Regina Kolbe

Regina Kolbe
(inducted 2008)

On June 8 June, 2007, I made for Bermuda aboard a Swan 48 named Avocation.

Under the guidance of Captain Hank Schmidt of OPO (Offshore Passage Opportunities), I and five other sailors left Huntington harbor on a Sunday afternoon. This was an "adventure sail," and by the rules of the voyage everyone had equal time at the helm, day and night. We were on watch for 3 hours, with seven hours off and... we were not not allowed to use the autopilot.

I and a Canadian woman were the two females on the boat. Everyone had varying degrees of experience, with mine being the lightest. (Blue water was a dream I had carried for a while, and when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped aboard. Schmidt's role was that of reader, sleeper and cook. Never has there been a more laid back Captain.

Cut to the chase: Since everyone except me was from out of town (Canada, Philly, D.C., New Jersey), we were given the option of jumping off Montauk or going out past the Statue of Liberty. (Guess which option won.) As we made our way through L.I. Sound and into the East River, the sun set. We made our way past Rikers Island (quite a site from the water), down past my apt, the UN, the bridges. NYC never looked as beautiful to me as it did then. There was plenty of oohing and aahing as we passed Lady Liberty. (I wasn't a member of the club at that point so not used to seeing her on every outing. The only other time I had traversed these waters was right after 9/11, when I crewed for a friend taking his Grand Banks 42 down to the Chesapeake.)

With the sail finally set we made for the Verrazano Narrows bridge and had a couple of near misses on the way out of the harbor. For instance, one of the buoys wasn't lit and we nearly grazed it.

Being the last in rotation, my turn at the helm came late in night. It was my first time at the helm of such a large boat (and as I said, my experience was light!) - so there I was in the dark at the helm, only the compass to help me stay a course, and a watch mate. It was hands-on training, you might say.

It took two days to get to the Gulf stream. We were trying to cross at the narrowest point, but I think missed it. I was at the helm the first afternoon we got any real wind. Suddenly, instead of cruising along at 5 knots, we were sailing at 10. The waves were lapping up on our stern. At that moment, I got into sync with the boat, the wind, the waves. Schmidt jumped up on deck and adjusted the sail. I surfed the waves; it was a glorious moment and it seemed as natural as if I had been sailing all my life.

When it came my turn late that night, with no stars and no moon, the passage got scary. It was all I could do to see a straight course. Schmidt was alert but not on deck. My watch mate was a calming influence but I lusted for smoother waters.

By the time we crossed the Gulf Stream and got calmer waters, I hankered for the adventure of the Gulf Stream. We lost the wind and spent the final two days motoring. I was again at the helm in middle of the night as we approached Bermuda. As we came close to the narrow channel that leads into St. George's, Schmidt took the helm.

With legendary tree frogs 'a hollering, we got into port at 3:00. We passed St. George Dinghy and Sport Club off starboard and saw that the one-handed sailors who had been racing as we were making way, were in. We anchored in the quarantine area to wait for the customs office to open at 8:30.

Bermuda! We made it in 6 days.

That night, we were invited to the St. George Dinghy and Sport Club to party with all the wild-eyed single handed sailors.

One last comment. Having made the trip, I realized that I needed some small boat experience in order to get the chops I didn't really have on the cruise south. Schmidt recommended Manhattan Sailing Club, and that's how I happen to be writing this email.