RECE$$ION MOVES NORTH
aka Dave Caracci's Bachelor Trip to Ohio
May/June 2010
Compliments of Dave and Mary Caracci...

Well, from about 1977 until 2005 I spent many days in my career “on the road” having lunch or dinner or meetings at resorts on the water along the East Coast.  Many an association weekend meeting at the Cloisters Inn at Sea Island, Georgia or Fernandina Beach, Florida or Jekyll Island.  All the while watching retired Yankees motor by on the Intracoastal Waterway, having a yachting adventure.  Many a time, I’d comment to my business associates, “One day, I’m gonna do that.”  Well, with the help of many of my buddies, we ARE.  And here’s the story as far as it goes –

The vessel - 2006 Mainship 34  21,000 lbs wet, 70 gal water, 300 gal diesel fuel, twin Yanmar turbo diesels (240 hp each)

NAME – RECE$$ION 

Friday May 21  - Trip Day One

Beverly Powell drove Steve Powell (Daytona), Jim Steller (Catawba Island) and I to Palm Coast, Florida where Rece$$ion was docked.  We departed by about 10:30 am for Fernandina Beach, FL.  An uneventful seven hour ride up the intracoastal, boat running well and Jim Steller's first time in the north Florida five foot tide area.  A nice north Florida seafood dinner and a dock on the sea wall, since the marina was full of sail boats attending a regatta that Saturday and Sunday.

Saturday May 22 – Trip Day Two

7 A.M. dock departure along with all the racing sailboats and many cruising boats headed north for the winter.   It looked like a parade out of Fernandina.  The racing sailboats all turned out the channel into the Atlantic for the race.  The cruising boats turned north staying on the inside, safer but slower intracoastal. Three cruising boats headed out to sea.  Yep, you guessed it – Rece$$ion was one of them.  She couldn’t help it. After all she is now a Caracci. Not to mention she had ‘fearless’ Steller and ‘full speed ahead’ Powell as crew!

Turning north at the end of the channel and following a 42 foot Mainship, Rece$$ion ran between 2800 and 3000 rpm up the Atlantic about 12 miles off shore, in the right whale habitat.  Captain Steve saw one small whale, but that was it.  Making good time, aimed at Hilton Head, we noticed the swells getting bigger from the NE, so I checked weather and emails.  Admiral Mary had sent an email saying there was a tropical depression brewing and pointed out that the Atlantic was no place for us on our first day.  Always obedient J I had Steve turn for Brunswick, GA, and by noonish, Rece$$ion motored into the Brunswick shipping channel, right between two of the resorts that I had attended many of those business meetings at over the past several decades.

Turning north after entering the Brunswick channel, we entered the intracoastal and headed North for Savannah.   Making good time and enjoying the biting flies (thousands flying out of the Georgia marsh lands to greet us), with Jim at the helm, the starboard engine suddenly went into default mode and shut down.  Being in the middle of NOWHERE, we had little choice but to address the issue.  Captain Steve (having recent single engine experience) took the helm.  Jim navigated and I entered the engine room on a mission.  Steve and Jim motored north at ten MPH on one engine while I changed fuel filters on the starboard engine and re-bled the system.  I wasn’t confident it would help – but it’s the only thing I knew how to do!

FIXED (so far) and off we went on two engines once more.   We arrived at Thunderbolt Marina just before dark (outskirts of Savannah) and got the last spot on the fuel dock.  It seems that so many boats are headed north to escape hurricane season that every marina is full every night.

Had a great southeast Georgia seafood dinner at the same place Mary and I dined on our Snow Bird trip south two years ago, and hit the sack.

Sunday May 23 – Trip Day Three

The coffee pot went off as scheduled at 6 A.M., and we were up and ready to go by 7 A.M.  Helped Russ aboard Melissa depart, as he headed north for Baltimore.  Eventually the fuel dock guy showed up to inform us that his electricity was not working, so we could not refuel.  But, he DID bring us 6 Krispy Krème donuts, so all was forgiven as we tossed lines and headed for the next fuel stop. We stopped a few miles later and refueled, taking on 142 gallons after 11.5 hours of engine time, from the day prior.

By 9 A.M., we had crossed into South Carolina and the miles of marsh land that follow.  The terrain here is marsh after marsh, bending right and left sometimes almost aiming you back where you came from.  Sometimes 35 feet deep and sometimes six feet deep, it is an adventure, but very cool and VERY remote.  After going through one town, we motored through the starting line of a sailboat race that was waiting for wind!  Totally becalmed, the boats were just floating around in the middle of the intracoastal waiting for wind.

Around 10:30 A.M., with Steve at the helm and Jim on navigation, I went below, fired up the generator and micro waved some Jimmy Dean sausage and biscuits.  We had breakfast on the fly bridge as we motored past Hilton Head.  82 degrees, sunny and no wind.

This part of the intracoastal is made up of dozens of rivers that are one to three miles wide and connected by short one to three mile canals dug by the Corps to connect the intracoastal.  The amount of open water and sea life area is incredible and impossible to describe.  It was a rather difficult time as I took it all in for my second such trip, but without Mary.  Not as much fun when we can’t share the experience.

Today was a ten hour day and for a trained mechanic, that is a lot of worrisome hours.  I cannot describe to you the number of scary noises and vibrations an experienced race mechanic can hear from two diesels over ten hours, when he knows he is a zillion miles from a parts store or repair facility.  But, the engines continued to run as promised and by 5 P.M., we were ten miles from Charleston when the weather radio broadcast an alert.  Tornado warning, hail and 60 MPH winds.  We could see the front coming, but not do much about it.  I called the Charleston City Marina, “Sorry, full.  Lot’s of Hurricane boats headed north ya know!”  I called Ashley’s Marina, where Mary and I refueled once.  Dozens of Sunday ski boaters were running for marinas and boat launches as the storm grew on the northwest horizon.  I said to Ashley’s, “I’m a 34 foot trawler.  I need a dock for the night and WILL be pulling into your fuel dock in ten minutes IF we can beat the wind from the storm.”  OK replied the young lady, as Steve, Jim and I watched lighting directly strike the Charleston Harbor several times a mile of few ahead of us.

After motoring 115 miles today, we exited the intracoastal, ducked behind the bridge, did a hard 180 and slid up to the fuel dock at Ashley’s Marina.  Ryan, the dock attendant, ran out and helped Steve and Jim tie off the boat as I went in and out of gear as instructed.  The rain, wind and lightning hit about ten minutes later as the three of us enjoyed an adult beverage from the fly bridge of Rece$$ion.

