Mike Jastrzebski's Blog, page 78

Boatshow Cruise Brings Second Novel Idea

by Tom Tripp

I worked the Fort Lauderdale boat show late last week, with a dawn-to-dusk schedule of boats to see for reviews for my freelance clients.  Several times while watching all the boat traffic on the South Florida waterways I remembered that last year's Miami boat show provided the inspiration for my second mystery novel.

I was with a press group on a Biscayne Bay tour yacht that had been equipped with lots of fancy night vision gear for use to play with.  I can only handle so many people crowded together around the bar, all trying to out-decibel one another, so I went topside to get some air.  The yacht was ghosting along near the towering sodium lights of the cruise ship terminal when all manner of small, dirty fishing boats ghosted into view.  They moved erratically as though following a berserk autopilot or the hand of a drunk at the helm, and then just as silently slipped away into the murk.

The Night Skyline of Miami from the deck of a boat on Biscayne Bay -- Photo by Tom Tripp

I finally found a local who told me this was the Bay shrimping fleet.  After dark each night during the winter season, they would quietly ply the waters of the Bay searching for schools of shrimp coming toward the surface in mass feeding frenzies.  The captains were nearly all from immigrant families who, like in so many other parts of our culture, were willing to do the hardest, dirtiest work there is to feed their families.

There were a lot of these boats; a large dark fleet on the waters of the Bay, unseen and unknown by most who lived there.  Just imagine. . .

———-

Warm mist hung loosely in the darkness of an early February night over the waters of Miami's Biscayne Bay.  The night rested quietly except for the distant sounds of the huge cruise ship terminal, where the Odyssey Cruise Line's new flagship, Coral Angel, made final preparations for departure on a week-long cruise through the Caribbean.  The last of the nearly 9,000 passengers and crew were aboard and the ship was buttoning up the last of the many gangways and hatches that re-stocked the hungry lockers, pantries, kitchens and freezers on board.

Two decks below the highest levels of the Coral Angel, at a balcony that hung precariously over the black water far below, stood Mike Cunningham, possibly the happiest man on the planet.  A retired Navy officer and long-time yachtsman, Mike sucked in the damp salty air of the night and listened to his new bride sing to herself as she unpacked her bags inside the cabin.  He watched idly as a small boat glided into the circle of light that surrounded the ship.  The boat might have been white at one point in its lifetime but seemed more like a garbage scow of some sort; except for the net Mike could clearly see in the water behind the little boat.  He began to wonder what the boat was fishing for when a soft call from inside the cabin recaptured his attention.  He didn't hear the dull thunk of the fishing boat as it suddenly turned and hit the side of the great ocean liner. The next instant his world dissolved into blinding whiteness and sound.

Copyright © 2011 by Thomas M. Tripp.  All rights reserved.

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Even Floridians get the blues

It's hard to imagine that in a state where the sun shines almost every day, a person can get the blues. Unfortunately, it happens.

I grew up in Michigan, a state where it's possible to go days upon days without seeing the sun, especially in the winter. I lived in Maine for a couple of years–more gloomy days, and I lived for fifteen years in Minnesota where it's possible to go weeks without the sun. In fact, it's even possible to forget the sun exists.

So why would a couple of days of rain get me down? It's a combination of things. I've spent the last six months editing first, Dog River Blues (A Wes Darling Mystery), and then Weep No More, the book I'll be releasing next month. Here's the cover for the new book:

[image error]

 I find editing and rewriting to be the hardest part of writing a book. Thankfully, I have my wife Mary to help on the editing, but it's still hard work. Maybe that's why at one in the morning I got the urge to write something new.

I've had a basic idea of how I wanted to start the next book, a Wes Darling book tentatively titled Abaco Blues. So I sat down and wrote the first page of the book. This is unusual for me. On most of my books I write an outline before I start the book. I will most likely write an outline for Abaco Blues, but now I know how the book starts. The outline will have to wait until we get away from the dock and head over to the Bahamas this winter.

And that brings us to the other reason I'm a little down. There's so damn much work to be done on the boat before we can leave. The heavy rain revealed half a dozen new leaks that I have to fix before we can go anywhere. But that's life on a boat.

