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...