After the storm, we refueled the boat and the marina driver took us into Charleston for a South Carolina seafood dinner.  While at dinner we realized that we are actually on a multi-state seafood dinner testing expedition, and not a boat trip J .  Upon return, Steve opened a good book, Jim read emails and I adjusted the starboard engine vee belt.  So is boating!  Off tomorrow for Myrtle Beach North, trying to beat a sub-tropical low that folks say is hunting us down.

Monday May 24^th (Day four of adventure) - Rece$$ion Continues North

We woke up to thunder and rain in Charleston, but untied the boat and headed north at 7:20 A.M. anyway.  The enormity of a 1,500 mile trip on a little ship that only averages 15 MPH keeps you moving forward in almost any conditions.  To make it easier mentally, I play a ‘states’ game.  Click off Florida, click off Georgia, click off South Carolina ….. 

We picked our way across the huge Charleston harbor in the rain to find the entrance to the narrow ICW channel, marked by a turret train bridge that no longer has the span crossing the water.  Blown off by a hurricane some years back, the officials have still not fixed it, making it worthless as a bridge, but an easy sight to mark the ICW entrance.

By about noon, the rain cleared and the tropical low that has been hunting us down, pushed in a 20 kt. head wind.  A boat going 15 MPH into a 20 kt head wind, equates to the force of a 39 mph wind on the bimini top.  My concern was having canvas issues, but we pushed on.

About noon, while traveling in no wake zone, a 34’ PDQ power cat from Rhode Island suddenly appeared behind us.   The fellow rode our stern, making it apparent that he wanted by.  We backed down the throttles and Steve waved him by.  As he passed, he yelled, “I’m giving her all she’s got”, and he took off.  We like having a slightly faster boat ahead as a sacrificial depth finder, and since I knew that model boat draws two feet verses our 2.5, we figured a good chance that he’d clear just about anything he went over.  We stuck Rece$$ion on his stern and played NASCAR draft, finding that with our engines at 2,800 RPM, he’d pull away, but at 3,000 RPM, we’d pass him (a bit too fast for a 1,500 mile trip). Our problem was that every time he’d get in front of us, he’d slow down.  Kind of like the folks on the freeway that speed up when you try to pass, only to slow again after you do!

With Steve at the Helm, as we passed Georgetown, the guy cut across a sand bar and barely squeezed between us and the bridge.  That was it.  We picked a wide spot in the river a few miles later, took our engines to 3,100, and, to use a car racing term, blew the guy off until we couldn’t see him behind us anymore.  An interesting note for later – over our radio, a boat called the Coast Guard and requesting help as ‘the bilge pumps cannot contain the water’!  No location given.

Now to enjoy the cruise.  The ICW North of Georgetown really changes form the typical north Florida, Georgia marsh and saw grass.  It becomes a river in between a cypress tree jungle.  Winding right left and right, it looks like you are in a Mark Twain novel.  A true ‘lazy river day cruise’ that the little ship Rece$$ion was built for.

About 3 P.M., we left the cypress swamps and entered a channel blasted out by the fed to connect rivers forming the ICW.  This channel is about 30 miles long and 70 feet wide.  It has a mid depth of about 12 feet that instantly changes to two or three if you are too far left or right.  A very nervy ride, as you try to stay dead center with no marks for 30 miles.

With Steve driving, I called ahead to North Myrtle Beach and found a marina with diesel and a dock for the night.  We would be there in about thirty minutes to close out a 120 mile day.

Just before North Myrtle Beach, we came across two Boat U.S. rescue boats and a police boat, trying to pump water out of a 45 foot ‘Cruisers’ power boat that had hit the edge of the channel, torn off the props, and was sinking.  This was the boat that called in the Coast Guard “May Day” earlier.  Jim estimates the boat value was around ¾ million $, and it was probably going to be totaled since it was already mostly full of salt water!  We idle past and pulled in to our marina for the night and a great dinner.

Tuesday May 25 – Trip Day Five

We pulled out of North Myrtle Beach at 7 A.M. and found the PDQ right on our stern again.  We waved him past, and he took off as fast as he could, ignoring the city no wake zone.   Within a few minutes, we couldn’t even see him in front of us anymore.

By 9 A.M., we had crossed the state line into North Carolina and I clicked off another state, as we approached the ‘Pontoon Bridge’.  This is a bridge that only opens every few hours, since it is actually a single lane roadway on a pontoon barge. To open, the bridge tender drags the barge aside by outboard to allow ICW boats to pass through.  As we slid up to the bridge, the PDQ was sitting there.  Stuck, waiting for the bridge.

Once the bridge opened, the PDQ took off again and we cruised along at 2,800 enjoying the really cool North Carolina river. By about noon, we were in Long Beach, NC with the winds still blowing 20+ and the ICW running in a channel just inside sand dunes separating us from the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean is only about ½ mile away, and from our fly bridge, we could see the surf driven by the offshore tropical low.  Kind of spooky as the depth runs 10-12 feet, but every time you cross an inlet, the current will shove the bow right or left dramatically and the water depth will drop to 5-6 feet. Once past each inlet, the dept is back to 10-12 feet. Very few markers, as we figured it shoals so much, they can’t mark it.

The winds kept increasing, as my meteorologist brother-in-law, Mark Johnson, had predicted, and we worked our way along the coast turning a bit north up the Cape Fear River.  Finally a break from the shoaling beach channel.  Although small, Cape Fear is a pretty commercial port, with good channel marking and ship like water depths.  But not to last, the ICW turned north east again and we found ourselves back in a channel running just behind the beach.   Passing Carolina Beach, Wrightsville Beach and approaching Surf City, I called ahead to find a marina for the night.  I found one about an hour past Surf City and told the owner (Paul) we’d barely get there before he closed at 6 P.M. 

As we reached the 12 foot high swing bridge in Surf City, the winds had been gusting (we later found out as high as forty), so the bridge tender informed us she’d wait until the winds dropped a bit before she’d open the bridge.  For about 40 minutes, we stood by maneuvering the Rece$$ion next to the bridge trying not to blow into a shallow spot or marker.  The squall passed by, the winds dropped to maybe 25, and at 4 P.M., she raised the bridge and we shot through.  I called Paul and told him we’d not make his marina in time, so he gave us instructions on where to dock and said he’d refuel us at 7 A.M. Wednesday morning. 

By 6:30 pm, we entered the New River at Snead's Ferry and found our marina. With about a 25 kt wind and maybe a five kt tidal current, Jim and Steve readied the lines and fenders as I approached the marina entrance.  To get in and not be pushed or blown aground, we had to point the boat into the current and slide her through the channel sideways to port.  I knew it was hairy when the guys on the dock all went ‘Whooooaaaa”!  This is such a great boat.  She slid in, put her bow down and floated up to the dock!

