Leaving Maine . .  Sailing South.

 
 
This blog is about our voyage from our home of Rockport, Maine to the Caribbean and of a family living on a sail boat, homeschooling the kids, and exploring the world . . . and ourselves. You will be able to read more and see photos, videos and podcasts on the family’s web site KidsOnBoats.net. You can also visit my photo journal of images made along the way. Click on the link above. Return to the Home Page. Comments are welcome, and we’d love to hear from other families (and couples as well) who are off the grid, living their dream and leading an alternate life style. This blog is written as a narrative, beginning with our departure and up dated as we go. I dislike blogs that are published in reverse order, where you read about the outcome before you read about the adventure. It’s like reading a book from the back to the front. There’s no suspense, and reading a book is all about discovery.  Julie put the KOB logo to Searcher’s boom, to let other kids on boats and cruising families know how to reach us. The flag is now at the shop and we’ll have that in a few weeks. Friday. Sept. 18 -- Party time. Can’t leave on a voyage like this without a fare-thee-well party. Not when we have as many friends as we do, staying behind. So, we invited everyone to the Rockport Boat Club for a pot luck dinner, bon voyage and birthday party. Julie would be making the half century leap in a few days and this would be the last time our friends could help her over the mark. Everyone showed up. There was food, rum, wine and kids, lots of kids, of talk about the journey and lots of camaraderie. Searcher was at the boat club dock and open for tours of our floating home which is what it will be for the next few years. The send off was warm and for some, tearful. The kids ran around with their school buddies, the adults chatted in small groups, about the value of “adventure.” I pinned up a chart of the Western Atlantic from Newfoundland to South America and outlined our intended route. The Plan was to have included Long Island Sound, NYC and stops along the Chesapeake, exploring American history as part of the kids boat schooling, but Julie was nervous about being at sea for ten days - the time it takes to sail from Norfolk to the BVI. She heard stories of sea sickness and was not excited about the prospect of ten days strapped to a bunk. She’s never been sea sick (I have) and she’s never been tested by a long voyage at sea before. So . . . the plan was to break the voyage into two shorter legs. Newport to Bermuda, Bermuda to the BVI. I’ve sailed both options more than 5 times. Both have the advantages. It takes five days to sail from Newport to Bermuda. A good shake down of boat and crew. Bermuda is an attractive island to explore, sitting in the middle of the Atlantic. Bermuda is not an ideal place as a stopover as it is so expensive let alone getting anything fixed if anything breaks down. Getting to and across the Gulf Stream takes 2 days, in which time the weather can have changed from the forecast, making for a potential rough cross. Tough on both the boat and crew. But you can get to Bermuda anytime in the fall (Hurricane Season) because you can beat a storm that has formed in the tropics before it reaches the island. Also, the second leg is a slide down the trades to the Islands, with the wind on the port quarter and beam - nice and comfortable. It takes ten days to reach the Caribbean Islands from the Chesapeake, but you are over the Gulf Stream in 24 hours after leaving the mainland. Provisioning and getting the boat ready for the voyage is cheaper and easier in Hampton, Virginia. The Blue Water Marine, just inside the breakwater is where I’ve left from in the past and it’s where the Carib 1500 Rally departs from each fall, but the winds can be on the nose, especially when you meet the trade winds, south of 20-degrees. Either of these two pathways are fine. Going further south, to Beaufort, NC is an option, but it saves you nothing. for you are going more to the west than south, adding another day to the off shore trip to the Caribbean. Beaufort does gets you past Cape Hatteras and it’s dangers, but, leaving from Norfolk with a good weather window erases the benefit of going to Beaufort, and the three day trek down the ICW. I explained all this to Julie, but she still wants to visit Bermuda and make the offshore trip in two hops. Saturday, Sept. 19 Last minute details. I move the boat from the Boat Club Dock to the Town Floats so we can move on board the last items. Then a drive to Portland to pick up the life raft which has undergone its annual inspection and pick up a few more things at Hamilton Marine. There are the cars to deal with, the bikes, the office, cash, my row boat, and more food to buy. We go to sleep tired, but excited. There is nothing, it appears, standing in our way from departing tomorrow.  Leaving Rockport Harbor and the Camden Hills behind as we motor out into Penobscot Bay. Winds on the nose, 10 to 15 kts. This harbor has been home for 36 years, even since I came to town (1973) to start The Maine Photographic Workshops. With such a ideal place to live, why would anyone go off on an open ended search for paradise . . . but, it’ll be here for us when we return . . . wiser. Sunday, Sept. 20 - THE DAY OF DEPARTURE We leave Maine. The tide begins to ebb at 1:30 p.m. I’m up at 6 a.m. before the sun. The forecast is for sun, temperature in the high 60s and winds WSW 10 to 15 knots. Not ideal but doable. The kids help with filling the water tanks, getting their bikes aboard, swinging the dinghy on deck but mostly they are running around with a few of their pals. Havana is a little left out as non of his male pals show up, so he’s surrounded by girls, all giggling and hugging. I photograph him sitting alone on the boat looking at the gaggles of girls on the dock.   