[TO NARRATIVES AND PHOTOS LIST]
December 20, 1999
We left "Silver Heels" for the winter at The Wharf at Handy's Point on November 20. I took one last look at her. One last look at her perfect bowsprit, always ready to skewer a fuel pump or somebody's dockbox, and the gold eagle on her butt. I didn't feel good, and I didn't want to leave. I have found that our bond to "Silver Heels" strengthens as we are away from her. It's a part of the "romance of old wood boats", I guess. Wood boats have a certain unique character. Fiberglass boats are just plain vanilla. Wood boats have a musty wood smell wafting from the hull planking. It's a good feature. It concentrates in lockers and drawers and is so noticeable when you open them. Wood boats creak, and they groan when tied dockside. The halyards and shrouds shake when there's wind in the rig. Then there's foghorn noise, the sound of rain on the deck, the clank of the clock's bell, setting the sails and the slapping of waves along the waterline when you get underway. I like that. I like all of it.
Now a house is just a poorly built boat that has come to its last anchorage. If I should buy a home, say a three bedroom, two bath western ranch "bungalow", I'd consider that my last anchorage. It's not a pleasant thought. I'd probably rot on the front porch with nothing to do. The idea of home ownership doesn't move me anymore. For twenty years, I had a house with the right furnishings, the right pictures on the wall, the right landscaping. My kids were raised there, Christmas and Thanksgiving and Easter and birthdays were celebrated there. At one time it was my citadel. Sometimes I had feelings that I should keep the house for future celebrations. Now, the kids have moved on, my parents have died, and the rest of the family doesn't come over any more. Ellen and I were living in the family room, the kitchen and the master bedroom, only. The rest of the house was unused. The house was a monument ... and full of stuff. For me there was no way to stay there; I didn't want to keep it. Houses cannot be moved to a better place. Not easily anyhow. Setting aside romance and character, with a boat you have just what you need neatly stored in a very moveable form. If you dislike your neighbors, you cast off the lines and sail away. You may move if the tax man comes by. You may move if the neighborhood becomes unsafe. If the neighborhood improves and someone with a Herreshoff, Alden or Peterson schooner moors next to you, you might stay awhile longer.
So, now we're shoreside - on the hard - driving the Carolina coast along the outer islands going away from our boat. I still don't feel good about this. We drove 400 miles along the Hatteras Cape, and 90% of what we saw was grass, sand dunes and houses built on stilts. We did meet gracious people who said, "Y'all come back now." After a couple of ferry trips across some inlets, we had a short stint in Charleston and then headed northwest toward Atlanta, GA. We were going away from the ocean. In Atlanta we knocked on the door of brother-in-law John McNally's home, and I do think he was glad to see us. While we had a traditional Thanksgiving dinner and talked about driving west, John gave me a road atlas with an interesting picture on the cover. It was the Big Sur coastline. California! Now that's how land and sea should meet, in that incredible West Coast style. Rugged cliffs, boulders, crashing seas and windblown Cypress. Yes! A contest between the eroding seas and the upheaving coast of California. Along the Carolina outer coast line, it's so damn flat and the grass and dunes are so high that you'd never know there's an ocean alongside. Or Albemarle Sound on the other side. Compared with the Pacific it's just not the same stuff. Down East and along the entire East Coast there are innumerable beautiful harbors, and it may be safer in that there are so many niches to put your boat in bad weather. For a coastline though, it's not beautiful and it's not exciting. I'm not against East Coast cruising; I'm just not enthusiastically for it.
We left Atlanta and moved our wagon more westward traveling with the grayhairs and truckers. Grayhairs usually drive Cadillacs, Chrysler New Yorkers or Lincolns. Both the grayhairs and the truckers set their speed controls to 70 mph, and we all speed along smoothly. Stopping in Crossville, Tennessee we held up for a few days and visited cousin Charlie. Now Evelyn and Charlie have done a yeoman's job on our family's geneological search and traced my family back to Ireland. Much consternation to my wife Ellen (formerly McNally, you may remember) who can trace her green to the Emerald Isle in many ways. She always thought I was of typical German ancestory, particular and organized, certainly not Irish in any way. Now, thanks to Charlie and Evelyn's search, she knows I'm German/Irish. And, she thinks, that may be even worse than pure German. In any regard, no rich relatives were found in this geneological search; no horse thieves or serial killers either.
