Next morning Inyanga castoff from our raft after goodbyes and motored out of the harbor. They had a little farther to go than we did and wanted to get an earlier start. We finished breakfast and tidied up the boat, then raised the anchor for the last time, and picked our way out of the anchorage. Once in the bay, we pointed the bow south and forged on toward Deale.
We had light breezes on the nose, of course. Prevailing winds this time of year are southerlies here in the bay, and all along the Atlantic coast, but it helped being in protected waters, as the chop was minimal and the motion of the boat easy.
We’re about five miles north of the bay bridge at Annapolis
As we drew closer to the bridge, it grew in height and breadth. Ruth took a several photos of as we approached and passed through.
South of the bridge, we were really in the home stretch. Just 12 miles to go, and everyone of them familiar. The markers for Rockhold Creek hove into sight, and we aimed for the channel.
Travelling up the creek to our home slip, as we have done so many times seemed unreal after our odyssey of approximately 1000 miles, 10 weeks of travel afloat, and countless anchorages.
It’s good to be home! We will savour the conveniences of living on land now that we have spent the summer without them, and we will enjoy the comfort of routine – so starkly different to living life aboard a sailboat.
I don’t think we will undertake so long a trip on the boat again. There are places to go, and things we would love to do on the water, but I think a chartered boat for a week would satisfy those desires. Places like the Caribbean that we would like to sail may be best done through a charter company. We will still have adventures around the Chesapeake, and there are many places here we haven’t explored, but we’ve experienced living aboard for an extended period now, and I think that has satisfied our desire.
We love the cruising condition of the boat now. She’s more capable than ever, and perfectly equipped to enjoy cruising for weeks at a time, or just day-sailing.
My last post was titled Two More Days but I only talked about one. Here’s the Second Day, in which lots of calm time riding the boat was in contrast to the drama and panic of anchoring.
We left Cape May via the Cape May Canal, and exited into Delaware Bay northbound. Our planned stop was two thirds the way up at a place called Cohansey Cove, which is adjacent to the Cohansey river. We arrived in good time, covering 38 nautical miles by mid afternoon. We tried rafting, but the chop made that impractical, so we anchored separately. I dozed off while reading, until my place of repose started to act like a bucking bronco. The wind had picked up, as expected, and turned the anchorage into a place of rolling chop, pitching the ends of the boat four feet up, then down four feet every 3 seconds. I didn’t see how we could tolerate this for very long, but the wind was forecast to die down later. We were willing to tough it out for while.
Until Inyanga’s anchor dragged.
The only option was to go into the river, about which we had little data. However, there was a marina up the river with sailboats moored (we could see the tops of their masts) so it must be deep enough for us.
Up we went. Depth did turn out to be problem but not like we expected. 25 feet of depth for anchoring is pretty deep for us Chesapeake sailors. We’re accustomed to 8-15 feet at most. 25 feet of depth took almost all of Brian’s chain to give us a 5 to 1 scope. Still hoping to raft together, we got set up to contribute to dinner together, and then Andy noticed that we moving. The tide had changed and the current reversed. The anchor couldn’t manage the change. We tried to anchor again nearby, but were not confident with the holding. Finally, we decided to go further up the river to find more suitable holding. I found a spot with 12 feet, Brian found some nearby with 15. We anchored separately and gave up on dinner. This time the anchors held well and we stayed put through the night.
Ruth and I had a cold dinner and went to bed early.
After NYC and overnighting at Sandy Hook, we set off again the next morning for Barnegat Light Inlet. This was another 50 mile trek, but the water was calm and the weather good.
We spent the next day at anchor in Barnegat Light, same anchorage as our outbound trip, and waited out another windy day. No way were we going to venture out into the Atlantic with winds gusting to 25, even if they were blowing from the right direction.
Next day – today – was much better. Winds 10 knots from the northeast (we’re going south now). But the sea state was pretty uncomfortable. In fact, our first attempt to get through the inlet at 0630 was aborted on advice from the Coast Guard. A USCG vessel was passing us in-bound as we were heading out, and they advised us to wait a couple hours for the current change to mitigate the rough conditions on the bar. We were wise to heed their counsel. Two hours later, the conditions were still very challenging but not dangerous. This was a very unpleasant ride, but got better as we made it through the cut and turned south in the open ocean.
