We’d been monitoring weather closer than a meteorologist for the entire week. Every time the new models came out, Chris was studying them. And all they did was add to the confusion. One minute, we’d have a lovely rounding. The next, it was “expect hellfire with a solid chance of brimstone”. Right up until Friday night, we were undecided… and even then it was only a soft “go.” Nevertheless, with a light day at work on Friday, I spent the day prepping for offshore. We were lucky to be in a slip close enough to the fuel dock that we were able to get fueled in our slip, which meant one less thing we needed to worry about.
Yesterday morning, the weather models said “go,” so we prepared to be off the dock as soon as Dan, the dock master, showed up for the day. We were worried about the departure – in a tight fairway, we had a northeast breeze that could easily pin us sideways to the pilings. Dan coached us through the departure, and with his help, it was easy and low-stress. As we were leaving, we saw Mirelos ahead of us, a catamaran we’ve seen several times up in Long Island Sound, and I admit it was a bit of a relief to see another boat heading offshore.
Once we exited the inlet, it soon became apparent that we were far from alone. We picked up at least 10 other boats making the trip. It was calm – I’d say flat calm, except there were some leftover rolls seas that made the early part of the trip unpleasant. But we knew it would be short-lived. We let out a fishing line and off Cape Lookout, we caught a gorgeous bonito. It wasn’t a keeper, so we returned it to the sea to live another day, but we were super excited to have caught. We tossed the cedar plug back out and carried on.
After we rounded the shoal at Cape Lookout, conditions settled considerably. Later in the afternoon, we caught another fish – this time a good sized skipjack tuna. It made a bit of a mess of the deck, but while Chris took it below to clean, I grabbed the bucket and scrub brush and took care of the mess. With dinner caught, we put away the fishing gear for the day. We’d later enjoy our tuna with the mac and cheese Chris had made up for the passage.
As the day progressed, it got calmer and calmer, which was just what we were hoping for as we approached Hatteras. We were overtaken by Saphira, a beautiful 89′ sailing yacht bound for Newport, RI. Her crew radioed to see where we were headed and find out what the heck we were sailing. It’s still funny to me to be on a boat that draws so much attention, but she really is quite different from your typical cruiser.
By sunset, the ocean was so calm it looked like an oil slick. We rounded Hatteras at 2120, and by the time I came on watch at 0200, it was well behind us. I came on deck to a beautiful near-full moon and calm ocean. At one point I looked up to see a shooting star with a long tail arching overhead.
I like the stretch once we round Hatteras, since we’re close enough to shore to have cell signal and I can listen to music to help keep myself awake. On this run, I decided to find an audiobook to listen to. I’m definitely an analog book reader – I prefer the feel and smell of an actual book – but it was nice to listen to a story as the hours rolled by. I picked Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt, and I’m really enjoying it so far.
Dawn came early and the sun rose into a bank of clouds. Once Chris was up, we had our morning coffee, and soon thereafter, the fog rolled in. Our radar’s been acting up – it started on our way to Cape Lookout, and now it basically seems to be dead. Once in a while it works, but of course not when we needed it. While Chris took over the watch, I helped stand fog watch especially since we were radar-less. We tried out the fog horn that we’ve had on board since we bought the boat, and it’s actually a pretty cool little thing, even if it does sound like a kazoo on steroids. But as the fog started to lift a little, I decided to break out my conch horn and get some practice getting a consistent tone out of it. I’ve now got it down to a science.
The fog lifted, then set back in, and then lifted again, so I took the opportunity to sneak a quick nap. That was something we finally learned on our long passage – nap in your off watch when you feel like you need it. The fog stayed gone and we were making great time to the Chesapeake… but as we approached the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel and the shipping lanes, the fog socked right back in as thick as you could ever imagine. Great timing. Thanks.
We managed to make it through without getting run over by the massive cargo ships entering and exiting the Bay or running into the little power boats zipping around. By now the breeze had filled in and our plan was to raise sail… but it was not meant to be. Over the blanket of fog, I noticed an ever-expanding cloud that looked like it was becoming a thunderhead. A quick check on radar confirmed my suspicions, so we kept the sails down and headed for our slip at the York River Yacht Haven. We weren’t sure if we’d make it there in time to catch the dock hands for the day, but it didn’t hurt to try. We avoided the storms and it looked like we’d be in our slip with time to spare.
And then we took the ground. Solidly. Well within the channel at marker #9, the very last one before the marina. Where EVERYONE could see. The sandbar we met was not charted, and with a relatively narrow channel with beach on either side, we assumed that staying closer to the mark would put us in safe water. It did not. Fortunately it was dead low and the tide had just switched, so we knew if we waited long enough, we’d float off. But by then we wouldn’t have a dock hand to help with our lines. I’m sure we CAN handle docking without assistance, but it’s tough because every situation is different, and you never really know what you’ll encounter until you’re committed to your approach.
Eventually with the help of the tide and a kind passer-by who helped pull us backwards a bit, we got free. I’d spoken to one of the dock hands on the phone, so when I couldn’t raise him on the VHF, I called. He’d already headed to his car but came back to get our lines for us. Thank you, Preston, for being a gem.
As we pulled into the fairway, the entire marina and PACKED restaurant erupted in cheers. Not at all embarrassing, but what else to do but raise our hands in victory and shake it off? I kind of feel like if you haven’t gone aground in the Chesapeake, you haven’t sailed the Chesapeake… just ask Ever Forward. Not precisely the way we’d hoped to end our passage, but no one was hurt including Windara, and we redeemed ourselves with a perfect docking. If that’s how Neptune exacted his toll, it’s one I’m happy to pay.