Sailing with Cancer
One Man's race against time!
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| John Rodgers |
I put the word sailing in the color of blue. One of my favorite authors, Bernard Motissier once wrote it was the color of hope. Hope, sailing, Imagine, and my little brown love, aka Melanie, is about all I have left. I am hoping too finish a journey we began on May of 2010.
H O P E
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| Melanie |
I had sold a business in 3/03, and bought Imagine in St. Maarten. I was living in San Leandro Ca., and my business was in Oakland. It was in a tough neighborhood. I had to keep a pistol in my hip pocket, and every day was a mental struggle with customers. They tried to beat me up, run me down with a car, and every day was an argument to lower the price, or they would come back for me. They promised to beat me, put me out of business, and even death threats. I was raised to never walk away from a fight, and to never ever to start one. My father was a stern man, and when he said jump. You never questioned him how high. You just jumped as high as you could, and hopefully it was high enough. So I was raised to never give a phukin inch. Good, or bad it is how I live my life to this day.
Cancer not being an exception.
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| December 2010-San Francisco, CA |
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| Chemo-radiation side effects - December 2010 |
So the business is sold, and my new bride & I fly to St. Maarten to get on a boat I bought 9 months earlier. Her name was Murmel, and she’s a cold molded, 46ft catamaran designed by Roger Simpson. Murmel means marble in German, and the previous owner built the boat in Berlin in conjunction with the Schmidt boatyard. Then launched her in 1998. Cold molded is a product of wood, and resin with a sheath of fiberglass on the outside. This makes her not only light, and strong, but fairly fast too. After single handing from S.F. to Cabo Mexico on a 30ft. mono, and getting caught in snotty weather while others who left at the same time were snug in a safe refuge. I promised myself my next boat would get some speed on. A good breeze behind the beam leaves us with the problem of slowing her down. What a nice change, since sailors are always trying to travel with the wind behind us. The wind in front can make for an uncomfortable ride when it’s windy.
Life has a way of changing your plans. Even after so carefully thought out. Our plan was to return to the S.F. area, but one thing lead to another, and we ended up in Florida. Once in Florida I changed the name of Murmel to Imagine as in John Lennon’s song. It has always been one of my favorite songs, and it’s pretty spot on to how I feel. As in Rodney King’s famous plea for, can’t we all just get along?
My mom & step dad joined us in St. Maarten for a week. We had a good time enjoying fresh bread from the French Bakery, Johnny B Under the tree BBQ, St Bart’s, Anguilla, and just time together. They left, and Jim who kept his boat in the same marina I kept Frolic joined us.
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| Parents at the middle |
To my good fortune it was Jim that joined us. He is a good thinker for problems, a whiz with computers, and was known to whip up homemade chicken parmesean during a gale. Not to mention his home made bread when ever needed. When it was time for him to leave us from Daytona. I jokingly said to him. Don’t make me get on this dock on my knees, and beg you to stay in front of all these strangers. I half meant it!
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| The Baths, Tortola-British Virgin Islands |
Our first destination from St. Maarten was the British Virgin Islands better known as the BVI. it’s a place on earth not to be missed, and especially for sailors. Every destination is by sight, and close. Did I need to add, beautiful? We had nearly 2 weeks exploring anchorages, snorkeling, the Baths, while waiting for a couple of broken bolts for the windlass. At last the bolts arrived, and we were off for Florida.
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| The Baths, Tortola-BVI |
Our next stop was Culebra in the Spanish Virgin Islands. We came in on the south side, and picked our way up into the anchorage. Here I was slapped along side the head with a rude awakening that my memory isn’t what it used to be. I was advised to U.S. document the boat. I had forgotten, and was floored when I was asked for money to enter the U.S. I guess there was no bank on the island, because I had to send for a check, and surely I didn’t carry that much money around with me in cash. This gave us 3 days to walk the island, and see it’s beauty. Eat in a restaurant for a change, and have a cold beer while we watched the tourists. The check arrived, I paid my debt, and we were off.
