Pictures from a Shipmate

I've been operating with a handicap while writing much of this series of posts.  My camera was out of juice for a day or so until I noticed one of the guys had brought a gizzmo which allowed his to be recharged using 12V DC current.  He graciously allowed all of us to use it.  Also, for several days, my camera went missing.  All told, there were three and a half days I did not take pictures.  Joe, the diver, came to my rescue today.  My mailbox was full of images.  I'll share a bunch with you folks.

This first picture was taken as Doc prepared to cast off the last of the lines securing us to the dock in Blue Lagoon, SVG, where the voyage began.  I'm watching and standing ready to catch the doubled line when he tosses it.  Andato's engine is fired, the transmission is in neutral; all in readiness to begin the adventure.  At right we're on our way!  Joe is ready to take over for Doc in case of a heart attack or Rapture.  For sure the good Doctor will be the one called by the Lord to be taken away; Joe, Capt'n Chris and I will be left behind.
                                                                               



Here are a couple that were taken at our first port of call, Admiralty Bay,  Bequia, SVG.  Of course the first was taken as the Sun rose over the mountains on the east side of the bay, from where the wind also arrived to fill our sails.  The lower one is typical of the spectacular setting Sun we witnessed every night.  Pictures can not capture the glorious sight but it is forever etched behind my retina.  I call it to mind by closing my eyes, clicking my heels three times and saying "There's no place like Bequia....."

Our senses were on overload for most of the entire trip.  If ever you have an opportunity to visit this part of our beautiful planet, DO IT!  If you are uncomfortable with the idea of sailing yourself, there are companies that will provide qualified Captains and crews to sail the boat.  All that is required of you is a pair of open eyes and the ability to get out of your favorite chair at home.  Seriously, it's worth whatever sacrifice you may have to make.  Give up grocery shopping for several months if that's what it takes.  There is a ton of canned food in lots of food banks across the country: do what it takes to see the beautiful world God gave us.

 Doc's not gonna let that wheel get away from him on our way to Tabago Cays.  Looks like he's braced for a hurricane but in reality he's just recovering from being goosed by Capt'n Chris, who for some unexplained reason is riding the transom.  Oh yeah,  Now I remember.  We had forgotten to haul the swim ladder up from last night's showers.  Dragging it in the water was knocking a half knot off our speed.  Knowing only a bunch of flakes would leave it down, the Capt'n decided to stow it himself.  I'm sure he thought it was the best way to prevent a man overboard situation.

My standard stance was not much more relaxed at the start of the trip.  I was much more used to a tiller as was, I believe, Doc.  Both of us became more comfortable as the days passed.  Joe, on the other hand, was a natural.  He could steer a steady course, eat a sandwich and take a leak all at the same time.  Some guys have it, others don't.

As we approached the Tabago Cays from the west, there was a narrow channel which we negotiated under power.  The lighter blue water to the left in this picture is a bit too shallow for our 6 foot deep keel.  The Capt'n steered us in: he trusted me to get us out in the morning.  It was the only time I had little faith in his judgement.  I was sure I'd put us on the beach.  I was  wrong.

We anchored at one of the most popular destinations in all of St. Vincent and The Grenadines, the marine sanctuary.  Boats flying the flags of twelve different nations were visible from our deck.  I never realized just how many people from around the world were actively involved with cruising the world's oceans.


We  next sailed southwest to avoid the open Atlantic and passed between Union Island and Palm Island, where we turned to a mostly southerly heading in order to gain Petit St. Vincent.  Like Palm Island, it is privately owned and is home to a pricy resort.  Being the least exclusive of the two, cruisers are allowed ashore to buy drinks at the palm-thatched roof bar a hundred yards or so from the dock.  The rest of the island is off limits to the less fortunate of humanity.

I have a mind to come back to this island one day with a Ninja Warrior kit.  I'll don black clothing, paint my face to match a moonless night and engage in a bit of unnoticed trespass.

After docking the boat and buying ice in Petit Martinique we turned to the north and started the trip back to Bequia and then the Blue Lagoon in St. Vincent, where we would finish the voyage.   The first stop on the way was Chatham Bay on the west side of Union Island.  Joe just had to be sure his finger covered part of the picture, the only mistake he made during the entire voyage to date.  (If you don't count not putting enough mayo on my sandwich)

Joe's contribution to this tale is now up to date, and I'll add his camera work to the posts that follow as the story unfolds.   Once again, sunset's are magnificent in the Caribbean, and Joe's camera captured another one, this time from Chatham Bay.

