On the Downhill Slide

The road to repair has been a long road, unfortunately longer than necessary for a variety of reasons, most of which have been beyond anyone’s control. Now, the proverbial light is visible at the end of the tunnel. Best of all, the light is getting brighter and does not appear to be a runaway freight train. If nothing else, we are closer to being finished than we were yesterday. Or the day before. One day at a time, repairs are nearing completion. 

Fiberglass repairs to the big gouge on the starboard hull sides

We’ve passed three important milestones on the repair timeline: the first is the completion of the fiberglass repairs to the hull structures above the waterline. The second is the repainting of the hull, and the third is the installation of the replacement caprail. Also, the new bow and stern railings have been fitted and the chainplates replaced. (Chainplates are metal straps to which the rigging that supports the mast connect to the hull.) Several pieces of hardware which weren’t damaged in the hurricane but required removal so that repairs could be done, such as sail tracks, chocks, etc., have been reinstalled. One of those delays we've experienced is the completion and delivery of the new boarding gates and stanchion posts from Pacific Seacraft. Once those are in place, it really is a matter of bolting all the various fittings and hardware back onto the boat.

Following that, JO BETH will leave the relative security (and shade!) of the rigging shed at the Savannah Hinckley Yacht Services yard. She’s mostly been inside the shed since November of last year. I say ‘mostly,’ as the hull structural and cosmetic fiberglass repair work was done outside. Once she’s outside again, the fiberglass repairs to her keel will be made, the mast and rigging stepped, (‘stepped,’ or ‘stepping,’ is the nautical term for the installation of a mast and rigging), electrical work completed, and her bottom painted with antifouling paint. When that’s done, she will be launched. Once she’s floating again, we’ll begin testing and bringing all of her systems – mechanical, plumbing, air-conditioning/heating, electronic and navigational - back online. Her sails will be bent (another nautical term – sails are ‘bent’ on or off a boat) back on and then, best of all, we can move back aboard our home. Once all those things are done, sea trials will begin.

JO BETH being primed and prepped for her new paint

These past few months have been somewhat stressful, and not without their hiccups. Lisa and I have moved into a small and quiet but funky bungalow in Savannah for the remainder of the repair process. We left our leased apartment on Wilmington Island in mid-July and spent two weeks living in a friend’s attic space, (finished of course!), and served as house and pet sitters for four nutty cats and one needy and high maintenance dog.

Perhaps the biggest hiccup we’ve had with JO BETH’s repairs was at the start of the replacement caprail installation. In late April, Lisa and I drove to Washington, NC, where Pacific Seacraft is located, to pick up the freshly milled teak caprail pieces. Fourteen lovely, golden, beautifully curved and shaped teak planks were loaded into the back of my car. (FYI, that’s $11,000.00 in teak lumber – including the labor to mill, cut, and rough shape it – that fit into the back of my car!) We enjoyed a fantastic dinner in Washington’s quaint downtown with Steve Brodie, the owner of Pacific Seacraft, and Thumper Brooks – his real name – who is the operations manager at Pacific Seacraft. We made a long weekend out of the trip, spending a night in Oriental, NC. Oriental is another pretty coastal North Carolina town nestled on the banks of the Neuse River. While there, we ran into sailing friends we knew from our days in Brunswick, GA. A true sailor’s town.

The caprail is a vital part of JO BETH's hull structure, reinforcing the hull and deck joint, perhaps the most critical structural component of any boat. It is, of course, beautiful to look at and provides a solid mounting surface for sailing hardware, cleats, railings, etc. More importantly though, it  provides significant stiffness and strength to the hull and deck joint. Suffice to say, JO BETH cannot be without it.

A few weeks later, on a damp and overcast Monday afternoon in the latter days of May, just as the coastal Georgia heat and humidity begin to think of a shift into high gear, the caprail installation began. Later that day, I received a call from Greg Johnson, our lead guy at the Hinckley yard. I happened to be on a sea trial of a motor yacht which had been repaired at another Savannah boat yard, Thunderbolt Marine, Inc. With the rush of 24 knots of wind on the motor yacht’s flybridge in my ears and cool drizzle stinging my skin, he told me, “something’s not right. The caprail boards? They’re not fitting.” As soon as we returned to Thunderbolt Marine and the motor yacht was docked and secured, I sped off to the Hinckley yard. 

The new caprail sections, laid out on the rigging shed floor

(Note: for whatever reason the type in the next two paragraphs insists on being this size and font. I am unable to change it. On behalf of the Blogger platform, I extend my apologies.)

The caprail sections for JO BETH are in 14 pieces. The sections are numbered from left to right, starting at the bow. Sections one and two, which are large, flat, plates of teak fit fine at their location at the extreme forward end of the bow, also called the ‘stem.’ The next two sections, numbers three and four, fit fine at the forward end, where they joined sections one and two, but not at the aft, or back, end of the planks. Seeing this, it was clear that sections five and six were not going to fit. In fact, the after ends of planks five and six would be at least 10” – nearly a foot – away from the hull. Planks seven and eight would barely touch the boat at all.

