Being a very logic-centric person that may seem odd. However, when I take on an endeavor like this I start with logic. Through proper risk mitigation, I reduce the risk to an acceptable level, which invariably is never zero. What keeps me going and driving me forward, is the emotional commitment; the passion for the endeavor itself.
This internal conflict is nothing new to me. I've gone through it most of my life, and emotion has the edge. However, after sitting in the salon and going through the Southern Ireland Cruising Guide, I realized there were almost no ports which I could sail into. It stands to reason, that the ports of Ireland are deep inside inlets and up rivers. After all, it is the first landmass to greet the Atlantic Ocean in Europe. This is where the Gulf Stream splits; part heading north along the Irish western coast; the major portion being turned south east towards the Bay of Biscay along the European continent's west coast.
If the transmission failed in Ireland, I would be stuck. It will take two months to get it fixed here. Nearing the end of the Irish sailing season, there is no telling how long the repairs would take. It would no doubt end my season anyway. So, it was an easy win for logic this time... better to be stick near home, than in Ireland with no transportation.
The original plan was to sail to Ireland. Grace would fly to meet me. We would tour Ireland by boat until Brynn and her husband, Matt, arrived. Then, we would tour Ireland together. Afterwards, Grace and I would continue on the boat. Grace would depart at a later time.
I decided to keep the core of everyone's plans intact, I would fly to Ireland with Grace. We would tour with Brynn and Matt as planned. At the high-level, only my plans are greatly affected.
In the short-term, I have to get Distant Horizon to Annapolis so the necessary repairs can be done while we are away.
So, with that settled, I prepared Distant Horizon to sail once again.
By the time I had filled the water tanks, removed the sail covers and prepared for departure, it was just past noon on Sunday. The forecast was for no wind, but we had a very light breeze in the harbour. I was leaving.
I expected the wind to drop to zero over night. If I stayed close to land (5-10 miles), there would be a slight current to carry me south as I drifted. The forecasted winds would come later on Monday morning.
When I reached the ocean, there was a nice breeze from the south. Of course it came from the south. I wanted to go south! As I have mentioned previously, sailboats can not sail directly into the wind. I adjusted the sails for a near reach; sail as close to the wind as possible without giving up much speed. I was headed Southeast.
Distant Horizon loves to reach, but a near reach is not her best point of sail. Another 10 degrees off the wind would have been perfect. Still, we were sailing at over 6 knots; close to 7 knots at times. We were sailing wonderfully fast! I was already happy to be underway rather than on that mooring.
I spent the afternoon doing long tacks... sail southeast, turn and sail southwest, repeat as often as necessary to progress southward. The wind slowly died off. Each time I was headed southwest, I searched for a sea breeze as I approached shore. There was none.
I was okay with that. I left knowing I would eventually have no wind at all. I considered this light breeze lasting into the evening to be a blessing.
Around 7pm, as I slowly approached land once again, an unexpected but welcomed changed occurred. I spent most of the day searching for a good sea breeze and never found it. Now, as I approached land, the winds veered sharply to the west. I had a land breeze! It's the opposite of a sea breeze. In the evening, the land cools faster than the water. The warm air over the water rises... the cooler air over land fills in. The resulting breeze, as the name implies, comes from the land.
Now I could sail much closer to south. We were sailing slower, less than 5 knots, but the sails were full and I was sailing exactly in the direction I needed to go!
Another surprise... this west wind lasted until sometime around 2am! However, the forecast was not wrong. It was just late. The forecasted period of no wind did not occur overnight. It occurred mid-morning the next day.
The water took on that all too common oily appearance when there are no ripples. This only happens when there is absolutely no wind blowing across the surface of the water. Call it a freak of nature, or another blessing, but the sails were not luffing (gently flapping due to lack of wind). Instead, they held their shape and we ghosted along for hours... but I never dropped the sails and never resorted to drifting in windless conditions.
I was thankful. It was a hot, muggy, overcast day. If the boat stopped and just drifted, I would have melted into a pile of goo on the cockpit sole (floor) and burnt to a crisp. The movement of the boat, kept a gentle cooling, breeze blowing through the cockpit; making life bearable.
It seemed to take forever to get past Atlantic City. Just as we were passing the Atlantic City Harbour inlet, I noticed a fishing boat was heading directly towards us. I could see he was fishing and about two miles away. We were on a collision course.
I hailed him on the radio. He said "I see you have all sails up... Only God knows why that boat is still moving... I certainly don't. Don't worry boss... I'm not going to mess with God today. He likes fishermen, you know. Maybe he likes sailors too! We will turn east before hitting you...over."