As we tied up and relaxed, a 52 foot Sea Ray being delivered by the factory to Baltimore came in the same way, but had a bit of a crash landing punctuated by the crew on the stern tossing Jim a stern line that was not attached to the boat J

About ten minutes later, who arrived at the Marina right next to us?  The PDQ of course. He had been a good hour ahead, but the Marines and Navy were holding all night war games at Camp LeJeune.  The ICW was closed until midnight, so the PDQ and others were sent back to the marina for the night.  No restaurant, I cooked on the grill and we sat on the fly bridge in the dark to the sound of bombs, artillery and watching aircraft drop parachute flares to our north.

Wednesday May 26 – Trip Day Six

The plan was for an easy trip 80 miles north to Oriental NC where Donna and Jerry Luh live.   Sailor friends of Mary and I, (he’s a retired GM engineer), they sailed ‘Blue Jacket’ from Michigan to Oriental some 8 years ago.  They dock behind our Daytona Beach condo on trips to the Bahamas every winter and we dock our boats behind the Luh house in Oriental on trips north or south.   But, boat plans change.

About 6:30 A.M., Paul, the marina owner, was knocking on Rece$$ion to inform us the Marines would close the bridge (8 miles way) at 8 A.M. for more war games, and if we wanted to go north today, we had to go NOW.

We THREW 60 gallons of fuel in and blew out of the marina along with the PDQ, Sea Ray and others traveling the ICW north.  Arriving at the bridge about 7:45, I radioed only to have the bridge tender politely say, “I have some Marines about to cross and will open right after that.”   Now I don’t know about regular folks, but boat guys like me, Jim and Steve figured that meant a caravan of Marine trucks, jeeps etc.  To our surprise and entertainment, about five minutes later, some 100 marine troops in full field dress RAN across the bridge toward the beach.  As promised, the bridge opened and Rece$$ion trotted through.   A little military boat named ‘Speedy’ passed us headed for the bridge, and at 8:03 A.M., ‘Speedy’ radioed to ‘Guard Boat 1’ that the Onslow Bridge was closed.  Guard Boat 1 announced, “All north bound ICW boats proceed at speed; we are to commence firing as soon as you clear the area”.

What could be next?  A radio announcement, “This is the warship 11725, at lat long …. – about to commence firing to our west.  Clear the area!”  We don’t know if that meant us, but we DID. 

Steve and Jim did most of the driving for the next 60 miles from there to the New River.

Wind was about 25 MPH, and entering the New River, the wind was producing about 5-6 foot seas right on our bow, as Steve pointed us toward Donna and Jerry’s for the last six miles.

In the rough seas we could only make about 7 MPH, and it was really hard on the boat.  Steve gave me the helm and I turned us 90 degrees toward the Oriental channel, instead of Donna and Jerry’s.  We slid in to Oriental, got one of the last docks (everyone was running in off the rough ICW) and called the Luhs.  Steve’s wife Beverly was to pick him up in Oriental for the end of his leg on this trip, and by 4 P.M., she arrived in the Powell motor coach that she had driven up from Daytona Beach.  We said our farewells and off the Powell’s went.

Jerry Luh picked up Jim Steller and me, and we had a fantastic dinner at the Luh’s waterfront home.  Arriving back at the boat around 9 P.M., Ross and Catharine Pfeiffer met us at the boat.  Ross has now joined us for the trip as far as New Jersey, and Catharine is headed back to their home in Catawba Island, Ohio by car.

Tomorrow, Ross, Jim and I will refuel at 7 A.M. and head 180 miles north toward Norfolk VA, where Jim will catch a plane back to the CIC in Catawba, and I will ‘click off’ North Carolina.

Thursday May 27 - day seven of the trip - Rece$$ion starts to gain momentum

Waiting at the fuel dock, we met Peter, who owned, ‘Cloud 9’, his 45 foot Hatteras, New Bern NC. Ends up Peter had motored his vessel from Marblehead Ohio (About 6 miles from Catawba Island) and knew the trip well.  He filled us in on the bridge schedule for rush hour in Norfolk, as well as suggesting we drop Jim Steller at Great Bridge, VA, instead of Norfolk, to take taxi the airport.  One thing about this trip is the number of folks you meet who have been or are going where you are that share experiences and knowledge to help each other out.  On a side note, remember the engine alarm and shut down on day two?  I changed the fuel filter and the engine returned to duty, but it bothered me that the filters really did not look dirty.  Could the alarm have been something else?  WELL, the plot thickens – while doing my daily engine checks, I found a jelly fish floating around in the sea strainer.  I remove it of course, but – could this have been the alarm and engine shut down? More later J

Lola at the Oriental Marina had us refueled and on the water by 8:08 A.M.  With eight knots of breeze, smooth water and sunny, the New River was like glass.  What a change from the day before!  Since Ross keeps a boat here, we put him at the helm, Jim on watch and headed north toward Norfolk, VA, 180 miles away.

Looking up river, we counted 18 boats all headed north after hiding form the weather the prior day.  Here the river is about 7 miles wide and runs about 15 feet deep.  It is BIG and deep, so we could run 16 M.P.H. until reaching the canal that the corps dug to connect the New River to the Alligator River. After motoring through the canal, we ran Alligator for another 20 or so miles, finally reaching Pamlico Sound.  Pamlico Sound reminded me of a big Lake Okeechobee or Lake St. Clair and took two hours to cross.  The word is that in winds over 15 MPH, this baby can be rough, but we had about 8 kt winds and cruised right across.  In the last five miles the wind picked up, white caps appeared and sure enough it began to get rough.  But our luck was still with us and we entered the small rivers, then the canal that connect the Albemarle Sound to the bottom of the Chesapeake.  Also dug by the government when building the waterway, this canal is wide and mostly deep (11-15 feet).   By 5:20 pm, we reached the 50 mile marker of the ICW and pulled into the fuel dock at Coinjock, NC.  130 mile record one day run so far on the trip. 

JW, the dock boy, and we figure family at Coinjock’s, refueled the boat and informed us that this time of year and again in the fall, he averages 10,000 gallons of fuel a day, going into pleasure boats like Rece$$ion traveling north or south. He had the fastest fuel pump we’d ever seen.  In less than four minutes, we had added 90 gallons of fuel, and JW informed us that he had nine other boats headed north due in within the hour.   Coinjock’s is a family owned and operated establishment and includes a bar and dining facility.  Ross, Jim and I had the best dinner yet on the trip, while the bar readied for karaoke night.  And sure enough as we dined next to the Coinjock sea wall, Free Spirit – Mainship 43 from Texas, Prima Donna – Hatteras 56 from Naples, R & R – Jefferson 42 from Alabama, Pastilia – Custom 70 from Minnesota and a little Red Tug from Maryland all came in for fuel and dock on the wall in front or behind Rece$$ion.  Coinjock’s is sort of the NASCAR pit stop on the canal between the ICW in North Carolina and the Chesapeake Bay in Virginia.

