Emily – Page 5 – Dinghy Dreams

Boat Girl Code

by EmilyGuest Posts August 26, 2018August 27, 2018One Comment

This post was written by Melanie Neale. Melanie is a published author, one of the leading yacht broker’s on the East Coast, and holds an MFA in creative writing. Her book, Boat Girl: A Memoir of Youth, Love, and Fiberglass, is about coming of age while living aboard and sailing full time on her family’s sailboat. Boat Girl takes you to the Bahamas every season with her family and eventually to life as a young woman living on her own boat. Melanie’s work has also appeared in Cruising World, Practical Sailor, and more! Melanie has gone on to own several boats including a Columbia, a C&C, and a Morgan. She also holds her 100 Ton USCG Captain’s License and the title of conch blowing champion on more than one Bahamian Island. She is basically royalty in the marine industry, and best of all is she endorses ME!

There are some bad bitches out there. Once a boy referred to me as “the baddest bitch in the sea,” which I took as a tremendous compliment. Whether we’re bad or good, I kind of feel like we have an obligation to each other. I’ve tried to promote women working in the marine industry as much as I can, and I believe very much in the “collaborate don’t compete” mantra. My Facebook group, Women Working in the Marine Industry, joined Women Who Sail and other female-only groups about a year ago in the social media world, and the stories and profiles of the women on there are crazy-inspiring to me.

So when Emily passed through my home-town earlier in the year, blogging about this dinghy she built with Kourtney Patterson, another local badass boat girl, I took notice. Then my daughter and I ran into them while they were launching the dinghy, and things went from there. I sent her a book, she reached out on her way back through town, and then we became roommates.

Melanie Neale, Mealnie Neal Edwards Yacht Sales, Boat Girl — Melanie Neale, Boat Kid Extraordinaire

The roommate thing was kind of funny. Like I do with all my cruising friends, I offered her a place to do laundry, my truck for provisioning, warm showers, and a meal. “So, um, I’m looking for a place to stay for a little while,” she said when my daughter and I picked her up from the City Marina for laundry and a meal. That was months ago. Now she’s got her boat out of the water at a local boat yard and she’s killing it on the repairs and refit so that she can head for the Bahamas when she’s ready.

Melanie currently lives on land, but is no stranger to boat life.

In a lot of ways, I envy her. I went through a pivotal time in my life in my late teens during which I could have gone in one of two directions: get the little sailboat and start a life cruising or do what my parents wanted me to do and get a college education. I chose the latter, thinking that the education would earn me money to buy a bigger boat sometime down the road. We all know where that kind of thinking got my generation (oh, how I admire millennials and their hesitation to join the rat race!). So now, I pay my mortgage and send my kid to elementary school and pay my student loans (as little as I can…) and live vicariously through the girls like Emily who are doing what I wish I had done.

But maybe my role as a Boat Girl is a little different than Emily’s. She earned my respect even more with her recent response to Sailing Anarchy’s sexist photo SCOTW (Sailing Chick of the Week) photo. I studied creative writing; she studied journalism. I admire ballsy writing. What if my role is to support and champion other boat girls?

Some of the smartest people I know are millennials. Watching them take over the marine industry is immensely satisfying. If my role is to help launch them or help just one or two get on their feet and achieve their dreams, then I am doing what I was meant to do. It’s code. Boat Girl Code. It’s a beautiful thing.

Keep collaborating, friends. We’re all in this together.

Peace,

Melanie Neale

The Original Sailing Anarchists

by EmilySailing on a budget, Sexism in sailing August 21, 2018August 27, 20186 Comments

I just want to take a quick moment to pay homage to one of the original sailing anarchists. Moxie Marlinspike. He created the documentary Hold Fast, where he and two friends buy a derelict boat (which probably should have been free), fix it up and take off sailing across the Gulf Stream. They are on a bare bones budget with bare bones equipment when it comes to sailing and filming. They literally use bags full of bricks at one point for secondary anchors.

moxie marlin spike, hold fast documentary, blue anarchy sea collective — The Pestilence

What’s so great about Moxie and his crew are they’re literally the antithesis of the “yachtie,” which is really just a club for the good old boys anyway (which was recently exemplified by our friends over at sailinganarchy.com). Moxie started the Blue Anarchy Sea Collective which had self-steering guides, a telegraph for other sailor punks to keep in touch, a not a yachter cruising guide, and more. Unfortunately, the website is no longer active but here is an interview from 59 North magazine about where our hero Moxie is today! You can also read some of Moxie’s sailing stories over at his website.

Check out Moxie’s interview over at 59 North

https://www.59-north.com/onthewindpodcast/recycled-moxie-marlinspike

A huge thank you to everyone who read, shared, and commented on my post Why You Should Stop Reading Sailing Anarchy(.com) . The post has been shared so many times and there are hundreds of comments pouring in all over social media! Someone posted some negative stuff about me on the Sailing Anarchy forum and I am grateful for that too, because it’s driving even more traffic to my site. The post has been viewed several thousand times thus far, so thank you to all my followers, and my haters. I’ve literally never been so popular or so hated.

Last but not least it seems that the SA publisher is not pleased by my post, and sent me a threatening email. The good thing is that bitches be mobilizing all over who are tired of SA’s sexist nonchalance.

“You can’t beat women anyhow and that if you are wise or dislike trouble and uproar you don’t even try to.” -William Faulkner

Why You Should Stop Reading Sailing Anarchy (.com)

by EmilySexism in sailing August 20, 2018August 21, 201824 Comments

So apparently there was this cool sailing race in Russia, where this badass sailor featured below was participating. But that’s all I know because the popular website Sailing Anarchy, posing as a sailing news outlet, chose not to include any information about the sailor, the boat, or the race. In fact, they didn’t even use this photo featured here. Instead they used a photo from astern when she tipped her boat and had to maneuver herself back into it. The photo reveals quite an act of clambering, and quite the feat of athleticism. But that’s not all that it revealed.

why you shouldn't read sailing anarchy, boycott sailing anarchy, sailing anarchy is sexist — Boycott Sailing Anarchy

Not only did the angle of the photo reveal this sailor woman’s buttox and crotch area, but the context in which Sailing Anarchy published it (and then their response when people expressed opposition) revealed a sexist agenda that promotes a male first environment within the sailing community, and a publisher that refuses to take accountability for discriminatory content.