There's less excitment as we drive through Illinois, Kentucky and Kansas. We were in O'Fallon, Illinois and then in Junction City, Kansas. We headed further west through Kansas and on to Utah and Colorado. God this part of the country is barren too. The people are hard working and industrious out here. They grow enough food to feed the world, but the trees are bare, and there's few of them. It's geological monotony. How could I think that there are other places as beautiful as Yosemite, Mendocino and Big Sur? Today, there's snow on the ground and a fierce storm is moving toward us from Oklahoma. We've had an easy drive so far, but we're prepared for a change. Even with tolerable weather the people who live and work here have to be hardy types. I feel THEY can spend their lives in Kansas. And, Illinois. And, Kentucky. And, Colorado, east side anyhow. It was 9 degrees outside this morning as our Ford F150 fired up, and we moved on.
We passed Aspen, Snowmass and the trendy Colorado ski grounds. We stopped at god-daughter Julia's home in Carbondale, Colorado. After two wonderful days and a dog fix, we moved on west toward a low pressure front that promised a blizzard. That snow storm hit hard and stopped us after just three hours driving. We passed up the Rusty Barrel Motel for a stay at the Super 8 Motel in Fruita, Colorado. The storm passed over in one day. We moved on. Although close, I sense we're not truly at the West Coast yet. People we meet are still very afraid of earthquakes. They are still not bothered by tornadoes, lightning, hurricanes and ice storms. At sunset and still in the flat terrain of east Colorado, we drove over a slight rise in the road. I saw my first sight of the Rocky Mountains ... with the last of the day's sun beaming under some high cumulus clouds. Ellen said, "I feel like I'm getting close to home." Within three days we'll be at the Pacific Coast.
Last September at anchor in the harbor at Plymouth, Massachusetts, I was very tired and at a spiritual low point having ducked hurricane Floyd and now watching out for bad weather from hurricane Gert. The East Coast was new to me and figuring the weather was a chore. We had brought the boat just a few hundred miles down the coast, and we found we didn't like being continuously "on the move" going from harbor to harbor. We still had hundreds of miles to go to get to Georgia. At this time, feeling somewhat depressed, I called a broker and listed "Silver Heels" for sale. If she sold at the right price, I thought, I would get another boat and then cruise the West Coast, perhaps the San Juans. The San Juan Islands were my original choice for cruising. I never thought I'd truly find a buyer during the winter months. I felt I'd never find a buyer offering full price, unconditionally, wherein I'd have to sell. We sailed further on down the coast. As we rested in Connecticut we were snug inside the Mystic Seaport Museum harbor. Ellen and I gained energy and felt better about continuing our cruising life. After talking to some other cruisers we decided to truck the boat to the West Coast. There we could live aboard the boat year around in one place if we wished. We could work on "Silver Heels" and maintain her properly. Irony! A buyer came along and made a full price offer with no contingencies. I was contractually obligated to sell to a buyer offering full price. There was no way out. This was truly a low point. Up until now we were emotionally peaked and looking forward to cruising the West Coast in "Silver Heels." Now, our plans had again come to a halt. We did not come out of this ordeal unwounded. However, I do know there will be another boat for us.
So, the beautiful schooner "Silver Heels" is gone.
We're on the lookout. Three years ago we found a wood schooner in Canada named "Grizzly Bear." She was designed by William Garden and is of newer construction. Maybe we'll find her and cruise the San Juan Islands. We also noted that there's a great marina on the "sunshine coast" at Skookumchuck Narrows, British Columbia, Canada.
There will be more ........
Happy Holidays from Terry and Ellen