Something happened to disrupt both our lives and my series of posts from Casstaway’s spring 2022 three-month journey in the Bahamas. His name was Ian. So, before we continue with our glorious sailing tales, here’s the nitty gritty on our Ian tale of woe. We call this year’s holiday letter:
The Casstaway’s Christmas Chaos
Where in the world are Todd and Tanya? It’s December 2022 and while we are definitely not living in a stable, we also aren’t living aboard our floating home. Life for these casstaways has become a little chaotic…
After a wonderful winter floating in Marathon (Florida Keys), and a fabulous three months of spring 2022 sailing in the Bahamas, it was time to find a spot where we could batten down Casstaway in preparation for hurricane season. With Casstaway secured in Port Charlotte, Florida, we sailors planned to avoid said season by traveling to Indiana and Missouri for some quality time with our much-missed landlubbing family and friends.
Hurricane prep for Casstaway meant putting her “on the hard” which means hauling her out of the water and storing her in a boatyard where she was set on chained together jackstands and secured with hurricane straps. We then removed everything portable from the outside of the boat, until she was virtually naked, and stored those items down below. We also spit and polished her inside, and closed every hatch, portlight, and thruhull, so that nary a critter could invade her during our absence. With Casstaway tucked-in, we said goodbye to our home on June 27 to begin our summer sojourn.
Fast forward to September 26, when we were preparing to return to Florida, while apprehensively following every news report on Hurricane Ian, a category 4/5 storm soon headed to northern Florida. Ian’s path on every spaghetti model was well north of our Florida destination, so we bid adieu to the aforementioned landlubbers and flew back to southern Florida where we would wait out the storm’s wind and rain by-products with good friends in Venice, who had also hosted us five years ago during Hurricane Irma.
But spaghetti models be damned, Ian had other plans. By September 28, he had his eye directly over Cayo Costa and surrounding area, which included Casstaway’s boatyard in Port Charlotte. This also meant that the storm hit Venice much harder than predicted, leaving us in safe accommodations, but stranded in a flooded neighborhood of downed trees and wind-blown debris, with no cell, Wi-Fi, or electricity for many days. And with Port Charlotte devasted, no way to know if Casstaway had survived the 190mph winds, storm surge, and blasting rain that was the eye of Ian.
Given all the flooding and damage in the Port Charlotte area, it was two weeks after the storm before we were allowed into the boatyard for even a quick, 15-minute, escorted view. We found Casstaway had toppled her jackstands, pulled her strap anchors out of the ground, and fallen on her starboard side.
Fortunately, she is a sturdy gal, and appeared still structurally sound, including intact solar panels and wind-generator. Wilson, our dinghy, was still secure on her davits relatively unscathed. Not knowing how long a wait until Casstaway could be up righted so we could climb aboard for full inspection, we still left the boatyard feeling optimistic that all we would face inside her was tossed belongings – not much worse than a very rough day at sea. Wrong!
Turns out, the force of Ian’s winds and rain managed to force water into Casstaway via crevices never meant for such a thing. And with all interior drainage routes closed (see hurricane prep above), that water had no way out of the boat – it just recirculated, flooding Casstaway’s downed starboard side and coating every interior surface with heavy condensation.
We cannot adequately describe what a flooded interior, in three weeks of hot Florida sun, does to the inside of a boat. Everything was wet or waterlogged.
Clothes, upholstery, rugs and pillows, bedding, all looked like moldy science experiments. Walls and ceilings dripping and freckled with mildew. Mattresses soaked and settee cushions so heavy with water they could barely be lifted. Woodwork and cabinetry in various states of distress, flooring warped. Even our silicone bakeware (stored inside the oven) was growing mold. And the stink?! Our former optimism was sinking fast.
Insurance documentation and estimates. FEMA inspection and reports. Hauling out every single thing on the boat. Infinite trips to the dumpster. Days of laundry and buckets of Oxyiclean and bleach, trying to salvage whatever we could. More insurance crap. More cleaning. Securing a storage unit and filling it with all we could save. Finally locating a boat interior restoration contractor, only to find that we are number 96 on his schedule. More insurance crap. More cleaning. And many grateful prayers that our Florida friends had not yet strangled us as an intended two-day visit turned into almost two months.
With the above finally completed, we decided that the remaining repair and restoration estimates, and more insurance crap, could be accomplished from anywhere. We were sorely in need of tender loving care from our kids and grands, and our Venice friends sorely in need of a respite from tales of mayhem, muck and insurance crap. So, we bon voyaged Florida and headed to family in Indiana, just in time to give a Thanksgiving thanks that even amidst our tears and frustration, we had been blessed – so many lost so much more.
We are grateful that in the calm before the storm 2022 gave us much fun and frivolity in this crazy lifestyle that we love. Although our usually calm seas have been crazy chaotic these past few months, we’ll make it through. Afterall, we are well schooled in adjusting our sails.
Merry Christmas and Blessings for the new year!
Captain Todd and Admiral Tanya
The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.
William Arthur Ward
PS. We just got next year’s insurance bill. Crap.
