Link to Previous Post: Ha! We Caught a Live One!
The drive to the Bay Club from my dad’s took ten minutes. I watched streets, corners, buildings flash by through the car window. Corona del Mar High School, Our Lady Queen of Angels, Fashion Island, The Newporter Inn, ‘Monstrosity’ (Promontory) Point, (the development that my parents hated for forever blocking the view of Balboa Island and the ocean from Pacific Coast Highway); a torrent of memories invaded my already distracted mind. They were all speeding by at fifty five miles an hour; an appropriate metaphor for life. How fast it had all gone by - fifty eight years in ten minutes - The Story of My Life. However, one thought overrode them all - I was leaving.
For five weeks, we had watched the crew; professionals who knew much more about sailing and the journey we were going to undertake than we did; spend their days and not an insignificant amount of our money preparing for our trip. The cost of the delivery crew was, in our minds, astronomical. The $2,000 a day in salaries, plus the dock rent, food, fuel, insurance, loan payment and parts added up to a sum of money that we found hard to get our heads around. When everything was calculated, our burden was around $3,800 a day. Even though we could afford it on paper, the emotional reality of spending that much was intensely difficult to adjust to. There was also a detectable underlying tone with everyone in the ‘industry’ of “you have it, so we are entitled to it” - an attitude that left Dean and I extremely uneasy and that challenged our ability to trust people. Was this how things were going to be from now on? Does everyone see our boat and then us as a never ending piggy bank to be smashed and raided? At least outwardly, I wrestled with the cost much more than Dean. I had been raised to be extremely conscientious about spending, but I had never been overly cautious. Until then, I believed that my relationship with money had always been very healthy - but spending like this scared me.
Aside of the expense, up until this day, the reality of starting our journey to Europe on Eclipse had been esoteric - a grand idea floating in the back of my mind but not my reality. Until that day, Dean and I had been walking through what seemed like someone else’s life, as if we were watching a movie - like we were reading a script, but it wasn’t real. It wasn’t us. When I talked to people about what we were doing, our plan was a book report; it wasn’t about us. Sailing Eclipse to Europe was just a dream, a far away concept as nebulous as a ghost. The preparations and taking care of my father had kept us completely preoccupied and insulated from the full impact of truly absorbing the concept - and commitment - of leaving. So as we pulled up in front of the resort on that foggy morning, all that unacknowledged reality hit my insides with a deep and gut wrenching blow that left me feeling hollow and somewhat nauseous. We would finally be leaving - actually leaving - today.
The Uber driver left us at the front door under the breezeway, standing with our suitcases and Boo at the public lobby entrance, looking out at the bay. It felt a lot more than a little surreal that we were about to embark on a journey we had been talking about and planning, (me never really believing it would happen) for almost a year and a half. Now that I look back, the speed with which everything came together, as well as the perfect timing of the finances, is truly nothing short of an absolute miracle. If I had any doubts that God was with us, or that we were in His will, they were stupid. He had widely opened every door.
Dean and I looked at each other and began heading to the boat, rolling our bags along behind us. (I love that we can communicate without saying a word. What a blessing; to know each other so well that we already know what the other is thinking.) The last thing I had packed were the documents to file in Italy for Dean to get Italian citizenship. He qualified through a legal process called “jure sanguinis” - literally “by right of blood” - as a not yet recognized Italian citizen. His grandparents had been Sicilian’s who bravely left Sicily with nothing in 1900, taking a ship to Ellis Island. I had personally seen a copy of his grandfather’s signature in one of the many famous books that were kept from the Ellis Island immigration processing center. Dean applying for his Italian citizenship from the United States through the Los Angeles consulate would have taken six years - but if an applicant lived in Italy, it could take as few as three months to have an Italian - and EU - passport. We recognized the trajectory of U.S. policy through the current powers in Washington D.C. and did not like where it was headed one bit, so I had spent a year researching then collecting all the necessary documents we would need to become EU citizens with all the benefits that went with citizenship. The file that contained those documents was almost the most precious thing we were taking aboard; we also had Boo.
The clip clop of the wheels over the pavement and dock ramp was the only sound as we made our way to Eclipse. It was mid morning on a Monday and the resort was middle-of-winter quiet. The plan was to get to Florida for boat work before crossing the Atlantic to Italy, but we first had to stop in San Diego to try and get a few more critical things repaired, such as the water maker and particularly our ‘problem’. On the following Friday, four days after our arrival, Southern California closed her doors on us and we were berthless; not to mention in no condition to cross seventy five hundred miles of ocean.
