Or, how not to prepare for a voyage

Thanksgiving week, November, 1992, we embarked on our first extended offshore cruise. We believed our Pearson 365 ketch, Delphinium, was ready. We had spent over eight thousand dollars at a local boatyard refurbishing her. I had spent three months working full time with Karin's help on the weekends. We were soon to discover how much we had underestimated the task

Our long time friends, Todd and Sharon, joined as crew for this exciting inaugural voyage. We would run south along the west coast of Florida, from St. Petersburg to Charlotte Harbor, and then head offshore to the Dry Tortugas, a group of seven islands surrounded by tropical reefs and clear waters, 70 miles west of Key West, Florida. The islands are a national park with a compelling military history, and are renowned for their variety of birds and marine life.

The first night, cruising south along the west coast of Florida, the compass light died. We learned the importance of spares. With no replacement bulb available the helmsman had to hold a flashlight to keep the boat on course. This was tiring and annoying. Then, the head broke. We peed over the side until arriving at the marina in Charlotte Harbor the next morning. After sharing Thanksgiving dinner with Karin's parents at their condo in nearby Punta Gorda, Todd and I rebuilt the head.

The offshore sail to the Dry Tortugas was rough. We rode swells that built to over 6 feet from a passing front with 30 - 35 knot gusts. Each time we reduced sail, the boat settled, and then the winds increased more and we had to reduce sail again. There was little sleep that night.

The next afternoon we started the engine to navigate the channel through the reefs to the anchorage at Garden Key. The exhaust elbow cracked and spewed smoke into the cockpit. I hung upside down in a locker and secured wet rags around the elbow with steel clamps. We limped into the anchorage and as soon as we set the anchor the temporary patch blew out. The next day I repaired the crack with a high temperature epoxy.

We caught up on sleep, took refreshing swims in the clean water, and enjoyed sunset cocktails. Our attitudes recovered. We visited Fort Jefferson where Dr. Samuel Mudd, who had treated Lincoln's assassin John Wilkes Booth, had been imprisoned. We snorkeled and admired the colorful reef fish and steely barracuda. The cruise appeared to be redeemed.

After a few days relaxing, we hauled anchor and headed north to return to St. Petersburg. Around noon the second day at sea, a solenoid froze and choked off fuel to the engine. We had to sail the rest of that day and night and the following day. Luckily, the wind cooperated and we made Egmont Channel at Tampa Bay before sunset the third day.

Then, our luck ran out. The breeze evaporated. Delphinium floated happily, flopping in the swells like an overfed duck. There was no wind, the engine was useless, and our batteries were draining. Since we were near the shipping lanes I hailed the Port of Tampa to explain our predicament.

"What is your position?" the port controller asked. I gave him our coordinates. There was a long pause while he plotted our position.

"Get the f___ out of there," the radio shouted. "And quick!" The use of profanity on the public radio by a port official got our attention. Wind or not we had to move. A large freighter was on course to run us down. We discussed our limited options and devised a plan.

I inflated our rubber dinghy and Todd and I strapped her to the side of the hull. I hopped aboard and started her five horsepower outboard. Delphinium began to move. The dinghy pushed us north slowly. When we were confidently north of the channel, I dropped our anchor in 70 feet of water. The weight alone held us in the calm conditions. The next day we ghosted into port on light puffs of breeze, taking all day for what should have been a 2-3 hour trip. Approaching our marina as night fell, we launched the dinghy again to maneuver Delphinium inside.

Our slip was not large enough for the boat and the dinghy. Todd volunteered to carry a line to the docks so we could pull the boat into the slip. Unfortunately, he had never run a dinghy before. He slipped the engine into drive and spun the dinghy in tight circles. Frustrated, he yanked on the engine handle which only caused the dinghy to spin in tighter circles in the opposite direction. Karin, Sharon, and I laughed uncontrollably at the sight of tall Todd huddled inside the small rubber boat spinning in tight circles. The laughter added to Todd's frustration. Eventually, another boater walked over and tossed us a line. Todd finally saw the humor and laughed himself.

After this "shake down" cruise, we lived aboard and sailed short trips while we systematically replaced or serviced every system. The engine got new hoses, a new alternator, and a new cooling system. The old iron fuel tank (and its solenoid) was cut out and replaced by twin plastic tanks; new battery banks were installed; the fresh water system was overhauled with new pumps; most of the electric wiring was replaced. We refurbished or replaced hatches and deck fittings. We installed a new GPS and a wheel autopilot. We even replaced the worn, teak cap rail on the bulwarks with a new aluminum toe rail, sealing the hull-to-deck joint with two layers of fiberglass in the process. The list went on. We had learned the hard way how to prepare for an offshore cruise. It was five years before we were ready for our first cruise to the Bahamas.