IBR + LBD

The crew of First Light was up before first light getting ready for departure. A long day was in the offering and letting daylight dribble away while still at the dock seemed silly. A weather check the night before suggested it would be a perfect day to tackle the south end of the Chesapeake Bay. We have crossed that chunk of water several times and rarely has it been an easy task. But the GRIB files were showing winds calm to less than 10.

Of course they also suggested that all of the rain that came with a cold frontal passage the night before would be offshore come morning. But...come morning it was overcast and foggy. Still, why worry about a little drizzle? It would give me a chance to drive from my inside steering station with windshield wipers thunking away.

Just as we pulled in the last of the lines holding us to the pier, the drizzle turned into pretty heavy rain. Not TRW rain but enough to ruffle up the water and reduce the visibility to about ½ mile. IBR! Instrument Boat Rules! 

It was just as much fun as I thought it would be. A half mile takes 7-1/2 minutes to pass when one is doing about 4 knots. Of course boats coming down the channel will pass faster and required a bit more attention. But the channel is wide and we were hugging our side. Sure enough, a ghostly looking freighter loomed out of the gloom and we passed with no issues. Cool beans. I could learn to like boating in this kind of weather. IMC (Instrument Meteorological Conditions) in an airplane means keeping track of heading, altitude, attitude, navigation, traffic, and communications all while (perhaps) getting bounced all over the sky doing 300 knots. But it the Boat? Speed...4 knots. Attitude and altitude? Not an issue. Navigation? Moving maps and chart plotters. Communications? Not much chatter on channel 16. I was grinning like a kid on Christmas Morning.

The scuzzy weather lasted all the way past the line of Naval Ships and out into the James River. Passing Fort Monroe and turning north into the Chesapeake the sky cleared but the wind picked up. Thus started our LBD...Long Bumpy Day. Every one of the weather sources we normally check got the day wrong. The wind was not light and variable. It was out of the North at 10 to 15, sometimes 20. The current was running north. The two were playing slap and tickle, leaving First Light bashing her way to windward in two to three foot, somewhat confused seas. It was not a pleasant ride for the first 9 and ½ hours of the 10 hour, 51 minute trip. It was enough to take most of the fun out of the day.

The Crew taking a break on the foredeck and yes he has a lifejacket on.

The good news is that all that banging around was a chance to get to know the boat a little better and trust its seaworthiness a little bit more. It would have been an ugly, likely impossible, day up on the fly bridge. But at the lower helm? Okay, not comfortable but not terrible either. On a pretty regular basis the bow would drop hard, shaking the boat and sending a cascade of water up above the anchor. But the shape of the hull tossed it outboard with virtually none of it landing on the foredeck. Some of the hits were pretty loud, but after a while it sounded kind of normal. The worst hit came from a container ship that ran us down from behind. As it closed, we did a lazy, oval shaped, 360 degree turn to starboard and out of the channel to let him pass by. After 270 degrees we straightened up and took his wake bow on. It had to be every bit of 5 feet as it loomed over the anchor roller before First Light powered up the slope and fell into the hole on the back side of the wave. Ouch. But we soldiered on with nothing apparently amiss.

The boat mascots - Teddy, Bean, and
Nutters didn't seem to mind the ride

We plowed through the day with the crew growing every more weary and the boat thumping its way through the whitecaps. Eventually we made it to Fishing Bay near Deltaville, VA and dropped the hook, sharing the anchorage with 3 other boats. It is just about perfect here at the moment. First Light rides easy to 90 feet of chain and the snubber in 16 feet of water, the winds are calm, and the temperature isn't as brutal as it has been. Up in the flybridge it is downright pleasant. As normally happens, a rough trip is nearly forgotten as soon as it is over. We are content with the day's work we put in, satisfied that pushing on was an okay decision. Even more, we are content that the day is over and we are sitting safe and quiet. Assuming the forecasts are getting it right this time, we are likely to be here a couple of days.

Being anchored here for the first time in eight years feels kind of special. We made it here when first starting out on Kintala. In spite of the challenges that came up, we have managed to bounce our way here again on First Light. It hasn't been easy and I think it fair to suggest that we worked for it. But, on the other hand, it has to be admitted that we are among the luckiest people on the planet. Why is that so? I don't think anyone knows.

