Wind of Peace: The True Story of One Family’S Sailing Adventure and the People, Places, and Challenges Encountered Along the Way

By Elli K. Straus

Realizing that the time is right to act on their crazy idea of pulling their two daughters out of school for a year, shut down the house, and embark on a sailing sabbatical, Elli and her husband David, pitch the idea to their daughters. With just a few months planning time available, what follows is a mad rush to take sailing lessons, buy and equip a boat, devote countless hours to researching every aspect of their trip, and attempt to convince friends and relatives that they havent completely lost their minds. Temporary home found for their beloved dog Chester, boat stuffed with provisions, charts, and safety gear, their trip is almost over before it even begins when a strong summer squall causes their 42 sailboat to drag through the anchorage on their journeys first stormy night.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781491798140

Elli K. Straus

Elli was born in Greece, and spent her formative years in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe). Her family moved to the U.S. when she was 16 years old, and settled in Baltimore County, Maryland. After meeting her husband, David, while on vacation in the Bahamas, the couple married and settled in Maryland where their daughters, Meghan and Laura, were born. Sailing on the family’s first sailboat, Pleiades, Elli became more and more comfortable with the idea of an extended sailing adventure, something her husband had always dreamed about. Now that both their daughters are in college, the couple has returned to sailing in their beloved Chesapeake Bay, with future sailing plans that include the Abacos, Cuba, and Bermuda. The family’s adventure on Wind of Peace continues to be a favorite topic of discussion, and Elli has no doubt that she and her husband will one day return to life on the water.

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Copyright © 2016 Elli K. Straus.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-9815-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-9813-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-9814-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016908173

iUniverse rev. date:  11/16/2016

CONTENTS

Preface

Acknowledgments

PART ONE

Chapter 1–The Journey Begins

Chapter 2–A North Carolina Welcome

Chapter 3–Offshore Passage

Chapter 4–Water … Everywhere!

Chapter 5–Vero Beach Vigil

Chapter 6–The Mighty Stream

PART TWO

Chapter 7–Paradise Found

Chapter 8–If Pigs Could Swim

Chapter 9–Camp Georgetown

Chapter 10–A Close Call

Chapter 11–Passage To A New World

Chapter 12–Buenas Tardes!

PART THREE

Chapter 13–Adios, Luperon

Chapter 14–Hello Again, Georgetown!

Chapter 15–North Bound

Chapter 16–A Florida Welcome

Chapter 17–Carolinas Revisited

Chapter 18–Home Stretch

Epilogue

Glossary

References

David,

my love, my husband,

my captain.

Meghan

and

Laura,

being your mother is my

life’s most rewarding journey.

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PREFACE

Despite what we told friends and family, the decision to uproot our daughters from life as they knew it and take them to sea was not an easy one. While Meghan was ready to set sail the morning after we carefully laid out our proposal over dinner, Laura’s response was much more measured. Only nine years old and in the fifth grade, the prospect of leaving friends and missing the all-important last grade of lower school, complete with graduation ceremony, did not sit well with her. Meghan, on the other hand, two years older and already exposed to the precarious social landscape of middle school, was quite eager for an escape route. The thought of missing seventh grade and turning thirteen on the boat only added to her excitement. And while we were honest about both the potential hazards and the incredibly beautiful places we would encounter, both David and I neglected to mention the real reason behind our decision: it was time to show our girls life outside our comfortable middle-class bubble, and that time was now.

Once our decision was made, we delved into exhaustive research on every aspect of our journey: which boat, which size, which route to follow, when to go, how to outfit the boat, how to provision—and what about medical emergencies, homeschooling options, sailing classes, books, websites, seminars to attend, and videos to watch. The lists were endless. And then there was the issue of what to do with our house, how to pay bills, and who would take care of our dog? What began as a casual lunch with a friend—and a passing comment about a family of four she knew who was circumnavigating the world on a catamaran—led to a series of conversations, thoughts, and actions that culminated in a life-transforming event for our family of four: our departure from Baltimore on Tuesday, October 9, 2007, on our forty-two-foot sailboat, Wind of Peace.

