Ain’t Land a Bitch
Like the last kernel to pop in the pot, I bounced around the co-pilot seat repeating “Yeah that’s gonna leave a mark.” rubbing my hips from the brutal seatbelt attack. I like rough plane rides; especially in small aircraft like the Cessna 302 making its approach into Key West.
I drew the lucky straw for the co-pilot seat in Miami on the short flight to Key West. Answering an ad on Craigslist, a 1947 Nivens 34-foot wooden sailboat was waiting my arrival. This rare find was a stroke of luck. If the boat checked out as described, I would make the eight hour sail back to Fort Lauderdale that afternoon.
One, two, three hops and an armrest breaking grip, the Cessna rolled down the runway. Several “phews” escaped the passengers sitting behind me. The pilot wiped a few beads of sweat from his face that did not look old enough to grace a driver’s license. I couldn’t resist a quip.
“So Cap’n – we land or get shot down?”
“Strong crosswind over the runway.” He explained embarrassedly.
Unable to resist the urge, I followed up with;
“That’s a little like the whale blaming the beach, ain’t it?” I laughed good naturedly to assure him I was joking, though I was relieved to have only suffered a few bruises from the digging seat belt.
A five minute cab ride from the airport and I was standing in front of a beautiful antique sailboat at Stock Island Marina. The owner, a proclaimed cabinetmaker, had spent a great deal of time restoring the woodwork to a condition that rivaled the day the boat was built. I surmised that any boat that had been so reverently restored was seaworthy.
Not a full hour had passed since the questionable landing, before papers were signed, supplies from the marina store (consisting of four sandwiches and a case of water) were stowed and a teary wave from the previous owner and I was headed out to sea.
She sailed like a dream. With a beam of only seven feet, she sliced through the water like a canoe. Under full sail, I quickly made it past the reef and into Gulf Stream for the 3.5 knot current that would carry me home.
The low lying islands that make up the Florida Keys quickly faded into a blue irregularity on the western horizon. The eastern horizon had a much more ominous look. Purple and black raced toward me and my little boat. Flashes of white from Poseidon’s trident streaked the sky closer than I would have preferred. Summer storms pop up and disappear quickly in the Florida Straights.
The first gust was under reefed sail, but at 50 miles an hour it packed a punch. In the course of seconds, the world changed around me. A thunderous crack overhead led me to believe I had been struck by lightning. Quickly I gazed skyward in time to see the mast coming down like a spear from heaven. I dove out of the way into the cabin head first to avoid the deadly wood and cables. I tried to raise myself up on hands and knees but my left arm would not cooperate. It had an odd angle to it that I realized could put me in a pretty bad position. I managed to get myself up only to find that the mast had pierced the cockpit floor into the engine compartment and caused severe damage.
I needed to make it back into the cockpit and secure the tiller to stay on a steady course into the wind. Securing my arm with a torn shirt I climbed the three steps to the cockpit to see a tangle of wires and splintered wood. Anger rose in my chest when I noticed that the spot where the mast broke had been patched with caulking and paint; which is not unlike wearing black socks to fix the hole in your boots.
There would be time to cuss the previous owner later. I desperately needed to get the boat under control. Things went from perilous to deadly. The fallen mast had broken the tiller. There was no way to steer, power or control the boat.
The waves were high peaked and no longer rolling. The boat was falling off the tops of waves with bone jarring crashes.
Back in the cabin I looked for anything that could help. With the antenna destroyed I was left to my own ingenuity. Opening drawers I found a box of birthday candles and a half full bottle of Goslings dark rum. I threw them both in a five gallon bucket and made my way back to the cockpit. A long pull on the rum for courage and a handful of birthday candles to bite on for a makeshift mouth guard. Unprotected, the waves would have the same effect on my teeth as Jerry smashing Tom in the face with a frying pan.
I tied the five gallon bucket to a line and threw it astern acting as a stabilizer to keep the boat in a single direction.