So now that you realize I've been meandering all over the place with this blog post, maybe you've already figured out the final contributor to my malaise–I just couldn't think of anything to write about today.

What about you the reader? What makes you feel down? Or are you perhaps one of those people that are alway up and perky. If so, how do you do it?

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Book cover design

By Vicki Landis 

Today's blog contribution comes from me to you courtesy of an invitation from Mike Jastrzebski.  I've known Mike for six years now, and he and his wife Mary are terrific.  Reading about and watching Mike's success with his books is giving me great satisfaction.  Couldn't happen to a nicer guy. 

I am an artist and a writer.  Mike asked me to talk about book cover design.  I've done four of Mike's covers, and through the process, we've learned quite a bit about what works and what doesn't.  Obviously, what appeals to some doesn't appeal to others.  So, how in the world do you figure out what's best for your book? 

First—realize that, as with anything else, you'll never please everyone.  You want to appeal to your primary target demographic.  Figure out who that is.  Don't put pink lettering on the front and expect men to click on it or pick it up.  If you put a scantily-clad hot babe on there, that may turn off women of a certain age.  There are exceptions to everything, of course, and part of the trick is to know how to manipulate the subtle or blatant effects. 

Second—take your personal feelings out of it.  Your idea of what should be on your cover isn't always what will draw people in.  And when it comes to books sold on the internet, attracting readers to a thumbnail-sized picture is everything.  Writers, like most of us, wear blinders and rose-colored glasses when considering their baby.  Their book.  They're too close to be objective.  Before you say no to a cover designer's idea(s), mull it over for a few days. 

Third—what well-known/best-selling authors have on their covers is irrelevant for you.  They have name recognition and loyal fan bases.  What their covers look like matters less.  Their titles will sell because their readers are always anticipating their next book.  If you are an unknown and trying to get known, that teensy thumbnail picture of your cover is the beckoning beacon from the lighthouse.  

Fourth—keep it in the right mood.  A tense political thriller shouldn't have a font that screams light-hearted.  Images and colors convey the tone as well.  Readers who look at your book because it appears to be the genre they enjoy will be annoyed with you when they find out it's not what they thought. 

Fifth—this may be the most important for ebook covers.  Keep it simple.  Can it be easily spotted and understood by someone scrolling through thumbnails? 

Last—if you don't know what you don't know, you're sunk before you start.  It doesn't matter what's on your cover if you haven't learned the craft of writing.  When a reader clicks on your cover, then opts to read the free sample offered, and the technical writing and formatting aspects aren't up to par—not even mentioning content—you're toast.  Find out what you don't know.  Do not rely on any relative or close friend.  You need people who know the business.  Put your ego on hold and take a class or find a critique group to make sure you have your ducks in a row. 

If you'd like to consult about your book cover, I'd love to hear from you.  bookpainter319@hotmail.com   Examples of covers I've done are on my website, www.landisdesignresource.com/graphic-art.  More are on my blog at the landisdesignresource website.  Alas, there are several I can't reveal before their publication dates.  I write both fiction and non-fiction, in addition to my artistic pursuits.  My novel, Blinke It Away, will be available on Kindle and in paperback on Amazon on Wednesday, November 2. 

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Has your boat suddenly sprouted wheels or wings?

Captain and Seadog on Talespinner in the Great Dismal Swamp Lock

That was the question that a non-boating friend emailed recently after reading my reports on SPOT. She had been watching my progress on the map as I seemed to travel across great swaths of land. For those of us who are boaters, we forget that so many Americans don't know about all these great canals that were built centuries ago in our country. Most of my northbound trip was either offshore or just inside the Outer Banks, and I am traveling much of this route myself for the first time. But I am not alone. It is the time of the annual cruising boat migration and I feel a bit like I'm in a herd. In the photo above, you can see me on the left standing on the foredeck of my boat, holding Chip, the Intrepid Seadog in his doggy sweater. We fit 18 boats into the lock and it took nearly 2 hours to shoehorn them all in and raise us up 8 feet.

