Category: Vida

It was a surprising idea, even a worrisome one, proposed by David’s father: in order to have a vacation in Vermont, which at the time required New Yorkers to quarantine on visit, why not live and sail on the family sailboat?

David has experience sailing, but nothing this big. He’s taken me out a few times on boats in the 23-26 foot range, as well as a sunfish, but nothing like this: a Vancouver 32 cutter with enclosed pilothouse. The Wind Rose is a fine ship, one that could comfortably sleep the two of us, with a two-range galley and inboard diesel motor.

It was really, really hard to say no, and after an initial trial weekend, we decided to give it a go.

We drove up in early October; by then, the lake water would be cooling and the air turning crisp. We were a little worried about overnight air temperatures, so we brought a lot of layers: blankets, clothes, extra jackets, wool socks. This was in addition to the food for galley cooking: breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as snacks. We also brought on potable water, because while the ship has water tanks suitable for rinsing dishes, the water tanks are thirty-five years old and, according to the owner, difficult to clean.

While it was a bit embarrassing how much stuff we had, we were fortunate to load up at a slip in the marina, a bit south of Burlington, Vermont. We had charts and some good anchorages marked on them. We took a look at the weather and went for a bit of a sail, before returning to the marina for our first overnight stay. We’d done some preliminary research.

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Overall, the forecast for wind kept us south. While we might have headed north, we wanted to take the first few days easy, and not get stuck too far away to come back without much effort.

We awoke early and had breakfast, then started determining our routine: listening to the weather forecast over the radio and determining our goals for the day.

Day 1

Arrived Charlotte ~1500. Met P&D. P and David went to Wind Rose to bring her in to the slip; D and I brought everything to the slip. After cleanup, we loaded the boat; P&D helped us back out. And tonight we are moored outside the marina.

Essentially, we sailed for a couple of hours and came right back to the boat’s normal harbor, content to sleep aboard the vessel.

Day 2

Awake ~0630. Slept well. Snug in the second cabin. Fog surrounds us, though can still see shore and nearby vessels.

Coffee & Oatmeal. David awake ~0700.

The weather prediction for Wednesday has eased up a bit.

Anchored for lunch in Kingsland Bay. Practiced anchoring. Bit of a trick lee-cocking but we got it right, 10′ depth 1730. Sailed to Westport. We tacked south all day. After departing Kingsland Bay, steered west of Diamond Island, looked forever for the buoy marking Fields Bay. Took a look at Barn Rock Harbor but found it too cozy. Then sailed over to Basin Harbor and considered mooring there, but at it was only mid-afternoon we decided to sail over to Westport [read La Morte D’Arthur] where we decided to tie up for the night

The second day was our first day of really sailing. We listened to the weather forecast. We plotted basic courses on the chart. We chose multiple destinations, unsure how far we’d get. We sailed.

We would return to some of these places. Much of the first few days were simply getting familiar with the area, as well as gauging how far and how fast we could sail.

It was foggy in the morning, but but the time we were done with breakfast, it was already burning off to become a beautiful day.

The ship itself proved quite comfortable. In our trial run we’d slept forward, in the V-berth, but I found it a bit high to climb in and out of. We used that for storage and stayed in the side cabin.

We had been a bit concerned about heat. The ship has a propane heater, which proved brilliant at providing nighttime warmth. We also learned that the sun would heat the cabin up quickly, once it was up.

The galley proved more than adequate as well. The ship has an icebox built in, meaning it wasn’t refrigerated but, with some ice in, would keep things cool quite a while. The two-burner range worked, but the oven not so much; to my amusement the entire apparatus is mounted on a pivot, so it can swing with the ship. I didn’t cook on the go, but there were one or two rolly mornings where it was tempting to let it roll freely.

Breakfast was mostly oatmeal and fruit, though we did do pancakes a couple of days. Coffee was a must.