The Gang is called the Rockport Harbor Rats; those kids who live on or near the Harbor get in one last fling before Ren and Havana depart. Havana watches from the deck of Searcher as Ren’s girl friends wrestle her on the dock just prior to leaving At 1:40 p.m. we are off the dock with waves and cheers as Searcher motors out of Rockport Harbor. Wind is SW at 15 knots. Right on the nose. Within minutes, the realization that we are actually leaving our hometown, Renaissance dissolves into tears and sobs . . “ all I want is my friends . . . all I want is my friends . . .”   Julie comforts Ren as she looks back at her friends waving good-by on the dock. Within an hour, Ren was on the cabin top, under the dodger, eating chips with her brother, looking forward to reaching Monheagan Island, and the overnight voyage to Scituate, MA “Can we have a little quite here . . “ replies Havana, who is more excited about going than leaving anyone behind. Within an hour, the time it takes us to round Owls Head light, Renaissance has quietened down and she and Havana have parked themselves under the dodger, out of the wind and with good visibility all around. It’s another hour down to the Mussel Ridge Channel, then past White Head Light and Tenants Harbor and out into the Gulf of Maine. It’s 6 p.m. when we motor through the nearly deserted harbor on Monhegan Island, our last look at Maine for some time. One woman on her porch waves. A lone painter with his easel on the jetty waves. We say goodbye to Maine.  Monhegan Island, our last look at Maine for a long time. This summer artists colony and winter lobster fishing port is the last of Maine we will see for a year or two. It’s rough as we leave the harbor, heading SW into the Gulf of Maine. The wind is SW 15 knots right on the nose, but Searcher is moving along at 6.5 knots at 2500 RPM. We’d be doing 8+ knots under sail if this wind was NW. It’s 144 nautical miles from Rockport to Scituate, our first stop. An all night sail. The kids’ first. Dinner discussion. I suggest just rice and beans, something easy on the stomach. Nothing greasy, and something that’s easy to prepare. The boat is hobby horsing in the swells, but with her long water line the motion is doable. I go below to ensure the hatches are secure. When I get back on deck, my stomach tells me the forward cabin is not where I want to spend much time.  Monhegan House, the large inn on the harbor edge is closed for the winter, the summer houses boarded up as we leave for The Caribbean and warmer weather. As we left the protection of the Mussel Ridge Channel and enter the open waters of the Gulf, I was nervous. The anxiety had been building since we left the dock. We’d be facing a long slog into the wind all night. I wasn’t sure the boat, or my green crew, could handle bouncing our way to Cape Cod. I wasn’t sure I could. What were my options? Turn west to Portland or Boothbay? Julie had to be in Boston on Tuesday for a flight to the UK to see her parents. Scituate was where I wanted to pick up a mooring. The stress of departing had been replaced with another demon. Now that we were actually underway, could we keep going? Would the winds and seas stop us? As we neared Monhegan Island, my nerves settled down. Searcher was moving along just fine. We could do this. By the time we left Monhegan behind us I was into the experience.   Sunset at se . . . yes, I know. Boring, but this will be the Lyman’s first night under way as a family. I’ve made this voyage two dozen times, but the experience is always magical, exciting yet scary. As Ren said the other day while learning to water ski, “I’m scared . . . “ I told her, “No, not scared, excited. Learn the difference. Scared is when there is a change of getting hurt. Excited is when you are safe, but approaching the unknown.  The autopilot worked . . . for 20 minutes, then quit. I tried it later, and it worked . . for 20 minutes, then quit. I tried to get it to work a few more times . . no luck. It just blinked at me. So, we hand steered all the way. I was at the helm for 8 hours, before Julie spared me as the kids hunkered down in the cockpit for the night. It may have been the motion of the boat below, or the need to be close as a family our first night at sea, or just the joy of falling asleep under a canopy of stars on a moonless night, but we all slept, if you can call it that, in the cockpit. I wore my float suit, which is like living in an orange sleeping bag, but I was warm all night. The Garmin chart plotter has a problem Garmin should fix. At night the screen is too bright. To turn the screen down requires pushing about 4 buttons, and still it’s too bright. The problem is, the next morning when you want to turn up the brightness, you can't see the screen to know what buttons to press. They need to fix that. I draped a towel over the unit and used an older black and white GPS that is mounted next to the companionway . . . this shows me all I need to know: speed, course, time, and distance sailed. I do not need to see a chart when we are off soundings.   Sun raise finds us off Cape Ann. It’s been a long night, but safe and pleasant. Searcher has moved along at 6 to 7 kts under power. Day break looks about the same as sunset did last evening . . with a blue, gray, purple and orange sky. Monday, Sept. 21 - ARRIVE IN SCITUATE Around 3 a.m. in the morning, I am dead tired. 