Sailing Intermezzo (eBook)

Prologue

I grew up in the town of Patchogue, on the south shore of Long Island, New York and along the Great South Bay, a shallow body of water separated from the Atlantic Ocean by Fire Island, a long narrow barrier island of wetlands, dunes and sandy beaches.

My sailing life began in 1970 when my dad’s friend, Mitch Silbert, invited us to go sailing on his Pearson 26 on nearby South Oyster Bay. I was nine years old and fell in love with the boat the moment I stepped aboard. I observed intently as Dr. Silbert explained how the boat worked as we enjoyed a summer’s day sailing. I remember the thrill of holding the tiller in my hand, steering the boat as it slipped through the water, feeling proud when Dr. Silbert told my dad, “He’s pretty good at this.” I also spent quite a bit of time below in the small cabin, imagining what it would be like to live and sleep aboard a boat.

My dad became interested in sailing and that winter we went to the New York City Boat Show. It was the best place I’d ever been. I scampered aboard dozens of boats, small ones, big ones, sailboats and power boats, poking around in cabins, galleys, heads and lockers. I collected a big bag full of brochures for boats, motors, equipment and accessories.

Back home, I went meticulously through each piece of literature, studying different models of boats and engine specifications, looking at pictures and dreaming of what boats (note the plural!) I would own. I entertained myself in a fantasy world of adventures with a fleet of boats in my imagination.

The next spring, my dad bought me my first boat, a 10-foot, flat-bottomed aluminum Jon boat from Sears. At first, the boat was powered by oars. I rowed that little boat many miles, back and forth along the shoreline of the Bay and up and down the creeks that flowed into it. We later acquired an ancient, cantankerous British Seagull outboard and then I had my first power boat. It was only a little boat and the British Seagull barely made five knots at full throttle, but it was mine, and I loved it. In my little boat I felt gloriously free, independent, and capable.

A year later, my dad bought a sailboat, a well-used 14-foot O’Day Javelin, and together we set about learning how to sail it. Dad had a basic understanding of sailing theory and would suggest to me what he thought we should be doing and I would figure out how to do it. Dad was a cautious man, I was a fearless boy, together we were a great team. Our sailing skills and confidence grew rapidly, mine more quickly and naturally. For the first time in my young life, I could do something better than my dad, the highly intelligent and athletic man that I so looked up to. That felt good.

A year later, I was 12 years old and sailing the Javelin more frequently with my friends than with Dad, often crossing the Bay to go to the beaches on Fire Island. I sailed the Javelin and other people’s boats all through my middle school and high school years, acquiring enough skill and experience to see myself and be acknowledged by others as a good, competent sailor.

I left Long Island when I was 17 to study engineering at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. I joined the sailing team and raced on 420’s, but never really enjoyed racing, nor sailing on inland waters. My joy of sailing was refreshed whenever I made trips back home in the summer to take the Javelin out sailing on the Bay.

My graduation from Penn in 1982 marked a long hiatus from sailing. I was in a committed relationship with Carol, a woman I met couple of years earlier, and together we built our careers, moved to Arizona, explored the desert by Jeep, traveled around the world, moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, built a house and brought two children, Luther and Hannah, into the world. My life was full and rich with work, kids, the house, and travel for work and pleasure. Sailing just didn’t fit into the picture during those years, yet my childhood dreams of owning a cruising boat and voyaging endured.

Carol and I separated in 2001 and I found myself living on my own for the first time in 20 years. I had advanced to an executive position in my engineering company and enrolled in an MBA program to fill in the gaps in my understanding of business leadership and finance. I became good friends with a fellow student, Renée, a friendship that later turned into a romantic relationship.

I had become an avid reader of Latitude 38, a West Coast sailing magazine, which regenerated my interest in sailing and voyaging. I saw an ad in the magazine for the annual sailing boat show at Oakland’s Jack London Square and invited Renée to go to the show with me. We strolled along the docks, boarding boats to look them over, and around the exhibit hall, browsing around boat gear and equipment. A local sailing school had a booth at the show and was offering a 2-for-1 special on a package of lessons leading to bareboat certification. Renée responded enthusiastically when I asked if she was interested in learning how to sail, so I signed us up for lessons.