I called Thumper and explained to him what we were seeing. “Bill,” he said, “the pieces aren’t going to fit exactly. Each boat is a little different. The boards, they need shaping, you know, they gotta be finessed a bit, to get the fit.” I explained to him we all understood that, and that we weren’t expecting a perfect fit from the start. “I know,” I told him, “we expected the boards to be off by a few inches, and that some shaping and fine tuning would be needed. We know that.” There was a pause. “But Thumper," I continued, "we’re off by ten inches at least. Maybe more. No amount of shaping and finessing will fix that.” Thumper said he would get with his carpenters and go over things.

The next two days were spent sending pictures to Pacific Seacraft, measuring and remeasuring the boat and the boards, flipping the boards and swapping sides, and on numerous conference calls. However, no solution offered was working. My initial feeling was that somehow, the carpenters at Pacific Seacraft had used the wrong jigs to form the boards. Jo Beth is a 34’ Pacific Seacraft, and her beam – the widest part of her hull – is exactly 10 feet. The measurements of the caprail sections, when laid out on the rigging shed floor, were the correct length, but had a width of 10’ 10”. The beam of the Pacific Seacraft 37 is exactly 10’10”. Regardless, these boards, as they were, were not going to work.

Late on Wednesday afternoon, Steve called and told me he had ordered his carpenters to “figure out the problem, and not to do anything else until they had.” He promised a call to me by 8:30 the next morning with a solution.

Steve and his crew delivered, and did so 15 minutes early. At 8:15, I received a cryptic text with a sequence of numbers, followed by a call from Steve. Fortunately, a profoundly simple mistake had been made. Turns out, the measurement of a 10’ 10” beam with our caprail sections was a wild coincidence. What had actually happened was the Pacific Seacraft carpenters had numbered the board placement sequence incorrectly. Once the right sequence was laid out – the numbers in Steve’s cryptic text message -  the rails fit. And Thumper was correct, of course. In the end, some ‘finessing’ was indeed needed – an average of 3/4” over the entire length of the boat.

Once the issues were resolved, the caprail fits beautifully

For a variety of reasons, the incorrectly numbered boards among them, the caprail installation took longer than first estimated. The fiberglass repairs to the hull and deck joint which is beneath the caprail were more extensive than originally thought, and the drilling and routing of joints in the new wooden rail took more time. The caprail is now fully installed and has 11 coats of Epifanes high-gloss varnish over it; enough to protect the wood and give Lisa and I solid footing to keep it maintained. It is beautiful.

First coats of varnish being applied on the new caprail

Those projects Lisa and I are doing independent of the storm repairs are also progressing well. This includes the installation of a Monitor Self-Steering Windvane system, (click here to learn more about the Monitor) and new stern navigation lamp; and the modification of the stern propane locker to accommodate the stern anchor cable. We’re also installing a backstay flag halyard. This will allow us to fly our United States ensign from the backstay, which is the rear wire that supports the mast. We’ve had new cockpit cushions made, and are implementing changes to where and how critical safety gear is stowed on board. The fire extinguishers, emergency distress beacons, and crew-overboard systems have been inspected, tested, and re-certified; all of the visual distress signaling devices have been replaced with new units.

We’re hopeful to have JO BETH out of the rigging shed and being made ready for her mast stepping and launching during the next two weeks or so. We are very hopeful to move back aboard in about three or three and a half weeks. Things are looking-up!

In slightly different news, I will be changing the hosting platform for this blog to a platform better suited to photography and video, and of course, storytelling. The Blogspot platform has served us well for a decade or more. Lately, it has become a pain - the two paragraphs above which insist they will be a different font and type as an example. It’s time for change.

As always, thanks for sticking with us. Thanks too, for checking on us and asking how we’re doing. We appreciate it much and will soon be home.

Please stay in touch.

Dodging Cold Fronts and Ducking Drawbridges

We’ve been in Ft. Pierce, Florida, in the Ft. Pierce City Marina since this past Saturday. We came in to wait out yet another passing cold front and to take a few days’ rest from the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, or ‘ICW,’ aka ‘the ditch.’ 

The Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway, aka 'The Ditch'

We left Brunswick Landing Marina on January 19^th and spent our first night in the ditch at anchor behind Cumberland Island. Typically, on a trip like this, we’d prefer to sail offshore. However, as Lisa and I had both been quite sick with the crud, we decided it best to not subject ourselves to the rigors of offshore sailing in the cold weather until we were further south. The decision was made to travel down the ditch until Jacksonville, FL, then hop offshore at the St. Johns River. We have sailing friends in Jacksonville and planned to stay in a marina to meet with them. The idea was to move offshore the following day.