I said the conditions improved, but there wasn’t much exhilarating sailing. None, in fact. The wind wasn’t strong enough to keep a sail full and pulling, and the conditions were too difficult to leave the security of the cockpit for setting sail anyway. We motored for 6 hours to Atlantic City (a necessary stop – we just couldn’t make the whole distance to Cape May) and were so glad to get off the water in the afternoon. Although the wind was moderate, the chop and swell was terrible – left over effects of the windy day before.
Big transition today. We sailed a record 57 miles and moved out of New England down to the Mid-Atlantic coast. The first half was easy. Our passage west on the last bit of Long Island Sound was absolutely placid. Calm winds and waters . . except for the weekend power boaters who seem to think they are still on the highway when they take to the water. I have often wanted to have a conversation with these folks to determine why, exactly, when surrounded by multiple square miles of open water, that they chose to pass us within a couple of boat lengths. They are often plowing giant furrows of water as they go, disrupting everything near their path. It’s like they think they are on the beltway during the afternoon commute. And, as you can imagine, the nearer we got to New York City, the more frequently this occured. Sunday driving at it’s worst, and since it was Sunday, the weekenders were in full force.
We timed the transit through NYC carefully again, to take advantage of the strong currents that flow through the East River. Again, we flew on the currents at record speed, topping out at 10.5 knots, but often in the 8-9knot range. That made the 13 mile trip through the city pass very quickly. But unlike our east-bound trip, where the winds and current were in concert, our west-bound journey featured strong winds in opposition to our westward vector creating some incredibly choppy conditions. Hell Gate was especially “exciting” as we plunged bow down into a short, steep chop, then rocketed skyward on the rebound, all the while clocking 9 and 10 knots.
Actual video of us passing through Hell Gate.
The current squirted us out into the upper bay where rough conditions persisted. The only mitigating factor of the ride was that we were moving so fast. When I would get discouraged over prospect of so much more rough water ahead, I would glance at the gps and see that we were still moving at 7 and 8 knots.
The conditions were rough, but we still enjoyed the sights
I thought that Hell Gate was going to be the worst section of the transit until we passed into the lower bay through Verrazzano Narrows. Once again plunging and rocketing, wind on the nose. I began to quarter the chop, and that helped smooth the ride.
The protection of Sandy Hook gradually mitigated conditions, and we finally moved into the protection of the Cape completely. We found our anchorage and dropped the hook.
Reward after a difficult day on the water – sunset was spectacular.
Exhausted, but in reasonably peaceful water, Ruth cooked a simple meal. We showered and dropped into bed.
Yesterday we covered about 25 milies eastward, still on the Long Island side. The weather seemed iffy when we began, and we heard reports of gusts exceeding 20 knots. We decided to make the jump, and it turned out to be the best day of sailing so far. Leaving Port Washington, we were beset by juvenal dinghy sailors having a great time, shepherded by an instructor – rescue boat. The amount of fun they were having was sometimes exceeded by their unpredictable maneuvers, several times tacking directly across our bow. I slowed down a lot and gave the space their youthful enthusiasm required. One youngster looked surprised when he saw that he had cut across our path and called out “sorry!” to which I replied, no worries I was watching you.
Motoring directly windward, it occurred to me that now would be a great time to make sail. Cay of Sea is a completely manual boat, with few modern conveniences with regard to sail handling. No roller furling, no self tailing winches. Any time a sail change is required, I have to go on deck and see to it. By comparison, our companion boat Inyanga (Island Packet 32) has all the conveniences: roller furling head sails and main, all operated from the cockpit. When we decide to make sail together, Brian pulls a couple lines and poof, he’s sailing. I, on the other hand, spend 10 minutes making things happen on deck before we settle into a point of sail.
