Ahoy! May 2026: The Whistle

- F.X. McKee, November 2010

She was, if ever there was, a sailor's woman. The last time the ospreys, gulls and I saw her on the water she was curled up in the cockpit of her Beneteau sailboat cuddling James Patterson’s book Sail. The early morning Chesapeake light danced in her eyes and lapped against her toned legs in time with the luminous diamonds shimmering on Baltimore's Sue Creek.

Since then, the ospreys fled to the warm waters of South America but the gulls are still up north.

Nancy won several life battles. She became CEO of her own company, raised two beautiful children, passed along the same love and affection to her grandchildren and even beat breast cancer some twenty years earlier. She asked the doctors at that time to, "Just give me twenty years." Twenty years later she joked about how she wished she had asked for twenty-one.

Her Captain is a sailor's sailor, the closest thing you can imagine to Captain America on the water. I call him Admiral.

Crewing for Bart, as described by those who know him, is like crewing for a cross between Captain Bligh and Mr. Rodgers. Warning: faint-hearted or phony sailors need not apply. Commands come on cue in rapid, high decibel bursts. Pulling into Solomons just about dead last at the Annapolis–Solomons all night race didn't dull his spirits. "She’s a heavy weather boat," he sighed. His heart of gold combined with his attitude made the 7:00 AM elixir of Grey Goose vodka and ham sandwiches taste all the better. It was Stockholm syndrome at its best.

On paper, Nancy was Bart's first mate but I always thought it was the other way around. Write it up to the way she carried herself, her countenance or quiet confidence. There was just something about her.

One memory of her stands out. A few years back, the woman I once longed to crew as my first mate and I met a young couple at The Bakery, a local eatery in Chesapeake City, Maryland. They were sailing from New England to Florida aboard a Cape Dory 28 sailboat. We struck up a conversation and they spoke with unsullied, youthful exuberance of their experience. Having sold all their worldly possessions, they were striking out on their new life together. The day's float plan called for them to make Annapolis by sunset, then looming less than five hours away. I tried as nicely as I could to let them know that Annapolis might be a stretch but if they found themselves running behind they could overnight as my guests at Baltimore Yacht Club, which was on the way.

Some years before, Nancy helped Bart fulfill one of his lifetime dreams. They sailed to Florida together. The stories abounded about their journey and conquest of the ICW (Intracoastal Waterway). Nancy seldom bragged but she gave Bart full credit for only running aground four times.

Hours after leaving the couple in Chesapeake City, Bart, Nancy, my never-to-be first mate and I were at the Club enjoying the annual oyster fest when we saw the Dory, the couple and their dogs on the foredeck approaching the Middle River. I ran down the hill followed by the rest of our table to greet the bone-chilled duo.

We huddled at the chilly, fall dock and the young mariners basked in the warm welcome. When told that Nancy and Bart did the ICW, the couple, in awe, asked if they had any words of wisdom to share. Bart led off telling them to get good sunglasses because sailing south in the fall entails hours of staring into a low sun on the horizon. Nancy's counsel to the couple was a bit more direct and succinct. She looked at the woman and told her, "Get off the boat, now."

Last year Nancy's cancer returned in an even uglier form. She came to the boat less frequently, but when she did it was still with the class most would just look at and declare out of their league. Bart forewent all racing for the season and pulled the boat early as he lovingly focused on crewing for Nancy's final voyage.

It's been over a month since Nancy left port. I try to talk to Bart regularly and see how things are going. He seems busy but, worriedly, a little quieter than usual. We saw each other recently at the Club and spoke about trying to squeeze one last sail in before the cold of December descends upon us. I hope we can do it.

Our float plan will call for us to depart on my sailboat Imagine. We will pass Nancy's empty slip as we head out Sue Creek to the Bay. I see Imagine's burgee fluttering at half-mast and my prized boatswain whistle at hand. There is something mystical surrounding the lonely, beckoning cry of the whistle designed centuries earlier to communicate commands to crew in even the harshest of weathers.

Her empty slip will be to starboard as we gently throttle back. As the whistle sounds piping Captain Nancy aboard, the piercing cry will likely be heard only by the nearby gulls. They will all understand.

After all, it just wouldn't be right to set sail and leave the Captain ashore.

Captain Frank McKee is The Gratitude Sailing Institute's founder.
He and Captain Bart Haas sail out of Baltimore Yacht Club.
Nancy Haas died in October 2010, and this tribute was penned shortly thereafter.

Past Ahoy! Articles:

February 2025: Maritime Traditions and Superstitions

June 2024: Wind and Water and Waves... Oh My

July 2024: Sailing: Day One