by Amy
To boat or not to boat, that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous seas,
Or swallow the anchor
and by landlubbing end them…
This question plagued Kenny and me after we sold our beloved Morgan 38, Mary T, on whom we sailed joyfully (mostly) for many years up and down the U.S. eastern seaboard; over to the Bahamas; north to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland; south to Isla Mujeres, Mexico then down the Yucatan peninsula, through the islands of Belize turning right up the river into Guatemala to discover the international cruisers’ hub of Rio Dulce. The arrival of the pandemic found us in Roatan, Honduras. After a couple of months of agonizing indecision about whether to fly home, a decent weather window opened, so we sailed home to Florida, riding on favorable winds and the northward flowing gulf stream. We made Key West in four days eight hours. Mary T at 36 years old, sailed like a champ.
Back home in Bradenton, Florida we put Mary T on the hard for the hurricane season. The old gal would be needing a number of upgrades soon. The alcohol stove was on its last legs. The electronics were outdated. The cockpit enclosure was fraying. The decks were creaking. We cruised for one more short season in the winter of 2021 along the Gulf coast of Florida awaiting our turn for COVID vaccines. Afterward Kenny felt it was time to sell. Repairing Mary T had ceased to be a fulfilling endeavor. I teared up when we first put the For Sale sign on her bow at the marina in Cortez, Florida.
She sold in no time at all. Her new owners, John and Dawn Flanzer, lived nearby in Bradenton. They renamed her Morning Star. (John and Dawn have become good friends.) So there we were, sitting in our Florida condo staring at our devices searching for meaning in this new motionless life. Had we really swallowed the anchor? What does one do without a boat?
I filled my time writing the story of our sailing years on Mary T. (Stay tuned.) I embraced volunteering — knocking on doors to get out the vote; tutoring English through Zoom to a Sudanese immigrant; fostering dogs; and acting as an occasional citizen reporter for the local public radio station. We traveled to visit friends and family. Ken was spending more and more time on his phone, iPad and computer. In my mind’s eye, I saw him shrinking to a thumb-sized figure standing before a giant screen that would eventually suck him in completely. “I’m researching,” was his common response when I bugged him to give the devices a rest. Of course, the main thing he was researching was BOATS.
Did he need a boat for a raison d’etre? I was trying to convince myself I could live without one. I reminded myself how expensive and impractical the boating lifestyle was. Something always needed repairing or replacing and there were frightening moments when the weather turned suddenly rotten. But the more I contemplated, the more I realized the drawbacks just heightened the joys! For what’s more satisfying than overcoming challenges, conquering one’s fears or coming into a serene anchorage after sailing through a thunder storm at night?
Like Kenny, I relished nearly everything about the cruising life. I missed sailing from Florida across the Gulf Stream to the Bahamas and watching the color of the water change as we transitioned from the deep blue depths onto the crystal clear turquoise shallows of the Great Bahama Bank. I longed for a foggy day in Newfoundland, anchored up a deserted fjord sitting below in the saloon reading a book. I wanted to coast again up the Rio Dulce past fishermen in dugout canoes casting their fishing nets in wide graceful arcs. Approaching a new landfall by boat trumps all other modes of arrival. The longer the passage, the greater the sense of accomplishment and joy. On top of all that, we missed the friendly community of boaters.
But did it really make sense to get another boat at this point in our lives? Most of our cruising friends had already swallowed the anchor and were enjoying world travel and grandkids. We weren’t getting any younger. How much longer would we enjoy the physical demands of sailing? What if we were in a remote place and needed a hospital? And wasn’t climate change creating more severe and less predictable weather? Could we even afford a boat with all the amenities we wanted that was in cruising-ready condition? On top of all those reservations, the idea of being far away from my mother for long periods of time pained me.
We discussed buying a day-sailor that could be hauled on a trailer. But we’d have to pay to store it somewhere, because we had no space for it. How often would we use it? We considered joining a boat club with small sailboats available to members. But after experiencing cruising to distant places, how fulfilling would it be to putter around Sarasota Bay? As a temporary measure, we purchased kayaks. At least that put us out on the water.
Then we got wise and started to rationalize our reservations: To handle the more intense weather patterns, we’d get a heavier vessel that would be less tender in a blow. To manage the expense, we’d live aboard full-time and rent our Florida condo. We couldn’t turn back the clock on our ages, but plenty of folks our age were still sailing, and the boating life would keep us fit and active. As for being far away from my mother, we’d name the boat Nancy J after her, and thereby keep her with us always.
Ken started searching in earnest for the right boat. Tayanas, Passports, Sabres, Island Packets, Calibers, Bristols, and Cabo Ricos were among the possible candidates. When we bought our Morgan 38, she’d been used as a day-sailor and was not outfitted for cruising, so we added solar panels, radar, SSB, full cockpit enclosure, AIS and other odds and ends. But now we wanted a boat that was cruising-ready and outfitted with a few more comforts than Mary T. Our wish list included things like a shower you could stand up in; davits for the dinghy; halyards and reefing lines leading back to the cockpit; a wind generator; a cockpit shower for rinsing after swimming or snorkeling; bigger fuel and water tanks; maybe a watermaker.
