a stormy relationship ................ from P

She is hanging in there, but she is taking a beating! I just got back into dry clothes after spending a couple of hours out in the newly dubbed "November Nor'easter," or as another newsman called it, "Hampton Roads' Perfect Storm." HA and I slogged along the pier (it is submerged under 8 inches of water at low tide!) to check on Senara.

To ensure we don't step off the dock, we have to stay visually aligned with the pilings and shuffle along so that we can continue to feel the boards under our feet. We make several stops to hang onto anything within reach, as the 45 knot gusts roll across the mouth of the James River and into our creek. Each gust causes Senara's dock lines to stretch and sing as she heaves hard against them, heeling and pitching up and down, just inches away from the lee pilings. Before we reach her I notice the sail cover, with the attractively stitched sail number on each side, has been shredded to tatters - hurricane style. I am barely able to reach the swim ladder at the stern, stretch my foot up to the low rung, and pull myself up to clamber aboard. After adding two more lines to the bow, re-securing the spring line, and lashing the sail cover, I check below to make sure the cabin sole boards aren't floating. Everything looks OK so far.

HA and I shuffle down the pier and lash a large chunk of a broken off finger-pier to a piling, secure an electrical pedestal that has somehow been sheared off at the base, and gawk at our neighbor's fishing boat that now floats upside down, completely capsized.

As we make our way homeward up the pier, I feel a familiar sense of sadness and helplessness, even sympathy. It is the same feeling I had last night as I lay awake envisioning the conditions down on the water. I have to tell myself again - Senara is just a boat; just a pile of fiberglass, wire, and teak crafted together to sail on the water. So why do I feel like I just visited an ailing family member? Why does it physically hurt in my gut when she gets injured, or is in some kind of danger? Inexplicable, but there it is. She has to hang in there for 24 more hours. I just hope I did my part and set the lines well, as high tide will arrive in four more slow, painful hours.

creekazoids take the Mobjack! ..... from P

We had everything - a Friday night sail under the moon, perfectly sunny conditions in optimal wind, gusty conditions up to 25 knots, sailing in a torrential rainstorm, and rip currents caused by the full moon and northeasterly storm combined. All within a Labor Day weekend. Neil and Carol, aboard Isabel's Revenge, sailed with us up into the East River of the Mobjack Bay to join up with our real boat club (the dues billing kind), OPCYC. After a perfect sailing day, we rafted together and soon saw Fred aboard Belladonna (yet another boat he is working on), Fred's brother Russell aboard Overkill, and John aboard Seabiscuit. We rode the dinghy over to the OPCYC raft-up and did happy hour with them - wow, nice boats, but not nearly as well travelled.

By sunset we had five creekazoids rafted together - forming a larger group than the OPCYC had! On Sunday, K led the group in a floaty session while the guys played with our snorkel & diving toys. Turns out, Neil's mom and stepdad live two rivers over (Ware River). So we sailed over there Sunday evening and got ourselves invited into their home for an incredible meal of fresh baked redfish, aka puppy drum around here. Monday we faced a hard rain most of the day, but the sailing was good. I looked back through the rain at the boats coming out of the Mobjack and thought - just kill me now, unless I can do this again soon.

1) Senara and Isabel's revenge together again. I think they missed each other!

2)Kai aboard Isabel, making sure he knows where everyone is.

3)Family portrait! Neil, Carol, Bailey

4)Is your bottom clean ?!

5)Fred returns from a successful gas hunting trip.

6)K hauling in the port sheet.

Creekazoids rule! .......... from P

The Cape Charles Cup; a race for cruisers, and a cruise for racers. The starting line is in Norfolk; the first day’s race finish line is at Cape Charles on the Eastern Shore, and the second day’s finish line is back across the Bay in Hampton. This was the first organized racing event in which all our sailing buddies entered their boat, or crewed for another. I entered Senara in the Cruising B fleet (17 boats), Tony entered TL Sea in the Non-Spinnaker racing fleet (6 boats), and John entered Seabiscuit in the Cruising C fleet (14 boats). Fred, because his boat is “on the hard,” was the first mate on Seabiscuit, Neil and HA were my crew, and Tony took on a new crew of mostly family members. We all maintain our boats near each other on one of the hundreds of creeks that feed into the Chesapeake Bay. For that reason (along with other reasons) we have taken up the name “Creekazoid Yacht Club.” It is a club with no club. No dues, no planned meetings. Just Creekazoids who enjoy sailing together.

Well, let it be known that the Creekazoids kicked some transom in the Cape Charles Cup regatta this year! Senara took third place in her fleet, TL Sea took third in her fleet, and Seabiscuit won! John and Fred raced Seabiscuit (Morgan 24) in her first race ever, and won the class outright! They had no GPS, and they forgot to carry a chart with them! So all day they are “dead reckoning” their way through the tacks and currents to end up at a short finish line 20 miles across the Bay. Nice job. I think the good karma generated by our most excellent name-changing ceremony for Seabiscuit did the trick. Also, a newly adopted Creekazoid, Raleigh Martin, took second place (single handed – no crew on board) just behind Seabiscuit in the Cruising C fleet.

What a great weekend. Two days of racing across the bay, visiting other boats at night, listening to some very talented boaters playing music in their cockpit (thank you Nancy and Nancy’s friend!), living aboard Senara again for four more days. Hanging with good friends. I know this endless summer will have to end soon for me - but not just yet.
Me officiating the all-important and most sacred name changing ceremony for Seabiscuit.

















Off and racing













Yeehaw!!!











HA takes a break - yes my daughter will still crew for me during a race!