   

Day 5 Petit St. Vincent to Union Island

The day started well; all four of us managed to climb from our berths.  Then things went downhill.  The OJ that usually started everyone's day was noticed to be a bit warm.  All at once it hit us, our ice was gone!  It had completely melted and now was a pressing concern.  Doc Sam reminded us of last night's discussion.  It was most imperative we become illegal aliens.  Nothing else would do.

It's an easy sail from our anchorage at Petit St. Vincent to Petit Martinique, just a bit more than half a mile away.  There was no problem at all getting the boat and our bodies from where we were to where we could find plentiful, cheap ice.  And, once we tied up to the lower fueling dock in this picture, all we needed to do was walk to the yellowish building (behind the red roofs at the upper dock pictured) where some really nice people sold it.  The problem arose when we stepped ashore to buy it. 

Petit St. Vincent is an island located in the nation of St. Vincent and the Grenadines but Petit Martinique is an island located in the nation of Grenada!  Legally we were required to clear customs before stepping on Grenadian soil, but the closest port of entry was on the western side of the island of Carriacou, several hours away under sail. I can not say much more than somehow the ice found it's way into our cooler without incriminating at least one in our party, so that's all I'm gonna say!

There was a stiff wind blowing from the northeast which allowed us to practice docking the boat for several hours so that's what we did.  First Joe, then Doc and, finally, I docked it.  We were under power and Capt'n Chris took the opportunity to test our skill.  He asked us to practice backing the boat away while the wind was trying to push it onto the dock.   Boats tend not to back well; the turning prop "walks" the stern towards the direction the prop turns.  Our prop walked the stern away from the dock, which pushed the bow into it.  This also turned the boat so it's port side was presented to the wind, which tried to blow the bow completely around.

Finally, we guessed what the Capt'n was doing.  He had given us an impossible task and we had to come up with a better way.  We rigged a spring line which we used to help push the bow away while slowly motoring forward.  HA!  Another challenge met and mastered!  We were getting pretty confident with our abilities by this time.  One other lesson I took from these docking maneuvers was just how heavy the boat was.  I've never seen fenders flattened the way that boat could squeeze them.  My 26 footer could easily be pushed off a pier by just shoving off with my foot.  Not only was it impossible to do in this boat with waves and a wind blowing it in, it was dangerous.  If I were to slip while trying to shove off and get my leg between the boat and the pier, the leg would be lost.

The day had been a productive one, we'd sailed from one country to another, maneuvered the boat in close quarters for a couple of hours AND replenished our supply of ice.   It was getting late in the afternoon and our next anchorage was calling.  We motored out, headed up and raised the main.  The jib soon followed and we headed northwest to Union Island, our trusty dinghy following behind. 

The sail was made on a single tack,, the 19 Kt wind blowing directly over our starboard beam.   It took a bit more than an hour to make the seven mile passage to just beyond the southwest horn of Union Island.  There we furled the jib, dropped the main and motored northeast directly into the wind and into Chatham Bay.

  I made this picture larger so the many cafes and bars located along the beach could be more easily seen.    The amount of noise at night was amazing.  Every one of the joints had it's very own stereo system and all of them thought the volume of their business varied as the volume of the music did.  Nightmare!  But, in all fairness, I have to say it all shut down at 10:00PM.  We anchored and used the dinghy to go ashore to spend some time on the beach and have a couple of beers and dinner.  It was nice to get off the boat for a while and have someone else cook the meal.  

Here's a picture of the crew sitting down to dinner at the quietest place on the beach.  From the left there's Doc, Capt'n Chris and Joe.  I'm holding the camera and our boat is the first one to the left of the whitish column.   I can't remember much about the meal except it was spicy and there was lots of it!  We had a great time ashore, probably the best evening of the trip. 

We motored back to the boat and the Capt'n told us to get some sleep.  Tomorrow was the big day.  The practical portion of our Bareboat exam was for us to get him on board his boat, anchored in Admirality Bay, Bequia, by 4:30.  We were to wake ourselves in the morning, ready the boat in time to get him there, plot our courses, take hourly bearings and locate us on a chart as we sailed, anchor, start the dinghy and put him alongside his floating home before his wife's homecoming dinner for him got cold.  All of this without any help or advise.  Doc wanted to know if we were expected to kiss his wife for him - after all, we should get some sort of remuneration for all the work, and got flailed with the cat-o-nine-tails for an answer.

