I’m in Charleston, which has turned into the first stop in my sailing trip. I’ve been keeping a journal, and I thought you might be interested in reading what I’ve been up to.
At 0700 we boarded the Reality, a 47-foot Catalina sloop. There were four of us going, Peggy, the captain, her son Gene, Joe and me. Peggy’s daughters, Joe’s girlfriend and my family were there to see us off. After saying our good-byes, our families cast free the dock lines, and we were on our way.
At 0800 we left the Port Washington Yacht Club dock, 40 49.35’N 73 42.41’W, with Peggy at the helm. She piloted us out through the mooring area, and handed the wheel over to Gene, who had the first watch. We powered out of Manhasset Bay into Long Island Sound. At 0855 we passed under the Throgs Neck Bridge, and at 0900, we passed under the Whitestone Bridge.
We had gotten an early start to make a tide at Hell Gate and to comply with security restrictions in New York Harbor. The Coast Guard prohibited all recreational vessels from a security zone in the harbor from Hell Gate to the Verrazano Narrows Bridge from 1600 each afternoon to 0800 the next morning. In addition, the Coast Guard established restricted zones off the UN, off lower Manhattan and around Liberty and Ellis Islands, as well as in several other sensitive areas.
At 1000, the watch changed and I took the helm off of Astoria, Queens. At 1005 we passed under the Amtrak railroad bridge, and at 1010 we passed under the Triboro bridge, to enter Hell Gate. The Hell Gate tide was running 2-3 knots against us, and the currents were rather squirrely. Coming up behind us as we turned into the East River was a large barge being pushed by a tug.
As we slid down the west side of Roosevelt Island, the barge and tug passed us to our starboard. We slowed down to allow it to get fully past us before the narrow part of the river by the 59th Street Bridge, which we finally passed under at 1045.
We continued down the East River, passing under the Williamsburgh bridge at 1115, the Manhattan Bridge ten minutes later, and the Brooklyn Bridge five minutes after that. As we were between the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, we began to smell a burnt plastic odor coming from the World Trade Center wreckage. Once we got past the Brooklyn Bridge, we headed into the Buttermilk Channel to the east of Governor’s Island. This gave us no clear view of the activities in Lower Manhattan, something for which I was generally glad, though it was a minor disappointment to my voyeuristic side.
There was noticeably increased patrol activity in the harbor, with Coast Guard Cutters anchored off the Throgs Neck Bridge, Roosevelt Island and the Battery. We saw Coast Guard, NYPD, NYS Environmental Conservation and NYC Corrections patrol boats underway, and military jets overhead.
We’re now approaching the Verrazano Narrows Bridge, and getting ready to set course for Ambrose Light Tower, off Sandy Hook. As we get around Sandy Hook, we’ll be facing the open waters of Atlantic Ocean, and our trip will begin in earnest.
We’re now 40 miles north of Cape Hatteras, and it has been a busy two days.
After we passed beyond Sandy Hook and about halfway to Ambrose Light, we decided to cut the corner, get on course for our first waypoint and set sail. We were headed on a SSW course toward the Barnegat sea buoy, 40 miles away. We were sailing on a broad reach on a starboard tack, with both main and jib reefed, in 20-25 knot winds.
I went below to get some rest, and on the nav station radio I heard the saga of the Irish Eyes, a 20-foot sailboat with two aboard. A somewhat panicked voice called the Coast Guard reporting that they were outside Atlantic Highlands, had taken on water, and were feeling hypothermic. Coast Guard Station Sandy Hook, got the particulars from the Irish Eyes, reassured her captain, and said that help would be sent.
In response to another panicked call from the Irish Eyes, Station Sandy Hook reported that a boat was about 10 minutes away. Shortly after that, Coast Guard Patrol Boat 41414, a 41 footer, radioed the Irish Eyes. The skipper of CG ‘414 spoke with the Irish Eyes, getting her current position and status, and stating that they would soon be on the scene.
A few minutes later, CG ‘414 radioed Station Sandy Hook to mention that her engines had shut down, and the engineer was going below to investigate. Next, the engineer got on the radio to report that he could not restart the starboard engine, but that the port engine was running, though anti-freeze was coming out of the dipstick. I can only imagine what the captain of the Irish Eyes was thinking upon hearing this news.
Station Sandy Hook came on the radio again, advised the Irish Eyes that a launch from the Atlantic Highlands Yacht Club was on its way to assist, and ordered CG ‘414 to return to base. Accepting this temporary resolution of the situation, I rolled over and went to sleep, remaining to this day unaware of the final act of the adventures of the Irish Eyes. Did the second string rescue team from Atlantic Highlands make it out with engines intact? Did the ill-fated Coast Guard ‘414 return safely to base? Did our heroes make it inside the breakwater before they succumbed to hypothermia? Is everyone now sitting around with mugs of hot cocoa and laughing about the situation? I’ll never know.