David’s sailing skills, much like his father’s and grandfather’s, needed little polishing. My sailing skills, on the other hand, were practically nonexistent. Enrolling in and successfully completing three sailing courses was at the very top of my list. Everything else—and there was a lot of it, to be sure—came next. In the end, we agreed that David would take charge of preparing and outfitting the boat (one that was purchased specifically for this journey) and that I would take care of homeschooling the girls and ensuring we had all medical, food, and comfort items on board. Once confident that we had both the sailing skills and enough emergency equipment on board to safely venture out with our precious cargo of two, we were off.

What follows is a true account of our journey as it was recorded in a daily blog I kept on board. This book does not capture every moment of every day, nor is it intended as a how to manual for other families contemplating a similar adventure. It is simply a recollection of our journey, from my perspective, and its cumulative effect on our family of four. Our months at sea were both challenging and rewarding in ways none of us could have ever imagined. I give you our story and I hope, in reading it, you find inspiration for yours.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge the support of two families, in particular, whose help made this journey possible. Jen and Steve; you provided all manner of support, for which we are deeply grateful. You paid our bills, checked up on our house, and shipped emergency medical supplies at a moment’s notice. Victor, Lynnett, Sarah, Caroline, Renee, and Sophie; we are inordinately grateful to you for fostering our dog, Chester, in our absence and making him king of your loving household. Together, you all provided the peace of mind that comes with knowing all is well at home and we remain profoundly grateful for your support.

Both the purchase of Wind of Peace and the subsequent publishing of this book were made possible through the generosity of David’s grandmother, Marion Straus O’Brien. I am thankful for time spent with her and forever blessed by her kindness.

I am grateful to the friends who took the time to follow my blog while we were at sea and encouraged me to put words on paper upon our return home. Bud, Jill, Jonathan, Jennifer, Michael, and Traci—your words touched my heart, and encouraged me to keep writing. Papu Oscar, you have been a constant in our lives, and I love you for it. To my father, who took off on his own journey a lifetime ago and set off the series of life events that led me to where I am today. And to my mother, the eternal worrier.

For all the moments captured on paper or by camera, so many more will remain only in our hearts and minds. Moments shared along the way by friends who shaped our path, lifted our spirits, came to our rescue, or simply shared a meal, a drink, or a story with us. So to our friends on Semper Vivens, Nighthawk, WERPLAYIN’, Bofix, Voyageur C, Tell Tales, La Danza, Sparky, No Worries, and Bay Wolf; to Mark on beautiful Paros and Luis on gutsy Nervioso; and to all the others we met along the way, at sea and on land, thank you for being part of our story and making our journey what it was.

To Sarah Disbrow, thank you for your guidance, your patience, and your support. Oscar, Betsy, Jill and David, thank you for your editing help and constructive criticism; you brought clarity to my thoughts and proper diction to my writing.

To my daughters, I love you more than words can possibly express. You are my life’s most precious gift and greatest joy. You were both an integral part of this journey in ways beyond the obvious, and your individual strengths and talents have contributed greatly to this book. I am thankful for the privilege of being your mother, and a better woman for having you both in my life. I offer you this account of our adventure as a memory of what we accomplished together, and as a lasting reminder of what you are capable of further accomplishing on your own. Always remember that only you get to decide what’s truly impossible.

Finally, but most importantly, none of what follows in the pages of this book would have been possible without the courage, strength, and knowledge of my husband and our boat’s very able captain. David, it is you who shouldered the tremendous responsibility of caring for boat and crew, and you did it with a calm voice and a steady hand. Should I be so lucky, I would sail away again with you tomorrow.

PART ONE

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CHAPTER 1

THE JOURNEY BEGINS

"Leaving Baltimore’s skyline behind us, we motor past

the city’s iconic Fort McHenry. I look out to starboard and

contemplate that the next time we will lay eyes on this

historic stretch of land will be sometime next summer."

