Back to the Bay

19 September: Chesapeake Chuckles

It’s been three months to the day since the keel of Steadfast last slid through the water of Chesapeake Bay.  She generally doesn’t have much to say but on this day, you could hear her sing.  This evening,  she wears a discernible smile. After all the warnings and wind, last night turned out to be fairly mundane.  A couple of 40-knot gusts around midnight, a light sprinkle of rain off and on, but that’s about it.  And no one in Chesapeake City was complaining.

The air this morning was crisp, the sky cleared early and a cool 12-15 knots blew down out of the nor’west.  All that was needed to start the day in earnest was for the C&D Canal to reach high tide and the dozen or so southbound boats in the basin would be on their way, Steadfast and Patience, among them. The crew of a 48-footer apparently grew tired of waiting for the tide to turn, cast off from the pier and promptly put her 7-foot keel in the mud.  There she sat for the hour-and-a-half it took for the tide to rise sufficiently to lift her off the bottom.

The tide was not a problem for the two 27-footers that cast off at 1256, just as the water was at its highest and ready to start its westward ebb.  Even at idle speed, Steadfast was making five-knots, which became more when a reefed main was hoisted a half-hour later.  By 1337,  where the canal joins the broad, shallow and muddy Elk River, the genoa was unfurled and Little Red took a break altogether.  The rest of the day was spent just under sail, and Steadfast loved it!

She heeled to the blustery nor’westerly, dipping her port rail to the water from time to time and ripping along at times at more than seven-knots over the bottom!  Patience, of course, had no trouble keeping pace. The farther south they went, the more the wind moved aft, to a reach and then a broad reach until an easy gybe to port and Steadfast led the way through the field of crab pots that guard the entrance to the Sassafras River. The wind by then had all but disappeared.  The setting sun soon striped the horizon with bands of pink and orange.  The only sound was the shlurp-shlurp of the dinghy bobbing a few feet off the transom.

Or wait.  Is that the satisfied sound of Steadfast chuckling? It’s too chilly tonight to go check.  Steadfast, out.

21 September: Slings & Arrows: Part I

Sailing–sailing, not motoring–right up to the point where the anchor goes down, letting the boat coast to a stop and then letting the anchor slide over the roller and down to the bottom.  Paying out the rode, snubbing it off and then feeling the anchor settle, dig in as the boat swings gently to the breeze. It’s the way it was always done, of course, “back in the day,” but it’s somewhat of a lost art that’s fun to practice now and again.  The simplicity, the quiet of it.  There can be no more perfect way to end a day underway.

That was the experience Wednesday night off the north shore of the Sassafras River, summed up succinctly in the photo Jane got with the moon high in the sky as last rays of the sun colored the horizon. It’s nearly as much fun to sail off the anchor in the morning, and the five or six-knots of easterly that rippled the Sassafras early Thursday were just enough to allow that to occur.

There were several tacks to get out of the river and into the Bay where Steadfast and Patience turned to port on a heading of 215 magnetic, hoping to continue sail on a broad reach.  The wind, however, had other ideas as to how to spend the day.  It elected to back first to the nor’east, then north and nor’west and right around counterclockwise, ’til a steady 10-knots was blowing up the bay from the south which meant, of course, sails furled and engines on. Right about then…

“Bill, would you like to join us for lunch?  We’re having salad.”

Oh, that Jane has a sense of humor.  You see, Steadfast and Patience were underway at the time, motoring just east of the shipping channel on the upper Bay, somewhere south of Worton Point.

“No, we’re serious, Bill.”

Now it’s Tony’s voice on the VHF, explaining that Jane’s fixing a big salad, will put some in a ZipLoc bag and he’ll use his new 12-foot boat hook to pass it over.  Well, what the heck?  Worth a try! And so it was that Patience slowed, Steadfast came alongside, Tony extended the salad in a bag tied to the end of his brand new, never been tested boat hook and the salad, in fact, DID make it aboard Steadfast as intended.

