Whitecaps for Shay

The day started off prickly. Serious communication glitches in the Saturday Sail coordination process caused me to spend 20 minutes and however much gas to drive down to the dock, only to find no scouts, and no captain. I was more than a little sore.

This, on top of other recent challenges, had me spitting vinegar and feeling the urge to do something rash. I tried to calm myself by sitting in the cockpit of the O'Day 21', absorbing the sensations of the river. My eyes took in the glowering blue and gray clouds, which were punctuated by stripes of orange and yellow to the east. I tuned into the pleasing touch of the wind as it blew over me, and I watched it toy with the surface of the water, sending bands of ripples across the river. The boat gently rocked and the river smelled delicious, but still, my agitation persisted. I was steaming! This is a very rare condition for me.

I put in a call to Capt. Danny, who said there was a small craft warning, with winds 15 MPH and gusting to 25 MPH, so it was not a good setting for taking out scouts, anyway.

Danny knows how I love speed, love spray, love a heeling boat and the sound of water rushing past the hull. He also knows I've been under serious Sea Scout Stress since at least July, and that I haven't had much opportunity to sail, much less, sail the way I really love to sail. So, he said the magic words that turned my gloom into glory. "Let's you and I go out! It will be screamin'!"

I laughed with delight, told him yes, yes, yes, let's go and how fast can you make it down to the dock? He said he'd be there, with coffee, in about 30 minutes. I felt a little better already.

A few minutes later, a familiar face came down the gangplank. It was Kevin, parent to one of my scouts, and soon to officially become my new Mate for Program. He will be the adult leader on the Saturday Sail coming up in two weeks, and said he came down to the dock to see how we handle things, just to become acquainted with the set up. I told him the official Sea Scout sail was canceled due to small craft warning, but that Danny and I were planning a ripping good sail, and I invited Kevin to join us. He agreed--not having any real clue what he was in for--and I began showing him how to prepare the boat.

Kevin and I removed the sail cover from the main, hanked on the Genoa jib, ran the jib sheets through the fairleads, tied the stop knots, and attached the halyards to main and jib. By the time Danny arrived, with dog Trina, we had the boat ready.

The plan was to head south toward Possum Point power station, then come back up the river. We did that, motoring out, then, with me at the helm and main sheet, stopping to point into the wind and raise the sails. With the wind behind us, we headed down river on a broad reach, with Trina down below. The wind was stiff, and the volume of the Genny posed a challenge. In executing a gybe, I found myself with the sheet fully played out, stop knot at the cam cleat, and the leeward rail--and part of the deck--under water. I was soaked half way up my back, eyes staring incredulously at the knot. I don't recall what I did in response, but it was the correct thing, as the boat righted and I regained control. Danny and I howled with laughter and hooted, while poor Kevin probably thought we were nuts. The experienced captain had been standing in the companionway and noted, "I was standing on the starboard bulkhead, on the port lights!"

I steered the boat up the river on another beam reach, constantly adjusting tiller and sail to meet the tricky conditions posed by the wind and waves. The wind had now whipped the water into sturdy whitecaps, and waves of them regularly rolled toward our beam. I had to tune carefully into the boat, sailing by the seat of my pants, responding to the shifty wind by adjusting the sail and tiller while trying to also take the waves on the port bow quarter rather than broadside. It was quite a workout, but I loved it!

After about an hour and a half, on the other side of the river, Danny decided we should swap the Genny for the regular jib, so we changed course and headed up Mattawoman Creek for a little shelter from the wind. Coming past a point on the creek, we touched bottom and narrowly missed running aground. Finding the wind much softer--about a "normal" sailor's speed--we anchored in the shelter of a leeward shore, taking a few minutes to rehydrate and rest a bit. A check in with Kevin revealed he was having a good time, and not really afraid.

Danny showed Kevin how to swap jibs and explained why the Genny was overqualified for today's wind, while I sent a quick txt msg update to my Facebook page, "Ha ha! Capt danny said 'let's go!', and i said 'yeaahh!', so kevin is getn hs 1st sail, and it's a screamer! Woohoo!"