Fred accepts the trophy for Seabiscuit's first place finish












I will take third out of 17 boats, thank you!














Neil takes it all in.









And, finally, the Creekazoids rule!

sail fast, swim slow......... from P

What a week! We knew we were in trouble when we saw the list of entries in our class. Almost every boat in the class had been a regular winner in their respective locales. We have won a number of regattas - but mostly the Friday night "barnacle races" sponsored by our local boat club. It is unusual to race in a fleet of boats wherein every crew expects to win, and any one of them are capable. Usually there are two or three premier boats in a class, but this regatta series is packed full of them. It was quickly clear that the other nine boats in our class had spent more money on sails than the entire cost of Tony's boat, TL Sea. But here we were, on the racecourse early every morning, going hard every race. Three races on Sunday, two on Monday, three more on Tuesday. It was a blast.

The wind was up Sunday, and we finished fourth, just ten seconds behind the boat that eventually won the class "overall" for the week, Black Widow. It was fun at the party that night to hear Black Widow's crew tell us they were getting worried about us, and how well we sailed that old Cal 31, etc. etc. It was downhill from there. On the second race of the third day, we were on our game and the breeze was just right for TL Sea. Lo and behold, as we were nearing the windward mark preparing for the rounding and final downwind leg to the finish, we found ourselves in second place! Just about the time the adrenaline of a second place finish started to kick in - disaster struck. Somehow our portside gennie sheet got caught on the whisker pole (laying unclipped on the gunwale), and as the sheet came taught, it flung the whisker pole overboard. Much yelling. Tony (our skipper) is frozen for a few seconds, then he lets go of the helm, turns around, and dives into the water!! I scramble behind the wheel to regain control of the boat. Tony swims over to the floating whisker pole. I'm gybing the boat around to pick up Tony as a cacophony of indiscernible yelling and flailing of sails confuses the scene. Approaching Tony's shaved head bobbing up and down in the Chesapeake Bay, I reach back to push the swim ladder down over the transom so that he can climb up. Oh no. Someone has taped the ladder in the "up" position - around and around - with thick vinyl tape. I cannot force it down. Someone find a knife - quick!! By the time we get the ladder cut loose, I have missed Tony. He is still bobbing, quickly getting tired. We tack around. We see a man in a motorized inflatable dinghy zipping across the water toward Tony. It's the race photographer! Tony grabs a line on the side of the dinghy, and the photographer tows him over to our stern. The first thing I yell to Tony is ".... you know what this means... you have to buy a photo from him tonight!" Once aboard, a dripping, caughing, cussing Tony takes the helm, and we all look around to see that the fleet has passed us by. I asked Tony what he wanted to do. He said "you didn't start the motor, right?" Right. "So let's finish the race!" We gathered ourselves, re-hoisted both headsails, and headed for the finish line. As it turned out, with time corrections, we still finished eighth out of the ten-boat fleet!

We ended up eighth overall in our class, but first in line for beer, and first in the hearts of our compatriots. A great week; three days of sailing Senara up the bay to Solomons, three days of racing and partying, and two more days sailing home. I already cannot wait for next year!

Charging toward the starting line.

Tony and I working a downwind run.

Fred watching out for crossing boats.

Drew taking a short break between races.

Party central!

Tony, Drew, and Fred relaxing aboard Senara after the first day.

good morning America .......... from P

Do I hear someone walking on my deck? What time is it? Just barely some light; must be around 5:30 AM. I must still be dreaming, so I roll over and close my eyes. But now I smell bacon frying. Footsteps across my deck again.

We three boats are rafted together in a gorgeous little cove inside the Coan River, which is six or seven miles up the Potomac River. We are on the way up to Solomon’s MD for the Screwpile Light Challenge race series. We have sailed for two days, made approximately 100 nautical miles with 30 or so to go. K and I are aboard Senara, Tony is sailing TLSea (the boat we are racing). Fred is aboard his old boat, which he recently sold to his brother, then immediately refurbished and refitted from stem to stern. She is a great looking, rock solid Columbia 26, originally built at the old Columbia yacht factory in Portsmouth, VA. If you see an old Columbia 26 that looks like a bumble bee (a bright yellow hull with black trim) it will probably be him. I doubt if there is another one.

I hear the squeaking of fenders rubbing up and down between our boats. Maybe I’m not dreaming. Definitely smelling bacon. Hungry. Suddenly I hear Willy Nelson singing at what must be the maximum volume on the CD player. “Good morning America how are ya! Don’tcha know me I’m your native son….I’m the train they call the city of New Orleans……….. Yes, I am awake. It is Fred’s unique way of rousting everyone out of their berth to enjoy one of his big breakfasts cooked on a small gas burner in the 26 footer. Bacon, poached eggs, toast, strong coffee. I wouldn’t want to miss it.

K "enjoying" a sunrise breakfast.

Senara in the middle of a 3-way raft up.

Fred aboard "Maxine" - named after his late mother.

oh, sailing is soooo quiet and peaceful... from P

There’s the horn, one minute!! Boat at two o'clock on your starboard bow! Come up, come up! We’re too early, prepare to gybe! Gybe ho! We gotta get better on the gybes – too slow on the trim. We’re gonna tack back toward the committee boat and luff up on the line – prepare to tack! Helm’s alee! Get that #&*# sheet in! Watch out for Black Widow, she always barges the line. Twenty seconds! Watch the flag! Watch the flag! Luff up! Luff up! Ten seconds! Excelsior is coming down hard on us – don’t let him push us down! Give me some power! Power now!! Harden up! Class flag is down! We’re racing!!