Dolphin inspection

Bye Bye Fishing Bay

It is best, if one is going to start a sailing day by visiting a  water / pump-out / dump trash / get gas dock, that it be a short day of sailing. Marina fuel docks are reminiscent of passenger waiting lounges at airports, nothing seems to happen in a hurry. Kintala eased onto the dock behind a very nice looking Moody 46 already at the pump-out. We touched bases with India, Dock Manager extraordinaire who became a new friend last Spring.  It was nearly 0900 when Kintala, now full / empty / empty /full, eased away from the dock and moved back into the middle of Fishing Bay.

A single reef in the main and the staysail took over from the Beast, making enough HP to log nearly 4 knots on the GPS. Not fast, but fast enough for working the “U” shaped channel leading back to the Chesapeake. As the day wore on the staysail was stowed, the jib deployed, and the reef shaken out of the main to work the basically beam reach winds hovering in the 10 to 15 knots range. Waves barely topped a foot. Thin, feeble little things that slapped gently along the hull. Hard to believe this was the same body of water that Kintala had romped through just a few days ago, spray flying, lines tangling, deck monkey thrashing about, sails jammed and poles hanging.

Turning up into Mobjack Bay meant turning far off the wind. The main dropped easily onto the boom and working on the barely rocking deck was like working at a dock. The jib carried Kintala across Mobjack and deep into the Severn River. It was barely a half mile to the anchorage when the last sail was rolled away and the Beast went back to work. Along the way a pod of dolphins dropped by to play tag in the bow wake and see how we were doing. It was the first we have seen close up in several months. Such encounters are pretty high on the list of “best things about cruising” and it was an added treat to top a nearly perfect day.

Severn River is a new place for us, talked up by many as a must see. Kintala is set secure in front of the Severn River Marina; where friends have spent the summer working on their Catamaran. There had been some vague plans of seeing them tonight but, truth to tell, easy day as it was, launching the Dink just seemed like too much work. Even a great day of sailing is still a pretty busy day, and the four nights spent in Fishing Bay waiting for wind and sea to settle down were not much of a rest. All in all it took about 7 + 30 to cover the 34 miles from the last place to this. At the end of the day Kintala's deck was well ordered and tidy. Nothing was jammed or hung half way up the forestay. Which was good. I would hate to have the dolphins drop by and catch us in a state of disarray like the day we went into Fishing Bay.

It would have been down right embarrassing.

Hermit diaries

This is our third morning in Fishing Bay. The wind is finally starting to ease, the boat dancing and rolling just that little bit less. Though not calm by any standard, any improving of the conditions is welcome as it has been a long couple of days. We managed to eat some, sleep poorly, read a bit, and keep the batteries charged using little Honda generator. The wind ripped a seam out of the dodger, but that is the only damage we have suffered. Hopefully in the next day or two we can make a stop at the marina nearby, pump out, take on some water, leave some trash, and be on our way.

Fishing Bay, empty.

Kintala is the only boat anchored, which is a bit of a puzzle. There were a lot of boats around when we sailed here the other day. Certainly most of them found a place to wait out the weather just as we have. Where did they all go? So we have been camped out here all by our lonesome. It is a part of the cruising life that doesn't get mentioned as often as it should, particularly among those who are “coastal cruisers." After all, we don't cross oceans, striking out across the most remote places on the planet for weeks at a time, no other humans around for hundreds of miles. No. We go out for a day or two, maybe three at most. And that not very often. Most of the places we go will have a few to a whole gang of boats. There will be pot lucks and gatherings, boat visits and sundowners; all the things people normally associate with cruising.

But there will be many days like these past few as well. We have been face to face with none but ourselves since pulling up the hook in Annapolis. With the wind and rain we have barely been out of the boat since we dropped the hook here three days ago. And it isn't a very big boat. Fortunately Deb doesn't seem to mind my face.

One of the reasons to go cruising is to get away from the crowd once in a while, which is probably a little bit of a misleading thing to say. Apart from shopping, a “crowd” to us is now any group numbering more than five or six, six being about the most that will fit in Kintala's tiny cockpit for sundowners. We don't see crowds very often so, when we do, it is some kind of occasion all of its own. (Like the St. Patties Day Parade at Green Turtle or a Boat show.)

I like living in such a way that crowds are a “special occasion”.

Though a little less rolling at anchor would still be nice.

A day unraveled...

I slept 10 hours last night.

Back Creek, Solomons sunrise. Red in the morning...

