Annapolis Trip

The only weather missing was snow.

Joy and I sailed out of Sippican Harbor, bound for Cape May as our first stop, under sunny skies about noon on Wedensday, 14 October, a little behind schedule but happy to be finally on our way, especially because a moderate NW breeze on our starboard beam was pulling us along nicely at about 6 knots.  By the time we passed Cuttyhunk and the Buzzards "tower" at dusk, however, a high thin overcast had moved in, with lower scudding clouds below them.  Portents of what we'd been told might develop...

We passed Montauk early in the morning on Thursday, under power for a while because the NW wind had faded during the night before building back by 0800 to 10-12 knots.  It also veered N and then NE. We spoke with Susan Genett at RealWeather.com about 1030 and discussed options now that it was clear a strong nor'easter was fast approaching:  Keep going to Cape May, turn back for Montauk (now about 20 miles behind us), or scoot to Sandy Hook and find a safe haven there.  The first two choices didn't appeal to me at all, so Sandy Hook it was. (Susan strongly recommended against Cape May, preferred Montauk, but said Sandy Hook was ok since the strongest winds -- 35-40 knots, she predicted  -- would be nearly right behind us). 

So on we went, altering course due west to Sandy Hook. As the wind and seas began to build, "Otto" (our Autohelm Tillerpilot) was having trouble staying on course, Joy wanting to round up. I considered reefing the main, but decided to take it down altogether, knowing know what was coming.  I also doused the jib, so we were sailing under staysail alone. Good choice!  What a wonderful ride!  Joy sailed easily and comfortably through it all, and Otto performed magnificently. 

The real wind -- now from the ENE off our starboard quarter -- began about 1100, building to between 30 and 35 knots where it stayed for the next 12 hours.  There might have been gusts occasionally to 40, but nothing above that.  Seas were 6-8', with perhaps a slightly higher swell every few minutes (every 7th wave?). For a while I worried we might get dumped on from behind, but Joy's canoe stern rose up as the waves passed under us, and we picked up speed and slid down the waves face before it passed on ahead of us. "Garmine," our Garmin 182C GPS, said at those moments we were flying along at just over 9 knots.  A Nantucket Sleighride! Average speed from 1100 that morning to 2300 was 7.2 knots.  Not bad under staysail alone...

Since the wind and rain were right behind us, and just in case a wave might come aboard from astern, I put in the companionway boards and shut the hatch. I was also glad to have the weatherboards installed, which helped protect the cockpit from flying spray and wind. 

I stayed below most of the time, poking my head out to check the boat and horizon every 15 minutes or so. I guess it's not surprising we never saw another boat or ship until we got near the approaches to New York Harbor, perhaps 5 miles from Ambrose Light. Only a damn fool would be out sailing in this stuff!  

The ride below was surprisingly comfortable, however. I was able, for instance, to heat up some really good chunky soups, toast some bread, and boil water for tea and cocoa.  The only problem was the cold (temp was about 45 degrees), but heating the soup helped, and thereafter I turned on both propane burners once an hour or so for about five minutes, and that kept the cabin relatively cozy.

We saw our first traffic -- a large, well lit cruise ship -- at about 2230 off to port as it steamed out of New York Harbor. As we approached Ambrose Light, other ships appeared, coming in and out of New York.  Several very large tankers were also anchored neat Ambrose, presumably waiting for their pilots or for berths to open in the harbor.  All of them were very brightly lit, making it difficult to see Ambrose Light and the other lighted buoys.  Thank God for GPS, which told me where they were relative to Joy.

Aside: Those who think we can get along without the federal government and its infrastructure apparently have never thought about the usefulness of things like GPS and the military satellites on which it depends, Loran, or the Air Traffic Control system. It would be utter chaos at sea and in the air.  We wouldn't have the Interstate system, Conrail, or Amtrak either.

Which reminds me of the scariest part of that night at sea approaching New York.  About 30 minutes before sighting the lights of New York and the ancored ships, strange flashing lights began appearing in the clouds ahead of me every few minutes, and I couldn't figure out what I was seeing.  UFOs coming to get us?  Yikes! It wasn't lightning.  Strobe lights from shore or a ship?

It wasn't until we were very near Ambrose that suddenly bright strobes, landing lights, and huge aircraft landing gear suddenly dropped out of the clouds about 500 feet directly above Joy's mast.  Scared me half to death at first! But of course:  Runway 50 at JFK is only a mile or two northeast of Ambrose, and these were commercial aircraft on their final approaches.  Whew!  Those planes were coming in every three or four minutes, even late at night.  Busy airport...

