Thanksgiving Day

We had planned to give thanks aboard our 25 foot Coronado sloop "Bogie" as we sailed her to our mooring in Winthrop Yacht Basin. That was more of a wish than a plan since the NOAA weather maps show high winds and low temperatures all along the Eastern seaboard. But Bogie still lies idle in her berth between two aging powerboats. She is like an old maid at a ball, all dressed up and waiting for someone to lead her out onto the floor.

I am so glad to see Bogie with the new gel coat and mast and rigging in place. She's for sale. We don't need two boats to divide our attention. Still, I will be sad to see her go. There's much history there. We sailed her from Boston to Maine in the summer of 2005. In April of 2006 we brought her down from Boston to Bridgeport. She's performed well and for a boat her age is in good repair.

Looking at these two old boats, Cornucopia and Bogie, I consider their histories. Bob passed through many difficult times with Bogie and his cat Babe the only constants in his life. Cornucopia is a testimony to our commitment to the live-aboard lifestyle. She is hopes and wishes made manifest. Not just our hopes, but the aspirations of previous owners also. I wonder who they were. Who brought her across the Atlantic? How did she fare in the warm waters of South Carolina. How did she end up donated to a church? What accident bent the binacle?

Bogie has answers more than questions. Whoever owned her was a careful person. There are staineless steel safety lines along the deck. She sat a long time on the hard waiting for Bob to buy her.

Boats have personalities and quirks, just like people. Cornucopia is roomy and comfortable, but isn't an easy boat to steer, hating to head into the wind. We haven't really sailed her because we spent most of the summer negotiating the Hudson, the Champlain Locks, and Lake Champlain. Then when we did get her back to Bridgeport, there were the issues of the leaking drive shaft. That made us hesitant to take her out until the repair was done. It's still not done, but she's on the hard now, waiting for that repair among others.

Impatient for spring and summer is how I feel now. Impatient to cast off the dock lines and head south. I take a deep breath and consider all that will go into preparing for that voyage and know the winter will be well spent.

November at Ryan's Marine Services

This is the view of Bridgeport Harbor from Ryan's marine services. The photo was taken around 3:30 PM EST. We are so far north and east that the winter months have short day light. The swan family still glides past the boat yard in search of food and shelter. The juveniles are as big as the adults now, although their coloring is different.







Here is Cornucopia on the hard view from the Bow. Bob placed the blue plastic tarp over the pilot house to protect the canvas and prevent leaking from the holes where he removed the windshield wipers -- another repair/replace item on the list.














Joe Ryan's aging crane stands waiting for the next boat to be hauled. I just couldn't believe it could lift the 6,500 lb Finnsailor out of the water.














Cornucopia on the hard, viewed from the stern. The swim ladder hangs from the lifeline because it's a great place to put it to keep it out of the way when not in use. Come to think of it, we have never used it since she already has a built in ladder on the stern.








Bridgeport Harbor as view from beneath Cornucopia's stern while she rests on the stands in the boat storage area. Bridgeport is just beginning a harbor renovation which will include revitalizing the entire area into a recreational boating haven.










Bob considers the million items on his repair/replace list. I have the fun job. I get to make pictures.

Autumn Voyages into Winter

We have voyaged passed the autumnal equinox and journey toward winter with its cold salt spray freezing on the deck and drifting snow covering the hatches.

We have a wrinkled piece of notebook paper lying on the ledge next to the dining table. One column lists urgent repairs. The other records items that need attention but aren't highest priority.

Both lists lengthen. Besides the rudder and propeller damage, we discovered the chain on the plow anchor was too large to fit in the winch sprockets, and as a result, could not be pulled up easily. It's a quick fix -- buy new chain with smaller links. Like all quick fixes, it still takes time and money.

Our life seems to be controlled by objects now, objects demanding attention. We could postpone some if we weren't so intent on traveling down the East coast next summer in true live-aboard fashion. The scenario is to live Georgia while I complete my time in service needed for full retirement. It's a workable plan, but requires focus. This reminds me of plotting a story. The background development is what we are drafting now. The real action begins when we push off from the dock next spring to bid good-bye to New England.

