Insurance Circa 2021

Ed Note: Another detailed post about insurance procurement in the marine world. If you're not planning on buying a boat any time soon, you can probably skip this one.

Hurricane Dorian 2019

Like a list on a bad dating site, there was Sandy and Andrew and Katrina and Michael and Harvey and Irma and Dorian...and whether or not you believe in climate change, hurricanes are increasing in frequency and strength.

And insurers are taking note.

When we bought our first boat, it was on an inland lake. We were able to get insurance through BoatUS for $857 per year even though we had no prior experience and only a handful of ASA classes. When we bought Kintala that amount went up to $1100. When we announced our intention to move the boat to the coast and begin full-time cruising, they said no, thank you. We looked around and ended up with Markel, who served us the whole first year just fine, although with the annoyance of having to report to them every time we changed states. At renewal time, we were referred to Jerry at Novamar Insurance in Sarasota, FL who was able to get us a good policy with GEICO. It started out at around $2300 but reduced each year with the lack of claims, and by the time we sold Kintala it was down to around $1700 for an agreed hull value of $95,000. The only claim we ever filed was for a hurricane haulout for Irma and they paid quickly.

Fast forward to our trawler purchasing period, now two years after selling Kintala. I contacted GEICO and even though their policy is to not insure any boats over 30 years old, they did quote us because we have our car with them. It was even a reasonable quote for hull value of $74,900 and $10,000 personal property and $500,000 liability with a policy premium of around $1700. It did not include the Bahamas, but we really didn't intend to go there this first year anyway. It went to the underwriters as soon as we agreed to it, and a few days later, after sending them the required copy of the survey, they came back with the statement that we had to comply with all survey recommendations, both the safety items on the A list and the recommended items on the B list, before we could close on the boat. Ummmm.... we told them we could not work on a boat we didn't own and we couldn't close on the boat without insurance. They said too bad, so sad, and the conversation was over. It was quite a surprise, because when we bought Kintala, the insurance company gave us a rider with 30 days' allowance to complete the survey recommendations, and we only had to address the A list safety items, but GEICO was not budging.

Back to the drawing board. Our broker, Lars Bergstrom from Curtis Stokes, suggested that we take a look at their website where they have compiled a very nice list of resources for those buying boats, including insurers. I sat down early the next morning with my notebook and began to call every single one on the list. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that each of the people on the list were brokers who would all be calling the same underwriters for the policy, so I had duplicated a lot of effort for some of the brokers (sorry, guys) and ended up with a bit of confusion. In the end, we contacted a fellow sailor, Laura of Legacy Underwriters, Inc. (who I knew from the Women Who Sail Facebook group) who was able to hook us up with a policy from Concept Special Risks, Ltd. It was massively confusing because even through her we had to fill out multiple applications—one for her company as the broker and one for Concept directly. In the end we were supplied with a policy for the hull value of $72,900 with a $10,935 deductible for normal damage (if there is such a thing) and a whopping $21,870 deductible for named storms. In case you're not doing the math, that's almost a 30% deductible. (The named storm deductible on our last policy for Kintala was 5%.) Liability at $500K, uninsured boaters at $100K, and personal property at $10K. Yikes. And this is even with the fact that both Tj and I are USCG licensed captains. Still, they insured us for the whole US and the Bahamas, and they're OK with liveaboards. Acquiring insurance was one of the longest parts of the purchase. It took a full 15 days from our first phone call to an insurance company until we had a binder so we could close, and another full week before I had the policy in hand. They gave us 45 days to complete the A-list on the survey, something we are in the middle of now.

So here's what I heard from the companies I contacted.

• GEICO—they don't insure liveaboards. Period. They don't insure anything over 30 years old or 40 feet. 
• Anchor Marine—the rep did contact us back but I had already secured a policy by that time. We were really in a time crunch for the closing after screwing around with GEICO for so long.
• W.R. Hodgens Marine Insurance—he also did respond but we already had our binder in place by that time.
• Blue Water Yacht Insurance—"I can't help you."
• Jackline—they do not insure anything under $100K. They primarily only insure circumnavigators
• Markel—never got a response
• Novamar—"I seriously have nothing for you."
• I repeatedly heard "we don't insure liveaboards" and "we don't insure boats over 30 years old" and "we don't insure travel to and in the Bahamas" 

So my advice is this:

• Do your own research. Don't assume because someone else got insured by so-and-so that you will also.
• Get your insurance tied down solid before you sign the closing papers and transfer funds.
• Be completely upfront with the underwriters if you plan to live aboard. I know a lot of people are just getting insured and not telling them, but if you go to file a claim it could quite easily be denied
• Be sure to get the survey compliance requirements in writing and secure a reasonable time frame to get that work done.
• GET EVERYTHING IN WRITING - deductibles (both regular and named storm), navigation limits, liability, uninsured boater, medical payments, personal effects, time to complete the survey items, exactly what survey items have to be completed, what hurricane plan is required.
• Be prepared to pay at least 25% down on the policy, if not in full.
• If you're new to boating, get every training class done that you can. It will help immensely. ASA101, 103 104, 105 and your state's boating safety courses all add up on the application. Also, keep a logbook of any charters you do. I seriously doubt we would have been able to get insurance at all in this environment were we just starting out like we did in 2008
• Be prepared to do this Every.Single.Year. Keep your notes—just because they insured you this year does not mean that they will insure you next year. Boat owners are getting dropped all the time by companies they have dealt with for years
• If you elect to self-insure, be sure that you understand the risks of doing that. Believe me, it crossed our minds, but we would still be required to have liability insurance in order to stay in many marinas, and the difference between just liability and hull insurance was not great enough to persuade us. If you elect to go this way, you may want to secure the advice of a maritime lawyer first.

