Monthly Archives: September 2014

The octagonal 3-story brick keeper’s house at Point No Point is mounted on an iron caisson built in 1905.

Saturday, 27 September

Other than the mileage–at 53.5 NM, the third longest leg of the trip summer cruise–there’s not much to report this day.  Not much left in that northerly of the last few days, and the six knots still there are dead aft.  Not much help heading south.  But then, there’s not much of a sea which makes motoring much easier.  Not much to see when the shore’s two or three miles off to starboard.  Not much traffic, either, a bit of a surprise on such a gorgeous sun-filled day.

But along with the sun, there is something else in ample supply – flies.  Since leaving the Patuxent, biting housefly-type have descended in great number.  From somewhere up the Potomac, perhaps, have come a variety more the size of Mayflies, slow and easy to swat.  Skinny little brown things buzz in once in awhile along with mean-looking inch-long black things with white stripes.  And there’s a lingering cloud-like presence of swarms of gnats (not to be confused with the Washington Nats), the size of No-Seeums but benign other than the fact that they’re hovering everywhere.

Think of it as an entomologists delight.  Or perhaps a chapter from Lord of the Flies.

A sampling of the day’s “kill” litters the cockpit sole.

No.  You’re right.  Yuck.

This boarding party was not a threat when–after being hunkered down in rain and wind for four nights–Steadfast pulled out of Solomon’s Island at 0800, rounded Cedar Point and, once past Point No Point, turned almost due south–175 magnetic–toward Smith Point Light.  The wind at first filled the Genny, pulling her along at a nifty five knots with no assist from Red.  But that lasted less than an hour and raising sail later in the day was to prove futile.

Other than being painted white, the light at Smith Point near Reedville is a duplicate of the light at Wolf Trap off Mathews.

Red was at her best, though, kicking us along at a steady six knots or so, aided by a much appreciated south-bound current.  And your correspondent had a good day with the bat–ah, fly-swatter–hitting close to .700 for the day (better than Big Papi in the ’13 Series!).  By 1600, Steadfast was south of the Great Wicomico River and, given the presence of so many guests aboard, it was decided that the desired quiet night at anchor might not be so quiet.  Ergo, push on to Deltaville and the pier at Zimmerman Marine where, this coming week, Steadfast would be hauled for a quick wash and engine service before heading south on the ICW.

A big Beneteau turns into Broad Creek just ahead of Steadfast showing Fort Myers, FL, as her port of call.  Who knows – she may be seen again in the weeks ahead.

Sea Mist IV got to Broad Creek the same time as Steadfast.

Chris and Bill, good friends that they are, drive up to the marina as Steadfast is tied off.  On the ride to Mathews, it appears not much has changed in the old ‘hood.  True, the bridge over the Piankatank was completed sometime during the summer.  But other than enjoying the sun and swatting various insects, not much to report about this day.

Then again, a big day – completing a round trip of well-over 1,700 nautical miles to more than 50 anchorages and ports-of-call, and creating countless memories.  Praise the Lord, what a blessing this summer has been!

And the best part?  “God willin’ and the Creek don’t rise,” there’s more to come.

Steadfast out.

Tuesday, 23 September

Small puffy pale gray clouds hang from an azure sky as if suspended by fishing line like baubles from the ceiling of the baby’s room.  From 12-mile fetch down the Choptank River, the high ground of the western shore appears suspended slightly above surface of the Bay.  It’s the first day of fall and Steadfast skips over the foot-tall crests of a beam sea, sails reefed in respect for the 12-15 knots from the north.

Four times in the last week or so Steadfast has crossed the Bay, from Eastern Shore to Western and back and back and again, without making a lot of southing.  That’ll change today, along with the wind, as she rides the 33 NM down the Choptank, across the Bay once more to Cove Point, up the Patuxent River and into Solomon’s Island, MD.

The 1828 brick tower at Cove Point is the oldest continuously operating lighthouse in Maryland.

The Genny unfurls fully as the wind lays down a bit.  Then, what’s left of the norther is dead aft, kicking up a 2-to-3-foot chop that knocks the wind out of the sails enough times to prompt Red to get back to work.  She does, providing the push needed to get Steadfast past the Calvert Cliffs and round Drum Point at 1415.

Dozens of homes perch precariously at the edge of the Cliffs of Calvert.