This time was slightly different, as I anticipated a need for reefed sails before we ever dropped the mooring. It’s much easier to set the reefs up while the boat is still. So I removed the sail cover from the main, and unbagged the head sail, then set reefs in both. Our 117% genoa has one set of reefs in the foot of the sail. It’s an old idea, but the sail is in great condition, and taking area out of the foot of the sail lets it set perfectly, with optimal shape. Not so with roller furling headsails. As soon as the sail is rolled up by any significant amount, the shape of the sail suffers, and the boat sails less efficiently.
If you look through to the front of the boat in this photo, you can see the foot of the reefed genoa.
This was a great sail. We had a beam reach in 12-15 knots gusting to 20. Cay of Sea set her shoulder down and sailed so well! We were regularly exceeding 6 knots sometimes even exceeding the theoretically practical speed limit of our hull when we surfed a swell. Helm balance is tricky. Too far off the wind and the boat slows down. Too hard on the wind, and the boat feels overpowered, rounding up to windward, heeling excessively, and producing lots of weather helm.
Here I am struggling with a bit of weather helm
Surprisingly, we wound up far ahead of Inyanga, and decided to heave to for five or so minutes so she could catch up with us.
As we angled more tightly to the wind, crew comfort began to trump speed and excitement. I dropped the sails and started the motor, making the final four miles into a charming, protected harbor jam-packed with boats on moorings. We were very fortunate to have gotten slips in the yacht club as transients
Up anchor at 0600, and underway towards NYC. The Battery at the southern end of Manhattan is 17 nautical miles from us at Sandy Hook. I carefully researched the tides and currents for this leg. The East River is nearly unnavigable by a sailboat if the skipper doesn’t time the current correctly. Our 0600 departure was designed to allow us to take advantage of the flood tide as we sailed north and east through New York City.
I counted on a +1.25 knot current in the lower bay. I was wrong. In reality, is was -1.25 to -1.5 knots, so the trip to the Narrows took more than an hour longer than I anticipated. I feared that this would put us behind for catching optimal currents through the river (it’s not really a river – it’s actually a straight through which the current sloshes back and forth as the tide changes). My worries were unfounded. Yes, we got to the Battery later, but the +2.5 knot current after the Battery quickly made up for our untimely progress. From there the current actually gained velocity, and we were touching 8.5 knots over ground from time to time.
The current is hard to predict here. This is the Verrazzano Bridge which marks the end of the Lower Bay, and the beginning of New York Commercial Harbor proper. As soon as we crossed under the bridge, we regained 1.5 knots lost to the current in the Lower Bay, but the tide was flooding the entire time in both bodies of water. I don’t understand how we could be fighting a foul current on one side of the bridge, and benefitting from fair current on the other side.
Gaining momentum with each mile, we began to see some of the historic landmarks.
This famous skyline of the Manhattan business district grew ever larger as we drew nearer.
My wife and shipmate Ruth, with NYC as a background.
Lady Liberty saluting us as we motored past.
From the Battery on Manhattan, we had slightly more than an hour of motoring before we coming to the infamous Hell Gate pool, where three tidal bodies intersect. We zoomed past the Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Roosevelt Bridges averaging 7.5 knots. As we passed Roosevelt Island we donned our life jackets, then suddenly we were at Hell Gate. We paused ever so briefly to take a look at the water condition. Finding it not too terrifying, we plunged through, at one point achieving an unmatched maximum speed of 10.5 knots, while averaging 9 knots. This section of the East River is less that half a mile long, but very turbulent and 90-some feet deep at one place. With strong winds blowing opposite the current direction, it can support standing waves of three to four feet high, with swirling eddies, whirlpools, and back waters. Today, we had flat water, a swift current, and a fast ride through with no drama. Thankfully! It is possible to transverse Hell Gate at slack water, which is ideal, perhaps, but not really necessary.
On past the Queensboro Bridge, past Rykers prison island, and finally past Throg’s Neck Bridge, then we were into Long Island Sound.
35 nautical miles north of Sandy Hook, we are now attached to a mooring in Port Washington watching fireworks all around.
