Home at last

The morning sun sparkled off the water as we boarded Dolce Vento on Friday, October 16, docked in Little Round Bay on the Severn River, about 25 miles north of her soon to be new home in Herring Bay.  However, our excitement dissipated quickly like air from a popped balloon as we struggled with unforeseen obstacles -- blue exhaust smoke bellowing from the idling engine, an autopilot and GPS no longer working as they did during the sea trials, and two inches of water sloshing in the engine's drain pan.  

We would not be defeated.  Three hours later after multiple phone calls with our broker, we had a dry engine pan (water from the leaking aft scuppers during the sea trials was scooped out and sopped dry), reassurances that GPS and autopilot problems would be fixed by the previous owner when new parts came in (a mechanic's butt had dislocated several electronic mechanisms while replacing the scuppers), and the engine smoke would dissipate (it hadn't been run much all summer).  We left dock at 12:30 carefully monitoring the depth sounder to avoid shallow water; however, we did go aground briefly when John, my navigator and first mate, directed me around a buoy as he mistakenly held his iPhone digital chart upside down. I will buy this navigator new paper charts that clearly show which way is up.

Despite all the issues, we had one hell of a sail.  After leaving the Severn River and turning south just east of Annapolis Harbor, we raised the sails, set a beam reach (the most perfect point of sail) and flew to Herring Bay in 12-15 knots of wind, gusting to 18.  

Dolce Vento sliced through the water at 7.5-8.5 knots with barely a 5 degree heal.  We were amazed because our previous 39' Hunter only occasionally did 6.5-7 knots, healing to an uncomfortable 20 degrees. The longer water line, the larger sails, the heavier hull and the Tartan design delivered beyond our expectations.  John was thrilled with all the room on deck to work with the sails, I loved the helm with its four foot diameter wheel.  Like Lilly Tomlin's Edith Ann, I was the little girl in a big sail boat where I could just see over the top of the wheel when I stood directly behind it.  Our second mate, Justine, loved the smooth sail so much that she put on an extra sweater and napped in the cockpit as the sun darted among fluffy cumulus clouds that speckled the late afternoon sky.  By five, with the sun still above the horizon, we were safely docked and began lassoing and adjusting dock lines on pilings to hold Dolce Vento safe in all kinds of wind.

We lived aboard this past week, probing Dolce Vento's innards, learning how her many systems work (ah, the secrets of marine refrigeration, plumbing, HVAC and audio/video), cleaning and organizing manuals and equipment.  We did have one minor situation on Tuesday evening after dinner.  With shoes off and socks still on my feet, I attempted to step up the steeply slanted port side soul (floor) of the aft cabin.  As I stretched my left arm to reach an shelf, my feet flew out from under me, smashing my body against my outstretched arm on the floor, resulting in my first, and I hope, my only dislocated shoulder and ambulance ride to the emergency room.  Six hours later, with my arm back in its socket and in a sling, and my brain, a bit woozy from a marvelous morphine and Valium cocktail, enabling me to endure the pulling and pushing of my left arm, John and I fell into bed, sleeping to noon. By 1 PM, it was back to work with a promise, like Edith Ann, to  "wear my shoes. Cross my heart and hope to die."  

Really, I promise.