An Irresponsible Adult

Chapter Six

Robin isn’t just any sailboat. She was designed for the very thing we are doing, and in her 31 years, she has already done it all. Perhaps she hasn’t traveled this particular route from Newport to Bermuda, although we know she has visited Bermuda by at least one other route. There are charts in a cabinet above the port settee in the saloon that trace Robin’s travels with the prior owners, Scotty and Marguerite Allen. The Allens lived aboard her for 22 years. They crossed the Atlantic four times – twice each way. They crossed the length of the Mediterranean eight times and sailed as far north as Norway and as far south as Venezuela. They spent a year in Paris and had an anchor made for Robin in Turkey. They moved from Robin onto a powerboat when Marguerite’s arthritis became too uncomfortable for her to climb the five steep steps of the companionway ladder.
We bought Robin in 2004 after narrowing our choices to this model of boat – the Westsail 32. Our decision was based on my study of available designs and Monica’s thrill when she first stepped aboard a Westsail. Her boarding was, of course, the critical moment. I had no idea that winning her over to a Westsail would be so simple. But then, these boats offer an awful lot for people who think they may one day venture offshore and who have a limited budget.
All of the other features of a Westsail 32 were secondary to its finest quality, which is revealed in The Perfect Storm. In Sebastian Junger’s book, there is the story of the sailboat Satori, which got caught in the storm that tragically took the fishing boat Andrea Gail with all hands. Satori’s owner was sailing south from Maine for the winter with a volunteer crew of two women. At the height of the storm, according to the book, the women wanted off and radioed the Coast Guard. When the brave rescuers arrived, they demanded that the owner abandon his boat with his crew. Reluctantly, he did. But he was convinced that his boat would weather the storm. Satori, a Westsail 32, washed up on a Virginia beach a few days after the storm. The gelcoat finish on her hull was scratched by the grounding, but the owner’s camera bag, which he dropped before he was hoisted to the Coast Guard helicopter, reportedly was still on her deck. Satori had not only survived one of the worst North Atlantic storms on record; had her crew stayed aboard, she would have protected them and delivered them to safety, as well as any lifeboat. This was the boat for me.
A Westsail’s survivability is a product both of its design and of its construction. Its lines are derived from the design for a North Sea pilot boat created in the 1800s by Colin Archer and refined later by William Atkins. The Westsail 32 was designed by William Crealock. She has a full keel that helps her to track in rough seas. Her rudder is big and hung off the back of the keel at the very end of the boat. Her stern is almost as pointy as her bow, giving her the ability to take following seas with ease. There is a bulwark almost a foot high along the outside edge of her deck, helping to keep the crew on board when the boat is pitching. There are 7,000 pounds of lead in her keel, meaning she is reluctant to lean too far to the side. The lead, along with one of the thickest fiberglass hulls ever constructed on any boat of less than 40 feet, makes her stiff, and these features also bring her dry weight up to 19,500 pounds. A heavy boat can be a very comfortable boat.
Unfortunately, these very qualities that make a Westsail 32 seaworthy also have encouraged an unflattering nickname – Wet Snail. Supposedly, a Westsail is slow.
And for that reason, from the first time I saw one and admired her lines and construction, I had never thought that I would buy one. No sailor wants to start out with a slow boat, even if not every sailor wants to race.
There are a lot of dreams that shape who will buy what boat. Mine had always been of offshore voyages to distant, exotic places. Right off the bat, at age 20 when I first took a close look at a cruising boat, I imagined sailing to South America. For this reason, any boat that I would consider worthy would be one that I thought could make that sort of trip. Early in my sailing career, my judgment was based on nonsense.
At the other end of the boat buying spectrum are a great many people who see in a boat a floating livingroom with attached sundeck (cockpit). Many, but not all, of these people buy powerboats. As a visit to most marinas will attest, the majority of pleasure craft spend an enormous fraction of their year on a mooring or tied up in a slip.
Monica and I had been sailing a 27-foot, 1967 Pearson Renegade for about eight years when I finally was persuaded to look seriously at a Westsail 32. I had met the captain of a commercial fishing boat who had lived aboard a Westsail 42 for eight years. He said he didn’t know about the smaller version, but that his Westsail was a swift sailor. The 42 became my dream boat.
Then one Sunday afternoon, my friend Bill Haldeman was sailing across the Cape May, New Jersey, harbor in his Mystic 30 when he was passed by a 32 under sail. He was impressed and urged me to reconsider the 32, and I did.
It turns out that the nickname is wrong. Robin’s overall length is over 40 feet. There is a 6-foot-long bowsprit up front and about 3 feet of boomkin overhanging the rudder. These protrusions allow her to carry as much sail area as some 40-foot boats. The result is that in all but the lightest air – under 2 knots – she moves quite well. She can make 3 knots beating against a five knot breeze and almost five knots reaching along the same wind. It is true that her weight keeps Robin from sprinting. But the same mass gives her inertia to keep moving in light puffs.
Equally important in the speed category, the Westsail shape and mass mean that Robin can handle a strong breeze and big seas that would give a lighter boat trouble, or at least make it very uncomfortable.
Bill Haldeman had a chance to see for himself the results of his prodding. Before the start of the Bermuda One-Two, he accompanied me on the offshore leg from Cape May to Newport. It was a voyage that, from the outset, presented Robin with some challenges. Bill was waiting on the dock when I arrived at Utsch’s Marina in Cape May Harbor after a day spent motoring down the Delaware Bay. We filled the fuel tanks with diesel, packed his stuff aboard and at about 7 o’clock on the first day of June headed for the Cape May inlet. Here’s what I wrote in my Soundings blog once we got to Newport.

