Passing a Point...

First Light lived up to her name once again. The anchor came up at about the same time as the sun, and we motored off for another day of sailing through the mountains. The Hudson gets a bit more twisty the further inland it goes, eventually bending around West Point before it opens up into a larger body of water flowing under the Newburgh-Beacon bridges.

Passing by West Point sparked some hard memories for me. My dad was a military man who had applied to West Point. While waiting for an answer, he was assigned to a tank company, a company that was part of the force that landed at Incheon Korea. A few months later, and while still “in country”, he received word that he had been accepted and the Army sent him back to the States to start classes. After his first year, he was first in his class. No small feat at West Point. But, somewhere in there, he met and fell in love with my Mother. He asked permission from the Army to get married but they turned him down. So he resigned, changed schools, and got a degree in Mechanical Engineering instead. Insofar as I can tell, it was the only true anti-authoritarian stance he ever took.

The years passed. The Vietnam war was in full swing, as were the Civil rights, Women's rights, and environmental protection movements. My dad looked on the first two as people demanding rights he thought they already had who were demanding special treatment. The last he saw as utter bunk propagated by hippies. His long-haired, jeans-wearing, rebel teenaged eldest son (me) was a vocal supporter of each, even taking part in some of the protests. The morning after the National Guard opened fire on anti-war protesters in Ohio, we had a bitter fight, the aftermath of which lingered for a very long time. In addition, I was in constant trouble at school with a deeply ingrained anti-authoritarian streak. (Something that remains to this day.) It would not be too much of a stretch to say that we didn't get along that well. I managed to escape High School with a diploma. Then I finished Tech School third in a class of seventy plus, got married, and moved away at the age of 19.

More years passed, and things improved between us. His eldest was a father of three of his grandkids and a successful pilot, mechanic, and manager. We could sit and chat over a beer without harsh words or hurt feelings. There were still subjects we tiptoed around, but we worked hard at finding common ground. We even worked on some projects together that proved successful. He started riding motorcycles and we took a few trips together. He also made a couple of long distance airplane flights with me flying for various family reasons. That I actually managed to be pretty good in some challenging fields, both surprised him a little and pleased him to no end.

Near the end of his life, my brothers and sister had to make some very hard decisions about the care both my parents required. My sister and I took the brunt of the blame for moving them out of the house they had lived in for more than 50 years and into a home where they could receive the care and physical support they needed. I don't think my dad ever really forgave me for that. Something I completely understand.

When he passed, I was hundreds of miles away living and traveling on Kintala. As we motored past West Point, I thought about my dad and the lifetime we shared. I'm not really the type that has “prized possessions”, but I do have one. It is the bayonet my dad carried ashore that day at Incheon. Whatever I might think about war and the authorities that give the orders to start and fight wars, however I might feel about societies and ideologies that support the oppression of others over skin tone, gender, sexual preference, or religion, my dad had the courage to do what he believed was his duty and did his part in battle. He made the hard choice between a military career or getting married and starting a family. He took care of that family through some very turbulent years. When that bayonet gets handed over to the next generation, I hope the caretaker understands that it is a symbol of courage and dedication that his or her great grandfather has passed on as a part of their heritage.

As we motored past West Point, I stood out on the bow, taking in the beauty of the surroundings and thinking about my life that had led up to that moment. And I couldn't help but wish things had been better between my dad and I. But he stood his ground. And I stood mine. Maybe, just maybe, he was okay with the fact that I did. And maybe that is the best any of us can do.

Two Days...

Thunderstorms soaked the dock the night before we left Atlantic City. They were supposed to be pretty intense. If they were, I slept right through them. In the morning around 0600 it was still drizzling as we got set to drop the lines. Across the dock from us, new friends were doing the same, as were several boats across the river at the other way too expensive marina. The inlet offered a bit of pitch and roll but after we got about ten miles away from the inlet and a couple of miles offshore, the Atlantic settled down. It wasn't quite glassy smooth, but it was close enough. And that was a pleasant surprise as the weather forecasts suggested a long, somewhat uncomfortable day.

Roughly eleven hours after backing out of the slip, the hook splashed into the water around Sandy Hook. The snubber was set. The engines fell silent. And there was a good chance I was the most contented sailor on the planet at that moment. The outside Atlantic part of the Great Loop was now behind us. A goal that took, if one includes our first attempt derailed by shattered bones and heart failures, more than a year to reach.

