We are married to two insane men, one of whom had never been on a boat (Steve), and the other who thinks his 17-foot runabout qualifies him to captain the QEII (Bill.)

They’ve decided they should quit their day jobs, buy a boat together and set out to sea (or at least the IntraCoastal waterway). Ever thoughtful, they invited us along for the ride, and to our great relief, did agree some instruction would be in order.

Fortunately, so did Bill Shermer, also known as Mother Goose, whom Steve found on the Internet. He agreed to take us on if we promised we would learn the five most important knots, know how to read a chart, and have some concept of navigation before we arrived.

We agreed if we updated our wills, could see shore at all times, and had a cell phone, motorized dinghy and oversized life jackets. We had just seen the movie "Titanic" and knew what to expect.

All agreements having been made, we rented the Bristol Goose for 7 days and reserved Mother Goose for several days of instruction.

Late Saturday afternoon. Picked up by limo, very nice, met at marina by Bill Shermer/Mother Goose and his gracious wife, Alexis, the proud owners of the Blue Goose Charter Service. Load luggage into cart and board the Bristol Goose for the first time. We are charmed. The Bristol Goose is as finely appointed as any cruise ship, down to his-and-her robes and yes, lots of life vests. We decide that since fair is fair, couples will alternate between the aft cabin, which is really very nice, and the forward cabin, which is very small. Mother Goose gives us a brief orientation and tells us he will return at 8 a.m. sharp for our first instruction. We notice he carries a briefcase. This scares us. Have a great dinner nearby, go to grocery store, also close by, and stock up on enough food for 10 people for 10 days. If we’re lost at sea we don’t want to miss Happy Hour.

Mother Goose arrives exactly at eight and our lessons begin. Spend most of the morning familiarizing ourselves with the boat and its various systems. This goes more or less OK. In late afternoon, Mother Goose discovers we are not so great at knot-tying. (What does he expect?! We practiced with 1/4-inch rope hanging from the oven door at home!) Relationship is getting tense. Mother Goose obviously thinks we are imbeciles, and we think he is the reincarnation of Captain Bly. After he leaves, we rename the boat the Bounty, have another great dinner, and spend the evening practicing knots.

We are up early, and as Mother Goose approaches, we are all tying knots like mad, very nicely by now, sort of. Mother Goose is caught smiling by mistake. In the morning, more instruction, then lunch, then, our first trip away from the dock. Boat is bigger and wider than we thought. Also, heavier and taller. We have not yet decided which of us is going to do what, cementing in Mother Goose’s mind that in fact, we are morons. Leave marina with Bill at the helm, Mother Goose at his side. Mother Goose thinks Bill might have some promise, with his Navy pilot training, but his hopes are soon dashed. The rest of us wander aimlessly while Bill tries to learn docking maneuvers. Boys practice coming-to. Mostly a disaster. Girls practice fender handling. Not good. This day is also very tense. Steve tells us later he is really glad we are doing this, because he is never going to set foot on a boat again. Mother Goose announces we will be taking the boat out tomorrow by ourselves. We think he is out of his mind, and decide to call all the children and tell them good-bye. We do not sleep well this night. Steve and Bill assure us it will be fine, but we know they are lying.

Mother Goose and his briefcase board precisely at eight, We go over some chart-reading and engine-checking things. We are given 10 designated marks in the Chesapeake Bay to find on our first trip out. We locate them on the chart and Mother Goose gives us a camera to record our findings. (Does he think we will lie?) He takes us out of the marina, and we drop him off at the end of the pier. We are now alone on the Bristol Goose. Steve is at the helm, Bill beside him, and we are sitting back-to-back clutching the chart book, binoculars around our necks. We pass under the bridge about an hour into the trip, avoid being run over by a large ship, and call out buoys triumphantly. We take a picture of the first site, the VA Hospital. We are quite pleased with ourselves. Yes, this is certainly very nice. We site three more landmarks and take their picture.

Then, without warning (or any we could identify with), we are off-course, dodging hundreds of crab pots. Bill slows the boat down, and we all yell in unison for the next 45 minutes. At last we spot a buoy that’s on the chart, and we find our way back. We are drained, and head for home. We call Mother Goose from under the bridge as instructed. It is much earlier than he expected (because we went to the wrong buoy). He waits for us at the end of the marina. We can see him as we approach for our spring-landing -- legs apart, arms crossed. We consider going back to sea. Landing is not a pretty sight. However, we are strangely quite pleased with ourselves. We survived our first trip alone, lived through the crab pots without sinking, found our way back home, and even got Mother Goose aboard without dumping him in the water. We relax and dream of Happy Hour. Lines and fenders dangle aimlessly from our hands as Bill and Mother Goose flawlessly nose the Bristol Goose into the slip. But our reverie is soon interrupted with a Bly-like bellow from the bridge ... "Who do you think is going to handle the lines, the dock fairies?" We jump to attention, but of course, we’ve missed the docking. Back out and try again, get the lines out, but by now can’t even tie our own shoelaces. Mercifully the day ends. We are debriefed, and Mother Goose leaves. At the end of the dock he turns around, looks at the four of us, and says, "You are unbelievable." We hate boating, we hate Mother Goose, we want to go home.