As many times as Solomon’s has been an overnight, there’s never been a more relaxing night.  At the suggestion of ActiveCaptain, the on-line cruising resource, Steadfast motored past Molly’s Leg, up Back Creek and past the usual anchorage off Zahniser’s Marina; past the cove opposite Spring Cove Marina; beyond Solomon’s Harbor Marina and the Holiday Inn, to a spot with a tree-lined shore on three sides and nine feet of water below.  A big trawler was up ahead when a Beneteau 42 passed and dropped the hook just off the bow.  But no matter; there’s plenty of room, the anchor down at 1500.  And even with the wind gearing up to be honkin’ all night, this proves to be a remarkably quiet anchorage.

It’s a good thing Solomon’s is a favorite port o’ call.  Wednesday’s weather is more than wanted for a comfortable sail, Thursday’s worse and Friday doesn’t look encouraging either.  This could be “home” for a few days.

Steadfast out.

With fenders deployed, Plover’s ready to welcome Steadfast.

Monday, 22 September

Making their way back into the Bay this weekend were across-the-creek neighbors Chris and Bill (and Flaco the Boat Dog) aboard their Dickerson 41 Plover. They left home nearly a month after Steadfast, sailed twice as far (all the way to Newfoundland and beyond), and still will be home ahead of us. Go figga. But if wind, tide or fatigue don’t deter, it’s hoped the two vessels may visit for breakfast in the morning.

Steadfast motors out of St. Michael’s Harbor shortly after 1100, heads down Eastern Bay, then northwest to cross the Chesapeake and into the West River, another new-to-us anchorage roughly 25 NM away.

A crabber works his line along the West River bank.

Like the South River, the West is entered just below Thomas Point. The approach is littered with crab floats, close enough to each other to make piloting a challenge at times. But once anchored in 9’ at South Creek, any trouble earlier is forgotten.

Marinas stand on both shores up here and close to two dozen boats lie at anchor between them. A pier party on the south bank provides entertainment, island music floating across the river for a time. When the sun goes down, the wind goes with it and the West is wonderfully quiet.

A hearty seamen’s breakfast at Plover’s helm.

Plover arrives sometime during the night, wisely choosing to drop the hook well away from the fleet that assembled earlier. Once her ketch rig is spotted, Steadfast ties off alongside and hugs, greetings and stories are shared over mugs of coffee and plates of raisin bread French toast and fresh fruit. There’ve been a lot of miles under the keel since last being together and no one wants to see the visit end. So let’s not end it!

Plover slides under the bascule bridge spanning Knapps Narrows.

It’s decided instead to cross—motoring, since wind is lacking—in tandem to the Eastern Shore, through Knapps Narrows to Harris Creek, off the Choptank River, and spend the night in Dun Cove, not quite a 20 mile day. Negotiating the skinny water of Knapps Narrows is always interesting but Plover leads the way and—since she draws 5-plus-feet—provides a level of confidence aboard Steadfast that wasn’t there when she transited alone in May.

Two skipjacks under sail provide a sight seldom seen anymore.

Likewise, there’d been other visits to Dun Cove but not nearly as far in as Plover chooses to go. This spot, rimmed on three sides by a tall stand of trees, would provide perfect shelter for the northerly that promises to pick up overnight. Again, once rafted together, stories ensue and a delightful evening ends all too soon.

Windy enough on the Choptank a big schooner rig beats to windward flying just her Genny.

After a cup of Joe and a light breakfast, Steadfast casts off and sails southward down Harris Creek under double-reefed main. That northerly, though, proves to be more than advertised so, while Plover continues down the Bay, Steadfast sails east to spend the night in Oxford, just less than 13 miles away up the Choptank into the Tred Avon River. Home beckons but the blustery wind, upper teens gusting to the 20s, makes the choice easy. She’ll sail south tomorrow.

Maybe.

Steadfast out.

Among favorite markers on the Bay is one Tolly Point for Annapolis Harbor.

Thursday, 18 September

Through the course of several months underway, there are epiphanies which foster profound thoughts, two of which are to be shared now.

First, the degree to which life on board a 27’ sailboat improves and is enjoyed is proportional inversely to the extent of any leak. This degree is doubled, at a minimum, in regard to leaks of diesel fuel. That understood, life aboard this day has improved markedly.

With lots of sun and no evidence of a fuel leak, Steadfast is underway down the Severn by late morning, turns starboard at Tolly Point and heads across the Chesapeake toward Bloody Point Bar and the entrance to Eastern Bay.

The light at Bloody Point,with its aptly sanguine hue, began to list shortly after construction in 1881.