The photo in itself is not discriminatory at all. The subject is doing something pretty awesome that requires skill and the frame absolutely captures that. Plus, the female form should not be banished because men are unable to control themselves from sexualizing it. But Sailing Anarchy posted that photo by itself, with a sarcastic caption. It was posted under a type of reoccurring “series” on Sailing Anarchy, tagged as “SCOTW” which seems to be the publisher’s kind of photo of the week. This category regularly demeans women sailors and propagates an environment where women are not welcome to participate as equals to men, but as subjects to be gawked at where their worth as humans (and as sailors) is measured by how they look.

There are several accounts of lewd comments surrounding female sailor content written all over the Sailing Anarchy “news” feed and the forums. In the instance of this particular post, many women and men wrote in expressing why they felt the context of the photograph was wrong. Some even tried to open a conversation and ask why. The problem would be so easy to fix. Simply stop posting photos and stories of women where their bodies and what their bodies look like is the main focus.

In between insults hurled at me personally, the publisher’s only defense to my question of why was there no mention of the sailor’s name, race, class, etc., was “The photo was submitted.” However upon further investigation it’s very clear to see that the race coordinators are active on the thread for this featured photo, and they can be seen asking Sailing Anarchy if they would include some actual info about the race in the post.

Sailing Anarchy officials chose to respond to comments protesting this type of sexist content by using derogatory slurs for the word vagina, calling protestors psychotic, and otherwise personally attacking anyone urging for a more equal rights approach to content surrounding women.

The definition I’ve always liked to use for the word anarchy is “the ability to be so free that you are ungovernable.” Sailing Anarchy is a bastardization of the word. Real anarchists are freedom chasers. They are freedom fighters. They are allies. And they will speak up when there is discriminatory content. Sexist discourse is hate speech, and I wonder what Sailing Anarchy’s sponsors would think of that?

Where’s Tony?

by EmilyBoat People, Classic Plastics August 15, 2018August 16, 20189 Comments

I wake up in the morning determined to get a hold of my friend Tony. Last night I got a text from him saying he’s spent the last few weeks in Puerto Rico in the jungle, living off the land. “I wiped my ass with banana leaves, I brushed my teeth with a mango stick. I’m only back in Florida to sell these boats and then go build my jungle house. Peace.” I am hoping to catch him before he goes off grid completely. Last we talked he was going to try and come up here to help me a bit in the yard, and I was supposed to help consult him on the purchase of his next boat which he planned to sail to the Caribbean after hurricane season. We hadn’t talked that often as of recent and the last time he called me I didn’t answer. By the time I called him back he was gone. He had mentioned once that he stopped carrying his phone when he was working on his boats; a Seasprite 23 I helped acquire and sell to him and an Ericson 27, which were soon to be on the market and put towards the bigger boat.

I’m talking to my friend Ray in the boatyard about Tony. I’m telling him the story and basically calling out Tony’s name like Tom Hanks calls for Wilson in Castaway when he stops me.

“So what’s your end goal here, you want to go and live in the jungle so you can wipe your ass together with banana leaves?”

“No,” I say. “I’m not saying I’m in love with him, but I do love him. And I’m trying to sail to Puerto Rico, so I’d at least like to kick it with him in the jungle and for him to leave a way to get in touch. Plus, there are some things left unsaid.”

I still haven’t heard from Tony.

I’m sad that I hadn’t been more present in our friendship lately, or ever really. I was in a state of romantic entanglement when we met and was always experiencing some drama every time we’d hang out. Tony was my crew when I finally left Palm Beach, on the blue road again but in dire straits this time. I had no confidence in myself, or my boat. I was leaving the city that had broken my spirit, and my heart. We had left the downtown anchorage and I just planned on dropping the hook further up the waterway—still in the city limits where Tony would hop off, but the tide was favorable so we kept going. He stayed on the boat with me for two more days, having brought nothing except the clothes he was wearing that day.

Tony was a great friend to me when I had none left in that town and no energy to make any new ones. We met almost everyday for lunch at Publix and would ride around on the free trolley. One time he actually wound up nearly driving the trolley when one of the drivers needed help. He would hang at the free city dock and wait to make sure that I made it back to my boat, no matter how long it took. Sometimes my dinghy would be pinned against the dock with the swift current and wind that I’d have to claw my way off it one stroke at a time.

He was my crew when I had no other choice but to head north on my broken boat, with my broken budget (and let’s not forget my broken heart). Still banished to the ICW and in need of a place to land for a while I was anxious, jaded, and feeling oppressed by the hot Florida sun. I didn’t have any sun awning at the time but the sails offered me shade, and his company helped ease my pain and bring back the old me. The real me! I was even starting to talk to fellow sailors again when we reached Vero Beach where Tony had to get off the boat.

I had to continue on. Not long after he left and I was alone on my boat again I got super depressed. The rest of that trip basically consisted of tweaking my sails and constantly pulling them up and down, running my engine at too high a throttle just to get there (wherever it was I was going because I didn’t actually know), and crying in between mile markers. Tony would text me everyday.

“Where are you today, Captain?” Or some other musing.

I’d tell him where and how I was fantasizing about just abandoning my boat and some how or another I’d be pulled back into reality that things can get better on my boat, or on another boat, and I’d sail on.

I eventually landed in the best place I could for what I was seeking to do and I started to gain back my confidences and happiness. I wound up in Palm Beach again as crew on a sailboat delivery, but time and weather didn’t allow me to see Tony. We kept in touch often but in the last month I grew busy, and neglectful of our friendship. Now, in light of this news, I miss my friend.

The Do’s & Don’ts of Glassing in your Through Hulls

by EmilyClassic Plastics, Restoration, Tools & Tricks August 9, 20184 Comments

DO realize it’s all in the prep. You’ll be grinding through the ‘ole anti fouling, gelcoat, and fiberglass to create a bevel 8 x 12 times the thickness of your hull.

