I promised friends I would screw up the courage and “speak up” from time to time. For social voyeurs, it will be obvious when reading, who’s the writer and who’s the accountant in our family.

As Bill has covered, the last several months have been a whirlwind for us. Now we are receiving the fruits of our labors. Our first days out have been lovely, shared with good friends and in familiar waters. A comforting way for me to begin getting my boat-balance—sea legs and emotional rhythm—since I have not been sailing this season until departure.

I would like to share five things I have learned since starting our trip:

1. I can get along without a watch on my wrist.
2. A 27’ boat is really just an odd shaped filing cabinet. Sectioned by “drawers”, “hanging files” and “folders”, we’ve made good use of all the space and, so far, been able to lay our hands on anything we are looking for (expect the bag of soy crumbles that seems to have disappeared in the fridge).
3. Trying to follow the Eldridge Tide and Pilot Book can drive a novice insane.
4. There are numerous ways to get a good workout onboard…even aerobically. The TRX helps.
5. Saying “I love you” to friends feels really good.

With that I’ll say thank you to those who inspired and encouraged us and for all the many gifts we received before departure. Towels are hung, journals in use, knives slicing away and most of the wine now a lovely memory. I miss being with all of you we’ve left behind and I Love You!

Memorial Day, 26 May

Meander of Marblehead lay at anchor, her 47-feet of flag blue, a small round bright red ball floating to windward fifty-feet off her bow. Smart. The clever cruiser ties such a float to the anchor on a light line, marking the anchor for retrieval in the morning and, perhaps more important, letting the next crew into the anchorage know “Here’s my anchor. Stay away.”

The gentleman aboard steps aft to the swim platform, give the lady a nudge to set her swinging—she’s perched in a hammock suspended from the dinghy davits—then coaxes a mature Yellow Lab into the inflatable.

Ah, of course, it’s going on 1800 (six p-m, to you lubbers) and high time to give the pooch some exercise, eh? Or not.

At anchor in Solomons, MD, the crew of Meander prepares to check the catch of the day.

They motor toward the shore, sure enough, but–instead of going on to the beach–stop at the red float. He tugs on the line. The Lab leans over the gunnel and together they inspect the contents of a crab pot was planted in Mill Creek, one assumes, some hours ago. Go figga.

After another interesting, unplanned day, Steadfast lays close by in this creek just east of “downtown” Solomons, Maryland. ‘Cause we all know, plans change. As does the wind.

It was thought she’d head back across the Bay this day, to anchor in some creek off the Choptank River. Instead, there was the little issue with the 12-volt sockets, the ones used to charge iPads, iPhones, laptops, various batteries, etc. When a suspect phone charger was plugged in yesterday, it tripped breaker that killed those sockets plus the marine VHF radio AND the stereo. No tunes!

Quintan to the rescue!

Well, not physically, of course. But via the phone, George talked your electrically-challenged correspondent through the diagnosis process, confirmed some suspicions and, most important, provided moral support. The one remaining such socket in the ship’s store at Zahniser’s was procured, installed, tested and s’all good! Another thirty-minute boat project squeezed into a mere three hours.

At which point, roughly noon on a stunningly gorgeous day, it was determined to get underway and test the winds on the Patuxent. Oxford beckoned.

But the day’s wind being what it was—so’west at 8 or so—Oxford must wait ‘til another day. Instead, having motored to Cove Point, the tidy little ship turned windward, raised all sail and had a rousing three-hour romp back up the Patuxent to share this spot on Mill Creek with Meander and a couple of other sailcraft.

It’s been a good visit to Solomon’s—after motoring 45 NM or so north from Reedville yesterday—hanging with Butch and Eric and our new best friends on “K” dock. A most helpful and congenial group and it is hoped we’ll see them again on the return trip in the fall.

Meantime, we may see Meander and crew in Marblehead. Who knows?

Steadfast out.

Saturday, 24 May

Yep.  Thanks to Dane at Boat US, we’ve moved into the ranks of “cruising” for real.  Which may seem a bit at odds with the fact that Steadfast did not move today, other than to swing at anchor. But there’s more to the story, as you might suspect.

So how did the day—the first of the holiday weekend—transpire for Steadfast and her crew?, you might ask. Slowly. Quietly. Productively.