I woke up for my 1800 watch, got dressed, and relieved Gene. We were nearing Barnegat, still on a starboard tack broad reach in 15-25 knot winds. The autopilot was keeping us on our SSW course in moderately heavy seas as the sun was setting over the New Jersey shore. Gene climbed onto the aft platform to turn on the stove gas so Peggy could cook dinner. Soon she passed up plates of angel hair pasta prima vera and sautéed breaded chicken breast. I had seconds.
As the sky darkened, I saw the flashing red light of the Barnegat Sea Buoy. Capt. Peggy decided that we should maintain our SSW course to head toward Cape Hatteras, 285 miles away, hoping to avoid our planned stop in Norfolk. If winds and seas remained favorable, we could go on, and if not, we could duck into Norfolk or any of a range of other harbors.
Toward the end of my watch I saw a bright light dead ahead on the horizon and a corresponding return on the radar about a half-dozen miles away. I determined that we were heading directly for each other, so I notched the autopilot 20 degrees to starboard to get out of the target’s track. After about a half-hour, I resumed course and passed about a mile away from an ocean-going tug lit up like a Christmas tree that was pulling a barge on a long tow. At 2000, I handed the watch over to Joe and went below to sleep.
I nestled into my bunk, which was in a soft banquette on the port side of the main cabin. Since we were on starboard tack and heeling to port, I was wedged comfortably into the cushions. Or at least I was until about 2300, when the boat suddenly shifted, and I was propelled across my bunk, getting caught by the lee cloth on the bunk’s starboard edge.
We were about 10 miles east of Egg Harbor Inlet when the autopilot, in protest against the rigors of steering in a quartering sea, decided to quit. Peggy was on watch, and when she tried to disengage the autopilot, she found that the wheel was jammed hard to starboard. The boat headed into the wind, came about onto a port tack, and stabilized with the jib backfilled (and me thrown across my bunk). Gene had to burrow down into the aft hatch to pull the pin that released the autopilot control arm from the rudder post.
Though we were about 12 miles from Atlantic City, Capt. Peggy decided that we should press on, steering manually. I went back to sleep, faintly dreading my 0200 watch.
At 0100 on 8 OCT I woke up and got dressed in the darkened cabin. I put on extra layers because of the near-freezing temperatures that were predicted. As I came into the cockpit, I could see Atlantic City as a beam of light heading up into the otherwise dark sky. At 0200 I relieved Gene at the wheel.
A quartering sea, with the waves hitting the aft corner of the boat, is one of the most difficult conditions in which to steer. The boat moves in a corkscrew fashion as the waves pass diagonally under the hull. Each wave will push the stern of the boat in one direction or another, requiring constant adjustment. If you are a little late in correcting the effects of one wave, the next wave will push you even farther off course, requiring significant effort to return to the desired heading.
We had a quartering sea, with close-set 4-6 foot waves and winds of 15-20 knots, gusting to 25. Steering was a bitch. Though I tried to keep on course, what I was really doing was merely keeping the boat from gibing if I went too far to port or the sails from losing wind if I went too far to starboard. One vessel crossed in front of me, but I’m glad I didn’t have to take any action to avoid it (I’m not sure what I could have done). At 0400, I passed the watch to Joe, and fell into my bunk, exhausted.
My next watch was at 0900. (Each day the captain takes a watch that is only one hour long, so the times of the watches will vary.) It was another brutal two hours wrestling with the wheel. Peggy cooked what she called “the brick” for breakfast, Canadian bacon, hash browns, peppers and onions, all fried up and pressed into a loaf. She refried slices in the morning and served them on rolls. I’m not sure whether the best part of the watch was eating the brick sandwich or the ten minutes that Gene relieved me at the helm so I could eat in peace.
After my watch ended at 1100, I listened to the weather radio. The predictions were for more of the same, though with some slight moderation. I also plotted the positions of hurricane Iris and tropical storm Jerry on our hurricane tracking chart. Both were, fortunately, well south in the Caribbean. After reporting the weather to the crew, I sunk back into my bunk.
By my 1700 watch, the seas had moderated slightly, and I sailed across the sunset with the boat riding in a much easier motion. Dinner was a steak and potato salad that Peggy left out for us. I decided to wait until after my watch to eat. At 1900, Joe came up and took the helm.
I had two helpings of salad and stayed up on deck in the cold but pleasant night. I fell asleep, waking up when Peggy came up to take over from Joe. Feeling chilly, I went back into my bunk to continue to sleep until my next watch.
At 0030 on 9 OCT my alarm woke me, and I again pulled on my sweaters and foul weather gear. The conditions had moderated a bit more. I was pleased that my 0100 to 0300 watch was entirely boring, with no visual or radar contacts. After a couple of post-watch hours napping on the deck, I went below to sleep off the last of my heavy-weather exhaustion.