The route is straightforward, weather clear, seas flat and wind minimal, making the trip to St. Michael’s and easy 24.9 nautical miles. Little Red kept at it the whole way and the Racor continued to hold itself together as designed so s’all good.

The one anomaly is in the sequencing of channel markers to Saint Mike’s. Numbers ascend going up Eastern Bay – 2, 6, 12, 14 – as you’d expect. The next marker after ‘14’, though, is green-1, then ‘2.’ After ‘4,’ a new sequence begins to lead into St. Michael’s. It all makes sense when one recognizes that these mark three distinct yet contiguous bodies of water: Eastern Bay, Miles River and St. Michael’s Harbor.

And that leads to profound thought number-2: St. Michael’s Harbor looks a lot different—much smaller—when approached by water than when driving down Carpenter Street, say, to Higgins Yacht Yard. There had been visits by car but this is the first by boat. It’s quite a sight, a broad anchorage that narrows to a tidy, tight little harbor anchored to starboard by the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum.

A fleet of Chesapeake Bay classics is moored at the museum pier in St. Michael’s in front of the former Hooper Island Light.

This is “The Town That Fooled the British,” hoisting lanterns to the topmasts of ships in harbor so shells from His Majesty’s nighttime naval bombardment flew over the town’s homes, shops and shipyards. Or so goes the story of St. Michael’s involvement in the War of 1812.

Pre-Revolution homes still stand near the waterfront.

There are well-preserved homes that pre-date the Revolution, survived the bombardment and all the floods and storms of years since and are homes still. Excellent examples are just off the waterfront at St. Michael’s Square, the seat of the Anglican parish from which the town derives its name. Eats, shops and a good-sized grocery are arrayed along Talbot Street, all within an easy stroll of the harbor. That includes Gina’s Taco Bar where the Burrito of the Day happens to be blackened shrimp with feta, arugala and other tasty stuff. Wicked.

Back aboard, the air is fresh. Ah, breathe deeply, mates. L’essence du diesel is nowhere in evidence.

Life is good.

Okay, not profound, at all.  You already knew that.

Steadfast out.

Wednesday, 17 September

All things come to he who waits.

Whoever authored that must’ve been a sailor. Let’s face it, whether it’s wind, weather, tide or in today’s case, diesel parts, you can’t rush it. It’ll be there when it’s there.

Once again tucked among the big boats and racers.

Kevin the parts guy doesn’t start at Fawcett’s ‘til 0830. That left plenty of time for a cup o’ Joe, vigorous walk, more caffeine and digging into lockers for the tool bag, box of wrenches, clamps, bag of oil absorbent pads and disposable gloves foreseen as needed for the impending task.

The only thing lacking was the replacement housing for the Racor and, on our 0832 call, Kevin the Parts Guy assured it would be delivered shortly, that there’d be a call Tom the Delivery Man (no last name) to coordinate time and place.

Spirits thusly buoyed, breakfast could be savored and enjoyed. After all, any minute, the phone would ring, it would be Tom and the work could commence. Any minute.

An hour passed, an hour-and-a-half. No call from Tom. Nor could Kevin be raised, only a facsimile of his voice promising to call back “as soon as I can.” A message having been left earlier, a more direct approach seemed in order. By this time, there was reason to wonder whether Tom’s last name might be Godot.

Shiny new and nary a leak. Ain’t she a beaut?

The call went to Fawcett’s.

“May I speak with Tom, please?”

There was much time spent on hold hearing NOAA’s marine forecasts for various part of the Chesapeake Bay, interrupted briefly by intermediaries, before talking at last with Tom. There was something about his just waiting for some paperwork. He’d “be leaving in five-to-seven-minutes.” We were to meet next door at WhalerTowne.

Waddya know? At 1100 hours, Tom was there, with a new Racor and, best of all, it appeared to be the correct size and model. How crazy is that?

The plan of attack was reviewed over lunch, work commenced and at 1515, Red was roused from her slumber, cranked and fired, humming her happy tune as ever before. She spent some time at idle, then in gear under load. No leaks, in either mode.

So far. We’ll see. This is no time for bravado. Nope. It’s more like the man said:

All things come to he who waits.

Steadfast out.

Monday, 15 September

“Wow! It really smells like diesel in there.”

The mate’s observation is not nearly the sort one longs to hear on first making port in the self-proclaimed “Sailing Capital of America.” But diesel fuel is aromatic and that pungent aroma did permeate the engine room yesterday. Let’s not jump to conclusions, especially after such a pleasant morning.

