Atlantic Highlands
So, Atlantic Highlands, NJ...is a little human-created safe harbor (protected by a breakwater) at the very southern end of Sandy Hook Bay. . It has a large, full-service marina filled mostly with 100s of big sportsfishing boats, and a yacht club with launch service and moorings for rent. It was one of those moorings I picked up at 0200 ($50/night I found out the next day). It took three tries to get the mooring, though, because the wind was blowing about 40 knots, and the night was pitch black with rain blowing horizontally across the harbor. Only about 200 yards wide at most, it still was covered with white caps. I finally figured out the only way to do it was to first turn on the spreader lights so I could see what I was doing on board (and could see the mooring buoy as I approached it), bring the buoy right alongside the cockpit, grab the mooring stick, slow Joy down, and then run forward with the mooring line while Joy drifted back slowly (even though she was still running at about 1,400 rpms in gear), get the mooring line on the cleat and in the chock, and then go back and put Joy in neutral.
Whew! 0200, and I'd been sailing with only 20-minute snatches of sleep for...36 hours! And I'd been out in the cockpit steadily for almost six hours. I was tired, drenched, and very cold (I think the temperature was in the low 50s or high 40s). I went below, turned on two burners on the propane stove to heat up the cabin, change into dry sweats, and cooked some tomato soup, which I ate with Ritz crackers and hot tea. OMG, was that good! Followed by about a dozen chocolate chip cookies! I lit the two kerosene lanterns on the forward bulkhead of the cabin and turned on the reading light above my bunk. The cabin warmed quickly, and I began to relax, and said a long and very heartfelt prayer of thanks for a safe voyage and an amazing little boat.
I thought at the time that being below on a sailboat at night, safe on a mooring in a protected harbor, is the most wonderful place in the world to be. Almost like a womb. I sat and listened...to the wind whistling through the rigging, the rain on the decks, the waves slapping the hull just inches away. I looked around the cabin in the warm light of the lanterns, soggy clothes and foul weather gear on the cabin sole where I'd left them, a shelf of books to read.
And I realized I wasn't alone.
Carol was there, probably horrified at the mess I'd made of her floating home. She'd want me to clean tonight. Sorry, Carol, but it'll have to wait. I'd call her in the morning to tell her Joy was safe and sound, and then clean up. Maybe. My brother Derek was there too. I'd been able to call him at midnight as I rounded Sandy Hook, so he knew I was ok. I'd call anyway in the morning. But as on previous long solo sailing trips, there were others -- those whose teachings, experience, knowledge, love, and wisdom I'd drawn on to bring Joy safely in...my grandfather; Bill Saltonstall; Mike Plant, Jack Stark (a Virginia Pilot whom I'd befriended and sailed with while stationed at Langley AFB in Hampton); Donald Street, who wrote a great book about heavy weather sailing; and so many others. Some women too -- Joey, Priscilla (Yngling days), Karin Winegar (who wanted to sail with me and couldn't), Tibby Smithers (a very HOT Blue Jay sailor who taught me patience and persistence when we raced my 110 together as kids), and even my nemesis, Jody Smith, who despite sometimes being such a witch on a boat, is a great sailor and teaches me a lot. And Nora, who would have loved every minute of it. I got out and read John Masefield's "Sea Fever" to her, which she'd read standing atop the cliffs of Dover a few years before she died. God, I miss her, but felt her presence with me that night.
Thinking back on it, believe it or not, the trip was fairly easy. For sure, it could have been much worse. The seas never built to more than 6 or 8 feet, which Joy easily handled. I was running almost directly before them too, averaging probably 7 knots, so the wind didn't seem nearly as bad. Joy was flying under just the staysail -- very limited canvas. "Garmine," the Garmin GPS, always knew where we were, even if I didn't have a clue, and the auto pilot "Otto" (thank you Autohelm) performed wonderfully, so I could stay below most of the trip until within about 5 miles of Ambrose Light. (I am very glad I didn't have to do any dead reckoning as I approached land). I went out into the cockpit only once or twice, and then only to tie down the mainsail more securely and to take a few pictures. (And yes, Carol, I tethered myself before leaving the cabin). I'd put the companionway boards in, of course, so all I had to do was to open the sliding hatch, stick my head out under the dodger, take a good look around the boat and the horizon for a few minutes, and then go back below and close the hatch. I did that repeatedly every 15-20 minutes or so for the whole trip, catching naps or reading in between. Joy's motion was so easy, even in those seas, I was able to cook warm food too. It really wasn't bad at all.
