Uncategorized

1 July

There’s a faint zephyr across the harbor, the sun descends and the dinghy rides quietly a few feet off the transom.  That’s the kind of day it’s been, i.e., low excitement quotient and that, mates, is just fine.

The introvert in me enjoys a quiet Sunday afternoon sailing alone.  The daily routine of cruising solo–plotting routes, sail handling, piloting, mooring and meals–adds enough challenge to deliver an entirely different experience, a new puzzle to be solved every morning.

Even the best puzzles need to be set aside once in a while, though, and so it’s always a pleasure to welcome aboard affable crew.  Certainly that was the case those days when Bowe was aboard, especially for the trip across New York Harbor and up the East River; and likewise when JB helped with the trip Sunday from City Island around to Stamford, Steadfast’s first real venture into Long Island Sound.

For all the warnings and words of wisdom, the run from Atlantic Highlands into Long Island Sound was without incident.  There was one close call: getting the crew aboard at low tide can be a trick.

It’s a long first step: the tidal swing at Atlantic Highlands, NJ, can make boarding a challenge.

Once underway, and not knowing what to expect about the East River and Hell Gate, we secured a dock line to the dink as a safety. ( There’d be no retrieving her if the pennant should let go!)  Then Steadfast rode the tide and gradually gathered speed, from her normal 5.5 knots to 7 or so past Governor’s Island ’til topping out at plus-11 (!) through Hell Gate.  Now that, pardon the pun, is a rush!  You’ll understand why we didn’t get a lot of shots of the shoreline: we were just trying to hold on!

Northbound with the current past Brooklyn and lower Manhattan.

Once past Throg’s Neck, we were into LI Sound.  A call to Barron’s Boatyard secured a mooring for the night and, after getting Steadfast all tidy, Bowe headed back to the City and I rode with JB ashore at her home in Darien.

A neighbor was nice enough to drive us from JB’s house in Darien to the mooring at Barron’s.  Fred gave us the quick ride out to the boat and then, well, not much.  The engine wouldn’t start.  But, hey, it’s Sunday.  She’s been working hard these couple of weeks.  Ms. Westerbeke wants to sleep in.  And, indeed, after a few more shakes, she was roused and we were off.

There wasn’t a lot of wind but enough, it turned out, to tack up the Sound most of the way to Stamford, and it was good to have the sails up and full and, for those three hours or so, not be dependent on the diesel.  Sweet.

She fired when asked to help get us up the channel to Harbor House Marina, just inside the hurricane barrier (which wasn’t needed that night but it was good to know it was ready just in case).  Tying up turned out to be a classroom session under the tutelage of Stuart, a bronzed, shirtless sixty-something wharf rat and professor of all that is nautical.  At least, in his own mind.  Stuart barked orders to the dock hand, JB and me and basically did everything but climb aboard and take the helm!  Stuart seems to have compiled a resume.  When signing in at the office, the dock hand advised, “Ignore him.  He’s just a know-it-all.”  And will remain in the annals of cruising tales for some time.

From there, shoved off Monday morning and headed again eastward.  When the wind died, and being basically equidistant between two shores, I elected to motor an hour into Huntington Harbor where the channel is guarded by this stately ol’ girl.

A handsome granite light marks the entrance to Huntington Harbor on Long Island’s north shore.

Topped up the fuel tank and took a mooring at Huntington Yacht Club for the night.  This morning was spent rowing ashore, walking to town for breakfast and then stopping at the supermarket.  (Man does not live on bread alone but you can’t make a sandwich without it!)  Once back on the boat, time to get underway, except…

Remember that little problem with the diesel Sunday?  She just flat quit today.  A check of the fuel filters showed why: water and sediment in both.  Not good.

Those were changed out in less than two hours and I was ready to go.  Ms. Wes still was not, however.  So a call to Zimmerman Marine in Deltaville–which did such great work on Steadfast over the winter–proved invaluable.  Adam got Chad to the phone and Chad first talked me through the steps to bleeding air from the injectors, then stayed on the phone as I went through each step.  And–ta-da!–it worked just as he said it would.  She fired, ran for an hour and–when shut-down–re-started like a champ!

