“Always remember, it’s simply not an adventure worth telling if there aren’t any dragons.” Sarah Ban Breathnach
The first dragon appeared to us in the form of an impending storm forging down the Gulf Stream, the route we were planning to sail our newly purchased Taswell 43 from Brunswick, Georgia to New Bern, North Carolina. The Gulf Stream is one of the strongest known currents. It originates in the Gulf of Mexico, carries a strong flow of 80 degree ocean water along the East Coast, up to the Grand Banks of Newfoundland, Canada. It has a depth of about a mile and a breadth of 50 miles ranging to several hundred. The average speed of the Gulf Stream is around 4 miles per hour as it transports 4 billion cubic feet of water per second, an amount greater than all of the world’s rivers combined. Sailing up the Gulf Stream can hasten a journey by days, utilizing this swift current. The downfall is that if the winds are blowing south, colliding with the tremendous flow of water heading north in the relatively shallow channel, dangerous waves form that can batter even the sturdiest vessel. These were not conditions we wanted to encounter on our very first voyage aboard our new boat.
Dan and I were on cloud nine. The boat of our dreams had become a reality and in a whirlwind of paperwork, exchange of money, and multitude of signed forms, the boat was finally ours. We had been aboard her twice, our first encounter when we met her, and on our one-day survey and sea trial. We had planned on flying down about a week and a half after purchase and spending a long weekend sailing her to New Bern for the winter. The seven day forecast abruptly changed our plans when we learned a cold front coming through Saturday night would usher in 20 to 30 knot winds heading directly opposite the Gulf Stream.
Weather windows are an extremely important consideration in planning any sailing trip. Keeping oneself informed about weather routing and possible scenarios that can occur is one of the key elements to safe sailing. As our route took us into the Gulf Stream, we had to be mindful of the conditions that could develop in that environment. For instance, when the cold front developed, sending the direction of the wind against the direction of the current, the height of the waves could double. Meanwhile, the cold air mass, when it encounters the warm Gulf Stream can also cause increased wind gusts. The predicted 20 to 30 knot winds could easily increase to 50 knot gusts. Needless to say, we immediately made plans to avoid these conditions. The previous owner even called us after hearing the weather report for Saturday. He strongly cautioned us not to be in the Gulf Stream Saturday after midnight and encouraged us to boost our departure date up a few days. Our leisurely plans to sail over a long holiday weekend were abruptly hastened to an immediate departure in the next 3 days. We now needed to reach our destination of New Bern by no later than Saturday at midnight. Luckily, we were still in time to make an adequate weather window if we acted immediately. Dan jumped on the internet and secured new plane tickets as we scrambled to find a couple of able and willing people to help us crew on such short notice.
Our nephew, Ryan, was scheduled to help us sail the boat and was fortunately able to make the adjusted time frame. Although Ryan didn’t have much sailing experience, he was strong, energetic, and up for any adventure. Our other potential crew members could not make our new schedule. Dan and I both knew an extra set of hands could come in handy in the case of adversity, and having never sailed our new boat, we felt it was important to secure some experienced help. As I informed my parents of the change of plans, my mother suggested a sailing retiree she knew from New Bern who might be willing to join us. She provided me with his phone number. As we were packing the night before our flight, I made the call to a man I had never met to inquire if he might be willing to crew. Al was a seasoned sailor who had logged many miles in the open ocean and had made the Gulf Stream passage several times. It was with slight apprehension that I phoned a total stranger on the eve before our trip, asking him to sail with us for 3 days, with only 12 hour’s notice. Awkwardly, I explained our situation and was relieved when this totall stranger signed on to accompany us.
We had a restless night’s sleep on the eve of our departure. Dan had planned on making a trip to the Dove to pick charts and binoculars that would come in handy. Our expedited departure required him to make the 3 hour round trip before leaving for work the next morning. Getting up at the crack of dawn, he loaded his bag into the car and took off with a breakfast sandwich and a cup of tea. Our plans were to meet at the airport at 4:00 that afternoon for our flight to Charleston where we would meet up with our two crew members. Little did we know we would encounter our next dragon before even arriving at the boat!