And my final statement on the topic is...Good Luck!

Again

Having a Science Center nearby is one of the perks of living in St. Louis. It is an interesting and informative place. The Center is full of machines and interactive displays that focus on everything from dinosaurs to farming to space travel. There is an IMAX theater (currently being upgraded) and a planetarium. They even have a flight center that houses a couple of full motion simulators. Nothing nearly as fancy (or expensive) as those at work, but something that will be fun to explore with the grand kids one of these days.

The Center often hosts special exhibitions. The current display is focused on artifacts recovered from the city of Pompeii. There are actually two separate displays. The first one that visitors enter is filled with statues, household goods, art, models, and video recreations of daily life. They reveal a people who were master artisans.  Pottery, metal and glass work, sculpture, art...2000 years old and utterly captivating.

Their engineering prowess was equally impressive, with complex waste and water management systems, under-floor heating, paved roads, with the weight and measure standards necessary to support a complex economy and robust construction efforts. Though they did have the slave economy common to many ancient cultures, their slaves were usually paid wages and could, eventually, buy their freedom. Unfortunately, that was not the reality with the sex-slave trade, which was a legal enterprise openly supported by the government and the elite. Not everything about their culture was as beautiful as their art.

After learning about the city and its culture one enters a small, stand up theater where the destruction of the town is played out on a large movie screen, complete with sound and light effects. Pompeii met its end on August 24th, 79 AD when the nearby Mount Vesuvius volcano experienced a massive eruption. The town and most of its thousands of inhabitants were buried under 12 feet of ash and debris; lost to the world for over 1,600 years.

The theater screen then lifts and one enters the final room of the display, filled with pictures of the excavation…and the mummified remains of some of the inhabitants. Children, mothers, husbands, and neighbors caught in their final moments, terrified and trying to escape or huddling with the people they loved most as their world fell in on them.

It is a sad and sobering display. These folks had no idea what their end would be, there wasn’t even a word for “volcano” in their language. They would likely have laughed at the very idea that a mountain made of rock could blow up, spew fire and ash, and destroy their city between one sunrise and the next.  It is likely religious, business, and civic leaders would have vigorously joined in attacking anyone who claimed such a thing as being a fool, a charlatan, or simply insane.

The city's religious leaders might have declared that Bacchus ( a lesser god of agriculture, wine and fertility) had assured them that He would never allow a city known around the world for its wine, to meet such an end. Should Bacchus prove inadequate, the city boasted great temples built to the glory of the most powerful gods Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. Virtually every house included alters where daily worship took place. The Priests would expect such piety insured a prosperous future for generations to come.

For more mundane reasons, business leaders would seek to silence such claims in order to protect the city's economic health, and civic leaders would surely take a dim view of such nonsense alarming the less educated among the population.

They all had less than a day of knowing how wrong they were. Then they died.

On nearly the same day (though nineteen hundred years later) Dorian stalled over the Abaco Islands, then moved N-N-W toward the US east coast. The storm’s track meant that that Daughter Eldest and Family suffered nothing more than a few days of hiding out in a hotel room. Both their boat and Kintala notched up yet another close hurricane call while escaping without a scratch.

But the news out of Marsh Harbor, Treasure and Green Turtle Cays, Hope Town…nothing short of heart breaking sadness. Those were places where Deb and I lived for months at a time, where our perspective of the world was changed for the better, where we became different people than we were when first setting out to go cruising. There is no way to process what has happened, to balance the relief against the sadness. So many people have suffered a devastating loss. People we met, knew, and admired. People who welcomed us into their communities and invited us into their homes.

The two, relief and grief, are incompatible; yet there they are. There is nothing anyone can do about a Cat 5 hurricane stalling over the home of a friend. And though, unlike the people of Pompeii, there was some warning that this was coming, some knowledge of what could happen and why; not everyone had the chance, the resources, or the time, to escape. Barely a week before Dorian grew into the most violent storm to ever hit the Islands, the best forecasters on the planet using the most advanced equipment available thought there was a good possibility that it would pass the Islands as a tropical storm, harass parts of Florida with some wind and rain, and fade away.

I have to wonder though, how many of them secretly feared the worst? I know I did…Mathew, Irma, Michael, and now Dorian. But I am not a forecaster, and billions of $$ of prep aren’t spent on wild speculations about the mountain looming in the background.

Again?

According to Google Earth I am presently sitting - as the crow flies - 875 miles from where Kintala sits on stands, strapped to big concrete blocks, and stripped of pretty much everything on her decks. That’s what we do when a hurricane is inbound though, in this case, we had to pay for someone to do it for us. Eight hundred and seventy five miles is a bit far for the commute back and forth to the job. We contemplated Deb renting a car and driving to FL to get the boat ready for its latest dance with possible 100+ m/p/h winds, but I was against the idea for many reasons. The first is I just didn’t want her driving toward a storm when all the smart money was driving away. No boat is worth getting hurt over. By the time she got there, got the boat prepped, and got the hell out of dodge, Dorian would be hard on her heels; hers and about a million other people trying to get out of the way of an inbound Major Hurricane. We’ve done that already with Irma and Florence, (for Michael we stayed in a nearby hotel but still off the boat). Such trips can put a damper on one’s mood that lasts for months and bash a serious dent in one’s bank account. It was less expensive to pay someone else to do the job for us. Staying out of Florida for the next few weeks is a good idea as well.