The most significant event of the day?  Jim discovered frozen white castle burgers in the marina store.  Being a boat trip of just guys, and having run out of both Jimmy Dean Sausage Biscuits and Fritos, I went back to the store and bought all the frozen white castles J W had left J

Friday May 28  -  Trip Day Eight - We leave the ‘Ditch’

By 8 A.M., we’d left the dock ahead of or behind all of the boats docked at Coinjock’s for the night.  It looked like a wagon train headed for New York.

Here, the intracoastal lives up to its nick name, “The Ditch”.  For those of you in the Daytona Beach Boat Club, it looks like we are in the channel behind Larry Funk's house for 90 miles.  The canal connects to the Pocaty River, then takes you into Haynes Creek, and finally, the Albemarle and Chesapeake canal takes you through the Great Bridge lock and into downtown Norfolk. By 8 A.M., we crossed from North Carolina into Virginia, and I clicked off another state.

This is the portion of the trip where Jim Steller would leave us.  At Great Bridge, we called the fuel dock and informed them we would drop crew off to go to the airport.  The fuel attendant called Jim a cab, and we as we pulled long side the sea wall, there was the ceremonial hand shaking and thank you’s.  Jim hopped on the dock with his duffel, and we jumped back into the line of boats waiting to traverse the Great Bridge lock.  This lock took us up two feet to sea level, or should I say Chesapeake Bay level?

Jim Steller traveled 792 miles, from Palm Coast Florida in the ICW, aboard Rece$$ion.  Five states in 7-1/2 days to earn his unofficial ‘ditch’ license.  BTW – when Capt. Steve Powell left us in Oriental, he had traveled 614 and four states for his unofficial ‘ditch’ license.  Thanks to both.

A bit later, we passed mile marker zero of the ICW, ‘Rece$$ion’ having traveled north over 940 miles since becoming part of the Caracci family in Stuart, Florida.   

Welcome to Norfolk. Mile marker zero for the Chesapeake Bay, from the water Norfolk looks like a combination Port Everglades shipping port (100,000 tons of coal per ship) and world’s largest naval installation, which it is.   Ross drove while I shot photos, but since I can’t get Mary’s camera to down load, you won’t see the photos until she joins us late next week on the Erie Canal.  A teaser – One includes a soldier on platform of a naval ship holding his machine gun and watching us as Rece$$ion motors by (pleasure craft are not allowed to get closer than 500 yards to any naval vessel).  Another photo I will send is of a naval ship completely out of the water in dry dock, being refurbished. This is an old ship building port.  In fact, the shipyards here built the Confederate ironclad ‘Merrimac’ famous from the civil war duel with the Union’s Monitor in 1861.

As we left Norfolk and entered the Bay, a gray power boat labeled Naval Security approached us with lights flashing.  I told Ross to slow down, we were being pulled over.  (Wayne Bowden – I did have my American flag flying).  I called the naval security on the radio and was informed that we needed to move out of the channel and stay away from the submarine.  What submarine?  Ross and I peered down the shipping lane in front of us to discover that we were aimed directly at a submarine coming into Norfolk.   This is another photo to be sent later next week.  As you will see, the sub is three quarters under the water and grey.  How the heck would we see it?  I will write Obama and suggest they be painted golf ball orange!

Up the Chesapeake we motored at 2,800 RPM, everything happy, until – engine alarms went off and the starboard engine went into default idle, just as it had in the Atlantic last week off the coast of Jekyll Island. Ross kept us motoring slowly on the port engine only while I dove for the engine room.  Recalling the jelly fish that I found in Oriental, I went directly to the water strainer.  Jackpot!  The water strainer had about eight sardines swirling around in it.  I cleaned the screen, set the sardines free over our stern and the engine fired right up!   

By 5 P.M., having traveled 135 miles, Rece$$ion was tied up for the night at Dozier’s marina off the Rappahannock River.  A great little marina, full of friendly folks, the manager invited us to a wine and cheese party at 6 P.M.  There I met and spent time with the marina owner, Jack Dozier. Jack is familiar with Daytona Beach, as he docks annually at the Chart House as he traverses south to Key West each year.  He is the owner/publisher of Dozier’s WATERWAY GUIDES.  Ross called the local restaurant and the hostess drove over to pick us up and take us to the restaurant.  And, you probably guessed it, we had our first seafood dinner in Virginia.

Saturday May 29 – Trip Day Nine

Scheduled to leave Dozier’s early, we lost an hour or so, ‘fixing’ our generator.  While it still ran fine, it had stopped producing electricity.  I checked fuses and other stuff to no avail.  Ross took a look at it and asked, “What’s this switch for behind the oil changer?”  Ends up, while adding a ½ quart of oil to the boat engines, I had hit an off switch.  Ross clicked it on - Fixed!  A side note for you engine techies – each of the two 240 hp Yanmar diesels in Rece$$ion hold 2 ½ gallons of motor oil.  Over 1000 miles, we had used ½ quart of oil between them.

Out of Dozier’s by 9 A.M. and into the Chesapeake, we had ten to fifteen knot winds on the stern and the happy little ship surfed up and down the two to three foot swells all day.  Here the Chesapeake was nearly twenty miles across, so you barely see a shore line.  We ran up the shipping channel, keeping an eye over our shoulder for the many ships going north to Baltimore.  Passing the Potomac River entrance, then Annapolis, we saw dozens and dozens of sailing yachts out for the first day of memorial weekend.  By 6 P.M., we sat at the fuel dock of the Maryland Yacht Club (Baltimore), having covered another 130+ miles.  We took on 217 gallons of fuel and backed into our slip.  This club was recommended to us by Russ, skipper of Melissa, whom we met in Thunderbolt, Georgia.  A past commodore of MYC, ends up the whole bar and restaurant staff loves Russ, and we had a great dinner (mine was sea food).  Tomorrow morning we will catch up on chores and laundry while we wait for my long time sailing buddy, Harold Hoffman, to arrive from Toledo via Southwest Airlines into Baltimore.

Stay tuned, soon we go back out into the Atlantic Ocean.

Sunday May 30 – Trip Day Ten

Harold Hoffman’s plane from Detroit was right on time, and we were away from the MYC dock and motoring up the Bay by 1 P.M.  The Chesapeake Bay narrows at the north end, and the channel funnels by Elk Neck State Park into the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal (C&D canal).  The C&D canal is a 12 mile long canal connecting the top of the Chesapeake Bay to the Delaware River and out into the Atlantic.  When you think about the amount of trade just between Baltimore, Philly and New York City, you get a feel of the importance of this canal.  The canal was proposed by Dutch map maker Augustine Herman in 1664 and promoted by Benjamin Franklin in 1788.   Reducing the miles between Philly and Baltimore by 300 miles, the canal was finished in 1829 at a cost of $2.5 million.  The irony of this is that today, wealthy retirees traverse the canal in yachts worth more than the canal first cost.

