Out... and back again (part 4)

Out... and back again (Part 1)
Out... and back again (Part 2)
Out... and back again (Part 3)


The wind is 14-16 knots out of the south. We're sailing with all sails up on a beam reach.  A beam reach means the wind is coming from the side; 90 degrees to the boat. We are headed due west towards the entrance of the Chesapeake Bay.

There are small waves coming from the port quarter (behind, but slightly on the left rear corner). There is very little rolling. The waves gently lift the stern; the boat surges ahead; and then the boat is  set back down gently as the wave passed ahead.

We are doing 6 knots. There is no stress on the rigging. The boat barely heals over.

I am racing Mother Nature to the entrance of the Chesapeake Bay. My bout with seasickness is over. I easily cooked a meal down below, and even ate at the nav station while checking the weather reports.

I am barely able to move my left shoulder. The arm is weak and my fingertips numb. I could not lift or even hold onto a can of soup with my left hand. I always say I am sailing solo. Another common term for this is sailing single-handed. Well, I am discovering a whole new meaning for single-handed sailing.

To cope with this, I am taking Aleve for the pain. When that is not enough, I have a non-opioid pain killer I received when I was in Poland. It is a wonderful pain medication that does not numb the senses, or make me loopy or light headed, which is especially nice... considering I have just recovered from my first bout of seasickness in my life!

With the wind from the south, I was able to sail due west; making the best possible time. I had the feeling that Mother Nature was cooperating for the first time on this trip. The progress Distant Horizon was making would continue for the next three hours.

Then, the wind dropped slightly. So, the engine was started and I motorsail to keep the speed above 5 knots. The change in the relative wind angle would move slightly forward, which was actually better when using all three sails!

Motorsailing,  I could take frequent power naps. Distant Horizon was being steered by the windvane.

While the winds were from the south, I could sail directly towards the Chesapeake. The weather forecast said the winds would change from south to southwest, then northwest when the cold-front came. Expecting southwest winds later in the day, the best approach to the Chesapeake would be from the southeast. 

The winds and waves remained in my favour. Sometimes the wind picked up and I would turn the motor off. When it lessened and the boat slowed, I would turn it back on. This continued all day. It was so calm an peaceful, I tried to fy the drone to take a few areal photos of the boat... It's proximity sensors would not allow it to take off... new problem to solve! If I was nimble, I could swing the boom out of the way and launch the drone from the outside the cockpit. I won't try that right now.

It is 7:45 pm. The moon is rising in the east. The sailing is going real well.

Full moon rising

I've been lucky to have a full moon for the few days I was at sea. It never gets really dark when there is a full moon.

Full moon

The winds were shifting to the southwest. I am turning north towards the Chesapeake Bay. It will take about two hours to reach Cape Henry. That is where I will turn west again. Now, I am paralleling the shipping lanes.

Sunset over Virginia Beach

This is pretty much the view I had for the next couple hours. I communicated with two ships along the route.

Finally, I saw the Cape Henry light shining in the distance. I only had a brief moment to see the lighthouse. The winds were perfect for sailing, but a long thin line of black cloud was moving towards me. In no time at all it was upon us.

The instant that thin cloud reached Distant Horizon, the winds went from 12 knots to 37 knots... like mother nature had just flipped a switch. I was an hour ahead of the planned time, but so was the squall line.

To keep Distant Horizon away from the shallow waters around Cape Henry, we had to go a little farther north before making the turn west . The wind was from the northwest. We was close hauled... sailing as close to the wind as possible. I was sailing at 1.8 knots. I could do this for two hours and then turn up the river. It would all be good.

The waves were building. Distant Horizon's bow would rise so all I could see was sky. I had to remain standing to have full sight of the surroundings: channel markers, Cape Henry lighthouse, ships, pilot boats. A lot was going on and I was right in the middle of it all... the worst place possible!

I held on tight so I wasn't tossed backwards. When the bow came back down, I would have to duck down, so the spray from the waves would go over my head. That worked well most of the time. Once in a while I would get a face full of salt water... wiping salt water off my glasses wasn't easy and it just made seeing that much more difficult.

