07 September: What would Jimmy Buffett do?
The rigging howls. A halyard slaps unceasingly on the mast of the neighbor’s otherwise tidy 45-foot Beneteau. That’s what happens when a southerly blows at 20-plus knots up the Hudson River at whose mouth Steadfast sits tonight. She’s on the Jersey side, in a slip not far from the Statue of Liberty. The thought was the train ride(s) for JB to get from here back home to Connecticut would be fairly straightforward, and, likewise for me to visit Bowe in Brooklyn. The storms brewing this morning on the western horizon only confirm the wisdom of that decision. Whether it’s an RV park with a marina or a marina with an RV park doesn’t matter at the moment. It’s just a relief to be secure. The view across to lower Manhattan is a bonus.
Steadfast arrived uneventfully (always a plus) but not with as much dispatch as had been anticipated. This leg, keep in mind, was to include the rush through Hell Gate and down the East River. After three days idle, waiting for the weather to settle, Steadfast was itchin’ to get underway again. JB was most gracious in opening her home as base of operations for these days in Stamford but there remained a few last minute tasks (stocking perishables and ice in the ice box, for instance).
It was 1242 by the time Steadfast cleared the Stamford breakwater, later than planned but still in time, it seemed, to ride the favorable current down the East River. A heading of 240 would take her to the Old Hen, on the Queens side, just east of City Island. The bimini was much appreciated as bright sun sent temperatures into the upper 80s.
For the first 15 miles, Little Red was working hard to push Steadfast at just five knots. Finally, passing under the Throggs Neck Bridge at 1600, there was a discernible one knot boost. Clouds began to roll in, skies darkened but there’d been no mention of rain in the forecast so Steadfast pushed on. A so’east wind coaxed out the genny for a while and speeds moved past 6-and-a-half. It didn’t last long–not that it’d be needed–since rounding Lawrence Point to port put the wind dead ahead. That’s when the current took over.
Once into the East River, speed through the water fell to just 3.5; speed over ground was more than 7! The turbulence increased, too, and not just from the passing ship, tug, motor yacht and Police boat traffic. Swirling eddies tried to exert their will on Steadfast, briefly changing her heading first one way, then another. And the now strong southerly blowing up river against the ebb current pushed up a four-foot chop. All the same, the speed over the bottom kept climbing – 8.3, 8.8 and then approaching Hell Gate, into the 9s.
Those speeds held down past Roosevelt Island and the UN. A quick glance to starboard and there was the Chrysler Building, then the Empire State. Right about there, with boat traffic of all kinds around, the sound of a loud engine grew to a roar as the sponsons of a seaplane plowed into the waves about 100 yards to port!
It’s easy to ignore the seaplane port on the Lower East Side until one sets down a hundred yards off the port quarter!
It was hard to see the pilot through the glass. It might’ve been Joe Merchant, who knows? At a moment like this, I can’t help but wonder, what would Jimmy Buffet do…after he changed his shorts, that is.
A passing front shielded the setting sun for a dramatic close to the trip down the East River.
Despite threatening clouds and the occasional spritz, it had now become apparent that as long as Red kept up her steady thrum, Steadfast would make Jersey City before dark. And she did! Rounding The Battery, at Manhattan’s southern tip, the ferry traffic multiplied–it was rush hour, after all–and the speed quickly dropped. Other than dodging the Staten Island ferries and the high speed ferries from who-knows-where, it was a straight shot across the mouth of the Hudson, past the big “Colgate” at the water’s edge and into Morris Canal.
Once tied up, Jimmy’s voice could be heard telling his tales at the Surf City Megabar looming over the pier. Dogfish IPA proved a more than worthy substitute for Landshark and the toast was raised to Steadfast, her crew and another successful 34 mile leg on her way home.
Steadfast out.
09 September: Another Island
“Good morning, Captain. Where ya headed?”
The question is shouted across from the helm of a Coast Guard boat patrolling the entrance of Morris Channel. Once assured that Steadfast is headed to Staten Island, he nods.
“That’ll be fine. Just take a right and follow the Jersey shore.”
Simple enough, as simple as any attempt to pilot New York Harbor can be. This day, for instance, Coast Guard, NYPD and fire boats are on patrol directing vessel traffic away from the area off The Battery. It’s closed ’til after 1500 for a J-24 regatta. This causes some inconvenience for those transiting between the Hudson and East Rivers, their irritation apparent on the marine radio.
Steadfast, however, is taking this warm Sunday morning to slide south. After tending to Little Red, coiling the power cord, walking the key to the office and other routine tasks, it was 1057 by the time Steadfast backed away from the pier at Liberty Harbor Marina & RV Park.
Morris Canal is just about a half-mile north of Ellis Island. As familiar as the image may be, it is difficult not to pause when passing the small island to its south.
The image may be familiar but seeing her up close, she is impressive, nonetheless.
Don’t pause long, though. While waves on the Upper Bay were barely a foot, the steady flow of ferries, tour boats and tugs keep the waters churning. Ships, yachts, fishing boats and, this day, the patrol boats make vigilance the by word.