Motoring about a third of the way across the canal toward the Delaware, the Rece$$ion reached Chesapeake city at 4:45 P.M.  Located right on the canal, this city provides a convenient stop for cruisers.  But, on Memorial Day weekend, it's party central.  For my Ohio friends, it is a mini Put-In-Bay, complete with bikinis and drunken cigarette boat owners.  For my Daytona friends, it is the equivalent of Caribbean Jack’s on Saturday, taking place on disappearing island! 

While checking in at the bar, I asked the dock attendant if they had a restaurant for ‘grown ups’.  She directed us to a nice fine dining establishment above the party.  While at dinner, I got a cell call from Marty, skipper of ‘Free Spirit’.  Marty asked how far we’d gotten.  He was still in Norfolk and informed me of a throttle control issue that he and the other Mainships had developed.  I thanked him and made note of what tips he had to offer.  

As we sat on the fly bridge having a drink, the red tug we docked with in Coinjock motored in and anchored.  Yes, the users of the ‘ditch’ constitute a small world, with common interest. 

Tomorrow, it’s up early and off to the Atlantic Ocean, headed for Atlantic City.

Monday May 31 – Trip Day Eleven

Up at 6 A.M., we missed the tide and squeezed out in three feet of water.  The water was so low that the depth gauge on the fly bridge went into default, reading 550 feet, so I moved to the lower helm and used the depth gauge there, which cost 1/3 as much and was made in China, but worked even better.  Go figure.

Ross and Harold drove the 12 miles left in the C & D, while I showered and did some emails.  Turning into the Delaware Bay at 7 A.M., we found it dead calm. And to our surprise, when we looked back, the little red tug from Maine was on our stern, preparing to pass.  Pass they did, so we followed them through the crab pots and fish net stakes all the way to the Cape May canal.    Twenty plus miles wide in some spots, the Delaware Bay seems so wide that you put all of Catawba Island and Marblehead in the middle and have room left.  When windy, the Delaware Bay is famous for terror.  But not this trip.  The Rece$$ion motored along.

The red tug stopped as we passed through Cape May at a marina for fuel, but we continued out the cut into the Atlantic.  Running about two miles off the New Jersey beaches, I went through a bit of shock and awe.  After ten days in the remoteness of the ‘ditch’, the Jersey ‘shore’ took me by surprise.  Hotels, condos, hotels and conference centers.  This was high population stuff.  Not remote North Carolina. We ran between one and two miles off the beach for a few hours and suddenly on the horizon, the buildings got bigger.  Nope sorry, they got GIANT.  THE Trump plaza and even bigger hotel/casinos beckoned on the horizon.  These were some of the places I sat as a young salesman years ago, watching the rich guys cruise by. Almost like she knew I needed to be there, Rece$$ion pointed toward Atlantic City and picked up speed.  The wind was right on our stern and increasing.  The  swells grew to about three feet and Rece$$ion began to surf down the fronts of the swells, as if she was using her 21,000 pounds to help get me there faster!

We arrived at the Trump Marina around 3 P.M., right behind Gumbo from Alabama (last seen in Coinjock) and the little red tug who pulled in about an hour behind.  Ross packed his bags, took a shower and after 400 plus miles of our adventure, he headed for the airport and Catawba Island.  Tomorrow, Terry Shively, a career buddy since the late 1970s and the best man at our wedding, will arrive via Spirit Airlines to help us move Rece$$ion north from Atlantic City.  If the weather gods continue to favor our voyage.   Right now, Harold and I off to the ‘Deck’ at Trumps for a Jersey Shore burger.

Tuesday June 1^st   - Trip Day Twelve - Whoa Baby!

When we awoke in Atlantic City, the wind was piping from the south at about 20 kts.  My buddy, Terry Shively, landed pretty much on time, and by 10:00 A.M., the Rece$$ion was away from the docks.   This is an interesting piece of the trip, as the intracoastal is navigable – barely - over the 80 miles to Manasquan NJ. The channel is often a shallow as five feet, and there are several bridges that only open at limited times due to the high congestion of Jersey traffic. On the other hand, it’s a pretty straight shot of only 70 miles if you go ‘outside’ and use the Ocean as your highway.  We decided to poke our bow out into the sea, if it was too rough.  Now, Harold and I are sailboat racers, so we are not qualified to decide if anything is “too rough”, so once out of the channel, we pointed Rece$$ion north running in front of the seven foot seas and she took off.

An interesting ride - if we applied too much power, she ran down a wave until digging into the one in front, turning abruptly to the right or left.  Not good!  So, we adjusted the diesel throttles at 2600 RPM instead of the usual 2800-2900.  Rece$$ion would slowly climb up the back of a wave at about 12 mph.  Then, once at the top, she would put her bow down and surf to the bottom of the wave, accelerating ten tons to 18-19 MPH.  Then slowly we’d climb the next wave and down she would scoot again.  We reached the Manasquan inlet entrance in just over 4 hours and, exhausted from the ride, decided to call it a day.  Frankly, we needed a drinkJ   No Mary, there were no other boats out that day, other than one lone sail boat having a heck of a sail.  We are 20 miles south of New York Harbor entrance, and with 5 knot winds forecast for tomorrow, will head into the ocean again for Rece$$ion's first visit to the Statue of Liberty. 

Wednesday June 2nd – Trip Day Thirteen - What a difference a day makes! 

Overnight, the 20 knot winds of Tuesday turned into nearly calm 8 knot winds of Wednesday morning. As we exited Manasquan inlet and turned north for the 20 mile trek to New York harbor, we found the three foot ocean swells left form yesterday very manageable.  With Harold and Terry taking turns manning the helm, Rece$$ion surfed done the swells, politely running 18 MPH versus yesterday’s wild roller coast ride.  We left the dock in Manasquan at 7 A.M. and were in New York harbor by 11 A.M.

 A really busy harbor, it was no surprise when our radio said, “This is War ship #7 departing Staten Island docks in thirty minutes.”  Then War ship 52 and War ship 11, all announcing departures.  After our submarine experience in Charlestown, we hugged the right side of the channel, trying to stay out of the way.  Sure enough, around the corner from Manhattan, came three US Naval destroyers, including the typical home port escorts, to chase us away from the ships.             