When I woke for my 0800 watch, the wind had shifted and we were had come around to a port tack. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, it warmed up, and I could finally start shedding layers. Breakfast this morning was a taylor ham and egg sandwich. When my relatively easy watch ended at 1000, I went below to get back to my journal after two days of doing little more than steering, eating and sleeping.
HI BILLDO!!! <waves madly>
[sub]<grumbling>LuckyBastard</grumbling>[/sub]
We’re now 35 miles ENE of Frying Pan Shoals off Cape Fear, NC. We’ve had a lovely day of sailing.
For the first time all trip, I stayed awake from watch to watch yesterday afternoon. From 1000 to 1600 was spent relaxing, writing, navigating, checking weather, and typing up my journal on the onboard laptop. As we were nearing Cape Hatteras, Peggy’s cell phone rang. It was a framing shop calling to clear up some questions about a job she had charged. Even miles out to sea you can’t escape. (I suppose I should check my cell phone the next time I’m in range – if I feel like it).
Just before my watch started, Joe set up his ham radio equipment. He clamped a short, stiff antenna to the stern rail, ran a thick coaxial cable into the cabin, and connected into his three units, a transceiver, an antenna tuner, and the power supply. He tuned into the Maritime Mobile Service Network on 14.3 MHz (20-meter band), and spoke with a network controller in South Carolina, who forwarded a message to his girlfriend in New York.
My watch started at 1600, just after we passed Diamond Reef Light Tower off Cape Hatteras. As conditions remained favorable, and the crew was willing, Capt. Peggy decided that we should press on directly to Charleston, another 275 miles away. The course to Frying Pan Shoals, the next mark, was WSW, directly downwind. Rather than running downwind with the risk of accidental gibes, we continued our broad reach offshore, with the idea that we would come about toward shore sometime later that night.
After about 20 minutes of sailing offshore, the wind shifted, giving us a broad/beam reach directly on our course. Steering was a bit difficult as the wind and waves were coming in from opposite quarters. The toughest part of the watch, however, was smelling the lasagna that Peggy was baking in the galley, and waiting for it to be done.
As my watch ended at 1800, dinner was ready. I kept the wheel a few extra minutes so Joe could eat, and then handed over the helm. I had a double helping of meat, spinach & mushroom lasagna as the sun set over the North Carolina coast.
After sunset, I went below to catch some sleep before my midnight watch. I woke up at about 2215, stuck my head out the hatch, and learned that the radar display at the helm was not working. I put on the display unit at the nav station below, which was working, and concluded that a connection was probably loose somewhere.
I cranked up the laptop and typed up more of my journal until it was time to go up on watch. As I took over from Gene at 0000 on 10 OCT, we were surfing down the waves with the mainsail fully unreefed on a broad reach behind steady 15-knot winds. We were screaming along, particularly when we slid down a face of the slow rolling waves. Gene said that the top speed he had reached was 10.1 knots, and challenged me to beat it. For the next hour, try as I might, I couldn’t beat his speed, though I got it up to 10.0 knots once. After that, the wind dropped a bit, and I spent a lazy hour cruising along until Joe relieved me at 0200.
It was a warm night, so I dozed on deck for a couple of hours, and then went to my bunk below. A bit before 0600, I was awakened by a commotion, with Peggy calling for assistance. Gene and I rushed up the hatch to see a large ship approaching rapidly. By the time I had warmed up the radar set below, the ship had flown ahead of us. When it was a few miles off our starboard bow, it put on bright lights, illuminating its outline. We also saw another ship keeping station several miles off its (and our) port quarter. From its high speed, shape (as much as we could make out), lights and maneuvering, we guessed it was a naval vessel, perhaps an aircraft carrier. After the excitement, I snoozed on deck until my 0800 watch.
When I relieved Gene at 0800, he went below and brought out his fishing rod. After a bit of fiddling, he let out a Green Machine lure and we began trolling. Less than ten minutes after Gene set the lure, while he was below getting a snack, we got a hit.
The fish started pulling off a lot of line as Gene came up. We were sailing along at about 7 knots, so it was tough to reel in line even when the fish was cooperating. We furled the mainsail, slowing us to about 4 knots. Eventually, Gene got the fish up to the boat and saw that it was a barracuda, about 8 pounds, 12 inches long. Gene climbed on the aft platform to release the fish, and as he had his hand through the gills, the fish bit him, giving him neat rows of lacerations on two fingers. After posing for pictures, back into the water the barracuda went.
As my watch was ending at 1000, Peggy brought up breakfast, French toast and sausage links. For a change I declined seconds. After breakfast, I looked at the helm radar station. I used the ancient electrical engineering secret of removing the unit and jiggling the wires on the back. When I put it back into place, it worked.
