There and Back Again (and Again, and Again)

I feel like I have whiplash from so many turn-arounds. We’re going. We’re not going. We’re selling the boat. We’re not selling. We hate sailing; the heat, the flies, the rocking, the puking. We love sailing; the breezes, the sunsets, the swimming, the relaxing. When it’s good, it’s very very good. When it’s bad it’s horrid.

Mind you, Rick and I have rarely been in the same place at the same time about all of this. When he’s ready to cash in his chips and sell the whole bloody lot, I am nostalgically mourning the loss of our vacation home. When Rick comes around to remembering all the wonderful times we’ve had on the boat, I am remembering how God-awful sick I was on that last passage. I tell Rick that I can never, ever go through that again, but then I weep all the way back to Baltimore. 

Rick is in a transition period, facing retirement and trying to figure out what he wants to do with his remaining time on earth. He realizes that he hasn’t felt the old spark of excitement and joy about sailing for quite awhile, and the immense amount of work and expense involved in owning a boat is no longer offset by the small amount of pleasure he gains from actually spending time on the boat. Waning interest and an aging body are certainly arguments for giving up this punishing hobby, and perhaps adopting or developing some new ones. 

But ending his thirty year relationship with sailing means giving up a huge part of himself that he may not be quite ready for. Paradoxically, freeing oneself from the responsibility of boat ownership will mean the end of the freedom he feels being out on the open water, in a self contained vessel, far from the responsibilities at home.

By the time we’ve made our retreat back to Baltimore, Rick has had some second thoughts. He loves this boat, and the idea that we are at the end of our time on it is just inconceivable. Everywhere he looks he sees the beauty of the design, the gorgeous teak, the uniqueness of this particular craft. Of course, he also sees alterations he has made, parts of himself now part of the boat. The time to give it all up may be nearing, but perhaps it could wait another year or two? We had both worked hard getting the boat ready, loading on clothes and provisioning for a four month trip. There must be a way to salvage our dream.

First, we needed to attend to some practical matters. Back on anchor in Cape May after that aborted Block Island attempt, Rick did dive overboard to check the drive shaft, and see if he could find the origin of that unwelcome clicking sound. To his great relief, he determined that the clicking is coming from the new line cutter he had installed this spring, and although annoying, the noise is perfectly innocent. He also checked the drive shaft, and although not perfect, he thinks it will be okay for this season. Once back at home, Rick was able to fix the head, along with a few other pesky issues, and we  got a professional to add some coolant to our fridge system.

But wait, what about my seasickness? Well… 

I discovered that the Zofran I was relying on to stave off nausea had expired. As in, WAY expired, FIVE years ago. D’oh! I have new stuff onboard, I was just too cheap to move on to the fresh pills when I still had old ones to use up. A legacy of my mother, I’m afraid. Anyway, I also recognized that, much as I dislike the effects of the scopolamine patches, I like seasickness even less, and I cannot allow myself to be in that vulnerable of a position again. I convinced Rick that if we took a more gentle passage to Block, I would wear a patch and use up-to-date Zofran and be fine.

Rick does some careful study of the forecasts, and it looks like we have a decent chance of a good weather window for an offshore trip to Block Island in a couple of days. We would need to leave now to get to Cape May, refuel, and then take off in the early morning. 

We should have known this was a bad idea; it would mean four straight days of sailing with very little sleep for Rick. This is a plan we wouldn’t have attempted when we were much younger, let alone now with Rick pushing seventy. Dreams are powerful things.

We say goodbye to our son Dewey (again), and head out. Our indecisiveness is clearly in evidence though, because over the next three days, we change our minds several times, keeping Dewey abreast of all the latest developments. The crazy off-shore-to-Block plan gets nixed and we head for home, only to decide on a slower, safer plan half way there and we turn around once more. 

The irony of all of this, is that the last two days were glorious, wonderful, perfectly sweet sails. With no medication at all, I had not a touch of seasickness, finally having acclimated to life on a moving vessel. Rick found his love of sailing ignited once more, and we both enjoyed a naked swim once on anchor. The birds, the breeze, the light, all reminders of what we love about cruising. 

(Don't worry, that's his THUMB)

At long last, the decision gets made for us by outside forces. Anchored again in the Bohemia River, Rick investigates the drive shaft more thoroughly, and this time he is not so optimistic about its condition. A set screw is missing, a sign that Rick’s earlier fix of the cutlas bearing has failed. Everything still works, for the moment, but a thousand mile trip to Maine and back would put the engine at grave risk. The boat needs to be hauled, and then professionally worked on. Our mission is officially aborted.

Dewey picks up the phone and says, “Let me guess. You’ve changed your minds again and you’re coming home!”

So that’s the end of this summer’s adventure. We’ll be driving to Maine to see our family. We might still do an extended trip around the Chesapeake in the fall. And we’re not selling the boat, at least for now. 

But if you’d like to make an offer…