1982 (8) – Voices at Sea

St. Lucia.  An art quilt.  37" x 46"

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

We left Bermuda in mid-June.  Another week of sailing, and we would reach our destination on Long Island, New York.  Some people assume that sailing north from the Caribbean means hugging the Eastern U.S. coast - it doesn't.  We were well out to sea, 1000 miles east of Florida, and (at our closest), 650 miles east of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, when we passed that latitude.  

We saw birds throughout the trip, and were visited once by dolphins that were traveling south, but our main "company" came from the voices that were audible throughout the passage.  We’d heard them on the trip from the Virgins to Bermuda, and now they were with us again.

St. Lucia.  Detail.

Sounding like both male and female in tone, the voices constantly chattered, sometimes letting out a laugh or a yell, but never distinct enough for us to pick up any words.  We could hear them throughout the boat.  At first we were continually asking each other, "What did you say?"  At one point I was on my bunk and Ed was in the galley.  He came in to take my hand and ask me what was wrong.  Why was I crying?  I hadn't been making any sound at all. 

Eventually, I discovered the source of the voices.  I was sitting on the head, one foot braced against the back of the door, to compensate for the heel of the boat.  The loud chattering was making me nuts.  Without realizing what I was doing, I slapped my hand against the overflow hole in the sink.  The voices quieted substantially.  It was one of those Oh-My-God moments.  I pushed the rubber stopper into the sink drain and put my hand back to cover the overflow hole.  Near quiet…

St. Lucia.  Detail.

Tropic Moon had three sinks.  One in the head, and a large, deep sink in the galley – both of which were midway through the boat.  The third sink was in the aft cabin (back end of the boat).  I went through Tropic Moon, putting stoppers in the sink drains, and covering the overflow holes with masking tape.  The source of our voices?  Seawater gurgling in the pipes...  Needless to say, Ed was impressed with my discovery. 

We were happy to reach Long Island, where Ed's parents lived.  For the month of July, we moved ashore into Ed's childhood home in Baldwin, New York.  We enjoyed real beds, hot showers, and Ed's mom's delicious home cooking.

1982 (7) – Bermuda

Fort St. Catherine.  Digital image, using Photoshop.

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Expecting another "Caribbean" island, we were pleasantly surprised when we reached Bermuda, to find a chain of islands whose lush foliage and rich colors made her sisters to the south seem a bit drab by comparison.  Bermuda's friendly people, lovely sights and excellent bus service made our two-week stay a very special time.  We enjoyed playing the tourist, sightseeing around historic St. Georges, where we were anchored, viewing the Queen's birthday parade in the cosmopolitan city of Hamilton, visiting the beaches, and sampling local fish in the restaurants.  

My original photo of Fort St. Catherine.

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Fort St. Catherine.  

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Fort St. Catherine.  

1982 (6) – Just the Two of Us

Postcard

To go to the beginning of this book, Tropic Moon: Memories, click HERE.

Back in 1982, people communicated from boat to boat by marine radio. While we had a VHF radio, we never had it on unless we were trying to contact someone. Without turning on the radio, we sailed into St. George's, the main harbor on Bermuda.  We picked a spot among the other sailboats, and dropped anchor. It was mid-morning, and we were so looking forward to climbing into our bunks and getting some uninterrupted sleep.  

While we were settling Tropic Moon, a man motored over in his dinghy.  He (someone who did keep his radio on) was aware - as were probably most of the other boats in the harbor - that Bermuda Customs, via radio, had been trying to reach us.  As it turned out, a boat wasn't allowed to drop anchor in the harbor without first motoring in to the dock and clearing customs.  During our time in the islands, we anchored almost everywhere we went, and only went in to the docks when we needed fuel.  Parallel parking a 42-foot, 20-ton sailboat at a dock was not overly high on our skill set.  Plus, we were exhausted.  Still, when Customs says, show up at the dock, you do it! 

A plane landing at Bermuda's airport.

We didn't have an anchor winch, so Ed hauled up the anchor by hand, and we headed in to the dock.  I was always at the wheel when we'd go into a berth, or alongside a dock.  Ed would stand in the bow, direct me with hand signals, and then jump off from the bow of the boat, to stop the boat from hitting the dock, and to secure the bow rope.  We tried it with me up front – once.  I didn’t have the nerve to jump off the boat till we actually hit the dock.  That left me at the wheel.  Over the years, I had gotten pretty good at following Ed's hand signals. 

There was a space at the dock between two other boats.  We did a good job of easing ourselves into it.  Ed jumped off the bow to the dock, and secured the bow rope.  I gathered the stern rope, and tossed it to a man who had gotten off one of the neighboring sailboats.  He pulled in on our stern line, and then cleated off the rope.  This man told me he had sailed from the Chesapeake Bay, with five other men.  He asked me where we'd started from, and I told him the Virgin Islands.  He looked at me, glanced at Ed, and then looked back at me, and asked, "Just the two of you?"  All of a sudden, all the discomfort and exhaustion from the passage seemed worth it.  I stood a little taller, and casually replied, "Yes, just the two of us."