“Absolute calm is not the law of the ocean and its the same with every department of life.” Gandhi
One year ago this month, we were eagerly preparing for our first crossing in our Taswell 43. With a mixture of anticipation, excitement, and a little anxiety, we did our best to prepare for the 1500 mile voyage to the British Virgin Islands. Though we were not successful in completing that trek, we did gain experience with rough seas, boat repair, navigation, and got a crash course in just how hard it can be crossing an ocean.
Can I honestly say that after one year and several thousand miles under our boat in various conditions that we are much more prepared this time for a 1500 mile venture to the islands? Absolutely. We have traversed the East Coast from Florida to Maine. We sailed south to Cuba. We successfully crossed the Gulf Stream 5 times and navigated through the Bahamas and Abacos Islands. The fact that I have come to learn through my mere 1 year of living aboard a boat and blue water sailing, is that no matter how prepared you may feel you are, there are always going to be new challenges to face on an almost daily basis. Through the school of hard knocks, we have embraced the concept of expecting the unexpected.
Our goal after attending the World Equestrian Games to watch our daughter compete, dealing with two hurricane threats, and spending more than a month in Charleston with a major list of boat repairs and upgrades, included preparing once again for sailing to the British Virgin Islands. My husband would have been happy crossing from Charleston to the islands. However, after last year’s attempt, I preferred the concept of safety in numbers. Dan agreed to join the Salty Dawg Rally thereby allowing us to make our voyage along-side a sailing fleet.
What could possibly go wrong with our extensive planning, boat preparation, and diligence in plotting the safest and easiest route to the islands? I guess instead of using the term, “what could go wrong,” I shall rephrase that term to: “what unexpected events could possibly occur in preparing for our transit to BVI?”
The usual culprit in our “crisis de jour” is weather. Weather was a factor in delaying our departure to arrive in Hampton, VA by the beginning of the rally. We planned on leaving well in advance and taking our time cruising up the coast from Charleston to the Norfolk area. That was about the time the second hurricane of the season decided to make its appearance. Instead of having almost 2 weeks to leisurely sail northward, we now had only a few days to arrive for the opening of the event.
The first opportunity we had, we headed out of the Charleston harbor, saying farewell to what has become our home port. Our family and friends have been supportive and welcoming during our long lay-ups there. As we left port this time, we looked fondly behind us knowing that if we succeed in our planned route, we will not be returning to Charleston for many years. Our ten-year navigation will take us to many continents and end along the west coast of North America. So with nostalgia, we began our hastened trip to join up with Salty Dawg. After our first overnight offshore, the weather predictions had the wind blowing directly from the north, where we needed to go, and an uprising of heavy seas. Instead of battling wind direction and waves, we accepted the delay it would take to continue our trek north up the ICW. We knew this was a bit of risk because of the recent hurricanes. Reports of shifting channels, submerged debris, and shoaling, had been reported by those that had traveled on the ICW post hurricane Florence.
Our first long day up the straight and narrow channel, the sun was shining, weather was cool and pleasant; we were making a good 7 knots. There is nothing quite as jarring as coming to a complete halt while doing seven knots. While we were in the deep part of the right side of the channel, shoaling had extended from shore due to a drainage pipe emptying flood water into the canal. My heart sank as I expected there to be some type of damage to our boat that could not be repaired in time for us to make our rally. Dan, after expelling a few expletives, sprang into action and deftly threw the boat into reverse to try and dislodge the boat from the shoal. At first, Equus clung to the sandy bottom she had wedged herself into, but gradually, we felt the sands shift and loosen the grip on her hull. The engine raced in reverse, muddy water swelled and spewed around us. We gradually dislodged from the shoal.
My heart racing, Dan assured me the landing was soft and we would have no damage from making contact with the sand. On high alert now, we carefully resumed our way up the channel, afraid not only of shoaling but submerged debris that might actually cause damage to our prop. Fortunately, we continued north, pushing ourselves to longer than usual motoring hours in an attempt to arrive for our week of seminars and voyage preparation.
The next day up the channel, we got underway before the sun was fully above the horizon. It was a long and tedious day, ending with the last two hours crossing the much broader Albermarle Sound. We approached the Alligator River Bridge and requested an opening. The bridge swung open and as we passed a boat going south, he passed along a friendly warning that the waves in the sound were around 5 feet and the wind was predicted to increase. Knowing how exhausted Dan was already, I didn’t want to subject him to two more hours of uncomfortable conditions. He had been piloting for 8 hours already without a break.
Our options for anchoring in any type of sheltered cove meant motoring an hour out of our way. We chose to tuck into the harbor to our left, a few miles past the bridge. The wind would be gusting to 30 knots overnight, coming directly toward us from across the sound. We trusted our anchor and its ability to hold even in strong winds, so by 3:30 we had the anchor set. The gusty wind and temps in the 50’s had us chilled to the bone. We ate an early dinner and crawled under every blanket on the boat to try and get a good night’s rest before starting early again the next morning.
