We'll Cross That Bridge.....

Happy Holidays from Let's Dance! The final voyage of 2012 is a wrap and we now have over 11,000 nautical miles under our combined life belts. Almost three years aboard Let's Dance and we have seen some sights and had some fun. We've added a few more items to the list of TWL's, too.

We have learned, for example, that anchoring after dark has its perils. One night, on our way north, we ran late and had to anchor in the dark at a nice, familiar anchorage near Solomons, MD. Finding just the right spot was a bit tricky, but we settled in finally. At first light, after a lovely, calm night, Bill went out on deck to discover this shore sign just off our starboard bow: "Warning: Submerged High Voltage Cable. Do Not Anchor." Well, really! If they feel so strongly about not anchoring, they should light their silly sign! Although, I suppose that we could have lit up the area pretty well had we snagged the underwater cable!

This fall semester, however, in the lessons of Let's Dance, our major was 'Bridge Theory and Practice.' It turns out that there are all sorts of bridges in this world....lift bridges, pontoon bridges, swing bridges, bascule bridges, and of course, railroad bridges. Every bridge has a bridge tender and there are all sorts of bridge tenders, too....some friendly, some cranky, some fast, some pokey. On the 53 mile stretch of intracoastal water between Coinjock, NC and Norfolk, VA there are seven bridges, seven bridge tenders and one lock. (Locks don't have actual tenders; they have "attendants.") Some bridges open only on the hour, some only on the half hour, some both, some only on demand, some only in conjunction with the one before or after. It's exhausting just to contemplate the potential combinations.

A course in Marine Mathematics would be useful to accurately time the series of low bridge openings to be navigated in one day. On "The Day of the Bridges", we started our calculations early, creating a detailed chart that included bridge name, opening times, mile marker on the ICW, distance between bridges, speed of Let's Dance, current, tide, etc., etc.

If you hit the North Landing Bridge (not literally, of course) at 12 noon, you can make the Centerville Turnpike Bridge opening at 1300 hours. The Norfolk Southern Railroad Bridge is usually open at mile 13.9, so if you keep your speed you can make the top of the hour opening for the Great Bridge. Whew! This bridge is timed to coordinate with the Great Bridge Lock, so there's a short breather before you head back into the swim. At 6.3 knots, Let's Dance can cover the 3.1 statute miles between the Steel Bridge and the Gilmerton Lift Bridge for its last opening on the half hour before closing for rush hour. With dogged persistence and a calculator, we made all bridge openings with only a few short waits and no frayed tempers.

Because Hurricane Sandy churned up the Atlantic Ocean on her rampage north, we were unable to make our return voyage outside the ICW (much to Captain Bill's chagrin.) So, you guessed it -- our trip home included the dreaded bridges in reverse order. With our "Day of the Bridges" chart in hand, a calculator and a good dose of patience, we get an early start out of Norfolk.

At the first obstacle, the Gilmerton Lift Bridge, we encounter a fleet of boats milling about in anticipation of the 0830 opening. It is 0815 hours. There is radio chatter among the group indicating that the bridge did not make its 0730 opening. Hmmmm. A railroad bridge directly beyond the Gilmerton Lift Bridge (normally left in the "up" position) appears to be stuck down, and without it going up, the Gilmerton has no reason to open -- no one can pass in either direction. Boaters are pretty laid back, but tempers are warming as the 22 would-be southbound boats zig and zag to stay clear of each other. Idle forward, idle reverse, bump to port, bump to starboard.....there are only so many configurations and figure eights that these boats, from 20 to over 80 feet in length, can execute and still remain cool. More radio chatter, and the harried bridge tender finally reveals that apparently the railroad bridge has been the victim of an act of sabotage! Some sneaky thief has ripped out a patch of copper wiring rendering the lift mechanism impotent.

We consider bailing back to Norfolk, but decide to linger for a bit longer to watch the show and soon are rewarded with the happy news that the railroad bridge mechanism has been repaired and the Gilmerton will be lifted shortly. The relieved bridge tender requests all boats to come closer, double up if necessary and be ready to proceed under the bridge as soon as she raises it. We are at the back of the pack. We oblige. We wait. We wonder. Nothing happens. She soon comes back over the radio with the sad news that now her bridge won't open! More sabotage? Possible chicanery? We don't know, but there are now over 25 boats, none of which can shimmy under the bridge span, bobbing and weaving in the narrow river. An electrician is miraculously located on this Sunday morning and at 1020 hours the Gilmerton is finally opened to waterway traffic.