Next, I hit the high point of the morning. I took a shower, which moving around in a sea, was quite an experience. The forward shower is a triangular compartment near the bow of the boat, where the boat’s motion is the greatest. The shower head is on an extension hose, and there is a bench seat across the back of the shower. To save water you wet yourself down and turn off the shower head as you lather. With the motion of the boat, it’s tough to remain standing, so the bench seat is quite handy. However, once you get soap on your butt, you start sliding back and forth on the seat as the boat pitches and heaves. The whole experience is somewhere between an amusement park ride and the agitate cycle on a washing machine.
Wearing a fresh t-shirt with my shoes off in the warm sun, listening to Billy Joel on the stereo, I sat down to write.
We’re 35 miles northeast of the Charleston harbor sea buoy. It’s been another crummy day in paradise. More of the same. Ho hum.
arrrghhh, i’m so jealous.
and what is with the good food? i thought y’all ate sea biscuits.
We arrived in Charleston yesterday afternoon. After a full night’s sleep, uninterrupted by watches, I’m sitting on deck in the morning sun eating apple slices and waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
Following my morning watch yesterday, I spent the day puttering around along with the rest of the off-watch crew. Gene tried fishing again, but all he caught was seaweed. Joe tried his ham radio again, but all he got was static. I tried napping again – well, that was successful.
In the late morning, the wind dropped off, and Peggy decided, reluctantly, that we should put on the motor to get into Charleston to make the slack tide before dark. I plotted a course to just outside the Charleston breakwaters, so we could cut a corner and save a bit of time.
My afternoon watch started at 1400, when we were about 12 miles from the harbor entrance. At about 1530 we rounded our mark, and turned in between the outer harbor breakwaters. When my watch was over at 1600, Joe saw how much fun I was having piloting the boat among the harbor buoys, channels and ranges, so he offered to let me keep the wheel, and I accepted. As we where coming in, a light rain shower passed through, leaving rainbows spanning the city.
As we were rounding the Charleston Battery, Peggy took the helm, while I navigated. We passed a three masted schooner under sail, beautiful waterfront homes, and the Charleston Coast Guard station, and then radioed the marina to get a slip assignment.
The Charleston City Marina is a sprawling 260 berth complex, with dockage for vessels up to 300 feet, that is a short walk from downtown Charleston. We were assigned a floating dock slip among numerous mega-yachts ranging almost up to the marina’s size limit. Two slips away was another 47 foot Catalina, sister ship to Reality.
As the sun set across Charleston Harbor, Peggy brought out our appetizer, baked brie with walnuts, and a bottle of Moet champagne she had gotten as a bon voyage present. We popped the cork into the harbor and toasted the first leg of our passage, more than 700 miles over 4½ days. Dinner was skirt steak, fried potatoes and cooked carrots, accompanied by a Turning Leaf Merlot.
After dinner we ambled into town feeling a bit unsteady on dry land after so many days on a moving vessel (the wine having nothing to do with it, I’m sure). We crossed the city on Broad Street to Waterfront Park, and then stopped into a large brew-pub downtown. Peggy and Gene tried their sampler of eight beers, while I had a pint of the lightest beer they had and two glasses of ice water.
We took a cab back to the marina, and watched a videotape of the movie Wind, a 1992 Matthew Modine & Jennifer Grey film about America’s Cup sailboat racing. The plot was predictable (with Joe offhandedly guessing the next line throughout the movie), but the sailing scenes were breathtaking. By the end of the movie, the underdogs triumph, the Cup was regained, and the lovers were reunited (oops, I hope I didn’t spoil it for you).
As I fell asleep, I was slightly disoriented, feeling like the now still boat was moving up and down. After a good night’s sleep with a cool breeze blowing through an open hatch, I got up to work on my journal before heading into town for the day.
Yesterday was a lazy day of rest, recovery and minor repairs. The morning was spent – actually it more passed than was spent – rather little. The high point of the day was an early afternoon trip to the West Marine boating supply store in the Marina’s courtesy van. We spent an hour there picking up parts and equipment, things we needed and things we didn’t know we needed until we saw them hanging in the aisles of the store. I raided the clearance racks and picked up a set of foul weather gear and a shirt, in addition to a red-lensed flashlight for night navigation, the only item actually on my shopping list.
The afternoon was spent visiting with the crews of neighboring boats and doing minor chores. Gene installed a clutch fitting for the roller furling line. Peggy whipped the ends of the new backup jib sheets we bought. Joe and I tightened the port steering cable. I also found the marina’s internet connection and checked my e-mail and posted my journal. (Waves back to Pucette!)
That night Gene met up with a friend he knew from home who was now living in Charleston. Peggy, Joe and I went into town to find someplace to eat dinner. After walking past a bunch of places that didn’t particularly strike our fancy, we stumbled across Vincenzo’s, a third-generation family-owned Italian restaurant. It had great food and a very nice house red wine. We ambled back to the boat, and I read a bit before falling asleep. As we suspected he might, Gene crashed at his friend’s, rather than making his way back to the marina.
