There is a young couple named Brand,
		who keep sailing their boat onto land. 
		Their friends all agreed
		it is wheels that they need,
		to roll the damn thing off the sand.

					- Larry Riopelle

Bump. Slide. Then the sickening stillness. Ginger is aground again, for the fifth time in 48 hours. It is nearly dusk on the fourth day of our shakedown cruise from North Palm Beach to Apollo Beach, Fla. Out of newly developed habit I carry the two diesel jerricans and the stern anchor forward and place them on the bow, in an effort to redistribute weight to a more favorable location. This accomplished, I begin to howl. Sobbing without restraint, I manage to gulp out, “I just want a safe place to put our boat!” Chris approaches, gently. He smiles at me kindly, and he puts his arms around me. Then, he laughs. He tells me we will get Ginger off the bottom quickly this time, and we do.

Slowly, I realize that the groundings do not upset him, nor do they make him feel insecure. He views them as an opportunity to practice the various ways of getting off. He does not mind hopping off the boat in the dark to push us off, or rowing out with the anchor, or even waiting hours for the tide to rise. Inconceivably, he may even relish these activities. We are, after all, sailing at last.

After this grounding outside the channel to Flamingo - the hellishly mosquito-dominated southern outpost of the Everglades - we sail all the way to Apollo Beach, another 221 miles, without running aground. We anchor successfully at two locations on the north end of Pine Island in Charlotte Harbor, off downtown Sarasota, and at DeSoto Point just inside the Manatee River. I begin to think that we have learned some important lessons of cruising life: Save tricky, unfamiliar waters for daylight. Confirm channel marker numbers. Allow for the possibility that channel markers might have moved since your chart was published.

Then, during our second outing since completing our shakedown cruise a month earlier, we commit the seamanship sin of sailing on a schedule. We leave Apollo Beach Friday, October 5 at 0800, headed for a date with Tina and Artie Fleischer - not to mention cold, lusciously creamy-headed Old Speckled Hen on draught - at the Lost Kangaroo Pub in downtown Bradenton at 1930. In Tampa Bay we experience the worst possible conditions for sailing on a schedule: the wind is just enough to drive us along at 2 knots, the air is quite comfortable, and it’s a sunny, blue-sky kind of day. Accordingly, Chris refuses to run the engine. At this rate, I insist, we’ll be hours late for our date. We planned this weeks ago. We have to get there on time. Chris finally agrees to using the engine. Spurred on by my intense frustration, I hand-crank the 250-pound flywheel with enough force to start the engine successfully for the first time. We motor to the Manatee River channel and turn the engine off. Satisfied that we will arrive on time, I leave Chris at the helm to sail upriver with the benefit of a following breeze, and I go below to spiff up the cabin for company.

Soon, I feel a protracted slide… it is much more dramatic when experienced while standing on the cabin sole. Ginger’s belly is again on the sand. I am feeling confident after starting the engine, so I volunteer to hop overboard and push the bow. Chris stands on the bow (with the jerricans and stern anchor) and comments calmly that a shark has just swum past me. I grab the rail and start to pull my legs out of the water. “No, no,” he says, “it was a just a nurse shark.” I growl at him to keep a proper lookout and begin pushing. Ginger does not budge. Chris adjusts the sail and tries to sail us off. Ginger does not budge. Chris carries our bow anchor past the stern 100 feet and sets it, and then I pull the anchor line in. Ginger steadfastly refuses to budge. We are on hard. I row ashore to call Tina and Artie and tell them we’re aground and will be about three hours late.

We end up employing the most frustrating method of all: we wait for the tide to continue falling and to come back up again. Eight hours later, we are able to pull Ginger around to face the anchor and I finally bring the anchor aboard. Chris sails us back to the channel, and we drop anchor off downtown Bradenton at 01:00 Saturday. I walk through the Lost Kangaroo Pub at 0130, six hours late: no Tina and Artie. The next morning, I learn that they left the bar at 2130 to drive the two hours back to Lake Placid, wisely figuring that I had been characteristically optimistic in my ETA.

For now, we’re abandoning all scheduling efforts. We’ll call you when we get there. Now we know that true to her name, Ginger sure loves the ground.

- Kim

		There was an adventurous couple named Brand
		who couldn't manage to stay off of land.
		When the Fleischers had found
		that the Brands ran aground
		they ran as only pessimists can.

						- Tina Fleischer