Project Jibsheet: Part Two
Day Four: We discover with dismay that the Native is closed on Tuesdays, so we had breakfast somewhere else. Don't ask me where, as I don't recall. Doesn't matter; all that matters is that it wasn't the Native.
We went out with Bob one last time, and had really good conditions in the Sound. We practiced some more sail handling skills, and also learned how to anchor the boat properly. The wind lessened on our way back to the Marina, so we were running late for lunch. Leems dropped us off at Emerald Coast's office after a quick bite at the Golden Arches, where we met Captain Fred. Fred immediately reminded me of Lemur's dad, if he'd spent more time south of the Mason-Dixon line, and more time at sea. Fred was retired from the Coast Guard, and was as calm, methodical, and deliberate an instructor as I've ever seen. We spent the afternoon going over classroom stuff, mostly ship's systems and small diesel maintenance. Fish and I did a lot of studying beforehand, so the session went quickly and Leems picked us up around four.
We had a celebratory dinner at Hemingway's that evening, which was really good. We were celebrating because Bob signed off on our 101 and 103 certifications at lunchtime, satisfied that our practical skills were as good as our test-taking skills.
Day Five: Can you guess where we had breakfast? We met Fred at nine, and spent the morning tooling around the marina under power. The catamaran is huge, with a length of nearly 40 feet, a beam of over 20 feet, and a displacement of over nine tons. This makes it more than a little intimidating for the novice sailor to maneuver to and from a slip. Fortunately, the boat carries diesels in both hulls, which means that she can effectively turn in place. If the thing had a cannon on the bow, it'd be much like playing Battlezone. Still, a couple of hours gaining familiarity with her mass and her handling under power was a good thing.
The afternoon was spent learning how the boat performed under sail. As luck would have it, one of the blocks (pulleys) on the first reefing line was fouled (another line was jammed through the block). It took us half an hour to clear the thing, but I considered it good practice for the sort of thing we're likely to encounter in the future. Once that was taken care of, we started sailing her properly. The big cat doesn't handle like the Sabre at all. It's like driving a truck, as compared to driving a sporty coupe. Still, comfortable as hell, with Lemur knitting happily in the saloon and watching the world go by. Fred was a gentle instructor, happy to let us do our thing, even if it meant our sails weren't perfectly trimmed. As usual, the breeze lightened in the afternoon, so we had a long sail getting back to the marina, and motored the last half-mile or so.
Dinner was at Pegleg Pete's, which seems to be the most popular spot in Pensacola Beach. It's not on the main drag, so we might never have found it if it hadn't been recommended by both our captains. It was crowded as heck the previous night, so we headed over early Wednesday evening, and got right in. It's a fun place, with very good seafood. The owners have their own fishing boats, so you know you're getting really fresh stuff.
After supper was chores. Fish and I picked up some more supplies (including another box of Bonine, which I highly recommend as Dramamine alternative) while Lemur did a couple of loads of laundry. We also caught the end of the Flyers-Penguins game at the local sports bar (Pittsburgh 4-0).
Back at the boat, Fish and I spent some time studying our materials and charting our long-distance sail for Thursday, while Lemur did some knitting and went to bed early. Alas, her rest was not restful, for she was up repeatedly in the next few hours being violently and colorfully ill. Let's just say that she's unlikely to order any oysters Rockefeller or scallops any time soon. The worst was over by midnight, and she fell to sleep exhausted while I slept fitfully beside her, worrying whether she'd feel better, and whether Fish and I were likely to get whatever was ailing her.
Day Six: Breakfast at the Native. By this point, they recognized us as regulars.
Fred arrived promptly at nine, and we set off in short order for our long-distance cruise of the day. Initially, I thought the cruise was to be a Wednesday-Thursday overnight thing, with a night spent at anchor. That didn't happen. Instead, we planned to sail all morning, stop at an unfamiliar marina for lunch, and then sail home. The morning wind was disappointing, so rather than motor our way to our planned destination, we picked another spot closer by and sailed there.
After lunch, we had a lovely sail back to Little Sabine. It was upwind, so our progress wasn't as quick as might have been, but a couple of long tacks got us where we needed to be, and the last leg of our trip was an easy close reach up the coast. Fish and I practiced taking sighting of landmarks and fixing our position on the charts, so we should be well prepared in the event our GPS ever fails. Yay for geometry!
More studying in the evening, and working at finishing off the black-and-tans we bought earlier in the week. Dinner was cheese and sausage and crackers and other stuff we were trying to finish off.
Day Seven: Farewell breakfast at the Native. More red flags on the beach -- the strongest winds yet. In fact, Fish and I were both up around four in the morning, because the boat took a nasty bump against the dock. We tightened up her mooring lines and moved the fenders, which helped somewhat. The motion aboard the cat was much different than that on the Florida Blanca. The cat doesn't really toss around on the waves, because her beam is so wide. Instead, she twists in her berth, as the wind pushes her around. So there's almost no pitch; it's all yaw instead.