After a hearty breakfast of eggs, (vegan) sausage and raisin bread toast, there was some study and discussion of the contents of the 2014 edition of Eldridge Tide and Pilot Book regarding times of current change on the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal and Delaware Bay. It’s fairly easy to figure. Just add two hours, fifty minutes to the time for a given date when the current changes to ebb at Delaware breakwater, subtract an hour-45 to transit the canal, divide by the square root of your mother’s birthday, and that’s when you want to leave Chesapeake City. Simple. We now know to time our arrival in the C&D to be sometime between now and November.

That exercise pretty much killed the coffee buzz. Then it was on to adjusting the rigging, an arcane art whose mystical formulae are known only to the Masons and a handful of persons bearing the self-proclaimed title “Rigger.” No such person is aboard Steadfast but the mast remains standing, regardless.

There was a time practicing wax-on-wax-off with the coamings, just so as not to lose the knack. The ports were cleared of the salt acquired during yesterday’s brief but bumpy run. Kate exercised using a contraption called “TRX” strapped to the boom.

And Aeolus continued to exercise his lungs, blowing straight down the Bay at 15, gusting to 25, or, so we were told by NOAA. And when NOAA speaks thusly, we listen.

Oh, and the banks surrounding the cove on which Steadfast sits continued to look beautiful, indeed.

The picturesque eastern branch of Cockrell Creek is, as you’d expect, a popular anchorage for the holiday.

So what’s with the “cruising” deal? Well, BoatUS Insurance formerly covered Steadfast only within the Bay. A phone call was placed to ask for a rider to cover her venture to New England—as in ’12—at which time Dane at BoatUS Underwriting said it’d be a lot cheaper just to get coverage for the entire East Coast (except Florida, which we can discuss later), a so-called “cruiser’s policy.” He quoted the additional amount and darned if it ain’t cheaper. Lots! So Steadfast now has been declared “cruising.” Cool.

And tomorrow, NOAA says, conditions will be favorable for her to cruise up the Bay to Solomons, MD, another 45 NM northward. From there, who knows. We’re cruising now, mates.

Steadfast out.

Friday, 23 May

It’s 0700 and anchor’s aweigh for Quintan.  The forecast calls for an already brisk northerly to build to 15-to-20 knots.  It should make for a rapid ride southward, back to Quintan’s home slip off the East River.  The crew of Steadfast enjoyed a second cup of “Joe” as Martha and George pause on the way past.  Good-byes and well-wishes exchanged, Quintan motors down Dividing Creek, headed for the Bay.

After a quiet night in Lawrence Cove, Quintan bids an early farewell on her way home to Mathews.

Steadfast, however, is bound northward, whence the wind blows this day.  And tomorrow, too, says NOAA.  That being the case, she may not make much northing but can give it a try, regardless.  So she shoves off at 1030 and, after a two-hour slog into a mostly three-foot chop, she moved a bit more than eight nautical miles northward to the mouth of the Great Wicomico River.  Solomons Island (MD)–the hoped-for next landfall–will wait ’til another day.

Instead, this evening she swings with each puff Aeolus blows over and through the trees that shelter the lovely cove east of Reedville in which she’s anchored.  This is a great spot (don’t tell anybody but it’s at N 37 degrees, 50.401’ W76 degrees 16.276’).  Handsome homes line the shore with only the sound of a John Deere lawn tractor competing with songs of the birds and the snap of the colors at the stern.

There’s none of the “smell of money” that wafted over Reedville in past visits.  Omega Protein has installed a new “scrubber” to its plant here to reduce that pungent fragrance.  Up Cockrell Creek a bit after midday, Steadfast was dwarfed by Omega’s big blue-hulled fleet.

Three of the dozen or more menhaden boats that work the Bay out of Reedville.

She may seek another nearby anchorage tomorrow, just for variety, but she’ll not test Aeolus at the mouth of the Potomac, not while he remains in this blustery mood.  And that’s okay.  Little Red–the Westerbeke–deserves a day off on a holiday weekend.  There are chores to be done, too, those that got pushed aside in the days and hours before departure, so a lay-over day won’t be wasted.