I probably didn't get to sleep until 0500, needing to decompress first, and simply enjoy the warmth and calm of the cabin while the wind screamed outside. I ate some more soup and crackers, heated water for lots of tea, and read a little. Oh, and brought the log up to date, which I'd not been able to do for the last six hours or so of the voyage. And finally slept, cozy, warm, safe.
Mary Beth and Bay Head
In the morning, the weather wasn't much better, and yet another Nor'easter was now predicted to follow along almost immediately on the tail of this one, so I knew I wasn't going anywhere for a while. I called Carol in Annapolis, where she was waiting for us, about 1000 to check in, and told her I'd be staying in Atlantic Highlands for probably two more days. Frustrating, but nothing to be done about it. About an hour later the phone rang, and it was this woman I didn't know, a sailing friend of Carol who lives in Bay Head, about 45 minutes south of where I was. Mary Beth King. She said she was coming to get me, and to get my laundry ready because she was going to put me up for the duration. Not wanting to impose on someone I didn't know, I said thanks, but I was fine and would stay on Joy. An hour later she calls again, and this time practically orders me to bring Joy into the marina, put her in a slip, and "get off that damn, soggy boat! And bring your laundry!"
Yes Ma'am. So I did, and there she was, dressed to kill in business attire and high heels, catching my lines as I maneuvered between pilings (not easy when it's blowing 30 knots, I discovered). I thought, oh God, she probably can't tie a granny knot, and she'll probably fall in. Nope. Bowlines appeared out of nowhere in her hands, and lines got thrown over pilings and cleated on the dock...and I began to think there might be something different about this woman. This is MB:
Well, you know what happened. There was just one small problem. A husband. Well, the hell with him. I fell instantly in love anyway, of course. I mean, God how can you not? Look at those eyes!
MaryBeth, it turns out, knows everyone in the sailing world -- we have so many friends in common, I've lost count. How our paths never crossed until now is beyond me. She has her own 36' sloop (more about that in a minute).She also has the fastest mind of anyone I've ever met. I'm not kidding. This woman is scarily intelligent. She has an insatiable curiosity about everything, and a memory that leaves one in awe. Her energy would put the Salem, NJ nuclear power plant to shame. She knows more about history, art, and architecture, and interior design and decorating than any one human being has a right to. She's queen of the one-liners, and you never know they're coming. A rapier wit. And funny -- I don't think I stopped laughing the entire time we were together. Except, she's so beautiful, she took my breath away. Sigh.
So ashore I and the laundry went, leaving the yacht club's launchwoman to keep watch over Joy while I was ashore.
MaryBeth and her husband live in the most amazing and wonderful house in Bay Head, which they restored themselves. It's part Victorian and part "stick and frame?" (I think that's right). When we got there, I was ordered into the shower (I am sure I stank), and then into a warm double bed (this is 4 in the afternoon). She'd wake me for dinner.
Yes Ma'am.
I woke about 7 with Mary Beth tapping at my door. "Supper's in 10 minutes. Here's your laundry."
The damn woman had washed, dried, folded , and ironed (!) all of my clothes. By now, I am completely besotted.
I dressed in the still-warm clothes and went down stairs to meet Him (whose name, I seem to have conveniently forgotten). I just knew I was going to hate him. But first, I met her best friend Toby -- a wonderful and friendly little Cockapoo (I think -- at any rate a very friendly little ragamuffin, who stayed by my side almost every moment I was in the house). Toby and I spent some quality time together in the Victorian living room before he led me into the kitchen, and then into His "cave" (MB's word) beyond, where we found Him watching TV, a History Channel thing about WWII, which MB warned, is his passion. War. Oh great. We're going to get along just fine.
