Good Juice – Page 5 – Have Wind Will Travel

May 25, 2013 (yes, still!) – The Crossing Finale – Total Domestication

September 18, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

Once we got the “recycle” system in place, we could finally take a breath and kick back and enjoy the passage, intermittently at least. The drip was pretty steady and Dasani bottles just aren’t that big,so they were filling pretty fast. And I’ll tell you one thing duct tape adhesive does not like. That’s heat. The hotter it got down there near the engine, the gummier and gooier and less ‘adhesive’ our adhesive. And, the more I kept sticking pieces in the same place, the less they stuck. So, the catch-bin needed constant monitoring when the engine was running. About every thirty minutes or so we had to cut the engine to let her cool, so I could pull out the Dasani bottle and check the level.

Yep, she’s full!

Then pour the ‘caught’ fluid back in the transmission and pull the dipstick to make sure she was nice and coated.

Yep, all pink!

Then tape a new, empty catch bottle back up and start the whole process again. And, I guess because the engine just happened to be in the kitchen (well, under the sink) that job fell on me. That’s right, Phillip had me right where he wanted me, cooking, cleaning and fluid-catching in the kitchen.

“Make sure you change the oil down there too, honey, before you start dinner.”

“Yes, dear!”

Yep. Phillip had me all domesticated right and proper, handling all of my domestic obligations in the kitchen, including engine duty, like a real ladies maid. Emily Post would be super proud!

Screw Emily Post. We all know what Annie really does in the kitchen …

That’s right, make sure the wet bar is fully stocked and throw a rum drink together, stat! In all of my checking and changing and taping and sticking, I still found time to throw us together some hearty sea drinks.

We have actually named this particular drink the Oh Shiiiiit! (yes, with five “i”s) in honor of Phillip’s knee-jerk, expletive reaction when he had his first sip.

For those 14 and over (at least that’s when I started) – mix as follows:

1.5 ounces Malibu Coconut rum

1 ounce dark Meyer’s rum

1 ounce pineapple juice

0.5 ounce orange juice

And a splash of Coco Lopez (optional – it makes it a little heavier but gives it that real island flavor)

Drink responsibly.

Trust me, we did. Only one (each). Captain’s orders while on passage. And, always with food (everyone needs a good soaker layer). What do you think goes best with rum drinks??

Chips and salsa. Of course!

Complete with fancy salsa clip bowl, too, perfectly suited for a sloshing, sailing, salsa feast!

And yet I still manage to miss my mouth.

It’s a real talent. But, you know, if you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to want a glass of milk to go with it. Turns out if you give a sailor some chips and salsa, he, too, is going to want a sammich to go with it.

Yum! “Now save those Dasani bottles!”

The wind even started to pick up after lunch and we were finally able to kill the engine. My God what a glorious feeling. She sputters and rattles to a stop and then it’s just quiet. So … quiet. All you can hear is the wind whistling through the sails and the splash of the water on the hull as the boat moves through the Gulf. We had a great sail that afternoon. The wind was blowing around 12-15 mph, more south, southeast now, which helped ease us around Cape San Blas

mostly on a broad reach. (No, that’s not when a hooker goes for your wallet. It’s an official sailing term, but I’ll save that little nugget for another day).

But, as the wind always does, she started to really blow (I told you she was a bitch!). She picked up to about 18 to 20 as we sailed into the night. The sea state was 3 to 4 foot waves, and the boat was cooking. We were doing about 6.5 knots all night, with spurts of 7 and 7.5, particularly while I was holding the wheel. I couldn’t imagine you could get tired holding the wheel of a sailboat, but it took some real muscle to hold our course.

Thank goodness I’d been hitting the gym! Ain’t that right, Sonnie??

We decided to reef the Jenny in (that is, roll her back up a bit so there’s not so much sail exposed to catch the wind) about half-way through the night. In all, it was a bit of a rough sail, but nothing like the initial Crossing from Punta Gorda so we weathered it fine. Phillip even fell asleep a couple of times, this time withOUT one eye open, but still right next to me in the cockpit. I was thrilled to see him sleeping, finally, but pissed that he’d left the radio on the freaking Delilah show. Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about. All you closet 94.1 fans. That all-time lover of love.

De-liiiiiiii-luuuuuhhh!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9v2-q_byiY

All. Freaking. Night. Long. Okay, for just like an hour and half, but it was the longest hour and a half of my life. But, with Delilah in our corner and all her sappy love song dedications to keep us entertained, we made it through the night. Having fought the wind all night, we were pretty beat the next morning. While trucking on to Port St. Joe was an option, we decided to set our sights for Panama City and stay a night at the marina to get a good, not-so-Eagle-eye, night’s rest. The wind turned right on our nose as we were coming into the pass so we had to do some motoring into Panama City, which meant more engine work for Annie. But we pulled into the pass around 9:00 a.m. and got ready to dock her.