By 11 A.M., we reached the Statue of Liberty and stopped to take photos.  Following photos, we took our time.  This was an amazing experience.  Passing Grant’s tomb, Manhattan and motoring underneath the George Washington Bridge, Rece$$ion continued to move north. Every thirty minutes or less, a commuter train would blast by us, following the edge of the river.    

In total by 6 P.M., we would have traveled 160+ miles on Wednesday – a record.  North of the city, the Hudson River turns country,  The hills (mountains to some) are a combination of green pastures, shear cliffs and train tracks on both river banks.  The river is huge, spanning up to four miles wide in some areas, with some impressive cliffs, it runs as deep as 180 feet.  These are the home bases of many mansions, castles and special locations like West Point and the home of Franklin D. Roosevelt.  All sitting on bluffs high above the Hudson. 

Suddenly, the alarm went off as it did last week in the Carolinas and the starboard engine shut down.  I went below to check engines, but everything seemed OK.  So, I restarted the engine and it ran fine – for twenty minutes.  Then, the same alarm and shut down. We restarted it again but limited the engine rpm to 2,600.  Everything went fine at that speed and we called it a day after docking at Catskill, NY for the night.

I called Dr. Dubbert, back in Ohio to describe the situation and discuss options.  He agreed with our diagnosis of restricted cooing system flow.  So, following dinner, the guys and I went through the entire starboard cooling system and found an anode that had unscrewed and fallen into the front of the starboard heat exchanger. The anode was removed by ‘sticky fingers Caracci’ and with any luck, the issue will be corrected tonight after dinner.  We’ll see.

Forty-five miles to Albany, NY and the entrance to the Erie Canal in Troy, tomorrow.  Harold and Terry will take an AMTRAK train back to Ohio, and Mary will arrive by train to crew from Albany to Catawba Island.  As for me, tomorrow marks fourteen straight days aboard, moving the boat about ten hours each day.  The positive – everyday I have been able to share new experiences with my friends.

Thursday June 3^rd – Trip Day Fouteen - A short funny ride up the Hudson

After Mike, owner of Riverview Marina, pumped 225 gallons of fuel into Rece$$ion, we headed north up the Hudson for our three hour trip to Albany.  A really scenic ride, with the Catskill Mountains to our left and various villages to our right.  While passing Hudsonville, NY, we came across the typical boat club, with thirty or forty docks, to our starboard.  Slowing to about 6 MPH, we cruised past the boat club, staying far to the west side of the river, which is about ¾ mile wide.  Then, back up to our normal 15+mph, we drove along enjoying the sunshine and view. 

Suddenly we heard a voice shouting in the distance.  We turned around to find a pontoon boat with about eight people in it riding in our wake.  The boat had big yellow signs on it saying ‘TAXI”.  So, thinking the guy was trying to pass us, I slowed to let him cross our wake.  To our dismay, the guy wasn’t trying to pass, but instead was chasing us and yelling over his boat’s hailer about our wake at the boat club.  Threatening first to call the sheriff and “ruin your whole day”, he finally yelled that if we ever went by that fast again, he’d “throw you guys in the river”.  Not sure who was more surprised by this, us or the paying taxi passengers, we went back up to speed and motored north.  Harold, Terry and I found it hilarious that of all the people in New York that would yell at us, it was a NY TAXI driverJ  We nicknamed him ‘the troll of Hudsonville’.

We arrived at the Albany Yacht Club around noon, and prepared the boat for the arrival of the admiral.  After 14 days aboard as captain, with my various buddies as crew of the little ship Rece$$ion, today we would relinquish command to Admiral Mary, who would arrive at 3 P.M.  In final preparation, we spent the rest of the afternoon, tied to the dock at AYC, drinking on the fly bridge.  

Friday June 4^th Trip DAY 15 – RECE$$ION ENTERS THE ERIE CANAL

On Thursday June 3^rd at 4:12 AM, Admiral Mary boarded the AMTRAK train at Sandusky, Ohio depot for the 10 hour trip east to Albany.  For the princely sum of $86.00, the US rail system transported me from Ohio to the Hudson River, where a $6.00 cab ride took me to the Albany Yacht Club and the RECE$$ION.  The chardonnay was cold, and the rest of the “crew” was preparing to board their AMTRAK train back to Ohio at 7:05 PM.  Terry Shively and Harold Hoffman had been on board since Atlantic City and Baltimore respectively, and had made plans to join their wives for breakfast for 4 in South Toledo upon their return early Friday morning.

On Friday, June 4^th, Dave and Mary covered 77 miles of New York State, while rising 300 vertical feet above sea level with the help of 13 locks on the legendary Erie Canal.  Opened in 1825, the Erie Canal was the engineering marvel of the 19^th Century.  Then Governor DeWitt Clinton of New York conceived a barge canal from Buffalo on the eastern shore of Lake Erie, to Albany on the upper Hudson River, a distance of almost 400 miles.  Viewed by many of its time as “Clinton’s Folly”, the Erie Canal actually caused an explosion of trade by opening up the fertile Great Lakes region to the east coast.  Today, the Erie Canal is part of the NY State Park System, preserved for use by recreational boaters.

To travel the Erie Canal is to experience a living museum.  It averages 125 feet in width, with a depth of at least 12 feet, and has a total of 34 locks.  The majority of locks are operated by 1920’s technology, using pumps and gates to raise or lower the water level along with the boats floating inside.  Each lock has a lockmaster, who is king or queen of that piece of property, and all the masters monitor VHF channel 13.  There is a large dam adjacent to each lock, and the sound of water rushing over the dam sometimes makes communication on the boat a challenge between the captain and the admiral. 

Leaving Waterford NY at the easternmost point of the canal, we traversed the first five locks known as the “Waterford flight”, where boats are lifted the greatest height in the shortest distance, a total of 169 feet up the Niagara Escarpment.  The eastern portion of the canal is actually the Mohawk River, which is bordered on the north shore by train tracks, and on the south shore by Interstate 90.  Tonight, we are tied up (for free) at the Canajoharie town wall, home to the Beech-Nut baby food plant and the Canajoharie Library and Art Gallery, featuring the work of Winslow Homer.  Dinner tonight will be in an Italian restaurant, because all of the restaurants in all of the towns along the canal are Italian – we are after all in New York State. 

Saturday June 5^th – Trip Day Sixteen - RECE$$ION IN THE ERIE CANAL         

Saturday, June 5^th, brought us what can only be described as a pristine day to continue our Erie Canal journey.  The coffeepot went off at 6 A.M., and we were waiting outside Lock 14 when the lockmaster opened up for business at 7 A.M.  Our primary objective for Saturday was to reach Lake Oneida, an 18 mile wide fresh water lake in the center of New York State.  There we would find a wonderful marina that would sell us the all important diesel fuel for the Rece$$ion's 300 gallon fuel tank.  And, an Italian restaurant for our Saturday night supper.