Years ago, Deb's and my first sailing adventure with big salt water was an ASA105 class charter around Long Island. The last night of that trip was spent anchored off Sandy Hook, across the harbor from New York City. Deb remembers us talking about someday being there again on our own boat. Now, at near the beginning of our adventure as fresh water river and lake powerboat pilots here we were, anchored in our own boat.

Anchored nearby were our new friends from the dock. They came over to First Light for sundowners and we had a really fun time. Tomorrow they will head off to pick up family and head to New England. Deb and I will head up the river to become fresh water river pilots. Locks and currents and barges...oh my. (If you get that reference you are showing your age!)

Such is a unique aspect of the cruising community. Good friends are made in minutes, and are never seen again. But the very act of friendship touches our life and brightens our take on the world. We have friends out there living their lives. We would never do anything to harm them in any way. Maybe that is humankind's main problem. We don't make enough friends and spread them out far enough. And I speak as one of the world's dedicated loners.

This morning, we dragged out of the berth kind of early after an ugly night of rolling. As we motored out of the anchorage, we waved goodbye to our new friends and headed out across the New York Harbor.

Years ago, I made part of my living by flying a twin-engined airplane in and out of JFK on freight charters. The first time I made that trip single pilot was a bit intense. Ahead of me was a British Airlines SST. Behind me a United 747. At one point during what was an instrument approach (though I could see the city under me), I was told to “report statue inbound”. There was no “Statue” intersection on the approach plate. When queried, the Controller barked, “Statue...the big green lady holding a torch and surrounded by water.” I could just about hear him slapping his forehead and I'm sure lots of cockpits were filled with laughter. I made many a trip back into JFK over the decades, from flying a single-engine Piper Lance to a CRJ700 airliner. I was never asked to "Report Statue" again.

This morning, helming First Light through New York Harbor, I kind of felt the same way as I did that first time into JFK in the little twin. It was busy and bouncy. Fast ferry boats criss-crossed everywhere. We did one 360 to fall in behind a car carrier headed in and did a 90 degree jink to space a container ship headed out. We passed the “big green lady holding a torch and surrounded by water, dodging tour boats, barges, yachts, speed boats, and fishing boats too numerous to count. Most were moving at max speed with unknown intentions. Others were anchored here, there, everywhere. It was busy that way for miles up the Hudson with the added fun of dodging sailboats who knew they had the right of way.

It might have been one of the coolest things we have ever done with a boat. Motoring through the city, buildings towering overhead, helicopters coming and going, and boats everywhere? Damn it was fun. A few miles later we crossed some kind of line. For the rest of the trip up to our anchorage for the night we might have seen a dozen boats total. One was a tug, bow to a barge, drifting down the river stern first. All he was doing was keeping the barge in the channel while the current carried them along. Never seen that done before.

After clearing the city, motoring up the Hudson was the most peaceful, low-key day we have had on a boat for as long as we can remember. It was sure a good way to start our adventure as river boat pilots.

What a difference two days can make.

Ed Note: the triangle sticking out of the top of the building in this photo is a porch. You could see people on it with the binoculars. Told my youngest how cool it would be to take her up there...she declined. 

We passed these high cliffs most of the day after the city

An interesting read about this bridge, the Tappan-Zee bridge.

The anchorage at Haverstraw Bay

Old, but not so bold...

In spite of the forecast, we woke up this morning to dead calm winds and near glassy water. Conditions outside of the inlet were not being reported as that good, but we did have a brief discussion about heading out. Deb put the nix on that idea by reminding me that pretty much every time we make a hurried, last minute departure we end up regretting it. Fair enough. We loafed through the next part of the day with me checking fluid levels in the engine room and then the two of us doing a minor mod to the cabinet in the head to add a little more storage space. That done, we had a serious, in-depth, look at the weather. I did not like what I was seeing.

The NWC discussion for Atlantic City for the next 48 hours included phrases like “strong storms” and “wind gusts to 60 knots” along with “damaging hail.” A look at the prog charts supported that forecast with a big split in the isobars between a low NE of us, a high SW, along with an associated cold front closing in from the NW. That the current weather was far from the forecast spooked me as well. Clearly someone, somewhere, had missed something. Maybe they missed it on the good side, and maybe they missed it on the bad side. Adding to my discomfort was that the other weather sources were all over the map. All added together? I was not at all comfortable with where we were sitting.