After a three-day stay and several needed repairs, we got off the pier by 0845. Brian still had a little business to clear up, then wanted to manuever a little bit before he left the security of marine services and safe haven, so we waited in the channel, slowly dodging the boat traffic until he got under way. All was well aboard Inyanga, and we set off through the many, many fishing boats that dotted the channel. Manasquan is overwhelmingly a fishing town, private and commercial. I don’t think we actually saw another sailboat while we were there!
Threading our way through the fishing fleet, watching the navigation aids, with one eye on depth and the other on the chart (insert photo of me looking cross-eyed) we made our way to open water and immediately benefitted from the much cooler sea breeze. I don’t think the North Atlantic ever gets very warm, and the effect on the ambient temperature is a welcome relief from the heat and still air of the marina.
We made sufficient offing once through the inlet, and turn left once again, this time with Sandy Hook NJ in our sights. After two hours of motoring, it seemed that the breeze filled in enough to sail.
We had also finished our breakfast underway by then, and relaxed after the scramble getting off the pier. We were berthed in an inside slip, through which the current absolutely ripped, slowing only as high and low water reached their peak. We were leaving on the flood, but it was only an hour or so into the cycle, so the current wasn’t at maximum yet. Still, we needed help from the dock crew to assure departure without mishap. They controlled the bow as we slowly backed out of the slip, then gave the bow a good shove to clear the last piling. I moved forward, continuing to swing to starboard until I could steer straight out into the channel. Whew! Nerve wracking.
Setting sail for another down-wind leg, we turned into the wind to raise the main. Having set the main, I set the genoa after bearing back to our original course. Ruth sheeted the clew of the genoa tight while I attached the pole to the clew. I gradually slid the pole, with with clew attached, out the opposite side from the main, then attached the inboard end of the pole to the mast ring. Ruth trimmed the sheet, and we were off to the races again, averaging 5 knots.
Three hours later, we were approaching the channel marks that guide us into the Sandy Hook Bay. We brought down the sails, and motored around the hook, searching the western side of the hook to anchor. Finally, in Horseshoe Cove, we dropped the anchor at 1530.
You can make out the misty skyline of Manhattan. We’re about 10 nautical miles south of it in this photo.
The blue dot is where we are .
Friday night is typically pizza night, and Brian and Staci joined us for dinner, under a brilliant sunset.
Next day was a stay-at-anchor day, and we explored the beach on both sides of the Hook.
Such a typical beach pic! Floppy hats, sunglasses!
On the Atlantic Side
We rested today, after a very rolly first night in this anchorage. Our second night was very peaceful, but it seems that we’re still catching up on rest. Every time I sat down my eyes seemed to close. We had intended to depart today to transit through NYC on the East River, but we were uncomfortable with our understanding of the route, tides and currents. We will be passing through a very turbulent section of the river called Hell Gate, where the current can exceed 5 knots. We really needed to be comfortable with our plan for that trip, which starts tomorrow at 0600. It’s only about 30 nautical miles from our current location, but the tides and currents are optimal for us if we leave at 0600.
The rigger assessed Inyanga’s damaged stay, and returned just before dark yesterday with the new stay built and ready to install. He climbed the rig like a monkey: hands and bare feet straight up the mast, with bosun’s chair following him, hauled up by his wife. He was done in minutes, attaching the stay at the spreaders, then back down on deck to attach the turnbuckle end. That’s done.
The diver returned today to remove the failed mechanical prop, and reinstall the original fixed prop the boat came with. That did not take 15 minutes. Working under water on a boat is hard. Everything moves all the time especially in a busy waterway like this one. The current is ferocious, and the diver is constantly struggling to stay in place to complete his work. Travis, our diver, was outstanding, very skilled, and experienced. He removed the original prop nut, and Brian and I went to find an additional one that same size to use as a locking nut. His shaft had been modified to accept the Maxprop, which meant that the end was trimmed, and with, it the hole for the cotter pin. So the work around was to place the new thin profile nut in the inside, and use the thick profile nut as a locking nut. 3M 5200 was applied to the shaft in lieu of the cotter pin. After a full cure, I’m confident that the prop is secure.
