Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did.  So throw off the bowlines.  Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.                                                                                                                                                                      -MARK TWAIN

November 12, 2017  

    At 8:30am the frigid November chill was certainly about, but it was not going to immediately penetrate the three additional layers of clothing that lay beneath the outer shell of foul weather gear we were each wearing.

Setting off from Back Creek this morning was another one of those big victory with a small step moments.  A significant minor achievement in an ongoing saga of firsts.

When we arrived in Deale 149 days ago we had already been owners of a sailboat for four whole days. The transfer of title had finalized just before we jumped aboard our third Amtrak train in as many months with our designated 500 pounds of stuff in tow.

We moved aboard Exit and spent the next six weeks living aboard her on the hard at Herrington Harbor North Marina.  It was only three months ago that we launched her and only about ten weeks ago that we were given the green light by our insurance company to sail without supervision.  For the better part of two months we have lived at anchor, learning to sail and maintain Exit.

She is our home.  She is our means of travel and exploration.

In some ways, Exit represents all the maintenance, frustration, sanctuary, and pride of ownership that every homeowner experiences.  In other ways, Exit represents the absolute freedom to travel and explore… almost the antithesis of a home.

Nav table, salon & galley

The bar is open

Movie night

The helmsperson’s perspective

Increasingly, Exit represents an almost living organism.  A largely self-sufficient entity with its own life support systems that, if properly cared for and maintained, can sustain our own existence for indefinate periods of time.

In such a short span of time, we have learned immense amounts about sailing in general, our boat in particular, and as always, about ourselves and each other.

Just when we think we’ve got control, it all goes to shit.  Just when we think it’s all going to shit, we pull it together as a team.  Though we have barely scratched the surface, every day we feel like we have a better grasp of things; only time will give us the experience and wisdom that hopefully follows.

We have already met a long list of people who have befriended us, offered advice and consultation, volunteered their time, assistance or even possessions, and supported our efforts.

We have sailed under the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and into the Baltimore Harbor.  We have completed overnight passages.  We have sat at anchor safely in gale conditions.  I would like to think that we have generally proven that we can maintain a certain grace under pressure.

We have watched the seasons change from summer to fall for the first time in years and come to more fully appreciate the intricate beauty of the amazing transformation of colors.  We have gained a never-before held interest in bird watching (and now understand why there was a bird watching book already aboard).

Camera birdhouse

Autumn deer

Pelicans rock!

We have had the opportunity to set up home at random locations off the beaten path, not because a hotel has vacancy or a camping site exists, but because there is a water depth of more than three and a half feet and we decided to stop.

All very small steps… and we haven’t even left the Chesapeake Bay yet!

Yet, at the same time, as we pass by Dena and James standing on deck of Nomad, waving us off as we depart Back Creek, we can’t help but feel an indescribable sense of accomplishment to finally be undertaking our first sailing journey that isn’t part of a predetermined round-trip.

November 6, 2017 

    Though we have been wearing boardies more often than not since we arrived in Maryland almost three months ago, that time has now passed.  Within the course of a week, what still seemed more like summer days have given way to the bone chilling reality that we are quickly running out of time; fall is not only here but almost over… winter is definitely bearing down on us with a vengeance.

We could spend all winter doing tasks and projects here in the bay; but we bought a boat to go sailing and traveling and are very cognizant of not getting bogged down in the vicious cycle of never getting going because there is still something that needs to be done.  The only thing that we have vowed to get sorted out before starting south is the refrigeration.

“AC/DC”

Electrical power aboard a boat is both a rather simple and rather complex issue simultaneously.

The simple issue is no different than power on land – everything that plugs in has to get juice from somewhere. For boats that spend every night tied up at dock this is not a problem, as the boat’s batteries can be plugged in to shore power for recharging.

When a boat spends its nights at anchor, as is the norm for liveaboard cruisers, this becomes much more complicated. Without being attached to civilization’s power grid, and essentially infinite amounts of electricity, a boat must supply its own power. There has to be a power source for not only everything on the boat, but also a means to store, recharge and/or generate that power.

Most equipment aboard runs off a 12 volt system (just like a car). The challenge with 12 volt batteries are providing adequate long term current for equipment with a higher energy consumption.

Exit has two independent power banks. Two 100 amp batteries dedicated only to running the engine starter and windlass, and six separate 100 amp house batteries tied together to power all the boat systems (600 total amp-hours of rated power).

Every time we run the Perkins diesel engine it charges the 12 volt house batteries. However, unless we are underway, our energy consumption far outweighs our need for engine propulsion, leaving us with the less than ideal situation of burning diesel to run an engine not needed to get us somewhere but, rather, just to charge our batteries.