The Capt'n went to his cabin for some rest and the three of us started working the chart with dividers and parallel rulers.  BRING IT ON!

Day 4 - One more time. (I WILL get this right) Tobago Cays to Petit St. Vincent

One of the best parts of being an old fart is the ability to claim senility.  That ability, sprinkled often in my later years, has saved me time and again from many things including speeding tickets and public embarrassment.  Once again I claim it as an excuse.  I'm senile.  There.  I said it.

One of my accomplices wrote the other day and told me we really didn't spend the night at Palm Island; all we did was eat lunch as we sailed by the place.  Further, he reminded me I was fortunate not to have tossed my dentures overboard along with that lunch because of the previous night's overly large portion of Rum Ti's.  Thank the Good Lord someone can remember what really happened to this particular boatload of drunks - I'd hate to have the voyage unchronicled in the record of mankind.  I stand corrected, but unashamed.  Sue me.

Most of the last post is a true account of events so long as you don't count spending the night at Palm Island.  And the boat boys.  And the hollering directly off shore from the richey-rich guys.  So, we'll start today's adventure with me tossing my lunch.

"Sorry, guys, but I have to put my teeth in my pocket.  Dang near lost them overboard just now," I said after emptying the contents of my stomach into the aqua-colored ocean.  "You lucky drunks get to see me the same way my woman does in the morning."  Of course the blame for this sudden loss of calories is not my fault; it matters little that I had too much to drink last night.  Lee didn't use enough mayo on the sandwich and it went down a little funny.  It's his fault.


We continued south for another four miles, passing Mopion Island, where the famous umbrella sits all
alone on the beach, and turned to the east and our anchorage at Petite St. Vincent.

Please take the time to look at this link if you are unfamiliar with the engagement umbrella, it's beautiful.

http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g147380-d564173-r193656468-Mopion-St_Vincent_St_Vincent_and_the_Grenadines.html

  Our anchor was dropped just two hundred feet from the boat dock at the resort located on the island, we secured the mailsail and rested.   Capt'n Chris had again showed his invaluable experience.  Several other boats arrived later and were told to move.  Seems the resort's supplies are restocked on Wednesday nights and boats that had anchored closer to the dock than we had were told to move.  Believe me, that's not a lot of fun.

Once the boat is secured to the bottom for the night, glasses are filled.  It's a magic something that happens all by itself in these islands, and magic in any form is not to be discounted.  Weighing anchor and moving is sure to bring disaster in one or another form if instead of downing the newly filled glass, you do not offer it to Neptune.

We were soon approached by the local boat boys, (this is where we did in fact meet Mr. Fantastic from the first Day 4 post)  and learned the price of ice delivered to the boat.  Our supply was sufficient for the evening and we declined his offer.

Two hours later, we recognized the error of our ways and hatched a plan whereby we would become illegal aliens in the morning!  Dang!  I can't wait!  I've often considered just what it would take to make one leave his lawful residence and cross international borders without permission.  Now I know it's all a matter of cheap ice.

Rum Ti Recipe
one part sour, two parts sweet.
three parts strong, four parts weak.
five drops bitters, add some spice.
it's much better when cooled with ice.
 












  

Day 4: Tobago Cays to Palm Island

Today's voyage was to be a short one, about seven miles or so.  And, we would motor out of and into our anchorages so there would be only 90 minutes or less under sail.  Bummer.  However, Capt'n Chris had plans to keep our day full.  Right after breakfast and clean up the boat detail, he sat us down and handed out the test questions for our ASA103 exam.

Ugh.  I mentioned to him the fine print in the school contract where it stated only some would pass the 103 exam.  "Isn't it a bit soon for that test?," I asked.  "Quit your bitchin!," was his reply.  "All three of you are ready for it and we still have a few days to get the 104 stuff out of the way after you guys ace this one."

Cool!  It appears the warning "not to expect to come away from this week at sea with a Bareboat Certificate" did not apply to our boatload of goof offs.  Capt'n Chris sounded positive we would wobble off the boat with a piece of paper that would enable us to rent quarter to half million dollar yachts from almost anywhere in the world!  So what if the insurance cost 30 bucks a day extra.  Sure enough, the Capt'n collected the answer sheets, scored them, and told us we had all passed!  Two certificates in hand, we were ready for anything the wind could blow our way!

