Have Wind Will Travel

This is going to be fun.  So, this past summer Phillip and I ventured further than we ever have by boat.  We took Ubi through the Cape Code Canal so we could explore all of Cape Cod before making our way up to Maine, which proved to be one of the very best seasons we have spent on any boat.  And, we’ve been cruising now (since 2013) for about twelve years, so that’s saying something.  Personally, I love me a big gay explosion and I was really looking forward to Provincetown, but I never expected Boston to knock my (Boston) Sox off!  But, it did.  We absolutely pilfered that city.  I think that’s what you’re supposed to do.  You ready to join us.  Let’s dive in! 

June-July 2024:

When we last left you on the HaveWind blog, we had experienced one of our most harrowing moments offshore, with the late Pam Wall’s wisdom there to guide us, while we were making our way up the East Coast for the summer.  We ventured up to Newport, one of our favorite stops in New England, and inadvertently caught the thrilling start of the Newport to Bermuda race where I went all fan-girl on Cole Brauer.  I hope she’s forgiven (or forgot about) me.  Those were some good times.  Little did we know much more was in store after we made our way to Onset Village, a lovely little town poised perfectly for staging up to go through the Cape Code Canal, and headed over first to Provincetown, then Boston and Quincy.  Although it was incredibly hard to choose, we did it for you guys.  You’re welcome.  Here are our Cape Cod Top Tens (in no particular order): 

1.     Boston Historical Tours, Sites, and Harvard

I mean … it’s Boston.  They’ve got the legendary Paul Revere, John Hancock, Edgar Allen Poe.  There’s the Tea Party, the “two if by sea!” … all of it.  Who wouldn’t want to dive in?  Phillip and I typically book a walking tour in any port new to us, however, as it gives a good lay of the land, some local knowledge and recommendations, while also providing the cool history of the place.  Boston’s foot tours certainly did all of that and more.  I was mesmerized by all the history right around us.  And, Boston itself surprised me being quite an impressive little metro hub but without the noise, crowd, and smell of NYC.  Walking around Harvard University was a pretty cool experience, too. Being the oldest higher education institution in the U.S., it was much smaller than I had envisioned, but you can feel the academic crackle in the atmosphere. We poked around MIT as well and that was just as much fun. But, I think my favorite (big shock) was the tour of the old Boston Public Library. The architecture of it—which typically reveals the history—and the art inside, as well as the serene and somber feel of it made it a memorable stop for me.

2.     Mermaid Menu Oyster Tour

“I’ll have what she’s having.”  If a mermaid is ordering up, that’s what I would say.  Phillip found and booked this for us, and it was one of the most fascinating things we did this past summer.  For Provincetown locals and tourists, coastal preservation and cleanup is key.  That is why they are growing beautiful organic oysters right in Provincetown Harbor.  Because—did you know?—a single oyster (just one) can filter up to fifty (50) gallons of water a day.  Talk about a neat freak.  An oyster after my own heart.  We learned this fun fact and a hundred more on this tour, where they trek you out barefoot to the very oysters themselves to point out all the cool little micro wildlife in the harbor and teach you about their conservancy program.  This was a real eye-opening nature treat.

 

3.     Ptown Drag Shows and Cabaret

“Thank you for listening,” he said.  This was probably the biggest highlight of Provincetown for me because I love performing arts.  I love writing and journalism (obviously).  And, I love Ari Shapiro!  It’s too bad he’s gay.  Such a hottie.  Phillip booked this for me as a surprise—I’m a lucky gal: Ari Shapiro’s “Thank You For Listening” Cabaret.  Ari was funny, elegant, raw, soulful.  We also bought and read his book—The Best Strangers in the World—which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Thank you, Ari, for putting yourself out there. We loved it!  We also saw Dina Martina and thought we were going a little batty, but I’ve never laughed so hard.  I think the strange factor is part of the whole vibe of Ptown.  It’s jaw-dropping to say the least. I believe I could wonder the streets of Provincetown any June of my life and it would be a good month for me. The colorful shops, the characters that roam the streets, but the overall feeling of good natured people and love is palpable. It’s a heartwarming place to be.

4.     Fenway Park

Now, I’m not a baseball fan.  I think it’s an admirable sport, and its history with Babe Ruth and Jackie Robinson and all that is really cool, but I can’t think of a single game I’ve ever watched beginning to end.  That said, I loved this tour of Fenway Park.  There’s so much history there.  The stadium has been in that very spot since 1912, well over a hundred years!  It’s the oldest MLB stadium still in use.  Also, opening game at Fenway, do you know who the Red Sox beat?  The New York Highlanders, later to become the Yankees!  Whoa.  With its Green Monster, the Pesky Pole, and its nostalgic atmosphere, I think I would have a great time watching any game at Fenway. 

5.     Marina at Quincy and the Boston Ferries

Although we did stay on a ball in the Boston Harbor (highly recommend), we also booked a slip for a bit at the Safe Harbor Marina in Quincy and were very pleased with the access and amenities it provided.  First, although we all know Safe Harbor marinas are taking over the world, in our experience, they have been very well-staffed, clean, well-appointed marinas so I’m not complaining.  The one in Quincy is no different.  Also, the collection of restaurants, a brewery, high-end stores, even a convenient store surrounding the marina is really nice.  And—huge bonus for just about any cruiser—there is a lengthy walking/biking path that starts right at the marina and weaves through golden fields and waterfronts that I enjoyed every single day.  In addition, the Boston Ferries pick up at Quincy and offer drops at the Logan Airport as well as multiple docks along the Boston Harbor for a very affordable fare, typically around $5 each way.

6.     Provincetown Pilgrim Monument

Soaring 350 feet over Provincetown, this iconic structure remains the tallest all-granite structure in the United States.  At the top you can see all around Provincetown Harbor and the Cape as well as Boston all the way over on the other side.  This was where Phillip and I actually saw Boston for the first time as we went to Provincetown first before doubling back across the Cape to Boston.  The wind and weather, right?  Go where it takes you.  The views from the top of the Monument were well worth the climb, and it was fun to see Ubi out there, floating happy along with the other boats in the harbor.  We never miss a chance to get a selfie with Ubi.  Who would?

7.     Boston Harborfest (Fireworks over the Boston Harbor)

Don’t you love when your plans feel like they’re all going to waste but you find out later they actually worked out better than you could have imagined?  Listen to this.  Phillip and I were making our way toward Boston around the Fourth of July timeframe with the goal of being on a ball in the Boston Harbor with the Fourth of July fireworks exploding all around us.  However, when we arrived and asked for a ball to reserve, we were told they only had balls through July 2nd; we would have to leave our ball on July 3rd.  We were disheartened but there was nothing we could do about it.  “We’ll take it,” we said.  But, when we came ashore to explore Boston for our first time ever, we learned from posters at the marina that the fireworks in the harbor were happening on THE SECOND.  Our first time in Boston and Phillip and I found ourselves seated perfectly in the Boston Harbor with fireworks exploding all around us.  It was a sight to behold! 

8.     John F. Kennedy Presidential Library

I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Shhh … [my blonde is real].  I thought a president’s library was literally the library of books he collected and kept in the White House when he was serving.  So, when Phillip asked if I wanted to go see JFK’s library, I thought, “Okay, that could be interesting.”  Turns out it’s way more than the books JFK liked, and it was fascinating.  Located between Quincy and Boston, this library and museum is worth a visit.  They have pieced together a riveting history of this man who was nuanced, wilder than I had realized, and tested at such a young age, but he proved himself to be steely, level-headed, and wise.  The history about Jackie O. was equally fascinating, and the displays and interactive/immersive exhibits they have put together make the trip well worth it. 

9.     Boston’s Little Italy

We ate tagliatelle, cannoli, linguini, carpaccio, anything else ending in a vowel.  Perusing Boston’s famous Little Italy is a trip for the senses.  You’ll smell marina and roasted garlic on every corner.  Some of the old kitchen hands that come out wiping their hands on their aprons look like they’ve stepped out of time, from one hundred years ago, to make you your pasta.  We feasted big at Prezza and finished every piece of pasta on our plates.  And, no trip to Boston is complete without a visit to the lively and iconic Mike’s Pasty for lots of shouts and dings and pastries flying.  I’m not sure I ever need to see another cannoli. 

10.  CHEERS!

Where everybody knows your name!  Again Phillip surprised me with this one.  We were just strolling the lovely cobblestones streets of Boston, and he said, “Hey take a right here.  Let’s check out this bar.”  This bar … pssshhh was none other than THE BAR from the hit show Cheers.  The place is packed with memorabilia from the show: photos, news clippings, clothes worn by the stars.  I’m a sucker for Woody.  It’s hard to believe he was so young when he landed that role!  The smile on Phillip’s face was priceless as he ordered up a frosty beer and sat among so many others looking around all over the walls and ceilings with their jaws dropped.  Can you hear it now: “You want to go where everybody knows your name!”

HONORABLE MENTIONS

There were a few other things that we would have liked to have done—and I’m sure we would have loved them—but we ran out of time.  If any of you readers have had the pleasure of experiencing these activities, feel free to chime in! 

11.  Cape Cod Rail Trail

The bike paths around Cape Cod, made out of the old carriage and rail trails that used to dominate the Cape, are really impressive—long and windy, weaving through gorgeous landscape.  Phillip and I took a little shuttle over to the National Park huts along the bike trails and we decided we definitely want to spend an entire day next time biking those really cool paths.  But, it’s always nice to have something you want to come back for, right?  “Next time!” we say.

12.  Boston Pops

This would have been very cool.  We saw all of the people gathering on the lawns along the Charles River, thousands of them.  It was starting to rain and we had dinner reservations, but next time we would like to see the Boston Pops Fourth of July show.  The Boston Pops are an offshoot of the Boston Symphony Orchestra and they play more accessible numbers like Broadway tunes, film scores, jazz, and patriotic songs.  They’re best known for their Fourth of July show but their Holiday Pops concert in December is also a huge draw for Bostonians.  The videos we saw with the light show integrated and the magnitude of it told us we would like to do it when?  “Next time!”  : )

In my typical HaveWind fashion, I had to do a ‘Twas the Night post to celebrate the holiday. (For fun, here are some super oldie ‘Twas the Nights from the HaveWind archives – you’re welcome! : ).

’Twas the Night Before Shove-Off

Twas the Night Before Christmas, and All Through the Boat

In blog time, Phillip and Ubi and I had just endured one of our most terrifying moments offshore (where Pam Wall’s wisdom was with us) making our way up the east coast back to New England for the summer. This moment—the centerpiece of my Christmas poem—was one of our favorite in the Long Island Sound before we made our way to Maine for the summer, which we cannot WAIT to share here. Phillip and I hadn’t really planned on being in Newport for the start of the iconic Newport to Bermuda race, but there we were, having landed yet again, simply by sailing when the weather allowed, in the center of all the fun! Hope you enjoy the holiday fun. Cheers followers and Merry Christmas!

June 2024:

‘Twas the night before the Newport to Bermuda race and all through Narragansett Bay, not a sailboat was stirring, not even a 40 J.

On Ubi, we’d hung our outfits for the race from her handrails with care, in hopes that a certain female ‘round-the-world solo sailor would soon be there.

Phillip and I were nestled snug up in the vberth, dreaming of super maxis sailing for all their worth!

The next morning we arose and donned our race day attire, eager to dinghy over to Fort Adams to see what all would transpire.

When out on the green there had sprung up such a clatter, so many sailors, fans, and admirers starting to chatter. 

I saw old pilgrims marching and drumming with flags in tow, as well as children, adults, dogs, and picnic baskets packed full for the show.

Everyone was abuzz listening to the pre-race commentary, filling their arms with chairs, towels, cups, and anything else they could carry.

We met up with good cruising buddies: “Hey there Jeff and Irene!” And set up shop on the rock wall by the bay to take in the scene. 

Boats with masts soaring above one-hundred feet, began to sweep by, dazzling us as they jockeyed among the fleet. 

While we’ve seen Narragansett Bay filled with sailboats many, many times, the start of an iconic offshore race was something sublime.

Knowing every one of these impressive yachts—from extreme racers to cruisers—is setting off on a 636-nautical mile race, crowning some winners but no losers.

The boats invigorated us all with their strategic positioning visible from ashore, leaving us wondering what the conditions would be like for them once they got offshore.

As I took in the sunny June day, to my wandering eyes did appear, the person I was most excited to see here.