Dive gear ready
Old original prop ready to be installed. I didn’t get a photo of the Maxprop, but nothing looked damaged. Just the loosened set screw that allowed the blades to articulate had backed out. Since Brian didn’t know what the original pitch of the Maxprop was, and didn’t know how to adjust it, it seemed best to put the old prop back on. The original owner of the boat was the installer of the Maxprop.
So tomorrow the adventure continues. We are wiser now, I hope, and will choose anchorages with a deeper under standing of tides and currents.
Two sailboats pinned against a bridge with a rushing current holding them there. How did this happen? Where did this happen?
I’ll back up.
We left Barnegat inlet much later than planned because we had a few things to do ashore – post office run, grocery store stop, investigate water and fuel services at a marina. By the time we started, we were close to 3 hours behind schedule, so we adjusted our distance goal for the day. Formerly 50 miles to Sandy Hook NJ, now a more achievable 25 or 6 miles to Manasquan.
The weather was beautiful, the inlet was a little rough as we crossed the bar out to the open sea. Past the bar, however, it was quite literally smooth sailing. Well, smooth motoring. We could have sailed but it would have taken a very long time at that speed.
Four and a half hours later we were entering Manasquan inlet, and carefully feeling our way through the shallow, narrow channels. Anchoring opportunities were not abundant, but we thought we had identified at least two. One of them simply wasn’t going to work – not enough space to be out of boat traffic, in deep enough water, with enough room to swing on the anchor chain. The other place looked possible. It was a turning basin for a large charter fishing boat (80-90 feet long). We had room to anchor both of the boats rafted together, and we would leave early enough to be out of the way when the fishing boat had to maneuver. I deployed my anchor but didn’t get a set, so was retrieving it to try again. This takes a little time, because I have a manual windlass. Meanwhile, our buddy boat is keeping station near by, preparing to come along side as soon as we’re set. But something happened. . . our buddy boat lost the ability to maneuver. No power to the running gear. Forward, reverse – nothing. Now it’s a rescue operation, because the current is dragging them toward the railroad bridge. I don’t have the anchor up yet, and can’t really leave it down, because we can’t move effectively with so much chain out. Ruth is on the helm trying to catch a line from the other boat. We hook on to them to pull them to safety, but we’re pulling them stern first, which isn’t going to work. All the while we are both being irresistibly drawn towards the bridge. We can’t get a line out from their bow, and the closer we get to the bridge, the faster the current flows. Finally there are several crunches, and we are both pinned to the bridge by the current. Our bow overlaps their stern, our stern is crunches into the bridge structure.
No one is hurt, thank God. Standersby are watching. Several people walk out on the bridge and offer to help. Brian is calling the Coast Guard. Everything else is quiet. We can hear the water flowing past the hulls, keeping us hard against the bridge. We are taking note of damage, fearing the worst. Neither boat is taking on water. We are safe for the moment. Coast Guard is on the way with two vessels. We don our life vests. The first action of the Coast Guard is to take us off the boats for safety. They collect some information, and we initiate a salvage call to BoatUs towing service. We both have insurance with BoatUs, so the salvage will be no additional cost.
BoatUs arrives, and very skillfully pulls Cay of Sea off the bridge. We are back on the boat, and after checking for functionality and seaworthiness again, we contact a local marina, and make our way there under our own power. Our buddy boat Inyanga follows us in about a half hour later, under tow.
Both crews are demoralized, but no one is assigning blame. Our friendship is too old and too valuable for that foolishness. And really, who could have predicted a power failure at that moment? Even if I had the anchor retrieved, it is not a certainty that I could have kept both boats off the bridge. The main failure in this situation, was thinking that this little pool was a good anchorage, but without local knowledge, how could we know that either? After all, an enormous fishing boat operated out of that pool every single day. Certainly two sailboats could have anchored safely for one evening.
Damage assessment to Cay of Sea revealed minor problems, all of which were satisfactorily resolved the next day.