And that’s just the start. As Tony picks his way through the traffic trying to find “clean air,” I am trimming the gennie, trying to read the telltales, and always wishing the fairlead car was either one hole further forward or astern. It rarely seems to be set perfectly. Fred is on the high side near the mast, trimming the cunningham and halyard, watching out for traffic behind the 155% genoa. Kent is thinking ahead, calling tactics. Drew is helping out anywhere he is needed; he and I tag-team trimming the main. If John is aboard, he trims the main. Fred, Kent and Tony are intently gazing forward looking for the first mark. “Halaha is tacking! Halaha is tacking!” – then Kent and I usually in unison: “Don’t go with him yet! Put some in the bank!” Soon we make the decision to tack, and all hell breaks loose. As the bow comes around through the wind, the big genoa backwinds just for a moment, then “break!”, I let loose the windward sheet and start cranking the leeward sheet as hard and fast as I can. The wind whips the big mylar sail and it sounds like someone beating on the side of a metal barn with a hammer until I can trim it tight. It seems like it took me forever to trim that sail. But actually it was a good tack and we are moving well.

We near the first mark and there is traffic. “The current is against us, put plenty in the bank before making the gybe! For God’s sake don’t miss that mark!!” Then to the boat leeward of us, “Overlap! Room at the mark!” Him to us, “Plenty of room!” Sometimes there are three or four boats stacked up trying to get around the first mark. Everyone yelling for room. Everyone dependent upon the leeward boat to fall off a little. Voices charged with tension. Someone cracks a joke about the other’s liability insurance and everyone finally laughs.

As we round the mark we are all scrambling to hoist the second headsail, gybe the mainsail, and hoist the whisker pole - all simultaneously - for the downwind run. Inevitably there is a snag, or the clip on the whisker pole gets jammed, or something. Initially everyone is shouting, then a tense quiet as Fred and Drew work to solve the problem. Then both headsails pop like big kites and we start gaining on the fleet. I love it.

Yes, race week is here again. K and I are sailing Senara up to Solomons, MD where we will live aboard her for a week while “the boys” will indeed act like boys and race Tony’s boat (TLSea) again this year in the Screwpile Challenge Regatta. It is hard to believe it’s been a year since I blogged from Solomons, as we stopped there to race while on the first leg of our trip last July. Three days of racing, two or three races each day. Parties every night, and lots bragging, bonding, and B.S. I can hardly wait!

windward leg to the first mark

birth of a nation ............ from P

This independence day weekend I tip my sailing hat to the brave revolutionaries of Key West. The courageous, and possibly inebriated, Mayor Dennis Wardlow along his brave band of city councilmen made their stand and declared independence from the mighty U.S. of A. Yes, the fledgling new republic of hardy souls would struggle against all odds to form a more perfect republic by raising their glasses and pointing out to the rest of the world the absurdity of the treatment they had been subject to by the mother country.

It was April of 1982. The U.S. government’s previous loose immigration policies, capped by the Mariel Boat Lift, resulted in a backlash of tight immigration and drug enforcement crackdowns. U.S. customs had set up a checkpoint on A1A at Florida City – just before the bridge crossing to the northern keys. That was the last straw. According to first-hand accounts from those who survived these trying times, the checkpoint looked and felt just like a border station. So the intrepid city council did what any good sunburned, T-shirt wearing American city council would do. They declared independence, thereby forming a new country and a more perfect union of native islanders, a.k.a. “Conchs.” For good measure they declared war on the U.S. by breaking a loaf of stale Cuban bread over the head of a U.S. soldier in full uniform. Oh say can you see! The bravery and vision! After finishing their beers, these leaders wisely decided to surrender their new country rather than risk the wrath of having to do all the paperwork required to sustain a new republic. So the history of the Conch Republic spans a total of approximately one minute. But since that fateful day in 1982 the rich history and lore of the Conch Republic has been passed down from biker bar to biker bar throughout the ages. One of the lasting vestiges of this revolt is the flag of the Conch Republic. Senara now proudly flies the Conch Republic flag on her mast. Yes, on this independence day we should remember those who seceded when others failed.

Flag of the mighty Conch Republic

next time ................... from P

Our relationship with Senara feels like that of so many family members. Familiar and perfect in many ways, yet so flawed in other ways. She has taken on her own personality traits - spritely and eager, but quite demanding. We have been through a lot together, and I feel like a cheating husband whenever my eye wanders toward another, newer boat. But it seems impossible to not dream about some of the nicer cruising features of the boats we have been aboard, or just seen in marinas up and down the coast. K has already said that we should consider a roomier, newer boat if we take another year long sail trip. Maybe. If I had several hundred thousand to spend on a new boat, I would have to consider a Caliber, or an Island Packet - less than ten years old, somewhere in the 36 to 42 foot range. Those girls are super roomy, rock solid, and chock full of live-aboard luxuries. Or, I could definitely be tempted into an old Morgan Out Island 41. That has to be one of the best cruisers ever built - but then I would have to do a full upgrade to all the electrical and mechanical systems. Hmmm.... could be fun again.

Actually, I think I would rather remain loyal to Senara, but upgrade here a bit to be more suited for long term cruising. My list of upgrades would include: Full zip-up cockpit enclosure with optional bug screens, solar panels mounted above the bimini for constant battery charging, wind generator for same, wind-vane rudder system for use as a backup auto pilot and a backup rudder, water maker for constant fresh water supply, radar with AIS system, single side band (SSB) radio for offshore radio communication, dinghy davit for easy dinghy deployment, generator to run the air conditioner while anchored out, diesel fired heater, built-in seats on the stern railing, and a few other little things that just make life a little more comfortable out there. Well, after reading that list, maybe I will keep my eye open for that next boat. You never know.