By afternoon we arrived at El Fajardo Puerto Rico. While here the computer hard drive decided to die. We called around, and in San Juan was a hard drive. We rented a car, and drove north. I have never in my life seen such crazy drivers. In 3 lanes of traffic the right lane would turn left, and the left lane would turn right, and not a horn blasting. It seems this is the normal, and no one minds, it gave me the jitters. Halfway on our way back to El Fajardo we stopped at a Mexican restaurant, and it was one of the most delicious meals I ever had. This comes from a guy who sailed in Mexico, lived in S.F. for nearly 15 years, and the Bay area most of my life. That pretty much covers it!
Now Jim is good with computers as I typed earlier. He got this thing up, and running before we returned to the boat. He had, and I am sure still does have complete faith in the technology. I myself did not trust the beast, so I used paper, and the GPS, and never trusting the GPS, but I figured dead reckoning can take me a long way, and I kept a record of our progress on the paper chart. Once again we have acquired what we needed. We stopped at the fuel dock, and the fuel man took our line. Never have I seen such art work with a dock line. While standing back he whipped that line back, and forth like a lasso, and locked the cleat. He made it look like he was waving hello, and that was worth a tip.
As we left the channel, and turned north to round Puerto Rico we could see smaller islands belonging to the Spanish Virgins. What a party was going on. All kinds of power boats beached a few sailboats anchored with huge power boats on the hook too. We could easily see that lack of cloth on those P.R. bodies. both female, and male. Brown & fit Melanie, Jim & I had big smiles as we sailed past. Looking back we should have dropped the hook. Hind sight is always 20/20!
The Turks & Caicos being our next destination we kept on sailing. Oh what could’ve been? About halfway I am beginning to wonder about this laptop navigation. I’ll be damned if every time Jim drops a mark, and I make an X on my paper if they aren’t exact, never nah it can’t be! We arrive at the shallow water at dusk. I don’t have detailed paper charts of the Turks, so I am against going in, and we sail on. Now I wished I had trusted that laptop, and went on in. Once again hindsight being 20/20.
We are approaching Mayaguana, and while dropping the main we notice it stops dropping. I step out from the bimini, and can see a batten has moved forward of the sail, and caught on the spreader. I snap on my harness, clip onto a spare halyard, and up the mast I go using the steps. Melanie lifts the mainsail, and with all my strength I push the batten back. Only problem is it won’t move. Then the next thing I know I grabbing onto the mast. Then I am wrapping a leg around it. Seems Jim was busy watching me, and not the wind indicator. He had gotten the waves on our beam, and the mast started whipping left & right. He apologized, and got her straightened out, and the batten went back into place smoothly. Another dirty deed is done, and I am back on deck.
We go in, and I can clearly see coral heads everywhere. We drop the hook, and swing over one. Not knowing their height I get nervous, and make the decision too leave. So out the entrance we go, and head north to San Salvador.
San Salvador being the place where Columbus is to have first landed. At least it is one of the places that claims this. Although there is a museum there in his name with a padlock on the front door that looks like he may have left it himself? We are the only boat in the anchorage, and it’s beautiful. The water is gin clear, and only 15 ft. deep.
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| San Salvador Museum |
There are rays by the dozens swimming below us in all sizes. next morning I get in the dink,, and motor over to a hidden marina. It turns out to be very small, and one sailboat there, and a local work boat. I run into the owner of the sailboat, and since he has just arrived. We walk together to the airport to check in. Everything is at the airport since the most action they have comes from Club Med vacationers flying in. The island is low like the rest of the Bahamas, and there’s not much there, so in a couple of days we are gone, and on our way to the Abacos. I had chartered out of Miami, and Ft. Lauderdale several times. Once actually sailing as far as Hope Town to see the striped lighthouse on Elbow Cay.
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| Abaco Lighthouse |
It was another great sail, and upon reaching our way point to enter the reef. I put Jim on the bow, and Melanie watching the laptop. While coming through the pass Melanie is telling me there is coral straight ahead. I call out to Jim, but he waves me on. On I go, and Melanie starts getting frantic. I tell Jim, and he waves me on still. The fear on Mel’s face as we went over the coral was nothing compared to the knot in my stomach as I could clearly see this boat eating monster as we passed over it. The wind Gods being on my side this time let me pass with no damage.