Deb was quite content to ride out whatever was coming in the anchorage. The hook was solid. We had been sitting through 20 knot winds plus higher gusts for a couple of days with no problem. And we are no strangers to riding out ugly weather on anchor or a mooring ball. But for reasons I don't understand myself, the idea of riding out such a convoluted tangle of forecasts in that spot had my skin crawling.

Deb and I have a long-standing agreement when it comes to nearly everything we do. If either one of us is really uncomfortable with a potential decision, we make a different decision. She was a bit puzzled by my case of the heebie-jeebies but she called a nearby marina and found us a dock. I had already done the engine checks, so we closed the hatches, stored some loose stuff, and cranked up the engines. It took a bit of effort to get the hook out of the mud, but it came up with some grass on it as well. It was near high tide and we followed our inbound track back out through the narrow channel, across the inlet, and over to the dock. It was an easy entry and, though the wind was starting to pick up, we landed without fuss. Once again we found the marina folks to be competent and friendly. (Florida Marina owners should head this way, hang around, and learn a thing or two about customer service.) Also, these docks are new, floating, and fixed to the stoutest pilings I have ever seen. In fact they are so new that they are not even finished yet.

Yes, it is expensive and no, we don't know how many days we will be here. But we are here and I am a much happier camper. It will be a little bit of an embarrassment if, for the wad of cash it is costing, we end up riding out a minor bit of wind and rain that amounts to nothing much. But for the first time in a few days I am actually relaxed. We are surrounded by boats, buildings, sea walls, and docks. A few hundred feet is the longest fetch. I've got us tied to the dock with a web of lines and a row of fenders. And, even as I type this (2042 local time) the trees are bending and the flags are standing straight out. It may still work out that we moved here for no good reason. And if that is the case? I can live with having been spooked by a nasty forecast and making the call to be somewhere else when, and if, it arrives.

There is an old saying. There are bold pilots, and there are old pilots. But there are no old, bold, pilots. I happen to know that is not entirely true since I am, in fact, and old, bold, pilot. However, I don't guess I can make the claim of being and old, bold, sailor. And I am okay with that.

This one is for my grandson who also happens to be named Michael, Jr

Lots and lots of casinos on the boardwalk at Atlantic City

No swimming allowed today due to the rip currents

Even the Ferris wheel was stopped because of the wind

Even more casinos across from our dock

The KATO principle...

A long time ago, somewhere north of 45 years, I started working at my second job as an aircraft mechanic in one of the manufacturing plants in Wichita Kansas. The first one went away when I, and hundreds of others, were near to finishing up the government Air Force project we had all been working on. The pink slips would soon be flowing. Since I was far down on the seniority list, I would be one of the first ones out the door. So I bailed out before the stampede.

I got very lucky and the second job wasn't working on the production line hammering in endless lines of rivets. I was posted to the Sheep Shed, the hangar where the company's experimental and custom-ordered airplanes were assembled or modified. Among the things I put a wrench to during my time there was a new trainer for the US Navy, a radar jamming missile for the Air Force, and turning civilian twin-engined turboprop airplanes into camera ships. I was, by far, the youngest and least experienced technician in the building. So they teamed me up with one of the older hands. Everyone called him KATO. One word. No first name. No last name. No initials. It was the name on his ID badge. It was the name on his toolbox and paycheck. No one ever called him anything else. He had started working for the company back in WWII, building ailerons for fighter planes. Rumor had it his seniority number was so high that the CEO of the company would get a pink slip before he would.   

The first thing he did was show me how to make a special "company" screwdriver.  With an overall length of 18 inches, a fat non-skid handle, and interchangeable tips, it offers up a massive amount of torque. I carried it for the rest of my career and, in fact, it is here on First Light.

KATO was an absolute wizard of a mechanic. I once saw him buck a hard to reach -10 rivet with a nickel taped to his finger. For those that don't know what that means, those that do will likely tell you it is impossible. But I was pulling the trigger on the rivet gun while KATO kept telling me to “Hit it boy. Hit it harder.  Don't be shy.” Metal work, hydraulics, electrical, landing gear, pneumatics, air conditioning, rigging...the only thing KATO wouldn't touch was an engine. According to him engine work was for mechanics.  He was a “technician”. He was also the most relentlessly cheerful man I have ever known.