Dorian AS OF 8-29-19

Kintala will survive or not, we have done everything that is in our hands to do. But Daughter Eldest and Family are also in the strike zone, living on a dock in Stuart FL. They don’t have the choice of pulling the boat. All they can do is prep it, tie it to within an inch of its life, and get the hell out of dodge themselves. The problem is that no one is sure yet which way is the way to run. Some of the tracks have the storm hitting mid-state and turning north. In which case running north would be silly, the storm eventually chasing them down wherever it is they end up seeking refuge. (Another reality we learned with Irma.) Other tracks have the storm hitting the south part of the state and crossing over into the Gulf. In which case running south would be even sillier. The storm would simply run over whatever hotel one had chosen in which to cower in place, and likely still strong enough to offer a good pasting to those who choose poorly. So they prep and wait for the last minute starting gun on which way to run. Them, and about a million other people who may also be trying to get out of the way.

And I thought living in MO would take the worry out of hurricanes. Tornadoes, floods, and some of the world’s craziest drivers? Those are things that can, and will, make for some tense moments. But hurricanes? I was hopping to be done worrying about hurricanes, at least for as long as we remain on shore. Instead we will wait out the week with the same uncertainty that has visited us on four different occasions; Joaquin, Irma, Michael, and Florence. We worried about Hermine for less than a day. Born out of a small batch of storms out in the Gulf, it was given ZERO chance of becoming a hurricane. It did so anyway, landed on us while we were tied to the dock in Snead Island, and dropped a small tornado which tore the mast off a boat sitting just a hundred feet or so off our bow. All that happened in about 24 hours.

When we go back on the water, being far north when the hurricanes come, and far south when the nor’easter’s blow, will be the only schedule we plan to keep. It is also a prime reason for looking at a trawler to replace Kintala. (Assuming Kintala will still be an option come next week.) Being able to move at a constant 6 or 8 knots, making 80 to 100 miles in an easy-to-live-with day (even on the ICW), dry when it rains, warm when it's cold, and maybe even cool when the temp is in triple digits? I am starting to wonder if those are not as important to keeping the suck factor down and the fun factor up as having EPRBS, life vests, and an AIS on board.

Reflections on another hurricane

As has become our habit, we decided to scamper away from the oncoming Michael a bit earlier than originally planned. Even a modest ramp up in winds, consistent 20s with guests into the 30s, would rough up the waters between the boats and the dock more than we should risk with the little ones. In addition, unloading the boats in heavy rain is just more work with everything being slippery and heavy; not helpful when the Dink is already bouncing and banging around in the wind and waves. So we bailed a day early, still had bouncy rides back and forth from boat to dock, and got a little wet.

Settling into the hotel always comes with sigh of relief. Then it becomes a waiting game, fidgeting as the hours tick by while wondering just how hard a turn our lives are about to make. A turn over which, in the physical sense of a storm’s path, one has absolutely no control or influence. It is good exercise for my everyday, working philosophy; which includes accepting that most things that steer a life are outside of my control and are, therefore, not my responsibility. My responsibility is making sound and intelligent choices in the face of those things. Do that and be content with the outcome, whatever it might be, for that is the best anyone can do.

There was always a reasonable chance we would come through unscathed and, though we haven’t been back to the boats yet, there is no reason to think otherwise. The storm is now north and west of Beaufort, not even disturbing our sleep as it passed in the night.

Tomorrow we will return to the boats and go about returning to what is normal living for us. Many discussions will follow as to what to do next, where to go, and for how long. Dodging bullets is expensive, though not near as expensive as catching one. Establishing an income stream of some sort will be necessary for a while. Sorting that out will have much to do with the direction Kintala’s bow points over the coming months. Cruising, for us, was never about retiring onto a boat. So far it hasn’t been about just learning to live on a boat either. Instead it has been a matter of learning to make a living while living on a boat. We are working on it.

It would be silly, not to mention an act of awesome arrogance, to think a hurricane was the least influenced by anything any individual might do. Yet having to shrug off a little bit of “survivor’s guilt” still comes with the event. This makes the third time in 13 months that utter disaster has passed within a whisker, disrupting millions of lives, yet leaving ours basically untouched. Somewhere, deep inside, a soul knows that just isn’t fair, that it is pure luck to land in the “unharmed” side of the equation. People far more deserving of a stroke of luck landed on the opposite side; people with fewer choices, fewer resources, alone, now destitute, facing the bleakest of futures. There is something wrong with a heart that isn’t touched by that, that isn’t left puzzled, that doesn’t wonder “why?”

Then again, Daughter Eldest and family that includes four young kids, are among those who deserve a bit of luck. Maybe Deb and I didn’t catch an undeserved break so much as ride along in their bubble of fortune.

Anyway, it is time to get back outside. Three days in a hotel, sitting with walls on every side, a roof overhead, and a floor that doesn’t move with the wind and the water, is okay. The air conditioning is nice, the staff here a delight, snuggling under the covers at night a treat. We paid for three nights, nonrefundable (based on the forecasts) and so will make the best of our little vacation. But, even after a vacation, it is always good to get back home.

Our home is more exposed to Mother Earth than most. And it is clear She doesn’t much care about human kind one way or the other. Some might even suggest she is getting a bit testy over our collective choices, displeased with our stewardship, and short-tempered with our irresponsibility and short-sighted greed. I can’t say, and can’t change it anyway. What I do know is that three of the most powerful storms in US history have now passed close by and, no matter what path they took or what else they might have done, some of the people I love most in the world were out of their direct reach. That is the world we live in, the home that we have chosen. We live in it the best that we can.

