The goal, Charleston Harbor. Between myself and being on the boat, a wedding shower.

Instead of leaving the night before (at 11pm by the time we get the boat together) we opt to leave the following morning. So at 10am, we’re only about a mile away from home when I here a huge POP and glance in the mirror to see that the boat trailer tire on my side has completely exploded, knocking off the guide rail and part of the support for the boat. Geoff pulls the truck over and unhitches the boat and leaves it stranded on a dirt road while we race back to town to buy a spare tire. One of these days, I’ll tell the story of how we ended up with two very bad tires on the trailer in the first place, but for now, suffice to say, we had two very bad tires and even when the first one was replaced, I was convinced the whole trip down the second one would blow.

Once the shower was over, I hurried back to Geoff and the boat. Geoff had gotten two new good tires to put on the trailer and found some friends of his to go sailing with us.

“Those aren’t sailing shoes!” was the first thing I heard walking in the door. No, I’d better change in a hurry as everyone is ready to go on a sunset cruise! We finally got the boat set up and ready to launch, only to be unable to start the motor (something Geoff always tests after being stuck on a lake once with neither power nor wind). After a fouled sparkplug is scraped, we get onto the water and out into the harbor. The weather is perfect, the wind is blowing lightly and the sun is just starting to sink behind the clouds. A sunset cruise!

I’m running up the sails when all of a sudden the boat is wheeling around and Geoff is yelling at me to pull them down. I release the ties and with help manage to get the sails down, but not before its tipped on its side enough to send part of the door to the cabin which had been carelessly left (my fault) sitting on top of the hatch into the water.

We apparently needed more boat projects to work on – between replacing the door and fixing the trailer, this weekend seemed like it was going to be less about sailing and more about boat fixing (we had to stop three times on the way home to add grease to the hubs of the wheels).

Sunday, on a whim, we decided to put the boat into the lake and sail around a bit. I managed to fall asleep on the bow and woke up to find us halfway across the lake and Geoff contentedly sailing along. It was incredibly peaceful and nice, after all the stress this summer, to spend an afternoon doing nothing but relaxing, easy sailing. After Geoff turned the boat around, I sailed us home.

“It’s nice to see another sailboat on the lake,” we’re hailed from a few yards across the water as a yellow Catalina pulls in next to us. While it may be a perfect day for sailing, “power boats just go faster,” as a random kid on the dock informed me after I told him sailboats are a lot of work, but very peaceful. But I’m happy with that, I don’t need to go fast. I think its all about curling up in the shade of the genoa with an orange to peel and a nice steady breeze.

For a quick afternoon sail, Geoffrey and I took our little sunfish to the lake. We put in at the dock which was crowded with people out enjoying the sun and the first weekend you can comfortably get in the water. We had two cute little girls help us put the sailboat together.

“Is this a canoe?”
“No, its a sailboat.”
“Wow, this is my first time seeing a sailboat! When I grow up, I want a sailboat.”

We pushed off the dock and with the little bit of wind we had available, we sailed calmly across the lake and back. The little girls had confiscated our pirate flag and were waving it on the dock.

The sailboat always gets lots of comments, generally in the form of “I want one of those!”

But by far, the best comment of the afternoon came from some guys waterskiing by our boat. We could hear them clearly across the lake.

“Maaaan, is that one of them cat-a-ma-rans?”
“No man,” his friend makes himself sound very knowledgeable, “that’s called a Hobie Cat.” Totally seriously.

Geoffrey and I were snickering on our monohull not even remotely catamaran boat. We have a hobie cat. I guess if they’d seen that, they’d've thought it was a Hobie Cat too.

The following is from the owner’s manual for our Victoria 18.

2. Stepping the Mast – This is a two person job. No muscle is required, just some thinking. Let’s assume a male-female combination. No chauvinism intended here! Do it any-way you want, but for example we will use this combination.

a. Remove the pin from the tabernacle at the foot of the mast.
b. Place the female crew member on the Aft Deck, facing forward, just behind the travelor. The male crew member should be forward at the pulpit
c. Pick the mast up and move Aft with it. The female will be holding the mast over her head and moving it Aft. Go slowly as balance at this point becomes critical.
d. Position the Aft holes of the tabernacle plate on the mast so that they align with the Aft holes on the tabernackle deck plate located on the top of the cabin.
e. Insert the tabernackle pin. (NOTE:) A pair of pliers may be useful at this point to apply pressure to the pin. It may be necessary to move the mast from starboard to port to slightly facilitate lining up the pin.
f. The male crew member now moves to the Aft end of the cockpit and while standing on the seats, facing forward, removes the burden of the mast from his female counter part. At this point the female will move forward, checking starboard and port to assure the shrouds are clear of anything that might snag them when the mast is raised, and positions herself on the deck in front of the cabin
g. The male crew member will now walk forward, the mast overhead, raising it to its full up position.
h. The female will then attach the forstay to the bow plate. The forstay attaches to the second hole aft from the bow.

