Into the Canal

 Departed Whitehall at about a quarter after 7 AM. Johannah handled her first lock transit with aplomb. We made it from Lock 12 to just outside Lock 4. We got there right at 5 when they close for the day . The lock keeper said we could tie up for the night with no problems. We took a walk into Stillwater village, where we picked up an extremely important item that I had forgotten, mosquito repellent! Johannah is heating up a delicious looking dish of mushrooms and orzo that she had prepared the day before and has been awaiting us in the icebox. Yum!

50 years ago:

A Honda? Huh? My father had found a little portable generator made by a company he had never heard of, called Honda. His thinking was that I could use it to run a sander, a drill, and some other tools when shoreside power wasn't available. I was pretty much sick of sanding at that time, what with a fleet of 10 charter boats, and therefore not keen on another device that could get more work out of Charlie. But then I realized, the generator that was buried in a deck locker could run a battery charger. I dug it out and Fred was delighted when it fired up. I can't remember how long it took, but after a while, the Perkins fired up and order was restored. We didn't need to run it continuously since we still had wind, but we conserved the batteries and continued pumping by hand. A day or so later, we motored into the Ft. Pierce inlet and had the boat hauled out. The source of the leak was immediately evident. A plank end, far forward at the stem, was sprung, and allowing a good bit of water to enter. A couple of new fasteners and we were on our way. Back on the ocean and down to Ft. Lauderdale, where, very uncharacteristically, my frugal mother booked us a slip at the uber expensive Pier 66. My father must have experienced heart palpitations when he found out about that bill.

We secured a much more reasonable berth up the New River, and everyone headed home but me. I was to keep the boat maintained and looking great for a potential sale. I spent the winter doing that, and picked up a job washing dishes on a restaurant dining boat. And the schooner did sell, to an actual Greek shipowner. 

And so ended my first cruise south! Hope you enjoyed hearing about it!

Whitehall, birthplace of US Navy

 Actually, there are several claimants to that title, but Whitehalls is fairly solid. Benedict Arnold built a fleet of ships here in 1776 and they were used later that year in a major battle on Lake Champlain. Anyway, we, (Johannah Schneider and I) are tied up on that site, which is now the Whitehall Marina. We had a nice run down what is a really beautiful part of the lake when Johannah arrived a bit after 2. Normally I would go thru the first lock and tie up on the bulkhead for free, but the authorities have reduced the hours of operation, so I caved in and rented a slip for the night. An extremely bad habit to get into, but there don"t appear to be any anchoring options.

Meanwhile, the other story continues:

The batteries weren't completely dead, they just didn't have the oomph to turn over the big Perkins diesel. But Fred could read the writing on the wall and asked if we had a manual pump aboard that didn't require electricity. I got out of a storage locker a large Edson pump that fit the bill. And so the pumping began. It was quite tiring, but we had motivation, knowing that we were 50 miles offshore on what no one could deny was a sinking boat. We took turns, and with 4 able bodied men aboard we were able to keep up with it. I don't recall my mother taking a turn, and my dear little sister was clueless. We discussed which inlets on the Florida coast would be easiest to negotiate under sail and figured it would be based on the weather at the time. Then I remembered the Honda.

To be continued

Another Day in Orwell

 Not a lot to report. Got the final coat of paint on the mast this morning. Had nice visit with Bruce on Timshel, who I had met in the Exumas with his wife Karen on the last trip. Gonna be a hot day. Need to finish the macerator installation and reinstall some hardware on the mast.

And now, back in time. The storm died down the next day and we found ourselves moving steadily along in pleasant conditions. But we noticed that the bilge pump had come on and was staying on for a disconsertingly long time. It would shut off, and then start running again. We had developed a leak, probably as a result of the storm. The Sea Song was a wooden vessel, and though stoutly constructed and relatively new, was not immune to seawater intent on making its way inside. Attempting to discover the source of the leak we removed the floorboards and peered into the dank recesses of the bilge. The problem was that most deep areas of the bilge had massive iron pigs fitted in that provided ballast. These pigs weighed around 60 #'s apiece and were well nigh impossible to move around without resulting in smashed fingers. And the pump kept running. The interval between run cycles was getting shorter. Fred realized that we had been putting quite a strain on the batteries what with running the navigation lights and the bilge pump so he decided to fire up the engine for some battery charging time. As he pushed the starter button there was a very feeble sound as the engine turned about a quarter of a revolution, then silence. The batteries were dead.