The obvious solution, and high on our priority list, is installing solar panels to charge the batteries, thereby eliminating the need for running the engine… but that’ll have to be another blog entry.

The other option for power is a generator. The downside of a generator is it’s another noisy engine slurping fossil fuels. The upside is it gives access to off-shore AC power, making it possible to power such luxuries as microwave ovens, toasters, coffee makers, air conditioners, big screen TVs, refrigerators, freezers, washing machines, and even scuba compressors (woohoo!!!). Our diesel generator is particularly French in that it supplies 230V/50Hz power.

The only things on Exit that run off of 230 volt are the refrigeration/freezer charging (which is required every day), the water-maker (which hasn’t been in service for over ten years), and the tiny washing machine (which also hasn’t been used for over a decade)… which means we run the generator only to charge the refrigerator/freezer or to charge the house batteries. Eventually, we hope the washing machine will disappear off the side of the boat in a possible maritime mishap and be replaced by a scuba compressor… but that’ll have to be another blog entry.

So the ongoing dilemma is having to run the generator every day. Its sole purpose is keeping our fridge and freezer cold – using diesel fuel and requiring us to be aboard to manually switch things on and off.

Our solution… switch the refrigeration system to 12V which frees us from having to run the generator. It’ll cost to make the switch, and in the immediate future we’ll still have to run either the genset or the engine to recharge the house batteries; but it’s a step in the right direction and sets the stage for the future solar upgrade.

Finally, it looks like, as has been the case so often since we arrived, its all about sorting and waiting, and sorting and waiting, and then at the eleventh hour… boom… it all slips into place just under the wire.

Bryan, with Annapolis Cruiseair (who we brought aboard for a consultation a month ago), is coming tomorrow to install the new system.  I have 24 hours to get the old one removed.  Once again, a balance of function, budget, degree of necessity, logistics, and scheduling options come together in a swirling mass, and a plan emerges…

October 13, 2017

    The busy first week of October had left us feeling slightly smarter, though quite exhausted and socially drained.

The entire week before the boat show we watched boat after boat arrive – big, new catamarans; luxurious multi-million dollar power boats; salty wooden double-enders; super shiny production sailboats whose refrigerators held more than their holding tanks.  Boat traffic in the bay became ridiculous.  Even our little anchorage all the way up Back Creek which we had largely to ourselves for weeks (already too tight to put out a comfortable scope of anchor chain) now was being shared with three other boats!

Every excursion through Back Creek was a never-ending slalom around boats which had anchored in the channel for the show.

When we visited Dena and James on S/V Nomad, they recounted to us how one of the sailboats that had anchored very near to the slip they were in had put out an inadequate scope of chain and dragged their anchor when the wind picked up, crashing into one of the pilings that Dena and James’ boat was tied to!  Apparently it took something like an hour for the older couple to sort out how to get off the post without smashing into Dena and James.

In turn, we recounted to them how a couple had, just the day before, anchored their sailboat in way too close proximity to us (despite having other equally good options a bit farther away) and were subsequently given a citation by the Harbormaster for anchoring too close to a nearby dock – anchoring boats are supposed to maintain a 75 foot distance from marina slips and private property.  They moved the boat; but, much to our shock and dismay, basically anchored just as close on the opposite side!

As Dena and James went on to describe the yacht as displaying a Canadian hailing port and having a very protective German Shepherd aboard, Kris and I realized simultaneously that this was exactly the same couple who was anchored next to us!  We spent the rest of the evening nervous about Exit being dragged down on by some crazy Canadian couple’s sailboat, but were relieved to find no such thing had happened when we returned in our dinghy later that night.

Nonetheless, we decided it was time to pull up anchor and get the Hell out of Dodge.   Though the 2017 Annapolis Sailboat Show had ended, the 2017 Annapolis Power Boat Show was in full swing, gearing up to begin in a couple of days.   There were undoubtably other nearby places on the Chesapeake that offered a lot more water with a lot fewer boats. 

With only about a month left before we needed to be getting underway on a southern heading (more than one person has commented that we are already a week or two behind the crowd… ok with us… and we had better get prepared to be cold if we leave much later… not so ok), we are desperately trying to get our refrigeration system sorted out by switching it over to 12 volt which also requires getting solar figured out and installed as well, before we set off.

This requires us to stay in fairly close proximity to Annapolis, where the refrigeration guy we’re working with is located, in case we can get everything sorted and on the schedule.