Now, of course, all mariners are behind schedule for the remainder of the bridges. The fastest contestants, the sport fishing boats, race ahead, followed more sedately by the sailboats and yachts. Snail-like trawlers, such as Let's Dance, bring up the rear of the line and we are next to last to arrive back at the marina in Coinjock. Luckily we have a reservation, as several boats have had to raft up to each other to spend the night. What a day!

The following days of the 2012 fall cruise had more bridges in store for us -- the Surf City Bridge, the Wrightsville Beach Bridge, the Little River Swing Bridge, the Barefoot Landing Swing Bridge and the Ben Sawyer (no fun!) Bridge. Always polite, Captain Bill hails the Ben Sawyer with a request for their next opening, knowing that they open only upon request. Well, the bridge tender woke up on the wrong side of the berth and asked snidely, "How tall are you?" Bill replies, "Thirty-nine feet." She then says, "Huh, you don't look that tall. Why don't you take down your antennas?" "No can do" is the Captain's comeback, so the tender tells us to cool our keel a while and she will let us know when she's ready to open. Not nice! We turn to head back upstream to dawdle and promptly run aground in the narrow channel. A few pumps in reverse combined with a little thrust to port and we are back afloat for the timely arrival of another downstream boat. Miss Snippy Tender now deigns to let us pass and we are well rid of her and her Ben Sawyer Bridge.

Another day, on a happier note, the Wapoo Creek Bridge tender was delightful. We request her first opening of the day, 0900 hours, and she says, "Name of your boat, please." At Bill's declaration, "Let's Dance!", she shyly replies, "Why, yes, I'd love to!"

And so we have added to the ever expanding list of TWL's (Things We've Learned) on this, the last trip of 2012....

....sailboats like to be pulled off sandbars by lines from the top of their masts

....deer and otters wait patiently for boats to pass before swimming across the ICW

....rudder alarms need immediate attention to avoid going in circles

....there is a "Dipping Vat Creek" on the chart of North Carolina, truly

...."catch you on the two" translates "let's pass starboard to starboard"

All this and more -- Washington and Baltimore are great when tourists are few and the weather is perfect. Our timing was superb! Now all that remains for December is prepping for the next passage -- The Ragged Islands! And, best of all, of course, the celebration of Christmas with family and friends. We wish you peace and joy from the heart of

Let's Dance......Carol and Bill

The Danger Zone!

Life aboard Let's Dance is full of surprises. Every day brings some new experience -- for our amusement, bewilderment, astonishment or, occasionally, edification. We rise, pull the anchor or slide away from a dock, and await the gifts that man and nature have in store for us. There are a lot of "ho, hums" and a great many "oh, wows!". The weeks following our departure from Washington provided more than a few exclamations of the "oh, wow!" variety.

Making our exit down the Potomac River, we reenter the northernmost tip of (what we now know is) the Dahlgren Laboratory Naval Surface Warfare Center "Danger Zone." Alert to potential radio instructions from Navy patrol boats, we are not disappointed when the captain of Range Boat One identifies himself on the radio. Sure enough, we are the southbound trawler in his sights. "We've got lots of eyes on you," he says. Well, that's good. We think. Unlike our previous encounter, this day the Navy is playing for keeps and conducting "live fire" exercises! Oh, wow! These guys are not kidding, and fortunately, they are not targeting trawlers today.

Following their very concise instructions, we scoot to the far edge of the river and hug the shore as we head south. All seems normal until about an hour into the zone when we hear a muffled boom followed by a definite splash! We track the sound to see a huge spray of river water about two miles off our starboard. Live fire, indeed! We snuggle closer to the port-side shoreline and hustle on our way. Twice more, booms and splashes before the captain of Range Boat Three, at the southern end of the Danger Zone, hails us to say, "Let's Dance! The range is no longer hot! We are done for the day. Carry on, captain." The time is exactly 1700 hours and the patrol boat speeds back up river so the guys can begin their weekend in earnest. We are no longer in the Danger Zone!

