Out Cruisin’

A Night To Remember

By Drew Whitler of S/V Impulsive

It had been a long couple of days. I had headed out of Charleston Harbor on my 1987 Morgan 41 Classic, Impulsive. With me was my oldest friend in the world, Hod Arnett. We have known each other since kindergarten and have been best friends through grade school, high school, college, and even the USAF. He had been with me on one very major trip I had taken with Impulsive and several charters in the BVI.

We were on our way to Fernandina Beach to meet up with another crew member, Marty Coalson. He and I worked together for a number of years and he had been interested in sailing for some time. This was to be his fi rst adventure on a sailboat, to test if this was really something he wanted to do. You know the dream (thanks to Gardner McKay and his ship the Tiki as it plied the waters of the South Pacifi c)... sell the house, buy the boat and take the wife, sans kids, on that round the world sail. Even as I type this, and I already have a boat, I keep thinking… count me in, Marty!! I had been trying to dissuade him of that idea until he took the kind of trip he was signing up for with Hod and me. His wife, Dianne, seemed truly grateful.

Well, he was on a schedule and waiting for us at the marina in Fernandina Beach, FL. Now, Hod and I and a couple of others had tried to sail around the ICW in Georgia several years ago on a journey from the Chesapeake to the Keys, but the Atlantic kept suggesting, and in no uncertain terms, that we might be better off trying the long and winding route through Georgia on the ICW. We had tried for Florida, but made only 13 miles in 14 hours. Stono inlet, the fi rst inlet from the Atlantic south of Charleston, looked like a likely respite. Now I know others would have said, why not keep going, but this

was our first real foray into the North Atlantic, and getting beat up for the next couple of days just didn’t seem worth it. We are, after all, a couple of old boys from the flatlands of Illinois and Nebraska.

Coming into Stono inlet was a trip, since there was nary a light visible from shore except for one dim white marker way inside the inlet on the point of land marking the river’s entrance into the bay. This was also a first time completely dependent on and trusting the chart plotter as well, because, with the exception of the lights on the channel markers, we were pretty much sailing blind. We did find an anchorage in a creek in 12 feet of water and were surprised to see we had parked in the middle of absolutely nothing. Got to love that chart plotter.

The next morning we checked the NOAA report for the area and decided to try it again. Never, up until then, have I experienced a NOAA report to be accurate. And once again, it was off by about 120 degrees and the waves were much higher than they predicted. We only made it to the north end of Hilton Head Island (thankfully before the sun went down), and decided we would take the inside route the rest of the way to Florida. We did get stuck at a place called Devil’s Gate at low tide trying to find a way through, but only until we got enough weight up on the boom and out over the side and were able to reduce our five-foot draft enough to push through a little mud to a spot with six feet of water.

Well, that’s another story, and this is about the trip that did work out to Fernandina Beach. The difficulty Hod and I discovered was that with only two of us to stand watch out of Charleston, neither of us were really out of the cockpit for the next couple of days. Catnapping just doesn’t quite fulfill the need for rest. NOAA turned out to be pretty accurate and we were sailing the entire way. It was, when we felt rested enough to notice, a treat that most flatlanders will never get the chance to experience. I have to say it was the most remarkable sailing experience I had ever had (at least in a positive way) up until that point. Dolphins off the bow, the Milky Way overhead and the unceasing rhythm of the Atlantic were the perfect antibiotic for the hectic disease of civilization.

While we were clearly enjoying our voyage, the time awake was beginning to take its toll on both of us. Not on our friendship, mind you, which has managed to survive 60-plus years of living, but on our collective and individual judgment. As we approached the entrance to Fernandina Beach, I remembered that the rock jetties pushed out into the Atlantic around three miles. Since it was about 9:30 p.m. in January, they were not visible to the naked eye.