After being ripped off of a Catalina weekend, our daughter and her boyfriend were hitching a ride with us to Shelter Island then taking the train back to Orange County. We are always delighted when our adult children have time to spend with us. We were all looking forward to the trip and a few kick ass Mai Tai’s at the world famous Bali Hai in San Diego Bay when we got there. Mostly, I was hoping everything would be fine with Eclipse on the way; in some ways, this was our true shake down cruise.
The palm trees that lined the Bay Club Resort were still; not a breath of wind stirred their fronds. It had been a very warm month and in the damp mornings the inland heat was already pulling in marine moisture, which thankfully lifted by noon. The sky was a pale shade of gray from the light fog that floated around them. Despite the fact that it was February, I only wore a light sweater as the quintessential California weather prevailed. The soft grayish light hit the water and the decks, sparkling sluggishly as the sun struggled to break through the low clouds. In the morning sky, the sun looked like a spotlight behind a thick gray curtain. The air smelled of salt, seaweed, creosote and algae.
We got everything aboard, lines were untied, and we backed out of our slip for the last time. Unlike the day of the Catalina catastrophe, we pulled away from the docks and proceeded down the bays’ waterways uneventfully. As we cruised down the harbor I sat on the aft deck, watching the dancing sparklers and glistening diamonds of pale light on the water as houses, boats, restaurants, yacht clubs and bars floated by, while four decades of memories fought for prominence in my mind. It occurred to me that it was probably, hopefully, the last time I would experience the ghosts and demons of my past in Newport Beach so intimately. Far too many of those memories were of a very unpleasant nature; and for that reason and others, I was determined I would not be returning. That thought brought with it a burst of intense grief; but to my surprise, it was followed by a deep sense of relief. After having wrestled and then coming to grips with my past, in that moment I was taken back by the the intensity of my feelings - an intensity I thought I had gotten past. The weird thing was that I knew what I was experiencing was not because I was leaving. Although there was still a part of me that grieved the little girl who had so much taken from her at the hands of those who were supposed to love and protect her, what caused my surprise was the relief; the lack of emotion I felt about the thought of never coming back. I was overwhelmingly conflicted - this was the beautiful place where I grew up - a place that almost everyone envied me having had such an “idyllic” childhood. When people asked me, “where are you from”, and I answered, “Newport Beach”, that name was always received with either an “oooohhh”, or a “Wow. How lucky!”
I looked down the bay at Hoag Hospital where I was born. I had gone to school here; worked and made friends; partied in too many houses to count. I had driven my moped and later my Volkswagon Bug convertible everywhere in this city and all over Southern California. Here I had spent day after glorious day at the beach - and developed my passion for the ocean and boating. My love, Catalina Island, was here. It was here I had first encountered Jesus and submitted my life to him. It was here I got married - and where I bore and raised my children. I was supposed to have love for this place. What was wrong with me? How could I care so little about leaving? I spent a few more minutes reflecting further on my past, and logically decided that my emotions were not only perfectly reasonable - they were outright healthy. Newport Beach was an amazing place to live, but the beauty of the place could never wipe out the ugliness of my experiences there. I could never really escape my past, or its demons, but I could avoid having them bitch slap me in the face by just being here. Leaving Newport for good; never again entering my childhood home; never again being ‘triggered’ by the monsters of my past; was going to be healing to my heart and soul. I wouldn’t miss it - and that was okay.
Before I knew it, we were at the harbor mouth. The tender was let out and attached to the spring line for the six or so hour trip down the coast. Looking out, the seas were calm with a small swell coming from the northwest at ten second intervals, which would quarter us starboard aft as we headed south all the way to San Diego. I could hear the sea lions barking at the bell buoy to the harbor entrance, fighting each other for the right to a dry spot on top of it so they could luxuriate in the weak morning sun; but the lack of the bell ringing broadcast calm seas. We were going to have a very pleasant trip, even if there was not enough wind to put up the sails.