Wow -even Columbus had a dinghy davit off the stern of the Nina! who knew?

top ten, or so ................. from P

Now that we are back home "for good," our priorities have switched from navigation to yard maintenance. Actually, I am very much enjoying being home. And I will never again take for granted the wonders of modern conveniences. I can make coffee while at the same time remaining cool in the air conditioning. I have popsicles in the freezer. I don't have to pump a handle to flush the toilet. I no longer walk five miles carrying ten or twelve grocery bags. I can take a continuously flowing shower. Amazing. But as I was riding the lawnmower yesterday my mind drifted (again) back to living aboard Senara in the keys, and I mentally reviewed the top ten things I really, really miss. As a nod of support toward Dave Letterman, they are in reverse order:

10. Aqua colored clouds

9. Dogs on dinghies

8. Grouper sandwiches

7. Conch horns at sunset

6. Sailors always waving at each other

5. Mangroves and Gumbo Limbo trees

4. Looking over the side and seeing bottom

3. Easily making new friends at happy hour

2. Key Lime pie

And the number one thing I miss is: Scuba diving on the reefs in crystal clear water.

And the other major number one thing I miss is: Getting up every morning knowing that today I will sail the boat, encounter something new, and drop anchor somewhere else tonight. Two number one things. Sorry Letterman.

who is this Flagler person anyway? .... from P

You cannot go anywhere in coastal Florida without bumping into the ghost of Henry Flagler. Flagler County, Flagler College, numerous Flagler Boulevards, Flagler Hospital, Flagler High School, Flagler Beach, etc. etc. We are again in Florida (Daytona Beach) for K’s annual week-long AP English essay scoring job. As we made our way here, by car this time, I started seeing Flagler’s name again. Thinking back to our sail through the Keys I remembered marveling over the old railroad structure which stretches all the way from the mainland to Key West. In Key West I visited the little museum dedicated to Flagler and his Florida East Coast Railway and realized that the old bones of this railroad tell an incredible story of American ingenuity and determination in the industrial age.

Flagler was a wildly successful oil “robber baron” in the classic mold whose wealth at the turn of the century rivaled, and some say surpassed, that of the Rockefellers. In 1889 he took an interest in the new southern frontier of Florida and purchased several independent railroads from Jacksonville to Daytona. In 1894 his company constructed a new rail service to West Palm Beach, opening it up to the new “gilded age” vacationers. By 1895 his rail reached the wild shores of Biscayne Bay where he dredged a channel and paved streets in town. The local citizens wanted to change the name of the town to “Flagler” but he declined the honor and encouraged them to stick with the ancient Indian name – “Miami.”

When Panama Canal construction began in 1905 he decided Key West was going to be the new terminal point of his railroad, and he began an incredible construction project to put a steam locomotive over 153 miles of open ocean – stringing it along from key to key. Historians now describe it as an “engineering challenge beyond that of the Panama Canal itself.” You can still see most of the structure of the forty-some rail bridges spanning the keys. In the late 1940s the U.S. government just paved over the rail bridges to create the first highway A1A through the keys, and it was heavily travelled by traffic right up until the new, wider highway bridges were built in the late 60s. One of the locals told me the bridge inspectors in the Keys regularly say that the old concrete piers (Flagler used imported German concrete mixed with fresh water) are now more structurally sound than the “new” bridge pilings. Apparently Flagler’s old concrete recipe holds up better against the effects of salt water than the modern stuff!

Flagler’s East Coast Railway project was fraught with disasters, and it became a true money pit. It employed 4,000 men for 15 years, endured 5 major hurricanes during construction, and was so expensive that one of the richest men in the world died in debt. Even after completion, the Great Hurricane of 1935 (also described as the storm of the century) destroyed all but 60 feet of the entire rail system. It also killed 700 people and pretty much wiped the Keys clean. Records indicate sustained wind speeds of 200 MPH, well above Hurricane Andrew. K and I visited a small but well done memorial to those killed in the Great Hurricane at Islamorada. Some people labeled the railroad “Flagler’s Folly” and indeed the railroad never recovered from the combination of severe hurricanes and the great depression. But the fact is, Flagler’s railroad opened up the swamps of southeastern Florida allowing the isolated locals access to civilization while literally paving the way toward progress in a wild territory that wasn’t yet a state. And Henry himself got to ride the first train into Key West when the last rail was laid in 1912. Of course that was the same spring when the Titanic sank. Progress always has its setbacks.

Looking at the end of a section of old rail bridge that was later paved over for the first highway A1A. The current bridge can be seen at the right.

Harry makes it home! .... from P

I am tired of waiting for K to post a blog entry, and there has been a loud hue and cry from our readers demanding to know what ever became of Harry. I am very happy to report that Harry made it all the way home. As you may remember, in December I sailed southbound alone for two weeks - from Cocoa Beach, FL to Homestead, FL. Well, not quite alone. K had escaped my constant yapping to go home and assist her mom in attending to her unwell father. But after about a week, I picked up a passenger to talk to named Harry. Harry is the cousin of a famous movie star volleyball named Wilson. Even so, there he was, abandoned and floating around in the Intracoastal Waterway near Palm Beach. So I rescued Harry from the big, scary powerboats that were blustering around and we became inseparable friends. I have often consulted Harry regarding navigation decisions. After some conversation regarding the pros and cons, we come to a decision; if it was a bad decision, he never complained. One of Harry's biggest jobs was to alert me whenever the seas grew too angry and large to be safe. When that happened, Harry would jump out of the cup holder (his favorite spot) and bang around on the cockpit floor. That's when I knew to seek safe harbor. So, thanks Harry for all the weather warnings, and I am glad you rode along for the 2,000 miles or so all the way home. We will take a ride around the Chesapeake Bay this summer - maybe you can help keep me off the mud.