Unfortunately, it turns out we also had some things in common (probably saved his life). He knew an uncommon amount about military intelligence (my field in the USAF), so I managed to get Him to talk a little about that. But other than that, He seemed content to watch the TV and let me flirt outrageously with His wife, falling more and more in love by the moment, which I was more than glad to do.
After supper, MB and I walked Toby down a lovely bike path in driving rain about three or four blocks to the beach on the Atlantic side of Bay Head to check the sea state: Howling northeast wind, a stinging rain, and huge combers breaking on the beach very close to the high stone dike on top of which we stood -- and the tide was low. We heard later that just down the coast Cape May and its harbor that night were completely flooded, with lots of boats damaged. My original destination....I was very glad to be ashore, safe in the arms of the woman I loved (only figuratively speaking, I hasten to add).
Bed early with a book, but barely got a page read before dropping off, and slept deeply for 9 hours. Bliss.
With the Nor'easter continuing, the next day (Sunday) I took a walk in the rain, and came across a beautiful little Episcopal church in the neighborhood just as the 10 am service was beginning, so went in. Good choir, Rite I, British vicar (terrible sermon!), and friendly people. After lunch, MB gave me an earful about the vicar and parish (which I won't repeat) as she drove me around Bay Head. We checked out the ocean state again, this time in daylight, and it didn't look any better. Again I was glad to be safely ashore:
The pictures don't begin to do justice. The wind was still blowing about 30, with 6-foot seas. The rain had completely stopped for the time being, but would pick up again later in the evening for a while before the storm moved on. I could tell, though, that it was nearly over and Joy and I could be on my way in the morning.
After watching the waves for a while, and two young kids on surf boards (where were their parents???), we ended up at the house MB is restoring (one block from the beach) -- another classic turn-of-the century home in bad repair. Together, we spent the afternoon taking measurements for counters, cupboards, and bathroom accessories. MB was meticulous. It had to be perfect -- all of it. No cutting corners on quality and devotion to the original house and design. Here's the house:
While wanting to be true to the original layout, MB did design a very modern kitchen, and upgraded all the bathrooms. All during this time, she is keeping up a constant stream of questions, observations, jokes, and one-line zingers that had me constantly surprised, breathless, and laughing so hard it hurt. God, what an amazing mind and woman!
Toward the end of the afternoon, we drove around Bay Head some more, MB pointing out some of the more beautiful old homes in what was once a summer community for wealthy New Yorkers. Her own home, for instance, was builder by one of the founders of the original community. Some of the summer "cottages" along the beach front -- all protected now by a high stone dike -- are pretty spectacular:
MB also took me to see her boat, Act II, and we went aboard where I helped figure out a problem she was having with the batteries and a few other little things. She talked about the boat being her freedom, and her plans to sail her to New England next summer. I offered to sail with her or show her around Buzzards Bay and my favorite cruising grounds once she got up this way. She said she just needs some self confidence and experience on the boat before she can single-hand her, if she decides to do that. Here's Act II:
We then went over to the Barnegat Bay side of town, to look at the yacht club and its great marina where MB keeps her boat in the summertime -- and to sit quietly and watch the sunset over the bay. She can be quiet too when she's in awe. It was all so... romantic. I kid about it (sort of), but I'm serious when I say I have rarely felt as close to someone as I did watching that sunset with Mary Beth. It was magical.
Red sky at night, sailors' delight...
That night, the Husband actually came out of his cave and said he'd take us out to dinner. So off we went to a good fish restaurant for a great meal. We had a decent conversation about art, Bay Head, local architecture, and food. We also discovered other things in common (we'd both gone to Penn). We got back to the house about 11 I think. I went to bed right away, but couldn't sleep, so Toby and I walked over to the beach about 0200. The wind had died, seas were calmer with stars appearing, and I knew a early start was possible in the morning.