One of my first jobs with KATO was a camera install in a twin turboprop. That mod included cutting a hole in the bottom of the fuselage for the camera to look through. The whole apparatus was sealed so the aircraft could still be pressurized for high altitude flight. (It is a pretty good bet that, if you live in the US, you have had your picture taken by an aircraft modified for photo work.) Part of that mod meant fabricating new air conditioning lines to be rerouted around the camera. It was a pretty involved job. Once the air conditioning system was reassembled it had to be charged with freon. That included pulling a vacuum on the system and checking it for leaks. With all the lines assembled and connected, we started the pump and watched the gauge. After a while the gauge was still bouncing around indicating a leak. Since KATO didn't say anything I didn't either A while longer and it was still bouncing around. This time I mentioned it. "Patience" was KATO's only response.  After a while longer, with gages still bouncing, I suggested we surely had a leak somewhere, one that was likely to be very difficult to trace down and repair. KATO looked at me, smiled, and taught me a life lesson right there in that hanger.

“Boy, you gotta look at the good side 'till you're SURE you can't do that no more.”

A little while later, the gage settled down, we added the freon, and the job was done.

I have carried KATO's words, and his smiling, gleeful voice, around with me for decades. They have echoed around in my head as we have struggled to get First Light closer to home. Even wishing that things had gone smoother would have had KATO looking at me funny. We are handling the problems and making the best choices we can. I live on a boat with the love of my life and best friend of more than 50 years. We are traveling, seeing new places, meeting people. If he could, I suspect KATO would look at me now, smile, and say “See? Told you so.” 

The fun of living on a boat...

Part of the fun of living on a boat is living very close to the weather. All of the forecasts suggest that we will be riding to this anchor for a few days while waiting for the Atlantic Ocean to settle down a bit. So what's a boat owner to do when there is nothing else to do? Well, fix something of course.

That wasn't really the plan for the day. We have been working on, and paying other people to work on, various systems on the boat for the better part of a month. So a couple of days spent riding to the anchor, watching the boat antics of the weekenders using the anchorage to pretend to know what they are doing, playing some music and just loafing was the plan. But, around 0630 yesterday morning, we discovered a necessary support system for being at anchor wasn't working. We thought about heading to dock to wait out the weather while having access to whatever parts we might need. But none of the marinas around here were open that early so we started poking around the uncooperative system to see what we could see. At about 2230 we finished putting the boat back in order and cleaning up. It was an unrelenting 16 hour work day, no food, no breaks, just keep hacking away. But in the end the uncooperative necessary support system was, once again, fully cooperative. Looking back at a day like that is also part of the fun of living on a boat.

So it looks like we can ride out the inbound weather on the hook after all. Good thing, since a four-day stay at a marina around here would cost about $800. I know that compared to most of the people who live on this planet we are among the well-to-do, the elite. After all, we own and live on a “yacht”. So a $800 bill for sitting at someone's dock shouldn't raise an eyebrow. That's not even a full boat buck.

But we are not that well-to-do because, well, we live on a “yacht”. It is an absolute fact that a boat is a hole in the water into which one throws money. Throwing in as little as possible is part of the fun. At least it is for us.

When uncooperative systems show up on a boat it is a also a real money saver if there are two people aboard who work well together, can find their way around a maintenance issue, who share ideas freely, and who work pretty hard at being disappointed in the boat without taking it out on the person they are working with. (Deb is much better at that than I am.) It also helps to have all kinds of tools stashed away, with oddball things like fiberglass workings, water proof fairing compound, assorted hardware, and oddball seals and gaskets. All it takes then is a willingness to dive in and give it a go.

I am finishing up writing about that day at 0100 the next day. (Not sure when it will hit the blog.) Though I am feeling the day that has yet to end, the inbound weather has arrived. First Light is riding to a short rode in a small anchorage with the winds gusting up to 20 knots. It is a pretty well-protected anchorage with little fetch in any direction. But 20 knots of wind, while barely noticed by land dwellers getting ready for bed, will keep a boat dweller's attention no matter what else has happened in the preceding hours. I'll head to the berth, but a full night's sleep is likely not in the offering. That is also part of the fun of living on a boat.

...to GO or NOT to go...

With the new water pump installed, it appeared that First Light was travel-worthy once again. And, once again, we can consider ourselves lucky. The old pump was damaged in a way that suggested a catastrophic failure, one that could have easily done major damage to the engine itself, was imminent. The pump blades, made of stainless steel, were chewed up. The only way that happens is if the shaft bearings were failing, allowing the shaft to wobble, resulting in the blade damage. At some point the assembly would have just disassembled itself. And that would have made for a rather bad day.

