Where have I been?

S/V Fidelity, our home for our 2013 Virgin Island Adventure

In what seems like just a blink of an eye, it has been over two months since my last post.  Why?  In short, I have been running on virtual overload.  Each year, we venture to the Virgin Islands somewhere around the first or second week of November.  Likewise, each year I find that I have packed on some physical heft as a result of a few factors.  Mainly the cause for my abdominal growth is an excess in indulgence during the summer months at my summer lake home.  It seems that as we pass the summer days by on our pontoon boat, the beers and snacks slowly add up in the form of...  well... fat.  Typically as the summer season comes to an end around Labor Day, I realize I have put on 15-20 pounds that I like to take off before we head south to the islands some 8-9 weeks later.  As I lumbered on to the scales this Labor Day, I found I had astonishingly added 27 pounds.  Impressed I was not.

Right around this same time, I had also set a new goal towards our future in the islands.  I have always wanted to learn Spanish and as I see it there are three major languages in the islands - English, Spanish, and Creole.  Considering that Creole isn't exactly a dominating language, Spanish is my choice.  I had assumed that I would tackle this task by purchasing Rosetta Stone materials, but when I started researching the purchase of the product I found the reviews alarming.  A fair number of reviews cited issues in the software along with various other complaints.  These complaints combined with the fact that I simply have no time to allocate towards sitting in front of a computer to do the lessons swayed my focus towards another product - the "Pimsleur Approach".  This program is audio based making it very attractive for someone like me that commutes nearly 4 hours a day, staring endlessly at taillights.

I also had some unfinished business in regards to my sailing training.  In the early part of the year, after deciding to pursue American Sailing Association certifications, I enrolled in a home study course for my ASA 105 Coastal Navigation & Piloting certification offered through the American Sailing Academy in New London, CT.  This certification would compliment my ASA 101 Basic Keelboat, ASA 103 Coast Cruising, and ASA 104 Bareboat certification.  My original plan was to complete this course before we left for Island Dreamer Sailing school.  As it turned out, there was simply too much material to cover for me to finish.  After our Bareboat certification, it was suddenly summer and I simply put off the required studying.

ASA 105 Coastal Navigation & Piloting materials

So there you have it.  The week after Labor Day, I set a fairly lofty agenda.  In just two short months, I would train harder than I ever have and clean up my diet in order to drop my 27 pounds of extra weight, I would start aggressively learning Spanish, and I would achieve my navigation and piloting certification.  So for the past two months, every calorie has been counted, every meal has been measured for protein, carbohydrate, and fat content.  My day has started at 4:45am with a morning commute to the gym, and a Pimsleur Spanish lesson on the way.  After a 2 hour hardcore gym session, my work day started.  My lunch break became either a third hour in the gym, or a navigation study session.  My commute home usually entailed a repeat of my morning Spanish lesson, and after finally reaching home around 7pm or later, evenings often included more navigation plotting and calculations.

We are now just a few days from our trip, and the end of my allotted time to complete my agenda.  How did it go you ask?  I'm tired.  Mentally, and definitely physically.  However, I write this post weighing 26 pounds less than I was on Labor Day.  I have put away my 36 waist size jeans, and now comfortably fit back in my 32's.  Each day at work, I have very limited, short, simple conversations with Spanish speaking coworkers.  As limited as they may be, they are conversations none the less.  I am very thankful I have people to practice with that are enthusiastic about my progress.  I have to admit, I am very happy with the Pimsleur program.  I really have progressed much further than I had imagined I would.  And how about my ASA 105 certification?  After a 3+ hour marathon test, I was worried that my work had been rushed, causing mistakes.  I was even more worried that if I failed, it would mean taking that 3+ hour test again...  I am happy to report that Saturday morning I received a congratulatory text from Captain Dave Higgins stating I scored a 97% on my navigation and piloting exam.  Paperwork for my certification is currently being filed with the American Sailing Association.


With all this, I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment as well as a tremendous need to unwind.  I can not wait to be at the helm of Fidelity, a 47 foot Jeanneau which will serve as our home during our time in the Virgins this year.  This will not only be a reward for all the hard work, but it will also serve as a stepping stone towards our ultimate goal.  While cruising the US and British Virigin Islands we will be racking up an entire week's worth of valuable operation time and experience.  Bring on the vacation...