Communication is spotty at best up the ICW. Sometimes we have connectivity, and most of the time we don’t. We awoke with the first light and I checked my phone for any messages. One appeared from my sister. I opened it. She had tried calling the night before, rather late. We were sound asleep. My father had passed away that evening.
I was incredulous at first. Even though he was 90, I had spent the previous week in Charlotte with him and my mother while Dan continued with our preparations. My dad has had a few close calls and I always felt that my time with him was precious, and fragile. He was vibrant, mobile, in great spirits, and mentally sharp as a tack this last visit. It took me a few minutes to digest the reality of the news, then the heartbreak set in. While our trek north had to continue, my world took a terrifying halt, my soul hit the shoal that sent me from 7 knots to a complete standstill.
Meanwhile, our plans continued at full speed. We had our daughter-in-law and grandson arriving to visit us one last time as soon as we arrived in Hampton and two crew members flying in the day they left. The timing for a loved one departing is never good, but this added complications to an extremely challenging time with substantial time restraints. I have learned to expect the unexpected, but at the moment, this seemed more than I could bear.
Two days later, we arrived in Hampton. My wonderful friend Cindy Rohrer met us at Great Bridge and took drone footage of our boat motoring up the ICW. We met for dinner and toasted to my dad, an amazing father, and the reason I am who I am today. Cindy has been a constant source of help and resources along our journey and one of those people who has always been there to help us when we need it the most. Talking about my dad with her was the first step in acceptance and moving forward. This was a big wrench in our project, but as it turned out, friends and family came through to help me through the hurdle.
My sons are two of my greatest gifts in this world. My daughter yet another. Philip, his wife Shelby, 3-year-old grandson Orion, traveled down to be with me as soon as they heard of my father’s passing. They arrived to ease the burden of our preparations, provide support, and give me much needed hugs. My grandson is always a source of joy and abounding love. Between my sons and calls from my daughter in California, I knew I would get through this crisis. My mother knew I couldn’t come back to be with her – and fortunately I had just spend the week with her and my dad. Our rally preparations began to come together, and the day my son departed, the crew for our crossing, arrived.
We had interviewed potential crew Michael and Rob by phone. It is a sticky wicket finding crew members that will be compatible with you, your boat, your shortcomings, and your sense of humor. Both men seemed to fit the bill for what type of people we were looking for and both were seeking to gain experience at sea. Having new crew aboard helped give me new focus and not dwell on the death of my father. We only had two days until departure to prepare, planned for November 3rd – or so we all thought on the day of their arrival. Our weather briefings had been going from bad to worse which meant really bad news for us. Our daughter Katie, and her husband Sean, were due to arrive in the islands to meet us on November 16th. Delay on departing would mean not arriving in time to meet them. I could feel the screws tightening once again, and that inexplicable feeling of the world crushing in on me and an overwhelming feeling of being helpless to stop it.
The day of planned departure arrived. The weather reports were still going from bad to worse. Crew member Rob boarded a plane back to Minnesota as it now seemed improbable for him to be home with his family by Thanksgiving. Michael fortunately, is in for the long haul and able to hang through the delay. So as I am sitting here on my computer preparing this blog update, we are heading back down the ICW. Yes, the one we just raced up. We are now racing back in the other direction. If we get to Beaufort, NC in time, we can make a Wednesday weather window to cross the Gulf Stream in relatively good conditions We will see what the weather brings once we cross. It will be a mixed bag of fronts and wind directions. We will adjust our course, take each section and make the best decisions possible.
Is it a coincidence that Beaufort was where we arrived after our failed attempt last year, this same week, to make it to BVI? Is this a full circle and our time to finally break out of our first-year newbie status and make more progress than setbacks? One can only hope. We have more experience, better equipment, a more prepared boat, and a very capable extra set of hands for this crossing. While this is not the start we expected, the fleet has scattered to many different locations, I do still feel prepared. I secured a hotel room for Katie and Sean should they arrive before we do. We have researched and re researched the best route to get us there safely. And, I have one more guardian angel to make sure we stay safe in this crossing. The best we can do is expect the unexpected, be prepared, take each challenge as we are faced with it, and keep the faith that we will make it this time.
Thank you for the love, support, and following of everyone reading this. We deeply appreciate you being a part of this journey. We have learned so much, and hope that you have enjoyed reading about our voyage as much as we have enjoyed living it. You can track our progress on the Salty Dawg Fleet tracker – I hope to have great stories for you when we arrive on the other side.
Fair winds and following seas,
Alison and Dan
s/v Equus