So, the upshot is that no where in America is socially isolated anymore. Cable TV and the Internet have brought remarkable homogeneity to us all.
Second, Oriental is not an isolated NC hamlet as you would expect elsewhere, it is a few life-long residents and a lot of relatively affluent Northeast retirees thrown together. Many are educated and ran successful businesses and have escaped to a serene and bucolic life on the shores of Pamlico Sound. The yankees are paying the taxes, by and large. Sailing has brought a recreation/tourism dimension to the town, also
If it were warmer in the Winter, it would have an appeal to us. There are, on the other hand, difficulties with living in a rural place that are foreign to us....the remoteness from services, shopping, transportation, associations would be disconcerting to us. But the thing we feared the most, provencial thinking leading to brain rot of all who move there is not a worry.
Last night we were given a treat. We were picked up by Paul Mascaro and taken to the home of Doug Daniel. We had a great Italian dinner together, and great company. These pictures are of the outside of Doug's house. Paul showed us a patent he holds for improved engine efficiency. Maybe we'll help him market it.
What we've learned so far is that all people share more than things that divide us.
Elise flies out on Monday and Pete flies in on Monday to take her place. Then the journey restarts in earnest Tuesday for the last push to Maryland.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Universal Sailor
In nursing theory there is a concept of mutuality. It has two parts. First, it describes other people acting on one's behalf because they would do the same thing for themselves. The second part describes a health professional doing what a patient would do if they had their faculties....sort of doing the right thing for a patient even if the patient is currently antagonistic. An example might be keeping a self-destructive person from acting out and harming himself.
We didn't need the second type of mutuality, but benefitted greatly from the first part. Today we met an older sailor named Doug Daniel and he sort of took us under his wing. He provided transportation to the boat chandlery, helped us negotiate a good deal on a whisker pole, and brought us back to the boat; then he counseled us on trouble shooting the alternator, and gave us a lot of advice. No expectation. No payment in kind demanded or even considered. We did take him to dinner, which was wholly inadequate.
We come to realize that this is the crux of cruising sailors. We are all vulnerable and subject to the complexities of trying to keep modern systems running on our boats. The knowledge and scope of the work often exceeds the man or woman. So, akin to pioneers on the prairie or an Amish community, mutual aid is given and accepted. Strangers do the mundane to help each other out, but also go to heroic and extraordinary measures in a crisis. Because we are all nomadic the reality is that you can only pay it forward. This HUGE mutual aid society or compact is the best of cruising. Thank you, Doug. We will pay it forward in full, we promise.
We didn't need the second type of mutuality, but benefitted greatly from the first part. Today we met an older sailor named Doug Daniel and he sort of took us under his wing. He provided transportation to the boat chandlery, helped us negotiate a good deal on a whisker pole, and brought us back to the boat; then he counseled us on trouble shooting the alternator, and gave us a lot of advice. No expectation. No payment in kind demanded or even considered. We did take him to dinner, which was wholly inadequate.
We come to realize that this is the crux of cruising sailors. We are all vulnerable and subject to the complexities of trying to keep modern systems running on our boats. The knowledge and scope of the work often exceeds the man or woman. So, akin to pioneers on the prairie or an Amish community, mutual aid is given and accepted. Strangers do the mundane to help each other out, but also go to heroic and extraordinary measures in a crisis. Because we are all nomadic the reality is that you can only pay it forward. This HUGE mutual aid society or compact is the best of cruising. Thank you, Doug. We will pay it forward in full, we promise.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Jeff and Elise's very looooong day
Thursday, June 16, 2011 will be astericked. It is the day we took our final exam in sailing. The day before we had left Cape Canaveral and were motoring well off shore for North Carolina on a flat sea. Neptune had other plans for us.
At 0552 hrs (5:52AM) our day suddenly began. The winds went from the predicted flat calm to the predicted 5-10 knot southwesterlies --perfect for us to sail on; we were just about to put up our sails. The predicted winds lasted for less than 2 minutes before there was an unpredictd 45 to 50 knot wind from the Northeast. How interesting. The north-moving Gulf Stream doesn't take nicely to wind blowing from the opposite direction and the mill pond turned into a cauldron and then a tempest in about the time it takes for me to type this paragraph. OH MY!!