Still rising to its full 1,776 feet, the Super Tower at Ground Zero was easy to spot heading south from Jersey City.
Once under the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, the waters of the Lower Bay are wide open, flat and quiet, a striking contrast with the hectic pace just a few miles to the north.
At 69-feet, it’s easy to spot the West Bank Light. From there, the heading shifts from 200 to 270, due west to the entrance to Staten Island’s Great Kills Harbor. A narrow channel opens to a harbor less than a mile long and roughly a half-mile wide. There’s plenty of depth, plenty of room to anchor and there’s shelter from wind and seas in every direction. Bill, driving the launch for Richmond County Yacht Club, says this is “The best kept secret in New Yawk City. It’s two-fifty fa da bus to da ferry, then da ferry’s free. Ya can’t beat it!”
Simple, too. A welcome respite before heading down the Jersey coast.
Steadfast, out.
10 September: Harbinger of Fall
The experience of being underway in a small boat for an extended period provides the opportunity for many lessons. For instance, you may not have tried yet but, take it from one who knows, when you hang towels outside in sun and 30 knots of wind, they will dry quickly and smell fresh when you take them in! That is, assuming the towels are still there to be taken in.
Bill, the retired New York cop who now drives the launch at Richmond County Yacht Club, saw the blast of northerly wind as “a hint of fall in the air.” Hardly. More like getting hit with a club!
NOAA had posted a small craft advisory for Monday and it’s forecast was spot on: northwest at 15 to 20 knots, gusting to 30. Battalions of thick clouds marched in step across an otherwise blue sky, as if led by John Phillip Sousa and the Marine Band playing “Stars and Stripes Forever.”
Though pinned down by a persistent northerly, Steadfast was well protected in Great Kill Harbor.
Below, the boats on Great Kills Harbor were listening to the Glenn Miller Orchestra. They were “In the Mood” to swing, first one way, then the other. Steadfast took the lead, in her little fox trot, and the dinghy followed.
It went on that way, all day and into the night. It was, in other words, a good day to stay in harbor. The following day, nine-eleven, too. A similar forecast gave the opportunity to try the Staten Island ferry for a quick run into Manhattan for the day. It turned out to be much warmer than forecast, as long as the sun was high in the sky.
Once the sun closed on the horizon, that “hint of fall” was in the air once again, wind or no.
Steadfast out.
12 September
“Hey, Cap’n! Come in this way,” the instruction yelled out into Manasquan Inlet from the fuel dock at Hoffman’s Marina. Mike, the dockmaster, moved one arm in horizontal circles suggesting Steadfast lay her port side to the pier. Fenders and lines already were on the starboard side, but he insisted.
“It’ll be betta faw ya this way. Thaihs a strawng curren trunnin in heeya.”
That’s typical with the inlets on the Jersey shore, the current running two, three or more knots with the tide, ebb or flood. Of little concern to the 30, 40 and 50-foot power boats that are the vessel of choice here but a big deal to Little Red and her 18 horses. On this Wednesday evening, near closing time at Hoffman’s fuel dock, Steadfast was “on time” with the tide running in. She ripped through the inlet hitting a surf-and-tide-assisted 7-plus knots. And Mike and his crew, of course, were correct about tying up port-side to the pier.
Manasquan is about the only navigable inlet for the 80-miles between Sandy Hook and Atlantic City. That entire run can be made in daylight during June but not in September, so Manasquan becomes an important stop over for boats bound for the Chesapeake and beyond. Hoffman’s is a first-class operation bisected by the Conrail tracks that cross the inlet on a bascule bridge that’s just 13-feet off the water when it’s closed.
The siren sounds whenever the railroad bridge lowers for the frequent commuter trains that cross the Manasquan Inlet.
The bridge closes only when a train approaches. That’s the good news. Less pleasant is the realization that the commuter trains are frequent and, as is appropriate, a warning siren sounds whenever the bridgetender readies to open or close. A loud siren. Throughout the night. Steadfast tied up about 70-feet upstream from this bridge.
But that’s okay! Manasquan has all the appearances of a charming New England seaside town and, as noted above, has the added attribute of being a convenient and safe stop over between Sandy Hook and Atlantic City. The run south from Great Kills Harbor had been straightforward, Steadfast laying a mile or two offshore, moving easily over the Atlantic swells at close to 6 knots while Red chugged along at her usual 2200RPM. By midafternoon, off Asbury Park, the southerly wind had built to around 10 or 12 knots, pushing up a chop that sent spray over the bows. So when, after more than 34 nautical miles and six hours underway, Manasquan Inlet came into view at 1650, it was a welcome sight.
(to be continued)
13 September
Mike the Dockmaster wasn’t kidding about the strong current in Manasquan Inlet. The water gurgled and slurped around the hull and the pilings of the pier ’til slack water, took about an hour break, then started to flood in, gurgling in the opposite direction, the sound of a round-the-clock fountain.
Slack tide came just before the sun was due to rise over New Jersey’s shore. There was enough light, though, to cast off from Hoffman’s pier and move, with a half-dozen other boats of various sizes and designs, toward the actual Manasquan Inlet. The Catalina 27 Patience, homeport Fairhaven, MA, motored under the bridge and into the tangerine sun just ahead of Steadfast.