To be continued.

 Definition of cruising

Boat repair in exotic locations. Thanks to my good friend Silas for that definition. Not sure if Orwell, Vermont qualifies as an exotic location, but it is a lovely place. 

After the rain stopped and things dried off, I sanded the mast and applied the first coat of paint. My former boss and friend, George, would refer to it as a 20 footer. This means that it presents well at a distance of 20 feet. I suppose I could strive for a true yacht finish, involving hundreds of dollars in multi part linear polyurethane painting components, and getting the mast inside a paint booth where I could utilize maximum technology, but no. I'm just using a sheet of sandpaper, a bit of paint thinner, and a quart of Rustoleum. Total cost, with tax, a bit over 20 bucks.

A brief trip back in time, to Charleston, 50 years ago. We spent several delightful days there, while my father managed to rustle up another captain, a really great local guy named Fred Wickman. We set out one late afternoon, and by midnight we were in a strong northeast wind, blowing over 30 knots. It was spectacular sailing, running wing and wing. About 3 am, Fred asked me to douse the jib and the staysail, as they were mostly just flogging about. The staysail was easy, but jib involved making my way out on the bowsprit to haul down and secure the sail. I took in the view, with the big seas, the low scudding clouds, the moon flashin through, and resolved to always remember that moment. I still do.

Battery a bit low, so, Good night all!

Charlie

 Mast down today

I sailed off the mooring yesterday morning at 0825, with serious doubts about proceeding on the trip. It was mostly a result of excessive worrying about a host of things I won't delve into at the moment. Suffice to say that being on the move once again, on a small boat, helped to rearrange my outlook. It was a nice day, although I did end up motoring through calms for almost 3 hours. The majority was under sail.

Arrived at Chipman Point Marina, which is a favorite spot, and Chip, the owner, and a friend, agreed to unstep the mast, which we did today, shortly after lunch. I am planning to paint the mast over the next several days.

Just took a break to close things up as a rain squall has started. Really coming down!

Good friends Tom, Michelle, and Douglas came down and took me out to a great dinner at the Wheel Inn in Benson.

Back to the trip south of 50 years ago. After leaving Norfolk we were a couple of weeks moving south to Charleston. Mostly under power, being on a vessel not suitable for close quarter sailing, but we did get some sailing in on the big waters of North Carolina, like Albemarle Sound, Pamlico Sound, and the Neuse River. We spent several days in Morehead City, for reasons I have forgotten, but used the time to meet some local youth and party a bit. Eventually, we found ourselves in Charleston and I felt a huge sense of relief in having gotten the boat there without screwing something up. It was a good confidence booster for me as well. I had gotten a low number in the draft lottery and had decided I didn't really want to be in the army. My dad had been in the Navy and I decided that would be for me. But I flunked the physical due to a lack of depth perception. So I felt like a real loser. Even the military, sending kids to Viet Nam in droves, didn't want me. So that 2 week stretch was really just what I needed.

Till the next time, Charlie

 Provisioning

Hi everyone, or anyone for that matter! Getting ready for my Golden Jubilee cruise. Filling the lockers aboard with food, tools, clothing, spares, you name it. Trying to get the house in order for Meg so that things won't fall apart immediately when I leave. She has proven more than capable of keeping things going here. I haven't really told a lot of people I am doing this, so there will be no going away party, no fanfare. Just the way I like it. Hoping to leave sometime during this upcoming week. Yes, I know it's early, and hurricane season is nigh, but my hope is to be able to spend some time enjoying Chesapeake Bay. In other years I have been generally freezing my butt there, and under pressure to make time in a southerly direction.

Back to some remembrances of my first trip. We had pulled out of the Shelburne Shipyard on Lake Champlain with the masts on deck, and the 85 HP Perkins diesel running strong. It took us 4 days total to transit the southern part of the lake, the canal, and the Hudson River, finishing up at City Island. I had made most of this trip in the opposite direction a couple of summers earlier, helping to bring a 45' Alden ketch from Tarrytown, NY to Shelburne. This was another of my father's charter boats. So I was familiar with the river and the beauty of the area. The trip thus far on the schooner Sea Song had been uneventful and we were looking forward to restepping the masts and heading out to sea. None more so than one young man, whose name I disremember, but to whom we shall refer as "Ted". Ted was full of confidence and swagger, and was very disappointed with the work we were doing to get the boat ready for sea, which he deemed as mostly unnecessary and a waste of time. And indeed, it was mostly of a cosmetic nature, since we were enjoying a rare late November warm spell, which Captain Don wanted to make full use of. It was really only about 4 days that we spent at City Island doing that work, but Ted couldn't wait, and made it clear to everyone just how frustrated he was.