There was nothing more I could do in this storm. I returned to the cabin with the rum and a handheld GPS. My speed had decreased and I was making way to the North West in the direction of Marathon Key. I concluded that I had about a 20 percent chance of making it to the safety of land. There was a monumental chance that I would hit the reef, which meant certain death. Nothing left to do but sit on the floor of the cabin alternating rum and glances at the GPS.
I awoke to the unmistakable sound of waves crashing on sand. The boat was at an awkward angle but unmoving.
With rum in hand I crawled out of the cabin to the sight of cars speeding by on Route One.
Making my way up the incline to the shoulder of the road I began walking towards Marathon Key, the closest town. I heard the unmistakable sound of tires on gravel behind me. Relieved to see a police car…I was promptly arrested for open container and public intoxication.
Read MoreVideo: Boating in Style
This little beauty solves the age old problem of color coordinating the car and boat, with the added convenience of no hassle parking
Read MoreWhat’s in a Name?
In a recent article on one of my favorite travel blogs, YTravelBlog, a question was raised about names we are known by when we travel. Often our hometown names are different when we slip into travel mode. Perhaps we are wearing a different hat than that of our daily persona which sheds us in a different light. Like an actor on stage, we need a name fitting our travel guise.
Nicknames are sometimes chosen for us by our less than glamorous attributes and more for our quirks. For cruising sailors, names are automatic. We write them on the back of our boats and are forever branded with our Nom de Bateaux. Other cruisers will refer to us by our stern signature not our given names.
My name is Mike. Sitting around a shared basket of conch fritters and Red Stripe I am called Mike. When I am not present I am referred to as No Boundaries. New cruisers all seem to make the humorous mistake finding a cutesy, play on words, cliché boat name. Over the years I have seen some interesting names that I am glad I never chose. Here is a list of names that crusty old salt wannabes are branded with by giggling wharf rats and the comments passed around the marina.
Master Baiter “I hear he spends a lot of time alone.”
Passing Wind “He brought burritos to the pot luck last night.”
Buoy Crazy “I’m heading to the showers when Buoy Crazy is done.”
My Little Dinghy “Have you seen My Little Dinghy?”
Blew Too Much “How did he afford that boat?”
Nauti Girl “Is there a female on that boat.”
Knot Smart “All his charts are drawn in Crayon.”
Knot Pretty “And you should see his wife.”
The “Knot” list goes on and on. Moral of the story? When choosing a boat name it is a good idea to try it on for size in the first person before the paint job.
Read MoreBuilding My First Wooden Boat
One of the most memorable acts of my childhood was building my first boat. I had visions of sailing the little skiff across the foggy Maine harbor, chasing seals and dodging lobster buoys. My grandfather drove me to Friendship, home of the Friendship Sloop, to get the plans for a little sailing skiff that was easy enough for a 12 year old boy to build (with a little guidance of course) in the barn.
The smell of the freshly cut wood drying in the kiln at the lumber yard was intoxicating. I remember choosing every plank with care the way a gourmet chef would choose his produce; eyeing for straightness, smelling the oaky aroma and stroking the roughness of the hewn wood.
School had just started and this was to be my winter project. The winters are long in Maine and it seemed a lifetime until spring when I would launch my craft for the first time. Every day on my way home from school I would stop off at the boatyard and talk to the builders in hopes of picking up a few old timer tricks. The old salts were always happy to gab and instruct as long as a sanding block was in my hand.
Many hours of sanding, cutting and drilling paid off in the end. Not a single power tool was used on my bold little craft.
After an eternity to a child the day came when I popped open the first can of varnish. It sounded like the celebration of a champagne cork releasing. The final steps had begun. Each day began with a light sanding before school and ended with a microscopic layer of varnish applied before supper until she sat shining on her blocks like a life-size trophy.
I had to choose when to launch. I knew my impatience would urge me to splashing her too soon so I vowed that she would go in the water the day the bearded iris bulbs popped their first green fingers through the earth along the white picket gate leading to my house.
