Alembic

Entering Norfolk was a true American Experience.  We had just had a full day of ten hours of light sailing, using the motor to assist the weak propulsion of our sails.  Lulled into peaceful harmony by a lovely mellow day on the water, the scene all day had been serene in the Chesapeake Bay.  Then, as if at the start of a show, the curtain lifted.

Something surfaced right beside the boat.  I mean right beside; not more than two feet away from the cockpit.  Standing at the wheel, with Bill below, I saw a huge fin break the surface with a splash.  A shark!  Bill come up!  There is something right beside the boat!  He dashed up, and we both watched the shark surface again.  Except it wasn’t a shark; it was a dolphin; a huge ten foot one.  We had seen many small porpoise in Maine, swimming about in large groups near our boat, but these were different: much bigger and so playful with us.  They continued to surface, sometimes three at a time, within touching distance.  They seemed to be saying “race ya”.  This continued for quite a while and we wished our children were aboard to watch.  They had witnessed this many times with us on sailing vacations in the Bahamas and Florida Keys.

As soon as the dolphins left, we watched another diving experience.  This time it was cars.  And trucks.  And motorcycles.  They all seemed to be diving right into the water just off our port side.  The chart gave the reason:  a tunnel.  It was rush hour and the highway traffic was rushing into the tunnel that descended right under us.  They popped up to starboard, and continued on their way.

Ahead was the next scene of the show:  huge ships at Newport News.  This looked like Bath Iron Works (where I had worked in Maine many years ago) on steroids.  I counted thirty ships before I lost interest and stopped counting.  This spoke loudly of Americans at War.  Cringing, I considered on how many dollars are spent here and how many lives are lost in the deployment of these ships.  Weirdly, the smell was what struck me as most offensive.  Paint?  I carried on to get better air to breathe.

Just beyond Newport News was umpteen more dry docks and marine terminals.  Huge ships tie up to unload their cargo, haul out for repairs, or load up for their next delivery mission.  This area was so noisy, with clanging cranes, rackety massive chutes receiving and delivering freight, and clamorous trucks banging their swinging contraptions to process the loads.  As we passed this area, my heart leaped at every Bang, thinking that we were in enemy territory.

Still within smelling distance of the warships, and earshot of the clanging cargo ports, the scene turned more urban.  Tall buildings with flashing lights exposed the more metropolitan area of Norfolk.  This was no more appealing to us than the industrial areas, as we are not city folk.  But the American Experience was unfolding.

Lucky for me, when we dropped anchor right beside the city lights, a fleet of little sailboats arrived.  Someone in an inflatable dropped mini red buoys in a circular pattern and I could see that they were setting a race course and Alembic was in it!  These boats were each manned by one or two people, mostly students from a local high school.  This little fleet looked like spilled M&Ms.  Each boat was a different color, and looked delicious.  One came so close, allowing me to have a conversation with the sailor.  He was in the lead, so he didn’t mind the diversion of a chat.  After rounding the buoys a few times, they carried on down a channel and disappeared.

Sitting back in my cockpit, I reflected on the last two hours of my day.  This excursion into Norfolk Virginia was the American Experience.  Wildlife showing us that playing is always an option, war preparation, massive deliveries of merchandise, urban development, and athletic activities for children.  Doesn’t that sum up our life?  I feel fortunate to be stepping away from all of this to explore new areas, far away from America.  I love my country, but I am happy to be stepping away.  Maybe I’ll come back with a fresh new outlook to share.

One of the best parts of this trip is the opportunity to make connections with people. We have met at least one person every day who sparks a connection. On day one it was the families from California and France who were experiencing cruising through the eyes of their young children. Day two it was the octogenarians on an ancient wooden boat who were so excited to row daily to the mossy shores to collect exotic mushrooms. Day three it was a woman who built a fairy house and lived her subsistence life there. So far, all were new connections. But then rekindling old connections started to happen. We ran into an old friend I met at UVM, then spent time with current friends, but in their new home in Vinalhaven, then met extended families of dear friends. Every day our network of friends expanded, making us feel like this trip was laid out for us, preplanned.