Now, I really was nervous this time. This was only our fourth time docking our boat. The first time was in Clearwater. The wind was blowing around 25 mph off our stern then and I missed the stern pole but luckily we had two corn-fed hosses holding us off the dock. The second time was in the Carrabelle River. The water was glass and we had Mitch. The third time I’m not sure you would really even call it a “docking,” per se. That was when the engine cut out in the River and we had to throw out an anchor and throw the Catamaran guy a line and he walked us around to a dock. That doesn’t really count. This time was going to be a true ‘docking,’ and it was just Phillip and I. No Mitch, no hosses, no corn (if that would help). Let me just tell you, docking is super stressful. Phillip has told me before, if you really want some entertainment, watch a couple try to anchor or dock. There’s usually tons of shouting involved, finger-pointing, perhaps some dock or boat wreckage, all sorts of excitement. That’s because it’s stressful! One wrong move, one missed cleat and your boat, your beautiful, glossy, water-tight boat goes crashing into the dock or worse, the million dollar yacht next to it. Not something you want to screw up. I think this little gem pretty much sums it up:

Very informative. But, there we were, our first time docking together. Phillip had given me the best instruction he could. “Watch the wind to see which way it’s pushing the boat and catch a cleat on the leeward side.” Yes, that’s the best instruction Phillip could give. He can sometimes be a little ‘stern’ when he’s barking orders from the stern. But, he’s stressed. I get it. He’s driving the boat in. He needs a first mate that just knows what to do, not one that requires hand-holding. Thankfully he has that now, but I’m here to tell you he did not have that then. I couldn’t tell for the life of me which way the wind was pushing the boat, if there even was wind, and I had no clue which side was leeward. Leeward? Really? I had barely wrapped my heard around port and starboard at that point.

I was freaked. Phillip had the wheel and I had about three lines tied to different cleats all over the damn boat, ready to tie her any which way. Phillip started to pull her into the slip and I, ready as ever, Little Mate that Could, jumped off the boat prepared to tie anything. Tie … anything. TIE. Damnit! I had jumped off the boat without a line in hand. Brilliant! I stood on the dock knowing I had just royally screwed up. Phillip shouted “Okay, now tie that bow line on the … ” but as the words came out of his mouth he looked up and saw my empty, useless hands, holding not a dock line, a beautiful, woven, boat-saving dock line, but rather, merely held up, empty, in the most apologetic of shrugs. I guess Phillip needed to check the flowsheet to see what to do when: Mate stands helpless as boat drifts off.

All I could see were the whites of Phillip’s eyes as I stood there helpless, useless, while the boat continued her steady, forward creep toward the dock.

May 23, 2013 – The Crossing Finale – Oysters and Beer

August 29, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

The day finally came. May 23rd, and we were headed back to Apalachicola to finally bring our boat home. We hitched a ride again with our sail groupies – you remember these guys – Phillip’s fabulous folks:

We loaded up the truck again with all the tools, supplies and food (aka, the “provisions”) we would need to make another passage.

I also had the pleasure of opening a few little gifts on the drive over as it seemed yours truly had a big “day” coming up.

That’s right, I saw fit to grace this world with my presence during the early morning hours of May 28, 1982.

“Delivers only the best … ” You’re damn right they do!

The gifts were great. I certainly do enjoy birthdays. I couldn’t help but notice, though, they were all different versions of soaps, scrubbers and other self-cleaning products. Perhaps Mary was trying to tell me something?? She’ll be glad to know I put them to good use on that trip. For five minutes after each of the 1.5 showers I took during that 5-day passage, I was fresh as a daisy!

We stopped back in Apalachicola before making our way over to Carrabelle to check on the boat and spent a delightful afternoon walking around downtown, poking our heads in quaint little shops and, basically, just smelling the roses.

We came across some neat old relics:

Some creative artwork:

And some fitting words of wisdom:

That Ben Franklin sure was a smart guy. Alcohol always makes me happy!

But, we had a lot to do to get the boat ready for the last leg of The Crossing, so it was off to Carrabelle to check on her and get her all packed up.

How’s that cockpit looking Mary? “It’s ready to go!”

How about the crew Paul? “I don’t want this one to go!”

As I look back through these photos, it seems Phillip did most of the “checking” while me and the groupies just engaged in a fun photo op. Sorry Phillip!

Yeah, that’s me, doing wildly inappropriate things behind Phillip. Very mature …

We did meet with Mechan-Eric to take a look at the transmission he had put in and saddle up, of course. Funny thing how they want to get paid after doing work. I mean … Eric was great, though. He had done a good job for us and had finished up the job just in time for us to sail her home. He walked us through what all he had done and cranked the engine. It was the first time we had heard her turn over in a month. She grumbled and sputtered and started purring! I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more glorious sound. She was running! Eric showed us the transmission, which he had painted a bright, cherry red to match the signature color of the engine, and shifted her through the gears (drive, neutral and reverse) so we could see the transmission at work. Everything looked great. We gave it the old Roger Ebert and we were ready to go!

