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January 1, 2022.
A new year. A new life. A new everything.
We spent the New Year quietly with some close and very old friends of ours at their home in Newport Beach. Dean and I are not big party people, so in usual fashion, we did not make it until midnight, heading back to my father’s house around 11:00 p.m. for another semi-okay night’s sleep on the cement slab that served as a mattress in my parent’s former bedroom.
We had moved into my father’s house right before Christmas, after some debate and a long discussion with my father, 92. Following Dean and I moving out of our lovely AirBnB, it was agreed we would move into his house so I could help him out; cooking, cleaning, running errands, shopping and assisting him with everything while he “recovered” from a significant stroke in October. The family had hired people to help him during the day, but in typical stubborn dad fashion, he had chased them all off, (I don’t need any help!”) and was alone. From my discussions with friends that have elderly parents, it became clear that this is a fairly typical attitude and also very difficult to overcome. My father was at high risk for another stroke, but believed he was going to fully recover from the damage he had already sustained. (His right side was partially paralyzed which made it difficult for him to write and walk and he could no longer drive.) Therefore, in his mind, there was no problem continuing to take care of himself, just as he had in the seventeen years since my mother had died, while he underwent physical therapy. None of his children were comfortable with this arrangement. His bedroom was on the second floor and every one of us pictured him at the bottom of the stairs, unable to get help after a nasty fall. The thought of him alone and helpless was not acceptable to any of us.
So while it was convenient for my father and my family to have me there, moving back into my father’s house was very difficult for me. I did not have a close or good relationship with him. My childhood had been traumatic and my family’s dynamics were extremely dysfunctional. My father, for all intents and purposes, had been almost totally absent in my formative years, working six or seven days a week at his gourmet meat shop in Corona del Mar until he sold it when I was in my late teens. I later learned, from him, that he had never wanted children; working constantly kept him away from the reality of the five children he was “forced” to support. It’s not hard to imagine that his constant absence had a very negative affect on my mother, who was left to raise five children all but alone. Even though I was a grown adult, his confession didn’t do a lot for my emotional well being. My mother dealt with it by becoming an alcoholic. It was unfortunate that my father decided in his later years to confess things to me about his youth that quite frankly I never wanted to hear. These “confessions” did nothing to strengthen our bond, tenuous as it was. For all of those reasons and more, my decision to take care of him was not an easy one. I did not enjoy being in the house where violent, unhappy memories lurked in every corner. The phantoms of the screaming, fights and other events were ever present and weighed on my soul like a dark, heavy cloud. However, God has commanded that we honor our parents and that command comes with a promise: that things will go well for us. There is no command saying we have to like it. My choice to honor my father in this way was done in obedience to God’s word and nothing more. I felt I got nothing out of it and every day I was in that house was painful. But God promises that I will be rewarded for my obedience, so obedience is my choice, even when it is not a happy one.
I was alone with my dad for several weeks before Dean, having given his notice of retirement, came home from New Mexico for the last time. It is still amazing to me the little fanfare or celebration we had of his retirement itself; he left and that was that. We were so engrossed in Eclipse and the preparations for her trip plus the responsibility of my dad that we had not a minute to relax or enjoy ourselves. I cannot even remember the days that flew by between New Year’s and the appearance of our friend and captain from our Caribbean charters, who joined us two weeks before the delivery captain and the remainder of the delivery crew. We knew how he handled boats and maintenance and trusted him implicitly; we were actually hoping he would want the job as her permanent captain.
On January 10th, I picked him up at the airport and we drove to Eclipse. He was supplied with a car, a gate key and instructions on how to open the boat, after which I left him alone to assess his new job and home for the next month. He chose the VIP cabin as his and made himself at home. The rest of the crew, including a senior captain with a license our insurance would cover, was due to arrive from Massachusetts on January 23rd. We planned on leaving for Florida within a week of their arrival.
