Ike Markowitz

Ike Markowitz was born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, on January 13, 1921. He met his wife Marilyn in Brooklyn, New York, in 1944 and was married to her three months later. Ike and his family moved to Colorado in 1955 to go to school.  He only lived there for two years because he was an aerial navigator in the Air Force and was assigned to Japan for three years. In 1950, he returned to Boulder. Ike has four children, one of whom lives in Colorado, and six grandchildren.

   Click image to enlarge

Visions of a Mermaid

The bow of the Lynderific was forced upward as the full force of the storm pummeled her, exposing much of her graceful 60-foot keel. And just as suddenly it plowed down into the surf and water poured over her deck. The crew members above board were lashed into their positions and were struggling to maintain a heading into the waves. The turbulence wasn’t confined to the fore and aft, and the boat was put into violent rolling actions. I could only sense this as I lay in, tumbled around, and held onto my bunks. I just knew that this was going to be one long night.

Fear never took hold, but the thoughts of how I got myself into this mess did come to mind. The knowledge of the events that led Ike and me here, and our actions, would be questioned for a long time. At the heart of it all, was that we wanted adventure, and we were finding it.

The ocean had always held an appeal for me. I grew up in Brooklyn, New York, within walking distance of beaches. There was Coney Island, with Steeplechase Park, the Tornado roller coaster, and the usual carnival type rides. Nathan’s Famous Hot Dogs was the MacDonald’s of our time and I relished the food. At times some of us would go there just for the food, but I was in my element when I was in the water.  I never had swimming instructions; I just swam almost before I could walk. The sun and the water were the appeals and I loved every moment I was able to be there. That was my introduction to the ocean. Fishing and boating would find their way into my life later . . . much later.

While world events and our careers eventually led Ike and me to Boulder, Colorado, we were never content to sit still. We traveled at every opportunity to the far reaches of the world. We were not of the tourist crowd, usually setting out on our own and exploring the mountains and waterways from Australia to Norway, the Mediterranean to the Antilles, and Nepal to Machu Pichu.

As fate would find us, we were offered a partnership in a 60-foot sloop being built in Hong Kong with delivery to be made in Seattle. The ultimate destination was to be St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. We were fascinated with the idea and we signed right up. I was wonderfully excited about this. A crew would pick up the boat in Seattle and take it on to Panama for the crossing of the canal. We, and several others, were to meet the boat in Panama City and help with the sailing to the Virgin Islands.

Panama

We had little insight to the makeup of Panama, but with our past travel experiences, we knew we could manage things. After all, the US was a major presence there, with its military bases and the activities relating to the operation of the Panama Canal. But things got off to a poor start on our arrival in Panama City. The only arrangements that had been made for us was a hotel reservation which turned out to be for a bit of a flea bag in an outlying section of the city. In brief, not something we would have accepted, but it was late at night and we were tired. The room was small and relatively bare, with the bed taking up most of the room. We had to scoot around the bed to get to the bathroom, which was equally small, containing a sink, toilet, and a shower. Ike and I took turns visiting the bathroom.

Most notably, on checking in at the desk, there was a brochure that offered cautions about travel in the city. Do not travel alone, especially at night, and be aware at all times of your surroundings and of those around you. Leave cash and valuables at the hotel safe. Hug your purses and keep wallets in inside pockets. Avoid carrying cameras and other personal possessions. These were precautions we would expect in any major city, but they seemed more imposing here in Panama. On the first night, two young members of the crew, newly arrived, were accosted, mugged, and robbed by a group of knife wielding thugs near the hotel. We took them under our wing and cared for them until the boat, the Lynderific, arrived. 

We moved to the El Panama Hilton the next day and felt much more comfortable and secure. It was New Year’s Eve and we were able to enjoy the hotel festivities and chat with fellow guests. The boat hadn’t yet reached the Marina, so we couldn’t have the company of the crew. When they did arrive, we learned that it would be a four-day wait to get through the canal. In that time we were able to do some sightseeing and to see a bit of the local native environment. It was a fun time and I felt good about being there.  I took off to the San Blas Island Indian village to get a real feeling for the native people. Studying early cultures had become a passion for me. In the evenings, we ventured into the casinos, and marveled at the serious and determined gambling going on, mostly by Asians. We left a few dollars there.

The boat arrived, was provisioned, and at the assigned time, under the guidance of a pilot, we motored to the canal. Our leaving was delayed a bit because we didn’t have and needed to find a Panamanian flag to display along with our American flag. We were quite happy with the boat and its facilities. Ike and I shared a small, but pleasant and comfortable cabin, with our own shower and toilet. There was an ample galley and the deck had seating arrangements and open views all around. It was beautiful and plush, with an abundance of shiny teak wood, leather seating, and polished brass. I couldn’t wait to see it under full sail.

The Lynderific

For the trip through the canal, the Lynderific was tethered to a large container ship and a smaller sailboat. The small sailboat was on a leg of their trip around the world. That must have taken a lot of guts to undertake such a venture. It couldn’t have been more than a 20-footer. Its crew seemed happy, good-natured, and were enjoying themselves. It was humbling, looking down at them from our magnificent and luxurious 60-footer. I felt myself hoping that our adventure would prove as fruitful.

The canal transit was exciting and the scenery fabulous, particularly while motoring through the Gatun Lakes, with its multitude of islets overgrown with trees and shrubs. The water was an emerald green with a mixture of reflected blue sky and had a gentle shimmering in the cool breeze drifting in from the ocean. This was the perfect time for lying on the deck, sipping piña coladas, and listening to a bit of Reggae. The scene could have been a travel commercial for Master Card.