We decided to celebrate and polish the evening off with some oysters and beer (is there any better way?) at Eric’s family’s salty sea bar across the river – Fathoms. And, I tell you, I’m not really an oyster fan. I mean, they look like snot rockets in a shell, but I have to say, these were the best darn oysters I’ve ever slurped down.

Not snotty at all!

The oysters, that is. These two here are pretty snotty!

We ate our fill and admired our boat across the river.

Yep – that’s her!

I swear I could see her little stern wagging. Like a sad-eyed puppy at the pound that had finally been picked! We were going to scoop her up and take her home with us! First thing in the morning, too. And, I do mean first thing. Phillip and I were planning to get up and going before sunrise, so we needed some rest. We bid our sail groupies adieu, enjoyed one last Carrabelle sunset in the cockpit and shut her down for the night.

May 11, 2013 – Such Great Heights

August 14, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

After the bad news from Kevin about the batteries, we tried to call the marina in Carrabelle several times to get Mechan-Eric or a technician, anyone, on the phone to make sure our boat was plugged in and getting a charge. I finally got a woman on the line who said she’d “look into it” but I got the impression she was less than enthused and not nearly as concerned about our boat as we were. Or, scratch that, not nearly as concerned I felt she needed to be.

It sounded like she was writing my name and number down while painting her nails and twirling her hair, planning to leave them on a flimsy post-it note on the desk of someone who was already gone for the day. I was less than pleased with her response.

But it was Thursday. And, whether I went postal on her or not (which I didn’t – thinking she could light a match to the boat if she wanted to – best not to piss off the caretakers), we were not going to feel comfortable about the batteries until we went down there ourselves to see what kind of charge they would hold, if any. When we got back to the boat on Friday night, she was plugged in but only had about three (out of four) bars. That meant she was not yet fully charged but she was taking a charge, which was a good sign. When we had left her the weekend before she had NO bars – nothing, zilch, nada. So, some bars were good.

Now, I think it’s time for a fun little battery tutorial, don’t you? Because I now know way more than I ever want to about marine batteries and if I had to suffer through it, alas, so do you! So, shall we?

This is our E-Meter which shows four different readings for the batteries (these are the four circles under the “18.3” reading) from left to right:

1. “V” for Volts: Our battery bank is wired for 12 volt output. Meaning, the volts reading should ideally show around 12.5 – 12.6 volts (at max charge – a little over 12).

2. “A” for Amps: This reading (which is lit) is showing 18.3 amps are going into the battery because it’s plugged in and receiving a charge. This reading indicates the flow of amps either in (a positive number when the battery is receiving more charge than it is discharging) or out (a negative number when there is more discharge, like when we use it to run the fridge, lights, etc. while not simultaneously charging it). Much like a tank of gas, the batteries have a capacity to hold only a certain number of amps (i.e., gallons of fuel). Ours holds 450, so when we’ve burned 50 amps off and don’t re-charge it, we’ve only got 400 left, no more.

Knowing this, you start to get real familiar with just how many amps certain appliances are going to “cost” you. For instance, the fridge pulls about 4-5 amps/hour, the lights and fans another 1-2/hour, and these are purely luxuries (you can always bring ice and use flashlights). As you can imagine, it’s easy to start getting real “Scrooge-ey” with use of electronics on the boat.

Turn that light off would ya? It ain’t Christmas!

But, Scrooge or not, there are some things you simply HAVE to run whether you like it or not: a mast headlight so other boats can see you when you’re at anchor (1-2 amps/hour), navigation lights (bow, stern and mast) so other boats can see you when you’re under way at night (2-3 amps/hour), etc. Hence the all important “Ah” amp hour reading.

3. “Ah” for Amp Hours: This reading shows you how many “amp hours” you have pulled off of the battery, much like the needle on your fuel gauge. If the amp hours are showing roughly half of your 450 amps (around 225) remain, you’ve used about half of your tank of gas. Which begs the question: how long can I go on a half tank? That’s where the time reading comes in.

4. “t” for Time: This is the total time you have left on the batteries based on your usage and is akin to the number of miles you can go on the remaining gas in your tank. As you know, the faster you go, the less miles you can travel on that tank. Similarly, the more appliances you use, the less “time” you have left on the batteries. And, just as you don’t want to suck up all the rusty junk floating around in the bottom of your fuel tank, you don’t want to let your batteries get down below 50% because it’s not good for them. So, when you near the half-way mark, you should really try to give the batteries a charge (either by running the engine or plugging in if you have access to shore power).

See? All very interesting stuff that you can impress your friends with at cocktail parties.