I furled the jib. I tried again. With so much wind, I could make no progress in the direction I wanted to go. I can head east at 7 knots or even faster if I head south.

I fought hard for three hours. In that time I actually lost ground!

I couldn't stay here! It's not safe. So, I headed south east... back to sea where I would be safe. I set the boat to sail as slow as possible. I would try again in the morning.

When I woke, the winds had not subsided. I tried to make headway, but was unsuccessful... I made breakfast instead.

Afterwards, I took my one good hand and and lots of time to prepare all sails for the best possible configuration for these conditions. I set another reef in the mainsail. The heavy weather staysail has been up the whole time; it was perfect for these conditions. The jib was unfurled about 75%.

The engine was started. I wouldn't need the engine to make progress. It was just idling in neutral. Last night, when the bow rose high towards the sky, the wind would push the bow over to one side. If the sails were back winded, I would have to do a full circle to get sailing again; a jibe for you sailors. I determined that was where I lost all headway. So, my intent is to use the engine to tack back on course if that was to happen again. If I'm right, I won't lose ground.

The winds are great for sailing, and sailing fast! The problems is, I want to go exactly where the winds are coming from, which is not possible in a sailboat without tacking... I have land one mile to my west, and a busy shipping lane even closer on my right. With one hand, I can't do all the necessary tacking... So, I plan to pinch... go slow, as close to the wind as the boat is capable of doing and tack as few times as possible.

I headed towards shore... hoping the trees and low hills would block a little bit of the wind, or the waves. I can make progress against one or the other... not both.

Another sunset... another day... I am about 5 miles closer to Hampton today, than I was at this time yesterday. I can see the Cape Henry light shining... I need to take Distant Horizon north for another hour. Then, I'm heading west with the wind on the beam.

It was a joyous moment when I actually passed the Cape Henry light and was officially in the Chesapeake Bay. Sailing was not easy. The winds were brutal... not so much in strength, but in combination of direction and the waves the wind created. Still, the boat was configured perfectly! I didn't have to make any changes to the sails. I just tacked as needed, which was not that often.  A slight wind change gave me a decent angle... still pinching, but making better progress.

The angle of the wind was not the idealistic beam reach I had hoped for after passing Cape Henry. We was still close hauled (pinching), just on the other tack. Distant Horizon was doing about 2.5 knots... I was happy. We were going in the right direction!

Everything went well all night long. The four hour trip from Cape Henry to Hampton took about six hours. So, not real bad. It was slow, but not physically challenging. The greatest challenge was staying awake. The wind had died... completely. So, I was motoring. The windvane can't steer in these conditions. I am standing at the helm. Still progress was slow. I was fighting the current of the James River enhanced by the tidal current. The wind wasn't against us anymore, but the water wasn't going to give up that easily.

Thankfully, a couple cargo ships could see Distant Horizon on their chartplotters due to my AIS transponder. They called well in advance; asking my intentions; commenting on my slow progress; and telling me their intentions before requesting I move outside the channel. The conversations were brief and to the point, but they helped me gather my senses and stay awake until they passed and disappeared ahead.

Of course, watching them helped find the channel. I was at a point where the channel markers blended with the lights on land.

As I passed Fort Monroe, the eastern sky started to lighten. An hour later, I was safely pulled Distant Horizon in the slip. She was tucked safely into the same slip she departed just four days earlier.

Time to sleep...

Out... and back again (part 3)

Out... and back again (Part 1)
Out... and back again (Part 2)


It is 11:00 pm, Friday, April 27, 2018. The sun set hours ago. Still, it was not dark. Just like the night before, a thin layer of high altitude clouds covered the sky, but the moon and a few bright stars could shine through. The horizon is obscured by a thin layer of fog.  To the west, the fog had an eerie golden glow from the Virginia Beach light pollution 90 miles away.


There were still some big rollers coming from behind us. They lift the back of the boat and gently set the boat back down as they pass underneath her. Small wavelets covered these rollers. The moon was glistening off the top of the wavelets, reminding me of a science fantasy movie. Maybe it was the seasickness blurring my vision, but it looked like we were being followed by a group of fairies.