Harry rests after pulling into the slip at home. Bad weather made him lose his monogrammed shirt.

Under sail last December.

up the creek .......... from P

Between northern NC and southern VA, intracoastal waterway travelers have a choice of two routes: the Virginia Cut route, which takes you through the Great Bridge area of Chesapeake, and the Dismal Swamp route which takes you through, well, the Dismal Swamp. Coming home Sunday, we chose the swamp route. I am glad we did because it was yet another unique experience. George Washington himself surveyed parts of the Great Dismal Swamp, laying the basis for the digging of the Deep Creek canal which runs through the GDS from a point just north of Elizabeth City, NC all the way to the Elizabeth River in Chesapeake, VA (queen Elizabeth was big around here). Of course, the Great Dismal Swamp has a long and storied history including providing a hiding place for Edward Teach a.k.a Blackbeard and his gang of pirates. It has a more immediate meaning to me, as my late dad spent his childhood hunting and playing in the swamp. I was thinking about all of this, and trying to imagine growing up playing along the canal bank among all the turtles, birds, and bears when I was jerked back into reality by a loud bump that sent a vibration through Senara's hull. My eye immediately went to the depth sounder - plenty of water - what did we hit? I killed the engine and ran around the gunwales trying to peer into the black coffee swamp water. A few seconds later a log bobbed up and down behind the boat. No damage to us that I can tell. We hit subsurface logs (known in the sailing community as "deadheads" - with apologies to Jerry Garcia fans) twice more before getting through. One of the deadheads sported a big fresh gash, obviously the result of a nasty encounter with a boat's prop. The natural beauty of the Dismal Swamp makes it a "must see" if you traverse the ICW, but watch out for those deadheads. Good advice most anytime.

HA handles a bow line as the water level within the lock drops 8 feet. These locks raise and lower boats to the higher water level of the canal, or the lower water level of the river behind.

In the Deep Creek Canal. The sign says "Welcome to Virginia"

little town, big heart ............. from P

Elizabeth City was a nice surprise. The breeze was up from the southwest, allowing a great sail across the Albemarle Sound - straight up the river into one of the free downtown boat slips. Every small waterfront town should take a lesson from Elizabeth City: A neat line of boats all full of hungry travelers had wedged into every available free slip along the waterfront. Part of the popularity was because of a regatta being held there next day, but mostly it was because sailors love nothing more than a free dock near restaurants. To top it off, there is an old tradition on the waterfront known as the "Rose Buddies." This is a small organized group of retired folks who host a 4:30 wine and cheese reception under a tent adjacent to the boat slips. They do it for the boaters, and they do it whenever there are more than five boats visiting. The ladies are each presented with a rose cut from the garden belonging to the original founder of the Rose Buddies tradition, hence the name. One of the local elders delivers a ten minute overview of the history of the EC waterfront, and some useful information regarding the waters that lie ahead. Very charming. Both of our daughters, E (along with Nick) and HA drove down to meet us for dinner, and HA stayed aboard to make the last two-day leg of the trip with us. It was great to be greeted home by our girls.

Last September, on a perfect day nearer the beginning of this adventure, we were screaming down the coast of New Jersey under full sail when we caught up with, and passed, another sailboat headed in the same direction. We anchored near each other in a cove in Atlantic City, and of course struck up a conversation, if shouts across the water can be considered a conversation. A couple of days later, there they were again, anchored in Cape May and we shouted our mutual hellos. Months later, we are motoring into Boot Key Harbor and there again is KISMET, a gorgeous Island Packet 35 that was obviously well equipped for living aboard. I kept telling K that I wanted to dinghy over and introduce myself, but there was never a good opportunity. Well, here I am standing on the wharf at Elizabeth City as the Rose Buddies reception is breaking up, and I see a great looking boat coming in, cutting a wake and glinting in the sun. Right away I knew it was either an Island Packet or a fairly new Caliber. As it drew closer I soon recognized the familiar blonde head of the captain and the fold-up dinghy being towed along. After finally meeting Jim and Laurie aboard KISMET, the four of us had dinner together the following night after motoring together up the Dismal Swamp canal. As we said our goodbyes on the VHF radio while parting ways in Hampton Roads harbor I thought to myself - another great couple out on their adventure; after a while, these people all start to feel like extended family. And every now and then you run across a little place like Elizabeth City where everything seems to come together.

to our readers ........... from P

This is a little different from our normal blogging style, but I want to give you a status update and a few statistics about you - our readers.

We are quickly motoring up the final leg of the ICW toward home. Unless something very unexpected happens (and by now you know there is always a good chance of that) we will pick up our daughter, HA, in Elizabeth City NC, and the three of us will traverse the final stretch together. This will put us home on Sunday afternoon, May 31. Although this will be the end of our live-aboard adventure, we will continue our unemployed sailing lifestyle at least through the end of the summer. Our calendar is already filling with sail trips, including another trip around the Chesapeake Bay, extended weekend excursions, and of course the Screwpile Challenge Race Week event. That is the week long regatta series that we included within the beginning of our adventures last July. Can it be a year ago? Unreal. But the adventures continue, so please check in with us regularly – a lot of stuff is yet to happen!