Then weird things started to happen. We were in a foreign land, called New York City, getting desperate for a place to tie up our dinghy, and there in front of us was a Whitby 42, with owners aboard. Who is aboard their boat on a chilly, windy late September day? The entire marina was deserted except this boat. They invited us aboard, gave us the key to their marina, let us tie up our dinghy to their boat, and welcomed us as friends. The next day in Cape May, on impulse, we headed into a barber shop to trim both of our mops. I’ve never even set foot in a barber shop before. There, on the bulletin board were many local notes and two Christmas family photos. Wait, we knew this family! They were from Maine. The little girl in both photos was one of Bill’s students at Maine Adaptive. They skied together regularly on Sundays. Later that day, my friend Sarah texted “Hey, my daughter is counting butterflies in the same town you are in right now. Will you meet her and take a photo for me?” We met Katie, had a delightful evening with her and, yes, took photos for her mom.

Continuous great connections have been occurring throughout the Chesapeake Bay. First, we stopped at Rock Hall for a quick scheduled engine check, and ended up staying 5 days to endure the almost hurricane weather as Joaquin skimmed by us. The fabulous marina managers let us stay as long as we needed at no charge, an unheard of policy. Then we attended a Whitby 42 Rendezvous as a last minute decision and were blown away by all of the welcoming words of wisdom and kindness. Our heads and hearts are now full of ideas for our travels as well as hopes for dropping anchor near these fabulous people.

Meeting people has become an expectation, not a surprise, now. Our experiences are weaving together with new and old friends and family like a beautiful tapestry. No holes. Just colors. Today was no exception. Twenty-seven years ago, we sailed into Puerto Rico, burdened by the Coast Guard troops who were on board, holding their large guns in position, and stomping about in those huge black boots. To make a long story short, they finally left when they realized we were in fact not the boat carrying the drugs from Mexico, and a very nice couple witnessed this whole scene. Jim and Anne were their names, and we ended up sailing in Turks and Caicos with them. Every year we have sent letters to each other and kept up with each others’ travels and families. Today we had the great fortune to spend the day with them. Even though so many years have passed, they haven’t changed a bit. They still are the same cruisers at heart as they were a quarter century ago.

Connections are everywhere and help us feel grounded. They link our past to our present to our future. They link what we know to what we can learn. I look forward to all the connections that will occur on this journey and hope to be part of others’ connections along their journeys.

Did you ever have a woobie? Do you know what one is? I had never heard of a woobie until sweet little Hannah dragged one into my house. Hers was a tattered old white cloth that may have been four cloth diapers that her clever mom sewed into a larger rectangle. Every time she returned for a visit, this woobie was a little more raggedy and a little thinner or smaller. I never could figure out what was so great about this piece of fabric, or why her mom let her drag this thing through the mud, onto her dinner plate, into her bed, up to the paint table, and beyond.

Then my children started dragging things around. Kenny had Thumper Bunny. He willingly shared every toy he owned at our home with all the day care kids who arrived daily and pounced on all of his belongings, but not his Thumper. I don’t remember how this was communicated, but the kids just knew that Thumper was Kenny’s and was not for sharing. Lindsay had a Christmas bear. This bear was dressed in Christmas finery and was a gift from her only Jewish relative. I love the irony of that! Beary’s head had to keep getting sewn back on because it was loved off many times. And Erica had her pink and blue blanket. This was a gift from my best friend Cathy, who sewed it before we knew if our child would be an Eric or an Erica. When we sold our home last year to move onto our sailboat, most of our remaining toys were given away. But not Thumper or Beary. Unfortunately, the blanket was buried ten years ago with our beloved cat, Captain. Erica insisted that we bury the cat in the blanket because they both snuggled with it for the last year and it would bring her forever comfort. I think Erica regrets this decision today.