Bimini frame and stern rail straightened almost completely, all with the power of legs! I adjusted the Bimini hardware to accommodate the slack I was not able to fix by straightening. I will have this fixed better when we get back at the end of the summer, but it’s serviceable and not ugly for now.
Inyanga suffered very little more than we did, remarkably. The cause of her power loss was a failure of the mechanical mechanism that sets the pitch of their prop. The set screws had backed out, allowing for the blades to turn flat against the direction of rotation. That means no forward or reverse torque is applied to the propeller – only resistance. They were going no place fast. Brian has the old original prop on board that he will have a diver install tomorrow, and that will fix that. Other damage to Inyanga includes compromising of one lower stay, which will be replaced tomorrow, and a couple of bent stanchions. No urgent need to fix those before we go. We are staying our second night in this marina, and will probably stay one more, then we’re off again.
It is appropriate to remember a cruiser’s definition of cruising. I don’t know who said this originally, but it is certainly true: Cruising is the art of fixing boats in exotic locations. It is also worth noting, that few activities offer more opportunities for looking foolish and inept than operating a boat. It happens to everyone at some point.
Weather kept us in Barnegat Bay. The day following our arrival was forecast to have strong winds, and the inlet looked dangerous in those conditions. So we relaxed and did a few boat chores. I set up my 3-part block to launch and retrieve the dink. I messed with it for a long time and for several different sessions, but failed to remember to photograph the gear or the process. However, I’ll describe it here and post an illustration.
The line ties off onto one block, and is run through one half of the two-part block. It returns to the single block for a turn, then is run through the other half of of the two-part block before returning. That is the end that will be pulled to hoist the dink.
The second illustration from the right is what I’m using.
The double block is attached to a halyard, and the single is attached to the dinghy. The halyard is raise to a height slightly above the spreaders. I actually take the hauling end of the line and run it through one of the sheet blocks attached to the rail, and that gives me a little more advantage, and allows me to hold position if I have to.
The system worked just as well as I expected, except that I bought only about half the length of line that I should have. 40 feet wasn’t nearly enough
Fortunately my cruising buddy Brian had lots of line of the right diameter, and made a donation to my cause. At about 70 feet, that seemed like the right amount of line to get things done. Work gloves also make the job easier.
While I was in the mood to fettle, I also neatened up a bunch of wire underneath the galley counter. These were loose ends that I just forgot to clean up and tie down. Okay, all better now.
We had a rain big rainstorm in late afternoon, and the dinghy got a bunch of water in it. Since we were going to dinner on our friend’s boat in an hour, I put on my aqua boots, emptied my pockets (see, I have experience with this), and carefully stepped down into the dink. I was hoping I could keep the equilibrium stable, even with the dink 25 percent filled with water. I was wrong.
It happens sort of slowly, because the water just lazily sloshed over to where my weight was. When I realized that all the water has compromised my balance, there was no quick – or slow – recovery. One part of the gunnel submerged, and I was swamped. I got to the boarding ladder okay, but was completely soaked. Now we really needed that 3-part block system that I set up earlier. That was really the only way to unswamp the dink. Lift from the bow and let the water drain, then scoop the remaining gallons from the reservoir formed by the transom and stern thwart.
That was a cold swim that ended with a cold shower (no water heated for a warm one). Ah well, if it weren’t for those things, what would you laugh at while reading my blog?
We had a wonderful Italian meal together, and lots of good conversation. Brian and I worked together in the Navy several times, and our families are close. We were even stationed in Italy at the same time, so we share that cultural experience. The good, authentic Italian meal brought back good memories.
My wife Ruth, the culinary wizard, managed to bake an apple upsidedown cake for dessert in the Dutch oven on the stove top! It was delicious.
This morning we dinghyed to shore and picked up a few groceries, mailed an envelope, took on ice, water, and fuel. As we departed the marina, I promptly ran aground in the marina! There was a shallow spot right next to the fuel dock, and I guess I should have backed away from the dock, instead of swinging around bow first. We extended the boom to starboard, and Ruth added her weight to the end of it, and we slid off the shoal as the boat heeled and the keel lifted. Never a dull moment.
middlebaysailing 