Bridging the Gap (okay, not really, but that's what I said the next title would be, so let's roll with it)

The morning of our departure from Wye Cove did not go as planned (that little black cloud just likes hanging around).  We did a few more errands around the house and I got in the car and went somewhere; I'll let you know if I remember why . . . .  As I was getting ready to go, Elliott had been helping to bring the trash to the end of the driveway for garbage day pickup.  Mind you, this is bags and bags of trash and food and crab bits from the party four days before.  Smelly and erp!  I couldn't be around it.  Well, of course, little black cloud is laughing as one of the bigger bags heaves and loses its load halfway down the driveway and E, being a teenager, doesn't notice right away and drags crab shell detris down the other half of the driveway.  Well, if ever something will get you to stop eating crabs, looking at the throwaways after the maggots have gotten to it should do it for you.  Blech!  Maybe THAT's why I was laughing maniacally as I drove quickly away from the scene!

Gary had a serious talk with his mother about not serving crabs anymore, but she did not want to broach the subject until next year (when it will be too late to make a change).  I agree with him; I've overheard several crabbers complain that, ". . . there's nothing out there."  Overcrabbing minimizes hauls and raises the prices per box to crazy numbers.  And, if you're a water person, you'll probably have noticed that crab pots are popping up EVERYWHERE.  It is such a pain to have to first, be able to see the pots, and then, two, to travel around and in between them.  On the first leg of our trip, we grabbed one with our propeller.  Not good.  Gary dove to cut the tangled mess free so that we could be on our way again.  Seemed to be no damage.  I used to eat crab a little bit, but really only enjoyed it when a friend of ours visited and we picked leftover crabs for hours and she made these incredible crabcakes.  Since then, nothing has come close to make crab a mainstay in my diet.

So, finally, I'm back to the house, the shells are mercifully repacked for removal, and we've packed up our cooler and clothes for the trip out of the cove.  Our engine had been wonky, so Gary took a look at it before we started underway.  "Damn it!"  Gary does not curse much, but actually I think I've heard more cursing since we've started this trip than during his whole time with me (surprising, eh?  especially for those of you who know me).

Anyway, we had about 15 gallons of water sloshing around in the bottom of the engine compartment and we had to siphon it out before we left.  It appeared to be fresh water, so I suggested one of our on-deck scuppers must be causing the problem.  We will be testing that theory today. 

The problem was how to get the water out of such a tight compartment easily.  I suggested a hose to siphon with and he got that started, but the hose was too long and he almost passed out from sucking in the air to get the water flowing.  He then went back on land and rummaged through his dad's shed and came up with the idea to employ a shorter length of hose and use a drill to create a pull the water up with the pressure.  Worked beautifully.  We had an assembly line; Gary held the hose in place, Elliott used the drill to fill the bucket, and I waited in the cockpit to take the bucket to dump it overboard.  Still think the sailing life is glamorous?  Those models you see in diaphanous wraps standing at the bow would have those wraps caught in the lines and thrown overboard before you could blink.  Not good.  

An hour or so later, we were ready to leave.  I shook my fist to the sky and asked for no more holdups or catastrophes. 

Then we thought about the bridges . . . .

Next:  Bridging the Gap II

Shocking News!

We left Cobb Island on July 7 with high hopes and excitement for the next months of adventures in sailing.  It was a gorgeous day as we traveled out of Neale Sound into the Wicomico, the Potomac, and then the Chesapeake Bay.  When you're in that really wide part of the Bay, it can sometimes feel like ocean sailing.  We saw other awesome boats, fishes, schools of rays, Cove Point's natural gas terminal, and the Pride of Baltimore II.  It took us two days to get to Wye Cove, off the Wye River in Maryland.  We were going to anchor at Gary's parents' house early to prepare for their annual crab feast, which takes a day to set up, a day to party and eat like crazy, and then another day to take down.  The first night we spent in a little bight off the Patuxent River; you have to be careful there as there are rules, rules, rules as to where you can anchor.  We must have obeyed them all as we were not shot out of the water nor boarded that night.  