I was headed back to Hampton to have my shoulder looked at. Two years ago, I had an impact injury to the Rotator Cuff. There was no damage, just a lot of swelling. After 18 months of re-hab, the shoulder was 90%. I reasoned to myself that this would be similar. In which case, I could depart once again in 4-6 weeks; continuing the stretching and strengthening exercises onboard. After all, the therapist went to the trouble to teach me how to do all this using what was available to me on the boat. Instead of 2lb weights... use a large 16oz can of soup, etc.

About nine months ago, I set out onto the ocean and decided to turn around, I was bombarded with questions on the SAT phone. So this time, I sent a quick message to facebook to alleviate this. Well, "Trip is over due to injury", was too brief. I'm going to blame the seasickness... Looking down at that screen on the small SAT phone device to write a text message was torture!

The winds picked up a for a short while around midnight.  It was good sailing... a stiff breeze to move the boat quickly through the water. The waves were going with me, not against me.  So we were surfing!

The fun didn't last too long... just over an hour. Then, the wind suddenly stopped. I was surrounded by fog. Visibility was just under one mile. I turned the deck lights on. This was a good time to get a couple hours of sleep. The deck lights will glow brightly in the fog; making the boat visible from a long range.

I woke again at 5am. The fog was going away. After the long period of calm, the water was relatively flat, only a little ripple appeared on the water. It won't be long before we can get sailing again.

After having breakfast, I noticed the flashing green light on the SAT phone. I had a message. Pat, a good friend sent me a message telling me to provide more details, a lot of people were concerned. So, I sent another message to facebook. This time providing a little more detail and trying to be clear that I was okay.

About 8am, the winds picked up to 8 knots. Going with the small waves, it was enough for Distant Horizon to sail steadily at about 4 knots.

For the first time in the trip, a pod of dolphins came to visit the boat. No pictures. I just reveled in watching them play with the bow wake. They didn't stay long before leaving, except for one. This last remaining dolphin seemed to be having a good time and wasn't ready to go back to ... whatever they were doing before my arrival.

The winds died down again around 10am. I went below to check on the fuel level. To keep moving, I would have to  motorsail some more. I had already done a lot more than I wanted on this trip. I was astonished that I still had 3/4 of a tank. So, I didn't hesitate to start the engine once again.

The winds finally picked up a little around 2pm. The water was relatively flat from the long calm. I kept motor sailing for the increased speed. A cold front was approaching, and I had a chance of beating it to the entrance of the Chesapeake.

Atlantic Sunset

Just before sunset, the winds increased enough for me to turn the engine off and continue sailing over 5 knots.

It would be a race from this point forward. A cold front would bring fast, northwest winds. Winds that I could not go against when entering the Chesapeake. Once I make the turn, get on the north side of the channel, and pass Cape Henry, there will be a good enough angle to the wind to sail against the cold front.

The sky was clear. There were only small waves, and they were traveling in the same direction as I was. I would do whatever it takes to stay above 5 knots. If I can do this, I should be beat the front by an hour and be safely past the Bay Tunnel Bridge before it arrives.

Out... and back again (part 2)

Out... and back again (Part 1)


Overnight, the winds picked up... not severely, but just enough to enliven the sail.

I was awake all day yesterday. There was too much shipping traffic when departing the Chesapeake to ever let my guard down and take a nap. I am still relatively close to the Chesapeake. So, I will stand watch all night. Good thing too. There are plenty of ships within sight.

I had planned for this. I knew the first 30-40 hours would be sleepless due to shipping traffic. I took lots of naps before departing, and would be able to get more once I am far enough away from the primary shipping lanes. So, I was still well rested. The excitement of sailing also took away any thoughts of needing rest.

The horizon is just 8 miles away. When a ship is traveling at 24 knots, they are less than 20 minutes from us. One ship came withing 1.75 miles of Distant Horizon. Of course, they saw us on radar and also their AIS Chart Plotter. They called on the radio and asked what my intentions were. It's a silly sounding question, but they were really wondering if I was planning on tacking... In doing so, we would suddenly cut in front of them. I assured them I was going to maintain my present course and speed... as the wind allowed.