Yesterday the hook came off the bottom of Back Creek in the Solomons at 0700. Sailing the day before (Back Creek Annapolis to Back Creek Solomons – lots of Back Creeks in these parts) had Kintala covering 48 miles in 9 + 15. Routing suggested it would be a 50 nm sail to Fishing Bay that would take nearly 12 hours, making an early go necessary to get in by nightfall.  Kintala's crew is still making the transition from “hanging around the Bay visiting friends” mode to “making tracks south” mode. This our first multiple days sailing strung together since last spring. We had been planning to make one more jump today, then stop for a bit to visit.

 But after yesterday Kintala will be taking the day off.

Winds for the last two days have been in the 20 knot +/- range, making for fun, if somewhat busy, sailing. The first day out, we had started with just the staysail. It was enough power to have us going nearly 5 knots but not really enough to keep Kintala happy banging through the waves. Tucking the little sail away and flying the jib was the ticket. The GPS track logged a max speed of 7.7 and our old Tartan romped happily south. Yesterday looked to be more of the same.

Waves were noticeably fuller as the bow cleared into the bay. Not taller or steeper, just more robust somehow, suggesting extra heft and power. We didn't bother with the little sail, just spun out the jib and set off. For much of the day we were in and out of the ditch, with the waves rolling the boat side to side. Day long winds built the waves fuller and taller, the roll becoming more pronounced. Those heading south were enjoying a fast but busy sail. Those heading north, presumably toward the boat show, looked to be taking a serious pounding. For the most part the sailboats were keeping pace with, and often passing, the trawlers. I can't imagine what the ride was like up on a fly bridge and assume they had stabilizers running at full song.

About a third of the way into the day, the winds moved more toward the bow and we needed the main – with two reefs – to help hold the point. It wasn't a particularly balanced sail set, one we haven't used before. The auto pilot struggled, though still working much of the time, and we pressed on. A kink in the bay moved the winds aft again and the main was dropped back onto the boom. The winds faded some more, the speed bled away, the waves kept rolling the boat and the jib started to slap itself silly. Time for the pole, which started the unraveling of the day.

Normally we set the pole without using a topping lift, which often had me struggling to keep it under control until both ends were secured. It had been a real struggle the first day out, so trying something different seemed like a good idea. And it was. Attaching the spinnaker halyard to the far end of the jib pole made life much easier, even on a rolling deck. The sail quit flogging, another knot was added to the speed, and all was well with the world.

Then the winds came back.

With the headsail poled out and the winds in the mid 20s +, Kintala flat launched herself into high a 7s romp with a max speed recorded of 8.2 on the GPS. Boat speed was showing 9+ with big, broad shouldered waves shoving the stern around at will. In the back of the mind lies the thought that the edge of the cliff is getting kind of close, but you just have to go along for the ride.

One thing about going fast is that ground is covered in a hurry. Instead of doing 50 miles in 12 hours, we had done nearly 60 in about 10.  The destination inlet hove into view with plenty of daylight left, but it required enough of a turn to put the wind on the other side of the stern. A flying, downwind jibe would be required, something that simply can't happen with a pole. Since we needed to slow down anyway, the decision was made to roll in the big sail and roll out the little sail on the other side. We have rolled up the big sail with the pole deployed before and it has always just swung forward to lie against the furled sail, waiting patiently to be taken down whenever we got around to it. But we have never rolled it in while using a topping lift.

Which, in the wind, got wound up at the top of the sail, jamming everything to a stop and making it impossible to drop the pole to the deck. All of the necessary un-jamming and dropping would have to be done out on the fore deck, the one place I didn't want to be at that moment. Fortunately, the jam happened late in the rolling up process. We let the small part of the jib still hanging just hang. The pole wasn't going anywhere with the topping lift tangled as it was. The little sail went out on the other side of the boat without a problem, we were still under way, under control.

And all was well with the world.

Ah, but then we needed to jibe once again to keep from running into the shore; impossible with the fore deck in the mess it was in. We tried, but the little sail's lazy sheet got twisted up somehow. The sail was mostly furled when it jammed to a stop, so I locked the line on a cleat and let it be. Pretty much every sail on board was now out of commission.

The Beast came to the rescue but, with all the sails in and the hull sideways to the waves Kintala was rolling and yawing madly while Deb tried to pick her way through the channel markers. I kept offering unneeded advice while tangled in cockpit mess of lines; jib sheets, main sheet, traveler, furling... Out on deck, reefing lines lay scattered about, sheets flogged, and a wayward halyard snapped back and forth. Kintala looked like the scene of a multi-colored spaghetti factory explosion.

