This submission comes to us from sailor Marlene Sassaman. She is the gal we’ve heard from here.

Marlene bought A John Marples designed 35 foot trimaran a couple years ago from Jim Brown’s friend, Jo Hudson. She is now in the Bahamas, single-hand sailing on her cruising trimaran. At present, she has some time to write, and took it as an opportunity to share the first installment of her story about how this adventure came about.

Marlene has been dreaming about doing this type of thing for awhile. And now, being newly retired, she is pursing that dream. Here is Part One …

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Retirement Living Aboard a Cruising Trimaran – Part 1
by Marlene Sassaman

Chapter 1: How it Began

By age 25 my resume included working as a MaBell Telephone Operator, a medical claims adjuster and a pharmaceutical research assistant My travels included a cross country solo adventure on a 250 Yamaha followed by a drive to Fairbanks via the Alcan Highway in a Ford F100 pick up truck. A traditional life as a wife and mother eluded me.

One rare evening while visiting my folks, my dad and I were watching the CBS news. A 30 second blip showing Ted Turner at the helm of a a sailboat caught my attention. Mesmerized by the ambiance surrounding Ted’s smile, I shouted “That’s what I want,” while Walter Cronkite droned on about an America’s Cup.

It was another five years before I graduated college and saved enough money to buy a boat. Scouring the newspapers for a used sunfish I finally found a store in downtown Orlando, Haygood’s, that advertised new and used sailboats. Within an hour of calling I found myself in the boatyard. Leering at the used boats without any sails up that were cramped together on trailers, I thought this isn’t what I had in mind. Confused, I inquired about new boats.

When we walked into the salesman’s tiny office a life-size photo of a white hulled Hobie 18 overpowered the room. It was love at first site. The sails were beautifully colored in shades of red and blue. A guy and girl were on the trapeze. The girl was wearing headphones. Both had grins from ear to ear. “Does it come in blue?” I asked. The cunning salesman said, “I can have a blue hulled boat ready for you on Thursday.” To my question about cost the shrewd salesman asked how much I had to spend. Proudly I declared, “$3700 plus I have a used motor boat to trade in.” Would you believe that is exactly what the new Hobie 18 cost me (lesson #1). Hundreds of lessons continue to follow.

The second lesson involved getting a trailer shop to install a support bracket for my VW Super Beetle. It occupied the next three days. Driving the trailered boat home from downtown Orlando during afternoon rush hour was the third lesson.A few months later I sold the Beetle in exchange for a more accommodating hippie type van. It was blue, of course, to match my new boat.

For two weeks I dusted my prized possession. Before I could even think about sailing, I had to figure out how to set up the dern thing. The boat looked so weird on the trailer. Though the salesman insisted everything I would need was in the box, I was reticent. This was especially true when I started matching up the parts with the diagrams in the manual. Dog bones, cleats,shrouds, mast step, chain plates, and sheets. There was nothing in the box that looked like sheets. Besides I wasn’t planning to sleep on the boat. This was so confusing. I was overwhelmed.

Finally, I called that salesman. He suggested I attend a Fleet Meeting. The next one was in about two weeks. Bribing my friend Pixie we chucked a bottle of wine then entered the meeting room.

Chapter 2: Realizing What I Bought

My image of sailors was that of barefoot guys wearing surfer baggies and short sleeve t-shirts. It was a bit of a shock when Pixie and I took the last two seats in the back row. The meeting looked so formal. Being as it was on the second floor of a bank, I guess it made sense. Though none of the gents were wearing suits, they were dressed in what might be called casual office attire. We had to introduce ourselves. For an hour Commodore Rick Dickson, drew diagrams and used words like pointing, reaching, and that infamous, ‘mast to beam.’ A teenage boy about 14 asked a question about his mast. After his question was answered, I asked, “What is a mast?” Truly, I did not know.

The following Saturday I showed up at the local sailing hole. No one else was there. After about an hour a lady walked up and asked if I was the girl with the new boat. I guessed I was. She went on to tell me everyone was at the races near Sebring. “They went to car races?” I inquired. Lesson 4, people race sailboats. Lesson 5 the Hobie 18 was one of the newest breed of fast racing catamarans. What did I know?

As the lazy days of summer passed on I religiously washed my boat and took her to Lake Conway on the south side of Orlando. Every time I showed up a guy named Walter tried to convince me I could not sail a Hobie 18 alone. “Here, he’d beg, “sail my 14 and I’ll take out your 18 with a crew.” The salesman may have sucked me in. But if Jim McCan, who had to be in his fifties, could race his Hobie 18 alone, so could I. For hours I would watch Jim gracefully hook up and step off the side of the windward hull. Effortlessly he leaned back. with one hand on the tiller extension and the other on the main sheet, Jim glided across the lake. Only once did I change boats with Walter. After about five minutes I capsized on his Hobie 14 and demanded he give me my boat back.

The caveat of my joining the Orlando Fleet was meeting the Duke brothers, John 17 and David 14. It amazed me that these ‘kids’ the same age as those I taught at Milwee Middle School were teaching me, a 30 year old woman how to sail. Where was I at their age? A whole new world opened before me.

Later that summer my girlfriend, Denise and I braved Daytona Beach. Acclaimed as the place to race we showed up one sunny afternoon. The surf was a mild 1 to 2 feet with soft breaking waves. Someone helped us step the mast and off we went. About 100 yards past the surf line Denise washed off the boat. “uh-oh.” I realized the whole time I sailed with the Duke boys they always had the helm. I learned jib trimming and got comfortable using the trapeze, but I never learned how to make the boat stop. Denise swam back to shore and by some miracle I turned the boat around, drifted in and bought us each a Marguerite.