October 9, 2007

After months of exhaustive research, endless planning, and detailed list making, the calendar reminds us it’s only five weeks until our scheduled departure date, October 1. How could this be? Will we be ready? Whose crazy idea was this? It has been a hot, dry summer in Baltimore, but the weather is cooperating for our first scheduled shakedown cruise on the Chesapeake; two nights and three days getting comfortable aboard Wind of Peace, our forty-two-foot Beneteau sailboat, purchased and outfitted for this venture.

We leave Baltimore’s Canton Waterfront at 12:30 p.m. on August 23, 2007, and chart our course for an anchorage off Gibson Island on the Magothy River. We will drop anchor in this sheltered location just north of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, approximately fifteen miles due south of where Wind of Peace is docked for the summer. We motor out in a foggy dead calm, and it’s not until we reach the mouth of the Magothy that the sun’s first rays reluctantly begin to break through the thick mist. Winds are light and variable today, so we don’t get much practice sailing. Nonetheless, there’s plenty else to get acquainted with on our new floating home, as we all begin to imagine what it will be like to live aboard for almost a year. Four hours later, we drop anchor off tiny but idyllic Dobbins Island.

The setting is so beautiful it entices Meghan to throw on her swimsuit and jump in the water the moment our anchor is set. And so we settle in for our first home-cooked meal aboard: salad and pasta, followed by freshly baked brownies, for dessert. The oven not only works but produces a pan of perfectly baked brownies that fills the salon with the heavenly aroma of rich chocolate. It’s a picture-perfect summer night on the Chesapeake as the girls settle in to watch The Pirates of the Caribbean in the cockpit after dinner. Our anchor holds beautifully all night and in the morning, we weigh anchor in silence, as David signals directions that I translate into action behind the wheel. Wind of Peace moves forward, backs up, sometimes swivels, often turns, but ultimately stops on demand to the captain’s hand signals like a perfectly trained hound in the field. For all the things we have still to learn, we already have begun to master the all-important yet often dreaded anchoring dance.

After breakfast and some practice maneuvers around a nearby buoy, we reluctantly leave our little piece of Chesapeake heaven and set sail for Rock Hall at 9:00 a.m. under mostly sunny skies in ten- to fifteen-knots of wind. Both the mainsail and the jib are up, and there’s plenty of singing—and dancing—in the cockpit as we make steady progress toward our new destination on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Two and a half hours later, we approach the entrance channel into Rock Hall, and the depth gauge registers much shallower water, down to ten feet of water approaching the channel (we draw six feet). I am standing behind the wheel when our depth-gauge alarm goes off, signaling water less than eight feet deep. How can this be? I check the GPS and confirm that we are in the center of the channel, approximately five hundred feet from the entrance to Rock Hall Harbor.

At that moment, and as the depth gauge registers 7.7 feet, we come to an abrupt and complete stop. We have run aground. What ensues on board is organized panic; we drop anchor so as not to drift into even shallower water, call for assistance on the radio, check the bilge for water, alert boat traffic to our condition, and wonder how in the hell we have managed to run aground in the center of the channel. All the time, we are rocked by wakes from passing motorboats entering the busy harbor. Most passing boats don’t even realize we have run aground and are surely questioning our poor choice of anchorage. The good news: David purchased towing insurance just the week before in anticipation of our trip down the Intracoastal Waterway (notorious for shoaling), so a humiliating two hours later, we are towed back into the channel at no charge, for what would have been a nine hundred dollar rescue. Finally docked at one of the most beautiful marinas we will encounter throughout our journey, it’s not until now that we’re informed we should have (heavily) favored the right channel marker coming in, due to recent shoaling. Thankfully, Wind of Peace has not sustained any damage, so David and the girls head to the pool, I nurse my still hurting ego in the chandlery, and we all agree to meet outside the bath house at 5:30 p.m. Freshly showered, we board a trolley for a tour of the quaint town of Rock Hall, then on to dinner.

