1800 Days – Seg. 9, Ch. 2, Pg. 12-17

    Two weeks later we were again back onboard our boat. Nancy had managed to get Friday off, so we drove to Summit North on Friday morning, intending to take the boat out for two nights and have a little cruise on this three-day weekend. But the weather did not cooperate. There was a vigorous front due to pass through the area on Friday night and strong winds, heavy rain and a small craft advisory were forecast for the upper part of the bay. So we stayed onboard in our slip through this stormy weekend, happy to be dry and snug and living on Summer School, while we talked non-stop about various plans and proposals that would enable us to live onboard permanently. One week later we were back onboard again, with almost the identical weather pattern that confined us to the boat in our slip, and we continued the dialog, becoming more excited and optimistic that we would be able to realize this seemingly extravagant dream.

    First among the many problems to be solved was the financial one: how could we afford for Nancy to quit work and to live and travel on our boat? If this problem could not be solved none of the rest would matter. Of course, I had my pension, but it was relatively small due to my early retirement. We also had some money in the bank left over from the sale of our house in Pueblo. (It would have been considerably more had it not been for the expense of moving from Colorado.) But we had a mortgage on the boat that required payments to be made every month, though there would be no other housing costs. We had insurances that had to be maintained, we had car expenses, there would be medical expenses and there would be boat expenses such as fuel, oil, batteries, supplies, parts, and of course marina fees. We decided we could sell the TransAm and keep the older and much more economical Honda, thinking that if we were staying in one area for a significant time it would be very desirable to have a car. (We assumed we could find ways of doing this.) We could also sell all our furniture and appliances and realize some cash in this way. We calculated that, if we could stay at anchor as much as possible, say half the time, if we could keep our marina fees at or below $300 per month (considerably less than we were paying at Summit North), if we had no accidents or major repair costs, we could last for about two years before we would run out of funds. But should we do it? Would the experience be worth it?

    The other major factor that entered the equation was the state of my health. Only two and a half years previously I had been in a hospital near death from a leukemia-related pneumonia. Although the leukemia had been in remission since then, we knew it could become aggressive at any time and I would then need chemotherapy and other treatments. There was no doubt that my immune system was weak and that I was very susceptible to other ailments as well. The kidney stone attack had demonstrated how suddenly I could be incapacitated, and there was now the additional threat that this could recur. In fact, since coming to Easton I had once again experienced stomach pains due to my ulcer condition and I was taking Zantac regularly. Although I believed that this condition had been aggravated by medication a local doctor had prescribed to help prevent the recurrence of kidney stones, I knew from past experience that it would be difficult to relieve this discomfort once the stomach had been irritated, even if the offending medication were stopped. I also knew that if this condition became worse I would need regular care from a physician.

    It was just this problem of providing for medical care that was at the crux of our concerns. In Easton I now had a local doctor who seemed competent if not personable. And we were near enough to Philadelphia that I had decided to see Dr. Bernard Mason at Graduate Hospital to monitor and treat my leukemia. Not only was he a very highly regarded oncologist and hematologist, but he had treated me in the past when we were staying in Cape May during the summers, and it was a relief to know that such a skilled doctor was available to me. But how would I get competent and caring medical attention when we would be traveling all the time and staying in new places? And it was not only my own medical care that was at question. Once Nancy quit her job she would no longer have medical insurance and we certainly could not afford the very high cost of adding her to the insurance that I carried through my retirement association. How would she get medical care if it was needed and how would we be able to afford it? We talked and talked about these concerns, examining them at great length and from many points of view. Nancy had no reservations about living without medical insurance. Her health had been so good for so long that she was sure it would continue for at least another two years, especially if she would be living on the boat where she would be much happier. However, given the high cost of any hospitalization, caused perhaps by a simple accident, we both knew that this would be a big gamble. But it was one, we agreed, we would be willing to take.

    For my part, as we continued to talk, a feeling grew in me that if we stayed in Easton solely because of fears over my health problems, I would be looking at a future that was bleak indeed. What did it mean if we stayed in our current situation, afraid to follow our dream, lest my health should fail? I began to feel that, if the only reason that prevented us from living our dream was the uncertainty of my health, then we really would be staying in Easton just waiting for that very event to occur, that this would never change, that I would not be truly living my life but rather just waiting to die. We both found this to be a compelling argument.

    Although the questions associated with finances and health were the main ones in our deliberations, there were others that were certainly not insignificant. For example, I was anxious about what would happen to Nancy's professional career if she resigned her position at Lafayette at the end of only one year, and then took two years off to be a boat-bum. If it became impossible for her to continue in academia, how would she feel? She was 44 years old, at the apex of her career, with four degrees including her Ph.D. in industrial engineering. Would she not come to feel that she had wasted her chances? Would she not in the end regret a decision to live and cruise full time on the boat? She assured me she would not, that she had had enough of being a college professor, that she wanted something different in her life, and she reminded me how I told her she seemed much happier when she was on the boat. She was very persuasive, but I had lingering reservations.