Mother nature had other plans. We ended up sitting in Jacksonville for the next three days as a strong cold front moved over us. This was the same weather system which brought tornadoes to many southern states. Fortunately, we had no tornadoes but we did have winds of 30-40mph and a fair amount of rain. After the weather system had passed and on the following Tuesday, the winds offshore were coming from the south – the exact direction which we want to go. Once again, we took to the ditch and pushed daily to make miles, averaging around 50 miles per day. Palm Coast, New Smyrna Beach, Titusville, Melbourne, and now Ft. Pierce. Good anchorages are slim along these stretches and we spent our nights in marinas secured to a dock.

The waterway is beautiful along much of the US eastern and Gulf coasts. It is wild and undeveloped in Georgia and much of South Carolina, but Florida south of Palm Coast is largely urban sprawl. It can be stressful too, as the waterway is treacherously shallow in spots. By law, the ICW is supposed to be maintained at a minimum depth of 12’ at the lowest level of tide. It isn’t. There are many stretches in Georgia where the waterway is simply not passable at low tide. Places along the waterway in Florida are approaching the same situation. The issue is how the funds for maintenance of the channels are appropriated: funding for maintaining the waterway is based upon the amount of commerce moving on the waterway. But when the shoals build up and moving cargo and commodities on the ICW becomes problematic, the movement of cargo upon the waterway slows or even stops altogether. With no commerce moving, there’s no funding to maintain the depths and the rest of the waterway infrastructure. It’s the original Catch-22. Recreational boats, such as ours, who make up the vast majority of waterway users don’t count in the figures.

On the wide but frightfully shallow Indian River; the average depth we saw was 8.5'; one of the many drawbridges we passed through can be seen in the distance

Also, we couldn’t easily sail on the waterway as it’s too narrow in most places. All of our miles were made under diesel power. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as diesel engines in sail boats are often woefully neglected.

Our own set of minor waterway troubles caught up with us, when on our way to our stop in New Smyrna Beach, we went aground just south of Ponce de Leon Inlet. We swung too wide on one navigational mark and hit the sandy, muddy, bottom which was shaped like a ridged potato chip. We went over the first hump in the muck only to ride up on another. As the tide rose and we attempted to extricate ourselves, we repeated this same action three different times. At one point, we were almost centered directly between the channel marks and still fast aground. Eventually, we called a tow boat and once he arrived, we were off in less than 90 seconds. JO BETH is fine, as are we, but it was not a super fun couple of hours. We saw a good number of boats aground on shallow spots that same day.

(For our fellow boaters and sailors out there; make sure your boat insurance policy includes towing coverage. If it doesn’t, you can get it through associations such as Boat/US or SeaTow. How much was the bill for the ‘un-grounding’ you ask? Nearly $1,000.00. Fortunately, we are covered at fraction of that cost for the entire year.)

And then there are the bridges which crisscross the waterway. Most of them are the large spans fixed at a height of 65’ which we can easily pass beneath, but a few of them are drawbridges. There’s a protocol for passing through a drawbridge; first, we hail the bridge tender on VHF radio. We identify ourselves, and even though in most cases we were the only boat approaching, we had to formally request that the bridge be opened. Some bridges open on request, others are on a schedule of opening on the hour and half hour and/or upon request, and some are locked down during high traffic times. Bridge tenders are known to be a temperamental lot, (there’s one in south Florida known for only responding to hails when the full formal name of the bridge is used), but the ones we dealt with over the last week were courteous and professional.

Approaching The Bridge of Lions on our passage through St. Augustine, Florida

Needless to say, we’re looking forward to sailing in the ocean once again and putting the waterway behind us for a while. The changes coming south have been fun to watch. The water has shifted from a gray muddy brown to a blue green and is clear enough to actually see the dolphins swimming beside us before they break the surface. We have manatees around the boat at night and tides are a reasonable two or three feet instead of eight to ten feet. Palm and Sea Grape trees dot the waterfront, and the shores are built up by mangroves and not marshes. All signs we’re making it south. 

The water is getting lovely; the red and green intracoastal waterway markers through which we've just passed can be seen

Livin' and Learnin'

Someone recently asked me what's it like to live on board our sailboat. It didn’t take long for the answer to form in my mind. “It’s like living in a tiny house,” I said, “only it's tinier and always moving. Plus, there's a chance of drowning.” That ‘chance of drowning’ bit, I admit, was added for flair. Lisa and I are very safe and very comfortable aboard Jo Beth.

Jo Beth in her slip at Brunswick Landing Marina

But make no mistake, the transition from life in a modest brick and mortar house in a nice neighborhood in Savannah, Georgia, to a small and ever moving ‘mobile’ home is a continuous work in progress. There are lots of changes to deal with; some obvious, and some not so obvious. Not only do the physical realities of such a move have to be addressed, but the emotional and mental muscles will be flexed and exercised as well. And once in a while, bruises happen.

The physical aspects of our transition are clearly apparent. Our house in Savannah measured just under 2,000 square feet, and was a considerable downsize from our four bedroom, two and a half bath home with two car garage where we lived in Atlanta. There isn’t the same amount of space. Not even close. We’ve calculated the useable living space aboard Jo Beth – which includes storage spaces in drawers, cabinets, (called ‘lockers’ on a boat), refrigeration and freezer spaces, etc., to be approximately 250 square feet. In the cabin, the actual space where we can stand is probably less than 40 square feet. 