Some days later, after exploring the sights (and eateries) of Baltimore, it's time to turn our bow southward towards home. Again, we traverse the familiar Norfolk waterfront -- home to military vessels galore -- but this time our attention is caught by the Carnival "Glory" as she prepares for her Saturday night departure. We anchor in a lovely little basin called Hospital Point, directly across the narrow waterway, with about 15 others and settle in for the show. Crowds of happy vacationers line the decks of the giant liner, many with Mai Tais or Red Stripes in hand as they anticipate their 10 day escape. A female DJ encourages dancing on the Lido deck and we are close enough to see (and hear) the revelry. A quick lifeboat drill and the hulking cruiser throws off her lines and leaves the dock.....on their way to endless buffets, island ports of call and, with luck, no close encounters with hurricane Sandy.

Continuing our migration south, we settle into a familiar anchorage at the mouth of the Alligator River in North Carolina. The quiet of the early evening is disturbed only by the fluttering wings of a duo of giant moths, drawn to the lights of our saloon. After a quick dinner, with the doors now closed to winged intruders, we settle in for the night under a starry, starry sky. Life is good on Let's Dance!

Soon, we share a quick glance as a deep thrumming sound vibrates though the hull, gaining momentum until it feels like the boat is shivering around us. Maybe we should check outside to see what is going on! We do, and, "Oh, wow!" A quartet of jet aircraft, red and green lights pulsing as they twist and turn above us, circle Let's Dance in a broad, graceful arc. One by one, they dip to the horizon for a simulated touch down, then rise in the distance to begin the dance again. The sound is deafening as it flows outward then ebbs to just a dull throb in the distant sky. For thirty minutes the planes maneuver over the swampy terrain -- turning, dipping and ascending in mock dog-fight posturing. We have anchored in the theater of 'Top Gun'. 

 

It is beyond mesmerizing. We stand on the bow, ears covered, admiring their airborne acrobatics. And then, suddenly, blessed silence.....for about 20 minutes. Apparently dinner hour was short for the fly boys, because they are back with a super sonic vengeance. Blazing taillights reflect in the still waters of our anchorage and speeding silhouettes streak across the pale arc of the moon. Again and again they circle and swoop, until finally, fuel spent, they cede the night back to the peace of nature.

The next day, with time on our hands as we motor on south, we research the previous night's parade of planes. Here is what we now know: the Seymour Johnson AFB (secretly situated adjacent to our calm little anchorage) is home to the F-15E dual-role jet fighter "Strike Eagle". These little gems retail for about $32 million, have a wingspan of 42 feet, a length of 62 feet, weigh in at 37,500 pounds, have a fuel capacity of 35,500 pounds, a range of 2,400 miles and a top speed of 1,875 mph (that would be Mach 2.5 plus to you and me.) Oh, wow!

Like Let's Dance, they have a crew of two, but there all similarities end. We are slimmer, shorter, heavier, more fuel efficient and noticeably slower. That, and we don't cost US taxpayers a dime.

Always conscious of Mother Nature, we hung out at the Myrtle Beach Yacht Club for Sandy's tumultuous seas to subside enough for us to proceed safely on down the coast.....Charleston, Beaufort and Daufuskie in our future. Back into our safety zone.

Let's Dance.......Carol and Bill

Traveling Shoes

Fall is here and we have donned our traveling shoes and headed north. The provisions for a short, six week voyage are pulled together, onboard entertainments and diversions gathered, the fridge and freezer stocked, and our duffels packed for any kind of weather. We are off to explore the cities of the Chesapeake Bay -- DC, Baltimore and Annapolis!

Captain Bill and friend Bernie Mansheim, who recently added the responsibilities of Officer First Class to his Chief Medical Officer duties, left Haig Point early on a Tuesday morning - clear skies and calm seas predicted for their offshore passage north. Less than sixty hours later (304 nautical miles), they arrived at the River Dunes Marina near Oriental, NC. I took the inland route and drove for 8 hours to arrive at the same destination. Bernie and I did a super quick swap -- I traded him a used SUV, for his drive back south, for a low mileage trawler with a great looking Captain. I win!!

Let's Dance is in great form, and in just a few short days we arrive at the 10 mile wide mouth of the Potomac River. It will take us two days to travel the 95 miles from the Chesapeake Bay to Washington, DC. We begin the journey up the Potomac, pushed by a small but helpful one knot current. The river is quiet, smooth and surprisingly devoid of other travelers. We pass only a few other pleasure boats (or rather, they pass us), no commercial or military vessels and only a handful of local fishermen.