Things will be a bit different, though, from here on.  The “Dividing” done this morning, Steadfast and crew (and “Hallie” the black cat) now move on alone.  We miss our friends–all of you–already.  But this’ll be fun!

Steadfast out.

Thursday, 22 May

The distant sounds of artillery practice fire were heard on the Bay this afternoon.  The deep bass tones heard now are punctuated by sharp flashes of light that reflect off charcoal clouds moving eastward over Lawrence Cove.  Steadfast gently swings at anchor as the wind alternately shifts and quiets.  The first few drops on the canvas now are indistinguishable, washed away in the downpour that has followed.  She’s getting a good rinse!

All this transpired according to NOAA’s morning forecast, as had the light-to-non-existent so’westerly of the morning and afternoon as Steadfast motored back to the western shore in tandem with Quintan, another sunny, 80-degree, 30-mile day.

This cove off Dividing Creek was selected as the destination for its reputation as good shelter in a storm.  It’s worked out that way.  Martha and George stepped aboard this evening from Quintan presented the Steadfast crew with a gift selected for a similarly positive effect on the safety of a sailing vessel: a black cat.  Yes, that is the lore dating to ancient Egypt, even.  So who are we to question when, not long after this three-inch ceramic feline comes aboard, the rains yield to another good omen that arcs overhead to the north.

One suspects that for Steadfast and her crew, there may be a pot o’ gold at the northernmost end of that rainbow. And that would be an excellent forecast, indeed.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 21 May

Straining one’s eyes in the bright overcast, it’s possible to barely see or at least imagine the western shore.  Ahead, there’s a light blue pencil-thin line just above the horizon that marks the Eastern Shore.  Steadfast is just about smack dab in the middle of a barely rippled Chesapeake Bay, the Westerbeke diesel “Little Red” turning at 2,500 revs a minute and moving us along at 5 knots.

There’s no wind.  No other boats in sight but Quintan, a quarter mile off.   After the months of reading, planning and talking through; of organizing, packing, schlepping and putting-away; of washing, waxing, fixing and painting, yes…Steadfast is underway.  Woo-Hoo!

There still was a lot to do Wednesday morning to get things “ship shape”–both in the cottage AND on board–before the announced 1000 departure.  That being the case, the crew’s day had started at 0330 (!) with a quiet mopping of the kitchen floor before turning to tasks on Steadfast.  For the skipper, consciousness came only after a vain hour-long struggle to keep his thoughts clear of the to-do list that lingered.

Eventually, the final boxes went up the attic steps.  Provisions were stowed.  Sort of.  The Captains Burry motored across the creek on Miss Christine to bid their farewell, horns sounded, dock lines were coiled and cast off, and in tandem with Quintan–she’d arrived the evening before–the cruise northward began.

The 30-mile crossing to Onancock was uneventful, without incident.  No wind, no sea, motor all the way.  A favorable current kicked in for the final hour or so, pushing speed-over-ground to six-and-a-half knots.  Gear worked.  The sun came out.  The crew napped.  Both boats–Quintan is sharing these first two days–tied up smartly at the Town Wharf.  As has been noted before, “uneventful” on a sailboat is good.

A stroll through Onancock reveals “picture perfect” gardens gracing the many classic 19th century homes.

In this case, though, can we truly say “uneventful”?  Darlene and Willie–dear friends from Belle Haven–drove over to meet us to enjoy a delicious dinner at Mallard’s on the Wharf.  A bottle of bubbly made the occasion an event in itself.

But after all that preceded this day–you may have heard something of the months of reading, planning and talking through; of organizing, packing, schlepping and putting-away; of washing, waxing, fixing and painting–there was the little matter of Steadfast getting underway.

And THAT, friends, is an event!

More later.

Steadfast out.

Ahhhh.  The joys of cruising on a small sailing yacht.  Feeling the fresh wind on your face.  The warm sun on your back.

The ten-inch bronze cleat under your–ahem–derriere as you straddle the bowsprit and subsequently note the loss of feeling in your lower extremities.  Yes, now that is truly what cruising is all about.

So, in a  sense, Steadfast today was “cruising.”  At least, that is how your correspondent attempted to console himself as a warm wind blew ten-to-twelve out of the so’west, ideal for carrying a little boat northward up the Chesapeake Bay.  But no, tasks remain to be done before casting off.