I lost control of my decorum, my humility, my manners, when I started screaming randomly at her.

“It’s Cole!  It’s Brauer!  I can’t believe she’s really here! She’s like every female sailor’s dream, she literally has no fear!”

“Stop shouting,” Phillip chided.  “Let’s see if we can get near her booth, so you can meet her in person and not act so uncouth.” 

As we approached the tent, I was astonished by the sight of her: a young, beautiful, athletic woman, all smiles and chipper.

If you didn’t know a thing about Cole and her incredible sailing feat, you would have approached her like a new friend meeting on the street.

She was so humble and friendly, taking time to greet each fan, that I wanted to shake each one and tell them: “You don’t understand!

Cole is the first American woman to sail single-handedly around the world, non-STOP all while being her true self: wearing fuzzy PJs, high heels (once), and colorful tank tops!”

Her eyes, how they twinkled.  Her spirit and aura, so humble and merry. “Well, get in line then,” Phillip urged.  “I wouldn’t tarry.”

Approaching, I was overwhelmed remembering Cole in her bulky wellies, flares thrusted out, crossing the finish line with pride from deep in her belly.

Yet, here she was right in front of me, a woman, sailor, daughter, friend, encouraging other women who face barriers to boldly transcend. 

I wish I could say in her presence I had been elegant and smooth, but I was a bumbling, blithering fool, rigid and hardly able to move. 

I did get to tell, Cole, though, that—to so many—she is such an inspiration, and she thanked me, smiled, and posed next to me without hesitation.

Then it was time for Cole to help start the race and blow the the first horn, and she shouted over the mic as if the act was something to which she was born:

“WE WISH YOU WELL SAILORS, MAY YOU KEEP UP A GOOD PACE. FAIR WINDS TO YOU ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD RACE!” 

She was tiny.  She was big!  She was excited and loud, but also soothing at the same time.  An effervescent voice of wisdom.  I’ll never forget the moment I first saw Pam Wall.  She’d just had both her knees done, and she was slated to come on right after John Kretschmer at the Miami Boat Show in 2015.  At that time—gosh, almost ten years now … ten?!— Phillip and I had only been cruising for a little over two years and had only sailed our trusty 1985 Niagara 35 from Pensacola down to the Florida Keys and back.  That was some time ago.  As Pam made her way through the folding chairs up to her place on the “stage,” several colleagues and friends in the crowd tried to help her walk through, but she shooed them away.  “I’m proud!” she yelled.  “I want everyone to see I’m not bowl-legged anymore!”  And, then there she was.  All five feet of her. 

Pam was exuberant, happy, doing the exact thing she loved.  The thing that pulled her out of her personal tragedies and inspired her to keep going: Inspiring others.  Just like she inspired Phillip and I at that very show to—as only Pam can say it—“GO TO THE BAHAMAS!”  And, just like with about everything else Pam told us to do, we did.  I will forever be grateful for having the privilege of knowing Pam and calling her a friend.

There are several pieces of advice from Pam, however (in addition to what you should bring to eat on a trip: “Take.  What you like.  To eat.” : ) that have stuck with me over the years.  Pam’s wisdom, her experience, and her ability to see adventure and excitement—even at her small statute—where others see terror and fear will never leave me, even though she has left this world and left many heartbroken, teary-eyed sailors in her wake.  Just recently, I had her words come to me like a bolt of lightning, when Phillip and I were battling our worst conditions offshore on Ubiquitous.  In sharing our worst moment offshore, I felt it fitting to share some of my favorite Pam Wall truisms as a humble but heartfelt tribute to a woman I looked up to like a mother.  Pam, this one’s for you. 

“Everything I worried about, never happened.  So get out there and do it!”

I, myself, have repeated this one to many newbie cruisers over the years because it is 100% true.  All the things I worried about when Phillip and I first started cruising—Phillip falling overboard, the boat taking on more water than it could expel, a fire aboard, a deadly medical emergency—thankfully, none of these have happened yet.  However, many things I never would have dreamed of in a millions years (which means I never worried about them because I couldn’t fathom them) did happen.  Just a few key ones come to mind: the time the Windex arrow slid up the VHF antenna threatening to snap it off, water spewing from the stuffing box, the rudder trying to drop out of the boat, the dinghy ripping off the stern rail in the middle of the Gulf.  These are all things I could have never dreamed up, but what did Phillip and I do when they happened?  Just like Pam said.  We dealt with it.  And, what did that do for us?  Just like Pam said, it empowered us. 

“Overcoming obstacles together is empowering!”

Everything Phillip and I have tackled together as equal cruising partners and boat owners has empowered us.  And, there have been some doozies.  The time we found rotten stringers under our mast and had to—as our buddy Brandon would say—“rebuild the backbone of our boat” which kicked off our YouTube Season 3 “Hard Times on the Hard”.  When we hauled for that project, Brandon had a great time telling us “your keel’s falling off.”  In jest.  But, our keel seam was cracked and weeping, so we had to grind it out and Gflex it (for those skeptical, that bond is still holding eight years and hundreds of blue water miles later).  Then there was the time our transmission was dripping fluid into the bilge and we had to capture it and pour it back in every fifteen minutes to get back to shore.  And, those are just on the Niagara.  On Ubiquitous we’ve had to deal with a riser elbow that was lost in the mail and almost required us to haul and wrap Ubi for the entire winter (what was slated to be our first winter cruising on her), not to mention us dealing with a second failure of that same part.  The time we found the generator was water locked and would not crank.  Then, the time Pam was able to help us sort out, when an unprecedented rainstorm walloped Ft. Lauderdale, swamping our dinghy on the davits and breaking them beyond repair. 

Every obstacle Phillip and I have overcome in our—now, twelve years of cruising—have done exactly what Pam said it would.  Each obstacle empowered us.  Yet again, I will say it.  Thank you, Pam.  And, I will share her favorite picture of me (her words) because she loved to see women sailors really getting in there, grabbing the helm, grabbing a wrench, and getting elbow-deep in the workings of the boat.

So, how did Pam’s words of wisdom come to me just recently when we were miles offshore battling the conditions?  And, more importantly, what words were they? 

May 24, 2024:

The shelf cloud that was forming around us was daunting.  It was intimidating.  No matter how strong I know our boat is, no boat, anywhere, is a match for Mother Nature.  It’s just a fact.  After overcoming the failure of our riser/elbow in February in Jacksonville, FL, Phillip and I started making our way up the East Coast to spend the summer once again in exquisite New England.  Phillip and I left Charleston in late May expecting fair conditions of S/SW winds of 10-15 that (we hoped) would push us nicely up the Gulf Stream and around Cape Fear toward Wrightsville Beach, or Beaufort, or Cape Lookout where we could stage up to round Hatteras on the next leg.  Our repeated weather checks in the days before had also forecast the least chance of thunderstorms on the day of our departure.  Everything was going smoothly into the evening.  We had been sailing most of the day—with the full main up and a poled out genoa, making 7.0 knots avg SOG—and we were preparing to ease into our night shift routine.  Phillip and I do two hours on/two hours off during overnight passages beginning right after dinner.  Spoiler alert: we didn’t make it to dinner. 

As we still had cell signal, Phillip was getting pings on his phone around 5:00 p.m. notifying us that Charleston was getting hammered with severe thunderstorms bringing 60 knot winds and hale up to one inch!  We hoped the storm over Charleston would pass south of us.  It did not.  Right around sunset (of course!), just as we were losing visibility, the ominous shelf cloud appeared, allowing me the perfect moment to share the one and only photo I took during this whole ordeal:

Checking the radar, we saw two other storm cells: a small, but intense cell that appeared it might pass behind our stern as well as a larger cell coming off of Cape Fear that we hoped would head across our bow and then offshore.  We learned later: they did not.  All three storms converged on us.

The winds started to increase to 20 knots into the evening, which is not uncomfortable on an Outbound 46 if you have the right sail plan.  With the genoa poled out and the main fully up, we were flying, making 8 knots SOG which was plenty (or, more likely, too fast) considering what we were sailing into.  We decided to furl up the genoa that we’d had poled out.  Like Pam had taught us, we had secured the pole independently with a topping lift and a fore and aft guy and clipped the pole around the working sheet NOT (“NEVER!” Pam would say) to the clew of the sail itself.  Doing it this way, we could furl the sail while leaving the pole out completely secure and worry about putting the pole away another time when the conditions were calmer.  Phillip suggested at this time that we put the pole away and Pam’s voice came to me.

“Know your boat!”

I know putting the pole away on our boat is a bit of a process.  Not that it’s risky or overly laborious, but it takes some coordination between Phillip and I to release all the lines, walk the pole toward the bow and steady it while the other crew member simultaneously lets out the topping lift to lower the jaws end of the pole while also raising the other end of the pole that is attached to the mast to bring it back to its position clipped to the mast.  This process takes some balancing on both of our parts to ensure the pole doesn’t fall or bang (crack) the deck and that no fingers or persons are injured in the process. 

Knoooowwwing all of this, I was quite hesitant to start that process with the storm building all around us, the seas were kicked up to 4-5 feet now, with heavier winds and lightning coming.  I worried taking the pole out of its currently secure position would leave us in the middle of the process, hands occupied, our balance precarious with everything we would be juggling, and something worse would happen—a wind shift, a big wave, a bolt of lightning—I didn’t know.  But, because I knew my boat I vetoed the idea.  Knowing the boat equally well (if not better) Phillip immediately agreed and also decided we should not worry about the pole but, rather, reef the main down to its second reef, to which I readily agreed.  In all fairness, anytime Phillip starts to think about reefing, I had already considered it fifteen minutes prior and I always agree to reef.  Knowing this about me, he usually waits until he’s confident we need to reef before suggesting it.  It bothers me none that I am a reef often, reef early/less canvas is usually better sailor.  Every day of the week I am. 

Of course, during this exchange and decision-making process, the winds had increased to the upper 20s and the sea state continued to get more chaotic.  And, of course, as soon as we decided to reef the main, it started to rain.  Before executing the reef, Phillip and I got our PFDs and tethers out and did a double check sweep below to make sure everything was stowed sufficiently.  We decided to crank the engine so we would have him warmed up and at the ready if we needed whatever extra propulsion or steering control he might be able to provide.  Heading topside in the wind and rain, I clipped in and prepared to heave the main down as Phillip eased the halyard in the cockpit. 

As is always the case, the conditions felt more extreme topside in the wind, which always makes me grateful for the protection our boat provides us from the elements—even just wind protection under the dodger.  The shelter and quiet and calm it provides compared to outside-in-the-elements brings immense comfort, but stepping out into it, feeling what the boat is powering through while protecting us always humbles me.  As I looked back to Phillip in the cockpit a huge bolt of lightning cracked nearby, the bright pink light it created contrasted to the dark scene before, temporarily blinded both of us and we both worried, for a brief second before our vision returned, whether Ubi had been struck.  When my vision came back and I saw Phillip’s face, lit by the glow of the chartplotter before him, a wave of relief washed through me knowing we hadn’t been struck.  At least not yet.  In that moment, in my full foulies, clipped to the mast of my gallant boat who was battling the wind and rain for us, Pam’s voice broke through again:

“Don’t Be a Passenger!”

Know this, Pammy: I damn sure wasn’t.  Not in that moment.  It was me and Phillip and Ubiquitous against the elements.  We had our sea savvy, level heads and healthy bodies, and one of the most capable boats I have ever set foot on.  We were all three equals out there, taking it on as a team, and I knew Pam would be proud.  I got the main down and cinched in the second reef and headed back to Phillip in the cockpit as the winds only continued to increase up to 32, 33, 35 knots and building.  I went below and put all the handheld electronics in the oven to protect our lifesaving devices if we did suffer a strike that blew out the electronics or VHF on the boat.  It was approaching 10:00 p.m. and we had been battling this storm now for several hours.  Phillip and I were both cold, wet, and hungry, but there was no choice but to stay focused and keep the boat on course.  With the second reef in, the boat was surprisingly well balanced and holding well.  We were still going faster than we wanted to, making 8-9 knots approaching Cape Fear, but Ubi was handling the conditions incredibly well.  We were just hopeful we were finally pulling out from under this gnarly storm, and that the storms overhead would finally begin to dissipate.  They did not.     