We had taken down the sails and cranked up the iron jenny as we turned Impulsive west into the entrance. At this point it is probably important to tell you that Hod had been taking some medications for a condition that has since cleared up, the side effects of which were the possibility of visual instability. Well, hallucinations really! At any rate, neither of us felt like we were at anywhere near 100% functioning, so anything manifesting itself out of thin air should not be a surprise. Our exhaustion, the lateness of the day, the darkness of the night and the fact that in front of us were these two fixed and immovable jetties that we could not see left us... well, me at least... a bit on edge.

The really positive aspect here was that the chart plotter clearly showed the jetties in front of us about 1/2 mile. It was at this point that two things happened. I don’t know if the first had to do with a solar flare or a temporary electronic malfunction, but the chart plotter did this spinning around on the screen and seemed completely unable to fix our position relative to the jetties. Hod, thinking fast, immediately went into the salon and grabbed my iPad, which has iNavx loaded onto it. He turned it on and booted up the chart plotting App. This would have worked beautifully if either of us had thought to dim the screen. Alas, neither of us did, until it was too late. Once we fixed our eyes on that screen, both of us were functionally blind to anything else.

At this point, my exhaustion was beginning to take hold and I was in the grip of absolute panic. The chart plotter had failed, I was blind, and the rock jetties were hungrily anticipating a meal of fi berglass and aluminum. I grabbed my iPhone and called Marty, who had been awaiting our arrival most of the day. He was at the marina and I briefed him... well more like screamed at him, about our circumstances and asked him to fi nd someone there who might give us some assistance. He managed to get the phone number of the Sea Tow’s “on call” representative.

This guy’s name was Capt. Joe. I have been a subscriber of Sea Tow for several years and had never had any need to call on them. I think Capt. Joe would have helped me even had I not been a member. I called him and gave him the brief, in I’m sure a panicky sounding state, of my condition and he proceeded to calm me down. Now, I’m thinking he was going to hop in a runabout and come meet us and guide us into the harbor. That initial thought gave me some relief from what was rapidly becoming an increasingly apoplectic state.

While this was happening, Hod was beginning to experience the potential side effects of his meds. He kept holding up the iPad to my face, re-blinding me, and I felt like I swatting fl ies to get that bright screen away from my eyes.

Capt. Joe was a stalwart of cool, calm and collected. He told me he could talk me in faster than he could come out to guide me in. I confessed that did not relieve the surging sense of panic I was feeling, but his continued calm eventually won out.

Meanwhile, while Capt. Joe was helping me acclimate to the lights on shore and getting me focused on the range markers, Hod suddenly told me we were about to run into a dock with people dancing on it. I peered out into the gloom, with Capt. Joe assuring me that there was no dock in front of me, searching for the scene Hod so convincingly told me was there. Once Capt. Joe got me lined up with the range markers and convinced me I was in the middle of the channel, safely away from the hungry jetties, I began to calm down. Now that I thought I had a handle on my panic I tried to calm Hod down. He screamed at me from the bow, where he was effectively blocking my ability to see the range markers while trying to help me peer into the darkness, that there was a tree directly in front of us. Capt. Joe heard my response and assured me that if the range markers were one on top of the other (and they were), I was in the middle of the channel and there were no trees there.

I do not know what those prescription drugs were that Hod was taking, but some night when I am safe and absolutely certain of surviving the night, I want to try some of that stuff! I think we may have found a legal way to take a trip and never leave the farm.

About this time, whatever had messed with my chart plotter decided to give it back to me. When the screen fl opped over into what I had been expecting all along, I could now clearly see Impulsive in the middle of the channel and the rock jetties beginning to fade into the distance.

As we entered the ICW and made the turn south towards the marina, I told Capt. Joe thanks for all

his help, and that I thought we were okay from that point to the marina. But he said he was going to stay with me on the phone until I saw the lights of the marina. I cannot thank Capt. Joe enough, and I never learned his last name. As we saw the lights of the marina and I tried to tell him how grateful I was for his help, he just said “That’s what we do at Sea Tow... we try to make sure people are safe!” He told me we should have a drink and toast him after we tied up. No problem there, amigo!