Bay Head to Cape May and Delaware Bay
After an early breakfast, Mary Beth took me back to Atlantic Highlands, she again dressed for business and breath-takingly lovely. We got my duffel on board and the clean laundry, tipped the launch driver who watched over Joy, and we were on our way. The night before, I'd asked MB if she wanted to sail with me to Annapolis, and she almost said yes. I could tell she was torn between her work and other obligations in Bay Head and sailing. In the end, duty won, and so I thanked her for her hospitality, we hugged each other for a long time, and I left her on the dock, waving as Joy backed out of her slip between pilings at 0930. MB said to call her when I passed Bay Head, and she'd come down to the beach and wave again. I left feeling very grateful to Mary Beth (& husband) for rescuing me and for her hospitality. She is an angel and a woman with a warm and wonderful heart. I am blessed to know her and call her a friend.
We had a stiff NW breeze, maybe 18 knots, so we motor-sailed back north up Sandy Hook Bay, and got a glimpse of the Verrazano Narrows bridge and New York City as we rounded Sandy Hook and bore off down the coast toward Cape May, Joy flying along on a broad reach at about 6.5 knots under jib, staysail,and main.
Passing Sandy Hook, I was astounded at how close to shore I'd been, coming around the point two nights earlier in the pitch black and driving rain. The channel wasn't more than 100 yards from the beach, and yet we'd been in 120 feet of water with 6' seas. I never saw the beach on the way in, but I sure heard it! I shuddered to think what could have happened if Garmine hadn't been keeping us between the lighted buoys. St. Peter sailed with us that night, for sure!
The ride to Cape May was uneventful. The wind stayed on our starboard quarter the whole way, but dropped down to about 5 knots in late afternoon, just as we approached Bay Head. I called MB to let her know we were there, and she did come down to wave. We swung off course and passed by her about 1/8 mile off the beach in 20 feet of water, and June Pendino, a friend of MB, took these:
When the wind dropped to under 5 knots, I turned on the iron horse underneath the cockpit and took down the jib (it wasn't doing anything). And we powered all night down to Cape May. I did my 20-minute cat nap thing all night, but in the cockpit because there was quite a lot of traffic. I did stay well inside the main N - S traffic lane, though, so no one ever got close to us, even though I watched tugs with barges, power yachts, commercial fishing boats, and an occasional freighter slip by us a couple of miles to the east.
It seems like every time I run down this coast at night there's no wind, so the diesel ran loudly all night, which reminded me of my grandfather and his old Maine lobsterman, the General Meigs. When I was 4 or 5 he used to take me out early in the morning to check his pots. That's when I learned how to steer by a compass, among many, many other things. Anyway, I remember him saying, just as the sun came up, that the boat had enough diesel to go all the way to Bermuda. "Imagine," he said, "running all night through the dark with the diesel roaring below you." It sounded romantic at the time -- sort of -- but I couldn't understand how anyone could sleep with all that racket and stink. The answer is: You can't! Give me sail power any day or night.
But it was a beautiful night -- crystal clear, calm sea, fairly warm (for mid-October), a gazillion stars with the Milky Way splashed across the sky, and the lights of the Jersey shore about five miles to starboard. We passed Sin City East with all its glare and glitz and neon lights. In spite of the noise, I did manage to catch intermittent naps in the cockpit, dreaming of sailing around the world -- with MB, of course!
Homer's rosy-fingered dawn brought no wind, so on we powered, and raised the Cape May Sea Buoy about 1000. The tide was roaring out of the harbor, so it tool a while to get in,
We stopped at Utch's Marina in Cape May to refuel, top off the water, and get several bags of ice. I'm very glad we didn't try to run for Cape May in that storm because they were still cleaning up the mess.
Clearly, the water had been up over the main docks, and several boats in the marina were badly damaged. In the above photo, the fuel dock and marine store are at the top left corner of the marina. Plenty of water once you're inside, but not much room to maneuver.