What followed was a harrowing reminder of how frail terrestrial hominids are, how unforgiving the ocean can be, and the value of a well-built boat. We faught for steering control for 5 1/2 hrs before the squall finally passed. Elise gamely did her part despite intense mal de mer; she really showed her mettle--I've got the best wife! The cabin was askew, but we were glad to have escaped. Suddenly safe haven ashore looked like much better an idea than North Carolina.
We knew about the prodigious tides in Jacksonville. We also knew about the wide open pass into the St. Johns river which makes Jax a bustling seaport and Navy town and a safe haven from storms. From noon to 10 PM we sailed 71 miles to arrive at the mouth of the river 20 minutes before high tide. Another round a intense thunderstorms and gusty winds was blowing off the coast but, quite simply, missed us! After riding the flood tide up the river we searched for an anchorage in the smoke. The acrid smoke was hanging in the air from brush fires all over Georgia and Florida. It was thick enough to be visible in the cabin lights down below. I had a fever with developing bronchitis, and the current made anchoring nearly impossible. I lowered the anchor to 30 foot depths and raised it back up manually 5 times from midnight to 2AM. We then ran aground on a falling full-moon tide. We had no idea if this was a perigean spring tide or not (it wasn't) but the ripping current told us we had only minutes to free ourselves or risk having the water level drop to the point of our boat tipping over! We ran the engine at highest RPM in reverse; at first there was no response, then gradually we began to just inch clear and we were floating again! The engine overheated but we were free.
One more attempt to anchor was made. My muscles were aching by then, and the fever was sapping my strength. The smoke was making it hurt to breathe and difficult to see Elise as she steered at the back of the boat from where I was standing at the front of the boat. It started to drizzle. The anchor held on the 6th attempt at a new location, although the chain was at a 60 degree angle to the bow in a 3-knot ebb tide. The day markers swung like metronomes in the current as the water sluiced by us. We watched the anchor in the smoke and drizzle until we were sure it was going to hold. I looked at my watch. It was 5:52AM. Our day was done.
At 0552 hrs (5:52AM) our day suddenly began. The winds went from the predicted flat calm to the predicted 5-10 knot southwesterlies --perfect for us to sail on; we were just about to put up our sails. The predicted winds lasted for less than 2 minutes before there was an unpredictd 45 to 50 knot wind from the Northeast. How interesting. The north-moving Gulf Stream doesn't take nicely to wind blowing from the opposite direction and the mill pond turned into a cauldron and then a tempest in about the time it takes for me to type this paragraph. OH MY!!
What followed was a harrowing reminder of how frail terrestrial hominids are, how unforgiving the ocean can be, and the value of a well-built boat. We faught for steering control for 5 1/2 hrs before the squall finally passed. Elise gamely did her part despite intense mal de mer; she really showed her mettle--I've got the best wife! The cabin was askew, but we were glad to have escaped. Suddenly safe haven ashore looked like much better an idea than North Carolina.
We knew about the prodigious tides in Jacksonville. We also knew about the wide open pass into the St. Johns river which makes Jax a bustling seaport and Navy town and a safe haven from storms. From noon to 10 PM we sailed 71 miles to arrive at the mouth of the river 20 minutes before high tide. Another round a intense thunderstorms and gusty winds was blowing off the coast but, quite simply, missed us! After riding the flood tide up the river we searched for an anchorage in the smoke. The acrid smoke was hanging in the air from brush fires all over Georgia and Florida. It was thick enough to be visible in the cabin lights down below. I had a fever with developing bronchitis, and the current made anchoring nearly impossible. I lowered the anchor to 30 foot depths and raised it back up manually 5 times from midnight to 2AM. We then ran aground on a falling full-moon tide. We had no idea if this was a perigean spring tide or not (it wasn't) but the ripping current told us we had only minutes to free ourselves or risk having the water level drop to the point of our boat tipping over! We ran the engine at highest RPM in reverse; at first there was no response, then gradually we began to just inch clear and we were floating again! The engine overheated but we were free.