15 minutes seems like an hour. Julie and I are sharing the steering, 2 hours on, 2 hours to catch some sleep. I was okay until around 2 a.m. when my body was fighting to get to sleep. I wore headphones, plugged into a Walkman, listening to FM Stations. I found Evangelical preachers and rabble rousing conservative talk radio hosts a good way to stay awake. Better than classical music or jazz. I suppose rap or acid rock, of which there is much to be found on the radio, could also act as a “keeping awake” treatment. As the sky in the east began to lighten at 5 a.m. I found I was not fighting to stay awake. I was tired, worn out, grubby, in need of a bath, but I was awake. Sunrise was at 6:30 a.m. I let Julie sleep through her watch I experienced my first sunrise at sea in more than 7 years. There was a time, back in my 30s, 40s and 50s, when I would make this same trip each fall, bringing my boat south for the winter. The last time was in the fall of 2002. I brought Searcher down to Hampton, VA in October and returned in late November to complete the trip to the Virgin Islands, arriving on December 10. Being at sea has it’s joys, as well as its trials. But to watch the sun rise over the eastern horizon on a new day has always filled my soul with a feeling of promise and hope. We were off Cape Ann at 7 a.m. when Julie awoke, having spent the entire night, with the kids, in the cockpit. The kids were awake as the sun flooded the cockpit. Julie took the helm and I went below to cook up porridge for the family. Boston, with its tall buildings, shrouded in a haze of brown pollution, appeared to the west. We slipped into Scituate Harbor and picked up a mooring. It was 11 a.m. 22 hours and 144 miles out of Rockport. Our adventure had begun.   My family asleep in the cockpit. Julie to port, Ren to Starboard and Havana on the cabin top under the dodger. One hundred and forty-four miles from Rockport to Scituate . . . 22 hours, averaging 7+ kts. We enter the breakwater around 11 AM on Monday. The first leg of a 30,000 mile adventure. I’m tired, but elated to be underway, the boat working just fine . . . we are in “Flow.” Scituate is an ideal stopping off harbor. It is right on the route from Maine to the Cape Cod Canal, easy to get into, deep enough, and with a good launch service. It’s near Boston, but remains a small village. My brother lives an hour away and picked us up at 3 p.m. and we drove to his place. The kids have been excited about this visit for months. They not only miss seeing their cousins and uncle, but The Lymans are a water skiing family, and my kids wanted to get up on skis at their Uncle’s place where there is a pond. They had a taste the previous year and wanted more, so we planned to stay a few days with my brother while Julie flew over to England to spend a week with her family there. The kids went water skiing all three days, their cousin Alicia, coaching. Alicia’s brother, cousin Keith Lyman, who was still in Florida, is one of the top ten wake boarders in the world, something my kids are rather proud of.   Ren’s first time up on water skis. She tried last year, but could not make it. This year she did and, as you can see by the expression on her face, she’s thrilled.   Havana get up and takes off. The two Lyman kids come from a long line of champion water skiers. Their Dad was a jumper and slalom skier, Uncle Lee was a Northeast trick ski champion, and Uncle Carl was the star of the Cypress Garden water ski show for 10n years. Cousin Keith Lyman is one of the top ten wake boarders in the world. This stuff is in their blood. Wednesday, Sept. 23
More waterskiing and speed boat driving lessons. Lee announced that he could blow off his late afternoon golf game and we could leave for the boat. He and Alicia could join us on the trip from Scituate to Martha’s Vineyard. So we packed up, took one more ski ride around the pond, and drove back to Scituate. Dinner ashore, and a quite night on board. Thursday, Sept. 24 Scituate to Martha’s Vineyard Up at 7 a.m. Lee, Havana and I get the dinghy on deck, secure the outboard, start the engine and cast off the mooring. We are out of the harbor before 8 a.m. The weather is clear, temperature already 73-degrees, winds . . . non existent. The forecast is for west winds 10 to 15. They never materialize. We motor all the way . . . but it’s a no stress day as we pass Plymouth, push through the Cape Cod Canal, against a 3 knot current, slowing us to 4 knots, but to make slack water at Woods Hole, this we have to do, otherwise we would have had to wait for three hours for the tide to turn on the Canal. Havana works on a model boat he’s building. It’s a mega yacht, then a Coast Guard cutter, then an expedition yacht, then a Navy destroyer. Alicia and my daughter, Renaissance, are bonding. Alicia braids my daughter’s hair, they share stories    Cousin Alicia and Ren in the cockpit off Plymouth, doing homeschooling. . . . . This is the first time Ren and Alicia have spent quality time together. They really bonded and Ren was sad to see her cousin leave.   