Steve and Bill - Intrepid Leaders

Day Five

We receive a stern lecture from Mother Goose on team-manship, sea-manship and various other ships, and learn to our complete amazement we are to embark on our first real voyage to Rock Hall on the other side of the bay. Our departure is quite different from yesterday. We are handling lines quite well and can tie a fender to the rail in less than 30 seconds. System checks are done flawlessly and we drop Mother Goose at the end of the pier without incident. All four of us are topside. We read charts and call out buoys but we get a bit nervous with the 2- and 3-foot waves. We try to remember trawlers don’t capsize. We work together as a team for 3 1/2 hours and at last we see Rock Hall in the distance. We’ve made it! But wait -- why is the depth finder showing such shallow water? 10 feet, 7 feet, 5 feet, NO FEET! We panic. Teamwork takes a hike, and we revert to everyone screaming in unison. We insist the boys ask for directions. You know how that goes, don’t you?! Finally Bill gets on the radio and the nice people at North Point Marina, our destination, talk us in. We are told to dock to the starboard side at the specially-reserved T-slip (the only way we’d ever done it), but after three tries in strong winds, we dock to port. We get off the boat, and one of us cries. We all curse Mother Goose for sending us to such complicated waters, and we think about renting a car to go back.

Then, something special happens. Four men on a fancy boat come racing into the harbor and run aground. This makes us feel a lot better about ourselves, since we’re told they’re experienced boaters. We run to the end of the pier and take pictures. Nevertheless, we have a very serious meeting with the boys that night, and go over what things still need to be changed.

Day Six

Fishermen are coming back in because the bay is rough. Thank god. We call Mother Goose and tell him we are staying in Rock Hall. North Point Marina gives us four bikes and we have a wonderful time biking into town, eating, relaxing. (Actually the water is fine, we just don’t want to see Mother Goose again -- just kidding.)

Day Seven

Having studied the charts and exactly outlined the responsibilities of each crew member, we leave Rock Hall to return to Baltimore. We exit the harbor perfectly and enter the channel without incident. We enjoy a leisurely return trip and call Mother Goose from the Key Bridge. Execute a near perfect landing to pick him up. Janella hooks lines over the cleats, Mary does fenders smartly, Steve holds the boat while the Mother, we mean, Mother Goose boards and Bill does well at the helm. Good docking this time, too. Mother Goose is very cordial. In fact, Mother Goose is pleased!

The Conclusion

We had a fabulous time. Mother Goose taught us to work together, we stopped being afraid of the boat and we learned more in one week than we could ever have learned from someone else in a month-long trawler school. We recommend Blue Goose to anyone, and next time we go, we’re going to get farther than Rock Hall!

If anyone has any comments, or questions, or wants to hear more about our adventure (we didn’t tell you about the exciting anchor-dropping lesson), our email addresses are:

Steve and Mary Keogh  skeogh@aol.com
Bill and Janella Cooley   janellac@aol.com

The End

The Storm

Every family experiences a number of events that may be joyous or malevolent but which are always touchstones of passage that remain vivid in the memory. Many of the holiday letters that we received were chronicles of such events, and we always enjoyed reading them. After one such occurrence, Adam wrote the following summary in response to a teacher's request for a paper that exemplified "family drama." It struck a chord, so we decided to share our experience through his eyes, and pass this on even though it is well past the holidays.

Laurie & Jess Gregory

During this past September in my Junior year, my parents decided that I was mature and responsible enough to stay home alone for a week while they chartered and navigated a 32-foot trawler, the Bitsy Goose, on the Chesapeake Bay. At the end of the week I took a train down and met up with them. The first two days I spent on the boat were great. The weather was perfect, the bay was placid, the food was great, and my older brother Mark and I navigated the boat through a highway of channel markers and crab pot markers. When we were anchored we spent our time crabbing, diving off the upper deck, swimming 200 yards to shore and then exploring the coast. Dinner on our second night aboard the boat concluded with a storm I'll never forget.

After dinner we were having fruit, crackers, and cheese when suddenly the sky darkened and the summer breeze grew without warning. This was a storm that was going to test the bonds and limitations of my family. We all had to cooperate, work as one, and trust one another.

The storm formed in under ten minutes. One minute we were on the deck enjoying the colorful dusk; the next we were huddled in our brightly lit cabin surrounded by black skies. The waves jolted us around our cabin while the wind spun us at its leisure. We anchored, but we weren't sure if the anchor would stay in the heavy black silt that covered the bay's floor. So, we got the spare ready. We turned the radio on only to hear fellow mariners sending distress calls to the Coast Guard. We remained quiet as we listened to the pleas for help that only increased our fears. The pleas that emitted from the radio blended with the howling wind, crashing waves, and the increasingly deafening thunder to form a sound so painful to my ears that it drove me to stumble to my lower, quieter and more stable parent's cabin. I dozed off only to be awakened by being tossed into the wall by the constant barrage of waves.