We didn’t have lunch so much as a snack plate – something we could either sit down to, or take turns snacking while we were sailing. Dinner was only put on once the boat was settled in for the night.

Day 3

Good overnight stay at Westport. Planning. general Plan to sail ar Northwest Bay, then head north, stopping in cove for lunch.

Tuesday looks blowy. Plan to be Point Bay Marina tonight.

We spent most of the day sailing. First, to Button Bay, staying clear of Button Island […] practiced anchoring, which is difficult given how the anchor mounts. Then, kept a course to Barn Rock Bay [Harbor]. Anchored there, harbor depth was steep. Played out >100 feet of line. Met fellow sailor and exchanged pleasantries. Went ashore ~1 hour to Barn Rock Ledge, splendid views. There is a youth program rowing gigs across the lake to our harbor.

Thence to Point Bay Marina […]. Overnight, on a mooring ball. Tuesday looks blowy, possible sail. Consider land lodging for bad weather. But optimistic not.

Barn Rock was great. It was simply daunting, because it is a small cove with a very steep dropoff. There’s a narrow window between too-deep and too-shallow. In hindsight we could have anchored farther in, but we didn’t want to cramp our neighbor.

We could hear them from almost a mile away – the sound of kids, rowing hard in a race across the lake. By the time we climbed down and were sailing again, they were rowing back, and we steered around them.

The weather was predicted to be formidable Tuesday (Day 4) and possibly thunderstorms on Wednesday, so we set out to “home base” of Point Bay Marina. As I recall though, after consulting with the owner and looking at the wind, we opted to stay in Kingsland Bay, south and facing north across Town Farm Bay to see “home base”.

You can hear the wind. Not just the wind in the air, rustling trees, rattling lines. Inside, whether a boat or a building, the wind might be imperceptible, until you look outside and see its effect on the world around you.

Yet inside, you can still hear the wind, howling from across the lake, pushing the boat to strain audibly against the lines that hold her to the dock. The wind might push the boat against the dock, creaking against the fenders. Howling, mighty, the wind reminds you of its power, even fully inside the harbor.

David and I were aboard the Wind Rose, a Vancouver 32 closed-cockpit sailboat his parents own, on Lake Champlain. We were trying out living and sailing on the boat over a long weekend. I’m happy to say it was a success, and we hope for a longer journey aboard her soon.

After a Friday evening sail with his parents, who showed us the ropes, as it were, we slept and ate aboard the vessel. This came about in part because so many of the travel restrictions due to Covid require quarantine; here, we were able to minimally quarantine while still having a bit of a holiday.

David has taken me sailing a few times on smaller boats. There was a 24-foot boat we rented for a day in Florida; we’ve been out once or twice on a friend’s boat, recently sold; my paddling club has a sunfish, and most recently he’s been part-owner in a 23-foot Oday kept in Piermont, New York, near the Tappan Zee. Mostly, I steer, or work the jib when we tack.

This was my first experience using a wheel for the helm; everything else has had a tiller. That took a bit of getting used to. Gaining a feel for how far to turn the wheel to change course or hold a course took a bit of practice. Additionally, while we did most of the driving from the open cockpit in the back, we made sure to try steering from the closed cockpit position, which offered less visibility in exchange for a bit more shelter from the wind. That was a novel experience.

The Wind Rose is also by far the largest vessel we’ve sailed. At thirty-two feet overall, she was steady and more reassuring in bigger waves. Fortunately, her size belies her handling; she turns very quickly, and in the world of sailing, and handled well both jib-only as well as main-only.

Day 1

SATURDAY AUGUST 29

SE 10-15 growing to S 10-25; chance of thunderstorms.

