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| dannytrip [2025/02/24 20:26] – created admin | dannytrip [2025/02/24 20:35] (current) – admin |
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| ===== Planning ===== | ===== Planning ===== |
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| Every boater dreams of the open water—long voyages under wide skies, coastal runs with the shore in sight. But the sea’s a hard teacher, and planning’s your only shield. In these pages, we give you the nuts and bolts: fuel math, chart tricks, gear that holds. But there’s another truth—half the battle’s in the souls aboard. This tale, ripped from a friend’s log, isn’t pretty. It’s six days of hell from Charleston to Baltimore, a 31-foot Beneteau caught in storms, egos, and a rookie captain’s unraveling. I was there, 72 and steady, but no match for a crew that wouldn’t bend. It’s here not to scare you off, but to show you straight: plan your boat, sure, but plan your people too. The sea doesn’t care about your intentions—just your readiness. Read on, and take it to heart. | Long voyages and coastal cruising begin with a plan—ours took shape over mugs of coffee aboard her 31-foot Beneteau, docked in Charleston. We traced the route to Baltimore, planning to navigate past Frying Pan Shoals and the Outer Banks, mapping out six days with considerations for fuel, water, and hope. The sea is a stern mistress, and we believed we had paid our dues. Day one proved us right: perfect weather, a velvet night, and the Gulf Stream alive with whales breaching, dolphins leaping, sea turtles drifting, and flying fish skimming the bow. It was a sailor’s dream—the boat glided smoothly, and our spirits were high. |
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| //She was captain, 26, and first offshore run, all fire, and no anchor. Her dad, Danny, steered his path, grinning past her orders. Around the Shoals, she shouted, “East!”—he went west. I trimmed sails in the crossfire, hands blistered. Day two, she snapped, “You’re an old man, mean nothing to me,” banning me from the Raymarine plotter. Autopilot whirred; she scratched manual plots anyway. A Seattle friend texted her fixes via satellite pager, and she punched them late. That night, a storm slammed us. Danny yawed hard; the autopilot cracked. She screamed, “To quarters!”—a laughable jail sentence in a boat with no rooms, just bunks. | However, plans are fragile. Orders were barked, ignored, and twisted—mutiny can brew over lesser disagreements. What began as a tight-knit crew soured quickly, and the sea didn’t care about our discord. This isn’t just a story; it’s a lesson from my log, accumulated over 72 years. Gear matters, charts matter, but the souls you sail with can drag you down. Read on—beauty turned brutal, and that’s why planning involves more than just paper. |
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| | Every boater dreams of the open water—long voyages under vast skies and coastal runs with the shore in sight. But the sea is a strict teacher, and planning is your only shield. These pages will share practical tips: fuel calculations, charting tricks, and dependable gear. Yet, there’s another truth—half the battle lies with the people aboard. This tale, taken from a friend's log, isn’t pretty. It recounts six days of chaos from Charleston to Baltimore aboard a 31-foot Beneteau caught in storms, clashing egos, and a rookie captain’s unraveling. I was there, 72 and steady, but I was no match for a crew that wouldn’t bend. This story is not meant to frighten you away; rather, it aims to convey this important truth: plan for your boat, yes, but also plan for the people who will be aboard. The sea doesn’t care about your intentions—only your readiness. Read on, and take this to heart. |
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| | She was the captain, just 26, and this was her first offshore run—full of fire but lacking anchorage. Her father, Danny, was confident in his approach, often grinning as he brushed off her orders. Around the Shoals, she shouted, “East!”—he went west. I trimmed sails amidst their clash, my hands blistering. On day two, she snapped, “You’re an old man and mean nothing to me,” and banned me from the Raymarine plotter. The autopilot whirred while she scratched out manual plots anyway. A Seattle friend texted her fixes via satellite pager, and she punched them late. That night, a storm slammed us. Danny yawed hard; the autopilot cracked. She screamed, “To quarters!”—a laughable jail sentence in a boat with no rooms, just bunks. |
| I stayed up, hand on the EPIRB, lifejacket cinched, waves pounding. They were ragged; she crashed at 2 a.m. I kept Danny awake, jawing for about nothing for four hours—kept us afloat. She woke, furious, and shoved me below. Virginia Beach hit like salvation. She threw me off—no goodbye, no dime. I found a room, booked a plane back to Charleston, out of pocket and done. Her boat sailed on to Baltimore, God knows why. She’s sharp for a day sail in Charleston Harbor, but out there? Unstable, unready. Hope she finds her sea legs before the sea does. | I stayed up, hand on the EPIRB, lifejacket cinched, waves pounding. They were ragged; she crashed at 2 a.m. I kept Danny awake, jawing for about nothing for four hours—kept us afloat. She woke, furious, and shoved me below. Virginia Beach hit like salvation. She threw me off—no goodbye, no dime. I found a room, booked a plane back to Charleston, out of pocket and done. Her boat sailed on to Baltimore, God knows why. She’s sharp for a day sail in Charleston Harbor, but out there? Unstable, unready. Hope she finds her sea legs before the sea does. |
| Planning’s your fuel, your charts, your gear. But if the crew’s a storm itself, no plan holds water.// | Planning’s your fuel, your charts, your gear. But if the crew’s a storm itself, no plan holds water.// |
