Sailing Stories

In the last days of commercial sailing, 'The Age of Cutty Sark and the great Yankee Clippers, Ships sailed at full speed often in the worst of weather. 'Give me a low to make my ship go', was the cry. Following this reasoning I usually left for southern ports on the first Norther of the season. Now tied to the safety bar in the cockpit by a three-foot harness, I was beginning to worry about my nautical reasoning. Estimated position was off the coast of Tampa-St Pete, a good run for 48 hours of sailing a 32-foot boat. Seas were 10 to 15 feet; a North wind had been blowing for two days. The auto-helm (self-steering) had gone out soon after I left port. I had gotten no sleep in the past 24 hours.

Normal speed for a boat this size was 5 to 6 knots but with the last of the Norther kicking my butt I had held to 6.5 to 7 knot hull speed. Sailboats, the cruising types, like mine have a theoretical speed limit. (The formula being 1.34 times the square root of the water line length). My limit was 7.6 knots, sometime when I caught a long wave the knot meter pegged 8 + as I surfed down the face of the wave. It was the lack of self-steering, it chained me to the helm. I could shorten sail but it would only mean a longer time in this miserable weather. Dogged determination and the thought of the tropical waters kept me at it. Seas rolled up to my stern quarter and passed forward. Hold her straight and turn the rudder starboard on the top of the wave, Hold her straight and turn the rudder starboard on the top of the wave, Hold her straight and turn the rudder starboard on the top of the wave, on and on and on. Occasionally I missed and was treated to a slide for life that could trip the Keel and turn into a broach, slamming my mast to the water. It had not happened but the frightening thought that it could kept me alert as best as lack of sleep could.

Only leaving the wheel long enough to grab a bottle of water and a bag of trash for the last 30 hours. I make up plastic bags of what I call 'watch trash', a mixture of nuts, raisins, grains and whatever is available locally for, Non-Perishable, sea going Pemmican, I keep in the lazerette for people on watch so they don't have to go below to bother the crew off watch. That's a laugh, crew! That's me the able seaman, watch commander, and chief cook-and-bottle washer. How did I get this situation? I can normally call around and find a friend that wants to sail and can get some vacation time for at least the offshore part of my trips. This time an unforeseen-busted transmission off Dolphin Island had laid my ship up for Three weeks and my crew (buddies on vacation) had to leave. So here I am Bleary-eyed and tired. So tied to the helm I had to use the scupper as a piss hole.

The scuppers, built into the floor of the cockpit to drain the water, could not keep up with the waves that would come over the stern into the cockpit. The cold waves had kept my cockpit awash in 6 to eight inches of water for most of the time. Actually it was warmer on my feet that way, the sea was insulating my saltwater soaked docksiders from the cold north wind. Bleak joy in a thankless sea. By midnight the wind was clocking around now and easing to 12 to 15 knots. Finally, able to balance the boat under sail, there was time enough to pay some attention to the ailing auto helm.

Unplugging the control unit from the cockpit I took it below out of the sea spray. Bungie cording a drawer on the nav. station to use as a holding vice. Up on deck again I steadied the boats' track and dove below to unscrew the cover. Each time having to wedge myself into the navigation station to prevent the boats' action from causing me from doing more damage to the unit as I disassembled it. Staring at the circuit board I did not have a clue, not exactly like a lab bench in a nice well light room. Lack of sleep causes stupidity, don't make quick decisions unless you have to. Back to the cockpit to mull over what I had been staring at and sail the boat. Down below again for one more try. There it was, the problem, a frayed wire at the entrance to the control unit. I rewired the unit, shortening the wires by a few inches. Back in the cockpit I plugged the unit in and gave a little prayer to the sea gods. Hot Damn! Sorry Neptune, It worked!

Freed from the slavery of the helm. I set my egg timer/alarm for 45 minutes, which would give me a bit of a nap and allow me to check the horizon just outside what I considered safe. What the hell, I was out side the sea-lanes used by the large ships and the shrimpers don't come out this far. Settling down in the companionway, dead to the word in two minutes, I awoke to the timer what seemed like a moment later. Checking my horizon I dropped off for another 45 minutes. I had found that sitting on the bridge deck with my feet down the companion way, the hatch slid shut gives me a locked in position safe for sleeping within reach of main and jib control sheets. I awoke to a false dawn and felt a lot better. Dropping below I put the kettle on and locked it to my origo cook top, it was gimbaled to swing with the boat and would not spill a drop. A replacement for the oven unit that had come with the boat, non-pressurized, it had served me far better and added to my storage capacity. In the oven area now was found a pot, pan and dish area.

As most with cruisers it is my firm belief that no sailboat ever left the factory set for cruising. The closest I had ever seen was the late model Pacific Sea craft, but who the hell could buy one of those and still have money to go sailing? Not me. So I had rebuilt and modified the interior of a good strong cruising hull I had found in a divorce sale. The Galley and Navigation /workstation areas had been the biggest improvements. I knew that dawn would bring an easing to the wind. Wind clocked to west-northwest and I jibed the boat and pulled the reef out of the jib. The boat heeled and balanced to the new sail configuration as the auto helm settled in on a southern course. I could smell the coffee down below as I cleated the jib sheet and the stars faded into the early light. I could feel the warm in the dawn, I knew that with the seas calming, the skies clearing, that old feeling was coming. That 'southern waters' feeling that warms you to the bone, makes you want to hear Bob Marley and Jimmy Buffet on the radio. Changes your taste for liquor from Bourbon to Rum. Hot coffee in my hand, Henry, (I named my self-steering for Henry the Navigator) was in the groove and all was right with the world.

Somewhere east was the coast of Florida. As I watched the sun rise and the waves rise and roll past, now a light sea green, translucent with the sun behind them. In a wave three dolphins' rode along in the crest, two were large and one, a yearling not much longer than its' parents tail was wide. The ball of the sun shone through the waves, they surfed in their wave as my vessel surfed on it, pushed to the waves' speed. Then the wave moved past the image of the sun on the horizon. From my perspective I saw the sun rushing at the dolphins, they rose higher in the wave as if they sensed the rush of the sun into their liquid environment. Over the sun they went the small one tight, between and trailing. Back down into the blue green sea, safe from the suns' encroachment on their world. The wave rolled past and the boat, sails luffing, pulled my mind away,

I had wondered when it would happen, what it would be? That one thing that happened on each trip that made the trials you go through on each trip all worth it. The one thing that makes you say, this is it, whatever happens on this trip, this has made it worth the effort. I believe this was it.

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