So at 1600, cockpit straight again and tools all away, the decision was made to sit here for another night.  I’m just sorry there wasn’t crew aboard to take photos of the whole operation.

Steadfast, out.

4 July

Bursting with new confidence in Lady Westerbeke, ready to cast off to yet another romantic and far off landfall, Wednesday offered a wet and windless greeting that suggested something else.  The drizzle started about 0600 and continued through coffee, at which time it seemed prudent to go ashore and find some more fuel filters.  You know, just in case.  The tide was low and, though Steadfast seems well off, the water in the foreground (below) would not dampen your knee.

The mooring field off Huntington Yacht Club is a long row from the town dock, in turn a good stretch of the legs from the retail district.

Once back on board, filters in hand (as well as a new ensign to celebrate the holiday), the sky had cleared and the Sound beckoned.  Ms. Westerbeke obliged and we did, indeed, cast off at 1138 to become part of the steady flow of vessels in / out of Huntington Harbor, nearly transom-to-bow, as it were.  The hope was to make a harbor back on the Connecticut side.  That would be easiest to meet Dylan when he flies in from LA Friday morning.

An inquiry to Milford Yacht Club regarding reciprocal privileges–as they say, “Mathews Yacht Club: membership has its privileges”–yielded the hoped for response that dockage was available.  Leif Erickson probably sailed in here without a hitch but, I’m tellin’ ya, there are a lot of green 1s and red 2s on Long Island Sound.  Were it not for the little 99 dollar Etrex GPS, I’d probably have been in Stratford tonight.  But the Milford jetties were right where they were supposed  to be and, at 1655, the club pier looked most accommodating.

It’s an interesting lay-out in Milford Harbor.  There are the piers, of course, but then two rows of floats run right down the middle of the harbor, below.  These “moorings” are anchored to the river bottom and serve a boat on either side.  When a bad storm is in the offing, the three Milford boat yards haul them all out.

The “moorings” in Milford Harbor are a series of floating piers down the middle of the channel.

The club launch offered a ride up to town and, after a wonderful dinner of lightly fried whole belly clams, a ride back in time to enjoy a spectacular display of fireworks just behind the trees.

5 July

Maybe all the commotion kept Ms. W from getting a good night’s sleep.  Maybe she resented having to work on the Fourth.  Whatever, she did not want to get going this morning.  When the filter change – fuel line bleeding ritual failed, the word “Uncle” was heard (along with others) and the call went out to Milford Boat Works to send a mechanic.  He proved a better blood-letter than I and for him she responded (of course, he’s younger than I, also).  But by then, the day was all but shot so here we sit again tonight, again surrounded by the echoes of fireworks all around.

With luck, Dylan’s train will be on time, he’ll be on it and Ms. Wes will be ready to go tomorrow (she gets to sleep in; if on time, Dylan won’t arrive ’til almost noon).  Or you’ll receive another installment of “Zen and the Art of Diesel Mechanics.”

Steadfast, out.

Into the Mystic

MetroNorth pulled into the Milford Station on time Friday afternoon and–after the red-eye flight from LA–Dylan was awake enough to recognize it as his stop.  The MYC launch brought us back to the boat, Ms. W fired and we shoved off shortly after 1300.  Winds were–duh–light meaning another day of motor sailing, but hey, ‘s all good on the water.  Besides, Chris-the-dockmaster at Brewer’s marina in Westbrook assured us, “No problem, we’ll have lots of room for a 27-footer.  Just call when you get here.”  This despite it being the second Fourth-of-July weekend.

The afternoon was–to quote a renowned golf analyst–“just a beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, BEAUTIFUL day.”  Falkner Island provided another iconic New England image as we slid by, the current pushing Steadfast at nearly 8 knots.

Even on a calm day, the current’s enough to set the buoy to listing off Fisher Island.

Brewer’s, of course, had more business than Chris had expected and slipped Steadfast into the one remaining space of more than 250.  There was no electrical hook-up and the pump-out station was conveniently situated outside the cockpit.  When asked later whether the aroma was included at no cost, the dockmaster offered to discount the night’s charge.  Much appreciated.