Just after lunch on day one of the Potomac cruise, I notice on the chart that we are nearing the "Middle Danger Zone". What? Did we already pass through the "Lower Danger Zone"? Did we miss it? It is soon made clear as a young, strong voice comes over the VHF radio:

"This is Range Control Boat Four calling northbound white trawler near red nun 14A."

We check around -- he's talking to us! Captain Bill responds, "This is the trawler Let's Dance! How can we help you?"

RCB #4: "We are conducting tracking exercises in this area for the Navy. Captain, you must move your vessel to the far side of the river to be out of the line of fire." Okay, sir! Yes, sir!

He very helpfully walks us through the marks on the chart we need to follow to stay out of the danger zone, while assuring that we will have plenty of water to keep us off the shore. Lucky us! He then notes that today there will, actually, be no live gunfire -- it's all just practice, but he had us going there for a while.

Day two on the river provides even less marine traffic as we glide past Quantico, Mount Vernon, Fort Washington and Alexandria. We know we're getting close to our destination, however, when low-flying air traffic chases us up the river to the edge of Reagan National. Past the airport, we veer slightly to starboard to round the tip of the East Potomac Park into the Washington Channel and our temporary home -- the Capitol Yacht Club. Dockmaster "Big Kelvin" and his trainee assistant help with our lines and we have arrived!

The Capitol Yacht Club -- just the name evokes images of luxurious yachts with smartly uniformed crews awaiting the travel whims of domestic and foreign dignitaries. Perhaps a Presidential yacht even -- the Manitou, Dolphin or Sequoia. Alas, the Capitol Yacht Club is only home to a rag-tag group of live-aboards and is strategically located directly beneath the helicopter flight path from the White House to the Pentagon. For safety and, apparently, maximum noise effect, they mostly travel in groups of three or more. Definitely not conducive to relaxed, waterfront living.

Morning one of the DC adventure we check out the sprawling fish market adjoining the marina. Tons of fish and crustaceans from the area to admire and consider for dinner. We were especially taken by the volume of crabs --- bins and bins of them. And we learn from "Mr. Crab" himself that, in addition to the obvious pink bootie/blue bootie method for determining the sex of a crab, there is local lore to ponder. To demonstrate, he held up two crabs, bellies to the front. The females, he said, have the outline of the Capitol Building on their tummies while the males of the species sport a distinct outline of the Washington Monument on theirs. Really, I can't make this stuff up! 

 

For the next three days we do the tourist thing to the max -- and touring Washington is not for sissies. We rode the Big Bus Red Line and the Blue Line for the overview; explored the Smithsonian Castle; took in lunch and a tom tom demo at the American Indian Museum; soared through the Air and Space exhibits; gaped at modern art at the Hirshhorn and cried at the Holocaust Memorial. 

 

For a busman's holiday we took a short river cruise aboard the "Nightingale" in choppy Potomac waters. (Let's Dance has a smoother ride, better food and a cuter crew....just FYI!) We rode the Metro to meet up with Daufuskie friends Laura and Jim Hageman (in DC to welcome a new grandchild) for lunch at Bullfeathers. Always fun to see folks from home! After, Bill and I toured the Capitol and a tiny part of the Library of Congress.

Our brains are now full to overflowing and our feet are tired....time to bring this leg of the trip to an end and head north to Baltimore. Just for fun, Bill checked the Amtrak alternative.....a dizzying 32 minute train ride at a cost of $16 or three lazy days and nights aboard Let's Dance. No contest!

Let's Dance......Carol and Bill

Barn Dance

Maritime maneuvers for Let's Dance, the Love Me Tender, Captain and crew, are not yet completed for 2012. October promises a patriotic sea cruise up the Potomac to Washington, DC and then further up the Chesapeake to take in the sights of Annapolis and Baltimore from the sea side. This summer, however, brought adventures of a more earthy nature.

Daufuskie, South Carolina, our island home port for the past 8 years, offers a wide array of diversions. A few years ago, the amazing Pat Beichler, a Daufuskie legend, turned her talented mind to the creation of a community farm on the island...open to all and worked by many. Land was donated, pine trees felled and milled on site, buildings erected by local volunteers, animals brought by barge and ferry....a farm is born! Serviceable buildings sprang up as donations rolled in -- the Goat Barn (aka the Chevre Shack), the Poulet Chalet, the Dairy Barn, Lapin Lodge, the Cochon Maison...you get the picture. Animals were adopted by individuals and groups and the farm became reality.