Weather weary...

Knowing that, come morning, decisions will have to be made in the face yet another hurricane, makes for a poor night's sleep. Come morning we made a run to the dock, and were surprised by the best rainbow we have seen in a long while. We took it as a reminder that making the best decisions we can is all we can do, and the rest will unfold as it will.

It looks like Hurricane Michael is going to give Beaufort a solid thumping, putting the boats in the north east quadrant of the storm as it passes early Thursday morning. The leading edge of tropical force winds is due to arrive Wednesday mid day and last through Thursday, maybe into Friday. Hours of winds up to 70 mph is a long, uncomfortable, scary ride on a boat riding to a mooring ball for any adult. For kids it would be downright terrifying.

So here we go again. This time we will be staying in Beaufort, heading for a local hotel rather than renting a car and running inland. That will help ease the debris field that is our bank statement every time we have to do this, "this" being the third time in 18 months. Which is why we are "weather weary." Prepping for storms and evacuating is a high workload, high stress decision. Always, in the back of your mind, is the thought, "Is this the one that tags us?"  Carrying that thought around is a load, all by itself.

Michael will (Should?) pass inland of us, which is another reason for not running too far. We would have to put a lot of miles in to avoid riding out a tropical storm in a hotel. We can do that just as easy here. Besides,  I'm not sure we have enough of a head start.Thirty-six hours ago the debate was over a low pressure area that might develop tropical characteristics. This morning the debate is over how major this major storm is going to be, with just two days warning for friends in the great bend area. By the end of the day it seemed clear that Michael is going to be a big deal indeed.

We have taken 60 knot winds without damage several times before, but are doing a near full boat prep anyway.  Clearing the decks and tying the main sail down to within an inch of its life only took a couple of hours. The new mooring lines are still on, and we will add the safety lines on top of those. It helps that, in a fit of mild paranoia, we didn’t put the head sails back up after Florence. There wasn’t any reason to think that Mother Earth was done cooking up hurricanes this season. Worse, She appears to have a recipe for microwaving up a storm in just a few days, and they have been consistently big, powerful, and serious. The only good news is that Michael will have to plow its way across a good chunk of land before it gets here, so there is reason to think all will be well after a couple of days in a hotel. But staying on the boat means betting one's life on that being true, and I'm not that much of a gambler.

Big storms do big damage. This one doesn’t have to shift very far to the east to be a serious, serious threat to the entire south east coast of the US. So this will be another week of work and worry. Truth to tell, one of these days, some careful thought will have to be given to just how viable living on a boat in the south east US might be. But for now, all we can do is make the best short term decisions that we can based on what we know at this moment. That means getting to work to prep that boat and getting people we love into a stout shelter to ride out the storm. It is the best we can do to insure there are more rainbows in our future.

Tales from the refugee road…

Life would be a whole lot easier if hurricanes would make up their minds earlier, then let all the social media outlets know what’s going on. Our little family caravan has been in three different hotels the last three nights, scooting along hither and yon based on where the latest guess of where Florence will dump the huge load of water she has dragged across the Atlantic these last couple of weeks. We didn’t have a reservation at the first hotel we stopped at in Augusta, GA; having left a half day early to be on the leading edge of the refugee wave. We know what it's like to worry about the gas gauge nudging empty, crawling along with thousands of others on bumper to bumper four-lane highways, short tempers and crazy people in the driver’s seats. Once in a lifetime was enough.

The decision to leave early was a good call, and we landed in a nice hotel after an easy drive. But it cost well over $100 / night. The next night we moved to the hotel where we had reservations for a week, one where the cost was modest. Unfortunately, the accommodations were far more modest than the price suggested, and when the forecast put Augusta well within the flooding and tropical force winds it didn’t seem a good place to stay. There was no inside hallway so the door faced the outdoors. Even closed air, sunlight, and insects had easy access around the edges. Rain would surely just pour into the room when the weather folded, and the families would either be jammed into one small area for the duration or isolated from each other with no inside access. The windows were paper thin and not well mounted. It wasn’t hard to imagine a wind gust driving them right across the room. We decided to bail and head further inland.

The new destination was Chattanooga, about a 4 hour drive away. But the youngest member of the crew, the 8-month-old, went into full volume protest the minute we left the parking lot. She has no clue what is going on; all she knows is that her routine is upset so, so is she. She didn’t settle down even after nearly two hours on the road, Mom and baby both needed to stop. The next exit was Madison, and that’s where we landed.

This hotel has inside access, it also has a toilet that runs continuously, the phone is broken, there is no elevator to our second floor, the ice machines don’t work, there was no toilet paper on the roll or in the room, and the advertised internet connection isn’t. All ours for just shy of $100 / night after taxes and fees. Normally I would bail on such a place, but the little ones don’t really care about any of those things and they are just not up to making four moves in four days. So we will ride out the storm here.

How long that will be is still an open question. It looks like the brunt of the impact will be north and west of Beaufort, SC. There seems a pretty good chance that the boats will come through, so we will have homes when we return. Power, flooding, and road access will determine when we head back. Until then we will settle in here and make the best of it.

