happy anniversary to me! ............ from P

I can hardly believe it has been one year. I remember having lunch with a friend and co-worker at the Mexican restaurant across the street from my office. As he walked back into the building, I hollered to him - "on the in-out board, just write 'gone sailing' next to my name!" I remember flying down the interstate with my windows rolled down, singing with the radio. It felt just like the last day of school - a year long summer break. It has been exactly one year since I left the professional working world. There are a few things that I miss: The feeling of satisfaction after solving a tense situation, hot coffee and lots of progress early in the AM, and a nice paycheck. But I must say that I really have not missed living my life focused primarily on a job. A job that felt like a job, not my life's work. Focusing on the weather, the waves, and the destinations has made a lot more sense lately.

This one year anniversary prompts me to think about the next year, or at least the next week as we will return to the Keys and get Senara back under sail. Yes!! But alas, alas, we will be sailing north toward home to re-join our regularly scheduled life. The good news is that it will take about a month for us to sail home. Maybe I can stretch it out to 5 or 6 weeks. Or maybe I can figure a way to be celebrating a second anniversary next spring.

Dad, you did good ........ from P

My dad died Saturday night, April 25th, at 9:44 PM. His sister, my sister, and I were there by his side talking to him and praying as he passed on. He was very peaceful; he just stopped breathing. Then let out a deep sigh as he finally gave up the fight. As I held my cheek against his, all I could say was "dad, you did good." And did he ever. On so many levels he did good. He did good as a metal worker in the shipyard, as an executive with Sears Roebuck, and especially in his last 22 year career as a Realtor. He did good as a life long member of his local methodist church, serving on the Board for many years, teaching Sunday classes, leading the youth group, and being an important part of the church family. It was quite a family. I think I was around 10 years old or so when I figured out that we were not directly related to many of the other families in our church. They were such a part of our lives that I really thought they were kin. Mostly, he did good as a father. He and mom instilled in all three children a deep sense of self confidence, adventurousness, self discipline, and a love of nature. The three of us have just been relating stories about times when we would be making important life decisions, and dad would often end the conversation with "... you have good judgement, I trust your decision." We would often hear "I trust your decisions" even if we were getting ready to go out on a date, or drive around in a car. K and I know what a huge positive force he has been in the lives of our daughters, showing them the same kind of confidence and trust. Dad was a natural leader who knew how to build independence and character in others. He was born on March 11, 1921, and will continue living in me and my family every day. Yes, he did good.

don't tell them I said this..... from P

We have good kids. E is 24, HA will be 21 in June (AKA friggin' daughter #1 and friggin' daughter #2). Since we left in July they have been charged with taking care of our house, our cars, and as it turned out - helping take care of my dad. E works full time as a counselor/therapist for autistic children. She had to pay "rent" by paying the household utility bills. HA had to work part time so she could fund her own "out of pocket" expenses while carrying a full course load in engineering at ODU. Both were responsible for care and upkeep of the lawn and house. I must admit, I was concerned about leaving everything in their hands for nearly a year. But I am pleased (and proud) to report that, except for multiple accidents by E's 70 LB "puppy" and a couple of unexplained tire ruts in the yard, they have done a great job taking care of things. The house is still standing, we have received no nasty letters from the home owners' association, the neighbors are still speaking to us, the utilities are still on, and Spooky (the cat) is still alive. Overall good results. I would like to believe that this has been a learning experience for them. It certainly has for me. This trip has taught me more about myself than anything I have ever done, and one of the things I learned is that our daughters are maturing into self reliant women who can handle adult responsibilities. They are good kids who are quickly turning into great adults. Not bad for a couple of friggin' daughters.

sunset ................. from P

Sunsets have been on my mind lately, both metaphorical and experiencial. My dad's yard is an explosion of pink azalea blossoms dappled with white dogwood flowers. The angle of the afternoon sun lights it up in a way that makes me stop the car when I come around the corner toward his house. From his kitchen table the big dogwood in the side yard frames his profile as he lies in the medical bed next to the window. As the show fades in the background I can't help thinking how much he would love to sit with us aboard Senara and watch the sun set into the Gulf of Mexico.

