Daphne passed away Wednesday, August 25, 2010 at her home with her loving family at her side. Daphne was born February 22, 1928 in the British Colony of Kharagpur. Daphne graduated with honors from a private boarding school in Kurseong, India, located in the Himalayan Mountains. She had a passion for the arts and her exceptional talent in canvas painting was recognized by Great Britain.
In 1944 in Darjeeling, India, Domenick, a drummer in the United States Army Band, sounded an immediate drum roll as Daphne walked into the dance hall with her parents. He knew right then she would be his forever.
They wed on April 11, 1946 in Kharagpur, India, moved to West Virginia in June of 1946 and Michigan became their home in December of 1950, where they have been dancing together ever since.
Daphne was compassionate and selfless, with an amazing sense of humor and adventure, though love and devotion for her family always came first, she sincerely touched the hearts and lives of all that were fortunate enough to meet her. (taken from my grandma’s obituary)
My Grandma survived several bouts of cancer during her lifetime and the non-profit Mayo Clinic provided much of her necessary care. A gift can be made to Mayo Clinic in memory or in honor of a special person, such as my grandmother. By making a contribution, Mayo Clinic can continue to provide a more promising future for people with cancer and their families. If you are interested in making a donation to honor my grandmother, please write her name, Daphne, and my email address (teresa@sailingsimplicity.com), in a short note or in the memo portion of a check addressed to Mayo Clinic. They will send a notification of your generous remembrance (gift amount is not disclosed).
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Thank you!
Yesterday afternoon I stretched out in the cockpit of Daphne. My legs propped up on the aft cabin, my arm shading my eyes from the sun, and my gaze brushing across the pages of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. In the past year reading has taken on a new meaning for me.
No longer am I simply enjoying a story, being taken to another world, or learning a bit of history. Now, with every page, with every sentence, I look for a postcard phrase, a bit of ordinary language with rhythm and mystery. And when I find one, I’ll read it over and over. I’ll underline it, dog-ear the page, and occasionally note it on a scrap of paper to save for later reading, like a child saves the pepperoni off their pizza. The best is savored at the end of the meal. And I wonder, “how can I build a striking sentence out of ordinary words, a glittering castle out of limestone?”
A man rowed over and interrupted my thoughts to remind me that I might be doing something right. “Hey! I follow the adventures of Teresa and Daphne,” he shouted. He wasn’t the first blog reader that I have met who expressed gratitude for writing this blog.
During my travels Daphne has been recognized while docked in ports or tucked into tiny coves. She has been spotted from the tops of sky-rise office buildings or motor-boats racing by. I’ve accepted the generosity of others from across a table, through the mail, or via cyber-space, and I am grateful. It is moments like that, when I am reminded that there are many who read my story, that I am encouraged to write more, experience more, dream more, and be more.
Thank you.
I may have been fortunate in my employment as a sailor on vessels sans electronics, where I had to sail day and night and in all types of visibility. Most recreational sailors can be more selective about when they sail and choose fair days. My sail-training grounds were the coast of Maine, a place where the fog can roll in so quickly you have only a half of a moment to confirm your position on the chart. If you aren’t quick enough, soon you are lost in a blinding cloud of white near a rocky shoreline who’s irregularity is as sure as the rise and fall of the eleven foot tides.
Your eye instantly begins to penetrate the fog, searching for breakers, rocks awash, or navigation aids. In a moment, your ear becomes attuned to the sounds of troubled water, birds, or horns and whistles. Your nose draws in scents of evergreen, fish, and fuel. And with a slight of hand, maybe you can weave all the data together and finally take a restful pause knowing your position and avoiding the sharp dangers of rocks and shore. Or, in that same half of a moment, you could glance at your chart plotter, see an icon of a little boat, and turn toward a favorable and safe route.
