The Road Home

By the time we decided to leave Hampton, it was noon on Monday. The rain which had continued on and off all weekend had finally ended earlier that morning and the sun gave some hint that it may show itself before the day wore out. We really did need a change of scenery and we both began to feel some urgency to move on. So it was that we left rather late hoping to make short work of the trip to the York River, perhaps Sarah Creek.

Under a southwest breeze, we set sail on an easy reach on a course due north. Our plan would be to hold this course for about 12 miles from where we would turn to the northwest and then west going into the York River. Of course it pays to be flexible when sailing to a destination for soon after we left our wind began to clock around. Within the hour the southwest wind had become west. This change in direction was still okay; we'd have to harden up a bit but we could still sail most of the way without tacking; that is if the wind stayed westerly. Which of course it didn't. Before long, the wind starting easing around north of west. If we still wanted to go to Sarah Creek, we'd have to either motor or beat upwind an awfully long way. No problem, being flexible as we are we'll just skip Sarah Creek and ease off for Mobjack Bay; reachable without tacking. Not long after we'd made that decision then the wind came around a little more to the north. Now we'd have to beat to Mobjack Bay. Let's see; what's down to the northeast....Cape Charles....That sounds good....I always wanted to visit Cape Charles. And it's only about 13 miles away on an easy reach....or so we thought.

Over the course of 4 hours the wind had come around from the southwest to the north and as we progressed, came even further around to the northeast such that by the time we were approaching Cape Charles, we could no longer lay our course. The last mile and half into the harbor became an ugly bone jarring bash to weather. The sun which had peaked out briefly retreated under a blanket of solid low gray clouds. It looked increasing like we may get wet before we get in.

The outer harbor of Cape Charles appears heavily industrialized and not particularly inviting. Barge loading facilities and concrete bulkhead lined seaside storage areas look out of place in the otherwise rural setting. But inside the inner harbor, things are more pleasant and very peaceful. We tied up at the rustic bulkhead ahead of a large catamaran. Only one other cruising boat graced the harbor, but the occupants were nowhere to be found.

The town itself seems to be on the block, at least by all appearances. All but a few of the buildings along the commercial front street sport imposing ‘For Sale' signs. Much to my relief, we did find a cozy diner open serving typical down home meals; otherwise Joyce threatened to make me eat my own cooking.

We left early the next morning, again with no specific destination in mind; only that we would sail to where we were going. With a nice southerly breeze, we set the spinnaker making good time up the bay. By the afternoon, we had decided to head for Tangier Island. Our course took us wide of the navy target practice ships that are situated south and east of the island so that after rounding the first target ship, we would turn east for the final 3 miles into Tangier. It was at this point that we decided to drop the spinnaker and set the jib. This is also where our troubles began. When we take down the spinnaker, occasionally, despite out best efforts some lines end up in the water. It's normally not a problem, we pull them in as soon as we can so they don't foul up on anything below the waterline and go on. In our years of flying the spinnaker, we've never had any problem at all. But just this once, I cleated off the lazy sheet before we took the spinnaker down thinking it would help keep it out of the water. It didn't. Not only that, but the line ended up in the water, got under the keel and made itself fast to our prop shaft. The harder we pulled, the more stuck it seemed to become. No way around it, I was going to have to go in to free the line.

I first tried to get the line free by reaching under with a boat hook from the dinghy, but I only succeeded in getting the boat hook caught on the shaft strut as well. By this time, the boat is drifting aimlessly downwind at 3 knots with the wind and waves on the beam. The waves are about 2-3 feet and the boat is bouncing and rolling badly. Joyce is terrified that I'm going to get bonked in the head on the hull and drift away leaving her stranded on an engineless boat with no way to come and get me. She gets the idea that we should anchor. The depth is about 35 feet but with 110 feet out, the anchor digs in readily bringing the boat head to windward. This helps, but I still can't get the line free with the boat hook. I realize that I'll have to go in the water. With mask, snorkel and fins on, I jump in, wait for a calm stretch for the boat to stop bucking and easily slip the line off the prop. Within a minute, I'm back onboard to Joyce's relief. This whole iteration has taken about 45 minutes, but it seems much longer.

A couple of side notes on this....Keep in mind that I've still got five stitches in my right hand from last weekend's fun and excitement. The doctor's last words were that I could wash my hands and shower, but he said "I wouldn't go back in the water until it heals." So much for that advice. Also, they had put me on antibiotics to fight off any potential infection. The drug apparently makes one extremely sensitive to the sun. We've been out in the sun nearly every day for a year, but even with the last few days of overcast skies I was sunburned on my face and neck.