So we passed Ambrose, entered the outer channel to Sandy Hook, and about midnight bore off to the south into Sandy Hook Bay. The seas flattened out, the wind abated somewhat now that we wer in the lee of Sandy Hook, and now it was our diesel's ("Iron John") turn to help the little staysail reach down the bay. After looking for protected anchorages up under the eastern shore and not finding anything suitable, we continued three miles south to Atlantic Highlands at the head of the bay to check out what looked like a good spot behind a jetty of some sort. Wow!  we came around the light at the end of the jetty, and there was not only a protected anchorage, but a marina, a yacht club with marina, and several empty moorings!  We picked up one of those, got out of wet foul weather gear, ate the last of the warm soup, and crashed -- glad and grateful to be safe, and very grateful to designer Chuck Paine for an amazing little cutter named Joy.

More to come....

A Celtic Blessing for Sunday

A friend who is a UCC minister in Vermont sent me this blessing tonight, and I pass it along for any who may find comfort in it:

May the Maker's blessing be yours,
encircling you
round you
within you.

May the angels' blessing be yours
and the joy of the saints to inspire you
to cherish you.

May the Son's blessing be yours,
the wine and the water,
the bread and the stories
to feed you
to remind you.

May the Spirit's blessing be yours,
the wind, the fire,
the still small voice
to comfort you
to disturb you.

And may my own blessing be yours --
a blessing rooted in our common pilgrimage,
the blessing of a friend.

[from The Pattern of Our Days, out of the Iona Community]

Weather Windows

Waiting for just the right weather to start a short voyage (from Marion to Annapolis, offshore via Cape May) can be frustrating, especially in October.  Well, this October anyway. I've done this several times in the past, but this time seems more difficult than usual. Part of it's because I have two cautious people advising me not to take the kind of chances I have in the past. Part of it's because I missed one opportunity due to what I thought was the flu coming on. And part of it's because I'm trying to take as little time off as possible, which means the voyage needs to include Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday, my normal days off. 

There's a part of me that just wants to go, aim for Cape May, and take what comes, weatherwise. The last time I did that alone, I had headwinds the whole way -- SW 5-20 from Marion to Cape May, NW 20-35 up Delaware Bay (not fun!), and SW 18-22 from the C & D Canal to Annapolis, with a lull of several hours of no wind in the canal and upper Chesapeake. (The photo above is of the sea buoy off Cape May at dawn.) 

Some wise person long ago told me to set a date for departure, and ready or not, leave on that day. Otherwise, he said, I'd never go.  I think that applies to many things in life, not just leaving on a sea voyage. 

This year, however, there have been too many signs telling me to delay -- getting a bad cold was just the final straw.  Gracie's usual keeper not being able to take her over the period I'd intended to sail, counseling clients in crisis, and really sucky weather were among them.  I've learned over the years from painful experience of not listening to things like that -- especially my body -- and getting in trouble as a result. Call it instinct, intuition, inspiration, messages from God, the mind-body connection, whatever. When I didn't listen and barged ahead, it was always a mistake.  So now, this year, I'm listening -- to my body, intuition, friends, advisors, the weather, a cautious co-owner and her weather service.  I don't like it.  I want to go -- and get back to work as quickly as possible. But here I am.  Being patient, waiting.  But sooner or later, I'm simply going to sail away...when the signs are telling me it's time.

How does she know?

Have you ever had your dog read your mind? I swear my eight-year-old golden retriever can. I've tested it.

Here's what happens: Gracie and I are often at the beach with her yellow tennis ball, which she'll chase as many times as I'll throw it. She loves to swim, so the farther out in the water I can get it the better, as far as she's concerned. But after a while, I've had enough -- especially on a cold February day -- and I think to myself, "It's time to go. I've got to get her back on the leash and into the car."

Well, almost as I'm thinking it, she'll pick up her ball and head for the water, wade in about six feet from the shore -- and sit down. She knows I'm not coming in after her -- at least not in February. And she'll stay there. No matter what I say, no matter what bribes I offer, she just sits there looking at me innocently, as if to say "So what's your problem?"

And there she stays -- until I consciously shift my thinking to something else. A seagull, the far shore across the harbor, whatever, as long as it isn't "It's time to get in the car." As soon as I do that, she's out of the water and comes right to me to drop the ball, expecting it's going to be thrown again.

As I say, I've tested this several times, and she never fails to know what I'm thinking.

Does that happen to anyone else who has a dog companion?