It was a quiet night tied alongside Discovery (as solid a yacht as the Fleming is, it felt more like being anchored).  She and Steadfast were underway by 0830, Discovery out of Selby Bay in short order. Steadfast stopped first to re-fuel, at which point there was no untoward odor of diesel or other sign of a problem.

Seen this time from west of the rocks, Thomas Point Light marks the mouth of the South River.

A favorite on the Bay marking Annapolis Harbor.

Once round Thomas Point Light, the helm turned to port, sails unfurled and Steadfast skipped lightly over the Bay ripples at a blistering 3.5 knots toward Tolly Point. Then she headed up the Severn River ‘til the wind tapered to the point where that Little Red’s assistance was deemed more than desirable.

A slip awaited at Annapolis Yacht Club’s Sailing Center, just to port past its main docks and in the shadow of the Spa Creek Bridge. Ian and Nate helped get her tied off on the floating pier and, after a whopping 9.8 nautical miles asea, she was “home” for the night. Or maybe more, as would be learned.

It’s while stowing lines in the cockpit locker that the reference to diesel odor first was made. It wouldn’t be the last of this visit for, even through the fumes, it was clear on closer examination that red-dyed diesel fuel had soaked the oil absorbent pad beneath the Racor. Lovely. The filter itself was fine. The leak was at the top of the aluminum housing under the head of a large bronze bolt to which the filter mounts.

The AYC Annex is a great location, just east of the Spa Creek Bridge.

A quick call to Zimmerman’s in Deltaville and Adam and Chad confirms the presence of an inner o-ring under the bolt head. That could be the problem. West Marine’s on-line catalog has no re-build parts for Racors. The parts desk at Fawcett’s Marine reports “It’s not in my system. I don’t even know the part number.” The parts guy, Kevin, then tells me, “Here’s the phone number for Racor. Get me a part number and I’ll see if I can get it by Thursday.” An odd assignment for a customer, it would seem, but being desperate, Racor is called. It’s the wrong number, “You need Tech Support,” and the beat goes on.

There’s a conversation with Javier at Tech Support wherein it is learned, “Sir, that unit is obsolete. We stopped making it years ago ‘cause there was a problem with the bolt leaking.”

Yes, Javier, this a problem. Javy then explains the new model has no bolt. Mmmmm. Smart.

If it’s out there someplace, Javy says a replacement bolt with o-ring would be part #RK10006. This number is relayed on another call to Fawcett’s. Kevin says he’ll see if he can find it and get back to me.

This back and forth continues all afternoon and on through Tuesday. Meantime, the Racor is wiped clean—several times—and the bolt snugged slightly each time in hopes of stemming the leak. It slows to a weep, then just a tear now and then, but alas, continues nonetheless, a sad case.

Kevin’s working on it, though, right?  Right?

At last, the long awaited call from Kevin comes at 1730 Tuesday evening.  Yes it took him all day to track down the part but, there’s good news, says he.

“Bill, I got the part number on that bowl you wanted.”  He reads the number adding, “I’ve already checked and my distributor can have it here Thursday.”

Kevin receives a response that is less disbelief than exasperation.  Bowl?  BOWL?!

“What bowl?  Kevin, it’s a bronze BOLT not a bowl.”  At this point, surrender seems the only option.  “Just forget it.  Just give me a complete new unit.  You have one of those in the store, I saw it yesterday!”

There are indications that some level of understanding has been reached.  There’ll be another phone call in the morning, first thing, to confirm the order and arrange delivery of a new unit.

We think.

To be continued…

Steadfast out.

Sunday, 14 September

Sandy Point Light is near the mouth of the Magothy River, just north of the Bay Bridge.

The plan is to rendezvous this night in Selby Bay—some 30 miles south—to raft up with good friends Kathy and Bob aboard their Fleming 55, Discovery. This’ll be the first time to see folks from home since we left. It’ll be really fun.

First, though, some “fun” in the engine room, that little left over fuel issue from last night.

The so-called primary filter, a Racor model 120R water separator, is on a bulkhead behind Red. When it clogs with junk filtered from the fuel, Red won’t run. After nearly 300 hours motoring this summer, it’s overdue for a change. So the old one’s off—and it is filthy—and a nice clean new one installed with relative dispatch.

The culprit: gunk in the fuel filter.

Red, however, is not impressed. She still cranks like a champ but balks at starting. Okay, message received. She wants a new secondary filter, too, which then means bleeding the fuel lines. (That additional step, by the way, is why the secondary seldom gets changed; it’s a pain.)

