Leaving Vero

[Lydia Fell]

5/20/13 – riding the Gulf Stream

I’m sitting on the floor of the cockpit where I can see my laptop
screen better, 35 miles out from our destination, St. Marys Inlet, on
the FL/GA boundary. We left Vero Beach Marina yesterday late morning
with full tanks of fuel and water, and great expectations of a good
sail up to Cumberland Island, which is just inside the St. Marys
Inlet. We have wanted to spend some time exploring Cumberland for
several years, but there was always somewhere else we had to be –
always hurry, hurry with weather windows materializing and evaporating
again, and people to see, places to go. This time, we have taken new
vows not to hurry, and I told Skip that I don’t want to leave until
I’m satiated with the island.

It seemed like leaving Vero would be a very large event after so long
ashore, and it was difficult to do in many ways. Leaving your 87 year
old mother behind is hard enough; it’s harder when you know that she
wanted so much to come with you! I had many conversations with God
about the subject of leaving, and asked to be relieved of making any
decisions I might later regret. And so I was. After several weeks of
chore expansion, and time with mom which I accepted gratefully, a
weather window popped up and we were suddenly focused on leaving.
After two years of fretting about the moment, it felt right and
natural and went as smooth as silk. (Post Script: Mom is doing very
well since we left and is enjoying our travels vicariously. Thanks
muchly to Jessica and Peter for providing us with an IPhone, which has
helped enormously in communication with mum on a daily basis, if need
be!).

Our weather window wasn’t what we had expected, but we’ve had so many
wonderful, heart-warming events on this trip that I wouldn’t have
changed it (even though we’ve motor sailed the whole way thus far).
This morning while I was on watch, a huge pod of dolphin came to give
me a show, which I did my best to catch on camera. I was so thrilled
that the more I clapped for them and praised their little tricks, (I
mean they really were putting on something that I would have to pay
for at Sea World!) the harder they worked to please me, lining
themselves up for synchronistic leaping and then turning over to look
at me and check out my pleasure. There was a baby with them, who
wasn’t more than 3’ long, doing his best to copy mama – he got the
most applause and squeals of delight. I’ve seen dolphin before many
times, and I’ve even had them play with me (purposely splashing me)
but this was a big pod.

And then, this afternoon, a small bird came to visit about 45 miles
off shore. He wasn’t afraid and didn’t startle as a normal wild bird
would, but was eager to check out the entire boat, each cabin, the
sofa cushions, the natural perches in the salon, and he continues as I
write to fly in and out of the hatches, sometimes hopping across the
cockpit floor as if he’s waiting for me. I’ve put out fresh water and
some crumbs which are floating in it (in case he can’t see the water
like Portia, who uses her paw to drink) but I haven’t seen him have a
sip. This little guy doesn’t weigh an ounce I bet; he must have been
blown out with weather. As I was writing, he hopped on my laptop,
perched on my screen, and is now sitting on my left hand … and I can
vouch that he doesn’t weigh more than a hamburger bean.

6/1/13 – anchored off Cumberland Island

We came in from the ocean through the St. Marys Inlet at 11.00 pm and
dropped anchor at the nearest calm spot to crash; (the sleep we’d had
on the boat wasn’t sound for a variety of reasons, including that we’d
not been at sea for a long time). Once rested, we moved up the river
a little way to Fernandina Beach on Amelia Island, and dropped anchor.
While that was happening, we were hailed on the VHF by friends who
were anchored further away and had spotted us. This should strike you
as bizarre – it does me – that we’ve been ashore for over two years,
and have just come off the ocean after our first overnight passage to
a place we haven’t been to in 5 years, and presto! Old friends are
here to greet us :) Of course, as soon as we were able, we dropped
the dinghy off the davits, and buzzed over for catch-up and
camaraderie with Steve, Jo and Bill. They were leaving the following
day to head to Norfolk; perhaps we’ll meet them further up the road …
I hope so.

After they’d left, I was on deck, polishing stainless (while I
listened to an awesome interview on NPR radio with Khaled Hosseini,
author of The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns) when a
beautiful boat passed us. Its skipper and mate waved happily,
complimented me on my polishing, and moved on to an anchorage further
out where Steve had been. The next morning, they’re coming back to
anchor closer in because their outboard engine won’t start. Of
course, they have oars, but the current in this area is pretty
formidable if you’re rowing and you don’t catch it in your favor! So,
(cutting a long story short), we stop by their boat to make
acquaintances with Madie and Phil; we all dinghy in to town for the
Saturday market, we bond, we return to their boat, we figure out the
dinghy problem, we eat, we drink, and everyone is merry.