It was 11:00 PM and my family was still awake. We decided to do one hour watches throughout the night. I volunteered to go first since I had just gotten some sleep. Others stayed awake too. The rocking boat didn't provide a comfortable bed, or maybe they didn't think I was responsible enough to hold the ship down for an hour. So until midnight I was awake checking the anchor, and listening to the radio for any news of a break in the weather. My eyes were constantly focused on the lights of other boats anchored around us. If one broke away from its anchor, it could be sent right into us. As I grew increasingly tired, the swaying lights outside appeared to be getting closer, but a splash of cold water across my face would wake me up enough to see that my mind was playing tricks on me. When midnight arrived my mom took over watch and I went to sleep along with my brother and father.

At 3:00 AM I was awakened by my brother to take over watch. This time I was alone. I quickly became tired so I stepped out of the cabin and was snapped awake by the whipping wind and the cold sea breeze that the wind sent like bullets into my face. The storm still was spinning and rocking us while above us I could hear chairs sliding and falling from the wind and waves. I climbed the ladder to make sure we hadn't lost any chairs. It was a foolish thing to do. I easily could have been jolted off the ladder into the bay, my screams smothered by the howl of the winds and the crash of the waves.

I quietly waited for the hour to pass. Listening to the radio, I became familiar with the names of vessels as they radioed to the Coast Guard for help telling stories of running aground, or one sailboat whose anchor gave way and sent them adrift without a running motor. Eventually the hour rolled by and I woke my mom to take over. I quickly went to sleep and slept until eight when my dad woke me up.

The storm had ended around 4:30 AM and my dad needed me to help check the engine and the rest of the boat. By 9:30 we raised the sturdy anchor and began the five-hour ride to Baltimore.

My family had gotten through a massive and destructive storm that left so many in need of help. We relied on each other but also tested ourselves. Our trust in each other and knowledge of our limitations allowed us to cooperate smoothly. I am proud and pleased that my parents trusted me; first to allow me to stay home alone, and then to allow me to look after the boat while they slept. Our family became stronger because of that storm and we all know that we can rely on each other and sleep easy knowing that we are being looked after by one another.

Adam Gregory
16 years old

_______________________________________________________________

Bitsy Goose was overheard remarking to Bristol Goose sometime
later as they were swapping sea stories one night in their slips,
"I wasn't worried. That crew did everything right."

THE END

 

The Homecoming

Prologue. This is a short recollection of a family gathering and cruise aboard
Bristol Goose in the Chesapeake Bay - from a woman's perspective.

The adventure of sailing in a good breeze, rail down, and rigging singing, will always sound like fun. Cruising to new places, to the islands, beaches, and reefs we haven't seen yet, is certainly on the list. But taking time for a homecoming -- well, that has its fascination too. Something about it satisfies the soul!

Old home waters let you reminisce the right way. You can take just the people you care about, go to the places with the best memories (noticing good changes and ignoring the others), and, in general, center yourself on what you want to remember. The trip becomes a marker between where you've been and where you're going. It's a point of reflection.

For a proper homecoming cruise, you really need a trawler. Save the sailboat for island adventures (where the wind blows), postpone the luxury cruiser for after you win the lottery (does someone else really do the cooking?), and charter a trawler. It promises to put the "home" in a homecoming cruise.

There's comfort on a trawler  -- take all the stuff you can't be without, from the crab net to the cello. Do what you want -- there's always a shady place to read or nap or just sit (or a sheltered place to do all these in a drizzle). Go where you wish -- you'll never notice a little wind or sea from the wrong direction. A trawler is built for people -- the space, the layout, and the smooth, flat ride fit everybody.

That summer, my husband and I abandoned Arizona for awhile to spend some time with our son, daughter-in-law, and three year old grandson from Connecticut. Together, we revisited the Chesapeake, where we'd sailed during the seventies. We were pleased to note that while the place had gotten on rather well without us, it welcomed us home with blue crab and soft skies (and just one major downpour). Aboard Bristol Goose, we spent our days catching up with each other and getting reacquainted with places of the past. We scooted under high bridges and raised the old ones at Kent Island and Knapps Narrows. We sat near the seawall at the Naval Academy, eating chicken and potatoes from the Market House in Annapolis, and we stuffed ourselves on steamed crabs in St. Michaels. We walked  through Oxford and bought birthday candles in a little store that must have one of everything in the world. We talked about the way everything used to be.

And we talked about where we'd go from there. The homecoming cruise was over. What was next? A sail in Tonga the next year? Maybe the Bahamas? And when would we get up the IntraCoastal, to the Great Lakes, on to New Orleans, and back to Florida?

But for that year, the "homecoming" was very special -- an opportunity not to be missed. J.B.

The End