DO pre cut fiberglass cloth and pre measure epoxy resin before beginning.

glassing in your through hulls — Mixin’ up the medicine

DO text your boat neighbor every time you mix and lay up a new batch of resin and fiberglass, especially when things have gone horribly wrong.

DO point to your freshly laid and perfectly placed fiberglass patch and say “No, I don’t think so,” when someone comes over unsolicited and says “I saw your repair on the other side and thought you could use some advice.”

DO ask anyone and everyone in the boatyard to touch your fully cured resin just to “make sure it’s actually hard.”

DO cover up any poor craftsmanship until you can sand. You don’t want anyone to see your quality of work unless you’ve invited them to.

DON’T mess up your resin to hardener ratios or you’ll have to sand off all of the thickened epoxy you mixed to a perfect consistency and laid on as filler for the holes.

DON’T lay on your patches big to small after someone in the boatyard tells you to do so. Even though some of the books says big to small is structurally more sound, small to big is equally as solid and is much easier to work with. Trust me, I’m a proffesional.

DON’T over saturate your fiberglass cloth. Make sure you squeegee excess resin out before you lay a piece onto the hull. If you don’t you will have a huge mess that is very hard to clean up, especially after it’s cured. I spent two hours sanding and grinding off excess epoxy resin in a full body suit, in 90 plus degree heat.

DON’T forget to put a finishing cloth on top. If working with bi axel fiberglass cloth, which is the recommended kind to use, you will want to put a layer of thin woven roving on top for a perfect finish!

DON’T get discouraged. That item on the to-do-list that reads “Glass in Through Hulls” actually has about 1,000 bullet points within it, so…

DON’T fart in your Tyvek suit when comes time to sand. Just don’t.

Want more info on how exactly I glassed in my through hulls fittings? Stay tuned for “How Not to Glass in your Through Hulls.” A step by step guide on what I did, so you can avoid it.

An adventure in its own right!

by EmilyFunemployed, Lonely Blue Highway July 31, 2018July 31, 20184 Comments

I arrived in Northern Florida after meandering my way along the East Coast waterways from Lake Champlain. I was broke and looking for work so I could fix my boat and venture beyond the protected waters of the Intracoastal, but it was still far too cold even that far south. I made a little bit of money and had two choices: I had enough to stay there one more month if I kept chasing job leads or I could keep going and chase leads at the next place, which happened to be the Keys! It was warmer in the keys. The few nights before that had been below freezing. I figured if I was going to be broke and looking for work I might as well be warm.

I readied the boat for passages south! Albeit intracoastal passages, they were passages nonetheless on this voyage of sorts! My newly constructed dinghy was launched, I had replaced my parting topping lift, wired an LED light for the galley, and was closely monitoring my through hull leaks. In the unlikely event of some through hull failure I had bungs at the ready and was going to be in the keys where it’s so shallow you can easily run aground before the boat would ever sink. With my sketchy standing rigging still no worse for ware I was essentially ready to go anywhere on the inside!

I wasn’t sure what this journey would bring, but I figured closer to a place where I could work on my boat so she was fit for the ocean! For more adventure! For… the sea! Instead my eyes were opened to what was right in front of me. An adventure in its own right!

Chase Boat

by EmilyClassic Plastics, Romance, Solo sailor girl July 19, 2018July 25, 2018One Comment

Many people say you can’t sail the ICW. “It’s all motoring. It’s all motor sailing. It’s not really sailing. It’s motoring.”

It’s true that some of the time you will not be able to sail or you will have to use the motor to get to an anchorage before dark, but there is still some incredible sailing on the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway! Its tight quarters, heavy traffic, and fast currents make for challenging but fun conditions. The ditch stretches from Norfolk, VA to Key West, FL, but it doesn’t always resemble its earned nickname. There’s plenty of long stretches where several points of sail are possible. You can still have a great sailing adventure on a modest boat and budget by sailing the ICW!

I picked up crew in West Palm Beach who hated using the engine as much as I did. We left early one morning with 30 knots out of the east but it didn’t matter, we were on the inside! We went screaming past Peanut Island and when we reached the first of what would be many bridges we saw some sailors I had met further north. We did a drive by under sail and traded them some coconuts for some beers. On the second day our good fortune continued. We met Captain Mike who was driving a Sea Tow boat. He knew the Alberg designs and came by to chat. He used to own a Seasprite 23 and we were immediately connected by the threads of our classic plastics.

The Seasprite, it turned out, was in need of a home. It was later gifted to my crew member and I upon our return to Palm Beach, and we sold it for $1000 which we split 50/50. The day we met Captain Mike he had his professional telephoto zoom lens camera onboard and he tailed us for miles snapping photos and radioing to power boats to get out of our way and watch their wakes because we were under sail and didn’t they know the rules, damn it!

We had our very own chase boat until we neared the border of Mikes towing jurisdiction. We said goodbye and handed him a coconut. “See you out there!” I called as we tightened the sheets to make the the next bridge opening.

Alberg 30 for sale

by EmilyClassic Plastics July 13, 2018July 13, 2018One Comment

Classic plastic alert! Uncle Al’s Alberg 30, the good ship Pickle, is for sale! Currently located on the hard on Shelter Island, NY and just a splash away from some of the best cruising grounds in the Northeast! Whether you are new to sailing or an old salt this proven design will take you where you want to go safely and in style. Sail her locally on the Great Peconic Bay and Long Island Sound or take her on the adventure of a lifetime.

North towards Nova Scotia? South to the Caribbean? East to Europe? Carl Alberg’s venerable 30 foot sloop can handle life on any sea as seen by famous Quebecoise circumnavigator Yves Gelinas who sailed solo around the world on his Alberg 30 Jean du Sud.

Pickle is hull number 619, built in 1977 by Whitby Boatworks in Ontario, Canada. She spent her first ten years in fresh water. Since then she has spent most of her life in New York waters. She has been hauled each year and well cared for by her loving owners. No blisters on this hull!

