[The Montana Professor 15.2, Spring 2005 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]
Laurence H. Berger
Psychology (Emeritus)
UM-Missoula
We purchased our boat, Free Spirit, a 37-foot Prout Snowgoose sailing catamaran, in Florida. To avoid paying Florida sales tax we flew to Florida over the semester break to move the boat to Dataw Island, South Carolina, where Suzann had found both no sales tax and a marina that could store the boat on the hard (dry land) until my contract was finished. The trip up the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) was uneventful except for a chance meeting in Vero Beach with the boat's original owner.
We reached Dataw Island, found the marina, and after surmounting a few small problems we got the boat safely out of the water and onto the hard. There she stayed until we could return after retiring on June 30, 1993. On July 1, 1993, we were on the road with our little 60 horsepower diesel pickup loaded to the gills and pulling a loaded trailer. We celebrated that night at Chico Hot Springs where some dear friends had ordered some surprise champagne for our celebration. From there we zig-zagged our way across the country to Dataw Island.
As with the typical boat or house there were things to be done by a new owner. We were fortunate enough to be invited by some friends we had made during our first visit to Dataw Island to stay with them until Free Spirit was habitable. There were the standard things to be done, such as painting the bottom with anti-fouling paint. There were non-standard thing we needed to do, as well. We had to remove all the headliner from the inside, clean the underlying fiberglass, and then cover it with insulation and a new headliner. That turned out to be a huge job, made no easier by the hot, humid August weather. We also had a large framework fabricated out of aluminum to fit across the stern to carry solar cells, a wind generator, and a dinghy. Then, of course, we had to mount the solar cells and generator and integrate them into the existing electrical system. We had new canvas work done, too. The cockpit area was covered by a bimini (canvas roof) and could be enclosed by a windshield and clear plastic walls. Eventually Free Spirit was ready to begin cruising. There were things still to be completed, but if we were to wait for the boat to be perfect, we would never leave the dock.
After we left Dataw Island we headed south down the ICW to Fort Lauderdale, Florida, where there was the national meeting of the Seven Seas Cruising Association in November. We thought that it would be a good chance to learn more and to meet cruisers. It was not, but it served the purpose of providing an incentive to begin the transition from the preparation process to the cruising process. That transition is never really completed. There is always something to be prepared or repaired or improved. We found that the balance shifted from the preparation to the cruising mode gradually, and after the first year it was essentially cruising.
Part of the transition had nothing to do with sailing or cruising or boating in any way. All through being a student and a faculty member there is instilled a need to set one's own goals and meet them. I found the most difficult thing to learn about retirement is that not only is that not necessary, it is contrary to a pleasant retirement. It took some time to be comfortable with taking an afternoon or day or week off and just go sailing for the pleasure of it while there was still work to be done. It is the rare thing that needs to be done immediately. In a store in Hope Town, Abacos, Bahamas, I came across a sign that summed it up nicely: "A day not wasted is a day wasted."
Gradually we spent less time tending to the boat and more time sailing, exploring, socializing, and wasting time according to the whim de jour. We knocked around eastern Florida, then crossed over to the west coast of Florida through the Okeechobee Waterway and anchored in Fort Myers Beach.
Our first year on the boat involved a lot of work, and we had more than our share of troubles. In Fort Myers Beach we had our first major problem. While out for a daysail with some new friends, a small fitting in the masthead broke from metal fatigue, with the result that our mast came down and broke in half. We were actually rather lucky in that it broke there rather than off some isolated island. About two hundred yards from where we had anchored was a boatyard that was run by a man who had been a captain for Ted Turner on his racing boats. He knew all there was to know about replacing broken masts. It took a long time to get the new French mast in, but when it came it was half again as strong as the old one, and all the rigging was replaced with new, stronger fittings. By the Forth of July we were ready to cruise again.