Movement through the locks, before and after Gatun Lakes, was fascinating and brought on thoughts of the original difficult and dangerous construction of the canal. It may well be one of the greatest achievements of science and engineering. And here we were, in just a few hours having moved from the Pacific into the Caribbean. We were now under full sail, and within a short time on open seas, with no land in sight. With all of our wonderful past travels that we thought exceptional, this was a new and glorious experience. 

Larry, the Captain, who was the Dive Master, was also tall and handsome, resembling a Greek God. Ike and I tended to be more inclined to his wife, Lynda, also tall and blonde, lively with a charming personality. The boat was named for her, “Lynderific.” Larry had a severe demeanor, was harsh with the crew members, and turned out just short of being a Captain Bligh. He made attempts at teaching individuals to handle the helm, but this wasn’t exactly like driving a bumper car and a lack of experience was evident. He was short tempered and unforgiving with the slow learners. He took his responsibilities seriously.

Lynda was a delight. She was in charge of the Galley, was always cheerful, active, and eventually proved a better sailor than Larry. She did a good job of protecting the food stores because the young crew members attacked the food like piranhas. With a free access to the stores, they would run us out of food long before reaching St. Croix. Everyone was good-natured and we had a fun time, but after a few days of burning sun and nothing but open ocean, we needed a diversion of some kind. We talked Larry into hauling sail and letting us get into the water. When the boat slowed sufficiently we dove into the water. I loved it and swam easily and smoothly through the choppy water, closing my eyes and basking in the wonder of it all. Ike had often referred to me as a “Mermaid” because of my ease in the water.        Ike brought me out of my reverie to tell me that the boat had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped moving and was distancing itself from us. My first reaction was a recalling of a statement in a science class that ”a body in motion, stays in motion, etc.” That thought left quickly as I realized the seriousness of the situation.  As fast as I could swim, neither Ike nor I could gain on the boat. Finally, we called out to those on the boat, and Larry, sensing the situation, put a Zodiac into the water and zoomed back to us. As Captain, he should have cautioned us about leaving the boat until it was stopped and a sea anchor was put out.  It was our first lesson, and also a lesson to Larry, to one of the hazards possible in sailing! 

Navigating

The next lesson came soon enough. Ike, who had been an aerial navigator, was knowledgeable about charts, current, and weather. He monitored our progress daily with sightings and GPS.  One morning he noted that we had gone nowhere during the night. The obvious conclusion was that the wind and strong north-easterly current were constants in this area and a straight-line sail from Panama to St. Croix was not feasible. Planning of the trip had been inadequate and inexperience had again become evident. Ike and Larry calculated that there was no possibility of getting to St. Croix in time and we would also need a re-provisioning of stores.  They decided that Jamaica was the nearest landfall and our course was changed. Things were pretty moody at this time and we needed some cheering up.  We mixed up some more piña coladas, brought some snacks, and in short order the mood had changed. I thought it would be great to see Jamaica, even though we would have to alter our overall plans. We would return home from Jamaica, rather than from St. Croix.

But this feeling was to be short-lived. It was nighttime and the wind was picking up. The waves had built up to the level of the deck and as the boat rolled, the waves would appear above us. We could see ominous storm clouds moving toward us from the southwest, which was contrary to the normal airflow in the region. A radio check confirmed that a major storm was upon us and we were still some distance from Jamaica. There was lightening in the distance, but we didn’t hear any thunder. The bow of the boat settled into an up and down crashing rhythm and a rolling from port to starboard and back again that put us into a hang-on situation. All but a minimum crew was sent below and life jackets were distributed. I went below, while Ike stayed with the crew on deck. I’d rather he was in the bunk with me, helping me to hold on, but he was needed topside. He did come down to check on me and to reassure me periodically. Every bit of equipment was put into lockers or was tied down. Those on deck were secured with lifelines. There was little they could do, but keep the bow heading into the waves and staying as close to course as possible. Surely, we could make a sheltering cove before too long.

It was soon apparent that only Larry and Lynda were capable of handling the boat in this situation, so they took turns at the helm throughout the night. Steve, who had joined the ship in Costa Rica as a hitchhiker, and Ike were designated to help them. That help was mostly talking to them and keeping them awake. Three-hour watches were planned so there would be some moments of rest and tension relief. Sleep was out of question. It proved to be a daunting night, scary at times, but the crew showed its guts and determination. The rain pummeled the boat and it had gotten cold. We all, and the boat, shuddered with the momentum of the thunder and lightening. It was scary.

   Click image to enlarge

It was a proud and happy moment at dawn when the storm let up and we could see the port of Kingston just a little way off. The sun was coming up and the power of the waves and the sea had smoothed.  We took off our rain gear and got into dry clothing. Lynda put together a hearty breakfast of cheese omelets, pancakes, and coffee. After eating, the mood lightened and all were cheerfully joking and laughing about the event. Now, it was just a great experience that we could talk about to our kids and grandkids some day in the future. We patted each other on the back for a job well done. Though I and others had just stayed out of the way, I was proud of Ike for his part in the event. We congratulated ourselves for simply surviving.

We had a wonderful celebration that night at a restaurant and nightclub. We had innocent looking drinks in coconut shells that soon had us on the dance floor, hopping to fantastic Reggae music. And since we had made arrangements to fly home the next day, we toasted each other, hugged, and said our farewells. The crew, with two partners who had flown into Jamaica, would go on to St. Croix without us. We recognized that, though we had some crazy and difficult moments, Ike and I learned some more about each other, and about the crew. We learned a bit about sailing and we vowed that we would do a repeat before too long. We would be sailing again, more confidently, on the Lynderific with Larry and Lynda in the Virgin Islands.
Bon Voyage.