Everything on Eclipse, as far as we knew, was working perfectly as we headed out of the harbor. The crew had spent five weeks checking off the necessary items on the survey list, and had even gotten around to repairing some of the ‘noted’ items that needed to be done but were not critical. Our MTU engine was a beast and had always run perfectly. Brad, the captain, was discussing his plan to repair the starboard generator with Dean, while Lloyd stayed at the helm guiding her out to sea. The part we hoped would fix our generator was set to arrive at my father’s house the next day, so we were going to have to come back and get it, but oh well; what could we do? Driving back the next day was annoying but it had to be done. We just prayed that it worked.
Looking around the deck and listening to the crew and Dean discuss the boat made me realize even more how out-of-our-depth we were about how Eclipse operated. I was constantly hearing terms about equipment I had never heard of or dealt with before, and it made me feel more impotent than in any other context in my life. It was as if I was on an alien spacecraft; I had no idea how to work it and nothing to contribute.
Despite the lack of any kind of music system on board - a fact that drove me crazy and made me wonder about the sanity of her previous owner - the hours to San Diego passed quickly and pleasantly as whales and dolphins escorted us down the coastline. I relaxed in our stateroom and took a nap, while Dean and the kids stayed in the upper salon watching the scenery. We stayed within a mile or so of shore and I was able to pick out landmarks and places I had been to many times over the course of almost sixty years. When we finally pulled into San Diego harbor around 3:30 in the afternoon, it felt beyond strange that Eclipse was not there for a weekend; that in fact we were not going “someplace” for a short trip but that we were leaving for good. Everything we would need for the next five or six weeks on the trip down the waters of Mexico and Central America, then through the Panama Canal, across the Western Caribbean and up to Florida, as well as everything we were taking to Europe, was on Eclipse.
We were home.
After making our way past the Naval base and its submarines, as well as barking sea lions, pleasure boats and boats loaded with tourists gawking at the gorgeous homes along Point Loma, we made our way to Shelter Island Marina. With ease, Lloyd guided Eclipse into her temporary slip. After securing a few lines and hooking up to power, we were settled in. We made a quick trip to the office to say ‘hi’ to Nancy, retrieve our gate keys and a copy of the rules, then we were off to get Mai Tai’s and dinner. The kids were taking a 9:00 p.m. train back to Orange County that night.
The next morning, only slightly hung over, we made the round trip to Newport Beach in an Uber to pick up the part from my dad’s house. As we drove the freeways to Orange County, I thought about how little I missed planning every aspect of my life around traffic. It was the first thing that had radically changed when we had gotten married and all moved to Idaho for Dean’s job. Until I left it, I had no idea how much traffic had dictated and dominated my life. When we arrived in Newport, I fully expected to surprise my dad, but he wasn’t home - he had gone to a doctor’s appointment. We found the package and had to return without seeing him. I was very disappointed.
Upon returning to Eclipse; five hours and one hundred and eighty miles of Southern California freeway driving later; we handed the package to Brad then Dean and I took Boo for a nice long walk along the boardwalk by the bay, (which means we walked and he got carried). We did not want to hang out on the boat as our last hours ran out while Brad made his final desperate attempt to fix the generator. As we walked, we were praying; “please God. Let this be the answer”.
We were all stressed, but Dean and I felt it much more accutely. We had put everything into Eclipse. We were barely out of the gate and already facing a potentially huge problem and expense. With COVID lock downs and business closings, getting a new 55kw generator could take a up to a year; and there was no slip with power available anywhere, not even Ensenada - so we would have had to keep Eclipse on a mooring - which meant that we would have had to run the port generator at least fourteen hours a day until we could get a new one - which meant we also would have had to have the port generator rebuilt by the time the new one arrived - which was almost as expensive as buying a new generator. Our situation was stomach churning. So many ‘experts’ had looked at the issue and not fixed it - it was audacity itself to believe that our seasoned captain who was not an electronics expert could claim success where so many had failed. If not for our faith, I don’t know if we would have had any hope, but we prayed every day - and believed our prayers would be answered.