One friend adopted a pair of proud turkeys -- Fred and Ginger. Fred quite literally ruled the roost until his continued episodes of bad behavior involving his claws and farm visitors earned him room in the freezer to await the next holiday season. Ginger is suitably chastened. Chickens of varying ethnicities roam the farm, laying eggs of pink and blue and green; guinea hens prowl for insects; Gracie and Muffin (the resident mother-daughter bovine duo) swat flies and munch hay. And there are, of course, the goats....my personal favorites!

Having a bit of downtime between voyages, I volunteered for a shift at the farm. Pat was happy to slot me in two evenings a week to feed and milk.....hmmmm. We met at the farm for my first lesson in goat herding. It all seems pretty simple. You gather, separate by gender, distribute fresh hay and water, etc. Easy enough, right?

Confident, I return three days later. As instructed, I stand on the path to the Dairy Barn and yell "Zelda!". As the dominant female, she leads the charge, and all fourteen goats come flying my way. So far no problem. I open the door to the Dairy Barn and begin pushing away eager little snouts to admit only the big girls. These are pretty pushy goats, so there is a bit of confusion as I block and weave....finally I have five goats in the barn. They immediately begin gnawing on any loose item in the open area outside the stalls. Stop! I have to get them settled in their stalls. Each stall has a picture of its occupant over the door and a name. Easy deal! I lure Lizzie into a stall, confident that she is at home. Her winsome underbite is distinctive. Kimmie and Zelda are soon corralled as well, and I am left facing the two remaining hopeful little faces. I have two goats left and only one stall! Something is not right here. I check the photos and realize that Rosie is in Kimmie's stall. I switch them. Still two goats and only one stall. I know there are only four adult female goats, so it's clear that an imposter has intruded. But which one?  I bend, I look, I compare.....hmmmm. This is not so hard. The imposter is identified and scuttled out of the barn. I will deal with him later! 

 

About an hour later I have segregated the girls and the boys, the toddlers and the teens, and have gifted them all with fresh water and peanut hay. Contentment reigns in the goat barns. Now for the interesting part --- milking! Pat has demonstrated and it looks easy, sort of. Kimmie is lured into the milking stall with the promise of special treats and she readily climbs onto the low bench. She's done this before. I sit, flex my fingers and reach under her rounded udder. She ignores me completely. Okay! I squeeze and pull gently, squeeze and pull gently. Warm milk begins to fill the pail. Wow! This is so cool! I continue. Warm milk squirts onto my knees. Oops! I hope that Kimmie is too busy with her kibbles to notice my fumbling, but she senses my hesitation and, raising her left hind leg, places her hoof squarely into the pail of tepid milk. Drat. Practice will surely make perfect!

Sensing a new, terrestrial focus for my energies, Bill gifted me with a cool pair of Wellies for my birthday and I put them to good use at the farm where footing is often, uh, mucky. Over the summer the goats and I have come to a comfortable understanding....they know I'll be leaving for offshore duty soon, and are patient with my fumbling farm tactics. The chickens, who have absolutely no discretion as to where they lay their eggs, probably won't miss me, but surely Ginger will. She appreciates the occasional gentle stroking of her feathers. It has been a trip and I hope that Pat will welcome me back to the fold when the fall voyage is completed.

The summer of 2012 -- from mermaid to milkmaid -- how great is that?

Let's (Barn) Dance......Carol & The Captain

Homeward Bound

Almost there! After 10 days en route, we spent our last night on the Great Bahama Bank before crossing the Gulf Stream and entering US waters. Tiny Isaac Island provided the comfort of a lee anchorage for our final night at sea. It is a deserted atoll at the western edge of the shallow bank where it gives way to the much deeper Atlantic Ocean. There is a lighthouse on the rocky point, with a scattering of little pink houses abandoned by long forgotten lighthouse keepers. Weathered and roofless, the stucco cottages and out-buildings stand silent sentinel around the old warning light. 

We arrived before dusk and were rewarded with another golden sunset while we had cocktails on the flybridge. Calm waters and light winds made the last day at anchor very soothing. Now back in satellite TV range, we watched a little news and Jeopardy, played a few hands of gin, turned in early. About 0500 hours, I woke up and checked out the stars. Yep! Still there and still spectacular. Wish we could install a skylight in the master stateroom. Bill was already awake and we made our way up to the deck, turning out the anchor light on the way. Wow! No people, no lights, no sounds except waves lapping onto shore and against the sides of the boat. Just stars, just beautiful.