On another subject - after long stretches of time with no comments from our readers, I began to wonder if anyone was still out there. So a few months ago I added a feature which simply counts how many “hits” are made on our blog each day. I have been pleasantly surprised to learn that we have an average of 28 visitors per day. Some are daily, others are every 3 to 7 days. This means we probably have somewhere between 70 and 100 people who are interested enough to click in and see what’s going on with us. To you, I say THANK YOU! Even if you are a shy bunch. Thanks for coming along with us on our big adventure. Stick around because it is certainly not over; mother nature has a wicked sense of humor.

Yet another subject – we recently met a great young couple (really young) who bought a solid old boat just a few months ago. They are living aboard, and have begun their journey of adventures. Jamie and Jeremy have big plans to sail New England, the east coast, through the Panama Canal, and all the way around to Hawaii. Like us, they are learning as they go. I invite and encourage you to check out their story also. They are good bloggers – visit Jamie and Jeremy at http://jibnotes.com/. Tell them you are a friend/family of ours.

Thank you for the great e-mails and thoughts of support. We will persist in our quest to answer our lingering question: What are we doin' ?

approaching a bridge on the ICW. Will we make it under?

Barely!

Looking aft from the bow.

Racing the Rain & Calendar........from K

Friends have asked us if we ever worry about Pirates out here. Maybe I'd be concerned if we were near Somalia, but in truth, I'm much more fearful of angry wind and lightening out here. Although we made it out of Florida before it got pummeled by a Nor'easter, the rain has been chasing us up the coast. We scurried 85 miles yesterday - mostly against the current - just trying to get out of this wet weather, but to no avail.
We're also spurred by another motivation. Our youngest daughter, HA, turns 21 this weekend and we're desperately wanting to celebrate with her. Even better, SHE wants to celebrate her 21st with US! (How many kids are that cool?)

the company we keep .......... from P

It has been quite a menagerie. Our traveling companions have been an eclectic bunch, to say the least. They have included Loggerhead Turtles, Manatee, Pelicans, and various other birds who like to fly alongside us looking for a handout. On our sail to the Dry Tortugas, K was enjoying the perfect day lounging against the cockpit coaming, when there was a sudden explosion of black wings, feathers, and a scream. A big black Cormorant had decided to cruise in and light on her head; a great moment in Senara’s sailing lore. During our recent long offshore sail, I looked down into the water below the transom and saw something trailing the boat. At first I thought we had snagged a piece of trash bag or something - but then I saw a tail fin. A long trout-looking fish had tucked his head up under the transom next to the rudder and was swimming along (feeding?) up against our hull. He stayed with us for almost fifteen miles. Of course, we have been treated to dolphin visits almost daily. Sometimes they put on a show, and sometimes they just come check us out. Yesterday we were accompanied for several hours by a very friendly guy who swam right next to us. He had been scraped badly just behind his dorsal fin; his curly, symmetric scars looked like an expensive dolphin tattoo. I’ll be looking for him when we get home.








So, where are you headed?

over half way ......... from P

Kids and dogs on docks, jet skis everywhere, teens running their dads' boats too fast - ah yes - it must be Memorial Day weekend. We just passed through Charleston Harbor and up through Isle of Palms on the ICW. I remember how they feel. The adults have been working too many hours, the kids have caught spring fever, and everyone is almost wild with excitement over a long weekend with great weather. My hand is tired from smiling and waving at them. Meanwhile I am thinking "..... I only get to live this lifestyle for another 10 or 12 days...." Charleston is about half way home from Miami; well over half way from Key West! So we are entering that disconcerting part of the trip where we can actually look at the calendar and plan likely dates of arrival. Oh well, I should feel fortunate that my long weekend has another 10 or 12 days left.

lessons learned........ from P

There is a belief originating from old Eastern religious tradition (Buddhist I think?): We will be presented with a lesson we need to learn over and over again until the lesson is finally learned. Apparently I am still in the process of trying to learn an ancient sailing lesson: You cannot try to outrun the weather on a sailboat. We are currently comfortably nestled in Port Royal Marina near Beaufort, SC listening to the howling wind and swapping stories with new friends. It gives me a chance to reflect back to Sunday night; the danger, the darkness, the waves over the bow, and the sense of pride in using old fashioned navigation in tough conditions to bring us, finally, into safe harbor.

We departed from Fernandino Beach, FL and out the St. Mary's inlet early Sunday morning. The forecast was partly cloudy with 50% chance of Tstorms in the afternoon. The nasty Northeaster was coming in here Monday around mid-day. We saw a window of opportunity, and decided to sail 10 to 15 miles offshore all the way to Port Royal inlet in South Carolina. This would cut off over a hundred miles of motoring in the ICW, especially the dreaded Georgia stretch. It would mean a 16-18 hour sail in the ocean, arriving in Port Royal between midnight and 2:00 AM, well before the storm. It will involve a midnight entrance into an unfamiliar but well marked channel. We have a GPS showing us the way, and the channel bouys are all lit. Let's do it!