via: http://home.texoma.net/~jbwrenn/care.html

Geoff was hooting while he read this. I was amused. After all, as the “female crew member,” I do the work on the front of the boat for stepping the mast. But there’s no switching places in the middle – I have no problem putting in the pins. The only place I’m not quite strong enough is when raising the mainsail in a fair amount of wind I sometimes struggle to get it all the way up. But I can get it to about 98%, which means the boom is swinging over Geoff’s head (mostly).

Speaking of the boom, Geoff is having to repeatedly learn the hard way to watch out for it when he’s sitting on the back of the boat on the anchor locker steering. It’s gotten him in the head at least three times in the last month – thankfully not too hard. He always laughs it off (“they call it a boom for a reason”) so hopefully it isn’t slowly knocking the sense out of him. Ask me again after a couple years of marriage and I might give a different verdict.

This weekend, Geoffrey and I sailed down to Edisto Beach from the bridge over to the island. It took us about three hours to get there and having a destination makes the trip a totally different and much more of an adventure. Before we could even get the sails up, we ran across a dredging crew and had to circle the boat a few times until the barge moved over so we could pass. The barge looked like a crab using its anchor claws to crawl back and forth across the waterway.

We got out of the waterway and into the river and almost immediately hit rough water. The waves were not high, but were so close together that by the time we came over the peak of one, we were splashing down into the middle of another. Geoff cut the motor and I pulled up the sails and managed to get only a little wet. From then on, the sail into the sound was completely smooth and we glided along towards the ocean.

Suddenly, I heard a puff of air and then a dolphin jumped out of the water, right in front of me. I yelped and jumped for my camera, but the dolphins refused to let me catch more than a fin or tail.

They swam next to us through the sound, jumping next to the boat and criss-crossing underneath it. When we were getting close to the shallows, they would all get in front of the boat and start turning, showing us it was time to tack. They swam next to us, escorting us into the harbor, until it was time to lower the sails.

The next day as we were sailing out of the sound, I noticed several of the fins circling a couple in a kayak. Geoff turned the boat that direction and the dolphins jumped up and swam underneath our boat as well.

“Watch out,” Geoff called out to the kayakers, “they like small boats and in your boat, they’re likely to get playful and bump you.”

One dolphin had a jagged cut in his fin. That dolphin had apparently had to learn the hard way that while sailboats and kayaks are fun to play with, you’ve got to stay away from the power boats.

“It’s supposed to rain this weekend,” I’m not interested in sailing when its raining and not at all warm yet like it should be.
“But its going to be windy! 15-20 knots!” Geoffrey wants to go sailing, rain and thunderstorms or not.

And it was a beautiful, sunny day when we got out in the boat with just enough breeze to make the sailing fun. Mom came along with her dog Savannah, who was enjoying the wind in her face and the tons and tons of birds on the lake. Mom was amazed at how well she took to the boat, not having problems with the bouncing and the leaning of the boat.

We were enjoying our sail when suddenly a gust of wind hit the boat. Geoffrey released the sails and we turned to the side, the boat behaving perfectly as it was supposed to. Ahead we could see a dark gray cloud sweeping down. Geoffrey cut on the motor as I pulled down the sails and we raced across the lake to the little marina with a burger joint in it we were headed to for lunch.

After burgers and chips (no fries, apparently a squirrel got into the transformer and blew the power on the deep fryer), we headed back out to our little sailboat, which was rocking along against the dock. We threw off the lines and decided to race the next storm back to the dock.

Of course, we couldn’t sail faster that the storm was coming, so it caught up to us about halfway back across the lake. Geoff assured us he could handle the boat by himself, so mom and I crawled into the little cabin of the boat and Savannah insisted that she was going to come along. She was just wet enough to eminate a good wet-dog-stink from all her fur. Mom threatened her with a bath, but she ignored this and curled up on the sailbag, happy to be out of the wet.