Approaching the Bourn Bridge on the Cape Cod Cannel . . . Lee At the helm entertains Havana and Ren with stories of what it was like to grow up with their father. The ten hour trip from Scituate to Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard was uneventful . . . other than have a full 24 hours to spend with my brother and his daughter. We talked business, kids, boats, plans or the future, finances, boats, relationships, and what it meant to us today to be raised by a father and mother who embraced adventure and encouraged us to explore the world . . . and ourselves. This voyage is as much about looking inward as it is about the places we will visit. The wether forecast was for strong NE winds on Friday, near gale. I did not want to be in Vineyard Haven with those winds, so reserved a mooring in the small, nearly land-locked Oak Bluffs Harbor . . . and was thankful I did. We stayed there 4 days. Friday, Sept. 25 -EXPLORING MARTHA’S VINEYARD Thankful for being on a mooring in this small port. The wind is blowing 20 to 25, with higher gusts. Brother Lee, his lady friend and Lee’s daughter Alicia have departed for the mainland. The kids and I are together. Ren is sad that Alicia has left. The two of them really bonded these last few days. Ren has no older sister and no older girls to play with and Alicia is right at the age of motherhood, without a mate. I did get the autopilot CPU disconnected, and with authorization sent it to Tulsa for a bench test and repair. One task done. Ashore, the kids and I walked over to the Alison Shaw Gallery. Alison is an old friend, a photographer who has been leading workshops for me for years. Two years ago we co-taught a workshop in Venice, Italy. A memorable experience. Her Gallery is the only place I know where FedEx can pick up the auto pilot CPU for shipment. I also need to know where there is a chiropractor, as my back is now getting to be a real issue. I pinched something in my lower back on Saturday bending over to adjust a tarp over my old rowboat. My back has been sore and giving me twinges ever since. Susan, Alison’s partner, gives me the names of two possible chiropractors on the island. I call Keith and he’ll see me that afternoon, but he’s over in Vineyard Haven. It’s $30 of cab fares, so I opt to rent a car for $65, giving the us some time to explore the island. While the kids are having their lunch at the Black Dog Bakery, I’m face down on the chiropractor’s table getting twisted, poked and adjusted. I feel great when I leave. Off to Edgartown to visit the Vineyard Gazette. I want to see if they have an archive of issues from the early 60s. In 1962, I was 22 and was running the Moon Cusser Coffee House, then a mecca for the urban folk music scene. Anyone who was anyone in folk music showed up there that summer. I want to write an article, a short story, or screen play about that summer. It was my first real artistic/entreprenurial venture.   The sign over the Vineyard Wine Shop on Circuit Avenue, used to read “The Moon ‘Cusser Coffee House.” I made that sign my self in 1963. The storefront that used house The Moon ‘Cusser now now an upscale clothing boutique. The Moon ‘Cusser is still remembered on the. I was chatting with Jeff, the Vineyard Haven Harbor Master last week, and he remembers the impact the folk music mecca had on the island. The sign I made that hung over the entrance to the Moon Cusser, has moved down the street and now read Vineyard Wines. The space that was the Moon Cusser is now an up-scale clothing boutique, a bank and a bakery. In 1963, 150 to 200 people would cram the coffee house- music club each evening to listen to The Country Gentlemen, Ian and Silvia, Bud and Travis, The Jim Kweskin Jug Band, Tom Rush, Bonnie Dobson, even James Taylor and Carly Simon, but not together then. I paid Taylor $10 to perform during the Hootenannies on Monday evenings. Carly Simon and her sister sang for free on Sunday nights. I designed and built the place with money two electronic engineers provided, but the folk music scene was changing by the end of that summer. Drugs had arrived, as had the hippies and the the scene was more political, these were influences that I did not like, so I moved on, but that’s another story. After 47 years, I’m back walking the streets of Oak Bluffs with my two kids looking back at what I started when I was just 23. I did do some research the following week the Vineyard Haven library and now have a file of all the clippings from the Vineyard Gazette that deal;t with the Moon ‘Cusser. I’ll now work on a short story about “my summer on the island” and what it meant it me, and how it may have influenced the world of folk music and contemporary song writing When the kids and I went to visit the newspaper to inquire about any clippings, The Gazett’s office is closed by the time we found them, but it’s good walking around Edgartown, one of New England’s grand old whaling town of. There are houses pressed against picket fences, hedges hiding Colonial mansions, well kept homes and a small commercial section leading down to the harbor. The scene is more upscale than the honky-tonk atmosphere of Oak Bluffs, the shops cater to a more monied crowd. On the way back to the boat in Oak Bluffs, traveling down the Beach Road, we see kites, large kites flying over the beach. With this wind, I would have thought it too strong for kites, but as we draw near, cars line the road and we see men in black wet suits, hanging under the colorful kites. A dozen men, all in their 40s were flying across the relatively calm pond behind Beach Road on wake boards, tethered to an oval kite, controlled by lines attached to a harness at their waste. As they approached the beach where we stood watching, they leaped into the air, soaring 30 to 50 feet over our heads, before descending back on the pond with a slash, the luckiest, or those with more skill, landed upright, speeding off in the opposite direction, only to return for another airborne leap. It was thrilling to watch. I imagine the thrill for these gray haired men, who were obviously dealing with their mid-life crisis in a physical way, must be to fly through the air high over the heads of those watching. Were I 20 years younger I’d have joined them. I can see how this sport could become addictive.    