Everything aboard Jo Beth has a home, and there is a home for everything. Clutter can quickly get out of hand, and if we’re sailing can actually become a hazard. It takes lots of energy from both of us to keep the clutter under control. Surprisingly, the worst ‘clutter’ offender is paper. 

Since we’re both still working and aren’t (yet) able to cruise and stay in warmer weather year-round, we need to maintain an inventory of warm and cool weather clothes. We rent a climate controlled storage unit in town and ‘swap’ our clothes with the seasons. The storage locker also serves as an ‘office’ where we store our important records and papers, and holds an inventory of boat equipment, which we either don’t need aboard at the moment or will be selling at upcoming nautical garage sales.

These matters are obvious when it comes to drastically downsizing and living in a small space. However, yacht living is unique. There’s much you don’t ever think about until you’re confronted with having to do something or solve a problem not considered. We’ve been aboard Jo Beth for almost one full year. Here is what has stood out for us:

You’re going to Bump Your Head 

A lot. And your knees, elbows, and ankles. Those of you that know Lisa and I know how short we are – and for those of which we’ve not yet had the pleasure of knowing, we’re short: I’m 5’4” tall, and Lisa is 5’ 2 ¾” tall. Jo Beth’s head room is just over 6’. It’s not the ceiling (called ‘the overhead’, on a boat) height that’s the problem but things like the latches on the windows (called ‘ports’ or ‘portlights’) and the rounded corners of lockers that get us.

You’re going to Knock Things Over

Jo Beth measures 10’ 6” at her widest part, or her ‘beam.’ In the cabin interior, much of that ten and a half feet is reduced by seats, (settees), lockers, and shelves. It’s easy for an elbow to catch a cup of water, a bottle of wine, or whatever…and send it splashing to the cabin sole. (The ‘cabin sole’ is the ‘floor’ in a house.) And in this same vein, things will fall out of lockers when you open them, no matter how carefully and securely they were stowed.

Grocery Shopping is Different

This is mostly because you can only buy groceries for a few days at a time, at least if you want to have meals prepared from fresh and not canned or otherwise preserved ingredients. Our total refrigerator/freezer space is approximately four cubic feet. It’s one box, partitioned by a two piece divider into a freezer side and refrigerator side. Lisa typically assigns items their place inside of the reefer or freezer; she has a knack for seeing things spatially. Sometimes though, despite the best organizational efforts, the nature of the beast wins out. You will still have to empty the reefer to get the butter.

The Reefer/Freezer...

...and a Peek Inside

Food Storage is Different

Well, it is in some ways. Our fresh fruit resides in a hammock hung in the galley over the sink; onions, garlic bulbs, shallots, etc. reside in another hammock strung in the locker behind the trash can. Canned foods, boxed soups, etc. live under the starboard side settee in the main cabin – also called the ‘saloon’ and pronounced ‘salon.’ Crackers are stowed in plastic boxes in the same area. Snack items, like peanuts, pretzels, etc. are stowed in one of the overhead lockers in the galley. Most spices and condiments do well enough, with the exception of salt. There’s not a whole lot that can be done to keep salt from clumping. If you live on a boat which floats in salt water, you’re going to have clumpy salt in your salt grinders or shakers.

Meal Planning and Preparation is Different

Jo Beth is fitted with a three-burner propane stove and oven. Actually, the back burner on the stove is useless because of its proximity to the wooden cabinetry, so we never use it. The stove is on gimbals, so it can swing level when the boat is sailing and heeled; that is to say, pushed over to one side by the force of the wind on the sails. When we want to prepare something in the oven, we have to preheat the oven approximately 200° warmer than is needed, because when the oven door is opened, the temperature drops by approximately that amount. Of course, this makes the cabin much warmer – not so bad in winter, and not so good in the summer! Thus, we tend to prepare ‘cold’ meals in the summer. We have four dinner plates, four small bread plates, six bowls, and six forks, knives, and spoons. Our four stainless steel cook pots nest within one another, and the lid doubles as a skillet. Planning is critical, as the lockers where utensils are stowed requires the cook to reach across the stove; even getting into the reefer or freezer requires one to reach or lean over one corner of the stove. And, when the stove is in use, 90% of the usable counter space disappears with the cover.

The Fruit Hammock

You Become Aware of Resource Consumption

Even though we’re on the dock more often than not these days, all of our water and fuel for cooking is kept aboard the boat. Our electricity is provided from batteries, though we can plug into shore side electrical when we’re in our marina slip. When we’re away from the dock, all we have is what we carry until we can replenish. We’ve become much more aware of how much water we use to wash dishes, how much we use to cook, and even how much we use brushing our teeth. We have to stay alert as to how much electricity we’re using from the batteries, and so on. We have a wind powered generator which can help reduce the load on our batteries when we’re sailing or at anchor, and we can also use the engine to charge them. Still, electricity, water, fuel, etc. are commodities – even at the dock.