As soon as the storm calmed down, I opened the top and ejected the stinky dog. She was none-too-amused by this and scratched at the window in the door, indicating she would far rather be inside than out with her otherwise beloved Geoffrey. So we let her back in and opened the inside windows to try and get the wet-dog-stink out of the cabin. By the time we pulled up to the dock, the storm had past and it was a beautiful, sunny day once again.

“There’s no place better to be on a rainy day than in the cabin of a boat,” Geoff says as we pull up to the dock and start to unload the boat.
“Well then,” mom says, gathering up Savannah, “I’ll go home and y’all can go back out in the middle of the lake and drop anchor.”
“Nah, that cabin is cramped and I want a warm shower,” I reply. Geoff agrees, at least on the warm shower part. Poor boy got soaked through. The boat needs a bigger cabin…with a little shower…I’m thinking 38′ would be nice…

Finally! The weather warmed up enough for Geoffrey and I to take the boat out this weekend. We were hoping for warm weather and light winds, but it wasn’t quite warm enough and the wind couldn’t make up its mind whether to let us sail or not. I was glad I had a jacket and was happy to cuddle up while we switched from sail power to motor power and back…like all the other sailboats out on the lake.

“Geoff, isn’t that boat headed downwind?” I point to a lovely white cruiser off our bow. Geoffrey trains his new spyglass that direction and identifies the type of boat, number of people on board and what they are drinking. I have much less talent with the telescope.
“Yes, they are, but their sails are wrong. Must be why they’re moving so slow.” We watch the boat with its sails fully rigged but pulled in straight, unable to catch any wind, slowly motor towards us.

“They’re cheating!” Geoff declares just as the low hum of a diesel motor catches my ear.
“Then why are their sails even up?” I ask.
“They look pretty?” The couple on the other boat salutes us with their beer cans. Must be nice to have a boat big enough to have a head on board…

…I got Geoff the pirate flag, maybe for his next birthday I’ll get him the brass cannon and let him go capture us a bigger boat…

From our honeymoon. Geoffrey, “Get me a pirate flag and a brass cannon and I’ll show you how to get a bigger boat.”

“The boat’s name is Perseverance.”

I wrinkle my nose. What kind of name is that for a boat? I grew up around boats with clever names like Liquid Joy which had so many different meanings one could get endless amusement out of guessing which the owner meant. But Perseverance? Sounds like a goal someone was striving towards rather than a pleasure boat.

But Geoffrey refuses to let me change the boat’s name. “It’s bad luck.” I beg to disagree. Pirates changed the name of their boats all the time. So I insist on calling in Percy.

But stories should start at the beginning rather than in the middle where I’m standing on a dock fighting 60 mph winds to tie up the boat. The only question is, where does this story begin? Back when Geoffrey and I were first dating and he planned a whole date around taking me to learn to sail that was canceled due to weather? Or does it begin with our decision to go sailing for our honeymoon…somewhere?

I think it begins in the afternoon in late September, with me sitting in the middle of a lake, trying to sail. Geoffrey decided that the best way for me to learn to sail was, after taking me out in the boat twice and explaining it to me, to turn me loose in the middle of the lake in a sunfish and tell me to get back to the dock. Which was working just fine until the wind died.

I sat there, trying to figure out what I was doing wrong, while the boat sat there, doing nothing. A redneck in a big powerboat (two motors) drives by me laughing and asks if I need a tow. No, I’ve got to learn to do this. Geoffrey is calling encouragement from the dock, “You’re doing great!” How do you figure? I’m not moving.

The wake from the powerboat knocks my little sunfish to the side enough for it to catch a small puff of wind. I proceed with my attempt at sailing back to the dock. This involves a rather tedious business where I have to sail at an angle towards one shore of the lake, then quickly turn to sail towards the other shore, slowly making my way towards the dock. Tacking – the reason you have to really enjoy sailing and not be in a hurry. There, are you happy honey? I learned to sail. Or at least made it back to the dock.

Shortly after this, Geoffrey found a Victoria 18 for sale in my hometown. Instead of renting a boat for the honeymoon, we could have our own boat to sail every weekend and everywhere we wanted. It was in good condition and we could keep it in my parent’s backyard. (Or rather, dad volunteered we could keep it there and even thought it was a pretty sight out the window until we put a bright blue tarp over it.) We could go over in the evenings and Geoffrey could work on the boat while I played with mom.

“We can’t take it on a blue water crossing, it’s too small,” Geoffrey insisted. I had my heart set on the Virgin Islands. “But we can take it down to the Keys. That’s Caribbean sailing but safer.” I’m game, especially for the idea of getting a boat where we can sail lots of different places.