We looked at boats from Florida to the Chesapeake Bay. Some were comfortable for living, but not thoroughly equipped. Others had strong bones, but needed too many repairs. It soon became apparent that we’d need to spend quite a bit more than we’d initially intended to get the vessel which fulfilled our desires. After looking at about twenty boats in person and many more on-line, we finally settled on a 1996 Caliber 40, LRC (long-range cruiser) in Oriental, North Carolina. She was in excellent condition with new standing rigging, large fuel and water capacity, and all of the bells and whistles we desired and more. She even boasted an HVAC system! The owners were reluctantly selling her, because recent life changes had precluded the possibility of spending much time on her in the coming years.
They let us sail with them from the location of the survey to River Dunes Marina in Oriental, where they’d been keeping her. Then they very generously spent a full day with us going over the boat from stem to stern and explaining all the systems. It was a lot to take in, so I recorded the orientation on my phone for later reference.
It took a few days for it to to sink in that this was actually OUR boat. It felt good to be living aboard again even if we were still in the slip. I felt myself unaccountably happy as we stowed personal items and wrapped our heads around all the new boat’s systems.
We only had a couple of minor setbacks. It turned out the bimini (the sun shade over the cockpit) was paper thin and lacked a window for seeing the Windex at the top of the mast. We were fortunate to find Johnny at New Bern Sail and Canvas, who whipped up a lovely bimini in no time at a very reasonable price. A couple of days later, reaching into the rope locker/engine room to turn on the wind generator, I smelled something burning. There was no smoke, but there was an odor of an electrical fire. When I unplugged the 30 amp power cord, we discovered that the plug was melting. A local electrician came immediately to our rescue. After examining everything closely he concluded that all we needed was a new power cord and shore power inlet. He brought us two new cords and installed the new inlet we picked up. He never charged us! We’ve contacted him multiple times to no avail. We hope he is well and thank him for the gift!
Two weeks after moving aboard we were ready to cast off the dock lines. We wanted a flat calm day, so backing out of the slip would be easy. I nervously took the helm and put Nancy J in reverse. The dock master walked down the finger pier holding onto the bowline and offering words of encouragement. No matter how hard I tried to go to starboard in reverse, Nancy J insisted on going to port. Ken fended us off a piling. It wasn’t the most graceful exit, but we didn’t break anything or crash into any other boats, so it was a success.
We navigated up the “ditch” through old familiar waters heading for the Chesapeake Bay where, thanks to our good friends, the Sayres, a free mooring awaited us in Claiborne on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Our first day out was easy peasy. At anchor near Belhaven, NC, we were treated to a dazzling sunset and a rainbow! We inhaled deep grateful breaths of the fresh air, exhaling with “ahhhs.”
The following evening was blustery, and while preparing to anchor Ken was knocked in the head by the anchor chain locker’s hatch cover. The shackle attaching the hatch to the life line had broken. I cleaned him up and bandaged his head, but I was concerned, because he takes blood thinners. I took comfort in the fact that he wasn’t exhibiting any symptoms of a concussion or internal bleeding. I told myself if anything went awry overnight I’d get on the VHF radio and call Mayday. (I wasn’t up to performing brain surgery on board.) It was a long, miserable, sleepless night. Both of us secretly worrying about Ken’s head injury while the lazy jacks slapped relentlessly on the mast. Neither of us felt like getting out of bed and dealing with it in the dark, so the banging persisted ’til daybreak.
In spite of the crummy night, when morning came, Ken was full of energy and ready to move on. His head wound didn’t look too bad when I changed the bandage. A strong wind coming from the south allowed us to sail for most of the day. We unfurled the genoa and glided across the Albermarle Sound under mostly sunny skies. Our sleepless night and worries quickly faded from memory.
North of the Albemarle Sound we found a sweet, bucolic anchorage up Broad Creek. We had it all to ourselves. We toasted our good fortune as the light faded from the sky. The days that followed were cold as all get out and I struggled to stay warm with three layers on the bottom and four on top. My Florida blood was struggling to adapt to the seemingly frigid conditions of spring in the “north.” Our last day of sailing up the Chesapeake Bay, it was blowing hard and we surfed down waves, topping 8 knots on a reefed main and staysail. Nancy J was in her element and so were we.
The world is full of magic and wonder, but for some of us, it’s more apparent from the deck of a boat. The ever changing horizon and exploration of new places takes one out of oneself. Watching the sun rise and set over the water and living so intimately with the natural world is sublime.
For us the answer to the question is: TO BOAT!