The Great Dismal Swamp was resplendent with fall foliage and I made friends with lots of new cruisers. After jamming ourselves into the lock in the morning, most of the same boats spent the night rafted up to the Visitor's Center in the center of the swamp – which doubles as a truckstop for the highway. You can't even see my boat in the photo as I was all the way at the back with my wind generator and mast head instruments in the trees.

Great Dismal Swamp Raft-up

These long days of motoring down these man-made canals on these chilly October days have led to trying to find the best spot for the seadog.

Chip's Solarium

I finally realized that the top of the main hatch just inside the dodger acted as a little sunroom for him. He sleeps like a baby (or old man) in his own solarium now.

Exploring the back creeks of these little canals and byways is one of the best parts of this inland voyaging. And one thing I really like about traveling with a dog is that it forces you to find places where you can go ashore when it is cold and windy, even though it is tempting to just stay on the boat.

My Intrepid (blind and deaf) Scout

If I had done that, I never would have found this wonderful spot off the Aligator-Pungo Canal. I was looking for a place to anchor for the night, and I chose this spot just before the canal narrows into a straight man-made ditch. Off to starboard, there was this long skinny bay. On my iPad, I have the app Navimatics Charts and Tideswhich incorporates Active Captain information and I learned on there that this anchorage had a small boat ramp for getting a dog ashore. I took my iPad to navigate in the dinghy as Chip and I set off into the wilds in this uninhabited area at 4:30 with the temperature dropping and no cell phone access.

I anchored just off the letter "Y" in Georgia Bay then dinghied up creek

When we found the place, we turned into this long eery creek back through the swamp grass. I kept thinking we wound find the launch ramp, but we continued farther and farther inland. The creek was bordered by cypress knees and stark barren trunks of trees while hawks wheeled overhead and crows cawed from the pines. Once we arrived at the ramp, we tied up to a little pier just beyond which I saw a weed-eaten, broken-down wood shack and an old stained fish boat. The place made me wonder if that wasn't banjo music I heard on the wind in the trees.

Deliverance Homebase

Tomorrow, I will cross the Pamlico River and then pass through more man-made canals to carry boats from one river to the next. I will end up on the Neuse River and hopefully make it to Oriental for the night tomorrow night. Once again, it will look on SPOT as if my boat is crossing land as I traverse the tiny canals that join these rivers. And that pattern will continue all the way to Florida. For the last two days, I've had 20-25 knots of wind on the nose and my motoring has sometimes been slowed to under 3 knots in the sounds or rivers where the chop builds and the boat slams. Tomorrow, the forecast is for north winds at 20-25, but this time they will be from behind me so I'm not nearly as worried about making my goal. Day after tomorrow will be New Bern, my destination.

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Boys and Their Toys

Even while I was fighting the elements, I was passed by some of our fighting Marines from down at Camp LeJeune. Five boatloads of these guys raced past me today, and they looked like they were having so much fun speeding along at 35 knots, I thought that a picture of them flying down the waterway on an Indian summer afternoon would make a great recruiting poster.

I worry that all this all this boat driving is keeping me from getting my book done, and I do desperately want to get it out there, but at night, after 10 hours at the helm, it's all I can do to keep my eyes open. In addition, on all these back country canals, I've gone 6 days without Internet and tonight I went into a marina just so I could get connected and upload my blog. Now I have over 800 unread emails and no idea when I'll have tine to look at them. The thing is, I know I'll never be as dedicated a writer as some who dream of only doing that. I am a Sailing Writer and the boating part is integral to the writing part of who I am.

Tomorrow morning, I must get up bright and early to continue my southbound adventures on the Intracoastal Waterway. It's difficult to believe that one week from today, I'll be in Norfolk, VA aboard the Emmy Kate provisioning the galley for the Caribbean 1500 trip to the B.V.I.'s.

Fair winds!

Christine

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The stuff of dreams(?)…

C.E. Grundler

Some of my fondest childhood memories focused around working on the boat with my parents. Looking back, I realize much of that time in general was spent working on the boat, as the boat in question, a wood twin diesel sportfisherman of in 1950s vintage, was in constant need of ceaseless work. All the same, I enjoyed the endless projects, the seasonal rituals of winterizing and commissioning, sanding and painting and the day to day upkeep the boat demanded. My dreams of the future grew around the idea of someday owning my own boat – something a bit bigger than my dinghy – to travel aboard and maintain. Years of sketch pads were filled with drawings, designs of the ideal boat, combining every feature I felt embodied the ultimate liveaboard/cruiser.