Oh Bob … Your amp hour calculations are so exciting they make my head spin. Ha, ha ha!

Trust me, everyone is dying to know about marine batteries. I promise, just ask them. If they say they’re not, I would just walk away. They’re clearly boring people.

So, we let ours charge up fully and then unplugged her and kept the fridge and some lights running to see if she would actually “hold” a charge. It wouldn’t help anyone if she showed four bright shiny bars when we set off into the Carrabelle River only to drop down to nothing the minute we got back in the Gulf. This is what Kevin told us can happen when batteries are completely drained and re-charged. But, we were apparently lucky – this time. We watched her for two hours and she held a steady charge, which gave us hope.

With the battery situation now put to rest, we set our sights on the Genny and getting her raised back up on the forestay. (Recall that’s the wire that runs from the mast to the front of the boat that the Genny furls around).

Well, I’ll tell you we learned a very valuable lesson that day. “Don’t let go of the halyard!” That may mean nothing to you, but you’re about to see why it’s so darn important. It’s something terribly basic but easy to forget. Like the sailing equivalent to “Don’t crowd the mushrooms!” Such brilliant advice.

Thanks Julia!

So, the halyard. On a boat, that’s any line (which, remember, is a rope) that is used to raise a sail. On our boat, there is a clamp on the end of the halyard that pulls the Genny sail back up the forestay. After we had dropped the Genny halyard from the top of the mast down to the bow of the boat to lower and take off the Genny, we promptly pulled the halyard right back up to the top of the mast, thinking “What a nice, safe place for it. I’m sure it’ll drop right back down when we need it to … ”

We were dumb. So dumb. Julia herself should’ve slapped us.

BAM!

Because I’ll tell you what didn’t happen. That halyard didn’t drop. Wouldn’t drop. We shook and banged the line, hoping the clamp on the end of the halyard would vibrate and wiggle down, but it wouldn’t budge. So, I remind you again, “Don’t let go of the halyard!” Now, how does this all translate to entertainment for you? Trust me, it does. Because guess whose happy little ass had to climb that 50 foot mast to get the halyard down. Uh-huh … That’s right. Yours truly. Albeit a bonehead move and not one I think we will make again anytime soon (let’s hope), that little mistake of ours took me to such great heights:

And there she goes …

Annie are you okay? Would you tell us? That you’re okay?

I’m okay!

That is one tall mast let me assure you. And, you may be wondering how the heck you climb a thing like that. Years of training with Tibetan ninjas, that’s how.

But I think I’ve enlightened you enough for one day. I’ll save that post for another. I’ll tell you, though, it really did feel incredible up there. Every tiny little rock of the boat is magnified and it feels like you’re swaying from side to side like blowing with the wind in the top of a tall pine (when the boat below appears to be standing perfectly still). Funny thing about climbing a mast, though. It seems to attract a crowd. A bunch of old salts, who clearly had nothing better to do, started to gather around as I ascended, telling Phillip “Woman like that oughta have a sister!”

I do. She just didn’t get the looks in the family so we don’t really like to acknowledge her.

Poor thing. I don’t know what she’s made of herself. Probably nothing nearly as cool as a sailor-slash-blogger. Not nearly.

The good news is I made it down safe and sound and the boat was looking ready to go. We emptied out the fridge and turned off all the electronics so she would stay juiced up no matter the “plug” situation. Mechan-Eric told us they were expecting the new transmission to arrive the next week and then they would drop it in there. All seemed right with the world, so Phillip and I headed home to start planning the last leg of The Crossing – over drinks and dinner of course! Phillip made us his famous pan-seared grouper and mushroom risotto with sauteed spinach to celebrate the big climb:

Because he’s just kind of amazing that way.

May 4, 2013 – A Little TLC

August 2, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

So … a new transmission. That’s what we were debating anyway. There was the option to rebuild the old one. Mechan-Eric told us he could take it apart and look at it to see what condition it was in, but we knew we had put that thing under some serious strain, I mean — enough heat to make her lock up, fracture and ultimately fail. That’s a lot of heat, right George?

Oh yeeaahhh.

For a small price bump and a lot of peace of mind, we decided to just go ahead and replace it. Eric found one on Ebay for us but the stupid seller wouldn’t let him buy it and get it shipped out until the auction ended (15-20 days) and there is no way we could wait that long for the boat. We were jonesing to get back out there. So, enter our broker, Kevin, super-sailor and (on this day) solver of all problems. Kevin found us a transmission on Craigslist that was just right. Some sailboat guru down in Jacksonville had a brand new one he had bought a year ago for a project boat that he never got around to.

Can’t imagine why …

Regardless, it was just sitting on his shelf so he was nice enough to sell it to us for a smooth $2,300. Ouch! Boats hurt the bank! But, our boat was parked in Carrabelle and the only way to get her home was to slap a new transmission in there, so we clicked and bought baby! Our new transmission was on its way.

