Annapolis
Chesapeake Bay is about 200 miles long and anywhere from 3 miles to 30 miles wide, depending on where you’re measuring, and averages about 21 feet deep. It is more accurately an estuary than it is a bay, meaning it is a mix of salt and fresh water. The fresh water comes from the many rivers that flow into the bay, including some you’ve probably heard of, like the Potomac, the York, and the Susquehanna. When we awoke after our New Jersey adventures, we were anchored in the Sassafras river, near the very top of the bay. We dove off the boat before breakfast, and there was very little, if any, salt in that water. Very gentle water, but refreshing!
Calm before the Boat Show storm.
Years ago, a friend of mine wanted to invent something to use at cocktail parties, a system that would transmit into your brain the name of the person approaching you, like a psychic nametag. In Portland we installed a Vesper Cortex AIS on Billy Pilgrim, which is similar to my friend’s invention, but for boats. AIS stands for Automatic Identification System, and means that when you are out and about you can be seen by other boats (very handy if you’re a 40-foot boat sharing the ocean with 160-foot container ships that might otherwise run you over), and also shows you the information of boats nearby. For example, when we were about to go into the C&D Canal, Tim was able to see on the AIS that there was a tug pushing a huge barge out of the canal around the corner from where we could see. He could hail the tug by name, and arrange with the captain what side of the channel he’d prefer us on. What we hadn’t considered about this new-to-us technology was that you do lose some privacy—anybody who is interested can see us from wherever they are. So, as any concerned or interested parent might, Tim’s dad Tom was keeping track of our location on a marine tracking website. No sooner would we drop anchor then we’d get a text from Tom saying, “You made it!” or some other words of encouragement.
On the AIS I can see the name of this tugboat, its length, that it is pushing a barge, how fast it’s going, and where it’s headed. What an amazing tool!
We had arrived in the Chesapeake a few days early, so we checked out a couple of different anchorages. I had been enjoying the tranquility of the Sassafras River especially, but Tim, getting all ramped up for the Show, and being a fellow elated by a Major Event, was champing at the bit to get closer to the action. We made our way to the Severn River, abuzz with power boats from the waning Powerboat Show converging with sailboats in town for the impending Sailboat Show. We docked near the grand sailing yacht Arabella (157 feet long!), captained by our friend Tom Thompson. No sooner had the anchor touched the mud than Tim got a text from our friend Melanie Neale in Florida which was a photograph of Billy Pilgrim in front of the Naval Academy. Captain Tom had seen us come in on the AIS and snapped a picture as soon as we paused. No invisibility cloak for us! Tom texted that he’d come pick us up and Arabella’s Peruvian chef would cook us dinner. Yes, please!
Arabella
The boat show era continued like this – rich with people and events. The docks swarmed with humans unleashed from their many months of isolation. Consumers saturated with dreams climbed aboard boats and clustered in tents imagining the places they could go and the boats and accessories that could get them there. Tim’s parents put on their traditional Boat Show gumbo party, invariably a fun and delicious time for all. I am just a fledgling sailor, but the gumbo party guest list includes all kinds of hard-core sailors and sailing industry types. Rather than being jaded or blasé, these seasoned friends are genuinely enthusiastic about our adventure. A dear friend of the Murphys, Bill Hammond, had made us a beautiful silky wooden bowl with Billy Pilgrim elegantly engraved into the bottom. It was so touching to receive nautical blessings from people who, although they’ve sailed to Borneo or around Cape Horn, were not poo-pooing our modest trip. They were sincerely happy we are doing it. What our little pod of two has been working toward and making happen was bringing other people joy. It felt unexpected and delightful.
Boat Show Hoopla.
Tim works as a Boat of the Year judge for Cruising World each year, which takes place at the boat show. He and his team are always crazy-busy touring the year’s new boats and then sailing each one of them, and for them boat show time sizzles with activity and endurance. Nevertheless, Tim made time for two day-sails with two different sets of cousins.
Many people’s sailing experiences involve blowhard captains, who take the opportunity of being in charge of the boat to yell at everyone involved. This can have the effect of turning people off sailing entirely. Tim is pretty much the polar opposite, he is like a boating ambassador. On Billy Pilgrim (and even on Benilde, the Boston Whaler) Tim gets guests involved in a way that is pure encouragement through involvement. We had Tim’s first AND second cousin Danny (complicated family tree) on board with his enchanting 3rd and 5th-grade sons Dempsey and Lincoln, who had been living in England for the past four years. The boys came on board and Tim made short work of showing them how to read the paper chart and begin navigating straight away. Lincoln was popping up and down the companionway, checking that the chart matched the geography; Dempsey made sure the buoys matched up with Lincoln’s predictions (“Green #11, confirmed. 100%!”), and monitored the instrument panel to ensure the water was deep enough for our 6-foot draft. Tim was quietly and completely in control of the situation, but he wasn’t shouting to let everyone know his authority. The boys, meanwhile were completely lit up by actively participating, without time or opportunity to be bored or scared.
Bob got to sail Billy on a sparkly Chesapeake afternoon.
Later in the week we had another cousin, Kathy and her new husband Bob, on board, who sail on the Great Lakes. Tim didn’t make Bob ask, he set him up behind the wheel, and not because Tim didn’t care to sail, but rather because he knew Bob very much did. Confident in his own abilities, Tim neither needs to show off, nor bark out orders. He calmly describes what one should look for in the sail, what angle to steer, what to avoid, and he does what ever else needs to be done to facilitate the boat’s function. You don’t get either the feeling he’s not paying attention, or back seat driving. It’s a beautiful thing. Everybody ends the sail wanting to come back again. What more could you want?