    And then there were all the doubts associated with the question of what we would do when we ran out of money, if indeed I lived long enough to see this happen. Would the state of my health at that time permit me to return to some kind of work and supplement our income in some way? What would Nancy do? She was adamant that she did not want to continue her academic career, but what other employment would be available to her? Maybe she could work in a bookstore or a library, she thought, but we both knew that the pay from this type of employment would not even come close to what she was making as a professor. Would we be forced to sell the boat? Where would we live if that became necessary? We could not provide answers to these questions and we gradually came to understand that there were many unknowns and many uncertainties that could never be adequately resolved beforehand. For example, it was not difficult to imagine how a bad storm or a moment of carelessness could abruptly end our boating experience with Summer School. And we knew, perhaps more than most others, how precarious was life itself. Eventually we determined that we needed to make a decision without forever being afraid of consequences, and in the end we developed the feeling that we must simply have faith that we would be able to handle, somehow, whatever situation arose, that we would find a way.

    On the evening of November 14, slightly more than a month after the completion of that fantastic fall cruise to Chestertown, I was once again having dinner alone at Youell's while Nancy was at an engagement at the college. As before, I used the time to write in my journal. Now I see that I wrote, "We continue to talk about and plan our Great Escape – our two years of cruising and living on the boat." And I wrote, "We continue to come back to the conclusion that (a) we have the resources to do this, and therefore (b) we should because we do not know how much time we have left." Near the end of my journal entry I see this: "There will be so much to do to arrange our personal affairs. We also have many boat projects planned. Nancy is very excited. Both she and I have a lot of writing projects planned." It is apparent now that, by the time of this evening at Youell's, we had evidently made our decision, and our lives would never again be the same.

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1800 Days – Seg. 8 Ch. 2 Pg. 9-12

    On Monday morning we had to begin the 80-mile return trip to Summit North and, eventually, to our jobs and lives back in Easton. We awoke at 7 a.m. to a cool 50 degrees with the sun just beginning to climb above the trees on the river bank across from Chestertown. There were many boats anchored in front of the town and these were barely visible through the thick mist rising from the warm water in the cool air. Once again we were underway by 8:30 a.m. The water-lift muffler system on the big diesel was so good that we made barely any noise as we slipped through the mist at idle speed past the anchored boats. As we followed the tide down the river that morning there were line after line of geese in the cloudless sky. By late morning we made the big bend around Eastern Neck Island. There was no wind and the water was calm. The day had become warmer yet there was still a fall coolness in the air. When we reached the main shipping channel of the Chesapeake we folded the Bimini top back so that we could feel the warmth of the sun. Nancy took the helm and I lay down on one of the long bridge seats and slowly drifted off to sleep with the warm sunlight on my face. After my short nap, as we continued up the channel, we passed many private pleasure boats, both power and sail craft, that were obviously traveling to the south. These sights engendered an undeniable longing in us. If we were cruising south again on the ICW this would indeed be the time to go, traveling with the geese. Later in the day we decided to retain the exploratory flavor of our cruise and accordingly bypassed our usual anchorage at Worton Creek in favor of the Still Pond anchorage we had passed on Saturday. We worked our way into the bay almost two miles off the main shipping channel, past the entrance of Still Pond Creek, and then down into the tapering cove at the mouth of Churn Creek. We dropped our anchor in nine feet of water. If the wind came up from out of the north this would be an untenable anchorage, but conditions remained calm and by evening the water was like glass. At dusk, as we sat up on the bridge enjoying another cool evening, we were treated to the sight and sound of an osprey diving into the water. This seemed a fitting capstone to a perfect day.

    On Tuesday morning we covered the 25 miles to our slip at Summit North and began the process of returning to our life on land. We did our laundry, emptied our trash, cleaned up the boat and drove back on the interstates to our house in Easton. Though I cannot remember that either of us spoke the thought out loud at this time, I am sure that each of us knew that our true life, the one we most wanted to live, was the life on the boat. I know now that, after this wonderful cruise through the coolness and beauty of fall, after the haunting cacophony of the geese at Comegys Bight, Easton and Lafayette, for all their attractions, never had a chance.

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    Just because, in retrospect, it seems that the decision was inevitable, it does not mean it was made easily or quickly. What changed after our fall cruise, and we were hardly aware of it at the time, was our vision of the future: we no longer thought of the possibility of living and cruising on our boat full-time as merely an idle fantasy. Instead, after our cruise to Chestertown, it seemed we came to believe that there was some chance, albeit remote, that this could indeed be our future, if we could only find a way. And as the days passed we became ever more determined to find that way.

