CHAPTER TWO: Setting Off

Terry, his mom, and I arrived at Tarpon Point Marina in Cape Coral, FL on Wednesday, July 16. Shortly after noon, with sunny skies.

“Can you believe it? Today’s the day!” Terry’s mom said.

We walked into the SWF Yachts office to check in. Our charter was for a Hunter 29 Sloop called “Magic,” a quick sailing vessel that we were told would be fun to sail. After a few introductions and the receptionist getting out the paperwork, she told us,
        “There’s a problem with the fuel line. We’re waiting on a part for the boat. Did you already eat lunch? Did you need to buy any supplies?”

What a buzz-kill.

“No. We have everything and we’re ready to go,” Terry said strongly.

“Well, the other option is to move you up to a bigger boat.”

“Let’s do that.”

So we changed the paperwork and were now going to charter an Island Packet 32 called Argo II. We looked at her specs. She was bigger, bulkier, and geared more toward a slow, leisurely cruise than a true sailing adventure. 
"She's like a fat cow," the woman at the counter told us. We would later find out that this boat would more than compensate for its lack of nimbleness.

We walked by white boat after white boat on the dock, and then we saw Argo II. She was a nice-looking boat, but her paint-job made her look like she was taken straight out of the eighties. She reminded me of the van my parents used to have when I was a kid. A beige looking coat, with a few thin stripes in an attempt to make it stylish. It was old-school, but as long as she was good to go, we'd take her.

We started unloading our suitcases and bags. After some time, Mark came out to show us around the boat so we knew how she worked. Before the trip, Terry warned me that when they do this, they’re trying to get a feel for how knowledgeable of a sailor you are. Figure out how much they trust you with their boat. I watched as Mark asked Terry to move around the boat checking out various components. I kept my comments to a minimum unless I had a clarifying question.

It was nearing 4:00 P.M. This was the latest we wanted to leave the marina, to ensure enough time to get out of the Intercoastal Water Way (ICW) before sunset. Day markers don’t have lights, so leaving the channel in darkness would be nothing short of dangerous. Especially when you run the risk of running aground in shallow water right outside of the ICW.

We said good-bye to Terry's mom, and soon enough, Terry got us on our way. Argo was a big boat to maneuver, especially when you’re not used to prop-walk.

“You’d think I’d never boated before,” Terry said in frustration. Argo took some getting used to.

The skies started getting cloudier and darker. As we motored out at our max speed of five knots, power boats were speeding back in the opposite direction. Their passengers wore t-shirts and worried faces.

“Grab the foulies,” I was told.

I went into the cabin to grab our waterproof jackets. We were so excited to start our journey that even rain couldn’t put a damper on it. We had to motor through a mild thunderstorm, Terry getting soaked as the helmsman, me staying dry under the Bimini as the navigator, using his iPad to check for surrounding depths. My only concern was that he was steering a metal wheel when lightening was abound.

“It’s most likely grounded,” he reassured me. I was glad we didn’t have to test that assumption.

At last, after about two hours of motoring in the rain, we reached the Gulf of Mexico! But for the next hour, it felt like thunderstorms kept wanting to pop up, one after the other.

“I don’t want to put the sails up until the storms subside,” Terry explained. With storms come high winds, and with high winds comes a greater chance of the boat capsizing if sails are up. We didn't have experience in truly stormy waters, and didn't want to push our luck. The Gulf was moving water more than I thought it would. And because I had been feeling ill from a sinus infection the day before, my life wasn’t made any easier.

In the past, the only times I felt sea-sickness were after two glasses of wine on that first sailboat I was on, when I’m hungry, or when I’m sleepy. Nonetheless, I felt so nauseated that I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. Two things helped- steering and lying down on the cockpit bench. I never actually expelled anything due to sea-sickness, though. I know my body well enough to slow it down and take precautions before it got worse. I felt bad for Terry, because was doing so much of the driving, but he saw my condition and didn’t want to push me.  Though, you can’t go through a whole night without some rest. I volunteered to steer a bit. One hour increments were as much as I could manage, so he could at least get some shut-eye. 

The boat waddled. So much in those waters that even steering the wheel became problematic. I’m so used to using a tiller, when you feel and control everything so easily; I missed that J24 so much. This was just not working for me. With some time, however, I started getting the feel of the wheel. The time delay when turning, the amount to turn. I needed to read the boat’s response to the current conditions. She’s bigger than what I’m used to, and a whole damn slower, but you just gotta know how to handle her when the water starts battling her.

I packed all this food on the boat, but I couldn’t even bear standing in the cabin for a few seconds, forget about a few minutes worth. It was dark, I felt sick, I was tired, and we were motoring. It was the first day, and the trip felt like a washout. What had I gotten myself into? I was really beginning to doubt this trip.

We motored through the night. Since I wasn't at my fighting level, Terry kept the sails down rather than be faced with a single-handing situation on a new boat. Unfortunately, the diesel engine’s fumes were constant the whole trip down. I only briefly smelled them at the very start of the trip. Since my nose was so stuffed up from a sinus infection, there was no way I’d be able to detect it thereafter.

We couldn’t dock at Rose Marina in Marco Island until at least 7 am. Since we reached a point where we had some leeway in our course, we decided to raise the sails. I steered as Terry moved forward to prep the main. With the boat rocking as it was, and a cumbersome sail bag to remove, this was already looking to be no easy feat. Eventually we got the mainsail up, unfurled the jib, and finally began sailing.

Too bad I could barely keep my eyes open. It was about 4 am. But we were sailing. We were finally sailing on the Gulf. We had the boom out pretty far since we were trying to go on a run.

Whoosh...Splash.

 “What was that? Did something fall off the deck?”

The boom had swung around in an accidental jibe. Terry didn’t know something fell, but my cue made him search around. One of the cowling vents was gone. Apparently, the boom knocked off both the port side and starboard side cowling vents, one of which was now at the bottom of the Gulf.

It was a rough first day. The only bout of relief was catching a double rainbow after the evening storms.