This morning, I got up early to wait for the guy who was coming to repair our autopilot.
Wow. Looks like an awesome trip so far.
looking forward to the rest of the entries, Billdo!
Have fun!
So, Billdo, did you have fun Saturday night?
To catch everyone up…
I got back in Charleston around 8:30 Saturday night. I called Billdo, and made arrangements to meet him at the City Marina gas station. (Those docks are extremely confusing, especially for an earthbound girl like me.)
We met up at the station around 9:15. He took me back to the boat, and gave me a grand tour.
And, grand it was! Everyone who is jealous of Billdo for this trip, you have every right to be! The boat is absolutely gorgeous. (Well, except for a bathroom that would bring out the hysterical claustrophobe in me, but that’s just me.)
We set off for AC’s after making our way back to the car. AC’s is a little hole-in-the-wall bar, but it’s very popular. At first, it was odd, because I didn’t recognize anyone in there. But, eventually, poor Billdo had to meet most of my friends, as they all showed up after 11:30.
In any case, we stayed at AC’s until last call, then hunted for some food. (In Charleston, the only thing open after 2 on a Saturday night is Hardee’s.) So, we went back to the Marina, ate, and said good night. It was really fun, and now I can say I met my first Doper!
Thanks for the fun, Billdo!
So, Billdo, did you have fun Saturday night?
To catch everyone up…
I got back in Charleston around 8:30 Saturday night. I called Billdo, and made arrangements to meet him at the City Marina gas station. (Those docks are extremely confusing, especially for an earthbound girl like me.)
We met up at the station around 9:15. He took me back to the boat, and gave me a grand tour.
And, grand it was! Everyone who is jealous of Billdo for this trip, you have every right to be! The boat is absolutely gorgeous. (Well, except for a bathroom that would bring out the hysterical claustrophobe in me, but that’s just me.)
We set off for AC’s after making our way back to the car. AC’s is a little hole-in-the-wall bar, but it’s very popular. At first, it was odd, because I didn’t recognize anyone in there. But, eventually, poor Billdo had to meet most of my friends, as they all showed up after 11:30.
In any case, we stayed at AC’s until last call, then hunted for some food. (In Charleston, the only thing open after 2 on a Saturday night is Hardee’s.) So, we went back to the Marina, ate, and said good night. It was really fun, and now I can say I met my first Doper!
Thanks for the fun, Billdo!
It’s Monday Morning after a lovely weekend in Charleston.
Saturday Morning the autopilot technician showed up at around 0830. He climbed down into the locker where the steering mechanism was located, and after a few minutes proclaimed that our problem was uncommon, but that he had seen it before. Unfortunately, he had to order a part, which would arrive until Tuesday, but fortunately the whole repair would be covered under the autopilot’s warranty. So we’re stuck in this lovely city for another couple of days.
Later that morning, we had a serious mechanical difficulty – the shower sump pump broke. I had to lift up the main cabin floorboards to access the pump, figure out what was wrong, run up to the marina store to get a part and reassemble the pump before I could shower. Oh the hardships imposed by life aboard!
Gene had called and said that he was going surfing with his friend for the day, so the rest of us went into the city. We visited the aquarium, which had great exhibits on all aspects of all aspects of South Carolina marine life. The most interesting was the deep sea exhibit, which had thousands of fish and other sea creatures visible through a tank more than 40 feet deep (or high, depending on the perspective from which you were looking at it).
We also spent time walking around the city. Peggy bought a sweet grass basket from its maker in the open-air market downtown. Late in the afternoon, we went back to the boat and met up with a tired and surfed out Gene. Peggy cooked risotto and Gene grilled up some tilapia for dinner, which we had with a nice chardonnay.
After dinner I met up a with another member of this message board, Charleston native Skerri, who took me to her favorite watering hole, AC’s. It was a local bar, a bit dive-like, with good music. It seemed like she knew just about everyone who came into the place. We stayed for several (or more) Newcastle ales, and then stopped at a burger joint for a late-night snack. She dropped me at the marina, and I stumbled down the dock and onto the boat at about 3 a.m.
The next day (with me feeling a bit sub-par) we took a tour boat out to Fort Sumter, and listened to some very good park service presentations about the role of the fort and Charleston in the Civil War. When we got back, we took the water taxi to Patriot’s Point, a naval museum across the harbor in Mount Pleasant. There we toured the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Yorktown (CV-10), a World War II era submarine, and the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Ingham, which served from 1936 through 1988 and is one of the country’s most decorated vessels.
For dinner we at Hyman’s Seafood, a well-known Charleston eatery, where we sat at a table that the bands Blind Melon and Phish had previously dined at. Nearby was a table that had been used by both Oprah Winfrey and Sinbad, presumably not at the same time. After dinner, we came back to the boat, where were invited over friends from another boat enroute to Florida from New York that had just arrived in Charleston.