    After returning to Easton on Tuesday we came back to Summer School on Friday night just three days later. Even stronger than at any time before, when we entered the boat and saw and smelled the rich teak, looked into the forward cabin with its large V-berth, saw our L-shaped settee with its folding table across from the galley area in the main cabin, where we had consumed so many outstanding meals, when we put our weekend things away in the aft cabin with its cozy double bed, we knew that we had come home once again. In my journal I wrote that night, "I can see the strain drop from Nancy's face as soon as we get on the boat." Despite the lateness of the hour and the long drive down from Easton, Nancy settled down onto the settee and wrote in one of her notebooks, developing some ideas for a creative writing project she had tentatively called "Tirades." This was the first time she had done any creative writing since we moved to Easton.

    Over nightcaps we talked about the Annapolis Power Boat Show that was being held this weekend. Every year in October the city of Annapolis held a Sail Boat Show and a Power Boat Show on successive weekends to coincide with the annual migration of cruising boats through the Chesapeake on their way south for the winter. These were annually among the largest boat shows held on the east coast and they provided the boating enthusiast a great opportunity to inspect a wide variety of new products and tour new boats on display at the adjacent docks. Nancy had done considerable work preparing for our attendance using the website developed for the show. She knew what manufacturers would have booths in the exhibition area, what boats would be available for touring, and where they were located on the docks. Using her notes we discussed what we would particularly like to see and planned our visit.

    On Saturday morning we were away early on the drive to Annapolis across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge that we had so recently seen from the water. The city was crowded with people attending the show. We had to park on the outskirts and take a shuttle bus down to the waterfront. With our new conception that we might be able to find a way to make full-time boating our life, we were eager to see everything. We looked at all the products on display in the exhibition area thinking of what we could use to improve our boat and make it more suitable to be our only home. And we toured all the new trawlers that were moored at the docks. Aboard a new 36-foot Monk trawler we had a long and especially beneficial conversation with the company president. He explained how each of their trawlers, including the one we were on, was built in Nova Scotia and then brought down the east coast for sale in the States, and how this practice provided a very worthwhile sea trial for their boats. We talked of what features made their boats more seaworthy and more comfortable for living aboard, and we got some ideas for changes we could make in Summer School. We left the show even more excited by our future prospects than we were when we arrived.

1800 Days – Seg. 7 Ch. 2 Pg. 5 - 9

    Saturday morning dawned warm and still, almost like a summer's morning. We were awake by 7 a.m. and followed our usual cruising routine: I start the generator to allow us to begin charging the batteries and use the toaster. We take our morning's pills and have our juice, toast and coffee at the table next to the settee while listening to the day's marine weather forecast broadcast by the local station of NOAA (National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration – a division of the National Weather Service, NWS). I drink my coffee quickly while it is still very hot, then wash, brush my teeth, apply sun screen and leave the cabin to ascend to the bridge to begin preparations there while Nancy sips her coffee, cleans up the galley, makes the bed and does her morning personal grooming. On the bridge I wipe all the surfaces if they are covered by dew (usually), uncover the instrument panel, and then, in the large storage area underneath this panel, I turn off the propane tank, retrieve the cushion for the helm seat, and switch the radio antenna from the lower helm station in the cabin to the upper helm station on the bridge. I unfold the round wooden table we use for chart work and put it in its place behind the helm seat. Next I go below to get the navigational instruments (the VHF radio, the GPS receiver, the radar) and mount them in their brackets on the panel. I descend to the cabin one last time and tell Nancy all is ready up above. Then I shut down the generator and start our main engine, the six-cylinder Perkins diesel that has performed so well for us. Nancy takes the charts, the cruising guides and the binoculars, and climbs the steps to the bridge to take the helm. I go to the bow of the boat, unwrap the anchor rode from the samsonpost, and retrieve the anchor while Nancy moves the boat slowly forward. Finally, using the electric windlass, I break the anchor free of the bottom and bring it aboard while washing off mud with the hose connected to our salt water washdown pump. Nancy turns the boat and steers it back to the main channel of the Sassafras while I hose down the deck and make sure all is properly secured for the day's travels. Then I go to the bridge and usually take the helm while Nancy refers to the charts and directs our course. When we are cruising regularly and doing this every day we can usually get underway in an hour, but we were a little out of practice on this morning and it was not until 8:30 before we were once again in the main channel of the river and heading back to the bay.

    After we left the Sassafras we again followed the main shipping channel of the bay southward. In a few miles we came abreast of a small bay opening to the east that was known as Still Pond. This was another possible anchorage that we had never explored, preferring in the past to anchor in the mouth of Worton Creek just a few more miles to the south, which we soon reached. Below Worton Creek the bay opens into a large body of water over eight miles wide. By late morning the temperature had become quite warm, perhaps over 80, but the wind remained calm and the water flat despite the size of the bay. As we continued down the channel we were finally able to distinguish the Chesapeake Bay Bridge miles away through the haze. This high long bridge, which connects Kent Island to the east with the Maryland mainland near Annapolis in the west, was very memorable to us, and we talked of our first cruise south in 1993 when the weather was very much the same and I cooked breakfast while Nancy steered the boat down the shipping channel toward the center span of the bridge. This morning, however, we turned to the east to enter the three-mile wide mouth of the Chester River.