I was an airplane driver for decades, and put about a quarter of a million miles on motorcycles while wondering around the country. I have spent more than my share of time in hotels. There have been good ones, bad ones, and average ones uncounted. But it seems to me that, on the whole, “average” has dropped several notches in the hotel industry, while the price of “average” has gone way, way up. I would love to list names and addresses' of the hotels in question with the idea that if no one complains nothing gets fixed. But I don't have that much faith in the "customer service" side of America's economic system any more. I would love to believe that companies have some commitment to providing the best service they can at a fair price. But what I know is that their main, perhaps only, concern is how much profit they can make. I fear the cost of fixing things, if they were fixed at all, would fall on the people who work here instead. Costs to fix the facility would be found by reducing the workforce, cutting pay, cutting benefits (assuming there are any), while increasing the work load. That was my experience even in the high end world of aviation operations. I can't imagine hotel workers are fairing any better.

All and all I would much rather be on the boat. I just wish the hurricanes would cooperate a little more.

C Sharp, not B Flat

Almost all of the forecasts suggest that the Beaufort Area is going to be in the preferred southeast quadrant of Florence, with the eye of the hurricane far enough north that tropical storm force winds will be about the worst we can expect. We were about all set to go, with the plan to pick up the cars Monday and get them mostly packed, finish up the prep work Tuesday morning, and head off. We picked up the cars and were gliding along getting things done, me in the cockpit thinking about just when I should start pulling the solar panels. It was around 3 PM, with good amps still flowing into the batteries. I wanted them stuffed full before we closed up Kintala and left her to her own devices. Deb came up from below,

“The Governor of SC just issued a mandatory evacuation order, and we are in it.”

We looked at each other for about 10 seconds, thoughts dancing back and forth between us as often happens with people who have been together for a long time. Then we shifted into full tilt boogie mode. Having shuffled out of FL a year ago, one among millions with a killer storm closing in on our heels, getting out of dodge ASAP was the new plan.

It took about 7 hours of relentless effort. At 10:30 PM the kids were buckled in and we pulled out of the parking lot, the rest of the crew of Blowin' In The Wind following in their own car.  Getting away from Beaufort by auto is mostly done on 2 lane roads, roads that were still mostly empty. It isn’t hard to imagine what they will look like over then next 48 hours, but it will be two cars less thanks to the Governor's declaration.

Hotel mirrors are infinitely fascinating.

So we sit this morning in a hotel room, watching Mother Nature do her thing out in the Atlantic, and wondering what it will mean to us. We know a lot of people are going to get hurt, a lot of others will mark Florence as a, perhaps the, major event of their lives. And the amount of physical damage is almost sure to be astonishing. When we sat through this with Irma, just a year ago, the thought was we were likely to lose everything. At the last moment the storm turned away. This time around it appears Florence will land just far enough to the north that Beaufort will seen nothing but a small storm surge and 30 knot winds.

On the one hand, I have little confidence that it will work out that way. This is a big storm and (in my humble opinion) there is way too much confidence being put into one set of models, with only passing mention being made of those models that show the eye of Florence landing further to the South. On the other hand, we had the resources necessary to move out of harm’s way, and now sit in an air conditioned hotel room, dry, comfortable, food and shelter assured for some of those we love most in the world.

There is a homeless man who lives in the waterfront park in Beaufort. We often see his bed made up on one of the swings when taking an evening stroll before heading back to Kintala for the night. I’ve talked with him a few times. His name, he told me, is “C Sharp” not “B Flat.” I didn’t get the story behind the name but, having recently taken up learning music, I had to smile. (I suspect "C-sharp not D-flat was what he meant but, he made up the name, not me.) Like most of the homeless people I have met, he clings to a fierce independence as one of the tools he needs to survive.

We didn’t see him during our hurried prep to get going. I have no idea how he will fare if Florence moves his way, but I know there are thousands of people who can’t make the choice that we did. That is enough to know that we can count ourselves as among some of the most fortunate people the world has ever known. Sure, we have made some good choices. But they were also choices that were within our reach, but were not within the reach of others.  Something Florence, and Irma before her, has taught me to never, ever, forget.

On the Run, again

It was exactly one year ago to the day that hurricane Irma turned us into weather refugees. We weren't sure when we made the run to Atlanta that there would be anything left of our cruising life when Irma was done. At the last moment she wiggled just a bit to the east and we came through unscathed. Tomorrow we will start stripping Kintala and Blowin' In the Wind, prepping for the arrival of hurricane Florence.

Florence isn't near the monster that Irma was, but all indications are she will be making landfall near here. Like Irma, a track difference of just a few tens of miles will likely tell the tale. Unlike Irma, the boats will be riding out the storms on the water. There is simply no where to run, no boat yard close enough that has room to get them hauled. We are pretty far up the Beaufort River, 10 miles in from the coast line, with trees, low hills, and marsh lands all around. It could be worse.

We will take all the precautions available to us over the next two days, pick up the cars Monday afternoon, and beat feet inland first thing Tuesday morning; with Wednesday / Thursday being the estimated time of impact. I would have liked to put another 24 hours of buffer in there given the mad rush we experienced of millions of people trying to get out of the way of Irma. But this time we are running straight inland rather than trying to get off a peninsula, and likely 50 miles would be enough to be safe. The hotel is 120 miles away.

There is, as usual, some chance that someone else will bear the brunt of the hit and we are going to a lot of effort for no real reason. The problem is that we can't know that until it is too late. So we will prep, get to safety, and see what happens.

I don't know if this is the "new normal". If it is, it needs to be part of the calculations for those thinking of living this way. Five years we have been out, and this is the third serious threat we have faced from hurricanes on the east coast. One has to wonder if sooner or later the odds just have to catch up. But I'm not sure there are any options better. Gordon basically bashed its way up the Mississippi River, surely a rough ride for at least a few "Loopers." Land dwellers have fires, earthquakes, tornadoes, mudslides, and a daily exposure to driving cars, to reach out and rattle their world. We have hurricanes.

