Above: Seawind motors up the Onancock River, completing the voyage from Long Island, NY; Terry and I celebrate in the cockpit at Seawind's new home.
Time to celebrate. The voyage finished, the job done, the boat tied up in her permanent slip on the Onancock River. Glory be.
Parts of the adventure were not all that pleasant. Like the two days we spent locked in the small confines of the boat in the Bronx while the boat leaked, the bracket for the fuel filter fell off, and it rained, rained, rained, rained. Or the time we sailed south along the NJ coast in thick fog and nearly got run down by a ship and then, later that same day, when we came into Atlantic City, still in the fog, and the tidal rip set up big standing waves at the harbor entrance. While we were corkscrewing down the fronts of these waves, the boat barely under control, we were suddenly face to face with a huge trawler, his outriggers spread, steaming directly at us out of the fog. Late at night, you wake up with that vision in your mind and all the possibilities of what could have happened but didn't burning in your mind.
But the universe made up for it's poor treatment of these two sailors during the last four days of the trip. The Chesapeake Bay was benign and sweet natured, the sun hot and good, the boat functioned perfectly, and we sampled the charms of Bay gunk holing (gunk holing is a yachtie term for anchoring in quiet, out-of-the-way places). It couldn't have been much more pleasant or satisfying. It's why I love sailboats--they are, most properly, platforms for adventure.
So now what? Well, I'll be going down to the boat every day, count on that. But the yard needs to be mowed and the novel needs to be finished and books need to be read. I'll settle back into my routine just fine, but now we've got that wonderful boat and can sail the Chesapeake anytime. Things are falling into place.
Parts of the adventure were not all that pleasant. Like the two days we spent locked in the small confines of the boat in the Bronx while the boat leaked, the bracket for the fuel filter fell off, and it rained, rained, rained, rained. Or the time we sailed south along the NJ coast in thick fog and nearly got run down by a ship and then, later that same day, when we came into Atlantic City, still in the fog, and the tidal rip set up big standing waves at the harbor entrance. While we were corkscrewing down the fronts of these waves, the boat barely under control, we were suddenly face to face with a huge trawler, his outriggers spread, steaming directly at us out of the fog. Late at night, you wake up with that vision in your mind and all the possibilities of what could have happened but didn't burning in your mind.
But the universe made up for it's poor treatment of these two sailors during the last four days of the trip. The Chesapeake Bay was benign and sweet natured, the sun hot and good, the boat functioned perfectly, and we sampled the charms of Bay gunk holing (gunk holing is a yachtie term for anchoring in quiet, out-of-the-way places). It couldn't have been much more pleasant or satisfying. It's why I love sailboats--they are, most properly, platforms for adventure.
So now what? Well, I'll be going down to the boat every day, count on that. But the yard needs to be mowed and the novel needs to be finished and books need to be read. I'll settle back into my routine just fine, but now we've got that wonderful boat and can sail the Chesapeake anytime. Things are falling into place.
Congrats! Happy for you two!
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