After that fishing boat turned east, a ripple appeared... then small wavelets... then one foot waves... I kept checking the chartplotter. We stayed close to the same course; a little towards land, but not enough to worry. There were no corresponding wind shifts. I was happy with the 5 knots of boat speed; I could breath again.
From Wildwood, around Cape May, and into the Delaware Bay, there are many sandbars and shallows.
The wind was now over 20 knots. I had all the sails (jib, staysail, mainsail) set. The windvane was steering again. I took a moment and just sat there. I looked around. First, I looked at the sails, the apparent wind indicator, the windspeed instrument, the waves. The waves were just 4-5 footers. The wind was blowing the tops of the waves in little whisps of white spray. The boat was pitching in the waves and healing over slightly from the wind. It was a beautiful sight and an awesome feeling to be there.
I was sailing close hauled, which is closer to the wind than a near reach. So much so, that the boat loses speed. I had around 4 knots of boat speed; heading just west of the point to turn into the Delaware Bay.
I had to decide... do I tack east, a couple miles farther into the ocean, then tack back, into Delaware Bay. Or, do not tack, and cut the corner over a sandbar, which reportedly had 19 feet of water over it?
Using the chart, I chose to go through the narrowest spot of the sandbar; knowing the chart was probably not accurate regarding depths. I didn't know when the last survey was done.
I unlocked the windvane steering. I wanted to hand-steer for this. I would have to turn quickly to starboard (right) if the depth was less than I had planned. Before reaching the sandbar, the depth showed a consistent 29 feet. I kept my eye on the depth instrument as we slowly progressed. A few minutes later, still 29 feet... Now, I was beginning to cross the sandbar. The chartplotter read 28 feet. In the middle of the sandbar, according to the chartplotter, we were down to 25 feet. I was thinking the currents and storms may have washed the sandbar away.
As the tension of taking the short cut started to melt away, the depth gauge indicated a change was about to occur. Shallower water was ahead. Then, depth gauge read 22.. 20... 19... 18... I was getting nervous as the change was happening much quicker than expected... 16... 15... 14... It should be deeper, but we are okay... 13.5... 13.2... 12.9... 12.4... 11.9... If the gauge hit 10, I was turning. My mind was made up. Instead, it stayed at 11.9. The chartplotter said I was past, but still 11.9 feet. The up arrow appeared, deep water was ahead and it jumped to 15 and climbed quickly to 33 feet. I was past!
I was in the Delaware Bay Channel. Now, I could turn and head north. The wind would still be coming from the port (left) side, but instead of in-front of the boat, it would be just over my shoulder... a Broad Reach; a slow, calm, relaxing ride in almost any conditions. The waves were small enough, I didn't even experience the slight rolling that typically occurs when on a broad reach.
The tension that had slowly built over the past 8 hours, melted away quickly. There was an anchorage ahead. On the Delaware side. Originally, I wanted to stop there. Now, it was dark... very dark. I would not be stopping. I won't enter an anchorage that I'm not familiar with in the dark. I could see there were four boars with AIS in there. With today's weather, there is no telling how many others sought the refuge of this anchorage. With limited depth perception at night, I chose to sail on...
I received a text message on the tracker. It was Steve Mayka, my good friend and emergency contact for this endeavor. He congratulated me on great progress for the day. He also wanted to know where I was stopping and had several suggestions; including the anchorage just ahead.
For the next two hours, Steve would text suggestions for locations where I could anchor. I would search the chartplotter and reply back that they were, too far off the channel, too shallow, or who knows what other excuse I found. Around 2 am, Steve signed off for the night.
There was an anchorage in the Delaware River where I have stopped before. It was deep enough and well protected from shipping traffic wakes. I would stop there.
It was lunch-time when I reached the anchorage. I made a quick sandwich after securing the boat and quickly feel asleep soon after.
When I woke, it was light outside. I was disoriented a little. At first, I didn't recognize my surroundings. I sat on the side of the berth looking around in a very confused state. I knew it wasn't my bedroom at home, but where was I? A few minutes went past before reality started to set in. Besides knowing where I was, I felt happy that it was the boat. I looked at the clock. It was 5:45. I was still groggy. So it took a few minutes to realized it was morning and I had slept through the night without stirring.
Steve had asked if I was planning to spend the whole day at anchor; just to recover my sleep and energy. I said, no. I would get moving when I woke up. I wanted to get to Annapolis.