It is said that there are three kinds of skippers: those who have run aground, those who will run aground, and those who lie about having never run aground. It is also commonly known that local knowledge is as important as any information on charts, something we have unwillingly confirmed today. We raise a toast to surviving our first emergency, and let today’s anxious moments fade with the setting sun.

Saturday, August 25

The weather forecast calls for highs in the upper nineties with matching humidity levels and chances of severe thunderstorms in the late afternoon. Low tide in Rock Hall is at 1:00 p.m., so keeping yesterday’s adventure in mind, we decide to leave by 11:00 a.m. today. After breakfast and a thorough scrub-down of the deck, we’re ready to go. Hearts pounding and eyes peeled on the newly calibrated depth gauge, we lead a procession of sailboats outside the protected harbor and into the same channel we entered yesterday. Today we favor the red marker—heavily. The water gets deeper, the wind gets stronger, and soon we’re able to breathe a sigh of relief and raise the mainsail. The wind doesn’t hold up for more than an hour, however, and with thunderheads forming, and as we’re only one-third of the way home, we turn the engine on for more speed. It’s desperately hot and muggy, a typical August day on the Chesapeake.

The wakes left by passing powerboats offer temporary amusement but nothing compared to the barge that responds with a thunderous blaring of his horn, when prompted to do so by Meg and Laura in the cockpit—thank you Captain! As we pull into our slip in Canton at 4:30 p.m., the air temperature is ninety-six degrees, and the thunderheads are still building. By 6:30, we are back home in the rolling countryside of northern Maryland as the skies turn dark and the winds start howling. At 7:00, as we prepare to sit down to dinner, we are treated to a spectacular lightning show just outside our kitchen windows. Silently, I get up, and add another item to the ever-growing pre-departure list: lightning protection on Wind of Peace.

Monday, September 17

It’s mid-September, and we are already two weeks into our homeschooling schedule, having started the same week the girls’ classmates started classes. We have completed our second shake-down cruise and updated our slowly dwindling to-do list. Wind of Peace is not a new boat, so each cruise uncovers some minor and some not-so-minor problems that need to be addressed before we leave. As a result, we have decided to delay our departure date by a week and anticipate leaving on October 7, barring any weather or mechanical delays. David and I are overwhelmed by all we have to do still, a problem further compounded by the girls’ schooling, which requires at least four hours of my attention each day.

We spent four days and nights on the water this past week, sailing to Annapolis and back, with a stop at what is becoming one of our favorite anchorages, Dobbins Island. This time we had our dinghy with us, so David and the girls were able to explore the island and we were able to practice securing the dinghy astern. Winds picked up dramatically on the second leg of our trip to Annapolis, and by the time we sailed under the graceful spans of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, we were in winds gusting to twenty five knots, and averaging 6.5 knots on the jib alone. Upon reaching Annapolis, David maneuvered us through a very crowded harbor and into an even tighter marina before pulling into a slip like a pro. Maneuvering our forty-two-foot boat in tight spaces, especially near other expensive boats, is still our biggest source of anxiety, but David’s steady hand belied what must have surely been a soaring heartbeat.

Our trip back to Baltimore is chilly, but otherwise uneventful. It’s now my turn to gently ease our boat back into its slip in Canton, an exercise that has my nerves on edge the minute we clear the Francis Scott Key Bridge and catch sight of Fort McHenry. I successfully complete the task, but in an effort to ease both my and David’s anxiety with this important skill, I decide it’s time to reach out to a favorite sailing instructor for a full day’s lesson of docking. Wind of Peace is a beamy, comfortable boat, built to react to wind and current for sailing efficiency; we have found out the hard way that she is not built to float in place while we negotiate slips and neighboring boats. We will get better, maybe even proficient at docking her, but for now, this is proving to be our biggest challenge.