Our friend had a brief turnover from the previous captain which was so inadequate that I now understand the reason for the “sock puppet” crack from our broker. The man knew next to nothing about the complexities of Eclipse or how she worked. We showed our captain friend where the thirty-one three inch binders that contained and explained Eclipse’ systems could be found and suggested he start reading. For almost two weeks, he worked on and studied Eclipse before the rest of the crew joined him. Dean now laments that he was not there every day to work with him and start to get his arms around the operations of Eclipse. We would have understood the reasons for what was being done and possibly helped avoid many redundant and unnecessary expenditures. But we were so completely trusting of the “experts” we had hired, (at no small expense); people with decades of experience; that we never questioned whether or not they would be able to run Eclipse. It was a foregone conclusion. So it seemed odd to me, especially after reading the surveys we paid “experts” for, that so much work and repairs were needed on a boat that ran and sailed just perfectly a few months before. The surveys made most of Eclipses’ shortcomings seem trivial. Again, inexperience bit us in the behind. Even with three people working seven days a week, the crew found problem after problem - much more than we ever anticipated - which made getting ready for a 4,000 mile trip to Florida agonizingly slow.
For us, every day was a laundry list of newly discovered problems, coupled with a demand for parts, equipment, repairs and money. We had to set up weekly washes, bottom cleaning and pump outs. We were told the rigging was done wrong. The air compressors were not operating properly. The sheets were the wrong size for the rigging. We needed new compressors. We had to have a cradle built for the new tender. The water maker needed to be rebuilt, as it had sat unused for years. It seemed like every pump needed rebuilding. No one understood the state of the art brand new Atlas shore power management and electrical system. The navigation instruments were inadequate and we needed new charts. The refrigeration swung wildly in temperature and no one knew why. In addition to the “expert” crew, we had electricians, plumbers, rigging specialists, divers, specialty repair guys, refrigeration guys….a veritable parade of workmen coming on and off the boat almost daily in addition to the now full-time preparation brigade. We were also tasked with hiring a chef to provision and cook for the crew and us on the voyage. It was a constant spend-a-thon; I had nightmares about a Hoover vacuum sucking everything out of our bank accounts. I also remember thinking “thank God this will come to an end soon”. Once we got on our way to Florida, I reasoned, everything will be working perfectly. Wow. What a naive rube. We had barely skimmed the surface. But, as they say, ignorance is bliss. If we had known all that really needed to be done to bring Eclipse up to speed, we probably would not have gone through with the purchase; but God had other plans, so we did not.
Consequently, the “week” we planned on for departure turned into three - and counting - with no end in sight. The “to-do” list was long and the number of available and good people to do the work, particularly because of the ongoing “pandemic emergency” was shockingly short. So while we had no date when the needed repairs could be finished, we did have a “must get off the dock” date of February 28th; and everyone knew it.
With all that going on and us being blissfully unaware of just how big the project was that we had just willingly walked right into, our biggest concern was that Eclipse never left the dock. We had owned her for over a month and her engine had not even been started. Dean had mentioned to the crew taking her out several times, but with all they were trying to do, his plea fell on deaf ears. Discussing it one night, we both reached the same conclusion - how can they even know how to handle the boat if they never take her out? How will we know if everything works? Finally, after being put off for weeks, we demanded that the crew get the boat off the dock. We told them we were going to take a “shake down” trip to Catalina Island on the weekend of February 18th. After nearly a month of the crew working every day, she was finally going to get off the dock and out on the ocean.
The month of February, 2022, was one of the nicest in my memory of over forty years of Southern California Februaries. The daytime temperatures were in the high seventies and low eighties, devoid of rain or storms. The ocean was a lily pond. We were provided perfect weather for the work being done and for a weekend jaunt to Catalina Island. I could already smell the Coney Island burgers and diesel fumes.
The morning of the trip, we showed up earlier than the agreed upon 8:00 a.m. departure time; a rarity for me. The chef had picked up some fresh pastries from C’est si Bon, a lovely little french bakery close to the boat, and they were prepared for our arrival by a stewardess, hired by the crew for the weekend to wait on us hand and foot. It was a nice touch. I was SOOO excited.