Eventually, Fishing Bay lay under the keel. The hook went down.  We set it hard and laid out 80 feet of new-to-us BBB chain. It actually fits on our gypsy, runs off cleanly, and comes up even better. (Thank you Kokopelli!) Winds are forecast to be in the 30s before the weekend is out.

Kintala is taking the day off, so we will be in Fishing Bay until the wind blows itself out.  Then we will make tracks south once again.  Maybe invent some new kind of way to unravel a day.

A stunning ketch rig anchored next to us in Back Creek, Solomons

A fellow traveler in the rolling waves just outside Fishing Bay

Gill nets and Mulligans ...

The Fishing Bay anchorage.

The plan was to leave Fishing Bay and make two or three easy day-sails to finish the trek North. Sunday dawned sunny and calm. We moved over to the fuel dock to pump out the used water tank, fill up the fresh water tanks, and dump some trash. The Fishing Bay Marina turned out to be a gem of a place, good anchorage, friendly people (India runs the office, couldn't have been more helpful, and is a Charmer) … we plan on stopping there for a few more days before heading to places south. Anyway...

No wind to be had

Leaving the dock was as easy as stepping aboard, taking in the lines, and letting the gentle breeze drift Kintala free and clear. The GRIB files promised a day of little or no wind, but we rolled the head sails in and out a couple of times anyway, looking to quiet the Beast. After an hour or so we found enough air to fill the sails, and for two wonderful hours we moved along like a sailboat should. Sadly though, the GRIBs turned out to be more right than wrong. Just after 1100, drifting to a stop with sails flapping uselessly, the Beast rumbled awake and we made like power cruisers once again.

A sea of glass

And still no wind...

We had departed without having settled on an anchorage for the night.  We needed a balance of wind or no, plus functional Deck Monkey or no, divided by the need to get where we were going. There was another variable in the equation as well.  The Chesapeake is a pretty big body of water. When one is wandering down the middle of it, the only place even remotely safe from crab-pots, one can easily be ten miles or more from a suitable place to drop a hook. Ten plus miles in, ten plus miles back out; at sailboat speeds such a detour can easily add five or six hours to a two day total. Once we got to adding up the numbers it appeared that anchoring for the night would mean going nearly 30 miles further than if we just sailed on to Rock Creek and the Oak Harbor Marina. But that would mean a last minute change of plans to making an overnight run up one of the busiest Bays on the East Coast. We haven't had much luck with last minute additions of overnight runs, and started this season with a distinct ambivalence to the idea of any overnight work. Then again …

… straight to Rock Creek was a total of just 24 hour and we were already ten hours in. It was the best kind of full moon night, with moon rise just as the sun set. It was clear as a bell  We have done four overnight runs in the last month or so, and this one would be in the Bay with very little chance of weather. No wind, meaning motoring and hand steering, but there wasn't any wind in the forecast for the next several days. Motor at night, motor in the daytime, it's still motoring. So we elected to motor on...

... and had the easiest, smoothest, overnight run we have ever had. We even managed a couple of hours of sailing come late evening and into the sunset; 1815 to 2030 to be exact. This allowed the Wind Vane to do the driving while Deb cooked up and served dinner. Sweet timing indeed.

Sunset on the Chesapeake

The only downside to the whole adventure was local fishing habits. For once the crab-potters seemed to have figured out where the shipping channel was located. The same cannot be said for those stringing out gill nets, particularly those working between the channel markers of Red 68 and Red 80. Those daft buggers are apparently dense or lazy, laying out their prop-traps with one end at the a channel marker - my guess is so the duffs can find it again without having to learn how to use a GPS - with the other end strung out into the channel many hundreds of feet! Yikes.

Big boats tend to run in the middle of the channel leaving the nests unmolested, though my guess is such boats would chew through such gear without notice. North bound forty-two foot sailboats, on the other hand, tend to run close to Reds to give the big boats room. Kintala would certainly notice if she ran over one, likely drifting to a stop with prop and rudder hopelessly fouled.

Cruise ship leaving Baltimore heading for the islands. Wait...why are we going the opposite direction????

Fortunately, most of the dodging was completed before the sun went completely down, though one passed close down our port side in the moon light. By shear luck the net stretched out away from our hull, the other marker even deeper out in the channel. Yikes!  I certainly hope that one got shredded into tiny little bits by one of the big boats that later closed in on us from the stern.