Before hauling in the anchor this time, we consulted the charts to figure out where we were going.  Well, actually, Doctor Sam, being the most intelligent of the three of us, reminded Lee and I of yesterday's fiasco.

Palm Island was only seven miles away and we should have been able to see it.  But one of the Tobago Cays islands was between our anchorage and our destination.  We'd have to plot a course west to sail into the open ocean. westsouthwest to pass between Union Island and Palm Island, and then turn east to our anchorage, which was located on the south side of the island.

The pictures of Palm Island are ones I dragged from the internet - I feared my phone was somewhere at the bottom of the ocean at this point of the journey but luckily it was just at the bottom of the boat.  It was located as I was checking the floor of my cabin for my cleanest used underwear a little later during the sail.

Again, it was an easy sail with 18 Kt. winds from the NE.  First at our backs, then off our beam and as we assumed our easterly course, we dropped the jib, fired up the engine and motor sailed into the wind until we reached our anchorage for the night.  Those east to northeast winds are almost certain to blow  every day in this part of the world.  It makes for fantastic sailing in the Caribbean and is a constant delight.

It was early and Mr. Fantastic, in his bright red motor launch, zoomed alongside to see if there was anything at all we needed from ashore.  You'll find these boat boys in every port with any sort of shore facilities, everywhere in this area.  The boats are all brightly colored, all of them have catchy names for themselves, and they even offer freshly caught shellfish and early morning delivery of newly baked bread!  They make their living checking with the cruisers in the boats as they arrive, buying and then delivering whatever the yachties need.  Of course there is a steep markup involved, but everyone knows about it.  The songs some of them sing advertising their specialties are fun to listen to.  I found all of them to be reasonable, low key salesmen; much easier to deal with than stateside panhandlers.

Palm Island is a destination resort for people with deep pockets and allows boaters to come ashore only to buy drinks from a dockside bar.  No way can the unwashed (literally)  masses mingle with their wealthy clients.   We kept our distance, yelled and cavorted in the water, used the last of our ice in freshly cleaned glasses filled to the brim with product from a distillery founded in 1703, snorkeled, bathed and went to our berths in a great mood. 

Day 3: Bequia to The Tobago Cays

Let's see.  When I woke this morning I'm sorta thinking it's Tuesday.  Humm.  Partied Sunday night, worked our butts off all day yesterday (Monday???), and then had one rum ti and crashed.  Yeah.  It's Tuesday and I'm real happy I can remember that much this morning.  Also, the one measly drink of alcohol has completely worn off, my back is killing me and I need to take a pill.  

Fifteen minutes after the pill went to work, I found my back no longer bothered me - better living through modern chemistry, baby - but my tummy is telling me I need to eat something.   I'm sure there was no meal last night; we were all just too tired to bother.  Having slept where I lay down in the cockpit the night before, I went below, fired up the stove and scrambled some eggs.  Toast completed the breakfast, and that was made the old fashioned way.  I just tossed a couple of slices of bread on the burner for a second or so.  

Doped up sailors make a lot of racket cooking breakfast while on a slowly rolling boat so by the time I finished cooking, everyone else was stirring.  To get out of their way, I went back topside and ate.  The wind was calm and now that most of my morning needs had been met, I slowly became aware it was time to take a bath.  Actually, I dang near tossed my breakfast when the stench of my unwashed-for-days body finally registered on my brain.  I tied a line around my midsection, grabbed a bar of soap and a towel, undressed and jumped in the water. 

The water in the Caribbean is the most beautiful shade of blue/green you can possibly imagine.  If you have never seen it, you must before you leave this planet.  It is a wonder of the world.  Pictures can not convey the sight of the colors as the wind blows the waves and the hues change.

Not only is the water beautiful, it is also warm.  The average temperature is 80 degrees, about the same as most heated pools, and there was only a vague sensation of a change in temperature when I splashed in.  I'd take a deep breath and start rubbing my body with the bar of soap until my feet touched the bottom.  Then I'd shove off the bottom, surface, take another breath and repeat.  Before long everything had been rubbed and I climbed back on the transom.  There was a fresh water shower head located there and I completed my bath by washing off the salt water before toweling dry.  

I wrapped the towel around myself, closed my eyes so the guys still eating breakfast wouldn't have to look at my well rounded, mostly naked body during the middle of their breakfast, went into my cabin and dressed.  A quick look at the onboard clock showed it was 7:20 AM.