I was not steering the boat. The windvane was doing all the hard work. It is powered by the wind. So, it does not use up the batteries, and it never gets tired. Once I set it on course, it will maintain that angle to the wind. All I have to do is ensure the wind direction hasn't changed. If the wind direction does change, the boat's course will change accordingly and I will adjust the windvane to get back on the desired course.

The wind was 12.5 to 16 knots... just what the forecast had said! The boat was sailing well. Although I was doing just a little under 5 knots because I was trying to get more east. I could sail faster if I headed northeast, but that would bring me closer to worst weather. So, I was happy with the progress being made.

The sun had just set. I patiently waited with my camera to capture the event, but clouds to the west obscured any potential for a spectacular event. There was a full moon shining through a thin layer of high-level clouds. The clouds were thin enough to allow some of the brighter stars to shine through. So, it never got really dark at night. It was peaceful with the moonlight glimmering off the waves, and the sound of the water gurgling as it flowed gently along the hull.

At 4am, there was a series of bright flashes on the horizon to the east... lightning. I was sailing directly towards it. Based on the wind direction, I could tack and go due south. That would bring me closer to the shipping lanes. Besides, there were more flashes in that direction too. Looking overhead, the moon and a few stars were still shining through a thin layer of high altitude clouds. I was in a nice place!

I maintained my present course. I calculated the True Wind Direction. This would tell me which way those thunderstorms were traveling. I had no idea how far away they were since they were over the horizon. I estimated the storms to the south would eventually dissipate, or pass in front of Distant Horizon. So, they were not a concern.

For over an hour I watched the lightning ahead of me. It was not moving. In an hour's time, that meant I was heading straight for it.

So, I slowed the boat down a little. Typically, these storms fade away as dawn approaches.

After a while, I saw a ship on the horizon: Sealand Illinois. I hailed them on the radio and asked about the thunderstorm. He said there was none. He was in clear skies. After a short talk, he knew what storm I was talking about. He was surprised I could even see it. It was over the horizon for him. At his height above sea level, that put the storm over 25 miles away. In two hours I would reach his position, it would take another five to reach the area where the thunderstorms were. They were not a factor at all.

Throughout the morning, the sailing was very good... a little slow... but we were sailing east!

Light winds, calm ocean

As the sun rose, the thin layer of clouds started to dissipate. The winds started to go away with the clouds. In the photo above, you can see there is just a light ripple on the water. Distant Horizon and I kept ghosting along.

By noon the rollers were noticeably bigger. As each one approached Distant Horizon, she would roll ever so slightly, but enough to knock the light wind out of her sails. Then the sails would fill again from the gentle breeze that remained... Distant Horizon would accelerate... and another roller would come by... again, knocking the wind out of her sails.

This continued for a couple more hours. I went down below... at first,  checking weather... hoping for some more wind and then, taking a nap.

It was 2pm when I was suddenly woken up from my nap by the loud noise of the boom banging. The boom was centered. So, there was no risk of damage, but I went up to the cockpit to see what happened. My definition of a large or big wave is: One you have to look up to. These were HUGE waves. I went and stood on the cabin top and was still looking up to the waves. I could not see a horizon until the boat reached the top of one of these monsters. I was clearly in the Gulf Stream now!

Without wind, the boat could not power through these. So, I created a little more wind. I started the engine and began to motorsail once again. There was not enough wind for the wind vane to steer effectively. So, I manned the helm for a while.

I hadn't eaten since sometime in the very early morning. I was getting a funny headache; above and behind my eyes. I had been hydrating. I decided to let the windvane do the best it could while I went below to make lunch.

Standing and then sitting in the galley trying to make lunch was not an easy task in these seas. The boat would pitch up to go over a wave; pitch down as it crested the top  and began its short journey down the wave. The boat would roll from side to side. When it rolled to starboard (right), I would have to hold on; making sure the food I was preparing was secure and about to slide off the counter. When the boat rolled to port (left), I would brace my back against the companionway stairs. The food could only slide as far as the cabinet on the other side of the counter. To add to the confusion, a small hammock filled with fresh fruits and vegetables was swinging wildly as the boat bitched and rolled.