As the three thunderstorms converged and intensified above us, the lightning started to crack every 5-10 seconds.  It was so dark outside and the lightning so close and bright that every time it lit up the sky and deck of the boat, it was so bright both Phillip and I were blinded momentarily and worried the electronics had been blown out with every hit.  It would take us a second or two—each time—for our eyes to adjust and see that the chartplotter was still in fact showing data to assuage our worries that Ubi had not been hit.  Not yet.  This continued for another 30 or so minutes as the winds began to increase to 40, a number I never want to see while sailing my boat offshore.  We hoped that would be the end of it.  It was not. 

Phillip and I watched horrified in the cockpit as the winds increased from 40 to 43 to 45, 46.  The storm was not done with us yet.  I remember hearing someone yell “THIS IS HAPPENING!” and I was surprised to find it had been me.  We were heeled so hard on our starboard tack that I feared—as I often have—that one of the shrouds was going to explode or rip out through the deck.  This is one of the things I seem incapable of following Pam’s advice on, because I have feared a shroud breaking since Phillip and I started sailing in 2013.  Has it ever happened?  No.  But—as much as I try, Pammy—I can’t seem to not worry about that one.  But it didn’t happen this time, either.  Here’s what did happen. 

The winds increased, upward and upward, to 50 knots.  I know many sailors have been in conditions just like this, if not infinitely worse, but we had not.  Fifty knots of wind—which is closer to sixty mph—is more than Phillip and I have ever experienced offshore, even during our two ocean crossings.  Watching it all, I was mesmerized how Ubi held her course.  She did not round up.  She did not tack through the wind.  Miraculously, she held her course and just, pardon my French, but charged the fuck through.  I’ve never been prouder of her, or of us.  Phillip and I had remained calm.  We’d done what we thought was best to prepare our amazing boat for it.  Then it was all Ubi, and she did her damn job.  And did it well. 

After that horrific gust, the storms seemed to finally decide Ubi was a more formidable opponent than they had calculated, and they began to retreat.  Finally.  It was nearing 11:00 p.m. by now.  Phillip and I still laugh looking back on this incident, when we both saw the winds had dropped to 35 knots, and we were like “Oh, whew.  It’s only blowing 35 now.”  Perspective, I tell you.  Is key.  Once the winds started letting up, however, and Phillip and I could take a breath, pat ourselves down to make sure we were okay, then check topside to ensure the rigging and mainsail had survived just as we had hoped.  Phillip, however, found we did have a problem.  With all the racket and chaos of the storm, we hadn’t heard it, but—somewhere in the middle of it all—our engine had stopped running.  The panel was still on, which was a good sign, but it had just shut itself down for some reason.  Probably not a good one we thought. 

Phillip and I tried to re-crank several, times with no luck.  It would try to turn over repeatedly but would never fire.  It had power, thankfully, which meant the engine had not been struck by lightning.  We checked all the wires and connections to make sure something hadn’t simply rattled loose during the chaos.  Everything appeared fine.  We checked our fuel levels.  On Ubi, we have four diesel tanks, spread out underneath our feet in the raised saloon floor, where they serve doubly as important ballasts for the boat.  We had been on a forward tank which is smaller, but it still had at least 10-20 gallons of fuel left.  Plenty to crank.  We followed fuel lines, as best we could, trying to see if one had been compromised or disconnected. 

Remember, this is nearing midnight, and we’re both recovering from being drenched and frigid.  Phillip and I shoved granola bars in our mouths while we continued to work the problem and make sure Ubi was still sailing just fine in the winds that had leveled out to the mid twenties and staying on course.  In hindsight, I’m still amazed at how patient and capable Ubi was during this whole ordeal.  Phillip and I were both tired and frustrated and wanting the whole thing to be over, but we stuck with it.  We did not want to have to limp on without an engine and have to call for a tow to shore, but if it had to be done, we knew it was an option.  But, we wanted it to be our last option.

We shut the engine’s sea cock so we wouldn’t continue to pull water in trying to crank, knowing we would open it immediately if the engine did turn over.  Knowing our generator had suffered a waterlock from raw water having come back into the engine, I was worried the same had somehow happened to the Yanmar when we had heeled over in the 50-knot wind.  That was my biggest fear, but I hoped I was wrong.  Looking at the engine’s oil and finding it was not milky as I had suspected, I was immediately relieved.  The sound the engine was making in trying to turn over sounded like a fuel problem, like the engine couldn’t get enough fuel to combust and turn over.  I liked that theory better than the waterlock, so we proceeded on that.  Phillip thought it through and surmised we may have been so heeled over that the intake into the smaller fuel tank might have lifted out of the fuel and created an air bubble in the system that shut the engine down.  It was a good theory.  One we operated on as we set to work trying to bleed the system. 

On our old boat, the Niagara 35, our Westerbeke was self-bleeding, which was nice.  It would automatically push air out during the crank process—until it was all bled—and then turn over.  Not so with our Yanmar.  It does have a manual air pump on the secondary fuel filter (not the big primary Raycors) that you can push manually to push air out of an open petcock.  We tried that numerous times, dozens upon dozens of pumps with little squirts of fuel out of the petcock, but no dice.  The Yanmar would not turn over.  We poured through manuals and kept trying, as we eased into the next day exhausted and frustrated but thankfully sailing on course around Cape Fear with no injuries or other severe damage that we knew of. 

We were dry and protected, so it was simply worrisome and troubling, but not terrifying or deadly.  We kept at it.  We decided to try to turn the engine over (with the sea cock closed) but this time with the petcock open until we got a steady, robust spray of fuel out of the petcock.  That was a fun, messy job for Annie—I was not a passenger, Pam!—but we finally got a rock solid spray coming out that Phillip and I were hopeful had finally solved our air problem.  We cleaned the fuel spray up as best we could, and we prepared to try to turn the engine over again, this time with Phillip at the sea cock ready to open it immediately once the engine turned over.  We crossed our fingers, held our breath, and …

Shouted raucous bursts of joy when our engine turned over.  “WHOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO.  YEEEAAAAAAHHHHH.  WAAAAAAYYYY TO GO YANNICK!”  I got hoarse from yelling.  Our engine, a Yanmar we lovingly named “Yannick,” after the French captain with whom we crossed the Atlantic back in 2016.  Why?  Because they’re both unbelievably hearty (said with a cheese ball French accent, hhhuuu-hooouh : ).

It was 1:00 a.m. by this time.  Phillip and I had been battling the storm and then the failed engine for going on … seven hours by now.  But, having endured that intense wind and sea state, with hundreds of bolts of lightning all around us, and air intake in our engine, Phillip and Ubi and I had done it.  We had come out the other side, with all systems working and our magnificent, strong boat powering around Cape Fear sailing us to our intended destination.  It was a miraculous feeling.  One that was only bolstered when we were rewarded with an exquisite sunrise as we sailed toward shore. 

The bolstering only continued as we arrived, exhausted, humbled, and grateful, in Wrightsville Beach, only to find a fellow sailor who had been in the same conditions as us, but who had been struck by lightning, losing both engines on his catamaran, and had to be towed in only to drop the hook and await significant repairs.  That just as easily could have been us.  I don’t know why it wasn’t this time, and I’m confident it could be us another time.  The only determining factor between our two boats out there was luck.  That’s it.  How’s that for humility? 

But, our takeaway was huge.  We had done it.  As a team.  And, Pam’s advice had never rung so truly and resolute.  The things I had worried about—a shroud exploding, Phillip falling overboard, a deadly emergency—hadn’t happened, so I shouldn’t have worried about them.  I pushed them aside and went sailing anyway.  The thing I had never worried about—our engine heeling over so much, the engine could suck in air—did happen.  But, because we knew the boat and we operated as equal crew, not Captain and passenger, just as Pam had told us, we overcame the obstacle.  And, guess what. 

It was so fucking empowering. 

That was some colorful language, there, Pam.  But, I think you would approve.  We are all sailors after all.  I dedicate this one to Pam Wall, a shining light and unforgettable voice among sailors, particularly women sailors.  She was a beacon, a joy, and an inspiration to thousands. 

Pam, we all miss you.  And, next year, we’ll do again what you have always told everyone to do, as you did us during our first ever Pam Wall Seminar. 

“GO TO THE BAHAMAS!” 

Excerpt from: An Interview with Pam Wall

SAIL Magazine, Andy Schell (August 2, 2017).

“Everything I worried about never happened. And everything that did happen, when we took care of it, just felt so empowering.  So don’t worry about it.  Get out there and do it.  The biggest thing is, don’t ever be a passenger.  Because if you’re a passenger, you don’t understand things.  You don’t understand your vessel.  You’ll get frightened.  But if you know what to do for those situations, if you can toss a line and make it get to where you want it to go, if you can steer the boat and if you can dock that boat, you will feel so empowered.”

–       Pam Wall

New faces?  Try 150 boats anchored at Black Point, Exumas for the OCC Rally.

New places? We fell in love with Chub Cay, Cambridge Cay, West Eleuthera, and Briland.

Same Bahamian Fun: Think traditional sloop races, fire dancers, kiting, snorkeling, piggies, Pauline the Mermaid, Stefan the Savage, and so much more.  Let’s dive in!

Feb-Mar 2024

After our 2024 cruising season started with a bang, we were grateful we had a spare riser/elbow to snap into place and keep on trucking.  We left the city dock in Jacksonville, FL where we’d accomplished our emergency repair and started dotting down the Florida coast to St. Augustine and West Palm Beach before making the jump to the Bahamas.  We found ourselves in Chub Cay by Valentine’s Day and were most definitely feeling the love!

Chub Cay 

I will say, before this year, I believe our favorite island group in the Bahamas was the Berries.  Phillip and I had spent time in Frazer’s Hog Cay—where we met the infamous Steve and Pat who built a house there and live part of the year.  Steve and Pat also enlightened us to Whale Cay and Bird Cay and the beautiful blue water and exceptional snorkeling and spearfishing there is right around Frazer’s Hog Cay.  We also really enjoyed Great Harbor Cay, where we spent a good bit of time and kept Plaintiff’s Rest when Hurricane Dorian struck in 2019. 

However, Phillip and I had never stopped at Chub Cay before so we were excited to try it this year, both as a new check-in spot, a new safe harbor for bad weather, a new marina, and … what we didn’t expect … our new favorite pool in all of the Bahamas.  That’s a pretty bold statement, trust me, as Phillip is a complete pool fanatic and a bit of a pool snob, understandably so when you see the pools he’s frequented.  With its infinity edge overlooking the ocean, its massive swim-up tiki bar, great tunes, incredible people watching, and full food service pool-side, I couldn’t get Phillip out of there.  Mainly because I, myself, wouldn’t leave, but that’s not the point. 

We also booked a dive with Chub Cay Divers, who took us around the shelf side of Whale Cay and along the outskirts of the Berries for some exceptional diving.  We saw a massive lobster.  His head was bigger than mine!  We also got to see a shark with some “new jewelry” (our dive master, Ana, explained).  She had a hook with a line hanging out of her mouth.  Guess she showed those fisherman who was NOT ready to be caught.  We also met some really fun folks (Boris and Angela) that we hung out with poolside post-dive.  We ended up spending about seven days at Chub to wait out some weather, but it was the perfect, easy, laid-back entry to the Bahamas.  We will definitely be back! 

Cambridge Cay, Exumas

We then made our way into the Exumas as we had something you should never have on a boat folks … a schedule!  For shame!  For the first time ever, we had a friend flying into the Bahamas to meet us: our good friend, Bridgett, whom I’ve mentioned here at HaveWind before.  We initially met Bridgett during our weekly forays (and let us never forget our famous Boozer Cruiser parties) at Ft. McRee near Pensacola and we’ve been enticing her to fly out to come visit us on Ubi ever since we started cruising the east coast in 2021.  She joined us in Newport last year and the Bahamas this year.  We had coordinated her trip to the Bahamas to coincide with the OCC Rally in Black Point which turned out to be a fabulous idea. 

Before Bridgett arrived, however, we ventured into new territory for us in the Exumas.  Previously, the furthest we had dipped our toes into the Exumas had been to Highbourne Cay and Warderick Wells, which is a stunning land and sea park, immaculately preserved, with lots of hiking and snorkeling.  This time we stayed on a mooring ball by Emerald Rock near Warderick Wells and really loved that area.  We also met some incredible new friends there who we stopped to talk to when we saw their haling port was Milton, Florida (that’s about 20 minutes from Pensacola).  “Small world!” we shouted at them as we dinghied up.  Rick and Terry in their Fontaine Pajot, Rogue Angel, became fast friends.  We spent time with them exploring Cambridge Cay (an exquisite island), floating around in Rachel’s Bath, snorkeling Rocky Dundas, kitesurfing (they made exceptional kite groupies), even swimming with sharks at Compass Cay!  I swam and kicked a lot harder than everyone else with the sharks, but I did get in (and tried my best not to pee … too much!).