Doing Laundry is Different

Or, it might be like it was in your college dorm or first apartment. Gone are the days of separating clothes by dark colors and light colors; of heavy loads or delicate loads. Most marinas have shared laundry facilities and the facilities in our marina are provided as a part of the fees we pay. We get in and get out as a courtesy to other sailors waiting to use the machines. And, your clothes have to be dried until they are dry. Damp clothes brought back to the boat will remain damp. In the worst case, they can become a moldy, smelly, mess.

You’re going to Lose Things

It’s a boat, and a small one at that, right? Where can you possibly lose anything? Trust me, it will happen with regularity, and to all manner of items: earrings, glasses, medicines, and so on. On one short, but rough ocean passage, I could not find a pair of glasses I knew I had put in a locker in the saloon before leaving. When I did find them, after nearly a half hour of scouring the cabin, they were on the other side of the boat and ten feet away from where they had started. You’re going to lose things to Neptune as well. Earlier this year, my cell phone went into the drink when I was removing a towel (hung up to dry!) from one of the railings.

You Become Hyper-Aware of Sounds

People new to boats, especially those spending the night aboard a small boat for the first time, often find the amount of noise surprising, if not unsettling. The ocean is alive and as water is denser than air, it carries sound waves much more efficiently. Almost everyone notices the constant but low ‘rice-crispies-crackling’ sound made by shrimp, crabs, and other small shellfish. The wind in the rigging often makes whistling sounds, and in stormy weather, that whistle can become a roar. Then, there are noises the boat makes – the tinkling of glasses jostling together when the boat rocks in the wind; things in lockers rattling; the groaning of docklines rubbing in the chocks when the wind shifts the boat; even the rush of water passing the hull in a ripping tidal current. A loose soup can rolling in the bilge can make you crazy. Then, there are the mechanical sounds; a bilge pump cycling on and off; the fresh water pump in the galley cycling to maintain pressure in the plumbing lines; the clicking of the propane fuel system solenoid engaging or disengaging. Every time the air conditioning system starts, I listen for the overboard discharge of cooling water from the pump, and make sure the condensation sump pump runs once in a while. Each sound means something and you become keenly aware of what it is and why it’s happening.

The VHF Radio can Provide Weather and Tide Information 24/7

Weather and Tide are at the Core of Every Decision

Regardless of what we’re planning for a given day, be it leaving the dock for a day-long sail or a weekend trip, maintaining the exterior wood on the boat, or simply moving gear or groceries onto the boat, the weather and tides are given consideration. In the marina, we walk most everywhere we go and fortunately, our docks are not the hundreds of yards long docks we’ve encountered in many places. Still, carrying freshly washed and dried laundry from the laundry room in a downpour is best avoided. At low tide the dock ramps can take a steep angle of 15° or so, and in spring tide cycles, during the full and new moons, the angle can be as much as 25°. That’s not the time to be hoofing gear or groceries about. Summertime thunderstorms, with their tropical storm force winds and lightning, are always a concern. You want to avoid storms, trust me on that. We never leave the dock in bad weather. But, if we’re underway and are set upon by a squall, we always try to be prepared.

Those are a few of our observations. Both Lisa and I are reasonably experienced sailors. Lisa has sailed as crew on tall ships during deep ocean passages, most recently on the 130’ Brigantine CORWITH CRAMER out of Bermuda. My experience has been gleaned in inshore coastal and near coastal ocean waters; I singled handed my first tiny sailboat, (she was 19’), all around the coasts of Georgia and Florida, and together with Lisa, we sailed her throughout the Florida Keys. We’ve both sailed as crew on a variety of different small sailing yachts. Until June of 2015, neither of us had lived aboard together full time. However, we have spent days and weeks aboard many boats, independent of one another and as a couple. 

Why are we here? Why are we doing this? To be honest, I’m not sure how to answer either of those questions. What I can tell you is that when we see Jo Beth, we feel the same sense of pride that many of my childhood friends feel when they gaze of their perfectly landscaped lawns, or their dream car, or take that long awaited trip to a mystical destination. And, we want adventure in our lives. That’s why I began skydiving when I was 16. It’s why I’ve hiked long distances alone, and single handed my small and fragile sailboat through the coastal waters of these Southern United States. I think I’ve mentioned before that my mother once said to me, ‘you always want to be where you’re not.’ Lisa and I can move our home and almost all of our stuff anywhere in the world, on any ocean in the world. It is a simpler way of living, of learning more about who we are and where we want to go in life. Not everyone could do this, or would want to. We understand that. If nothing else, we find it to be incredibly appealing.

Inbound from the Sea, St. Simons Sound

We and Jo Beth will continue to be a work in progress. Evolving and adapting to one another will never end. But even after a year, you’d suppose we should be ‘used’ to this, at least a little, for lack of a better phrase. Or so you would think. For a month now, I’ve been looking for a box of bronze wood screws.