So we buy the boat. And like excited new boat owners, we take it to the lake our very first weekend to sail. Which was a great plan, but there was absolutely no wind. Geoffrey made me rig the sails anyways for practice. We took it out again the next weekend and again, there was no wind. It was starting to look like we would be going on our honeymoon having never sailed the boat.

Our last free weekend before the honeymoon, we took the boat down to Edisto since we figured there would always be some kind of wind at the beach. Saturday was beautiful and we cleaned the boat, put on a new coat of bottom paint, waxed all the metal parts and oiled the wood. It was really starting to look like a pretty boat (it already was a pretty boat, but the bottom paint was see-through and the wood was parched, it needed some attention). Sunday, we took the boat to the landing and stood there with some park rangers looking at the giant waves and listening to NOAA weather radio call out a small craft advisory. For a change, it was blowing too much to sail.

So the next week, when we hooked the boat up to the truck to tow it down to Florida, we hadn’t gotten to actually sail it. Still, Geoffrey was confident we were going to have fun and I was looking forward to the honeymoon, the warm weather and going someplace new. Geoff, of course, would undoubtedly go into a long, detailed discussion at this point about oiling the hubcaps of the boat trailer for the trip down or the specifics of tying down the mast so it doesn’t bounce loose or how it isn’t safe to park the boat anywhere because someone might back into it and chip the gel coat. But I was the happy, carefree, head-out-the-window passenger who wasn’t worried about all the problems between SC and Florida. We were going sailing! Finally!

And sure enough, the water was beautiful. Perhaps not as clear as Geoffrey remembered, but wonderfully warm and delightfully salty. We were staying off Marathon at Valhalla Point Resort, an absolute jewel of a small beach shack hotel. Clean sand, hammocks, a dock out back for the boat, the grill out front, other friendly guests, a spoiled lobster-eating dog – it could have been the set of a 1920s/30s movie. We trekked sand in and out of our room, forgot to turn the AC on for most of the stay, cooked lobster, fish and shrimp on the grill and, oh yes, sailed.

Geoffrey started calling me his deck lemur, “no matter how much we’re bouncing around, she gets up on the front of the boat, wraps her prehensile tail around the mast and rigs the sails.” I loved bouncing over the waves on the bow of the boat, helping Geoffrey navigate through the shallow water. If we were at anchor while he fished, I stretched out along the deck, enjoying the sun and salt and a good book.

Then, Friday, the weather hit. The water had been choppy Thursday and the weather radio had been predicting bad weather since Tuesday, but what we got was a downpour. We went shopping in Key West rather than even thinking about sailing. Why ruin something fun by going into miserable conditions when you don’t have to?

“We’ve had hurricanes with less rain than this,” one lady told us. The people of the Keys seem to have a very interesting view of hurricanes. The caretaker of our hotel had just told us a story about trying to drive into town during a hurricane to get cigarettes and having a wave of refrigerators come down the road at him. But hey, its just a hurricane, lets go into town.

When we got back to Marathon that evening, the wind had picked up enough that Geoffrey wanted to move our boat to the other side of the dock. It was dark and crazy windy and the last thing I wanted to do was stand out on the dock while he fidgeted with the boat. I’d been doing a lot of that all week. I would much rather be inside.

But instead I helped with the hard part of owning a boat – dealing with the bad weather. Trying to move it against the wind and current, tying it down when its wet and dark without hurting myself. Not slipping off the boat’s wet deck (yay Sperry!).

Finally, curled up in our room, the boat safely tucked away from the worst of the danger, we were listening to the VHF radio (which goes almost everywhere with Geoffrey) to a boat no one could get out to rescue. Geoffrey likes to tell this story in disgusting detail also, but I really don’t think it necessary. It just graphically illustrated the valuable lesson of not taking a small boat out in big seas. Something will go wrong. And when that something goes wrong and you don’t have the right emergency equipment, well, at best you’re in for a rough night.

We went back to SC. The boat, parked in a hotel parking lot overnight, got backed into and had its gel coat cracked. Something for Geoffrey to repair. I didn’t want to go home and neither did Geoff. We only lacked a slightly bigger boat and we could just keep going. Past the Keys, down the Caribbean to Trinidad. And from there, who knows. There are an endless number of sailing adventures to be had and we’re only getting started. And I still have much learning to do. But its fun, not work. I don’t have to stick with sailing, there’s no need to persevere. Sailing is just fun and the next boat is going to be named something fun.