This morning I was awakened by Peggy’s cell phone ringing at 0730. It was an early-rising friend of hers calling to chat. Peggy was sound asleep in her bunk, so I took a message, and then wrote some postcards before sitting down to my journal.
Ah! The memories…was the 10 knot night watch a nice buzz ? 
great isn’t it !
Oh, did you have any dolphins playing around your bow on that first leg, Billdo ?
It’s been another lazy day in Charleston. Laundry, cleaning & wandering downtown were the main activities. Joe and Gene talked to another radio operator in Kansas on the ham set.
We’re waiting for the replacement part for the autopilot to arrive and be installed. Gene has gone off to play golf. Once the boat is repaired and Gene returns, we’ll be setting off for Savannah.
Yowza. What an interesting day and night it’s been.
Just after my last journal entry, the autopilot technician arrived and installed the replacement control arm assembly. Gene had gone golfing at Patriot’s Point, around on the other side of the harbor from us. Peggy had the clever idea rather than wait for Gene to take the water taxi back to Charleston from Patriot’s Point and a land taxi from downtown back to the marina, we should sail to Patriot’s Point, pick Gene up, and be on our way.
We left the marina at about 1330, and I piloted us slowly around the Charleston Battery. At the downtown port terminal, we saw a passenger ship and an exceeding ugly car carrier. The carrier looked like a child’s building block, with a little bit of the bottom front sanded off to make a bow, and painted gray. We could see cars being off-loaded from a ramp at the stern. Further up were two container ships, with large cranes moving the shipping containers around as though they were stacking Legos. Beyond that was another cargo ship containing scrap metal, which was being unloaded onto barges moored alongside.
We puttered around the harbor, while Peggy grilled a steak for dinner that night. At about 1630, Gene called to say he was done golfing and ready to be picked up. As we were heading into Patriot’s Point Marina, I handed off the wheel to Peggy, who deftly placed the bow of the boat alongside the floating dock and picked Gene up on the fly.
Joe had the first watch from 1700 to 1900, steering us out of the harbor. Rather than go all the way out the main harbor entrance, we exited through a small channel through the southern breakwater. The depth outside the channel was quite shallow, so we watched the depth sounder carefully. After falling to below 10 feet over a bar, the depth began to rise. Peggy came up with her steak salad, which we ate as the sun set.
Our course was southwest, and the wind was directly on our bow. We decided to take a long tack offshore, and then tack back to Savannah. Peggy had the first watch under sail, and I was to relieve her at 2100. I spent the time before my watch dozing on deck.
When I came on watch, the wind was blowing 15-20 knots, and we had the newly-repaired autopilot set. I was keeping watch from a seat on the stern rail, several feet behind the helm. We were flying along in a groove at 7½-8 knots. I had the feeling of being trapped in the caboose of a runaway freight train.
About an hour into my watch, there was a major wind gust of 30 knots, which heeled the boat over radically. I jumped down from my perch, switched off the autopilot, and grabbed the wheel. As I turned the boat into the wind to right it, the gust passed, and the boat settled down. The commotion woke Peggy, who was napping on deck, and soon thereafter Gene poked his head up from the cabin to see what was up. Joe followed him up sometime later.
Things stayed quiet for a few minutes, and then, BLAMMO!, the wind gauge spun up to 30 again. This time it was no gust, but a steady wind-shift to the north. It backwinded our sails, and I had to keep the wheel hard over just to keep the boat steady. Waves were crashing over the cockpit, and I was standing in a deep pool of water that had formed at the starboard helm station.
While I was wrestling with the wheel, Gene, Peggy and Joe worked to furl the jib and reef the main down to a small triangle. As the sail area was reduced, I began to regain control.
We settled down on a steady northeast course, away from our destination, but comfortable enough to regroup and reorganize. I tried twice to tack, but did not have enough momentum to get through the wind. I then, nervously, put us around to gibe, and the wind came across our stern without incident. Once we were settled on our course, we were only making about three knots or so, and Peggy decided that we should put on the engine.
I was wearing a light wind shell and nylon hiking pants, and I was thoroughly soaked. I steered under power for about a half hour (which felt like a week), and asked Gene, who was now in full foul weather gear, to relieve me a few minutes before my watch ended at 2300.
I went below to remove my soaked clothes. As I went to the forward head, the exaggerated motion of the boat made me instantly begin to feel seasick. I threw my wet outer layers into the forward shower, and collapsed into my bunk in a damp t-shirt and skivvies.
I set my alarm, pulled my covers over me, closed my eyes and focused on the motion of the boat so as not to get sick. I’m not sure whether I got comfortable with the seas or just fell asleep, but in any event, I was quickly out.