Here I am, decades later, and as I write this I've spent yet another day decked out in a Tyvek jumpsuit, respirator and facemask, armed with powertools of destruction, cutting away a bits of a boat as old as that dream. I'm amused to think that back when I was first creating that 'perfect' boat in my head, this very same boat was taking shape in a boatyard in Hong Kong. Perhaps I'd seen this same boat in magazines, read reviews all those years ago. That, at least, might explain the inexplicable connection I have with this boat. Then again, maybe I'm just out of my mind. Yeah, that might be it, because this IS my dream boat, and I really am enjoying myself.

Most sane people, when they take a vacation, spend it somewhere scenic and relaxing. The key word here is 'sane'. I'm technically 'on vacation' this week; my husband is off from work and I'm off from writing, and we're spending our days hopefully wrapping the great salon ceiling/bridge deck overhaul. As I've said in previous posts, we had an issue of leaks and delamination. We were fortunate that the core material was teak lumber and had zero rot, and originally hoped we could dry out the saturation and repair the existing materials. But as we discovered, years of water freezing and thawing had taken their toll: the core wood had become brittle and the delamination too extensive. We tossed around repairing from above, repairing from below, and ultimately decided to replace the core and laminates entirely.

In the top photo you can see the new ceiling core beside the boat. Rather than construct it overhead, we built it over a frame, and it consists of three layers of laminated marine ply, bonded together with West Epoxy. Below are photos of the cabin, prepped for the new core to be eased into place by week's end. There's much more to this all, but to be honest, I'm exhausted from the last few days, and bracing for the nerve-wracking days ahead.

Warning: the following photos are not for the faint of heart.

Here you can see the layers as they were, with the upper glass laminate, core, lower glass laminate and the 'ribs', all of which will be duplicated… but first all this must go!

More like this…

Wish us luck! I'll keep you all posted as this progresses.

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Indian Summer

Indian Summer, the warm days that follow the season's first frost, that point in fall when the maples have remarkable hues of orange and red. More accurately, Indian Summer, the point in time when the smart and able among us head south to where summer goes for the winter.

Don't get me wrong, I have long loved winter. I am a twice-a-week hockey player who has been at it long enough that I recall a time when NHL players used skates made of kangaroo skin. I am an enthusiastic skier whose first skis were made of ash, the accompanying poles cut from bamboo. (Yikes, I am getting old.) Yes, I have been celebrating winter for a long time. Still, a mature life is one of constant learning, is it not?

Several fellow writer friends from Write On The Water are now anchored in warm waters down south – Mike tied up in Lauderdale, Christine writes that she is headed to the Caribbean, and Michael is down there at the end of the road tethered to a mooring known as the island of Key West. These folks are living proof that a southward escape is possible. What's more, a vehicle of escape is in my possession in the form of a fully-found, 28-foot sailboat owned without lean or mortgage.

Is it possible that this life of extended summer is mine once I make a quick cost-benefit analysis, once I take stock of the relative merits of this decision? Is this but a simple weighing of the pros and cons? Maybe. It's worth a try, isn't it? Here goes:

Pro: Lots of friends will want to come visit us if we head south for the season.

Con: The boat has barely enough room for salt and pepper shakers, let alone guests.

Pro: The extended season on the water means that I will have the whole year for catching up on varnish work.

Con: The southern sun is so harsh I'd be up the mast in the bosun's chair every other week (which is an image roughly equivalent to seeing a middle-aged man in tights auditioning for The Wallenda's Flying Circus).

Pro: Life aboard the sailboat would become an expression of true independence.

Con: True independence means my wife and I, plus the kids when they are home from school, will be sharing a head that's so small you can't shut the door when sitting or stand without crouching over.

Okay, enough of this pro and con baloney. I love my day job, most of my family and friends are in New England, and our boat appears to be too small for wintering down south. I guess it's time to service the snow blower, clear the gutters, and rake the leaves.