Yesterday we met with David’s parents ~2PM and set up the boat for a day sail out of Thompsons Cove Marina, near Charlotte, VT. Low wind (F3), but we managed to coax he Wind Rose out past Thompsons Point. Tacked across the lake ~3 hours. I kept the helm. We came about to Split Rock Point and returned. On the way back, we set one of the two dinghies adrift to practice recovery operations using he motor. The Wind Rose is a 32 foot sailboat, a Vancouver 32. Built in 1986, she is a closed-cockpit vessel with a fine galley, and berthing in the fore and starboard. We practiced reefing. David’s father commanded ship operations. His mother laid out the galley operations. We were given a list of potential destinations to sail should conditions prove charitable.

Unfortunately, our sailing plans were curtailed by the weather. High winds predominated, in the F5-F6 category, gusts to F7 (16-25 mph, gusting to 30). Thunderstorms were predicted Saturday. Coupled with this being the first time David would be sailing the Wind Rose, and our limited area knowledge, we stayed in Saturday, although by the end it was evident that the worst of the conditions had passed to the east.

We pored over the weather all weekend: the synoptic over the radio, radar maps and raw data on our phones. How strong would the wind be? From which direction? What about wave height? Lake Champlain is notorious for winds running north and south, the long, relatively skinny lake offering plenty of fetch for the wind to grab the surface of the water and push it into mighty waves.

Ultimately we stayed in, reading, talking, learning how the boat’s systems worked. The galley proved quite usable, with a built-in icebox, propane cooking range, and tanks for water and fuel.

Day 2

SUNDAY AUGUST 30

Isolated showers, gusts of wind. High pressure system and dry weather coming in from the west. P cloudy 75 F, pressure 29.34 and climbing. Winds NW 15-20, gusts to 30.

We set sail ~10 and returned by 1500. Practiced grabbing the mooring ball, then reefed sails, double reef. We practiced tacking in Thompsons Bay, in the shelter of the point before heading out into the open. We sailed in predicted winds of F4-F5, gusts to F6. Heeled over 20-30 degrees (?), achieved 5.5 to 6 kts sustained. Tacked back and forth across the lake. Did not go far so that we could quickly take shelter if conditions got too rough. Spent ~2 hours doing this, between Thomspons Point and Split Rock Point. On return, we sheltered behind Thompsons again. We tacked some more, sailed without jib, also hove to. Caught the ball, had lunch, cleaned up and left. Looking forward to next.

Day 3

https://www.smugmug.com/app/organize/Non-Kayaking/2020/Sailing-Lake-Champlain-Sept-2020/i-MTxtNjF

Sunday was our big sail. We were underway by 10, and returned a bit before 3. The first thing we did after leaving the slip was to practice grabbing the mooring ball and tying up, which was easier than anticipated. We then tacked back and forth in the shelter of Thompsons Point; with the wind from the northwest, the point protected us from the brunt of the wind while we got a feel for the boat’s handling, and our ability to handle her. We could see bigger water out past the point.

Eventually we set out, and oh my did we catch some wind. We heeled over and our speed ramped up considerably; we touched seven knots but were generally cruising in the five to six knot range. We did not go far; our thinking was that we wanted to be able to quickly duck back behind the point if conditions became too much. Essentially, we tacked back and forth across the lake.

While it was exciting, I have to admit that after a while I was a bit queasy, and didn’t want to prepare lunch while slapping bow against the waves, which were solidly in the two-foot range. We pulled in behind the point and compared strategies of vessels heading out; one was under full sail, another was jib only. We later saw a motor boat being towed back by the marina’s crane rig.

When we decided to try and heave too, it turned out his parents were on shore, watching, and apparently we didn’t look too shabby in our efforts. Stopped, barely moving sideways, we took a much-needed break.

When we were done, we started the long process to break things down. Caught the ball, lowered the sails, cleaned the berths, head, and galley, gathered our belongings. We left her ship-shape, and took the dinghy back to shore.

David and I saw each other in person last Saturday, the day before Easter, for the first time in at least three weeks. Work assigned him the week off – something kinda normal, not virus-related – and he needed to drop the truck off at work, with a plan to bike home.