One more attempt to anchor was made. My muscles were aching by then, and the fever was sapping my strength. The smoke was making it hurt to breathe and difficult to see Elise as she steered at the back of the boat from where I was standing at the front of the boat. It started to drizzle. The anchor held on the 6th attempt at a new location, although the chain was at a 60 degree angle to the bow in a 3-knot ebb tide. The day markers swung like metronomes in the current as the water sluiced by us. We watched the anchor in the smoke and drizzle until we were sure it was going to hold. I looked at my watch. It was 5:52AM. Our day was done.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Hung by a cord
We are now lying Hobe Sound. We're sure the residents of Hobe Sound hate to look out the windows after the maid finishes with the Windex to see the likes of us anchored in their sound. Surely they are plotting how to stop such floating trailer trash from tarnishing the landscape. We'll enjoy it until they buy a change in the law.
The reader of a blog doesn't often like to read recounts of happenings; there are exceptions, and this is one of them.
The other night we were sitting on a dock bench considering our options. We had just finished the late night laundry at the Ft. Lauderdale municipal marina. Elise finished gathering the last few items and I went out to the dinghy to get it started and put the rest of the laundry and groceries in. I pulled the pull cord of the outboard. It didn't start, but I remarked to myself that it was starting to fray and needed some preventive maintenance. The next pull snapped the cord and the remaining length of cord wound up around the spring out of sight. Ut oh!
Tere was one dinghy left at the dock. It was mid flood tide with a 2 knot current. All was quiet. Slack tide would be 2 hours, and the owners of the dinghy might be back....when the watering hole went dry.
Just then a peculiar, slight man walked up without us noticing him. It was Dale, and he turned out to own the dinghy. He offered his help and our spirits buoyed. He said I would have to pull his outboard cord for him as he had fallen on the corner of a dock and, he was sure, broken several ribs. "I can feel the ends of the ribs grating on each other when I move or breathe." Soon we surmised that our choices were 1) swim 2) row across a fierce current 3) have impaired Dale ferry us across. We needed to get to our boat; Dale was on.
Dale had to wake Pogo to get the deadman switch key for his dinghy back. Pogo assessing Dale's faculties for sobriety is like having a kindergartener clean up watercolors. Dale passed Pogo's test (!), and we were off. I held the tow rope and Elise held the other end. Dale twisted the throttle with a wince a nod, grimace contorting his face. He soon was running headlong into the fenders of the bridge and we were in danger of being swept away. I yelled to Dale of the danger, but it didn't register. Far too late, he noticed the impending impact and quickly gunned it. The tow rope crossed over Dale's head several times violently as he steered to and fro, clearing his head several times by mere inches....drunks and fools, right?
As we approached our boat, still at full throttle long after necessary, Dale passed under a fisherman's four lines, snagging them all in his dinghy and snapping them off. The fisherman said nothing but got up and called it a night. Elise and I apologized profusely, Dale never noticed. The next day we saw one of Dale's pontoons softer than the other but no hooks in his inflatable. Elise assures me that next time I will be riding in the towed dinghy as she swims the channel!
Ft. Pierce or Vero Beach tomorrow.
Ill
The reader of a blog doesn't often like to read recounts of happenings; there are exceptions, and this is one of them.
The other night we were sitting on a dock bench considering our options. We had just finished the late night laundry at the Ft. Lauderdale municipal marina. Elise finished gathering the last few items and I went out to the dinghy to get it started and put the rest of the laundry and groceries in. I pulled the pull cord of the outboard. It didn't start, but I remarked to myself that it was starting to fray and needed some preventive maintenance. The next pull snapped the cord and the remaining length of cord wound up around the spring out of sight. Ut oh!
Tere was one dinghy left at the dock. It was mid flood tide with a 2 knot current. All was quiet. Slack tide would be 2 hours, and the owners of the dinghy might be back....when the watering hole went dry.
Just then a peculiar, slight man walked up without us noticing him. It was Dale, and he turned out to own the dinghy. He offered his help and our spirits buoyed. He said I would have to pull his outboard cord for him as he had fallen on the corner of a dock and, he was sure, broken several ribs. "I can feel the ends of the ribs grating on each other when I move or breathe." Soon we surmised that our choices were 1) swim 2) row across a fierce current 3) have impaired Dale ferry us across. We needed to get to our boat; Dale was on.
Dale had to wake Pogo to get the deadman switch key for his dinghy back. Pogo assessing Dale's faculties for sobriety is like having a kindergartener clean up watercolors. Dale passed Pogo's test (!), and we were off. I held the tow rope and Elise held the other end. Dale twisted the throttle with a wince a nod, grimace contorting his face. He soon was running headlong into the fenders of the bridge and we were in danger of being swept away. I yelled to Dale of the danger, but it didn't register. Far too late, he noticed the impending impact and quickly gunned it. The tow rope crossed over Dale's head several times violently as he steered to and fro, clearing his head several times by mere inches....drunks and fools, right?