In the meantime, we couldn’t just leave her sitting there all alone in a strange place, weird barnacles growing on her and fish nipping at her, and no one to wipe her deck and tell her how “purdy” she is. Uh-huh. Not our boat! So, we headed down to the ole’ Apalach area to pay her a visit (it was the first of many we would make down there) and give her a little TLC. We had several things we wanted to do – inspect the bilge to make sure we didn’t have any significant leaks, get the propane tank to have it re-filled, make sure the stuff in the fridge was still cold and take down the head sail (the “Genny,”) so we could have the UV cover re-sewn as the surveyor noted in his survey it was starting to rip and it really started fraying and flapping during The Crossing. You know, real interesting boat stuff. (Remember, I told you sailing is hard work – don’t you forget it!).

But, we really fell in love with the sleepy little downtown area in Apalachicola. We had a great time piddling around in all the little shops, sipping some local brew and booze and mixing in with the regulars. We particularly enjoyed the Owl Café (http://www.owlcafeflorida.com/). Phillip had been there before (seriously – there’s nowhere the man hasn’t been) and he was impressed with the gourmet grub, so this time we decided to check out their more casual Tap Room around the corner:

I loved that old rickety bar,

with the ‘helm’ they made out of quirky beer taps.

Creaking floors and clinking beer mugs. That place was great. We strolled right in and asked for a drink!

Phillip’s got some serious ‘swag.’

We scarfed some phenomenal crab cake burgers and washed them down with beer and bright, fruity cocktails.

Yum!

To sum it up:

But, we were eager to get to the boat to see how she was doing and get started on our projects. So, it was on to Carrabelle to check her out. We were thrilled to find she was still tied up, plugged in and seemingly chipper. I swear she wagged her stern a little bit when we walked up.

Phillip couldn’t wait to get to her and give her a little pat on the head.

Hey there girl!

We got the head sail down and started mopping up the bilge with sponges:

A lovely job that left my mits looking very lady-like. Emily Post would not approve!

We also visited with our “boat neighbor” who was tied up next to us at the dock and who claimed to be ‘piddling around on the boat’ to avoid the ‘nagging Misses.’ Can’t blame him there. But, he took a real liking to Phillip (can’t blame him there either) and followed him around like a lost puppy, curious to get into whatever he was getting into. “What ya doing now?” He would say, every couple-a-minutes. But he was quite the character, with a hot bod.

That’s right ladies, take it in:

And, a rockin’ 70’s bowl haircut. Like Captain & Tennille:

But far more Tennille than Captain. (And just in case anyone felt the same – Captain sure was giving me a creepy serial killer vibe in this pic … Staring at me with those beady eyes … *shiver* )

Our neighbor was a lot of fun, though, and he offered us up some great wine (real easy way to win us over – works every time!). We shared a glass with him, toasted the sunset and shut her down for the night.

April 26, 2013 – Comfort Food

July 26, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

We spent the day Friday working (despite all deceptive blog content to the contrary – we do, in fact, have day jobs, which we certainly needed to keep in light of our impending boat-related bankruptcy) and recovering from our kite session the day before. (Kiting has a tendency to make you sore in places you didn’t even know existed!). Particularly when you master tricks like this:

Which I can assure you I did NOT. I’m about 834 lessons away from it though (and still sore all the same).

We finally got a call from Eric the mechanic in Carrabelle with some good news and bad. Doesn’t it seem that’s always the case. He had taken the engine apart and it didn’t seem the problem was with the engine. A big whopping “Whew!” from the Plaintiff’s Rest crew! He initially had thought that water on the heads was preventing the engine from turning, but he had taken it apart and found no water. He then found what he thought could be metal shavings in the oil filter which he told us was a particularly bad sign. That meant something in the engine had likely failed and locked up. He examined the entire engine, top and bottom, but nothing. That left the transmission, which he planned to take apart and have a look at in the next few days.

We were a bit relieved that it wasn’t the engine. Replacing those puppies can be very expensive with the cost of a new engine running in the $10k range. Of course, that’s just the cost of the engine, not the labor to put it in and actually install it (we’re talking thousands in labor). Anyone know a good bankruptcy attorney? (I do!) Not a small chunk of change, and not a price anyone is happy to pay, particularly so right we had just shelled out some serious change to buy the dang boat. But, we were not pleased to hear about the metal shavings and likely failure. The repair was likely going to require a rebuild or replacement of whatever part had failed. We knew we were going to have to put up some more dough.

Depressed and downtrodden, we did exactly what I did when I didn’t get asked to prom: made some comfort foods and ate our feelings:

Yum! I’ll have three please, but with a Diet Coke … I’m trying to watch my weight.

We did make some dough of our own, though (pizza dough) and put together some killer home-made thin-crust pizzas.