Anyways, Fred wasn't about to take us out in 25-35 knot winds, so we headed back to the office to take our exam. The 104 exam is very poorly written; I missed about seven questions, four or five of which were because the "right" answer was not the one in the answer key. (For example, the textbook explains that checking in to a country at a port that isn't a port of entry will require a customs agent to come visit, which will cost you a lot of extra time and money and probably piss off the agent. So when the exam asked "True or false: you must check in at a proper Port of Entry when entering a foreign country," I said False. No. The answer key says True. Grrrr. Would it kill them to change "must" to "should"?) But we both passed with colors that were flapping, if not flying.
And that was that. Fred was satisfied that our anchoring practice with Bob was sufficient to meet the standard, and so he happily signed off on our 104 certifications. We headed back to the boat, cleaned up, packed our stuff, cleaned up the boat, ate lunch, and headed to the airport. An uneventful couple of flights brought us back to the Cities around 11, and we were home sometime after midnight.
Now, Fish and I are each certified to charter boats up to 50 feet in length, without needing to hire a captain and cook to crew them. So long as the boat owner (and, more importantly, the insurance company) recognize ASA certification (and almost all of them do), we should be able to take out boats on our own.
I have cow-orkers with boats around the Cities, and you can believe I'll be bugging them this summer so that I can get more sailing time under my belt. The plan is to start with weekend charters on the St. Croix River and up in the Apostle Islands on Lake Superior with family and friends. In time, we'll graduate to longer charters out of Annapolis, Florida, and the Virgin Islands.
If you're interested, I highly recommend Pensacola Beach as a sailing ground. The protected waters of Santa Rosa Sound and Pensacola Bay are great for sailing, and it isn't too far to the Gulf of Mexico if you want more of a challenge. Emerald Coast Sailing has wonderful people, and a laid-back attitude that's a great fit for someone interested in cruising. Floridaze Sailing gets my highest recommendation -- Captain Bob will work your butt off, but when he's done, you'll have competence and confidence, and he's the kind of guy you'll really enjoy heading to the bar with afterwards.
Smaller monohulls are responsive, exciting, and make you feel like you're really sailing. They give you a palpable connection to the wind and the water, and they really respond to sail trim and handling. Big catamarans are stable, comfortable, roomy, luxurious, but not exciting in the least. They're generally forgiving of casual handling, and don't give you a lot of feedback on your technique. The two camps have partisans and zealots that make Mac and PC enthusiasts look docile. I try to think of it this way: Bob and the Sabre are for sailing; Fred and the Lavezzi are for cruising. You don't buy a Winnebago for the acceleration and handling, nor do you rent a Porsche to take your parents on a weeklong road trip.
And the Native Cafe is the best breakfast place in Pensacola Beach, hands down.
We went out with Bob one last time, and had really good conditions in the Sound. We practiced some more sail handling skills, and also learned how to anchor the boat properly. The wind lessened on our way back to the Marina, so we were running late for lunch. Leems dropped us off at Emerald Coast's office after a quick bite at the Golden Arches, where we met Captain Fred. Fred immediately reminded me of Lemur's dad, if he'd spent more time south of the Mason-Dixon line, and more time at sea. Fred was retired from the Coast Guard, and was as calm, methodical, and deliberate an instructor as I've ever seen. We spent the afternoon going over classroom stuff, mostly ship's systems and small diesel maintenance. Fish and I did a lot of studying beforehand, so the session went quickly and Leems picked us up around four.
We had a celebratory dinner at Hemingway's that evening, which was really good. We were celebrating because Bob signed off on our 101 and 103 certifications at lunchtime, satisfied that our practical skills were as good as our test-taking skills.
Day Five: Can you guess where we had breakfast? We met Fred at nine, and spent the morning tooling around the marina under power. The catamaran is huge, with a length of nearly 40 feet, a beam of over 20 feet, and a displacement of over nine tons. This makes it more than a little intimidating for the novice sailor to maneuver to and from a slip. Fortunately, the boat carries diesels in both hulls, which means that she can effectively turn in place. If the thing had a cannon on the bow, it'd be much like playing Battlezone. Still, a couple of hours gaining familiarity with her mass and her handling under power was a good thing.
The afternoon was spent learning how the boat performed under sail. As luck would have it, one of the blocks (pulleys) on the first reefing line was fouled (another line was jammed through the block). It took us half an hour to clear the thing, but I considered it good practice for the sort of thing we're likely to encounter in the future. Once that was taken care of, we started sailing her properly. The big cat doesn't handle like the Sabre at all. It's like driving a truck, as compared to driving a sporty coupe. Still, comfortable as hell, with Lemur knitting happily in the saloon and watching the world go by. Fred was a gentle instructor, happy to let us do our thing, even if it meant our sails weren't perfectly trimmed. As usual, the breeze lightened in the afternoon, so we had a long sail getting back to the marina, and motored the last half-mile or so.
Dinner was at Pegleg Pete's, which seems to be the most popular spot in Pensacola Beach. It's not on the main drag, so we might never have found it if it hadn't been recommended by both our captains. It was crowded as heck the previous night, so we headed over early Wednesday evening, and got right in. It's a fun place, with very good seafood. The owners have their own fishing boats, so you know you're getting really fresh stuff.
