PAT’S CAT

REINVENTING MYSELF

In March of 1996, I lost my husband and partner of 25 years. I continued to run Metal Concepts, Inc. and our horse farm for the next 5 years, but in 1999, a man I met online talked me into buying a sailboat and going cruising. He lived in Maryland and had been sailing for 40-odd years. One day, he called and suggested I look at the boats on PDQ.com. It was a comprehensive website with a tremendous amount of information about sailing catamarans. Never having sailed myself, except as a guest a few times, I had many questions. After a few days, I called PDQ’s 800 number in Canada, and by chance, Simon Slater, the son of the PDQ designer answered the phone. After more

than an hour and a half, he’d convinced me of the safety, speed, and stability of the PDQ. I would probably have bought a boat right then except that there was a yearlong wait for a new one. Thus the search for a used PDQ began. My Maryland man and I looked at every PDQ on the market from Maryland to Florida, and fi nally, in August, we found hull number 45 in Florida. I purchased the boat in November 1999, but left her in Melbourne, Florida until summer 2001. Meanwhile, I sold my company, my horses, and my home, and my Internet boyfriend and I sailed the new boat up to Solomon’s Island in the Chesapeake in June 2001. Sadly, after a month on the waterway with the guy I had been thinking of as a signifi cant other, he became an insignifi cant other. He didn’t teach me to sail or handle the boat at all, and on Labor Day, 2001, I left Mr. Internet and moved aboard Pat’s Cat with Patrick, my cocker spaniel, and Dudley Do Wrong, my bobtailed cat. Many diff erent people helped me learn to sail and handle the boat.

LEARNING TO SAIL

The boat was docked at Solomen’s Island, Maryland. Neither Patrick (the dog), Dudley (the cat), nor I had ever spent much time on a boat—apart from my ill-fated and unpleasant trip to deliver the boat from Florida to Maryland with Mr. Wrong at the helm. I didn’t know how to sail and the other two weren’t much help. So there we were. What do we do next? Where do we go and how do we get our sizeable boat there? Hmmmm! Thank goodness for the kindness of people in the yachting community. A really nice power boater spent a week or so teaching me to maneuver with the two engines. Some other folks would come aboard, and I would take the boat out into Chesapeak Bay, hoist the sails and try to make her move in a forward direction. It was a while before I could tack without putting her in irons. (That’s going backwards for landlubbers.) Every time the engines started, Dudley hid under the pillows and Patrick trembled. When we left the dock, Duds really panicked. He lived in his litterbox like Garfi eld for a while. Patrick adopted a worried look, but since I seemed okay, he would eventually curl up under my feet at the helm. Shortly after our move onto the boat, 9/11 happened. Since we were located at the confl uence of the Patuxent and Potomac Rivers, right across a small bay from Pax River Naval Station and only 56 miles from Washington, D.C., the mood around the marina—in fact, the entire area—was very subdued. The U.S.A. had been attacked at her very heart, and no one knew what to do or where to go. A boat didn’t seem like such a bad place to be right then. I made sure we had plenty of provisions and kept her fueled at all times. About that time, Dr. Heather arrived. She had spent the previous nine months cruising the Bahamas single-handed on a 27’ Albin sailboat. At 40 years of age, she’d gotten tired of the Canadian medical system, and left on her boat. Almost every day, she would come to my boat and take me out to drill me on how to sail. She was an excellent sailor and a great teacher, and when I decided to make my maiden voyage as captain going north to Annapolis for the boat show in October, she agreed to go along as crew. Patrick and Dudley rounded out the rest of the crew.

ANNAPOLIS BOAT SHOW

The annual Annapolis boat show opened on a Friday and ran through the weekend. My crew and I decided to leave on Tuesday for the one-day trip so we could fi nd a good anchorage before everyone else got there. We threw off the dock lines about 8:30 in the morning. As soon as we cleared the harbor, Dr. Heather insisted we hoist the main and jib and turn off the motors. There was a fair breeze and we were making six-to-seven knots on a broad reach with the sails close-hauled. At the time, I had no idea what a broad reach was, and I sure didn’t know what close-hauled sails were, but I took Heather’s word for it and pointed the boat’s nose (I now know the pointy end is called the bow) north toward Green Marker 77.

Previous Page: Pat’s Cat docked outside Pat’s 142 Marina Bay Drive house in Florida, and Pat sitting on the coach roof with Patrick. Below: Dudley Do Wrong napping in a pile of pillows. Facing page: Detail from the Pat’s Cat sales brochure. The morning view from Pat’s balcony at 142 Marina Bay.