It was on a Sunday morning when I went to fetch the paper from the box that I noticed the leaf protruding from the ground. I ran to the house shouting incoherently to my mother while stuffing toast in mouth, putting on my oilskins and urging my grandfather up from his chair.
We loaded the “Gypsea” into the back of the pickup and headed down the short dirt path to the wharf. Gently we loaded her into the water along with a thermos of hot chocolate, a life jacket and my big black Newfoundland, Gypsy. Together we made our maiden voyage across the harbor no less gratified than Columbus or Vespucci on their maiden voyages.
Summer is about over once again and it is time for winter projects to be planned. Building a boat large or small is a great way to spend the winter. Alone, or even better with a child, it will be a memorable and satisfying experience.
There is a free eBook on wooden boat building below. It is over 250 pages and well worth the read. Get it by filling out the simple email form. You can get Boat Building Plans at Jon Boat Plans that are great and really inexpensive.
Watch this boat being built in high speed
250 Page Wooden Boat Building Book 100% Free
Read MorePrepare for Pirates
I have to question the wisdom behind writing these tips. Revealing my secret hiding places to the world somehow seems a bit fool hardy. So with that in mind I must ask you to keep this on the down low. Do I have your word? Good; I feel better now.
Pirates of the Caribbean; we all love them. Poofy shirts and clanking swords, treasure maps and cursed gold. Yeah, not so much these days. A closer description would be a couple of kids in a beat up skiff climbing over the gunwales of your boat while you are off dancing to steel drum bands and gulping rum punch.
I keep my boat unlocked when anchored out. It doesn’t take much skill to break into a boat, and it is cheaper to replace stolen property than to replace broken hatches as well. Most thieves today avoid electronics. They tend to be the costly items onboard but hard to sell. Sailors are a tight group. Thieves trying to hawk a SSB radio or GPS are more apt to get beat with a stick than to make a sale. Any sailor seen buying stolen goods find themselves quickly blackballed. It is not uncommon for such bargain hunting sailors to wake up adrift to the sound of waves against jetties from anchor lines cut in the middle of the night. Thieves know this and go for the less conspicuous items such as cash and jewelry.
For those that opt for a lockbox I suggest ordering the Wile E. Coyote Acme Brand pointing finger sign stating “Good Stuff Here!” as an optional upgrade. Inevitably there are going to be times when cash and valuables need to be left aboard. The best hiding places for these items are in places a thief would not want to look, not only in the places you assume they will not think to look. The bottom of that box of $12 Fruit Loops picked up in Little Cayman is not a big secret. Besides, Fruit Loops might be on the booty list any way.
A little ingenuity goes a long way in making a good hiding spot. For a dry and secure hidey hole, glue one side of a thru-hull fitting to the head’s holding tank. Then glue screw heads into the screw holes for that Hollywood special effects look. An attached inch and a half flexible pipe, leading to unknown regions, offers a less than optimal search area. The risk of being sprayed by the end result of a week’s worth of Corona and fish tacos makes for a good deterrent to would be thieves, while providing plenty of dry space for cash, jewelry and important papers.
A hot item on the black market is small outboard engines. Before going into questionable ports where I will be anchoring out I tape the cover of the dinghy motor with blue painters tape; relatively easy to remove later. I then paint the tape with flat black spray paint, giving the appearance of an old motor. With so many engines in the harbor offering easy pickings, mine is less likely to stand out.
Thieves are always going to be around. They may be sneaky but they are not all that difficult to outsmart with a little effort.
Read MoreFirst Impressions: Bimini, Bahamas
First Impressions at Bimini Harbor
Two types of sailors voyage the seas, those who run aground and those who lie about it. A mere 53 miles east of Miami, the small island of Bimini is the first port of call entering the Bahamas. In Bimini customs are cleared, cruising permits purchased, and first impressions made. It is inevitable that fellow cruisers met here will be seen again and again amongst the 700 + islands that make up the archipelago of the Bahamas. The humiliating feeling of being stuck on a sandbar, as margarita fueled deck loungers sail past waving, tends to linger for the remainder of the trip.
Photo by Bill available under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial license