As we pulled up to the marina, there was Marty standing there waiting for us. It was about 10:30 p.m. The last hour was probably one of the most confusing and clarifying hours I had ever spent on a boat. Marty was waiting for the story, but not until after we had some wine. He is a bit of a wine afi cionado and had brought with him a couple of his favorite bottles, which we drained... and then some! He had also convinced the restaurant to stay open until we docked and had been able to get some nourishment. Once we had secured Impulsive to the dock, we sort of staggered up the ramp to the restaurant where Marty had stowed his gear and the wine, ordered something to eat, and Hod and I both started recounting our separate versions of what had become “a night to remember!”

Educating Lubbers

By Jim Bloom

As we drove away from the Marsh Harbour Airport, I turned around to fi rst-time cruisers, daughter Kary and grandsons Phillip and David (then 15 and 13 respectively) and said, “Remember this word, “WET.” I’ll tell you about it when we get to Snappa’s where we’re having lunch.”

Snappa’s, next door to Harbour View Marina, is a great place for lunch or dinner, they’re right on the water, have good food (nothing fried) and have a dinghy dock.

Three sides of the restaurant open onto the water with great views of the harbor and usually a breeze. On several nights a week they have live music and a very active bar. As our Leopard 42 catamaran, Valiant Lady 2, was anchored about a hundred yards away, it was a perfect place to leave the dinghy and have lunch on our return. Our guests also get a fl avor of the Bahamas right from the start.

After ordering and catching up on family news, one of the boys said, “Grandpa, you were going to tell us about WET.”

Our plan was working; they remembered to ask. “WET is very important to remember,” I said: • W is for Water, • E is for Electric, and • T is for Toilet.

All are very important on a boat and if not handled properly, any one of them can cause a lot of problems and in the worse case even sink the boat. That last one really got their attention. We explained... Water: There are two types of water, fresh and salt. We want to conserve fresh water and keep it in the boat. Salt water we want to keep out of the boat. Unlike home, we do not have a pipe running to the water company. We only have 210 gallons of fresh water on the boat for cooking, drinking and washing, so we can’t waste it by letting the water run. (They wouldn’t

have understood that for a sailboat, 210 gallons are a lot!) When we shower, we get our bodies wet, turn off the water, soap down, scrub, then rinse off. We don’t let the water run! (At his point I neglected to tell them about our 12 gallon/hour 12 volt Village Marine water maker.)

Electric: Again, we don’t have a cord to the electric company. All of our power comes from our batteries and we have to keep them charged. Use the electricity you need but don’t leave lights burning when you leave your cabin. If we drain the batteries, we won’t be able to start the engines or use anything on the boat that requires electricity. For a week I went around turning off lights when the boys were on deck; so much for the education. (I also neglected to tell them that the engine batteries were isolated from the house batteries. Oh well.)

Toilet: This is VERY important! Unlike the toilet at home, you don’t just fl ush it, you have to pump it. We’ll show you how to use it when we get on board. But you have to be aware of two things: one, if it’s not toilet paper and, two, if you have not already eaten it, it does NOT go into the toilet. That includes hair from your combs and brushes! When we show you how to use it we’ll point out a little lever that, if not in the right position, could possibly sink the boat.” (Nothing works like a little fear to get compliance.)

At this point I fi gured we gave them enough “rules” to remember and I didn’t want to overload them and spoil their trip. I knew there were more

rules coming; rules that we as cruisers take for granted and are onerous to the uninitiated.

Just about that time our mahi sandwiches and hamburgers arrived, so we settled down to some good food and more conversation. About the time we were fi nishing, one of the boys jokingly asked, “Grandpa, what about DRY?” Not to burden them with more rules, I just told them that DRY was important, but not as important as WET and we’d discuss that onboard.