We sailed and sailed aaannnd sailed, but Marker 77 didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Our speed dropped to 1 to 1½ knots. After an hour of so of this with a lot of sail trimming and the auto pilot set, I was standing in the cockpit thinking, “What in the world has happened to my beautiful boat? At least I’m on the way to Annapolis and I’ll just look for a buyer.” Meanwhile, I’m sure Heather was thinking, “What a pig of a boat! What’s the big deal about speedy catamarans?” About that time, I walked to the back end of the boat, which I now know is the stern, and looked over the dinghy which had been blocking our view. It appeared we were dragging something. I called Heather over to confi rm my observation. We both watched it for another 15 or 20 minutes. We shut everything down and snagged a line that didn’t belong there with a boat hook. We pulled it up and tried to no avail to winch it in. Finally, after a tremendous eff ort, a mud-fi lled crab trap appeared. We had been dragging that thing for hours and still hadn’t gotten to Marker 77. Can you imagine the ride those crabs had had? We cut the line loose and released the trap. Fortunately we hadn’t had the motors running or the prop would have been fouled and ruined. But there was still something hung in the rudder. I wanted to just start the left engine (now I know to call the left side of the boat the port side) and proceed to Marker 77, but Heather cautioned there there might be something humg on that side as well. She put on her wetsuit and went into the cold, cold water to clear the rudder and props. Finally, we got back underway and passed Marker 77 en route to Annapolis. We had spent the entire day making just a few miles. Our one-day trip had turned into two, and at about 4:00 p.m., we dropped anchor in Hunting Bay. An interesting aside is that Hunting Bay is below author Tom Clancy’s home where Clear and Present Danger was fi lmed. The next morning, Heather taught me to sail off the anchor, and we proceeded to Annapolis, arriving at about 1:00 p.m. Back Creek seemed like the best spot to anchor. It was already getting crowded, but we managed to fi nd a spot and settle in. Patrick was very happy to hop in the dinghy and go for a run in a nearby park. Thus, the fi rst half of my fi rst voyage as Captain Pat concluded.

GETTING MY SEA LEGS

On November 11 th , 2001, a new cruising friend came by the boat and said, “Let’s go to the Bahamas.” My one cruise as Captain had taken place a month earlier when Dr. Heather and I had sailed up to Annapolis for the boat show, so it still scared the devil out of me to think of attempting a Bahamas venture by myself. Nevertheless, in less than 2 hours, I threw off the dock lines and followed two boats out into Chesapeake Bay and headed south. One of the gals from one of the other boats came aboard with me and we sailed off with 25 knot winds directly astern. We set the sails wing and wing and clipped along at 12 knots surfi ng waves as we sailed down the Bay. What a glorious feeling! Captain Pat was at the helm. Along the way, people would ask where I was going, and my answer was simply, “south.” I had no idea where I was going. The thought of navigating the big ports of Norfolk, Charleston, and BeaufortMoorhead City terrifi ed me, but I made it through all of them without being rammed by a single freighter. I had good charts and excellent navigation equipment (not that I knew how to use most of it), and I learned a lot about navigation on that trip down the Intracoastal Waterway— sort of on the job training. At Dowry Creek Marina in Belhaven, North Carolina, I decided to stop for a few days while the other two boats continued south without me. I phoned Rex Ageton, a friend who lived in Denver, and without hesitation, he hopped on a plane to North Carolina to act as my crew for the remainder of the trip. I was forced to face another lingering fear two days south of Belhaven when I experienced my fi rst soft grounding in an area that was supposed to have had enough water. I got to try out my “unlimited towing” insurance from BoatUS. That $99 was well spent.

On December 22 nd , I pulled into the Smyrna Marina in New Smyrna Beach, Florida, intending to stay only 2 days. Rex needed to return to Denver, and New Smyrna is close to Orlando and with its big airport. All the other boaters at the marina received me with open arms, so I stayed. One year later, I am writing this from a slip at the Smyrna Marina. I love the community of New Smyrna Beach, Florida.

During this last year, I have cruised to the Abacos for the month of June. With a couple of friends on board, we cruised up and down the Cays, anchoring in some of the most beautiful clear water with gorgeous white sand beaches imaginable. In mid-October, I sailed down to Key West for Fantasy Fest and the annual Jimmy Buff ett Meeting of the Minds convention. For most of my cruising I have had crew onboard, but have sailed single-handed a time or two when crew was not available. Just last week, I left Key West alone and sailed to Key Largo before I picked up a crew member. It was my fi rst time to set and trim sails all by myself, and it was particularly satisfying and exciting to overtake a 52’

Beneteau that had left Key Largo an hour ahead of me. To say I have not been scared would be a lie, but it has been go by myself or stay tied up to the dock. Again, my many cruising friends have been a great support group extending the hand of friendship all along the way and continuing to tell me that I can do it. The catamaran generally and the PDQ particularly is very forgiving and easy to handle for a neophyte sailor like me. I have learned a lot about boat handling and diesel engines during this last year, doing most of the routine maintenance myself. People always seem surprised that a 60-something, 5’2”, 105-pound woman would be single-handing a 36’ boat. It’s particularly gratifying to see the expressions on the faces of the dock admirals when I side-slip her alongside the dock or back her into tight space with a mere whisper against the dock. I have received a few standing ovations. The only thing that could make this experience better would be to share the wonderful sunrises and glorious sunsets with a beloved partner. It truly is an experience to be shared. Patrick and Dudley don’t get very excited about the sunrises and sunsets. When I say, “Hey, guys, take a look at this sunset,” they answer with, “Where are the Kibbles and Bits?”

Above: Captain Pat on Green Turtle Cay in the Abacos—June, 2002 . At left: Oh, the yachtie shenanigans! Pat’s Cat got TP’d.

At bottom: The logo Mike Davis drew for Pat’s Cat.