Trina sat in the v-berth with her head poking out of the hatch, grinning. That dog has come a long way since Danny adopted her! Back in the spring, Trina was nervous about even walking down the dock, and now she has, as the Capt. put it, "over 100 hours of sail time, which qualifies her for a captain's license!"

Soon, we had raised the anchor and were on a close haul back down Mattawoman Creek, in a stiff breeze and wondering just what was in store for us out on the open river. What we found was perfection! Under the new jib, the boat was much easier to control, and the wind had calmed just a little, so the work aspect was gone, leaving just sheer pleasure. I asked Kevin if he wanted to take a turn at the helm, and he bravely agreed. Kevin asked Danny where we should go, and the seasoned captain pointed upstream, where the river widens into Occoquan Bay, saying, "let's go over there, where there are some whitecaps for Shay."

By then our aim was to head back to the dock, so we sailed close hauled, as the wind was coming from the general direction of the dock. Kevin did an admirable job of keeping her pointed up as we took a few long tacks toward Virginia, but his inexperience cost us headway, so Danny suggested I take the tiller for our last leg. I was glad that I did, for the conditions then were about as perfect as could be. There is nothing like sailing close hauled in stiff wind, with an occasional gust for spice! I had the leeward rail almost buried a couple of times, but careful tending of the main sheet and tiller kept the boat dry as we dashed across the waves. Capt. Danny kept glancing over at me and exclaiming, "Look at that smile!" I know I haven't looked- or been happier in a long time. Ahhhh, bliss!

Finally, actually having had enough after about 4 hours of "screamin'" sailing, Capt. Danny decided it was time to point into the wind, take down the sails, and motor in the last bit. He and Kevin brought the sails in and tied down the main while I handled the tiller and motor. As we neared the dock, Danny took the helm and brought us in to a perfect and gentle docking. Trina jumped ashore and we put away the boat, headed toward our cars, and I thanked Danny for about the 3rd time. Alas! The rapture was over. But my smile...it will last for days, and it will reappear in those moments when I think back on this sail and remember there were "whitecaps for Shay."

"A Jolly Romp on the Ocean"

Marvin Creamer "was intrigued by such voyagers as the Vikings and the Phoenicians, who used their eyes and know-how to observe wind and waves so they could cross oceans." He "sailed his 35-foot steel-hulled cutter Globe Star around the world without using a single navigational instrument—no compass, no sextant, no electronics, not even a wristwatch, " completing his voyage in 1984, and, despite serious challenges, called it "a jolly romp on the ocean." For fascinating and inspiring details, read "A Toast to Marvin," at Cruising World's Editor's Log.

R&R, Sorta'

The invitation for 2 days of R&R was unexpected, but greatly appreciated, as I was in much need of a little break from my usual demanding routine. Respite came through approximately forty-five hours at a beach house on stilts planted upon a spit of land between the Chesapeake Bay and a branch of St. Jerome Creek in southern Maryland. Hardly was I out of the car before I committed to a kayak paddle around the creek while the kids unloaded the car and tended our dog. My companion and I went up a small, narrow creek that borders the back of a long row of eclectic houses, some well kept and others hardly more than shacks with boats so long ago sunken and rotten that they were the rooting place of small trees.

There, we encountered a man who was proud to show off his homemade stainless steel rotisserie barbecue, noting that he had fitted it with a 12-volt motor, so he could carry the contraption on his pick up, draw power from the battery, and "barbecue 500 pounds of beef while driving down the road." Until that point in the conversation, I had only listened, but that surprising thought caused me to exclaim, "That is awesome!" I meant it wholeheartedly, even though I could not think of a reason one would want to simultaneously cook and transport beef while driving a truck. We went on to the end of that little creek, and back out to the larger branch of St. Jerome, all the way up to Buzz's Marina before going back to the house, where I needed a rest.

The house filled up with our host's relatives, and everyone was nice to us, spoling us, even. The steak for dinner was perfectly cooked on the grill, and accompanied by fresh corn on the cob and a lovely salad. We rounded out the evening with various beverages, plus Laurel's delicious lemon bars, which survived transport with only the smallest dent.

