Handbasket ... Dry Tortugas to Isla .... Part II
Uncle Grant has virtually no nautical sense. I offer as evidence the fact that he spent 18 hours vomiting to windward! At the Dry Tortugas, Danny scrubbed the yellow and green residue from the decks.
Dont get me wrong. Grant has some game in him. When ever we needed to go forward for a sail change, he would struggle upright, hook on, and follow me forward with out complaint.(Of course I've done these changes myself hundreds of times. Im not getting that soft.) We would get the job done and he would return to the cockpit and be quickly horizontal. I think he has learned there is a difference between cycling the open road with bugs in your teeth and sailing the open sea with your stomach in your throat.
Danny, my other crew, is Canadian. A quiet and pleasant fellow, as compatible a shipmate as you could find. When my original crew cancelled due to business reasons, Uncle Grant asked me if I would like Danny to come. Hey, one more makes the trip that much easier.
Danny lives up the block from Grants marina in Fort Myers. That is how they met. Two more different people may never have shared the same ship. Danny has that nautical sense. If he takes things out, he puts things back, if he opens it, he closes it. When he goes below he stands in the companionway and asks for cups and glasses. He even folded his dirty underwear. He would chat when appropriate and remain quiet for long stretches. He loved to stand behind the wheel, life harness in place, wind pilot steering. He would stand there and scan the horizon, check the sail trim, drink in the fabulous scene of frigate birds and dolphin in the bow wave. He reminded me of a dog with his head out the car window. At 70 years old, Danny was living.
Danny has two hearing aids. With the wind blowing, this made for some interesting situations. On arriving in Fort Jefferson harbor, I manned the anchor, Danny at the helm, Grant standing on the seat to port of Danny to relay. After setting the first anchor, I decided on a second. Danny motored up to drop the second one. When we were heading just right, I yelled back, "Hold this course!" Danny couldnt hear so Grant relayed, in his folksy southern twang, "Hoed watcha got". With the whell hard to port, Danny had choices. He could keep the wheel where it was, straighten the wheel and keep the same course, or grab his crotch! Uncle Grant didnt appreciate the need for specific meaning in nautical communication. We got the anchor set.
We also had a lot of fun during the sail changes. With Danny at the helm and Grant and I at the mast, I would give directions to Danny. Although I've never been told I have trouble projecting my voice, Dan would hold course until I was screaming, "DANNY! HEAD UP TILL THE MAIN LUFFS" His reply was a gentle voiced, "heading up". Danny did have some advantages.
When he turned in after his watch, those hearing aides came out and he slept like the dead. Three hours later he was as fresh as can be, taking his customary spot behind the helm, loving it. We motored up to Winterlude outside Fort Jefferson harbor. I thought it would be nice to pass by and introduce ourselves. We had generally agreed on the radio to stay in occasional radio contact during the passage. We didnt know them nor they us, so I figured we would trade info a bit and take what we felt useful. I also didnt want to get too close together. Nothing is more irritating than having an additional light you have to watch out for. The best is when the horizon is black. Then, any light is cause for attention.
Jan and David, sailors aboard Winterlude, were making their first passage. We didn't know that. And they didn't know we had a few years behind the mast. And this was good. Sailors are sailing the ocean for a feeling of independence and the last thing you want to do is get or give too much information. We didn't talk often. Not all night. And during the day, 6 or 8 hours would pass betwen contacts. When we talked, they would offer waypoints and weather and I would tell them what our strategy would be. (You cant tell people what you think they should do, only what you are going to do.)
As we crossed the Yucatan Straight between Cuba and Isla Mujeres, David asked me which side of the Rebecca Shoal I was going to pass. My voiced remained calm. I quietly asked David what the coordinates were. My mind said," SHOAL!! What (many expletives) shoal?!! I didnt see any shoal when I checked the chart on the wall of the bar the night before we left.
Im not proud of this. You should always have the right charts. But, I couldn't find this one anywhere. Well, it wasnt a shoal that came to the surface. The shoal was 120 feet below the surface, rising from a depth of maybe 3000 feet. There might have been a bit of confused sea, and a tad of current! Maybe four knots! Maybe. I was thankful he mentioned it.