At dinner that first night, we celebrated with a bottle of Prosecco that some dear friends brought as a boat-warming gift; I sure slept well.

After breakfast and another full day of sailing, we ooched into the cove and found that our plans were dashed for siding up to the docks as the water was only around 4 feet; we draw 5-1/2 feet.  So we anchored smack in the center of the cove and used the dinghy as our transport back and forth to the house.

Setup went as planned and, the best part of all, was a visit from my daughter and her family.  Saul loves the boat and we fed on that excitement.  We gave them our cabin for sleeping, though Saul missed his bed at home and woke around 5am, so they went ashore early for breakfast.   The crab  feast that day was well attended and we had a good time with friends and family, some of whom Gary took on boat tours.  We saved some of the breakdown of the party for the next day, which was Monday, July 14.  We worked a lot of the day, sweating and sweating.  Storms were coming in, so we battened down the hatches to the boat and had dinner with the family on shore.  Loud crashes of lightning and grumbling thunder swept in, with side blowing wind splattering the windows of the sunroom with rain.  I usually find storms ultra fascinating, but with our boat out in the cove, this one made me a bit nervous.  And for good reason.

Shortly before sunset, Gary saw a lightning strike right over the mast of the boat and said that the strike came down in the center of the cove, but seemed to stop 65 feet above the water (the exact height of our mast).  It was surreal to think we may have been struck because it just didn't make sense; I mean, we were just starting out on our 15-month adventure.  This couldn't really happen, could it?

But it could and it did.  After a cursory check on the boat after the storm died down, we learned that she had been struck and we had lost some of the electronics.  We felt so sad, but we knew we had to keep going, so we made a list of the things to check and what we had to do.  Next morning was the claims call, which went very well.  We've only had one claim before and that was many years ago when our older boat's lines had been moved with a dock repair at the marina and she incurred an injury via bolt to her side.  You would think that docks could be designed not to have such pieces of steel sticking out to poke the boats.  

Anyway, plans were made to move the boat to a marina where the repairs could be made, which, interestingly enough, was the location of Gary's first job (at C&C Charters, where he cleaned, repaired, and maintained the boats and did charter checkouts.

The only issue with moving there is that we had to pass under two bridges on the way there, both at the same place.  One was a drawbridge and the other bridge is 65 feet high.  Our mast is 65 feet high.  With our spate of luck, we were a little bit nervous.

Next Post:  Bridging the Gap

Two Weeks as Liveaboards

Today we celebrate being on board for two weeks.  The first couple of days had me thinking twice about this lifestyle.  Most of the trepidation came from being a bit overwhelmed, sick, and blazing hot.  Not a good mixture on any day.  So I was sick, then I was better, I had to get a filling redone, we were a boat in shambles, and then we were all stowed and looking good.  And I also had a short, nice visit with my Dad on one of the days back in the 'burg.

We left the dock for the first time since we moved on just this past Saturday for what turned out to be one of the best sails I've ever been on.  The temperatures weren't too hot, the wind was perfect, and this boat was handling so very well.  We made our way over to St. Clement's Island, a favorite of ours for years, for a little picnic and quick respite before continuing on to Breton Bay and a visit to Leonardtown, MD.  St. Clement's has changed a lot over the years, from a wild bit of island to a pleasant park-like atmosphere with now-grown tree plantings and open spaces, picnic benches and grills, a newly built lighthouse, a bell tower, and flower gardens.  As we were picnicking, we watched a sailor in a small boat bob and weave up along the coast, many times making us catch our breath thinking he was going to flip over.  We felt so good when he made the curve of land into smoother sailing.  There are signs all over the island telling of its history; Gary loves reading each and every word.  I think a geocache will be generated soon with that information.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Clement's_Island_State_Park

From there, we had another bit of gorgeous sailing to Breton Bay where we anchored amongst five other boats.  Leonardtown always sticks in my mind as this little backwater with a dock that was just a terrible mess of pilings that had been ruined by age and storms.  It was also the place we were docked when we learned that Princess Diana had been in a car wreck; the newspapers in town the next morning stated that she was expected to survive, so we drew a collective sigh and hoped for a speedy recovery.  We all know how that story turned out.