One of the ships we dodged

Note to self: look behind often when running this channel at night. The big cargo ships heading for Baltimore are scary fast and surprisingly quiet; and run all night long. Looking back over one's port shoulder to see four stories worth of bow slicing through the water just 0.1 nm away WILL make the heart pound. After that scare I kept a much better watch and, using the information on our I.A.S., called each boat by name when they were two miles astern, making sure they had us in sight, and letting them know we would be moving close to the Reds to give them plenty of room for a pass on our port side. Nearly every one of them thanked us for checking in.  It was all very professional and kind of fun.  Echos of landing a Cessna 150 at Pittsburgh International Airport at rush hour on a Monday morning. (Those of you who don't get the connection, don't worry. Those that do... yeah, that was me.)

Rock Creek anchorage early in the morning

Just after dawn we pulled into Rock Creek and now sit on the hook just a mile or so from Oak Harbor. Later today we will head in and transition from cruising to getting ready to cruise. It is almost like a mulligan; sell the house, visit family along the way, fix up the boat, say good-by to the kids and grand kids, try not to get trapped too far north come Autumn. We did this once already. Let's all hope the second try works out a little easier than did the first.

Close ... getting close ...

Staying in Fishing Bay for a day or so turned out to be an even better idea than it seemed at first. The weather that was heavy rain and winds to 40, that had faded to showers and winds less than 20, arrived as moderate rain with winds gusting to 30. And it is cold! Not sure exactly how cold since our outside temperature gauge is one of the things that hasn't enjoyed being exposed to salt air. Phone weather says it is 55 degrees somewhere near here, but it feels a lot colder than that. Lows tonight are forecast for the mid 40s, ugh. After that Spring is supposed to show up, so all we need do is shiver through the next 48 hours. Two days of travel after the sun returns and Kintala will be as far north as she is going this year.

There are a lot of uncertainties after that. Numbers for home sales and unemployment rates are not encouraging, but selling the condo is a must do or all cruising bets are off. Even if the condo goes the the grim specter of having to find a paycheck for a while to fill the hole in our budget looms. How I envy those who made a clean get-a-way; who can stop at a marina without counting pennies, drink a $3 beer at the local watering hole without thinking the ones on the boat cost half as much, or contemplate boat projects without cringing. After nearly 19 months in the water and 4000 miles under her keel, and while somewhat neglected during the summer of the Bear, Kintala is deserving of a little tender loving care. Some kind of auto pilot is a must. Bottom paint, fiberglass work where 50 knot winds left their mark, the non-skid on deck is getting ugly, we would like to add another solar panel and more batteries to the bank; all things that need attention. And I am sure at least one pretty big job lurks somewhere that has yet to raise its head. In fact one of my major concerns is getting caught too far north again, too late in the season, and facing another winter run down the ICW. That would be a big “Ugh” indeed.

On the other hand … Daughters and Grand Kids await, including the newest due within weeks. There are friends we hope to see, and other friends we hope to meet and join on the trek south with come late summer. Some still in the Islands are thinking of heading to the Chesapeake for the summer. Others are already north of us, and we will be meeting them as soon as we get to Oak Harbor. That will be a fair and happy reunion, one of the true joys of this life. The idea of hooking up for a few weeks of traveling together is enough to take the gloom off of a day like this one. Come fall we may not get far, but we will get somewhere. Jobs, if they be necessary, will have to be found where where the snow doesn't fly nor the water freeze. Home will still mean Kintala. While her sailing capabilities can only be admired, her cold weather livability leaves much to be desired.

A summer of labor followed by a winter of cruising seems a pretty common theme. If we settle into being members of that part of the cruising tribe, we will be keeping good company. But first, one more day of cold, then two more days of travel.

Possibilities ...

Odin the Wanderer. Photo property of Bonnie Cunningham

Fifteen days after departing the Cooper River, Kintala cleared the ICW, motored past the billions of dollars of Navy floating among a myriad of docks, and found her way to the anchorage off of Fort Monroe. It was a bit exposed but not bad, and there we met up with a newly departed cruising couple from our distant past. Bonnie and Craig were acquaintances from the St. Louis professional aviation scene, experienced pilots, Craig a mechanic. We had crossed paths now and again but none of us knew of the others intent to go cruising. Yet there we were, Kintala anchored just boat lengths away while we shared stories and sun-downers on their PDQ Cat, Odin the Wanderer. It was as unexpected and delightful a meet-up as I have ever had, one I would have never guessed would happen. The next morning they continued south for their first brush with the ICW. Kintala's bow pointed the other way. Once acquaintances but now good friends, I'm pretty sure we will catch up to them somewhere in some place that has clear water and warm, sunny skies.