It was a perfect sail in 4 foot rollers until around 3:00 in the afternoon - a big black line of Tstorms formed in the west, a marine weather warning came over the radio, and we got beat up a little bit by gusts, rain and some lightning. But like most summer storm lines, it settled down as we enjoyed a smooth motorsail with the sun setting behind the clouds. I noticed that K was still very much on edge. Nay, scared. She didn't know why, and I wasn't going to ask anyway. Around 10:00 PM I found out why. The still air suddenly became a wall of wind from the North, blowing 20 knots, the seas leapt to life as Senara started struggling against the wind, current, and seas, all dead on her nose. No problem, we have been in this before. Roll up the Genoa, don extra rain gear, life jackets on, secure everything, and don't get impatient. No reason to overheat the motor - just keep making slow steady progress into the wind, which was now 25 knots. Waves were beginning to crash over the bow, and the glow of lights from towns on shore disappeared. The nighttime horizon was no longer visible - just black everywhere except for quick glimpses of white water just before it hit me in the face. We finally reached the first of many markers in the 12 mile long entrance channel. As the wind and seas grew more angry I noticed that it was very difficult to see the channel markers, so I relied heavily on the GPS to show me my position relative to the next mark; when we got near it, then I could finally see it. Then the unthinkable happened. The GPS flashed the words "SATELLITE RECEPTION LOST." That was the first time I felt the tingle run up my spine. I started peering into the dark, outside of the cockpit, so that I could try to see the blinking markers better - but I could not continue because of the volume of water hitting me in the face. K had gone below and spread out the paper chart to assist in figuring out our position - then she remembered that I had packed her dad's old hand-held GPS, just in case. She pressed the on button and prayed, sure enough it came up, found a satellite and showed our Lat/Lon position. She found a plastic sandwich bag to protect it from the rain and sea spray, grabbed a pad and pencil and came up to navigate us in. Now she began continously shouting our Lat/Lon while I tried to locate it on the chart as we picked our way through the channel. Now what? I noticed the bilge pump breaker switch had popped off. K wend below and re-set the switch, it started pumping water, and popped again. So K began a routine of shouting positions and making notes in the cockpit, then crawling below to continuously re-set the bilge pump breaker. After two wrong turns (one that nearly left us aground) in the pitch black howling wind we were in the harbor. We found an old abandoned wharf, and illegally lashed Senara to it for the night. OK - now we are safe - by the way, what time is it? Maybe 1:00 or 2:00 AM? I looked at my cell phone: 5:35 AM Monday morning! As the adrenaline subsided we both collapsed in a shivering heap under the blankets. When the sun came up, I saw what caused so much of our problem. The cold air and rain had created a low layer of fog on the surface of the water. The wind was whipping the fog into an eerie smoke like layer that distorted vision and covered up most of the channel markers. What a night.

I know that we should not have assumed the time frame in the forecast was correct. With a big storm, you just don't know how fast or slow it is really moving. But thinking back, mostly I am proud of us. K was an incredible thinker, problem solver, and navigator. I will not do long distance cruises without her aboard. We remained calm, and took what was being dished out until we were safely tied up. Lessons learned: 1) We have become sailors. 2) If a big storm is within 48 hours of arrival, don't go sailing!

Smoke on the water. In the calm of the harbor the next morning.

Pirates!!..................from K

We were passing through St. Augustine -one of our favorite cities - when we were chased by a ship of pirates!! We quickly armed ourselves with a camera and they brandished mugs of frothy grog at us. ARGGGGGHH!! It's so easy to lose a sense of reality out here...

Eeeekch, Eeeekch, Eeekch.

When you're living on a boat, you're constantly listening for noises: the bilge pump running more than it should, halyards slapping against the mast, or the squeaking of worn lines. Last night, we heard a new noise. We were anchored just north of the NASA Causeway Bridge next to Cape Canaveral. P heard the noise first. Eeeekch, Eeekch, Eeekch. He checked the topside looking for a snarled deck block. Nothing. He came back down below and again we could hear an eerie staccato woodpecker sound. We wandered through the cabin with our ear to the hull. Nothing inside, it was definitely ouside so up we went topside again. This time, in addition to the muddled eeeekch, eeeeekch, we heard dolphin breaking the surface and snorting before diving back down again. We were surrounded by a pod of playful dolphin. And sudddenly P realized what the noise was: dolphing chattering to each other. We could hear it much better below the waterline. I felt like a mermaid - thanks Senara.

Keeping perspective........from K

While P was marveling at the power of the Gulf Stream, my thoughts were in the clouds - literally. While sailing off the coast of West Palm Beach on Monday, we looked up in the sky and there was a shooting explosion - rising higher and higher and higher into the sky. I would have been alarmed if I hadn't gotten a heads-up from Kathie (thanks, sis!). It was the shuttle launching from Cape Canaveral to go up to the Hubble telescope. For a fleeting moment, we could feel the umphhh of the liftoff and see the spark of the booster rocket. Very exciting! I marvel at the astronauts' courage and skill. In comparison, I feel very safe and secure on my little boat being propelled by wind and waves rather than at the mercy of atmospheric pressure, space debris and jet propulsion. Our 9-10 knot sail speed doesn't seem so impressive anymore.





Once again, a photograph doesn't capture the magic.

magic carpet ride ................. from P

I had heard a lot about it. I have always wanted to get into it. I even remember dreaming about it. Finally, I have sailed in it. The Gulf Stream, that is. Over the past two days we have been sailing up the coast of Florida on the outside. Ft. Lauderdale to Lake Worth, then Lake Worth to Ft. Pierce. This area is where the "stream" comes closest to the coastline. So for two days we have sailed 4 to 8 miles straight out before turning north, and it was worth it. The water turns a deep, bright cobalt blue - and it is as clear as tap water. Both days I tethered myself to the boat and jumped overboard; it was nice and warm, I could see clearly underwater all the details of Senara's hull, shards of sunlight shooting through the 300 - 400 ft deep water, and my little toenail. Can't do that in the Chesapeake Bay.