What???   When I'm at my house, in my own bed, I never even RISE til around 10 or 11 AM.  What's up with this?  Here's it only 7:30 and I've already taken pain meds, eaten, bathed and dressed.  All this sailing stuff can't be good for me.  Maybe I should get off the boat and go home to get some sleep.  Never mind, the guys just finished their breakfasts and clamored up the companionway.  Their noses must be completely plugged up because even though I can smell them, they're happy as clams to get underway.  Thank God the wind is forecast to freshen and blow out of the NE at 16 Kts.  Joe fires the engine, Sam and I raise the anchor and we motor out of the harbor.  

Today we're actually going to sail away!  The destination is the Tobago Cays and the Marine Sanctuary located there.  We round the most western point of Bequia and turn south.  Joe, the diver onboard, had been there before and knows we need to go past Canouan and pass to the east of  Mayreau before turning to the east and raising the Tobago Cays.  We asked Capt'n Chris just what our southerly heading should be to accomplish this.  We were astonished when he told us, "Hell if I know.  I forget.  If ya wouldn'tda been in such a hurry to leave, we coulda figerder out while we were anchored.  Here's a chart."

Wow.  The only pieces of paper I'd ever seen aboard my 26 footer years ago, other than trash that needed to be carried ashore to be dumped, was one that I used to list stuff that broke while underway and needed to be fixed later.  And, the only pencil on board was used to write down all the busted crap on that piece of paper.

In those days I'd often sail northwest for five or six days, turn around and sail mostly east till I saw some land.  If there was a bronze/gold colored bridge in view, I needed to sail south to get home.  If there were no lights to speak of at night, I still needed to sail south.  If I saw oil wells, I was close to Santa Barbara and home.  If there were lights all along the shore, I needed to sail north to get back.  It was easy to find my berth without any of the chart crap he had tossed at us.

Now, Capt'n Chris expected us to use the paper he handed us to find our way?  Christ.  Might as well ask a dolphin to find a bird's nest.

Luckily, I have been a pilot for the last fifty years and Joe also held his pilots license with an instructors endorsement.  Both of us were good at reading aeronautical charts and quickly determined a nautical chart has much in common with those we could read.  Between the two of us we were able to determine a heading that would put us in the general vicinity of our destination.  Sam, an MD, was smart enough to locate a  guide in the ship's library that included profiles of the various islands as seen from the sea. 

Among the three of us we had determined what direction to head, how to identify islands as we approached them, and were certain we could find our destination.  Who needs Capt'n Chris?  There was some discussion about tossing him overboard but we were not sure he'd sink.  None of us wanted a witness to the crime, so we let him remain on board.  

 

Four hours after turning onto our southerly heading we passed Canouan.  Two hours after that, Mayreau was on our starboard beam and we turned east.  Thank the Lord we had decided to keep Capt'n Chris; he knew where the best anchorage was when we gained the Tobago Cays.  He put us no more than two hundred yards from the windward side of the best place to view the growing sea turtle population and into waters where we needed only a bow anchor to hold us on station.  As you can see, the Marine Sanctuary at Tobago Cays is a very popular and crowded destination.  The diving is fantastic.

Joe and Sam both grabbed snorkels and fins, Capt'n Chris and I grabbed and filled glasses, and we all watched for sea turtles.  An hour and a half later Sam and Joe climbed back aboard without even one glimpse of a turtle.  Not five minutes later Capt'n Chris yelled "There e goes!"  Joe saw him, jumped in without his equipment and the underwater chase was on.  The turtle won.

For those of you who happen to be nautical types, the sail out of Admiralty Bay was made on a broad reach with the main reefed at the first point in 16 Kt winds.  The southerly run was made on a single tack on a beam reach and we were close hauled when we turned east after gaining Mayreau.  The sails were lowered and we motored in the close quarters experienced while in the Cays.

Day Two: Bequia to Bequia

I guess the song title describing this post would be "Will It Go Round In Circles"  Listen and decide if the 5th Beatle, Billy Preston, knows how to ask the question!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuFOkAL8ihM

My answer to him is "Hell Yes"

Capt. Chris (real, legendary, Capt. of the Caribbean) had learned from his first trip across the waters with Sam, Joe (names changed to protect the innocent), and your fearless (really) author, that his crew mates were lowly, despicable cretins worthy of absolutely no respect in any endeavor requiring more than the raising of a glass filled with an alcoholic beverage to our mouths.  He needed to work us into a crew: one that could handle the most daunting and awful condition with which the sea was capable of challenging us.  In other words, he wanted us to bring the inner sailors each of us had already proved were inside, to the outside where he could hone our skills.