So, for now, though we can’t go far, we have a wide open body of water to explore.  On a loose leash… and a long anchor chain!

October 4, 2017 

Marinas are strange organisms.  Every one is unique in certain ways while, at the same time, exactly like the last one you visited.  That’s speaking from the vast experience of both marinas I’ve been in.

No doubt, the late night laundry option and endless supply of hot shower water are two decadent guilty pleasures we are very keen on.  However, there are also a wide range of characters every marina seems to have in play.

They range from very pleasant passerby conversations… like the guy walking his golden retriever who handed us a business card and declared, “I’m an engineer.  I know how things are built.  And you, my friends, have a brick shithouse that’ll go anywhere!”…

… to the sheer entertainment and sometimes painful witnessing of humans interacting with each other – for example, while having pizza in the cockpit with my parents as an expensive, production line 40 foot Bennetau comes around the corner trying to get into its slip, bow thrusters whining away, husband at the wheel and wife at the bow holding a dock line, both wearing what looks to be a very expensive set of headset radios (meant to reduce the ineffective yelling that often occurs between the cockpit and bow during a docking or anchoring maneuver), only to hear the husband scream at the top of his lungs from the cockpit to his wife standing at the bow, “Turn on your fucking headset!”

Always an adventure… rarely a dull moment.

But the marina served its purpose and my folks were able to come aboard to visit our new home.  We even managed (by we I really mean Kris) to navigate out of the marina, get my parents out for their first sail ever to visit St. Thomas Lighthouse and sail beneath the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and return unscathed to tie up again at the clearly posted No Docking inner wall of the marina.

Three things were abundantly reinforced during my parent’s visit:

1.   Whenever possible, let Kris do the close quarters maneuvering.
2.   I couldn’t ask for two parents who are more supportive, in all aspects of every seemingly crazy endeavor we undertake.
3.   Never ride in a rental car my Dad is driving!

September 29, 2017

    The delivery cancelation freed us up for the rest of the month.  Now we could spend an additional week sailing.  First to nearby St. Michaels, then back across the Bay and under the Chesapeake Bridge to the Magothy River for a brief layover at anchor nestled between Dobbins Island and Little Dutch Island, followed by what would most likely be a beat against the wind up to Baltimore.  Baltimore would mark both our furthest point north to date as well as our first endeavor to sail into the port of a major city, which sounded excitingly intimidating.  On the charts, it looked like a frightening collage of markers and buoys.

Wind was hit and miss throughout the week but the overall weather was certainly with us.  For being the end of September, I think we have been lucky to experience autumn days that seem more reminiscent of the summer than anticipating the upcoming winter.  Surprisingly few trees along the shore have begun to change color; it seems to be a much slower process here.  Maybe it’s just been a long a long time since we saw that entire process happen…fall of 2008, just before we left the Pacific Northwest, would have been the last time we saw the trees change color from beginning to end… it certainly didn’t happen in Borneo!  Or maybe we just didn’t slow down enough and take the time to really appreciate the whole process until now.

Photo taken on Chesapeake by S/V Gerty

After getting our first taste of simply meandering around under sail and dropping anchor for a day… or two… or three… wherever the impulse suited us, no interaction with other people outside of the occasional exchange of a wave of the hand and a smile, we emerged from the isolated serenity and solitude of the Wye and Magothy Rivers and sailed north for our first rendezvous with a big city.

Making 7.8 knots of speed

Approaching Baltimore

On the chart, Baltimore Harbor (or apparently Bal’more as many Bal’moreans prefer) appeared to be a confusing and treacherous navigational maze of markers, buoys, and shipping lanes… certain disaster for the unfamiliar sailor.  In actuality, sailing under the Baltimore Bridge (I’m not sure when the rush of sailing under a bridge wears off but I hope not too soon) and into the harbor turned out to be a piece of cake.  We dropped the sails and motored past gargantuan rusty cargo ships tied up alongside the docks and $100+ per night marinas housing floating fields of fiberglass.

With a quick reference to the Waterway Guide to the Chesapeake (a gift from Dena and James, who also happen to be contributing editors) and a set of coordinates texted from Dena, we anchored between two marinas.  As a bonus, we were only about 100 meters from the public dock.

