Homeward Bound

By Bernadette Bernon

The approaching tropical storm that had been propelling us away from the mid-Atlantic states, and sending us hightailing north to Rhode Island, was upgraded to hurricane status while we were still cooling our heels in the Chesapeake, and we’d been mighty worried ever since. Named Isabel, she was a beaut – big, strong, ugly, and according to the National Hurricane Prediction Center, packing an attitude that was worsening by the hour. We were concerned enough about the storm that even with a leaking packing gland, which by anybody’s standards would have been reason enough to rush to a marina with a Travel-lift and haul out, we opted to sail 220 miles further, to the comparative safety of New England.

We sail Ithaka as fast as we can away from the dangers of Hurricane Isabel.

Our first sailing homecoming after three and a half years away was not without its dramatic elements. In addition to the storm on our tail, and the problem with our dripless packing gland (a more unappealing name for a piece of gear cannot be imagined), Ithaka was exhibiting other bothersome problems. During the passage, the speed-indicator stopped working due to a on-strike impeller sensor; the wind indicator lost an arm during a wind gust, and stopped sending data; the bimini began ripping along the seam where it attaches to the backstay; and our computer mysteriously stopped capturing the weather data upon which we’d come to rely. While our trusty vessel was fine, many of the little add-ons were dropping like flies. Ithaka needed some serious TLC. It was as though she, too, knew we were headed home for a refit, said “to hell with it” and was loosening her grip on some of the things that she’d been holding together for us. With the elements continuing to be relentless, we pushed onward over the watery pastures toward the barn.

Ithaka is hauled out of the water at Newport Shipyard.

As Ithaka sailed along the East Passage toward Newport’s inner harbor, we made three phone calls. One was to Douglas’s mother in Cleveland, Ohio, who cried tears of relief that we’d made it back in one piece. And we called my father, and my brother Mark, who both live in Newport. They said they’d jump into my dad’s truck, and head down to the dock as soon as we picked up a mooring. I longed to see them and give them the biggest hugs in the world. And then there was Hannah, Mark’s three-year-old daughter and our niece, who I couldn’t wait to see. I ached to be her auntie for real, rather than in long-distance, and to spend this winter becoming a real part of her life.

The Travel-lift drives Ithaka to her corner of the boatyard.

Over the month that followed, we lived on Ithaka on the mooring while we nestled back into life amongst our family and friends, and looked for the right yard to haul the boat. Finally we decided on Newport Shipyard, where the price was fair and the manager, Mark Mutty, seemed like a reasonable and nice guy. Best of all, the yard was within walking distance of the house we rented for the frigid winter months.

The few months we spent in Cartagena, Colombia, during the past season did a number on Ithakas underbody. The harbor was biologically hot and heavily polluted, so the marine growth on our bottom was rampant. We scraped every other week, which shortened the life of our bottom paint, and allowed barnacles to grow more quickly.

We took everything off the boat for the winter every locker emptied, every sail, every piece of gear so that we could inspect it all, sort it out, and make repairs on things that were worn out.

One of the best reasons to come home for the winter to be with Hannah.