K and I almost involuntarily developed a habit of migrating to the cockpit every day around 6:30 to watch the show, wherever we were. We found that every other sailor aboard their boat, whether on mooring balls, anchors, or tied up in their slips were likewise drawn up to their cockpits or cabin tops; everyone basking in the splendor. Of course, each sunset is a little different. More interestingly, sunset rituals are each a little different depending on where you are. The most famous sunset ritual, no doubt, is Key West's daily sunset celebration on the sea wall at Mallory Square. It is fun to go once, but it has become much to organized and commercialized to retain the cult following it once enjoyed.

Elsewhere in the Keys, particularly Boot Key Harbor at Marathon, you will likely hear the low, mournful sound of conch shells being blown by sailors to bid the sun farewell. Up in the northeast, particularly around Newport, the sunset was always accompanied by the firing of a signal cannon - your signal to "strike your colors" for the night. And everyone ceremoneously lowers their flags in unison. For a few nights in Boot Key Harbor we were fortunate enough to be moored near a Scot who stood atop his cabin top each evening and played the bagpipes. He always ended with "Amazing Grace" as the sun disappeared - it would bring tears to your eyes.







Playing the pipes aboard "Go Lassie Go"






We have our traditions and standard rituals that bring meaning and comfort when a loved one dies. My brother, sister and I have already begun some of the too familiar first steps. I like to believe that some of the end-of-the-day rituals I've learned from sailors up and down the coast are connected to our end-of-life rituals. The feelings and reflections come from the same place. If the day has been well lived, or as in dad's case a life has been well lived - I feel the loss, then I am still, reflective, thankful, and renewed.

pavement sailing .......... from P

After a great week of sailing north from KW, and idyllic scuba dives on Sombrero reef, we got the dreaded phone call - my dad's health has taken a serious turn for the worse and we had better come home again. He has rallied from the depths of nearly fatal setbacks numerous times, but after hearing some details we decided we'd better get home as quickly as possible. After checking airline schedules and prices we decided to rent a mooring for Senara, rent a car for us, and drive the "blue hair highway" all the way from Miami to southern Virginia. In one day. It is incredible that Alamo will rent a 2009 mid sized car for $35 including unlimited mileage. And indeed, it seemed unlimited: we drove 1,040 miles in one day.

Dad has been moved home, into a medical bed, in the same room and same spot in front of his family-room window where mom died. So here we are at home, preparing to spend tonight (and as many night as needed) attending to dad, with the help of with the hospice nurses. It will be a heartbreaking final chapter in the life of a great man. I am so glad we got on the road. This is where we are supposed to be right now.

Senara's latest christening.........from K

Despite everything we have done on, in, to and under Senara, there has been one christening we had not been able to perform, until now. We have finally scuba dived off of her. Up til now, we used my nephew's boat or a dive boat to dive, but now we feel we've done it all, and as always, Senara proved her versatility.

Scuba diving off of a sailboat is not easy. The gunwhales are too high off the water to flip back into the water, and there is no clear platform from which to step off from. So, as everything else while living on a boat, we improvised. We situated the dinghy next to the cockpit and Pat carefully placed (dropped?) our weighted gear into the dinghy. Then we put on our wetsuits and climbed into the dinghy and pulled on our heavy BC's and air tanks. I felt more than awkward perched on the side of our inflatable as P tightened my vest. In fact, I panicked and announced, "I can't do it." P never missed a beat - he said, "catch your breath and take your time." And I did. Then we plunged off the dinghy into the gorgeous underwater scenery of Looe's Key. We swam with a barracuda, some parrotfish, a school of yellow chubs, and marvelled at the colorful coral. We never get tired diving down deep. And this time, we had a friend follow us back up. As we were hauling our gear back onto Senara, a 6-foot barracuda circled our boat. We choose to believe he was giving us a polite farewell, but we didn't shake fins to find out...

