It was a gray morning when we hauled anchor, but as we got under way, the sun started to break through the clouds. It felt so strange to be leaving our home waters of the past eight years – pulling out into the Sound and seeing Execution for the last time, passing Stepping Stones and City Island, and actually “keeping going” as we’d joked about at the end of the season so many times. It was both incredibly exciting and bittersweet to know we were on our way.
As we approached the Throgs Neck, the city sprawled before us and clouds cast patchwork patterns on its buildings. I was in awe, snapping photos at every turn as we navigated the East River – it was such a different perspective on the city I’d come to know and simultaneously love/hate over the past 20+ years.
We timed the tide perfectly and Hell Gate was mostly civilized aside from some ferry wake. We rode the ebb all the way out, making 9 knots over ground at points. Passing under the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing the Statue of Liberty was a bucket-list experience. I admit I got choked up as we turned toward the Verrazano Narrows and looked back to the southern tip of Manhattan. It was incredibly emotional – there was a huge sense of excitement and anticipation but also melancholy, nerves, fear… it’s impossible to describe.
We took the Swash Channel out past Sandy Hook and were greeted by frequent, steep 7+’ waves, and I honestly questioned whether I was making a huge mistake. I was feeling queasy (whether from nerves or the sea state it’s hard to say), poor Jack was completely miserable, and I couldn’t imagine an entire 24 hours of that kind of misery. Within an hour or so though, we were free of the channel, free of the breakers and settled into a much gentler 4′ ocean swell with a period of 8-9 seconds that I started to really enjoy. There wasn’t much wind but we put up a reefed main to help settle our motion as we motored, and Silent Sky immediately felt better. We even saw a dolphin surface a couple times in front of us and a few pelicans flying by.
In the late afternoon, we checked on our batteries and had used a significant amount of power between work the day before and a full day using the instruments. We were concerned that we might not have enough battery power to last the night, so we turned everything off, broke out the paper charts and hand steered, leaving the instruments off until we really needed them.
I took the 6-9 and 12-3 watches, and Chris took 9-12 and 3-6. We had a pretty sunset during my first watch, and the near-full moon rose as the sun was setting and it didn’t really get dark until 8. It was a nice way to settle into a night watch, and I felt pretty comfortable when I handed off the helm.
In my off-watch, I tried to get some rest but real sleep never came and before I knew it, it was time for my next watch – my first truly solo offshore night watch. I steeled myself, bundled up, gave myself instruments, clipped in and took the helm.
It was a stunning night with moonlight dancing on a much-settled sea. We passed Atlantic City around 1:30 am and there were a couple barges coming up the coast, but other than them and a sailboat overtaking, there was no other traffic. As I checked for traffic astern and to port, I looked up and there over my left shoulder was Orion. I was happy to see him, and even happier that this year his arrival didn’t herald the beginning of the end. Around 2:30, there was a consistent enough north breeze for us to roll out a single reefed headsail and shut down the engine. The last half hour of my shift was so incredibly peaceful with just the rush of water along the hull, and I almost didn’t want to give up the helm.
Again I tried to sleep, but the wind built and with it the seas, but at best I drifted in and out of semi-consciousness. When I went back on deck at 5:30, the moon had set and the faintest glow had just started in the east. With a mostly cloudless sky, the sunrise wasn’t intense but it was beautiful, fading to pastel almost-white before a red-orange sun emerged from the open Atlantic. Not long after, it was time to lower the sails and head into Cape May where we were greeted by a pair of dolphins in the channel. We were too early to pick up our slip, so we dropped the anchor just outside the NJICW just off the Coast Guard station to wait.
We couldn’t have asked for better conditions to make the run, and we managed to make the trip in 24.5 hours from anchor up to anchor down. I had been really nervous since I’d never done an overnight on Silent Sky, nor such a long passage offshore, but it was the kind of experience that defies description. There’s definitely a sense of accomplishment, knowing we’d just done something that most people will never do.