After dinner, as I was adjusting the Danforth anchor on the bow rollers so it did not chafe the mooring line, I did something to my back which sent me into spasms of sharp pain. I managed to get to the aft deck to lay down in tearful agony. I cried out and the kids were there to help me below. I lay on the settee in the saloon, the kids concerned with their father’s pain. “This not only hurts,” I told them. “This may mean we can’t go south . . . not with my back the way it is.” Ren and Havana both offer to give me a massage, which I accept. Ren goes first and finds the place in my lower back, off to the left where the pain resides. She uses the heel of her hand and works the tissue like bread dough. Havana follows and I am feeling better. I drift off to sleep, to awake an hour later to find Havana asleep, tucked in beside me. I wake him and show him his cabin. I struggled aft to my cabin. It takes me time to undress and climb into the bunk and get comfortable. I go to sleep thinking a few Motrin tablets tomorrow may get me through the day. It’ll be 3 days before the chiropractor is back in his office. Saturday, Sept, 26 -- Sunny and windy, blowing 20 knots I awake to find the kids massage last night had worked, I can actually move. I’m sore but able to spend the morning working. Ren and I go in search of heating pads in Vineyard Haven before turning the car back in. We walk around town. That afternoon, with the wind down to normal, the kids beg to go body surfing at the beach by the harbor entrance.        Sunday, September 27, 2009 --Oak Bluffs Harbor, Martha’s Vineyard Wind SW, 20 kts. It pours with rain . . . all day. The first real participation in weeks. The kids and I are cooped up on the boat. Ren doing homework, Havana sanding his boat model. I’m trying to write, but the boat projects keeps getting in the way. A boat and a voyage is an excellent excuse for not writing. What every writer needs, an excuse. My priorities have shifted. With Julie away for a week, the kids and I are left alone . . . part blessing and part curse. It’’s just me and the kids . . . the family tension is gone, the kids behave better, there’s less fighting, we become a team all pulling in the same direction. But I’m drawn too thin, not enough time to concentrate on the writing. . . that has to wait until the middle of the night when I awake and go to work for a few hours of creative work and email, before slipping back into sleep for an hour or two. The boat demands my attention as well. Both heads are blocked from over use of toilet paper. I worked this morning on the head problem: vacuumed out the liquid, dismantled the exit manifold, only to realize the blockage was further down the line, perhaps at a junction or the anti-siphon trap. The hardware store on Circuit Avenue is closed today. I went to buy a “plunger” hoping it would provide enough force to clear the blockage. The head being blocked is only a mild inconvenience as this is a ‘no discharge’ harbor and we have to use the facilities ashore anyway. More on this today as it happens. Monday, Sept. 28, 2009 Oak Bluffs, Martha’s Vineyard Nice day clear and less windy. Lots of projects today. The kids and I go ashore to buy OJ and a plunger, which does not solve the problem of the two heads. I need a plumber, a real one. A day of loose ends: I get dinghy gas, drop off the laundry, the kids and I traipse up the hill to the Mobil Station for propane, we bring the trash ashore, I pay for one more night for the mooring. I manage to get a little varnishing done, Havana helps.    Late afternoon, I drop the kids at the beach return to the boat to clean up the mess we created living in such a tight spot. To get to my varnishing stuff required moving a whole bench-worth of stuff, which then needs to be put back. A drink is needed, a rum and tonic with a touch of lime . . to stave off scurvy, and reduce the tension. Alison Shaw calls and we have a dinner date. She picks us up at 5:30 p.m. and we spend the evening at her home, with her partner, Sue and their two kids, Jessie and Sue. We talk art, careers, business, religion, kids and our own unique financial predicaments. Mine deals with the loss of a $10-million empire and being left with a $250,000 capital gains tax bill, with no resources to pay it. What can they do to me? I explain. I’m nearly 70. I have two young kids to raise, with little prospects of landing a lucrative post at some college, There is little incentive to work an hourly job just to pay the IRS, something I don’t feel in the slightly way obligated to pay in the first place. The real crime is with the IRS hounding me for the next ten years there is even less incentive for me to launch a new enterprise, one that could employ a dozen or so people, add to the national GMP with enough left over to pay the IRS. This IRS situation has taken the wind out of my sails. They can chase me for the next ten years. While the IRS can place a lien on anything tangible I own, which I don’t, they can’t touch my intellectual property. Alison and Sue have a septic field issue with their Oak Bluffs home. We discuss websites and I offer to interview Alison for a series of podcasts on their web site, which I can