Morning call came early. The big crossing ahead, we are alert and eager, prepped and ready. First chore...anchor up. We had out over 250 feet of chain since we had anchored in deep water, so the coming up was slower than usual. The Captain raised about 50 feet, where the friendly snubber was attached, when he called out to me to come forward and check out something. Curious, I did, and discovered that an unfortunate amberjack was hanging off the snubber line, hooked and twisted around the anchor chain. Oh, dear! He apparently fell victim to the lure that Bill left out the night before and got hung up in the anchor rode. Poor guy -- he was freed and left to the deep. Anchoring up completed, we were underway at 0650 hours.

We are flying! Over 10 knots through the Gulf Stream with seas calm enough that Bill chooses to polish some of the stainless railings on the foredeck while we motor on. At 46 miles into the journey we are greeted by a pair of bottlenose dolphins -- there to lead us home. As we watch from the bow pulpit they dive and cavort in over 3,000 feet of water. Quite a change from the meager 10 feet that the TCI dolphins had for their acrobatics! At 49 miles into the trip it's "Florida, ho!" The Palm Beach skyline is distant, but discernible and the conclusion of the winter of 2012 voyage is almost upon us.

With only a few hours left of the passage to and from the Turks & Caicos, it is time to reflect on the 2012 TWL's (Things We've Learned). First, we learned that it is possible for a retired stockbroker to squeeze into an amazingly small space to repair the stabilizers that keep us upright and happy, perform numerous oil and filter changes on both engines and the generator, pound the stripper arm on the windlass into submission and maintain his sense of humor in the face of it all.

We also learned that I, retired from multiple careers, can also squeeze into an amazingly small space to repair the stabilizers, prepare an edible meal for two while braced against the Sub Zero in the galley in 7 foot seas, and survive for over 90 days in captivity (often maintaining my sense of humor) with the irrepressible Captain Bill.

So, after about 71 nights at anchor, 10 nights in marinas, 2,600 nautical miles and countless pages written and read, we are home. Future voyages are still in the early planning stages, but, as the world is now our oyster, the possibilities are vast. For now, thanks for sharing in the fun and foibles aboard 

Let's Dance....Carol and Bill

Mission Critical

Captain Bill and I have been cruisers for almost two years now and we have absorbed quite a lot of information: about seamanship, navigation, meteorology, mechanics, etc. Most of our new-found knowledge is elementary, some graduate level, some very arcane. This we know for certain: travel aboard the trawler Let's Dance consists of

a) endless weeks of soothing, seductive sailing through awesomely beautiful scenery,

b) frequent moments of exhilarating glee, and c) rare spikes of brain numbing terror.

We've shared with you the scenery and some of the childlike joy that comes from flying fish and glow worms and green flashes. We've even let you in on the lengths to which we will go to entertain ourselves on long, boring passages. Now for part three of the equation to trawler life!

We are on the way home!! We succeeded in reaching the Turks and Caicos. We have had a wonderful run of great weather and good fishing. Guests have come and gone, a fine time had by all. Let's Dance is in prime shape and we are well provisioned for the trip back to the States. It should take about 10 days. Days one, two and three are almost flawless as we retrace our route back past Mayaguana, the Acklins and the Crookeds. On day four, however, leaving our Landrail Settlement anchorage at the north end of Crooked Island, the forecast is for higher wind and sea conditions. 0830 hours and the anchor is up...we're off! Two foot seas and winds at 10 knots from the southeast. Not a bad start to the day. By 0930 hours the seas have jumped to about 6 feet high with a 7 or 8 second interval. Still not too rough...it is a Nordhavn after all! The cabin is secured, with all drawers and cabinets and the fridge locked securely. At the helm, Bill tests the Clinometer app on the iphone to check the degree of our side to side roll -- 5 to 7 degrees each way. Interesting to note.

Let's Dance is equipped with state of the art Trac stabilizers whose sole responsibility it is to keep our ride smooth and pleasant in any kind of seas. These "fins" are like giant, flat paddles on either side of the keel and they push water to and fro to add stability to the potentially unpleasant side to side motion that power boats can experience. Hydraulic fluid is pumped through the hearty Lugger engine into a loop with the fins. They can be adjusted to varying sea conditions and they are a joy to experience. They are, in my opinion, mission critical.

