The mast was stepped in Catskill several days ago. However, Distant Horizon has not been sailed just yet. You see, the wind typically blows up the river due to the high banks and cliffs that line much of the Hudson River's banks. Sailboats can not sail directly into the wind.
So, today we (Distant Horizon and I) are departing Liberty Landing Marina for the ocean. We are going for a shakedown cruise. A shakedown cruise is when you sail the boat with a deliberate attempt to discover what is right with the boat, and what is not. It is also used to make necessary adjustments to fine-tune the rigging and sails. According to NOAA Weather Radio, the conditions should be perfect!
The plan was to go for two days. I would sail on the outbound course as if I was starting the transatlantic. If the shakedown went well, I could simply continue.
With the engine running and warming up, I slipped the lines at the dock, like I have hundreds of times before. I stepped aboard Distant Horizon and shifted into forward gear. ... nothing... We were moving away from the dock, but that was just the outgoing tide gently pulling us along. I shifted to neutral and back into forward... still nothing! We were getting farther from the dock. I grabbed the stern line and jumped for it. I landed firmly on the dock and secured the line after pulling the boat closer. Then, I secured the other dock lines and turned the engine off.
This is not how I wanted to start the day!
This had happened twice before: once in the canal; and another time in Waterford. Each time, the transmission was very low on fluid. So, I knew the drill. Empty the cockpit locker; remove the floor from the locker and climb down into the engine compartment. Once again, I found the transmission to be very low on fluid. I had bought more in Waterford, but I had just a few quarts left. I added about a quart and a half. I started the engine and tested the transmission before putting everything back together. It worked perfectly.
With the locker back together and everything stowed where it should be and the engine running, I slipped the dock lines just as before. This time when I shifted to forward gear, the boat started to go! Finally, we were underway.
After passing the Statue of Liberty, I had to wind my way through the New York Harbour. It was like running a slalom. Instead of gates or pylons, I was going around large tugs and barges at anchor. Once through that section, there are the ocean going ships that are coming and going.
If you look on a map, New York Harbour covers a large geographical area. However, it is fairly shallow with several shoals and rocks. There are traffic lanes to keep the ships in order and help to avoid collisions. I was following the channel for the proper outgoing traffic lane. Not being a big ship, I follow on the edge and usually slightly outside the channel. All ships I encounter will be following the lanes. So, I know they will be coming from behind me and passing. There is no concern of ships coming at me or from either side.
While still in the harbour area, the wind started to fill. I took time to put all sails up now, before reaching the ocean.
There was 14 knots of wind. The motor was off for the first time this season. Now, I was sailing! When I actually reached the Atlantic Ocean, I turned East-South-East (ESE). I adjusted the sails and double checked that they were all adjusted as they should be. They weren't, but it was just a few minor changes to get the lines pulling at the proper angles. There was a reef in the mainsail as night was approaching. Still, Distant Horizon was doing 6.8 to 7.2 knots, which is a great speed. Now I was really sailing!
I always carry an extra reef at night. A reef is when you let a portion of the sail down to make the sail small. Since it is smaller, the sail generates less power. It's like easing your foot off the gas as you enter a turn. At night, you can't see a storm, or squall coming and could quickly become overpowered. So, to spare myself the drama and excitement, I put a reef in before sunset.
All afternoon, the winds were gradually decreasing, but we were still sailing. Shortly after sunset, the wind dropped to nothing. My wind instrument read 0.0 knots, which is very rare. Even if I was drifting with a current it would read 0.2 or some other appropriately low number.
With no wind, the sails start flapping side-to-side as the boat rolls with the waves and swells. This constant flapping can really wear on a sail. The rolling wasn't too bad. So, I dropped all the sails. Without the sails, the rolling became predictable worst. I was not going anywhere. So, I turned a deck light on; set the radar and AIS alarms; and went below for a nap.
I don't typically sleep at night when at sea. I feel safer if I stand a night watch. During the day, the large ocean vessels maintain a full crew. With the sails up, it is much easier for them to spot the boat. I set the alarm clock to wake me in two hours.