also publish on mine. Tuesday, Sept. 29, 2009 - VINEYARD HAVEN Move the boat to Vineyard Haven, to be in a better place to pick up Julie when she returns from the UK this evening. The kids and I pick up the laundry, $30.80 for 22 pounds . . . we have got to stop getting our clothes dirty. We drop the mooring at 10:30 a.m. and motor over to Vineyard Haven. The day is clear, with strong WSW winds blowing 20 kts. gusting to 25. It’s rough out in the sound, but we’re in it for only a few minutes as we round East Chop and enter the relatively calm water of the harbor. The Harbor Master had no moorings for us inside the breakwater, but with the wind in the SW, it is just as calm on the outside, so we pick up the first mooring by the entrance. The Harbor Master tells us the mooring belongs to the launch service, but they are closed for the season and that we’d be fine for a few days. Free? We are in and out to the ferry dock dinghy landing half a dozen times as the kids need to use the facilities at the Terminal. We shop, visit the Grapes book store, look for flowers for Mom, and explore this more gentrified village. Julie to arrive at 9:15 p.m. on the Woods Hole ferry. Wednesday and Thursday, Sept. 30 and October 1 It’s getting colder at night now. Julie is all for heading to Bermuda, but the auto pilot CPU is off for repairs, we have no other crew, and today (Thursday) the transmission broke, well not quite. We spent the night at the dock at Martha’s Vineyard Shipyard. Gene, the head mechanic, took the manifold system for the two heads off the boat and cleaned them in the yard. They were jammed with toilet paper. Got them back on and working by 5:30 p.m. A lecture on the proper use of toilet paper and other toilet products along with correct pumping procedures followed. It cost $275 to get the heads working again. This morning we left the dock at 8 a.m. and motored out to pick up the mooring by the breakwater. I lost reverse as we came up to the mooring, then forward. Drop the hook? No, too close to the harbor entrance and with ferry boats coming and going too dangerous. I jump into the dinghy and tell Julie and Havana to rig a tow line from the bow. Running backward in the dinghy for better maneuverability, I slowly edge Searcher back to the mooring. We’re safe. Gene Leonard, the a Master Mechanic comes out from the yard later that afternoon and we discover that the transmission appears fine, but the prop is not turning. Did we lose the propeller? No, while the shaft from the transmission is turning, the shaft on the other side of the flex coupling is not. Gene spends two hours unbolting the coupling, which was made around the time of the Civil War. We discovers a broken snap ring that holds the rear shaft to the forwards spline. Could this be the problem, or is there something else afoot in side the flex coupling? Gene takes the coupling back to the shop to clean and inspect. We’ll know more in the morning. Back to the narrative. After getting searcher back on the mooring, the family dinghies ashore to meet Keith . . . the chiropractor, who has just arrived on the Island Home, the Woods Hole ferry. He lives on the mainland and has his office on the island. He works on my lower back for 20 minutes and claims to have fixed the problem, but my back is really sore now, and I’m weak. Keith tells me with proper care, the back should repair itself, but is tender all day. It’s 2 a.m. on Friday morning, and my back is much better, still a little sore, but I plan to treat myself for the age I am, nearly 70. Other issues that have me worried. The autopilot. We have not heard from Simrad what the problem may be. It’ll be a $500 fix, but what else can go wrong with the system. I’d rather have a wind vane aboard. It would use no electricity, be quieter, and more reliable. Crew. I need to begin recruiting an extra crew person, someone in their 20s or 30s, with some off shore experience. Male or female? Makes little difference, but I want someone I can send forward in a blow to get the staysail up or down, someone to help me launch the dinghy and do any heavy work, to protect my back. One more person will allow us to make it through each night, on watch (perhaps hand steering) for 2 on 4 off, That gives us each 8 hours off and 4 hours on during the night. I’m too old to do the 4 on 4 off, routine. Bilge pump. Gene and I will tackle that today. Freshwater leak. The freshwater pump recycles every hour or so. The main bilge pump cycles about as many times. There must be a leak in the system aft of the nav station. A lose hose clamp? I’ve inspected that already. A split copper pipe from a winter freeze-up? Possible, but I fixed the obvious leaks this spring, and the only other possibility is under and behind the shower, which is inaccessible. So . . . I turn off the fresh water pump when not in use. Weather Fax. I need to work on perfecting the SSB-Macintosh weather fax software I have. I almost got it to work a few days ago, but need an hour or so in the afternoon to learn how to tune the radio and tweak the software to get readable faxes. Herb and Southbound II. I can’t raise Herb on 12859.0. Has he shifted his frequency? Herb provides a daily ship-routing/weather forecasting service as a hobby, on marine HF/SSB frequency 12359.0 starting at 2000 UTC until completion of traffic. I’d love to listen in on his afternoon briefings, to see who has headed off shore, hear what the weather systems are doing and what advice he’s giving. I’ll Google him when I can find a WiFi hot spot. Our new WiFi booster and antenna