Some upgrades include:

-New sails 2009
– Roller Furler 2008
– Complete rewire and electronic overhaul 2016
– Repowered with a 2005 Beta 10, 2 cylinder diesel in 2016 ONLY SIX HOURS ON ENGINE!
– New bronze prop
-Spreaders and shrouds replaced in 2013
-Chain plates replaces in 2015
-Lazy jacks
-Self tailing winches
-8 foot Walker Bay tender

The boat does have some deck delamination but I don’t know a good old boat that doesn’t! Nothing some epoxy and a grinder can’t fix! With only six hours on the engine, new sails, solid rigging and chainplates this is a go anywhere boat. Just slap a wind vane on her. There is still plenty of time left to enjoy the Northeast sailing season aboard her, or wait for hurricane season to pass before heading south. Whether she will be your full-time live aboard escape pod or your weekend getaway don’t let this classic plastic slip through your hands.

If you’re interested in the good ship Pickle please email your phone number and any questions to dinghydreams@gmail.com and I will connect you with the owner!

Chesapeake Born

by EmilyUncategorized July 10, 2018July 10, 20184 Comments

November 2017

It’s dark. Darker than dark. No stars. No moon. No anchor lights. No house lights, dock lights, street lights. Just the night and it’s darkness, and it’s only 6:30 p.m. Winter isn’t coming, it’s here as far as the light is concerned. The weather, however, is being more lenient. While freezing rain and frosts are settling in further inland the sea breeze is on my side. I still have time.

I’m in Mill Creek, VA. I crossed the Maryland/Virginia state line today. Virginia welcomed me with a pissing rain squall, uncharted fishing stakes and a nearly lost jib halyard. It was fun and miserable at the same time. Forty three miles. Ten hours. Averaging 4.3 knots. Not awful, but not necessarily what this boat should be doing. I could certainly get better at messing with my sail controls but most of the time I’m just trying to stay alive in conditions like todays. Luckily it was downwind but not dead downwind, our slowest point of sail. The wind was right off either corner of my boat’s tush, depending on the gybe.

At this point the weather patterns are pretty simple to understand and there are two options for getting south: ride the boisterous northerlies from the cold fronts, or motor in the calms in between. I chose to ride this round of northerlies and stayed at anchor for a day of zero wind and a day of gross southerlies. I’m glad I chose to do that and sail today even though it wasn’t necessarily enjoyable or “advisable” (there was a small craft advisory all day). But it wasn’t necessarily terrible or unsafe either just…brisk conditions and not for the faint of heart, especially on a little boat.

Once you get used to the motion and the sounds, however, it’s not so bad. It could definitely be a lot worse (which you hope won’t happen), and definitely won’t get any better so you kind of just accept it. At least that’s what I did.

Swells reached the rub rail but didn’t crest. The boat rolled port to starboard. Sometimes the wind would fall out of the sails and then jerk back full of air again. It rained on and off. Lightly at first and then much heavier. The autopilot couldn’t keep up with the weather helm so I was hand steering. For most of the trip I was on a port tack heading just a hair east of dead south with one reef in the main and my working jib until the wind picks up to 25 knots with 30 knot gusts and I am under small head sail alone. I had the current with me and against me half the time. I don’t know if this affected my speed over the water so much as it affected wave heights and steepness which slowed me down excessively. I’d surf down the wave at six knots then wallow in it’s trough at four before doing it again and again and…

Boat People

by EmilyBoat People June 30, 2018July 2, 2018One Comment

Neale Editorial, Boat Girl, melanieneale.com — Photo by Al Smart

Everyone on the water has a story.

Let their adventures inspire yours…

In the new weekly series…

“Boat People.”

Coming soon on Dinghydreams.com…

The Good Ship Dolphin

by EmilyLonely Blue Highway, Sailing on a budget June 2, 2018October 21, 20192 Comments

“So I’m trying to get my boat on the hard.”

I’m talking to Logan. He’s in Puerto Rico having sailed there from Lake Worth a couple of months ago. We met in Cocoa Beach, FL, and lamented the Florida ICW together until he left to cross the Gulf Stream and I continued along the ditch in hopes of finding work and getting my boat fit for sea.

“One of the projects is closing up my through hulls. Doing it the right way means removing the through hull fittings, grinding a five inch bevel and filling it with layers of glass. And I’m like, can’t I just put some wooden bungs in there with 5200, close my leaky through hull fittings and call it good?”

“Absolutely!” he said. “You can even use a potato. Carrots work too.”

I’m laughing but know he’s serious. This is coming from the dude who when we first met asked me within minutes, “Have you been dismasted… yet?” One day while looking for his through hulls I found a corroded seacock handle that looked about ready to snap off. This was days before his intended blue water passages. When I pointed it out he simply shrugged. He had plenty of potatoes and carrots onboard, so I assume he wasn’t worried.

Despite his antics Logan was quite the competent captain. His boat, the Good Ship Dolphin, was loosely based on a Columbia 28, however she was much more cavernous and carried an expansive amount of tools, fermented foods, and other supplies intended for delivery to hurricane stricken islands.

The contemplative young Captain days before departing from Florida to Puerto Rico.

Dolphin was a fiberglass Columbia 26. Logan acquired the boat from the previous owner, Rebecca Rankin. She and Dolphin had many adventures together.

Rebecca and her previous partner had done their best to make the rig bullet proof after a dismasting during a storm in the Florida Keys. She wound up making a mast step out of laminated plywood that extended seven inches up the mast, and spreaders made from white oak and stainless steel, “so Dolphin would never lose her mast again,” Logan said. The standing rigging itself was redone sailor gypsy style with nicro press fittings and a hand swaging tool. Because the backstay was too short, a shackle and some links of a chain were used for proper tension.

(At the time I was embarking down my own rabbit hole of redoing my standing rigging and had a breakthrough seeing how it was done on the Good Ship. The only reason I would wind up not going that route was because I got a crazy deal on machine swaged fittings…but I digress).