We’re inside, and make our way to town. Drop the hook, and jump in the dink. Since San Salvador I had rebuilt one of the raw water pumps several times. It would work, and then get hot again. Once on shore I see a diesel mechanic shop, and decide I will give it to a pro. He gave me a price, and I gave him the pump the following day. In the meantime we were hungry for some internet. We hadn’t had any since St. Maarten. All the computers were taken, and we were shown a waiting room. There was a tv there, and news about the first Gulf War, and Saddam. What a rude awakening that we were back in civilization.
Remember the water pump? Well, after several days, and numerous attempts to catch the mechanic I finally caught him. He thrust the pump at me, and said I can’t fix this piece of shit. I looked down, and 5 out of 6 bolts were broken on the backing plate. obviously he was a hack. I have been a wrench for 30 years, and I had taken the pump apart several times. How he managed to break 5 out 6 is beyond me? In an unusual act I kept my mouth shut, and just took back my pump. I took it back to the boat, and patiently, slowly, and methodically drilled out the bolts, retapped the housing, and once again rebuilt the pump. Now I carry a spare, and a couple of rebuild kits. We did the striped lighthouse, and topped off provisions to prepare for departure to Daytona.
We had no charts once we entered the breakwater at Ponce Inlet. This was causing me to be a wee bit anxious as we approached the coastline. Now Mel is from the Philippines, and she is also a hiker of mountains. It was sunrise, and she was still sleeping. I woke her, and asked if she wanted to see Florida. She jumped right out of bed, and came into the cockpit. She stepped up to look over the bridge deck, and with a look of bewilderment she looked at me, and asked. Where are the mountains? Jim,, and I got a belly laugh out of that! She looked again both left, and then right, and asked. That’s it, and her excitement went out the window.
Onward we motored as we approached the breakwater. Then the fog set in, and I was in complete disbelief that there was fog. Not only fog, but huge, powerful fishing boats, and small ones too rushing out of the channel in all lanes with NO VISIBILITY! Welcome to Daytona Florida.
We found the ICW, and I looked at Jim, and said to him. Red on the right when returning, and he repeated it. I looked at the markers, and repeated myself, and Jim repeated himself as we looked at each other. Red on the right when returning is an old phrase to remember when approaching land from sea. Here in plain sight was red on the left, and green on the right.
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| Photo taken from the net |
Now sometimes I think I am pretty smart, but there are times when I am humbled, and reminded I am not all that smart, and pretty average. Sometimes even less than average, and this is one of those times. As I repeated myself again with red on the right I put the left hull nearly on shore, and the right hull nearly touching the red marker, and squeezed through. Jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof I immediately turned to my right, and the center of the channel once I passed the marker.
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| ICW Miami |
We motored a little bit farther, and there was a red marker on shore. Jim pointed at it, and started laughing while commenting I think your answer sits right there! Now I have to remember that red is to land, and green is to sea on the ICW, Inter Coastal Waterway! Land being dangerous, and the sea being safer. Up the ICW there is a standing bridge, and I have another less than average moment. I see a marker on the right side that says 65 feet. I look at the depth sounder, and it’s about 13 feet. I am thinking wow the current must really rip through here, and the bottom is cut deep. Yards away from going under the bridge I realize that is the heigth of the bridge and not the water depth! I slam the engines into reverse at a high rpm, and we stop inches away from the bridge. I look at Jim, and realize I have no idea how tall the mast is? A small motor boat passes us, and says we have several feet clearance. I ask if he’s sure, so he motors down a bit for a better look, and says we got. I slowly inch my way under, and the antenna will be broken soon I am sure of, and then the mast tumbling down. All the worry for nothing, and we are through. At least now I know I can make 65 ft, but what about 64?
A couple of miles north are 2 draw bridges, bascule as they are called. I pass through one, and then there is a tight turn approaching the second. A seconds distraction gives me yet another less than normal intelligence. I look up, and see the red on the left, and immediately I turn right, and we go aground. The bridge tender calls, and kindly tells me I need to stay between the markers. Thank goodness for soft mud, and reverse transmissions, so I can easily back out with only my pride a wee bit dented. I am through this bridge, and only a block farther is our new home for 5 months, Caribbean Jack’s.
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| Caribbean Jacks- Daytona |