Finally, we slipped the docking lines and headed out through Hell Gate and down the East River. It is a process of several hours to negotiate the vastness of New York Harbor, but we finally headed out the Ambrose Channel and set a course southward. The change that overtook Ted was remarkable. As the sails were hoisted and the bow of the Sea Song met the incoming swell of the Atlantic, Ted developed an ashen look, vomited over the side, and retired to his bunk. This marked the end of any usefulness Ted may have had, and it left Captain Don without a watch mate. Don, incidentally, was the penultimate captain, a really great guy, and consummate sailor. Thankfully, I found myself unaffected by any hint of seasickness. If I remember correctly, we spent a couple of nights at sea and found ourselves at daybreak off the Delmarva Coast, right near the entrance to Chesapeake Bay. These were the days before good weather forecasting, but we did hear on the radio about a severe cold front that had passed through Washington DC, bringing high winds and snow, that was headed our way. Sure enough, I was at the helm, riding a flood tide over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge/Tunnel, when the front hit. We started the Perkins, dropped the sails since the wind was almost on the nose, and started pounding into some really ugly waves. They were very steep and close together, not surprising, given the opposition of wind and tide. The weather bureau was saying 7-14 feet, and I could believe it. The wind was about 40 knots.  Captain Don was exhausted, having gotten practically no sleep during the last 2 days, Ted was out of commission, and the other crew member didn't have much experience, though he was very helpful. So I was stuck steering. Eventually we made Hampton Roads and the conditions moderated. Turning the corner into Norfolk was a real relief. We pulled into the big marina there and celebrated our survival with a quiet but heartfelt thanks.

Ted had undergone something of a revival, but the result was that of a completely shattered man. He gathered up his gear quietly and without fanfare. Saying goodbye, he allowed that he was seeking a new life in Kansas, as far from the ocean as he could possibly get. He appeared to be completely serious. Nobody stood in his way as he walked down the dock, away from the salt water, and all it represented. Meanwhile, Captain Don had to return to Vermont for work, and so I was left as the owner's representative,(my father), in spite of being the youngest person aboard. Needless to say, this precipitated a collect call to my dad, and I asked him what he wanted me to do. My father was busy working in one of his other businesses and couldn't spare the time to come down, so he suggested I take the boat south, using the Intracoastal Waterway. This seemed to me like quite a stretch, given my lack of coastal experience, but I was too cowed by the old man to argue back. Then, he sweetened the pot a bit by saying he would send my mother and little sister down to help me. My mother I could see, but sis was only just 10 years old and likely to be as useful as Ted was. But I acquiesced and allowed that I would do it. Sure enough, a couple of days later they showed up, and without further ado, I headed out as a completely green 18 year old captain, on waters I was totally unfamiliar with. But at least I wasn't the youngest aboard anymore, that honor went to my sister.

To be continued.

 Here I go again.....

Not sure why I do this, but I am getting ready to do another trip south. It's really a beautiful time of year here in Vermont and I am quite comfortable in retirement so there is no logical reason why I would go back to living in cramped conditions, dealing with horrible weather, and being away from my lovely wife for many months. No, it makes no sense at all. But there is something about making long trips in small boats that I just can't stay away from.

It was 50 years ago, in 1972, that I made my first trip south. I was crew aboard my father's schooner, "Sea Song", and he wanted the boat delivered to Ft. Lauderdale where it would be advertised for sale. She was 43' on deck, 52' overall, heavily built in Nova Scotia, and gaff rigged. She was one of the boats in the family charter business and I was quite familiar with her, having been responsible for some of the maintenance and assisting the charterers during summers on Lake Champlain. I was capable of taking her out on my own starting around the age of 15 and I remember making other boat owners very nervous in the close confines of the docks at the Shelburne Shipyard. At that age, I was very small, and looked to be about 12 years old, so the seasoned skippers would look askance as I manoevered the massive schooner into the dock around all the other boats, but happily, I never caused any damage.

I will tell more of this story in later posts!