The boat was, essentially, very seaworthy as long as there was a potato at hand in case of a failing through hull. There was also mention of a rotten skeg, but what were a thousand nautical miles with a rotten skeg to boat like Dolphin?

Nothing of much concern, apparently, because Dolphin made it all the way to Puerto Rico no worse for ware complete with waterspouts, close whale encounters, and a detention in the Dominican Republic where his crew abandoned ship. Logan wound up single handing the rest of the way to Peurto Rico.

“I hope you are nearing the sea my friend,” Logan wrote to me ten days after he’d arrived and had begun carpentry hurricane relief efforts on the island. “Many mysteries.”

Salty old sea hag

by EmilyLonely Blue Highway January 30, 2018January 30, 2018Comments are Disabled

An old woman passes by the waterfront on her bicycle. Colorful clothing, a heart flag hanging from her seat, a basket. Her aging terrier trots in tow, faithfully, ten feet behind her.

“Is that going to be me when I’m old?” I ask Scott.

He left his boat near Miami to return north by car, to square away business, before crossing the Gulf Stream. He has come to see me en route.

“I don’t see it,” he says.

“Well, then what do you see?”

He looks at me for a moment, and then out at the harbor. My boat is moored there quietly, next to the dilapidated pier. Patiently waiting for me to make a decision on what we will do next.

“I see you in an old boat. Inviting kids onboard and telling sea stories in a raspy voice. Feeding them sardines,” he says.

“Yeah!” I say. Getting into the vision now. “And I’m permanently hunched over from years spent on boats, sitting next to an oil lamp.”

“Right, and the boat is one of those boat’s that is completely set up but isn’t going anywhere. And everyone knows it’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s not going anywhere because it’s already been everywhere.”

“Exactly,” he says. “You both are retired. You and your boat.”

“Wow,” I say smiling to myself and wondering aloud. “I hope I’m on my way towards that.”

Soon the clouds ascend and I rush out of the car to row back to the boat and miss the rain. I leave a small pile of beach treasures in his car. The pointed claw of a horseshoe crab, a piece of coral, a tiny coconut husk. My oars cut through the water. I use my entire body to fight the current. My shoulders, elbows, chest. My feet brace the aft seat. The sound of oars in water, although so familiar at this point, always manage to instill in me a great sense of adventure.

Boatsick

by EmilySailing on a budget January 21, 2018January 21, 2018One Comment

Sharing time and space with another human on a small boat forces intimacy. Everything is shared. Meals, work, thoughts. Strangers quickly become acquainted if by nothing more than proximity alone. I noticed this while my ship mate for the weekend cooked dinner. His galley was located right next to my bunk where my wet towel and underwear from a trip to the neighboring yacht club hot tub were hanging to dry, mere inches away from his head.

I spent the weekend working on the boat of a single-handed-sailor named Paul, helping him prep the boat for a new paint job. Because he keeps his boat an hour from where he lives, and an hour from where my boat lives, if I wanted the job I had to campout on his boat, on the hard.

I didn’t hesitate. I love the yard, I love boats, and certainly need the money. Due to a leak below the water line on my little boat I have to haul out sooner than expected and have been hustling to earn enough money in time for my haul out date in about three weeks. I was hoping to work on the boat on the float for a while and haul out somewhere on the Chesapeake, which is my very tentative summer/hurricane season destination this year (PANAMA 2019 YA’LL). But I’m not willing to spend that much time in between now and then, afloat and voyaging, with an underwater leak. So out my boat must come and out comes the depth sounder transducer. The depth reader hasn’t worked in months anyway. One less hole in the boat.

Paul’s boat is a Dufour 30. It is named Sobrius. Latin for sobriety. Paul got the boat only after he became sober. He traded booze for blue water and has since sailed over 1000 NM offshore, alone, and will set sail on another voyage in the spring. I have no doubt he and his boat will go far, and perhaps one day give up life on land all together.

I’m a traditionalist at heart when it comes to boat design, but the Dufour 30 seemed incredibly seaworthy despite it’s missile-like keel. Small cockpit, good use of interior space, sturdy rigging and a blue water reputation. Many Dufour sailboats are sailing the world’s waters, and this one in particular crossed the Atlantic twice with previous owners.

As much as I enjoyed the boat, the work, the amazing marina facilities next door, the friends I made in the yard (both human and animal), and Paul’s company—I missed my little boat.

I had folks looking after her while I was gone. Even though the leak is just a slow, tiny trickle, and every marine professional I talk to says in increase an water intrusion is extremely unlikely, I still worried about her alone on her mooring for two nights. When my friend’s sent me pictures of her afloat and in good standing on Sunday afternoon I felt pangs to get back. To get home. It was my first time sleeping away from my boat since September, and before that I was never more than a mile away.

Rowing back to my boat, exchanging pleasantries with my harbor mates, climbing into her cockpit down the companionway I realized everything was exactly how I’d left it. The transducer was still leaking. My dishes were still in the sink. I was still going to have to hustle to make the boat right. And I took great comfort in all of that.

Always thought I’d look cool with a shiner. And yes, I wore a respirator.

Note to Readers: Thank you to everyone who donated to my lost boot fund, and to the fees associated with this website. Both have been taken care of and any extra has gone into my boatyard fund. Also–if anyone is interested in Paul and his Dufour 30 Sobrius check out his book, Becoming a Sailor, and his youtube channel!

We ain’t giving up

by EmilySailing on a budget, Solo sailor girl January 13, 2018January 13, 2018Comments are Disabled

All I can say is luckily the sun is supposed to shine for the next week…

Lonely Blue Highway

by EmilyLonely Blue Highway December 6, 20172 Comments

Cities on the water way are so strange. Step away from the harbor front streets, the marinas, the anchorages and it’s as if you’re not even near the water at all anymore. Suddenly it’s suburban sprawl and traffic and you find yourself riding a borrowed mountain bike down a highway sidewalk, diverting into a neighborhood that resembles the hood, just trying to escape the lights, and noise, and rain— in order to get back to your boat.

