Ira's Letter from the Big Sail

Here's my transcription of a handwritten letter Dad sent me during his voyage on Al Bensusan's boat through the open Atlantic. Clearly, it was written prior to the sailors' encounter with a major storm at sea. The letter vividly reflects his love for adventure, for seafaring, and for the natural world.

(Caps reflect his own usage .)

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Wed. May 14, 1986

THE SAILING TRIP - LV. FLA. SUN MAY 11 AT DAWN.

CAST OF CHARACTERS- CAPT. AL BENSUSAN, BILL REVKIN , SAM ROUSLIN, AND IRA WELLINS

Dear Nancy,

I'm writing during my great sailing trip (from Southport, No. Carolina right now). It has been exciting. We left from a place about 60 mi. north of Palm Beach, intending to spend one day on the inland waterway, sailing north to Cape Canaveral and exiting to the open ocean at that point. To our great disappointment, we found that a seaway lock vital to that exit was closed for repairs, so we had to stay inland most of the next day to reach the Ponce DeLeon exit near New Smyrna, Fla.

However, it was not a total loss, as the INDIAN RIVER (which is the INLAND waterway in that area) is very interesting with GREAT BLUE HERONS, EGRETS, DOLPHINS, MOBILE HOME CITIES FOR THE ELDERLY WITH CANALS FOR STREETS SO ALL CAN HAVE A BOAT MOORED IN THEIR DRIVEWAY? BOATWAY?? ALSO MANATEES IN SOME AREAS - AND WE SAW THEM ALL.

At about 5 pm we sailed thru the Ponce DeLeon exit into the open Atlantic, feeling like we'd been freed, the gates flung open and our 30-foot nonesuch the Zinzindorf bucked, rolled, yawed, pitched, and fought her (all boats are female - wonder why?) way through the broad rollers and headed east to intercept the Gulf Stream about 60 miles off the coast, then turn northard (actually NNE) to take advantage of the approximate 2-knot current flowing north.

My first night at sea - only a thin sliver of the waxing crescent moon to shed the faintest light to detract from the blackness, with the mast waving a long bony finger at the brilliant masses of stars, the dim red glow of the compass and instruments providing the only other light. As we each stand our 3-hour watch, we don our raingear (raining or not, as you can't leave the helm if it should blow (spray) or rain) and put on our lifeline and snap it to a line running the length of the boat, as going overboard at night is almost certain death as the blackness is too intense to find anybody. The alternative - a life jacket with flashlight, whistle, and flares - is too bulky.

There is an eerie beauty to the sight of a raingeared man at the wheel peering through the blackness for the lights of other boats, holding a red flashlight to read instruments and watching the compass, with the splendor of the stars as background as you come up the companionway to relieve. Of course, you have to hold on as the boat rolls and pitches on the broad swells and heels to the wind hitting the vast mains'l. Taking a turn at the helm on the open ocean is mainly monitoring the instruments and being on lookout for other vessels, as our automatic pilot holds to any pre-set course.

The next morning I awoke at 5:30 (went to bed at 2 am), threw some clothes on and went up on deck as it started to get light. We were rolling along at 6.5 knots all alone with nothing in sight from horizon to horizon. However during the morning we saw a few freighters far off, then nothing. Then 2 small birds - storm petrels - showed up and were with us all day - they are funny, swooping down on the water and running over the surface with wings outspread, but we couldn't see what they caught.

About 11 am a school of 4-6 porpoises showed up, arcing gracefully through the water and started playing around the bow for about 10 minutes. Al was asleep below so missed the show. He didn't quite believe us when we told him about it. However we were given a repeat performance in the p.m. which Al saw. We also saw numerous flying fish and one was found dead on the deck the next morning - evidently could not get itself back in the water.

Have to go now for a shower and change of clothes - then we're going to a restaurant. More later. In the meantime, lots of love and kisses from your Dad.