What does any of this have to do with sailing? Well, it struck me today that I need a woobie. I don’t know if I ever had one. I was one of eight children and my parents lost track of a lot of things, not surprisingly. But I am like a young child right now. Everything is so new. Each day brings ten new ideas that I have to process. Look at this amazing bird, what is it? How do I cook with this new pressure cooker? How do I negotiate these huge waves in the dark; do I just steer the course, or steer around them? What size anchor do we really need; I thought we were all set with our 44 pound Bruce? What should we do if Joaquin comes right overhead? How do I sew this wicked thick material for my new sail cover on my old Kenmore? Do I have enough cans of chicken in our stores? How do we use this whisker pole on the genny (the sail farthest forward)? How can I shower quickly enough in the cockpit without freezing? Why is Wifi so elusive? Will we have enough power to keep our food cold or should we replace our old batteries? How can I talk to my children and parents more frequently?

I need a woobie right now! As I type, I am at a four day Whitby Brewer Rendezvous with an amazing group of people. Each person owns a boat like mine, and is far more experienced than I am. Every person has shared information about what to fix, where to sail, which device to get, how to sew helpful gadgets, who to contact in the Caribbean, where to get insurance, and so much more. I am like Hannah, needing something to grab onto to hold to say “This is familiar” when too many new things are coming my way. Can adults have woobies too?

Hurricanes are out there. We can’t make them go away. We can prepare and hope that they go out to sea where very few people could be affected. For the last week, sailors have been glued to some sort of screen, watching the path and the predictions. We were lucky. This time.

Alembic has had a leaky oil seal on our engine since we bought her, and Bill has been changing “diapers” on a regular basis to sop up the drips. He has been looking at the replacement seal in a ziplock bag for a few months now, wondering if he could fix this himself. He fixes almost everything aboard, but this seal is critical and opening up the engine could lead to a long list of other failures. Seeking advice from many sources, Bill found: schematics of our engine in the excellent documents aboard, Utube videos to show him how to pull apart our engine, sailors who suggested that diapers and replacement oil are cheap, a mechanic who thought he’d have to fashion a “tool” to pull pulleys and drop the oil pan and likely have to raise our entire engine. None of this helped Bill feel confident, so he consulted the Whitby 42 owners association, and they suggested stopping by Haven Harbour Marina in Rock Hall, on our way to Annapolis. We made an appointment with a mechanic for Thursday Oct 1, arriving Wednesday so the engine would cool down.

Just as we turned the corner to enter the marina, the winds piped up, and the rain started pelting. Entering this marina was a near nightmare; we were digging up mud, turning down a very tight pathway, looking at all the million dollar boats ten feet away on both sides, unsure which spot was Red 9, our berth. Seeing no colors, no numbers, no people to ask anywhere, we were losing faith fast. With no possible way to turn around, we started to panic, thinking this was not the right spot. But then we saw Hal, waving way down at the end, welcoming us in and ready to catch our lines. Relief.

Secured to our dock, marina manager Bill came aboard and reported the bad news. He was happy to have us here, but all hands at the marina were tied up preparing for Joaquin. Our engine would have to wait. How do you show disappointment and gleeful relief at the same time? This marina was so tucked away which made entry of Alembic and Joaquin almost impossible. So here we were, at a world class marina, equipped with 18 private hot showers, laundry, huge rooms for guests to watch TV (what’s that??) or sew projects, free wifi that actually works (unlike many marinas), free beach bikes and cars, friendly people everywhere.

The marina owners were worried about flooding causing tools, yard toys and furniture to float away, boats that were not properly tied to docks could get damaged, and unsecured fabric could fly loose causing excessive windage and more damage. While these are huge concerns, and a lot of work to attend to, they posed no danger or consequence to us. We could tie extra lines, we could remove all our sails, dodger, bimini, and clutter on deck and bring it all below into the cabin. We would be fine here. Even if the storm really came right over us, we could step ashore, drive away, and be safe. If we had been at anchor, this would not be an option.

Today is Saturday. We have enjoyed this marina immensely. We have biked all over town several times, gone jogging, dined out, performed many tasks which were made easier having access to land, and our engine is good to go. Hank simply loosened the pulleys, and replaced the seal. He also showed Bill many tricks about general maintenance and assured us that our engine is in terrific condition with many more years of life left. Weather has been lousy, with 20-30 kt winds, rain, and cold temps, but staying here has been a gift. We are still monitoring the progress of Joaquin, and staying hunkered down in this wonderful spot. Luck has been with us so far. We wish we could share our bounty with those less fortunate in the Bahamas.