“Private Dock – No Exit” 

     We had already been joking much earlier about taking it a bit personally when residents of these fine communities we were visiting posted signs telling us, by name no less (!), to stay off their dock!
     Understandably, people with private docks and those paying for slips don’t want just anyone using their property (most people would get fairly irate if a random motorist parked in their driveway). Nonetheless, that situation sometimes creates quite a challenge for the liveaboard sailor who relies on a dinghy for any shore excursions.
     In a remote location, landing ashore by dinghy may place you on a romantic and picture perfect mile long stretch of white sand beach… but in a city in the U.S. it generally places you in someone’s back yard.
     Annapolis has adopted a very boater friendly approach by constructing public docks at the end of every street which provide an easy shore access and location to safely tie off your dinghy. Other places have fewer public docks to access or none at all, sometimes resulting in a stealth deployment dinghy maneuver requiring a quick one person drop-off or pickup without tying off on a dock posted with a No Trespassing sign… tricksy.

We really wanted to sail all the way to New York City – we could think of nothing more iconic than sailing under the Brooklyn Bridge and past the Statue of Liberty; but we’ve come to accept that it’s just not in the cards this year.  Leaving any earlier wasn’t feasible (even now I think we’re marginal in our capability to make a coastal run than takes us at all offshore) and now, the winds are starting to turn consistently unfavorable to sail that course.

So Baltimore it is.  In fact, I would imagine that Baltimore is the first place that would come to mind for most people who couldn’t get to New York but were looking for a close second… hmmm.  When Kris told our good friend Ewan (from Wales working at Scuba Junkie Komodo) that we were sailing to Baltimore, Ewan replied “Oh ya, I watch The Wire… that’s like the murder capital of the world!”

But that’s a bum wrap for Baltimore.  We had no attempts made on our lives during our entire dinghy ride around the inner harbor (possibly the homicidal portion of Baltimore’s population prefers to work ashore) and I thought the mile and a half walk from the community dock to Sip and Bite (a recommended diner we were told was a mandatory stop) was a rather pleasant affair along a very clean boardwalk.  I’m sure other sections of Baltimore are not as prudent to visit.

The one land excursion was quite enough for me; though Kris, who seems to get a bit more stir crazy if she doesn’t get off the boat regularly, managed to do a much more respectable walkabout around the harbor.

Our only encounter with the surlier side of Baltimore happened from the vantage point of our own deck, when one of the many dockside fishermen casting a line into the water accidentally made an errant cast that got tangled in a line tying the dinghy to the sailboat next to us.  The quite strange guy on the boat had a quite normal response of what the fuck?  Though he actually spent about fifteen minutes untangling the line, the verbal exchange back and forth left for some tension in the air… no guns… and about 100 feet of water between them… no big drama.

After a few days, it was time to pull up anchor and head back for the Magothy River en route to Annapolis to rendezvous with my folks.  My only complaint with Baltimore was the amount of garbage that came up on the anchor chain!

It was like we were back in Semporna again, dredging the bottom of the channel… slimy plastic bags, garbage and rotting shirts.  Only now, that trash was stuck to our chain and anchor.

Hundreds of years of serious industrial use had not been kind to the bay;  I could not imagine eating one of the many fish that people along the dock and boardwalk were constantly reeling in.

Also embedded was the dreaded Chesapeake mud we are becoming so familiar with.

Now, granted we have very limited experience to draw conclusions from, but I wanna go on record as saying I believe the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay is made up of some pretty unique material!  Sandy, silty, clay ranging in color from deep gray to black – with a consistency somewhere between baby shit and wet cement – is the very composition which seems to give us an absolutely solid anchor hold every time… but its also the same stuff that voraciously sticks to the chain and anchor!   If we were in the tropics, the sand would simply fall off the chain and anchor being brought up, but here they emerge from the water covered with an incessant coat of mucky sludge.  Once on the deck, or worse yet in the chain locker, the mud gets everywhere.  On your hands, it seems more like grease than dirt.

We are fortunate enough to have an electric windlass (to deploy and pull up the anchor chain) as well as a saltwater deck wash system (a pump that brilliantly routes saltwater from outside the boat to hoses both at the bow and stern).  I’m going to be the first to say that if that makes us less salty or bigger sellouts – then I accept that label wholeheartedly.  Cause I’ve watched the guy who hoisted the chain by hand and washed it off a bucket at a time… and I wouldn’t trade places with him for a minute.  He gets, and deserves, all the credit that can be heaped on him, but I’ll still take the windlass and hose any day!”

So, after the relatively simple (thanks to the electric windlass and deck wash hose I couldn’t imagine being without) though still arduous task (in that, compared to other locations, is was pretty damn disgusting from a garbage standpoint) of raising and de-sludging the chain and anchor, we were back underway, headed south to the now-familiar overnight anchorage behind Dobbins Island at Magothy, and on to civilization – Annapolis to meet my folks and then attend a boat show!