We Are Here...

Hinckley rigger Greg Johnson snapped this shot as Jo Beth Left the Hinckley Yacht Services Docks

Once again, much time has passed since my last post in this blog. I began that last post, some 10 or so months ago, with those same words. And just as last time, I’ll follow with more same words – sort of: “and in that time, a lot of work aboard Jo Beth has been completed, or brought closer to its finish.” The ‘sort of’ is that the work associated with the refit at Hinckley Yacht Services is now finished. Well, sort of.

That last ‘sort of’ is there to reiterate a commonality of the boating life: the boat is never really finished. A lot has happened – a lot – since the last post in May, 2015. To put it all down in details would result in a long and tedious tale. Instead, I’ll share some of the highlights.

Lisa and I fully transitioned to living aboard on May 31, 2015. Actually, it was just me. Lisa happened to be out of town, starting work for a new client. The first week was a juggling act of tasks, much as any other move would be. Work by the boatyard was continuing, and it wasn’t uncommon for one or more of the Hinckley crew to be working on deck, in the rigging, in the engine compartment, or in the cabin during the time I was settling in. Truth is, this routine carried on well into December. One very important and newly installed piece of equipment was working beautifully – the reverse cycling air conditioning system. It kept the cabin at a comfortable 70° during the often 100°+ days. The reverse cycling unit can also be used to provide heating, a good thing as we remained at the yard into winter.

The refrigeration and freezer unit, bought second hand from another sailor, was and still is working beautifully as well. We have an ice-maker attachment for the freezer unit and now have ice cubes – huge two square inch ice cubes – on demand!

After Lisa’s return, we worked together getting things organized and finding ‘homes’ for everything we have aboard. We’ve estimated the livable/useable square footage on the boat to be less than 300 square feet. That’s the total useable space, which includes the forward cabin where we sleep, the galley where we cook, and the saloon where we live and work. The actual square footage where we can stand – the space which our feet can occupy when we walk in and through the cabin – is probably around 50 square feet.

Getting organized is an on-going project. Things are constantly being taken off the boat. They’re not always replaced unless it’s with something which can do the same job more efficiently. We look for equipment with multiple utility, and are always adjusting to improve efficiency. When people ask me what it’s like to live on Jo Beth, I tell them it’s like living in a tiny house, only tinier, and with a chance of drowning. Actually, we are quite safe, comfortable, happy, and content aboard our little floating home.

In early August, we conducted the first of several sea trials. This first one was under power in the Wilmington River. This was an important step, as when Jo Beth’s diesel fuel system was being serviced, we found a significant amount of water had gotten into the fuel. The fuel in the tank was at least three years old, and the plan had been to dispose of it and clean the tank anyway. The presence of water in the fuel reinforced the need to follow through. The source was determined to be a failed O-ring on the fuel fill cap. Once the tank was cleaned, dried, and filled with fresh fuel the sea trial was conducted and went flawlessly.

Rigger Greg Johnson and the new headsail

In middle August, our new sails arrived. They were built by Ullman Sails, in the Deltaville, VA loft. Jo Beth’s normal ‘suit’ is of a mainsail, a headsail, and a staysail. Right now, we have her rigged as a sloop; that is, she carries only the headsail and the mainsail. The staysail isn’t an efficient sail for sailing close to shore on inland coastal waters where a lot of maneuvering is required; it’s a small and rugged sail, which we’ll use when sailing in the open ocean or on longer coastal passages. Once we’re rigged with the staysail, Jo Beth will magically transition from being a sloop to being a cutter. To get the sails and their associated rigging in place took the better part of a week, some of which was taken up by Savannah’s almost daily dance with afternoon thunderstorms. On September 14, 2015, we took Jo Beth on her first sailing sea trials.

Sailing Trials in the Wilmington River

We proceeded east-southeast on the Wilmington River towards Wassaw Sound on a warm and sunny afternoon. With winds at nearly 20 knots, we couldn’t have asked for more favorable conditions. Lisa and I were on board and were accompanied by Hinckley general manager Dustin Hartley and rigger Greg Johnson. Jo Beth performed beautifully, blasting through the waters at a solid 6 knots, flinging spray aside and occasionally over the decks. To be sure we could get the best idea of her performance, we had stowed as much of our everyday gear on board, and had the fuel and water tanks filled to capacity. It was a fantastic sail on a lovely afternoon. However, once back at the dock, we made an interesting discovery. 

Jo Beth's new mainsail and headsail, filled and drawing nicely

One of the on-board systems which we’ve had persistent issues with is the plumbing system, our potable water supply. What we found was that the aft water tank, according to the new tank monitoring system, was down to 70%. This meant that during our romp under sail in the river and sound, we lost roughly 30-35% of the water which was in our aft water tank, approximately 12-15 gallons. This may not sound like a lot, but it’s important to remember that Jo Beth’s two water tanks have a combined total capacity of 80 gallons. This is water we use for drinking, cooking, bathing, etc. The forward water tank remained at 100%, as did the diesel fuel tank, thankfully. There was no water in the bilges, so we know the bilge pumping system worked to pump out most of what had leaked. We did find some standing water in a couple of our interior storage lockers, including the cockpit locker under which the aft water tank is situated.