I did exactly that. When I woke up, I had breakfast, weighed (lifted) anchor, and started the next leg of my journey. I was punished the rest of the day for the lack of clarity when I woke. I was going against the tidal currents for most of the day. Although the tides change approximately every 6 hours, the D&C canal connects the Delaware with the Chesapeake... two large bodies of water whose tides vary. I was on the wrong end of that.
Exhausted from the slow progress, hot sun and humidity (the heat index was 103), I found a spot to anchor near the channel on the Sassafras River. Steve was texting me possible locations again. All were good. However, with the forecast for 0-5 knot winds out of the south, I chose to anchor in the open, just below a cliff for protection from the slight breeze.
I was within sight of my intended anchorage. I was crossing the wide expanse where the river meets the Chesapeake bay when I heard a strange sound. I couldn't quite place it. I turned to check the windvane's rudder when I saw a Coast Guard boat a few boat lengths behind me.
They introduced themselves and said they would like to board Distant Horizon for a safety inspection. I have never heard of the Coast Guard boarding a sailboat before.
Now, I am motoring along, steering my boat in shallow water, with two Coasties in the cockpit. The first question was, "Where is your Type IV throwable device?" I was exhausted and replied out of reflex more than thought: "Really!? I am singled-handed... if I fall overboard... who will throw the Type IV to me?" It was completely out there before I realized what I said. It was true, but not the most cooperative answer.
He laughed. He said he has asked the same question several times, and the instructor/evaluators can only say... Each boat over 30' is required to carry one... From his tone, I think we were good.
Then, I pointed to the LifeSling mounted on the stern rail.
He asked for my life preserver. I went down below and grabbed it. As I handed it to him, I realized my inflatable only counts if I am wearing it. I wasn't. He did not hesitate to inform me of this, but asked if I had any others on the boat. His tone was very hopeful that I would have something. There was no mistaking that he was doing his duty, and there was no malice intent at all. He was almost rooting for me to produce another life preserver that qualifies.
I asked him what the depth was and he told 13.5 feet. I quickly went forward and grabbed another life preserver.
When I returned to the cockpit, I immediately went to the helm.
He said I was required to carry two fire extinguishers. This time, I restrained from informing him that it could be just one if it was the larger size.
I lifted the locker door next to me in the cockpit. and showed him the first. I asked if he would grab the red binder from the nav station "... it's labeled Emergency Procedures." I told him he could test it for me and instructed him to flip to the Fire section. There he found a layout of the boat, with three fire extinguisher icons; each indicating the location of a fire extinguisher.
He went to the other two locations and checked. He looked at me and hestitated. Then said, "So, everything I'm looking for is listed somewhere in here?".
I said, "No. You would have to grab the white binder that was next to that; labeled Standard Procedures to be all inclusive."
He asked if he had permission to search the boat on his own. I said yes.
He came up a few minutes later and said it was amazing. Recreational boats are not typically this organized. He told me he found everything except the trash placard. I just told him, that was behind something, but I couldn't remember what. I had seen it recently and was surprised at the location. He laugh and agreed they usually were hidden.
He handed me a yellow paper and told me to hang on to this. If I was boarded again in the next 6 months, I should just show them the paper and they will only ask for life preservers and leave. He told me he checked "no" for the trash placard "... it's just a warning, no big deal" He told me to make note of it's location next time I see it. If I was boarded again, they may ask for that as well.
All this took about 20 minutes. The Coasties were very professional and polite. It was actually a pleasant experience.
A half hour later, I was asleep in my berth. Distant Horizon was anchored well in 10 feet of flat calm water, below a 200 foot cliff with plenty of trees at the top. I had thought about making dinner, but sleep was my priority.
When I awoke the next morning, there wasn't a ripple on the water, but I could see small waves in the channel. I marked a Waypoint on my chartplotter and labeled it "South Wind Anchorage". This was a perfect spot in these conditions.
After breakfast, and preparing a couple sandwiches for later, I was underway. I planned a route that did not stick to the channel. Instead it would criss-cross back and forth across the channel. I would be taking a straight line course to the Bay Bridge. The channel winds around. In doing so, there was just one spot where I would be in less than 19 feet of water.
This leg of the journey was un eventful. By the time I reached the channel, I had all the sails up. The wind was from the south as forecasted, but I was really heading southwest. My angle looked like I may be able to motorsail; motor along, but use the sails to help. ...and did it help!
After yesterday, when I only went over 4 knots when I was heading to the anchorage, and spent most of the day close to, or below 3 knots... today's 5 knots was wonderful. Although, I was sailing into the current again!
I made great time! I reached Annapolis earlier than expected. Distant Horizon was hauled out of the water for repairs prior to my anticipated arrival time.
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