So this weekend we will prepare. Then we will be on the run once again.

Internal Calendar

One of the things I stumble over when sitting for a long time is forgetting just how special it is to live on the water like we do. When moving, my internal calendar logs days of resting at anchor after a day’s travel, watching the sun set over a new horizon. There are days of exploring new places and other days of visiting favorite places not seen for a while. We will have flown sails, gotten on and off of docks never seen, worked navigation details, fussed over the weather, and been enchanted by the antics of wildlife. All things that are special to this life.

It is different when sitting. The internal calendar logs days we ran out of water, that we needed to provision, that the Ding needed its bottom scrubbed, and that diver came to clean the bottom of Kintala. We do all these things while underway of course, but they pass mostly noticed, just part of the traveling. When sitting they become the major event of the day.

Days sitting also amplify the feeling being vulnerable. I doubt that we are any less vulnerable sitting secure on a mooring ball than when out wandering. When out wandering it feels like we are, at least, a moving target rather than sitting ducks. It is hard to cling to the illusion that one is the “Captain of one’s fate” when one’s boat is collecting barnacles on the bottom far faster than miles in the log.

It doesn’t help that the hurricane train in the Atlantic is starting to crank up. Nothing kicks up that vulnerable feeling like having an ocean full of storms.  Hurricane Florence which, until this morning, was expected to struggle to just make hurricane status, is now a major hurricane. Even more fun? The National Hurricane Center has all but admitted they have no clue what this storm is going to do next. I extrapolated a course based on its actual (rather than forecast ) course from the last few days. Should it decide to just keep going the way it is going, which is supposedly highly unlikely, it will show up on our door step in about 10 days. There is at least one spaghetti track floating around that shows it doing exactly that. By the end of next week there looks to be a good chance there will be three named storms out there dancing around. The end of hurricane season suddenly seems like a long, long way off.

For all of that, come every evening after the sun goes down the cockpit calls. The air is warm bordering on comfortable, insect assaults are infrequent and easily ignored, dolphins often puff and snort, cavorting around the mooring field, and all is well in our watery world. That makes for a pretty good day to log on that internal calendar.

Still in one piece

Hurricane Irma. Image from NASA.gov

So, for what is apparently no reason whatsoever, the baddest hurricane in Atlantic recorded history rampaged its way past Tampa without leaving so much as a scratch on my family. When we hurried back from PA last week to help prep boats and get the kids out of harm’s way, the prospects for such an outcome seemed slim. For a while, sitting in the hotel room in Atlanta and watching Irma track further and further to the west, there seemed little chance that we could come away unscathed. In the last few hours before reaching the Tampa area the storm wobbled north instead of north by north west. That sixty miles, in a storm that measured hundreds of miles across, was the difference between us spending the rest of this week getting things back to normal, and spending it trying to figure out how to rebuild our lives. A strange week, provoking some odd thoughts.

I have, after more than 5 decades of miscellaneous adventuring doing this or that, had my fair share of close calls. This one was different. My normal brushes with disaster normally have nothing to do with losing stuff and everything to do with me not being around to enjoy the stuff any longer. They also tended to last just minutes, sometimes seconds; not days. The profound sense of relief after this close call is balanced with being a bit embarrassed at being so relieved. It was, after all, only stuff that was at risk.

We ran north in a compact rental car filled mostly with clothes, electronics, and a few odds and ends. Next time I think I’ll take some tools along…just in case. Had things gone the other way it would be difficult to replenish the cruising kitty and get our feet back under us based on just my good looks and sunny disposition. A few screw drivers, a handful of wrenches, and a hammer or two wouldn’t take up much room. They could also have ended up being the most useful things still in my possession.

We may be hanging around the Tampa Bay area longer than we thought. Key West, Marathon, Biscayne Bay, and the Dinner Key marina took a real beating. There are stories of sunken and lost boats with navigation markers missing in pretty much all the water that surrounds Florida. We often think of Biscayne Bay as our “US home”, and Dinner Key is one of our favorite places. But those are all places that will be a long time recovering, and really don’t need us in the way until they do. So it may be a while before leaving the Tampa area via a small sail boat makes a lot of sense. And it may be a while before leaving a job fixing boats in the Florida area makes a lot of sense either.

A photo by Douglas Hanks as seen in a miamiherald.com article

I am not a fan of Florida’s Governor Rick Scott who, among his other policy failures, walks in lock step with the science-rejecting Republican party. Yet he relied on that very same science to track the hurricane’s progress, to anticipate storm surges and flooding potentials, and to estimate potential wind damage. He issued evacuation orders base on what the scientists were telling him without hesitation, and likely saved many lives in the process. He was relentless in his warnings about the dangers of this storm and was tireless in addressing issues like fuel shortages in order to get people the resources they needed to flee. He must have been instrumental in getting the hundreds upon hundreds of utility company trucks and crews flowing into the sate to restore power and repair infrastructure. It is too early to tell how he will fair now that the storm has passed and the long, and expensive, clean-up commences. But there is reason to hope he will look past his ideology and see the needs of people instead. A rare and wonderful thing for any American politician to do these days, Republican or Democrat.

Survivor’s guilt is a real thing. We know so many people whose boats were lost, who are still in shock just trying to grasp the enormity of the blow they have taken. Good people, the kind you hope your kids and grand kids grow up to be. Seasoned too, many of them; well aware of the challenges of living this close to nature, not easily caught off-guard and unprepared. But no one can stand up to a storm like this one. Luck, good and bad, makes the call. And yet, somehow, that isn’t enough to explain why some lives have been irrevocably split between "before Irma" and "after" while, for others, Irma will fade quickly from everyday thoughts.