One mile inland and, it seems, people have no fucking idea they are anywhere near the sea.

Humans are kind to me. For whatever reason I find myself constantly surrounded by people and forming unlikely friendships. Sometimes I forget how to be alone. Sometimes I’m afraid it will end—the people I already know, the people I haven’t met yet. Not only will they not be here physically, they won’t be anywhere. They won’t be in any pocket of my heart, the land or the waterway.

Technology baffles me. So many people keep up with me, meet up with me, and ultimately alter my life in positive ways that put me one step closer to my goal—which is, in a sense, to be away from them completely. To be alone on the sea.

There is not one moment of one day where I don’t think about this boat, my means and my character—and how all that equates to the possibility of actually achieving what it is I envision.

“You are in charge of what happens next,” Chris said to me as I left her dock and historic estate. We were discussing the possibility of my return to that small Chesapeake town for what would be an overhaul to the boat. Another step, in a series of steps and seasons, to be out there on the sea safely, sustainably, solo.

“What’s new in your love life?” my oldest friend asked me in a text message.

“Not much,” I replied. “Just in a solid, committed relationship with my boat.”

My conversations with those furthest away who know me best are reduced to screens. My face-to-face conversations happen with people I hardly know and may never see again. These conversations all feel equally important.

“The intercoastal is that way,” a sailor I traveled with told me twice.

Once when we were at the dock discussing the next day’s route and another time when we were underway. The natural direction I thought to go in both those instances led to the open ocean… not the protected waterway.

When we parted ways and I pulled into port to wait for important mail, he continued on into the next canal and body of water where he hoped to wait for a good weather window and sail offshore.

His mast now far from sight I called out on the radio anyway.

“Good luck out there on the lonely blue highway,” I said, essentially, to no one.

Rigging remedy

by EmilyRestoration, Sailing on a budget November 28, 2017November 28, 20172 Comments

My heart was so full from everyone and all I encountered in Oriental that it felt heavy the night before leaving. My lines did not tug at their cleats. There was not a breath of wind or current pushing me off the dock. I thought, for what must have been the hundredth time, ‘I don’t want to leave.’

I’ve always said this and it remains–life moves pretty fast on a boat that goes an average of five knots.

I showed up at the free dock in Oreintal, NC with a broken lower shroud and a completely drained battery from lack of sun and freezing temperatures. With the help of a young 20-years-old Quebecoise couple that pulled their battery charger off their engine room bulkhead, and several extension chords later, I was charging my battery with power from the public restrooms. Miraculously it was nursed back to health and I should be able to limp it along as my primary ship’s power until I reach warmer waters and stop to work.

My forward, starboard lower stay was completely cracked at its swaged end. Miles earlier in Elizabeth City I’d scored some 1/4 inch rigging cable to replace my aging, cracking, original standing rigging but knew I needed to at least consult a professional before moving forward. Even having gotten the cable for free, the end fittings I need for each stay are still expensive. Around $40 and I need eight. I could only afford to replace the one broken one for now. It was getting to the point where I could not continue to sail, until that one was fixed. So I came to Oriental, the sailing capital of North Carolina to do just that. In between was some of the best sailing this whole trip! Except I was kind of playing Russian roulette the entire time.

The series of events are as follows:

-Hunted through town to find a Sta-lok —the fitting needed for DIY rigging replacement to no avail
-Hunted through town to find a rigging shop that could swage the correct end size fitting for me. This came up successful but it was Saturday.
-Found a mobile rigger on the phone who answered (on said Saturday after thanksgiving) and hunted for a part for me but came up short. It kinda sounded like the best idea to have him just come look at the whole thing.
-Had an internal crisis about paying someone to do work on my boat instead of doing it myself. Rationalized that I know nothing about re-rigging a sailboat and that I will be able to learn first hand. He was coming at a moments notice in order to help me get underway again, and it required a more professional eye than mine. At least the first time around.
-The rigger was awesome and charged me half price to remove the broken stay and measure exactly for the new one, inspected my current and new (free) rigging, instructed me precisely on next steps of where to go to get fitting swaged and install it myself, and just generally provided merriment, tips, and knowledge to me and another young sailor on the dock.

In the meantime I found a climbing harness to borrow from Austin, a crazy 23-year-old sailor on a Sabre 28 who was told to look out for me by the folks on the Bonnie Boat, a sister ship on the Chesapeake Bay. Rode around town doing errands on his dope folding bike (thanks, dude!). Drank far too much wine and sang karaoke with some of my favorite sailors I’ve been seeing along the blue highway. Shared meals and tools and trades with my neighbor. Helped pull two different people up two different masts. Learned that a sailing friend from the best boatyard in the world had indeed sent me the sta-lok he had found in his boat that was exactly the right size I needed and it was waiting for me at the post office ready to pick up first thing Monday morning (Thank you Charlie and Meg)!!.

My good fortune continued. I met a couple, Herbie and Maddie around my age on a 1968 Morgan 45. They’d just been through a gale off Hatteras and were here waiting on parts for their electric engine. I told them I needed someone to pull me up my mast and it turns out Herb is a rigger! Not only that, but I’d read their blog The Rigging Doctor, when I first ventured into this crazy idea to re rig my own vessel from 1968! He knew exactly how to cut the cable and fit the sta-lok (more complicated than you’d think. Keep an eye out for their upcoming video about some DIY-rigging filmed on my boat)!

I was hoisted up with the right tools and instructions. After fiddling with the tight fitting pins for far too long the first part of my new stay was installed! Herb looked through binoculars on my foredeck to confirm it was indeed installed correctly! Then we cut the cable, fanned its individual wires ever so rightly into the new fitting, tightened it, attached it to the turnbuckle and re tuned the rig.

It was a whirlwind–but my rig is whole again. The boat looked slightly sad with her missing stay but it didn’t last long and I could not have been marooned in a better place waiting for all the pieces to come together. As soon as I am somewhere warm and am earning a much needed cash injection, the rest of my stays will all be replaced using the methods I learned in Oriental.