But I can guarantee you that my protagonist is heading south for the winter season in my next book. After all, what good is an escapist journey if the author can't go along for the ride?

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Stairway to the Bottom – Chapter 2

I am about two or three chapters from finishing my next book – Stairway to the Bottom – so I am taking the easy way out of this blog column and giving you chapter 2 of the new book while continue writing. My plan is to have it available the middle of next month.

Chapter 2

 Stairway to the Bottom

I sat on the front steps until the patrol car showed up. When Billy Wardlow arrived I knew it was his first assignment because the city's tight budget didn't allow for overtime. I showed him where the body was and he sent me outside.

When he came out, Billy told me he found no sign of a struggle inside. I already knew that so I nodded. Of course, we were not considering how the body got there, just that nothing else was out of place. He began inspecting the porch windows and then went into the backyard looking for signs of forced entry.

Detective Luis Morales showed up a little after seven. Cuban born, Luis came to the States as child on a leaky boat with his mother. That's how he remembers it, anyway. He was on the city's police bike patrol when I came to Key West. Now he's a lead detective and my nemesis because I've sailed to Cuba. Even as a patrol cop, he would turn boaters in to customs and immigration if he thought we'd been to the forbidden island. We don't get along and my friend the police chief thinks Luis is a talented cop. Luis considers himself God's gift to women and too often women seem to agree.

I walked him into the kitchen and wondered how he'd handle me finding the body.

"Do you know her?" He checked the blood smears and brain matter on the wall, careful not to step in the puddle of blood collected around the body and gun, as he talked to me. I wanted to ask him if he knew her, but kept my mouth shut.

The body was face down, her arms stretched out toward the gun. Luis took it all in as he waited for my answer.

"Not from this angle," I said. I didn't know her.

Luis looked from the floor to the wall and back, ignoring my sarcasm. "She was shot in the face, hit the wall, and fell forward." He was speaking to himself. "Probably close range."

"Her gun?" I pointed toward the blood soaked automatic.

"We'll test it, see if it's the murder weapon and find out who owns it."

Outside, I told him about the phone messages. He listened to them on my cell and had Billy take it to the station.

"I want copies of them," Luis said. "I'll get it back to you as soon as I can."

I couldn't win the argument, so I said nothing.

"The guy who lives here," he checked his small notebook, "Dick Walsh. Tell me about him."

We sat on the steps waiting for others to show up.

"He moved here about three years ago," I said. "Bought this house and the water sports business on Simonton Beach. He said he's from New Zealand."

"How do you know him?" He took notes.

The sun was rising and it would soon bathe the street in heat and humidity, but the large tree in the front yard would keep Dick's house shaded and cool. The morning breeze carried the scent of tropical flowers and brewing coffee.

I needed a café con leche, the caffeine jolt of the strong espresso, steamed milk and extra sugar mixture could make this early morning fiasco bearable.

Two police cars stopped out front and Sherlock Corcoran, the crime scene investigator, parked his van in the driveway. The nickname came with the job and few knew his real first name, or cared to. The cops, Harry Sawyer and Charlie Bauer, nodded but didn't talk to me because of Luis.

"Hold that thought." Luis got up to meet them.

They gathered at the van and spoke softly. Sherlock pointed at me and Luis nodded. The two cops helped Sherlock with bags and went into the house without acknowledging me as they passed.

"How do you know Walsh?" Luis sat down.

"I'd see him around. Schooner, the Hog, one of the bars," I said. "After a while he was with someone I knew or I was with someone he knew and we were introduced."

"Simple as that," Luis smiled.

I hunched my shoulders and said nothing, but I thought what an asshole he was.

"Yet when he kills this woman, you are the one person he calls." It was an accusation not a question. "Interesting," he said with a devious sneer.

"You don't know he shot her or if I'm the only one he called," I said harshly. "He could have found her or he might've been abducted by her killer. Think of some alternatives, Luis, don't be a shortsighted ass.

"Unlikely he found here," he said, ignoring my opinion with a toothy-smile. "There's no sign of a struggle, so I wouldn't expect abduction." I could hear the frustration in his voice. "He would've called us if he walked in and found her, but he called you multiple times instead. Is there a reason he wouldn't call the police?"