I took a snack and a drink up to the cockpit with me to start the first long night watch. There was a slight breeze. The cool sea air felt refreshing and did its part at waking me up. The moon was just setting. It would be a dark night.
The wind started to increase again and Distant Horizon was sailing well. I could see lights on the horizon. Lots of lights spread across most of the horizon. It was a lot of fishing boats. I was approaching the Hudson Canyon. This was not going to be an easy, relaxing night.
As expected, I spent the majority of the night dodging fishing boats. I was moving between 4-6 knots. They were moving between 4-20 knots. Some of the captains were very helpful; telling me to stay on course, we would pass within a half mile of each other, but I would pass a half mile behind them. Others were grumpy old codgers.
One boat in particular did not communicate. It was coming from the south at 20 knots. We were on a collision course. I kept hailing them, but never got a response. I finally just turned and dumped all the wind out my sails and let them pass by. My best guess is the person on watch turned the volume on the radio down and fell asleep.
As dawn approached, I was well past the fishing fleet. The winds were light. The sky was hazy making the sunrise unremarkable.
We progressed with very light winds. I fought to keep the boat sailing; searching for the the right wind and sail combination that would allow me to go below and get some rest. This was good. It gave me plenty of opportunities to try sail combinations, I would not normally use. Distant Horizon was moving between 3-4 knots in very light conditions. I was happy, but busier than I wanted to be. Honestly, I wanted to be asleep.
Late-afternoon the wind had picked up slightly. Distant Horizon had her typical sails (mainsail, jib, and staysail) up and she was doing over 4 knots again. Time to get some rest!
I was woken suddenly as the boat rolled violently. I was nearly tossed out of my berth! I thought a big ship had gone past us, but none of the alarms went off.
The rolling did not stop. It was so bad that as I climbed the companionway steps to the cockpit, I had to go one step at a time. After each step, securing my hands and wait for that brief moment when everything stops, before the rolling motion reverses its direction. Then, I would take the next step.
I had a safety tether to put on before going out into the cockpit. Even with the tether, I could not stand. So, I crawled out to the cockpit. Then, I sat and slid myself around to the helm.
Thankfully, the sun was still up. I could see the huge swell coming from the south. I wasn't at the time, and still not sure why it suddenly started, but this swell was big enough to block out the horizon as I sat in the cockpit.
I tried putting the mainsail up. That decreased the rolling by a significant amount, but the mainsail was really taking a beating as it violently snapped from one side to other, synchronously with the rolling motion.
I remember when talking with Pete, the circumnavigator I met in Waterford, that he used his storm jib. So, I dropped the mainsail; went below to get the storm jib; went forward to the bow to hank on that sail. It did help reduce the rolling quite a bit, but there was still a lot of rolling going on. The storm jib is so small, that when it is sheeted tight, it barely flaps at all.
The rolling continued into the night. The wind started to pick up. At six knots of wind, I was able to get Distant Horizon sailing. At first, she would start to move, but the rolling would knock the wind out of the sails. Each time this happened, the she would retain a little speed gained. Gradually building enough power to overcome the rolling. It was a slow process of building enough speed to keep the wind in the sails.
Once we were sailing again, the rolling didn't seem that bad. I went back below to get a short nap, since there were no other boats around. I got a glass of water to keep hydrated. It was brown! Dark Brown! I had cleaned the tanks last fall, and again before we departed Baldwinsville. I had no idea what would cause this. So, I switched over to the other tank. I ran the faucet for a minute and it cleared up. To be safe, I ran it a little longer before giving it a taste. It seemed okay.
I had barely started the trip, if I was to continue, and I was already down to 50% of my water supply. A quick calculation showed that was enough water to get me to Ireland in 4 weeks. However, I was traveling 40-50 miles a day. Distant Horizon should be doing 120-130 miles a day. I had no idea how long these light winds would last. I didn't know if there was something in the water that would eventually turn the currently good tank, bad.