I recall waking up once in the middle of the night and realizing that there was a newspaper in my bunk that I had fallen asleep on without noticing. I pulled it out from under me, tossed it aside, rolled over, and crashed back to sleep.
While I was asleep, the 30 knot winds continued, with gale-force gusts of at least 35. Gene, Joe and Peggy stayed topside, huddled under the dodger for as much protection as possible, until the lee of the shore moderated the wind and waves.
When I woke up, I looked at my watch and saw that it was 0550, almost an hour late for my watch. Apparently the alarm switch on my clock had gotten shut off as it bounced around during the night. When I stuck my head out, Peggy was at the helm. I apologized, and Peggy said she had let me sleep because she wanted me to get rest to handle the navigation into Savannah harbor.
When I had got my foul weather gear on and climbed into the cockpit, we were just a couple of miles from the Savannah River sea buoy. It was a new moon, so it was still pitch dark, as it had been all night, with sunrise more than an hour and a half away. We decided to navigate our way in using lighted buoys and ranges, rather than wait outside for daylight.
I pulled out my new red flashlight and kept track of marks and courses while Peggy steered. When we got to the sea buoy, I called out the course to steer and the upcoming marks with their identifying characteristics. The first pair of channel buoys were flashing every 2.5 seconds, red and green respectively. The second pair were flashing every 4 seconds, the third every 2.5 seconds, and following were flashing about every second to mark a turn in the channel. We were assisted by range lights high on the harbor headlands, with a fixed white light in the distance above a white flasher closer by that would appear on top of one another when were headed down the center of the channel.
As we were nearing the second set of channel buoys, we got a radio call from the Savannah pilot boat, which was delivering a harbor pilot to a large ship approaching the sea buoy. The pilot asked us to monitor radio channel 13, the channel used for vessel bridge-to-bridge communications for coordinating movements. He stated that it was a naval vessel coming in, and that he WOULD be calling us later.
As we came around the first turn in the harbor channel, we got a call from the pilot, advising us that the ship was inbound and asking us to move to the port side of the channel, where there was plenty of depth for our vessel. We crossed the channel, heading just outside a port-hand mark, and slowed down to let the ship pass. In the early morning light, we saw a large gray Navy transport ship come boiling by, led by a Coast Guard patrol boat. There were no identifying numbers on the bow, and the name was painted on the stern in black lettering only faintly distinguishable against the gray. As the ship passed, the pilot called to thank us.
After the Navy ship passed, Peggy went below to get some sleep, and Gene took the helm. I still navigated us through the harbor, though all of the marks were now visible.
We’re now puttering around Savannah harbor, killing time while waiting for the tide to drop so that we can pass under a bridge to get to the marina where we will be staying.
Bill’s Boating Safety Tip of the Day: Don’t go to bed wearing salt-water soaked boxers or you risk the dreaded itchy-butt.
YOU JAMMY B@STARD!!!
Well, here in Savannah, I actually have an internet connection I can spend some time on. In Charleston the connection was in the marina office, and only open during the day when the boards were slow and there were others wanting to sign on. Here, the connection is in the marina building with the heads and laundry, and I can log in late at night.
First of all, I apologize for the messed-up coding in the posts. Aparently degree signs are a problem in headings
and text. All of the positions should be ##(degree sign) ##(minute sign).
HI PUCETTE!!! <waving back>, and HI to all you other lurkers.
rocking chair, I’m sorry, my mistake, I was confused. All we’re eating on the trip is salt pork, dried peas and sea biscuts. But we do get our tot of rum every day.
psycat90, just cause you asked so nicely, I’ll have fun.
Skerri, thank’s for the awesome time in Charleston. I loved AC’s. It’s the neighborhood bar we all should have just around the corner (except without those stupid S.C. airline bottles, ugh). It was great fun meeting you and your friends, particularly your pool partner. Did you ever meet up with him again? You did (and it’s your fault entirely and not mine at all) make the next morning a bit rocky, however. I’d really love to have you come up to the January Mega-Dopefest in New York so you can meet the rest of the gang.
London_Calling, actually, the 8-knot closehauled sail out from Charleston was more of a buzz (until it turned into a panic). It was fun sledding down the wind, but you knew the top speeds were just from dropping down the face of a wave. The sustained clothesline was more fun, particularly as we were on autopilot, and I was sitting on the back rail with my hands off the wheel, feeling almost like I was water-skiing.
We didn’t have any dolphins playing around the bow while sailing, though we did see a few in Charleston harbor.
Zenster, what can I say, I’m a jammy b@stard.
Everyone else, feel free to treat this thread like an “ask the guy on the month-long sailing trip” thread. It may take me a while, but I’ll try to answer any questions you may have when I can.
I’ve read of your adventures with a great deal of envy and a wee bit of trepidation, having no blue-water experience to speak of. More envy, tho - what a great trip! Thanks so much for posting - I look forward to the further adventures. Wave as you pass off Jax - I’ll arrange for fair winds and following seas!