At noon on day four, during the routine hourly engine room check, the Captain discovers a small leak of hydraulic fluid from the port stabilizer. Not good, but manageable. Fifteen minutes later he returns to the engine room for a quick look to discover that the seal on the port stabilizer has failed completely and the starboard one is leaking. Five gallons of blue hydraulic fluid now coats the bases of the mechanisms that keep us, literally, on an even keel and is running into the bilge below. Oh, no! He yells up to me to kill the electrical breaker for the stabilizers and I do, pronto. This is (expletive deleted) bad and the sea state is now closer to eight feet than the earlier six.

With the fins deactivated, the open ocean is free to have her way with us. And she does. We are immediately impacted by the 8 foot beam seas and Let's Dance starts moving to a playlist of rock 'n roll standards.....Twist and Shout, The Swim, The Jerk, Rockin' Robin.....Even the locked cabinets are feeling the impact of loose dishes, pots and pans and utensils. Nothing breaks loose, but the clatter is unnerving. Spice jars click against each other, magazines slide from port to starboard, wooden blinds slap against the windows. Bill is calm at the helm but I am quivering behind him on the settee, clutching the table in front of me with a death grip.

The trusty Clinometer confirms that we are all atilt as it registers a 38 degree roll to port, back to zero and over to 30 degrees to starboard. Do not try this at home! We are half way to nowhere and there is only one thing to do -- phone a friend!

Friend James Knight

Bill gets on the sat phone and dials Nordhavn expert James Knight in Florida, explains the situation and learns that we can still run the main engine for an hour or two without hydraulic fluid. He comforts me with the fact that there is no way we can turn over. Good to know, James. So we muddle on for 14 miles to the Clarence Town settlement on Long Island in the lower Bahamas, and shut her down. We begin to breathe again after almost two hours of rockin' to the oldies. Whew!!!

Day five consists of a quick dinghy ride into 'town' for cell phone minutes and 32 weight hydraulic fluid. Minutes are easy, fluid not so much. There is none on the island and the nearest source is Nassau. OK, then. That's what we'll do...order it from Nassau. But no, actually, the ferry from Nassau comes five days from now, on Wednesdays (or Thursdays) usually, but lately it hasn't been coming at all. Hmmmmm. Let the phone calls begin!

James contacts the Trac stabilizer folks and learns that we can substitute the 68 weight fluid that we have on board for the 32 but it will slow down the fins action. OK, slow fins are better than no fins. First, however, the errant port stabilizer must be taken apart and rebuilt. We have the manual but it is full of phrases like "slide the locking plate tongue into the yoke clevis and align the Locking Plate Flange with its dowel pins and mounting holes." Help!

Captain Bill dons his virtual coveralls and jumps into his new role as Chief Engineer. A pattern quickly develops....call to James for step one, follow instructions to the letter, report back. Call to James for step two, etc. Fourteen short phone calls and 8 long hours later, the offending stabilizer has been dismantled and the root of the problem uncovered. In between, terms like bushing, actuator, flange, punch, torque, allen wrench, top plate, and a whole raft of unmentionables, are uttered. Bill and I take turns crawling into the tight space that houses the mechanism, and with the help of a tiny flashlight and a mirror on a long handle, are able to finally make the adjustments that James has ordered. 

 

We are greasy and smelly and tired, but have achieved success in tightening the loose joint that allowed the hydraulic fluid to spew out. Now to replace the fluid. We do, with a 5 gallon drum of 68 weight hydraulic fluid, two funnels, a plastic kitchen pitcher and a lot of paper towels. Time for a break for the crew.

We still have a lot of miles and days to travel before we reach Florida, so our fingers are tightly crossed and the sea gods intoned as we anchor up on day six. Hourly engine room checks become quarter hourly and only a tiny bit of fluid leaks out. The seas are calmer each day and we are encouraged to motor on. Days seven through nine see us anchoring in familiar bays as we travel north and west....Calabash, Big Majors, Highbourne...and still the stabilizers purr along quietly and efficiently. I think Bill shows a lot of potential, mechanically speaking.

Night ten finds us back at the Tongue of the Ocean -- we put the hook down in 20 feet of water about two miles off the established "route" to avoid any possible overnight traffic. It was, as anticipated, a study in serenity. Another gorgeous sunset and, with stabilizers brought back up to snuff, we are confident of a smooth, uneventful ride across the Gulf Stream and home. All is well aboard

Let's Dance.....Carol and Bill