Saturday morning, of course, Ms. W gave an opportunity to practice the fuel line bleeding process–I am gaining some measure of facility at this–then fired and we headed east to Mystic, hoping to get in before the expected showers / thunderstorms.  Having left 4 hours earlier than the day before, the current now was not favorable, the wind light and–with the frequent wakes of motor yachts–it turned into a real slog through a 2 foot slop most of the way.

It was all worth it, though, to grab a mooring at Haring’s in Noank, at the mouth of the Mystic River.  That was a short dinghy ride across the busy channel (an adventure in itself) to dinner at Ford’s on the pier.

As is the case with the neighboring Abbott’s and Costello’s, Ford’s is BYOB.  But Universal Package Store (or UPS) is just up the hill so, after provisioning with a couple of six-packs, it was back to Ford’s for lobstah rolls and beyah.  Yum!

The diesel fired first try Sunday but with winds again light, we motored up river an hour to the Downtown Marina (which had just lost power to its pier so dockage was half-price!) and a stroll around town.

Just a couple of blocks from the US1 bridge, the convenience of Downtown Mystic Marina is worth the long motor up river.

The train station is just a few blocks away and Dylan will catch the 11 o’clock tomorrow to head to RI to spend time with family there.

It’s hard to see Dylan go, especially having done no “sailing” at all, but Mystic is a lovely town, one we’ve visited many times before by car, and has been a perfect place to spend time together.

Steadfast, out.

22 June

Friday turned out to be a late night, and the forecast wasn’t great for sailing Saturday, so Bowe and I slept in.  We re-provisioned, returned his rental car and spent a good bit of time in the engine room addressing another leak in the fresh water plumbing.  Not a big deal just time consuming.  We’ve already put more than 60 hours on the diesel this trip which is getting close to the normal total for a full year!  The girl’s holding up well but things do happen.

Sunday turned out to be beautiful and we nosed out into the Atlantic Ocean (!) for the first time, heading 045 degrees toward Atlantic City, again motoring all the way.  We did set the Genoa for a couple of hours but never shut off the engine.  She made good time, averaged a little over 5 knots for the nearly 40 miles and–once through the slop-and-chop of Absecon Inlet–we turned into Clam Creek about 1530 to tie up at Kammerman’s Marina.

This shot gives you an idea what Kammerman’s is like.  Cape May has the famous “Painted Ladies,” colorful homes from the Victorian Era.  Atlantic City has these “Tired Ladies” (the brown structures in the background, leaning eastward) along the waterfront across from the garish glare of Harrah’s, the Golden Nugget and others.

Though not far from the casinos, Kammerman’s has something of a “rustic” feel.

But the Kammerman’s staff and the neighbors all were friendly and helpful and the rate–$2 / foot–is half the rate across the way at the Trump Marina.  After Monday’s off-and-on rain and thunderstorms, we headed out this morning…around the bend and into Gardner’s Basin, a much newer, cleaner marina which we learned charges even less than Kammerman’s!

So here we sit as the wind blows out of the north at 15 – 20, gusting to 25 or 30.  The forecast is for more tomorrow!  It’s been a rough couple of days, walking around AC.  Fortunately, there’s Gosling’s aboard ’cause it looks like it could be a Dark & Stormy night.  Arrrrrrrrrgh!

Steadfast, out.

29 June

The simplest of pleasures are not to be overlooked, as in sipping that morning cup of Joe on the back porch–or in this case, the cockpit–as the shower clears and the sun brightens the haze over Atlantic Highlands, NJ.  The setting, with tidy hillside homes overlooking more than a hundred sailboats in the mooring field below, has the feel of many New England harbors.

The handsome waterfront homes of Atlantic Highlands, NJ, keep watch on the harbor full of yachts.

