Lessons Learned

Work on the boat was largely finished.  We were down to the minutiae of pre-departure preparations now, and of course, loading and stowing all the gear and supplies.  As many know, space aboard a ship is limited, especially on a small vessel like ours.  We had to fit all the tools and materials and spare parts necessary to keep afloat a boat built the year my dad graduated from high school.  In addition, we had to fit all the personal items four people would need for four months into a area the size of a minivan with enough empty space left over for us all to live comfortably.  It was like putting together a jigsaw puzzle except that there was no correct solution and unused pieces were abandoned on the dock.
 

First priority when packing always went to those items necessary for the proper function and maintenance of Strolla.  Then, what was needed to keep the crew safe and healthy.  Far down that list came those superfluous comfort items for which there may or may not still have been room. When sailing through the lower latitudes spare clothing falls into this category.  A third, or even second t-shirt is so extravagantly unnecessary its more likely to find use soaking up a bilge leak or oil spill.  

 

 

(Items still waiting to be stowed)

 

It's at this point in the packing that the deepest cuts were made to one's personal items.  Having spent last winter sailing, albeit in slightly colder conditions (see: www.sailtocuba.blogspot.com).  I was well aware of just how stripped down a wardrobe is actually required for the stripped down existence of life on the waves.  I did my best to impart this hard won wisdom to my crewmates.  Some were easier to convince than others. 

 

Today was our first laundry day in Ft. Lauderdale.  Becca, who had run out of clean clothes, declared it time.  Mark by now was recycling his underwear.  I was no longer wearing underwear.  All of our dirty clothes together still only totaled one load so everything went in together.  In went went our socks, our shorts and white t-shirts.  In went Becca's red pants.  

 

Mark and I will spend the next four months dapper and dashing, dressed in subtle shades of pink.  They'll match our sunburns.

 

(Mark fabricates a part for the windvane)

By now, progress had dropped to a crawl.  Slowly, the holds were filled with the big items and then the crevices in between packed with ever smaller ones until there was no wasted space left.  This ensured we would be able to fit everything on board that we needed to.  It also ensured we wouldn't be able to find anything again without completely unpacking the holds.

 

 

(Nate takes a break for a peak outside while painting the fore cabin)

 

Weary of packing, tonight we took the evening off.  Our soft bottomed, inflatable dinghy was back from the shop and newly patched so, we decided to take her out for an evening cruise through the canals. The air was hot and muggy, our new outboard was purring happily, and we were living the high life with ice cold Miller.  Mark asked if maybe we should bring the oars with us just in case.

"Naw, gotta learn to trust the motor," I said, with a condescending clap on his shoulder.  The four of us piled into the dinghy.  I opened the throttle and, all 2.5 horses churning, we roared up the New River, beers in hand.  The waters on the canal were calm but with the four of us inside, our dinghy sat low enough in the water that we got wet anyway.  When the beer ran out and dusk descended, we turned for home.  

 

It was at that moment that the motor sputtered and died.  We were out of gas.  Mark observed that it would be nice to have oars at a time like this.  I informed calmly him that questioning the captain's decisions was mutinous and that mutiny would not be tolerated, not even in the dinghy.  With that, an uneasy quiet descended over the boat as the mosquitos whined and bit and we drifted slowly through the dark down the middle of the canal.

By the time we'd drifted to shore we'd come up with a plan.  Mark and Nate would stay and guard the boat.  Becca and I, the only two wearing shoes, would hike back to Strolla, get the oars, and return in the car.  The outboard took a fuel mixture of 50:1 and we didn't have any mixed back at the boat so it was agreed that rowing back would be fastest.

Becca and I set off into the dark, cutting across backyards, navigating our way through the maze of canals and cul-de-sacs.  Using the highest visible landmark, the I-95 overpass, as our reference point, we arrived back safely at Laila's house.  

 

I grabbed the oars from aboard Strolla, hopped in the car and raced back.  Nate and I exchanged places, he'd volunteered to cook dinner tonight and had to get started and, Mark and I began the slow paddle back down river through the dark.  We made it back just in time for Nate's tacos.  Delicious.

Repair and Prepare

This past summer, while river guiding in Jackson Hole, WY, I was faced with a question.  What to do with my winter.  Most of my friends were staying in the mountains.  The skiing, they informed me, was quite enjoyable.  I do like to enjoy myself.  However, I am a boat owner, a 31 foot Elizabethan sloop named "Strolla," to be exact.  Being a boat owner carries with it certain responsibilities.

Strolla had been docked all summer at my friend Laila's house in Ft. Lauderdale or, more correctly, docked at her neighbor's house because Laila's dock space had been rented out.  The boat couldn't stay there forever, couldn't stay there much longer at all, in fact.  With the summer guiding season at an end it was time to make a decision, either sell it or sail it.  Both options would necessitate a trip to Florida.  To me, the choice was obvious, time to find a crew.

My friend and sailing partner from last Winter, Pete Hinman, was not decidedly interested in round two.  He was happily situated in New Hampshire with a job and a girl and a new rental home.  Fortunately for me,the seasonal resort where I was working happened to be a great place to recruit adventurous compatriots.  Nearly everyone there would soon be unemployed and, with a lump sum of summer savings burning holes in their pockets.  I just had to convince them to spend it on a sailing trip.

The first two to bite were Nate Simkowski and Rebecca Holcomb.  They'd started dating while working in Vail, CO and had come to WY together, she to manage the bar and he to drive for the rafting department.  Next came Mark.  He'd originally left NJ for the Rockies in order to snowboard and had fallen into river guiding as a way to pass the summer.  I think leaving the mountains just as the winter season's first snows were falling was a hard decision for him.

We took a month off after the close of the season in WY and then met at Laila's house in Ft. Lauderdale on November 10th to get the boat ready.  I arrived a day early to inspect Strolla and see how she'd weathered the last six months. 

 

(The crew of Strolla with Laila)

Although in need of a little love, she looked pretty sound.  There were no insect infestations and no obvious signs of decay.  They were just hidden.  When I tried to shut the valve to the engine's raw water cooling system, the handle broke off.  It had rusted through over the summer.  Fortunately, the handle broke off with the valve open so the motor could still draw water to cool itself.  This put it at the bottom of the priority repair list.

When I started the diesel motor up it ran sweetly, then started to sputter, then choked to a stop.  Top of the priority list.  I checked the fuel filter.  It was rusted over and full of slime.  Apparently, there had been a bit of water inside it over the summer.  Yes, there was work to be done.

For the last ten days, the four of us worked to prepare Strolla for departure, all day every day.  As we poured over the boat, scraping and painting and reworking and repairing, the to-do list shrank faster than it grew and the appreciable progress was satisfying.

(Strolla at her winter berth in Ft. Lauderdale)

I'd had a lucrative summer on the river so I splurged on a few luxury items to make our lives a little more comfortable on the coming voyage.  Among my purchases were a chartplotter (with digital charts loaded!), a shortwave radio so we could receive regular weather forecasts and, a reliable outboard motor for the dinghy.  No, the old British Seagull motor my friend Pete and I had kicked and cursed all last Winter would not be coming with us.  Best of all, I bought a little refrigerator to fit under one of the benches.  Now, I hoped, we'd be able to enjoy cold beer and crisp vegetables in the tropics!

(While at Laila's, Nate and Becca slept on Strolla, I slept in the guest bedroom and, Mark slept on the pull-out)