Our oldest daughter and her fiance, both Catalina lovers like me, had been invited to join us for that all important maiden voyage. The water sparkled under light breezes and a clear cloudless blue sky. Everyone got on board, had their coffees and then chatted happily about the upcoming weekend. As the tender did not have a cradle to secure it on the fore deck yet, it was decided that we would pull it behind the boat so we would have a way to get to the dinghy dock once in Avalon. The kids agreed to drive the tender to the harbor entrance for easier navigation of Eclipse through the harbor; once at the harbor entrance we would rig a spring line to the tender and pull it behind us to Catalina. They jumped in the small boat and headed into the channel a short distance away while we got Eclipse ready to leave the dock.
A large part of our journey has been learning to pay attention to and not trivialize the “little” details. Insignificant conversations, facts and observations, which may seem unimportant at the time, have had a nasty way of becoming not so “insignificant” later on. Learning the nuances of conversations - hearing what has not been said, as well as what has - has also become a vital skill.
I remember that morning hearing Dean having a discussion with our captain as we were preparing to leave. They were talking about the fact that we only had the starboard generator working because the port generator was getting a cooling pump rebuilt. We have two fifty-five kilowatt generators - one has more than enough power to run the critical systems individually with power to spare - so both captains and Dean agreed it wasn’t a problem. By their logic, we had plenty of power to run everything on the starboard generator and main engine for two days. Theirs was more of an informational discussion than anything else. I didn’t think much of it.
At least not then.
What we did not know that fine beautiful morning was that our friend from the charter boat, who happened to be at the helm of Eclipse that day, had failed to bring to mind what at the time seemed like a trivial conversation he had had with the previous skipper. We found out later that when he first came aboard, the former captain had told him “only take her out on the port generator”, without going into any details of why. We did not have a port generator that day. Unfortunately, our skipper did not remember that conversation and considering how little information he was given, he was easily forgiven for it. However, his failure to bring to mind that little detail came back to bite him in the ass very quickly.
I was standing on the back deck when the roar and rumble of her 615 hp MTU diesel engine came to life, signalling that we were ready to undo the lines. The smell of the diesel fumes was perfume to my senses; I was going out on the ocean, my true happy place. Slowly we began to back out of the slip. We were moving!! After a few applications of the bow and stern thrusters, we were properly positioned and headed down one of the main channels. The skipper made it look easy; Eclipse handled like a dream. She was grace on the water, her beautiful lines, massive mast and sparkling blue hull majestically cruising down the bay. I pinched myself, scarcely able to believe we were actually on OUR boat - the boat that was never supposed to happen - and on our way to Catalina. I sat down above one of the cockpit tables, hugging my knees with my back to a salon window, looking back at the stern and watching the skipper carefully as he guided her along. This was his first time out, too, and I was interested to see how he would handle her.
There was not much channel traffic that morning. It was a Saturday morning in February; fairly early; and at that time of year, most boaters cruised the harbor in the afternoons when they did use their boats. The channel to the harbor mouth was lined with a dazzling display of wealth. Hundreds of multi-tens of millions dollar bay front homes drifted by on our starboard, as well as hundreds of mostly power boats of all sizes, neatly tied up to their docks, while smaller boats secured to mooring balls drifted by to our port. To the left of them was another channel and more houses, docks and boats. With its ideal Southern California weather and gentle tides, Newport Harbor’s perfect protection plus it’s proximity to the Channel Islands and specifically Santa Catalina Island make it incredibly popular and therefore filled to capacity with impeccable homes and vessels. It is something to behold.
That morning, I was drinking it all in, glancing at the skipper from time to time while Dean and the senior captain, who as an East Coast guy and not used to balmy Southern California winters, were up on the bow, stowing lines and enjoying the view. Life was perfect. All was good in the world.
My idyll did not last long. Something made me glance at the helm. I watched as the look on the captain’s face turned from being focused and intense to sheet white and filled with absolute horror. I believe that that morning, I watched a human being lose five years of life in a single second. I sat up straight as if I had been shocked - something was terribly wrong. I watched his arms as he pushed forward and back on the engine control - but there was no corresponding change to the sound of rpm’s from the engine. He kept his eyes straight ahead, and with a level voice, loud enough for me to hear but not for the guys on the bow, he announced:
“I’ve lost steering. I’ve lost thrust.”