It seems as if every time Dan and I get on a plane, it is met with some type of delay. This flight was no exception. Dan checked the bag with our essential sailing equipment and dropped the car off at the parking lot. Meanwhile, I hefted our carry-ons through security and down the extremely long walk to what seemed like the absolute farthest gait. In reality, it was. Our flight was taking off from the international terminal instead of the usual domestic terminal where we checked in. By the time Dan made it back and through security, I was waiting nervously at the gate as the plane had already begun the boarding process. I breathed a huge sign of relief as he finally appeared, only minutes to spare. In blissful ignorance, we hugged, boarded, and made our way to our seats. We breathed a sigh of relief as we settled in, happy with our accomplishments thus far, and high-fived to the fact we were finally on our way to pick up our new boat. We held hands as we taxied to the runway only to get the inevitable speech from our captain, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are in the queue for take-off, but we are experiencing some delays. We will make every attempt to make up that time en route.” The delay turned out to be an hour. Dan and I exchanged knowing looks when we finally took off. We would only have minutes to make our connecting flight. We both worried about our sailing bag making the jump. Our flight attendant assured us there would be time for the luggage to transfer. She pointed out that it was usually quicker for bags to make the transfer because the planes are sitting right next to each other at the terminals.
The second leg of our flight from Charlotte to Charleston was a much smaller plane. As it usually happens, these smaller planes are at an entirely different terminal from the jumbo jests, which was in fact the case. Knowing we had no control over the checked bag, our priority was to make the next flight. Once the doors to our plane opened we took off like OJ Simpson to make our next gate. I kept up Dan’s pace for a few hundred yards, but the weight of my carry-on soon had me winded. My heart was pounding in my chest and I was reduced to walking. Dan immediately grabbed all the bags and sent me ahead at a dead sprint to try and get my foot in the door before it closed. Poor Dan lugged the two carry-ons plus his back pack like a loaded down pack mule being spurred on by a frantic prospector. At a dead run, I literally swam through the crowds of people, parting them like the ocean waters. Dan quickly fell behind. On the moving walkways, I leapt over people’s bags and shouted warnings as I dashed by. Dan, on the other extreme, was unable to squeeze by anyone with all the luggage he was toting and fell even further behind. I was breathless when our gate finally materialized, but greatly relieved to see a line of people still boarding. As I eased into the back of the line, it was with horror that I read the marquee. It said, “Chattanooga”. Our flight had been moved 5 gates down and was well into the boarding process. I took a deep breath, and continuing with the game plan, took off at a dead run. Nearing exhaustion, my lungs feeling like they were on fire, the door to the gate was still open but there were no other passengers in sight.
“HOLD THE GATE!” I yelled as I saw the airline attendant walking over to shut the door. “Please,” I gasped, “You have to wait one more minute. My husband and I are on this flight. He will be right here. He is carrying all the bags.”
The man didn’t say a word. He watched me as I raced back into the isle, peering for some sight of Dan walking toward me. Myriads of people oozed down the aisle, but there was no sign of him. I dug into my purse for my phone hoping I could reach him for a location report. No luck. I glanced back nervously at the attendant who stood with arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. An eternity seemed to pass with no sight of Dan. Just when I was weighing my options of how much time a faked epileptic seizure could buy me, the loaded pack mule with a Cruising Outpost ball cap finally appeared on the horizon. I waved and jumped up and down, encouraging my husband to speed up his process. Dan finally reached me. I smiled and thanked the attendant who closed the door behind us. Together, we walked down the gang plank, relieved beyond belief that we had made the flight. As luck would have it, we were stopped by the stewardess before boarding the plane. My carry-on was too large to fit in the compartment of the small plane and we had to check it. All was well though as we took our seats and made the short and uneventful flight to Charleston.