After getting bags stowed, we showed them around the boat and taught them how to use the head. Here, we started with the nautical terms. We then explained that if they caused a problem with the head, we would provide the tools and the instruction as to how to disassemble the marine toilet so they could repair and/or remove whatever was stuck. (Again, fear does wonders in getting compliance.)

A week later the trio were quite comfortable on the boat and beginning to get the hang of it. In fact, our youngest grandson decided to stay aboard another two weeks and sail back to West Palm Beach with us.

“DRY,” however, is for another story.

HOME AWAY FROM HOME

Need a Break From Cruising? Off Season? Why Not Try Housesitting!

By Anne Mott

The clock was ticking, time was running out, and still we were no closer to determining where we would spend the summer months that lay ahead of us. It was late May and we were in the Sea of Cortez aboard our sailboat Outrider, a Westsail 42, anchored at Isla Coronados, roughly seven miles north of Loreto and 120 miles north of La Paz, Baja Peninsula, Mexico. Things were starting to warm up in the Sea, with daytime temperatures nearing the 90s, the slightly cooler evenings providing little to no relief. Outrider is our home, and since she stays behind in Mexico when we leave to escape the heat of the summer hurricane season, we would soon fi nd ourselves without a roof over our heads if we didn’t come up with a plan. Living aboard Outrider as she waited out hurricane season safely tucked away in a marina in La Paz would be one option, but not one we relished in that harsh, desert-like environment. Even with airconditioning aboard it would be unbearable, having to hibernate below like moles during the day, emerging only after the merciless sun had slipped away for the night, to shop for groceries at the nearby supermarket. Working outdoors on boat projects would be impossible. Spending four to fi ve months aboard in the northern Sea of Cortez up around the Bahia de Los Angeles area, as many cruisers do, did not hold much allure for us either, due to regular visitation by strong chubascos packing powerful winds, thunder and lightning, and always that never-ending heat that just sucks the life right out of you. None of these options would work for us, so I decided to take a quick look to see what the world of house-sitting had to offer as an alternative to sweating away our lives in purgatory. Lately I’d been checking out some websites that specialize in house and pet-sitting, and had eventually narrowed my viewing down to one website that worked best for me, Housecarers.com. They allow you to browse their entire site and see all their listings in full, prior to actually having to subscribe. Once you

fi nd a listing you like, you subscribe for $50/year, submit a profi le and photos, and are then free to contact the homeowner. I do believe they also offer a limited, free membership which allows you to join, browse, and receive house-sit alerts, but in order to post a profi le and photos, and contact homeowners, you do need to subscribe. The website is updated every couple of days. Some of the other websites I’ve looked at post sample listings from earlier periods, but nothing current, and you have to subscribe prior to being able to see current listings. I did not like the idea of having to pay before I could even see what a site had to offer. There are many house-sit sites on the internet, and these are just a few of them: www. mindmyhouse.com, www.housesittersamerica.com, www.caretaker.org But back to my search. Up until now nothing had caught my eye, but since my options at this point were pretty minimal, I decided to give it one more try. Luckily for me, we were able to pick up internet access from Loreto using the Telcel Banda Ancha, a broad-band (cell-tower) USB device. I quickly logged onto the computer, went straight to my favorites and clicked on Housecarers.com to see if anything new and exciting had been added to the database since I’d last checked a few days earlier. And there it was, the one I’d possibly been waiting for. The title of the advertisement which caught my eye included the words ‘California Coast,’ so I promptly clicked on the listing to read the details and found that it matched perfectly with our requirements for a house-sit, as far as length of sit, location, responsibilities and dates. I quickly signed up for my subscription even though we both had doubts that we’d be selected for this particular house-sit, since the ad had already been on the website for a couple of days. It was highly likely someone else had beaten us to it by now, as house-sitting has become very popular.