What you don’t see in the photo is the nifty new boathook, after making the transfer successfully, then snagging a lifeline on Steadfast, thereby being yanked out of Tony’s hands and splashing into the Bay.  Neither will you hear the associated narration which went something like “Oh, golly gee whiz.  Isn’t that a shame” or words to that effect. However, both boats quickly reversed course, the boat hook from Steadfast–which had been baptized, twice in one evening, in New London–was put to work and it quickly snagged the runaway! And if that were the end of the day’s adventures, that would be sufficient.  But wait!  There’s more… (to be continued)

22 September Slings & Arrows: Part 2

So, after the day’s idyllic start, the comedy of the salad exchange (and by the way, it was perfecto!  Mmm, mmm good.) the two little yachts continued to motor down the Bay toward Rock Hall, a snug and lovely harbor on Maryland’s eastern shore that lists heavily toward rag-boaters.

“So, Bill,” says Tony on the VHF, “I’m thinkin’ we can cut across Swan Point Bah where the chot shows…  Uh-oh.  Bill, I just heard a big clunk!  I’ll have to call you back.”

Ah, outrageous fortune strikes…literally.  Patience has just struck something submerged, out of sight, probably large and definitely heavy.  The good news is she’s not taking on water.  But Tony reports she’s lost all thrust.  Going nowhere.  Drifting.  After a quick assessment of the situation, he calls the man in the red shirt, AKA TowBoatUS, who is on the scene in 20-minutes.  Within moments, the tow line is deployed and Patience is being towed–at seven knots!–toward Rock Hall.

The next morning, the able crew at Sailing Emporium had her up in the slings of the travel lift, identified the problems–damaged prop, broken prop shaft–and got to work finding parts and completing repairs.  The plan had been for Steadfast to spend Thursday night there, too, but given the opportunity, arrangements were made Friday for the yard to do some needed fuel system maintenance.  Kudos to Sailing Emporium for extending dockage Friday night at no charge and then, with the wind howling out of the south and seeing Steadfast at anchor in the harbor, inviting her back in for Saturday, too!

Patience was back in the water early Saturday afternoon, all systems “go,” and the plan is for both boats to head to the western shore Sunday, maybe Annapolis.

Steadfast out.

25 September

The half-moon is surrounded by wispy puffs of cloud cast in the color of a pale rose, a perfect halo.  Certainly, that means something, a la “red at night, sailor’s delight” or some such.  But the only signal on Steadfast this night says it’s time to “splice the main brace.”  It’s a dark and stormy night, for sure. And the day?  It was a day like any other day, just a lot more of it.

A southerly wind in the upper teens, unrelenting in its determination to stack up a three-to-four-foot on Chesapeake Bay and Tangier Sound.  While doing its work, it whined or howled or screamed, however that constant wail might be categorized, as if to say “I’m still here!” Not that anyone on the Bay yesterday could forget.

All this, in total contrast to the experience of sailing Sunday and Monday. Shoving off Sunday from Rock Hall, there was a nifty little breeze out of the north, gusty, too. But given that Patience and Steadfast both were headed across the Bay and 16 miles to the so’west, it made for a pleasant mid-morning reach across Swan Point Bar that became more of a broad reach when the boats headed toward the Bay Bridge.  Wending their way up the Severn River among yachts of all descriptions, including a classic yacht regatta, the two seemed pleased to call it a day earlier that usual as each rode to a city mooring just off “Ego Alley.”  There was a trip to Pusser’s, a stroll around town, good eats at Federal House and an all around great day. Monday meant more blue, sunny skies with temperatures again in the mid-70s.  But this day, the wind was in the mood to tease a sailor.

Off Thomas Point, enough blew up to coax out the main but it soon was luffing and came down again.  From the west, what wind there was clocked to the north, then east and eventually south before dying out altogether, only to wake up and blow right down the Patuxent River just as Patience emerged from the lee of Cove Point with Steadfast off her port quarter. Not that this was a problem, by any means.  After running for more than 38 miles, Red looked forward to getting the final five behind her.  And a more lovely fall evening could not be had.  The two anchored up Back Creek, just off the Calvert Marine Museum among several other sailboats that appeared to be cruisers headed south.