That evening, with their dinghy running again, we all move over to our
boat for stir-fry. I tie up their dink for them, and we all proceed
below for food and much fun. We’re having so much fun, in fact, that
we don’t notice Madie and Phil’s dinghy quietly slipping away (helped
by a very stiff breeze and a two knot current) when it came untied
from our stern. It isn’t until long past Cruisers’ Midnight (in other
words, dark) when our guests are trying to leave, that we discover the
missing dinghy. (Note to Self for the second time, since I didn’t
listen the first time when I thought of this: don’t tie up another’s
dinghy unless you want the responsibility that goes with that!)

Losing your dinghy is sort of like having your car stolen; without it,
you are pretty helpless on a boat. We all expressed varying degrees
of dramatic expletives, and Skip and Phil got in our dinghy with a
strong spotlight to go hunting, which was predictably fruitless in the
dark. But we also all knew in our hearts that it would be found and
returned; the boat had ID on it. The only question, really, was
*when*.

The next morning, Madie hailed a passing skiff of fisherman who were
heading in what we calculated, based on wind and current, was the
right direction, and asked them to keep an eye-out. They shortly
returned with good news, and Skip and Phil departed in our dinghy to
tow theirs out of the marshes where it was safely imprisoned. Yay!
Another exercise in faith :)

We come away from the experience with wonderful new friends who feel
like we’ve known them a lifetime. This is our repetitive experience
with cruising: you pay it forward to total strangers and you are
instantly rewarded.

On Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, once the dinghy had been rescued
and now, with Madie and Phil’s friend, Mark along, we all motor over
to Cumberland Island, drop anchors, and dinghy ashore. Beauty
abounds; I’m entranced by Live Oak trees with limbs that reach out
like fingers (as if Van Gogh painted them) to the leeward side of the
island, away from the punishing, prevailing winds. As we stepped
gently through the Maritime forest - where the number of visitors is
limited each day in order to keep the island protected (from
ourselves) - it’s as if I was transported to Narnia. I am filled with
peace and joy. We walked across to the beach and delighted in the
Lettered Olives which are seemingly all heading to the water’s edge,
ploughing their way through the sand on their quest to catch a little
bivalve dinner on the way. It’s love season, too; we captured amazing
photos of some Royal Terns courting and making eggs :)

After we’d taken our bitter-sweet goodbyes with Madie and Phil, (who
had to go back to work in the other world), Skip and I returned to the
island each day, drinking up the peace. The wild horses are feet away
from us when we visit Dungeness, completely unafraid, and I’m able to
sit down on the ground and let them wander around me. I tried, as I
looked at the ruins of this incredible estate, to imagine the summers
of the Carnegies, and the other families who lived here in a lifestyle
of another time, gone forever. I imagined croquet on the flat lawns
of the estate, the tea parties, Charades and lounging in the shade of
the Live Oaks. Downton Abbey came to mind.

We are still here, anchored off the island with a few other boats,
still enjoying this wonderful peace. Soon, we’ll be heading up the
St. Marys River to St. Marys, which we’ve never visited by boat
before. We have some chores to do; I need to do some sewing of our
Genoa sail before we can use it again (with the premise being that a
stitch in time will save nine and a trip to a sailmaker) and Skip
needs to figure out, and repair the engine, which is running, but
leaking fuel from a banjo bolt. Hopefully, a trip to an automotive
store and a lot of sweaty labor will take care of the problem. Our
dinghy is really gathering life under it, and we must find a sandy
spot to scrub it off. And then, there’s laundry and shopping to do.
Happily, we also get to visit again with Ralph and Darlene, our new
in-laws, who live nearby in Woodbine, and who are a wealth of
knowledge about the area and resources. We four had a most happy
evening in Fernandina Beach together, and we’re really looking forward
to spending a bit more quality time with them and getting to know them
better; a lovely respite in the midst of chores in beautiful and
historic St Marys to look forward to.

For those that wondered, Portia stayed behind with mom in Vero Beach
when we left. It was very difficult for me to leave her; she was such
a part of our on-board family. But mum wanted to keep her, and Portia
has a very lovely life that she clearly enjoys in Vero, including a
feline neighbor, Zeus, with whom she continues a relationship which
seems a great deal less than devoted on her part. (Zeus, on the other
hand, is happy to accept Portia’s aloofness, and is never, ever
discouraged). So, this is the way it is for now, but we don’t expect
this to be permanent. In the meantime, we were able to enjoy our
little hitchhiker (an American Red Start, I learned; thanks Diana
Doyle!) as a result of not having Portia aboard who would not have
tolerated his boarding had she been on watch. Every cloud has a
silver lining :)

Live well, be grateful.

Love, Lydia












--
"If you want to build a ship, don't herd people together to collect wood
and don't assign them tasks and work, but rather teach them to long for the
endless immensity of the sea."

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry*
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