I felt my stomach drop down to my feet. I sat for a moment in a state of shock. Here we were, a 107’ long sailing yacht in the middle of a harbor with thousands of boats and a million ways to damage them and us, and we were literally out of control.
Thank God I was not in charge that day, and thank God we had our senior captain. The next fifteen minutes are still a blur in my memory.
It did not take long for our senior captain to be alerted to our catastrophe. He ran to the cockpit and immediately began to calm things down. “It’s okay, we’re gonna be okay. Get me the radio”. He immediately called the kids on the tender and started giving them instructions; he was going to use them as a sort of “tug” to keep us from hitting anyone and to help turn us back to the dock. We had about 1/2 a mile of water and a 180 degree turn to navigate with no engine and no steering in order to get us to the dock.
The second thing he did was test to see if the thrusters were working. They were. The thrusters operate off the hydraulics, which were powered by the main engine. Now all he had to do was maneuver the boat back to the safety of the slip. No small feat.
After watching the panic on deck long enough to hear the plan, I ran down into our cabin, threw myself face down on the bed and as I cried, started praying. I could not bear to see what was happening above; I heard the tender’s engine revving, I heard yelling and I heard thrusters raging loudly in my ear.
I do not know exactly how long I stayed praying, but I wiped my tears and headed up in case there was anything I could or should be doing. It was all hands on deck - the captain had done an amazing job of getting us maneuvered into place to get back into our slip at the Bay Club. By this time, we were in front of our slip and moving straight in, but with no thrust, we had no way to stop. I was certain that we were going to crash into the dock, damage the boat and it and wind up with a huge insurance claim. Litigation also crossed my mind.
There were bodies running all over the boat and loud incomprehensible yelling as I watched diners at the dockside restaurant in blissful oblivion, calmly watching as we approached the slip. It was at this point that the first full blown miracle of many occurred.
The senior captain had brought with him a mate. He was quiet, brooding and a general pain in the ass, but he was also talented, agile and experienced. I stood on the aft deck, watching the captain guide us into what I thought was going to be a shit show of astronomic proportions as we slammed into the docks. We were coming in way too fast. I felt my stomach tighten as I braced for what I was sure was going to be the shudder of impact, the sound of splintering wood, the groans of the dock straining at the pylons and the gasps and yells of the oblivious patrons. Suddenly, out of what seemed like nowhere, the mate, with dock line in hand and thereafter nicknamed “Spiderman”, jumped ten feet to the dock, rolled, and with a nanosecond to spare, like a Wyoming cowboy catching a calf’s heels at a rodeo, tossed the line around the dock cleat and held tight. Eclipse strained but (thank you God for dyneema) the line and the cleat held her groaning 151 tons. Her bow stopped inches short of the dock.
I let out a gasp, and I am sure everyone else collectively let out their held breath. I remember yelling a loud “YEEEESSS!!!!” The captain had a grin from ear to ear. There were hugs, high fives, cheers, whoops and hollers. Startled diners looked up from their meals. They had no idea.
We were happy, but shaken. Eclipse had a major problem. There had been no indication or warning that something was wrong with the starboard generator. Under load, the generator had failed, causing vital operating systems including steering and thrust to go off line. We had no idea why.
One night the week after our little episode, as the crew came back on the tender from dinner, a drunken Bozo, the seller’s broker, on the dock at the Bay Club and not knowing who they were, had laughed and confessed to them what he had done to the “flakes” he had pawned off a very broken Eclipse on. Not only that, “Bozo” disclosed that he was also a relief captain on Eclipse. He had known about the problem the whole time and never disclosed it. It certainly explained the actions of the prior captain and his nerves and edginess the day we took her out in San Diego.
But the worst thing of all was that we only had 10 days to find the issue and fix it, or Eclipse was going nowhere. And we had nowhere else we could take Eclipse. Our ticking clock had suddenly become a time bomb.
To be continued…….