I met him at the garage entrance for my building. We put his bike next to my car, and he put on some warmer layers and walking shoes. We were both wearing masks; I was also wearing gloves, and offered a pair to him. Fully sorted, we walked up to Fort Tryon Park.

This was a variation of my ongoing dilemma: do I invite someone in to my apartment, potentially violating the sanctity of cleanliness, or do I meet them outside, exposing myself to contamination? I know on the one hand that I am overreacting to the possibility of contagion, but on the other hand – the virus causes a terrible illness, and there is a non-zero chance of contracting it with every exposure to the outside world.

Well, I wanted to see my boyfriend, and at this point, there were some risks I was willing to take.

Walking along, we learned a new normal of monitoring spacing between us and Others; silently judging groups that spread out in a wide line, like volunteers looking for a missing person in a field, or groups of children or young people, randomly veering in and out of the flight paths of others. Some parents admonished their children to stay near. Some work masks, and others did not.

In the park itself, we felt things were a bit crowded on what previously might have been a normal day. We walked through the flower garden and quickly ventured down to one of the overlooks, gazing at the bridge and the Palisades across the water. It was a beautiful day, nary a cloud in the sky, bright with the promise of spring.

We continued on, following a path I don’t believe I’ve ever walked, taking the opportunity to explore as well as avoid the more commonly used paths. Eventually we connected back to the main route and went up some stairs to the Stan Michels Promenade, where we sat on a bench and David had the lunch I’d made for him – three-bean chili served over rice and eggplant, in a thermos jar.

We compared notes on making the chili, since we’ve both given it a shot. We also talked about roasting vegetables, and listened to music coming from a boombox not far away. I danced a bit, posing more than dancing.

On we went, until we decided it was more crowded than we cared for, and we walked back towards my neighborhood. Along the way, I wanted to stop at my local grocery store, and as we walked up the sidewalk from the east, the sun in our eyes, I turned into the store and there was a woman gatekeeping there.

We hadn’t realized there was a line, snaking back in the opposite direction, to the west. A well-spaced, orderly line of people wearing masks, under the scaffolding for some building work being done next door. I apologized; I felt like a jerk. Across the street we were able to discern the line for another grocery store.

Because of social distancing, it’s hard to make out the lines. They look like a series of people waiting for a ride pickup.

On we went, defaulting to my original plan of stopping at the Korean bodega. Here, there were two men standing outside, separate from one another, but they were not a line. I went inside and was able to get the things that were missing from my grocery order earlier this week, plus some additional items I figured I might need sooner rather than later. Korean bodega for the win.

We wanted to keep walking, so we proceeded to the bottom of the hill and walked over the pedestrian overpass to the bike path along the Henry Hudson Parkway. Usually I take this route walking or riding to the boathouse, but today we turned south and proceeded down the switchback that leads to the shoreline and the Little Red Lighthouse. All the while, still wearing our masks.

We passed some young men working out together, and a couple of skateboarders were at the top of the hill waiting for traffic to slow enough that they could ride down. We saw equipment at the base of the bridge tower, presumably related to the refurbishment project high above.

At the Little Red Lighthouse, the tide was low and we clambored down to take some pictures of each other in front of the lighthouse. We made light of the requirement for social distancing, staging each other in poses implying the presence of the other.

By then, the evening hours were creeping in, and David would still need to bike home, preferably in daylight. We made our way uphill, retracing our steps, across the overpass and to the garage, where the beginning occurred in reverse: he took off layers down to his biking clothes, put on his cycling shoes, and everything left went into his backpack. We said goodbye, both noting it was a special afternoon.

I picked up a package from my doorman, and once in my apartment followed my usual protocol: coat and outer layers, as well as shoes and socks, removed in the entrance; mask removed, keys and wallet dropped on the floor for later cleaning; gloves peeled off, followed by a thorough soapy washing of hands, arms, and face.

That was our afternoon together.