sail fish, April 1 & 4 ........ from P

My brother, C, said “We probably won’t catch anything, but let’s troll this lure behind the boat while we are sailing.” He had paid attention when Tom the fishing guide had rigged our lines on the charter boat several days before. C used his new found knowledge to rig the little rubber skirted lure with an optimistically large hook and topped it off with a squid cocktail. He dropped it over the stern and let it skip along in the wake of our 7 knot sailing speed. Less than a minute. No kidding. Boom! Pandemonium. The reel was screaming as line was being ripped from it. I pointed Senara into the wind, K and I scrambled to furl the genoa in an attempt to stop the boat as C was getting a grip on the pole to join the fight. Some ten minutes later, C landed a 10 to 12 pound Barracuda. Huge fish. After releasing him, and re-setting the sails we were back on our course toward Boca Grande. C again trailed the little lure in our wake, and everyone relaxed again. For two minutes. Then, fish on!! Again, we pointed up Senara, furled the gennie, C fought the fish, and fought the fish, and fought it some more. Then I fought it for a while. Finally, up comes another big fish – this time it was a Bonita. Man he can fight! C caught a second Bonita and a King Mackerel within the next hour. K got a lot of practice doing quick-stops while under sail. We were finally exhausted from catching fish, and decided to just sail the boat for a while. Several days later C walked over to the charter docks and talked with our old fishing guide, Tom, who said he was not surprised by our fishing success on Senara. He said that trolling from a sailboat is the best possible fishing; no engine noise, no churning propeller to scare the fish, perfect trolling speed. I am now a believer. It also helps to be in one of the most fertile fishing grounds in the world. Now I know why they call them sail-fish! Or maybe not.

Hoisting a Bonita over the transom. It's even harder than it looks.

Just a couple of pictures, then you can go swimming again.

His Name was Mudd: April 3......... from K & P

Although I wasn't reaching freedom like the Cubans, I was very excited the reach Fort Jefferson. The towering fort seems to rise out of the water like a mythical castle and encompasses the entire island. It was ten times bigger than I expected and so much more interesting to explore than even the old ruins of castles in Europe. It is actually the second largest masonry structure on earth, after the Great Wall of China. Sixteen million bricks were shipped to this place beginning in 1846.

We spent two days exploring the bastions and listening to stories of how Civil War prisoners, soldiers, doctors and nurses lived on this isolated, water-starved island. The moat was used for sewage and the temperature and humidity stayed at 100. It was substantially completed just in time for the War Between the States, but was never actually finished, nor fully armed. It is unbelievably huge, with casemates to house 420 heavy cannon, 37 powder magazines, and barracks for 1,000 soldiers. The design and firepower of the fort is why it is called “the stealth bomber of its day.” The Union held the fort throughout the unpleasantness, but the south had its chance. A confederate ship was poised to invade, but the Union commander sent message that if the ship was not gone by dawn, all 420 heavy cannon would blow him out of the water, so the captain figured it best to leave. The Southern captain would have had no way of knowing that only one cannon had yet been delivered to the new fort.

The most famous prisoner here was Dr. Mudd, the physician who set the broken leg of John Wilkes Booth. For doing that, he was convicted of treason and sent to the fort to serve a life sentence. Legend has it that Booth had disguised himself when he sought Mudd’s medical assistance for the infamous broken leg, so Mudd acted out of innocence only to be caught up in history. More factual accounts say Mudd was part of Booth’s group of southern sympathizers. In any event, after yellow fever killed the other doctors and nurses in the fort, Dr. Mudd cared for the troops and eventually earned himself a pardon. Despite that, he became the inspiration behind the saying “if I mess this up, my name will be Mudd!”

The enemy's view.

A view down one of the corridors. Each alcove is a cannon casemate.

Cannoneer's view.