I took three sailing classes over the spring to prepare for this journey and to have the skills needed to handle the boat should David become unable to do so. One instructor stood out among the rest for his patience, respect, and support, and it is he who now joins us for a day of docking maneuvers until we’re (almost) convinced we have mastered this important skill. Worries about the Intracoastal Waterway’s depth (or lack thereof) continue to haunt us, and faith that we’re up to this challenge we’ve set for ourselves is stronger on some days than others. Our endless to-do list is so long it’s now divided into sections and still two pages long. For every task accomplished, there is another waiting to be done, often taking hours or days to complete. We fall into bed at night physically exhausted and emotionally overwhelmed. The girls have been amazing, keeping happy and busy when we’re on the boat and putting up with a tedious homeschooling curriculum at home, made all the more tedious without the company of their friends and classmates. When these final days of preparation get especially difficult, the girls serve as constant reminders of our purpose, and their strength renews our resolve.

Sunday, October 7

I open my eyes on the morning of my forty-fourth birthday with the realization that today is the day—our last day at home. I glance up at the ceiling fan and purposefully, slowly, look around our bedroom. I have been waiting for this day for months, but today, right now, I’m not sure I’m ready for what lies ahead. We are waiting on friends to pick up Chester, our beloved lab, before making a final trip to the boat with the last bags of clothes and provisions. The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind, checking and double-checking lists to make sure both home and boat are ready for our departure. The help and support of special friends and family have sustained us in more ways than words can adequately express.

The doorbell rings, and the moment I’ve been dreading most of all is finally here. Victor, along with twins Renee and Sophie (Chester’s biggest fans) are here. My heart aches as I open the door, but knowing that Chester will be pampered and loved in our absence, I put on a happy face. Chester, on the other hand, has no need for acting. He recognizes Victor and the twins, remembers his visit with them a couple of weeks ago, and cannot wait to get in the car with them. As they pull away I wipe away the tears, feeling at once sad and incredibly grateful to this family who is giving our sweet boy a loving home in our absence.

The remainder of the day is a rush to take the last bags of provisions and other essentials to the boat before meeting a few friends for a dinner send-off. At 5:30 p.m., we walk into the Canton restaurant followed by the first of our friends holding a huge, and beautifully decorated, bon voyage cake. The evening is a heart- warming show of support and friendship as more friends continue to arrive. After dinner, we all walk across the street where Wind of Peace patiently waits in her slip and the girls offer their friends a tour of our boat, eager to show them what their private cabins look like. Laughter echoes in every inch of our floating home, and feelings of good will fill every space, precious talismans to guide us through the days and nights ahead. When good-byes have been said and warm hugs have been exchanged, we call it a night and crawl into our bunks. I cannot think of a gift I have treasured more than tonight’s heart- warming send-off.

After a fitful night’s sleep we are joined by my sister and her family for another moving, yet difficult send-off. With their help, we hoist David up the mast for a minor repair and then enjoy lunch in the cockpit before they leave. My sister adores Meghan and Laura, and I know she will worry about them while we’re at sea. She puts on a brave front, and we promise to keep in touch as best we can. We run a few more errands, enjoy dinner in town, and turn in early in anticipation of tomorrow morning’s departure.

Tuesday, October 9

I am awakened by the already familiar sound of halyards clanging in the wind against steel masts. I have no way of knowing this yet, but this particular sound will be one of the things I will miss the most once back on land, the one sound that will instantly fill my eyes with tears of longing. On this morning, I am immediately overcome by a mix of emotions that catch me completely off guard. We have planned and worked hard toward this very day, yet what we’re about to do somehow doesn’t seem real or even possible. I’m excited and nervous, eager to leave yet anxious about leaving. We cast off all lines and gently glide out of our slip at exactly 9:50 a.m. Leaving Baltimore’s skyline behind us, we motor past the city’s iconic Fort McHenry. I look out to starboard and contemplate that the next time we will lay eyes on this historic stretch of land will be sometime next summer.

There is almost no wind to speak of, so on this day, the first day of our journey, we motor all the way to Annapolis. Along the way, I steal glances at the girls, trying to gauge their emotions as we slowly leave their comfortable home and everything they hold dear in the fading horizon behind us. They, like us, are also quiet and introspective, understandably unsure about what the year ahead holds for them.