It’s a sunny day in Savannah, and I’m sitting out on deck in a cool breeze listening to tunes and writing.
The day before yesterday we cruised up to the Savannah harbor-front and back out toward the harbor entrance waiting for the tide to fall. Around midday we turned south into the Inter-Coastal Waterway. The ICW, commonly referred to by boaters as “the ditch” is a series of interconnected inland waterways allowing boats to travel from Delaware Bay to South Florida without having to enter the Atlantic Ocean. It is a series of bays, sounds, canals, estuaries and cuts, mostly behind barrier islands all down the coast. Most pleasure boats making the passage from the Northeast to Florida go by the ditch for all or part of their journey. However, the ICW was constructed with a minimum high-water bridge clearance of 65 feet. Our mast top is 63 feet above the waterline, with antennas and instruments extending a few feet above it. This generally rules out our using the ditch, forcing outside passages.
Downtown Savannah has no good marina facilities, so we decided to stop at the Savannah branch of Palmer Johnson Yachts, a major Wisconsin-based luxury yacht builder located a few miles down the ICW from Savannah in the town of Thunderbolt. Joe piloted us down the ditch, as I called out marks and ranges. After carefully consulting the tide charts, we made it under the fixed bridge at Thunderbolt with a few feet to spare.
During the trip up the Savannah River and the ICW, the steering had been hesitating strangely when we turned the wheel to starboard. We guessed that it was a reoccurrence of our autopilot problem, so we disconnected the autopilot control arm as we approached the marina.
We were in a strong current with the wind blowing us away from the dock, but with a little adjustment, Peggy put us onto the fuel dock, and a crusty old dockmaster helped us tie down and fuel. He then directed us to our overnight berth on the next dock over.
As we pulled out into the current to switch berths, the wheel froze in Peggy’s hands. As Gene prepared to drop anchor, the wheel freed up and Peggy smoothly piloted us in.
We were at the other end of the yard from the mega-yachts. Gene had been coveting the various big boys we had seen all the way down the coast. While I was in the marina office, I picked up a brochure for what I decided would be a nice starter boat for Gene, a Palmer Johnson 50-meter (164 ft.) Performance Cruiser sailboat.
Perhaps the best thing about the marina is its showers. Large and clean, with plentiful hot water, they’re a lovely change from Reality’s shower, which is great for a boat shower, but a boat shower nonetheless. Perhaps the second best thing about Palmer Johnson (though I’d be open to arguments that it is first) is that every morning they deliver a half-dozen fresh Krispy Kreme donuts to your boat at dockside.
After we got in and I took a short nap, I took my turn cooking the dinner I had volunteered to make. I made breaded chicken cutlets with an artichoke and lemon sauce over orzo, with spinach on the side. Peggy opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio. We all fell asleep early that night and slept late.
Yesterday morning was Gene’s opportunity to venture into sea and sky. We had thoroughly inspected the steering gear and could find no sign of the trouble. We knew it wasn’t the autopilot, because we had disconnected it, so we sent Gene under the boat in a mask and swim fins to see if there were some obstruction on the rudder. Gene found some reeds wrapped around the rudder post, but we didn’t think they were heavy enough to cause the problem. We remain mystified.
After Gene had dried off, we sent him up the mast in the bosun’s chair to replace a flag halyard. Rather than allow himself to be winched up, he climbed up some footholds on the lower mast, and then pulled himself up the shrouds, using the bosun’s chair as merely a safety. He hooked on the halyard and climbed back down the mast.
After our chores were done, we caught a bus into Savannah. When we got downtown, we stopped for lunch at Creole Red, a hole-in-the-wall restaurant with an authentic Louisiana buffet. One dish was better than the other was, and we went back for more and more. We rolled out of the restaurant absolutely stuffed, and went a cross the street to the Ships of the Sea maritime museum.
The museum was in a converted Savannah mansion and was full of richly detailed ship models, maritime paintings and prints, and nautical artifacts. In some of the exhibits they had video presentations. In the room with a model of the Titanic down by the bow among the icebergs, they played a clip from the movie A Night to Remember. In the room centered on a model of the cruiser U.S.S. Savannah, they showed a newsreel of the Savannah being hit by and recovering from a bomb dropped by a German bomber as it participated in the Salerno invasion in WW II.
After the museum, we walked around the Savannah waterfront. Though there were a number of interesting shops, the city seemed to have less to offer than we had expected. We took a bus back, and after our enormous lunch, had a light dinner of leftover chicken cutlets, which Peggy turned into chicken parmesan heroes.
After dinner I finished typing my last journal entries, and then headed up to the bath house to get onto its internet connection. I stayed on until after 1 a.m., and then went back to my bunk. I woke up to Joe putting up the coffee and bringing in the Krispy Kremes.