A big shout out to Eckels in Cape May. They were quick and at a great price.

With the engine fixed, all we needed was a weather window to try and be on our way once again. And we had one, sort of. From what the forecasts suggested we would have an eight hour window in which to do a seven hour trip starting at around 0600 in the morning. The next window will open several days later. We also had to consider that we had just completed more repairs on the boat. We would be making a “sea trial” on the Atlantic Ocean likely several miles off shore.

So, make the run and hope the weather doesn't catch us flat-footed on the Atlantic and that the boat doesn't break...again? Move to the anchorage and wait it out without spending hundreds of more dollars in dock fees? Or pony up the bucks and continue to enjoy the perks that come with being dock dwellers? Much debate between the two (ex) pilots/(ex) Coast Guard Captains resulted as we reviewed various weather apps and compared weather models. In the end we decided to decide in the morning.

So come about 0415 we had to decide. Both of us were on the brink of waiting it out either on the Cape May anchorage or just coughing up the cash to stay put. I was leaning toward just staying on the dock, but Deb seemed okay with heading out. Since neither one of us wanted to be the one to suggest staying, we pulled in the lines and headed out. Later, she told me that she was leaning toward staying in the anchorage at least, but the need to just make some sort of progress north weighed heavily in her decision. 

The narrow exit at Utsch's Marina in Cape May

It was a bit of a roll with the swells on the aft starboard quarter but about what we expected and pretty close to what had been forecast. We made better time than our estimate, so there were two hours left in the forecasted weather window when we dropped the hook. So now we sit, the only boat in a secluded spot overlooking Atlantic City. An anchorage with virtually no fetch in any direction. With winds forecasted to be 20+ we will almost certainly be spending the next several days here. But the holding tank is near empty, the water tanks are full, there is food in the fridge. The anchor is set and we are riding to the snubber. The wind is starting to pick up as forecast, keeping it cool and blowing the bugs away. The next few days are an open question. Going by boat it is a long way to the New York Harbor from here. Even though it may well be our last ocean passage, we are both eager to put it at our stern. We have been salt water sailors. Being fresh water sailors now is okay with me.

The narrow entry/exit at Utsch's Marina in Cape May

0500 sunrise at Cape May, NJ

The entry into the Atlantic at the eastern end of the Cape May channel

Atlantic City, NJ comes into focus.

We broke a mechanic...

Yesterday we got a call from the mechanic who was going to help us with the pump change. He got hurt and is out of service. It doesn't sound like he got hurt too badly but a sprained knee would be enough to keep me out of our engine hole. I certainly wouldn't ask anyone else to crawl in there injured.

The folks here at the marina offered us a couple of options for alternate mechanics. Deb left a message with the first on on their list and just a few minutes later got a call back. The gentleman jumped right in to helping us work out a plan. Like me, he suspects that the pump has reached the end of its service life. We agreed to him doing the job so he went to work sourcing parts.  Deb and I debated as to just how long and how much this might cost. Given how things have gone so far we were thinking big numbers of dollars and a long delay.

An hour or so later, the mechanic called back. He found a pump that would be at his shop this afternoon. Tomorrow he will come and replace it. The pump cost was way, way, less than we had guessed. Labor will be what labor will be. Shop to boat to repair to shop times whatever the hourly rate. I was a mechanic for a long time. I understand and have no complaint. Still, it was suggested that, since I can find my way around an engine a little bit, that I drain the system so they can pull the pump as soon as they get here. So Deb and I got that done yesterday.

I would pull the pump as well, but I suspect that thing is original equipment. I give it a better than 50/50 chance that one of the mount bolts shears off, leaving a drill/easy-out/tap/helicoil repair. I'll pay for it either way, but I'd rather they shear the bolt instead of me.  

In spite of our run of mechanical glitches, or maybe because of them, this trip has had us working with a string of really impressive, professional, friendly, and helpful people. Something that hasn't always been our experience when it comes to the marine industry. Maybe it is simply a matter of not being in Florida anymore. That state's efforts to drive cruisers out is pretty common knowledge. Whatever the reason, and in spite of our breakdowns, so far we have found that the further North we go the better it seems to get for those of us who live on a boat.

As soon as the repair is finished, we will likely head back over to the anchorage and wait on a weather window. Given the number of boats that motored out of here this morning it looks like we missed another one today. And so it goes.

Friends Taija and Janet leaving on Endeavor in the fog.