"I've had drinks with the guy, I've rented Jet Skis from him, I'm not married to him," I said.

"He gave you a discount on the rental?" It was a question that he didn't care about the answer to.

"He gives all locals a discount," I sighed because Luis knew I wasn't involved, he just wanted to make my life difficult. The Cuban twit is good at that. "What about the gun? Most people don't run around with silencers."

"It could be his, or do you know it isn't?" He was challenging me, not believing what I'd told him.

"We never talked guns, so I don't know if he even owns one."

"We'll find out," he said as Sherlock walked out with the gun and silencer in an evidence bag.

"The magazine's full, the gun hasn't been fired," he growled. "Not the murder weapon."

"What caliber was the murder weapon?" Luis looked up at Sherlock.

"I'd only be guessing."

"Guess," Luis said.

"From the looks of the back of her head, I'd guess a forty-five," he muttered. "The ME called and he's stuck in traffic at the light on Big Pine. He'll have a better guess when he gets here."

"Traffic," Luis groaned. "He should drive in Miami. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Sherlock smiled. "This is an old silencer. Screws onto the barrel and the Beretta has had the serial numbers burnt off, with acid would be my guess," he said stressing guess. "You don't see many of these old Berettas anymore, everyone wants the fancy forty-fives. They're a pair."

"A pro's gun?" Luis stood up and stared at the evidence bag.

"I'm done guessing," Sherlock said as he turned to go back in the house. "We're searching for the bullet, in case it's intact, but I doubt it."

 

www.michaelhaskins.net

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Guest blogger wanted.

Recently we opened up Sundays for blogging. Wally Moran will be blogging every other Sunday. The other two Sundays will be for guest bloggers. Vicki Landis, my cover artist, will be blogging about creating covers on the 30th of this month.

Right now, I'm looking for someone who is a boater and a writer who would like to write a guest blog for next month. It would appear on November 13th. If you are interested contact me at mike at mikejastrzebski.com. Include your idea for the blog and a little information about yourself. Have you been published? How long have you been boating? Etc.

I will pick the most interesting idea for the post.

So come on readers, if you're interested, let me know within the next week.

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Icons and Irony

My introductory column here ran two weeks ago in which I spoke of the influence that several boating writers had on my life. In that list I included the legendary Lynn and Larry Pardey, and fellow Canadian, Liza Copeland.

So imagine my feelings while sitting at Davis' Pub during the Annapolis Sailboat Show with another writer friend when we were joined by – you got it! – Lynn, Larry and Liza. Talk about karma, it was the same day that column ran.

One of the benefits of being a boating journalist is that every so often I get the opportunity to meet with people who are considered icons of boating. And one of the ironies of being a boating journalist, video creator and boat show speaker is that on occasion, I'm seen as being one of the icons. That always makes me shake my head in wonder.

The truth of the matter is, we're just people doing what we do, as best we can. The difference is that what we do is sailing. Then we write about it, and that has made us more visible to our fellow sailors. That's it. We're not in the least different from you and every other sailor out there. In many cases, your skills and experiences may well be greater than some of ours.

In my experience with sailing 'icons', I've found them to be generally quite the everyday sailor. Not once ever have these folk, in my experience, 'lorded' it over fellow sailors. When you think about it, that's not the norm in our society. Take a look at sports 'heroes', or film or rock 'stars' as an example. The sense of entitlement coming from these people is obscene.

Yet in reality, none of them has faced the kinds of challenges faced by the Pardey's, the Roths, the Copelands and thousands of other sailors. Not one of them has found themselves adrift in an unfriendly ocean and fighting to live, as have the Smeetons.

A hockey, football or baseball game is over in an hour and a bit even with overtime and, win or lose, the players get their millions of dollars per year. A battle with a storm or hurricane can go on for days…and at the end of it, the sailor is rewarded with his or her life, and the chance to do it again when the next storm front comes through.