The spike in fuel costs from Harvey and the fuel shortages in Florida in the face of an impending Irma have me rethinking the thought of buying a trawler. No gas, no go, no matter what. I know they shouldn’t…but they do.

The paint booth we fixed after the Monday morning tropical storm of a few weeks ago wasn’t up to this challenge. It caved in, part of it landing on the stern rail of a boat strapped down near by. That appears to be the only damage done. Maybe we should have left that rope tied to the tree?

We spent nearly 70 hours driving since leaving for PA, 70 hours in 12 days. I don’t like driving that much any more. If I ever do buy another car, it will certainly not be a Chevy Sonic. What a horrible little thing. I’m glad it belongs to Enterprise and not to me.

Weather in Pittsburgh was in the mid to upper 60s, low 70s during the day. Weather in Atlanta was upper 60s to low 70s. Here in Florida the forecast is for upper-upper 80s, some 90s…all the way to the end of the forecast period. Hurricanes, thunderstorms, (it turns out the boat parked next to us took a lightning hit which wiped out all of its - very expensive - electronics) floods, heat. The weather in Florida is getting old.

Backing Kintala out of the haul out pit to put her back in her slip reminded me that she still doesn’t reverse worth a damn.

But I am sure glad she is still in one piece.

Pain Killer and Caffeine Crisis

We loaded up the compact rental car and left last Friday after work, taking advantage of the holiday weekend to visit family in PA. It was supposed to be a week-long visit with us arriving back at the boat on Sunday a week. By Tuesday morning it was clear that we needed to be back in Florida as quickly as possible. It was a 15 hour run back to Kintala, with an arrival of around 0200 Wednesday morning. Pain killers kept the rental car kinks at bay, and caffeine made it possible to keep on going.

Image courtesy of NOAA/CIRA

While we were on the road Daughter Eldest and family had prepped and packed. Deb and I boarded Kintala as quietly as we could so as not to wake sleeping grand kids (3) and an exhausted Mom and Dad. A few hours later dawn arrived. We helped them load the last stuff in the van, shared teary hugs all around, and sent them northward. We didn’t know then, and we don’t know yet, if there will be anything left of the life we had made together this summer at Snead Island.

One of a long long line of red lights averaging 35mph

With the kids on the move out of harm’s way I joined the crew working to get boats hauled, blocked, strapped down and stripped while Deb started getting Kintala ready to be pulled from the water. The initial plan was for me to work the day, spend a last night on the boat, haul it Thursday morning, and head out to catch up with Daughter Eldest at the hotel in Atlanta that we had booked before leaving PA. But she called a few hours later with news of traffic already slowing to a crawl, and suggested we get while the getting was good. Boss-not-so-new understood, encouraging me to punch out to help Deb and, a few hours later, moving Kintala to the head of the line for getting hauled. We stripped off canvas and solar panels, lines were secured, the anchor got dropped and tied to a nearby post, hurricane straps were ready to tie her to stakes driven deep into the ground, and all ports, hatches and holes were taped shut. By 1900 there was nothing left to do but give her hull a last pat, wish her good luck, and get on the road ourselves. That last 36 hours had seen just 4 hours of sleep, and there were miles and miles yet to go.

Traffic traffic everywhere and this was 2 days early

Pain killers and caffeine.

Daughter Eldest and family couldn’t make it to Atlanta. They bailed in Valdosta to a hotel they had booked from the car. As it turned out we couldn’t make it to Atlanta either, and so crashed at their hotel room around 0100 Thursday. After a few hours of sleep Deb and I headed for Atlanta while Daughter Eldest and family spent one more day in Valdosta. Rt. 75 was an on-and-off parking lot with a couple of wrecks strewn here and there just for ambiance. The day ended earlier than the last few, but sleep came hard. Not enough pain killer, too much caffeine.

This morning we moved to a second hotel, the one we had originally made the 5 day reservations at when we thought we were leaving Florida a day later. Plans change when one is a refugee. And there are tens of thousands of us at the moment. Though the original thought was that we could leave here to return to Florida, that may not be possible. At the moment all predictions are pretty grim. Sunday or Monday we will find out if there is anything to return to and, if so, when returning would make sense. One tries not to hope too much, but giving up hope is hard as well. The future is, right now, up to the largest hurricane ever recorded in the Atlantic.

And it doesn’t care.

In spite of it all we have been extraordinarily fortunate. We were working at a boat yard when this thing blew up, and our boat has as good a chance of surviving as any. We are refugees. But we run in an air-conditioned car with music and internet access. When it rains we are dry. There are funds in the bank for gas, food, and hotel rooms. Should the worst happen, we have a support network of friends and family who will help as we work to rebuild what has been lost. There are many, many people not nearly as fortunate as we, and our hearts go out to those who have taken a much harder hit.

Everything stripped and taped over

We are just one family of the thousands and thousands who have fled but, for others, running to safety really wasn’t an option. Cruisers are, at heart, wanderers. Moving because of weather is part and parcel of how we live, as is just picking up and heading off  because we feel like it. But we don’t live like most. Picking up and leaving is not a part of most people’s hearts, even in the face of Category 4 hurricane. So we have friends and co-workers who are in the strike zone. They will board up, hunker down, and hope for the best. I hope their luck holds, but I fear they are in for a ride they may boast about later, but never voluntarily take again.

In any case I suspect there are more pain killers and caffeine to go before this is all over.

What are you going to do?