After investigation and testing, the source of the leak was found to be a fracture in the inboard side of the tank structure, very near the top of the tank on the forward end. This was repaired and the tank tested by pressurizing it with air. Unfortunately, the amount of air introduced into the tank was too much, and burst the seal between the tank lid and the tank. The lid would have to be removed, cleaned, and refitted – and this meant that a bulkhead which had been installed earlier in the project also had to be removed. It was to be a messy project. Lisa and I moved off the boat for a week and stayed with friends on Hilton Head Island while the work was done. Thank you again, and again, to Keith and Julie!

Jo Beth is blessed by Father Kelly

Prior to the work beginning on the aft water tank, Lisa and I had Jo Beth blessed by the Episcopal Priest from her church in Savannah. It was a lovely ceremony attended by friends and fellow sailors, as well as several of the boatyard crew from Hinckley. 

At this point, we were well into October. The tank repairs and most of the other big projects were now behind us. The bulk of the work now being done were small and quickly completed jobs. Lisa and I began to really think about permanent stowage for our safety equipment, and other gear which we hoped to have to never reach for except to have it serviced and maintained. With some excitement we began to consider our departure date.

The last of the jobs were completed the week prior to Thanksgiving. Given the weather at the time, and the necessities and duties the holiday placed upon us, we chose the Friday after Thanksgiving as our ‘go’ day. We would be motoring south on the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway as opposed to sailing offshore, for which conditions were not ideal – nearly windless days and nights, but sunny and relatively warm. Plus, Jo Beth was essentially a new boat with a lot of equipment with which we weren’t yet familiar. We shuttled a car from the boatyard in Savannah to our marina home, Brunswick Landing Marina in Brunswick, GA.

A collective ‘gasp’ from fellow sailors went up when our planned Friday departure was announced. One of the oldest sailor’s superstitions is to never – never - begin a voyage on a Friday. It’s said to be bad luck, and to lead to a troubled passage. Many of the Hinckley crew mentioned this to us, and with surprisingly genuine concern. I reasoned that we weren’t really ‘beginning’ the voyage; that the voyage had actually began in 2013 when Jo Beth arrived at the yard on a cool and rainy Tuesday morning, and had started her journey to the boatyard on the Monday before. Our departure from the yard was a continuation – a closing of the loop. Whether they bought into my reasoning or not, I don’t know, but it didn’t matter. Friday came, and we left early morning on a nearly high and flooding tide.

We made it less than 2 miles.

Marine engines in small yachts use seawater for heat exchanging, or cooling the engine. The seawater is sucked in as the boat moves through the water, and is circulated through a box called a heat exchanger. Inside the heat exchanger is a network of tubes through which the engine coolant – the anti-freeze – flows. As the seawater circulates around these tubes, it absorbs the heat from the engine coolant thus, cooling the engine. The seawater is then mixed with the dry engine exhaust gases and ejected with the exhaust over the side.

As we were motoring along, I noticed a sudden change in the ‘pitch’ of the engine. I throttled the engine to idle and shifted from forward to neutral. Lisa was sitting near the back of the cockpit, a puzzled expression on her face. I asked her if water was pumping water out with the engine exhaust. She looked and her answer was a distressed and resounding “no!” We shut the engine down immediately and began drifting. I went into the cabin and lifted up a small engine compartment access hatch, carefully and slowly. A dirty and wet cloud of acrid diesel exhaust and steam billowed into the cabin. I dropped that hatch closed and went to the foredeck to ready the anchor. Lisa had been steering as we coasted and then drifted slowly backwards in the still incoming tide. The anchor, another new piece of equipment, set quickly into the river mud and we came to a stop.

I went back into the cabin and Lisa was already there, opening the ports. I looked again into the engine compartment with a flashlight and quickly saw what had happened. The ‘mixing elbow,’ that portion of the engine exhaust system where the exhaust gases and cooling seawater are mixed together, had broken apart. This allowed the mixture of the engine exhaust and seawater to be ejected directly into the engine compartment. Every surface glistened with salty water. The bilge pumps were discharging the excess water back to the river.

The failed exhaust mixing elbow, above; the photo below shows replacement components installed

  

Years of hot engine exhaust and seawater had taken their toll on the metal components. I had gambled on replacing them, against the advice of a trusted mechanic and friend in the Hinckley yard.

Anchoring in a navigable channel is a big no-no; illegal, actually. I picked up our VHF radio microphone and began transmitting a warning to whomever was listening. I gave our position, and that we had broken down and were anchored awaiting a tow. I then picked up my cell phone and called for a tow boat to assist. Within two hours of leaving the Hinckley Yacht Services docks, we were back, tied alongside. The next day, when we should have been arriving at our marina home, we went to retrieve the car we had just shuttled down.