It was around 10pm. The winds died to nothing again. I was forced once more to take all the sails down. I decided, the shakedown was over. Everything was not just right to continue across the Atlantic. So, it was time to turn around. I had a full fuel tank, but was that enough to get me back? I decided it was, if the winds would come back from time-to-time as they have been. I switched the engine on and held my breath, as I put the transmission in forward gear. We were moving!
Unlike the previous morning, the pre-dawn light painted the sky in very typical pastels that would change like a kaleidoscope as the sun approached the horizon.
It took 30 hours to motor back. The winds never did return. Motoring in no wind conditions, means no sleep. I had to hand-steer all the way back.
I brought the boat to Atlantic Highlands and got a mooring. Tomorrow, I will start the necessary repairs. For now, it was time to get some solid sleep.
The plan was to go for two days. I would sail on the outbound course as if I was starting the transatlantic. If the shakedown went well, I could simply continue.
With the engine running and warming up, I slipped the lines at the dock, like I have hundreds of times before. I stepped aboard Distant Horizon and shifted into forward gear. ... nothing... We were moving away from the dock, but that was just the outgoing tide gently pulling us along. I shifted to neutral and back into forward... still nothing! We were getting farther from the dock. I grabbed the stern line and jumped for it. I landed firmly on the dock and secured the line after pulling the boat closer. Then, I secured the other dock lines and turned the engine off.
This is not how I wanted to start the day!
This had happened twice before: once in the canal; and another time in Waterford. Each time, the transmission was very low on fluid. So, I knew the drill. Empty the cockpit locker; remove the floor from the locker and climb down into the engine compartment. Once again, I found the transmission to be very low on fluid. I had bought more in Waterford, but I had just a few quarts left. I added about a quart and a half. I started the engine and tested the transmission before putting everything back together. It worked perfectly.
With the locker back together and everything stowed where it should be and the engine running, I slipped the dock lines just as before. This time when I shifted to forward gear, the boat started to go! Finally, we were underway.
 |
| Statue of Liberty |
 |
| Ocean going ships entering New York Harbour |
While still in the harbour area, the wind started to fill. I took time to put all sails up now, before reaching the ocean.
There was 14 knots of wind. The motor was off for the first time this season. Now, I was sailing! When I actually reached the Atlantic Ocean, I turned East-South-East (ESE). I adjusted the sails and double checked that they were all adjusted as they should be. They weren't, but it was just a few minor changes to get the lines pulling at the proper angles. There was a reef in the mainsail as night was approaching. Still, Distant Horizon was doing 6.8 to 7.2 knots, which is a great speed. Now I was really sailing!
 |
| Post-sunset glow |
All afternoon, the winds were gradually decreasing, but we were still sailing. Shortly after sunset, the wind dropped to nothing. My wind instrument read 0.0 knots, which is very rare. Even if I was drifting with a current it would read 0.2 or some other appropriately low number.
With no wind, the sails start flapping side-to-side as the boat rolls with the waves and swells. This constant flapping can really wear on a sail. The rolling wasn't too bad. So, I dropped all the sails. Without the sails, the rolling became predictable worst. I was not going anywhere. So, I turned a deck light on; set the radar and AIS alarms; and went below for a nap.
I don't typically sleep at night when at sea. I feel safer if I stand a night watch. During the day, the large ocean vessels maintain a full crew. With the sails up, it is much easier for them to spot the boat. I set the alarm clock to wake me in two hours.
I took a snack and a drink up to the cockpit with me to start the first long night watch. There was a slight breeze. The cool sea air felt refreshing and did its part at waking me up. The moon was just setting. It would be a dark night.
The wind started to increase again and Distant Horizon was sailing well. I could see lights on the horizon. Lots of lights spread across most of the horizon. It was a lot of fishing boats. I was approaching the Hudson Canyon. This was not going to be an easy, relaxing night.
As expected, I spent the majority of the night dodging fishing boats. I was moving between 4-6 knots. They were moving between 4-20 knots. Some of the captains were very helpful; telling me to stay on course, we would pass within a half mile of each other, but I would pass a half mile behind them. Others were grumpy old codgers.