When we got back from our walk, Brad confirmed that he had ordered the correct part for our generator. Praise God! It was too late that day, but Brad had a arranged for a call in the morning with a friend in Florida who was going to help him program the three phase voltage regulator for installation. Lloyd was really worried that Brad would be electrocuted and insisted we get an electrician aboard to do the job; not the first or last time that someone would insist that we needed an “expert” to solve our problems. The problem with the ‘experts’ was that, after paying them an exorbitant sum of money just to show up and NOT solve the problem, it became clear that the ‘experts’ lack of actual “expertise’ about Eclipse would force us to end up solving the problem ourselves anyway. A lack of understanding and knowledge of the engineering and systems on Eclipse had already caused multiple tens of thousands of dollars and days to weeks of time to be unnecessarily wasted; a trend that would continue until either Dean, or a qualified engineer, learned enough about her to put an end to it. However, for this task, Brad was unperturbed. “It isn’t dangerous; I’ve done this before”. Brad seemed so confident, not only that he would not get electrocuted but that he would fix the problem. But if he was wrong, our ability to move forward with our plans and not be stuck in Southern California or Northern Baja were a pipe dream. Without much enthusiasm, Dean and I went out to dinner and after watching a movie in bed, prayed some more and tried to fall asleep. I have no recollection of whether or not we slept at all.
When Dean and I arose the next morning, shockingly, it was another bright, warm sunny day in Southern California. Brad was up and already on the phone. I heard him taking directions and verifying numbers and settings that I still do not understand. He was unshaven and disheveled, his reading glasses slipping off his nose while a small wet curl settled itself in the middle of his forehead as the sweat poured down. He focused like a laser beam on the computer chip like tablet in his hands. The time was 9:30 a.m. The ‘problem’ had to get solved today, because tomorrow morning, by 11:00, we had to be out of the slip - with nowhere to go.
After grabbing some coffee and a light breakfast, we waited nervously in our cabin, not wanting to be in the way or make Brad feel any more pressure. Quite frankly, the pressure we both felt was enough for the whole crew and then some. We prayed.
Around 11:00 a.m., we heard the generator start up. We listened as the load forced the engine to whine higher and then lower, then lower still as the circuit was challenged. We heard the hydraulics come on, groaning loudly as the whine went up and down. Suddenly, there was a loud and rapid knock on our door. It was Brad. “Hey, can you guys come up here? I need your help.”
My heart sunk. I looked at Dean, and as he looked at me I saw he had a look in his eyes that spoke to my thoughts. “It didn’t work. What do we do now?”
We climbed the stairs into the lower salon, me wondering what in the world this fiasco was going to cost us in time, stress and money. I wondered what we would do with Eclipse if we needed a new generator. I pictured us living on her at a mooring in San Diego or Long Beach until we could repair or sell her. I considered calling an attorney to find out if we had any recourse against the broker. I imagined a quagmire of stress and lost money and more stress as ultimately the attorneys were the only winners if everything went to shit. This would not be the last time the familiar cash register “cha chings” would be going off in my head. As we took the stairs into the upper salon where Brad stood at the helm controls, I glanced up at his face, expecting defeat and sorrow. To my utter shock and confusion, he looked gleeful. Grinning like a madman and looking the part as well; hair wild and face unshaven, he breathlessly ordered, “Okay, I have it installed. So far it is holding. I want to put as much load on it as possible. What can we add? Do we have anything I can use to really bog it down?” I immediately remembered talking to the electrician about balancing the load on the two generators when my ex and I bought the Offshore 68. “My hair dryer. And curling iron. They pull a ton of power. And turn on the stove and oven!”
I ran to our cabin and plugged in my feminine instruments of torture. I turned on the hair dryer, put it on the hottest and highest settings. I listened to the generator…….it held! No sputtering, no slowly dying!! I left the dryer and curling iron on, placed them on the floor and ran upstairs.
“They’re all on!” I shouted over the cacophony of the whining generator, hydraulics and hair dryer.
Brad straightened up to his full height, all 6’4” and 275 pounds of him. His grin spread from ear to ear. I will never ever forget that smile until my dying day. “It works. It’s fixed. And your boat just went up in value by about a million dollars”.
I looked at Dean and he at me - I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and I began to cry. No matter what else Brad Cavanaugh ever does in his whole life, there will not be a minute that we are not grateful to him for his unrelenting tenacity in fixing our boat.
We had our miracle; another in a countless stream. Eclipse was good to go to Florida.
God smiled. We were passing our tests of faith. The pressure had been brutal, but God had delivered exactly the right people at exactly the right time to keep us going.
That night, everyone celebrated with tacos and margaritas and beer. We all slept well. In the morning, we would begin our journey South. Mexico, here we come!
To be continued…..