It didn't take long for me to learn what seasickness was. I had never been seasick in my life. I was about to discover that there was a flaw in my plan. I was completely unprepared for this. I had no Dramamine, no wrist bracelets, no saltine crackers. I always carried these when Linda was onboard.

The latest weather report I received said I would be in 4-7 knot winds for a few more hours before they changed to 15-20 knots about 8pm tonight.

The windvane was holding a reasonable course. So, I laid down. I knew I would have to change sails before dark to be ready for the increased wind. But now... I needed to be horizontal. After a while, I tried to steer the boat. Supposedly, seasickness can be alleviated by keeping busy... that didn't help me. I think, because I could never see more than a quick glimpse of the horizon while seated at the helm.

About 5 hours had passed. In that time, I cycled through intervals of running up to the cockpit to empty the contents of my stomach; taking a quick look around; and crawling back into the berth below. It was 6pm. Still light winds. There was no more waiting. I knew I had to set a reef in the mainsail. Although, I would rather just stay in the berth.

I grabbed my gear and threw it into the cockpit. I could not tolerate being in the cabin. I put my foul weather suit on to stay dry from the spray. My life preserver went over that. I also wore my neoprene winter kayak mittens, which folded back to allow my fingers freedom to access lines. I wore my winter hat to keep my head warm and dry. Instead of my boat shoes, I wore my hiking books. They are waterproof; have a non-marring sole; and provide great traction on the teak decks. I attached a safety tether to the rings on my life preserver. I clipped the other end of the tether to a jack line... a flat piece of strapping that I ran the length of the boat so I am always strapped in and tied to the boat when I leave the cockpit.

To change a mainsail (raise, lower, or set a reef) you typically turn into the wind. At sea, this is not practical. There was not enough wind to hove-to. So, I kept the boat on it's current course. I swung the boom way out over the port side (left) so the sail pointed into the wind. I rigged a preventer to keep the boom from swinging about.

With the boom no longer centered, the mainsail did not act as a dampener to the rolling motion. I had to get this done fast! Every time the boat rolled, I was holding on for all I was worth... which really wasn't much at this moment in time, with the seasickness and all.

I cautiously walked along the starboard (right) side deck; keeping my center of gravity very low.  To set a reef, I have to stand on the cabin top at the mast. As the boat pitched, I placed one foot up onto the cabin top. My eyes were focused on the mast where my hands were going. As the boat pitched down, I went to step up to the cabin top, but I couldn't. My first foot had stepped on the safety tether and stopped my movement. I noticed this just as the boat was pitching up again. With all my weight on one foot, unable to reach my hand-hold, frozen in space because I was standing on the tether... I fell forward. My shoulder landed squarely on the grab rail; a wooden hand-hold that runs the length of the cabin top.

I know I screamed in pain as I tucked myself along the shrouds on the sidedeck. I was safe here. The boat rolled to starboard. Water came rushing down the deck. I pulled the tether away from my feet. I got up quickly. When the boat rolled to port, I used that momentum to help me move to the mast. In no time, the reef was set.

When I got back to the cockpit, my arm was numb. I thought I just had a stinger. So, I waited for the pain to subside.

As I waited... I calculated my time to Bermuda. I could divert there and have the arm checked out... 5 days with the weather I have been having... and only if I motor sailed the whole time when the winds eased. It's doubtful that I had that much fuel.

By 8pm there was no sign of fresh winds and no indication of the pain subsiding. I decided to turn around. It would be two days back to Hampton.

The winds finally picked up around midnight. Thankfully, I had set the reef. It was easy to unfurl the jib with one hand. The staysail is a heavy weather sail. So, it just stayed up the whole time. Now I was sailing with all sails... back to where I came from to have my shoulder looked at.

