Alternately, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”.
Now that our world revolves entirely around weather, we dedicate a lot of time to checking forecasts. We use Predict Wind, Sailflow, Windy and TZ iBoat, plus Weatherbug and Weather Underground to check local forecasts at our current location and our destination and conditions in between and plan our passages accordingly. But conditions aren’t always as advertised and sometimes you just have to roll with it.
We checked the forecasts several times, and yesterday looked like the morning would be less-than-ideal with a southwest wind (basically on the nose for where we wanted to go) but the afternoon would settle down and be a perfect sail with winds shifting to the north. We got up early and just managed to be ready to go at 7am. The couple at the end of the dock gave us a hand with the lines and we were off. On our way out, we saw four of the wild horses, and it was shaping up to be a gorgeous morning. I saw a group of birds feeding, rising and wheeling together and it was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. No idea what they were as they were too distant to really see (Chris suggested black skimmers, which seems likely).
As we approached the inlet, I was definitely nervous. The waves were up and bashing against the shore, and while the inlet looked better, it was still really rough and the catamaran leaving ahead of us looked like a rocking horse. We could have taken the ICW, but I’ve read that section is shoaly and has some challenging cross-currents, plus it would have been much slower. Even though I wanted to say yes to what seemed like the “easy” path at the time, I knew we’d make better distance going offshore.
The inlet was a long stretch of 6-8’ confused seas on the nose, and if that was a preview of coming attractions, it wasn’t going to be a fun day. But I knew that the inlet would be far more uncomfortable than the open water and that turning around wasn’t an option. Poor Jack was MISERABLE. We tried to give him Dramamine before we left, but he tasted it and barfed it up, so that was a non-starter. It breaks my heart to hear him all stressed out and crying, but there’s not much I can do.
Fortunately the seas calmed to 4-6’, then 3-5’ as we got farther out and became less confused. In those conditions, we still couldn’t raise the sail since Chris would have had to go forward to unclip the halyard, and the wind was on the nose anyway. Instead of shifting to the north as forecast, it shifted to the west and stayed on the nose all day.
We called the Coast Guard the day before to find out if we could cut through the restricted area off Camp Lejeune, allowing us to stay closer to shore and keep the wind-driven waves a bit smaller. Chris told the guy, “I want to make sure I’m not cutting through a bombing range or something.” and he responded “Well, sir, the funny thing is that’s exactly what it is.” Fortunately no exercises were scheduled and we were able to transit the range safely, but I was still nervous for the entire 20 mile transit.
At one point, we had a seagull flying right alongside us – he’d first be on port, then fly behind us and hang out on starboard, exactly matching our speed. Even though it was just a common gull, it was pretty neat to have him flying with the boat.
I didn’t get seasick, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t get queasy when I went below to make lunch. Mid-afternoon, we were able to raise the sail, and it made the motion a lot more comfortable, even though we were too close to the wind to sail. We ended up motorsailing all day, and the waves on the nose kept our boat speed low. The trip should have been somewhere around 12 hours but ended up taking 16 when all was said and done.
Watching waves break against the hull is one of my favorite things about sailing – I love the rush of foam and the color it creates and the way the water sounds. If you’ve never experienced it in person it’s hard to describe, but it’s absolutely mesmerizing and for me, it’s part of the siren song of salt life. Sunset was beautiful with stunning lingering oranges. I loved watching the color of the waves change and the way the foam picked up the pinks and oranges as the sun sank lower in the sky.
I’m finding that I love being offshore at night. Once the dark set in, the night sky was moonless (moonrise wasn’t until 3:41am) and clear, and the Milky Way was clear above us. We saw a bunch of shooting stars, apparently the tail end of the Orionid meteor shower, and Orion rose just as we entered the inlet.
Coming into the inlet was challenging in that finding the right marks was made so much harder by all the radio towers on shore. The flashing reds, especially in the distance, were easily confused for lit red channel marks. Masonboro Inlet itself was pretty easy, with only a couple spots where buoy spotting was tough – I almost missed a red off the point by the Coast Guard station. Of course as soon as we got inside the inlet, the wind died off and it was a stunning, calm night. We proceeded to the main anchorage, but it looked crowded, so we decided to anchor just outside the channel. It took a bit for us to settle in on the hook, and with no real wind to hold us in a given direction, neither of us was fully confident we were set, even though I always back down hard on our anchor to check the set. We sat on deck for a bit to watch while we had pastrami sandwiches for a super late dinner.
I’m learning that it’s important to push boundaries from time to time. I knew Chris was perfectly capable of handling the conditions yesterday, but it was a stretch for me. I didn’t love the idea of heading out in those waves, and I didn’t really love the idea of entering an unfamiliar inlet at night, but I also don’t love the idea of being stuck too far north as the days get shorter and colder. I’m glad we went because it turned out to be a great experience.
