Sea trials... and tribulations

Ridgefield, Connecticut... nestled in the rolling hills, stone walls, and Civil War battlegrounds of New England, is home and hearth of our intrepid master and commander, Charles Albert Bangert, aka Chuck.

Ever the prudent mariner, Chuck thought it would be a good idea to do a shakedown cruise before heading down the Ditch. Walt concurred wholeheartedly, so we decided to sail to Mystic Seaport, the old whaling town some 80 miles northeast of Chuck's home base marina in Stamford.

Fueled and poised for sea trials, Deregulation V (whatever that means!) chomps at its dock lines raring to go. At 36 feet this Sabreline power yacht packs two 375 horsepower Yanmars that devour a gallon of diesel every nautical mile, and it's over 1,300 miles to Ft. Pierce, Florida, our final destination. In fact, it burns fuel so fast you can actually see your bank account drop.

No sooner had we cleared Stamford under gray skies when we were hit by gnarly seas and small craft warnings. Before we knew it we were getting clobbered by huges waves in Long Island sound. The helm got drenched, the Zodiac came undone, and Deregulation took a beating. All this combined with the fragrant aroma of diesel fumes created a serious sea change in Walt's stomach. As if to appease Neptune, he offered up his breakfast to the fishies. But it wasn't enough, and after four hours of getting slammed around Chuck mercifully pulled into Branford marina, much to Walt's vast relief. Pondering this great way to start an adventure, Walt secretly wondered if there was an airport at Branford.

At dawn the next day, we departed Branford on calm seas and Chuck sedately cruised into picturesque Mystic Seaport.

Our derring-do skipper (he likes to be called that)...
...is such a kidder for being a serious seafarer!Dotting Mystic's shores are renovated older homes and newer ones

reflecting the Big Bucks evident everywhere along the entire east coast.

But the key attraction is the Mystic Seaport Museum, a huge indoor-outdoor maritime display of boats and ships from the byegone whaling era. The old town of Mystic is painstakingly preserved, and the shops and streets are peopled by locals in 18th century attire, ever willing to sell you an elixir, build you a boat, or spin an old whaling yarn.

A coal-fired forge shop made everything from ship parts to tools to harpoons. A hand-carved bowsprit for a whale ship.

A ship's chandlery stocked almost everything a whaler would need for years of hunting at sea.

A rope factory spun heavy cordage from hemp and sisal.Brass knotmeters were hauled astern to determine a ship's speed.

Whalers would frequently be gone for two to three years, or until their casks were filled with whale oil. Heavy oak ships fought the terrible and freezing seas around Cape Horn, at the tip of South America, to reach the rich hunting grounds of the eastern Pacific. Many never made it past Tierra del Fuego, and a sailor's life was insignificant against the huge profits to be made from a successful hunt. The restored whale ship Charles W. Morgan was typical of that time.

A whale ship's galley was even smaller than Deregulation's!Berths in the fo'c's'le (forecastle) were cramped and
smokey and reeked of wet clothing and sweat.

After two days it was time to return to Stamford and prep for the start of the Ditch Trip south. We had proven that Deregulation could take a beating and keep on ticking. Now we'd see if we could hold up as well. It was a great first-time experience for Walt, who had always wanted to visit Mystic.

But before heading out, Chuck wisely warms up the instruments.