The trick is to keep pressing and spreading it until it’s paper thin, almost see-through, to get that great crispy thin crust.

One grilled chicken and home-made pesto with mozzarella.

The other – fig, prosciutto, arugula and bleu cheese.

Un-friggin-believable. Trust me. And, with plenty of wine, of course.

Hottie McToddie!

Ruin this savory Italian feast with a Diet Coke? Please! We settled on a nice pinot and didn’t stop until the bottle was empty and every morsel was devoured.

We relished the feast, toasted the sunset and called it a night

We hoped for some “good-er” news about the engine next week. We were all bad news-ed out.

April 17-23, 2013 – The Crossing: Chapter Three – By the Moon

June 9, 2013May 23, 2014anniedike

After a beautiful sunset and a warm meal, we settled in and sailed all through the night on Thursday. If you’ve never done it before, never felt that feeling, it will be hard to conjure. I don’t know if I can really capture it but I, of course, am going to try. I remember before the trip I had asked Phillip, “How do you see at night?” Now, understand this question came from the same, silly girl that asked him when we bought the boat, “So … how are they going to ship the boat to us?” So I would have completely understood if Phillip had tilted his head to one side and patted me on the head slowly like I was a lame dog while he answered, but I really felt like this was a legitimate question. How could we travel across the Gulf in total darkness? What if another ship didn’t have their lights on? Or what if there was some other inanimate object out there – an unknown land mass, a whale … an iceberg?? Okay, an iceberg was very unlikely, but I was ready with my big one-line acting debut if it did occur (Brittish accent and all: “Iceberg, right ahead!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2TAX0bgWIps). But, I really was unsure how we were going to be able to see to sail at night. And, while the answer Phillip gave me seemed impossible at the time, I now know it is true: by the moon. Without all the glare and reflection of city lights, the moon and stars and their reflection on the water, illuminate everything. You can see the entire boat, all the way up to the bow, and for miles out across the water. And, you can hear the boat, harnessing nothing more than the wind, gliding through the water, making way in the darkness. It’s incredible.

This may give you a glimpse, but it will never do it justice: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uG4zR46RpZE. I will never forget my first night sail.

Mitch shone that night, too. That night he taught me how to “sight sail.” To understand, I’ll have to give you a small sailing lesson. When you’re making a passage from one point to another (usually one marina or anchorage to another), assuming it’s a straight shot, you have to find your heading. Without highways, street signs or land markers of any kind, it’s kind of hard to know exactly where the heck you’re going when it’s just you and the horizon. Hence, your heading. This is a number, a degree between 1 and 360 that you need to hold to travel a straight path to your destination. Now, you can calculate your heading the old-school way with charts and a parallel ruler and compass rose, which would make you about as exciting as this guy:

Or you can new-age it by plugging your destination into your fancy, schmancy GPS and it will spit out your heading. Now, how exactly do you hold that heading? (Much like a reservation – it only works if you hold it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4jhHoHpFXc). Forgive me but I just love that bit and have been dying to find the perfect place to use it. And, if you don’t think this was the perfect place, I’m eager to hear your comments. Please be sure to properly log your complaint in my newly-created complaint box at www.idontcare.com).

So, holding your heading. It’s fairly easy. Every boat is equipped with a great big compass right at the helm. You’ll see it here in this pic just behind the wheel.

The compass has North, East, South, West on it, with the accompanying 360 degrees (North is 0, South is 180 and you can figure out the others in between – if you can’t, know that I thought much more of you and am thoroughly disappointed. East is 90 and West 270). One great big circle. The aforementioned GPS also tells you what “degree” you’re traveling on. So, you can watch the compass or the GPS to make sure you’re staying at or near your number. While this is great and very efficient, it can often make holding the helm seem like a bit of a chore. The boat is agile and eager to follow the seas. Much like a two-year old in Toys-R-Us, you turn your eyes for one second and she’ll slip right off in another direction. You have to constantly hold the wheel and make small, minute adjustments to keep her on course. This can seem particularly tiresome when you’re night sailing and your eyes are glued on the compass for hours on end (and these are the wee, early, you want sleep more than anything else on the earth hours). Unless you know how to sight sail. Sight sailing is probably how they did it in the old days. Think Christopher Columbus and his voyage to the New World. It’s sailing by the stars. You hold your heading and find a star in the sky that “rides” on some point on your boat, say near the edge of one of your sails or right on top of a rail, just some fixed point on the boat. Then, rather than stare at the compass or the GPS, you simply watch the night sky and keep that star on that fixed point on your boat and voila, you are now holding your heading my friend without use of a single instrument. Something about it made me feel connected, to the stars, to the night, to the old sailors that did that way hundreds of years ago.

It certainly freed me, from squinting and focusing on a number and, at the very least, from staring at the orange, aging glow of the compass and I will forever thank Mitch for it. It was a long night but we made it through our first night’s passage without any real issue. We toasted the sunrise Friday morning with steaming cups of coffee and made plans for getting into Clearwater.

