Shakedown Cruise

I’ve got a new rule; never turn down a good time.

Early in discussions with Scott, he offered up a chance to spend time aboard Sarah-Sarah on a run from St. Thomas USVI to Marathon Key, a 1,050 nautical-mile four and a half day ‘warm up’ cruise to get the boat back from the Caribbean. He had been spending time in the islands with his family and his long-suffering sailing bud – and friend since college – Jon Herman. Since it would be a chance to spend time offshore on Sarah-Sarah and with two of the crew for the Northwest Passage trip, and a third hand would help, I quickly took that offer.

After agreeing last month to spend months at sea with three strangers, I’ll admit to some measure of …concern. A week can feel like a year with the wrong crew and a four-day shakedown cruise would be perfect to put those concerns aside. It would also give me some much-needed context for how to prepare to spend months aboard Sarah-Sarah

Before I arrived in Saint Thomas, Scott had emailed me one warning. His dog, Ivy, would be on the trip and he wondered if I had a problem with dogs. Now I don’t know if that was a test but it could have been. “I don’t even hang out with people who have a problem with dogs,” I assured him.

I arrived at Yacht Haven Grand in Saint Thomas the afternoon before we were set to cast off lines. Jon picked me up at the gate and took me to Sarah-Sarah and didn’t take long to see that the FPB-64 drew far more attention and questions from passersby than did the (yawn) mega-yachts tied up at almost every other position at the marina. “Is that a research vessel?” Jon smiled. “Not …really.” I like an answer with some mystery to it. Jon was going to be easy to be around.

After meeting Scott (and Ivy) we had dinner, talked about the boat and the run back to Marathon and planned on an underway time of 6:00 AM. Wanting to earn my keep, and for other reasons, I asked for the midwatch on the passage.

Day one, just off Vieques, Scott jumps up like a schoolboy shouting “Dolphins! They’re coming in!” Before I could grab my camera, he and Ivy were on the foredeck. The dog barked and Scott smiled and it was hard to tell which of them was more excited to be there. I hadn’t been 24 hours and any concerns about getting along with Scott for months were gone. A lifetime at sea and still excited by dolphins? That’s an easy guy to like.

Standing the watch on Sarah-Sarah is an exercise in forced attention, especially at night when a “sharp lookout” is largely confined to one side of the windows. A moving map, a Furuno radar, an infrared camera, and the numbers on the gauges; that’s what you’re looking at the in four midwatches I stood, the sum total of required action those indicators forced on me was zero. Well, there was one radar contact that did come within a mile of our stern that first night, but other than that the watch was about two questions; “How did you sleep?” from Scott when I relived him and “Anything exciting?” from Jon when he took over at 3:00 AM. “Good” and “Nope” were the standard answers accordingly.

The second day was more steady 10 knot cruising burning 5.2 GPH at 1750 RPM and taking guesses about how accurate the arrival time on the Garmin was as it updated. Sitting on the starboard bench in the cabin, Scott and I were talking about fuel transfer or strorage space when he stopped mid sentence, jumped from the helm chair and yelled “Jesus!” A humback had done a full breach over my shoulder. I spun around in time to see a massive splash roiling in the water fifty yards off the starboard beam.

By the time I fumbled for my phone to record, Scott and Jon were up on deck watching the whale jump again, and again. I caught one last breach on my cell and thought “this was a good idea.”

The Best Part

Far and away, some of the best company on the trip was Ivy, Scott’s eighteen-month-old Rottweiler. Her favorite spot underway alternated between under the salon table or the top of the main ladder when it was rougher out. Though the dog has had way more sea time I have in the last year, it takes her a while to get used to the idea of using her version of a marine head, a small patch of astro-turf on the back deck. Scott had tried every few hours to get Ivy to use her little green patch, but she would just hold it and crawl back to one of her spots and lay down. On afternoon of day 2, about 36 hours into the four day transit I looked up from the settee to see Ivy, full squat on the foredeck, finally giving in to nature. Scott ran out with a plastic bag and hose in hand, up the starboard rail to “clear the deck” just as Ivy slinked back down the port side.

Having cleared and rinsed Ivy’s dinner from the “poop deck?,” as he was making his way back along the starboard, I see Ivy slink back up forward on the port side, squat directly in front of the helm and release a second volley that made the first one look like a practice run. Banging on the window to get Scott’s attention, I point at Ivy, engaged in serious work.

Now the windows on Sarah-Sarah are …substantially thick, certainly able to stop a small caliber round. Still, I heard Scott laugh as he figured out why I was pointing and laughing like an idiot. Back he goes up the starboard rail as Ivy slinks down to port. Again Scott clears and rinses the deck, and again he follows the hose line back down to starboard.

I was now laying on the deck, in tears, as Ivy – having snuck back up the port rail – was squatting to pee and rinsing the forward berth porthole with 36-hours worth of bladder pressure. I crawled up on deck just as Scott finished stowing the hose to let him know. I’m not sure I’ve ever been prouder of a dog in my life.

We made it to Marathon completely without incident having made 10 knots average the whole way. Now I’m wondering how I can score another short practice run as Scott moves Sarah-Sarah up the coast to Portland, and hoping the dog will be making the trip.