Shakedown Cruise: First Officer Report
Our first real shakedown cruise aboard Frances Mae is officially underway, and I’d say it has been a success — mostly because we’ve discovered everything I forgot to do!
As First Officer aboard Frances Mae, I have to admit I failed in a few key duties. First, I neglected to secure the drawers. All I had to do was push the little buttons in to lock them before we left. I didn’t. As we crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the swells started rolling around us, the drawers enthusiastically introduced themselves to the cabin.
Then there was the hatch over the bed “incident.” Again, all I had to do was make sure they were latched securely. I didn’t. The result? Seawater found its way inside, soaking my side of the bed, pillows and bedding and even my pajamas. Nothing says “welcome to cruising” quite like making our first stop to the dryers at the washateria instead of sightseeing.
And what, you might ask, was the First Officer during instead of attending to her duties? If you know me, you already know the answer. I had my beak buried in a book. My book club buddy, JD Kesler, recommended The Johnstown Flood. Somehow reading a book about one of history’s worst floods while your own bedding is getting soaked seems strangely appropriate. Maybe a little too appropriate.
And just when I thought I’d learned my lesson, we pulled into Roche Harbor. Guess what? It was raining. Of course, my rain gear was tucked neatly away (I’m a neat-nick) instead of where it should have been — at the ready. So there I was, helping bring Frances Mae to the dock at the marina while getting slightly drenched.
The good news? Every one of these mistakes is easy to fix. (I dare say they won’t happen again to this First Officer!) This is exactly why you take a shakedown cruise. Better to discover what your routines need to be now than halfway to Desolation Sound.
So here are the official lessons learned from Day One:
Lock the drawers.
Latch the hatch.
Keep the rain gear where you can reach it (at the ready).
Maybe save The Johnstown Flood for a calm, sunny day at anchor.
I’d call this a pretty successful first day. Captain Paul and Frances Mae handled the swells beautifully, proving she’s far more capable than her First Officer. Paul, thankfully, remained patient (I think I heard a few giggles from the helm), while I earned my rookie stripes.
We made it safely to Roche Harbor, the bedding and PJs are dry and we’re preparing for our evening cocktail. It’s still raining and we’re already laughing about the day’s adventures.
Every experienced cruiser has stories about the things they forgot on their first shakedown. This one is ours. And if the rest of the trip is anything like today, we’re going to make some wonderful memories about Frances Mae. Tomorrow is another day, and another harbour (Bedwell in Canada) where we clear Customs), and if I’ve learned anything today, a much better prepared First Officer.
Evenings on the Water: A Little Preview of What’s Coming
There’s a funny thing about the last trip we took to Port Townsend — we didn’t know it at the time, but it was basically a dress rehearsal for retirement. Not the official kind with paperwork and farewell parties, but the real kind: the rhythm, the quiet, the way the world slows down when you let it.
In the evenings, we’d ease the Frances Mae out into the bay, point her bow toward the Strait, and let the day fall away behind us. Once we were far enough from shore that the only sounds were gulls and our own breathing, we’d cut the engines. The sudden hush was its own kind of magic — like the boat exhaled right along with us.
Then came the best part: grilling dinner on the back while the water turned that soft, silvery blue that only Port Townsend seems to manage. Nothing fancy, nothing fussy. Just the two of us, the smell of the grill, and the kind of conversations you only have when the world is quiet enough to hear yourself think.
We kept our eyes on the horizon half-hoping a whale would decide to make an appearance. They didn’t — apparently they had better plans — but that didn’t stop us from scanning the water like two optimistic kids convinced that this would be the moment. Honestly, the looking was half the fun.
Somewhere in all of that — the drifting, the grilling, the watching — it hit us: this is what retirement is going to feel like. Not a finish line, but a widening. More evenings like these. More unhurried dinners. More time to point the boat toward open water just because we can.
We didn’t see whales, but we saw something else: a glimpse of the life waiting for us just around the bend.
And if that trip was the preview? The full show is going to be spectacular.