Four of us stopped in at the Sea Scouts' Henry I. Nygard Regatta, an annual gathering, where scouts compete in tests of skill and knowledge, like the Powder Monkey Race, heaving a line, and canoeing. I talked to a few of the more seasoned leaders, and came away with assignments to share pictures and make phone calls. A skipper's work is never done!

Caitlin sailed with me in the Hobie "Bravo," and both girls went out with me in the personal water craft. We also napped, ate a bit of chocolate, watched the sun set and rise, joked about buying the lighthouse, and conversed with different people on various subjects.

I calculate that during the two days kayaked almost 4 miles, walked 3 miles, sailed for several miles, drove a personal watercraft over choppy water for a few miles. Forty-five hours at the beach for "rest" and I so wore myself out that I was good for nothing on Monday and needed a couple of days to recover from my vacation. But, gosh, it was nice!

The Effective Skipper

Five scouts and 4 adults sailed for about 2 hours each yesterday. Scouts Devin and Gus earned 2 service hours helping me clean the Catalina 22 that is "so funky it doesn't have a name." What a mess it was! Very wet, mildewy, muddy, and covered with debris. But we worked hard and were not afraid to get wet and dirty. Devin handled the bucket well and Gus learned a lot about using a bilge pump and the value of Skipper Power.

While we did this, Mr. Freeland and Mr. Bodwalk tidied the interior of the MacGregor 23, "Seeking Peace," the exterior of which our crew had power washed last weekend.

By the time Jonathan, Luis and Cameron returned from their pretty decent sail, "Funky" was starting to look like a boat. Gus and Devin headed out in the O'Day with Capt. Finn for about 2 hours. Mr. Boadwalk, while Cameron, Jonathan, Luis, Mr. Arreaga and Mr. Peters took up work on "Funky" for about 30 minutes. Mr. Arreaga took apart the cockpit scupper, which was heavily clogged. He cleaned it out and reassembled the tubing, so now the cockpit will drain properly.

During that half hour, after spending 2 hours scrubbing and standing in brown bilge water, I finally got to see what it feels like to be "an effective skipper." This designation, I am told, is attained when, during an activity, the skipper sits around chatting, looking like she isn't doing anything--because she has done all her work beforehand (making spreadsheets and numerous phone calls, figuring out the schedule, assuring the materials and supplies are available, filing papers, coming up with a Plan B on the fly, sending out reminders and permission slips, collecting permissions, checks for dues, medical forms, etc.). I have to say it was nice to stand around and eat my sandwich for a half hour while the others were busy at boat maintenance. I had only the slightest twinge of guilt for not "working," even if I was talking shop while I did so. For 30 minutes, I was The Effective Skipper.

Results

An acquaintance noted that it seems the results of the Sea Scouting program make me feel good, and I agreed. Being able to give to kids the stuff I was denied--and knowing it makes a difference--is the absolute best feeling. While I was having a set of the articles about our ship laminated at Staples yesterday, a man noticed the pictures, struck up a conversation, and commented on the value of this kind of program. He said, "I was in Civil Air Patrol, I am sixty-one-years-old, and still carry some of the benefits with me today." Wow! I like to think that will be the case for at least some of our scouts.

COR Sanford told me it takes about 3 years to get a scout unit running smoothly, and we are about halfway there. I'm hoping to get to the "smooth" point by the 2-year mark, but we shall see. There is always a new challenge, and I am learning a great deal about things I never imagined would have anything to do with bringing sailing back into my life. They say education is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. Part of my "education": Going to freaking NJ to perform a formal ceremony! Being the Number One Complaint Department Manager! Having to fix the stupid flag finial! Sewing insignia on various uniforms! And dealing with paperwork and administrative details! OY! But, mostly, it's really good stuff. Seeing what Sea Scouting does for the kids is the thing that makes it all worthwhile. Oh, yes, and the occasional great sail!

PS- I published this post, went to my mail inbox and found this "Thought to Start Your Day" from another Sea Scouter: "What we do for ourselves dies with us. What we do for others and the world remains and is immortal." -Albert Pine
Far out!