We sailed the Florida Keys and the Atlantic Coast until November when we rendezvoused with some new friends cruising in a boat named Suolca. We had discovered that we all wanted to cruise in the Bahamas and that we got along very well together, so we decided to buddy-boat. In early December we made the passage to Bimini, Bahamas. After a few weeks there we decided to go to some of the other Bahamian Islands. On our way to the Abacos islands we anchored overnight at Gun Cay. Unfortunately, and to the surprise of the weather guessers, overnight some lows converged and a hurricane formed over us. It was un-named because they are not given names after November, but the magazine Ocean Navigator ran an article the next summer about our winter hurricane.
Without going into detail, that storm broke the rodes (chains) on all four of our main anchors, and we lost our rudders and our sail drive. We found ourselves unable to steer, and although the diesel engine would work, we had no propeller. The wind was blowing us obliquely toward the coral shore of Gun Cay. By the time the last anchor rode had parted, I had figured out a way that I could use the jib sail in an attempt to keep us from having the boat eaten by the coral shore. We feared we were going to lose the boat, but the sail was able to move the boat away from the wind direction enough that we were not blown onto the lee shore. But that left us adrift in the Atlantic.
We had VHF radio communication with other stations and we arranged for the Coast Guard to tow us to Cat Cay late the next afternoon (which happened to be Suzann's birthday) where we used our last small anchor. The following day a tow boat from Miami was to come and tow us back to the States, but the storm continued and was too strong for them to come for us. Instead, the Coast Guard sent a helicopter to take us off the boat and fly us to Florida. When the storm abated a few days later, the tow boat did tow Free Spirit to a Fort Lauderdale boatyard where we could repair her.
While we were adrift, Suolca had been blown ashore on the only small sandy beach on the coral shore of Gun Cay. They were towed back to the same boatyard we used.
Suzann had a cousin in Fort Lauderdale whom we had visited whenever we passed through. He and his wife picked us up at the airport and took us in. We stayed with them until Free Spirit was habitable again, a matter of weeks. The inside of the boat had been soaked with sea water and it looked as though a giant had picked it up, turned it upside down and shaken it. But we were lucky. Other boats had been sunk by the storm and some damaged beyond repair. Suolca, we, and a third storm-damaged boat got together, formed a friendly alliance, and rented a car, which we used for practical purposes and recreational escape. The damage repair was slow, but it progressed. Our tribulations were not over, though.
We were recklessly tied up at the dock when a new 92-foot boat ran into us. It had just been launched by the boatyard on the opposite side of the New River. It had a malfunction that caused the pilot to lose control and it tried to mash Free Spirit against the concrete bulwark. That added more damage to the storm damage.
It wasn't until Memorial Day that the combined damage was repaired and we were able to resume cruising. The year had been a difficult one, but it had also had enough pleasant and delightful times that we were interested in continuing the adventure. We sailed down to the Florida Keys and waited for Suolca once again to head for the Bahamas. We crossed the Gulf Stream and anchored off Chub Cay, Bahamas, just in time for the local Fourth of July celebration. It was the beginning of our cruising uninterrupted by major troubles.
A few words about the cruising life in general may be appropriate here. Cruising is not just a means of traveling, it is a change in lifestyle and community characteristics. It is a more elemental existence in which the rhythms are not set by the clock, but by the states of nature. That was a transition difficult to make because all my life the rhythms had been set by clocks, and that training and habit pattern was not easily discarded.
A similar aspect is appreciating the relationship between the cost of a thing and its value. For example, the value of potable water is great but the cost had always been cheap. The cost of a gallon was now running our desalinator for an hour. The cost of running the desalinator was considerable in terms of generating the electricity required to run it. Consequently, we had to be frugal in conserving our water, as opposed to the way we were used to squandering it.
Being a tourist while cruising has few time restrictions. If we liked a place, we stayed longer. If we didn't, we moved on. Either way there is an unhurried pace that allowed lingering to explore and get a feeling for the place, the culture, and the people.
