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

Fair Winds and Following Seas

When cruisers say goodbye to one another they nearly almost always say, "Fair Winds and Following Seas." There's a reason they do that, and today was the reason.

Back Creek Annapolis

We set out from Back Creek at about 0730, passing our new friends Carl and Ardys as they brought their Saga 43 in to the dock for service. A quick hello as we passed and then we motored just out of the channel before cranking out the staysail. The apparent wind was cranking up to the low 20s, substantially higher than the 5-10 predicted, and we were hard on the wind until we could make the turn to the south, so we decided on the staysail rather than the jib. Even with just the small staysail up and 3-4 foot waves, we were skimming along at 5 knots. Once we cleared the point and turned south, the apparent wind dropped to 15-20 so the staysail was stowed, the genoa cranked out, and the whisker pole set. It was magic. 45.8 miles, 9 hours 13 minutes, top speed 7.7 knots, average speed 5 knots, perfect temperature, and the new autopilot performed flawlessly. It was the sail cruiser dreams are made of, and the "Fair Winds and Following Seas" greeting is the best wish I can pass along to the rest of you making your way south. We hope you get to share the magic.

Back Creek in the Solomons

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.

Pinned

We got up with the dawn in order to get some fuel, hit the pump-out, and be on the Bay early. We checked the weather, "Small craft advisory, winds West at 15 to 20 gusting to 25, waves 4 feet". We checked the tides; low at 1107, high at 1805. A quick E.T.E. put us at the mouth of the Potomac around 1400, full in the face of a flood tide flowing against that 25 knot wind. Then we decided to stay in Solomon Island for another day.

At first it wasn't clear that waiting was the right thing. The sky was blue, barely a cat's paw troubled the water on Back Creek, and it is getting hard to ignore the cold. (One's breath was clearly visible before exiting the v-berth this morning, making getting up at all a small act of determination.) In order to salvage a bit of utility from the day we decided to get the fuel and pump-out chores done, and even found a good price for a night on the pier where we could power up the boat, run our little heater, and maybe drive a little of the accumulated condensation out of the boat.

It is just about 1400 now and we are pinned firmly to that very same pier. A double set of fenders is getting squished nearly flat as, even in the shelter of the Creek, a relentless west wind - bumping 20 knots - leans against the boat. It would be good to know what the conditions are like at the mouth of the Potomac right now; to learn if it is actually as uncomfortable as suspected. I know there are some boats out there. Channel 16 was full of calls from Navy boats trying to get various sail and power boaters to exit a live target area. (The Chesapeake Bay seems a stupid place to have a live fire area; just saying.) Maybe, after they get out of the way, they could give a report of what the conditions were like (and maybe if the Navy hit anything they were aiming at)? Just curious.

Only one boat of the 4 anchored around us last night left this morning. While motoring up and down the Creek getting chores done we passed a half-dozen or so more, obvious cruisers, hanging on the hook as well; including a 50 foot Cat and a brace of power boats. None appeared to be getting ready to sail, and none have passed since we tied up here.

Guess we aren't the only one's who decided that the cold wasn't that bad after all.  Next year though, come this time, we plan to be 100 miles south of where we are now.

A day for the senses

Today was a day of catering to the senses. We eased out of Back Creek in Annapolis just as daylight edged over the marinas lining the creek, the mist swirling around the anchored boats laying in the glassy water, their chains dangling straight down into the water with no wind to pull them taught. It was cool, but not cold enough that wooly gloves couldn't handle it, especially with a mug of hot coffee cradled in them. It was amazingly quiet, the kind of quiet that draws you in, that sucks away all your tension and leaves you completely peaceful.

Just as we made the short jaunt into the bay, the sun poked out around the clouds that were being pushed off by the cold front working its way off shore, a welcome warmth on chilly faces. The wind hadn't fully clocked around to the West as promised yet so we found ourselves motoring for awhile, a fact that I would have held in disdain a few months ago (we are sailors, after all, not power boaters...). But now? I was completely content to motor along enjoying the scenery of the Calvert Cliffs to the West of us.

 
We were finally able to sail for a good part of the day, making six to seven knots in relatively flat seas, a dream for any sailor. In the end, though, the relatively flat seas became glassy seas and the iron jenny returned along with some full sun. I spent a good bit of time sprawling in the cockpit with the rocking of the boat and the sun on my face, nearly asleep. After more than 10 hours we arrived in Solomons, MD, weaving our way up the channel to anchor outside Spring Cove Marina, owned by the sister of our good friend John Kretschmer. The weather is falling apart tomorrow with the approach of a new front so we'll stay put and attempt to get the outboard running. For now, though, we sit bobbing gently in a very small anchorage along with just one other boat, the lights of the local Holiday Inn glittering on the water, our bellies full and our eyelids heavy.


It does, in fact, not get any better than this.