OUR FIRST CRUISE

Despite rocky beginning, one member reminisces about what keeps her coming back

By Sandy Netting

► My husband, Dave, and I joined Wilmington Sail & Power Squadron in 1963. We took boating classes for a few years before going on our first cruise with the squadron

Rough start

The year was 1967. There was no loran, no GPS, no cell phone—no electronics at all. There were 15 boats on the Chesapeake cruise, mostly small powerboats. The biggest boat was 32 feet. Ours was a wooden, beamy 18-foot black sailboat. It sailed like a bathtub, and only on a broad reach. We had a hard time just getting to the start at Maryland’s Worton Creek and wondered how we would keep up with the group for the rest of the week.

We figured if we left at the crack of dawn each day, maybe we would get there before dark. The average distance to cover each day was 24 miles, and that was in a straight line, which sailboats never go! Our first anchorage was on the Corsica River, 27 miles away, where we were to raft. It was foggy and raining, and the wind was right on the nose. Our engine did not cooperate, and Dave had to crank it by hand as we tried to sail our bathtub. This was only our first day, and we had a whole week to face. Why were we doing this?

We arrived at the anchorage in the dark, long after everyone else, in the middle of a terrible thunderstorm. We were wet, tired and discouraged to find that all our bedding and everything else was soaked. The seam where the deck met the cabin leaked badly on the bunks. Merrimac, a powerboat from our group, saw us and beckoned us to tie alongside them. Gratefully, we huddled to the side of their boat like a baby to its mother.

I went below to make hot drinks as we were both shivering. Everything was wet and depressing. Soon a light came on in the powerboat, and someone on board, Betty, told us, “Come on over. I have hot chocolate and popcorn ready.”

We scrambled aboard with a huge lump of gratitude for their thoughtfulness. They assured us we could stay rafted for the night, a great relief to us. They even offered us a dry bunk, but like stubborn boaters we felt we had to stay with our little boat. The wind was howling, and the rain was relentless. I kept thinking of the 23 miles for the next day; how were we ever going to do it?

Back on our boat, everything was pure disaster. We shoved everything wet in the bow and hoped to be able to dry it in St. Michaels the next day. So we could sleep in the bunks, we taped plastic baggies with masking tape along the leaky seam and hoped they would not fall on us. As I lay there in the wind and rain that night, I vowed I would never sail without cocoa and popcorn, and I have never been without them since. Our boat was so small, and the bay seemed so big. We slept from sheer exhaustion.

AERIAL VIEW OF KENT NARROWS

A new day

I awakened to the slight sway of the boat. When I opened my eyes and looked above me, all the baggies were full of water, gently swaying back and forth waiting to fall on us! It was barely light, but Dave and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. We gently collected all the bags and emptied them into the pail.

We could hear the wind slapping on the mast rigging and knew the run to St. Michaels would be difficult. As we got ready to leave for the day, it was comforting to know that fellow squadron boats were nearby if we needed help.

We cast off from Merrimac. The engine worked, so Dave and I decided to motor, as the memory of arriving in the dark the day before was still fresh. As we headed out into the Chester River, the waves were about 2 to 3 feet. There was a lot of wind for an 18-foot sailboat that could only go about 4 knots under motor. It was going to be a long day.

It took us three hours to get to the Kent Narrows. Back then, the channel was long and shallow with lots of current. I remember we stopped for gas; it only cost $1.34 to fill the tank.

We came through the Kent Narrows Bridge, and Eastern Bay was rough. We could barely make headway, and the water was coming down the deck and through our leaky deck seams. We hobby-horsed each wave and questioned the sanity of being out there at all. The cruise boats passed us—how we wished we were aboard one of them!

Off in the distance we saw Merrimac, and we guessed soon we would be out there alone. However, Merrimac never passed us and never hailed us; it just stayed behind us like a mother duck to make sure the duckling got to port. 

Taking care of each other

I’m not saying that you must stay with the slow boats, but that kindness certainly had a profound effect on us and our feelings toward fellow boaters for the rest of our lives. The crew aboard Merrimac never discussed staying out there for our sake, but we knew they could have easily hurried up and got to port hours ahead of us. That is what cruises are about: meeting friends, helping each other and making great memories.

Why do we keep coming back? The friendships are what make Wilmington Sail & Power Squadron—and America’s Boating Club | United States Power Squadrons—special.

P.S. That winter, we bought a bigger boat.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sandy Netting and her husband, Dave, have been members of America’s Boating Club Wilmington since 1963.