S/V Fidelity's cockpit

Foredeck

S/V Fidelity's saloon

Big Frickin' Sails - Pucker Factor

Big frickin' sails.  When I first heard this phrase, the first thought that came to mind was, "must be for a big frickin' boat".  I first saw "Big Frickin' Sails" on a sailing web forum.  As I read on, I found that the phrase was actually coined not to describe the physical sails on a boat, but rather to describe a day's sail which increased one's personal pucker-factor, or risk tolerance.  The author of the phrase further explained, it didn't matter if it was a 60 foot yacht, a small daysailer, or a sunfish - the point was it is an experience under sail where the skipper can look back and say "Whoa.".

Today, for me, was a Big Frickin' Sail.  It's been quite a few weeks since I have been out.  We were out of town a lot during the summer, leaving Connecticut to go relax at our lake house where we have a pontoon powerboat.  This is actually alright because the winds typically die down a bit during the summer, leaving the best sailing conditions in the Spring and Fall seasons.  Sharon was unable to go today, so I asked a long time friend and neighbor Zsolt Megai to crew with me.  Zsolt has been a great friend for almost ten years now, and is always up for any sort of outdoor adventure.  At 73 years old, he's as fit as any 30-something I know, and the two of us have a tendency to always find ourselves in situations that press the envelope.

Given the conditions and weather forecast, we decided to go to Bantam Lake here in Connecticut.  While not being especially large, Bantam is the largest natural lake in the state.  It's a fairly decent area, has a small sailing community, and has a nice state operated boat launch.  After rigging my boat "Rhumb Line", we decided to reef the main sail (reduce sail area for heavy wind), and then we proceeded out.  It's always better to reef early when you think you might need it, as it's far easier to shake out an unneeded reef rather than put one in during heavy conditions.  We tacked back and forth into the main bay of Bantam, and decided we could handle the wind with full sail, so out came the reef.  We then enjoyed spirited sailing around the main bay before dropping the sails and motoring into a little cove for lunch at anchor.

As we were finishing up lunch, we could see heavy white caps in the main bay.  It was clear that the forecast of winds building to 14-16 knots, and gusts well into the 20's was unfolding as planned.  A few quick knots later the reef was back in, the anchor was pulled, and we sailed back out under the main sail alone.  As we fell off the wind on a nice port tack, Zsolt went forward to raise the jib (the head sail).

Here is where hindsight is 20/20.  I always, without exception, stow my gear properly and make everything ship-shape before sailing off.  Well, I guess in this case, there was one exception.  I don't know why neither of us took care of it.  The anchor line was all over the front of the cockpit, the jib sheets were loose, as well as the main sheet.  Under main sail alone we were already building big speed and I had my hands full with the tiller.  As the jib flung violently loose in the wind, the jib sheets twisted about faster than Chubby Checker, fully entangling themselves in the loose anchor line.  The winds were well into the 20 knot range and it was overpowering us, giving enough pucker factor to make a dime from a quarter.

I watched as Zsolt worked on the tangle, and I tried to move my heft as far up on the upwind rail as possible.  The main sail was taking the brunt of some major gusts, and the jib was flailing, making my mast bend and flop as if it were made of spaghetti.  As Zsolt managed to get the spider web of lines and sheets untangled we sailed on, taking one-plus-foot chop waves against the hull continually drenching us.  With both sails now under control, I thought we were fine.

The wind continued to build.  It was ever more apparent that we were on the hairy edge.  Being bald, I really didn't think this was possible.  Busier than a one-legged man in an butt-kicking contest, we worked the boat - letting the sheets out in big puffs, and pushing the tiller to head the boat up into wind.  We were making 6.5 knots of speed with each gust seeming to grow in power.  "Rhumb Line" has high sides and is not meant to be hiked, but we did anyway, leaning out as far as we could, and still watched our leeward rail drop below the water line until water came in.