Consider Canadian round the world sailor Derek Hatfield. Derek is my age, 57. He's given up jobs, financial security, relationships, just about everything most people consider important, for what? The opportunity to race his boat, Spirit of Canada, around the world in the hope of winning. And what has he won so far?

Well, in 2003, he came third in the Around Alone, now known as the VELUX 5 OCEANS. For this, he was named Rolex Canadian Sailor of the Year. Oh, yes, he was also dismasted in a rollover in the Southern Ocean, made it back to land, spent five weeks repairing his boat and went back to sea.

For this, you get a fancy watch? Derek, are you crazy?

The answer to that is yes, and so are we! Most of us would, had we the courage to do so, take his place in a heartbeat.

To me, Derek is an icon. So are Lynn, Liza and Larry. But so are you, out there doing your thing in your boat, however big or small it may be.

Why do I say this? Because you exemplify the thing that true icons are made of: a little bit of courage – enough to face your fears, and a big dollop of humility, enough to admit (and laugh at) your failings.

I salute all of you.

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Schedules, passages, flights, oh my!

[image error]For the Intrepid Seadog and me, the problem is not Lions, Tigers and Bears, Oh My! It is schedules, passages and flights. Schedules are the bane of every cruising sailor's existence, and though it sounded like a good idea at the time, the logistics of my current situation are my own fault.

My challenge comes from the fact that several weeks ago a good friend emailed me and told me he was going to captain a brand new Lagoon 40 in the Caribbean 1500 from Norfolk, VA to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, and he asked if I wanted to go as crew.  Seeing as I have never sailed an ocean passage on a catamaran before, I jumped at the chance and said YES!

The Caribbean 1500 is a Rally where a group of around 80 boats leave Norfolk, VA at the same time all bound for Tortola.  Most of them are not really racers, but rather cruisers who want the company and safety of cruising together as a group. There are seminars before departing and all the boats must carry satellite trackers that automatically send a signal back to the base every six hours. If any boat in the group gets into trouble, there are plenty of other boats out there to come to his aid.

Emmy Kate at the Annapolis Sailboat Show 2011

On the Caribbean 1500 website friends and family can follow the travels of the various boats once we depart on November 7th — or the best weather window sometime after that date. The boat I will be on is named Emmy Kate and I will post a link here on the blog once we get ready to go.

My problem at the moment is where do I leave my own boat TALESPINNER, what do I do with the Intrepid Seadog and how do I plan my flights, etc. when who knows what the weather will do? How long will our passage take? Do I risk booking non-refundable flights?

Here is my situation: I finished working for the United States Yacht Shows (i.e. working for boat parts) at days end on Monday. For the last three days I've done laundry, bought boat parts (including a new dinghy) and generally tried to get my boat ready to move south. I'm replacing my mainsheet traveler, provisioning, filling propane tanks, and arranging to have my bottom cleaned.

I intend to depart Annapolis on Saturday and I have already booked myself on a flight out of New Bern, North Carolina on Nov. 1st so I have nine days to get myself down to North Carolina and prepare my boat to leave it for what might be a month. When I leave New Bern, I'm flying down to Fort Lauderdale to leave the Intrepid Seadog with my son and then flying up to Norfolk on Nov. 3.

I am going to be the cook on this Caribbean 1500 trip and this is a brand new 2011 boat that does not even have pots and pans, spices or dishes. I will arrive on the 3rd and have about 3 days to completely outfit the galley and provision the boat before we leave – assuming the weather permits the rally to start on time (how I wish I had Victoria's experience, skill and knowledge!).

Then at the other end, I have taken a big risk and already booked a return flight just before Thanksgiving. I will then fly back to my own boat in North Carolina to continue my trip south in late November (leaving the sea dog back in the south and continuing a lonely trip without him). Will I make any of these flights? Who knows?

Of course, all of this does not take into account the other hat I wear – that of writer. I am way behind on the edits of my book, and I really don't want to take off on this trip without having finished that job. I would love to get to the marina in New Bern early so I can work on the book, but to do that I will need to jam my way south. I'm considering an overnight passage down the Chesapeake Bay on Saturday. If you want to check out how fast I'm making it to North Carolina, follow me on SPOT at http://tinyurl.com/talespinner.

Fair winds!

Christine

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