October 1, 2007

As I write we are tacking down Cape Cod Bay towards the Cape Cod Canal. Marlene and Charlie H., our friend and neighbor in Maine, are sailing. Charlie signed on for the first leg of the journey south, from Teel Cove to Cape May, NJ. He’s a long-term dinghy sailor and now sails his S2 7.3 from a mooring in Teel Cove. She’s named Harbor Huey, explained by his retiring a couple of years ago from a life-long career and passion for piloting helicopters in Vietnam, the New Jersey State Police and companies.

We departed Teel Cove on Thursday, September 27 intending to do a passage to Provincetown, MA or to Sandwich, MA just off the entrance to the canal. The weather was iffy, not in terms of serious storms, but light and variable winds tending to southwesterly and a chance of a thunderstorm which usually have their energy sucked right out of them by the frigid Maine waters. We were eager to leave behind the chores of pulling the float and closing down the shore cabin for the winter, and the forecast called for a high pressure to move in for Friday with favorable northwesterly winds.

An hour later, lightening was striking not too far away, and we were in a deluge. Someone had to watch the radar which is located in the cabin which was warm and dry. I volunteered for the highly skilled task of watching for blips. Marlene and Charlie piloted the boat, and Marlene noted wryly that at least her and Charlie’s foul weather gear was washed with fresh water.

The rain ended, light wind was on our nose and we chose plan two, to go to the harbor at Cape Newagan at the southern tip of Southport Island and spend the night there. We made only 22 miles the first day, but it proved to be a good plan as it blew and rained in the night. An extra high tied brought the ocean swell over the ledges protecting the tiny harbor. We rocked so much that you couldn’t sleep on your side without rolling over.

September 28th brought thick fog. We hung around until 10:45, again intending to reach Sandwich, then motored a couple of hours in fog, dodging lobster boats with the help of radar. The fog lifted suddenly, the wind picked up, and we sailed on course in light winds until they died about 4:00. We started the motor and an hour later it sputtered and quit.

It seemed to be gasping for fuel, so Charlie and I on our bellies on the cabin sole changed the primary fuel filter, tried the engine, no go, changed the secondary filter, tried the engine, no go, discovered the fuel lift pump bracket was missing a bolt, its wire was pulled loose, attached the wire, no go, and knew at that point it’s a good thing this is a sail boat. We’d been sailing for two hours as we fussed with the engine with Marlene somehow keeping us on course in zephyrs of wind in a heaving swell at about a knot speed. It was also getting dark.

Time for plan three. We jettisoned going to Cape Cod. We don’t know boat yards there, and too few harbor options means too few mechanics, so altered course to the west towards the point where the harbors of Gloucester, Marblehead, Salem and Manchester by the Sea converge sixty miles away as centers for sailing and fishing and lots of diesel engines.

Why in the world do we do this? You may ask…

That night we stood three hour watches. The winds varied, but were steady and strong except for about two and half hours. Surely we felt disappointment that we weren’t making our course and that we were off to fits and starts rather than passage making and that we were losing the chance to rendezvous again with Steffi and Charlie P. at their place in Mattapoisett over the weekend. But disappointment was eased by the transformative experience of a night at sea.

We were lifted on our course by the promised cold front moving east to west with increasing winds throughout the night, up to 16 knots carrying us along with reefed main and jib, close hauled at 6.4 up to 7 knots. About 4:00 AM the red light of Cape Ann Light House came over the horizon. A bright planet emerged. Lightening flashed well behind us from the passing front, the moon again broke from clouds and Journey charged through the night with reefed main and jib. The moon lit the sea and the boat like sailing in dusk, but a silver dusk. That night became a big reason to do this.

Marlene showed her usual great foresight a few weeks ago when she thought that it would be wise to buy coverage for unlimited towing for the next year from the U.S. Boat service. Off Cape Ann a cell phone call to the 800 number was patched to a sleepy Mike in Newburyport, who recommended we go into Gloucester to meet our need to get to a slip where we could plug in to AC to keep the refrigerator cold and more easily get a mechanic to the boat. He would meet us in Gloucester Harbor.

We made one tack to go north into Gloucester, no more than passed the breakwater than Mike in his tow boat came up behind us, passed us a yoke linked to a hawser, pulled us to Brown’s boat yard, came along side, lashed to the tow boat to Journey and eased us to a float, safe and sound at 7:30 Saturday morning.

Val runs the boatyard and referred us go a mechanic. We called Guy C’s home, told his wife our situation and he called back a few minutes later, promising to come to the boat Sunday morning.

The frustration of being dockside on a perfect day to sail our course was greatly eased by friends Judy and Bill S. driving to Gloucester from Boston and treated us to dinner: BBQ from Jim’s BBQ smoked a half block from the boat yard and consumed on the boat. It was emergency, morale building boat call if there ever was one.