Once we arrived in Charleston, Dan left to get the rental car while I went to the baggage claim to meet Al. Al rented a car and had driven 6 hours from New Bern. We had pre arranged our meeting at the baggage claim area. Al had told me to look for a large man with a white beard. Once at the baggage carousel, I glanced around the small crowd of people and spotted Al sitting on a bench. I approached our newest crew member and introduced myself. I quickly updated him with the details of our trip and with the prospect that the bag with our cruising gear may not have made the transfer. 30 minutes later, my carry on passed by and I nabbed it, but there was no sign of the bright yellow, Henry Lloyd duffle bag we had checked. Dan finally returned with the car keys. The look I gave him, no bright yellow duffel in sight, and the empty carousel turning endlessly and empty of bags, gave him fair warning that our fight with this dragon was in full swing. He had won the first round.
After an hour, the agent at Lost Bags informed us that the bag did not show up on the last flight of the day and would most likely arrive on the first flight in the morning, around 9 AM. We exchanged necessary information and loaded into the rental car to drive to Ryan’s house. Fortunately, he lived only a few miles from the airport. With any luck, we would only be delayed a short time as we had planned on driving to Brunswick early the next morning. We had arranged with the attendant that we would get a phone call when the bag arrived and we would pick it up. Early the next morning, while waiting for the phone call, we took the opportunity to provision for the supplies we would need for the three day trip. Between the four of us, we managed to fill two shopping carts with food and beverages. This seemed a bit excessive, but at least we knew we wouldn’t starve to death. We planned on celebrating during our maiden voyage. By mid morning, we still had not heard about the bag so we headed for the airport. En route, I made a call to Lost Bags and discovered our bag had in fact arrived on the first flight, an hour earlier. They had failed to call and let us know. We arrived at the airport and just managed to squeeze the bag into our heavily laden trunk, and headed south. Hopes were we high as we were on our way to completing the first leg of our journey.
A light fog and gentle mist shrouded the marina as we all strained to see FoxSea tied at the end of the pier. While the men retrieved several carts to haul luggage and food down the dock, I bolted ahead to take the first picture of our boat. I was giddy with the idea of being able to call her, “our boat”, and had nothing but happy thoughts and high expectations for our journey.
I couldn’t wait to explore every inch of FoxSea, finding my way around, learning each cupboard and closet. The moment I stepped on board, I felt I was home. I wanted to fill the larders, be an ocean chef extraordinaire, and have a wonderful journey we would look back at fondly for years to come. That may have happened, may have come to fruition, except for the fact that all good adventure have to have their dragons. The next one we would encounter, was large, ugly and green. He kicked my ass.
Ryan, Al and I hastened to store provisions and stow luggage, while Dan dropped off the rental car and picked up a taxi back to the marina. Our original plans had been to take an entire day to become familiar with the ship’s systems. This plan was now reduced to a few hours as we wanted to get underway before daylight expired and it was already early afternoon. During our brief inspection, we discovered there was no fuel gauge. We tied up at the fuel pier and filled the tank until the diesel bubbled up to the fill line. With spirits aloft, we finally cast off the lines at 4:30 PM and headed down the channel.
Dusk was quickly approaching and we had several miles of marks to navigate through. About a mile down the channel, Dan slowed down to allow a merchant ship to pass in front of us. As he decreased the throttle, the engine hesitated a second, like a dragon burping, but came back to life when the throttle was pushed forward. Knowing we had the potential of having to motor many hours up wind, Dan quickly picked up the phone and called the owners before we went out of cell phone range. He wanted to know if there was some type of fuel shut off of which we were not aware. The previous owner assured us there wasn’t, so we chalked it up to the engine not having run much in the last few months.
As we continued down the channel the engine purred along and we took the opportunity to have our first “Captain’s Hour”. We brought out the hors d’oeuvres and Dark and Stormies and toasted our departure asking Neptune for a safe passage as darkness folded over us like a blanket. Neptune granted us our wish, but not before sending out a few dragons of his own. To be continued…