The wind began to pick up mid-morning and we watched with excitement as the sails filled and pulled taut and powered us through the water. But the wind continued to build so we decided to reef them in a bit. While I was pulling in the furling line to reel in the Genny (the genoa sail up front) Phillip and I heard a loud “ping” in the cockpit. We both looked at each other sternly, asking without saying: What was that? And it was clear neither of us knew. I began looking around the cockpit for some kind of clue and there it was: a bolt head lying on the cockpit floor near the helm. And, I say a bolt “head” because the bolt had sheared right through, just below the head. The stem of the bolt was nowhere in sight. I held it up for Phillip to see and we again exchanged the same question in silence: Where the hell did that come from? I began looking around the Genny cam cleat and the winch and where I had been working when we heard the ominous ‘ping,’ but nothing. Every bolt seemed to be fully in tact. We were confused, not yet concerned, but without the luxury to worry about it at the moment. By the time we made it into the pass she was blowing about 20 knots, and our primary concern was finding the marina and getting docked.

As soon as we had signal, Phillip told me to call the marina and get directions. I got on the phone with a man named Lou. His voice was thick and garbled like he either weighed 300 pounds or was talking through a mouth full of marbles. I assumed the latter and it turned out to be true. He was the dockmaster, and I swear they must all be cut from the same cloth (at least down there in South Florida) because I talked to many during the course of this trip and they all had similar one-syllable, car mechanic names (Jim, Bob, Lou, Joe), spoke with the same garbled dialect and looked something like this:

Minus the goggles. Wait … scratch that … some of them wore goggles.

And, they gave directions just like my Dad would, not with precise streets to turn on and miles to travel before you’ll see your exit. No, they use obscure, only locally-known markers like “take a left after Briscoe Hill and head toward Johnson’s barn and then she’s just right up the road on the right.” Thanks Dad, big help. These dockmasters were exactly the same. Lou told me to: “Come in through the pass until you go under the ‘big bridge,’ then hang a left and you’ll see our marina there with the fuel sign.” Yep, that’s as clear as it got. And, I even asked him, like a dumb blonde asking for directions, “the BIG bridge??”

Lou said “Yeah, honey, the big one. There’s only one big one.” I knew I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him, so I did all I knew to do. Relayed the message exactly as it was told to me and hoped Phillip could make sense of it. Thankfully, there was only one “big” bridge (although I don’t think it required the “honey” prefix), but it was huge and noticeable and we went right under, preparing to “hang a left.” I know, now, how stressful docking can be in a new marina, but I did not know at the time. I just knew Phillip was tense and stern, all business, and focused entirely on the GPS and the depth readings. I knew our primary focus was not to ‘run aground,’ but I didn’t know what else to do to prevent it other than shout out depth readings periodically to Phillip. Mitch was up at the bow looking out for the “left” we were supposed to be hanging and he saw a marina just off the portside of the bow, but it was far more “dead ahead” than left. He swore to Phillip: “That’s it. That has to be it. That’s the marina – head that way.” But, thankfully, Phillip wasn’t satisfied. He turned us around and had me hold the helm and make a few circles while he checked the paper charts and, sure enough, the “marina dead ahead” was just on the other side of a very shallow shoal that would have run us aground for sure and wreaked havoc on the boat. Phillip eventually found the inlet we needed to get into to get to our marina (the “left” we were supposed to hang) and we headed that way. But, the marina certainly wasn’t protected and we had 20 knot winds coming off our stern as we headed into the slip.

We tried to toss a dock line around a pole near the stern but we couldn’t get it around. And when I say “we,” I actually mean me, and I’m still mortified by it – but I did try very hard and know, now, that is not an easy thing to do – even for a salty sailor. Without a line to keep the stern in place, there was nothing Phillip could do in the cockpit to keep the boat from moving forward. The wind was just too strong. Thankfully, Dockmaster Lou apparently had a brother, whom they called Red, and he was even bigger than Lou. With those big boy hosses holding the bow, it looked like we had two sumo wrestlers pushing the boat off of the dock.

They held us off while we scrambled to tie dock lines and drop fenders and get her secured for the night. We were all exhausted at that point and in desperate need of a shower, shave (yes, me too) and, most of all, sleep. Our sail groupies (Phillip’s parents) met us at port and engaged in a fun photo op.

Thankfully they had also rented a hotel there near the marina and we unapologetically took advantage of the facilities. We dipped in the pool:

And commandeered the shower and finally made our way back to the boat for an easy snack dinner in the cockpit and some wine.