is not picking up anything here in V. H. that we can connect to. We’ll have to find one ashore, or go over to Oak Bluffs where we pay $10 a day for a link to the Internet. Of course there is all the business, website, family, and financial stuff I have to deal with . . . but that’s another story. Friday, Oct. 2, 2009 - PROBLEMS The day begins with promise . . that our engine drive train will be operational before lunch. Gene has cleaned up the coupling, and it appears all we need is a 30mm snap or split ring to hold the drive together. I offer to go in search of the part. So off Havana and I go with the coupling on the 2-wheeler to the nearby ACE hardware store. No metric snap rings, no snap rings at all. I borrow a phone book and call the NAPA store, the other ACE hardware store on the island and Volvo car mechanic. No snap rings that large are to be found. Back at the yard, Gene and the stock room man call a parts store ashore. Nothing. Gene still insists it would be better to go in person to the auto parts stores. “These guys aren’t going to get off their cans to see if there is a $4 part around . . . better to go see for ourselves.” So off we go in Gene’s $300 beater (that gets 36 mlles to the gallon) to the NAPA store. Gene takes the coupling into the store and shows them the shaft on which the needed snap ring fits. “No, we wouldn’t have anything that size, and certainly not in metric. Have you tried the hardware stores?” Gene persists, showing the clerk a broken part of the snap ring that came off the coupling. Th clerk finally gets up off his stool, rummages around behind the counter and comes back with a plastic book full of various sizes of snap rings. The box reads “Emergency Repair Kit.” There appears to be a few that might come close to fitting. “How much I ask?” The clerk replies “. . . $14”. I tear open the packaging. “You own it now,” says the clerk. Gene sorts through the selection and finds one that almost fits. I find three others that also come close. We depart with a possible solution. Gene wants to visit another auto parts store nearby. Same story. Blank stares, then a rummaging around and the same packet of snap rings is found. Back at the shop we find one ring that fits sufficiently, and Gene heads off to install the coupler. We should be on our way later this morning. Half an hour later I see Gene walking up the dock. The look on his face is not promising. “I found the reason the shaft had moved,” he tells me. “It was too dark down there yesterday afternoon, but it’s clear now that there was significant movement of the shaft to snap the snap ring. The bulkhead that supports the thrust bearing gave way. The problem has been progressive over the years, and just happened when you went into reverse at the mooring yesterday”.   When two guys hold their head like this . . . you got problems. The small bulkhead that supports the thrust bearing, that keeps the shaft from reversing out of the boat, gave way. Phil and Gene discuss various solutions, none of which I know will be cheap . . or fast. Gene, who is more of an artist with engines than your run-of-the-mill shipyard mechanic, studies the flex-coupling he’s just removed from Searcher’s engine room. Phil the yard owner, Gene and I gather over the engine compartment for a look-see and confab. “The problem can be solved,” reports Phil, “But it could take a week or two.” For me, that translates to $10,000. “I’ll get together with my staff and we’ll come up with the steps necessary for the rebuilding of the bulkhead. We’ll have an answer for you some time after lunch.” This one turn of events could put a stop to our trip south . . . but in for penny, in for a pound. I walk into town with my laptop to meet the family at the library who are there using the WiFi. It’s a sunny warm day, and being here in Vineyard Haven is a joy. No better place to break down. There’s a boat yard with the skilled manpower, the time and the space to do the job. Everything we need to live is right here, within walking distance: super market, hardware stores, a West Marine Express, great book store, library, all that’s missing in this harbor is WiFi on the boat. I download my e-mail, sitting outside the library with Julie and the kids. Havana takes photos with my iPhone. He’s getting good at this. He seeks out alternative POVs, and then runs off with the camera to make his own photos. I brief Julie on the morning’s discovery and possible ramifications. The repair job could have us here two months, not to complete the job, but to come up with enough cash to pay for it. This one repair could cost us the entire trip. “Then what else can we expect down the line?” she warns. “Do we wind up spending our year going from boat yard to boat yard? That’s not what I bought into . . . it’s not what we can afford.” The day, the nice weather, the kids on their bikes as we walk into the village for lunch, Julie returns to a more positive frame of mind. We have a large pizza at Bob’s on Maine Street and talk about what the family can do while the boat is laid up, then walk back to the yard and Searcher. I dig through my boat files and come up with the drawings that show how the Volvo engine was installed in 1989, showing the thrust bearing and its support. I take these to Phil in his office overlooking the dock and harbor. Phil obviously knows his stuff, owning the yard for the last 20 years and building and fixing boats all his life, as did his father before him. Phil briefs me on his discussion with his staff on a possible fix. “We remove the old bulk head, dry