As mentioned in my recent posts, I am exploring the use of technology aboard Daphne. On one hand, I have a deep appreciation, almost an obsession (which I hate to admit) for traditional navigation. On the other hand, the technology is becoming more accurate, easy to use, and affordable. Currently I have an AIS, VHF, and a GPS that has always been broken. I never made it a priority to fix or replace the GPS for worry that I would become reliant on electronics like some sailors have. “I know how to use a chart and to triangulate,” they say. And I’m sure they do.
But when it comes to navigation, having the skills is more than just “knowing how.” A sailor’s internal compass must be calibrated with the changing current or the wane of the boat when the wind shifts two degrees. Their eye must be trained to spot buoys lost in the never-ending horizon, identify a ship’s lights against city lights, and using ranges in their peripheral vision to ferry across a bay. But many sailors go to sea greatly deficient in these skills.
With their eyes glued to a chart plotter, and their senses plugged in to technology, the sailor’s sixth sense is weakened rather than cultivated. I have met few sailors who have skills to rely on when their equipment fails. And many miss the enriching experience of using all their senses, and seeing the interconnectedness of the boat working with the entire ocean environment.
When I went from sailing recreationally, occasionally, and with crew, to living and cruising solo aboard Daphne, navigation went from a pastime to a chore. I decided it would be helpful to have a small hand-held GPS that would give my coordinates. I contacted the folks at Magellan who suggested the Triton, which now has a place, safely snug in a gym sock and tucked in the navigation table. I pull it out to double-check my positions, monitor my speed, and determine the moonrise. But the Triton offers much more than that. In fact, as I was reading through the manual I realized that I may never utilize all its features! Not only is it a GPS but its also a camera, voice recorder, flashlight, barometer….to much to remember. The only trouble I had was that because it is a land-based GPS, I had to manually convert the Lat and Long from decimals to degrees and minutes.
During my sail from The Bahamas to New England, I became interested in predicting the weather. Every few hours I logged weather information such as the cloud cover and type, precipitation, or wind speed and direction. Now, with the Triton I also have a barometer aboard and my weather prediction is becoming much more accurate.
Read more about the Triton aboard Daphne here.
I became aware of my conviction in holding traditional navigational skills as a highly revered craft when I purchased a large offshore chart that needed to be folded in order to fit on Daphne’s small table. With each crease I laid in the chart, with each pleat I tucked into its edges I cringed. Silently, I made a promise to iron them away immediately upon my return to land. During planning gatherings, no one could set their mug on the chart, write on the chart, lean on the chart, or even touch the chart. And even now, after a week of steady offshore use, like a new chart in a store, the chart remains as smooth and crisp as the horizon.
For years I have been torn between the beauty and simplicity (or complexity) of traditional navigation and the great advances and usefulness of new technology. I clearly remember the day I purchased my first cell phone…at my mother’s insistence. I paced in and out of the store all day long. When I finally paid and activated the phone, the employees of entire store stood. I exited to a standing ovation of cheers, whistles, and clapping.
When I decided to sail offshore for an extended period of time, I began to wonder how I would manage the need for sleep. I tried sleeping one hour on, one hour off, I tried legs up to 35 hours without sleep, and I even tried sleeping in my cockpit, donned head to toe in foul weather gear, hood and all. But nothing creeps up as quickly and surprises me more than a 900 foot tanker traveling 19 knots who’s CPA (closest point of approach) is less an one nautical mile from little Daphne and her delicate crew.
I decided to upgrade my electronic assistance with an AIS receiver and contacted Standard Horizon to discuss with them their new product Matrix AIS. The AIS, or Automatic Identification System, communicates a short-range signal transmitted between ships. Most commercial ships are required to transmit a signal, which gives information such as their position, speed, heading, size, and vessel name. While I slept, the Matrix served as an extra set of eyes alerting me when ships were approaching. I could then contact the vessel and arrange a safe passing with the captain.