Crisfield seemed a good target yesterday, what with the forecast calling for 12-14 out of the south, so’west, meaning–in theory–the two little yachts could beat across the Bay to Kedges Strait and then motor the few miles down Tangier Sound to the Little Annemessex and into the snug harbor at Somers Cove.  ‘Cept it didn’t work out that way (go figga!).

Aeolus decided to work the early shift,  earlier than NOAA expected, and blow from an angle that preempted sailing to Kedges Strait.  Instead, the more northerly Hooper Strait became the alternative.  Snaking the way through that passage between Bloodworth and the Hooper Islands, depths ranging from 54 to 12 feet and with beam to the wind and waves, took more time–and effort–than anticipated.  Emerging into Tangier Sound and turning south, the chop was dead on the bow, slowing progress at times to a crawl. The half-mile before the turn to the Little Annemessex leading to Crisfield, that last little bit took nearly half-an-hour to negotiate.

By then, the sun was below the horizon.  All that was left of the day’s light was a glimmer.  The moon was up and that helped.  But it was, ahem, “interesting,” as they say, groping through the dark for the channel markers. Sometime after 2000, the howling stopped as the boats motored slowly into the basin and up to the tee-head at “D” dock, salt caked on the foredeck, stanchions, deckhouse, dodger AND the crews. But again, what a day.  What an experience.

And praise God, no damage to the boats, no injuries to crew, just another memorable day on the water!

Steadfast out.

26 September

“Thar ain’t no NAPA staw heeyah but Tee’s is ’bout three, fo’ mile up the ro-edd.  You finished breakfas’?  I kin tike ya up they-ah, if you wont.  Gla’ to do-it.”

And thus began Jane, Tony and Bill’s next day-long adventure. It started with Tony’s desire to get a couple of things–oil, fuel stabilizer, feeler gauge–to tackle the starting issue with the engine on Patience, a venerable four-cylinder Atomic-4 gas engine that has been a bit balky the last few days.  So the question was put to the gentleman seated on the stool next to Jane at Gordon’s Diner on West Main, just a couple of blocks from Somers Cove.

The gentleman turned out to be Tangier-native and former island policeman (police department, if truth be know) Chip Parks.  You may know his uncle Milton.  It’s Milton’s “marina” where boats tie-up for the night when visiting Tangier.  So anyway…

Chip leads the three sailors to his Grand Marquis and on a ninety-minute tour of Crisfield to include three hardware stores, the Legion Post, town pier, and-ah, the shop at Chesapeake Boats, Inc.  In progress this day are two 46-foot power boats, a 27 and the bottom of a good-sized fourth.

David Mason, the owner, came out to answer questions.  The hulls are plywood over pine stringers and ribs, the keelson a run of 8X8s, all of which then is glassed over, making them impervious to rot, all-but indestructible and…not inexpensive.

On the way back to the marina, the question naturally arose–us being sailors and all–as to dinner recommendations, it then being nearly lunch-time.

“Well, that’s not a bad place, they-ah.  But ah like to go ta the Legion Post.  They have sof’ shells now and the best crab cakes you’ll evah have.  I’ll be happy to brang ya ovah they-ah, if you’d like,” Chip offered.  “What time’dja wanna go?”

A wonderful experience, meeting Chip, getting the grand tour, dining at the Post.  But it’s a pleasure to report, based on the hospitality offered this stranger the last many weeks, not a unique experience by any means.

Does the heart good, it does.

Steadfast out.

27 September

There are six or seven 35-40-plus-foot boats anchored a quarter-mile upstream from here.  “Here” is a lovely 12-foot deep cove just nor’west of green number-five, the last marker on Mill Creek.  This Mill Creek, one of a half-dozen or so on the Bay, is off the Great Wicomico River and miles from anywhere.  It’s a couple of miles up a dusty road to the nearest crossroads, Wicomico Church.  Not town or even village, mind you.  Crossroads.  So this is fairly remote.  But then, it’s been that kind of a day, somewhat off the beaten path, so to speak.

It started, remember, in Crisfield, Maryland, at the state park that is Somers Cove Marina.  It is a huge marina with most of its hundreds of slips vacant.  Crisfield is not huge but is mostly vacant, too, since it’s raison d’etre–the crab business–is, shall we say, not what it used to be.  Neither is Crisfield. So after yesterday’s grand tour, and an afternoon spent cleaning up and drying out the boats, Patience and Steadfast shoved off this morning at 0945, out the Little Annemessex and into a decidedly more placid Tangier Sound than was the case the previous two days.

Turning south to 220 magnetic, the boats motored easily in the slick calm toward Tangier Island.  Once into the thorofare, Jane was busy snapping photos as Tony let me know what might’ve been expected of a first time visitor, “I’ve nevah seen ANYthing like this!  This is unbelievable!”

Passing the oil dock shortly after noon, Patience turned to port to meet Chip’s uncle Milton Parks, proprietor of Parks Marina, who then helped her tie-up and her crew get oriented to their unique surroundings.  Dinner at Chesapeake House awaits.

Steadfast, however, wants not to be tied to a pier again ’til she’s in her own slip at home.  So, waves were exchanged and she motored on through the Island’s  western entrance to cross Chesapeake Bay to the western shore.  The crossing was easy, a light southerly cooling the cockpit under the warm afternoon sun that beat down on the opened Bimini.

And so she sits quietly now in Mill Creek, another 27-nautical miles under her keel.  It’s not clear why others choose to anchor farther upstream and not here but it’s nice that they don’t.  It adds to the sense of seclusion, despite the quaint little farm on the cove’s west bank and the three homes that stand on the other shores.  This place feels far away.  Previous nights in this spot have all been pleasant and memorable, for the simplicity and solitude more than anything, and it’s expected that this night’ll be the same. Home beckons, but not for another night or two.

Steadfast out.

28 September: Odds On

Hard rain on a tin roof is a sound unlike any other, certainly any other rain.  Somehow, despite the volume and tenor, it’s a sound that soothes, comforts.

Rain falling on a fiberglass boat deck, when you’re below, is something like that.  Not an unpleasant sound at all.  That’s the rain. The lightning strikes could be done without, were there a choice, but there’s not.  You spend time on the water, you will encounter a thunderstorm.  So one assures oneself by contemplating the mathematical odds–fairly remote–of a bolt striking a sailboat mast.  Or tries to persuade oneself that lightning, a notoriously unpredictable force, will choose to strike the taller trees on shore or the taller masts of the larger boats nearby, not the inconsequential aluminum pole that serves as the mast on Steadfast.

One does that even now, as the rain falls and thunder and lightning punctuate the evening sky, and one sits a couple of feet away from the base of the mast. But then, setting off on a three-and-a-half-month sailing “adventure” to Maine, on a boat of 27-feet on deck, is not among the more reasonable undertakings a person might consider. Nor is trying to pilot said boat toward her intended destination in five knots of wind with two-foot seas on the bow, as one attempted this morning.

Steadfast was underway shortly after 0900 with NOAA’s promise of 10-to-15 knots out of the so’west, enough to move her smartly toward Indian Creek and a re-fueling stop at Chesapeake Boat Basin.  Despite the boats anchored nearby last night in Mill Creek, there was little traffic on the Bay, although it appeared the lunch whistle blew early for the Menhaden fleet.

Six of these left their posts just off the Great Wicomico and headed into Reedville all at the same time, their holds full, no doubt, and the Bay fishery a little less so.

The wind seemed enough to lift the boat southward, and Steadfast certainly tried her best.  But by 1100, the GPS calculated she was still ten miles from Indian Creek.  That’s after being just 7.5 NM away when she weighed anchor. Go figga. So Red was called into service yet again and performed admirably as she’s done for nearly 400 hours on this trip.  What a gal!  Patience, meantime, motor-sailed on to Broad Creek to spend the night there.