Out... and back again (part 1)

I have waited nearly a lifetime for this trip. More recently,... I waited patiently since December to start this trip... for this particular opportunity... at this particular time.

The trip is a voyage on a grand scale; sailing across the Atlantic Ocean... solo... in my small boat.

It didn't start out that way. Originally, I was to sail across the Atlantic Ocean with my uncle, Edward, from Glasgow, Scotland. I was twelve years old. We were going to sail across to fulfill Uncle Edward's dream of a transatlantic voyage. We were going to sail across in his boat, the Rosalie.

We never made that trip.

As a young man, I have gone back to Scotland several times to see Uncle Edward. He passed away 20 years ago. His dream became my dream... to sail my boat across the Atlantic Ocean. My voyage is in honor, respect and in memorial to Uncle Edward and all he taught me.

For the past several months, weather has been the dominant factor in my life. I keep referring to a "good weather window". What I have been looking for is three consecutive days of good sailing weather. Three days should get me across the gulf stream and into tropical weather. This can not be followed by a cold front. Cold fronts move fast and bring strong gusty conditions. So, the fast moving front could over-run my weather window... making it smaller, or taking it away completely. I don't want this to happen during my first couple days at sea.

Good weather windows have come and gone since December. For one reason or another, those were missed. Not this one! The boat is ready. I am ready.

It is Wednesday, April 25, 2018. I just sit and watch the weather to determine a departure time. I could leave now. The thunderstorms have passed, the weather is beautiful. However, the tide is flooding and the waves offshore are still 13.5 feet! So, I decided to wait until the morning and depart early.

There is a slight chill in the air. So, under my light Under Armour zip-offs, I am wearing  base 1 thermal long-johns to keep the chill out. My upper body has the matching thermal top and a micro fleece kayak shirt over that. I like to layer. So, those layers are covered by my warm ocean Foul Weather Suit with its fleece collar completely covering my neck and over my chin. I'm wearing a winter hat to keep my head warm.

I untie the dock lines and gently slip Distant Horizon out away from the dock; where she has been protected from all kinds of harsh weather.  The sky is covered with low-hanging clouds left over from yesterday's thunderstorms  The humidity is high; adding to the chill in the air. There is a golden hew to the west. It is 6:55am.

We quietly slide down the creek to the Hampton River and out the channel. Once we reach the James River we turn to port (left), into the main shipping channel and head towards the ocean.

Entering the main Shipping channel in Hampton, VA

Fort Monroe would pass by on the port-side (left) soon after entering the main shipping channel.

Fort Monroe Lighthouse

I was not the only one departing this morning. Another cruising boat passed me. I hailed (called) them on the radio. They were headed up the Chesapeake to Deltaville. After a brief chat, we wished each other a safe journey and continued on our separate ways.

Another boat departing. They were headed up the Chesapeake.

You can see in the photos above, the winds were so light, there was barely a ripple on the water. I could simply motor with the sails down like the boat in the photo. However, I prefer to motorsail. That is, I keep the mainsail raised as I motor along. The airflow from the boat's movement combines with the small amount of breeze; making a stronger breeze that will allow the sail to work slightly. It depends on how much wind there is and from what direction, but on this day it added about 0.5 knot to the boats movement when using the motor.

Another advantage of motorsailing is, that raised main sail acts as a dampener for any rolling motion; reducing the effect considerably.

By 10am, I had reached the Bay Tunnel Bridge... still moving slowly with just a little wind.

The Chesapeake Bay Tunnel Bridge

There are two channels, which is why you have to go through two tunnels when driving across. The channel I followed from Hampton Roads, and the Chesapeake channel that all ships heading up the Chesapeake Bay towards Baltimore utilize. These two channels join together on the ocean-side of the Bay Tunnel Bridge. Shipping traffic increased significantly once I passed this point.

Here, a naval ship following me to the ocean is passing an ocean freighter heading for the Chesapeake.

Two ships passing... except it's daytime

This fishing boat was actively fishing just outside the channel. He called me up on the radio and arranged to pass on my starboard side. This is a courtesy and a matter of safety to agree and confirm how we pass each other. That way, he knows I will not tack or somehow move in front of him.