The cruising community is an easy one in which to socialize. Of the likely reasons, two stand out. First, it is a self-selected population. Those with poor social skills cannot last on a small boat. There are many who find that when their lives are compressed onto a boat they cannot cope with the social pressures. It is not unusual for people to have to make a decision between breaking up a relationship or getting off the boat within the first six months. Those who last are typically easy to get along with. Second, living on a boat and with the wind and sea impresses cruisers with an understanding of their vulnerability, and they are particularly sensitive to the value of social cooperation. When we came back to the anchorage with the broken mast lashed to our side, we hadn't set the anchor before cruisers from other boats started coming over to help. That was typical.
In such a community strangers introducing themselves is welcomed. You know that if you go over to another boat and rap on the hull, it is likely that you will be welcomed by someone who is happy to make your acquaintance. If you make the acquaintance of someone in one anchorage, and you meet in another anchorage a year later you are greeted like an old friend. It promotes being gregarious.
The radio is used to maintain the cruising community. For example, every morning at Marsh Harbour there was a cruisers' radio network on a marine VHF channel. One cruiser would volunteer to be the net host and would direct the radio traffic. Weather reports and forecasts were given, help with problems was requested and offered, new cruisers introduced themselves, and, in general, information of interest to individuals in the cruising community was exchanged. Similar cruisers' radio networks existed in other places, including a long-range SSB network for the Caribbean. Trying to organize cruisers is like trying to herd cats, but they are paradoxically self-organizing for their mutual benefit.
Our first year of real cruising we spent in the Bahamas learning the basics of cruising. Our first cruising ground was the Abacos island group. They are the most northwestern of the Bahamas and are strung out for a hundred miles or so. The hub of the group is Greater Abaco Island. Along the Atlantic side are barrier islands and in between is the Sea of Abaco. The metropolitan and commercial center is Marsh Harbour, but there are many other small towns scattered over the islands.
Cruising in the Abacos was wonderful. The Sea of Abaco is protected water, so except for the open passes between islands the seas are gentle and the breezes perfect for sailing. Even the passes between the islands are typically pleasant sailing. There are many islands. Some of them are inhabited, many are not. When we felt like going to a beach or a reef or an anchorage we would have all to ourselves, we could get to one easily. Or we could join a herd if we wanted to socialize.
Cruiser life was centered around Marsh Harbour. It was the major anchorage and source of supplies. It had a number of marinas and more than its share of restaurants. Within a day's sail from Marsh Harbour are a number of towns that are interesting. Closest are Hope Town and Man O' War Cay. A bit farther away is Green Turtle Cay. Each one has its own ambiance, as do the smaller towns that are scattered up and down the Abacos.
The waters are clear and warm, and there are fish, conch, and lobster to be caught, or bought from Bahamian fishermen. The pattern of life cruising the Abacos is difficult to describe other than calling it relaxed. It is composed of what one would expect in an environment in which there are beaches, reefs, unexplored islands and anchorages, and other cruisers and Bahamians to get to know.
We left the Abacos and sailed south to another Bahamian island chain, the Exumas. There are over 350 islands in that chain but the main one is Great Exuma, and the major center is George Town, which is on the edge of a huge protected harbor, Elizabeth Harbour. Cruisers flock to George Town every winter for a sort of winter summer camp for adults. At the peak there are over 400 boats there, but the harbor is large and complex enough that one can choose to be off alone or packed in with other boats.
It is a self-organized camp. Certain traditions have evolved. There are volleyball games for all skill levels, and groups of those who like to walk. The season comes to a climax in the spring when there is a regatta and festival for cruisers. The work is completely volunteer. There are contests and competitions from volleyball to sand sculpture, to boat racing, to skit performances. After these festivities are over the cruisers head out. Some go north back to the States. Others head south toward the Caribbean. We have done both.
After a summer cruising the East Coast as far north as Narragansett Bay, we returned to the Bahamas, spending regatta time in George Town. This time we headed south in the spring with the intent of getting below the hurricane zone before the end of July.