We are where the little turquoise dot is.

For more than a week we kept a close eye on “tropical depression nine” as it worked its way – slowly – out of the Caribbean, into the Florida Straights, and out into the Gulf of Mexico south and west of were Kintala sits. Right up until a couple of days ago I wasn't too concerned. At first it was on the wrong side of the State, aimed more at Miami. Even if it turned into something over there, by the time it bashed its way across the peninsula to us it couldn't amount to much.

Then it moved south of the Keys. I still wasn't too concerned, all but one of the “spaghetti tracks” of past storms that moved that way went off further to the west. Most of the discussion on NOAA was all about how poorly organized the depression was, though a lot of rain could be expected. Ah, but then one of the forecasters made a statement; “There is no scenario that leads to the depression becoming a hurricane before landfall.”

That concerned me. But what are you going to do? It is Florida. It is the hurricane season. Given enough warning Kintala could be hauled, blocked, and strapped down in a matter of hours. So we watched and debated and planned, wondering just how much warning we could get on a storm that was already hanging out in our neck of the woods.

And then hurricane Hermine was born this very afternoon. As I type, it is hammering the coast just 162 miles to our north-north west. This morning the forecast for our spot in the world was for rain, thunderstorms, and winds in the 15 to 25 knot range, there was no “tropical discussion” at all. Just after noon the winds cranked up well into the 40s, ripping the driving rain off the roofs of buildings in a blinding spray, trees bent and stuff flew...just like it looks on the Weather Channel videos. A few miles from here a big schooner used as a party boat was sunk at its dock. The Skyway Bridge closed. Fortunately the assault was short lived, but as the day wore on bands of heavy weather blasted the boat yard with tropical force winds and more driving rain. A tornado watch was issued that doesn't expire for another hour and a half. We are currently riding out yet another weather band being spun off of the main storm, if a tornado does come our way we wouldn't hear it over the wind noise; the first clue we will get is the building next to us exploding into shrapnel. The Skyway bridge is still closed.  The fruit basket in the galley is hanging noticeably askew while Kintala jerks against her lines and bounces off her fender board. It is low tide now, but the walkway at our pier is already under water, something that doesn't usually happen at high tide. Sleep will be noticeably lacking this night.

It is likely that all will be well with Kintala in the morning, though there is no guarantee. By morning some people are going to be hurt, others will have lost homes and businesses. Throw the dice, draw a straw, most will be lucky, a few will not.

But what are you going to do?

Things not mentioned

One of the few moments the rain slowed down enough for me to risk my
non-waterproof camera to sneak a picture.

Sunday was one of those days that never show up in the Cruiser magazines. Though Joaquin turned far out to sea another storm system battered the area with “1,000 year” rains. We spent the day kind of grimly holding on as Kintala shook, pitched, and groaned her way through a day of lashing rain and wind guests in the high 30s. At high tide the road into the marina was under water while waves washed over the higher of the fixed docks. The low fixed docks were under by several feet and the walkways to the floating docks did weird things, bouncing like diving boards and sticking up into the air. Getting off the boat was a chore, but we had to when the rising tide pulled the power cord completely taut. A few minutes later the flood waters shorted out all shore power in the area anyway.

The fuel cans were stored off of the boat for the storm. It took another jump to the dock to retrieve one so the Honda generator could get a tank full and be brought into play to keep the batteries charged. Even if the dark clouds and rain weren't rendering the sun inoperative, the solar array had been removed and stored below. By Sunday night yours truly was well and truly tired of the wind, rain, waves, and ride. Hurricane or no, the idea of having run off to hide in a hotel room was feeling like the option we should have taken.

Come Monday morning the boat was still dancing, but just a little. No rain fell. There were even a few shadows in the salon, something not seen for many a day. The air was dry and cool and a look at the NOAA sight showed Joaquin well to the east of and moving further and further away.

A short aside here; though NOAA was seriously worried about Joaquin making landfall in the US, European models always had the storm turning east. Still being a pilot at heart and having had a life-long relationship with weather and weather forecasts, I was curious as to why the difference. From what I can learn, NOAA's funding for climate research and forecasting is being reduced, leaving them working with outdated models and limited computer capabilities. Something that, frankly, sounds like lunacy. Nothing is more expensive in lives and property damage than being unprepared for large scale weather events. But America isn't even keeping up with the rest of the world when it comes to forecasting and research, let alone being on the leading edge. Lunacy indeed. Anyway...

What a difference today

A hurricane scare is much better than a hurricane hit. Come early Monday afternoon we started turning Kintala back into a sailboat. With the boom back up in the air, the anchor, dink motor, and solar panels remounted in their normal positions, and the bimini and dodger back up, boat life is slowly returning to something nearer to normal. Today the main sail was bent back on, halyards run to their normal places, and the cockpit is, once again, a cockpit. In the next day or so we will start repairs on the head sails. (We noticed some stitching and a few tears in the sunbrella when taking them down.) While Deb is running the Sailrite machine I may try to track down and fix some of the worst leaks that made themselves apparent over the last few days.

This is work that just has to be addressed. Putting damaged sails back up when heading out for a 2000 mile season is pretty poor seamanship, sure to lead to even more damage later. This has been a good place to ride out the storms, and we have friends here who are also working hard at getting back underway, so hanging around for a few more days to do things right isn't a bad thing at all. Still, the weather for the next week and more looks to be perfect for getting a move on. So, good place or not, it will chafe a bit, pinned here getting things done that need to be done, while the sun is shining and the winds blowing gently on a good point of sail.

That isn't in the cruising magazines either.