One boat in particular did not communicate. It was coming from the south at 20 knots. We were on a collision course. I kept hailing them, but never got a response. I finally just turned and dumped all the wind out my sails and let them pass by. My best guess is the person on watch turned the volume on the radio down and fell asleep.
As dawn approached, I was well past the fishing fleet. The winds were light. The sky was hazy making the sunrise unremarkable.
We progressed with very light winds. I fought to keep the boat sailing; searching for the the right wind and sail combination that would allow me to go below and get some rest. This was good. It gave me plenty of opportunities to try sail combinations, I would not normally use. Distant Horizon was moving between 3-4 knots in very light conditions. I was happy, but busier than I wanted to be. Honestly, I wanted to be asleep.
Late-afternoon the wind had picked up slightly. Distant Horizon had her typical sails (mainsail, jib, and staysail) up and she was doing over 4 knots again. Time to get some rest!
I was woken suddenly as the boat rolled violently. I was nearly tossed out of my berth! I thought a big ship had gone past us, but none of the alarms went off.
The rolling did not stop. It was so bad that as I climbed the companionway steps to the cockpit, I had to go one step at a time. After each step, securing my hands and wait for that brief moment when everything stops, before the rolling motion reverses its direction. Then, I would take the next step.
I had a safety tether to put on before going out into the cockpit. Even with the tether, I could not stand. So, I crawled out to the cockpit. Then, I sat and slid myself around to the helm.
Thankfully, the sun was still up. I could see the huge swell coming from the south. I wasn't at the time, and still not sure why it suddenly started, but this swell was big enough to block out the horizon as I sat in the cockpit.
I tried putting the mainsail up. That decreased the rolling by a significant amount, but the mainsail was really taking a beating as it violently snapped from one side to other, synchronously with the rolling motion.
I remember when talking with Pete, the circumnavigator I met in Waterford, that he used his storm jib. So, I dropped the mainsail; went below to get the storm jib; went forward to the bow to hank on that sail. It did help reduce the rolling quite a bit, but there was still a lot of rolling going on. The storm jib is so small, that when it is sheeted tight, it barely flaps at all.
The rolling continued into the night. The wind started to pick up. At six knots of wind, I was able to get Distant Horizon sailing. At first, she would start to move, but the rolling would knock the wind out of the sails. Each time this happened, the she would retain a little speed gained. Gradually building enough power to overcome the rolling. It was a slow process of building enough speed to keep the wind in the sails.
Once we were sailing again, the rolling didn't seem that bad. I went back below to get a short nap, since there were no other boats around. I got a glass of water to keep hydrated. It was brown! Dark Brown! I had cleaned the tanks last fall, and again before we departed Baldwinsville. I had no idea what would cause this. So, I switched over to the other tank. I ran the faucet for a minute and it cleared up. To be safe, I ran it a little longer before giving it a taste. It seemed okay.
I had barely started the trip, if I was to continue, and I was already down to 50% of my water supply. A quick calculation showed that was enough water to get me to Ireland in 4 weeks. However, I was traveling 40-50 miles a day. Distant Horizon should be doing 120-130 miles a day. I had no idea how long these light winds would last. I didn't know if there was something in the water that would eventually turn the currently good tank, bad.
It was around 10pm. The winds died to nothing again. I was forced once more to take all the sails down. I decided, the shakedown was over. Everything was not just right to continue across the Atlantic. So, it was time to turn around. I had a full fuel tank, but was that enough to get me back? I decided it was, if the winds would come back from time-to-time as they have been. I switched the engine on and held my breath, as I put the transmission in forward gear. We were moving!
 |
| 4th of July sunrise |
It took 30 hours to motor back. The winds never did return. Motoring in no wind conditions, means no sleep. I had to hand-steer all the way back.
I brought the boat to Atlantic Highlands and got a mooring. Tomorrow, I will start the necessary repairs. For now, it was time to get some solid sleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment