Conclusions and lessons learned

      Here is a brief tally of the tangibles that were lost:

• Terry’s original purpose for sailing to Tampa was to take part in a race from there to Cancun later that month.  He had paid a $600 non-refundable reservation fee, now forfeited.
• The onboard refrigeration system was destroyed.
• I forfeited a $200 airline ticket from Tampa to Houston.
• A brand new laptop computer, at least two cell phones, and assorted other electronics were lost to the salty muck.
• A great deal of food and other assorted supplies were destroyed.  (Some canned goods were salvaged, but the labels are gone.  What’s in them?)
• Many books and manuals.  Terry lost most of the technical manuals for all his onboard systems.  I lost a brand new 2012 Nautical Almanac.
• The wooden floor panels on the Curmudgeon will never be the same.
• The cushions and pillows are salvageable, given air and sun, but will always retain that greasy, mucky odor. 

     What did I learn?  Several things:

     Lesson Learned #1:   When planning an ocean passage, research the conditions to expect.

     Information on normal wind speed and direction is widely available.  With minimal research, I would have easily seen that an ocean passage towards the ESE at that time of year is not something one does voluntarily.  A prudent skipper would instead take the ICW the whole way.  And there are absolutely no islands or ports anywhere close by to seek shelter, or to break up the waves.  But I was blinded by the opportunity to make my long-awaiting ocean crossing where my only transportation expense was a one-way ticket home from Tampa.

     Lesson Learned #2:  Use modern pharmaceutical science to the max.

     On the open ocean, seasickness happens, and in the worst of conditions, no human is immune.  There are drugs out there to help.  Use them.

     Lesson Learned #3:  Get good sailing gear for the cold and the wet.

     I packed up the best I had, and was glad I had that, but better clothing would have made a world of difference.

     Lesson Learned #4:  Neatness and orderliness are mandatory.

     This lesson learned is for all you skippers out there, or anyone considering becoming a skipper.  This was Terry’s boat, and I was just a guest, so I had no control over this one.

      A good sea captain must be down-right ANAL about neatness, order, cleanliness, and all onboard organization, with ZERO TOLERANCE for anything out of place.  There is absolutely no excuse for things stacked on the floor, or falling off tables, off the settee, and out of lockers and cubbies when the boat heels over and hits a wave.

      Terry is probably the most knowledgeable and capable a sea captain I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.  His expertise on how to fix things, especially in the worst of conditions, never ceased to amaze me.  His boat was absolutely sea-worthy and well-maintained, stocked with every conceivable tool and spare part. I truly do trust him with my life.  But when it came to neatness and order, he failed terribly.  Among his sins was bringing supplies and provisions aboard in CARDBOARD BOXES.  Cardboard is one substance that has absolutely no place on a boat, for when it gets wet, it turns to mush, and on a boat, everything gets wet sooner or later. 

      And then there was galley.  It was filthy and unkempt, with open food containers, a greasy stove, stuff everywhere, dirty dishes in the sink, and overflowing bags of trash. 

      Furthermore, when a wise and conscientious sea captain invites guests aboard, it is imperative that he provides a place for them, and their gear.  When I arrived at the marina with my neatly-packed duffle bag, and asked where I could stow my gear, I was told that there was no place for it.  I had no choice but to pile it on the floor, where it would be kicked, stepped on, tossed about, and subject to any water that came aboard.  It was at that point that I had my first doubts about choosing this journey. 

      And Terry had initially planned for THREE of us aboard.  I shudder to think of the disarray of squeezing a third person in there.  (Although, when fatigue started to overcome the two of us in the worst of conditions, a third person might have come in handy.)

      Finally, along these lines:  he needs to get rid of the cat.  Between the open half-eaten cans of cat food, the filthy litter box, and spare bags of litter, it all amounted to a disgusting mess that has no place on an ocean-going vessel.  But oh, how he loved that cat!  Every day, no matter how beat up and exhausted he was, he made time to spend with his life-long beloved companion.  I’ve rarely seen such devotion in a pet-owner.  So what should he do?  I’m clueless.

       Terry says that every sailor has “war stories”.  Whenever two or more sailors get together, and the drinks and margaritas start flowing, inevitably the topic turns to the worst, most terrifying moment each sailor has experienced.  As the evening progresses and the booze keeps coming, the war stories get scarier and scarier as the sailors try to outdo one another.  And every sailor, at his darkest, most despairing moment, has swore to God and the devil and his grandmother’s grave that he will never, EVER, no matter what, set foot again on any kind of watercraft ever again so long as he lives!!!  In all honesty, I think I made that vow a few times while I was out there watching my life flash before my eyes. 

      Larry & Lin Pardey, the husband-and-wife team who have sailed a million miles and written a mountain of books and articles about sailing, have a chapter in one of their books on this topic.  They bemoan the fact that sailors love to describe their moments of terror with such relish, but inevitably it always seems to happen within earshot of a sailing novice.  The result is always that potential sailors get the daylights scared out of them before they ever venture out of the harbor.

      But despite the terror, there were moments of joy on this trip.  When the sun was shining on my back, and I was able to quash down the queasiness in my gut, and Curmudgeon was slicing along, and the waters of the Gulf were that clear crystal blue, and there was no land in sight … life was wonderful.  As I steered the boat along, thru an ocean that was simultaneously beautiful, majestic, and scary, I’d never felt so free, so alive. 

      So will I again journey upon the ocean some day?  I don’t know.  Pass me a beer and I’ll think about it.