Fishing Boat Poseidon

Cape Henry is the southern demarcation for the Chesapeake Bay. Once passed this point, I will be on the Atlantic Ocean.

Cape Henry is easily recognized by its two lighthouses. These are actually located on the grounds of Fort Story, an active military base. At most times, you can be granted permission to drive to the lighthouses on the base for the purpose of visiting the lighthouses. Linda, Grace, and I did that several years ago.

Cape Henry Lighthouses

I reached Cape Henry about 11am. You can see in the photo above, the sky has cleared considerably since my departure from Hampton just several hours ago. There are even small wavelets on the water. Still, there was not enough wind to sail. I continued to motorsail for several more hours.

There was a lot of Military Shipping activity. While heading out onto the Ocean, I stay out of the shipping lanes. On this day, I had to slalom through naval ships for a couple of hours. This ship was doing a maneuver that made me think they were calibrating navigation equipment. I had to stay one nautical mile away at all times. It sounds far, but this photo was taken at about 1.25 miles.

Naval ship performing maneuvers

This aircraft carrier was repeatedly announcing its arrival to the Chesapeake, along with a warning that it had a safety barrier of 500 yards, and no boat was allowed to pass in front of its bow under any circumstances.

Aircraft carrier

All in all, it made the day pass rather quickly. Once past the naval ships, there was very little to do. The wind forecasts were overestimated. So, I had much less wind than anticipated all day.

It was 8pm before I had enough wind to sail the boat without the motor. I could have turned the motor off sooner, but I wanted to put more distance between me and the shipping lanes that converge at the Chesapeake Bay entrance.

The sails were all set for the night. They were set and ready just in case the weather deteriorate overnight. I would not have to quickly scramble about to change the sail configuration in the dark. Setting up the boat this way kept it moving at a slower pace. I felt it was safer, and was not concerned about time.

I was happy. I was sailing! I could relax and enjoy the quiet gentle rush of water against the hull. The cool light breeze in my face kept me exhilarated. My layers of clothing kept me warm. It would stay like this through the night.

I was hoping for more wind the next day.

Departing Hampton?

At this point in time, with all the delays that have occurred, it seems completely unreasonable that I will actually be departing Hampton, Virginia and heading towards the ocean to start my transatlantic journey. Still, that is exactly what will be happening within the next 24 hours.

A gale is forecasted for early this week. Once that passes, there is a nice three-day weather window to get me safely across the Gulf Stream.

The gale came and passed. A bit slower than expected, but it all happened. I originally thought I could depart on Wednesday morning. However, the gale was still offshore. The winds were subsiding, but the waves were reported as 7-13' by the NOAA Weather Buoy 45 miles out.

I continuously check the weather models, weather reports, local forecasts, and weather buoys. I try to correlate all the data to determine how accurate the models are. The GFS model was right on. This was good news since that is the model I trust most near the Continental US.

The local forecasts were calling for thunderstorms in the early evening.

Here is Distant Horizon safely tied to a dock. There is no reason to go out ahead of a thunderstorm! ... or two, as it turned out to be.

The red thing sticking up at the stern (back of the boat), is the windvane. This will be used for steering the boat, so I don't have to be at the helm all the time. Just below that, and actually closer to you, is the new life raft; mounted and ready to never be used! You can also see the wind generator, since it now mounted, tested and ready to charge my batteries whenever the solar panels have insufficient light... like at night.

In the background, you can see the approaching thunderstorm. Sorry, no lightning shots.

I took this photo on my way to the shower. It would be my last hot shower for nearly a month!

Depending on winds and tide, I can depart this evening, or early tomorrow morning. Yes! The tide is a factor on my departure. Once I reach the Hampton Roads, the current will be around two knots. If the tide is flowing (coming in) and I am going out... I will make about 3 knots of progress, since the boat motors around 5 knots. Turn that around for an ebbing tide (outgoing) and I will make close to seven knots; actually slower because I compromise between working the engine less and going faster.

If all goes well, I will write my next update from Sao Miguel; one of the islands in the Azores!