Instead of the aboriginal walkabout, Bob and I are on a "sailabout" to see what's on the other side of the next sunset or at the end of the next bay or beyond the next jetty or the other side of the island.

And beaches. We're off to see more beaches and feel the sand or rocks or gravel or whatever beneath our feet. Even on this coast there are all kinds of different beaches--Winthrop with its shells and pebbles, the rocky coast of Maine where kelp covers boulders pushed there by glaciers thousands of years ago. There is the sandy beach here at Bridgeport, littered with the detritus of city life. And in Georgia the beaches fringe muddy flats of tidal marshes which inspired Sidney Lanier's poem, "The Marshes of Glynn"


The Marshes of Glynn

GLOOMS of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven
With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven
Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs,—
Emerald twilights,—
Virginal shy lights,
Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows,
When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnades
Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods,
Of the heavenly woods and glades,
That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within
The wide sea-marshes of Glynn;—


Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noonday fire,—
Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire,
Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves,—
Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,
Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,
Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good;—

O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine,
While the riotous noonday sun of the June-day long did shine
Ye held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine;
But now when the noon is no more, and riot is rest,
And the sun is a-wait at the ponderous gate of the West,
And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seem

Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream,—
Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak,
And my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of the stroke

Of the scythe of time and trowel of trade is low,
And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know,
And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within,
That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn
Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore
When length was fatigue, and when breadth was but bitterness sore,
And when terror and shrinking and dreary unnamable pain

Drew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain,—
Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain to face
The vast sweet visage of space.
To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn,

Where the gray beach glimmering runs, as a belt of the dawn,
For a mete and a mark
To the forest dark:—
So:

Affable live-oak, leaning low,—
Thus—with your favor—soft, with a reverent hand,
(Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land!)
Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand
On the firm-packed sand,
Free
By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.
Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band
Of the sand-beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land.
Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach-lines linger and curl
As a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl.
Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight,
Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light.

And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high?
The world lies east: how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky!
A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade,
Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade,
Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain,

To the terminal blue of the main.
Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea?
Somehow my soul seems suddenly free
From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin,
By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn.

Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free
Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea!
Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun,
Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won
God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain
And sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain.

As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod,
Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God:
I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies
In the freedom that fills all the space 'twixt the marsh and the skies:
By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod
I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God:
Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within

The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn.
And the sea lends large, as the marsh: lo, out of his plenty the sea
Pours fast: full soon the time of the flood tide must be:
Look how the grace of the sea doth go
About and about through the intricate channels that flow

Here and there,
Everywhere,

Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low-lying lanes,
And the marsh is meshed with a million veins,
That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow

In the rose-and-silver evening glow.
Farewell, my lord Sun!

The creeks overflow: a thousand rivulets run
'Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-grass stir;
Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr;
Passeth, and all is still; and the currents cease to run;
And the sea and the marsh are one.

How still the plains of the waters be!
The tide is in his ecstasy;
The tide is at his highest height;
And it is night.

And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of sleep
Roll in on the souls of men,
But who will reveal to our waking ken
The forms that swim and the shapes that creep
Under the waters of sleep?
And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in
On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn.

Sydney Lanier 1842-1881

Voyage to The Hard

Perhaps the saddest voyage of all for any boat is that last one of the sailing season when the boat comes out of the water onto dry land for the winter. I could dredge up any number of metaphors to describe this scene--anything from a fish jumping out of water to a beached whale. All would be appropriate but too flippant for the situation.

A 3.5 ton boat is a large beast indeed. To haul it out of the water requires the appropriate equipment. In our case it was the boat yard crane with slings. There are also many details that dictate when this can happen. At Ryan's high water is a must. Bob would have to bring the Cornucopia in close to the rocks because the crane only reached out over the water a short distance.