Martha and George brought Quintan up to rendezvous off Long’s Cove, across from ICYCC, and here we sit. The front now has moved on.  The rain has abated, for now, and so, of course, has the pleasant drumming on the deck along with the calculating of odds. But then, what are the odds?

Steadfast out.

01 October: Home

The hum of the refrigerator flows faintly down the hall from the kitchen, much like the sound of the compressor that keeps the icebox cold on the boat.  But there’s no rhythmic lapping of water on the bedroom walls, nor is the floor rocking slowly and steadily, side to side.

One would think those last two facts would be reassuring.  The cottage is designed to be both stable and dry.  But Saturday night, the first back home in three-and-a-half months, the stability and lack of harbor sounds made for fitful sleep, at best.  It is so good to be home, no question, but it will take a few days to re-acclimate to life ashore.

The final 15-mile-leg of the trip started early, not long after the showers ended at dawn and gave way to another dramatic sunrise, this time with Quintan anchored in the rosy glow.

The nor’west wind, such as it was, came over the starboard quarter, offering no help for the day’s first six miles.  But once rounding Windmill Point, it was a steady ten knots, so the genny unfurled, Red took a breather and Steadfast reached across the mouth of the Rappahannock and down into Hills Bay.

It was good to finish off the cruise under sail, almost right up to the entrance markers for Queens Creek. Chris and Bill Burry brought their dinghy across the creek, Kate joined them and they buzzed down the creek, saluting Steadfast’s return with a blast from the signal horn.

Many smiles and waves all around, as you might expect, as Kate climbed aboard for the last few hundred yards and all hands helped with lines ’til Steadfast once again was secure on her own pier.

After all these past weeks and miles and places and people, there are so many thoughts and memories.  Sorting through them will take a few days, probably a good bit longer.  But one thought is clear: it’s good to be home.

Now, if I can just get used to walking again on solid ground.

Steadfast out.

Epilogue What I Learned on Summer Vacation

“So, how was it? Was it everything you expected it to be?”

The natural questions come now as the holidays bring us together, family and friends not seen in six months or more.  How does one explain to a ‘lubber, “No, it was NOT everything I expected.  It was so many things I NEVER could’ve expected!”

So your tolerance is asked with these random thoughts, none profound, few if any original:

First, you can do stuff you didn’t think you could do, but, you have to start; most of us are capable of more than we do, more than we think, even. As daunting as it may seem to cast off and leave, one quickly settles into routines on a boat; life is simplified, pared down to the basics.  The hard part is getting reacclimated to the complexities of life ashore.

Once home, one hopes to retain some of the “boat life” mindset, as in: Simple entertainments. Heightened awareness of the natural world. A keen sense of the day. Self reliance. When you’re on your own, you’re not really “on your own.”

Tom in Sandwich, Bill and the 1630 Club in Rockport, Chip in Crisfield.  There’s a long list of those who lent a hand along the way.

Perhaps the Harbormaster in Plymouth offered the best description of how it is out there, traveling up the coast.  You may remember, Steadfast was without power that evening, piloting a narrow twisting channel as the wind faded.  When advised that Steadfast would be under sail the 8 miles in, the Harbormaster came out to check, offered a tow, arranged a mooring, cautioned ferry captains to throttle back when passing.  Certainly, he deserved a statement of thanks but when it was made, his response was “That’s what we’re here for.”

Ain’t that the truth.  That’s what we’re here for, to help whoever, wherever, whenever we can.

So with that in mind, thanks go to each of you. Above all, Kate who asked “Why not?” and offered constant encouragement. Jim, with whom this wacky plan was hatched on a ride aboard Miss Ella across Blue Hill Harbor. John Schnoering whose advice went something like “Go.  I’ve never seen anyone’s epitaph that said “I wish I’d gone to more meetings.” Waddy whose “local knowledge” helped in so many ways Down East.

And Tom and Bill and David and Bob and Steve and all those whose support made all the difference.

Thank you!

Steadfast out.  ‘Til next time.