Sailing ... Part 1 ... Getting started

At the dock of the Oakland Yacht Club around 2010

As a teenager I lived on or near the Gulf of Mexico and spent most summers hanging out with friends on the waters of Mobile Bay and beaches of the coast. One hot afternoon in 1966, lounging on the end of a pier at Point Clear on the bay, two of us decided to take my friend's parent's Sunfish -- a tiny "sailboat" built for single-handing --  off the dock and learn how to sail.

Point Clear, on Mobile Bay

We knew nothing but we were 16, confident, tanned and competent swimmers.
So we took the boat, let the wind fill the single sail, and went off into the middle of the bay with the wind hard at our backs. Maybe a mile or two offshore the water became a bit rougher, the wind harder, and the ship channel busier.
Time to turn back: we pointed the boat to land, and the boat stopped. The wind was on our nose and we  began to figure out that the wind and tide was slowly pushing us toward the Gulf of Mexico, not our preferred destination. Freighters were passing us, heading toward South America.
 We had never heard of "tacking."
I would not say we panicked, but we began to express some concern to each other. We gave up on the sail, got on our knees and began paddling by hand toward the shore. Eventually we were within hailing distance of the end of the pier where my friend's younger brother was watching from a canvas chair.
We yelled. He ignored us. The wind blew us further offshore. We yelled more, He laughed and ignored us more.
Finally an adult heard the noise, ordered the brother to crank up a ski boat and  tow us back to the dock. The brother was amused, but we were not. We received specific instructions from parents that night on the folly of our ways, and gave up sailing a Sunfish.

A sunfish, competently controlled

By the time the next sailing opportunity happened, I was a mature married man with a wife and baby, in my late 20s, and better adept at avoiding trouble.  An older co-worker named Burke Edwards had purchased an older sailboat, a 32 foot Islander designed for bays and coasts near Cocoa Beach. We rode along with Burke and his wife Beth in the lagoons of  the Indian River, maybe twice when he offered us an invitation. Would we like to go the Bahamas with them on vacation? The Bahamas were about 90 miles away from the Florida coast, across the Gulf Stream, in an area affectionately known as the Bermuda Triangle.
Burke was older, and had some sailing and navigation experience, and we learned later could not see well. Plus, in his 60s, he wanted a younger helper along.
Pat's parents lived nearby and volunteered to babysit our less than one-year-old daughter for us to accept the chance of a lifetime.
I figured we would learn as we went. And we did.
We motorsailed down the Intercoastal Waterway for  a couple of days, getting used to the boat and the tight quarters. The night before we were to leave at dawn to cross the Gulf Stream, I tried to go to bed early on the dining table bed, but the others were so excited they stayed up, standing near ny bunk, talking loudly. Finally, around midnight I gave us and suggested we leave. And we did.
Leaving the Port of Palm Beach was easy, even at night, but the moment we were on the ocean things changed. There were lights everywhere from fishing boats and freighters going up and down the coast. For three or so hours we were dodging traffic.
Then when things calmed down Burke announced he was going to bed and I was in charge at the helm. His instructions were to point the boat at a certain fuzzy star off to east, don't hit anything, and call him if I needed help.
Before dawn he got up and checked his primary navigation tool, a radio direction finder that could just barely notice the signal from a radio tower at Grand Bahama Island's east end.

The marina at Jack Tar Resort Bahamas

Amazingly, around 9 a.m. we spotted the island and the the entrance to the harbor. We felt we had conquered the vast ocean, or at least  apart of it. and discovered paradise. We cleared customs, tied up at a dock, cleaned up the boat and broke out the beer. Over the next few days we found beautiful beaches, clear waters, caught lobster off the back end of the boat for lunch and lived the good life.
We sailed down to Freeport, a queasy and rough trip, to get our little stove repaired and then sailed across the shallow banks toward West End, the northernmost Bahama Island known mostly for deep sea fishing in the Atlantic. We ran aground en route, which it turns out is a routine exercise while sailing there, and finally got unstruck when some friendly Bahamians dragged us off the sandbar. A Tropical Depression moved into the area with rain and wind, so we stayed tied up at the dock within easy reach of the beer bar and pool table.

Walker Key as it looked before developers

We sailed  by West End, and in fairly rough seas started back to Florida. The currents are so strong that to get to Palm Beach we had to aim for Miami, and let the tide push us north. We were doing well despite heavy swells, when the dinghy broke loose and we performed a "man overboard" rescue to retrieve it, and then lost our engine just as the wind picked up while approaching the inlet. We checked in with the Coast Guard and they assured us they would watch us, and then Burke  put me at the helm and stood on the bow and directed us through the rolling breakers, surfing our way neatly into port as if we knew what we were doing.
Three weeks aboard a 32 foot boat with friends, we had salt in our veins. It took a while, but we came back to it.

(More to come)

Sailing Southwest Florida

West Coast of Florida -- March 2016-- Pat and I joined two friends for a one week cruise from Tampa Bay south to Boca Grande Pass, near Usseppa Island, and back. This is the part of the Florida coast just north of where we once lived, quite near Sanibel and Captiva.  We chartered a sailboat 41 feet long, with two cabins and plenty of modern amenities, for the trip which usually involved sailing or motor-sailing for about six hours each day. The total trip probably covered less than 300 miles, some offshore in the Gulf of Mexico and some inshore in the IntraCoastal Waterway.

The weather was warm, the winds mixed, and we encountered one day of serious fog offshore. Navigation was by GPS, partly using an App Barbara downloaded into her phone. We all met in Ohio in 1977 when John and I worked at the newspaper there. he now writes novels, Barbara is a marketing executive, and Pat and I are thoroughly retired.