So the bowsprit is straddled, brush in one hand, cup of varnish in the other,  contents of which then are applied–in a thin coat, mind you–to the golden teak that juts firmly from the little boat’s bow.  After which, without spilling the cup, one rises to move aft ward and thus to spread said contents on various rails here, there and elsewhere.

Why, you might ask, as any rational person would.  Especially given that there are other tasks that must be done before said boat may cast off and begin her journey northward.  Fairly significant tasks such as, oh, let’s just say, adjusting the rig (i.e., making sure the mast doesn’t fall down).  Or provisioning, i.e., procuring, schlepping and stowing food stuffs for the next week or so (after all, it’ll be that long, at least, before the crew sees another real supermarket).  Or topping off the diesel tank; that’d be a good idea, given the sparsity of fuel docks ‘tween here and, say, Annapolis.

But then, how much varnish does one wish to carry on a cruise to New England?  And more to the point, how much time on said cruise does one want to spend straddling the bowsprit, or kneeling on the side decks, while spread varnish?

So as many coats of said product as possible get spread on the teak railings prior to departure.  Fuel is something to burn.  Food is just something to eat.  But beauty, ah, the gleam, the sheen…the loveliness of a well-maintained yacht.

Now THAT, my friends, fuels dreams and feeds the soul!

For as Michael–with Ann on Nimue, our new friends from England–reminded the other day, “cruising is simply doing boat maintenance in lovely places.”

‘Tis a lovely place, Hallieford.  And this is boat maintenance, for sure.

Must be cruising!

Tomorrow, for sure.  The schedule calls for departure no later than 1000 hours, in tandem with Quintan and escorted by the crew of Plover.  It don’t get much better than that.

Steadfast out.

Moving aboard a boat, any boat, for an extended period may be the ultimate exercise in “down-sizing.”  No matter how big the boat, it seems there’s never enough room for food, wine, clothes, beer, gear, rum, spares.  The Com-Pac 27 is voluminous for a boat her size.  But still, you’re talkin’ two adults and all their stuff inside less than 27 feet.

In the past, the most frequent pre-departure question has been “Where the heck does this go?” Thanks to the craftsmanship of Bruce Yancer, the situation’s reversed.  Now the question has become “And what goes in here?”

One of the virtues of the CP27 design is the number of storage areas.  Lots of ’em.  But the biggest are just open spaces into which gear gets tossed, swallowed and may never be seen again.  Mathews resident and former live-aboard Bruce-the-Shipwright knows that in such spaces, whatever you want is always at the bottom.  And he has the skill and creativity to make usable and elegant storage out of what once were a couple of Black Holes!

For instance, he fit two levels of wire shelves in vacant space under the bee-berth, then crafted a louvered teak hatch for access.  And now the formerly wide-open cockpit lockers each have a lower shelf sized to hold a large plastic crate and an upper mahogany shelf for the fenders.

The formerly open space under the cockpit now has roomy shelves on each side for stowing fender, outboard and other gear.

The outboard fits between the two fenders on the top shelf.  There’s room for the bosun’s chair beside the crate.  No decision yet on what goes into the crate.

Kate, however, knows exactly what goes on the new shelf in the galley locker under the stove: wraps and Ziplocs.

That extra little shelf frees up an entire galley drawer and makes those items a good bit more handy.  And the new teak fiddle (partition) under that will keep other stuff in that locker from shifting around so much.

Ah, the joy of simple pleasures!

Organization is one of those.  No where ashore is that pleasure quite as intense as on a small boat.  When the question is “What goes in there?,” it’s pleasure, indeed.

BTW…weather permitting–and the forecast appears favorable–departure now is planned for 1000 hours Wednesday, 21 May, with Quintan as escort and Onancock Town Wharf as the destination.

Steadfast out.