But over the years, the town, while still rolling up their sidewalks early most days, has been revitalized a bit, and the dock, now called the Leonardtown Wharf, has been beautifully redone and has turned into a meeting spot for Sunday afternoon concerts by local bands.  There's also a concession stand and a kayak/canoe rental business that has sprung up run by a surfer dude (sans shirt and all) that keeps people in calories and boats.  I'm sure those Sunday ladies enjoy that scenery!

The downtown has not changed a lot, some businesses have changed hands, and we found an awesome bookstore, Fenwick Used Books and Music, after a big carb-full breakfast at a little cafe.  Fenwick's offered a cool respite from the heat and was a wonderful half-hour of scanning the spines of hundred of books waiting for something to grab our attention.  I walked away with Life After Mississippi by James Autry and The Bad Girl's Guide to the Open Road (which immediately made me think of some special women in my life!).

We went back to the boat to do some work, well, to let Gary do some work, and Elliott and I rowed the dinghy to shore to check out a sailing school and for me to get some photos. We wandered around a bit before we noticed the "No Trespassing" signs, so we jumped back in the dinghy and started rowing away just as the caretaker of the property came walking down the docks looking for us; yikes.  We just kept rowing; he never said a word, just looked around to check out that we hadn't stolen a boat or two.

After Gary finished his project, we all hopped into the dinghy again and hoped we'd make it back to shore with our low amount of gas.  Ooops.  The Sunday afternoon bluegrass gospel concert was enjoyable and we even got some witnessing done; if you don't know what witnessing is, it is when someone tells their story of a miracle, in this case a healing, that in which the teller gives full credit to God.  Even though I'm not a believer, it was a heartwarming story and I'm so glad for the medical results for this musician.  We took the dinghy back, STILL not running out of gas.  Hmmm, maybe divine intervention for us, too.

We stayed another night in the Bay and set sail the next day to come home.  It took a long time to get out of the Bay because the wind was light and we only used the main and a staysail, but the scenery was gorgeous.  Lovely rolling hills, farms, great houses, sleek boats (both power and sail), and a bit of wildlife, too.

Gary was inspired to use the gennaker on the way out because of the light wind; now THAT was interesting.  He called it "The Whomper" (referenced from the movie "Wind.")   We kicked butt, but it was a bit fickle with the wind going different ways.  That was a lot of sail to contend with, but Gary's got a knack for it, so in no time, we w
ere doing 7.5 knots and the boat was surfing.  She really is quite amazing.  Most heeling we've ever done, but the boat handled it well.  We also had a communication with a tugboat who wanted to know our intentions so that he could come into the bay with large flats of containers for a construction site.  That was kind of cool.

So, we're back at the Pirate's Den at Cobb Island, hanging out, sweating a LOT, working on projects, and sweating some more.  Occasionally, we take a break from these mundane tasks to watch a World Cup game.  We really enjoy hanging out at the bar at the restaurant up the hill.  I'm addicted to their house salads and sweet tea (of course) and just the rotating group of folks who come there to drink and cheer on their teams.

Today, after Gary's projects, Elliott's fishing, eeling, and crabbing and hanging out with other sailors, and after my work with both pump toilets on board (yes, my life is that glamorous) in which I added vinegar to the bowls, let them sit a while, then flushed them through with the vinegar and a big rinse of clear water to help with scaling and odor, we went to watch USA vs. Belgium.  God, I hate sports.  But then I love them,  And then I hate them again.  All that stress; is it worth it?  Apparently so, because we keep going back.

So that's what we've been doing.  Sweating mostly, but also enjoying the crazy with the good.  I'm learning a little bit more each day and working on my Boat Virginia Course (I passed the first of six tests with flying colors).  And I am forever grateful for technology, because even though I'm not seeing them personally, I can see photos and videos of my grandchildren and they don't seem so far away.