By Suzanna Leigh
Don’t get me wrong; I love my husband very much. Rich has enriched my life and makes me quite happy. It’s just that … sometimes, sometimes, I miss my late husband Bob so much I could curl up and cry.
It was a beautiful day for sailing, my first sail of the season. My friend Linda was due any moment to sail Eli-Oh with me, but when I got to the boat, I was overwhelmed with grief and fear. OK, grief I understand. For many summers, Bob and I would be off sailing the San Juans and Canadian Gulf Islands about now. I miss that, viscerally. Deep inside, my body/mind thinks that’s where I should be, with Bob beside me.
I remember when we started sailing together.
“Have I got a deal for you!” exclaimed my friend Jim. Bob and I were hosting community dinner, back in the days when a group of us would take turns hosting each other for dinner. Bob had just told us about when he had a sailboat and how much he missed sailing. Jim went on to describe Cardaea, his 29′ Cascade sailboat. He and his wife Kate were looking for a partner to share expenses and maintenance with. I’m not sure Bob even looked at the boat before he said yes, and a good choice it was, too!
Cardaea, named after a goddess, was a sweet little sloop with a “one-banger” single-piston diesel engine. She had a cruising speed of 3-4 knots, and was not much faster under sail – though I think we once had her going 7 knots with a strong current pushing us along.
Our first cruise in Cardaea was to Port Orchard with the Quartermaster Yacht Club. The wind was very light and we were motoring up Colvos Passage between Vashon Island and the mainland. We were planning to get through Rich Passage, between Bainbridge Island and Port Orchard, before the current turned against us. That current can go 3-4 knots with or against us, depending on the tide.
About the time we passed Camp Sealth, we spotted a little run-about having engine trouble. We pulled up alongside them and offered a tow back to Tacoma. Luckily, before we had gone far, they got their engine started and were on their way. That little detour may have saved us a bit of trouble later.
We crossed the ferry lane between the north end of Vashon and Southworth, and were about halfway up the west side of Blake Island, when our engine quit. Up went the sails, and I took the helm while Bob went below to see what the problem was. It was a broken oil line. Not something we could fix on the fly. If we had not stopped to help that other boat, the engine would have quit while we were navigating current and traffic in Rich Passage.
By the time Bob diagnosed the problem, we were approaching the north end of Blake, so we continued to sail up around the island and down the east side, back toward Vashon. We checked the wind direction and the tides and found a spot just south of Dolphin Point that would give us a bit of shelter from the northwest wind. By the time we put down the anchor, it was too dark to see the shore, though we could hear a stream.
The next day was Sunday, and our boat partners would be at Quaker meeting at a friend’s house on Maury Island. Bob was able to use the marine radio for a ship-to-shore call to our friends before meeting settled into silence. Jim and Kate got ahold of another boat-owning couple who were part of the community dinner group, and before long they were on their way to tow us back. By the time they motored around to us, we had sailed off anchor in very light air and were drifting past Dilworth.
Bob and I continued to sail, “watch on watch,” as Bob liked to say, until he was felled by lung cancer. We were co-skippers, equal partners in our sailing adventures, first in Cardaea, then in the 32′ sloop, Sea Change. Sailing with Bob gave me back a part of myself, the sailor in me, which I had been missing since since sailing on the Piscatequa River in Maine, with my Dad. No wonder I missed him on such a fine sailing day! When Bob died, I taught my son James to sail, and we sailed together for years.
I’m always a bit nervous the first time I sail after a winter shore-bound, and this time James is off hiking in the Pyrenees; I would have neither Bob’s wisdom nor James’ strength as backup. Also, this time Eli-Oh has a new, huge, head sail, the sail in front of the mast. It’s a foller furling jib, easy to set from the cockpit, so that shouldn’t be a problem, but it will change the way the boat handles.
My plan for today was to practice coming into dock as though I was single-handing, but with Linda at hand in case I needed it. I’m always nervous coming into dock when I am at the helm, even with crew ready to step off the boat with the lines, and I have not docked single-handed before.
By the time my nerves were settled, Linda was half-an-hour late and still no sign of her. I decided to walk the docks and see if I could find a boat rigged to come into the dock single-handed, the way Danny Wilsie was talking about. No luck. And still no Linda. Time to go home for lunch.
But lo! On the way up the hill to my car, there was Danny Wilsie, a long-time family friend and life time sailor! Danny said he would show me his system when I got back.
After lunch, Danny not only showed me how he rigs the docking line to dock single-handed, but also showed me where on my dock I would need to put a new cleat. Later, another friend gave me a cleat to put there, and my beloved Rich installed it. Now I am ready to try docking single handed – as soon as time and weather permit.