As we approached the end of the inlet, we could see whitecaps racing across the opening, not unusual for that inlet. We got a little closer and a commercial fishing boat of perhaps 70 to 80 feet, with its outriggers spread, appeared in the foam, headed in. Suddenly, the boat swung hard to starboard and its port outrigger plunged down into the sea water. A breaking wave had nearly rolled it over. By the time we were abreast of the fishing boat, it had recovered.
But by that time, we saw the enormity of the breakers. Often rough, the Cape May inlet features rapid cross currents at its mouth and occasional surf. Bill estimates that some of the breaking waves ahead of us were as tall as a Sunfish is long – maybe 12 feet high. I pushed the tiller to port as we approached the end of the jetties and chose to squeeze out just beyond the south jetty, where the waves seemed somewhat smaller. It was a good decision. Still, Robin’s bow shot skyward several times, and she could make only 3.5 knots against the incoming current.
Rocked to port and starboard, Robin nonetheless punched through the crests and in time we were out to the sea buoy, where we unfurled the genoa, leaving in about one reef. Just then, another large fishing boat appeared , heading directly for us, even though that path would have put the vessel on the beach in minutes. We realized that in the mammoth following sea, the boat had very little steering ability. The wind caught in the genoa, and we got away.


It took Robin about 40 hours to sail the 220 miles to Newport after we had cleared the inlet. The wind blew from astern until we were in Block Island Sound, just a few miles from Newport Harbor. Robin often was sailing at well over 6 knots. There was a decent sea running, but even though we spent most of our time in the cockpit, we were never uncomfortable. (Honest reporting requires me to admit that both of us had spells of nausea, but we were both capable of that reaction on any boat. In fact, I had a bit of a history, and that had led me, in one of the very first blogs, to reveal my own predilection and to ask for advice.

The statute of limitations probably applies, so now I can admit it. On the early May 2005 voyage of the 58-foot ketch Elsie, I may well have been seasick. At the time – and at almost every opportunity since – I said it was the mahi mahi I had for dinner two nights before. The same meal sickened the captain within 12 hours. Food poisoning, for me, seemed more noble than retching for 48 hours because you have a tender tummy. There was also this. Before the voyage started in Charleston, I had taken a proper dosage of Dramamine or Bonine, just in case.
I’m thinking of this now because I really need to figure out what to bring aboard Robin so that I don’t repeat the scenario that lasted on that trip two-thirds of the way to Annapolis. Alone on the Atlantic, I will not be able to wedge myself in the head, jaw dropping into the bowl, wishing for death while someone else keeps watch for hours on end.
My physician is a nice young lady and is very smart. But once, a couple of years ago, when I asked her to recommend a good drug for seasickness, she clearly had no immediate answer. So I guess I’m on my own when it comes to making a decision. For obvious reasons, I’m not content to go back to the over-the-counter remedies.
The Charleston-to-Annapolis trip was not my first or only encounter with nausea on the open sea. In November 1965, traveling to Europe at the taxpayer’s expense aboard the troop ship USNS Rose, we were in a violent northeaster for the first three days out of New York. The crew told us that if we stayed in our bunks, we could avoid mal de mere. I was doing fine into the second day, so I decided to test the crew’s theory. My cabin was near the bow, which was heaving up several stories and, falling off a wave, dropping an equal distance. After lunch, I stood in the hallway outside my cabin for no more than 30 seconds when my lunch was transported into a conveniently-placed barf bag.
Last summer, heading to Block Island from Cape May, New Jersey, I took over the watch at 11 p.m. and Monica went below. The chili we’d had for dinner had still not settled, and within a half hour, some of it was feeding the fish in our wake. It was mid-afternoon the next day before I felt totally okay, although I finished my watch and saw first light appear in the east.
If there is anyone out there with some good suggestions, I want to hear them. My belly will thank you.

Indeed, a few folks responded with cures.