Looking from the top of the fort wall, over the old coal dock and the Gulf of Mexico. We snorkeled around this structure - lots of fish!

Wet Foot, Dry Foot: April 2............. from K

Sailing to Fort Jefferson has been a personal quest for me ever since my father urged me to go from his hospital bed last winter. However, as eager as I was to reach the Dry Tortugas, we encountered a few others who were a bit more excited to see the islands in the middle of no where:

During our first night anchored in the Garden Key basin, three Cuban refugees landed on the island in their homemade "chug" with a Yamaha 40-hp engine. Imagine - 90 miles in plastic covered foam tube with an empty deoderant canister fitted through the transom as a drain!!! As we dinghied onto Fort Jefferson, we could see three young men standing on the beach in white, cotton scrub suits. Obviously being escorted by the Park Service Rangers, the men smiled and waved at the visitors on the beach. A small Coast Guard Cutter had just arrived and the Coasties were giving each young man an orange life vest (kind of ironic considering that the Cubans were certainly more safe with the CG than they had been in their chug). We were told that since the men had put a "dry foot" on American land, they can request asylum and be processed in as aliens. However, if the Coast Guard had found them while still in their boat in the water, they would have been sent back to Cuba - probably prison. Hence, their jubilant smiles - I only wish I had been quick enough to snap their pictures.

These chugs might hold 8 to 10 people for the big trip.

a sail to remember, April 1 ........ from P

The gods were smiling on us. After an uncommonly turbulent weather pattern, the wind shifted to the South and settled in at a steady 13 to 16 knots - perfect for a 70 mile sail due west to the Dry Tortuga Islands. After shaking out the reef in our main, we clipped along at 6.5 to 7.5 knots on a beam reach, covering the entire 65 mile leg in 9.5 hours! It was one of the best sailing days I have ever experienced. The sun was bright, the water was an irridescent sapphire, big fish were eager to grab our lure (see next blog post), the seas were only about two feet, and we sailed fast. Unreal.

It is called "blue water sailing" because you cannot see land in any direction - just water - all the way to the horizon any which way you look. We had not done any blue water sailing since Nantucket. But today we stretched Senara's legs from Boca Grande all the way to Garden Key (within the Dry Tortugas) in the Gulf of Mexico. We were blue-water until around 5:30 PM when the "land ho!" cry came from K up on the bow, and the imposing, picturesque walls of Fort Jefferson on Garden Key began to appear like an apparition. Our original plan had been to sail to the Bahamas. After nixing that plan, the Tortugas became our "exotic destination" goal. Today, as we picked our way through the channel around the fort to the anchorage area, a line from the Crosby Stills & Nash song "Southern Cross" kept playing in my head ........ "you understand now why you came this way....... " Indeed.

Approaching the walls of Fort Jefferson

Side trip out to Loggerhead Key.

C on the helm, on the first leg home.

our beach, March 31, ......... from P

My apologies to the lady on the boat near the beach at the western end of Boca Grande Key near the Marquesas island. I didn’t mean to make you put your bikini top back on. Yes, we were easing into the same gorgeous, wind protected beach lagoon to drop our anchor but we were not so close to you that we could “see anything.” So you really did not need to get dressed just for us. But it was really nice for you and a few other boater-visitors to leave so we could have the entire Boca Grande island to ourselves. C, K, and I very much enjoyed walking the beach among the wildlife protection areas. A pair of Bald Eagles were the only residents that took any interest in our wanderings. The big Loggerhead Turtle had already met us just outside the entrance channel and checked us over, seemingly announcing that we were about 20 miles west of Key West and on the way to his Tortuga islands. After exploring the island we moved Senara to a more protected anchor area, grilled a few of our fresh Wahoo steaks for dinner, watched the big orange ball show on the western horizon. I hope we didn’t chase you away, but I do thank you for letting us have our own exotic island for the afternoon.




K, and my brother C, at Boca Grande. Senara is waiting in the background.