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A good time was had by all.

Day One

Here is the 41 foot Jenneua sloop we chartered for a week off the Southwest Coast with our friends John and Barbara Koenig of Austin, Tex. After a good dinner, we went to a local grocery store and bought supplies for the days ahead. Yes, there was rum on board.

Pat at the dock in the Vinoy Hotel Marina as we were getting ourselves ready to go.

Barbara and John in the cockpit at the marina.

Crew member standing by.

Day Two

Sailing out of Tampa Bay under the bridges, before turning left into the IntraCoastal Waterway for our first night's anchorage.

Barbara at the helm in the IntraCoastal.

John checking the news at anchor off the Mar-Visa Restaurant  at Longboat Key.

Pat chilling.

The anchorage on a sunny day.

We took our tiny dingy into the dock for a very good seafood dinner at the restaurant and met a friend of the Koenig's from Australia. Good company. 

Day Three

Next day we were southbound slogging into three foot swells with the wind on our collective noses.

Not sure which day, but this is inside the IntraCoastal Waterway

Pat at the helm.

Snack time.

Posed picture in the wind.

Day Four

 


We were reminded that Florida estuaries are shallow, and spent about an hour getting off a sandbar along the edge of the channel. The volunteers took our anchor out 50 feet or so, back into deeper water, and we kedged ourselves off when the tide came up. No harm done.

Time for a quiet sunset.

Sunset  at anchor off Usseppa Island, across the waterway from Cabbage Key. Pat and I had anchored here more than 15 years ago.

Day Five

Sailing south, as seen from the salon.

A little artsy photo work.

Day Six, after being offshore in fog all day long.

At the Crows Nest Marina after all day offshore in dense fog. Coming in through the pass and bridge was a challenge well met by experienced companions and good electronics. Visibility was down to less than 100 yards at times.

This is the pass to the Gulf of Mexico we navigated through.

At the dock, safely. Dinner in the pub.

Day Seven

Next day an easier trip up the waterway  into an anchorage south of Tampa Bay.

One more night view.

Pat being happy.

Barbara being happy.

John being happy.

Our last anchorage was at DeSoto Park tucked inside away from the worst of the fog.

Checking with the home front. We learned how very versatile our phones were.

Our Last Day Aboard

 

Last day we went back into Tampa Bay for the final miles home.

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 Below is how we did dinner on the boat. We stocked the boat with supplies to do all but about three meals, when we knew we would be near a good place to eat.

Barbara planned a couple of quick fix meals, which were delicious.

Might as well have a nice red wine with dinner.

The menu this night was ham, pineapple, yams and fresh corn.

The view was pretty good

As was the red wine.

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As we approached St. Petersburg on the last day, this boat came out to greet us.

A great vacation. We would do it again.

A cooling off trip

Murphys, Ca -- Back home in time for the Fourth of July, and 100 degree heat, I need to share a few items from our recent vacation trip to the California coast.
If you have not been to this part of the world, it is hard to imagine the variety and the beauty of the coast. That's true north and south, but for this trip we went first to the San Francisco Bay area for some sailing, and then drove north for a week or so of camping with friends and family.

Here's a rare photo of s/v Good News with Oakland in the background, heading out for the bay. It turned out to be a lot windier than we expected, so it was more exciting than planned.

The next day I decided to pull down a sail that needed minor repair, and replace it. Bad decision, as we ended up with a jammed halyard that I will have to fix next time.

I did not get our boat problem fixed, but I was able to help out a neighbor who cranked me up his/her mast to retrieve a loose shackle and lanyard. It is easy: all you do is sit in the Bosun's Chair while someone else does all the hard work. Easy in a calm harbor, that is. The top is about 50 feet up.

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We then drove north on Highway 101, aka the Redwood Highway, and made an overnight stop at  Richardson Grove State Park, along the Eel River, the first test of our new "instant" tent. It worked fine and the next day we drove on up through Coastal Redwood forests and along the coast to our destination: Patrick's Point State Park, where we settled in for almost a week with family and friends.

Here's Pat enjoying a bit of sunshine at our campsite. Just beyond the trees on the right is the top of the bluffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a place we visited for sunrises and sunsets.

 This is the view from just south of the camp area, looking north into the little harbor at Trinidad. Picturesque, and fully equipped with good clam chowder and colorful people.

Pat with daughter Ruth on a hike. The extended family present included 18 people! Ruth and Brian and their kids, Brian's folks and sister Tammy and her kids, his cousin and his family, and our friends and neighbors Gary and Jeri Carson Hull.

Just another stunning view.

Jeri and Gary, probably looking for the warm sunshine.

Agate Beach at the state park. Yes, you can find and bring home agates. 

On the way to and from Oregon we stopped by a meadow at Prairie Creek State Park to share a lunch and watch the elk. The new babies were gamboling on the meadow. Really.

And then to the southern Oregon coast. This is at, you guessed it, Arch Rock, just north of the California border.

Our next-to-last night was spent at Gold Beach, Oregon, where our room balcony overlooked the Rogue River very near where it meets the sea.

We drove through the Trinity Alps area, including Weaverville, spent one night in a so-so motel, and got home about ten days after we left.

The views were obviously spectacular, but the best memories are of the family and friends we were with, the new people we met and simply being together in a wonderful place and time.

We did have one serious discussion with Gary and Jeri, trying to decide what we are vacationing from, since we are retired. Gary suggested we were vacationing from volunteering, which is probably as good an answer as any other.