Phin Sprague wrote: I have a pretty habituated stomach. But when we are doing more miles vertically than horizontally and the g-forces confuse your brain, ears and eyes, it may be impossible to avoid nausia. ( I never want to be in the sea way that gets my wife sick!) Being skipper I am down below navigating and working away I just have to keep on going. What I get concerned about is dehydration, energy and the miserable reality of well you know.
I always stock a case of canned pears and peaches in sugar sauce. When I discover a weasy stomach mine or some one in the crew I have them chow down a can liquid and all. #1 sugar, water, solids and it tastes good and goes down easily. #2 if you can hold this down it is moving quickly into your system. #3 if you can’t hold it down what tastes good going down also tastes good coming up. Emptying the stomach is not as miserable a experience as if the sea sick individual had to deal with say…… beef stew. ( no brand names)
This works most of the time if the crew member is inclined to cooperate. It has helped many people who were locked in their bunks afraid to move because of the fear of throwing up. It often happens when you get them on deck and engaged they release the concentration on what is happening to their equilibrium and get over it.
Hope that this is helpful. If not it makes a great quick snack.
William Van Keuren wrote: Doug: As an Army Medic I was sent to Europe via the USNS Geiger. I pulled duty as night medic in the ship’s hospital. Due to a pretty violent November storm in the North Atlantic, I became very familiar with sea sickness. It is quite democratic, in that it affects majors and generals and sergeants and privates equally and with similar results. If you are prone to sea sickness, my concern is that it can be a completely debilitating disease. It can result in dehydration and virtually complete disability. We had every bed filled with men who had to be carried to the hospital. If you were so seriously affected, you would become helpless and at the mercy of the sea.
My oldest son worked as mate on the head boats out of Brielle NJ and I would sometimes go along. I am convinced sea sickness is partly mental, because I have seen passengers sea sick while the boat is still tied to the dock.
It is my understanding that if sea sickness is a problem, treatment by medication should be started one or two days before leaving. You might want to check this with a physician.
On the Brielle head boats, we often found that sucking on a fresh cut lemon was helpful in calming nausea.
Scott wrote: I may be able to help you with the seasickness issue. I, too, suffer greatly from it. Back in 1989 I did a lot of research on it and I found a drug combination that works very well. I have used it ever since and have accumulated thousands of miles in the ocean.
The drug combination is 25 mg phenergan (antinausea) and 25 mg ephedrine (counteract the sleepiness of the phenergan). The phenergan is prescription (very cheap) and the ephedrine was non-prescription, but behind the counter (very cheap, too).
Because of these meth labs, you can’t buy plain ephedrine anymore. I found on a Coast Guard web site that 60 mg pseudoephedrine has the same efficacy as ephedrine. Again, you can’t buy that in this country because of the meth labs (at least I couldn’t get my pharmacy to get it), but I did get it sent from Canada last year for about $25 for 100 tablets.
I can’t stress how much this combination works. I have tried everything else I could imagine: patches, wrist bands, all the different over the counter meds, antivert, ginger, self-hypnosis, etc. All my crews over the years have used this combination with great results.
Obviously, check with your doctor about drug interactions/complications. My kids’ pediatrician approved it for their use, too.
Allegra wrote: Hi Doug!I’ve been reading your posts and am really enjoying them. I can’t wait to hear more as time goes on. However, this one really caught my eye because unfortunately I am extremely prone to motion sickness (I have even thrown-up twice in the movie theater due to a shakey camera scene), so I like to think of myself as somewhat of an expert. Over the counter medication does help me, but no matter what they say I am always drowsy, and I’ve tried two prescriptions (a patch and a pill) but they were not worth the side effects. Plus, you are going to be on a long journey, so taking medication everyday would be a pain and probably not the best thing for you. I have found two things that really work for me without any side effects. The first is the Relief Band which is not like your normal wristband. You do wear it around your wrist, but it gives you tiny little shocks that some how relieve motion sickness. You can even put it on after you feel sick and immediately start to feel better. Here is a link to a website that sells it so that you can read more on it: http://www.2catchbass.com/store/info.php/id/721The second thing that I advise you to use is an all natural liquid that you rub behind your ears. I think you will like this as well because it is not a medication but it really works. Here is the website for that product http://www.motioneaze.com/index.html I hope these products help you like they have helped me!
Peter McCrea wrote: Doug, I like Phin’s canned pear solution! Italian foods like lasagne, pizza,spagetti, etc are verboten when sea state is such that queasies threaten. And chili? Never. That said, these “comfort foods” may be just what is needed on a slow leg south of the stream. Plan on Bland (non spicy) for the first two days out, then have a variety in the lockers to please the palate.

Bill and I were not too far into our trip when we broke out the wrist bands – they shock you like an electric fence, apparently to take your mind off of your problems. We had already taken Bonine. I had found some ginger candies at Wegman’s supermarket, and we sucked on them, too. The cabinets were loaded with canned pears, some of which we consumed. I never did get the prescriptions that Scott had mentioned, although one of the competitors who shall remain nameless did, once I was in Newport, give me a packet of prescription drugs purchased in Great Britain that were “nearly” guaranteed to shut down the up-chucks.
A little more than 200 miles into this trip, my stomach has behaved itself. I have kept a ginger candy in my mouth like a plug of tobacco from time to time, just as preventive medicine. And I have been eating bland foods only. I can’t imagine how low some of my earlier moments might have been were I fighting nausea. I have the ginger and Robin’s good nature to thank for what, over time, is becoming a pleasant sail.