It was fantastic! I could sleep a little more soundly knowing that I would be alerted with a beeping sound when a large ship was within 15 nautical miles of Daphne. Being able to hail the ship by name was excellent. I enjoyed contacting the captains, sometimes the only person I spoke to all day. I asked if they could see me on their radar, which usually they could not. When we arranged a plan for safe passing, I then asked the captain for the most recent weather report. Without that information, I may have gone several days without knowing where the high and low pressures were developing or if a storm was approaching. Daphne’s onboard technology systems aren’t yet advanced enough to receive a weather report when sailing many miles offshore. Perhaps that should be the next upgrade…
More about electronics aboard Daphne in the next few posts.
When it comes to topics related to Voluntary Simplicity, Technology is a source for heated debate. On one hand, many Simplicity advocates feel a strong opposition to technology and go as far a saying that it is “evil,” or you aren’t living simply if you participate in today’s techno-culture. On the other hand, with technology advancing into every aspect of our lives, we may need to geek-out or miss out. But where do we draw the line of too much or too little technology?
I was eating lunch in the dining hall of the boarding school where I was employed. Sitting next to me was a boy, age thirteen, who had just signed up for summer camp. His eyes were wide as he shared with his classmates his excitement for the upcoming summer. I was excited for him as well. A week or two away from home, hiking, crafting, farming, playing sports, is a great way for children to stay sharp and fit during the long summer months. “What camp are you going to?” I asked.
“Video game camp.”
I dropped my fork. Is there really such a camp? What do they do there? I imagined rows and rows of children plugged into a giant screen, eyes wide and bodies hunched over. One child goes to the camp nurse complaining of a sprained thumb. Another needs a rest after playing a game of golf on the Nintendo Wii. I wondered if the only beings getting any real physical activity were the avatars.
“Oh no,” he assured me, “in the afternoon we can choose an activity outside. I play basketball for a half-hour each day.”
In my effort to live simply I seek a balance where I can live the most enriching life with the least amount of technology. We all have this balance, which is as unique as the pilgrims who seek it. If they tip the scale too far they risk becoming a droid, putting too much reliance in artificial intelligence and fun instead of developing their own aptitude and amusement. If we scale back too much, our lives may lose the high-tech beauty of recent developments.
I am on the internet frequently and find that it is a very useful advancement. I blog, facebook, earn an income by providing social media marketing services, sell my crafts at my store The Zeppelin Bend, research, write, and keep in touch with family and friends. But having reliable internet aboard a boat is a challenge. I’ve tried a cantenna wifi booster. I’ve tried a Verizon mobile broad-band card. But more often than not I find myself lugging my computer ashore and spending too much time in internet cafes. I knew I needed to solve the problem when I was waiting for a storm to pass in Atlantic city and the only nearby internet hotspot was a Burger King…not a creative working environment. So, I equipped Daphne with a Nanostation by Ubiquiti Networks, Inc.
In my experience, the Nanostation is the best hi-power antenna. What makes it unique is that there is only one cat 5 cable from the Nanostation to the computer. Other antenna solutions employ multiple cable runs from computer to router to antenna and in the process lose valuable signal strength. Having the brains/router and the antenna together inside a weather proof container provides the strongest signal possible. The set-up instructions are sparse, but worth the struggle. This link from Dan’s blog, Adrift at Sea, has very helpful set-up instructions. The Nanostation is great aboard Daphne because it is small, attractive, easy to use, and it works. While traveling in the Bahamas I was able to get an internet signal almost daily. I lashed the Nanostation as high on the mast as I could reach and enjoyed Skype calls and iChat with my family daily.
The other day, I sat in front of my computer and stared at the screen for a while. I didn’t touch the keys. I didn’t email, write, or research. Instead, I watched my grandmother signing to me via the web-cam and iChat. I could hear Grandpa in the background holler, “I’ll build a pool in the back yard to put your boat in.” Grandma raised an eyebrow. “You better be careful,” he said. Grandma pressed her thumb and forefinger together on each hand and connected all four fingertips making the shape of a B. Then, her hands in fists, thumbs touching, she made an A, then another B, Y, D.