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The website urges you to pick a catchy title for your profi le as you are competing with hundreds of other house-sitters already on the site. I chose something that mentioned cruising and wanting to escape the hurricanes and heat of Mexico, then quickly submitted the profi le and photos of ourselves and our boat. I then contacted the homeowner via the website email system, which linked back to our profi le. In the email I explained in detail what our situation was, what our goals were, and how we could help them meet theirs. The homeowner contacted me within one day, promising to get back to me once he had reviewed all the applicants. I emailed him back immediately, thanking him for his response and offering to answer any questions or concerns he might have. He responded with a few questions, which I answered the same day. Since we had done two months of house/petsitting for cruising friends in Washington the previous summer, I emailed them requesting a reference which I then forwarded to the homeowner. He responded shortly thereafter to say that we had been selected to care for his pets and home. He mentioned that we would not need to pay for any utilities, and all we had to do in exchange for our fully furnished, wellequipped guest apartment was to take care of the two dogs, walk them twice daily, give them lots of love and affection, and keep an eye on the house. We agreed upon an arrival date that would allow us an overlap of fi ve days in order to familiarize ourselves with the dogs, the home, and the requirements of the owners before they left on their European vacation. The whole process, from the time we’d joined Housecarers.com to the time we got the nod of

The author’s boat, Outrider, a Westsail 42.

approval, had taken us no more than six days. How quickly our reality had changed. We had gone from looking at being displaced and unsure of our future, to taking care of the beloved pets and home of total strangers for three months. With a feeling of elation we made our way back to La Paz, prepped Outrider for hurricane season, and departed for the San Francisco Bay area to start our house-sit. We arrived on the chosen day, met the owners and their dogs, and learned the ropes over the next few days. We took plenty of notes, met neighbors, friends and other helpful contacts, all the while becoming more comfortable with the dogs, both very loving, sweet-natured and professionally trained. Taking care of dogs was new to us as we had always been cat people, but we had just recently lost Perkins, our beloved feline companion of 15 years, so we actually welcomed the idea of getting some muchneeded pet fi xes. Once we’d settled in and got

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to know the homeowners a little better, we asked them about their selection process, and how they had decided upon us. They told us that they’d chosen us above the 60 or so other applicants because we were cruisers, and they knew we would not be returning to Mexico before early October, which is when they would be returning from their overseas trip, as it is too hot south of the border until at least mid-October. It turns out that they themselves were cruisers, and had spent some time down in Mexico, so they understood our situation better than most. They were wonderful people, and made sure that we had everything we needed for our stay before they departed. In fact, they even put Jeff on their car insurance so that we could use their van to transport the dogs to and from the parks, instead of our own vehicle. The handoff went smoothly, the owners feeling confi dent about leaving their beloved dogs and home in our care. The dogs settled in nicely, and within a couple of days of the owners’ departure were responding quite well to our commands and hand signals. Despite our initial anxieties about sharing our living space with two big dogs (they each weighed about 65 lbs), the house-sit turned out to be a wonderful success. Since the dogs were so well behaved, it made things a lot easier, and quite quickly

we grew to love them as our own. We enjoyed our daily walks with them, all of us getting a healthy dose of exercise and fresh air as we explored nearby parks and neighborhoods. The crowning glory of our house-sit was the beautiful apartment overlooking the bay, which we got to call home for three months. We never tired of the stunning views we enjoyed right from our living room of the San Francisco skyline across the bay, Alcatraz and Angel Islands in the distance, the Bay Bridge, San Rafael Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge, sometimes shrouded in fog. All too soon it came to an end, and we were relieved of our responsibilities. The owners were very pleased with the way in which we had cared for their dogs and home in their absence, as well as having kept them apprised of their mail, urgent phone calls or other minor issues on a regular basis. In fact, the house-sit worked out so well that we’ll be going back there next summer for about six weeks, following a three-month house-sit for our cruising friends in Washington. House-sitting is defi nitely a win-win situation for everyone, as we cruisers end up with a place to call home for a while, and the home-owners get to experience peace of mind while away, knowing that their homes, and perhaps even pets, are being well cared for in their absence.