After supper was chores. Fish and I picked up some more supplies (including another box of Bonine, which I highly recommend as Dramamine alternative) while Lemur did a couple of loads of laundry. We also caught the end of the Flyers-Penguins game at the local sports bar (Pittsburgh 4-0).
Back at the boat, Fish and I spent some time studying our materials and charting our long-distance sail for Thursday, while Lemur did some knitting and went to bed early. Alas, her rest was not restful, for she was up repeatedly in the next few hours being violently and colorfully ill. Let's just say that she's unlikely to order any oysters Rockefeller or scallops any time soon. The worst was over by midnight, and she fell to sleep exhausted while I slept fitfully beside her, worrying whether she'd feel better, and whether Fish and I were likely to get whatever was ailing her.
Day Six: Breakfast at the Native. By this point, they recognized us as regulars.
Fred arrived promptly at nine, and we set off in short order for our long-distance cruise of the day. Initially, I thought the cruise was to be a Wednesday-Thursday overnight thing, with a night spent at anchor. That didn't happen. Instead, we planned to sail all morning, stop at an unfamiliar marina for lunch, and then sail home. The morning wind was disappointing, so rather than motor our way to our planned destination, we picked another spot closer by and sailed there.
After lunch, we had a lovely sail back to Little Sabine. It was upwind, so our progress wasn't as quick as might have been, but a couple of long tacks got us where we needed to be, and the last leg of our trip was an easy close reach up the coast. Fish and I practiced taking sighting of landmarks and fixing our position on the charts, so we should be well prepared in the event our GPS ever fails. Yay for geometry!
More studying in the evening, and working at finishing off the black-and-tans we bought earlier in the week. Dinner was cheese and sausage and crackers and other stuff we were trying to finish off.
Day Seven: Farewell breakfast at the Native. More red flags on the beach -- the strongest winds yet. In fact, Fish and I were both up around four in the morning, because the boat took a nasty bump against the dock. We tightened up her mooring lines and moved the fenders, which helped somewhat. The motion aboard the cat was much different than that on the Florida Blanca. The cat doesn't really toss around on the waves, because her beam is so wide. Instead, she twists in her berth, as the wind pushes her around. So there's almost no pitch; it's all yaw instead.
Anyways, Fred wasn't about to take us out in 25-35 knot winds, so we headed back to the office to take our exam. The 104 exam is very poorly written; I missed about seven questions, four or five of which were because the "right" answer was not the one in the answer key. (For example, the textbook explains that checking in to a country at a port that isn't a port of entry will require a customs agent to come visit, which will cost you a lot of extra time and money and probably piss off the agent. So when the exam asked "True or false: you must check in at a proper Port of Entry when entering a foreign country," I said False. No. The answer key says True. Grrrr. Would it kill them to change "must" to "should"?) But we both passed with colors that were flapping, if not flying.
And that was that. Fred was satisfied that our anchoring practice with Bob was sufficient to meet the standard, and so he happily signed off on our 104 certifications. We headed back to the boat, cleaned up, packed our stuff, cleaned up the boat, ate lunch, and headed to the airport. An uneventful couple of flights brought us back to the Cities around 11, and we were home sometime after midnight.
Now, Fish and I are each certified to charter boats up to 50 feet in length, without needing to hire a captain and cook to crew them. So long as the boat owner (and, more importantly, the insurance company) recognize ASA certification (and almost all of them do), we should be able to take out boats on our own.
I have cow-orkers with boats around the Cities, and you can believe I'll be bugging them this summer so that I can get more sailing time under my belt. The plan is to start with weekend charters on the St. Croix River and up in the Apostle Islands on Lake Superior with family and friends. In time, we'll graduate to longer charters out of Annapolis, Florida, and the Virgin Islands.
If you're interested, I highly recommend Pensacola Beach as a sailing ground. The protected waters of Santa Rosa Sound and Pensacola Bay are great for sailing, and it isn't too far to the Gulf of Mexico if you want more of a challenge. Emerald Coast Sailing has wonderful people, and a laid-back attitude that's a great fit for someone interested in cruising. Floridaze Sailing gets my highest recommendation -- Captain Bob will work your butt off, but when he's done, you'll have competence and confidence, and he's the kind of guy you'll really enjoy heading to the bar with afterwards.
Smaller monohulls are responsive, exciting, and make you feel like you're really sailing. They give you a palpable connection to the wind and the water, and they really respond to sail trim and handling. Big catamarans are stable, comfortable, roomy, luxurious, but not exciting in the least. They're generally forgiving of casual handling, and don't give you a lot of feedback on your technique. The two camps have partisans and zealots that make Mac and PC enthusiasts look docile. I try to think of it this way: Bob and the Sabre are for sailing; Fred and the Lavezzi are for cruising. You don't buy a Winnebago for the acceleration and handling, nor do you rent a Porsche to take your parents on a weeklong road trip.
And the Native Cafe is the best breakfast place in Pensacola Beach, hands down.