The question was to put lines on the boat and have several people "walk" her from the end of the pier and guide her into place or to motor into position. We opted to motor into position. By this time in our relationship with Cornucopia, Bob was familiar with how well or ill she maneuvered in certain situations and how long it would take her to come to a stop.

All went well positioning the boat in the slings, making sure that the straps were spaced properly and not passing over the strakes. Bob, Joe, and I had all looked at photos of the boat taken in dry dock before we purchased her. The strakes are an important design element, dampening the roll of this shallow draft (3'8") motor-sailor. So Joe and Bob knew exactly where to place the straps to prevent problems. All that went well and then . . . .

Joe swung the boat to position her over the spot where she would spend the next few months. From his vantage point on the crane, he could not see that he was about to swing our precious boat into her new neighbor, the sloop "Tomolloy." Bob was doing pushing and pulling to keep the boats from "kissing" or more.

I was watching all this and holding my breath because our boat was at the mercy of two frayed canvas straps, a geriatric crane, and one dock line on her stern. The close encounter with "Tomolly" had me hyperventilating until Cornucopia was hovering just above the 4x4 keel supports. Then I felt all was well. Actually we were only two-thirds of the way finished. Jack stands still needed to be placed in strategic locations along the hull. Bob looked around for a few minutes until he located the stands he thought would best support our Finnsailor 35. Once he was satisfied that the placement was correct and the stands were firm against the hull, the straps were released and Cornucopia was officially "on the hard." What a relief to know she was safe where she would hibernate for the winter. That's what I thought.

A few days later, as we sat in the cockpit of our other boat "Bogie," Bob said," Cornucopia isn't straight on the stands. She's leaning to the port. We've got to straighten her up." I looked up at Cornucopia, resting on her stands in the parking lot 15 feet or so above us. Indeed the boat was a leaning tower of Pisa. But did we really need to do anything else that required moving 6500 lbs of boat plus all our accumulated tools and necessities of life? "Yes," was Bob's definitive reply, "has to be done." Fortunately, anticipating a problem is often more worrisome than effecting the solution. Bob raised the stands on one side, then lowered them on the other. In a matter of minutes that problem was solved.

I wish all boat related issues were as easy to overcome. Now, as Cornucopia lies separated from her mast and boom which are waiting for paint and new halyards, we are contemplating a list of other projects, major and minor.

Major issues include scraping away 5 layers of bottom paint, sanding and repainting the hull, repacking the drive shaft, repairing a damaged rudder and propeller. The last two items we didn't realized needed attention until the boat was out of the water. That's another reason boats need to spend some time on the hard. There are some repairs and maintenance items that can't be done in the water.

We are do-it-yourself types. At this point Bob usually provides the expertize, and I provide the cheering section and unskilled labor as needed. For a two-person vessel, both must be able to accomplish all necessary tasks. Of course some I can't do purely for physical reasons--I'm not strong enough. Anything else I should be able to do. This in some way is a reflection of my personality, that I am independent and like to be able to deal with whatever arises. That includes pulling up an anchor by hand if necessary or reefing a sail in a strong wind. Whatever the situation demands, I should be able to do in a workman like way. At the moment, Bob is the one at the helm in tricky situations. I expect that to change as I gain experience and confidence. But with command comes responsibility for the proper care of the vessel, including scraping bottom paint and applying fiberglass. Neither of which I particularly enjoy, but both of which are necessary to maintaining a boat in "Bristol Fashion."

Between taking care of major tasks, we will work in the minor items, attention to bright work and varnishing wood, reupholstering the captain and navigator's chairs. Then there is always the usual cleaning and polishing all boats require. It's home though and a nice one. Where else can you be at home and at the same time have the adventure of travel and discovery?

Our voyage on the hard will keep us busy this winter with trips to West Marine in Fairfield and Defender in New London. We also hope to visit another Finnsailor to see how the owner has solved problems with the rudder. This voyage without water is the true measure of a sailor. It tells the level of commitment to cruising when all is work without the pleasures of sitting in the cockpit in a peaceful anchorage watching the sunset after a day of wind, sun, and water.