Dirty Jersey

by EmilySolo sailor girl November 15, 2017November 28, 2017Comments are Disabled

I think I was allergic to New Jersey. Or at least something in it. I’m not just saying that as a native New Yorker. In Atlantic Highlands I woke up with my eye swollen shut. I thought putting turmeric on it would solve everything, but it just made me look sick with jaundice.

“I think you should see a doctor,” several sailors told me once conditions worsened. They still insisted even once I explained the yellow stain was from the herb. Two urgent care clinics who refused me and a trip to the ER later I was loaded with prednisone and antihistamines. On my way to recovery and ready to go to sea! The only symptoms that lingered was my constant fear of it coming back.

By Atlantic City, I had another inflamed, itchy episode this time on my hip. I managed to heal that one on my own mostly by constantly cleaning it and pumping myself full of Benadryl for five days at anchor waiting for gales to pass. (A month later and the skin where the rash was is still a different color than the rest of my body but whatevs…battle scars)!

In New Jersey I learned something else–that while the ocean scares the shit out of me there is still something strong, strange and undeniable that draws me towards it. Regardless, I was incredibly happy to be done with the Jersey Coast. Few good inlets, autumn gales, allergic reactions. Inland waters were waiting to welcome me with open arms once again.

PASSAGE NOTES: Oct. 10
Atlantic Highland to Atlantic City
80 miles, 19 hours

1500- No idea where I am. Where is green buoy number one? Heading SW 210 degrees. Light NW swells. 3.5 hours left of daylight.

16:30 – 40 18.874 N , 73 55.616 W

1700- Ocean big and scary. Just want to go in straight line. Wind light. Going two knots sails flapping. Dropped jib. Under power and main. 4.5 kts. Soon I’ll be blind. Entrusting my compass, GPS and nominal navigation skills. Will have to refuel sometime if wind doesn’t change. Black flies are tempestuous. Alone on the ocean. I could easily end up in the shipping lanes if I’m not careful. Will I ever relax and enjoy this?

1800- 40 12.017 N , 73 56.304 W
Hailed sailboat off to port on VHF. Capt. Logan, youngcruisers.org. Headed to Norfolk. “You’ll know what’s right,” he said to me.

19:30- 40 6.097 N , 73 51.151 W
I keep calling it a “sight” when I go down below and plot my position on the chart. I attached battery power nav lights, fearing mine would drain the ships battery and I’m relying on autopilot. When I see lights I turn the masthead light on too. That may be confusing to other boats but…

21:20 – 40 2.270′ N , 73 57.591 W

2200 – Two ships passing in the night. Going along nicely. Vanupied skipping across the swells. She was made for this. Pretty stellar out here. Stars, bioluminescence. Fog seems possible. Don’t want that. See a little light to starboard catching up.

0000, 39 51.933 N, 73 58.391 W. Accented commercial vessel captain yelling on the VHF. Gotta make port before the gale tomorrow. I could live out here.

0300- WHO ELSE IS OUT HERE TRAVELING THIS LONELY BLUE HIGHWAY!? Squall line in Maryland. Will it reach me?

0600- About to make my approach but waiting for sun to rise. Blood red sky. Ninety-seven percet humidity. Mosquitos, flying beetles, and moths fall out of the sky onto my boat. Is this my own personal rapture? Nah, there’s a dolphin, too.

Oct. 11 PM

My boat danced like a pony cross the sea all night. I made it into the inlet just a conditions began to deteriorate. Now, GALE.

Only tiny riplets in the marsh during a 30 hour gale in Atlantic City

Swooosh

by EmilySolo sailor girl November 11, 2017November 11, 20172 Comments

At the dock of Chris and Bill from SV Plover, a Dickerson 41 built on this here Chesapeake Bay.

Virginia. Civil war shit. Their house has a ghost. It’s been like living history this trip. The Revolutionary War battlegrounds of Lake Champlain. The exploration of the new world by Henry Hudson. Modern industry steeped in the tradition of the mariner in the Atlantic shipping lanes.

And now, this here Bay that I’d certainly like to get to know better historically speaking. For the most part I’ve just been sailing hard. Only catching a glimpse of what is, or once was, taking place on its shores.

Twenty knots again today (at least it wasn’t 25). Waves up to my rub rail again. Engine locker swamping with water again. I’m closing up the hole in the engine locker first chance I get. My engine needs tending to. It’s been getting knocked around, banged and hassled. It’s a good thing I installed a lip on the mount to keep it from shaking loose. Fucking outboards. So simple, yet so… beyond my realm of consciousness. I’m going to need it soon. I’ll be in the ICW with little room to sail. At least here, for example, if the engine dies say while coming into a harbor—I can sail.

I used to sail in and out of harbors all the time. On and off moorings and my anchor. I haven’t done that once since I left the lake. Who am I?

Received charts here from Aaron and Sarah. Inside was a gift of some Vermont food staples. It was a very kind gesture, of which I credit to Sarah solely, because while it may be Aaron who gave me his charts, she orchestrated their arrival.

I now have almost every chart I need for the remainder of this here venture. I still need to obtain some offshore charts for North and South Carolina. There are some options there for going offshore but man I really wish I had crew for some of the longer ones. It’s the same adage—when sailing offshore off shore, I think having crew is not AS imperative perhaps because you are so far off and can actually sleep.

But I can only go a few miles off. Vanupied is simply just not equipped for the wilderness desolation 100+ miles offshore. Will she ever be? Doubtful. I’ll probably just get another boat and equip her. At least that’s the latest crazy plan I’m scheming. But I waffle. Vanupied could be made right. Honestly, even the Bahamas might be slightly sketchy on this boat as is. I’m not sure. I’m still shaking her down. She’s proved herself alright in this latest round of northerlies.

“It’s not about the boat it’s about the skipper.”

The Mighty Hudson

by EmilyUncategorized November 6, 2017November 9, 20172 Comments

I am on the cusp of the Atlantic Ocean. New York Harbor. South of the Battery, the center of the tidal universe. Tomorrow, with the force of the mighty Hudson, the East River and the great Atlantic I will be sucked through the Verrazano Narrows, essentially, into the sea. -October 2

The Hudson River proved to be excellent training grounds for the rest of this trip. However, I feel like a much different person now than I was while traversing that body of water. It was the first time I would sail on tidal waters in years, and have contact with commercial shipping traffic.