“Yes, I saw Baby Dominick,” I told her. “Marissa was feeding him and I was making faces at him. He looked right at me. I think he knew it was Aunt Teresa on the computer screen.”
Over the past few years communicating long distance with my grandmother has taken on a variety of forms. Before she had the computer, phone calls were a series of taps on the receiver using a code only the family knew. Then, she typed into the computer and used that as her “voice.” Now, thanks to technology, we can be face to face, her signing and I talking. Unless of course I don’t want Grandpa to hear, then I sign too. We talk about Dory, sailing, my nieces and nephew. We share funny stories of Grandpa chasing squirrels in the back yard, or mother’s wild hair. When the neighbor visits, I am present in the room helping interpret Grandma’s unique sign language. And when its time to say goodbye, Grandma touches her eye, then her heart, and then points to me and I blow a kiss back to her.
Please check back for more on the topic of “Simplicity and Technology” as I explore it further in the next few posts.
Teresa’s posting title: “Crew Wanted” was all it took to get me frantically digging up my resume, polishing off a “why-chose-me-as-your-crew” letter, and hitting the send button.
In the following weeks, friends and family would express both worry and wonder over my sudden decision to sail off, days away from any sight of land, with a blogger I’d never met. Even the customs inspector looked skeptical when I answered his question,” Why are you traveling to the Bahamas?”
“But I feel like I already know her!” I had said over Easter dinner with friends. “She’s not really a stranger. I read her blog every week! She shares the simple living, close to nature ideals as I do! She’s the kind of sailor who relies more on the weather and the charts than on elaborate gizmos. She values friends and family. I know she’s a good person and experienced sailor. I can trust her!”
Their kind response was prayer, worry, and questions about the quality of Daphne’s lifejackets. Because I knew this was something I had to do for myself, I let the guilt and sense of responsibility over my friends’ loving worries pass through me.
To be honest, they were right to worry. Initially I only knew Teresa then in the sense that a fan knows a movie star through reading the tabloids. Luckily my impression of Teresa was correct. Despite her humble assertions that the blog presents a one-sided rosy view, I’m here to tell fellow readers that she really IS how you’d expect her to be! I say “luckily I was right” because I’m aware that things could have gone badly.
When I first walked into Teresa’s boat, among books about engine repair and raw food on her bookshelf, I saw a Jack Kerouac book. My thoughts in answering the crew wanted ad can be summed up with one of my favorite, well-known Kerouac quotes:
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who… burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!
I haven’t always lived so dramatically. For years, my life was dominated by the bloated responsibility of caregiving for others. First for my brilliant but troubled mother–a hoarder who kept every newspaper she received since the day my father died–then for a husband plagued with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, a condition so crippling that I had to care for him like one would for a small child.
I spent my 20’s bound to a very good man who didn’t want to be trapped any more than I did. Nevertheless, trapped is exactly what we were. I was bone tired of the struggle to stay “clean” enough. I just closed my eyes, hunkered down, and let life pass me by. Besides brief trips to buy more disinfecting items and food or commutes to work, we were literally barricaded inside our suburban home thanks to his fears of germs just beyond the front door.
One day, I opened the metaphorical front door and walked right through it.
This journey onboard SV Daphne–like my decision to become a liveaboard on an old powerboat in Annapolis 10 months ago–was one step in a larger process of regaining the freedom to be myself in the world. It is a step in asserting myself and refusing the responsibility for other’s “baggage” and fears transposed on my life.
I’m not a person who values mountains of paper towels or newspapers over people or limits life to four walls inside a sterile, gated community. I’m a person who lives simply, values friends above all else, views the world with joy and optimism, and loves it with all my heart. I fall asleep on the waves–the same brackish Chesapeake water that comforted and delighted me as a child. As a social worker, I commit my life to the service of my community, and I do not fear it. My life is no longer hijacked by priorities to which I do not subscribe.