Renée had never sailed before and I had never taken a formal sailing lesson, so the classes were fun and worthwhile for both of us. We progressed steadily through the classes, enjoying the often-challenging conditions on San Francisco Bay and moving from smaller to larger boats. By the time we earned our bareboat certifications, Renée had become a competent sailor and we had learned how to sail well together.

Now that I had a sailing partner, I started looking for a boat of my own. In 2003, I bought Ariadne, a 1983 Pearson 37 “racer-cruiser”. Renée, Luther, Hannah and I sailed that boat almost every weekend and took short cruises in the bay, along the coast, and up the Sacramento River delta. We also chartered boats in the British Virgin Islands and Belize for vacations. I supplemented all this by crewing on racing boats. My 20-year break from sailing had come to an end and the door had opened for me to realize my childhood sailing dreams.

After a few years, Ariadne began to show her age, requiring more maintenance than I had time for, so I decided to buy a newer boat, one that I could sail singlehanded. In 2007 I bought a 2003 Hanse 342, mainly for its self-tacking jib and beautiful African mahogany interior. I renamed the boat Javelin in honor of the boat my dad bought 35 years ago and on which I learned to sail. We continued our practice of sailing nearly every week, taking short cruises on local waters, and doing bareboat charters further afield. Sailing was now fully integrated into my life again.

Around 2010, I realized that my financial position was such that I could potentially stop working and embark on a sailing voyage in five years or so. I talked this over with Renée and she was game for setting this as a goal. In 2011, my successful regional engineering-environmental firm merged with a much larger international company and my financial situation stepped up significantly. I had the financial security to allow me to leave work in a few years to go sailing and I could afford a nicer boat for our voyage.

The big question for my next boat was, “Monohull or catamaran?” Monohulls sail better than catamarans and I enjoy sailing them more. But catamarans are a much nicer platform for living afloat; more stable, more room. I figured that around 90% of our time on the boat would be lying at anchor rather than sailing, which favored a catamaran. But I was reluctant to forgo the upwind sailing performance of a monohull. I was on the fence until we chartered a Leopard 39 catamaran in the Windward Islands of the Caribbean for a 10-day test cruise. I discovered that I could sail the boat singlehanded all day in boisterous trade wind conditions and not be tired at the end of the day like I would be from sailing a monohull. Plus, my beer didn’t spill while I was sailing. The decision was made. We would buy a catamaran. The Leopard 39 was our first choice based on its build quality, strength, maintainability, and affordability.

I signed a purchase agreement for a new Leopard 39 in the summer of 2012. The boat was built in South Africa and launched in late October. The 3-person delivery crew set sail from Cape Town on Hull A4135 and arrived in Oakland, California on February 1st 2013, an 11,000 nautical mile journey via the Panama Canal. I took delivery on February 8th and Hull A4135 became my now beloved Intermezzo.

I chose the name Intermezzo from all the words I could think of related to the concept of a transitional break. I considered sabbatical, intermission, interlude, entr’acte, etc., and various word combinations. I landed on intermezzo, an Italian word meaning a brief entertainment between two acts of a performance. I liked the sound of the word and that intermezzos of operas often provide comic relief to the drama of the main performance either side of them. I didn’t want to take our sailing break too seriously.

Renée and I sailed Intermezzo as often as we could to get accustomed to the boat and plan its outfitting for cruising. We discussed different options for a voyage and decided on a two-year cruise from San Francisco to my childhood waters of Long Island via the Panama Canal. We set October 2015 as a departure date and began planning and living our lives accordingly.

Big changes were on the horizon. We would be quitting our jobs, moving all our stuff into storage, renting our house, finding someone to care for our two cats and two goats.

Everything moved along pretty much as expected, except for one big thing. In 2014 I fell in love with another woman, Stephanie....