to confusing or inaccurate manufacturer’s specs or installer error in plumbing and electrical come to light at the most inopportune moments. Many of these issues could have seriously jeopardized the safety of the boat. They could have been avoided with a good project manager. Randy’s patience, skill and his innate ability to fix anything have kept us happily afloat.

We had another interesting issue, which was that we were bow down and surprisingly tender. This was corrected in a Raiatea boat yard by adding a two thousand pound shoe to the aft end of the keel bulb, which added stability and improved her ride.

Like building a house, building a boat requires lots of decisions, a budget, a sense of humor, and determination to get it done, and if necessary part of it redone. Randy and I both love projects. We like building things, and seeing them through to completion. Keeping our eye on the goal, having good communication, mutual respect and staying focused has helped us make the process a pleasure. Like our relationship, we nurture our boat, extol her virtues, and enjoy every precious moment we have aboard.

Nine year old Kent-Harris christens CONVERGENCE with our R bar R Ranch Pinot Noir, Sally-Christine and Randy looking on.

About Sally-Christine Rodgers

Sally-Christine and her family in the water (Photo by Peggy Repass)

When she is not tending gardens, grooming horses, taming long horns or working on marine conservation, Sally-Christine Rodgers spends time writing about the other side of her life – cruising on Convergence.

Making their way around the world a section at a time, Sally-Christine with her husband Randy and son Kent-Harris extend each summer aboard their custom 65’ sailboat sharing observations and insights along the way.

How did you choose your cruising boat?

Let us know.

Email kathy@forcruisers.com or leave a comment below.

When I first decided to set out to the Bahamas aboard my 40-foot wooden Rosborough ketch, I didn’t really contemplate the possibility that I would be wholly unsuccessful at finding crew interested in a free tropical vacation. But, alas, people have lives and responsibilities, and when Annie Laurie was prepared for sea, I found I was left with little choice other than to muster up the courage to set out on my own.

ANNIE LAURIE, off Bahia Honda, Cuba. Photo by Laura McCrossin

I had sailed south from Nova Scotia the winter before, with the help of my sister and a few good friends. I had experienced the allure of Cuba and Mexico, and spent many months anchored in Key West. As I planned to take Annie Laurie home to Canada for the upcoming summer, I decided a detour to the Bahamas was in order before the long slog home.

While in Nova Scotia, I had sailed many times alone, but never more than the 60-mile passage between my hometown of Halifax and the nearby town of Lunenburg.

I knew my boat, and was confident and comfortable doing everything aboard, engine-wise and otherwise. I only really sought-out crew when I knew there would be overnight trips involved with a passage, as I didn’t have a working autopilot aboard.

After looking over the charts of the Abacos, Eleuthera, and the Exumas, I knew I could make my way around without the necessity of an over-nighter, so with that excuse for crew no longer valid, I began to convince myself it was high time I challenged myself with an extended solo trip.

As I made final preparations, many people (who’d never sailed a 6-foot draft boat) readily assured me I drew too much to cruise the Bahamas, and would have to choose an alternate destination. In addition, I was informed toredo worms were rampant, and my mahogany-on-oak boat would look like a sponge by the time I was ready to sail back to the United States. As doubts compounded, I fortunately met a sailing couple that had cruised the Bahamas with their wooden boat years earlier without an issue, and now cruised the same waters aboard their 9-foot draft steel schooner.

As I got underway, I was greeted with repeated doses of surprise by many sailing couples, as well as men sailing solo. I began to feel I carried a certain responsibility to spread the understanding that women are just as capable as men of cruising alone.

My first, and only, Cuban cigar, following a stressful reef crossing in 25 knots and no charts

Many didn’t understand how a woman was up to the physical challenges, to which I could only respond that that is the least of one’s challenges when cruising. On a 40-foot boat, Marconi-rigged and with a roller-furled Genoa, the sails were not the least bit heavy, or difficult to raise or trim. The most physically demanding aspect of handling Annie Laurie was hauling the 33-lb Bruce anchor and 30 feet of chain without the convenience of a windlass (I know I have carried heavier boxes of groceries into the house from the car). Sometimes I wish sailing was more physically demanding, as whenever I’m underway for any length of time, I usually find myself rooting through cubbies to dig out my my fat pants.

Another one of my favorite reactions I received was “Aren’t you scared?” Sure I was scared. Most of the time, might I add. I think every careful sailor, who is in constant mind of the possible worst-case scenario, will carry a certain amount of fear and concern at any given moment. It’s what keeps you safe. Couples may handle that fear by having each other, and men sailing alone might handle it by quietly telling themselves that everything will be okay, and that things aren’t as bad as they seem, and by reminding themselves they made every prudent preparation before ever leaving the dock. That is human, and that’s what I did.

Sure I was scared. Most of the time, might I add. Photo by Laura McCrossin

There is a certain amount of mental stamina required, mostly to deal with the monotony of ones self during those days when other cruisers are scarce. Having a best friend aboard of the canine or feline variety can provide a sense of calm in any situation, and can even provide occasional on-board entertainment when they inadvertently fall overboard, or seek attention by posing for a picture.

Cabin Girl, Effie McCrossin. Photo by Laura McCrossin

Effie, named for the oldest Grand Banks schooner still afloat (Effie M. Morrissey, now known as Ernestina) continues to be my loyal companion, and was with me through some of the most difficult challenges of my life. Through stormy seas, and turbulent relationships, she never left my side.

Finally, it is human nature to help other people, especially if you see them facing a challenge alone. I was the grateful recipient of many acts of kindness during my voyage, whether by receiving help setting a second anchor in a gale, getting my engine started after a filter change and I’d allowed too much air through the system for the umpteenth time, or when I met an electronics expert from South Africa who fixed my autopilot and had it working for the first time in years.

People were always coming out of the woodwork, without solicitation, to lend their assistance. And there is something about eating dinner alone that seems to tug on heartstrings of sailing couples, and when anchored amongst other boats, I rarely ate dinner without good company.

So if my experiences are any example, then I find it increasingly difficult to claim I sailed the Bahamas alone. If I had known the people I was about to meet, and the shared experiences and memories I was about to make, my worries before departure would have been greatly alleviated.

And if you’re single, you’ll undoubtedly meet a few admirers along the way, and you might just meet your soul mate. I did.

Phil and I, No Name Harbor, Key Biscayne, FL. Photo by Ann Spencer

About Laura McCrossin

Laura was born and raised in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and began her sailing career on tall ships in 2001.

For the last 6 years, she has enjoyed the freedom of sailing her own wooden ketch from Canada to Cuba, Mexico, the Bahamas, and many ports in between.

She has just published her book based on her experiences “Written in Water: An Uncharted Life Aboard a Wooden Boat”, available now on Amazon, or through her website www.scotiansailor.com

A Kindle version is available on Amazon.

Read also on this website

• Debbie Leisure: What I learned on my first solo trip to the Bahamas
• Debbie Leisure learns to sail her boat single-handed
• Getting started on tall-ships, by Stephanie Katz
• Single Women Sailing, by Gwen Hamlin (Admiral’s Angle column):
  Part 1 and Part 2
• The  Need to Know: Sheri Schneider is on her own in the Pacific after her husband is evacuated, by Gwen Hamlin  (Admiral’s Angle column)

Would you like to share your sailing story?

Let us know.

Email kathy@forcruisers.com or leave a comment below.