As soon as we got out to the deep water, we noticed a big increase in boat speed. At one point, K said that something must be wrong with our instruments, because the boat felt like we were just luffing along at 3 or 4 knots, but the GPS said we were moving at 8.5 knots! When the wind picked up and we started sailing faster, we actually saw speeds regularly between 9 and 10 knots. It reminded me of the scene in "Finding Nemo" when the surfer-dude turtle is catching the stream and everyone is gliding along. In fact, we saw two big surfer-dude turtles out there doing just that. Unfortunately, the stream turns farther and farther out to sea from here (Vero Beach), so we will again have to deal with the normal resistant forces of hydrodynamics. But for two days it was a magic carpet ride.

this is us sailing at 9 knots! I know the telltales are not perfect, but they didn't have to be.

sore hands.................. from P

Stuff breaks. Stuff on a boat breaks regularly. Stuff on an old boat breaks almost every day. Especially if the systems on the old boat are under the strain of daily living for a year. It tends to run in groups, and right now we are going through a cycle of breaking lots of stuff. The most recent list: Broken water pump impeller, blank GPS navigation system screen (no power), a burst fresh water hose (onboard plumbing system), malfunctioning depth sounder, and a leaky raw water hose (engine cooling system). On a boat, one small problem inevitably leads to a much larger problem, so each seemingly unimportant malfunction must receive immediate attention. If it doesn't get the required attention, the dominos start to fall, and soon you are reduced to wimpering on the phone to TowBoat U.S. So I have been on a mission. The engine cannot run without a working impeller, and mine is in a location that is all but impossible to reach. And you need special tools such as ratchet screwdrivers and a dentist's mirror. So I had to call for help on that one. A marine mechanic and I, working for two hours, finally got the old impeller pieces out of the motor and installed the new one. On the GPS, I tracked down a loose connection at the base of the breaker switch, among the spaghetti of wires behind the breaker panel. I could not believe my luck when the GPS powered up again. So we got back underway, then I noticed that the bilge pump was running constantly. I opened up the engine compartment to discover a gush of water - and of course my first thought is "OK we are going to sink and die." I cupped my hand in the water, did the old taste test, and thankfully it was fresh water. I have sealed off the valve and pulled out the old hose. It was a feed to the hot water heater, and currently a new hose installation is "in process." No problem, we can sail fine a few days without hot water. I have checked all the connections for the transducer on the depthsounder, and even jumped overboard while under sail to clean it. Now I have just accepted the fact that once we hit 380 feet of depth (as is common off the coast of Florida) it just decides to quit. Once we get in more shallow water, it comes alive. Fine. I can live with that. The raw water intake leak required disassembling several fittings that lead from the through-hull valve, into the strainer, and to the cooling system. Just a matter of cleaning all the threads and re-seating everything with teflon tape sealer. Seems to be fine now. I guess it is all to be expected when living on a boat. We'll see what happens tomorrow.

finding our rythm ............ from P

We have had to return home twice, both times for two weeks or so. Each time is like getting transported to a different universe. Everything is familiar, but much different from the universe in which we currently live. When we return, we find that it takes a few days to get back into the rythm of living on a boat. We have been back aboard Senara for two days now, and I think we are settled in again. I can tell because we are doing all our favorite things again: Riding to Publix grocery store in our dinghy, snorkeling around in the warm, crystal water, watching the sunset, waking with the sunrise, and of course our favorite pastime for which we coined the term "floatying." Floatying involves teathering an inflatable chair, aka floaty, off the stern and enjoying a cool drink while floating with your bottom hanging in the water. It takes lots of practice, but we are committed to excellence.

We are headed north, making good time in this perfect weather, even if we have to run the motor more than I like. We found Senara to be in pretty good shape, but we did have one scare. When we first cast off from the mooring ball, Senara would barely move. I panicked with thoughts of a broken transmission, bent shaft, etc. etc. So we tied back to the mooring ball, I put 6 lbs of dive weights in my pockets, donned the dive mask and hooker hose, and jumped in. As soon as I was a few inches under the surface I could see that barnacles had bloomed, just like the azaleas in Virginia. The prop looked like a cauliflower, one big bunch of barnacles. After an hour of underwater scraping of the prop, shaft, and keel, we were back underway with no problems. Yes, part of the rythm involves a lot of physical work that I am not used to at home. Setting the anchor, weighing the anchor, setting and trimming sails, hoisting the dinghy and the motor, setting up the grill, mixing drinks, etc. Somebody has to do it. Besides, I am just finding my rythm again.

The floaty master

Last month's grocery shopping trip

Buses, Boats & Goats.......from K

I do love being a traveler. On Tuesday morning, P & I jumped on a flight to Miami. On Wednesday, we boarded a city bus that runs from Florida City to Marathon Harbor ($1.85 each way) and today we spent the day motor/sailing back up the Keys to a familiar anchorage behind Lignumvitae Key. P & I have become embarrassingly good at finding the cheapest way of getting around - it always provides great entertainment.

Having incredibly generous family members helps too! We spent a night with Karen & David again in Miami and met the newest addition to their family - an adorable Nubian goat named Chewy. He's only a few weeks old and they feed him by bottle three times a day. He's 12 pounds now but he's expected to top out at 200 pounds! Their Jack Russell terrier has decided his only role in life is to keep Chewy's ears clean. Too cute!! They are training Chewy to be a "pack goat" - to carry their camping gear when they go mountain hiking. Karen's convinced this idea will be a great success - David is a bit more dubious. While they're busy building him a pen in the back of the yard, Chewy is squirming to get in the back door of the house. The chickens are keeping their distance and I'm pretty sure I heard Ruby, the cockateil, "baahing" before we left the house. I love my family - they make me feel sane.

Now I know why he is named Chewy. I felt sorry for his mom!

Chief doesn't quite know what to make of Chewy yet.