By the way, if you ever need to use this marina, make sure you don't just head across the harbor for its entrance (shown at the bottom of the above photo about in the center). Instead, carefully follow the channel to the entrance to the Cape May Canal (the beginning of which is shown at the top right of the photo) and then take a sharp turn to port at the outer east wall of the marina -- and HUG the wall, staying within 20 feet of it. Why? Because there's very little water east of the marina. I found out the hard way, and had to wait about 30 minutes for the tide to lift me out of the mud! Both the paper chart and Garmine's soundings are wrong! Very embarrassing.
The people at Utch's are great. They recognized Joy right away from previous visits and were very helpful, in spite of the mess they were still cleaning up after the previous days storm.
We were on our way again by 1400, headed west through the canal to Delaware Bay. Still no wind at all. Here's the west end of the canal, with ferries which run over to Cape Henlopen and back, with the bay in the distance. Time is about 1600.
We motored out into the bay NW toward the C & D canal, 60 miles up the bay and river. Obviously, we wouldn't make it by dark, so I thought we'd duck into a little creek on the eastern shore in a marsh Carol and I had discovered the previous Spring on our way from Annapolis. I was pretty sure we could get there by dark, but as sunset came closer, I thought, "Why go 6 miles out of my way tonight and then 6 miles back in the morning? It's really pretty right here in the middle of the bay, not a breath of air, we're miles away from the shipping lane, and in only 18 feet of water. Why not stop right here and anchor?"
So that's exactly what we did -- right in the middle of the bay! I cooked and ate a good supper, called Carol, Derek, my kids, Mary Beth, and Judith to check in -- and sat in the cockpit watching the sunset and the stars come out, and thought about Mary Beth, Bay Head, and how much further we had to go to Annapolis. Blessed silence, not a breath of air, no movement from the boat. So I said evening prayers and meditated for an hour or so. Totally alone, but you could almost feel God's presence all around. And within. It was one of those perfect moments of bliss that only come when you stop everything -- all movement, all thought. You feel as though someone or something is breathing for you, so you don't even have to do that.
Evening Prayers
"At the setting of the sun,
in the enveloping darkness of night,
at the interplay of hours
with sunlight giving way to moonlight,
I slip from day into night
with a desire to be as still as the sea,
and in being still
to turn to you O God,
and in turning to you
to return to the creative depths of my soul.
At the setting of the sun,
in the darkness of the night,
I turn to you."
Amen.
"In the great lights of the night sky
and its unbounded stretches of space
I glimpse the shinings of your presence, O God.
In the universe of my soul
and its boundless depths
I look for emanations of your light.
In the silence of the sea and sleep
and the dreams of the night
I watch for jewels of your infinity.
In the silence of the sea and sleep
and the dreams of the night
I watch for the shinings of your presence."
Amen.
These two prayers are from Sounds of the Eternal, a Celtic Psalter, by J. Philip Newell, past Abbot of the Iona community.
And from the Book of Common Prayer:
"Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work or watch or weep this night,
and give yours angels charge over those who sleep.
Tend the sick, Lord Christ, give rest to the weary, bless the dying,
sooth the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous;
and all for your love's sake.
Amen"
And then I slept.
Delaware Bay to Annapolis
I slept soundly, waking up once when the tide turned and Joy swung around on her anchor, and once just before dawn, when I must have heard the big diesels of a ship way off in the shipping channel. Other than that low thrumming far away, not a sound disturbed us, not a breath of air stirred, and no lights but the 1000s of stars and that one ship and the lights of Cape May about eight miles behind us. Stillness and stars. Wow!
We were underway just as the sun rose down the bay, head NW up the bay. It was almost hot! I didn't bother to put the sails up so Otto steered, the diesel roared, and I sanded and put a coat of varnish on the port grab rails on the coach house roof.
