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."