by Amy

With Nancy J safely nestled on our friends’ mooring in Claiborne, MD, after the shakedown cruise from North Carolina, we headed down to Bradenton, FL to prepare ye olde condo for the rental market. The trip down required several modes of transportation and the help of many friends. It takes a village to support a cruising couple!
Back in Bradenton we did our best to put the condo in tip top form for the rental market. Perla’s Properties accepted the job of managing our condo. How could we resist engaging a gal named “Perla.” She was as sweet as her name and her sensuous southern drawl makes doing business with her a pleasure. With the place good to go, we packed ourselves back in our car with a ton of stuff for the boat and hit the road again to retrace our steps back to Nancy J.
Moving in briefly with the Sayres (home base) once again, we shuttled our massive piles of stuff out to Nancy J in the dinghy. It took several trips, the last of which we were forced to complete by rowing as the outboard engine died. Through trial and error we discovered how to stuff all our clothes, tools, books, navigational charts, medical supplies, groceries and various and sundries into the assorted nooks and crannies of Nancy J. Boy were we sick of moving our crap around!
When everything finally found its place, we went for a little cruise around the Chesapeake Bay while awaiting our haul out date at a marina in Oxford, MD for repairs. We traveled up the Chester River and picked up granddaughter, Madyn, and her aunt, Brenda, for a sleepover aboard. Madyn jumped on Kenny’s guitar and said, “Let’s write a song.” I helped her with the lyrics a little bit, but she came up with the chords. It’s about love in the time of climate change. I was impressed. If she can keep pumping them out like that, she’ll be the next Taylor Swift!
Then we navigated over to the western shore of the Chesapeake and hit Annapolis for a few days before sailing down to the West River where we’d often docked Mary T. Everything felt cozy and familiar. We watched the Wednesday night sailboat race (a tradition in towns throughout the USA) from the cabin top sipping on gin and tonics. The next day we took out our old friend, Doreen, for a birthday cruise. Inviting Doreen out for birthday cruises became a tradition on the Mary T, so it was fun to be able to do it again after so many missed years!

When our haul out date of June 15 approached, we headed over to a boatyard in Oxford on the Eastern Shore. The plate attaching our bobstay (look it up) to the hull of Nancy J was bent, so a new plate needed to be fabricated and installed. While the boat was out of the water, our artist friend from Claiborne, Jim Richardson, applied the “Nancy J” lettering that he’d designed and created to the port and starboard quarters of the boat. Four lotuses representing my three sisters and me surround the lettering. Jim did a bang up job.
Kenny and I took the opportunity away from the boat to go and visit the real Nancy J, aka MumZ, in Lake Forest, Illinois. We painted watercolors, took walks along Lake Michigan and visited the botanical gardens. MumZ at 96 is more fun than ever. Sister Leslie and her husband Kevin joined us to celebrate my 60th birthday. I am now officially old!
Boat repairs completed, we were ready to start our new life aboard Nancy J. We departed the marina in Oxford on July 4 and anchored out near St. Michaels, MD waiting for our granddaughter to join us the next day. She was to spend at least a week cruising with us and maybe more if she liked it. The three of us piled into the dinghy with all of Madyn’s stuff and a load of groceries to make the half mile trip out to Nancy J swinging at anchor. Kenny pulled on the cord to start the outboard. It didn’t make a sound. He tried repeatedly, but no go. I wanted to have a temper tantrum. Instead I called the service manager at the marina in Oxford and described in measured tones our predicament, indicating we’d like a full refund for that “repair.”
Kenny said he could row us out to Nancy J, but given the opposing wind, the distance to the boat and the fact that the dinghy was loaded with tons of stuff and the three of us, I calculated it would take several days to get there. I wished with great intensity for another boater to return to one of the many dinghies tied up at the dock and offer us a tow. In minutes, my wish came true! I recognized the people getting into their dinghy as the couple who were anchored out in the same vicinity as Nancy J. “Oh excuse me. Our outboard won’t start. Could you please tow us out to our boat?” “Of course.” Phew! Cruisers are always ready to help fellow cruisers in distress.