There’s still lots to do before we shove-off, mostly mundane stuff like packing gear and provisioning.  Kate’s agreed to ride the bosun’s chair up to the spreaders tomorrow–it’s easier for me to crank her up the mast than the other way around–to replace a bulb in the steaming light.  There’ll be a quick run to the courthouse at some point and passports need to be secured from the bank vault, that kind of thing, all of which should be manageable in time to hold to our planned departure on / about 20 May…weather permitting.  So…

Saturday seemed like a good day to bring together a few friends, bid farewell and celebrate.  Once most folks were here, good friend and former colleague The Rev. Ray Inscoe led the assemblage down the bank and out on the pier for a blessing of “the fleet,” i.e., Steadfast and the dinghy.  Ray performed a similar pre-departure ceremony in June of ’12 and that trip went pretty well so it seemed a good idea to have him repeat the process.

On board with the crew, Ray prepares to lead the blessing and a reading of the Sailor’s 23rd Psalm.

Saying good-bye’s the toughest part of the trip.  No, really.  Polishing, painting, packing, schlepping, unpacking, packing again.  Those chores are easy compared to saying good-bye to those one holds dear.  But as has been noted elsewhere and often, you can’t sail without casting off the dock lines.

Thanks to all for a wonderful send-off.  Be well!

The Sailor’s 23rd Psalm

The Lord is my pilot, I shall not drift.

He lighteth me across the dark waters.

He steereth me in the deep channels.

He keepeth my log.

He guideth me beneath stars of his holiness for his name’s sake.

Yea though I sail ‘mid the thunders and tempest of life, I shall dread no anger, for thou art with me.

Thy love and thy care, they shelter me.

Thou preparest a harbor for me in the homeland of eternity.

Thou anoints the waves with oil.  My ship rideth calmly.

Surely sunlight and starlight shall favor me on the voyage I take and I shall rest in the port of God forever.

It’s blowin’.  Again.  And the forecast calls for it to blow a gale overnight when the front comes through with thunderstorms and the possibility, it’s said, of a tornado.  After the winter we all enjoyed, it’s been that kind of spring.  But as odd as it may seem, with what was seen aboard yesterday, the rain is well-timed.

Steadfast has been back in her slip for more than a week, so you’d think the focus would be getting her squared away to shove off.   Instead, shoreside obligations have taken precedence, the days getting ready to move out of the Richmond apartment by selling, consigning or shipping to storage everything there.  The S40 and Jetta were pretty much packed solid with stuff to be kept at the cottage.  Not a lot of stuff fit into that last category but enough to leave stacks of crates, boxes and bags in the guest room and make the sunroom unusable.

Bit by bit, that “stuff” has been sorted and stored appropriately in the attic or elsewhere.  The cottage gradually is becoming livable again.  So last week, on a day that–what do you know?–felt a lot like spring, it was down to the pier with vacuum and buckets and towels for the first step in getting the cabin ready, i.e., wiping down all the bulkheads, lockers and cabin sole.  You want to do that (right?) before you bring down the cushions and start filling lockers.  You want to get in all the corners (right?) and clean up the gradoo that just appears over the winter.  And, of course, that brownish-yellowish-sort-of-streak on the cabin sole that looks as if some water trickled out from someplace, maybe over there at the base of the mast.

Ahhhh-GHEEEEE!  The MAST!!  Oh, man, not a leak in the mast step.

Whatever caused the streak that stained the gelcoat in this corner, the streak wiped up and (so far) hasn’t returned.

Therein begins the string of thoughts of what-could-happen-nows (deck rot, mast coming down under sail and other such thrills) and what-may-not-happen, as in, our planned departure on / about 19 May.

No doubt sensing the angst then rampant here, Adam agreed to stop here on his way home from work, Friday evening no less, to take a look at it.  Adam’s the yard manager at Zimmerman Marine, the diagnostician, so to speak.  It’s good to know some “doctors” still make house calls.

After discussing at some length over a cold IPA all options, alternatives and permutations we could think of; then Sunday aiming the dock hose at the suspect area of the deck for 20 minutes; and talking it through on the phone Monday with Gerry Hutchins, the builder, at his office in Clearwater; it was decided…there’s a good chance the stain was from something the skipper spilled on one of his trips below over the winter.

There was a heckuva storm Friday night, a real downpour with gale-force winds, but no evidence of a leak Saturday morn.  And nothing since, despite the rain and drizzle that continue this week.  Another good soaking is forecast tonight and, as much as it’d be good to get going on the boat, Nature’s help in further testing is okay, too.

This one we want to be sure of.

Steadfast, out.