Our first major destination was the Dominican Republic (DR). We sailed to Luperon, which is a small, poor town with a completely protected harbor that is fine for small boats, but not adequate for large ships. Hispanola is a beautiful island with a rich history. Just west of Luperon is the site of Columbus's first settlement, established on his second voyage. The capitol, Santo Domingo, was the first capitol in the Americas and its colonial section is preserved. When we visited we could have stayed in the same hotel that Cortez used as headquarters. We stayed in the DR for a couple of months before crossing the Mona Passage to Puerto Rico (PR).
We stayed six weeks or so in Salinas on the south coast of PR. We were waiting for some friends with whom we intended to buddy-boat into the Caribbean. While we were waiting for them to make some repairs to their boat, we explored PR by automobile. As time passed hurricane season got closer. Finally, we had to leave our friends and head south. By this time we did not have time to island-hop down the Eastern Caribbean, so we headed directly south for a three-day passage to Bonaire, which is about a hundred miles north of Venezuela.
Bonaire was a delight. The island is arid, which is a relief in the humid tropics. The island is surrounded by reefs that are all protected marine parks. Snorkeling there is like swimming in a huge marine aquarium. The fish did not mind our swimming right along with them. We stayed in Bonaire as long as we were legal, but eventually we had to leave.
We got visas and headed south to Venezuela. After clearing in at Puerto Cabello, we anchored near some wrecks of German ships that had been scuttled at the beginning of WWII and had become artificial reefs, home to an incredible number of fish. We then went north about a hundred miles to the Aves islands. The Aves are uninhabited except for a tiny, unseen Coast Guard attachment, some sometimes fishermen, and an occasional cruiser. There are a few small islands and many square miles of reefs.
We were largely self-sufficient. We generated our own electricity and desalinated sea water to drink. We had enough food for months. Our practical limitation was the amount of propane we had aboard. So we stayed in the Aves for almost two months, exploring the islands and reefs. Some of our most memorable sights came from there.
One day we slipped off the stern of the boat for a swim and found that we were in the middle of what can be described only as a complex of three-dimensional freeways of fish. There were cylinders of different sizes, with cross-sections between one and six feet, packed with fish swimming in from the open ocean. We could find no beginning or end to the freeways. I did an estimate of how many fish there may have been, and there must have been millions of them in sight.
On some evenings just after sunset there were brightly shining green patches that flowed past the boat. They were amorphous so we assumed they were colonies of some tiny bioluminescent beasts having parties.
On one of the larger islands was a booby rookery. The booby chicks are large and look remarkably like the schmoes in the L'il Abner comic strip. Early mariners used to use them as a food source.
The Aves were fascinating, but unfortunately a fitting for one of our rudders broke, so we decided to leave and go to Puerto la Cruz to have it repaired. We worked our way east along the Venezuelan coast and arrived in Puerto la Cruz just before Christmas. Many businesses shut down for a long vacation following Christmas, so we ended up spending some weeks there before we could have the repairs completed.
The rest of our cruising was spent mostly traveling up and down the Eastern Caribbean island chain. We stayed in Trinidad to have some canvas work done and to have fabricated some new pieces for the rudder system, replacing some poorly designed parts. While we were there we explored the island by automobile. The highlight was perhaps the Asa Wright Preserve which is a sanctuary for an incredible variety of birds and boasts a similar variety of plants.
Our favorite island is Grenada, an overnight passage north of Trinidad. The island is beautiful, the anchorages exceptionally pleasant, and the people delightful. They call it the Spice Island, and they do produce some wonderful spices, such as mace, real cinnamon, chocolate, and some others.
We also had wonderful times at Antigua. The island itself was not so much the attraction as was the Classic Yacht Regatta held every April. The first year there we encouraged some friends on a wooden gaff-rigged topsail schooner, Whisper, to enter their boat in the regatta. They had been thinking about it so it didn't take much urging. Both our boats left Grenada and sailed up to Antigua's Falmouth Harbour for the regatta.
