In spite of the forecast, we woke up this morning to dead calm winds and near glassy water. Conditions outside of the inlet were not being reported as that good, but we did have a brief discussion about heading out. Deb put the nix on that idea by reminding me that pretty much every time we make a hurried, last minute departure we end up regretting it. Fair enough. We loafed through the next part of the day with me checking fluid levels in the engine room and then the two of us doing a minor mod to the cabinet in the head to add a little more storage space. That done, we had a serious, in-depth, look at the weather. I did not like what I was seeing.
The NWC discussion for Atlantic City for the next 48 hours included phrases like “strong storms” and “wind gusts to 60 knots” along with “damaging hail.” A look at the prog charts supported that forecast with a big split in the isobars between a low NE of us, a high SW, along with an associated cold front closing in from the NW. That the current weather was far from the forecast spooked me as well. Clearly someone, somewhere, had missed something. Maybe they missed it on the good side, and maybe they missed it on the bad side. Adding to my discomfort was that the other weather sources were all over the map. All added together? I was not at all comfortable with where we were sitting.
Deb was quite content to ride out whatever was coming in the anchorage. The hook was solid. We had been sitting through 20 knot winds plus higher gusts for a couple of days with no problem. And we are no strangers to riding out ugly weather on anchor or a mooring ball. But for reasons I don't understand myself, the idea of riding out such a convoluted tangle of forecasts in that spot had my skin crawling.
Deb and I have a long-standing agreement when it comes to nearly everything we do. If either one of us is really uncomfortable with a potential decision, we make a different decision. She was a bit puzzled by my case of the heebie-jeebies but she called a nearby marina and found us a dock. I had already done the engine checks, so we closed the hatches, stored some loose stuff, and cranked up the engines. It took a bit of effort to get the hook out of the mud, but it came up with some grass on it as well. It was near high tide and we followed our inbound track back out through the narrow channel, across the inlet, and over to the dock. It was an easy entry and, though the wind was starting to pick up, we landed without fuss. Once again we found the marina folks to be competent and friendly. (Florida Marina owners should head this way, hang around, and learn a thing or two about customer service.) Also, these docks are new, floating, and fixed to the stoutest pilings I have ever seen. In fact they are so new that they are not even finished yet.
Yes, it is expensive and no, we don't know how many days we will be here. But we are here and I am a much happier camper. It will be a little bit of an embarrassment if, for the wad of cash it is costing, we end up riding out a minor bit of wind and rain that amounts to nothing much. But for the first time in a few days I am actually relaxed. We are surrounded by boats, buildings, sea walls, and docks. A few hundred feet is the longest fetch. I've got us tied to the dock with a web of lines and a row of fenders. And, even as I type this (2042 local time) the trees are bending and the flags are standing straight out. It may still work out that we moved here for no good reason. And if that is the case? I can live with having been spooked by a nasty forecast and making the call to be somewhere else when, and if, it arrives.
There is an old saying. There are bold pilots, and there are old pilots. But there are no old, bold, pilots. I happen to know that is not entirely true since I am, in fact, and old, bold, pilot. However, I don't guess I can make the claim of being and old, bold, sailor. And I am okay with that.
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