Madyn was perfectly patient throughout our little ordeal. It took me a couple of hours to return to my jolly self. I was fuming at the marina service manager who had forgotten about our outboard engine, which had been sitting there for two weeks. Only when Nancy J was being splashed back into the water, did it become apparent that the outboard had been overlooked. Their rushed, last minute attempt to repair it had not accomplished a thing.

Cruising without a functioning outboard is no way to begin a voyage. When you live aboard, the sailboat is your home and the dinghy is your car. Yes, it’s possible to row an inflatable, but if there is strong opposing wind or current or if you’re anchored a long distance from shore, you really need an outboard motor to get from the big boat to land and vice versa. We decided the best course of action was to return to the Sayre’s mooring in Claiborne where our many friends and acquaintances, most of whom were boaters, could help us solve our problem.
In Claiborne we found a nearby shop to repair the motor. They came out immediately to the public wharf and pulled the outboard off of the dinghy. They said they’d try to have it fixed and back to us the next day. Wow! Then it turned out they needed a part for the carburetor which they didn’t have in stock. The part didn’t come that day or the next or the next…
The temperatures were well into the nineties and there was almost no breeze, so we were sweltering on the boat. The villagers of Claiborne came to our rescue. The Sayres, who were out of town, said we could move into their place and enjoy the air conditioning; Gordon who was storing our car picked us up, so we could have wheels again; the Scotts invited us to a party; the Richardsons came and played games with us; the Harpers gave Madyn a fishing pole and got permission from another neighbor for us to go swimming in their pool; another neighbor we didn’t know let us use his basketball hoop.
I apologized to Madyn for being stuck in Claiborne. She said, “I don’t really care about the boat. I just wanted to hang out with you guys.” I melted. Before we got underway again, Madyn was ready to head back home. She had doubts about sailing and she missed her boyfriend. Hopefully we’ll get her out on the water again and sell her on sailing!
By mid-July, our outboard was ready and we began our journey north. We weren’t sure if we’d make it all the way to Maine, but we figured at least we’d get as far as Gloucester, MA. We cruised up the Chesapeake, through the C and D canal and down the Delaware River. We drifted past the familiar, haunting cooling tower where the river starts to widen and become the Delaware Bay. The VHF radio crackled with the frantic voice of a boater who spotted a boat engulfed in flames. “It’s going to blow!” We listened to the drama unfold. The boater who reported the fire stood by until the coast guard arrived and rescued the stranded marina who was forced to jump in the water to escape the inferno. Though the location was not far from us we never saw the drama unfold. Never heard an explosion, so I guess it didn’t “blow.”
Several hours later as we were cautiously zigzagging through the Prissywick shoals on our approach to Cape May, New Jersey, a storm cloud appeared out of nowhere. Then I spotted a funnel shape conspiring to become a water spout descending from the cloud toward the water. Yikes! Luckily it changed its mind and evaporated. But the storm was aiming straight for Cape May. We remained outwardly calm, but a healthy dose of fear and adrenaline was coursing through our veins. Piercing high pitched tones emanated from VHF radio followed by “severe thunderstorm” warnings. Run away, run away! Pointing away from shore, which we were kind of doing at that moment anyway to dodge the shoals, we fled from the storm. Rain drops started to fall and we donned our foul weather gear. We made the right call. Continuing to steer clear of Cape May, we remained on the fringes of the tempest and only encountered a bit of rain. When it passed, before the next system rolled in, we dashed in to Cape May and dropped the anchor. Phew!
The anchorage was much smaller than on our previous visits, the last of which was in 2014. Working barges and buoys filled up much of the space, making the pickings slim. We managed to squeeze ourselves in. Getting ashore in the dinghy was a pretty long trek, so we were happy to have a working outboard! Cape May is full of fanciful Victorian mansions and shoppes. We sauntered about town like all the other cone lickers. We dined on tacos and walked back to the dinghy laden with heavy goods we’d purchased at West Marine.