We were now at the far end of the lake, away from most that could lend assistance to us if needed.  We tacked back around heading back into the widest area of the lake giving the wind the most fetch.  Again we were insanely busy working the boat, and watching the rail drop below the water line.  Part of me was laughing with the excitement of the speed and power, while the other part was trying to control nerves and my heart rate which seemed likely to go into arrest. While I was frantically telling Zsolt "We need to get out of here, this is too much", he returned his usual calm retort of (in heavy Hungarian accent) - "Teeeemy, eet ees okaaay.  We are luurning the leeemits of your boat."  With a brand new Honda outboard attached, I really didn't want to find the limit of the boat.  Capsizing would be a $900 mistake, or - I guess maybe successful test of the limit.

After we sailed through the thick of it all, and returned safely, I understood the value of it all.  This Big Frickin' Sail, this solid quarter-to-dime pucker-factor, was another learning experience.  Zsolt was right.  We had raised my tolerance level, and I had gained more hours sailing under conditions that were extremely heavy for my little boat.  I'm looking forward to my next big frickin' sail - but I hope it will be a while.  Thanks for a great sail Zsolt!

Step 2: Choosing a sailing school

"Island Dreamer", a 41 foot Morgan Out Island, our platform for ASA 103, 104 certifications

"Kermit", a 20 foot Balboa we used for ASA 101 certification

When Sharon and became serious about learning to sail - for us formal education was the only option.  I personally don't know anyone locally that sails, and I also wanted a skilled instructor that would adhere to some sort of structured program, versus some guy saying "pull that line over there and crank this thing-a-ma-jiggy" in between chugs of beer.  I do know one captain that is not officially an instructor, but someone whom I would fully trust to teach me.  However, his west coast location, and the fact that we would have no official proof of my instruction, eliminated him as a possibility.  When considering a life aboard, I wanted to know we had educated ourselves correctly, and not cut any corners.  After all, one day our lives might depend on it.

Sharon reviewing ASA course books aboard "Island Dreamer"

After doing much research, I also decided that we should obtain some sort of standardized certification.  While no specific license is required to sail (non-commercially), US Sailing and American Sailing Association are two widely known and accepted standards.  By showing these levels of certification, it is official proof of the training one has accomplished for their sailing resume - be it for bareboat chartering (renting and skippering a yacht yourself), or for possible employment.  Deciding that education standards were a must helped to narrow down the type of schools we would consider.

Tim at the helm of "Island Dreamer" under Capt. Margie's command

The American Sailing Association and US Sailing both have similar levels of certification, starting with the basics of keelboat sailing, progressing up to and beyond bareboat chartering.  My goal was to achieve proficiency to a level in which we would feel comfortable enough in our skills to safely live aboard a 40-50 foot sailing vessel.  With this goal in mind, it was decided that we should aim for Basic Keelboat, Basic Coastal Cruising, and Bareboat Charter certifications.

Sailing "Island Dreamer" through a narrow mangrove channel

Google search quickly found a local school on the Connecticut's southwest coastline of Long Island Sound, offering US Sailing courses.  On one hand, the benefit of a local school would be the ability to schedule at least a portion of the schooling on weekends, thus saving vacation time.  On the other hand, a local school is also a downfall.  We don't like Connecticut, nor do we feel we fit in here - so why would we ever feel comfortable with a Connecticut school or a class setting here?  Also, education of any flavor is generally expensive, and this school was no exception.  The final nail in the coffin for the local school, was the complete unresponsiveness from the owner when I asked for additional information.  His nonchalant and seemingly non-caring attitude towards me as a possible client quickly helped me eliminate his school as an adequate solution.

Sharon at the helm of "Island Dreamer"

The next best option to local training, was to find a school somewhere in an enjoyable area, where we could pursue our education as somewhat of a working vacation.  I found lots of options in the Virgin Islands, as well as Florida.  But one school really stood out.  Touting the advantages of private, "couples to couples" instruction (a husband/wife instructor couple teaching a husband/wife student couple), as well as a no-yelling policy, Island Dreamer Sailing School grabbed my attention.  Located in Miami, and offering certification while sailing in the Florida Keys was also a very appealing benefit.  While Sharon was still unsure, I was quickly beginning to think this was the right school for us.  Even with the added cost of airfare, this school was still less expensive than the local option we had explored, and offered a much more private and tailored program considering there would be no other students.

