Another Adventure

Mending a father’s grievous losses seemed impossible until another boat came along.

Issue 142: Jan/Feb 2022

Every year, countless sailors venture south. I never thought I’d be one of them but apparently, I am. Well, we are. “We” is Dad and me.

It all started back when I was about 16. A typically rebellious teenager, I was mostly obsessed with doing the opposite of anything Mom and Dad were doing. I remember the day they returned from dinner giggling. Their laughter had an unfamiliar tone, so naturally I was suspicious (I was, and remain, a rather cynical and suspicious person).

A few days later, the situation worsened when a giant world map appeared on the living room wall. It was covered with push pins connected by red string crossing oceans and countries. I scowled, rolled my eyes, and asked sardonically, “What’s that?”

Mom and Dad looked at each other like love-struck teenagers. They didn’t sugar-coat it or break the news gently. They said: “We’re selling the house and moving onto a sailboat.”

This is the point when I should stop and explain my parents and their culture of adventure. It was just bad enough that when they said, “We’re moving onto a sailboat,” I took pause. My cynical mind knew that nothing was too far-fetched for them.

These were, after all, the same two people who, when I was nine, declared, “We’re flying out to see Grandma.” Little did I realize that this statement, when literally translated, meant that Dad would get his pilot’s license, rent a four-seat Cessna, and fly his family from Colorado to Virginia where we did, in fact, “see Grandma.”

So when they started talking about living on a boat, I knew one thing: Do not underestimate them.

The weeks following their announcement verified my suspicions. They didn’t mean “move onto a sailboat” in a one-day, whimsical sort of way. They meant, like, now. In a month.

I watched in undisguised annoyance as our four-bedroom farmhouse slowly emptied. A garage sale magically evaporated most of our stuff. My pet pig was given to a school 4-H program, and I had to choose one of my five horses to keep. The rest were sold. Within 45 days, our 90-acre country lifestyle was packed into a 30-foot Bayfield.

Of course, I protested. Of course, I declared I wouldn’t go. And my parents—always so supportive (note the sarcasm)—suggested I get a job, rent a place to live, and board my horse. So, I accepted their offer and did just that. Sort of.

Turns out the only job I could get was at McDonald’s. No one would rent to a 16-year-old (not that I could afford it anyway), and boarding a horse was a lot more expensive than I thought. Long story short, I moved onto the boat and learned what a quarter berth is.

The years following were full of stories—highs, lows, laughter, and tears. Most of the tears resulted from Mom’s health. It just kept declining, and after living aboard for five years, Mom and Dad sold the boat.

I eventually went back to school, finishing my bachelor’s degree and a juris doctorate. Later, I became an elected official and did a stint in politics.
Mom and Dad bought property in Washington state, and over the next 20 years, they often reflected on sailing, boat life, and life as landlubbers. Sadly, more often than not what started with laughter and storytelling ended in hushed tones of regret.

Mom and Dad never sailed around the world. Mom’s health just wasn’t stable enough.

Unfortunately, living on land didn’t magically cure her. And after 50 years of marriage, adventures, children, losses, and loves, Mom passed away. A year later, my only sister and sibling also passed away. Suddenly it was just Dad and me. I wasn’t much help with his grief. I never grew out of that cynical, somewhat crass disposition. And losing Mom and Sister was nothing short of devastating—for both of us.

Fortunately, my husband provided endless support while I grieved. But Dad didn’t have anyone. And as I’ve explained, warm and fuzzy is hard for me. I felt guilty for not knowing how to help, and little by little, I watched Dad slip away. His bright green eyes that once danced with mischief and excitement were fading. And nothing—I mean nothing—could bring him back.

Then, in the summer of 2020, I was going through Mom’s things when I found a drawing she had made of Chicken Little and Henny Penny on a river raft with charts and provisions for their trip to see the king. Mom was an endearing artist whose drawings were full of life and charm, and this one had always been my favorite.

I set Mom’s drawing on the counter, planning to frame it. Dad walked in, saw it, and his eyes lit up. That’s when it hit me. Dad needed a sailboat.

I started searching. As luck would have it, I found a boat two hours away that I thought would entice him. It was 1983 41-foot Transworld ketch, full keel, clipper bow, all the things I knew he liked. Salty.

I asked Dad if he wanted to see it. He was slow to respond at first, but I watched the idea tempt him, and those green eyes sparked. I knew this would work.

We left at dusk and arrived well after dark. We found a hotel and anxiously slept; the next morning, we drove straight to the marina.

Tires crunching gravel, we slowly drove by boats on the hard towering above us, boats of every shape and size. Wiggling with excitement, we passed the boatyard office and made our way to the waterfront. I saw her right away. “There she is!” I pointed and squealed. Her red stripe, white hull, and green sail covers were hard to miss.

We jumped out and scurried down the dock until we reached her. Whippet. It was somewhat difficult to digest her eclectic color scheme, and as we got closer, I decided she was the nautical equivalent of Punky Brewster.

Stepping aboard, we noticed freshly caulked seams on the teak decks and long, stout chainplates hugging her hull. The bowsprit pulpit was missing stanchions, and her lifelines dangled like shoulder straps on an evening dress that had been slept in.

Her red-painted bowsprit jutted some 6 feet out, and on its tip, someone had installed a crudely painted silver propeller and a statue of an actual whippet’s head.

It felt like conflicting banjos playing out of sync. And I loved every inch of it. We couldn’t help smiling and giggling even as our eyes struggled to make sense of the odd adornments.

Belowdecks, I slowly turned in a circle, resting my eyes on a beautiful teak table and settee with white leather cushions. Moving closer, I was shocked to discover someone had painted the buttons red. Yes, her white leather settee cushions had red polka dots.

Forward was a cabin with a V-berth, head, and door. In the main cabin, a navigation station to port of the companionway had a spacious bench, chart table, and perfectly accessible electrical panel. The galley on the starboard side had a large ice box, sink, a gimbled stove, and teak sliding doors covering the shelves.

I opened the aft cabin door and fell in love. Here was a separate, spacious cabin with a queen-sized bed, a second enclosed head, polished bronze portlights, and polished teak doors on a full-length closet.

Opening the engine compartment behind the companionway steps, we turned on the light and were startled to see that the engine, hoses, and wires were covered in gold spray paint. Bewildered and curious, Dad located the key and nervously turned it. Much to our surprise, the old Ford Lehman started and purred.

Throughout the day and well into the evening, Dad inspected the boat and became familiar with her systems. Later that night, we chatted excitedly over dinner, planning and laughing.

After six weeks and one survey, we bought her. We renamed her Bob. She needs a full refit including a new engine, sails, electronics, and canvas. Hopefully when we’re finished, with luck and an approving nod from Neptune, we will leave the Chesapeake Bay and head south.

It’s a lot. And I know it. But for the first time in years, there is pep in Dad’s step, a fire in his belly, and his green eyes are dancing again. We’re on another adventure.

Mom would approve.

Nicole Black Robey was born in Charlottesville, Virginia, where she lives with her father and husband. She has a master’s degree from Evergreen State College and a juris doctorate from Taft University School of Law. She is an avid equestrian, animal lover, and sailor. Follow her on YouTube at Saddles & Sails.