We traversed 9 more locks over the course of the day on Saturday, some as close together as one mile, some as far apart as 12 miles.  All but two of the locks raised us up, and we reached 400 feet above sea level by late afternoon.  Remember, we began the canal the day before at ZERO in the Hudson River – pretty impressive!  Lock 17 in Little Falls NY is by far the most awe inspiring in the US and most anywhere else.  It raises boats 40 vertical feet in one breathtaking 15 minute experience.  Imagine motoring into the bottom of a large rectangular concrete swimming pool, with enormous metal gates at either end.  The gate astern slowly grinds shut, making loud metallic creaking noises that echo around in the lock.   Hanging on to two 40 foot long slimy ropes to secure our boat’s position against the wall, we held our breath while the lockmaster started the pump to fill the lock with water.  Slowly we rose, until the sun reappeared at the top, along with the spectators who are always on hand to watch this unusual process.  Whew.

We refueled at the eastern end of Lake Oneida in Sylvan Beach, which has the only amusement park and roller coaster on the Erie Canal.  On a fine Saturday afternoon, it was jammed with all manner of pleasure boats and tourists, and the local sheriff hailed me on the radio to “slow down to 5 MPH” in this congested area.  We crossed Lake Oneida by 7 P.M., and tied up on the outer wall of the very fine Brewerton Boat Yard.  A short walk over the high bridge produced a seafood restaurant, where we reviewed our 12 hour day in the Erie Canal.  Another 82 miles under our belt!

Sunday June 6^th – Trip Day Seventeen - Mechanical Issues

On Sunday morning, June 6^th, we awoke to the sound of “rain on the roof”, two inches overnight. There is nothing better than sleeping on your cozy little ship with rain overhead.  The rain cleared out, and Dave and I began the task of taking apart the fly bridge canvas and isinglass, so that RECE$$ION would be able to clear the low bridges of the western Erie Canal.  By noon, we were finished, and we departed Brewerton Boat Yard to travel west to Lock 24.  Five minutes from the dock, Dave noticed the temperature rising on the starboard engine at idle speed, and made a quick inspection of the engine room below.  He made the wise decision to turn back and return to what turned out to be the largest marine parts supplier in mid New York State, and not just a very fine marina.  The yard was open on a Sunday from 8-4, and we made several trips to the ship’s store for parts that exceeded all the spares that Dave brought with him.

Dave removed the water pump from the starboard engine, and found that something had pulverized the impeller, and I mean PULVERIZED.  He replaced it with his spare, and also inspected the heat exchanger for additional impeller shreds.  Then he removed the water pump from the port engine, and found that impeller intact.  He replaced it with a new impeller anyway, and kept the intact impeller as a back-up spare.  We bought two more impellers, and extra gaskets for the heat exchanger.  He also brought along a spare water pump, but it was not needed.  For those of us who are not technically inclined, this is an amazing feat – to diagnose and cure a temperature problem on a boat you have known for 4 months in the middle of nowhere!  My husband amazes me.

Monday June 7^th – Trip Day Eighteen - MORE ERIE CANAL

As a result of our mechanical repairs, we did not depart for Lock 24 until first thing Monday morning, holding our breaths and crossing our fingers as we idled west, watching the gauges.  The weather brought abundant sunshine, and cooler temperatures, with a brisk NW wind.  But the canal is fringed with deciduous trees and a few pines, so we were usually in the sun and out of the wind.  Dave’s repairs proved to be sound, and we traveled 94 miles to an elevation of 440 feet above sea level through the day on Monday. 

I called the canal supervisors for the two final “legs” of the western canal, which includes many railroad bridges built around the turn of the century.  Our canal guide book showed us the maximum and minimum height of each bridge from the water surface, and we knew from repeated measuring that the RECE$$ION needed 13’ 3” to clear any bridge deck.  A number of fixed bridges showed as little as 15’, so before we passed the turnoff north to Lake Ontario, we had to KNOW we could make the shorter trip due west.  “No problem” said both bosses, “I can guarantee you at least 15’ 6”.”  Can I tell you how scary it is to motor your new boat up to a rusted iron structure when your two heads are taller than your boat?  I ducked every time, but we cleared every one, “no problem”. 

A historical note.  The canal supervisors told me the reason that the railroad bridges can at times measure only 15’ above the water in the western canal.  The canal was built first in the 1820s, and the train builders followed the canal years later, literally.  The train tracks weave all over the canal, crisscrossing it, paralleling it, running straight through every canal town.  Evidently the railroad was “competing” with the canal for transportation of goods, and did its best to make the bridges low enough to impede large barges and boats.  To this day, large pleasure boats have to head north after Lock 23 to Lake Ontario, bypassing the charm of the western half of the Erie Canal. 

We have seen some remarkable sights on our travel from Albany, including exact replicas of Christopher Columbus’s Nina and Pinta, masts down to travel the canal, headed to the Great Lakes for summer festivals.  We have been fired on by a cannon in a canoe, run by revolutionary war re-enactors in full dress.  But nothing is more unusual to report than Squiggy, the Swimming Squirrel.  Several years ago, we traveled the canal on Tim McKenna’s sailboat, Pooka, and discovered that yes, squirrels do swim.  Any of you who have ever been to a boat show know that Squiggy is the featured “water skiing squirrel.”  There is no longevity in learning to water ski if one does not also learn how to swim.  Imagine our surprise, then and now, to see a squirrel swimming out from shore to greet our boat?  We all figure that Squiggy does laps every day in the canal to stay in shape for boat show season. 

Monday night brought us to our destination canal town just after Lock 30, Fairport, and the word “charming” is just not enough to describe this little gem.  Fairport literally embraces her position surrounding both sides of the Erie Canal, with dozens of shops and restaurants and the friendliest dock master we have encountered.  Our fee to tie up for the night?  Nine dollars.  We just missed their “Canal Days Festival” this weekend, attended by 200,000 people, with art shows, bands, food festivals, and strolling entertainers. 

Tuesday June 8^th – Trip Day Nineteen - ERIE CANAL TO Tonawanda NY

Tuesday brought us more “abundant sunshine” for our last day in the Erie Canal.  We began at Fairport, where we passed through the first of SIXTEEN lift bridges.  These roadway bridges span the canal at water level from side to side in every town, and are literally “lifted” up to a height of 16 feet over the water by a bridge operator.  All we had to do was call the bridge on VHF channel 13 as we approached, and the always friendly operator stopped the vehicle and pedestrian traffic immediately by ringing their bells and lowering their gates.  The fun began in earnest when the operator of our current bridge was also the operator of our next bridge, 3 miles away.  As soon as he/she lowered the bridge behind us to allow traffic to resume, they ran to their car and passed us on the perimeter road to beat us to the next bridge.  We have concluded that the only people nicer than the Erie Canal lock masters are the Erie Canal bridge stewards. 