A stay in Hampton, Virginia

When I first arrived to the Norfolk area, I wasn't sure where to go. I had never been here before. It was dark; about an hour after sunset. There were all kinds of lights obscuring the navigational lights. I was tired. I had just sailed 26 hours from Annapolis, Maryland; mostly in a gale. A gale is defined as winds greater than 34 knots up to and including 47 knots.

With the gale blowing all day, and being a late arrival, most of the listed anchorages were already filled. So, I picked an out of the way spot to anchor for the night.

In the morning, I motored over to Old Point Comfort Marina to top off the fuel tanks before heading out onto the ocean. As I headed out, the boat seemed to struggle with the current. I had the mainsail up, but the wind was coming straight at me (on the nose). So, I increased the power of the engine. In a short while, the engine would surge and then slow down repeatedly. That's when I realized it wasn't the current slowing the boat.

I had just had the transmission fixed in Annapolis. It was supposed to take one month; done by mid-September. It was late November, now. ...and the transmission still was not working properly!

I went back to Old Point Comfort Marina and docked the boat. I had to rent a car and drive four hours to Annapolis the next day. I met with the owner of the shop that fixed(?) the transmission. He called the transmission shop that did the actual transmission work. They agreed to pay for a mechanic to come to the boat and diagnose the problem.

It would take me a few days to find a mechanic. Then, I would have to get on their schedule. It could be another week, maybe longer, before they even knew what the problems was... let alone fix it! My experiences having work done in Annapolis have always been consistently sub-standard and excessively slow! I have had it with the mechanics working on my boat. I said I would diagnose the problem.

After another four hour drive back to the boat, I had the problem fixed in 20 minutes. Did I mention Annapolis workers do sub-standard work? The cooling line from the transmission to the heat exchanger was not connected!

I lost my narrow weather window for Bermuda and would have to wait for another safe opportunity.

While walking back to the boat, I discovered an issue with the rigging. On the deck of the boat, I could not see the issue. I had to be about 100' away to see it! The transmission problem was a blessing in disguise. Had I gone out on the ocean as planned, it would be unlikely that I would have made it to Bermuda without losing my mast, and probably a lot more if it was rough conditions.

I called a rigger to look at the problem. He agreed immediately and arranged for me to move my boat to the boatyard where he works. A slip would be available at the end of the week.

At the shower house, I noticed a flyer for a coffee shop; Firehouse Coffee. So, I walked over there to check it out. I was given the history of Fort Monroe and directed to the History Museum, which was very interesting! I also met the director of the Fort Monroe Association. He arranged for me to have a free Y membership for the duration of my stay! I took a walk around the fort that afternoon. From the ramparts, I could see the lighthouse and took a picture. The lighting was not great. I planned to return the next morning. This is the resultant photo.

Fort Monroe Lighthouse

I moved my boat to the Sunset Boating Center. Unlike Annapolis, the work was accomplished four days later. I mentioned this to a few guys I was having coffee with one morning. One old salt leans over and asked, "Do you know why that is?" I admitted that I didn't.

He smiles and says, "Annapolis is in Maryland. This is Virginia. We have a work ethic here." He went on to explained that Annapolis is full of Yachties, and mega yachts... all people who can wait if need be. In Hampton, it is mostly work boats. People make a living with their boats and need them fixed reliably and quickly as possible.

I am still waiting for a good weather window. It is mid-December. There have been a string of gales following the Gulf Stream. The six days to Bermuda would be two days of gale, followed by two good days, and then two more days of gale. I'm looking for the ration to turn in my favour.

I walked into the downtown area last night. They have a carousel decorated for Christmas.

Hampton, Virginia's Carousel

The new refrigeration unit I installed in Annapolis has failed. It is under warranty. I am waiting for a part to arrive from the factory. Last week, the part arrived... it was bad! I sit. I wait. Another good weather window passes by.

I'm searching the nearly cloudless sky for the silver lining as I sit on deck. I have now properly forecasted two excellent weather windows that came to fruition. I am happy about that! It gives me more confidence is my long-term forecasting abilities.