Black Point, Exumas

This was going to be our first ever OCC Rally to participate in as well.  Phillip and I have really enjoyed being members of the OCC group.  The contacts you make and connections all over the world—all with helpful knowledge and a helping hand (or sometimes even a safe harbor) to offer—have been an invaluable asset.  We were also thrilled to be reuniting with OCC members and long-time friends and fellow Outbound owners, Leo and Diane, at the rally, who sailed in on their 2021 Outbound, Orion.  We got to meet up with some other friends from Milton, FL—Louis and Heather on s/v Viking—as well, and the five of us went to see the piggies (such a treat!) and snorkeled Thunderball Grotto with Bridgett.  It’s stunning in there.  Even prettier than most of the Bond girls, except Halle Berry (she was the best, don’t argue : ).  And, last but not least, we also ran into Josh and Jessie at Black Point aboard their gorgeous 1979 Kelly Peterson, Ling Ling, whom I recently wrote about in SAIL Magazine.  It was a time for reunions!

And, the party the Bahamians threw for the Rally!  Lordy!  There was dancing and a DJ every night, a pizza party one evening (Lorraine’s group made over 100 pizzas if you can believe it!), and a fire dancer and bonfire another evening, a mini-Junkanoo parade, etc.  And, that wasn’t even the real event.  They brought in traditional Bahamian sloop racing boats and Phillip and I got selected to help race on them.  Meaning, crawl out on the plank to be “rail meat” or hunker down low and get the heck out of the way as the boom came flying overhead.  Our team (the Lethal Weapons) beat Phillip’s.  Sorry, Phillip.  Those are just the facts. 

We also met some incredibly interesting people there at Black Point.  Pauline the Mermaid (we called her because it seems as if she glided right out of the ocean).  She was a solo sailor, a singer, a guitarist, a lyricist, a songwriter, an adventurer, and just a gentle, wise soul we had the privilege to meet.  She hosted a mini-concert one happy hour during the OCC Rally, and even a boat-side, dinghy-up name-changing ceremony for us all to enjoy.  Bridgett and I sang our hearts out (much to Phillip’s chagrin).  Then there was Stefan the Savage, a wicked kite surfer from South Africa who literally could not put his kite down.  If the wind was blowing 9 knots, he was out there trying to make anything work, often crashing his kite and haling for rescues, which is how we met.  If it was blowing a steady 15+ knot breeze, though, Stefan was out there tearing through the anchorage jumping over dinghies and flying high.  He was a happy mess.  Think Tigger on a kite.  Such a joy! 

In all, the weather for the OCC Rally was superb.  The turnout out was exceptional.  Over 150 boats bellied up to Black Point for the festivities.  And, Lorraine and her daughter and mother all helped with the events, one of which was a reed weaving contest – very exciting!  The fire dancer also really wowed us.  I am always awed and humbled by the creativity of the Bahamians, how they create costumes, decorations, and so many everyday things we take for granted out of things most people would throw away or recycle.  We spent a wonderful five days with Bridgett and the other OCC attendees before the party wrapped.  Then it was time to start slowly making our way back home.  Not before we stopped in our NEW favorite spot in the Bahamas, however.

Eleuthera (Cape Eleuthera, Hatchett Bay, Glass Window, and Briland)

After the OCC Rally, the weather really turned.  Many boats were looking for protection from a wicked front that was coming.  A dozen or more tried to hide near Big Majors with little luck as we heard the winds flipped several dinghies and caused some serious injuries.  We sailed over from Black Point with Leo and Diane on Orion (yes, they beat us, we’re not racers) and hunkered down in a small anchorage to the north of Staniel Cay, which was a very pretty, secure anchorage.  The four of us enjoyed a super swank dinner at Fowl Cay—one we can only afford once—before making our way to Cape Eleuthera.  This was another new marina for me and Phillip, which definitely wowed.  They have beaches on either side for sunrise, sunset, and several little restaurants.  We went kite-surfing on Sunrise Beach and Leo even caught some actions shots of me with his drone! 

Phillip and I had also never explored the western coast of Eleuthera.  We had really only ventured through Spanish Wells and Harbour Island before, which we did love.  Spanish Wells was probably our favorite island of all for a while, as it offers so much Bahamian authenticity, while also providing so many amenities (great restaurants, an exceptional grocery store, as well as boat parts, supplies, and services) and one of the prettiest beaches on the north shore.  So, it was a real treat to explore Hatchett Bay this time—a very protected anchorage on the west coast—with Emmett regaling us every night with his Bahamian originals.  Don’t worry, if you can’t make it to Emmett’s bar, you can hear him from the boat! 

We also anchored near the Glass Window, which we had never done before.  You’ll remember I got quite injured the last time we were at Eleuthera at the Queen’s Bath.  Needless to say, we didn’t do that one again.  But, the western side of the Glass Window was just stunning, serene and protected, with so much to explore by dinghy.  Back at Spanish Wells, Stefan the Savage showed up and we had a great time kiting and spearfishing.  Phillip and I kited our brains out and indulged at Papa’s Scoops (the local ice cream hole) as a reward.  Then we made our way over to Harbour Island, known locally as “Briland.”

I think both Phillip and I had forgot how much Briland has to offer.  Much like Spanish Wells, while it has its fair share of upscale restaurants and marinas, it also offers 100% authentic Bahamian culture, food, and activities.  I liked sitting at the tiki hut by the water watching them make conch salad—heaps of it!  The locals play dominos there and do their laundry as the same place we do.  There are a lot of little shops and stores where the Bahamians are selling their handmade trinkets and wares.  But, you can also venture toward the Atlantic side (with the pink beaches and horseback beach riding) and enjoy some incredibly upscale food options and the views!  My god.  The Atlantic beach is flat as a pancake for miles.  It’s just breathtaking.   Phillip and I anchored near the Ramona marina and really enjoyed our time there. 

Abacos

After Briland, we trickled up into the Abacos to frequent some of our favorite spots.  In Hopetown, we met up with Bob, best known to Pensacola, FL cruisers as “Babaloo,” whom I’ve mentioned here before.  That place is such a little gem, with its cute protected harbor, great shops and restaurants, weekly trivia at Cap’n Jacks, and the views from the lighthouse.  Hopetown never disappoints.  We stopped in Little Cay as well to visit with our friends Tom and Christy from Pensacola, before we zipped through Guyana Cay (for some Nippers fun!) and ended up at Green Turtle Cay with Rick and Terry again to round out our 2024 trek through the Bahamas.  No venture through the Abacos is complete for these Pensacola sailors, however, without stopping at Allans-Pensacola Cay and leaving our name on the signing tree … again! 

In all, it was an exceptional Bahamian cruise, filled with new faces, new places, but—are you ready for it?—the same ole Bahamian fun.  We’re excited to gear up to head back to the Bahamas in 2025, with plans to delve deeper into the Exumas and the Raggeds!  Are you coming?

When the Editor-in-Chief at SAIL Magazine—the talented and creative, Wendy Clarke—reached out to me about writing one of their Boats and Their People articles, I immediately knew what boat I wanted to feature: the capable, comfortable, proven cruising vessel that is a Kelly Peterson 44. I also secretly (although it’s out now ; ) wanted to collaborate with this adventurous writer and fellow cruiser I had met a few years back who boasts the perfect name for a sailor/world-traveler: Jessie Wilde! Jessie and her husband, Josh, live aboard their 1979 KP 44 most of the year while cruising and working remotely (for NASA!). Their boat is named Ling Ling, which means “very beautiful” in Mandarin. And, she is just that. You’ll see.

Josh and Jessie also undertook a daunting but exceptionally rewarding five-year refit of Ling Ling when they first purchased her back in 2015. Want to know more about their extensive refit list? I know you do! Be sure to pick up a copy SAIL Magazine’s October issue and check it out. I’ve included some more fun photos of Jessie and Josh and the impressive refit for their boat below that didn’t make it in the article, as well as a fun shot of the four of us together on Ubiquitous taken in the Bahamas this past spring. Us salty crew gotta stick together. Jessie, it was a real treat, and I’m thrilled with the way the piece turned out, much thanks to Wendy and her keen editor’s eye and unique touch. Thank you again to SAIL Magazine for sharing this incredible boat and her amazing “people.” Writing this piece was pure joy. : )

We last rendezvoused with Josh and Jessie at Black Point in the Exumas this past year when we were there for the OCC Rally in March of this year. Blog on our 2024 season in the Bahamas to come. Before that I believe we connected with Josh and Jessie in St. Augustine and West Palm Beach, Florida, and I know we will see these adventurous two again on the water next year. It’s a small cruising world out here. They are always wildly fun to be around, with tons of almost unbelievable stories, helpful insights, and inspiration. Jessie, Josh, thank your for collaborating with me on this piece. We can’t wait to see you two—and Ling Ling!—again soon!

Some more fun photos of Josh, Jessie, and Ling Ling both pre- and post-refit. Enjoy!

Where to begin?  For years and years, mine and Phillip’s “arch nemesis” on boats seemed to be davits, as we’ve had not ONE, but TWO incidents where they failed on us.  But, I’m starting to think we have a new foe.  We’ve had a time with it, I can tell you.  But, before we dig into the dirty, sooty saga, know that it’s all been resolved and we’re still cruising merrily along despite the upset.  (We always do!)  After we left our winter home in Brunswick, GA to start heading first to the Bahamas in the spring, then north to New England for the summer, our summer cruising season 2024 started out with a seemingly devastating bang. 

Leaving Brunswick, GA — February 2024:

It had been three long months, Ubi sat in the cold in Brunswick.  Don’t get me wrong.  It’s a fabulous place—I wrote all about it here—but it was cold, below freezing at times, and Ubi doesn’t like to sit anywhere! 

** Special thanks to my wonderful friend, Bridgett, who drove six hours (each way) with me to check on Ubi in the cold and keep her toasty when the temps dropped below freezing. Bridgett (and Gia!) we love you!! **

When February 2024 came, Phillip and I had been packing, planning, and practically itching to get cruising again.  We left early on a Thursday morning hoping to get a jump on the weather and make a nice 24-hour run south to St. Augustine, FL.  We tossed the lines and motored out under a gorgeous silky sunrise. 

Spirits and hopes were high as we motored out under the picturesque Sidney Lanier Bridge.  The wind was light but sailable and we enjoyed a nice day under a gentle breeze making good way south.  In the early afternoon, the winds started to die out, so we cranked our engine (an 80 hp Yanmar engine we lovingly named “Yannick”).  We were motor-sailing along for an hour or so when Phillip started to notice a bit of a sooty, diesel smell around the engine.  He lifted the companionway stairs to get access to the engine and smoke billowed out.  Of all the possible good things I could imagine to billow out of an engine room—a nice, rosy smell, a bright, inspiring light perhaps—smoke is not one.  Understandably alarmed, Phillip called out to me topside. 

“The engine is smoking,” he said.  In a calmer voice than I would have. 

“Smoking?!” I asked, not sure why, as I know what smoking means. 

We went down to investigate and an obvious grey exhaust was piling out from under the companionway stairs, but it seemed impossible to find its source.  However, finding our engine in this state not one day into the very start of our cruising season was, to say the least, disheartening.  But, from years of cruising (which can also be called “boats breaking down in exotic places”) we know sometimes a seemingly really bad sign can be a simple problem and easy fix.  Of course, this also means the opposite can also be true—i.e., a seemingly easy problem may actually be an indicator of a much more substantial, costly fix.  For the moment, Phillip and I were remaining calm, trying to find the source of the smoke that should have been captured in Yannick’s exhaust system and expelled out the back of the boat with the hot water from the heating system, but it was not. 

We opened up the lazarette on the starboard side, which is the workshop on Ubi, providing access to the generator, water maker, all the tools, fluids, spares, supplies, etc., as well as the prop shaft, engine muffler and exhaust hose, and the Raycor fuel filters. 

As soon as we opened the lid, smoke began puffing out.  Thinking it was somehow escaping from the fat exhaust hose that came off the elbow connected to the riser, Phillip had me try to wrap rescue tape around and around the joint hoping to stop the spew, but the exhaust was too thick to breathe and the tape wasn’t sticking and holding (probably due to operator error as it was a very hard, hot spot to try to wiggle my sweaty fingers in to snake the tape around). 

The engine was holding temp just fine, which was a good sign.  Whatever exhaust leak we had, it seemed pretty minor for now and it was enabling us to keep making way.  The question was where we were going to go considering our new smoky status as it no longer seemed prudent to continue on overnight to St. Augustine with light winds and a puffing engine.  Jacksonville was five (5) nautical miles away, the closest port.  Phillip and I debated calling Boat U.S. to be towed into Jacksonville but we always approach that as a last measure.  Other than the mess and unpleasantness of spewing exhaust, which was contained under the companionway stairs but now billowing out of the open starboard lazarette, Yannick was purring along just fine, holding temp and easily moving the boat at 6 knots toward safety. 

Right or wrong, we decided to puff on in and find the nearest dock or anchorage location we could to to get sorted.  Mind you, we’d never been into Jacksonville by sailboat before, ever.  Of course.  Always a good time to try our hand at a new inlet.  Hooray!

As luck (good or bad) always does, it played a huge role for us.  We still had the sails up and some wind filled in just as we were motoring into the Jacksonville inlet that was really moving us fast.  We also, by sheer happenstance, caught the tide coming in, so it was working with us, and we zipped right in the inlet making 8.5 knots.  That was wild.  We saw an empty T-dock that luckily offered enough depth for us to dock at a public boat ramp, and we had long ago decided we were after only forgiveness, not permission, in order to get Ubi safely docked.  We glided in, tied up, and turned Yannick off so he could cool, and we could figure out what the heck we were going to do. 

We were also lucky it was a Thursday so we had one more business day ahead of us to perhaps get a mechanic out to help.  We were lucky that the first mechanic we could find in the nearby area via Google was both a Yanmar certified dealer and—far more importantly—he answered the phone AND agreed to stop by the next day to drop us off some spare exhaust hose from his truck.  We thought perhaps the hose between the elbow and the muffler was our culprit, that it had somehow split or otherwise been compromised, and if we replaced it that would solve our exhaust problem.  We poked around the engine some after we docked, but it was too hot to touch anywhere so we couldn’t do an effective search for the faulty part in our exhaust system.  It was also getting late into the evening at this time and we were beat from the stressful day.  Phillip and I made a hand-to-mouth dinner and some stiff drinks and pored over diesel manuals and Nigel Calder books before crashing hard on the dock in Jacksonville.

Feeling a bit fresher the next morning and with Yannick cooled down to touch-temps, we were able to do a deeper inspection on Friday morning.  Just looking around the workroom on Ubi was distressing.  She was covered in a layer of obstinate soot that took 12-20 passes with a Magic Eraser just to get it to ease up.  Cleaning Ubi after all of this was going to be a monstrous chore.  Two photos below show her clean on the left and sooty on the right. : (

But, more important than the mess, was the source.  We needed to find the problem, pronto. 

Phillip started tracing the exhaust system from start to finish.  When he got to the point where the riser bolts onto the engine block, he could feel the problem without even seeing it.  He instructed me to run my hands along the same area.  I could feel it, too, and could even get my head and camera in enough to get a good picture of it. 

It felt both good to find the problem—Step One—but also devastating to find that it was a cracked engine part. This was not something that hose, or rescue tape, or clamps, or goo would fix.  This was the type of failure that can put an end to your cruising season if you’re not prepared for it, or if you run into bad luck or delays trying to source a fix for it.  The riser had cracked at the weld where its tube meets the flange that bolts onto the engine.  Meaning, it was still bolted on to the engine block, but it had cracked off. 

The riser/elbow was completely out of commission.  There was no easy way to repair this riser/elbow and simply keep on trucking.  It needed to be re-welded, if that was even a possibility, to make it perform again.  This was a substantial failure.  However, we did have one very good (bad?) thing going for us.  Phillip and I always say on the boat: “The easiest problem to fix on the boat is one you’ve fixed before.”  This might have prompted you to ask: “Have Phillip and Annie dealt with a busted riser/elbow before on Ubi?”  The answer? 

Yes, yes we have.  In fact, the riser/elbow we were looking at now, with the cracked flange, was only 2.5 years old.  Far younger than it should have been to suffer typical riser/elbow build-up and failure, much less a catastrophic crack.  But, the sole reason we had a replacement riser/elbow on the boat in Jacksonville, simply waiting to be bolted into place, was because we had dealt with a riser/elbow failure before, one that almost stopped our cruising season back in 2021.  Do you remember?  I’ll share an extremely truncated refresher:  

Our Riser/Elbow Saga — Sep-Oct 2021:

It all started with an attempt to be good little boaters and simply do some preventative maintenance.  When our pre-purchase survey on Ubiquitous showed a rusty riser/elbow on our 80 hp Yanmar (4JH80), it was recommended to have it pulled and inspected, so we did.  I think my face expertly expresses our impression of the riser/elbow after we removed it. 

It appeared to be in rough shape, so we decided to have a new riser/elbow fabricated to replace it.  Know that the Yanmar in our Outbound 46 is computer-designed to fit inside of our engine space (under the companionway stairs); meaning, there is hardly an inch to spare in our engine room.  For that reason, the riser/elbow is a custom fit to each Outbound, not a part provided by Yanmar.  Hence, the reason we had to have a new one fabricated to fit our specific engine space. 

We sent our rust-bomb riser/elbow off, from Annapolis, MD, where we first took possession of Ubi, to an expert fabricator in Virginia in September, 2021.  He did an exceptional job.  However, in the process of shipping both the old and new riser/elbow back to us, a terrible thing happened.  UPS lost the package.  Oops.  They lost it.  A huge, heavy package with two engine pieces in it!  Phillip and I called their help line—screaming “Speak.  To.  A.  Huuuuummman!” so often it makes me sick thinking about it—for weeks, to no avail.  The package was irretrievably lost.  This left us with both a custom hole in our engine room that only an expert fabricator could fill and just a few short weeks to fill it, before winter closed in on us in Annapolis and left Ubi wrapped on jacks for the winter: our first winter owning her!  Unacceptable.  So, what were our options?

Our fabricator in Virginia was having surgery, so he was out.  Collection Yachts, who now builds the Outbounds, is located in Xiamen, China, which was on national holiday.  Locally, in Annapolis, we were just weeks away from the Annapolis Boat Show, which meant every marine service provider in the greater Annapolis was booked solid for months.  Uggghhhh.  I got desperate.  I got scared.  I got cookies, and started running around Jabin’s Ship Yard begging anyone who could help us.  After multiple strike-outs and hard Nos, I finally got lucky and found a fabricator who had a job fall through, leaving him a few days’ worth of time to spare, and he offered it to us.  Hallelujah! 

The same day—I swear I cannot make this craziness up—Collection had spoke with the owner of the newest Outbound, which was going to be in the Annapolis Boat Show, and he was willing to sell us his spare riser/elbow and have Collection make him a new one.  We didn’t even know this guy—we’re now lucky to call him, Leo, and his lovely wife, Diane, on s/v Orion friends—and he offered to save our necks at the buzzer. 

Phillip and I couldn’t believe both our bad luck AND good luck.  We now had a brand-new riser/elbow being fabricated for us AND a Collection riser/elbow coming to us via “Sistership Shipping!” Phillip aptly named it.  We will never trust UPS with boat parts, or perhaps anything, ever again. 

The fabricated riser/elbow was completed and installed first.  We stashed the Sistership elbow on the boat and Phillip and I tossed the lines and headed south as fast as we could in October 2021 to escape the freeze.  We dubbed it our “September to Remember.”  It was a saga worthy of print in SAIL Magazine.  If you’re intrigued, you can read more details about our 2021 saga in Part One and Part Two on the blog and in the Sistership Shipping article that ran in SAIL Magazine. 

Ubi cruised up and down the East Coast and to both the Bahamas and New England two years in a row with that riser/elbow until … February 8, 2024. 

Our Riser/Elbow Fix – February 2024:

Meanwhile in Jacksonville … Once Phillip and I realized our problem was the riser/elbow, we removed the busted riser and its cracked flange (the two being now completely separated), and we pulled out the spare riser/elbow that Leo had sailed to us in Annapolis on Orion back in 2021 and started mocking it up.  Because we had done this process before (several times) during our 2021 fiasco, we were fairly experienced with it.  We removed the turbo charger from the port side of the engine, as this makes the mock-up and swap-out much easier.  The riser/elbow from Leo looked to be a good fit visually.  Phillip and I took big heaping breaths and hoped for the best. 

During this time, we also heard from the mechanic we had called the night before.  He was coming by to drop off our spare hose, but there was no way we were going to let him get away from the boat without begging him to help us with the swap-out.  Phillip and I have become pretty proficient mechanics in our years cruising, but I wouldn’t call us professional diesel mechanics by any means, and certainly not Yanmar-certified ones.  We were thrilled to have this mechanic—whose name, I kid you not, is Angel; he was indeed our angel—come aboard to handle our repair or at least supervise. 

Angel got a laugh when we showed him the problem: our cracked riser/elbow.  “Yeah, that’ll do it,” he said.  Angel set right to work removing the hoses and other parts needed to install the new riser/elbow.  Phillip diligently handed Angel tools and watched him work while I spent about six hours scrubbing the soot-covered workroom in the starboard lazarette and engine room interior (working around the boys) trying to get Ubi cleaned up. 

Phillip and I held our breath as Angel maneuvered the turbo charger back into place—a critical moment we knew from our efforts in 2021—to complete the install.  Angel had to wedge and smash and curse a little (perhaps a lot) to get it in there with the charger, but when he deemed our replacement operation complete, we were thrilled.  We cranked Yannick up and shouted at the tops of our lungs as he purred inside the hull, with not a whiff of smoke coming out of him.  The new riser/elbow was working beautifully, and we were ready to toss the lines and continue our cruise having only lost a day’s voyage and suffered a busted riser/elbow. 

Some photos from the days after our sooty saga. We were able to keep on trucking and make our way down to St. Augustine, just as planned, only a day behind. Who can complain about that outcome considering the catastrophe we were facing.

I share this story because the only reason we had a spare riser/elbow on board the boat, just in case of an emergency, is because we had dealt with a faulty (okay, missing counts as faulty) riser/elbow before.  A spare riser/elbow is not something many cruisers carry aboard.  Although every sailor would like to, you just cannot, in reality, carry an entire spare boat with you when you cruise.  And, I can assure you, a spare riser/elbow is not something Phillip and I used to carry aboard Plaintiff’s Rest. 

So, the only reason we were so well-prepared for this upset and able to get it fixed and carry right back on with our cruise is precisely because of the infuriating saga we had dealt with before.  The lesson: sometimes (or maybe all times) whatever infuriating saga you are currently working your way through is likely educating and preparing you to expertly navigate a similar saga down the road with the beauty of wisdom and, if you’re lucky, the lifeline of having the right spare parts or tools on board. 

So, take those infuriating sagas in stride, knowing they are only making you stronger, wiser, and more prepared.  Say “thank you” and keep on cruising.  And, remember:

Good to know about the bears.  Watch out for those.  Be safe out there, folks.  : )

I would call Phillip and I fairly new “East Coast Cruisers.”  We’ve bumped up and down the east coast since we got Ubiquitous in 2021—so, about three years now (and we’re doing it again as I write this).  But, we know some cruisers who have done it for 20, 30, even more years.  The places to stop, savor, and explore seem infinite.  We follow the lovely temps down south in the winter—to the point that we’re often in bikinis and board shorts, calling it “summer”—and up to glorious New England for the “summer”—which usually puts us occasionally in our foulies and fleeces, calling it “winter.”  This pattern also coincides with our goal to stay out of the hurricane box during hurricane season, a nice bonus. 

However, there are times when we need to park the boat to head back home (Pensacola, FL for us) to handle work matters, family stuff, medical appointments, all that fun stuff.  This is exactly where we left you last time on the blog, after spending some fabulous time in Norfolk, Charleston, and (new for us) Beaufort, SC, we were looking for a safe place to button Ubi up for a couple of months.  As fairly new East Coast Cruisers, we’ve been trying a few different safe harbors along the coast and I believe one of our now new favorites—recommended to us by many cruisers—is Brunswick Landing Marina in Brunswick, Georgia, also just a short drive (or even bike ride) from the exquisite “Golden Isles” of Georgia: St. Simons, Jekyll, Sea, and Little St. Simons.  We found many (many!) reasons to love this area.  But, for brevity’s sake, I’ll just share ten.  Ten Reasons Why We Love BLM and the Golden Isles.

November 2023 — January 2024

Number One: Protection

The most important: it is super protected.  A former Navy hurricane hole, the marina has land mass on three sides and a heavy duty wave attenuator, protecting both the docks and boats.  They also have well-maintained concrete floating docks with tall pilings for storm surge.  As a testament to its superior protection, when Hurricane Irma rolled over bringing winds over 70, driving rain, and an 8.5 foot storm surge with the tide, out of 341 full slips at the time, the only damage reported at the marina was one head sail that had not been secured.  Also, while being protected, it’s not a 5-hour motor in either.  About an hour and a half and you’re back out in the Atlantic.  There is also only one bridge you have to navigate but it’s 165 feet, so no trouble and it’s gorgeous to travel under. There is also no real current at the marina to battle.  Phillip and I felt very comfortable leaving Ubiquitous there for a couple of months over the winter. 

Number Two: Location—Planes, Priuses, and Insurance

While none of us like the reality that insurance governs when and where we travel, it simply does.  Brunswick Landing Marina is one of the last safe harbors north of the Florida-Georgia line where boat owners can keep their boat insured until November 1st, when hurricane season ends and the fleet can then start sailing south.  When Phillip and I were staying on the boat in Brunswick it never failed, every cruiser we met in the laundry, walking the grounds, in local restaurants, at the marina happy hours, etc., when asked “Where you headed next?” 99% of folks said the Bahamas after November 1st, specifically the Exumas.  Because the place is so perfectly located for insurance purposes, it feels like a mass exodus in the winter.  This does mean the place books up solid during hurricane season, but plan early and it’s worth it.  Also, there is an airport in Brunswick (just a short 15-minute drive, we hired a very professional, friendly driver) which connects to Atlanta so flying in or out all over the country is a breeze.  We also chose Brunswick specifically for our purposes because we could drive back and forth to the boat from Pensacola in just six hours.  We packed the Prius up and hauled all kinds of stuff both ways.  It was very handy.  And, they have expansive dockside parking so many cruisers bring their cars there (and they’re often happy to share them for a day and carpool for errands).

Number Three: Mostly Pleasant Weather

With very few exceptions, we found the weather in Brunswick over the winter could get cold, but it rarely freezes.  Boats sitting in the water typically have no problem staying warm and snug throughout the winter.  We kept a temperature activated space heater on Ubi (with a tip-over safety shutoff) just in case and, with the exception of one abnormal freeze) were able to leave her unattended and safe during the winter.  There are also no trees close enough to drop leaves (or branches) on the boats in heavy winds.  Aside from the bugs, gnats mostly that like to eat you alive in windless summer days, the weather it typically shorts and t-shirts and sunny through most of the spring, summer, and fall.  Comparing this option to Annapolis, which we considered, where we would have to wrap and winterize Ubi for the winter, this was a fantastic alternative. 

Number Four: Friendly, Incredibly Helpful Staff

The dockmaster and staff at BLM simply “get it.”  They know boaters and they know what’s important to us.  We want help getting into the fuel dock and our slip.  Then we promptly want to throw our trash away, get water, log onto fast internet, and wash our clothes.  We also want packages shipped, which the marina is happy to accept.  Dan and Kyle in the marina office helped us out many times, even coming aboard Ubiquitous at one point when we had an alarm going off that needed investigating.  They also operate live-feed cameras on all the docks so you can check on your boat from afar.  And, they keep each gate locked with fob key access for cruisers so it’s secure.  Like I said, they just get us and they never make you feel like you’re a burden.  They also work very hard to maintain clean grounds, empty trash cans, working washing machines and dryers, and (probably the most important) happy hours three times a week with free booze.  I mean … Yes, let’s just go there, shall we?

Number Five: Free Laundry and Other Impressive Amenities

You read that right.  The laundry is 100% free.  No coins or tokens or card-reading machines charging $4.00 or more per wash and dry.  They also have three laundry facilities, each with multiple machines so wait times are short or non-existent.  You can also check out their marina bikes for free via their app and bike all over.  Phillip and I even biked all the way over to St. Simons Island and spent a lovely day.  BLM has a dog park and dog-friendly facilities.  The “Yacht Club” facility in the center of the marina (on Dock 9) blew my mind when I opened the door.  At many marinas you may find one lumpy couch, a couple worn Dean Koontz or Danielle Steels in the book swap, a broken washer, and a water fountain.  At BLM, the Yacht Club presents more like a resort lobby—expansive and welcoming.  They have an impressive selection of DVDs to watch on their big screen, a book swap that looks like a library, organized by letter, a half-done jigsaw puzzle anyone can work on at any time, a small gym, it’s just incredible.  I was blown away.  Then, I learned they use this space to host a happy hour not once a week.  Not twice.  But three times.  A brave move inviting thirsty cruisers up there three times a week.  But, that’s just the tip of the social iceberg. 

Number Six: Social Butterflies Flourish Here

I would sometimes find myself standing by the bulletin board announcing the upcoming “events” at the marina simply in awe of everything they came up with and put together.  This is just a list of what I can remember:

·      Ladies Luncheons

·      Bingo night

·      Jam sessions (BYO … Guitar!)

·      Paw Parties (doggie play dates)

·      Yoga

·      All sorts of Arts & Crafts – cupcake decorating, jewelry making, cross-stitching and embroidery lessons,

·      Book Clubs

These are all in addition to the Yacht Club Happy Hour not once a week, or twice a week, but THREE times a week every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings where free wine and beer are provided.  I mean … [insert mind-blown emoji here].  They also usually come up with a fun food theme for the Happy Hour (optional whether you want to bring food or not – if you bring you eat; if you don’t – you eat, no one cares).  The times we went the themes were bacon, jalapeño, and “something creative on a cracker.”  Phillip and I met many new friends and, not surprising, several folks who knew our boat Ubiquitous (that happens a lot, she’s kind of famous).  We also had a great time bringing several friends along with us, including the former owners of Ubiquitous, Jim and Ann who made a detour to see us (and primarily Ubi! Ha!) last fall.  What I love about this incredibly social aspect, though, is it allows you to be as social as you want (or don’t want).  You’ll learn which one of us is the more social one in the next section.  Ready on! 

And I must mention here (in the social section) what wonderful friends we have — Stephen and Beth (I’ve written about these two salty sailors, exceptional comrades on the blog before) — who drove Phillip and I (and our boatloads of stuff) from Pensacola over to Brunswick and back several times. Thanks again SB!!

Number Seven: Community

On any given day, I would come across cruisers helping one another—offering their car, lifting heavy packages, sharing tools, coming over to help troubleshoot a boat problem, going up someone’s mast, helping with lines on the dock, donating some great, lightly used goods to the donation pile, you name it.  The minute you get settled in at BLM, you find yourself among 100+ friendly, helpful cruisers eager to talk about your boat problems (and share theirs – it is quid pro quo) but also offer their help, knowledge, and experience.  You would never feel alone here, even if you tried (and trust me, I’ve tried!).  Being the more anti-social of the two of us (Phillip will surprise you with his lust for a cruiser gathering!) I found I couldn’t shake their good nature and genuine offers for help, so I quit trying.  Ha! 

Number Eight: Georgia’s Exquisite Golden Isles

I will admit, I had no idea the coast of Georgia was so preserved, pristine, and … well, just beautiful.  Live oaks sprawl, thrive, and arch over the roads creating wooded canopies laced with Spanish Moss.  The marshy grasslands are green in the summer, turning gold in the fall (hence the “Golden Isles” title I presume – don’t correct me if I’m wrong).  They look like golden wheat fields with sparkling waterways snaking through.  The coastline looks very different than Florida or the Bahamas but boasts their own unique breed of beauty.  There are four barrier islands: St. Simons, Sea Island, Jekyll, and Little St. Simons and they all offer breathtaking stretches of marshland, idyllic downtowns, great shopping and restaurants, and plenty to explore.  We visited St. Simons and Jekyll and drank it in.  Many folks travel here to vacation because it’s so stunning.  We found their driftwood beach breathtaking and had a great time walking the beaches with fellow cruisers and very good friends who drove us over to Georgia several times for a visit. 

Number Nine: Walkable Destinations—Reid’s, 1509, Thai Basil, Schroeder’s, Fox’s Pizza, Silver Bluff Brewery

After Phillip and I got Ubi settled in her slip at BLM our first mission was to explore on foot. I will readily admit this is one of my favorite aspects of cruising. Setting off on foot to explore a new city, port, area. I love finding each new port’s little coffee shop, bookstore, restaurants, trinket shops, parks, etc. and just getting a feel of the “vibe” of the place. After perusing just a few blocks from the marina in downtown Brunswick (which itself is beautiful with lots of old buildings and homes, little parks, and quaint streets), Phillip and I found several gems that only kept surprising us and offering more to eat, drink, and savor at each place. We’ve already been to all of these at least several times and are still looking forward to coming back.

Reid’s Apothecary: a swank, upscale eatery (we like it best for lunch) with exceptional food and a very cool speakeasy-style “Study” in the back for late-night fun.

1509 Steak House: a high-quality restaurant with cocktails, appetizers, and main dishes that will knock your socks off, not to mention an outdoor/rooftop area that offers great live music and an incredible view of Brunswick and the marina.

Basil Thai: hands-down best Thai soup I’ve ever had, and their entrees (pad thai, drunken noodles, all the curries, etc.) are phenomenal for a great price and quick, satisfying Thai food.

Schroeder’s Market: we ate here the most, it is an exceptional little lunch spot (family run and owned) offering fresh, inventive specials every day and little grocery items you can buy (think limited fresh produce and lots of unique spices, pastas, herbs, teas, and wine), plus incredible pastries, cookies, brownies, scones, I could go on … I had to keep Phillip away from this place at times.

Fox’s Pizza: consistently good, affordable pizza that offers a great option after a long day of boat chores that pairs well with a desire to not cook and have a lazy, stuff-your-face dinner.

Silver Bluff Brewery: awesome venue indoors and out with a great variety of homemade brewskies as well as trivia nights and other fun events.

But, don’t worry, I saved the BEST walkable option for last. We are sailors, remember? ; )

Number Ten: Richland Rum Distillery

Saving the best for last.  Phillip and I were simply taking our first stroll down the main strip—Newcastle Street—when Phillip literally choked on his Silver Bluff beer and shouted.  “Holy hell!”  I about dropped mine trying to find out what the hell he was so excited about.  But right there, on the downtown strip was a gem we would have never dreamed to have found within walking distance of our boat.  A rum distillery?!  Are you kidding me?  And, not just any rum distillery.  It is an estate rum.  Meaning, they grow their own sugarcane for the sole purpose of making Richland Rum.  They’ve been in business for twenty years, with two distilleries in Richland and Brunswick, Georgia.  Their barrel aging and distilling process makes a variety of different rum tastes and colors (called “expressions”).  Our favorites were their white rum which tastes like a high-end tequila (crazy, but it does) and the “Pineapple Express” cocktail they made with it.  You have to go there to try it and get the recipe (it’s quite cruiser-friendly! : ).  We also loved their top-shelf XO dark rum which was super refined and went down like smooth syrup.  Phillip and I booked a tour of the distillery, which we loved, bought multiple bottles (which are all gone now) and their flights of rum, and took several friends there to share the rum bliss.  We couldn’t believe we stumbled on such a dream just a walk away from our boat’s safe and happy home for the winter. 

In all, Phillip and I (and Ubi!) were impressed and thrilled with the protected, affordable, accommodating, and exciting “digs” we found for our boat at Brunswick Landing Marina and the surrounding area.  If you haven’t yet been, check the place out and tell the staff we said hello!  Hope to see some of you there someday.

When a pirate looks at 50, what does he see?  

It’s not a trick question.  His (or her) life.  The years that have gone by and how they were spent.  Every time I scroll through old photos to compile the collage that will become my next HaveWind blog, I feel … well.  Proud.  Proud of how I’ve spent—and continue to spend—my time.  It takes some sacrifice and commitment (and periods of uncomfortableness and unknown and telling friends and family “I don’t know when I’ll be back”) to embrace this cruising lifestyle, but the rewards are infinite.  As my kaleidoscope past flickers by me, I’m always surprised at how much Phillip and I squeezed in—both work and play, exploring and enjoying, discovering and overcoming.  

After we left our temporary buddy boaters—Peter and Patty on Serendipitous and Jimmy Buffett’s stomping grounds in the Long Island Sound back in September, 2023, Phillip and I got busy.  In October-November, we laid down some offshore miles and laid Ubi up on the hard for some bottom (and other) work.  We rounded Hatteras (making it another Happy Hattereen!) then pillaged Charleston in our Halloween costumes.  And, we explored new territory for us on the eastern coast (Beaufort, SC), a sleepy, sweepy nostalgic southern city, which also allowed us to explore a place full of memories for Phillip: Parris Island.  Oorah!  Have any of you cruised this area?  If not, come along with us!

October, 2023

After cruising slowly down the Long Island Sound, we stayed for a bit again in Port Washington—our absolute favorite port for exploring NYC.  Port Wash is a safe, beautiful, convenient city for cruisers with a well-kept, affordable mooring field where Ubi can remain safe while we make the short walk and a 40-minute ($12) train ride to the City?  Yes, please!  When we leave Port Wash, our cruise through the East River is always an enjoyable day as well, taking in the City from a different angle and admiring the architecture of the bridges and buildings as we motor by, under, and through.  

We had our sights set on Little Creek, VA where we planned to haul out (for the first time) at Cobb’s, a shipyard several cruisers had told us they had used and trusted.  As relatively new east coast cruisers (it is only mine and Phillip’s third year to do it—compared to friends we have who have been doing it for 20+ years), we have had to find new trusted marine vendors along the way.  To do this, we rely heavily on advice and recommendations from cruiser friends we trust.  Several Outbound owners and other long-time cruiser friends told us they had used Cobb’s and were very pleased with their work and reliability, two of the most important elements of a marine vendor experience.  In the end, I can tell you, Cobb’s exceeded our expectations on both counts.     

We hauled mid-October in need of new bottom paint, maintenance of our Auto Prop, and a spiffy hull shine-up for Ubi, who certainly deserved it.  We were thrilled to find the entire crew at Cobb’s was efficient, immediately responsive to our needs, and promised a timeline (just over a week) that really shocked us.  Lurching out of the water, Ubi’s bottom had plenty of soft growth but otherwise looked really good after the high-pressure spray down.  Some of her bottom paint appeared to be wiped off (particularly at the water line), but the team at Cobb’s advised us that was a sign of frequent cleaning and that the paint was performing exactly as it should, which gave us more peace of mind.  The last time we’d had the bottom painted had been in August 2021 back at Jabin’s in Annapolis.  Finding ourselves in exceptional hands, Phillip and I flew home to Pensacola, FL to take care of some work and personal things and visit with friends and family. 

We called on Dr. Roderick with King Propulsion, with whom we had worked in 2021 when we rebuilt our Auto Prop (among about a-hundred other little projects) while we had been hauled out. Here is a pic of our prop in 2021.

Roderick was prompt and helpful again, and even personally delivered the kit for regreasing and replacing the zinc on our Auto Prop to Cobb’s himself, as he lives near the Norfolk, VA area.  We were thrilled to see the tedious work the team at Cobb’s had done on our prop in our absence, also replacing the broken cutter on our shaft just as a matter of course.  

Charles, at Cobb’s, was an incredibly lively fellow who spent extra time spiffing up Ubi’s hull with fantastic results.  I could pick something out of my teeth, if needed, in her reflection!  It almost makes you not want to splash her because she’s going to get salty, slimy, and dirty.  Almost … that’s what she’s built to do.  Splash that salty gal!  

On October 25th we landed in Norfolk around noon and, as promised, Cobb’s had completed their work and were ready to splash us—that very day!  Damn she looked good. As soon as we had slung our bags onto the boat, they removed the ladder, and the Travelift was ready to carry Ubi to the water for her splash.  Cobb’s had made us a promise about the timeline and cost and they kept it.  That, alone, is a huge mark in their favor.  

We had a great experience at Cobb’s and really appreciate their attention to detail, our timeline, and our budget.  They even found us a slip for the evening so we could provision up and get ready to round Hatteras … the next day.  When Mother Nature grants you a weather window—particularly for such a treacherous part of the Atlantic—you take it!  

We were expecting light winds.  12 knots or less, that would be just on the beam or slightly aft, allowing us a beam reach, but we figured we would have to motor a good bit.  Never a problem when the goal is to get safely around Hatteras.  That’s a motor passage we’ll take any day.  In all, we had a great run and tucked in safely at Cape Lookout for a rest after our 30-ish hour trip.  And, we had a pod of dolphins—whom we consider our personal good omen ambassadors—give us quite a show at the bow as Ubi sliced through the green waters, eager to make her way south!

We love that Cape Lookout offers such a big easy inlet to navigate and a huuuuuggge anchorage that usually offers plenty of room with little to no worry about other boats.  I’ve talked more about our experienced at Cape Lookout here.

Not to mention it’s a beautiful anchorage and shoreline to walk and explore and find the coolest shells.  But, the stop this past fall was just to rest and keep on trucking the next day (when we expected a bit more wind) headed to Charleston. We planned to anchor near the Yorktown where we typically land) with the exciting goal to spend our favorite holiday of the year there: Halloween!  We already had our costumes packed and planned.  Any guesses before I reveal?  

Don’t look back at the title … 

What?  You did!  That’s alright.  We’ll still count your guess.  You got it!  I Dream of Jeannie!  

Phillip was the genie (I’m kidding … although that would have been funny).  I dawned the skimpy veils and silk, and he portrayed a spot-on Major Healey.  Any hard-core IDOJ fans out there want to tell us where we went wrong?  It took Phillip and I half the night, and a few strange looks from fellow costumers, before we realized we’d gotten it wrong.  I guess Jeannie had strayed a little in our version and hooked up with Captain Nelson’s sidekick, Roger Healey.  Ha!  We got a good laugh at our mistake halfway through the evening and started playing it up.  Had ourselves a fabulous time drinking our dressed-up selves through the lively streets of Charleston on Halloween night.  Even found the whole Princess lineup from Disney and had a great time at the Cocktail Club with these vivacious ladies.  Don’t you just love a holiday centered around skimpy costumes?  We do!  

After our festive romp through Charleston, we started making our way south and decided this year to try a couple of new spots to us on the coast—primarily Beaufort, SC, which we had always heard great things about but we knew it was a long haul deep into the coast (about four hours in, four hours out, which is what had deterred us before).  But, this year, we decided to make an inland adventure out of it and take the ICW in for a bit, with a planned stop anchored near Monkey Island (aka Morgan Island).  Here: 

Any of you ever heard of this spot?  The monkeys were quite active and came to the shoreline around sunset to explore and see what Ubiquitous was up to.  We had fun listening to them over cocktails and enjoying the serenity of the anchorage.  

I also decided to knock out a project I’d had on my list for a bit: sewing leather chafe guards onto Ubi’ davits where our dinghy (aptly named Ducky!) rubs when we cinch her up.  We’d tried pool noodles and other chafe materials for years with mixed (often aesthetically tacky) results.  Then I had the idea to use the “Boat Leather” kit we had previously ordered and sewn onto the helm of our old boat, Plaintiff’s Rest.  

Tom at Boat Leather had a great kit that I simply cut in half (down from 15” to 2 x 7” inch pieces, roughly), with pre-made holes for the stitching and foam provided to provide Ducky that extra little cushion.  I was very pleased with the outcome.  A much sleeker, more aesthetic result, with a product that is infinitely heartier than pool noodles.  They will also never budge, and they blend right in on our stainless steel davits.  Win win.  Thank you again, Tom!  

After one night at Monkey Island (the monkeys finally quieted down after sunset), we weighed anchor and made our way inland on the ICW toward Beaufort, SC.  That was a lovely day.  These back parts of the ICW along the Carolina and Georgia coasts are quiet exquisite—lovely golds, browns, and blues.  We felt a little like Huck Finn making our way down the Mississippi, snaking through golden beds of marsh grass and navigating old trusses and turn-style bridges.  

It really was a lovely motor day.  But, I have mentioned motoring quite a bit, haven’t I?

By the time we got to Beaufort, SC, we had run up against our Yanmar (Yannick’s) 250 hour mark for his oil change.  We had picked up this nifty TRAC pump at the Defender store back in New London, CT the past summer that we were keen to use.  It seemed like the perfect, small-quantity, pump with a long narrow hose (which we shove down the dipstick tube) that we felt would work perfect to suck all of the dirty oil out of Yannick’s oil basin and allow us to easily dump the nasty oil into an old oil container for safe transport to shore for disposal.  Yes, we get excited about nifty little devices like this that make maintaining our lovely boat easier, and therefore our life aboard more enjoyable.  In all, we were very pleased with the TRAC pump and look forward to using it again.  As I write this, we’ve got about another 80 or so hours to go before we’ll whip that little prize possession out again for another suck session.  Yannick deserves it!  

With all of our chores done, it was finally time to set foot ashore this throwback in time we’d heard so much about: “Beautiful Beaufort,” SC (that little trick helps me remember Beaufort, SC is “b-you-fort”—like the word “beautiful”—and Beaufort, NC is “bow-fort”).  For all my fellow blondes out there: You’re welcome.

B-you-fort.  What a mesmerizing little city.  I found I kept staring upward into the sweepy maze of Spanish moss that seemed to dangle from every single branch of every single live oak—and there were hundreds of them, just in the little 8-block radius we walked day after day.  Most of the houses in the historic district look like they haven’t changed since the plantation days.  Huge white columns on the front, long stretching lawns, oaks with branches that stretch out like an octopus.  Some branches even dip back down into the ground, only to pop back out again like a Lochness monster.  It was unreal.  I could have walked those neighborhoods for three more days and still have found new things to look at.  It was just such a different feel than so many other coastal towns.  Maybe being tucked up so deep inland had helped to preserve the quiet heritage of the place.  

When we travel to very historic cities like this for the first time, Phillip and I love to book a tour to learn more about the place, see things we wouldn’t have noticed without a guide, and expand our understanding of the development of the place, it’s history (good, bad, and ugly) and why it became the place that it is.  This time we booked a horse carriage tour, as Phillip knows I absolutely adore horses, having grown up around them during my summers in Alabama and spent several years barrel racing, pole bending, and just romping around the backwoods with my Dad on the handful of horses he owned.  This horse did not disappoint.  We got a rare English Shire named Angus.  He was sweet and gentle, but incredibly strong.  He can pull more than 4,000 pounds.  Amazing!  The female horses all had their “nails” (their hooves) painted bright greens and sparkly purples.  I spent approximately five minutes petting each one.  It’s a good thing Phillip is patient.  They’re such stoic, intelligent animals.  

And, the tour was fabulous.  We learned a lot about the architecture and the buildings in the downtown and historic area.  I’m always impressed by how much more connected with the land and weather people used to be, building their homes and designing their gardens and domestic routines around the weather and rotation of the earth.  What a much more wonderful world it would be if we (humans) were are still so intertwined and dependent upon the health of the earth.  In all, it was a memorable visit to a jewel of a southern city.  We also had one more really cool stop on our list.  To visit Phillip’s training ground.  

Phillip served as an enlisted officer in the U.S.M.C. (1992-1996).  In 1915, Parris Island was officially designated a Recruit Depot, and United States Marine Corps Recruit Training has continued there since then.  Phillip went to boot camp at Parris Island, so the place holds many irreplaceable memories for him. Phillip and I rented bikes at Beaufort to make the ~10 mile trek to Parris Island. Despite the bike shop guy’s skepticism that we could make it, we did!  It was a glorious ride through canopied streets dripping with Spanish Moss, arched bridges that lifted us up and gave us incredible views of the “golden wheat fields” (that’s what they look like at least) with winding crystal blue rivers flowing through them.  It was stunning.  