By 0900 I could just make out the plume from the Salem Point nuclear power plant, about 15 miles up the bay:
This trip up the bay was so different from our first one, back in 2004. That trip, we left Cape May at dawn -- and beat into a 30-40 knot gale all the way up the bay, short tacking back and forth across the shipping lane, dodging supertankers, Navy ships, tugs puling loaded and empty barges, and huge container ships. It took 20 hours to get to the canal, 60 miles up the bay. This was a welcome change from that, and so I didn't mind the lack of wind. I was able to get some work done, and began cleaning up down below so Carol wouldn't crucify me when she saw Joy in Annapolis.
We got to Salem Point, marking the NW end of the bay which narrows down into the Delaware River at about 1400, with only 5 or 6 miles to go to the C & D Canal. An uneventful, almost boring ride. The only unusual thing was that as we came by the power plant, the compass started swinging back and forth through 90 degrees or so -- just where the chart pointed out magnetic disturbances were to be expected. I'm glad it was clear daylight, and that Garmine wasn't affected. The place gives me the creeps.
The canal ride over to the Chesapeake was fast because the current was with us all the way, just as I wish I had planned (We had the sea gods with us, and the current just happened to begin ebbing west though the canal just as we arrived). Still no wind, as you can see:
The little 30' catamaran coming up behind us in the photo above flew by going about 15 knots with just an outboard pushing it. She's from Canada (Quebec City), and was on a mooring beside us in Atlantic Highlands. I met the owner -- another single-hander -- at the yacht club there. He said he'd gotten in just before dark the night I arrived, so he went through that storm too. Like us, he flew only a small jib, and said he averaged 18 knots from Block Island to Sandy Hook!
I cooked supper while in the canal and ate early because I knew I'd have to be paying close attention once it got dark. We passed Chesapeake City just before sunset, I'd thought about stopping for the night there, but I was already three days behind schedule. I needed to get Joy to Carol in Annapolis so she could continue on south -- and I needed to get back to work in Massachusetts as soon as possible. I'd alreaday taken too much time off from work. The channel out of the canal and south into the Chesapeake is not wide, and it wanders down the Eastern Shore, so I knew I'd be at the helm for much of the night.
I ate in the cockpit as we went by. I also filled two thermos bottles with hot water for tea and soup, and made several sandwiches, to have during the night run to Annapolis, now only 50 miles away.
The leg to Annapolis seemed to take forever. There was a lot of small barge and ship traffic for half the night, all of it headed for or coming from the canal behind us. The second half -- once we were in the Bay itself and had joined the channel going up to Baltimore -- was even busier, but now with much larger ships and ocean going tugs with barges. So, in spite of getting more and more tired as the night went on, I had to keep a sharp eye to stay out of the way. Still no wind at all...God bless diesel engines.
Finally, Annapolis! I actually got to the outer harbor about 0400, but had to wait two hours by the Naval Acedemy for the drawbridge into Spa Creek to open at 0600. When it finally did and I passed through, I turned around to watch it close, and what I saw took my breath away:
So that's all folks! Joy made it safe and sound, amazing little boat that she is. As I said at the beginning, every kind of weather but snow...
After meandering up and down Spa Creek once or twice (lined by beautiful homes and condos), I found the condominium development where Carol had been waiting so patiently for three days -- in a beautiful condo which Mary Beth (remember Mary Beth?) owns. Carol and her friend, Joni Berg, who would sail south with her, met me as I approached the dock and hauled me ashore with all my gear. We also managed to get the dinghy off of Joy's starboard deck and into the water without any trouble at all. Women who sail in Rolex Keelboat Championships are very strong. (Do not mess with them.)
After a good breakfast and a much-needed shower, and clean clothes (Thanks MB!), Joni drove me to the train, and I was on my way home, with much Joy and gratitude in my heart, and lots of things to think about on the train ride (a great way to travel when on land, by the way).
Joy sailed 396.7 nautical miles from Marion to Annapolis in what ended up being about 79 hours of actual running time. I learned a lot of lessons again on this trip -- about heavy weather sailing, sea states, Joy's capabilities and my own, sailing at night, endurance, unrequited love (!), patience, American architectural styles, and my own strengths and weaknesses (physical, mental, and emotional). But I'll save those for another blog perhaps.
It was fun.
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