The secondary is in a cup the size of a Texas shot, mounted in easy reach on Red’s right shoulder. It’s off in no time and with what’s inside, it’s a wonder Red ran at all! Gross. Lesson learned: from now on, the filters get changed every 200 hours. Period.

Discovery moored in Selby Bay off the South River.

New one installed, lines bled and—gee—Red fires on the first crank! Waddya know? By now it’s nearly noon but Steadfast is soon underway through that skinny channel out of Fairlee Creek and on her way down the Bay, past Sandy Point, under the Lane Bridge and round Thomas Point Light. From there, it’s a short three miles or so to Selby Bay.

Being with Kathy and Bob is, as anticipated, lots of fun. Stories are swapped along with suggestions for stops along the way as they head up to “The Islands,” i.e, Block, Nantucket and others in Southern New England.

The “plan” works.

So does Red!

Steadfast out.

Saturday, 13 September

Despite a rainy forecast, the morning sun shone briefly on the Sassafras, promising more than the day would deliver.

The sky over the Eastern Shore showed promise this morning but the thick dark clouds to the west, over Baltimore, promised rain before long. So it was anchor aweigh at 0800 with Steadfast motoring down the Sassafras in plenty of time to make Fairlee Creek ahead of the rains.

Fairlee gets high marks in the cruising guide, both for shelter and beauty, and it’s one of the many anchorages on this part of the Bay that Steadfast had yet to visit. It had the added enticement of being only about a three-hour run from the Sassafras. The wind would be of no help, though, so it was all up to Little Red, plugging into a foul current that kept speeds below five knots most of the 14 miles.

The entrance to Fairlee Creek has beach on one side, sand spit on the other and barely 7′ depth between.

As the cruising guide warns, the channel into Fairlee is short, shallow and narrow. That is to say it’s barely a boat length across so once a boat heads in, she’s pretty much committed to going through. Meeting another vessel could be embarrassing, at best, and there is a good chance another boat will be met. There’s a good-sized marina just inside the creek and Fairlee is a popular weekend anchorage. An inflatable zips from the anchorage to the beach. A go-fast boat idles out, a flybridge eases in and Steadfast follows astern.

Several boats lay at anchor just inside the sandspit at the entrance. But that’s right across from the marina with lots going on so it’s a quick decision to motor—slowly—up the creek to a more secluded spot. It’s close to low tide and the depth sounder shows almost six feet so s’all good. There’s barely a breath of wind.

That changes, though, as dark clouds crawl eastward and sprinkle the creek. Boats swing to face west briefly then, as the front moves through, it’s a northerly that nabs them. It builds to 15, then 20 knots sustained, gusting near 30. What had been ripples on the creek surface grow to wavelets and, in awhile, whitecaps. Steadfast might ride more comfortably, it is thought, were she to move down the creek where the trees lining the beach would break the wind a bit.

What certainly is one of the most singular homes seen sits on Fairlee Creek.

So at 1800, the ignition key turned, the starter button was pushed and Red cranked for all she was worth. She would not fire, however. Bummer. Lifting the hatch, a quick visual revealed naught. Whatever ailed her, Red keeps to herself. Another try, same result.

After all that motoring of the past week—up, over and through quartering seas— faulty fuel filters seem a likely cause. But at this hour, Steadfast rocking with a whistling wind, diving into the engine room does not entice. More rode is released and the crew settles in for a secure but noisy, roly-poly night.

The fuel line gets a good going over in the morning.

Steadfast out.

Friday, 12 September

What became today’s C&D opened in 1829 at a cost of $2.5-million.

The current in the Chesapeake & Delaware (C&D) Canal didn’t turn ‘til shortly after 1300 hours. Normally aboard Steadfast, that’d create a measure of angst, foot tapping, finger drumming, at least. But after “Doing the Del” the day before, a morning off was just fine.

That meant ample time to plot the day’s course over coffee, to breakfast at “Bohemia Café,” explore the tow path along the south side of the C&D (Kate’s run took her from Maryland all the way into Delaware! Sheeeesh.). There was time even for hair cuts, for cryin’ out loud.

So at 1330, Steadfast motored—carefully, given the shoaling at the entrance—out of the basin at Chesapeake City and into the canal’s two-knot current. There’s a “No Sailing” regulation in the canal but a nifty northerly blew into the basin all morning so, as soon as Steadfast passed by the west end of the canal, sails filled and Little Red took a well-deserved break.

Trigor all but fills the width of the canal by herself.