Throughout the day on Tuesday, we traveled 101 miles from Fairport NY to the western terminus of the Erie Canal, in Tonawanda NY.  We passed through all 16 lift bridges and two final locks, in the town of Lockport.  We voted these locks “best of show”, at 25 feet each and absolutely beside one another.  When we left Lock 34, we passed directly into Lock 35.  Eighteen miles later, we stopped for the night in Tonawanda at Dennis Wardell’s boat yard, for a drink of diesel fuel and a visit.  We met Dennis several years ago, when we traveled the canal on Tim McKenna’s sailboat, Pooka, because Dennis is THE MAN.  He steps down every sailboat mast on the way east, and puts up every sailboat mast on the way west.  Never mind that we arrived on a trawler, Dennis was open for business and happy to see us. 

Wednesday June 9^th – Trip Day 20 - Tonawonda to Erie PA

Wednesday was not so pleasant, due to the predicted weather forecast happening way too quickly for us.  As we motored down the Black Rock Canal from Tonawanda to Buffalo, avoiding the upstream currents of the Niagara River on its way to spill over THE FALLS, we expected a favorable SE wind at 10K.  Too bad for us, the wind was already building and shifting to the S and the SW and the W, at way more than 10K.  We ran parallel to the shore of NY state in 20 feet of water, admiring the sandstone cliffs that boasted vineyard after vineyard.  Only California produces more wine than New York State. 

Lake Erie got lumpier and lumpier, the shallow water and the high wind combining to produce a very familiar wave pattern – too little amplitude in too high seas.  RECE$$ION handled it well, she weighs more than 20,000 pounds with a full tank of diesel, but the combination of wind and rain and 55 degrees made for a tough slog.  We bailed out of the lake at 4:00 P.M. to the welcome arms of the Erie Yacht Club in Erie, PA (check off another state), just in time to greet the Wednesday night sailboat racers heading back out.  I asked Dave if he wanted to offer to crew for one of the boats, he said “no thanks”.  EYC races only JAM on Wednesday night, but they boast 35 boats with crews of 6-7 each nevertheless.

From Dave, for the record – so far on the trip, Rece$$ion has traveled in ten states:  Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York and now Pennsylvania.  Each of her two engines has run for 174 hours, and she has burned 1,665 gallons of diesel fuel.

Trip Day 21 Intermission - Ahead of schedule and time for a speech

Well, my original schedule called for Rece$$ion to reach home port at the Catawba Island Club next Tuesday night June 15^th.  That schedule included two weather days around the Atlantic City area in case of bad weather.  But, we didn’t need them, until now.  She could cover the distance from Erie Yacht Club to the CIC in one long day, but the winds for Lake Erie are against us again today.  Plus tomorrow I need to fly to Destin, Florida to hold a Saturday seminar at the meeting for the Southern Automotive Aftermarket Parts Association.  So, Rece$$ion is tied up safely on the T dock of the EYC until I return, and the winds are forecast to be fair.  The trip will continue next week when I return from Destin. 

Trip Final Day 21 - Rece$$ion meets the Lake Erie Islands and my old yacht racing friends

After flying off to do the industry seminar, I solicited the assistance of Peter Mooney as crew to bring the Rece$$ion home to the Catawba Island Club. Pete was mainsail trimmer aboard Hurricane for the entire thirteen years (12,000 miles) that we raced her.  And now he races with me aboard Cracker Jack each summer.  For me, boating with Pete is like boating with a twin brother.  Everything gels.

Mary drove us the three hours to the Erie Yacht Club so that Pete and I could leave early Wednesday afternoon for the 150 mile boat trip home.  The plan was to stop before dark at the Mentor Yacht Club, then knock the rest of the trip off Thursday.  But, the wind gods of Lake Erie produced some incredible waves again on Wednesday afternoon, so Pete and I decided to stay in Erie until the winds died early Thursday morning. 

As we walked down the dock toward Rece$$ion, we were surprised and pleased to find the Trawler, Wild Goose, and her owners Ron and Patti Schebil docked directly astern of Rece$$ion.  Ron and Patti are members of North Cape Yacht Club, as are we and Pete.  They have retired from racing and are cruising Wild Goose around the Great Lakes each summer.  We spent much of the afternoon sharing stories of the many miles of racing in the same events and yacht clubs.  We also reviewed Rece$$ion’s Erie Canal experiences, since Ron and Patti would depart the next morning to head east for the Erie Canal.

At 8:30 Thursday morning, with Peter Mooney and I aboard, Rece$$ion left the Erie Yacht Club dock, headed for her new home in the Lake Erie Islands.  With a fresh water smile on her bow, she ran the 150 miles in about eleven hours.  We ran about ten miles off the shore of Cleveland, and then aimed at the islands.  This kept us away from fish nets, but never closer to the Canadian boarder than about five miles.  The winds from the day before had calmed, and with smooth water, Rece$$ion got her first view of her new home as she motored past Cedar Point amusement park, at about 17 mph.  Pete and I opened our only beer of the day to toast the little ship and her 21 day voyage, as she motored proudly through the South Passage between Marblehead and Green Island.  Suddenly we realized that a dark hulled boat was motoring at speed on an intersection course with us.

Figuring it was the “Fed” about to check us out, (that happens a lot in the drunken islands of Lake Erie), I dumped both beers.  As the boat got closer, it turned and started honking its horn.  It was Jim and Dawn Dubbert and friends, coming out to welcome Rece$$ion home.  We all waved and I explained to Rece$$ion, that was her family doctor, Jim Dubbert, coming by to welcome her to the Catawba Island Club.  We rounded the green can at the CIC about 7:30 P.M. slid into a slip.  Rece$$ion was home.

From departure just north of Daytona Beach,

• Rece$$ion spent 21 days moving on the water
• She traveled just over 1,900 miles through eleven states
• Her engines ran for 194 hours and drank 1,725 gallons of diesel fuel, burning 5 quarts of oil.
• She needs a bath and maybe a manicure (polish)
• Her fuel filters are tired and ready for a change
• Dr. Dubbert will change her anodes from salt water to fresh water

But so far, no complaints from the Rece$$ion.  In fact, she is eager for her trip next weekend to South Bass Island and Put in Bay for the Sports Car Racing rendezvous, for more old Caracci friends, more old Caracci stories and a few drinks on her fly bridge.       

Until then, Mary is at one of her big golf tournaments, and I’m off to get the Cracker Jack mast up and ready for the Wednesday night sailboat races.

Hope you enjoyed the adventure,

 Dave Caracci

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