We make Tangier an hour later under jib alone. Not much choice but to take a slip at the only marina as the narrow channel doesn't allow room for anchoring. Atlas is of course the first off, even before we finish tying the boat up. Despite the cool gray weather, we enjoy a nice walk around the island. It's past four so the tour boat has left for Crisfield and there aren't but a couple of tourists (also boaters) left milling around. Most of the shops close when the tour boat leaves, but Hilda Crockett's Chesapeake House still serves a five o'clock seating. In the family style setting for which Hilda Crockett is known, there is food for 12 on the table, but only four of us show up.

In many respects, Tangier bears a resemblance to many of the Bahamian Islands, especially Spanish Wells in Eleuthera. The land here is low lying, not more then a few feet above sea level. With the recent rains, the only places that it's not muddy is in the puddles. This adds to the overwhelming sense of water everywhere. The elevation being what it is, the islanders here do not bury underground for fear that the caskets will pop up when the water level rises. And with dry land being so scarce, many a grave site is in the front lawn. Like many of the Bahamian Islands, the residents here derive much of their food and a substantial portion of their income from the water. Crab traps and soft crab sloughing tables are everywhere. Of late, tourism has come to play more of a part in the economy. It seems as though everyone is trying to get into the act so you see some pretty funny attempts to collect a few cents. In one front yard is a primitive aquarium with a few crabs that you can see for 50 cents. A road side box contains hand drawn Tangier maps for a quarter, another has local recipes for 25 cents each.

We hear the wind blowing hard all during the night so we figure that it's going to be rough out in the bay when we get out there. By morning however, the wind has eased to about 10 knots from the west and the waves have set down as well. By mid-morning, the wind has backed to the southwest and eased even further such that even under spinnaker, we can't maintain any speed. We want to reach Solomons Island, but it begins to seem a long way off. Finally succumbing, we turn on the motor and power the rest of the way to Solomons.

Solomons Island, back in Maryland... it's really starting to seem like we're home. Only 40 or so miles from the Rhode River (where we've been sailing out of for years) and just a bit further to Annapolis.

We relax for a few days in Solomons, enjoying a nice visit with Mike, Theresa (Joyce's college roommate) and their two children. Michelle and Catherine have reached that adorable stage and also that show-off stage. It's cute though. Joyce spends the day with Theresa at their nearby home with Catherine helping her bake cookies, then after dinner we all go to the beach near the scenic Cove Point Lighthouse for family pictures with a photographer. The next day Mike and Theresa joined us for a morning sail on the Patuxent River. It's rare these days to sail just for the sake of sailing without a destination and it's very peaceful as the wind is light.

The welcoming committee from the Chesapeake Bay Sabre Association has also reached out. Kenny Shimp aboard a similar Sabre 34 meets us in Solomons for a mini rendezvous. We raft up and sit back to enjoy the sounds of BB King wafting over the water from the concert nearby at the Calvert Marine Museum.

On Saturday under cloudy skies and the threat of rain, we set off for the Choptank River to meet up with Skip and Harriet Hardy. The weather forecast is lousy, calling for an entire Memorial Day weekend of wind and rain. We get as far as Cove Point before we reach Skip and Harriet on the radio. They've wisely decided to bail out as they have a nice warm dry home to go back to. We change our course and head almost due north for the Rhode River where the Hardy's welcome us back later that evening during dinner at Adam's Ribs. (With them they brought our car which they had watched the last 8 months; freshly washed, cleaned and with gas - how nice!)

As we're heading north, it does finally start to rain. With the wind northeast, we're close hauled but for the most part laying the course. We heel over 20, 25 and sometimes 30 degrees in the puffs...it's pretty fast, but we're really not used to this kind of sailing. Goes to show you that we've really subscribed to the cruising mentality. For the past 6 months and more, if the wind wasn't in the right direction, well then we'd just wait another day to go...or go somewhere else...somewhere where the wind is aft of the beam. We've sailed flat for so long that we find ourselves unaccustomed to heeling (and so do the kitties).

There's nothing to be done now but to press on through the gloom and rain. At this point, the Rhode River is really the closest place that we can easily reach in the northeast wind. So it's not by choice or by plan that we end up sailing into the Rhode almost exactly one year after we left. One year to the day and even to the hour, we reach the Rhode. We did say that we'd be gone for a year, but we didn't plan to be this precise. We get to the West River around 4 pm and are in the Rhode River anchored off our old marina an hour later, where we started what seems so long ago. The place is so familiar, the river, the houses, the trees, the markers, the little islands and even the crab pots....we are home!