To describe this as delightful would be understatement. As much as her crew, Steadfast seemed to recognize she was back in “home waters”—the Chesapeake Bay—and she celebrated by heeling slightly and skipping southward on the rippled surface. The wind did it’s usual Chesapeake-thing, i.e., fluked around from north to west and back, and then somewhere in between. But that was just fine. There was the Bay’s beauty to behold, long green lawns that lean down to the water’s edge, red clay banks that rise like revetments against the storm. Sweet.

Thanks to a two-and-a-half knot assist, the miles clicked by at a reasonable rate for awhile. The time came, though, when the current was confirmed, i.e., wind died and drifting was the sole source of progress. That circumstance arose around the mouth of the Sassafras River which made it easy to decide that Steadfast should call this “home” for the night.

This gorgeous property is at the mouth of the Elk River, one of many on the Upper Bay.

So there she lies to anchor, on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. With a late start and light wind, mileage was minimal—16.5 nautical—but that was just fine.

It’s good to be back in The Bay.  Our Bay.

Steadfast out.

A stunning sunrise or warning to be heeded: early morning sky over Cape May.

Thursday, 11 September

“Heroic Leader. Heroic Leader. This is Full Tilt. Do you copy?”

The call goes out again, with a bit more urgency, this time. “Heroic Leader. Heroic Leader. This is Full Tilt. Do you copy?” A third call is made, tension audible in the voice of Full Tilt’s captain, before the response is heard.

“Are you the catamaran or the other one?” The skipper of the car carrier Heroic Leader is all business. Full Tilt thus identified, he dismisses any concern.

“Don’t worry cap’n. You won’t catch me.”

Kate keeps in mind that “Objects Astern May Be Closer They Appear,” as is the case with NYK’s Heroic Leader.

So ends another brief encounter, cargo ship and recreational vessel, on Delaware Bay. The Bay’s busy this day, far more traffic of all types than seen the last week while transiting the Jersey shore.

Conditions this day, not ideal for Steadfast but the best foreseen for the next several days: south-so’west 15-20, gusts to 25, a good bit of wind, again on the port quarter. But seas would stay in the two-to-three-foot range, NOAA assured, all deemed doable by those aboard. Thus, after so-o-o-o-o much study of forecast and chart, she eased out of the slip at Utsch’s Marina at 0645, turned into the Cape May Canal and caught the first of the flood current to carry her up Delaware Bay.

Miah Maull Light is the first landmark when heading up Delaware Bay from Cape May.

On a good day, Delaware Bay’s a bear. She’s wide open to the Atlantic with nary a desirable anchorage the full length of her 50-something-miles. Once you’re into Delaware Bay, you just have to suck it up and sail on.  Options are virtually nil.  The shore is far from scenic, unless one’s idea of scenic includes nuclear power stations.

And Delaware Bay can be anything but docile. When wind and current meet, it makes for a nasty chop. Chesapeake Bay shoals from the shore, but nothing like the “Del.” From the west end of Cape May Canal, it’s 16 nautical miles due west to the Delaware shore, much of which is just 12 or 15 feet deep. Less than a third of the way up her length, she narrows and yachts and fishing boats of all kinds share the deep water channel with tugs, tankers, car carriers and container ships all bound for sea or for ports up the Delaware River, like Philly, Camden and Wilmington.

The Big Guys are deep draft and move fast. The channel’s fairly narrow so there shouldn’t be an issue. Little guys like us, just stay out of their way. Some days, it works well but others, it’s quite the show. Today’s one of the latter. Lots of conversation on marine radio. Good listening.

The nuclear plant at Salem, NJ, was downwind so no one aboard glowed at night.

No close calls for Steadfast, though. She motor sails, sails for a while, motor sails some more, making great time, 7-plus knots over the bottom. Then about 1400—approaching the east end of the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal—sails furled, Red takes over one her own and speed at first drops to near five knots. Not long thereafter, though, the current grabs her and Steadfast hurries westward near eight knots. Ninety-minutes later, she turns to port and the now shoaled entrance to the basin at Chesapeake City, MD.

On her way in, Steadfast passes that German-flagged Jeanneau and the classic cutter, both first seen at A-C. They’re bigger, faster and they’ve long since settled-in. For Steadfast and crew, it’s one of the longest days of the summer, 63.2 NM, but the combination of current and quartering wind help her cover that at an average of more than seven-knots overall. Not bad.

Best of all…dreaded Delaware Bay now lies behind.

Steadfast out.