The Marina and boatyard at Fishing Bay. (Sorry for the blur)

Since this is where we started our adventure, one might think that the Chesapeake would feel a bit like home. But the fact is we have sailed into Treasure Cay in the Abaco Islands many more times than we have into Fishing Bay, which is where we sit at the moment. We did visit here on our first trip south, but the place didn't look at all familiar as we motored in yesterday afternoon. I don't know why it didn't make more of impression since it is a very nice place. There is a boat yard that allows live-a-boards who are working on their boat, a nice marina that offers a loaner car to the little town nearby, and that little town has all the necessities of life; including jelly beans and rum. Kintala had run out of both.

Red sky in the morning...

There is some weather around so we are planning to spend a couple of days. Two days ago “the weather” was a massive low pressure area that was due to spin up and lash the Bay with 40 knot winds, heavy rain and thunderstorms. The fun was due to start tonight and last into tomorrow. We made our way here to sit it out. Now the weather is a band of rain and 20 knot winds, stuff we would easily sail in if there was need. But we have some room in the schedule, I am still far from operable, the boat needed provisions (Jelly Beans and Rum!), a pump-out would be a good idea before we go much further, and there is no need. Besides, if the weather changes its mind again, it would be much better to be solidly anchored here in NE winds of 40 knots, rather than having my busted-up self out wrestling with sails in the middle of the Chesapeake.

The last time the Dink was in the water was back in Fox Town. That was, of course, the last time the Merc did any work as well. Since then it has been perched on the stern pulpit, so I had my doubts about it waking up this morning. Such doubts were completely out of place. Second pull. That little motor is officially on my “glad I have this thing on board” list. Though the WesterBeast and I have settled into an uneasy relationship, and it has performed flawlessly since leaving the Bahamas, the chances of The Beast making that list are still in doubt. Still, it just clicked over 3100 hours of operation (though there is no real reason to believe the hour meter – it could be far more) and has been laboring without complaint. So, who knows? If bare acquaintances from long ago can turn up as good friends just starting out, met years and thousands of miles later at an anchorage at the base of the Chesapeake, I guess just about anything is possible.

All of my grandsons would love this stretch of the ICW. So many huge machines and cranes and ships.

Retired or really tired?

Rolling out of the v-berth before sunrise just seems wrong for a person who has supposedly retired. But this was the day to take on the Potomac River and an early cast-off was part of the deal. The weather forecast wasn't that much better than yesterday's; NW winds 10 to 15 with guests to 20, waves 3 feet, and a small craft advisory. But the sky was blue and our hearts restless. Besides, a friend had suggested that we watch to see if the professional fishing types stayed in and, if they did, to stay in as well. Otherwise it should be good to go. Three different fishing boats passed as Kintala collected her dock lines so going seemed like a good choice.

After we were on our way it occurred to me that pilots used to do something similar. When the night freight drivers stayed on the ground, staying on the ground was a good choice. But if they blasted off and you decided to blast off as well, well, you were betting the farm on having an airplane at least as capable as theirs and (more important) deciding that you were every bit as good as they. (And that wasn't very damned likely.)

Rounding the corner from the creek to the river were those same fishing boats, all gathered together, lines cast, and not even going out on the bay. Oops. On the plus side about half a dozen other cruising sailboats were following Kintala; if it had been a foolish choice to go we were not the only fools afloat this morning.

Instead we were Royalty; flying along deep downwind flying just the working jib, touching 9 knots at times, rocking in the 3 foot rollers, dancing through whitecaps … retirement indeed! Then, for the very first time, we dropped the Cape Horn Wind Vane rudder into the water, fiddled with the lines for a few minutes, then sat back and watched the magic. There is still much to learn but we spent a good part of the day with “Henry” (the best pilot I ever knew so our name for the Cape Horn System) driving the bus.

More then ten hours after leaving Solomon Island the anchor tipped off the bow in a protected bit of water known as Fishing Bay, just south of a little town called Deltaville, MD. Cold, tired, and hungry we put more than 60 miles in our wake this day, almost all of them south of where we started. Hopefully, soon, those southerly miles will start resulting in slightly warmer temperatures. For now though, it is good to be clicking them off.