Continued...
Dont get me wrong. Grant has some game in him. When ever we needed to go forward for a sail change, he would struggle upright, hook on, and follow me forward with out complaint.(Of course I've done these changes myself hundreds of times. Im not getting that soft.) We would get the job done and he would return to the cockpit and be quickly horizontal. I think he has learned there is a difference between cycling the open road with bugs in your teeth and sailing the open sea with your stomach in your throat.
Danny, my other crew, is Canadian. A quiet and pleasant fellow, as compatible a shipmate as you could find. When my original crew cancelled due to business reasons, Uncle Grant asked me if I would like Danny to come. Hey, one more makes the trip that much easier.
Danny lives up the block from Grants marina in Fort Myers. That is how they met. Two more different people may never have shared the same ship. Danny has that nautical sense. If he takes things out, he puts things back, if he opens it, he closes it. When he goes below he stands in the companionway and asks for cups and glasses. He even folded his dirty underwear. He would chat when appropriate and remain quiet for long stretches. He loved to stand behind the wheel, life harness in place, wind pilot steering. He would stand there and scan the horizon, check the sail trim, drink in the fabulous scene of frigate birds and dolphin in the bow wave. He reminded me of a dog with his head out the car window. At 70 years old, Danny was living.
Danny has two hearing aids. With the wind blowing, this made for some interesting situations. On arriving in Fort Jefferson harbor, I manned the anchor, Danny at the helm, Grant standing on the seat to port of Danny to relay. After setting the first anchor, I decided on a second. Danny motored up to drop the second one. When we were heading just right, I yelled back, "Hold this course!" Danny couldnt hear so Grant relayed, in his folksy southern twang, "Hoed watcha got". With the whell hard to port, Danny had choices. He could keep the wheel where it was, straighten the wheel and keep the same course, or grab his crotch! Uncle Grant didnt appreciate the need for specific meaning in nautical communication. We got the anchor set.
We also had a lot of fun during the sail changes. With Danny at the helm and Grant and I at the mast, I would give directions to Danny. Although I've never been told I have trouble projecting my voice, Dan would hold course until I was screaming, "DANNY! HEAD UP TILL THE MAIN LUFFS" His reply was a gentle voiced, "heading up". Danny did have some advantages.
When he turned in after his watch, those hearing aides came out and he slept like the dead. Three hours later he was as fresh as can be, taking his customary spot behind the helm, loving it. We motored up to Winterlude outside Fort Jefferson harbor. I thought it would be nice to pass by and introduce ourselves. We had generally agreed on the radio to stay in occasional radio contact during the passage. We didnt know them nor they us, so I figured we would trade info a bit and take what we felt useful. I also didnt want to get too close together. Nothing is more irritating than having an additional light you have to watch out for. The best is when the horizon is black. Then, any light is cause for attention.
Jan and David, sailors aboard Winterlude, were making their first passage. We didn't know that. And they didn't know we had a few years behind the mast. And this was good. Sailors are sailing the ocean for a feeling of independence and the last thing you want to do is get or give too much information. We didn't talk often. Not all night. And during the day, 6 or 8 hours would pass betwen contacts. When we talked, they would offer waypoints and weather and I would tell them what our strategy would be. (You cant tell people what you think they should do, only what you are going to do.)
As we crossed the Yucatan Straight between Cuba and Isla Mujeres, David asked me which side of the Rebecca Shoal I was going to pass. My voiced remained calm. I quietly asked David what the coordinates were. My mind said," SHOAL!! What (many expletives) shoal?!! I didnt see any shoal when I checked the chart on the wall of the bar the night before we left.
Im not proud of this. You should always have the right charts. But, I couldn't find this one anywhere. Well, it wasnt a shoal that came to the surface. The shoal was 120 feet below the surface, rising from a depth of maybe 3000 feet. There might have been a bit of confused sea, and a tad of current! Maybe four knots! Maybe. I was thankful he mentioned it.
Continued...