Patience leads the way under the Manasquan (NJ) bridge for an early start into the Atlantic.
A lovely start to what would be the longer run down the Jersey shore, nearly 54 nautical miles, meaning roughly ten hours underway. But then there’s that current-thing: a knot or knot-and-a-half push from a favorable could cut the time of the trip by about 20-percent.
It did appear to be just about ideal conditions for motoring – sunny, clear, 70s with little wind and virtually flat seas. Then to confirm expectations, the sailors’ companion, the porpoise, appeared in numbers, dozens dancing and playing in the swells just off to starboard almost as soon as Steadfast cleared the breakwater and turned to a heading of 205 magnetic.
The hoped-for knot-and-a-half current kicked in to boost speeds to near six over the bottom. The inlets appeared in sequence off to the west – Barnegat, Beach Haven, Little Egg, Brigantine and finally Absecon, the inlet to Atlantic City. For the last thirty miles or so, maintaining the proper heading was fairly easy – just aim for the enormous slate gray monolith that looms on the horizon, the $2.4-billion Revel casino that now guards the Boardwalk. And yes, even on a hazy day, it can be seen from 30-miles away.
The then-new Revel ocean-front casino towers over the boardwalk, making it easy to steer to Atlantic City.
There’s much less traffic on the water on a weekday in mid-September than a weekend in June. That means the Absecon Inlet waters are far more docile, even riding the flood tide into Clam Creek. Once at the creek entrance, a turn to port put Steadfast — and Patience — on the pier at Historic Gardiner’s Basin, without question the best value in Atlantic City: 25-bucks a night versus $4-a-foot at the state-owned piers across the way.
Another gorgeous day followed for the relatively short 37-mile run south to Cape May, again motoring all the way. Then a weekend in port to tend to Red, re-provision and other tasks to get Steadfast ready for the last big hurdle on the way home: Delaware Bay and the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal, and the promise of yet more “current events.”
Steadfast out.
18 September: Anticipation
The marine VHF radio screeches like a startled heron, then screeches at a higher frequency, a signal that shrieks through the cabin. It does its job. It gets your attention.
“The National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning…” The digitally-generated voice adds that a tornado watch exists for the same areas of Maryland and northern Delaware, areas bisected by the Chesapeake and Delaware (C&D) Canal. That happens to include the pier where Steadfast lies this day, tied securely (one hopes!) in the snug boat basin about three-quarters of the way through the canal.
There’s not much room to anchor but with dockage on both sides of the canal, Chesapeake City is a good place to wait out the weather.
At the same time, dark clouds race eastward over Chesapeake City. Thirty knot gusts roar through the rigging, the boat rocks and docklines squeak. They also cause skippers and crews to gather on the pier, swapping some tales but mostly just waiting. Waiting to see how much more the weather may have in store.
All this is in stark contrast to the benign conditions that prevailed yesterday on the passage up Delaware Bay.
Kate had surprised, suggesting she drive up to Cape May for the weekend to spend a couple of nights on board. The timing couldn’t have been better. There was a lot to do to get Steadfast ready for the final legs of the trip and, of course, being in Kate’s company buoyed your correspondent’s spirits to be ready, too. Delaware Bay is a big day in the best of conditions and can be a bear in weather.
But the forecast looked good for Monday and the flood tide would provide a boost, assuming the boat was there to meet it. So Kate helped cast off the lines at 0600 and Steadfast motored off into the still dark Cape May Canal in concert with Jane and Tony aboard Patience. The two boats sailed serendipitously at the same time from Manasquan, remember, and have continued in tandem since. When you’re alone on 27-feet of deck, it is of great comfort knowing another crew is traveling nearby at the same pace and able to lend a hand, if needed.
With flat water and a favorable current boosting speed to 7+, the trip up Delaware Bay was all “down-hill.”
The boat’s actual speed in the canal waters was less than 4 knots but tidal current boosted the velocity to more than seven (7!). What a great start. The bay was all but flat with a light northerly that clocked later to the south. Once through the western breakwater and turning to the nor’west, the speed- made-good continued to be north of six all day. An early haze lifted under what became a bright sunny day.
There was a good bit of company for a while from bigger, faster yachts heading for the C&D, including Queens Creek neighbors Chris and Bill aboard their ketch, Plover. Tankers, container ships, tugs and barges completed the procession. A sharp watch was maintained and Steadfast was well out of the way of the latter group at all times.
The current lost some of its oomph just as Steadfast approached the entrance to the C&D but then, as soon as she passed green #1, she was on her way again at bottom speeds at or above 7 for most of the roughly 14 nautical miles she transited yesterday (another five or so remain for tomorrow).
Now, at the pier at Chesapeake Inn & Marina, the total 62.2 NM seem like a blur. Of the entire cruise, only the June leg up the Jersey shore–some ninety miles–has been longer.
Home waters await, the Chesapeake Bay just an hour or so west. Tomorrow. Right behind the weather.
Steadfast out.
At Sea with Steadfast 
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