Mox Nix

One of the distinct advantages of living a long time, and believe it or not there are many, is that there are some long quiet afternoons not filled with feverish and often frantic attempts to finish the day with all of one’s ‘rats killed’. l find myself daydreaming, reliving the memories of friends present and past and activities I never in my wildest dreams expected to engage in. I have learned in seventy-nine years that what one dreams about most often comes true, at least it has for me.

One of those activities is sailing. Although I grew up on the shores of Biscayne Bay, perhaps one of the sailing capitals of the world, I never set foot on a boat until I was an adult. Well, in fairness, that’s not entirely true. At about the age of twelve, an uncle offered me a weekend trip on his pontoon boat down the waterway under the guise of pleasure that turned out to be a disguised effort to have me babysit his two children. After I thanked him and joined two other boys at the beach upon arrival at our destination, no further offers were forthcoming.

I would often ride my bicycle to the edge of the bay and walk the pier in Bay Front Park dreaming about blue seas and calm winds. I even got thrown out of a boat yard once for sneaking aboard a forty foot wooden yawl because I loved the smell of teak. At times after reading the Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, I would be awakened out of my reverie by the sharp sound of a teachers ruler striking my desk. I would draw pictures of sailboats and simple river barges. Once I tried to launch a friends’ canvas covered canoe in a canal only to have it immediately strike a piece of coral and sink with my provisions left floating in sealed jars and plastic bags. I lost a friend over that adventure because I returned the damaged canoe a few days later and fled the scene of the crime.

Fortunately, years later, life allowed me to experience most of what I have dreamed of. I’ve crossed the Gulf Stream on yachts, flown the Bermuda Triangle often in single and multi engine airplanes, dived the wall in the Turks and Caicos, swam to the reef off Okinawa Japan, frolicked in the oceans that line both of Americas’ coasts, fished in the flats of the Gulf of Mexico and visited the southern most point of the United States. All of these adventures have been exciting but one in particular was harrowing.

I met a new friend in my fifties and I took an immediate liking to him. After being introduced, I learned he was a very accomplished guy. We both loved and flew airplanes and in his case he captained some of the finest and most expensive aircraft ever manufactured. At one time he had “Slick Willy” aboard and was charmed by him. He was a sailor and like me, he loved and married a beautiful flight attendant. We both came from very humble beginnings, he having supported his siblings and parents working in a hot dusty tobacco field throughout his youth in rural North Carolina. He also served in the US Air Force and unlike me who only made it as far as Okinawa, he is a Vietnam vet. We both achieved the same rank. His name is Steve Gray and is one of the finest and most fair minded men I have ever known. It hasn’t hurt that we think alike politically. We have both received many gracious hands up and not hand outs. Oh, and did I tell you, we both have a fondness for exotic cars? If I told you the story of how he met his wife, you would admire him even more, but that is a story for another time when I delve into one of my favorite topics, “Serendipity versus Grand Design”. Needless to say, I value my friendship with Steve and Vicki. I am proud to know them both and whether it be serendipity or grand design, have been fortunate to share time and adventures with them.

You may be asking what this has to do with Mox Nix, which is German and defined as “What’s the difference”. Steve invited me to help him deliver his thirty foot sailboat with the appellation on its stern from the Miami Yacht Club to his home base on St. Simons Island, Georgia. I jumped at the chance. St. Simons Island is another love we share. Both being long time pilots and knowing weather could be critical, we planned our trip for when the weather gurus in the windowless rooms assured us it would be a perfect time for passage. We drove to Miami, spent a night on the boat and departed the next morning on a beautiful South Florida day. The sun was shining and the skyline of Miami glistened on the horizon as we made our way off shore toward the Gulf Stream, rejecting the unholy “ditch”. The Gulf Stream offered a swift northerly current adding to our speed, much like a tailwind does in an aircraft. By the end of the day, we entered the cut in Fort Lauderdale and tied up in a small marina that offered showers and a nearby place to eat. We had dinner and kibitzed with our fellow boaters.

Early the next morning, beating east a few miles to make distance, we wound up again in the Gulf Stream and then turned north at the breakneck speed of six or eight knots. By mid-afternoon we were just south of West Palm Beach when Steve pointed out some pop-up cumulus clouds on the horizon. They were no threat we thought and at worst we could duck into West Palm if the wind arose. By this time we were on a gentle reach on a north-westerly heading and on a direct compass course to St. Simons Island. We hadn’t decided where to spend the night but the sailing was so gentle and the seas so calm we contemplated sailing all night. We sat quietly in the cockpit ruminating about the paths our lives had taken and thanking God for the beautiful time together, the fair weather and the calm seas.

And then, the breeze stiffened, the puffy clouds darkened and the top of the cloud developed into an anvil, a sure sign of a storm for even the most uninitiated. We still didn’t feel threatened because it is not uncommon for pop up storms in late afternoon in South Florida. It was still several miles away, a blue sky was on the horizon and in the direction of our passage. Then the wind began to shift causing us to “head-up” and turn more easterly away from the blue sky. Our pulses accelerated as we became concerned. The wind kept rising, we had to change our course more easterly and before we knew, it became necessary to take in some sail. I was beginning to feel sea sickness coming on and although a forty year pilot, I would easily get car sick in the back seat of an automobile or the rocking cockpit of a boat. The winds continued to rise. Steve secured his harness while the seas had risen from calm to six or eight feet or more. We both knew we had to take down the sail but by this time I was so sea sick, I was puking over the side and would be no help. Steve crawled forward, fought with the sheets and halyard and the jib came down, luffing wildly. I remained on the helm heading into the wind as best I could using the engine and he fought with the mainsail when suddenly a strong smell of gasoline emanated from the cabin. I held the wheel at arms length, puked from my toes all over the cockpit and searched the cabin for the origin of the smell. We had taken the engine cover off of the hot engine for cooling earlier. Gasoline was pouring on to the engine coming from a broken gas line offering no alternative but to shut it down. This was going to leave us only that steerage the main would allow and by now it was slamming back and forth uncontrollably. The act of shutting down the engine under these circumstances is analogous to shutting down an airplane engine at night, which I had already experienced once and did not want to repeat. Steve struggled in a wildly pitching boat and was soon able to reef the main sufficiently to hold us off the wind, allowing us enough time to declare a mayday. TowBoat US soon came up on the radio and advised us to stand by. Rescue was on the way. After the longest thirty minutes of my life, the rescue boat arrived with a single occupant who tossed Steve a line and slowly towed us through the cut to a marina in West Palm Beach. The tow boat operators parting words were,”You guys were damn lucky. I wouldn’t have attempted that rescue if I had known how severe the weather was inside that storm. Only the Coast Guard could have helped you.”

I slept well that night. The storm soon passed and we arrived safely on St. Simons Island a few days later, a thankful two sailors.

I still love sailing, but have long ago abandoned my desire to venture far offshore in a small boat. I will leave that to the intrepid likes Robin Lee Graham who wrote one of the best sea stories I’ve ever read.