The setting was not fully appreciated–heck, it wasn’t appreciated much at all–when finally making the turn into the harbor at 2005 (8:05 pm) last night.  At that point, the sweetest sound that could be was the voice of the harbormaster responding, “Yeah, cap’n, we got a mooring for ya. Come on in.”  Sweet, indeed, since Atlantic Highlands is first come-first served; and at that point, it had been a 16-hour, 86-nautical mile day.

Sitting at the pier in Atlantic City the past few days, waiting for the weather to shift, this leg of the trip became more and more daunting to my mind: small boat, ocean swells, no real good place to go in a pinch and…no crew.  Sheesh!  “What am I thinkin’?”  Turns out, I was just thinkin’ too much.  There’s a point where you just gotta do it and in reality, the trip was no big deal.  The boat did fine, of course; she always does.  It’s amazing the engine just keeps plugging along, all those hours (yes, the westerly winds forecast for the day–which would’ve been perfect–had a lot of north in them, when they blew at all).  There were a few other boats out there, so I never felt alone-alone.  And…there’s always TowBoat, “standing by one-6.”

So, good trip.  Good to see the Manhattan skyline when I turned at Sandy Hook.

Turning Sandy Hook at dusk, the Manhattan skyline is barely discernible but unmistakeable nonetheless.

And good to be tucked in  here for the day.  Bowe’s trying to work out logistics to re-join me tomorrow and then we’ll make the run through NYC, up the East River and into Long Island Sound.

This is the day the Lord has given us.  Be glad in it.

Steadfast, out.

14 June 2012: Getting Ready

Today’s forecast is right on target.  The 30% chance of a shower has been pretty much a steady rain since 0600 which means about 30% of the day.  It seems to be letting off now. Not to be deterred, however, I made use of the time by going through the bag and cartons of little stuff that, prior to 1 June, had filled drawers and shelves in my office.  Some trash, some sorted and stored.  And this is hard to believe. I just stowed on board $150 worth of canned / box foods. (That includes the case of ginger beer and six fifths of Goslings Black Seal.)  But here’s the kicker: there’s still space for more stuff!

Not knowing when the next opportunity may arise, I did a brisk 45-minute walk up to Johnson Point and back.  Later, Jim Crawford called just to check on progress; given that we’re still in the slip, not much to report but a nice chat, regardless. Confirmed with Burrys that I’m hanging here ’til the northerly shifts or settles down. Bill OKed hooking up the Army-surplus solar charger that Jerry offered and we agreed to try to rendezvous near Annapolis.  I talked with the sail man, too.  He’s on his way to get the new main right now and says he can get that wrinkle out of it and back on tomorrow!  Busy morn.

And wouldn’t you know it: now that the boat’s more or less set, the forecast has changed again. Now  it calls for rain thru Thursday with winds out of the north, so it doesn’t look like I’ll get underway for another couple of days.  Gotta stay flexible when you sail a small boat.  And this being a boat, there’s always more to do, so I’ll be busy with those little things that didn’t get done and be ready to go once the weather cooperates.

18 June: Are the glasses half full?

There’s a point at which “pier fatigue” sets in and you say, “Aw, the heck with it.  I’m goin’.”  There are those whose boat is never ready, who never leave the pier.  They seem not to Blog about it, typically, so the record is incomplete.  But if you’re gonna go, ya gotta GO!  So with the boat ready, me beyond ready, a sunny sky and reasonably favorable so’westerly, we cast off.

It was tough saying ‘good-bye’ but a great adventure lay ahead when Steadfast cast off down Queens Creek.

Crossing the mouth of the Rappahannock–with a whopping six miles under the keel–the wind died to a whisper and the decision was made to round Windmill Point, cross Fleets Bay and anchor for the night in Indian Creek.  The night became two when the wind the next morning started stomping down from the nor’east but NOAA promised better for the day that followed.

Back out on Fleets Bay, there turned out to be more of a chop than I’d understood NOAA to have foreseen but nothing terrible.  Uncomfortable, perhaps, but manageable for sure.  Reefed down, taking spray over the bow and, on occasion, the dodger (a couple of times, giving my face an unexpected rinse), we made our way toward Smith Point.  The day had dawned bright, the sun urging us to get going again.  But out here, the sun seemed to be hidden away behind an ever-thickening haze.  It wasn’t that encouraging, after all.