Sunday brought Guy. He’s in his forties, has been a mechanic for 32 years, starting with his father and now running the business. It turned out to be a healing service. As Charlie noted, Guy laid his hands on our engine, which we now know has “special needs.” He not only fixed the immediate problem, he fixed a flaw brought on by previous mechanics messing around that led to the current problem. Guy could explain what was wrong and what he was doing. He’s a born teacher and we learned a lot.

We departed Gloucester about noon, had a beautiful sail to Scituate, MA on Cape Cod Bay, and spent last night on the mooring there.

Clearly another reason to do this is the intensity of sailing a small boat on a big ocean makes the value of Charlies, Mikes, Guys, Vals, Bills, Judys and Jims so immediate and present. Wonderful people always seem to be there when needed most.

October 4, 2007

Motoring on and on

We’re motoring off the coast of New Jersey expecting to be in Cape May by 11:00 or so tonight. If we were a coastal packet depending on making a schedule to deliver a profit to its owners, we’d be broke! Those glorious north westerlies spent themselves on our sail to Scituate on Sunday. On Monday, the wind moved southeasterly 5 to 10 knots. Remember how scratched LP records would repeat the same thing over and over again. That’s what has happened to the weather radio’s computer voice no mater what station along the coast, southeast 5 to 10. A high planted over Nova Scotia is pumping east southeast, producing a five foot swell – great - waves with no wind!

We have been doing nothing but motoring for the last three days with our special needs engine that is behaving quite well, except for an erratic oil pressure gage, and we are proud, for it is an “exceptional” engine and note at every chance we can the “good job” it is doing by starting and running. We motored through the Cape Cod Canal that had to be timed with the current and gives a sailor the thrill of seeing a stodgy cruising boat racing along at 10.5 knots speed over the ground. But it was a let down. I for one had been prompted by a Boston friend who likens sailing in Massachusetts and Buzzards Bay akin to the tropics compared to frigid Maine. I thought the Cape Cod Canal would be like opening the window to a summer breeze, but it was a raw day and night on the mooring at the Mattapoisett Boat Yard was cold!

When we fueled there the next morning they had been expecting us because Charlie P. had called. Thanks Charlie, we were treated well. We motored off bound for Cape May, NJ with a full tank and a five gallon jerry can on deck for the 260 mile, two night trip, hoping for those south easterlies to build. Nada, Nothing Nyet! Just south of Block Island, motoring, at 6:00 PM we made the decision to go into New Harbor on Block Island, spend the night and fuel up. It was our first night approach in fog, well piloted by Charlie using the cockpit – appropriately – GPS. I kind of think it was a piece of cake for Charlie. He’s done most of his instrument approaches at 160 knots rather than five. We caught the mooring and were greeted by a pair of swans and their cygnet who the parents were diligently teaching to beg. Swans are mute, but these guys made a funny kind of guttural sound. Marlene told them to stop pecking the side of the boat and they did.

We thought that it would be a good idea to have 10 gallons reserve so the next morning, I walked to the hardware store, bought a can, started to walk back, put my thumb out and a service van of some sort stopped. After thanking the fella for the ride I noted that it had been more than 40 years since I had hitchhiked. He said well that’s alright as when you get older you don’t want to walk so far. Thanks again!

We motored from Block Island mid-morning yesterday, October 3rd in southeast zip to 8 knots only once in a while, thick fog, and have been motoring for the last 36 hours straight with dense fog coming and going, each standing a three hour watch, tethered in, moving from cockpit to radar at that navigation system. The GPS says 5 hours and 39 minutes to go before another night approach, this time at long last into Cape May.

October 5, 2007

By golly we made it. Night pilot Charlie H. tutored us through a zero visibility, instrument approach on Journey, a.k.a. Cobra Gun Ship, through the Cape May, NJ inlet into the harbor, where prompted by the cruising guide recommendations for anchorages and the blurred images of anchored boats silhouetted by shore side sodium vapor lights, we too anchored off of the Coast Guard Station at about midnight, a little close to the channel but good enough. This was the second situation, Block Island being the first, that called for a wee dab of single malt scotch donated as a bon voyage present by Steve H. And now, the next day, we are comfortably on a slip, showered, with a cleaned boat and having bid a fond farewell to hearty crew member Charlie H. Many thanks friend.

Here’s another reason for why we do this – building on a theme from thoughts on Allen Island over a year ago – which is how voyaging instructs, even enforces a different way of living. Our friend Roland passed on to us a book from his library on his 17 foot cat boat Ibis that made the Intracoastal Waterway passage last spring. It’s The Inside Passage by Anthony Bailey written about 50 years ago of a trip on a slow moving motor boat. He writes: “In a sense, the whole thing (the voyage) was a kind of running down, a process in which the ticks of the clock were more widely spaced apart. In which – for that reason – each tick presumably might sound louder and larger than before.”

Next stage, Delaware Bay, C & D Canal into the Chesapeake Bay. We’ll keep you posted.