I placed a call to Harold Ochstein, the owner of the school, and also an instructor.  Harold immediately convinced me that he truly understood our needs, and our reasons for seeking knowledge towards a new life adventure.  This was not a used car salesman making a sale, this was a guy that had been in my position, and had gone through the things we were facing.  Cementing our choice, Sharon also placed a call to Harold herself.  Harold's calm, reassuring nature soon put all of her concerns at ease.  With our decision made, and acknowledgement of the work ahead of us, dates were decided and contracts were signed.

Capt. Harold Ochstein grilling a great meal aboard "Island Dreamer"

It was real now.  Funds were committed.  Much like college, once a few thousand dollars vacates your checking account, it all gets a little more serious.  An even more valuable commodity, vacation time, was also entered in work calendars.  More precious than gold to us, we would have one full week less to spend at our vacation home to ease the stresses of living in Connecticut.

Promptly after booking with Island Dreamer Sailing School, our course materials arrived in the mail.  With a matter of months until our week aboard Island Dreamer with Captains Harold and Margie, we had three course books and a lot of material to cover.  Each of the three levels of certification we were pursuing would require passing a written test, and also demonstrating our skills via a practical assessment aboard.  It was immediately apparent that if we were to be successful, we would need to cover all the course materials before our week of training aboard Island Dreamer, thus allowing us to focus fully on all the physical sailing skills.  Our lunch hours and evenings would be filled with regular reading and study sessions.  Our week aboard was approaching.

ASA Course Materials

Sailing back to my senses

When I began the process of learning to sail, I was taken aback by what seemed like an infinite variety of things happening - all of which must be tracked and managed at the same time to safely and effectively sail.  I have never been a quick thinker.  I analyze, evaluate, and attempt to make an informed decision.  This is probably why I was never great at sports.  The best players think quickly, and simply react to the environment of which they are immersed in at that moment.

As I began to understand the pure physics of sailing, the next task was to actually perform the physical task of doing it.  It wasn't easy, it was awkward.  I was trying to analyze the direction and speed of the wind, the angle of my sails, and the direction I needed to push or pull the tiller.  I was a mess.  I mostly knew "what" I needed to do, but my brain was busy analyzing things that had already happened while my body was awkwardly trying to handle the things that were currently happening.  I was one step behind my situation at all times.

For me this was a terrifying and telling moment.  Flashbacks of myself as an uncoordinated teen on a highschool basketball team flashed through my head.  Maybe I would just never "get it".  That thought of failure was almost paralyzing to me.  I really wanted this. Sailing wasn't something I intended for myself as just a hobby - this was intended to be a start of a new life.  An escape plan.

Living in Connecticut for almost 10 years now has not been fun.  I have come to realize my senses have been dulled, nearly erased.  I feel less compassion.  I notice less of the world around me.  Often it takes me up to two hours each way to get to and from work, and then I don't remember the trip.   Sometimes I have found that I have driven somewhere, only to realize I don't know where I am or how I got there.  I don't stop, nor do I have time to stop and "smell the roses" as they say.  Urban environments are like ant colonies.  People move like ants, in endless lines on the ground.  They crowd into tiny places like ants to an ant hill.  They seemingly have no regard for one another.  But somehow like an ant colony, it somehow works.  At least it works for some.  Urban living is not for me.  For me, Connecticut is torture.  I'm merely a nameless ant trying to not get run over by the millions of other ants with pure disregard.  I feel nothing, I see nothing. I simply move day to day while life passes me by.

So in my moments of panic while learning to sail, feeling that I might not ever "get it" - I kept going.  I told myself that if other people do it, it must be possible.  Soon, I found that my brain wasn't analyzing the sails and the wind and the waves and the tiller.  It was starting to all work together as my brain went against its nature of over thinking my situation.  Like learning to ride a bike, my body and my knowledge of sailing began to take over.  It was an immensely freeing moment.  I am not entirely sure of the exact point in time when it happened.  The important part is that it did.

Then came the side effect.  I began to sense again.  I began to notice the environment around me, something that had been long forgotten.  Without my brain going into analysis-paralysis, I noticed the wind direction and speed.  I notice the sights, sounds, and smells around me.  I see the water, the waves, the trees on the shoreline.  I don't think about the sheets, the tiller direction or the wind or the concert in which they must all work together.  It just happens now.  This may seem like such a minuscule thing to many, but imagine being robbed of these things.  These simple things are part of "normal" life, one that I will someday be glad to get back.  For now, I'll go sailing.