In contrast, Parris Island didn’t offer much aesthetically, because that’s not its purpose.  It’s a series of barracks and quads, climbing walls, ropes, and tire courses.  Phillip was flooded with memories as he walked the paths from building to building.  We did hear many squadrons chanting out while doing jumping jacks or jogging around the campus, and I could easily picture Phillip out there fulfilling every order, impressing his superiors.  Phillip showed me the big field where they host Marine Corps graduation and my mind populated it with crisply dressed Marines, standing erect in their dress blues, in tight formation, all at attention.  I could also see the dozens of family members, blinking back proud tears in the stands.  It was an overwhelming experience.  I’m glad I got to put a real life backdrop to the handful of memories from boot camp Phillip has shared with me.  We both were really glad, and proud, we were able to make that stop.  

In all, it was an incredibly memorable trek down the coast—made much quicker with our freshly painted bottom and the chores we were able to conquer along the way.  After Beaufort, we were going to make a quick run to Ubi’s new home for the winter, as we had many work and family obligations to take care of back in Pensacola, FL over the holidays.  For this reason we booked at a marina new to us, that I’m sure many of you have heard of.  It is a marina many cruisers had told us was a very protected, well-appointed, friendly and fun marina on the Georgia coast.  Any guesses??  Stay tuned!  

I love the title SAIL Magazine Editor, Wendy Clarke, came up with for this one. And, please join me in congratulating Wendy on the fantastic job she has done “manning the helm” at SAIL over the course of the last year. She has brought a lot of creative energy and foresight to the magazine. I really enjoyed collaborating with Wendy on this piece, and I’m honored to be included again in the magazine. The incident that led me to write this piece was quite a shocking and frightful event. You never know when an emergency will happen, so it’s best to keep the rust off so that your reactions are more “muscle memory” in the moment, than panicked, frantic responses. Wendy and I, and the whole team at SAIL, are hopeful this will encourage more boaters and cruisers to become more familiar and comfortable using the VHF radio so we can all stay safe out there and—when the time comes—perhaps save a life or two. I hope you enjoy the piece featured in the May issue of SAIL Magazine: Radio Active!

It was one of the most somber days I can remember while cruising on Ubi this past summer.  September 1, 2023.  Having had our fill with family visits and holiday shenanigans in Newport, Phillip and I were actually in Sag Harbor when we heard the news.  

Of all the places to drop anchor and find ourselves on that day.  We had landed in one of the places Jimmy called home when the news stunned us.  The fun-loving, salty philosopher/poet many of us have looked up to, listened to, loved, whose quirky, candid rhymes in ¾ time accompany dozens of our memories … had left us.  The Great Jimmy Buffett had passed away.  We heard his songs playing everywhere in Sag Harbor that day.  Margaritas were ordered all around and drank in solidarity.  I don’t think Jimmy can ever possibly know how many lives he touched, including ours.  How many people—as Phillip and I, and many of our coastal and cruising friends do—harbor exceptionally vivid memories wove intrinsically into his songs and lyrics.  

While very few can say they actually knew Jimmy—although we have two very special cruising friends who can—I felt like I knew his spirit.  I appreciated his humility and wisdom.  His humor.  His I-don’t-take-myself-too-seriously personality (even though he was a savvy businessman and multi-billionaire).  Personally, I like a man in hushpuppies.  Our good friends, John and Jody Horner, whom we’ve sailed with on their elegant Sabre 42, Hula Girl, were friends with Jimmy’s sister, Lulu, and they shared several memories with us over the years that came to my mind that day.  Good times on Hula Girl:  

September 1, 2023.  Sailing in Sag Harbor at that time really resurrected Jimmy all around us.  As we made our way to new cruising grounds to us—although they were old hat to Jimmy: Shelter Island, Greenport, and the like—five cruising lessons, grown out of the lyrics of one of the greatest songwriters of our time, came to mind. 

Jimmy, we all miss you. 

Come Monday – I Was Never Meant for Glitter

Come Monday is probably one of my top three favorite Jimmy Buffett songs.  I mean, no one can really pick just one favorite.  But, Monday always felt like one of the more deeply personal, sentimental songs of his.  And, I can relate to the feeling of not being glitzy enough, of doubting myself or someone else’s feelings for, or confidence in, me (not to mention confidence in myself), but then being unsettled by the discovery that my need—for a person or place or status—had grown on me without me knowing and, without my realizing it, had become “that much a part of me now.”  To the point that it can be a little scary to learn how much you need something you perhaps didn’t think you did.  

Life on a boat feels that way to me: fighting the daily frustrations and pitting our patience and obstinance against the elements, all to savor those rare, stupid, magical moments that are so majestic they can’t be replicated in an easy, uneventful life.  I grew up a supreme Tomboy, a cowgirl, farm hand, regular ole’ redneck poor kid, who then tried to change or hide all that under a spiffy law degree, big salary, and fancy high heels and striped suits.  

News flash.  It didn’t work.  To the point that, I found on mine and Phillip’s first offshore voyage—when everything went to shit and I was able to save the day with a hacksaw—I had been missing something in my life.  Me.  The hushpuppies me.  

All of the gritty, never-give-up skills I had honed as a kid actually made me a pretty resourceful, durable cruiser.  And, in cruising, I found the place where the real “me” shined, in hushpuppies, not high heels.  I was never meant for glitter.  Cruising—a.k.a. fixing our boat in exotic places—is just part of me now.  

Pirate Looks at 40 – It Was Never Meant to Last

When I hear the first lyrics of this song, I am transported to a different place and time.  I’m in the cockpit of mine and Phillip’s first boat—our beloved 1985 Niagara 35, Plaintiff’s Rest, where the two of us truly found one another and found a future between us (cruising the world on a small boat) that grew its own wings and soared.  When Jimmy sings “Mother, Mother Ocean, I have heard your call,” I don’t even have to shut my eyes to see me and Phillip—salty and exhausted but exhilarated in the cockpit of our Niagara, shouting the lyrics into the wind as we bash through the last miles of our 5-day sail from Pensacola, Florida to Cuba.  

We were only hours out when we played this song several times, knowing—even in the moment—we were creating a memory Phillip and I will probably both replay on our deathbeds.  We had sailed to fucking Cuba?!  You hear me?  C.U.B.A.

But, as memorable as it was, our time there, including the epic sail, zipped by in a blur and it always reminds me of Jimmy’s lyric “I made enough money to buy Miami, but I pissed it away so fast.  Never meant to last.”  Not that we pissed any of our time in Cuba away, but I felt like I knew in the moment that it was temporary.  Our time in Cuba was precisely so precious because it was temporary.  It was never going to last.  We would sail home and it would be a memory.  But, damn, what a memory.  

Pencil-Thin Mustache – Savor Nostalgia

Okay, first, this is just one of my favorite Jimmy songs to sing.  It’s so sing-songy.  This, along with Man of Means, for reasons I can’t explain, are in my go-to repertoire of songs I like to sing when doing tedious boat chores like polishing the stainless or the never-ending wiping, swiping, and cleaning that keeps Ubi looking so impressive.  

A clean boat is a happy boat.  Jimmy has been with me often when I was shoved up in a boat hole, cleaning something. But, I also love the message of Pencil-Thin Mustache: Embrace Nostalgia, Jimmy is essentially saying.  “Jump right up and show your age!” He says as he reminisces on being a “buck-toothed and skinny” kid.  I mentioned my cowgirl, dirt-under-my-fingernails roots.  But, there are so many things about my childhood that flood me with wonderful memories: romping my My Little Ponies around in the sleeper of my Dad’s big rig, building complicated LEGOs civilizations with my brother, John, making swings out of rope and flour sacks, roping bulls horns tied to hay bales. John and I never failed to find or make our own entertainment!

In Clovis, New Mexico (my primary home) one of the things I remember vividly was playing “high jump” in the backyard, as well as spending hours twirling around the skating rink.  I fell a thousand times but finally learned how to skate backwards (although the spin-around element of that equation caused many a-crash).  Couples skate gave me heartburn because the boys thought I was gross and smelly.  I was.  But, damn if I didn’t have a good time circling that rink on my flat skates with the big orange rubber stoppers.  Those were the days.  

Which is why I was beyond thrilled to find old friends and fellow cruisers whom we’d buddy sailed with from Block Island to Long Island—Peter and Patty on Outbound Hull No. 7, Serendipitous—were equally nostalgic for old-school flat skating.  

Patty, actually, was so nostalgic that she hatched up a skate day for the four of us after we found a no-shit, legit old-school skating rink in Greenport, near Shelter Island—a little cruising gem that quickly became one of mine and Phillip’s favorite spots on the Long Island Sound.  Patty even had the idea to dress up 80’s style and she killed it with a high pony and glow necklaces to boot.  

That was an exceptionally nostalgic day.  Afterwards, thankfully we’re all so old, we didn’t have to drink on fake I.D.s as Jimmy mentions in Mustache, but we all remember doing it. 

Trip Around the Sun – No Resolutions; Just Enjoy the Ride

I’ll admit, this is a new Jimmy Buffett song to me.  It’s not one I sang during my college days in Alabama or any of my cruising years, but the reason it came into my life will make it resonate for the years I have left.  Disclosure: Phillip and I lost someone very dear to us in 2023 and this song was chosen as one for the service.  Now, Trip Around the Sun, will always remind me I’m still here, circling the sun, with every day granted to me as a gift.  What struck me in the lyrics, though, was Jimmy’s resolve to just let go and enjoy the ride.  He makes a resolution to make no more resolutions and just savor his trips around the sun.  If that doesn’t fit with cruising, I don’t know what does.  

Coming from someone who likes to control the things she can—my health (to the extent possible), my attitude, my commitment to surrounding myself with friends who bring me up and push toxic people out, and my undying desire to continue seeing and seeking new places, foods, and experiences—it’s nice to be reminded there are so many things we cannot control.  And, when we stop trying to hang onto, and manhandle, those uncontrollable things into submission with white knuckles and, instead, just let them go and enjoy the ride, our trips around the sun are far more enjoyable.  For those we lost in 2023 who will make no more trips around the sun: the rest of us will keep enjoying the ride in your honor and spirit.  

Changes in Latitudes – Never Turn Down a Chum with a Bottle of Rum

Phillip has actually told me many times that lyric—“Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum, and we wound up drinking all night”—reminds him of his late Uncle Johnny, who really planted the seed for Phillip that grew into his love for sailing, cruising, and a life spent on the water.  Phillip told me often about his Uncle Johnny and how many times he’d gone out with Johnny fishing, or for a sail, or a trip to Peg Leg Pete’s and didn’t come back for days.  “Happened all the time,” Phillip will tell you and—lucky him—as just a young teenager Phillip got to chum around with Johnny, his Dad, and their cohorts as they ran into many chums with bottles of rum (although the “chum” was probably Johnny most of the time, convincing everyone else to stay out and drink with him, the wives bedamned). 

Every time Phillip would tell me one of his Uncle Johnny stories, I was taken back in time to many crazy adventures and college parties spent with my own Dad, a former bull rider, diehard cowboy, and (let’s face it) hearty drinker in his day.  Johnny sounded just like my Dad—a larger than life, honky-tonking hellraiser who knew exactly how to have a helluva good time. Some of my best memories resonate around a campfire with my Dad and his guitar-playing friends, sitting on cinder blocks, drinking, picking, and singing into the wee hours of the night.

That was living.  I think the takeaway was to savor those crazy, wild nights as they’re part of the blurry ride around the sun that makes this unpredictable life worth living.  Never turn down a chum with a bottle of rum.  

We followed this lesson wholeheartedly in Greenport, with Peter and Patty, when we refused to turn down a spunky little gal (a chumette, perhaps?) with an entire arsenal of rum bottles.  Peter and Patty had the great idea to check out this spirits distillery there in Greenport: Matchbook Distillery.  I’m not sure there is a spirit Matchbook does not make—gin, vodka, brandy, sherry, rum, tequila, port wine, you name it.  We ordered a flight thinking we would share it among the four of us, but Chumette had a different idea and poured us a flight of four (yes … FOUR?!) full-fledged cocktails … each, followed up by a small pour of anything else we wanted to taste.  

Needless to say, the four of us got smashed by 2:00 p.m. and had a helluva time getting back to our boats.  It was a wonderfully memorable day … what we remember of it, that is.  And, another glorious lesson from The Man himself.  Never turn down a good time with good friends.  If rum’s included, all the better.  

Here’s to you Jimmy and all the other salty souls we lost in 2023, and the many lessons they have installed in us all.  Cheers!  And R.I.P. 

Next up on the blog, we make our way through New York and down to the Virginia to haul out at a new shipyard for us—Cobb’s in Little Creek, VA—for some good ole’ Ubi TLC. Time to pay our dues for all this fun!