    The Chester enters the bay by making a large J-shaped bend around a long peninsula called Eastern Neck. We stayed in the center of the river and followed it around the bend, a distance of about eight miles, until we were headed north between Eastern Neck Island and Tilghman Neck on the Maryland mainland to the east. All of this was new water to us. As we cruised northward, and then northeast on this big river, we were excited to see so many places inviting exploration, such as Grays Inn Creek and Langford Creek (really a river) on our left, and Reed Creek and the Corsica River on our right. However our excitement was dampened by an infestation of small flies that swarmed all over us in the hot still October afternoon. Beyond the mouth of the Corsica the Chester River became narrower and the flies seemed to be fewer. On the left side of the river there was a significant bay known as Comegys Bight that extends more than a mile from the main river channel. The chart showed the bay to be adequately deep almost to the end where Comegys Creek enters, and we decided to anchor there for the night rather than go on to Chestertown, which was still at least two hours away, against the strong current of the Chester through unfamiliar waters.

    That night's anchorage in Comegys Bight was unforgettable. It is perhaps not too much of an exaggeration to say that, in retrospect, it was even a turning point in our lives. We cautiously steered the boat as deep into the bight as we dared and set our anchor in about seven feet of water, a quarter-mile from the marsh where Comegys Creek enters. It was 3 p.m. The remainder of the afternoon we crabbed off the stern, finally using the crab traps we had previously bought. On her first try Nancy caught a large beautiful blue crab and we immediately started to plan a big crab boil for dinner. Incomprehensibly, that was the only crab we caught for the remainder of the afternoon. We returned him to his element and resigned ourselves to our previously planned dinner of ham with artichokes au gratin. By 6 p.m. the wind picked up out of the north, the air became almost immediately somewhat cooler and noticeably drier. At dusk we noticed several flocks of Canada geese flying over the boat and we heard their haunting calls. We knew we were on the Chesapeake and it was fall.

    We awoke at 7:30 in the morning to the loud honking of geese, a brisk north wind and a cool 64 degrees in the cabin. What a glorious, golden, beautiful day it was. We donned our sweat suits to keep warm and took our coffee up to the bridge so that we could feel the full crispness of this fall morning. Geese were everywhere in the sky and in the marshes at the head of the bight. Their honking was constant and unbelievably loud. As we listened and watched, immersed in these sounds and sights, something disturbed the geese in the marshes and they rose in great numbers, filling the sky like a cloud, gabbling and complaining loudly. It was a thrilling experience and we sat entranced.

    We decided that we would delay our departure for Chestertown and "take a Sunday" on this, our first truly fall morning on the water. According to our tradition, then, we made weak Bloody Marys. We took these up to the bridge to drink and talk in the warming sunlight. We did not play our usual music, an opera normally, deciding to replace this with the music of the geese. Later I cooked an open-faced omelet and bacon, which we consumed with a glass of cold white wine. Then we rested for a while, surrounded by the shimmering sunlight and the sounds of the geese.

    A little after noon we started the engine, retrieved our anchor and headed up-river for Chestertown. It was a windy ride, getting cooler as we went, but the river was comparatively sheltered and narrow, though the channel was easily followed and deep (at places the chart showed depths as much as 50 feet). We wore jackets on the bridge and I even wore gloves to warm my hands as I handled the wheel. What a new experience this was! We thought of the many times friends in Cape May would tell us, when we had to put our boat in storage in August so that we could return to our jobs in Colorado, that we were missing the best time for boating when we could not enjoy the fall. We knew now they were right.

    By mid-afternoon we had moored the boat in a shallow narrow slip in Kibler's Marina on the Chestertown waterfront. The main part of the town was in easy walking distance from the marina. The cruising guide referred to Chestertown as "a jewel of a small town" and "one of the most charming towns on the Chesapeake." It was easy to see why. We walked on tree-lined brick sidewalks past restored 18^th century brick buildings, some owned by Washington College. The center of town, several blocks away from the waterfront, surrounded a small park and we were lucky enough to find that we had arrived in Chestertown on one of its "market days." There were numbers of food and craft booths set up around the park, and we walked around town eating a "crab cone" we had purchased from one of the booths. Finally, we had our taste of Chesapeake Bay blue crab. Later in the evening we had a full seafood feast at the excellent restaurant next to the marina. Afterward, we relaxed in the boat, full and happy and satisfied, and we ran our electric heater in the cabin because it was such a cool night.