We were ready to get a good night’s sleep but we certainly had some decisions to make. The 20 knot winds we had faced in the pass were the beginning of a nasty front that was coming in. The sea state on Saturday was predicted to be very rough: 20-25 knot winds and 5-7 foot waves. Phillip was inclined to wait it out but he knew that might take days and we all, unfortunately, had jobs and deadlines to get back to at some point (and that was putting it lightly – Mitch’s magazine was actually scheduled to go to print the day after we were going to get back (Tuesday), and I had a jury trial starting the following Monday – it was just hard to take any more time off). It was already Friday evening and we were still a good four days away from home. But, this storm looked bad. Phillip knew better than the rest of us how rough the passage would really be and I could tell he was struggling with the decision. We decided to rest up for the night and make the call in the morning. The crew was tired and in need of a solid eight hours of sleep. I put the sheared bolt head in the companionway tray and we shut her down for the night.

March 26, 2013 – Some Food for Thought

May 7, 2013December 30, 2013anniedike

Thankfully, we didn’t have to wait long. Jack had the boat well-priced and we made a reasonable offer. After a few small moves on both sides, we quickly reached middle ground and struck a deal, contingent, of course, on the survey/sea trial, which was scheduled for April 3rd. That meant another trip down South to Punta Gorda to make sure the ole’ gal was truly sea-worthy. I figured in the meantime, I better do some things to make sure this ole’ gal was sea-worthy – like, learn how to cook … in the galley!

Cooking on a boat is not much different than cooking at home. You’ve got a stove, an oven, some pots and pans. Aside from having to strap yourself into a space the size of your pantry and keep boiling pots from sliding around and toppling over while the boat is heaving to and fro, it’s exactly the same. For a visual – imagine this sea state while you’re gingerly sprinkling a little oregano on your soup: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nf7FddPO5QM). To replicate the feeling at home, you can get yourself nice and sloshed one Friday night, spin around 10 or 12 times in your kitchen and then try to cook yourself a nice, hot meal. You’ll find on occasion, you’ve punched garlic right onto the counter and dumped an empty ramekin into the pot, or that you’ve seasoned up an empty burner to perfection while your sauce turned out a little lackluster. Cooking in a boat galley requires a lot more agility and hand-eye coordination than actual culinary skills.

The primary differences you want to keep in mind are fewer pots and less provisions. The more meals you can make in one pot, the better. With fresh water in short supply, the less dishes you have to wash, the better. So you can either up your one-pot meal repertoire or improve your spit-shine capabilities. I recommend the former. One good book we found useful for inspiration was The One Pan Galley Gourmet.

http://www.amazon.com/One-Pan-Galley-Gourmet-Simple-Cooking/dp/0071423826/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1367761480&sr=1-2&keywords=one+pot+galley+gourmet

This little gem is chock full of quick and easy one-pot dishes that are perfect for the boat. I also got a little creative one night and perfected a sweet potato chili that has now become a staple at Châteaux de Phillipé. It’s a nice, filling substitute for the traditional beef and bean chili.

http://www.kitchendaily.com/recipe/sweet-potato-black-bean-chili

Pairs well with a sweet red zin or syrah (as it has a little kick).

We also tried a beef and broccoli stir-fry one night that made the cut. The trick is to roll the beef around in the corn starch mixture first to get that nice, brown crust on it before stir-frying with the broccoli.

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Stir-Fried-Beef-and-Broccoli-13212

Pairs well with a bold cab or even a malbec.

And, another go-to, of course, is a classic vegetable soup. Now, I’m not talking about that watered-down Minestrone crap they serve at Olive Garden. This recipe allows you to throw pretty much any leftover veggies in the pot (perfect for cruisers trying to use up veggies that are about to turn, or, as my grandmother would say, “ruirnt” (that’s a technical, Alabama term for spoiled. I’m serious, although Urban Dictionary had an entirely different, yet equally entertaining, take on it: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=ruirnt. Note the usage: “Dude, he is … “).

You really don’t need a recipe for the veggie soup. Just know you’ve got to start by cooking the heartier vegetables (carrots, celery, onions, potatoes, etc. – those that take longer to soften) first – in a little oil and salt. After they soften add your spices, broth and lighter vegetables (tomatoes, mushrooms, any leafy vegetable, etc.). Bring to a boil and let it simmer for about a half hour – seasoning and tasting as you go. (I also recommend sipping wine all the while and throwing some in the pot).

Depending on your seasoning, this pairs well with a good blend, granache or hearty merlot.

If you’re not hungry after all of that, your taste buds don’t have a pulse. Or, better yet, if they do, they’re the scrawny kind that get their lunch money stolen at school.

If these seem like easy recipes, it’s because they are. Remember the whole strapped-in-a pantry, heaving-to-and-fro bit. You need easy recipes on the boat. Forgiving, lasting recipes that you can make under any conditions and that will keep you and crew going for days. You’ll learn. Until then, pour a few extra glasses at home, do the spins and shout hearty sea expletives while you cook up a storm and mimic life on the open seas. Enjoy!