NUTS & BOATS

 The twice monthly newsletter for to-be and already-are cruisers

Volume 2, Issue #1 - January 1, 2004
Publisher: Trish Lambert
www.takehersailing.com
(C) P. Lambert 2004

Welcome to new subscribers who have  signed up through www.takehersailing.com!

IN THIS ISSUE

• A Cruiser's Eye View: Marusa Caught in Jaws of Giant Table Saw

• A Whine for the New Year: Humbled by the Cold

 THIS ISSUE'S COOL CRUISING QUOTE

The wonder is that any sane man can be a sailor.  

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Send me your cool cruising quotes and I will include them in future issues!

Please forward this newsletter to anyone who is interested in the cruising lifestyle.

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OUR PRIVACY POLICY

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Take Her Sailing will be six months old on January 9th, and it has been a great half year!

Thanks to all of you who have dropped me notes to tell me how much you enjoy Nuts & Boats, the information on the site, my ebooklets and CDs, the teleconsultations, and The Virtual Anchorage (the new online discussion board that is buzzing with cruising conversation!).

I have more on the drawing board for 2004--and not only more ebooklets (although those will certainly be coming!), and, as always, I will be offering information and services that are focused on making your cruising life fun and fulfilling.

So stay tuned! There's lots more to come!!

A CRUISER'S EYE VIEW
Marusa Caught in Jaws of Giant Table Saw                                        by Jim Mercado

Note from Trish: We have a guest contributor this issue. Jim is a regular at The Virtual Anchorage (my online discussion board), and offered to share this story that he says still makes his family laugh, even after 12 years. Thanks to Jim for taking the time to set this into words and passing it along to share!

Everyone has boating experiences that are frightening, enlightening, and/or memorable. The following one was all three and happened to us as a family 12 years ago.  We still fall down laughing when it is recalled. 

Here's the picture:
We were sailing along on a beautiful June day with crisp air and perfect wind. It was one of those days that make you think, "Once or twice in a season we go to sailor's heaven."   The wind was 17 knots apparent off the beam; we were in 75 feet of water and nothing in front of us for miles with unlimited visibility.

I was in seventh heaven on the helm of our brand new J37 Marusa as she galloped along on a broad reach at 7 to 8 knots just off Captains Island in Greenwich, Connecticut. Gloria had gone below to do a job involving "plumbing and paperwork" and the kids (Eddie and Damaris, both teens at the time) were on the foredeck basking in the sun and looking at the boats we were passing.

Just as we passed another boat, a very loud sound--like scraping across rocks and or starting up a huge table saw--started coming from the front.  Instantly, the kids sprang up like two gazelles and charged for the back, screaming "Dad, Dad what's happening?"   Gloria popped out of the head with her pants flying low screaming, "What are we hitting?"  I ran forward, brain whirling.

It took me about fifteen seconds to realize that our spanking new anchor had plunged off the bow and was diligently pulling out all 100 feet of chain.  By the time I went back, released the sheets, and started forward again, the 100 feet of nylon line attached to the chain has dutifully gone over the side. Just as I got to the bow, Marusa stopped short like she had hit a wall.  There we were, well hooked in 75 feet of water.

I finally got the sails tamed down, and we all gathered on the front deck to recover and figure out what to do next.  I tried but couldn't get the anchor free of the bottom by myself, so I asked for all hands to pull on the line.   We started, someone gave out a nervous laugh, and that was it. We couldn't stop laughing for 15 minutes, and every time we tried to bring up the anchor the laughing would start again.  We finally did manage to get free and retrieve rode and anchor, in spite of being laughter-impaired. We will never forget that afternoon. 

Even after 12 years, that memory is so vivid that I check and recheck the bow, where the anchor is now well fastened. I am happy to report that Marusa has not tried to self-anchor since that first experience.  

And I can say with authority:
Never let anyone tell you that an anchor can't stop a speeding boat in 75 feet of water.