Currents on the Hudson are gnarly. So gnarly, in fact, that even in 30 knots my boat would point stern to the wind if the current was opposed. After the third time this happened I stopped freaking out, and accepted it as merely uncomfortable.

I got a slow start and stayed on the Hudson probably longer than I needed to. Hurricanes were still pending and I had visions of the next Hurricane Sandy or Irene pummeling the northeast and decided to stay creekside until I knew the right path.

In Esopus Creek is a beautifully protected anchorage where the light is mesmerizing, A very nice man who worked at the Saugerties Steamboat Company pointed me in the right direction towards the best place to anchor, let me tie up for free at their unused dock the next day so I could meet some of my family. When he asked me my boat name I said, “Vanupied! It’s french for barefoot peasant.”

“But you’re wearing shoes!” He replied.

I never saw him again but had the entire brand new dock to myself that night.

From there I travelled to Kingston, NY and wound up staying ten long days awaiting a hurricane that never came in Roundout Creek. My only contact with other humans was at the power boat club and campground next to where I anchored. They were kind to me and when I left showered me with gifts like a flare gun (for protection), a bottle of rum, twenty dollars, and fresh gallons of water. Huge shout out to the Anchorage Marina folks in Rondout Creek for treating me as one of their own even though I was on a sailboat.

When I left Roundout Creek it was a fifty mile sail/motor sailing day down to Dundeberg Mountain–which isn’t really an anchorage at all and I had a miserable time pulling up my anchor in the 30 knot winds that morning.

Thanks to some friends ahead of me on an Alberg 30 I learned about the ‘Bowline Pond’ anchorage on the west side of the river across from the northern section of Haverstraw Bay. This place is the shit. Seriously a hurricane hole. Protected 360 degrees. The entrance is tricky and the waves can stack up as it gets shallow. Plenty of depth there, but if you attempt this anchorage make sure you keep the mooring ball in the middle to STARBOARD to avoid an actual stack of bricks on the other side of the entrance. This ‘pond’ is actually man made. My parents and sister visited me there and I illegally tied my dinghy to a public park entrance and we crashed a private party at the park with a live band until the ranger kicked us off. It wasn’t before I could row each one out to my boat, though! I also met some kickass New York sailors on a Westsail 32. The captain, Josh, gave me probably the most integral navigation lesson of my life which in turn saved my ass from being completely lost on the ocean during my offshore passage.

Still waiting for coastal swells to die down from hurricanes I went to Haverstraw Bay where it took me two days to fix my autopilot. All it took was some wood, epoxy, screws, and a sock. Who would have thought? I rode out another gale just south of there where I was convinced I’d drag into the shipping lanes. This was before I learned to sleep through gales.

My final stop on the Hudson before heading through NYC was the Nyack Boat Club. I fucking love this place. It’s an historical gem. I met so many wonderful people who gave me detailed current and tide lessons, anchorage spots all along the east coast, and kisses on the cheek when I left. My dear friends Aaron and Sarah on their Baba 35 where on their way north back to Lake Champlain after a summer sailing in Novia Scotia and they picked up the mooring next to me. It was the last time I might see them for a long while. It was in Nyack that I received a small single side band radio and the WQXR classical music station would become my constant companion.

The hudson continued to widen the further I went. Ferries zoomed past creating monstrous wakes. Helicopters loudly flew through the sky. There were no channel markers but many ships. It was like the wild west. While still much less crowded than NYC by land it was still quite chaotic and the worst was yet to come. I anchored for the night west of the Statue of Liberty.

The final section of New York Harbor was insanely crowded with commercial traffic. I felt like a needle in a haystack. I approached the Verrezano Narrows only to second guess my navigation and tried to hail some fisherman to ask them which way to go to avoid the ships. “That way,” they said. But I couldn’t see where they pointed since I was fucking around with the engine.

I managed not to get run down by a ship and I was shit out in the Atlantic Ocean.

Somewhere in the middle

by EmilySolo sailor girl November 5, 2017November 5, 2017One Comment

November 4, 2017. Solomon’s Island, MD

I’m getting closer to the ‘conch dock.’ I can feel it. There are pelicans. I don’t want it to end, sailing the Chesapeake, but it’s getting cold. Today, the water grey and glistening, had sloppy, choppy waves with little crests that broke and disappeared under my boat’s keel. Sometimes a rogue set would send Vanupied careening into their troughs, knocking the wind out of her sails. But there wasn’t much wind to fill them anyway. As the remaining gusts from the cold front dissipated not much was left, but the leftover seas never did really settle. I should have flown the big genoa only. Could have made better time.

As it was 20 miles took nine hours and I arrived after dark to an empty anchorage in front of a tiki bars, piers, and buildings on stilts. One restaurant was playing some golden oldies and the free entertainment was welcome aboard. While squaring things away on deck another boat came in and I heard her captain call to his crew,”We’ll anchor just behind this guy.”

“Hey!” I yelled friendlily. “I’m a GIRL.” Sometimes I want to shout it from the rooftops.

Turns out it was the sailor on the Grampian 30 I met in Annapolis. He’s cruising with his wife and two daughters. They invited me over for a feast of Dahl, spinach and fried paneer for which I was much obliged. Despite being horrifically lactose intolerant, I devoured the cheese dish and yogurt sauce with vengeance. It was the most food I’d eaten in a single setting in ages. Their eight year old daughter, while only in third grade, could probably write a thesis and it turns out she gives excellent back massages. Her hands did a good job kneading the knots in my back from days in the cockpit and crouching around inside my boat’s little cabin–but her endurance was a bit lacking. Oh well, she’s only eight. She’ll get there.

Upon arriving I really wished I’d had an extra $20 to go ashore for a burger and a beer at the restaurant playing the oldies–this, however, turned out to be much better.

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