out the bilge, grind down the entire area in preparation for installing a stainless steel bulkhead that replaces the plywood one that gave way, we then fiberglass the entire area in place. If all goes well, possibly a week, if we begin on Monday, we could get the job completed by Friday.” Phil has made simple drawings to show the stainless steel plate they intend to insert. “Cost?” I ask. “Oh yes,” Phil rummages under the drawings and brings out a slip of figures. “About $5,000 to $6,000. I gulp, thinking it could have been $10,000. “That could take us two months to come up with the cash,” I report. “Well we do have an alternative plan,” Phil says with a gleam in his eye. “We do not remove the plywood bulkhead, just put it back in place. Then sister two sheets of steel on either side, bolt them together and you are on your way . . . say two days, $1,500 to $2,000.” I’m liking this better. “We’d paint the steel before installing it, but it would eventually rust.” “I’d be dead by then and the boat in someone else’s hands,” I tell him. “let’s proceed in this direction. Gene, Phil and I study the drawings, finding the bulkhead that supports the thrust bearing, the bearing that keeps the shaft from back out of the boat when in reverse, is mounted up against a block of lead ballast that creates platform. This give us all a better feeling that this less expensive fix will do the job. So, we move in that direction.. . . for now. Havana has heard that Phil is a model boat builder, and wants to show him the model he’s building. His imagination has him building a mega yacht, a navy destroyer, a Coast Guard cutter, or perhaps research ship. He’s been working on this since before we left. It’s made of blocks of 2 x 12 spruce left over from the dinghy chocks I built for the aft deck. He and I meet with Phil in his office, and the yard owner immediately lights up at the prospect of talking model boats. “When I was just about your age, I too made boats very much like that one.” he begins. I would run along the beach with little models tied to a pole, or tow them behind a larger boat my father was driving. Here’s something I tried when I was about your sister’s age.” Phil takes a sheet of paper and begins to tear it into strips, “I would take a tin can, cut it into a single sheet and flatten it. Then bend it in a semi-circle and fix it to the underside of a model, much like yours.” He fits the paper strip under Havana’s model, and what appears is a hydroplane. “I’d cut out a small elevator at the leading edge to give the foil lift, and then tow the model behind my father’s boat and watch is rise out of the water and speed along. Now, watch this. . . “ Phil turns to his computer screen and finds a gallery of images of his most recent model boat, Deborah, a 65 inch model of a 80-foot schooner Juno, that sits right outside his window in the harbor. “The model has radio controls,” he explains as he shows us photos of his model under full sail, racing across the harbor. In one shot she is alongside her large inspiration, the 60-foot, life-size schooner Juno, also out of Vineyard Haven. “There was a model boat regatta in Woods Hole this past summer,” Phil continues, “and I sailed the Deborah 4-miles across Vineyard Sound to the regatta. Here’s a newspaper article.”    Havana and Phil discuss model boat design, remote control technology and construction in Phil’s office at Martha’s Vineyard Shipyard, a facility Phil and his father have owned and run for generations. Later that afternoon, the yard crews move us over to a mooring inside the breakwater for the weekend. The kids want me to video tape them in their rig swinging routine. So we spend an hour at the mooring shooting the kids doing their thing on the halyards. I’ve brought along rock climbing harnesses that fit the kids and are a lot safer and more comfortable than the rope one’s they’d been using. I worry less now about them falling on the deck, which they have done, or in the water over the side which they have not done, except while on our mooring in Rockport Harbor when their plunge into the water was intended. The resulting video, shot on my iPhone, now needs to be edited and up linked.  Dinner is spaghetti and meat sauce. We watch the video clips I shot before dinner and laughed at the antics of our two young circus performers. 

My issue now is to find the time to write the blog, edit the images and videos, tape the dialogue for the Podcasts, and get the website moving. I need to generate enough content to make the KidsOnBoats worth someone spending time on. The dream is there, as is the plan . . .now, comes execution. That’s the hard part for me, the hard work of work. Dreaming comes so easy. I can see the future, or my vision of it, but the valleys of despair when one has lost the vision, the resulting depression, beating myself up about not working . . . I go through these dark days, longing for a time when the fire in the belly will return to get me working again. The passion always does come back, the sun comes out, the rain ends, and I’m charging along, getting things done. Go to Chapter III - The Vineyard Welcome.htmlhttp://www3.sympatico.ca/hehilgen/vax498.htmChapter_3_-_The_Vineyard.htmlshapeimage_2_link_0shapeimage_2_link_1shapeimage_2_link_2

The  Adventure Begins

Searcher, our Bowman 57 ketch, at the Boat Club dock in our homeport of Rockport Harbor, Maine, just prior top leaving on September 20, 2009.  The kids’ kayaks are on deck, the boat is fueled and watered and ready to go . . . but the harbor looks almost too good to leave.