Not only do classic yachts gather from distant places for the regatta, but the modern megayachts of the incredibly wealthy also gather. Walking the marina among the boats is like being in an art gallery of boats. There were even three J-class Americas Cup boats that came for the regatta.
The regatta itself was labeled a "gentleman's regatta" in which, if needed, it was all right to use your engine to make it around the course marks. We acted as crew for Whisper and it was good fun all three race days of the regatta, as well as having the feeling of being in a performance art show.
There are too many memories of our travels around the Caribbean to pass along here. A few are the unmatched fresh baguettes from a Union Island bakery, the predawn sight of the lights weaving patterns in the black from sea level up 3000 feet in the Andes to Caracas as we approached from the Aves, and the delightful family that built and ran the Carriacou Yacht Club, which had no place where a yacht could actually be accommodated.
But eventually everything comes to an end. Cruising is not the most convenient way to live. The inconveniences are easily overlooked when the rest of the cruising experiences are adventurous, new, and interesting. But after a while the beaches and the reefs begin to look a lot like one another, as do old forts and the next island museum. On top of that, Suzann was having some sciatic problems that were aggravated by boat life. We decided to head up the island chain one last time in 1998-99 and continue on back to the States. We hit most of the islands we had not visited before and said good bye to the ones we had.
Where the passages south had been largely motoring into the prevailing winds, the passages back were with the wind. We sailed almost the entire distance back, much of it under the spinnaker. Things went beautifully until we were back in the Abacos. There Mother Nature spoke.
While we were in Marsh Harbour, hurricane Dennis rolled over us. Dennis was only a Category 1 hurricane and we had ridden out Erin, another Category 1 hurricane, in Marsh Harbour a few years before. We knew what to expect, so we set our anchors and just rode it out. The eye of the hurricane passed right over us, but the only trouble we experienced was in trying to retrieve our anchors after they had buried themselves deeply during Dennis.
We had intended to head for the States after Dennis, but Dennis hung around in the Atlantic just off the East Coast and blocked our passage. While Dennis was lingering, hurricane Floyd was closing in on us. It became apparent that we would not be able to get to the States before Floyd arrived.
Floyd was a Category 4 hurricane larger than Andrew had been, and it was heading directly for the Abacos. Trying to ride out a Category 4 hurricane in Marsh Harbour would be monumentally foolish. So we sailed a bit north to Treasure Cay, where there was a more protected harbor and excellent moorings to use.
We tied Free Spirit off to two mooring blocks and sent three anchors out, as well. Then we arranged to stay ashore in a solid cement block condo at Treasure Cay resort. By the time Floyd rolled over us it had grown to Category 5 strength. The power is nothing I could describe adequately. When the eye passed over us, we along with our boating friends who were with us went out through the marina and did what we could to get the boats still in slips there ready for the other side of the hurricane.
Free Spirit came through Floyd quite well. Our anemometer had disappeared off the masthead, but the loss of a wind speed readout was trivial. Of more concern was that the rudder post on one of our rudders had been twisted apart, so we had only one rudder left to steer with. We had sailed that way before, so after Floyd had passed we headed for the States in the typically gorgeous weather that surrounds a hurricane.
We arrived in Fort Lauderdale in time for hurricane Irene, another Category 1, to roll over us. By that time we had Free Spirit up on the hard in the boatyard for rudder repair and getting her ready to sell. We don't know what the record is, but to see the eyes of three hurricanes within a six week period can't be too far off.
We sold Free Spirit in early 2000, and zig-zagged our way across the country again in an RV, checking out places we hadn't seen and looking at potential locations for settling down. We ended up in Port Townsend, WA, which is a small Victorian seaport on the very northeastern tip of the Olympic Peninsula.
We are thankful that we took the gamble and went cruising. We had wonderful times and a treasure trove of memories from them. We made many enjoyable acquaintances and quite a few who will be lifelong friends. After six years, it was time to quit cruising. When we started we said we would cruise for as long as we wanted to. We did.
[The Montana Professor 15.2, Spring 2005 <http://mtprof.msun.edu>]