As we approached our boat, still at full throttle long after necessary, Dale passed under a fisherman's four lines, snagging them all in his dinghy and snapping them off. The fisherman said nothing but got up and called it a night. Elise and I apologized profusely, Dale never noticed. The next day we saw one of Dale's pontoons softer than the other but no hooks in his inflatable. Elise assures me that next time I will be riding in the towed dinghy as she swims the channel!
Ft. Pierce or Vero Beach tomorrow.
Ill
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Dockside Fury
We skipped over a few steps in our story; we were too busy to start our blog until just now, so now we'll give some background. Don't feel it necessary to read this background information, but it may be of interest to many of you dirt dwellers, and sailors, too.
When we finally left our jobs, we worked FURIOUSLY for 3 weeks. We put piles of stores on the boat....and probably needed to paint the water line higher than John recommended (picture above)! SeaSpan already underwent a significant refit over the last year, but one is never quite done with boat projects, we know all too well. We had a lot of help from Lyman Bocock, John and Roberta Nunemaker, Tom Conway, Lynn Miller, Pete Petersen, Bob Bennett, John Tokarz, and many others. THANKS to you ALL!
Just before we left we had a galvanic corrosion specialist check our boat, had the fuel polishers come and make sure our diesel tank was clean (Robert, in the picture, said the fuel was pristine), rechecked all the rigging, installed a few more systems, put the new traveler and sails on the boat, and cut our ties to the power grid to make sure the wind generator and the solar panels were doing their jobs.
Then Elise and I learned to use our dinghy, remembered how to sail our boat, figured out where to put our stuff, and we were suddenly GONE!
Then Elise and I learned to use our dinghy, remembered how to sail our boat, figured out where to put our stuff, and we were suddenly GONE!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Hurry Up and Wait
Overdue entry. Our cruising life FINALLY started on May 26th. We left the dock of Cathy and Pete Petersen. It was like leaving the nest...two better support people don't exist anywhere. THANkS SO MUCH, Cathy and Pete, for getting us "out there."
Our first jump was to Boot Key Harbor, Marathon in the Florida Keys, 200 miles in 48 hrs. Soon after arrival, we were stopped by weather. See more below. While in Boot Key, our longtime friend from SSCA, Capt. Marti Brown, came for a visit and made our marine single sideband (SSB) radio work. She spoke to a man in Western Colorado and another man in Memphis with our radio. It worked!! Marti literally wrote the books on marine SSB, and signed our copies which we'll treasure.
As many of you know, we are on a passage from "home" to Baltimore. Usually a passage has a start and an end. This one has had several starts and stops; we are only 1/4 of the way to the Chesapeake, lying Ft. Lauderdale. The weather and winds have not cooperated. We spent a whole week in Marathon, and another 4 days now here at Las Olas Bridge. Headwinds have caused us to "sit" as much as sail. Hopefully in a day or two our luck will change, and we can jump off for North Carolina.
For our next leg we have the good fortune of having our sailing friend Lynn with us. Standing watch through the night is much easier with extra crew. We're making busy provisioning and taking on water, diesel, fixing things, and temporarily installing the radar before putting some real sea miles under the keel.
Our first jump was to Boot Key Harbor, Marathon in the Florida Keys, 200 miles in 48 hrs. Soon after arrival, we were stopped by weather. See more below. While in Boot Key, our longtime friend from SSCA, Capt. Marti Brown, came for a visit and made our marine single sideband (SSB) radio work. She spoke to a man in Western Colorado and another man in Memphis with our radio. It worked!! Marti literally wrote the books on marine SSB, and signed our copies which we'll treasure.
As many of you know, we are on a passage from "home" to Baltimore. Usually a passage has a start and an end. This one has had several starts and stops; we are only 1/4 of the way to the Chesapeake, lying Ft. Lauderdale. The weather and winds have not cooperated. We spent a whole week in Marathon, and another 4 days now here at Las Olas Bridge. Headwinds have caused us to "sit" as much as sail. Hopefully in a day or two our luck will change, and we can jump off for North Carolina.
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