One night onboard Daphne, right before my watch was over, I heard a few low splashes and suddenly 20 dolphins appeared. It must have been 2am, and their silvery bodies were illuminated by the moon. Without realizing it, I found myself quietly and idiotically mouthing ‘thank you thank you thank you’ to each one of them as they rolled their bellies up at me and their fins passed over the water.
Although the experience that night will always stand out in memory, after years without freedom, every new day presents a thousand such chances to be utterly and completely grateful. Allowing myself to be open to life is my mandate. I have no more years to waste and neither does anyone else. This is what the pursuit of happiness means to me.
After a week of sailing with Merry, I asked her to write a guest post on my blog about a subject of her choosing. Thank you Merry for taking the time to write this and for sailing with me. You and your beautiful heart are welcome aboard Daphne anytime. -Teresa
Dear Ms. Kate Lardy,
Recently a friend gave me an April 2010 copy of Dockwalk, thinking I might be interested as my career and passion is with the sea. After perusing one issue, I was extremely disappointed by the representation of women captains among its pages. Especially page 21-24, the “Dockshots” and photos of crew attending the Miami Boat Show. With only two exceptions, all the captains, mates, deckhands, and engineers were male and all the chefs and stewards were female. Even the advertising on the page inserted among these photographs (page 23) depicts the females in secondary roles. Does Big Blue Yachtwear make women’s shirts with four stripes on the shoulders? This is surely not an encouraging representation of an industry for people like me; women leaders who are looking for career advancing opportunities.
I was especially surprised to find that the four named editors on the “Dockwalk” website are all women. Undoubtedly you could have found a few female captains at the Miami Boat Show to photograph for your magazine, thereby not bolstering the general assumption that one should only hire a male captain. I am aware that there are less female captains in the industry. I would hope that a magazine led by women editors would do everything they can to encourage other women to become leaders as well.
Sincerely,
Capt. Teresa Carey
It was late at night while I was passing the time to hurry the rising sun that I started tying and counting all the knots that I know how to tie. I began categorizing them according to their uses. I tied adjustable knots, knots good for lines under tension, simple knots, decorative knots, knots for tensioning lines, knots I use daily, knots I never use, bends, turns, stoppers, hitches. I even included whippings, sennits, coils, lashings, frappings, splices… eventually I lost track of what and how many I had tied.
I am fascinated by the lore and art in knot tying. I consider it a point of honor to tie the finest knot in the most preferred way and chosen because its most advantageous for that particular purpose. Sometimes I imagine I can do anything, fix anything, create anything, simply with knots. And when I tie them, its with the heart of those who many years ago tied knots to save their ship and all the souls aboard. Buckles, clips, Velcro, cam cleats, straps, and other gadgets weren’t available.
So it was during my interview and after she had asked me why I would be good for the job, what other sailing experiences I had, and all the other standard questions, that I felt most assured with my answer to the last question.
“What knot would you use to connect a line to the anchor rhode in order to extend it?”
Without hesitation, “The Zeppelin Bend.”
The zeppelin bend isn’t a well-known knot and can’t be found in many knot tying books. However, its perfect in that it is easy to tie, is solid whether its under tension or slack, it will join two lines of differing widths, its attractive, and even after a heavy load you can untie it comfortably and quickly.
“Your hired,” she said and extended her hand. The next day I was sailing off into the fog, having just passed the USCG Captain’s exam and having my first experience being in command of a passenger vessel. All because of the zeppelin bend.
How fitting, then, for my new store of salty handcrafted items to be named The Zeppelin Bend. Please visit my store. A link is in the right sidbar of this blog. There is more to come…sea-glass jewelry, scrimshaw, and of course…knots!
Tags: Etsy, knots, rhode, Sailing, zeppelin bend
