So, what did I do? Well, the weekend was three days long: Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I figured one day from work wouldn't hurt anybody, so extended weekend, here I come!
On
Friday, I put Windswept in at Rogue's Harbor (Elk Neck State Park, MD)
and merely sailed back and forth in the channel there. The Bay is about
a mile across there and is fairly safe from Bay traffic. This day was a
good day for her sails to stretch out, so I practiced tacking my way away
from Rogue's Harbor, into the wind, and seemingly into the rising tide.
On Saturday, I leaned into the mission of actually going someplace beyond the horizon. Unfortunately, the wind wasn't there, at least not when I first started out. So, I had her motor running for a good hour before raising the sails and tapping some wind. Southbound was the mission, to go as far as I could before the sun sets. Her motor ran flawlessly as the miles rolled by. Five and a half hours later, I stopped in the little marina town of Tolchester. 20.4 miles total. I felt I could go another hour, but quickly assessed I wouldn't make it on the fumes in the fuel tank. Tolchester would be my stop for the night.
Throughout the day there was so much to see, with so much opportunity to absorb it all. I saw an American Bald Eagle fly past with a huge clump of seaweed (or wet grass) in its talons. It certainly was an impressive bird to watch. I saw tugboats, ships and pleasure boats along the way too. I learned a lot about the system of inland lights and buoys too. Each new time I caught myself asking "What the heck is THAT?", I watched until I could at least draw a conclusion from the charts' clues or until I got close enough to really figure it out.
I slept overnight tied to the dock of Tolchester Marina. Really, I had no choice. The arrival at Tolchester's Marina was a quiet one. There was no one at the fuel pumps, no one at the dockmaster's station, hardly anyone even at their own boats. I couldn't even raise anyone on the VHF. I felt like the whole town went to sleep. I had arrived at 4:20 pm and soon found out that the docks had closed up at 4:00. Because of this, I had no option, but to remain tied up, wash up and plan tomorrow's trip. After about an hour of assessing the day's sail and planning tomorrow's, I was beginning to notice parts of me that were sore which normally don't get sore. I was feeling just plain tired. I succumbed to sleep around 7:00.
The amazing part of this was that I slept until the following 7:00 am, through a continuous barrage of noise coming from a nearby bird sanctuary. After having set foot on the docks that evening, after noticing a ghost town of a marina, I then began to notice the unceasing din of geese and ducks less than a mile south. There must've been over a million of them, all gathering and resting for their next leg southward to warmer climes. When one hears this, the first question that comes to mind is, "How will I ever sleep through this?" Well, that question was answered.
On Sunday, it was time to return to Rogue's Harbor. I woke up, washed up, bought my gasoline, tidied up Windswept, bought a giant cup of coffee and cast off lines. The twenty some odd miles of yesterday had to be made up with the return trip. I was looking forward to it. Just as I had started out of the port, the first order was to wait until the wake a passing tug was all spent. One thing to know about the Tolchester entrance to the Chesapeake is that it is immediately at the edge of a major shipping lane. Massive ships all pass within a mile of the shoreline. As impressive as this may sound, the numerous warning signs posted about, stressing the dangers of wakes, sober up anyone's thoughts of seeing these giants any closer.
With the tug safely past and the wake subsided, I guided Windswept out into the shipping lane and eased her northward. There was the slight hint of a wind picking up, but I maintained the motor speed and headed toward the first buoy. After having passed the first mile of the trip, the breeze freshened and I raised sails and trimmed. Once the sails took shape, I cut the motor. Now Windswept was underway, moving at a brisk pace, faster than anything her engine could offer. It felt good and exhilarating to once again move in harmony with the wind. Several buoys passed by at this goodly pace.
But the good fortune ran out an hour ahead, as I approached an ominous wall of haze. What was good visibility (better than three miles) was diminished to less than a half mile. Piloting a boat classified as a small craft inside a shipping lane with less than a half mile visibility tends to make one nervous. Furthermore, the wind died inside the haze. I lowered the main, restarted the engine, and resumed the journey northbound, but this time, just outside the shipping lane. The visibility remained pitiful.
Being outside the shipping lane offers comfort, knowing at least the big boys won't be claiming me today. However, even this is not much comfort when the big boats are coming from behind. I noticed this when I was less than two hours from Rogue's Harbor and there was a tug towing a large barge, approaching from behind. I was moving in the same direction as the barge and it remained within my sight for much longer than those approaching from the opposite angle. Because of this longer time, its approach was much more ominous. It eventually passed and all was back to normal.
I returned to Rogue's Harbor under motor, the haze lifting only 4 miles short of the end of the trip. With over forty miles behind me, I was tired, beat, hungry and ready to do it all over again.
Stinkpotters can be nice and stinkpotters can be a**holes. The one factor that kept popping up every five minutes during the trip was the wake of other boats passing by on the water. Most boats were passing by either slowly enough (no wake) or quickly enough (planing, hence, no wake) to make little difference. However, there were times when the larger pleasure craft created a disruptive wake. There was one particular idiot (Black Gold III) who passed within twenty feet of my boat, in plain view, at high speed, with enough wake to knock everything loose in the cabin. It was plain this idiot (Black Gold III) made no effort to change course or alleviate the disruption he would cause.
Don't be afraid to use the VHF. I'm sure if I had thought about it any harder, I would've gotten up the nerve to grab the VHF microphone and express my feelings to the skipper of Black Gold III. I wonder what the Coast Guard would've said to profanity on the airwaves.
The flow of water with the tide can be an effective tool while underway. As I was returning Sunday, I was motoring north, which was the same flow as the rising tide waters. I may have been doing three knots in the water, but the water flow added another knot to my overall speed. The motor was hardly working!
A sleeping bag is very important. Despite the late October temperatures outside, I was very warm and comfortable inside the cabin.
That's great when one is out on the water by himself and doesn't have to interact with anyone else. However, when one returns to land, the 'ship-shape' on the water is no longer mandatory, but rather a good idea. This was hard to adjust to and made for some rather interesting conversations with my wife when I finally returned home.
Well, I wrote enough. From here on in, I'll be cleaning the bottom, replacing fittings, and repairing sails, dreaming of the next season.
Back to my Sailing Page
Send me an e-mail