By summer’s end I found a great Hobie hang out on the Inter-coastal Waterway between Port Canaveral and Merritt Island. As fate would have it, the guy who rescued me when I capsized outside the channel as I was drifting helplessly toward the concrete wall, became my husband of 33 years. Within two years of racing as a team Dan and I became one of the top competitors in the state. I dabbled in some of the women’s events but never seemed to advance my own helmsmanship past the middle of the pack. After ten wonderfully, fun years racing the Hobie 18, I conceded and bought a 14. Since that time, I bought and sold a Supercat 17, two different Hobie 17s, a Stiletto 23, a Stiletto 27, an F28 and lastly a Marples 35 foot tri.

After moving to Indialantic, which is across the river from the Melbourne Yacht Club, I took a fancy to racing sunfish, a Lindenberg 28 and J-24s. For the bigger boats I boasted an all women’s team. With my number 1 crew, Maryanne we had years of fun racing around the buoys.

In 2008 Dan and I bought a Corsair F28. What a comfortable, fast, exciting boat. At the start of the first local women’s I got slammed by a Lindenberg 28. It was a classic port/starboard situation. With 4 of us on my boat and 9 ladies on the L28, several other captains were screaming at the port sailing vessel to give way. Not one of their crew were watching. BAM, it was the crash heard round the course. $10,000 and two months of not being able to sail led to the decision to go cruising. I left the racing to small boats of mine or other people’s big boats.

Ay, the Cruising Life

Cruising meant going to the Bahamas. It was a place I swore I would only go to when I owned my own boat. With the F28 full paid for and my handsome ocean going experienced husband we set off to cross the infamous Gulf Stream. After a week or so exploring the sea of Abaco, Dan left me while he returned to work. I then spent five weeks drifting about. My friends Jack, Jackie, and their Russell Terrior, Jackson kept a close eye on me.

It was about 3 am when I called Jack on the radio. The wind was howling, Rain was pouring down filling my two gallon bucket almost as fast as I could empty it. Scared I repeated, “Jack, Jack, my anchor is drifting. I’m going to hit that rocky island.” Calmy Jack reiterated, “All boats move about, you are swinging on your anchor. Tomorrow I will help you improve your bridle system. Relax.”

Sure enough by daybreak all was well. Jack came over in his dinghy and we retied my bridle. Eventually we drifted apart as I gained confidence sailing in and out of the harbors.

That winter I spent endless hours planning a trip to New York Harbor. Within two hours of closing my office door for the traditional summer vacation I was already untied from the dock in Palm Bay, Florida. As the weather would have it, the winds were out of the North/Northeast all the way to Sandy Hook. You guessed it! On the return home, the predominant wind was south. There were two exceptions.

Although I never made New York Harbor I was blessed with spending a few days in Chesapeake City where my sister, Jane and a sailing blog friend, Suki met me.The run down the Chesapeake had me averaging 18 knots with the wind streaming out from Annapolis. What a ride!

Nearing home three glorious days encouraged me to sail offshore. Wanting to stay out at least one night I headed about 100 miles offshore. The next day sunshine and 5 knot zephyrs soothed my weariness. Lying on the starboard trampoline, looking out at the glassy sea, and I thought about my husband, Dan who made this solo adventure possible. With a good forecast I vowed to stay offshore another night.

My favorite instrument is SPOT, a widget that will allow one to send designees your latitude and longitude. I sent several SPOT messages indicating I was drifting about. To my right brained friends it meant I was just not paying attention to a specific course. To my left brain, always thinking logical, sequential, husband I was in trouble. His thinking this despite the SPOT messages saying I was “O.K.”

It was several months later when this conversation between Dan and I took place:

Dan: “So, Miss Solo Sailor, what does it mean when a Coast Guard plane circles a vessel 3 times.”

Me: “Funny, you should mention that.”

Dan: “How so?”

Me: “When I was offshore somewhere between St. Augustine and Ponce Inlet last summer a Coast Guard Plane did just that.”

Dan: “Did you respond to their call?”

Me: “No, I hate listening to the radio with all that static. I did wave to them when they returned the second time.”

Dan: “You need to call the Coast Guard and apologize for your negligent behavior.”

Me: “OMG, you called them.”

For the record I did write a letter of regret and have henceforth kept my VHF and SSB radio on at all times when at sea.

Love at its finest.

It matters not what or who tickles are fancy. There is this nebulous phenomenon which takes hold and we can’t always define why. Dan and I were married within 9 months of meeting. From our first date, two weeks after we met, we were a dynamic duo. The fact that he was willing to crew while I helmed during our racing days was what led to our success, always going home with a trophy.

We only had what one might call two bones of contention. I wanted to sail solo around the world which he considered suicidal. His refusal to do everything possible to quit smoking cigarettes, left me furious. What relationship doesn’t have its challenges. Otherwise we got a long good. He was an introvert preferring to improve the boat or our house. Landscaping our yard was his pride and joy. For me, being an active member of the Melbourne Yacht Club was a motivator. Whether serving on the Board of Directors, managing a women’s race team, or crewing for someone else, sailing dominated my time.

An untimely death took Danny from me. On November 17, 2010 I woke to find him as they say, “Stiff as a board.” There are no words to express the impact this has had on my life. During times of loneliness I console myself with thoughts of how lucky I was to be a part of his life for 33 years. Without him there was no happiness in our beautiful 4 bedroom beach house. No longer were surfing, beach walking and bicycling a pleasurable late afternoon activity. Going to the yacht club because a reminder that Dan would not be home when I returned.

Within a few days, I declared to one and all, “The Corsair is for sale. I want to buy a live aboard 35 foot trimaran with an inboard diesel.”