The next day, we sailed up to Atlantic City, where we caught up with friends Paul and Colleen Harold. In 2005 on our first sail beyond the Chesapeake in Mary T, Paul rescued us from a rogue mechanic in Atlantic City who had taken a hammer to our boat to repair the steering cable. Paul also taught us the arcane game of butt darts. Fully clothed, you squeeze a quarter between your butt cheeks (difficult with tight pants) and hold it there while you walk over to a bowl (the target) placed on the floor in which you attempt to land the quarter by releasing your grip. Don’t knock it ’til you try it! On this visit to Atlantic City, Paul and Colleen generously treated us to dinner at a nearby restaurant.
The following morning, we were awakened by a violent wind and accompanying thunderstorm. In a daze, I stumbled out of bed and struggled to get dressed as the boat heeled hard to starboard. I was afraid we might be dragging anchor. I ran up into the cockpit and saw, to my horror, we were coming closer and closer to a nearby catamaran. I didn’t know if we were dragging or if both boats were just swinging in the wind in different ways bringing us closer together. Catamarans sail around at anchor and swing differently than monohull boats.
I screamed over the noise of the wind for Kenny to switch on the navigational instruments and pass me the key to start the engine. “We’re going to collide,” I shouted. I motored forward at anchor to gain distance from the other boat. Kenny came on deck in the rain and lightning to weigh anchor so we could move to another spot farther from the catamaran. The whole thing was over in half an hour, but our adrenaline was still pumping as we went below to remove our soaked clothes.
Contrary winds kept us in Atlantic City for a few days. New boats kept arriving and anchoring too close for comfort, so we’d weigh anchor and move. Over the course of a few days we moved six times. On top of that annoyance, we discovered diesel fuel accumulating on top of one of our fuel tanks and I was struggling with no success to make the watermaker produce fresh water from seawater. Kenny didn’t feel like going to the boardwalk or seeing the sights. He said it would depress him. I understood, but I was feeling trapped on the boat. I could’ve gone alone, but wasn’t in the mood. We seemed to be having a hard time finding our cruising rhythm and joy. It was a low point.
After three nights, the weather was more favorable, so we left Atlantic City at sunrise and headed north for Atlantic Highlands, NJ. The sunny weather and settled sea raised our spirits. We changed our float plan and decided to sail overnight for the more distant Block Island, RI. The wind was light from the stern and the forecast benign. No thunderstorms. It felt good to be on the move.
Around dusk we encountered a surveying boat. These vessels gather information about the ocean’s bottom and they ask that you stay at least .5 miles away from them. I was on a collision course with one and we were sailing very slowly with limited maneuverability. Because the surveyors sometimes make sudden turns, I called the vessel on the VHF radio to ask if I could assume we’d be passing each other port to port or if he’d be changing course any time soon. “Yes, Mum. I’ll be continuing in this direction for about ten more minutes, then I’ll be turning to port and then to starboard and circle around and head north again.” “Huh? Could you please repeat that?” He said the same thing again. I was baffled as to how to steer clear of him. “Well, I’ll try to stay out of your way, but if you could also try to avoid me that would be great.” “Yes, Mum. I’m dragging a lot of gear, so please stay .5 miles away.” I turned on the engine to increase my maneuverability. It was up to me to stay out of his way and I did.
Navigating through the night posed no problems, though it was noisy from the banging in the rigging due to beam seas and a following wind. We didn’t sleep well while off watch, but each of us managed to stay awake through our watches. The pitch dark night unimpeded by city lights, brought out the stars. The milkyway was clearly visible. Below, phosphorescence sparkled in our wake below. In the morning, the sun came up on cue and melted the darkness. It really is a miracle.
Coasting into the great Salt Pond of Block Island in the late afternoon, a flood of fond memories swept over us. We were greeted by a forest of masts. Rather than anchoring, we took a mooring. Didn’t want to risk dragging anchor or being dragged onto in such a busy harbor. We rented bikes for a day and pedaled through town past the charming cedar shake houses and shops out to a lighthouse at the north end. We dined al fresco on fresh fish sandwiches. A bit of good news came over the interwebs: Perla, the property manager, informed us that our Florida condo had just been rented for ten months! Our moods soared to new heights. We were getting our cruising mojo back.