We drop anchor in Annapolis’ crowded harbor, just a stone’s throw from the Naval Academy, and hop onto a water taxi for the short trip into town. Our arrival today is somewhat ill-timed between two large boat shows and there’s not a mooring ball to be had. We are meeting dear friends later in the evening who are driving up from southern Maryland to say good-bye, so we linger in town to pass the time. Halfway through dinner, a storm arrives and hits the area with vengeance. Maryland has been in the midst of an unprecedented drought for months, and it feels like tonight’s downpour is trying to make up for it all at once. We can see trees outside sway and buckle under heavy winds, and wonder if Wind of Peace is holding at anchor. There’s nothing we can do about it right now (water taxis are not running), except hope that we find her where we left her, once the storm blows through.

There she is, says David to the water-taxi’s captain as we search for our boat in the crowded anchorage. It has started to rain again, and as we weave through the harbor, we recognize her beamy shape and weak anchor light at the top of her mast. No, that’s a catamaran, I say to David, but he insists it is, in fact, our boat. As the water taxi takes us closer, it becomes clear that we are both right. Wind of Peace has dragged her anchor in the squall and is now tied up to a catamaran we remember seeing earlier in the day, already sitting at anchor. We quickly board our boat and call to the couple who secured her, asking if they have sustained any damage. Everything’s fine, they say. With untold relief, David grabs a spotlight from the locker and walks out on the slippery foredeck. I’m struggling to understand exactly what happened as the couple explains how the wind suddenly switched direction, and they watched as our boat began to slowly drift toward them. These amazing people put out fenders, held onto our boat once she reached them, and simply secured her to theirs. Besides, they say above the building wind, …this sort of thing happens all the time! What? This sort of thing happens all the time? Hoping they understand that we don’t have words capable of conveying just how grateful we are, we thank them profusely, and start the engine.

We have slowly begun to move just as a strong gust of wind, that precedes a fresh downpour, slams us back against the catamaran. I sense it’s not just the wind that’s keeping us from breaking free, when David confirms my fears by announcing that our anchor lines are tangled. Both boats’ captains immediately go about the difficult task of untangling heavy anchor chains in the dark, and under driving rain. The sounds of rain, thunder and lightning, as well as our frantic efforts, prove too much for the girls, and now terrified, they begin to cry. As calmly as I can, I try to assure them both boats are fine, and that nobody is in any real danger. Not sure I believe what I’m saying myself, I encourage them to go down below to their dry, warm cabins. After what feels like an eternity—and a terrifying moment of almost losing David over the bow—the anchor lines are free, and I slowly guide our boat away from the catamaran.

The wind has subsided but heavy rain is still falling. David helps me navigate, worried that I’m still not fully capable of maneuvering Wind of Peace. I assure him I’m in control of our vessel, and we take a couple of sweeping turns through the crowded harbor before he picks the spot to drop anchor again. We are so rattled by the experience, that as soon as we’re safely and securely anchored again, we simultaneously announce that we’re sleeping in the cockpit tonight. Bands of heavy wind and rain continue to pass over us a few times throughout the night, but we remain safe, and for the most part dry, under the bimini and dodger. Every half hour, I sit up and check to make sure we’re not drifting again. My mind plays tricks on me a couple of times, but I’m able to keep my senses in check long enough to realize we’re just swinging in the wind. I cannot help thinking about what would have happened had that kind couple not reached out to secure Wind of Peace to their boat. That thought, leads to a hundred other what-ifs, all of which have me wondering whether this is an omen of things to come. And, with this last thought, sleep becomes completely impossible.

It’s 5:00 a.m. and sounds from the Naval Academy drift to our cockpit. We are close enough to the sprawling grounds that I can hear hundreds of plebes running and counting out push-ups in the morning’s waning darkness. After breakfast, we weigh anchor and leave Annapolis, headed south for the sleepy town of Oxford on Maryland’s eastern shore. I glance back, a last farewell at Annapolis, and notice a handful of sailboats following