Anchored Near St. Michaels

After several busy weeks, we cast off today for the Eastern Shore.  We are anticipating a couple of relaxing days on the boat, in contrast to the recent pace of church volunteer activity and preparation for the art show we worked in Pennsylvania last weekend.

Blustery sailing was the order of the day, as the winds were 15-20 knts.  Fortunately, it was all behind us crossing the bay, and we made good time under mainsail alone.  Through Knapp’s Narrows and into the eastern bay, we continued down wind until turning north.  At that point the wind was too strong, and we continued under power (read I was too lazy to reef and work the ship).

We threaded the channel markers, touching ground once near a confusingly marked place, but no harm, and not much delay.

Anchors set at 1900; I set a second anchor with the dink for a good nights’ sleep.  Hmmm. . . a good night’s sleep.

Ruth is cooking dinner, and it smells great.

At 0249 I wake up in response to a tremendous crash.  I am completely panicked.  I’m positive we’ve dragged in the strong winds (which have abated by this time).  Never mind two anchors set, we’re on the rocks by the nearest bulkhead to leeward in front of that eastern shore mansion in the cove.  I have never gotten out of the v-berth that fast.  I manage to grab my glasses along the way, then stand looking confused out the companionway.  It must have been the dinghy that made that big crash, but how?  It’s completely calm out here, and we’re no where near the shore.  No other boats around, so we couldn’t have been struck by one.  Then Ruth says “the forehatch just slammed shut.”  I lower my head in relief onto the companionway ladder, all the panic slowly ebbing, confusion resolving.

The forehatch is all teak, and it’s heavy.  I hadn’t tensioned the support adequately, and when it spontaneously released, it made a huge crash right above our heads.  Go back to bed, Rick.  Took me a long time to wind down and fall asleep.

Hmmm. . .  a good night’s sleep.

  1. That’s funny. But it’s not. I can associate. A while back we were laying on the bed watching TV, at the marina. All of a sudden there’s this loud bang right beside me below the waterline. Made my hair stand on end. Finally decided it must have been a turtle cruising without his lights on.

  2. We cycle between the sublime and the terrifying. All our reading, practice, and preparation are in effort to reduce the probability and effect of terrifying moments. A turtle with navigation issues isn’t one of those things we’re prepared manage.

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