It was early December now, and we were more than anxious to be underway. The necessary exhaust system parts had been ordered and installed. We set our second departure date, this time a Sunday. The boat was provisioned and ready. The car shuttle was done again. We unplugged the yellow electrical shore power cord and stowed it away. The engine was running and purring along, the new exhaust system components performing wonderfully. Lisa was at the helm, and I released the stern dock line – then the forward spring dock line. Just as I was removing the bow line from its cleat, the engine oil pressure alarm sounded. We shut the engine down and checked the oil level. It looked fine. We decided to wait an hour, let the engine cool, and check it again. An hour later, the oil level was still good. We restarted the engine, and again the oil pressure alarm sounded. We shut it down.

Monday morning, Hinckley mechanics Bob King and Steve Puckett determined the oil pressure switch had failed. The part was ordered, expedited delivery, and the waiting began. As the part was to arrive quickly, we didn’t go and retrieve Lisa’s car a second time. Wednesday came and went, and on Thursday, the small switch was still not received. Investigation by Hinckley parts manager Cheri revealed the switch had been sent by mistake to another Hinckley repair yard. Cheri reordered the switch and had it sent via overnight delivery.

By Friday afternoon, the oil pressure switch was in and another sea trial completed. All was well. However, we had a less than desirable weather for the weekend and first portion of the following week. By mid-week the forecast was much better. On an overcast and muggy Thursday morning, December 16, 2015, we finally left the Hinckley Yacht Services docks, underway by 8AM.

Finally, we were moving south. The miles ticked off uneventfully. Dolphins swam close alongside Jo Beth as we transited from the Wilmington River to the Skidaway River, and we marked familiar landmarks as they passed: Isle of Hope Marina followed by the new Skidaway Narrows Bridge; Green Island Sound and Vernon View; the entrance to Delegal Creek, etc. 

Kilkenny Creek

At noon we entered Hell Gate, a narrow land-cut which funnels water in and out of Green Island Sound and Ossabaw Sound into the Atlantic Ocean with each tidal cycle. Currents can be challenging here, and our plan to be in the Gate at noon, which was high tide and slack water, worked beautifully. Soon we were in the Florida Passage and then into wide and deep Kilkenny Creek. We crossed a calm St. Catherines Sound and by late afternoon had the anchor down in Cattle Pen Creek, a wonderful anchorage situated towards the southern end of St. Catherines Island. A delicious pot of chili finished the day nicely and we slept soundly in Jo Beth’s cozy cabin. 

Cattle Pen Creek Sunset

We woke the next morning to find ourselves in a flat calm under a heavy and wet blanket of fog. The densest fog seemed to lie eastward. As our course in the Intracoastal Waterway would take us south and a little west, we decided to go ahead and get underway. We had a good start, and as we motored out of Cattle Pen Creek and back into the main waterway channel, the fog seemed to be thinning. But after less than two miles along, we were in it thicker than ever and had a ghost ship chasing us! A lovely ketch rigged sailing yacht, she played hide and seek with us for a few hours, appearing veiled and shadowy for moments at a time, behind us and slowly gaining. Once we were in Sapelo Sound, she materialized on our port side, a half a mile or so to the east. Then she disappeared, not to be seen again until we sailed out from behind the foggy curtain and found ourselves in bright sun under blue skies, the ghost ship now nearly a mile in front.

We had one more shallow water passage to make, this one through the aptly named Little Mud River. We arrived with perfect timing for the high tide, and transited the narrow and shallow stretch with room to spare beneath our keel. The skies were clouding up again and by the time we entered St. Simons Sound and our home waters, rain was falling. We arrived in our slip in Brunswick Landing Marina at 4:30PM on December 17th in a steady rain shower.

Approaching the Torras Causeway Bridge and St. Simons Sound

The next few days are a blur; we shuttled back to Savannah to retrieve our other car from the boatyard and worked to get Lisa’s mom moved into her new apartment in Brunswick. The following week, which was the week of Christmas, we both became ill with a ghastly and incredibly long lasting stomach bug of some sort. By New Year’s we were finally feeling better and getting settled in and accustomed to life in our new marina home.

The last phases of Jo Beth’s refit proved more hectic and stressful than we had anticipated. Since arriving home, we’ve been pretty much dock bound; the days which weather was good for a sail were days we either had to work or were otherwise obligated to be elsewhere. And while the winter was generally mild, there were cold fronts passing one after the other. We saw gale and even tropical storm force conditions on more than one occasion. We’ve reconnected with old friends and made new ones, and now that winter is transitioning to spring, many of them have left for points south – the Florida Keys, The Bahamas, the Caribbean and other more exotic locales – we’re here and enjoying our new life. 

Jo Beth in Her Slip at Brunswick Landing Marina

Now that things are much more settled, I plan to return to keeping the blog current and updating with the goings on in our live aboard lives. Thanks for sticking with us through the quiet and boring times. Here’s to hoping for more fun and exciting adventure in your lives, as well as ours!