A WHINE FOR THE NEW YEAR
Humbled by the Cold                                                                  by Trish Lambert

In the early days of my citizenship in the cruising village, I was intrepid...mentally intrepid, at least. When I read memoirs and letters by people who had already lived aboard their boats or put thousands of miles under their keels, I invariably said to myself, "I can do that! I can do that!" As time went on, I proved out my assertion, first along the U.S. east coast and into the Caribbean, then on the U.S. and Latin American west coasts and into the Caribbean. Like any sailor on a small boat for a long period of time, I encountered all kinds of challenges--some easy, some difficult--that I was able to meet and learn from.

Until the fall and winter of 2002. When I discovered that I hate being aboard in the cold.

This was not a situation that I ever thought daunting up until then. I had read letters from any number of U.S., Canadian, and European liveaboards who spent most or all of their time in the upper latitudes, and I had talked with folks who lived on boats as far north as Alaska. They all had one thing in common-an almost offhand dismissal of living on board in their winters. Sure, they all said, there are things you have to do or have so that you can live comfortably, but once you get the hang of it, no problem. I had come to think of living aboard in the cold months as simply another challenge to be mastered-certainly not something to drive me off the boat.

Boy, was I wrong.

The beginning of my cold weather initiation started in October during our trip down the Intracoastal Waterway from the Chesapeake Bay. In case you don't know or don't recall, the fall and winter of 2002 was particularly cold in that part of the U.S., and the cold came early. A passage that in other years would have been in an Indian summer was made in below-freezing mornings and days that didn't get much warmer. We had the proper gear--Polartec tops and bottoms, long underwear, wool socks, ear muffs, inner and outer gloves, Aran sweaters straight from Ireland, UGG boots with sheepskin linings-and we knew the ins and outs of layering clothing to maximize heat trapping. I wore my fleece "Dr. Denton" jumpsuit at night (over my long johns and accompanied by the UGGs that rarely left my feet), and sometimes slept with my watch cap on to keep my head warm.

The diesel heater warmed up the cabin in the mornings that we weren't traveling and pretty much all the evenings of the trip. The tea kettle was kept busy heating water for coffee, tea, soup, and hot water bottles. And, of course, the engine (which stayed on most of the passage) helped keep the cabin warm.

After reading this list of preparedness, you may be saying, "So what was the problem?"  Well, no amount of layering or diesel heating worked completely for me. My nose stayed cold pretty much the whole trip-and sleeping with a cold nose has never been something I do well. And I discovered that I am a victim of Reynaud's Phenomenon (look, Ma, I have a phenomenon!)-an autonomic nervous system response that's gone awry. As Skip (my physician assistant husband) explained, Reynaud's is my body's over-reaction to protect itself from the cold. The result is painful numbness in my fingertips, which also turn alarmingly white; ditto my toes. It didn't matter what gloves I wore, how many socks I had on under my UGGs-my fingers and toes hurt bad all the way down the ICW. (A few days after we put in to a Charleston marina, where the space heater stayed on at all times, the skin on my finger tips started peeling off...most distressing!).

So...I have discovered one aspect of living aboard and cruising that I really CAN'T do--and it is humbling to admit it. After braving Atlantic gales, sitting out hurricanes, and threading my way through coral reefs, I have to admit to being crushed by something that a lot of other folks take as a matter of course....winter cold.

I have a new appreciation for "Boat Drinks," one of Jimmy Buffett's classic songs. And like him, as I sit here at the beginning of January anticipating quite a number of cold weekends aboard Nehalennia, I must cry out:

"I GOTTA FLY TO ST. SOMEWHERE!"

Happy New Year, y'all!

-----------------------------

See Skip's Tips for some of my ever-warm husband's suggestions for dealing with the cold months of the year.

Again, thanks to all of you who have corresponded with me in 2003. Your kind words and encouragement have made a huge difference in my fledgling Internet business! I look forward to talking with you more this year, and to meeting you at boat shows or (even better) in cool anchorages!

See you next issue! And please drop me a line any time!