About that time, the wind moderated somewhat and with it, the waves, too.  So it was possible to let go the wheel for a minute and wipe that slimy salt crystals from the lenses of my sunglasses.

Ah!  Waddya know?  It’s a beautiful day!  The sometimes daunting stretch across the mouth of the Potomac turned out to be without incident this time.  There was a wardrobe change along the way to take advantage of the sun and we motored up the Patuxent, past Solomons Island and up to a pleasant little anchorage in a cove off Mill Creek.

We’re really on our way.  And remember: things aren’t always the way they may appear.  If your glasses are half-full of salt slime,  you gotta clean ’em!

 24 June: Where in the world…?

When last seen (as in, anyone who knows her having a visual, below), Steadfast was motoring out the channel from Lake Ogleton, just downstream from Annapolis.  That was last Tuesday morning, 0800, after a lovely dinner and restful night rafted with Chris and Bill Burry.  After a quick stop in Back Creek to re-fuel (the wind was a light southerly, not enough to sail north)…

The crew of Plover bids farewell to Steadfast as she motors into the murky June morning from Lake Ogleton.

Steadfast headed into the Bay among the dozens of pleasure craft hoping to see the fleet of warships headed south from Baltimore after the OpSail weekend there.  With the spectator fleet, warships, police and Coast Guard patrols and barge traffic, there was a lot going on.  By midday, though, Steadfast was nearly by herself headed up the north Bay.  There was a brief interlude to repair a leak in the fresh water system but otherwise the day was uneventful until, heading into the Sassafras River to anchor for the night, we saw “Bounty”–one of the Tall Ships from OpSail–already there.

The replica HMS Bounty, lying at anchor in Sassafras River (MD), months later was lost at sea in Hurricane Sandy.

She led the way out of the anchorage in the morning and Steadfast followed  into the Chesapeake & Delaware Canal and under the series of bridges that span that waterway.

Bounty motors under one of several bridges that span the Chesapeake &Delaware Canal.

The C&D is a rush in a little boat like Steadfast: instead of her usual 5 knots under power, she ripped along at as much as 8.5!  Woo-Hoo!  The flood tide carried us the full length of the canal and kept pushing us down Delaware Bay until late afternoon Wednesday.

The nearest anchorage–one of only a couple on the entire 50NM length of Delaware River / Bay–was at the mouth of the Cohansey River, about 2 miles north of the channel.  The only marker for the Cohansey–Green #1–is placed so to blend well with the verdant shoreline.  In other words, “Where the heck is that dang marker?!” or words to that effect.  So it took a while to get in, get anchored and settled down, as in, safe from the flies.

How to describe accurately and objectively “the flies?”  Hmmm.  Let’s just say they let you know they’re there.  The helmsman is advised to edit slightly the sailor’s adage to read “One hand for the boat, one for the fly-swatter!”  The Green Heads–big, ugly, slow–are the daylight dread.  They can be managed with a skilled and quick hand.  But the deck becomes No Man’s Land once the sun goes down and the air becomes filled with small and–said with thanks–non-biting flying-thing of whose presence one not so much feels as gradually becomes aware.  They’re just…there.  Everywhere.  All over.  Everything, as in, be careful breathing.

Anchor checks at night are brief or, better yet, non-existent.  Dragging anchor seems preferable to inhaling flying things.

But Thursday was another day, a fairly straightforward and flyless motor down (flies don’t come out on cloudy days, it seems) the rest of Delaware Bay ’til entering New Jersey at the Cape May Canal about 1430 hours.  Fishing is the main activity on the waters off the Jersey Coast but at Utsch’s Marina, “We love sailboats,” so that’s where Steadfast headed…

Steadfast and I are at something called Utsch’s Marina – “We love sailboats” says the banner on the double-truck spread in the cruising guide.   And by golly, we felt loved.  A little lost and alone but loved, nonetheless.  Of 350 slips, eight (8) are occupied by vessels equipped to carry sail.

Stand by.  Out.