Yeah, Joe had sailed for years, owned a small boat and wanted to step up to a larger one, Sam had sailed with buddies for ages and wanted to be sure of his large boat skills before buying one, and I - the true hero in this tale - just wanted to learn if my aged, fat and decrepit body was still physically able to handle a boat as well as the Adonis like one I had 35 years ago could.  We all knew how to sail, Chris was able to determine that the first day, but there was much he could teach us.  First though, he needed to turn us into a well functioning crew.  Drawing from his enormous experience, he determined the best way to mold us into a unit was to make us lose weight. To accomplish this, he made us work our butts off this time.

Still somewhat queasy from the previous night celebrating the fact we did not drown each other the first day out, I fired up the engine and, following the hand signals Sam was sending, slowly motored toward the anchor as Joe stepped on the electric switch that hauled in the anchor chain.  We managed to leave Admiralty Bay without running aground and without swapping paint with another vessel.  WOW.

I was at the helm as we headed toward the open ocean to raise the mainsail when Chris tossed the horseshoe life preserver into the ocean and yelled "Man overboard!"  This was a no brainer.  With the boat underway with power, I simply reversed course, slowed and put the transmission in neutral as we approached the horseshoe.  The learning experience came when Joe grabbed the gaff (basically a sharp, pointed hook), instead of the man overboard pole, to retrieve the float.

Capt'n Chris pointed out his mistake and Joe grabbed the right tool instead.  After retrieving the dang thing, we noticed the rubber doohicky that went on the sharp end of the gaff to protected everyone from slicing off their appendages - arms, legs, ya know - was missing.  It had fallen overboard.  We motored in circles until it was spotted and without thinking, Joe, since he was the one who managed to lose it, simply jumped in to retrieve it.

Now, we had a real man overboard situation.  Holy Crap.  This time was for real.

Joe is a strong swimmer.  He is a certified master diver and is used to jumping off smaller boats and easily climbing back aboard.  A larger boat, however, presents a much larger cross-section for the wind to work against.  In a 19 Kt wind, as was the case during this time, a boat with the sails furled can easily be blown twelve or more feet per minute away from a swimmer.  There is no way in God's universe a swimmer can regain his cabin and bunk.  Without immediate action from crew on the boat, the swimmer will be lost.  I put the transmission in neutral to keep the boat on station.

Joe was swimming his heart out, but with the rubber thingy in his hand he was making no progress.  He was falling further and further behind the wind blown boat.  I put the transmission in reverse with the throttle set in idle.  Now, the boat held station and Joe made some progress.  But, the prop was spinning.  That presented a real danger to his arms and legs.  Capt'n Chris tossed him a line, I put the transmission in neutral and Joe climbed aboard.  The rubber whatsit was put on the sharp end of the hook and all was well.

Dang!  Our first real disaster at sea and nobody was killed.  Guess this little voyage will not make any headlines.  That's too bad, I really hunger to be a hero.

Finally, Capt'n Chris allowed us to motor out of the harbor, raise the main and jib, and sail into the open ocean.  Then, he wore us down.  

No sooner than we had established a comfortable course, he commanded a new one which required us to tack the boat.  "Prepare to come about", the helmsman would shout, and the crew would respond "Ready low"......"Ready high"  "Helm's alee" .......and we'd come about.

After two hours of this torture, Capt'n Chris showed us another road to hell.  The Jibe.

Now, not only did we have to deal with the jib sheets, there was also the main with which to contend.  "Prepare to Jibe," the helmsman called.  And the crew responded: "Ready high, Ready low, Ready main."  Then the command "Jibe Ho"  Sure enough, the boat did what the helmsman wanted it to do and we sailed on.

For more than six hours we practiced these maneuvers and by the end of that time we were an able crew.  We were ready to follow the orders of the helmsman, and were capable of keeping the boat out of harm's way.

After dropping the sails and firing up the engine, we were able to turn on the fridge, motor back to port, drop the anchor, and most importantly, drink a well deserved portion of Mount Joy rum.  Maybe we ate something, but as tired as my body was, all I remember was telling the laundry boat "I don't give a damn if my underwear is dirty."