Most people can’t understand why we bought a sailboat for our daughter when she was 14. But, the fact of the matter is that our family had outgrown “Discovery.” Literally. When we moved aboard in 1991, Kate and DJ both were just a few months shy of their 10th and 8th birthdays, respectively. Nearly five years later, the kids were much bigger, and if it wasn’t their phsical size that made things on-board seem more cramped, then their hormones more than made up for it. Kate’s especially.
Much to her credit, Kate put up with her younger brother longer than most big sisters would have. They shared a cabin at the bow of the boat, so there really wasn’t a lot of room TO share. But they made the best of it (what else could they do?), and learned to compromise on most matters. Our general rule, ‘if something finds its way on the boat, then something has to find its way off,’ usually worked, even as they got older and the ‘toys’ (boombox, portable TV) got bigger.
Even so, there was no denying that we were bursting at the seams, the waterline hadn’t been seen in months, and the inevitable solution, whatever that solution might be, would have to happen sooner rather than later. It was the making of the perfect storm.
1994 found us living at The Capital Yacht Club in Washington, DC. Out of all the places we lived aboard, DC was my favorite, which is so unbelievable, since my initial reaction to Dave’s being transferred there from Corpus Christi, Texas, was “Isn’t that the murder capital of the U.S.?” But, once we got up there, we joined the Capital Yacht Club, and that turned out to be one of the best things to ever happen to us as a family. Though fellow club members had very respectable positions by day–military officers who worked at the Pentagon, government contractors and employees, the presidential vet, a congressman (who is currently in jail, by the way)–they could also be classifed as a bunch of crazy misfits, especially after 5 o’clock in the afternoon, when many convened around the Club’s very beautiful and well-stocked bar. Which probably made life very interesting for the kids growing up at the club. Ours.
On one hand, Kate was a typical 14 year old girl, full of of angst and moodiness, but atypical in that she’d already more than five years of living aboard and cruising under her belt, was great at handling lines, knew the rules of the road, was fascinated by marlinspike, and even dabbled with ham radio along with Dave. She had been a boat kid for about a third of her life, after all. The thought of getting a bigger boat did enter our minds, albeit briefly, and left soon after. Though the additional space would have been nice, the thought of the additional cost in maintenance alone presented a daunting responsibility. Personally, I was comfortable handling Discovery, but apprehensive of handling anything much bigger, especially, God forbid, if I had to do it alone. And besides, in just a few short years, the kids would be out of the house, or so we hoped, and then we’d be stuck with a bigger boat than what the two of us needed.
The winter of 1994-95 in Washington, DC was unforgettable because there was a blizzard every other weekend, beginning on New Year’s Eve. I know because that is my husband’s birthday, and every year I try to surprise him. That year I arranged for a friend to watch the kids for the whole weekend, and booked a jacuzzi room at the Comfort Inn on Kent Island, halfway between Annapolis and the Eastern Shore..It may sound ho-hum, but a jacuzzi bathtub to a boater is heaven-on-earth. That, plus a little bubbly, and some time away by ourselves. It would be so nice. And then, shortly after getting out of the jacuzzi the first night, I remember seeing the blizzard warning issued for Washington, DC on the Weather Channel. Well, that plan was squelched. We headed home the next morning.
Boaters deal with snow differently that homeowners. Because of its weight, it cannot be allowed to collect indefinitely like it can on land. And because of the smaller area needing to be cleared off, traditional snow shovels are useless. Cookie sheets worked best for us. And because snow was everywhere for at least eight consecutive weeks, the entryway to Discovery‘s main salon/galley was continually cramped with coats, boots, hats, gloves, and scarves, which made getting around difficult..The boat was becoming smaller while tempers were shortened with the passing of each frigid day. The perfect storm was brewing stronger with each blizzard.
When the first signs of spring appeared, the hunt was on in earnest to find a sailboat for Kate, armed with information gleaned from a few months-worth researching, pouring over boat classifieds on-line and in magazines and visiting boatyards, of which there are many not far from DC. It certainly wasn’t wasted time. In the spring of 1995, an older-but-sturdy 26-foot, double-keeled sloop made in England would enter our lives. And, in an amazing way, someone else’s life in a very significant way, ten years later. But that is another story. For now, as an introduction, here is Miss Kate.