Memories of Maria 1983

Long hours standing watch with Frank, building friendship.

All the weekends prepping the boat in New Rochelle.  Including the day the copper piece that carries the current to the starter motor dropped in the bilge, and us spending what I remember as about 5 hours before we finally succeeded in fishing it out with a half a Coke can on the end of a bent-up coat hanger.  My experience in working on the boat, as much as the trip itself, is what led me to buy my own boat during the fall of 1983.  My seven years of living on Silent Echo were a direct result of Maria 1983.

Man overboard.  A peaceful practice sail suddenly turned into a potentially serious situation by some small but bad choices and an unexpected puff of wind.  Learning that we could stay focused and do what was needed to bring things back under control and get our man back on board.  Serious lesson learned - trouble can happen fast when least expected, and you can't rely on just one person to have the knowledge needed to get out of trouble, since that person might just be the one in trouble.

Listening in on the mid-ocean exchange between one of the other sailboats out there and some freighter that was cutting across the fleet. 

The final sail into New York.  Just ¼ mile from dropping the hook off Sandy Hook with our dead engine, when the changed weather report for continued wind comes over the radio and you decide to go for it.  What a magical trip.  Other people went to sleep, but I had to stay up for this.  I knew that never again would I get a chance to sail a 52' boat through New York in the wee hours of the morning with no engine, and I wasn't going to miss a minute of it.  If we'd planned it for years it couldn't have been better timed.  Plenty of wind when we needed to run through the Verrazano Narrows against the outgoing tide.  Then both tide and wind drop and we ghost up the East River, living from puff to puff, riding the slowly turning tide.  Arriving at Hell's Gate at slack.  Towboats with barges coming up behind and just about to head into HG from the other direction - so we get on channel 13, plead sudden engine failure, and they both hold back while we sail through.  Under the Throgs Neck and Whitestone as dawn breaks.  Getting ready to put the dinghy in to tow us the rest of the way, when the wind comes back up.  Me on the helm, Jim on one jib sheet, Frank on the other, Steve hanging over the bow calling out the commands as we throw rapid tack after tack up the narrow channel toward the dock, a seasoned crew bringing the boat to 100 yards from home.  Magic.